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The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia (1590). Book III.

Sir Philip Sidney.

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.



Dorus-his 1 faire and 2 foule weather in his loue. 3 His for-
    lorne agonies.
4 His doubts to write, 5 and Pamelaes
    to reade
, 6 his elegie.

THis last dayes daunger, hauing made Pamelaes loue discerne,  what a losse it
should haue suffered, if Dorus had bene destroyed, bredde such tendernesse of kindnes in her toward him: that she coulde no longer keepe Loue from looking through her eyes, and going forth in her words; whom before as a close prisoner she had to her hart onely committed; so as finding not only by his speeches & letters, but by the pitifull oratio[n] of a languishing behauior, & the easily discyphered character of a sorowful face, that Despair began nowe to threaten him destruction, she grewe content both to pitie him, and let him see she pityed him: as well by making her owne beautifull beames thawe away the former icinesse of her behauiour, as by entertaining his discourses (whensoeuer he did vse them) in the third person of Musidorus; to so farre a degree, that in the ende she said, that if she had bene the Princesse, whom that disguised Prince had vertuously loued, she
would haue requited his faith with faithfull affection:  finding in her hart, that nothing could so hardly loue as vertue: with many mo words to the same sense of noble fauour, & chast plainnesse. Which when at the first it made that expected blisse shine vpon Dorus; he was like one frozen with extremitie of colde, ouer-hastily brought to a great fire, rather oppressed, then relieued with such a lightning of felicitie. But after the strength of nature had made him able to feel the sweetnesse of ioyfulnes, that again being a child of Passion, & neuer acquainted with mediocrity, could not set bou[n]ds vpon his happines, nor be co[n]tent to giue Desire a kingdome, but that it must be an vnlimited Monarchy. So that the ground he stood vpon being ouer-high in happines, & slipperie through affection, he could not hold himselfe fro[m] falling into such an error, which with sighs blew all co[m]fort out of his brest, & washt away all cheerfulnes of his cheere, with teares. For this fauour filling him with hope, Hope encouraging his desire, & Desire considering nothing, but oportunitie: one time (Mopsa being called away by her mother, & he left alone with Pamela) the sudden occasion called Loue, & that neuer staid to aske Reasons leaue; but made the too-much louing Dorus take her in his armes, offering to kisse her, and, as it were, to establish a trophee of his victorie.
    But she, as if she had bin ready to drinke a wine of excellent  tast & colour, which suddenly she
perceiued had poison in it, so did she put him away fro[m] her: loking first vnto heauen, as amazed to find herselfe so beguiled in him; then laying the cruel punishment vpon him of angry Loue, and lowring beautie, shewing disdain, & a despising disdain, Away (said she) vnworthy man to loue, or to be loued. Assure thy selfe, I hate my selfe for being so deceiued; iudge then what I doo thee, for deceiuing me. Let me see thee no more, the only fall of my iudgement, and staine of my conscience. With that she called Mopsa, not staying for any answer (which was no other, but a flood of tears, which she semed not to mark (much lesse to pity) & chid her for hauing so left her alone.
    It was not an amazement, it was not a sorrow, but it was euen a death, which then laid hold of
Dorus: which certainly at that instant would haue killed him, but that the feare to tary longer in her presence (contrary to her com[m]andement) gaue him life to cary himselfe away fro[m] her sight, and to run into the woods, where, throwing himselfe downe at the foot of a tree, he did not fall to lamentation (for that proceeded of pitying) or grieuing for himselfe (which he did no way) but to curses of his life, as one that detested himselfe. For finding himselfe not onely vnhappy, but vnhappie after being falne from all happinesse: and to be falne from all happines, not by any misconceiuing, but by his own fault, and his fault to be done to no other but to Pamela: he did not tender his owne estate, but despised it; greedily drawing into his minde, all conceipts which might more and more torment him. And so remained he two dayes in the woods, disdaining to giue his bodie food, or his mind comfort, louing in himselfe nothing, but the loue of her. And indeed that loue onely straue with the fury of his anguish, telling it, that if it destroyed Dorus, it should also destroy the image of her that liued in Dorus: and when the thought of that was crept in vnto him, it bega[n] to win of him some co[m]passion to the shrine of the image, & to bewaile not for himselfe (who[m] he hated) but that so notable a loue should perish. The began he onely so farre to wish his owne good, as that Pamela might pardon him the fault, though not the punishment: & the vttermost height he aspired vnto, was, that after his death, she might yet pittie his error, and know that it proceeded of loue, and not of boldnesse.
     That conceipt found such friendship in his thoughts, that at last he yelded, since he was banished
her prese[n]ce, to seeke some meanes by writing to shew his sorrow, & testifie his repentance. Therfore getting him the necessarie instruments of writing, he thought best to couterfaite his hand (fearing that as alreadie she knew his, she would cast it away as soone as she saw it) and to put it in vers, hoping, that would draw her on to read the more, chusing the Elegiac as fittest for mourning. But pen did neuer more quakingly performe his office; neuer was paper more double moistned with inke & teares; neuer words more slowly maried together, & neuer the Muses more tired, then now with changes & rechanges of his deuises: fearing howe to ende, before he had resolued how to begin, mistrusting ech word, condemning eche sentence. This word was not significant, that word was too plain: this would not be co[n]ceiued; the other would be il conceiued. Here Sorow was not inough expressed; there he seemed too much for his owne sake to be sory. This sentence rather shewed art, then passion; that sentence rather foolishly passionate, then forcibly mouing. At last, marring with mending, and putting out better, then he left, he made an end of it; & being ended, & diuerse times ready to teare it: till his reason assuring him, the more he studied, the worse it grew, he folded it vp, deuoutly inuoking good acceptation vnto it; and watching his time, when they were all gone one day to dinner (sauing Mopsa) to the other lodge, stale vp into Pamelaes chamber, and in her sta[n]dish (which first he kissed & and craued of it a safe and friendly keeping) left it there, to be seene at her next vsing her hike (himselfe returning againe to be true prisoner to desperate sorrow) leauing her standish vpon her beds head, to giue her the more occasion to marke it: which also fell out.
    For she finding it at her after noone-returne, in another place then she left it, opened it. But when
she saw the letter, her hart gaue her from whence it came. And therefore clapping it to againe, she went away from it, as if it had bin a contagious garment of an infected person: and yet was not long away, but that she wished she had read it, though she were loth to reade it. Shall I (said she) second his boldnesse so farre, as to reade his presumptuous letters? And yet (said she) he sees me not to growe the bolder thereby: And how can I tell, whether they be presumptuous? The paper came from him, and therefore not worthie to be receyued; and yet the paper (she thought) was not guiltie. At last, she concluded, it were not much amisse to looke it ouer, that she might out of his wordes picke some further quarrell against him. Then she opened it, and threwe it away, and tooke it vp againe, till (ere she were aware) her eyes woulde needes reade it, conteining this matter.

VNto a caitife wretch, whom long affliction holdeth,

    and now fully beleeues helpe to be quite perished;
Grant yet, grant yet a looke, to the last monume
[n]t of his anguish,
    O you (alas so I find) came of his onely ruine.
Dread not a whit (O goodly cruel) that pittie may enter
    into thy hart by the sight of this Epistle I send:
And so refuse to behold of these strange wounds the recitall,
    least it might th'allure home to thy selfe to returne,
Vnto thy selfe I do means those graces dwell so within thee,
    gratefulnes, sweetnes, holy loue, hartie regard)
Such thing cannot I seeke (Despairs hath giu'n me my answer
    despaire most tragicall clause to a deadly request)
Such thing can
[n]ot he hope, that knowes thy determinat hardnes;
    hard like a rich marble: hard, but a faire Diamond.
Can those eyes that of eyes drownd in most harty flowing teares,
    (teares and teares of a man) had no returne to remorse;
Can those eyes not yeeld to the kind conceit of a sorow,
    which inke onely relates, but ne laments, ne replies?
Ah, that, that I do I not conceiue {though that to my blisse were)
    more then
Nestors yeares, more then a Kings diademe.
Ah, that, that I do not co
[n]ceiue; to the heaue[n] when a mouse climes
    then may I hope t'atchieue grace of a heauenly tiger.
But, but alas, like a man co
[n]demn'd doth craue to be heard speake
    not that he hopes for amends of the desaster he feeles,

But finding th' approch of death with an ougly relenting,
    giues an adieu to the world, as to his onely delight:
Right so my boiling hart, enflamde with fire of a faire eye,
    bubling out doth breath signes of his hugie dolours:
Now that he fends to what end his life and loue be reserued,
    and that he hence must part where to liue onely he lou'd.
O faire, O fairest, are such thy triumphs to thy fairnesse?
    can death beautie become? must be such a monument?
Must I be onely the marke, shall proue that Vertue is angrie?
    shall proue that fiercenes can with a white doue abide?
Shall to the world appeare that faith and loue be rewarded
    with mortall disdaine, bent to vnendly reuenge? Vnto reuenge?    
O sweete, on a wretch wilt thou be reuenged?
    shall such high Plannets ende to the losse of a war me?
And to reuenge who
[m] doo bend, would in that kind be reuenged,
    as th' offence was done, and goe beyond if he can.
All my offence was Loue: with Loue then must I be chastned,
    and with more, by the lawes that to Reuenge doo belong.
If that loue be a fault, more fault in you to be louely:
    Loue neuer had me opprest, but that I saw to be lou'd.
You be the cause that I lou'd: what Reason blameth a shadowe,
    that with a body't goes? since by a body it is.
If that Loue you did hate, you should your beautie haue hidden:
    you should those faire eyes haue with a veile couered.
But foole, foole that I am, those eyes would shine fro[m] a dark caue.
    what veiles then doo preuaile, but to a more miracle?
Or those golden lockes, those lockes which lock me to bondage,
    torne you should disperse vnto the blasts of a winde.
But foole, foole that I am, tho I had but a hair of her head fou
    eu'n as I am, so I should vnto that haire be a thrall.
Or with fair ha
[n]ds-nailes (ô ha[n]d which nailes me to this death)
    you should haue your face (since Loue is ill) blemished.
O wretch, what do I say? should that faire face be defaced?
    should my too-much sight cause so true a Sunne to be lost?
First le
t Cimmerian darknes be my one/' habitation:
    first be mine eyes pulde out, first be my braine perished;
Ere that I should consent to doo such excessiue a dammage
    vnto the earth, by the hurt of this her heauenly iewell.
O no: but such loue you say you could haue afoorded,
    as might learne Temperance voyde of a rages euents.
O sweet simplicitie: from whence should Loue so be learned?
Cupid that boy shall a Pedante be found?
Well: but faultie I was: Reason to my Passion yeelded,
    Passion vnto my rage, Rage to a hastie reuenge.
But whats this for a fault, for which such fault is abolisht,
    such faith, so staineles, inuiolate, violent?
Shall I not? ô may I not thus yet refresh the remembrance,
    what sweete ioyes I had once, and what a place I did hold?
Shall I not once obiect, that you, you graunted a fauour
    vnto the man, whom now such miseries you awarde?
Red your thoghts to the dear sweet words which the
[n] to me giu'n were:
    think what a world is now, think who hath altred her hart.
What? was I then worthie such good, now worthie such euill?
    now fled, then cherished? then so nie, now so remote?
Did not a rosed breath, from lips more rosie proceeding,
    say, that I should well finde in what a care I was had?
With much more: now what doo I finde, but Care to abhor me,
    Care that I sinke in griefe, Care that I liue banished?
And banished doo I liue, nor now will seeke a recou'rie,
    since so she will, whose will is to me more then a lawe.
If then a man in most ill case may giue you a farewell;
    farewell, long farewell, all my woe, all my delight.

CHAP. 2.

l The young Ladies mette: 2 inuited to the countrie-wenches
3 goe thether, 4 there are taken, and thence car-
    ted to
Amphialus castle. 5 Their entertainement there.
    6 Cecropias auricular confession of her proud cariage in
7 and ambitious practises in aduersitie. 8 Am-
    phialus his affection in these actions.

WHat this would haue wrought in her, she her selfe could not tell: for, before her
Reason could moderate the disputation betwene Fauour & Faultines, her sister, and Miso, called her downe to entertaine Zelmane, who was come to visite the two sisters; about whom, as about two Poles, the Skie of Beautie was turned: while Gynecia wearied her bed with her melancholic sicknes, and made Misos shrewdnesse (who like a sprite, sette to keep a treasure, barde Zelmane from any further conference) to be the Lieutenant of her iealousie: Both she and her husband, driuing Zelmane to such a streit of resolution, either of impossible graunting, or dangerous refusing, as the best escape she had, was (as much as she coulde) to auoyde their companie. So as, this day, being the fourth day after the vprore, (Basilius being with his sicke wife, conferring vpon such examinations, as Philanax, and other of his noble-men had made of this late seditio[n], all touching Cecropia with veheme[n]t suspition of giuing either flame or fuell vnto it) Zelmane came with her bodie, to find her mind, which was gone long before her, & had gotten his seate in Philoclea: who now with a bashfull cheerefulnesse (as though she were ashamed, that she could not choose but be glad) ioyned with her sister, in making much of Zelmane.
    And so as they sate deuising how to giue more feathers to the winges of Time, there came to the
lodge dore, sixe maides, all in one liuerie of skarlette petticotes, which were tuckt vp almoste to their knees, the petticoates them selues beinge in many places garnished with leaues, their legges naked, sauing that aboue the anckles they had little black silke laces, vpon which did hang a few siluer belles: like which they had a little aboue their elbowes, vpon their bare armes. Vpon their haire they ware garlands of roses and gilliflowers; and the haire was so drest, as that came againe aboue the garlandes; enterchaunging a mutuall couering: so as it was doubtfull, whether the haire drest the garlandes, or the garlandes drest the haire. Their breasts liberall to the eye: the face of the formoste [of] them, in excellencie faire; and of the rest louely, if not beautifull: and beautifull would haue bene, if they had not suffered greedy Phœbus, ouer-often, and harde, to kisse them. Their countenaunces full of a gracefull grauitie; so as the gesture matcht with the apparrell, it might seem a wanton modestie, and an entising sobernes. Each of them had an instrument of musick in their hands, which consorting their wel-pleasing tunes, did charge each eare with vnsensiblenes, that did not lende it selfe vnto them. The Musicke entring alone into the lodge, the Ladies were all desirous to see from whence so pleasant a guest was come: and therefore went out together; where, before they coulde take the paines to doubt, much lesse to aske the question of their qualitie, the fairest of them (with a gay, but yet discreete demeanour) in this sort spake vnto them. Most excellent Ladies, (whose excellencies haue power to make cities enuie these woods, and solitarines to be accounted the sweetest companie) vouchsafe our message your gracious hearing, which as it comes from Loue, so comes it from louely persons. The maides of all this coast of Arcadia, vnderstanding the often accesse that certaine shepheards of these quarters, are allowed to haue in this forbidden place; and that their rurall sports are not disdained of you, haue bene stird with emulation to them, and affection to you, to bring forth some thing, which might as well breede your contentment: and therefore hoping that the goodnes of their intention, & the hurtlesnes of their sex shall excuse the breach of the commandeme[n]t in coming to this place vnsent for, they chose out vs, to inuite both your princely parents, & your selues, to a place in the woods about half a mile hence: where they haue prouided some such sports, as they trust your gratious acceptatio[n]s will interpret to be deliteful. We haue bene at the other lodge, but finding them there, busied in weightier affaires, our trust is, that you yet will not denie the shining of your eies vpo[n] vs.
    The Ladies stood in some double, whether they should goe or not, lest Basilius might be angry
withall. But Miso (that had bene at none of the pastorals, and had a great desire to lead her old senses abroad to some pleasure) told them plainely, they should nor will, nor choose, but go thether, and make the honest countrie people know, that they were not so squeamish as folkes thought of them. The Ladies glad to be warranted by her authoritie; with a smiling humblenesse obeied her: Pamela only casting a seeking looke, whether she could see Dorus (who poore wretch wandred halfe mad for sorrow in the woods, crying for pardon of her, who could not heare him) but indeed was grieued for his absence, hauing giuen the wound to him through her owne harte. But so the three Ladies & Miso went with those six Nymphes, conquering the length of the way with the force of musique, leauing only Mopsa behind, who disgraced weeping with her countenaunce, because her mother would not suffer her to shewe her newskoured face among them. But the place apointed (as they thought) met them halfe in their way, so well were they pleased with the sweete tunes and prettie conuersation of their inuiters. There founde they in the midst of the thickest part of the wood, a litle square place, not burdened with trees, but with a boord couered, & beautified with the pleasantest fruites, that Sun-burnd Autumne could deliuer vnto the[m]. The maids besought the Ladies to sit downe, and tast of the swelling grapes, which seemed great with child of Bacchus: & of the diuers coloured plums, which gaue the eye a pleasant tast before they came to the mouth. The Ladies would not shew to scorne their prouision, but eat, and dranke a little of their coole wine, which seemed to laugh for ioy to come to such lips.
       But after the collation was ended, and that they looked for the coming foorth of such deuises, as
were prepared for them, there rusht out of the woods twentie armed men, who round about enuironed them, & laying hold of Zelmane before she could draw her sword, and taking it from her, put hoods ouer the heads of all fower, and so muffled, by force set them on horsebacke and carried them away; the sisters in vaine crying for succour, while Zelmanes harte was rent in peeces with rage of the iniurie, and disdaine of her fortune. But when they had caried them a foure or fiue mile further, they lefte Miso with a gagge in her mouth, and bound hande and foote, so to take her fortune: and brought the three Ladies (by that time that the Night seemed with her silence to conspire to their treason) to a castle about ten mile of from the Lodges: where they were fayne to take a boate whiche wayted for them. For the castle stood in the midst of a great lake, vppon a high rocke, where partly by Arte, but principallie by Nature, it was by all men esteemed impregnable.
       But at the Castle gate their faces were discouered, and there were mett with a great number of
torches, after whome the sisters knewe their aunt in lawe, Cecropia. But that sight increased the deadly terrour of the Princesses, looking for nothing but death, since they were in the power of the wicked Cecropia: who yet came vnto them, making curtesie the outside of mischiefe, and desiring them not to be discomforted: for they were in a place dedicated to their seruice.  Philoclea (with a looke where Loue shined through the miste of Feare) besought her to be good vnto them, hauing neuer deserued euill of her. But Pamelas high harte disdayning humblenesse to iniurie, Aunt, (said she) what you haue determined of vs I pray you doo it speedily: for my part I looke for no seruice, where I finde violence.
    But Cecropia (using no more wordes with them) conueyed them all three to seuerall lodgings (Zelmanes harte so swelling with spite, that she coulde not bring foorth a worde) and so lefte them: first taking from them their kniues, because they should do themselues no hurte, before she had determined of them: and then giuing such order that they wanted nothing but libertie, & comfort, she went to her sonne, who yet kept his bed, because of his wound he had receiued of Zelmane, & told him, whom now he had in his power. Amphialus was but euen then returned from far countries, where he had wonne immortall fame, both of courage & curtesie, when he met with the Princesses, and was hurt by Zelmane, so as he was vtterly ignorant of all his mothers wicked deuises; to which he would neuer haue consented, being (like a rose out of a brier) an excellent sonne of an euill mother: and now when he heard of this, was as much amazed, as if he had seen the Sunne fall to the earth. And therefore desired his mother that she would tell him the whole discourse, how all these matters had happened.
    Sonne (said she) I will doo it willingly, and since all is done for you, I will hide nothing from you.
And howsoeuer I might be ashamed to tell it strangers, who would thinke it wickednesse, yet what is done for your sake (how euill soeuer to others) to you is vertue. To begin then euen with the beginning, this doting foole Basilius that now raignes, hauing liued vnmarried till he was nigh threescore yeares old (and in all his speaches affirming, and in all his dooings assuring, that he neuer would marrie) made all the eyes of the country to be bent vpon your father, his onely brother (but then younger by thirty yeares) as vpon the vndoubted successour: being indeed a man worthy to raigne, thinking nothing enough for himselfe: where this goose (you see) puts downe his head, before there be any thing neere to touch him. So that he holding place and estimation as heyre of Arcadia, obteyned me of my father the King of Argos, his brother helping to the conclusion, with protesting his bachelerly intention: for else you may be sure the King of Argos, nor his daughter would haue suffered their Royall bloud to be stained with the base name of subiection. So that I came into this countrie as apparant Princesse therof, and accordingly was courted, and followed of all the Ladies of this countrie. My porte and pompe did well become a King of Argos daughter: in my presence their tongues were turned into eares, & their eares were captiues vnto my tongue. Their eyes admired my Maiestie, & happy was he or she, on whom I would suffer the beames thereof to fall. Did I goe to church? it seemed the very Gods wayted for me, their deuotions not being solemnized till I was ready. Did I walke abroad to see any delight? Nay, my walking was the delight it selfe: for to it was the concourse; one thrusting vpon another, who might shewe him selfe most diligent and seruiceable towardes me: my sleepes were inquired after, and my wakings neuer vnsaluted: the very gate of my house full of principall persons, who were glad, if their presents had receaued a gratefull acceptation. And in this felicitie wert thou borne, the very earth submitting it selfe vnto thee to be troden on as by his Prince; and to that passe had my husbandes vertue (by my good helpe) within short time brought it, with a plot we laide, as we should not haue needed to haue waited the tedious worke of a naturall end of Basilius, when the heaue[n]s (I thinke enuying my great felicity) the[n] stopt thy fathers breath, whe[n] he breathed nothing but power and soueraigntie. Yet did not thy orphancie, or my widdowhood, depriue vs of the delightfull prospect, which the hill of honour dooth yeeld, while expectation of thy succession did bind dependencies vnto us.

    But before, (my sonne) thou wert come to the age to feele the sweetnesse of authoritie, this beast (whom I can neuer name with patience) falsely and foolishly married this Gynecia, then a young girle, and brought her to sit aboue me in al feasts, to turne her shoulder to me-ward in all our solemnities. It is certaine, it is not so great a spite to be surmounted by straungers, as by ones owne allies. Thinke then what my minde was, since withall there is no question: The fall is greater from the first to the second, then from the second to the vndermost. The rage did swell in my harte, so much the more as it was faine to be suppressed in sile[n]ce, & disguised with humblenes. But aboue al the rest, the griefe of grieues was, whe[n] with these daughters (now thy prisoners) she cut of al hope of thy successio[n]. It was a tedious thing to me; that my eies should looke lower then any bodies, that (my selfe being by) anothers voice then mine, should be more respected. But it was insupportable vnto me, to think that not only I, but thou shouldst spend al thy time in such misery, & that the Sun should see my eldest son lesse then a Prince. And though I had ben a sainct I could not choose, finding the chau[n]ge this chauge of fortune bred vnto me, for now fro[m] the multitude of followers, sile[n]ce grew to be at my gate, & abse[n]ce in my presence. The guesse of my mind could preuaile more before, then now many of my earnest  requests.    And thou (my deare sonne) by the fickle multitude no more then any ordinary person (borne of the mud of the people) regarded. But I (reme[m]bring that in all miseries, weeping becomes fooles, and practize wise folks) haue tried, diuers meanes to pull vs out of the mire of subiectio[n]. And though many times Fortune failed me, yet did I neuer faile my self. Wild beasts I kept in a caue hard by the lodges, which I caused by night to be fed in the place of their pastorals, I as then liuing in my house hard by the place, and against the houre they were to meete (hauing kept the beasts without meate) then let them loose, knowing that they would seeke their food there, and deuoure what they founde. But blind Fortune hating sharpe-sighted inuentions, made them vnluckily to be killed. After, I vsed my seruant Clinias to stir a notable tumult of country people: but those louts were too grosse instruments for delicate conceits. Now lastly, finding Philanax-his examinations grow daungerous, I thought to play double or quit; & with a sleight I vsed of my fine-witted we[n]ch Artesia, with other maids of mine, would haue sent these good inheritrixes of Arcadia, to haue pleaded their cause before Pluto, but that ouer-fortunatly for the[m], you made me know the last day how vehemently this childish passion of loue doth torment you.
Therfore I haue brought them vnto you, yet wishing rather hate the[n] loue in you. For Hate often begetteth victory; Loue commonly is the instrument of subiection. It is true, that I would also by the same practise haue entrapped the parents, but my maids failed of it, not daring to tary long about it. But this sufficeth, since (these being taken away) you are the vndoubted inheritor, and Basilius will not long ouer-liue this losse.
      O mother (said Amphialus) speake not of doing them hurt, no more then to mine eies, or my
hart, or if I haue any thing more deare then eyes, or hart vnto me. Let others finde what sweetnesse they will in euer fearing, because they are euer feared: for my part, I will thinke my selfe highly intitled, if I may be once by Philoclea accepted for a seruant. Well (said Cecropia) I would I had borne you of my minde, as well as of my body: then should you not haue suncke vnder base weakenesses. But since you haue tied your thoughts in so wilfull a knot, it is happie I haue brought matters to such a passe, as you may both enioy affection, and vppon that build your soueraigntie. Alas (said Amphialus) my hart would faine yeeld you thanks for setting me in the way of felicitie, but that feare killes them in me, before they are fully borne. For if Philoclea be displeased, how can I be pleased? if she count it vnkindnes, shal I giue tokens of kindnes? perchance she co[n]demnes me of this action, and shall I triumph? perchance she drownes nowe the beauties I loue with sorrowful teares, and where is then my reioicing? You haue reason (said Cecropia with a feined grauitie) I will therefore send her away presently, that her contentment may be recouered. No good mother (said Amphialus) since she is here, I would not for my life constraine presence, but rather would I die then co[n]sent to absence. Prety intricat follies (said Cecropia) but get you vp, & see how you can preuaile with her, while I go to the other sister. For after we shal haue our hands full to defend our selues, if Basilius hap to besiege vs. But remembring herself, she turned back, & asked him what he woulde haue done with Zelmane, since nowe he might be reuenged of his hurt. Nothing
but honorably, answered Amphialus, hauing deserued no other of me, especially being (as I heare) greatly cherished of Philoclea. And therefore I could wish they were lodged together. O no (said Cecropia) company confirmes resolutio[n]s, & lonelines breeds a werines of ones thoughts, and so a sooner consenting to reasonable profers.

CHAP.   3.

1 Amphialus addressing him to Philoclea. 2 Her melan-
    cholie habit
. 3 His humble sute. 4 Her pitifull answere:
    5 and his compassionate replie. 6 Their parting with cold

BVt Amphialus (taking of his mother Philocleas kniues, which I he kept as a relique,
since she had worne them) gat vp, and calling for his richest apparell, nothing seemed sumptuous inough for his mistresses eyes: and that which was costly, he feared were not daintie: and though the inuention were delicat, he misdoubted the making. As carefull he was too of the colour; lest if gay, he might seeme to glorie in his iniury, and her wrong; if mourning, it might strike some euill presage vnto her of her fortune. At length he tooke a garment more rich then glaring, the ground being black veluet, richly embrodered with great pearle, & precious stones, but they set so among certaine tuffes of cypres, that the cypres was like blacke clowds, through which the starrs might yeeld a darke luster. About his necke he ware a brode & gorgeous coller; whereof the pieces enterchangeably answering; the one was of Diamonds and pearle, set with a white enamell, so as by the cunning of the workman it seemed like a shining ice, and the other piece being of Rubies, and Opalles, had a fierie glistring, which he thought pictured the two passions of Feare and Desire, wherein he was enchayned. His hurt (not yet fully well) made him a little halt, but he straue to giue the best grace he could vnto his halting.
    And in that sort he went to Philocleas chamber: whome he found (because her chamber was
ouer-lightsome) sitting of that side of her bedde which was from the windowe; which did cast such a shadow vpon her, as a good Painter woulde bestowe vppon Venus, when vnder the trees she bewayled the murther of Adonis: her handes and fingers (as it were) indented one within the other: her shoulder leaning to her beds head, and ouer her head a scarfe, which did eclipse almost halfe her eyes, which vnder it fixed their beames vpon the wall by, with so steddie a maner, as if in that place they might well chaunge, but not mende their obiect: and so remayned they a good while after his comming in, he not daring to trouble her, nor she perceyuing him, till that (a little varying her thoughts something quickening her senses) she heard him as he happed to stirre his vpper garment: and perceyuing him, rose vp, with a demeanure, where in the booke of Beautie there was nothing to be read but Sorrow: for Kindnesse was blotted out, and Anger was neuer there.
      But Amphialus that had entrusted his memorie with long and forcible speeches, found it so
locked vp in amazement, that he could pike nothing out of it, but the beseeching her to take what was don in good part, and to assure herselfe there was nothing but honour meant vnto her person. But she making no other aunswere, but letting her handes fall one from the other, which before were ioyned (with eyes something cast aside, and a silent sigh) gaue him to vnderstande, that considering his dooings, she thought his speech as full of incongruitie, as her aunswere would be voyde of purpose: whereuppon he kneeling downe, and kissing her hande, (which she suffered with a countenaunce witnessing captiuitie, but not kindnesse) he besought her to haue pitie of him, whose loue went beyonde the boundes of conceite, much more of vttering: that in her handes the ballance of his life or death did stande; whereto the least motion of hers woulde serue to determine, she being indeede the mistresse of his life, and he her eternall slaue; and with true vehemencie besought her that he might heare her speake, whereupon she suffered her sweete breath to turne it selfe into these kind of words.
    Alas cousin, (saide she) what shall my tongue be able to doo, which is infourmed by the eares one
way, and by the eyes another? You call for pittie, and vse crueltie; you say, you loue me, and yet do the effectes of enmitie. You affirme your death is in my handes, but you haue brought me to so neere a degree to death, as when you will, you may lay death vpon me: so that while you say I am mistresse of your life, I am not mistresse of mine owne. You entitle your selfe my slaue, but I am sure I am yours. If then violence, iniurie, terror, and depriuing of that which is more dear then life it selfe, libertie, be fit orators for affection, you may expect that I will be easily perswaded. But if the nearenesse of our kinred breede any remorse in you, or there be any such thing in you, which you call loue towarde me, then let not my fortune be disgraced with the name of imprisonment: let not my hart waste it selfe by being vexed with feeling euill, and fearing worse. Let not me be a cause of my parents wofull destruction; but restore me to my selfe; and so doing I shall account I haue receyued my selfe of you. And what I say for my selfe, I say for my deare sister, and my friend Zelmane: for I desire no wel being, without they may be partakers. With that her teares rained downe from her heauenly eyes, and seemed to water the sweet and beautifull flowers of her face.
    But Amphialus was like the poore woman, who louing a tame Doe she had, aboue all earthly
things, hauing long played withall, and made it feede at her hand and lappe, is constrained at length by famine (all her flocke being spent, and she fallen into extreeme pouertie) to kill the Deare, to sustaine her life. Manie a pitifull looke doth she cast vpon it, and many a time doth she draw backe her hand before she can giue the stroke. For euen so Amphialusby a hunger-sterued affection, was compelled to offer this iniurie, and yet the same affection made him with a tormenting griefe, thinke vnkindnesse in himselfe, that he could finde in his hart any way to restraine her freedome. But at length, neither able to grant, nor denie, he thus answered her. Deare ladie (said he) I will not say vnto you (how iustly soeuer I may do it) that I am neither author, nor accessarie vnto this your withholding. For since I do not redres it, I am as faulty as if I had begun it. But this I protest vnto you (and this protestation of mine, let the heauens heare, and if I lie, let them answer me with a deadly thunderbolt) that in my soule I wish I had neuer seene the light, or rather, that I had neuer had a father to beget such a child, the that by my meanes those eyes should ouerflow their owne beauties, then by my meanes the skie of your vertue should be ouerclowded with sorrow. But woe is me, most excellent Ladie, I finde my selfe most willing to obey you: neither truely doo mine eares receaue the least word you speak, with any lesse reuerence, then as absolute, and vnresistable commaundements. But alas, that Tyrant Loue, (which now possesseth the holde of all my life and reason) will no way suffer it. It is Loue, it is Loue, not I, which disobey you. What then shall I say? but that I, who am redie to lie vnder your feete, to venture, nay to loose my life at your least commandement: I am not the staye of your freedome, but Loue, Loue, which ties you in your owne knots. It is you your selfe, that imprison your selfe: it is your beautie which makes these castle-walles embrace you: it is your owne eyes, which reflect vpon themselues this iniurie. Then is there no other remedie, but that you some way vouchsafe to satisfie this Loues vehemencie; which (since it grewe in your selfe) without question you shall finde it (far more then I) tractable.
    But with these wordes Philoclea fell to so extreame a quaking, and her liuely whitenesse did degenerate to so dead a palenesse, that Amphialus feared some daungerous traunce: so that taking her hande, and feelinge that it (which was woonte to be one of the chiefe firebrands of Cupid) had all the sense of it wrapt vp in coldnes, he began humblie to beseech her to put away all feare, and to assure herselfe vpon the vowe he made thereof vnto God, and her selfe, that the vttermost forces he would euer employ to conquere her affection, should be Desire, and Desert. That promise brought Philoclea againe to her selfe, so that slowly lifting vp her eyes vpon him, with a countenaunce euer courteous, but then languishing, she tolde him, that he should doo well to do so, if indeede he had euer tasted what true loue was: for that where now she did beare him good will, she should (if he tooke any other way) hate, and abhor the very thought of him: offering him withall, that though his mother had taken away her kniues, yet the house of Death had so many doores, as she would easilie flie into it, if euer she founde her honor endaungered.
    Amphialus hauing the colde ashes of Care cast vpon the coales of Desire, leauing some of his
mothers Gentlewomen to waite vpon Philoclea, himselfe indeede a prisoner to his prisoner, and making all his authoritie to be but a footestoole to Humblenes, went from her to his mother. To whom with words which Affection endited, but Amazement vttered, he deliuered what had passed betwene him and Philoclea: beseeching her to trie what her perswasions could doo with her, while he gaue order for all such things as were necessarie against such forces, as he looked dayly Basilius would bring before his castle. His mother bade him quiette him selfe, for she doubted not to take fitte times. But that the best way was, first to let her owne Passion a little tire it selfe.

CHAP. 4.

1 Amphialus warlike preparations. 2 His iustification. 3 His
4 His Arte of men. 5 His Loue-passions, and
    passionate complaints.

SO they calling Clinias, and some other of their counsell, aduised vpon their present
affaires. First, he dispatched priuat letters to al those principall Lords and gentlemen of the country, who[m] he thought ether alliance, or friendship to himselfe might drawe; with speciall motions from the generall consideration of duetie: not omitting all such, whom either youthfull age, or youth-like mindes did fill with unlimited desires: besides such, whom any discontentment made hungry of change, or an ouer-spended wante, made want a ciuill warre: to each (according to the counsell of his mother) conforming himselfe after their humors. To his friends, friendlines; to the ambitious, great expectations; to the displeased, reuenge; to the greedie, spoyle: wrapping their hopes with such cunning, as they rather seemed giuen ouer vnto them as partakers: then promises sprong of necessitie. Then sent he to his mothers brother, the King of Argos: but he was as then so ouer-laide with warre himselfe, as from thence he could attend small succour.
    But because he knewe, how violently rumors doo blow the sailes of popular iudgeme[n]ts, & how few there be, that can discerne betweene trueth and truthlikenes, betweene showes and substance; he caused a iustification of this his action to be written, wherof were sowed abroad many copies, which with some glosses of probabilitie, might hide indeede the foulenes of his treason; and from true common-places, fetch downe most false applications. For, beginning how much the duetie which is owed to the countrie, goes beyond all other dueties, since in it selfe it conteines them all, and that for the respect therof, not onely all tender respects of kinred, or whatsoeuer other friendshippes, are to be laide aside, but that euen long-helde opinions (rather builded vpon a secreate of gouernement, then any grou[n]d of truthe) are to be forsaken. He fell by degrees to shew, that since the ende whereto any thing is directed, is euer to be of more noble reckning, then the thing thereto directed: that  therefore, the  weale-publicke was more to be regarded, then any person or magistrate that thereunto was ordeined. The feeling consideration whereof, had moued him (though as nere of kinne to Basilius as could  be, yet) to set principally before his eyes, the good estate of so many  thousands, ouer whom Basilius raigned: rather then so to hoodwinke himselfe with affection, as to suffer the realme to runne to manifest ruine. The care whereof, did kindly appertaine to those, who being subalterne magistrates and officers of the crowne, were to be employed as fro[m] the Prince, so for the people; and of all other, especiallie himselfe, who being descended of the Royall race, and next heire male, Nature had no soner opened his eyes, but that the soyle whereupon they did  looke, was to looke for at his hands a continuall carefulnes: which as fro[m] his childhood he had euer caried; so now finding that his vncle had not only giue ouer al care of gouernment, but had put it into the hands of Philanax, (a man neither in birth comparable to many, nor for his corrupt, prowde, and partiall dealing, liked of any) but beside, had set his daughters (in whom the whole estate, as next heires thereunto, had no lesse interest the[n] himselfe) in so vnfit & il-guarded a place, as it was not only da[n]gerous for their persons, but (if they should be conueied to any forraine country) to the whole common-wealth pernicious: that therfore he had brought them into this stro[n]g castle of his, which way, if it might seem strange, they were to consider, that new necessities require new remedies:
but there they should be serued & honored as belonged to their greatnes, vntil by the generall assembly of the estates, it should be determined how they should to their best (both priuate, and publique) advantage be matched; vowing all faith & duty both to the father & children, neuer by him to be violated. But if in the meane time, before the estates could be asse[m]bled, he were assailed, he would the[n] for his own defence take armes: desiring all, that either tendred the dangerous case of their country, or in their harts loued iustice, to defe[n]d him in this iust actio[n]. And if the Prince should commaund them otherwise, yet to know, that therein he was no more to be obeied, then if he should call for poison to  hurt  himself withall: since all that was done, was done for his seruice, howsoeuer he might (seduced by Philanax) interprete of it: he protesting, that what soeuer he should doo for his owne defence, should be against Philanax, &  no way against Basilius.
To this effect:, amplified with arguments and examples, and painted with rhetoricall colours, did he sow abroad many discourses: which as they preuayled with some of more quicke then sounde conceipte, to runne his fortune with him; so in many did it breed a coolenesse, to deale violently against him, and a false-minded neutralitie to expect the issue. But besides the waies he vsed to weaken the aduerse partie, he omitted nothing for the strengthning of his owne. The chiefe trust whereof (because he wanted men to keepe the field) he reposed in the suretie of his castle; which at lest would winne him much time, the mother of many mutations. To that therfore he bent his outward & inward eyes, striuing to make Art striue with Nature, to whether of them two that fortification should be most beholding. The seat Nature bestowed, but Arte gaue the building: which as his rocky hardnesse would not yeeld to vndermining force, so to ope assaults he tooke counsell of skill, how to make all approches, if not impossible, yet difficult; as well at the foot of the castle, as round about the lake, to giue vnquiet lodgings to the[m], whom onely enmitie would make neighbors. Then omitted he nothing of defence, as wel simple defence, as that which did defend by offending, fitting instrume[n]ts of mischiefe to places, whence the mischiefe might be most liberally bestowed. Nether was his smallest care for victuals, as wel for the prouiding that which should suffice both in store & goodnesse, as in well preseruing it, and wary distributing it, both in quantitie, and qualitie; spending that first which would keepe lest.
But wherein he sharpned his wits to the pearcingest point, was touching his men (knowing them to be the weapon of weapons, & master-spring (as it were) which makes all the rest to stir; and that therefore in the Arte of man stood the quintessence, & ruling skill of all prosperous gouernement, either peaceable, or military) he chose in number as many as without pestring (and so daunger of infection) his victuall would seem for two yeare to maintaine; all of liable bodies, and some few of able mindes to direct, not seeking many commaunders, but contenting himselfe, that the multitude should haue obeying wills, euery one knowing whom he should commaund, and whom he should obey, the place where, and the matter wherein; distributing each office as neere as he could, to the disposition of the person that should exercise it: knowing no loue, daunger, nor discipline can sodainly alter an habite in nature. Therfore would he not employ the stil ma[n] to a shifting practise, nor the liberall man to be a dispenser of his victuals, nor the kind-harted man to be a punisher: but would exercise their vertues in sorts, where they might be profitable, employing his chief care to know the all particularly, & throughly, regarding also the co[n]stitutio[n] of their bodies; some being able better to abide watching, some hu[n]ger, some labour, making his benefit of ech hability, & not forcing beyond power. Time to euery thing by iust proportio[n] he allotted, & as well in that, as in euery thing els, no small errour winckt at, lest greater should be animated. euen of vices he made his profite, making the cowardly Clinias to haue care of the watch, which he knew his own feare would make him very wakefully performe. And before the siege began, he himselfe caused rumors to be sowed, and libels to be spread against himselfe, fuller of mallice, then witty persuasion: partly, to knowe those that would be apt to stumble at such motions, that he might cull them from the faithfuller band; but principally, because in necessitie they should not know when any such thing were in earnest attempted, whether it were, or not, of his owne inuention. But euen then (before the enemies face came neere to breed any terrour) did he exercise his men dayly in all their charges, as if Daunger had presently presented his most hideous presence: him selfe rather instructing by example, then precept; being neither more sparing in trauaile, nor spe[n]ding in diet, then the meanest souldier: his hand and body disdaining no base matters, nor shrinking from the heauy.
The onely ods was, that when others tooke breath, he sighed; and when others rested, he crost his armes. For Loue passing thorow the pikes of Dau[n]ger, & tumbling it selfe in the dust of Labour, yet still made him remember his sweete desire, and beautifull image. Often when he had begun to commaund one, somewhat before halfe the sentence were ended, his inward guest did so entertaine him, that he would breake it of, and a prettie while after end it, when he had (to the marvaile of the standers by) sent himself in to talke with his own thoughts. Sometimes when his hand was lifted vp to some thing, as if with the sight of Gorgons head he had bene sodainely turned into a stone, so would he there abide with his eyes planted, and handes lifted, till at length, comming to the vse of himself, he would looke about whether any had perceiued him; then would he accuse, and in himselfe condemne all those wits, that durst affirme Idlenesse to be the well-spring of Loue. O, would he say, al you that affect the title of wisdome, by vngratefull scorning the ornaments of Nature, am I now piping in a shaddow? or doo slouthfull feathers now enwrap me? Is not hate before me, and doubte behinde me? is not daunger of the one side, and shame of the other? And doo I not stande vpon paine, and trauaile, and yet ouer all, my affection triumphes? The more I stirre about urgent affaires, the more me thinks the very stirring breeds a breath to blow the coales of my loue: the more I exercise my thoughts, the more they encrease the appetite of my desires. O sweet Philoclea (with that he would cast vp his eies wherin some water did appeare, as if they would wash themselues against they should see her) thy heauenly face is my Astronomie; thy sweet vertue, my sweet Philosophie: let me profile therein, and farewell all other cogitations. But alas, my mind misgiues me, for your planets beare a contrarie aspect vnto me. Woe, woe is me, they threaten my destruction: and whom doo they threaten this destruction? euen him that loues them; and by what means will they destroy, but by louing them? O deare (though killing) eyes, shall death head his darte with the golde of Cupids arrowe? Shall death take his ayme from the rest of Beautie? O beloued (though hating) Philoclea, how if thou beest mercifull, hath crueltie stolne into thee? Or how if thou beest cruell, doth crueltie looke more mercifull then euer Mercie did? Or alas, is it my destinie that makes Mercie cruell? Like an euill vessell which turnes sweete licour to sowernes; so when thy grace fals vpon me, my wretched constitution makes it become fiercenesse. Thus would he exercise his eloquence, when she could not heare him, and be dumbe-striken, when her presence gaue him fit occasion of speaking: so that his witte could finde out no other refuge, but the comfort and counsell of his mother, desiring her (whose thoughts were vnperplexed) to vse for his sake the most preuailing manners of intercession.

CHAP. 5.

1 Suttle Cecropia visites sad Philoclea. 2 The shamelesse
    Aunt's shrewd temptations to loue and mariage: The mo-
    dest neeces maidenly resistance.

CEcropia seing her sonnes safetie depende thereon, (though her pride much
disdained the name of a desire) tooke the charge vpon her, not doubting the easie conquest of an vnexpert virgin, who had alreadie with subtiltie and impudencie begun to vndermine a monarchy. Therfore, waighing Philocleas resolutions by the counterpease of her own youthful thoughts, which she then called to minde, she doubted not at least to make Philoclea receiue the poyson distilled in sweete liquour, which she with little disguising had drunke vp thirstily. Therefore she went softly to Philocleas chamber, & peeping through the side of the doore, then being a little open, she sawe Philoclea sitting lowe vpon a cushion, in such a giuen-ouer manner, that one would haue thought, silence, solitarinesse, and melancholic were come there, vnder the ensigne of mishap, to conquere delight, and driue him from his naturall seate of beautie: her teares came dropping downe like rainein Sunshine, and she not taking heede to wipe the teares, they ranne downe vpon her cheekes, and lips, as vpon cherries which the dropping tree bedeweth. In the dressing of her haire and apparell, she might see neither a careful arte, nor an arte of carelesnesse, but euen left to a neglected chaunce, which yet coulde no more vnperfect her perfections, then a Die anie way cast, could loose his squarenesse.
Cecropia (stirred with no other pitie, but for her son) came in, and haling kindnesse into her countenance, What ayles this sweete Ladie, (said she) will you marre so good eyes with weeping? shall teares take away the beautie of that complexion, which the women of Arcadia wish for, and the men long after? Fie of this peeuish sadnesse; in sooth it is vntimely for your age. Looke vpon your owne bodie, and see whether it deserue to pine away with sorrow: see whether you will haue these hands (with that she tooke one of her hands and kissing it, looked vppon it as if she were enamoured with it) fade from their whitenesse, which makes one desire to touch them; & their softnesse, which rebounds againe a desire to looke on them, and become drie, leane and yellowe, and make euerie bodie woonder at the chaunge, and say, that sure you had vsed some arte before, which nowe you had left? for if the beauties had beene naturall, they woulde neuer so soone haue beene blemished. Take a glasse, and see whether these tears become your eies: although, I must co[n]fesse, those eies are able to make tears comely. Alas Madame (answered Philoclea) I know not whether my teares become mine eyes, but I am sure mine eies thus beteared, become my fortune. Your fortune (saide Cecropia) if she could see to attire herselfe, would put on her best raiments. For I see, and I see it with griefe, and (to tell you true) vnkindnes: you misconster euery thing, that only for your sake is attempted. You thinke you are offended, and are indeed defended: you esteeme your selfe a prisoner, and are in truth a mistres: you feare hate, and shall find loue. And truely, I had a thing to say to you, but it is no matter, since I find you are so obstinatly melancholy, as that you woo his felowship: I will spare my paines, and hold my peace: And so staied indeede, thinking Philoclea would haue had a female inquisitiuenesse of the matter. But she, who rather wished to vnknowe what she knewe, then to burden her hart with more hopeles knowledge, only desired her to haue pity of her, and if indeed she did meane her no hurt, then to grant her liberty: for else the very griefe & feare, would proue her vnappointed executioners. For that (said Cecropia) beleue me vpo[n] the faith of a kings daughter, you shall be free, so soone as your freedome may be free of mortal da[n]ger, being brought hither for no other cause, but to preuent such mischiefes as you know not of. But if you thinke indeed to winne me to haue care of you, euen as of mine owne daughter, then lend your eares vnto me, & let not your mind arme it self with a wilfulnesse to be flexible to nothing. But if I speake reason, let Reason haue his due reward, persuasion. Then sweet neece (said she) I pray you presuppose, that now, eue[n] in the midst of your agonies, which you paint vnto your selfe most horrible, wishing with sighes, & praying with vowes. for a soone & safe deliuerie. Imagin neece (I say) that some heauenly spirit should appeare vnto you, and bid you follow him through the doore, that goes into the garden, assuring you, that you should therby return to your deare mother, and what other delights soeuer your mind esteemes delights: would you (sweet neece) would you refuse to folow him, & say, that if he led you not through the chiefe gate, you would not enioy your ouer-desired liberty? Would you not drinke the wine you thirst for, without it were in such a glasse, as you especially fancied? tel me (deare neece:) but I wil answer for you, because I know your reason and will is such, as must needs conclude, that such nicenesse can no more be in you, to disgrace such a mind, then disgracefulnesse can haue any place in so faultles a beauty. Your wisdom would assuredly determin, how the marke were hit, not whether the bow were of Ewe or no, wherein you shot. If this be so, and thus sure (my deare neece) it is, then (I pray you) imagin, that I am that same good Angel, who grieuing in your griefe, and in truth not able to suffer, that bitter sighs should be sent foorth with so sweete a breath, am come to lead you, not only to your desired, and imagined happines, but to a true and essentiall happines; not only to liberty, but to libertie with commandement. The way I will shew you (which if it be not the gate builded hitherto in your priuate choise, yet shall it be a doore to bring you through a garden of pleasures, as sweet as this life can bring foorth; nay rather, which makes this life to be a life: (My son,) let it be no blemish to him that I name him my son, who was your fathers own nephew: for you know I am no smal kings daughter,) my sonne (I say) farre passing the neernesse of his kinred, with the neernesse of good-will, and striuing to match your matchlesse beautie with a matchlesse affection, doth by me present vnto you the full enioying of your liberty, so as with this gift you wil accept a greater, which is, this castell, with all the rest which you knowe he hath, in honorable quantitie; and will confirme his gift, and your receipt of both, with accepting him to be yours. I might say much both for the person and the matter; but who will crie out the Sun shines? It is so manifest a profit vnto you, as the meanest iudgement must straight apprehend it: so farre is it from the sharpenesse of yours, therof to be ignorant. Therfore (sweet neece) let your gratefulnes be my intercession, & your gentlenesse my eloquence, and let me cary comfort to a hart which greatly needs it. Philoclea looked vpon her, & cast downe her eie again. Aunt (said she) I would I could be so much a mistres of my owne mind, as to yeelde to my cousins vertuous request: for so I construe of it. But my hart is already set (and staying a while on that word, she brought foorth afterwards) to lead a virgins life to my death: for such a vow I haue in my selfe deuoutly made. The heauens preuent such a mischiefe (said Cecropia.) A vowe, quoth you? no, no, my deere neece, Nature, when you were first borne, vowed you a woma[n], & as she made you child of a mother, so to do your best to be mother of a child: she gaue you beautie to moue loue; she gaue you wit to know loue; she gaue you an excelle[n]t body to reward loue: which kind of liberall rewarding is crowned with vnspeakable felicitie. For this, as it bindeth the receiuer, so it makes happy the bestower: this doth not impouerish, but enrich the giuer. O the sweet name of a mother: O the co[m]fort of co[m]forts, to see your childre[n] grow vp, in who[m] you are (as it were) eternized: if you could conceiue what a hart-tickling ioy it is to see your own litle ones, with awfull loue come running to your lap, and like litle models of your selfe, still cary you about them, you would thinke vnkindnes in your own thoughts, that euer they did rebell against the mean vnto it. But percha[n]ce I set this blessednes before your eies, as Captains do victorie before their souldiers, to which they might come through many paines, grieues & dangers. No, I am co[n]tent you shrinke from this my counsel, if the way to come vnto it, be not most of all pleasant. I know not (answered the sweet Philoclea, fearing least silence would offend her sullennes) what contentment you speake of: but I am sure the best you can make of it, (which is mariage) is a burdenous yoke. Ah, deer neece (said Cecropia) how much you are deceiued? A yoke indeed we all beare, laid vpo[n] vs in our creation, which by mariage is not increased, but thus farre eased, that you haue a yoke-fellow to help to draw through the cloddy cumbers of this world. O widow-nights, beare witnes with me of the difference. How often alas do I embrace the orfan-side of my bed, which was wo[n]t to be imprinted by the body of my deare husband, & with teares acknowledge, that I now enioy such a liberty as the banished ma[n] hath; who may, if he list, wa[n]der ouer the world, but is euer restrained fro[m] his most delightful home? that I haue now such a liberty as the seele[y] dou hath, which being first depriued of eies, is then by the falconer cast off? For beleue me, neece, beleue me, mans experie[n]ce is woma[n]s best eie-sight. Haue you euer seene a pure Rosewater kept in a christal glas; how fine it lokes, how sweet it smels, while that beautifull glasse imprisons it? Breake the prison, and let the water take his owne course, doth it not imbrace dust, and loose all his former sweetenesse, and fairenesse? Truly so are we, if we haue not the stay, rather then the restraint of Cristalline mariage. My hart meltes to thinke of the sweete comfortes, I in that happie time receiued, when I had neuer cause to care, but the care was doubled: whe[n] I neuer reioiced, but that I saw my ioy shine in anothers eies. What shall I say of the free delight, which the hart might embrace, without the accusing of the inward conscience, or feare of outward shame? and is a solitary life as good as this? then can one string make as good musicke as a consort: the[n] can one colour set forth a beautie. But it may be, the generall consideration of mariage dooth not so much mislike you, as the applying of it to him. He is my sone, I must confesse, I see him with a mothers eyes, which if they doo not much deceiue me, he is no such one, ouer whom Contempt may make any iust chalenge. He is comely, he is noble, he is rich; but that which in it selfe should carie all comelinesse, nobilitie, and riches, he loues you; and he loues you, who is beloued of others. Driue not away his affection (sweete Ladie) and make no other Ladie hereafter proudly bragge, that she hath robbed you of so faithfull and notable a seruant. Philoclea heard some pieces of her speches, no otherwise then one doth when a tedious pratler co[m]bers the hearing of a delightful musicke. For her thoughts had left her eares in that captiuitie, and conueied themselues to behold (with such eies as imagination could lend the[m]) the estate of her Zelmane: for who how wel she thought many of those sayings might haue ben vsed with a farre more gratefull acceptation. Therefore listing not to dispute in a matter whereof her selfe was resolute, and desired not to enforme the other, she onely told her, that whilest she was so captiued, she could not conceiue of any such persuasions (though neuer so reasonable) any otherwise, then as constraints: and as constraints must needs eue[n] in nature abhor the[m], which at her libertie, in their owne force of reason, might more preuaile with her: and so faine would haue returned the strength of Cecropias perswasions, to haue procured freedome.

CHAP.  6.

1 Fresh motiues to Philoclea. 2 Cecropias new fetch to at-
Pamela. 3 Pamelas prayer, 4 and Sainct-like gra-
    ces in it.
5 Her Auntes fruiteles argumentes.

BVt   neither her wittie wordes in an enemie, nor those wordes, made more then
eloquent with passing through such lips, could preuaile in Cecropia, no more then her perswasions coulde winne Philoclea to disauowe her former vowe, or to leaue the prisoner Zelmane, for the commaunding Amphialus. So that both sides being desirous, and neither graunters, they brake of conference. Cecropiasucking vp more and more spite out of her deniall, which yet for her sonnes sake, she disguised with a visarde of kindnes, leauing no office vnperfourmed, which might either witnes, or endeare her sonnes affection. Whatsoeuer could be imagined likely to please her, was with liberall diligence perfourmed: Musickes at her windowe, & especially such Musickes, as might (with dolefull embassage) call the mind to thinke of sorow, and thinke of it with sweetnes; with ditties so sensiblie expressing Amphialus case, that euerie worde seemed to be but a diuersifying of the name of Amphialus. Daily presents, as it were oblations, to pacific an angrie Deitie, sent vnto her: wherein, if the workmanship of the forme, had striuen with the sumptuousnes of the matter, as much did the inuention in the application, contende to haue the chiefe excellencie: for they were as so many stories of his disgraces, & her perfections; where the richnes did inuite the eyes, the fashion did entertaine the eyes, and the deuice did teach the eyes the present miserie of the presenter himselfe, awefully seruiceable: which was the more notable, as his authoritie was manifest. And for the bondage wherein she liued, all meanes vsed to make knowen, that if it were a bondage, it was a bondage onely knitte in loue-knots. But in harte alreadie vnderstanding no language but one, the Musicke wrought indeede a dolefulnes, but it was a dolefulnes to be in his power: the dittie intended for Amphialus, she translated to Zelmane: the presents seemed so many tedious clogs of a thralled obligation: and his seruice, the more diligent it was, the more it did exprobrate (as she thought) vnto her, her vnworthie estate: that euen he that did her seruice, had authentic of commanding her, onely construing her seruitude in his own nature, esteeming it a right, and a right bitter seruitude: so that all their shots (how well soeuer leuelled) being carried awrie from the marke, by the storme of her mislike, the Prince Amphialus affectionately languished, & Cecropia spitefullie cunning, disdained at the barrennes of their successe.
Which willingly Cecropia woulde haue reuenged, but that she sawe, her hurte could not be diuided from her sonnes mischiefe: wherefore, she bethought her self to attempt Pamela, whose beautie being equall, she hoped, if she might be woon, that her sonnes thoughtes would rather rest on a beautifull gratefulnes, then still be tormented with a disdaining beautie. Wherfore, giuing new courage to her wicked inuentions, and vsing the more industry, because she had mist in this, & taking euen precepts of preuailing in Pamela, by her fayling in Philoclea, she went to her chamber, & (according to her own vngratious method of a subtile proceeding) stood listning at the dore, because that out of the circustance of her present behauiour, there might kindly arise a fitte beginning of her intended discourse.
And so she might perceaue that Pamela did walke vp and down, full of deep (though patient) thoughts. For her look and countenance was setled, her pace soft, and almost still of one measure, without any passionate gesture, or violent motion: till at length (as it were) awaking, & strengthning her selfe, Well (said she) yet this is the best, & of this I am sure, that how soeuer they wro[n]g me, they cannot ouermaster God. No darknes blinds his eyes, no Iayle barres him out. To whome then else should I flie, but to him for succoure? And therewith kneeling down, eue[n] in the same place where she stood, she thus said. O all-seeing Light, and eternal Life of all things, to whom nothing is either so great, that it may resist; or so small, that it is contemned: looke vpon my miserie with thine eye of mercie, and let thine infinite power vouchsafe to limite out some proportion of deliuerance vnto me, as to thee shall seem most conuenient. Let not iniurie, ô Lord, triumphe ouer me, and let my faultes by thy handes be corrected, and make not mine vniuste enemie the minister of thy Iustice. But yet, my God, if in thy wisdome, this be the aptest chastizement for my inexcusable follie; if this low bondage be fittest for my ouer-hie desires; if the pride of my not-inough humble harte, be thus to be broken, O Lord, I yeeld vnto thy will, and ioyfully embrace what sorrow thou wilt haue me suffer. Onely thus much let me craue of thee, (let my crauing, ô Lord, be accepted of thee, since euen that proceedes from thee) let me craue, euen by the noblest title, which in my greatest affliction I may giue my selfe, that I am thy creature, & by thy goodnes (which is thy self) that thou wilt suffer some beame of thy Maiestie so to shine into my mind, that it may still depende confidently vpon thee. Let calamitie be the exercise, but not the ouerthrowe of my vertue: let their power preuaile, but preuaile not to destruction: let my greatnes be their praie: let my paine be the sweetnes of their reuenge: let them (if so it seem good vnto thee) vexe me with more and more punishment. But, ô Lord, let neuer their wickednes haue such a hand, but that I may carie a pure minde in a pure bodie. (And pausing a while) And ô most gracious Lord (said she) what euer become of me, preserue the vertuous Musidorus.
The other parte Cecropia might well heare, but this latter prayer for Musidorus, her hart helde it, as so iewel-like a treasure, that it would scarce trust her owne lippes withall. But this prayer, sent to heauen, from so heauenly a creature, with such a feruent grace, as if Deuotion had borowed her bodie, to make of it self a most beautifull representation; with her eyes so lifted to the skie-ward, that one would haue thought they had begunne to flie thetherward, to take their place amo[n]g their felow stars; her naked hands raising vp their whole length, & as it were kissing one another, as if the right had bene the picture of Zeale, and the left, of Humblenesse, which both vnited themselues to make their suites more acceptable. Lastly, all her senses being rather tokens then instruments of her inwarde motions, altogether had so straunge a working power, that euen the harde-harted wickednesse of Cecropia, if it founde not a loue of that goodnes, yet it felt an abashment at that goodnes; & if she had not a kindly remorse, yet had she an yrksome accusation of her owne naughtines, so that she was put fro[m] the biasse of her fore-intended lesson. For well she found there was no way at that time to take that mind, but with some, at lest, image of Vertue, and what the figure thereof was her hart knew not.
Yet did she prodigally spende her uttermost eloquence, leauing no argument vnproued, which might with any force inuade her excellent iudgement: the iustnes of the request being, but for marriage; the worthinesse of the suiter: then her owne present fortune, if she would not onely haue amendment, but felicitie: besides falsely making her belieue, that her sister would thinke her selfe happie, if now she might haue his loue which before she contemned: and obliquely touching, what daunger it should be for her, if her sonne should accept Philoclea in marriage, and so match the next heire apparant, she being in his powre: yet plentifully periuring, how extreamely her sonne loued her, and excusing the little shewes he made of it, with the dutifull respect he bare vnto her, & taking vpo[n] her selfe that she restrayned him, since she found she could set no limits to his passions. And as she did to Philoclea, so did she to her, with the tribute of gifts, seeke to bring her minde into seruitude: and all other meanes, that might either establish a beholdingnesse, or at the lest awake a kindnes; doing it so, as by reason of their imprisonment, one sister knew not how the other was wooed; but each might thinke, that onely she was sought. But if Philoclea with sweete and humble dealing did auoid their assaults, she with the Maiestie of Vertue did beate them of.

CHAP.   7.

1 An Allarme to the Amphialians. 2 Base cowardise in
    Clinias; 3 braue courage imaged in Amphialus.
    4 His onset with the death of two friendes his foes.
    5 The horrour of Mars-his game. 6 Two deaths taken
    where they were not lookt for, the third delayed where
    it was expected.

BVt  this day their speach  was the sooner broken of, by reason that he, who stood
as watche vpon the top of the keepe, did not onely see a great dust arise (which the earth sent vp, as if it would striue to haue clowdes as well as the aire) but might spie sometimes, especially when the dust (wherein the naked winde did apparaile it self) was caried aside fro[m] them, the shining of armour, like flashing of lightning, wherwith the clowdes did seeme to be with child; which the Sunne guilding with his beames, it gaue a sight delightfull to any, but to them that were to abide the terrour. But the watch gaue a quick Alarum to the souldiers within, whome practise already hauing prepared, began each, with vnabashed hartes, or at lest countenaunces, to looke to their charge, or obedience, which was allotted vnto them.
    Onely Clinias and Amphialus did exceed the bounds of: mediocrity: the one in his naturall
coldnesse of cowardise, the other in heate of courage. For Clinias (who was bold onely in busie whisperings, and euen in that whisperingnes rather indeed confident in his cunning, that it should not be bewraied, then any way bolde, if euer it should be bewrayed) now that the enemy gaue a dreadful aspect vnto the castle, his eyes saw no terror, nor eare heard any martiall sounde, but that they multiplied the hideousnesse of it to his mated minde. Before their comming he had many times felt a dreadfull expectation, but yet his minde (that was willing to ease it selfe of the burden of feare) did somtimes feine vnto it selfe possibility of let; as the death of Basilius, the discord of the nobility, & (when other cause fayled him) the nature of chaunce serued as a cause vnto him: and sometimes the hearing other men speake valiantly, and the quietnesse of his vnassailed senses, would make himselfe beleue, that he durst do something. But now, that present daunger did display it selfe vnto his eye, & that a daungerous dooing must be the onely meane to preue[n]t the da[n]ger of suffering, one that had marked him would haue iudged, that his eies would haue run into him, & his soule out of him; so vnkindly did either take a sent of danger. He thought the lake was too shallow, & the walles too thin: he misdouted ech mans treason, and coniectured euery possibilitie of misfortune, not onely fore-casting likely perils, but such as all the planets together could scarce haue conspired: & already began to arme him selfe, though it was determined he should tarrie within doores; and while he armed himselfe, imagined in what part of the vault he might hide himselfe if the enimies wonne the castle. Desirous he was that euery body should do valiantly, but himselfe; and therefore was afraid to shew his feare, but for very feare would haue hid his feare; lest it should disco[m]fort others: but the more he sought to disguize it, the more the vnsutablenes of a weake broke[n] voice to high braue wordes, and of a pale shaking countenance to a gesture of animating, did discouer him.
But quite contrarily Amphialus, who before the enimies came was carefull, prouidently diligent, and not somtimes without doubting of the issue; now the nearer danger approched (like the light of a glow-worme) the lesse still it seemed: and now his courage began to boile in choler, and with such impatience to desire to powre out both vpo[n] the enimie, that he issued presently into certaine boates he had of purpose, and carying with him some choise men, went to the fortresse he had vpo[n] the edge of the lake, which he thought would be the first thing, that the enimy would attempt; because it was a passage, which co[m]manding all that side [of] that country, & being lost would stop victuall, or other supply, that might be brought into the castle: & in that fortresse hauing some force of horsemen, he issued out with two hundred horse, & fiue hu[n]dred footmen, embushed his footme[n] in the falling of a hill, which was ouershadowed with a wood, he with his horsme[n] went a quarter of a mile further; aside ha[n]d of which he might perceaue the many troupes of the enimie, who came but to take view where best to encampe themselues.
But as if the sight of the enimie had bene a Magnes stone to his courage he could not co[n]taine himself, but shewing his face to the enimie, & his backe to his souldiers, used that action, as his onely oration, both of denouncing warre to the one, and persuading help of the other. Who faithfully folowing an example of such authoritie, they made the earth to grone vnder their furious burden, and the enimies to begin to be angry with the[m], whom in particular they knew not. Among whom there was a young man, youngest brother to Philanax, whose face as yet did not bewray his sex, with so much as shew of haire; of a minde hauing no limits of hope, nor knowing why to feare; full of iollitie in conuersation, and lately growne a Louer. His name was Agenor, of all that armie the most beautifull: who hauing ridden in sportfull conuersatio[n] among the foremost, all armed sauing that his beauer was vp, to haue his breath in more freedome, seing Amphialus come a pretty way before his co[m]pany, neither staying the com[m]aundement of the captaine, nor recking whether his face were armed, or no, set spurs to his horse, & with youthfull brauery casting his staffe about his head, put it then in his rest, as carefull of comely carying it, as if the marke had ben but a ring, & the lookers on Ladies. But Amphialus launce was already come to the last of his descending line, and began to make the full point of death against the head of this young Gentleman, when Amphialus perceyuing his youth and beautie, Compassion so rebated the edge of Choller, that he spared that faire nakednesse, and let his staffe fall to Agenors vamplat: so as both with braue breaking should hurtleslie haue perfourmed that match, but that the pittilesse launce of Amphialus (angry with being broken) with an vnlucky counterbuffe full of vnsparing splinters, lighted vpon that face farre fitter for the combats of Venus; geuing not onely a suddaine, but a fowle death, leauing scarsely any tokens of his former beautie: but his ha[n]ds abandoning the reynes, and his thighes the saddle, he fell sidewarde from the horse. Which sight comming to Leontius, a deere friende of his, who in vayne had lamentably cried vnto him to stay, when he saw him beginne his careere, it was harde to say, whether pittie of the one, or reuenge of the other, helde as then the soueraigntie in his passions. But while he directed his eye to his friende, and his hande to his enimie, so wrongly-consorted a power could not resist the ready minded force of Amphialus: who perceyuing his il-directed direction against him, so paide him his debt before it was lent, that he also fell to the earth, onely happy that one place, & one time, did finish both their loues and liues together.
But by this time there had bene a furious meeting of either side: where after the terrible salutation of warlike noyse, the shaking of handes was with sharpe weapons: some launces according to the mettall they mett, and skill of the guider, did staine themselues in bloud; some flew vp in pieces, as if they would threaten heauen, because they fayled on earth. But their office was quickly inherited, either by (the Prince of weapons) the sworde, or by some heauy mase, or biting axe; which hunting still the weakest chase, sought euer to light there, where smallest resista[n]ce might worse preuent mischief. The clashing of armour, and crushing of staues; the iustling of bodies, the resounding of blowes, was the first part of that ill-agreeing musicke, which was beautified with the griselinesse of wounds, the rising of dust, the hideous falles, and grones of the dying. The verie horses angrie in their maisters anger, with loue and obedience brought foorth the effects of hate and resistance, and with minds of seruitude, did as if they affected glorie. Some lay deade vnder their dead maisters, whome vnknightly wounds had vniustly punished for a faithfull dutie. Some lay vppon their Lordes by like accidents, and in death had the honour to be borne by them, who in life they had borne. Some hauing lost their commaunding burthens, ranne scattered about the field, abashed with the madnesse of man-kinde. The earth it selfe (woont to be a buriall of men) was nowe (as it were) buried with men: so was the face thereof hidden with deade bodies, to whome Death had come masked in diuerse manners. In one place lay disinherited heades, dispossessed of their naturall seignories: in an other, whole bodies to see to, but that their harts wont to be bound all ouer so close, were nowe with deadly violence opened: in others, fowler deaths had ouglily displayed their trayling guttes. There lay armes, whose fingers yet mooued, as if they woulde feele for him that made them feele: and legges, which contrarie to common nature, by being discharged of their burthen, were growne heauier. But no sworde payed so large a tribute of soules to the eternall Kingdome, as that of Amphialus, who like a Tigre, from whome a companie of Woolues did seeke to rauish a newe gotten pray; so he (remembring they came to take away Philoclea) did labour to make valure, strength, hatred, and choller to answere the proportion of his loue, which was infinit.
There died of his handes the olde knight Æschylus, who though by yeares might well haue beene allowed to use rather the exercise of wisedome, then of courage; yet hauing a lustie bodie & a merrie hart, he euer tooke the summons of Time in iest, or else it had so creepingly stollen vpon him, that he had heard scarcely the noise of his feete, and therefore was as fresh in apparell, and as forwarde in enterprises, as a farre yonger man: but nothing made him bolder, then a certaine prophecie had beene tolde him, that he shoulde die in the armes of his sonne, and therefore feared the lesse the anne of an enemie. But nowe, when Amphialus sworde was passed through his throate, he thought himselfe abused; but that before he died, his sonne, indeede, seeing his father beginne to fall, helde him vp in his armes, till a pitilesse souldier of the other side, with a mace brained him, making father and sonne become twinnes in their neuer againe dying birth. As for Drialus, Memnon, Nisus and Policrates; the first had his eyes cut out so, as he could not see to bid the neare following death welcome: the seconde had met with the same Prophet that olde Æschylus had, and hauing founde manie of his speeches true, beleeued this to, that he should neuer be killed, but by his owne companions: and therefore no man was more valiant then he against an enemie, no man more suspicious of his friends: so as he seemed to sleepe in securitie, when he went to a battell, and to enter into a battaile, when he began to sleepe, such guards he would set about his person; yet mistrusting the verie guardes, that they would murther him. But nowe Amphialus helped to unriddle his doubts; for he ouerthrowing him from his horse, his owne companions comming with a fresh supplie, pressed him to death. Nisus grasping with Amphialus, was with a short dagger slaine. And for Policrates, while he shunned as much as he could, keeping onely his place for feare of punishment, Amphialus with a memorable blowe strake of his head, where, with the conuulsions of death setting his spurres to his horse, he gaue so braue a charge vpon the enemie, as it grewe a prouerbe, that Policrates was onely valiant, after his head was off. But no man escaped so well his handes as Phebilus did: for he hauing long loued Philoclea, though for the meannesse of his estate he neuer durst reueale it, nowe knowing Amphialus, setting the edge of a riuall vpon the sworde of an enemie, he helde strong fight with him. But Amphialus had alreadie in the daungerousest places disarmed him, and was lifting vp his sworde to sende him away from him, when he thinking indeede to die, O Philoclea (said he) yet this ioyes me, that I die for thy sake. The name of Philoclea first staied his sworde, and when he heard him out, though he abhorde him much worse then before, yet could he not vouchsafe him the honour of dying for Philoclea, but turned his sword another way, doing him no hurt for ouer-much hatred. But what good did that to poore Phebilus, if escaping a valiant hand, he was slaine by a base souldiour, who seeing him so disarmed, thrust him through?

CHAP.   8.

The Basilians reembattelled 1 first by Philanax, 2 then by the
    blacke Knight.
3 Ismenus slaine by Philanax. Phila-
    nax captiued by Amphialus. 4 The blacke Knights ex-
5 His encounter with Amphialus, parted by a
. 6 The Amphialians retrait, and departure of
    the blacke Knight.

THus with the well-followed valure of Amphialus were the other almost
ouerthrowne, when Philanax (who was the marshal of the army) came in, with newe force renuing the almost decayed courage of his souldiers. For, crying to them (and asking them whether their backes or their armes were better fighters) he himselfe thrust into the presse, and making force and furie waite vppon discretion and gouernement, he might seeme a braue Lion, who taught his yong Lionets, how in taking of a pray, to ioine courage with cunning. The[n] Fortune (as if she had made chases inow of the one side of that blooddy Teniscourt) went of the other side the line, making as many fall downe of Amphialus followers, as before had done of Philanax his; they loosing the ground, as fast as before they had woon it, only leauing them to keepe it, who had lost themselues in keeping it. Then those that had killed, inherited the lot of those that had bene killed; and cruel Death made the[m] lie quietly togither, who most in their liues had sought to disquiet ech other; and many of those first ouerthrowne, had the comfort to see the murtherers ouerrun them to Charons ferrie.
Codrus, Ctesiphon, and Milot lost their liues vpon Philanax-his sword: but no bodies case was more pitied, then of a yong esquire of Amphialus, called Ismenus, who neuer abandoning his maister, and making his tender age aspire to actes of the strongest manhoode, in this time that his side was put to the worst, and that Amphialus-his valure was the onely stay of them from deliuering themselues ouer to a shamefull flight, he sawe his masters horse killed vnder him. Whereupon, asking no aduise of no thought, but of faithfulnes and courage, he presently lighted from his owne horse, and with the helpe of some choise and faithfull seruants, gat his master vp. But in the multitude that came of either side, some to succour, some to saue Amphialus, he came vnder the hande of Philanax: and the youth perceyuing he was the man that did most hurt to his partie, (desirous eue[n] to change his life for glorie) strake at him, as he rode by him, and gaue him a hurt vpon the leg, that made Philanax turn towards him; but seing him so yo[n]g, & of a most louely presence, he rather toke pity of him; meaning to make him prisoner, & the[n] to giue him to his brother Agenor to be his companion, because they were not much vnlike, neither in yeeres, nor countenance. But as he loked down vpon him with that thought, he spied wher his brother lay dead, & his friend Leontius by him, eue[n] almost vnder the squiers feet. The[n] soroing not only his owne sorow, but the past-co[m]fort sorow, which he fore-knew his mother would take, (who with many teares, & misgiuing sighs had suffred him to go with his elder brother Philanax) blotted out all figures of pitie out of his minde, and putting foorth his horse (while Ismenus doubled two or three more valiant, then well set blowes) saying to himselfe, Let other mothers bewaile an vntimely death as well as mine; he thrust him through. And the boy fearce though beautiful; & beautifull, though dying, not able to keepe his failing feete, fel downe to the earth, which he bit for anger, repining at his Fortune, and as long as he could resisting Death, which might seeme vnwilling to; so long he was in taking away his yong struggling soule.
Philanax himselfe could haue wished the blow vngiuen, when he saw him fall like a faire apple, which some vncourteous bodie (breaking his bowe) should throwe downe before it were ripe. But the case of his brother made him forget both that, and himselfe: so as ouerhastily pressing vppon the retiring enemies, he was (ere he was aware) further engaged then his owne souldiers could relieue him; were being ouerthrowne by Amphialus, Amphialus glad of him, kept head aginst his enemies while some of his men caried away Philanax.
    But Philanax-his men as if with the losse of Philanax they; had lost the fountaine of their valure,
had  their  courages so dried vp in feare; that they began to set honour at their backes, and to vse the vertue of pacience in an vntimely time:  when into the presse comes (as hard as his horse, more afraied of the spurre, then the sword could carie him) a Knight in armor as darke as blacknes coulde make it, followed by none, and adorned by nothing; so far without authoritie that he was without knowledge. But vertue quickly made him knowne, and admiration bred him such authoritie, that though they of whose side he came knew him not, yet they all knew it was fitte to obey him: and while he was followed by the valiantest, he made way for the vilest. For, taking part with the besiegers, he made the Amphialians bloud serue for a caparison to his horse, and a decking to his armour. His arme no oftner gaue blowes, then the blowes gaue wounds, then the wounds gaue deathes: so terrible was his force, and yet was his quicknes more forcible then his force, and his iudgement more quick then his quicknes. For though the sword went faster then eyesight could follow it, yet his owne iudgement went still before it. There died of his hand, Sarpedon, Plistonax, Strophilus, and Hippolitus, men of great proofe in warres, and who had that day undertaken the guard of Amphialus. But while they sought to saue him, they lost the fortresses that Nature had placed them in. The[n] slew he Megalus, who was a little before proude, to see himselfe stained in the bloud of his enemies: but when his owne bloud came to be married to theirs, he then felt, that

Crueltie dooth neuer enioy a good cheape glorie. After him sent he Palemon, who had that daye vowed (with foolish brauerie) to be the death of tenne: and nine already he had killed, and was carefull to performe his (almost performed) vowe, when the Blacke Knight helpt him to make vp the tenth himselfe.
    And now the often-changing Fortune began also to chaunge the hewe of the battailes. For at the first, though it were terrible, yet Terror was deckt so brauelie with rich furniture, guilte swords, shining armours, pleasant pensils, that the eye with delight had scarce leasure to be afraide: But now all uniuersally defiled with dust, bloud, broken armours, mangled bodies, tooke away the maske, and sette foorth Horror in his owne horrible manner. But neither could danger be dreadfull to Amphialus-his undismayable courage, nor yet seeme ougly to him, whose truely-affected minde, did still paint it ouer with the beautie of Philoclea. And therefore he, rather enflamed then troubled with the encrease of dangers, and glad to finde a woorthie subiect to exercise his courage, sought out this newe Knight, whom he might easilie finde: for he, like a wanton rich man, that throwes down his neighbours houses, to make himselfe the better prospecte, so had his sworde made him so spatious a roome, that Amphialus had more cause to wonder at the finding, then labour for the seeking: which, if it stirred hate in him, to see how much harme he did to the one side, it prouoked as much æmulation in him, to perceaue how much good he did to the other side. Therefore, they approaching one to the other, as in two beautifull folkes, Loue naturally stirres a desire of ioyning, so in their two courages Hate stirred a desire of triall. Then began there a combatte betweene them, worthy to haue had more large listes, and more quiet beholders: for with the spurre of Courage, and the bitte of Respect, each so guided himselfe, that one might well see, the desire to ouercome, made them not forget how to ouercome: in such time & proportion they did employ their blowes, that none of Ceres seruaunts coulde more cunningly place his flaile: while the lefte foote spurre set forwarde his owne horse, the right sette backward the contrarie horse, euen sometimes by the advauntage of the enemies legge, while the lefte hande (like him that helde the Sterne) guyded the horses obedient courage: All done in such order, that it might seeme, the minde was a right Prince indeede, who sent wise and diligent Lieutenants into each of those well gouerned partes. But the more they fought, the more they desired to fight; and the more they smarted, the lesse they felte the smarte: and now were like to make a quicke proofe, to whom Fortune or Valour woulde seeme most friendly, when in comes an olde Gouernour of Amphialus; alwayes a good Knight, and carefull of his charge; who giuing a sore wounde to the blacke Knights thigh, while he thought not of him, with an other blowe slewe his horse vnder him. Amphialus cried to him, that he dishonoured him: You say well (answered the olde Knight) to stande now like a priuate souldier, setting your credite vpon particular fighting, while you may see Basilius with all his hoste, is getting betweene you and your towne.
    He looked that way, and found that true indeede, that the enemie was beginning to encompasse him about, and stoppe his returne: and therefore causing the retreite to be sounded, his Gouernour ledde his men homewarde, while he kepte him selfe still hindmoste, as if hee had stoode at the gate of a sluse, to lette the streame goe, with such proportion, as shoulde seeme good vnto him: and with so manfull discretion perfourmed it, that (though with losse of many of his men) he returned in him selfe safe, and content, that his enemies had felte, how sharpe the sworde coulde bite of Philocleas Louer. The other partie being sorie for the losse of Philanax, was yet sorrier when the blacke Knight could not be found. For he hauing gotten on a horse, whom his dying master had bequeathed to the world, finding himselfe sore hurt, and not desirous to be knowen, had in the time of the enemies retiring, retired away also: his thigh not bleeding bloud so fast, as his harte bledde reuenge. But Basilius hauing attempted in vaine to barre the safe returne of Amphialus, encamped himselfe as strongly as he could, while he (to his grief) might heare the ioy was made in the towne by his owne subiectes, that he had that day sped no better. For Amphialus (being well beloued of that people) when they sawe him not vanquished, they esteemed him as victorious, his youth setting a flourishing shew vpon his worthinesse, and his great nobilitie ennobling his dangers.

CHAP.   9.

1 The Loue-diuining dreame of Amphialus song to Philo-
clea. 2 Philanax his captiuitie, and deaths-doome, 3 for
Philocleas sake turnde to life and libertie. 4 His loyall ans-
were of his Lords intents.
5 Cecropias artes to perswade
the sisters.

BVt the first thing Amphialus did, being returned, was to visite Philoclea, and first presuming to cause his dreame to be song vnto her (which he had seen the night before he fell in loue with her) making a fine boy he had, accorde a prettie dolefulnes vnto it. The song was this.

NOw was our heauenly vaulte depriued of the light   

With Sunnes depart: and now the darkenes of the night
 Did light those beamye stars which greater light did darke:
Now each thing that enioy'd that firie quickning sparke
(Which life is cald) were mou'd their spirits to repose,
And wanting vse of eyes their eyes began to close:
A silence sweet each where with one consent embraste
(A musique sweet to one in carefull musing plaste)
And mother Earth, now clad in mourning weeds, did breath
A dull desire to kisse the image of our death:
When I, disgraced wretch, not wretched then, did giue
My senses such reliefe, as they which quiet liue,
Whose braines broile not in woes, nor brests with beatings ake,
With natures praise are wont in safest home to take.
Far from my thoughts was ought, whereto their minds aspire,
Who vnder courtly pompes doo hatch a base desire.
Free all my powers were from those captiuing snares,
Which heau'nly purest gifts defile in muddy cares.
Ne could my soule it selfe accuse of such a faulte,
As tender conscience might with furious panges assaulte.
But like the feeble flower (whose stalke cannot sustaine
His weighty top) his top doth downeward drooping leane:
Or as the silly birde in well acquainted nest
Doth hide his head with cares but onely how to rest:
So I in simple course, and vnentangled minde
Did suffer drousie lids mine eyes then chare to blinde;
And laying downe my head, did natures rule obserue,
Which senses vp doth shut the senses to preserue.
They first their vse forgot, then fancies lost their force;
Till deadly sleepe at length possest my liuing coarse.
A liuing coarse I lay: but ah, my wakefull minde
(Which made of heau'nly stuffe no mortal chauge doth blind)
Flew vp with freer wings of fleshly bondage free;
And hauing plaste my thoughts, my thoughts thus placed me.
Me thought, nay sure I was, I was in fairest wood
Samothea lande; a lande, which whilom stood
An honour to the world, while Honour was their ende,
And while their line of yeares they did in vertue spende.
But there I was, and there my calmie thoughts I fedd
On Natures sweet repast, as healthfull senses ledd.
Her giftes my study was, her beauties were my sporte:
My worke her workes to know, her dwelling my resorte.
Those lampes of heau'nly fire to fixed motion bound,
The euer-turning spheares, the neuer-mouing ground;
What essence destinie hath; if fortune be or no;
Whence our immortall soules to mortall earth doo flowe:
What life it is, and how that all these liues doo gather.
With outward makers force, or like an inward father.
Such thoughts, me thought, I thought, and straind my single mind
Then void of neerer cares, the depth of things to find.
When lo with hugest noise (such noise a tower makes
When it blowne downe with winde a fall of ruine takes)
(Or such a noise it was, as highest thunders sende,
Or canons thunder-like, all shot togither, lende)
The Moone a sunder rent; whereout with sodaine fall
(More swift then falcons stoops to feeding Falconers call)
There came a chariot faire by doues and sparrowes guided:
Whose stormelike course staid not till hard by me it bided.
I wretch astonisht was, and thought the deathfull doome
Of heauen, of earth, of hell, of time and place was come.
But streight there issued forth two Ladies (Ladies sure
They seemd to me) on whom did waite a Virgin pure:
Straunge were the Ladies weeds;  yet more vnfit then strange.
The first with cloth's tuckt vp as Nymphes in woods do range;
Tuckt vp euen with the knees, with bowe and arrowes prest:
Her right arme naked was, discouered was her brest.
But heauy was her pace, and such a meagre cheere,
As little hunting minde (God knowes) did there appeere.
The other had with arte (more then our women knowe,
As stuffe meant for the sale set out to glaring showe)
A wanton womans face, and with curld knots had twinde
Her haire, which by the helpe of painters cunning, shinde.
When I such guests did see come out of such a house,
The mountaines great with childe I thought brought foorth a mouse.
But walking forth, the first thus to the second saide,

Venus come on: said she, Diane you are obaide.
Those names abasht me much, whe
[n] those great names I hard:
Although their fame (me seemd) from truth had greatly iard.
As I thus musing stood
, Diana cald to her
The waiting Nymphe, a Nyrnphe that did excell as farr
All things that earst I sawe, as orient pearles exceed,
That which their mother hight, or els their silly seed.
Indeed a perfect hewe, indeed a sweet consent
Of all those Graces giftes the heauens haue euer lent.
And so she was attirde, as one that did not prize
Too much her peerles parts, nor yet could them despise.
But cald, she came apace; a pace wherein did moue
The bande of beauties all, the little world of Loue.
And bending bumbled eyes (ô eyes the Sunne of sight)
She waited mistresse will: who thus disclosd her spright.
t Mira mine (quoth she) the pleasure of my minde,
In whom of all my rules the perfect proofe I finde,
To onely thee thou seest we graunt this speciall grace
Vs to attend, in this most priuate time and place,
Be silent therefore now, and so be silent still
Of that thou seest: close vp in secrete knot thy will.
She answered was with looke, and well perform'd behest:
Mira admirde: her shape sonke in my brest.
But thus with irefull eyes, and face that shooke with spite

Diana did begin. What mou'd me to inuite
Your presence (sister deare) first to my Moony spheare,
And hither now, vouchsafe to take with willing eare.
I know full well you know, what discord long hath raign'd
Betwixt vs two; how much that discord foule hath stain'd
Both our estates, while each the other did depraue,
Proofe speakes too much to vs that feeling triall haue.
Our names are quite forgot, our temples are defaced:
Our offrings spoil'd, our priest from priesthood are displaced
Is this the fruite of strife? those thousand churches hie,
Those thousand altars faire now in the dust to lie?
In mortall mindes our mindes but planets names preserue:
No knees once bowed, forsooth, for them they say we serue.
Are we their seruants growne? no doubt a noble staye:
Celestiall powers to wormes,
Ioues children serue to claye.
But such they say we be: this praise our discord bred,
While we for mutuall spight a striuing passion fed.
But let vs wiser be; and what foule discorde brake,
So much more strong againe let fastest concorde make.
Our yeares doo it require: you see we both doo feele
The weakning worke of Times for euer-whirling wheele.
Although we be diuine, our grandsire
Saturne is
With ages force decayed, yet once the heauen was his.
And now before we seeke by wise
Apollos skill
Our young yeares to renew (for so he saith he will)
Let vs a perfect peace betweene vs two resolue:
Which lest the ruinous want of gouernment dissolue;
Let one the Princesse be, to her the other yeeld:
For vaine equalitie is but contentions field.
And let her haue the giftes that should in both remaine:
In her let beautie both, and chastnesse fully raigne.
So as if I preuaile, you giue your giftes to me:
If you, on you I lay what in my office be.
Now resteth onely this, which of vs two is she,
"To whom precedence shall of both accorded be.
For that (so that you like) hereby doth lie a youth
(She beckned vnto me) as yet of spotlesse truth,
Who may this doubt discerne: for better, witt, then lot
Becommeth vs: in vs fortune determines not.
This crowne of amber faire (an amber crowne she held)
To worthiest let him giue, when both he hath beheld:
And be it as he saith
. Venus was glad to heare
Such proffer made, which she well showd with smiling cheere.
As though she were the same, as when by
Paris doome
She had chiefe Goddesses in beautie ouercome.
And smirkly thus gan say. I neuer sought debate

Diana deare; my minde to loue and not to hate
Was euer apt: but you my pastimes did despise.
I neuer spited you, but thought you ouerwise.
Now kindnesse profred is, none kinder is then I:
And so most ready am this meane of peace to trie.
And let him be our iudge: the lad doth please me well.
Thus both did come to me, and both began to tell
(For both togither spake, each loth to be behinde)
That they by solemne oth their Deities would binde
To stand vnto my will: their will they made me know.
I that was first agast, when first I saw their showe:
Now bolder waxt, waxt prowde, that I such sway must beare:
For neere acquaintance dooth diminish reuerent feare.
And hauing bound them fast by
Styx, they should obaye
To all what I decreed, did thus my verdict saye.
How ill both you can rule, well hath your discord taught:
Ne yet for ought I see, your beauties merite ought.
To yonder Nymphe therefore (to
Mira I did point)
The crowne aboue you both for euer I appoint.
I would haue spoken out: but out they both did crie;
Fie, fie, what haue we done? vngodly rebell fie.
But now we needs must yeelde, to that our othes require.
Yet thou shalt not go free (quoth
Venus) such a fire
Her beautie kindle shall within thy foolish minde,
That thou full oft shalt wish thy iudging eyes were blinde.
Nay then (
Diana said) the chastnesse I will giue
In ashes of despaire (though burnt) shall make thee liue.
Nay thou (said both) shalt see such beames shine in her face
That thou shalt neuer dare seeke helpe of wretched case.
And with that cursed curse away to heauen they fled,
First hauing all their giftes vpon faire
Mira spred.
The rest I cannot tell, for therewithall I wak'd
And found with deadly feare that all my sinewes shak'd.
Was it a dreame? O dreame, how hast thou wrought in me,
That I things erst vnseene should first in dreaming see?
And thou ô traytour Sleepe, made for to be our rest,
How hast thou framde the paine wherewith I am opprest?
O cowarde
Cupid thus doost thou thy honour keepe,
Vnarmde (alas) vnwares to take a man asleepe?

    Laying not onely the conquests, but the hart of the co[n]querour at her feet. *** But she receiuing him after her woonted sorrowfull (but otherwise vnmoued) maner, it made him thinke, his good successe was but a pleasant monument of a dolefull buriall: Ioy it selfe seeming bitter vnto him, since it agreed not to her taste.
Therefore, still crauing his mothers helpe to persuade her, he himself sent for Philanax vnto him, whom he had not onely long hated, but nowe had his hate greatly encreased by the death of his Squire Ismenus. Besides he had made him as one of the chiefe causes that mooued him to this rebellion, and therefore was enclined (to colour the better his action, and the more to embrewe the handes of his accomplices by making them guiltie of such a trespasse) in some formall sort to cause him to be executed: being also greatly egged thereunto by his mother, and some other, who long had hated Philanax, onely because he was more worthy to be loued then they.
But while that deliberation was handeled, according rather to the humour then the reason of ech speaker, Philoclea comming to knowledge of the hard plight wherein Philanax stood, she desired one of the gentlewomen appoynted to waite vpon her, to goe in her name, and beseech Amphialus, that if the loue of her had any power of perswasion in his minde, he would lay no further punishment, then imprisonment, vppon Philanax. This message was deliuered euen as Philanax was entring to the presence of Amphialus, comming (according to the warning was giuen him) to receyve a iudgement of death. But when he with manfull resolution attended the fruite of such a tyrannicall sentence, thinking it wrong, but no harme to him that shoulde die in so good a cause; Amphialus turned quite the fourme of his pretended speech, and yeelded him humble thankes, that by his meanes he had come to that happinesse, as to receiue a commaundement of his Ladie: and therefore he willingly gaue him libertie to returne in safetye whither he would; quitting him, not onely of all former grudge, but assuring him that he would be willing to do him any friendship, and seruice: onely desiring thus much of him, that he would let him know the discourse and intent of Basilius-his proceeding.
    Truely my Lorde (answered Philanax) if there were any such knowne to me, secrete in my
maisters counsaile, as that the reuealing thereof might hinder his good successe, I shoulde loath the keeping of my blood, with the losse of my faith; and woulde thinke the iust name of a traitour a harde purchase of a fewe yeares liuing. But since it is so, that my maister hath indeede no way of priuie practise, but meanes openly and forcibly to deale against you, I will not sticke in fewe wordes to make your required declaration. Then tolde he him in what amaze of amazement, both Basilius and Gynecia were, when they mist their children and Zelmane. Sometimes apt to suspect some practise of Zelmane, because she was a straunger; sometimes doubting some reliques of the late mutinie, which doubt was rather encreased, then any way satisfied, by Miso: who (being founde, almost deade for hunger, by certaine Countrey-people) brought home worde, with what cunning they were trayned out, and with what violence they were caried away. But that within a fewe dayes they came to knowledge where they were, with Amphialus-his, owne letters sent abroade to procure confederates in his attemptes. That Basilius his purpose was neuer to leaue the siege of this towne, till he had taken it, and reuenged the iniurie done vnto him. That he meant rather to winne it by time, and famine, then by force of assault: knowing howe valiaunt men he had to deale withall in the towne: that he had sent order, that supplyes of souldiours, pioners, and all things else necessarie, shoulde dayly be brought vnto him: so as, my Lorde (sayde Philanax) let me nowe, hauing receyved my life by your grace, let me giue you your life and honour by my counsaile; protesting vnto you, that I cannot choose but loue you, being my maister-his nephewe; and that I wish you well in all causes: but this, you knowe his nature is as apte to forgiue, as his power is able to conquere. Your fault passed is excusable, in that Loue perswaded, and youth was perswaded. Do not vrge the effects of angrie victorie, but rather seeke to obtaine that constantly by courtesie, which you can neuer assuredly enioy by violence. One might easily haue seene in the cheare of Amphialus, that disdainfull choller woulde faine haue made the aunswere for him, but the remembraunce of Philoclea serued for forcib[l]e barriers betweene Anger, and angry effects: so as he saide no more, but that he woulde not put him to the trouble to giue him any further counsaile: But that he might returne, if he listed, presently. Philanax glad to receyve an uncorrupted libertie, humbly accepted his fauourable conuoy out of the towne; and so departed, not hauing visited the Princesses, thinking it might be offensiue to Amphialus, and no way fruitfull to them, who were no way but by force to be relieued.
    The poore Ladies indeede, not suffered either to meet together, or to haue co[n]ference with any
other, but such as Cecropia had alreadie framed to sing all her songs to her tune, she herselfe omitting no day, and catching holde of euerie occasion to mooue forwarde her sonnes desire, and remoue their knowne resolutions: vsing the same arguments to the one sister, as to the other; determining that whome she coulde winne first, the other shoulde (without her sonnes knowledge) by poyson be made away. But though the reasons were the same to both, yet the handeling was diuerse, according as she sawe their humours to preferre a more or lesse aptnesse of apprehension: this day hauing vsed long speech to Philoclea, amplifying not a little the great duetifulnesse her sonne had shewed in deliuering Philanax: of whome she coulde get no aunswere, but a silence sealed vp in vertue, and so sweetly graced, as that in one instant it caried with it both resistance, and humblenesse.

CHAP. 10.

1 Pamelas exercise. Cecropias talke with her 2 of Beautie
    3 and the vse thereof. 4 The Auntes Atheisme 5 refu-
    ted by the Neeces Diuinitie.

CEcropia threatning in her selfe to runne a more ragged race with her, went to her
sister Pamela: who that day hauing wearied her selfe with reading, and with the height of her hart disdaining to keepe companie with any of the Gentlewomen appointed to attende her, whome she accounted her iaylours, was woorking vppon a purse certaine Roses and Lillies, as by the finenesse of the worke, one might see she had borowed her wittes of the sorow that owed them, & lent them wholy to that exercise. For the flowers she had wrought, caried such life in them, that the cuningest painter might haue learned of her needle: which with so prety a maner made his careers to & fro[m] through the cloth, as if the needle it selfe would haue bene loth to haue gone froward such a mistres, but that it hoped to return the[n]ceward very quickly againe: the cloth loking with many eies vpon her, & louingly embracing the wounds she gaue it: the sheares also were at hand to behead the silke, that was growne to short. And if at any time she put her mouth to bite it off, it seemed, that where she had beene long in making of a Rose with her hand, she would in an instant make Roses with her lips; as the Lillies seemed to haue their whitenesse, rather of the hande that made them, then of the matter whereof they were made; and that they grew there by the Sunes of her eyes, & were refreshed by the most in discomfort comfortable ayre, which an vnwares sigh might bestow vpon them. But the colours for the grounde were so well chosen, neither sullenly darke, nor glaringly lightsome, and so well proportioned, as that, though much cunning were in it, yet it was but to serue for an ornament of the principall woorke; that it was not without marvaile to see, howe a minde which could cast a carelesse semblant vppon the greatest conflictes of Fortune, coulde commaunde it selfe to take care for so small matters. Neither had she neglected the daintie dressing of her selfe: but as it had ben her mariage time to Affliction, she rather semed to remember her owne worthinesse, then the unworthinesse of her husband. For well one might perceyve she had not reiected the counsaile of a glasse, and that her handes had pleased themselves, in paying the tribute of vndeceyuing skill, to so high perfections of Nature.
    The sight whereof so diuerse from her sister, (who rather suffered sorrow to distresse it selfe in her beautie, then that she would bestow any intertainment of so vnwelcome a guest) made Cecropia take a suddaine assurednesse of hope, that she should obtaine somewhat of Pamela: thinking (according to the squaring out of her own good nature) that beauty, carefully set forth, wold soone proue a signe of an unrefusing harborough. Animated wherewith, she sate downe by Pamela: and taking the purse, and with affected curiositie looking vpon the worke, Full happie is he (saide she) at least if he knew his owne happinesse, to whom a purse in this maner, and by this hand wrought, is dedicated. In faith he shall haue cause to account it, not as a purse for treasure, but as a treasure it selfe, worthie to be pursed vp in the purse of his owne hart. And thinke you so indeed (said Pamela halfe smiling) I promise you I wrought it, but to make some tedious houres beleeue, that I thought not of them: for else I valued it, but euen as a verie purse. It is the right nature (saide Cecropia) of Beautie, to woorke vnwitting effectes of wonder. Truely (saide Pamela) I neuer thought till nowe, that this outward glasse, intitled Beautie, which it pleaseth you to lay to my (as I thinke) vnguiltie charge, was but a pleasaunt mixture of naturall colours, delightfull to the eye, as musicke is to the eare, without any further consequence: since it is a thing, which not onely beastes haue; but euen stones and trees many of them doo greatly excell in it. That other thinges (answered Cecropia) haue some portion of it, takes not away the excellencie of it, where indeede it doth excell: since we see, that euen those beastes, trees, & stones, are in the name of Beauty only highly praised. But that the beautie of humaine persons be beyond all other things there is great likelihood of reason, since to them onely is giuen the iudgement to discerne Beautie; and among reasonable wights, as it seemes, that our sex hath the preheminence, so that in that preheminence, Nature counter-vailes all other liberalities, wherin she may be thought to haue dealte more fauourably towarde mankind. How doo men crowne (thinke you) themselues with glorie, for hauing either by force brought others to yeeld to their minde, or with long studie, and premeditated orations, perswaded what they woulde haue perswaded? and see, a faire woman shall not onely commaund without authentic, but perswade without speaking. She shall not neede to procure attention, for their owne eyes will chaine their eares vnto it. Men venture liues to conquere; she conqueres liues without venturing. She is serued, and obeyed, which is the most notable, not because the lawes so commaund it, but because they become lawes to the[m]selues to obey her; not for her parents sake, but for her owne sake. She neede not dispute, whether to gouerne by Feare, or by Loue, since without her thinking thereof, their loue will bring foorth feare, and their feare will fortifie their loue: and she neede not seeke offensiue, or defensiue force, since her lippes may stande for ten thousand shieldes, and tenne thousand vneuitable shot goe from her eyes. Beautie, Beautie (deare Neece) is the crowne of the feminine greatnes; which gifte, on whom soeuer the heauens (therein most nigardly) do bestowe, without question, she is bound to vse it to the noble purpose, for which it is created: not onely winning, but preseruing; since that indeede is the right happines, which is not onely in it selfe happie, but can also deriue the happines to another. Certainly Aunt (said Pamela) I feare me you will make me not onely thinke my selfe fairer then euer I did, but think my fairnes a matter of greater valew then heretofore I coulde imagine it. For I euer (till now) conceaued these conquests you spake of, rather to proceed from the weakenes of the conquered, then from the strength of the co[n]quering power: as they say, the Cranes ouerthrowe whole battailes of Pygmees, not so much of their Cranish courage, as because the other are Pygmees: and that we see, young babes think babies of woonderful excellencie, and yet the babies are but babies. But since your elder yeares, and abler iudgement, finde Beautie to be worthy of so incomparable estimation, certainly me thinks, it ought to be held in dearnes, according to the excellencie, and (no more then we would do of things which we accou[n]t pretious) euer to suffer it to be defiled.
Defiled? (said Cecropia) Mary God forbid that my speech should tend to any such purpose, as should deserue so foul a title. My meaning is to ioyn your beauty to loue; your youth to delight. For truely, as colours should be as good as nothing, if there were no eyes to behold them: so is Beauty nothing, without the eye of Loue behold it: and therfore, so far is it from defiling it, that it is the only honoring of it, the only preseruing of it: for Beauty goes away, deuoured by Time, but where remaines it euer flourishing, but in the hart of a true louer? And such a one (if euer there were any) is my son: whose loue is so subiected vnto you, that rather then breed any offence vnto you, it will not delight it selfe in beholding you. Ther is no effect of his loue (answered Pamela) better pleaseth me then that: but as I haue ofte[n] answered you, so, resolutely I say vnto you, that he must get my parents consent, & then he shall know further of my mind; for, without that, I know I should offend God. O sweet youth (said Cecropia) how vntimely subiect it is to deuotion? No, no sweet neece, let vs old folks think of such precise consideratio[n]s, do you enioy the heauen of your age, whereof you are sure: and like good hous-holders, which spend those thinges that will not be kept, so do you pleasantly enioy that, which else will bring an ouer-late repentance, whe[n] your glas shall accuse you to your face, what a change there is in you. Do you see how the spring-time is ful of flowers, decking it self with them, & not aspiring to the fruits of Autumn? what lesson is that vnto you, but that in the april of your age, you should be like April? Let not some of the, for whom alredy the graue gapeth, & perhaps enuy the felicity in you, which the[m]selues cannot enioy, perswade you to lose the hold of occasio[n], while it may not only be taken, but offers, nay sues to be take[n]: which if it be not now taken, will neuer hereafter be ouertaken. Your self know, how your father hath refused all offers made by the greatest Princes about you, & wil you suffer your beauty to be hid in the wrinckles of his peuish thoughts? If he be peuish (said Pamela) yet is he my father, & how beautiful soeuer I be, I am his daughter: so as God claimes at my hands obedience, and makes me no iudge of his imperfections.
    These often replies vpon conscience in Pamela, made Cecropia thinke, that there was no righter
waye for her, then as she had (in her opinion) set her in liking of Beautie, with perswasion not to suffer it to be voide of purpose, so if she coulde make her lesse feeling of those heauenly conceipts, that then she might easilie winde her to her croked bias.  Therefore, employing the vttermost of her mischieuous witte, and speaking the more earnestly, because she spake as she thought, she thus dealt with her. Deare neece, or rather, deare daughter (if my affection and wishe might preuaile therein) how much dooth it increase (trowe you) the earnest desire I haue of this blessed match, to see these vertues of yours knit fast with such zeale of Deuotion, indeede the best bonde, which the most politicke wittes haue found, to holde mans witte in well doing? For, as children must first by feare be induced to know that, which after (when they doo know) they are most glad of: So are these bug-beares of opinions brought by great Clearkes into the world, to serue as shewelles to keepe them from those faults, whereto els the vanitie of the worlde, and weakenes of senses might pull them. But in you (Neece) whose excellencie is such, as it neede not to be helde vp by the staffe of vulgar opinions, I would not you should loue Vertue seruillie, for feare of I know not what, which you see not: but euen for the good effects of vertue which you see. Feare, and indeede, foolish feare, and fearefull ignorance, was the first inuenter of those conceates. For, when they heard it thunder, not knowing the naturall cause, they thought there was some angrie body aboue, that spake so lowde: and euer the lesse they did perceiue, the more they did conceiue. Whereof they knew no cause that grewe streight a miracle: foolish folks, not marking that the alterations be but vpon particular accidents, the vniuersalitie being alwaies one. Yesterday was but as to day, and to morrow will tread the same footsteps of his foregoers: so as it is manifest inough, that all things follow but the course of their own nature, sauing only Man, who while by the pregnancie of his imagination he striues to things supernaturall, meane-while he looseth his owne naturall felicitie. Be wise, and that wisedome shalbe a God vnto thee; be contented, and that is thy heauen: for els to thinke that those powers (if there be any such) aboue, are moued either by the eloquence of our prayers, or in a chafe by the folly of our actions; caries asmuch reason as if flies should thinke, that men take great care which of them hums sweetest, and which of them flies nimblest.
   She would haue spoken further to haue enlarged & co[n]firmed her discourse: but Pamela (whose cheeks were died in the beautifullest graine of vertuous anger, with eies which glistered forth beames of disdaine) thus interrupted her. Peace (wicked woman) peace, vnworthy to breathe, that doest not acknowledge the breath-giuer; most vnworthy to haue a tongue, which speakest against him, through whom thou speakest: keepe your affection to your self, which like a bemired dog, would defile with fauning. You say yesterday was as to day. O foolish woman, and most miserably foolish, since wit makes you foolish. What dooth that argue, but that there is a constancie in the euerlasting gouernour? Would you haue an inconstant God, since we count a man foolish that is inconstant? He is not seene you say, and would you thinke him a God, who might be seene by so wicked eyes, as yours? which yet might see enough if they were not like such, who for sport-sake willingly hood-wincke themselues to receaue blowes the easier. But though I speake to you without any hope of fruite in so rotten a harte, and there be no bodie else here to iudge of my speeches, yet be thou my witnesse, O captiuitie, that my cares shall not be willingly guiltie of my Creators blasphemie. You saie, because we know not the causes of things, therefore feare was the mother of superstition: nay, because we know that each effect hath a cause, that hath engendred a true & liuely deuotion. For this goodly worke of which we are, and in which we liue, hath not his being by Chaunce; on which opinion it is beyond mervaile by what chaunce any braine could stumble. For if it be eternall (as you would seeme to conceiue of it) Eternity, & Chaunce are things vnsufferable together. For that is chaunceable which happeneth; & if it happen, there was a time before it hapned, when it might not haue happened; or els it did not happen; and so of chaunceable, not eternall, as now being, the[n] not being. And as absurd it is to thinke that if it had a beginning, his beginning was deriued fro[m] Chaunce: for Chaunce could neuer make all thinges of nothing: and if there were substaunces before, which by chaunce shoulde meete to make vp this worke, thereon followes another bottomlesse pitt of absurdities. For then those substaunces must needes haue bene from euer, and so eternall: and that eternall causes should bring forth chaunceable effects, is as sensible, as that the Sunne should be the author of darkenesse. Againe, if it were chaunceable, then was it not necessarie; whereby you take away all consequents. But we see in all thinges, in some respect or other, necessitie of consequence: therfore in reason we must needs know that the causes were necessarie.
    Lastly, Chaunce is variable, or els it is not to be called Chaunce: but we see this worke is steady and permanent. If nothing but Chaunce had glewed those pieces of this All, the heauie partes would haue gone infinitely downewarde, the light infinitely vpwarde, and so neuer haue mett to haue made vp this goodly bodie. For before there was a heauen, or a earth, there was neyther a heauen to stay the height of the rising, nor an earth, which (in respect of the round walles of heauen) should become a centre. Lastly, perfect order, perfect beautie, perfect constancie, if these be the children of Chaunce, or Fortune the efficient of these, let Wisedome be counted the roote of wickednesse, and eternitie the fruite of her inconstancie. But you will say it is so by nature, as much as if you said it is so, because it is so: if you meane of many natures conspiring together, as in a popular gouernement to establish this fayre estate; as if the Elementishe and ethereall partes should in their towne-house set downe the boundes of each ones office; then consider what followes: that there must needes haue bene a wisedome which made them concurre: for their natures beyng absolute contrarie, in nature rather woulde haue sought each others ruine, then haue serued as well consorted partes to such an vnexpressable harmonie. For that contrary things should meete to make vp a perfectio[n] without a force and Wisedome aboue their powers, is absolutely impossible; vnles you will flie to that hissed-out opinion of Chaunce againe. But you may perhaps affirme, that one vniuersall Nature (which hath bene for euer) is the knitting together of these many partes to such an excellent vnitie. If you meane a Nature of wisdome, goodnes, & prouidence, which knowes what it doth, then say you that, which I seeke of you, and cannot conclude those blasphemies, with which you defiled your mouth, & mine eares. But if you meane a Nature, as we speake of the fire, which goeth vpward, it knowes not why: and of the nature of the Sea which in ebbing and flowing seemes to obserue so iust a daunce, and yet vnderstands no musicke, it is but still the same absurditie subscribed with another title. For this worde, one, being attributed to that which is All, is but one mingling of many, and many ones; as in a lesse matter, when we say one kingdome which conteines many citties; or one cittie which conteines many persons, wherein the vnder ones (if there be not a superiour power and wisedome) cannot by nature regarde to any preseruation but of themselues: no more we see they doo, since the water willingly quenches the fire, and drownes the earth; so farre are they from a conspired unitie: but that a right heauenly Nature indeed, as it were vnnaturing them, doth so bridle them.
    Againe, it is as absurde in nature that from an vnitie many contraries should proceede still kept in an vnitie: as that from the number of contrarieties an vnitie should arise. I say still, if you banish both a singularitie, and pluralitie of iudgement from among them, then (if so earthly a minde can lift it selfe vp so hie) doo but conceaue, how a thing whereto you giue the highest, and most excellent kinde of being (which is eternitie) can be of the base and vilest degree of being, and next to a not-being; which is so to be, as not to enioy his owne being? I will not here call all your senses to witnes, which can heare, nor see nothing, which yeeldes not most euident euidence of the vnspeakeablenesse of that Wisedome: each thing being directed to an ende, and an ende of preseruation: so proper effects of iudgement, as speaking, and laughing are of mankind.
    But what madd furie can euer so enueagle any conceipte, as to see our mortall and corruptible selues to haue a reason, and that this vniuersalitie (whereof we are but the lest pieces) should be vtterly deuoide thereof? as if one should saie, that ones foote might be wise, and him selfe foolish. This hearde I once alledged against such a godlesse minde as yours, who being driuen to acknowledge these beastly absurdities, that our bodies should be better then the whole worlde, if it had the knowledge, whereof the other were voide; he sought (not able to answere directly) to shifte it of in this sorte: that if that reason were true, then must it followe also, that the worlde must haue in it a spirite, that could write and reade to, and be learned; since that was in vs so commendable: wretched foole, not considering that Bookes be but supplies of defects; and so are praysed, because they helpe our want, and therefore cannot be incident to the eternall intelligence, which needes no recording of opinions to confirme his knowledge, no more then the Sunne wants waxe to be the fewell of his glorious lightfulnesse. This worlde therefore cannot otherwise consist but by a minde of Wisedome, whiche gouernes it, which whether you wil allow to be the Creator thereof, as vndoubtedly he is, or the soule and gouernour thereof, most certaine it is that whether he gouerne all, or make all, his power is aboue either his creatures, or his gouernement. And if his power be aboue all thinges, then consequently it must needes be infinite, since there is nothing aboue it to limit it. For beyond which there is nothing, must needes be boundlesse, and infinite: if his power be infinite, then likewise must his knowledge be infinite: for else there should be an infinite proportion of power which he shoulde not know how to vse; the vnsensiblenesse whereof I thinke euen you can conceaue: and if infinite, then must nothing, no not the estate of flies (which you with so vnsauerie skorne did iest at) be vnknowne vnto him. For if it were, then there were his knowledge bounded, and so not infinite: if knowledge and power be infinite, then must needs his goodnesse and iustice march in the same rancke: for infinitenes of power, & knowledge, without like measure of goodnesse, must necessarily bring foorth destruction and ruine, and not ornament and preseruation. Since then there is a God, and an all-knowing God, so as he sees into the darkest of all naturall secretes, which is the harte of Man; and sees therein the deepest dissembled thoughts, nay sees the thoughts before they be thought: since he is iust to exercise his might, and mightie to performe his iustice, assure thy selfe, most wicked woman (that hast so plaguily a corrupted minde, as thou canst not keepe thy sickenesse to thy selfe, but must most wickedly infect others) assure thy selfe, I say, (for what I say dependes of euerlasting and vnremooueable causes) that the time will come, when thou shalt knowe that power by feeling it, when thou shalt see his wisedome in the manifesting thy ougly shamelesnesse, and shalt onely perceiue him to haue bene a Creator in thy destruction.

CHAP.   11.

1 Cecropia malcontent, still practiseth. 2 The besiegers disci-
    pline, and attempts of the besieged.
3 Phalantus cha-
4 by Letter Amphialus: 5 who by Letter ac-
    cepteth it. 6 Amphialus 7 and Phalantus militar ac-
    coustrements. 8 Their fo-like combate, 9 but friendly

THus she saide, thus she ended, with so faire a maiestie of vnconquered vertue, that
captiuitie might seeme to haue authoritie ouer tyrannie: so fowly was the filthinesse of impietie discouered by the shining of her vnstayned goodnes, so farre, as either Cecropia saw indeed, or else the guilty amazement of her selfe-accusing conscience, made her eies vntrue iudges of their natural obiect, that there was a light more then humaine, which gaue a lustre to her perfections. But Cecropia, like a Batte (which though it haue eyes to discerne that there is a Sunne, yet hath so euill eyes, that it cannot delight in the Sunne) found a trueth, but could not loue it. But as great persons are woont to make the wrong they haue done, to be a cause to doo the more wrong, her knowledge rose to no higher point, but to enuie a worthier, and her will was no otherwise bent, but the more to hate, the more she founde her enemie prouided against her. Yet all the while she spake (though with eyes cast like a horse that woulde strike at the stirrop, and with colour which blushed through yellownesse) she sate rather still then quiet, and after her speech rather muttered, then replied; for the warre of wickednesse in her selfe, brought forth disdainefull pride to resist cunning dissimulation; so as, saying little more vnto her, but that she shoulde haue leysure inough better to bethinke her selfe; she went away repining, but not repenting:   condemning greatly  (as she thought)  her sonnes ouer-feeble humblenesse, and purposing to egge him forward to a course of violence. For her selfe, determining to deale with neither of them both any more in maner of a suter: for what maiestie of vertue did in the one, that did silent humblenesse in the other. But finding her sonne ouer-apt to lay both condemnation, and execution of sorrowe vppon himselfe, she sought to mitigate his minde with feigned delayes of comforte, who (hauing this inward ouerthrow in himselfe) was the more vexed, that he coulde not vtter the rage thereof vpon his outward enemies.
    For Basilius taught by the last dayes triall, what daungerous effectes chosen courages can bring forth, rather vsed the spade, then the sworde; or the sworde, but to defende the spade; girding aboute the whole towne with trenches; which beginning a good way of from the towne, with a number of well directed Pioners, he still caryed before him till they came to a neere distance, where he builded Fortes, one answering the other, in such sort, as it was a prettie consideration in the discipline of warre, to see building used for the instrument of ruine, and the assayler entrenched as if he were besieged. But many sallies did Amphialus make to hinder their woorking. But they (exercising more melancholie, then choller in their resolution) made him finde, that if by the advauntage of place, fewe are able to defende themselues from manie, that manie must needes haue power, (making themselues strong in seate) to repell fewe; referring the reuenge rather to the ende, then a present requitall. Yet oftentimes they dealt some blowes in light skirmishes, eche side hauing a strong retyring place, and rather fighting with manie alarums, to vexe the enemie, then for anie hope of great successe.
    Which euerie way was a tedious comber to the impacient courage of Amphialus: till the fame of this warre, bringing thither diuerse, both straungers, and subiects, as well of princely, as noble houses, the gallant Phalantus, who restrayned his sportfull delightes as then, to serue Basilius, (whome he honoured for receyued honours) when he had spent some time in considering the Arcadian manner in marching, encamping, and fighting, and had learned in what points of gouernement, and obedience their discipline differed from others, and had satisfied his minde in the knowledge, both for the cutting off the enemies helpes, and furnishing ones selfe, which Basilius orders coulde deliuer vnto him, his yong spirites (wearie of wanting cause to be wearie) desired to keepe his valure in knowledge, by some priuate acte, since the publique policie restrayned him; the rather, because his olde mistresse Artesia might see, whome she had so lightly forsaken: and therefore demaunding and obteyning leaue of Basilius; he caused a Heraulde to be furnished with apparell of his office, and tokens of a peaceable message, and so sent him to the gate of the towne to demaunde audience of Amphialus: who vnderstanding thereof, caused him both safely, and courteously to be brought into his presence: who making lowly reuerence vnto him, presented his Letters, desiring Amphialus that whatsoeuer they conteyned, he woulde consider that he was onely the bearer, but not the inditer. Amphialus with noble gentlenesse assured him both, by honourable speeches, and a demeanure which aunswered for him, that his reuenge, whensoeuer, should sort vnto it selfe a higher subiect. But opening the Letters, he found them to speake in this maner.

PHalantus of Corinthe, to Amphialus of Arcadia, sendeth the greeting of a hatelesse enemie. The
liking of martiall matters without anie mislike of your person, hath brought me rather to the companie, then to the minde of your besiegers: where languishing in idlenesse, I desire to refresh my minde with some exercise of armes, which might make knowne the dooers, with delight of the beholders. Therefore, if there be any Gentleman in your Towne, that eyther for the loue of Honour, or honour of his Loue, well armed, on horsebacke, with launce, and sworde, will winne another, or loose himselfe, to be a prisoner at discretion of the conquerour, I will to morrowe morning by Sunne rising, with a trumpet and a Squire onely, attende him in like order furnished. The place I thinke fittest, the Iland within the Lake, because it standes so well in the view of your Castell, as that the Ladies may haue the pleasure of seeing the combate: which though it be within the commaundement of your Castell, I desire no better securitie, then the promise I make to my selfe of your vertue. I attende your aunswere, and wish you such successe as may be to your honour, rather in yeelding to that which is iust, then in mainteyning wrong by much violence.

    Amphialus read it with cheerefull countenance, and thinking but a little with himselfe, called for inke and paper, and wrote this aunswere.

AMphialus of Arcadia, to Phalantus of Corinthe, wisheth  all his owne wishes, sauing those which may be  hurtful to another. The matter of your letters so fit for a worthy minde, and the maner so sutable to the noblenesse of the matter, giue me cause to thinke howe happie I might accounte my selfe, if I coulde get such a friende, who esteeme it no small happinesse to haue mette with so noble an enemie. Your chalenge shall be aunswered, and both time, place, and weapon accepted. For your securitie for any treacherie (hauing no hostage woorthie to countervaile you) take my woorde, which I esteeme aboue all respectes. Prepare therefore your armes to fight, but not your hart to malice; since true valure needes no other whetstone, then desire of honour.

HAuing writte and sealed his letter, he deliuered it to the Heraulde, and withall tooke a faire chaine
from off his owne necke, and gaue it him. And so with safe conuoy sent him away from out his Citie: and he being gone, Amphialus shewed vnto his mother, and some other of his chiefe Counsailours, what he had receyued, and howe he had aunswered: telling them withall, that he was determined to aunswere the chalenge in his owne person. His mother with prayers authorized by motherly commaundement; his olde gouernour with perswasions mingled with reprehensions, (that he would rather affect the glorie of a priuate fighter, then of a wise Generall) Clinias with falling downe at his feete, and beseeching him to remember, that all their liues depended vppon his safetie, sought all to dissuade him. But Amphialus (whose hart was enflamed with courage, and courage enflamed with affection) made an imperious resolution cutte off the tediousnesse of replyes, giuing them in charge, what they shoulde doo vppon all occasions, and particularly to deliuer the Ladies, if otherwise then well happened vnto him: onely desiring his mother, that she woulde bring Philoclea to a window, where she might with ease perfectly discerne the combat. And so, as soone as the morning beganne to draw dewe from the fairest greenes, to wash her face withall, against the approach of the burning Sunne, he went to his stable, where himselfe chose out a horse, whom (though he was neere twentie yeere olde) he preferred for a peece of sure seruice, before a great nu[m]ber of yonger. His colour was of a browne bay, dapled thick with black spots; his forhead marked with a white starre; to which, in all his bodie there was no part sutable, but the left foote before; his mane and taile black, and thick, of goodly, and well proportioned greatnes. He caused him to be trimmed with a sumptuous saddle of tawnie, and golde ennamell, enriched with pretious stones: his furniture was made into the fashio[n] of the branches of a tree, from which the leaues were falling: and so artificiallie were the leaues made, that as the horse moued, it seemed indeed that the leaues wagged, as when the winde plaies with them; and being made of a pale cloath of gold, they did beare the straw-coloured liuerie of ruine. His armour was also of tawnie and golde, but formed into the figure of flames darckened, as when they newelie breake the prison of a smoakie furnace. In his shielde he had painted the Torpedo fish. And so appointed, he caused himselfe, with his trumpet and squire (whom he had taken since the death of Ismenus) to be ferried ouer into the Iland: a place well chosen for such a purpose. For, it was so plaine, as there was scarcely any bush, or hillock, either to vnleuell, or shadowe it: of length and breadth enough, to trie the vttermost both of launce and sword, and the one end of it facing of the castle, the other extending it selfe toward the campe, and no accesse to it, but by water: there coulde no secreate trecherie be wrought, and for manifest violence, ether side might haue time inough to succour their party.
    But there he found Phalantus, alredy waiting for him vpon a horse, milke white, but that vpon his shoulder and withers, he was fretned with red staines, as when a few strawberies are scattered into a dish of creame. He had caused his mane and taile to be died in carnation; his reines were vine branches, which ingendring one with the other, at the end, when it came to the bitte, there, for the bosse, brought foorth a cluster of grapes, by the workeman made so liuely, that it seemed, as the horse champed on his bitte, he chopped for them, and that it did make his mouth water, to see the grapes so neere him. His furniture behind was of vines, so artificially made, as it semed the horse stood in the shadow of the vine, so pretily were clusters of rubie grapes dispersed among the trappers which embraced his sides. His armour was blew, like the heauen, which a Sun did with his rayes (proportionately deliuered) guilde in most places. His shield was beautified with this deuice; A greyhound, which ouerrunning his fellow, and taking the hare, yet hurts it not whe[n] it takes it. The word was, The glorie, not the pray.

    But as soone as Amphialus landed, he sent his squire to Phalantus, to tel him, that there was the Knight, redy to know whether he had any thing to him. Phalantus answered, that his answere now must be in the la[n]guage of launces; & so each attended the warning of the tru[m]pets, which were to sound at the appointment of foure iudges, who with consideration of the same, had deuided the ground. Phalantus-his horse young, and feeling the youth of his master, stoode coruetting; which being wel gouerned by Phala[n]tus, gaue such a glittering grace, as when the Sunne shines vpon a wauing water, Amphialus-horse stood panting vpon the ground, with his further foot before, as if he would for his masters cause begin to make himselfe angry: till the trumpet sounded together. Together they set spurres to their horses, together took their launces from their thighes, conueied them vp into their restes together, together let them sinke downward; so as it was a delectable sight, in a dangerous effect; and a pleasant consideration, that there was so perfect agreement, in so mortall disagreement: like a musick, made of cunning discords. But their horses keeping an euen line their masters had skilfully allotted vnto them, passed one by another without encountring, although either might feel the angry breath of other. But the staues being come to a iust descent, but euen when the mark was ready to meet them, Amphialus was runne through the vamplate, and vnder the arme: so as the staffe appearing behind him, it semed to the beholders he had bene in danger. But he strake Phalantus iust vpon the gorget, so as he battred the lamms therof, and made his head almost touch the back of his horse. But either side hauing staied the spur, & vsed the bit to stop their horses fury, casting away the tro[n]cheons of their staues, & drawing their swords, they attended the second summons of the death-threatning trumpet, which quickly folowed; and they assoone making their horses answer their ha[n]ds, with a ge[n]tle galop, set the one toward the other; til being come in the neernes of litle more then a staues length. Amphialus trusting more to the strength, then to the nimblenes of his horse, put him foorth with speedie violence, and making his head ioyne to the others flanke, guiding his blow with discretion, and strengthning it with the course of his horse, strake Phalantus vpon the head, in such sort, that his feeling sense did both dazell his sight, and astonish his hearing. But Phalantus (not accustomed to be vngratefull to such benefites) strake him vpon the side of his face, with such a force, that he thought his iawe had bene cut asunder: though the faithfulnes of his armour indeede garded him from further damage. And so remayned they awhile, rather angry with fighting, then fighting for anger, till Amphialus-his horse, leaning harde vpon the other, and winning ground, the other horse feeling himselfe prest, began to rise a little before, as he was woont to doo in his coruette: which advantage Amphialus taking, set forward his own horse with the further spurre, so as Phalantus-his horse came ouer with his master vnder him. Which Amphialus seeing, lighted, with intention to help Phalantus. But his horse that had faulted, rather with vntimely arte, then want of force, gatte vp from burdning his burden, so as Phalantus (in the fall hauing gotten his feete free of & the stirrop) could (though something bruised) arise, seeing Amphialus neere him, he asked him, Whether he had giue[n] him any help in remouing his horse. Amphialus said No. Truely sayd Phalantus, I asked it, because I would not willingly haue fought with him, that had had my life in his mercie. But now (said Phalantus) before we proceed further, let me know who you are, because neuer yet did any man bring me to the like fortune. Amphialus listing to keepe him selfe vnknowne, told him he was a Gentlema[n], to whom Amphialus that day had giuen armour and horse to trie his valour, hauing neuer before bene in any combat worthy remembrance. Ah, (said Phalantus in a rage) And must I be the exercise of your prentisage? & with that, choler tooke away either the bruse, or the feeling of the bruse, so as he entred a fresh into the co[m]bat, & boiling in his armes the disdaine of his harte, strake so thicke vpon Amphialus, as if euery blow would faine haue bene foremost. But Amphialus (that many like trials had taught, great spending to leaue small remnants) let passe the storme with strong wardes, and nimble auoidings: till seeing his time fit, both for distaunce and nakednes, he strake him so cruell a blow on the knee, that the poore Gentleman fell downe withall in a sowne.

    But Amphialus, pittying approued valoure, made pretious by naturall curtesie, went to him; & taking of his head-piece to giue him aire, the young Knight (disdained to buy life with yeelding) had him vse his fortune: for he was resolued neuer to yeeld. No more you shall (said Amphialus) if it be not to my request, that you will account your self to haue great interest in me. Phalantus more ouercome by his kindnes, the[n] by his fortune, desired yet once againe to know his name, who in his first beginning had shewed such furie in his force, and yet such stay in his furie. Amphialus, then named himselfe, telling him withal, he would think his name much bettred, if it might be honored by the title of his frie[n]d. But no Baulme could be more comfortable to his wound, then the knowledge thereof was to his mind, when he knew his mishap should be excused by the renowmed valour of the other. And so promising each to other assurednes of good will, Phalantus, (of whom Amphialus would haue no other raunsome, but his word of frie[n]dship) was conueyed into the campe, where he would but litle remaine among the enimies of Amphialus: but went to seeke his aduentures other-where.

CHAP.   12.

1 Philocleas il-taking Amphialus wel-meaning. 2 His chal-
lenge and conquests continued for Loue, & his loue.
3 Ar-
galus sent for to this challenge. 4 The coniugall happines
of him and his wife.
5 The passions stirred by this message.
6 Their sorrow-sounding farewell. 7 Argalusis defie.
8 Amphialusis answere. 9 Argalusis furniture. 10 Their
combat, bloudy to both, deadly to
Argalus. 11 Parthenia
comes to the end of it, and him. 12 Her 13 and his lamen-
14 The funerals.

AS for Amphialus he was receaued with triumph into the castle; although one might
see by his eyes (humbly lifted vp to the window where Philoclea stood) that he was rather suppliaunt, then victorious: whiche occasion Cecropia taking, (who as then stoode by Philoclea, and had lately lefte Pamela in another roome, whence also she might see the combate) Sweet Lady (said she) now you may see, whether you haue cause to loue my sonne, who then lies vnder your feete, when he standes vpon the necke of his brauest enemies. Alas said Philoclea, a simple seruice to me, me thinkes it is, to haue those, who come to succour me, destroied: If it be my dutie to call it loue, be it so: but the effects it brings foorth I confesse I account hatefull. Cecropia grew so angry with this vnkind answere, that she could not abstayne from telling her, that she was like them that could not sleepe, when they were softly layed: but that if her sonne would follow her counsell, he should take another course with her: and so flange away from her.
    Yet (knowing the desperate melancholy of Amphialus in like cases) framed to him a very thankefull message, poudring it with some hope-giuing phrases; which were of such ioy to Amphialus, that he (though against publike respect:, & importunity of dissuaders) presently caused it to be made knowne to the campe, that whatsoeuer Knight would trie the like fortune as Phalantus did, he should in like sorte be answered: so as diuers of the valiantest, partly of themselues, partly at the instigation of Basilius, attempted the combat with him: and according to euery ones humour, so were the causes of the challege grou[n]ded: one laying treason to his charge; another preferring himselfe in the worthines to serue Philoclea; a third, exalting some Ladies beautie beyond ether of the sisters; a fourth, laying disgraces to Loue it selfe, naming it the bewitcher of the witt, the rebell to Reason, the betrayer of resolution, the defiler of thoughts, the vnderminer of magnanimitie, the flatterer of vice, the slaue to weakenesse, the infection of youth, the madnesse of age; the curse of life, and reproch of deathe; a fifth, disdayning to caste at lesse then at all, woulde make the cause of his quarrell the causers of loue, and proclayme his blasphemies against womankinde; that namely that sex was the ouersight of Nature, the disgrace of reasonablenes, the obstinate cowards, the slaue-borne tyrants, the shops of vanities, the guilded wethercocks; in who[m] conscience is but peeuishnes, chastitie waywardnes, & gratefulnes a miracle. But all these challenges (how wel so euer endited) were so well answered, that some by death taught others, though past learning themselues; & some by yeelding gaue themselues the lie for hauing blasphemed; to the great griefe of Basilius, so to see his Rebell preuaile, and in his own sight to crowne himselfe with deserued honour.
    Wherupon thirsting for reuenge, & else not hoping to preuaile, the best of his campe being already ouerthrowne; he sent a messenger to Argalus, in whose approued courage and force, he had (and had cause) to haue great confidence, with a letter; requiring him, to take this quarrell in hand, from which he had hetherto spared him in respect: of his late mariage. But now his honour, and (as he esteemed it) felicitie standing vpon it, he could no longer forbeare to chalenge of him his faithfull seruice.
    The messenger made speede, and found Argalus at a castle of his owne, sitting in a parler with the
faire Parthenia, he reading in a booke the stories of Hercules, she by him, as to heare him reade; but while his eyes looked on the booke, she looked on his eies, & sometimes staying him with some prety question, not so much to be resolued of the double; as to giue him occasion to looke vpon her. A happy couple, he ioying in her, she ioying in her selfe, but in her selfe, because she enioyed him: both encreasing their riches by giuing to each other; each making one life double, because they made a double life; one, where desire neuer wanted satisfactio[n], nor satisfaction neuer bred sacietie; he ruling, because she would obey: or rather because she would obey, she therein ruling.
    But when the messenger came in with letters in his hand, & hast in his countenance, though she
knew not what to feare, yet she feared, because she knew not; but she rose, and went aside, while he deliuered his letters and message; yet a far of she looked, now at the messenger, & then at her husband: the same feare, which made her loth to haue cause of feare, yet making her seeke cause to nourish her feare. And wel she fou[n]d there was some serious matter; for her husbands countenance figured some resolution betweene lothnesse and necessitie: and once his eie cast vpon her, & finding hers vpon him, he blushed; & she blushed, because he blushed; and yet streight grew paler, because she knew not why he had blushed. But when he had read, & heard, & dispatched away the messenger (like a man in whom Honour could not be rocked on sleepe by Affection) with promise quickly to follow; he came to Parthenia, and as sorie as might be for parting, and yet more sorie for her sorrow, he gaue her the letter to reade. She with fearful slownes tooke it, and with fearefull quicknesse read it; and hauing read it, Ah my Argalus (said she) and haue you made such hast to answere? and are you so soone resolued to leaue me? But he discoursing vnto her, how much it imparted his honour (which since it was deare to him, he knew it would be deare vnto her) her reason ouerclowded with sorow, suffered her not presently to replie, but left the charge thereof to teares, and sighes; which he not able to beare, left her alone, and went to giue order for his present departure.
    By that time he was armde, and readie to go, she had recouered a little strength of spirite againe, &
coming out, & seing him armed, & wanting nothing for his departure but her farewell, she ran to him, tooke him by the arme, and kneeling downe without regard, who either heard her speach, or saw her demeanour, My Argalus, my Argalus (said she) doo not thus forsake me. Remember, alas, Remember that I haue interest in you, which I will neuer yeeld shalbe thus aduentured. Your valour is already sufficiently knowne: sufficiently haue you already done for your country: ennow, ennow there are besides you to loose lesse worthie liues. Woe is me, what shall become of me, if you thus abandon me? Then was it time for you to follow these aduentures, when you aduentured no body but your selfe, and were no bodies but your owne. But now pardon me, that now, or neuer, I claime mine owne; mine you are, & without me you can vndertake no da[n]ger: & will you endager Parthenia? Parthenia shalbe in the battle of your fight: Parthenia shall smart in your paine, & your blood must be bled by Parthenia. Deare Parthenia (said he) this is the first time, that euer you resisted my will: I thanke you for it; but perseuer not in it; & let not the teares of those most beloued eies be a presage vnto me of that, which you would not should happen. I shal liue, doubte not: for so great a blessing, as you are, was not giuen vnto me, so soone to be depriued of it. Looke for me therefore shortly, and victorious; and prepare a ioyfull welcome, and I will wish for no other triumph. She answered not, but stood as it were thunder-striken with amazement: for true Loue made obedience stande vp against all other passions. But when he tooke her in his armes, and sought to printe his harte in her sweete lippes, she fell in a sounde, so as he was faine to leaue her to her Gentlewomen; and caried away by the tyrannie of Honour, though with manie a backe-cast looke, and hartie grone, went to the campe. When vnderstanding the notable victories of Amphialus, he thought to giue him some dayes respite of rest, because he woulde not haue his victorie disgraced by the others wearinesse. In which dayes, he sought by all meanes (hauing leaue to parley with him) to dissuade him from his enterprise: and then imparting his mind to Basilius, because he found Amphialus was inflexible, wrote his defie vnto him in this maner.
RIght  famous Amphialus, if my persuasion in reason, or praier in good wil, might preuaile with you, you should by better meanes be like to obteine your desire. You shoulde make many braue enemies become your faithful serua[n]ts, & make your honor flie vp to the heaue[n], being caried vp by both the wings of valure & iustice; whereof now it wants the latter. But since my suite, nor counsel can get no place in you, disdaine not to receiue a mortall chalenge, from a man so farre inferiour vnto you in vertue, as that I do not so much mislike of the deed, as I haue the doer in admiration. Prepare therfore your self, according to the noble maner you haue vsed, and think not lightly of neuer so weake an arme, which strikes with the sword of iustice.
To this quickely he receiued this answere.
MVch more famous Argalus, I, whom neuer threatnings could make afraid, am now terrified by
your noble curtesie. For wel I knowe, from what height of vertue it doth proceed, and what cause I haue to doubt such vertue bent to my ruine: but Loue, which iustifieth the vniustice you lay vnto me, dooth also animate me against all daungers, since I come full of him by whom your selfe haue beene (if I be not deceiued) sometimes conquered. I will therfore attend your appearaunce in the Ile, carying this advantage with me, that as it shal be a singular honour if I get the victorie, so there can be no dishonour in being ouercome by Argalus.
    The chalenge thus denounced, and accepted, Argalus was armed in a white armour, which was
guilded ouer with knots of womans haire, which came downe from the crest of his head-peece, and spred it selfe in rich qua[n]titie ouer all his armour: his furniture was cut out into the fashion of an Eagle, whereof the beake (made into a rich iewell) was fastened to the saddle, the taile couered the crooper of the horse, and the wings serued for trappers; which falling of ech side, as the horse stirred, the bird seemed to flie. His pettrell and reines, were embrodered with feathers sutable vnto it: vpon his right arme he ware a sleeue, which his deare Parthenia had made for him, to be worne in a iustee, in the time that successe was vngratefull to their well-deserued loue: It was full of bleeding hartes, though neuer intended to any blooddie enterprise. In this shield (as his owne deuice) he had two Palme trees, neere one another, with a worde signifying, In that sort flourishing. His horse was of a fine sorrell, with blacke feete, and blacke list on his back, who with open nostrels breathed warre, before he could see an enemy: and now vp with one legge, and then with another, seemed to complain of Nature, that she had made him any whit earthie.
    But he had scarcely viewed the grounde of the Ilande, and considered the advauntages (if any were) therof, before the Castel boat had deliuered Amphialus, in al points prouided to giue a hard entertainme[n]t. And then sending ech to other their Squires in honourable maner, to knowe whether they should attende any further ceremony; the trumpets sounding, the horses with smooth running, their staues with vnshaked motion, obediently performed their cholericke co[m]mandements. But when they drew nere, Argalus-his horse being hot, prest in with his head: which Amphialus perceiuing, knowing if he gaue him his side, it should be to his disaduauntage, prest in also with him, so as both the horses & men met shoulder to shoulder, so as the horses (hurt as much with the striking, as being striken) tumbled downe to the earth, daungerously to their maister, but that they by strength nimble, and by use skilfull, in the falling shunned the harme of the fall, and without more respite, drewe out their swordes with a gallant brauerie, eche striuing to shewe himselfe the lesse endamaged, and to make knowne that they were glad, they had nowe nothing else to trust to, but their owne vertue. True it is, that Amphialus was the sooner vp; but Argalus had his sworde out the sooner: and then fell they to the cruellest combate, that any present eye had seene. Their swordes first, like Canons, battering downe the walles of their armour, making breaches almost in euerie place for troupes of woundes to enter. Among the rest, Argalus gaue a great wound to Amphialus-his disarmed face; though part of the force of it Amphialus warded vpon his shielde, and with-all (first casting his eye vp to Philocleas Window, as if he had fetched his courage thence) feyning to entend the same sort of blowes, turned his sword, and with a mightie reuerse, gaue a cruell wounde to the right arme of Argalus, the vnfaythfull armour yeelding to the swoordes strong-guided sharpenesse. But though the blood accused the hurt of Argalus, yet woulde he in no action of his confesse it: but keeping himselfe in a lower warde, stoode watching with timely thrustes to repaire his losse; which quickly he did. For Amphialus (following his fawning fortune) laid on so thicke vpon Argalus, that his shield had almost fallen peece-meale to the earth, when Argalus comming in with his right foote, and something stowping to come vnder his armour, thrust him into the belly daungerously, and mortally it would haue beene, but that with the blowe before, Amphialus had ouerthrowne himselfe so, as he fell side-warde downe, and with falling saued himselfe from ruine. The sworde by that meanes slipping aside, and not pearcing more deepely, Argalus seeing him fall, threatning with voyce and sworde, bad him yeelde. But he striuing without aunswere to rise, Argalus strake with all his might vpon his head. But his hurte arme not able to maister so sounde a force, let the swoorde fall so, as Amphialus, though astonished with the blowe, could arise: which Argalus considering, ranne in to graspe with him, and so closed together; falling so to the grounde, nowe one getting aboue, and then the other; at length, both wearie of so vnlouely embracements, with a dissenting consent gate vp, and went to their swordes: but happened eche of his enemies: where Argalus finding his foes sworde garnished in his blood, his hart rase with the same swoorde to reuenge it, and on that blade to allie their bloods together. But his minde was euill wayted-on by his lamed force, so as he receyued still more and more woundes, which made all his armour seeme to blush, that it had defended his master no better. But Amphialus perceiuing it, & waying the small hatefulnesse of their quarrell, with the worthinesse of the Knight, desired him to take pitie of himselfe. But Argalus, the more repining, the more he founde himselfe in disaduauntage, filling his veynes with spite in steade of blood, and making courage arise agaynst faintnesse, (like a Candle, which a little before it goes out, giues then the greatest blaze) so did he vnite all his force, that casting away the little remnaunt of his shielde, and taking his swoorde in both handes, he stroke such a notable blowe, that he cleft his shielde, armour, and arme almost to the bone.
    But then Amphialus forgat all ceremonies, and with cruell blowes made more of his blood succeed the rest; til his hand being staied by his eare, his eare filled with a pitifull crie, the crie guided his sight to an excellent faire Ladie, who came running as fast as she could, and yet because she coulde not as fast as she would, she sent her lamentable voyce before her: and being come, and being knowne to them both, to be the beautifull Parthenia, (who had that night dreamed shee sawe her husbande in such estate, as she then founde him, which made her make such haste thither) they both maruailed. But Parthenia ranne betweene them (feare of loue making her forget the feare of Nature) and then fell downe at their feete, determining so to part them, till she coulde get breathe to sigh out her doolefull speeches: and when her breath (which running had spent, and dismayednesse made slowe to returne) had by sobbes gotten into her sorow-closed breast, for a while she coulde say nothing, but, O wretched eyes of mine, O wailefull sight, O day of darkenesse: at length turning her eyes (wherein sorrowe swamme) to Amphialus, My Lorde (saide she) it is saide you loue; in the power of that loue, I beseech you to leaue of this combate, as euen your harte may finde comfort in his affection, euen for her sake, I craue it: or if you be mortally determined, be so pitifull vnto me, as first to kill me, that I may not see the death of Argalus.
was aboute to haue aunswered, when Argalus, vexed with his Fortune, but most vexed that she shoulde see him in that fortune, Ah Parthenia (saide he) neuer till nowe vnwelcome vnto me, do you come to get my life by request? And can not Argalus liue but by request? Is it a life? With that he went aside, for feare of hurting her, and woulde haue begunne the combate afresh. But Amphialus not onely coniured by that which helde the Monarchie of his mind, but euen in his noble hart melting with compassion at so passionate a sight, desired him to withholde his handes, for that he shoulde strike one, who sought his fauour, and woulde not make resistaunce. A notable example of the woonderfull effectes of Vertue, where the conquerour, sought for friendship of the conquered, and the conquered woulde not pardon the conquerour: both indeede being of that minde to loue eche other for accepting, but not for giuing mercie, and neyther affected to ouer-liue a dishonour: so that Argalus not so much striuing with Amphialus (for if he had had him in the like sorte, in like sort he would haue dealt with him) as labouring against his owne power (which he chiefly despised) set himselfe forward, stretching his strength to the vttermost. But the fire of that strife, blowen with his inward rage, boyled out his bloud in such aboundance, that he was driuen to rest him vpon the pommel of his sword: and then each thing beginning to turne rounde in the daunce of Death before his eyes, his sight both dazled, and dimmed, till (thinking to sit downe) he fell in a sowne. Parthenia, and Amphialus both hastely went vnto him: Amphialus tooke of his helmet, and Parthenia laid his head in her lap, tearing of her linnen sleeues & partlet, to serue about his wounds; to bind which, she tooke of her hair-lace, and would haue cut of her faire haire herselfe, but that the squires and iudges came in with fitter things for the purpose: while she bewayled her selfe with so lamentable sweetnes, as was inough to haue taught sorrow to the gladdest thoughts, and haue engraued it in the mindes of hardest mettall.

    O Parthenia, no more Parthenia (said she) What art thou? what seest thou? how is thy blisse in a moment fallen? how art thou, euen-now before all Ladies the example of perfect happines, and now the gasing-stock of endles miserie? O God, what hath bene my desert to be thus punished? or if such haue bene my desert, why was I not in my selfe punished? O wandring life, to what wildernes wouldst thou lead one? But Sorow, I hope thou art sharp inough to saue my labour from other remedies. Argalus, Argalus, I will folow thee, I wil folow thee.
    But with that Argalus came out of his sowne, and lifting vp his languishing eyes (which a painefull
rest, and iron sleepe did seeke to lock vp) seeing her, in who[m] (euen dying) he liued, and him selfe seated in so beloued a place, it seemed a little cheerefull bloud came vp to his cheekes, like a burning cole, almost dead, if some breath a little reuiue it: & forcing vp (the best he could) his feeble voice, My deare, my deare, my better halfe (said he) I finde I must now leaue thee: and by that sweet hand, and faire eyes of thine I sweare, that Death bringes nothing with it to grieue me, but that I must leaue thee, and cannot remaine to answere part of thy infinit deserts, with being some comfort vnto thee. But since so it pleaseth him, whose wisdome and goodnesse guideth all, put thy confidence in him, and one day we shall blessedly meet againe, neuer to depart: meane while liue happily, deare Parthenia, and I perswade my selfe, it will increase the blessednes of my soule, so to see thee. Loue well the remembrance of thy louing, and truely louing, Argalus: and let not (with that worde he sighed) this disgrace of mine, make thee one day thinke, thou hadst an vnwoorthie husband. They could scarcely vnderstand the last wordes: for Death began to seaze him selfe of his harte, neither coulde Parthenia make answere, so full was her breast of anguish. But while the other sought to stanch his remediles wounds, she with her kisses made him happie: for his last breath was deliuered into her mouth.
    But when indeede she found his ghost was gone, then Sorrowe lost the witte of vtterance, and grewe ragefull, and madde, so that she tare her beautifull face, and rent her haire, as though they could serue for nothing, since Argalus was gone; till Amphialus (so moued with pittie of that sight, as that he honoured his aduersaries death with teares) caused her (with the helpe of her women that came with her) partelie by force, to be conueyed into boate, with the dead body of Argalus, from which she could not depart. And being come of the other side, there she was receaued by Basilius him selfe, with all the funerall pompe of militarie discipline, trayling all their Ensignes vpon the ground, making his warlike instruments sound dolefull notes, and Basilius (with comfort in his mouth, and woe in his face) sought to perswade some ease into Parthenias minde: but all was as easefull to her, as the handling of sore woundes: all the honour done, being to her but the triumph of her ruine, she finding no comfort, but in desperate yeelding to Sorrow: and rather determined to hate her selfe, if euer she should finde ease thereof. And well might she heare as she past through the Campe, the great prayses spoken of her husbande, which all were recordes of her losse. But the more excellent he was (being indeede accounted seconde to none in all Greece) the more did the breath of those praises, beare vp the winges of Amphialus-his fame: to whom yet (such was his case) that Trophe vpon Trophe, still did but builde vp the monume[n]t of his thraldome; he euer finding himselfe in such fauour of Philoclea, that she was most absent, when he was present with her; and euer sorriest, when he had best successe: which would haue made him renounce all comfort, but that his mother, with diuersity of deuises, kept vp his hart.
    But while he allayed thus his outward glorie, with inward discomfort, he was like to haue bene ouertaken with a notable treason, the beginning wherof (though meerely ridiculous) had like to haue brought forth vnto him a weeping effect.

CHAP.   13.

1 Dametas put in harte 2 to defie Clinias. 3 Clinias out of
    harte to see the vie. 4 Dametas brauerie, adoubements,
    and imprese. 5 Clinias drawne 6 to answere him. 7 Their
    passions in comming to the field
. 8 Their actions in it, not
    so doubty, as their fortune doubtfull.
9 Clinias yeelding to
    triumphant Dametas.

AMong other that attended Basilius in this expedition, Dametas was one; whether to
be present with him, or absent from Miso: once, certaine it was without any minde to make his sworde cursed by any widow. Nowe, being in the campe, while each talke seemed iniurious, which did not acknowledge some duety to the fame of Amphialus, it fell out sometimes in communication, that as the speech of heauen doth often beget the mention of hell, so the admirable prowes of Amphialus (by a cotrarie) brought forth the remembrance of the cowardise of Clinias: in so much, as it grew almost to a prouerb, As very a cowarde, as Clinias. Describing him in such sort, that in the end, Dametas began to thinke with himselfe, that if he made a chalenge vnto him, he would neuer answere it; and that then he should greatly encrease the fauourable conceite of Basilius. This fancie of his he uttered to a young Gentleman, that waited vpon Phiilanax, in whose friendship he had especiall co[n]fidence, because he haunted his company, laughing often merely at his speeches, and not a little extolling the goodly dotes of Mopsa. The young Gentleman as glad, as if he had found a Hare sitting, egd him on, breaking the matter with Philanax, and then (for feare the humour should quayle in him) wrote a challenge him selfe for Damætas, and brought it to him. But when Damætas read it, putting his head on his shoulder, and somewhat smiling; he said, it was prettie indeed; but that it had not a loftie stile enough: and so would needes indite it in this sort.

O Clinias, thou Clinias, the wickedest worme that euer went, vpon two legges; the very fritter of fraude, and seething pot of iniquitie: I Damætas, chiefe gouernour of all the royall cattell, and also of Pamela {whom thy Maister most perniciously hath suggested out of my dominion) doo defie thee, in a mortall affray from the bodkin to the pike vpwarde. Which if thou doost presume to take in hande, I will out of that superfluous bodie of thine make thy soule to be euacuated.

    The young Gentleman seemed dumbe-striken with admiration, and presently tooke vpon him to be
the bearer thereof, while the heate of the fit lasted: and hauing gotten leaue of Basilius (euery one helping on, to ease his minde ouercharged with melancholy) he went into the towne according to the manner before time vsed, and in the presence of Amphialus deliuered this letter to Clinias; desiring to haue an answere, which might be fit for his reputation. Clinias opened it, and read it; and in the reading, his bloud not daring to be in so daungerous a place, went out of his face, and hid it selfe more inwardly: and his very wordes (as if they were afraid of blowes) came very slowly out of his mouth: but, aswell as his painting breath would utter it, he bad him tell the lowte that sent him, that he disdained to haue any thing to doo with him. But Amphialus, perceauing the matter, tooke him aside, and very earnestly dealt with him not to shame himselfe; Amphialus not onely desirous to bring it to passe to make some sport to Philoclea, but not being able to perswade with him, Amphialus licenced the Gentleman, telling him, by the next morning he should haue answere.
    The yong Gentlema[n] (sory he had sped no better) returned to Damætas, who had fetched many a sower-breathed sigh, for fear Clinias would accept the chale[n]ge. But whe[n] he perceiued by his trusty messenger, that this delay was in effect a denial, there being no dispositio[n] in him to accept it; then lo, Damætas began to speake his lowd voice, to looke big, to march vp & down, & in his march to lift his legs higher the he was wont, swearing by no meane deuotio[n]s, that the wals should not keepe the coward fro[m] him, but he would fetch him out of his connie-berrie: & then was hotter then euer to prouide himselfe of horse & armour, saying, he would go to the Iland brauely addoubed, & shew himself to his charge Pamela. To this purpose many willing ha[n]ds were about him, letting him haue reynes, pettrell, with the rest of the furniture, and very braue bases; but all comming from diuers houses, nether in coulour or fashion, shewing any kinred one with another; but that liked Damætas the better: for that he thought would argue, that he was maister of many braue furnitures. Then gaue he order to a painter for his deuice; which was, a plowe with the oxen lewsed from it, a sword with a great many armes and legges cut of; and lastly a great armie of pen and inke-hornes, and bookes. Nether did he sticke to tell the secrete of his intent, which was, that he had lefte of the plowe, to doo such bloudy deedes with his swoorde, as many inkehornes and bookes should be employed about the historifying of them: and being asked, why he set no worde vnto it, he said, that was indeede like the painter, that sayeth in his picture, Here is the dog, and here is the Hare: & with that he laughed so perfectly, as was great consolation to the beholders. Yet remembring, that Miso would not take it well at his returne, if he forgat his dutie to her, he caused about in a border to be written:

Miso mine own pigsnie, thou shalt heare news o'

    Thus all things being condignely ordered, with an ill fauoured impatiencie he waited, vntil the next morning, that he might make a muster of him selfe in the Iland; often asking them that very diligently wayted vpon him, whether it were not pittie, that such a coward, as Clinias, should set his runaway feete vpon the face of the earth?

    But as he was by diuers principal yong Gentlemen, to his no small glory, lifted vp on horsebacke, comes me a page of Amphialus, who with humble smiling reuerence deliuered a letter vnto him from Clinias: whom Amphialus had brought to this, first with perswasions (that for certaine, if he did accept the combat, Damætas would neuer dare to appeare, and that then the honour should be his) but principally threatning him, that if he refused it, he would turne him out of the towne to be put to death for a traitour by Basilius: so as the present feare (euer to a coward most terrible) of being turned out of the towne, made him, though full vnwillingly, vndertake the other feare, wherein he had some shewe of hope, that Damætas might hap either to be sick, or not to haue the courage to performe the matter. But when Damætas heard the name of Clinias, very aptly suspecting what the matter might be, he bad the page carry backe his letter, like a naughty boy as he was: for he was in no humour, he tolde him, of reading letters. But Damætas-his frie[n]d, first persuading him, that for certaine it was some submission, tooke vpon him so much boldnesse, as to open his letter, and to reade it alowd in this sort.

FIlthy driuell, vnworthy to haue thy name set in any letter by a souldiers hande written: could thy wretched harte thinke it was timorousnesse, that made Clinias suspende a while his answere? No caitiffe, no: it was but as a Ramme, which goes backe to returne with the greater force. Know therefore that thou shall no sooner appeare (appeare now if thou darest) I say thou shalt no sooner appeare in the Ilande (O happy thou, if thou doo not appeare) but that I will come vpon thee withall my force; and cut thee in pieces (marke, what I saie) ioynte after ioynte, to the eternall terrour of all presumptuous villaynes. Therefore looke what thou doost: for I tell thee, horrible smarte, and paine shalbe thy lot, if thou wilt needes be so foolish (I hauing giuen thee no such cause) as to meete with me.

These terrible wordes Clinias vsed, hoping they would giue a cooling to the heate of Dametas-his
courage: and so indeede they did, that he did grone to heare the thundring of those threatnings. And when the Gentleman had ended the reading of them, Damætas tolde them, that in his opinion he thought his answere came too late, and that therefore he might very well go, and disarme him selfe: especially considering, the other had in curteous maner warned him not to come. But they (hauing him now on horsebacke) led him vnto the ferrie, and so into the Iland; the clashing of his owne armour striking miserable feare into him, and in his minde thinking greate vnkindnesse in his friende, that he had brought him to a matter so contrarie to his complexion. There stayed he but a little (the Gentlemen that came with him teaching him how to vse his sworde and launce, while he cast his eye about, to see which way he might runne away, cursing all Ilands in being euill scituated) when Clinias with a braue sounde of trumpets landed at the other ende: who came all the way debating with himselfe, what he had deserued of Amphialus to driue him to those inconueniences. Sometimes his witte made him bethinke him selfe what was beste to be done: but feare did so corrupt his witt, that whatsoeuer he thought was best, he still found daunger therein; fearefulnesse (contrarie to all other vices) making him thinke the better of another, the worse he found him selfe; rather imagining in him selfe, what wordes he would vse (if he were ouercome) to get his life of Damætas, then how to ouercome, whereof he could thinke with no patience. But oftentimes looking to the Earth pittifully complayning, that a man of such suffciencie (as he thought him selfe) shoulde in his best yeares be swallowed vp by so base an element. Faine he would haue prayed, but he had not harte inough to haue confidence in praier; the glittering of the armour, and sounding of the trumpets giuing such an assault to the weake-breache of his false senses, that he grewe from the degree of feare to an amazement, not almost to know what he did; till two iudges (chosen for the purpose) making the trumpets cease, and taking the oth of those champions, that they came without guile or witchcraft, set them at wonted distaunce; one from the other.
    Then the trumpets sounding, Damætas-his horse (used to such causes) when he thought lest of the matter, started out so lustely, that Damætas was iogde back with head, and bodie, and pulling withall his bridle-hande, the horse (that was tender of mouth) made halfe a stop, and fell to bounding, so that Damætas threw away his launce, and with both his hands held by the pummell: the horse, halfe running, halfe leaping, till he met with Clinias: who fearing he should misse his reste, had put his staffe therein before he began his careere: neither would he then haue begun, but that at the trumpets warning, one (that stood behinde) strake on his horse, who running swiftly, the winde tooke such holde of his staffe, that it crost quite ouer his breast, and in that sorte gaue a flat bastonado to Damætas: who, halfe out of his sadle, went neere to his olde occupation of digging the earth, but with the creste of his helmet. Clinias when he was paste him, not knowing what he had done, but fearing lest Damætas were at his backe, turned with a wide turne; & seeing him on the ground, he thought then was his time, or neuer, to treade him vnder his horses feete; & withall (if he could) hurt him with his launce, which had not broken, the encounter was so easie. But putting forth his horse, what with the falling of the staffe to low before the legs of the horse, & the[n] coming vpon Damætas, who was then scra[m]bling vp, the horse fell ouer & ouer, and lay vpon Clinias. Which Damætas (who was gotten vp) perceiuing, drew out his sword, prying which way he might best come to kil Clinias behind. But the horse that lay vpon him, kept such a pawing with his feet, that Damætas durst not approch, but verie leysurely; so as the horse (being lustie) gat vp, and withall fell to strike, and leape, that Damætas started vp a good way, and gaue Clinias time to rise, but so bruised in bodie, and broken in hart, that he meant to yeeld himselfe to mercie: and with that intent drew out his sworde, entending when he came nearer, to present the pommell of it to Damætas. But Damætas, when he sawe him come with his sword drawne, nothing conceiuing of any such intent, went backe as fast as his backe and heeles woulde leade him. But as Clinias founde that, he beganne to thinke a possibilitie in the victorie, and therefore followed with the cruell haste of a preuailing cowarde; laying vpon Damætas, who did nothing but crie out to him to holde his hand: sometimes that he was dead, sometimes that he woulde complaine to Basilius: but still bare the blowes vngratefully, going backe, till at length he came into the water with one of his feete.
    But then a new feare of drowning tooke him, so that not daring to go back, nor to deliberat (the blows stil so lighted on him) nor to yeelde (because of the cruell threatnings of Clinias) feare being come to the extremitie, fell to a madnesse of despaire: so that (winking as hard as euer he could) he began to deale some blowes, and his arme (being used to a flaile in his youth) laid the[m] on so thick, that Clinias now began with lame[n]table eies to see his owne blood come out in many places, and before he had lost halfe an ounce, finding in himselfe that he fainted, cried out aloud to Damætas that he yeelded. Throw away thy sword then (said Damætas) and I will saue thee; but still laying on, as fast as he could. Clinias straight obeyed, and humbly craued mercie, telling him, his sworde was gone. Then Damætas first opened his eyes, and seeing him indeed vnweaponed, made him stande a good way of from it; and then willed him to lie downe vpon the earth as flat as he could. Clinias obeyed; and Damætas (who neuer could thinke himselfe safe, till Clinias were deade) began to thinke with himselfe, that if he strake at him with his sworde, if he did not kill him at the first blowe, that then Clinias might happe to arise, and reuenge himselfe. Therefore he thought best to kneele downe vpon him, and with a great whittle he had (hauing disarmed his heade) to cut his throate, which he had vsed so with Calues, as he had no small dexteritie in it. But while he sought for his Knife, which vnder his armour he coulde not well finde out, and that Clinias lay with so sheepish a countenaunce, as if he would haue beene glad to haue his throate cut for feare of more paine, the Iudges came in, and tooke v from off him, telling him he did against the lawe of Armes, hauing promised life, if he threwe away his sworde. Damætas was loath to consent, till they sware, they woulde not suffer him to fight any more, when he was vp: and then more forced, then perswaded, he let him rise, crowing ouer him, and warning him to take heede how he dealt any more with any that came of his fathers kinred. But thus this combate of cowardes being finished, Damætas was with much mirth and melodie receiued into the campe as victorious, neuer a Page there failing to waite vpon this Triumph.

CHAP.   14.

1 Clinias a slie traitour. 2 Artesia his malcontent accomplice.
    3 Zelmanes passions. 4 Her practise with Artesia. 5 The
    complot reuealed to the disliking sisters,
6 bewrayed by

BVt Clinias, though he wanted hart to preuent shame, yet he wanted not witte to
feele shame;  not so much repining at it for the abhorring of shame, as for the discommodities, that to them that are shamed, ensue. For well he deemed, it would be a great barre to practize, and a pulling on of iniuries, when men needed not care, how they vsed him. Insomuch, that Clinias (finding himselfe the scorning-stocke of euery companie) fell with repining to hate the cause thereof; & hate in a cowards hart, could set it selfe no other limites, but death. Which purpose was well egged on by representing vnto himselfe, what daunger he lately was in; which still kept no lesse ougly figure in his minde, then when it was present: and quickly (euen in his dissembling countenance) might be discerned a concealed grudge. For though he forced in himselfe a farre more diligent officiousnesse towarde Amphialus, then euer before, yet a leering eye vpon the one side at him, a countenance still framed to smiling before him (how little cause soeuer there was of smiling) and grombling behind him, at any of his commaundements, with an vncertaine manner of behauiour: his words comming out, though full of flatterie, yet slowly, and hoarcely pronounced, might well haue blazed, what armes his false hart bare. But despised, because of his cowardlinesse, and not marked, because despised, he had the freer scope of practize. Which he did the more desperately enter into, because the dayly dangers Amphialus did submit himselfe into, made Clinias assuredly looke for his ouerthrow, and for his owne consequently, if he did not redeme his former treason to Basilius, with a more treasonable falshood toward Amphialus.
    His chiefe care therefore was, to find out among all sorts of Amphialus whom either like feare, tediousnes of the siege, or disco[n]tentment of some vnsatisfied ambitio[n] would make apt to dig in the same mine that he did: & some alredy of welthy weary folks, & unconsta[n]t youths (who had not found such sudden successe as they had promised the[m]selues) he had made stoupe to the lure. But of none he made so good account as of Artesia, sister to the late slain Ismenus, & the chiefe of six maids, who had trained out the Princesses to their banket of miserie: so much did the sharpnes of her wit counteruaile (as he thought) any other defects of her sex: for she had vndertaken that dangerous practise by the persuasion of Cecropia; who assured her that the two princesses should be made away; & the[n] Amphialus wold marry her: which she was the apter to beleue, by some false persuasio[n] her glas had giue[n] her of her own inco[m]parable excellencies, & by the great fauor she knew he bare to her brother Ismenus, which (like a self-flattering woma[n]) she conceiued was done for her sake. But when she had atchieued her attempt, & that she found the Princesses were so far fro[m] their intended death, as that the one of them was like to be her souereigne, & that neither her seruice had woon of Amphialus much more the ordinary fauor, nor her ouer-large offring herself to a mind otherwise owed, had obteined a loked-for acceptatio[n]; disdain to be disdained spite of a frustrate hope, & percha[n]ce vnquenched lust-growne rage, made her vnquiet thoughts find no other rest, but malice: which was increased by the death of her brother, who[m] she iudged neither succoured against Philanax, nor reueged vpon Philanax. But all these coles were wel blowne by the co[m]pany she especially kept with Zelmane, all this time of her imprisonment. For finding her presence vncheerfull to the mourning Philoclea, and contemned of the hie harted Pamela, she spent her time most with Zelmane. Who though at the first hardly broking the instrument of their miserie, learning cunning in the schoole of aduersitie, in time framed her selfe to yeeld her acceptable intertainment.
    For Zelmane, when she had by that vnexpected mischief her bodie imprisoned, her valure ouermastred, her wit beguiled, her desires barred, her loue eclipsed; assured of euill, fearing worse, able to knowe Philocleas misfortune, and not able to succour her, she was a great while, before the greatnes of her hart could descend to sorow, but rather rose boyling vp in spight and disdain; Reason hardly making Courage beleeue, that it was distressed: but as if the walles would be afraid of her, so woulde her lookes shoote out threatning vpon them. But the fetters of seruitude (growing heauier with wearing) made her feele her case, and the little preuailing of repining: and then griefe gat seate in her softned minde, making sweetenesse of passed comfortes by due title claime teares of present discomfort: and since her fortune made her able to helpe as litle as any bodie, yet to be able to waile as much as any bodie; solitarie Sorrowe, with a continuall circle in her selfe, going out at her owne mouth, to come in againe at her owne eares. Then was the name of Philoclea graued in the glas windowes, and by the foolish idolatrie of affection, no sooner written, the[n] adored; & no sooner adored, the[n] pitied: al the wo[n]ted praises (she was wont to giue vnto her) being now but figures of rethorick to amplifie the iniuries of misfortune; against which being alone, she woulde often make inuectiue declamations, methodized onely by raging sorow.
    But whe[n] Artesia did insinuat herself into her acquaintance, she gaue the gouernment of her courage to wit, & was co[n]tent to familiarize herselfe with her: so much the rather, as that she perceiued in her certaine flawes of il-co[n]cealed discontentme[n]t. Insomuch that whe[n] Zelmane would sweete her mouth with the praises of the sisters, especially setting forth their noble gratefulnes, in neuer forgetting wel-intended seruices, & inuoking the iustice of the gods, not to suffer such treasures to be wro[n]g-fully hidde[n], & somtimes with a kind vnkindnes, charging Artesia that she had ben abused to abuse so worthy perso[n]s: Artesia (though falsly) wold protest, that she had bin beguiled in it, neuer meaning other matter the recreatio[n]: & yet withall (by alleaging how vngratefully she was dealt with) it was easie to be seene, it was the vnrewarding, & not the euil employing her seruice, which grieued her. But Zelmane (using her own bias to bowle neer the mistresse of her owne thoughtes) was content to lende her beleefe, and withall, to magnifie her desert, if willingly she would deliuer, whom vnwillingly she had imprisoned; leauing no argument which might tickle ambition, or flatter reuenge. So that Artesia, (pusht forward by Clinias, and drawne onward by Zelmane) bound her selfe to that practise; wherin Zelmane (for her part) desired no more, but to haue armour and weapons brought into her chamber, not doubting, therewith to perfourm any thing, how impossible soeuer, which longing Loue can perswade, and inuincible Valour dare promise.
    But Clinias (whose faith could neuer comprehende the misteries of Courage) perswaded Artesia, while he by corruptio[n] had drawn the guard of one gate, to open it (when he would appoint the time) to the enemie: that she should impoyson Amphialus, which she might the easier do, because she her selfe had vsed to make the broaths, when Amphialus (either wearied or wounded) did vse such diet. And al things alredy were ready to be put in executio[n], when they thought best to breake the matter with the two excellent sisters, not doubting of their co[n]sent in a thing so behoofefull to the[m]selues: their reasons being, that the Princesses knowing their seruice, might be sure to preserue them from the fury of the entring souldiers: whereof Clinias (euen so) could scarcely be sufficiently certaine: and withall, making them priuie to their action, to binde them afterwardes to acknowledg gratefulnes towards them. They went therefore at one time, when they knewe them to be alone, Clinias to Philoclea, and Artesia to Pamela: and Clinias, with no fewe words, did set forth what an exploite was intended for her seruice. But Philoclea (in whose cleere minde treason could finde no hiding place) told him, that she would be glad, if he could perswade her cosin to deliuer her, and that she would neuer forgett his Seruice therin: but that she desired him to lay down any such way of mischiefe, for that (for her part) she would rather yeeld to perpetuall imprisonment, then consent to the destroying her cosin, who (she knewe) loued her, though wronged her. This vnlooked-for answere amazed Clinias, so that he had no other remedie in his minde, but to kneele downe to Philoclea, and beseech her to keep it secrete, considering that the intention was for her seruice: and vowing (since she misliked it) to proceed no further therin. She comforted him with promise of silence, which she perfourmed.
    But that little auayled: for Artesia hauing in like sort opened this deuice to Pamela, she (in whose mind Vertue gouerned with the scepter of Knowledge) hating so horrible a wickednes, and streight iudging what was fitte to doo, Wicked woman (said she) whose vnrepenting harte can find no way to amend treason, but by treason: nowe the time is come, that thy wicked wiles haue caught thy selfe in thine owne nette: as for me, let the Gods dispose of me as shall please them; but sure it shall be no such way, nor way-leader, by which I will come to libertie. This she spake something with a lowder voice then she was woont to vse, so as Cecropia heard the noise; who was (sooner then Artesia imagined she would) come vp, to bring Pamela to a window, where she might see a notable skirmish happened in the Campe, as she thought, among themselues: and being a cunning fisher in troubled waters, streight found by their voices and gestures, there was some matter of consequence, which she desired Pamela to tell her. Aske of her (said Pamela) & learne to know, that who do falshoode to their superiours, teach falshoode to their inferiours. More she would not say. But Cecropia taking away the each-way guiltie Artesia, with feare of torture, gat of her the whole practise: so as Zelmane was the more closely imprisoned, and Clinias (with the rest of his corrupted mates, according to their merites) executed: For, as for Artesia, she was but lockt vp in her chamber, Amphialus not consenting (for the loue he bare Ismenus) that further punishment should be laide vpon her.

CHAP. 15.

1 Proude Anaxius breaketh through the besiegers. 2 His
welcome by
Amphialus. 3 The Musicke, 4 and loue-
song made to
Philoclea. 5 The sallie of Anaxius
and his on the Basilians, 6 backt by Amphialus,
7 beaten backe by three vnknowen Knightes. 8 The
Retraite of both sides.

BVt the noyse they hearde in the campe, was occasioned by the famous Prince
Anaxius, nephewe to the Giant Euardes whom Pyrocles slew: A Prince, of body excedingly strong; in armes so skilfull and fortunate, as no man was thought to excel him; of courage that knew not how to feare: partes worthie praise, if they had not bene guyded by pride, and followed by vniustice. For, by a strange composition of minde, there was no man more tenderly sensible in any thing offred to himselfe, which in the farthest-fette construction, might be wrested to the name of wro[n]g; no man, that in his own actions could worse distinguish betwene Valour and Violence: So proud, as he could not abstaine from a Thraso-like boasting, and yet (so vnluckie a lodging his vertues had gotten) he would neuer boast more then he would accomplish: falsly accounting an vnflexible anger, a couragious constancie: esteeming feare, and astonishment, righter causes of admiration, then Loue and Honour. This man had foure sundrie times fought with Amphialus, but Mars had bene so vnpartiall an arbiter, that neither side gate aduauntage of the other. But in the end it hapned, that Anaxius found Amphialus (vnknowen) in a great danger, and saued his life: wherupon (louing his owne benefite) began to fauour him, so much the more, as, thinking so well of himselfe, he coulde not choose but like him, whom he founde a match for himselfe: which at last grewe to as much friendship towardes him, as could by a proud harte be conceiued. So as in this trauaile (seeking Pyrocles to be reuenged of his vncles death) hearing of this siege, neuer taking paines to examine the quarrell (like a man whose will was his God, and his hand his lawe) taking with him his two brothers (men accounted little inferiour to him selfe in martiall matters) and two hundred chosen horsemen (with whome he thought him selfe able to conquere the world) yet commaunding the rest of his forces to follow, he him selfe vpon such an vnexpected suddainenesse entred in vpon the backe of Basilius, that many with great vnkindnesse tooke their death, not knowing why, nor how they were so murdred. There, if euer, did he make knowne the wonderfulnes of his force. But the valiant, & faithfull Philanax, with

wel gouerned speed made such head against him, as would haue shewed, how soone Courage falles in the ditch which hath not the eie of Wisdome: but that Amphialus at the same time issued out, & winning with an abondaunce of courage one of the sconses, which Basilius had builded, made waie for his friend Anaxius with great losse of both sides, but especially of the Basilians; such notable monuments had those two swords especially lefte of their Maisters redoubted worthynesse.
    There with the respect fit to his estate, the honour dewe to his worthinesse, and the kindnesse which accompanies friendship (made fast by enterchaunged benefites) did Amphialus enforce him selfe (as much as in a besieged towne he could) to make Anaxius know, that his succour was not so needefull, as his presence gratefull. For causing the streates and houses of the towne to witnes his welcome (making both souldiers and Magistrates in their countenaunces to shewe their gladnesse of him) he led him to his mother, whom he besought to entertain him with no lesse loue and kindnesse, then as one, who once had saued her sonnes life, and now came to saue both life and honour. Tush (said Anaxius, speaking alowde, looking vpon his brothers) I am onely sorie there are not halfe a dozen Kinges more about you: that what Anaxius can doo, might be the better manifested. His brothers smiled, as though he had ouer-modestly spoken farre vnderneath the pitch of his power. Then was he disarmed at the earnest request of Amphialus: for Anaxius boiled with desire to issue out vppon the enemies, perswading himselfe, that the Sunne shoulde not be sette, before he had ouerthrowne them. And hauing reposed himselfe, Amphialus asked him, whether he woulde visite the yong Princesses. But Anaxius whispered him in the eare: In trueth (saide he) deare friende Amphialus, though I am none of those, that loue to speake of themselues, I neuer came yet in companie of Ladies, but that they fell in loue with me. And I that in my hart scorne them as a peeuish paltrie sexe, not woorthie to communicate with my vertues, would not do you the wrong: since (as I heare) you doo debase your selfe so much as to affect them. The curteous Amphialus could haue beene angrie with him for those wordes; but knowing his humour, suffered him to daunce to his owne musicke: and gaue himselfe to entertaine both him and his brothers, with as cheerefull a maner, as coulde issue from a minde whome vnluckie loue had filled with melancholie. For to Anaxius he yeelded the direction of all. He gaue the watchwoorde, and if any grace were graunted, the meanes were to be made to Anaxius. And that night when supper was ended, wherein Amphialus woulde needes himselfe waite vpon him, he caused in Boates vpon the Lake an excellent musicke to be ordered: which, though Anaxius might conceiue was for his honour, yet indeede he was but the Bricke-wall to conuey it to the eares of the beloued Philoclea.

    The musicke was of Cornets, whereof one aunswering the other, with a sweete emulation, striuing for the glorie of musicke, and striking vpon the smooth face of the quiet Lake, was then deliuered vp to the castell walles, which with a proude reuerberation, spreading it into the aire; it seemed before the harmonic came to the eare, that it had enriched it selfe in trauaile, the nature of those places adding melodie to that melodious instrument. And when a while that instrument had made a braue proclamation to all vnpossessed mindes of attention, an excellent consort streight followed of fiue Violles, and as manie voyces; which all being but Oratours of their maisters passions, bestowed this song vppon her, that thought vppon another matter.

THe Fire to see my woes for anger burneth:
The Aire in raine for my affliction weepeth:
The Sea to ebbe for griefe his flowing turneth:
The Earth with pitie dull his center turneth.
    Fame is with wonder blazed:
    Time runnes away for sorrow:
    Place standeth still amazed.
To see my night of ils, which hath no morrowe.
    Alas all onely she no pitie taketh
To know my miseries, but chaste and cruell
    My fall her glory maketh;
Yet still her eyes giue to my flames their fuell.

Fire, burne me quite till sense of burning leaue me'
Aire, let me drawe thy breath no more in anguish:
Sea, drown'd in thee of tedious life bereaue me:
Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish.
    Fame, say I was not borne:
    Time, hast my dying hower:
    Place, see my graue vptorne:
Fire, aire, sea, earth, fame, time, place show your power.
    Alas from all their helpe I am exiled:
For hers am I, and Death feares her displeasure.
    Fie Death thou art beguiled:
Though I be hers, she sets by me no treasure,

    But Anaxius (seeming a weary before it was ended) told Amphialus, that for his part he liked no
musick, but the neighing of horses, the sound of trumpets, and the cries of yeelding persons: and therefore desired, that the next morning they shoulde issue vpon the same place, where they had entred that day, not doubting to make them quickly a wearie of being the besiegers of Anaxius. Amphialus, who had no whit lesse courage, though nothing blowne vp with pride, willingly condiscended: and so the next morning (giuing false alarum to the other side of the campe) Amphialus at Anaxius earnest request, staying within the towne to see it garded, Anaxius and his brethren, Lycurgus, and Zoilus, sallied out with the best chosen men. But Basilius (hauing bene the last day somewhat vnprouided) now had better fortified the ouerthrowne sconse; and so well had prepared euery thing for defence, that it was impossible for any valour from within, to preuaile. Yet things were perfourmed by Anaxius beyonde the credite of the credulous. For thrise (valiantly followed by his brothers) did he set vp his banner vpon the rampire of the enemie: though thrise againe by the multitude, and aduauntage of the place, but especially by the comming of three valiant Knights, he were driuen downe againe. Nu[m]bers there were that day, whose deathes and ouerthrowes were executed by the well knowen sworde of Anaxius: but the rest, by the length of time and iniurie of Historians, haue bene wrapped vp in darke forgetfulnesse: onely Tressennius is spoken of, because when all abandoned the place, hee onely made head to Anaxius; till hauing lost one of his legs, yet not lost the harte of fighting, Lycurgus (second brother to Anaxius) cruellie murthered him; Anaxius him selfe disdayning any further to deale with him.
    But so farre had Anaxius at the thirde time preuayled, that now the Basilians began to let their

courage descende to their feete, Basilius, and Philanax in vaine striuing, with reuerence of authoritie to bridle the flight of astonishment, and to teach Feare discretion: so that Amphialus, seeing Victorie shew such a flattering countenaunce to him, came out with all his force; hoping that day to end the siege.
    But that fancie altered quicklie by the suddaine comming to the other side of three Knights, whereof the one was in white armour, the other in greene, and the thirde by his blacke armour, and deuice streight knowne to be the notable Knight, who the first day had giuen Fortune so short a stoppe with his notable deedes, and fighting hand to hand with the deemed inuincible Amphialus. For the very cowardes no sooner saw him, but as borrowing some of his spirit, they went like yong Eagles to the pray, vnder the wing of their damme. For the three aduenturers, not content to keepe them from their rampier, leapt downe among them, and entered into a braue combate with the three valiaunt brothers. But to whether side Fortune woulde haue beene partiall, could not be determined. For the Basilians, lightened with the beames of these straungers valure; followed so thicke, that the Amphialians were glad with some haste to retire to the walles warde: though Anaxius neither reason, teare, nor example, coulde make him asswage the furie of his fight: vntill one of the Basilians (vnwoorthie to haue his name registred, since he did it cowardly, sidewarde, when he least looked that way) almost cut off one of his legges: so as he fell downe, blaspheming heauen, that all the influences thereof had power to ouerthrow him; and there death would haue seazed of his proude hart, but that Amphialus tooke in hand the blacke knight, while some of his souldiers conueied away Anaxius, so requiting life for life vnto him.


    And for the loue and example of Amphialus, the fight began to enter into a new fitte of heate: when Basilius (that thought inough to be done for that day) caused retraite to be sounded; fearing least his men following ouer-hastily, might bee the losse of those excellent Knights whom he desired to knowe. The Knights as soone as they heard the retraite (though they were eagerly set, knowing that courage without discipline is nearer beastlinesse then manhood) drew backe their swords, though hungrie of more blood: especially the blacke Knight, who, knowing Amphialus, could not refraine to tell him, that this was the second time he escaped out of his hands, but that he would shortly bring him a bill of all the former accounts. Amphialus seing it fit to retire also (most of his people being hurt, both in bodies and harts) withdrew himselfe, with so well seated a resolution, that it was as farre from anger, as from dismayednesse; answering no other to the blacke Knights threats, but that when he brought him his account, he should finde a good pay-master.

CHAP.  16.

1 The vnknowne Knights will not be knowne. 2 The Knight
    of the Tombes shew,
3 and challenge accepted by Amphia-
    lus. 4 Their fight, with the death of the Tombe-knight.
    5 Who that Knight was. 6 The dying speeches, and 7 the
    lamentable funerals.

THe fight being ceased, and ech side withdrawne within their strengthes, Basilius sent Philanax to entertaine the straunge Knights, and to bring them vnto him, that he might acknowledge what honour was due to their vertue. But they excused themselues, desiring to be knowne first by their deedes, before their names should accuse their vnworthinesse: and though the other replied according as they deserued, yet (finding that vnwelcome curtesie is a degree of iniury) he suffered them
to retire themselues to a tent of their owne without the campe, where they kept themselues secrete: Philanax himselfe being called away to another straunge Knight; straunge not onely by the vnlookedfornesse of his comming, but by the straunge maner of his comming.
    For he had before him foure damosels, and so many behind him, all vpon palfreys, & all appareled in mourning weedes; ech of them seruants of ech side, with like liueries of sorrow. Himselfe in an armour, all painted ouer with such a cunning of shadow, that it represented a gaping sepulchre, the furniture of his horse was all of Cypresse braunches; wherwith in olde time they were woont to dresse graues. His Bases (which he ware so long, as they came almost to his ankle) were imbrodered onely with blacke wormes, which seemed to crawle vp and downe, as readie alreadie to deuoure him. In his shielde for Impresa, he had a beautifull childe, but hauing two heades; whereof the one shewed, that it was alreadie dead: the other aliue, but in that case, necessarily looking for death. The word was, No way to be rid from death, but by death.

    This Knight of the tombe (for so the souldiours termed him) sent to Basilius, to demaund leaue to send in a damosel into the towne, to cal out Amphialus, according as before time some others had done. Which being grated (as glad any would vndertake the charge, which no bodie else in that campe was knowne willing to do) the damosell went in, and hauing with tears sobbed out a braue chalenge to Amphialus, from the Knight of the Tombe, Amphialus, honourably enterteining the gentlewoman, & desiring to know the Knights name (which the doolefull Gentlewoman would not discouer) accepted the chalenge, onely desiring the Gentlewoman to say thus much to the strange Knight, from him; that if his minde were like to his title, there were more cause of affinitie, then enmitie betweene them. And therefore presently (according as he was woont) as soone as he perceyued the Knight of the Tombe, with his Damosels and Iudge, was come into the Iland, he also went ouer in accustomed maner: and yet for the curtesie of his nature, desired to speake with him.

    But the Knight of the Tombe, with silence, and drawing his horse backe, shewed no will to heare, nor speake: but with Launce on thigh, made him knowe, it was fitte for him to go to the other ende of the Career, whence wayting the starte of the unknowne Knight, he likewise made his spurres claime haste of his horse. But when his staffe was in his rest, comming downe to meete with the Knight, nowe verie neere him, he perceyued the Knight had mist his rest: wherefore the curteous Amphialus woulde not let his Launce descende, but with a gallant grace, ranne ouer the heade of his there-in friended enemie: and hauing stopped his horse, and with the turning of him, blessed his sight with the Windowe where he thought Philoclea might stand, he perceyued the Knight had lighted from his horse, and throwne away his staffe, angrie with his misfortune, as hauing mist his rest, and drawne his sworde to make that supply his fellowes fault. He also lighted, and drew his sworde,
esteeming victorie by aduantage, rather robbed then purchased: and so the other comming eagerly toward him, he with his shield out, and sword aloft, with more brauerie then anger, drew vnto him; and straight made their swords speake for them a pretie while with equall fearcenes. But Amphialus (to whom the earth brought forth few matches) hauing both much more skill to choose the places, and more force to worke vpon the chosen, had already made many windowes in his armour for death to come in at; whe[n] (the noblenes of his nature abhorring to make the punishment ouergoe the offence) he slept a little backe, and withal, Sir Knight (said he) you may easely see, that it pleaseth God to fauour my cause; employ your valour against them that wish you hurte: for my part, I haue not deserued hate of you. Thou lyest false traytor, saide the other, with an angrie, but weake voyce. But Amphialus, in whome abused kindnesse became spitefull rage, Ah barbarous wretch (said hee) onely couragious in discourtesie; thou shalt soone see whether thy toonge hath betrayed thy harte, or no: and with that, redoubling his blowes, gaue him, a great wounde vpon his necke, and closing with him ouerthrew him, and with the fall thrust him mortally into the bodie: and with that went to pull off his helmet, with intention to make him giue himselfe the lye, for hauing so saide, or to cut off his head.
    But the head-peece was no sooner off, but that there fell about the shoulders of the ouercome Knight the treasure of faire golden haire, which with the face (soone knowne by the badge of excellencie) witnessed that it was Parthenia, the vnfortunatelie vertuous wife of Argalus: her beautie then euen in despight of the passed sorrow, or comming death, assuring all beholders, that it was nothing short of perfection. For her exceeding faire eyes, hauing with continuall weeping gotten a little rednesse about them; her roundy sweetly swelling lippes a little trembling, as though they kissed their neighbour death; in her cheekes the whitenesse striuing by little and little to get vpon the rosinesse of them; her necke, a necke indeed of Alablaster, displaying the wounde, which with most daintie blood laboured to drowne his owne beauties; so as here was a riuer of purest redde, there an Iland of perfittest white, each giuing lustre to the other; with the sweete countena[n]ce (God-knowes) full of an vnaffected languishing: though these thinges to a grosly conceauing sense might seeme disgraces; yet indeed were they but apparailing beautie in a new fashion, which all looked-vpon thorough the spectacles of pittie, did eue[n] encrease the lynes of her naturall fairenes, so as Amphialus was astonished with griefe, compassion, & shame, detesting his fortune, that made him vnfortunate in victory.
    Therfore, putting off his headpeece & gauntlet; kneeling down vnto her, & with teares testifying his sorow, he offred his (by
himselfe accursed) hands to helpe her: protesting his life and power to be readie to doo her honour. But Parthenia (who had inward messingers of the desired deathes approch) looking vpon him, and streight turning away her feeble sight, as from a delightlesse obiect, drawing out her wordes, which her breath (loath to parte from so sweete a bodie) did faintly deliuer, Sir (saide she) I pray you (if prayers haue place in enemies) to let my maides take my body vntouched by you: the onely honour I now desire by your meanes, is, that I haue no honour of you. Argalus made no such bargaine with you, that the hands which killed him, shoulde helpe me. I haue of them (and I doo not onely pardon you, but thanke you for it) the seruice which I desired. There rests nothing now, but that I go liue with him, since whose death I haue done nothing but die. Then pawsing, and a little fainting, and againe comming to herselfe, O sweete life, welcome (saide she) nowe feele I the bandes vntied of the cruell death, which so long hath helde me. And O life, O death, aunswere for me, that my thoughts haue not so much as in a dreame tasted any comfort; since they were depriued of Argalus. I come, my Argalus, I come: And, O God hide my faultes in thy mercies, and graunt (as I feele thou doost graunt) that in thy eternall loue, we may loue eche other eternally. And this O Lorde: But there Atropos cut off her sentence: for with that, casting vp both eyes and hands to the skies, the noble soule departed (one might well assure himselfe) to heauen, which left the bodie in so heauenly a demeanure.
    But Amphialus (with a hart oppressed with griefe, because of her request) withdrewe himselfe, but the Iudges, as full of pitie, had bene al this while disarming her, and her gentlewomen with lamentable cries, laboring to stanch the remediles wounds: & a while she was dead before they perceiued it; death being able to diuide the soul, but not the beauty fro[m] that body. But whe[n] the infallible tokens of death assured the[m] of their losse, one of the women would haue killed her selfe, but that the squire of Amphialus perceauing it, by force held her. Others that had as strong passions, though weaker resolution, fell to cast dust vpon their heads, to teare their garments: all falling vpon, and crying vpon their sweet mistres; as if their cries could perswade the soul to leaue the celestiall happines, to come again into the eleme[n]ts of sorrow: one time calling to remembrance her vertue, chastnes, sweetnes, goodnes to them: another time accusing themselu[e]s, that they had obeyed her, they hauing bene deceaued by her words, who assured the, that it was reuealed vnto her, that she should haue her harts desire in the battaile against Amphialus, which they wrongly vnderstood. Then kissing her cold hands and feet, wearie of the world, since she was gone, who was their world. The very heauens semed, with a cloudie countenance, to loure at the losse, and Fame it selfe (though by nature glad to tell rare accidents, yet) could not choose but deliuer it in lamentable accents, & in such sort went it quickly all ouer the Campe: &, as if the aire had bene infected with sorow, no hart was so hard, but was subiect to that contagion; the rarenes of the accident, matching together (the rarely matched together) pittie with admiration, Basilius himselfe came foorth, and brought foorth the faire Gynecia with him, who was gone into the campe vnder colour of visiting her husband, and hearing of her daughters: but indeed Zelmane was the Sainct, to which her pilgrimage was entended: cursing, enuying, blessing, and in her harte kissing the walles which imprisoned her. But both they with Philanax, and the rest of the principall Nobilitie, went out, to make Honour triumph ouer Death, conueying that excellent body (wherto Basilius himself would needes bend his shoulder) to a church a mile from the campe, where the valiant Argalus lay intombed; recommending to that sepulchre, the blessed reliques of faithfull and vertuous Loue: giuing order for the making of marble images, to represent them, & each way enriching the tombe. Vpon which, Basilius himself caused this Epitaphe to be written.

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CHAP.  17.

1 The remorse of Amphialus for his last deede, and lasting de-
2 His reuerent respect in loue. 3 His mothers gho-
    sty counsell to a rape.

THen with eyes full of teares, and mouthes full of her prayses, returned they to the campe, with more and more
hate against Amphialus: who (poore Gentleman) had therfore greater portion of woe, then any of them. For that courteous harte, which would haue grieued but to haue heard the like aduenture, was rent with remembring himselfe to be the author: so that his wisdome could not so farre temper his passion, but that he tooke his sword, counted the best in the world (which with much bloud he had once conquered of a mightie Giant) and brake it into many peeces (which afterwardes he had good cause to repent) saying, that neither it was worthie to serue the noble exercise of chiualrie, nor any other worthie to feel that sword, which had stroken so excellent a Ladie: & withall, banishing all cheerfulnes of his countenance, he returned home. Where he gate him to his bed, not so much to rest his restles minde, as to auoyd all companie, the sight whereof was tedious vnto him. And then melancholic (onely riche in vnfortunate remembrances) brought before him all the mishappes, with which his life had wrestled: taking this, not onely as a confirming of the former, but a presage of following miserie; and to his harte (alredie ouercome by sorrowfulnes) euen trifling misfortunes came, to fill vp the rolle of a grieued memorie, labouring onely his wittes to pearce farther and farther into his owne wretchednes. So all that night (in despite of darkenes) he held his eyes open; and the morning when the light began to restore to each body his colour, then with curtaines barde he himselfe from the enioying of it: neither willing to feele the comfort of the day, nor the ease of the night: vntill his mother (who neuer knew what loue meant, but onely to himward) came to his bed side, and beginning with louing earnestnes to lay a kinde chiding vpon him, because he would suffer the weakenesse of sorow, to conquere the strength of his vertues; he did with a broaken peecemeale speach (as if the tempest of passion vnorderly blewe out his words) remember the mishappes of his youth, the euils he had bene cause of, his rebelling with Shame, and that shame increased with shamefull accidents, the deaths of Philoxenus and Parthenia, wherein he found himselfe hated of the euer-ruling powers, but especially (and so especially, as the rest seemed nothing when he came to that) his fatall loue to Philoclea: to whom he had so gouerned himselfe, as one that could neither conquere, nor yeeld; being of the one side a slaue, and of the other a iaylor: and with all, almost vp-brayding vnto his mother the little successe of her large hoping promises, he in effect finding Philoclea nothing mollified, and now himselfe so cast downe, as he thought him vnworthy of better.
    But his mother (as she had plentifull cause) making him see, that of his other griefes there was little or no faulte in him selfe, and therefore there ought to be little or no griefe in him; when she came to the head of the sore, indeed seeing that she could not patch vp her former promises (he taking a desperate deafnesse to all delaying hopes) she confest plainly, that she could preuaile nothing: but the faulte was his owne, who had marred the yong Girle by seeking to haue that by praier, which he should haue taken by authoritie. That as it were an absurd cunning to make hie ladders to go in a plaine way; so was it an vntimely and foolish flattery, there to beseech, where one might commaund, puffing the vp[m] by being besought, with such a selfe-pride of superioritie, that it was not (forsooth) to be held out, but by a denial. O God (said Amphialus) how wel I thought my fortune would bring forth this end of your labors? assure your self, mother, I will sooner pull out these eies then they shal looke vpon the heauenly Philoclea, but as vpo[n] a heaue[n], whence they haue their light, & to which they are subiect, if they

will power down any influe[n]ces of co[m]fort, O happy I: but if by the sacrifice of a faithfull hart, they will not be called vnto me, let me languish, & wither with languishing, & grieue with withering, but neuer so much as repine with neuer so much grieuing. Mother, ô Mother, lust may well be a tyrant, but true-loue where it is indeed, it is a seruant. Accursed more then I am, may I be, if euer I did approch her, but that I friezed as much in a fearefull reuerence, as I burned in a vehement desire. Did euer mans eye looke thorough loue vpo[n] the maiesty of vertue, shining through beauty, but that he became (as it wel became him) a captiue? & is it the stile of a captiue, to write, Our will and pleasure?
    Tush, tush sonne (said Cecropia) if you say you loue, but withall you feare; you feare lest you should offend; offend? & how know you, that you should offend? because she doth denie: denie? Now by my truth; if your sadnes would let me laugh, I could laugh hartily, to see that yet you are ignorant, that No, is no negatiue in a womans mouth. My sonne, beleeue me, a woma[n], speaking of women: a louers modesty among us is much more praised, then liked: or if we like it, so well we like it,
that for marring of his modestie, he shall neuer proceed further. Each vertue hath his time: if you com[m]and your souldier to march formost, & he for curtesie put others before him, would you praise his modesty? loue is your Generall: he bids you dare: & will Amphialus be a dastard? Let examples seru[e:] doo you thinke Theseus should euer haue gotten Antiope with sighing, and crossing his armes? he rauished her, and rauished her that was an Amazon, and therefore had gotten a habite of stoutnes aboue the nature of a woman; but hauing rauished her, he got a child of her. And I say no more, but that (they say) is not gotten without consent of both sides. Iole had her owne father killed by Hercules, & her selfe rauished, by force rauished, & yet ere long this rauished, and vnfathered Lady could sportfully put on the Lions skin vpon her owne faire shoulders, & play with the clubbe with her owne delicate hands: so easily had she pardoned the rauisher, that she could not but delight in those weapo[n]s of rauishing. But aboue all, mark Helen daughter to Iupiter, who could neuer brooke her manerly-wooing Menelaus, but disdained his humblenes, & lothed his softnes. But so well she could like the force of enforcing Paris, that for him she could abide what might be abidden. But what? Menelaus takes hart; he recouers her by force; by force carries her home; by force inioies her; and she, who could neuer like him for seruiceablenesse, euer after loued him for violence. For what can be more agreable, then vpon force to lay the fault of desire, and in one instant to ioyne a deare delight with a iust excuse? or rather the true cause is (pardon me ô woman-kinde for reuealing to mine owne sonne the truth of this mystery) we thinke there wants fire, where we find no sparkles at lest of furie. Truly I haue knowen a great Lady, long sought by most great, most wise, most beautifull, most valiant persons; neuer wonne; because they did ouer-suspiciously sollicite her: the same Ladie brought vnder by an other, inferiour to all them in all those qualities, onely because he could vse that imperious maisterfulnesse, which nature giues to men aboue women. For indeede (sonne, I confesse vnto you) in our very creatio[n] we are seruants: and who prayseth his seruaunts shall neuer be well obeyed: but as a ready horse streight yeeldes, when he findes one that will haue him yeelde; the same fals to boundes when he feeles a fearefull horseman. Awake thy spirits (good Amphialus) and assure thy selfe, that though she refuseth, she refuseth but to endeere the obtaining. If she weepe, and chide, and protest, before it be gotten, she can but weepe, and chide, and protest, when it is gotte. Thinke, she would not striue, but that she meanes to trie thy force: and my Amphialus, know thy selfe a man, and shew thy selfe a man: and (beleeue me vpon my word) a woman is a woman.
CHAP.   18.
1 The forsaken Knights defie. 2 Amphialus answere. 4 The
3 and others armour and imprese. 5 The issue of their
6 Their heroicall monomachy on horse, 7 and
8 Their breathings, 9 & reencounters. 10 Amphia-
    lus rescued by Anaxius brethren, the Blacke Knight by
    the greene and white.
11 The supply of both sides to cary a-
    way the breathles Knights.
12 The Blackknights grieues.

AMphialus was aboute to answere her, when a Gentlema[n] of  his made him vnderstande, that there was a messenger come, who had brought a letter vnto him from out of the campe: whom he presently calling for, tooke, opened, and read the letter, importing this.

TO thee Amphialus of Arcadia, the forsaken Knight wisheth I health, and courage, that by my hand
thou maiest receyue punishment for thy treason, according to thine owne offer, which wickedly occasioned, thou haste proudly begun, and accursedly mainteyned. I will presently (if thy minde faint thee not for his owne guiltinesse) meete thee in thy Iland, in such order, as hath by the former beene vsed: or if thou likest not the time, place, or weapon, I am ready to take thine owne reasonable chaise in any of them; so as thou do perfourme the substaunce. Make me such answere as may shew that thou hast some taste of honour: and so I leaue thee, to liue till I meete thee.

     Amphialus read it, and with a deepe sigh (according to the humour of inward affection) seemed euen to co[n]demne him selfe, as though indeed his reproches were true. But howsoeuer the dulnes of Melancholy would haue languishingly yeelded thereunto, his Courage (vnused to such iniuries) desired helpe of Anger to make him this answere.

FOrsaken Knight, though your namelesse challenge might carry  in it selfe excuse for a man of my birth and estate, yet herein set your harte at rest, you shall not be forsaken. I will without stay answere you in the woonted manner, and come both armed in your foolish threatnings, and yet the more fearelesse, expecting weake blowes, where I finde so strong wordes. You shall not therefore long attende me in the Ilande, before proofe teache you, that of my life you haue made your selfe too large a promise. In the meane time, Farewell.

    This being written, and deliuered, the messenger tolde him, that his Lord would (if he liked the same) bring two Knights with him to be his Patrons. Which Amphialus accepted, and withall shaking of (with resolution) his mothers importunate disswasions, he furnished him selfe for the fight: but not in his wonted furniture. For now (as if he would turne his inside outwarde) he would needes appeare all in blacke; his decking both for him selfe, and horse, being cut out into the fashion of very ragges: yet all so dainty, ioyned together with pretious stones, as it was a braue raggednesse, and a riche pouertie: and so cunningly had a workeman followed his humour in his armour, that he had giuen it a rustie shewe, and yet so, as any man might perceiue was by arte, and not negligence; carying at one instant a disgraced handsomnesse, and a new oldnes. In his shield he bare for his deuise, a Night, by an excellently painter, with a Sunne with a shadow, and vpon the shadow with a speech signifying, that it onely was barrd from inioying that, whereof it had his life: or, From whose I am bannished. In his creste he caried Philocleas kniues, the onely token of her forwarde fauour.
    So past he ouer into the and, taking with him the two brothers of Anaxius; where he founde the forsaken Knight, attired in his owne liuerie, as blacke, as sorrowe it selfe could see it selfe in the blackest glasse: his ornaments of the same hew, but formed in the figure of Rauens, which seemed to gape for carrion: onely his raynes were snakes, which finely wrapping themselues one within the other, their heads came together to the cheekes and bosses of the bit, where they might seeme to bite at the horse, and the horse (as he champte the bit) to bite at them; and that the white foame was ingendred by the poysonous furie of the combatt. His Impresa was a Catoblepta which so long lies dead, as the Moone (whereto it hath so naturall a sympathie) wants her light. The worde signified that The Moone wanted not the light, but the poore beast wanted the Moones light. He had in his headpiece, a whippe, to witnesse a selfe-punishing repentaunce. Their very horses were cole-blacke too, not hauing so much as one starre to giue light to their night of blackenesse: so as one would haue thought they had bene the two sonnes of Sorrow, and were come thether to fight for their birth-right in that sorie inheritance.

    Which aliance of passions so moued Amphialus (alredy tender-minded by the afflictions of Loue) that without staffe or sword drawne, he trotted fairely to the forsake[n] Knight, willing to haue put off his combat, to which his melancholy hart did (more then euer in like occasion) misgiue him: and therefore saluting him, Good Knight (said he) because we are men, and should knowe reason why we doo things; tell me the cause, that makes you thus eager to fight with me. Because I affirme (answered the forsaken Knight) that thou dost most rebellious iniurie to those Ladies, to whome all men owe seruice. You shall not fight with me (saide Amphialus) vpon that quarrell: for I confesse the same too: but it proceeds from their owne beauty, to inforce Loue to offer this force. I maintaine then (said the forsaken Knight) that thou art not worthy so to loue. And that confesse I too (saide Amphialus) since the world is not so richly blessed, as to bring forth any thing worthy thereof. But no more vnworthy then any other, since in none can be a more worthy loue. Yes, more vnworthy then my self (said the forsaken Knight) for though I deserue contempt, thou deseruest both contempt, and hatred.
    But Amphialus by that thinking (though wrongly, each indeede mistaking other) that he was his riuall, forgat all minde of reconciliation, and hauing all his thoughts bou[n]d vp in choler, neuer staying either iudge, tru[m]pet, or his owne lau[n]ce, drew out his sword, & saying, Thou lyest false villaine, vnto him; his words & blowes came so quick togither, as the one seemed a lightning of the others thu[n]der. But he fou[n]d no barre grou[n]d of such seede: for it yeelded him his owne with such encrease, that though Reason and Amazement go rarely togither, yet the most reasonable eies that saw it, founde reason to be amazed at the fury of their combat. Neuer game of death better plaid; neuer fury set it self forth in greater brauerie. The curteous Vulcan, whe[n] he wrought at his nowe more curteous wiues request, Æneas an armour, made not his hammer beget a greater sounde; then the swordes of those noble Knights did; they needed no fire to their forge; for they made the fire to shine at the meeting of their swords, & armours; ech side fetching new spirit from the castle window, and careful of keeping their sight, it was a matter of greater consideration in their combat, then either the aduantage of Sun or winde: which Sunne and wind (if the astonished eies of the beholders were not by the astonishment deceiued) did both stand still to be beholders of this rare match. For neither could their amazed eies discerne motion in the Sunne, and no breath of wind stirred, as if either for feare it would not come amo[n]g such blows, or with delight had his eies so busie, as it had forgot to open his mouth. This fight being the more cruell, since both Loue and Hatred conspired to sharpen their humours, that hard it was to say, whether Loue with one trumpet, or Hatred with another, gaue the lowder alarum to their courages. Spite, rage, disdaine, shame, reuenge, came waighting vpon Hatred: of the other side came with loue-longing Desire, both inuincible Hope, and fearelesse Despaire, with riuallike Iealousie, which (although brought vp within doores in the schoole of Cupid) woulde shewe themselues no lesse forwarde, then the other dustie bande of Mars, to make themselues notable in the notablenes of this combat. Of eyther side Confidence, vnacquainted with Losse, but assured trust to ouercome, and good experience howe to ouercome: nowe seconding their terrible blowes with cunning labouring the horses, to winne ground of the enimie; now vnlooked-for parting one from the other, to win aduantage by an aduantageous retourne. But force against force, skill against skill, so enterchangeably encountred, that it was not easie to determine, whether enterprising, or preuenting came former: both, sometimes at one instant, doing and suffring wrong, and choller no lesse rising of the doing, then of the suffring. But as the fire, the more fuell is put to it, the more hungrie still it is to deuoure more: so the more they strake, the more vnsatisfied they were with striking. Their verie armour by piecemeale fell away from them: and yet their flesh abode the wounds constantly, as though it were lesse sensible of smarte, then the senselesse armour: their blood in most places stayning the blacke, as if it would giue a more liuely coulour of mourning, then blacke can doo. And so a long space they fought, while neither vertue, nor fortune seemed partiall of either side: which so tormented the vnquiet hart of Amphialus, that he resolued to see a quicke ende: and therefore with the violence of courage, adding strength to his blow, he strake in such wise vpon the side of the others heade, that his remembrance left that battered lodging: so as he was quite from himselfe, casting his armes abroade, and redie to fall downe; his sword likewise went out of his hande; but that being fast by a chaine to his arme, he could not loose. And Amphialus vsed the fauour of occasion, redoubling his blowes: but the horse (weary to be beaten, as well as the master) carried his master away, till he came vnto himselfe: But then who could haue seene him, might wel haue discerned shame in his cheekes, and reuenge in his eyes: so as setting his teeth togither with rage, he came running vpon Amphialus, reaching out his arme, which had gathered vp the sword, meaning with that blow to haue cleaued Amphialus in two. But Amphialus seeing the blow comming, shunned it with nimble turning his horse aside; wherwith the forsaken Knight ouer-strake himself so, as almost he came downe with his owne strength. But the more hungrie he was of his purpose, the more he was bard the food of it: disdaining the resistance, both of force, and fortune, he returned vpon the spurre againe, and ranne with such violence vpon Amphialus, that his horse with the force of the shocke rose vp before, almost ouerturned: which Amphialus perceauing, with rayne and spurre put forth his horse; and withall gaue a mightie blow in the descent of his horse, vpon the shoulder of the forsaken Knight; from whence sliding, it fell vpon the necke of his horse, so as horse and man fell to the ground: but he was scarce downe before he was vp on his feete againe, with braue gesture shewing rising of corage, in the falling of fortune.
    But the curteous Amphialus excused himselfe, for hauing (against his will) kild his horse. Excuse thy selfe for viler faults (answered the forsaken Knight) and vse this poore aduantage the best thou canst; for thou shalt quickely finde thou hast neede of more. Thy folly (said Amphialus) shall not make me forget my selfe: and therewith (trotting a little aside) alighted from his horse, because he would not haue fortune come to claime any part of the victory. Which curteous act would haue mollified the noble harte of the forsaken Knight, if any other had done it, besides the Iaylor of his mistres: but that was a sufficient defeazaunce for the firmest bonde of good nature; and therfore he was no sooner alighted, but that he ranne vnto him, re-entring into as cruel a fight, as eye did euer see, or thought could reasonably imagine; farre beyond the reach of weak words to be able to expresse it. For what they had done on horsebacke, was but as a morsell to keep their stomakes in appetite, in comparison of that, which now (being themselues) they did. Nor euer glutton by the cha[n]ge of daintie diet could be brought to fetch feeding (when he might haue bene satisfied before) with more earnestnes, then those (by the change of their maner of fight) fell cleane to a new fight, though any else would haue thought they had had their fill alredy. Amphialus being the taller man, for the most part stood with his right legge before; his shield at the vttermost length of his arme; his sword hie, but with the point toward his enemy. But whe[n] he strake, which came so thick, as if euery blow would striue to be foremost, his arme seemed still a postillion of death. The forsaken Knight shewed with like skil, vnlike gesture, keeping himselfe in continual motion, proportioning the distance betweene the[m] to any thing that Amphialus attempted: his eye guided his foote, and his foote conueighed his hand; and since nature had made him something the lower of the two, he made art follow, and not striue with nature: shunning rather the[n] warding his blowes; like a cun[n]ing mastiffe, who knowes the sharpnes of the horne, and stre[n]gth of the Bul; fights low to get his proper adua[n]tage; answering mightines with nimblenes, and yet at times imploying his wonderfull force, wherein he was seconde to none. In summe, the blowes were stronge, the thrusts thicke, and the auoydings cunning. But the forsaken Knight (that thought it a degree of being co[n]quered to be long in conquering) strake so mightie a blow, that he made Amphialus put knee to the ground, without any humblenes. But when he felt himselfe striken downe, and saw himselfe striken downe by his riuall, then shame seemed one arme, and disdaine another; fury in his eyes, and reuenge in his hart; skill and force gaue place, & they tooke the place of skil & force: with so vnweariable a manner, that the forsaken Knight was also driuen to leaue the streame of cunning, and giue himselfe wholly to be guided by the storme of fury: there being in both (because hate would not suffer admiration) extreame disdaine to finde themselues so matched.
    What (said Amphialus to himselfe) am I Amphialus, before whom so many monsters & Gyants haue falne dead, when I onely sought causelesse aduentures? and can one Knight now withstand me in the presence of Philoclea, and fighting for Philoclea? or since I lost my liberty, haue I lost my courage? haue I gotten the hart of a slaue, as well as the fortune? If an armie were against me in the sight of Philoclea, could it resist me? O beast, one man resistes thee; thy ryuall resists thee: or am I indeed Amphialus? haue not passions kild him, and wretched I (I know not how) succeeded into his place? Of the other side the forsaken Knight with no lesse spite, fel out with himself; Hast thou broke[n] (said he to himselfe) the com[m]a[n]deme[n]t of thy only Princesse to come now into her prese[n]ce, & in her prese[n]ce to proue thy self a coward? Doth Asia and Ægypt set vp Trophes vnto thee, to be matched here by a traytor? O noble Barsanes, how shamed will thy soule be, that he that slew thee, should be resisted by this one man? O incomparable Pyrocles, more grieued wilt thou be with thy friends shame, the[n] with thine owne imprisonment, when thou shalt know how
little I haue bene able to doo for the deliuerie of thee, and those heauenlie Princesses. Am I worthie to be friend to the most valourous Prince that euer was entituled valourous, and shewe my selfe so weake a wretch? No, shamed Musidorus, worthie for nothing, but to keepe sheepe, get thee a sheephooke again, since thou canst vse a sword no better.

    Thus at times did they, now with one thought, then with another, sharpen their ouer-sharpe humors; like the Lion, that beates himselfe with his owne taile, to make himselfe the more angrie. These thoughtes indeede not staying, but whetting their angrie swordes, which now had put on the apparraile of Crueltie: they bleeding so aboundantly, that euery bodie that sawe them, fainted for them, & yet they fainted not in themselues: their smart being more sensible to others eyes, then to their owne feeling: Wrath and Courage barring the common sense from bringing any message of their case to the minde: Paine, Wearines, and Weakenes, not daring to make knowen their case (though already in the limits of death) in the presence of so violent furie: which filling the veines with rage, in stead of bloud, and making the minde minister spirites to the bodie, a great while held out their fight, like an arrowe shotte vpward by the force of the bowe, though by his owne nature he would goe downward. The forsaken Knight had the more wounds, but Amphialus had the soarer; which the other (watchinge time and place) had coningly geuen vnto him. Who euer saw a well-mand Galley fight with a tall ship, might make vnto himselfe some kind of comparison of the difference of these two Knights; a better couple then which, the world could not bragge of. Amphialus seemed to excell in strength, the forsaken Knight in nimblenes; and yet did the ones strength excel in nimblenes, and the others nimblenes excell in strength: but now, strength and nimblenes were both gone, and excesse of courage only maintayned the fight. Three times had Amphialus with his mightie blowes driuen the forsaken Knight to go staggering backwarde, but euery one of those times he requited pain with smarte, and shame with repulse. And now, whether he had cause, or that ouer-much confidence (an ouer-forward scholer of vnconquered Courage) made him think he had cause, he bega[n] to persuade himself he had the adua[n]tage of the combat, though the aduantage he toke himselfe to haue, was onely that he should be the later to die: which hopes, Hate (as vnsecrete as Loue) could not conceale, but drawing himself a little back fro[m] him, brake out in these maner of words.
    Ah Amphialus (said the forsaken knight) this third time thou shalt not escape me, but thy death shall satisfie thy iniury, & my malice; and pay for the cruelty thou shewedst in killing the noble Argalus, & the fair Parthenia. In troth (said Amphialus) thou art the best knight that euer I fought withal, which would make me willing to graut thee thy life, if thy wit were as good as thy corage; that (besides other follies) layest that to my charge, which most against my will was committed. But whether my death be in thy power, or no, let this tel thee; And vpon the worde wayted a blow, which parted his shield into two peeces; & despising the weak resistance of his alredie broke[n] armor, made a great breach into his hart side, as if he would make a passage for his loue to get out at.
    But paine rather seemed to increase life, then to weaken life in those champions. For, the forsaken Knight comming in with his right leg, and making it guide the force of the blow, strake Amphialus vpon the bellie, so horrible a wou[n]d, that his guts came out withall. Which Amphialus perceauing (fearing death, onely because it should come with ouerthrow) he seemed to coniure all his strength for one moments seruice; and so, lifting vp his sword with both hands, hit the forsaken knight vpo[n] the head, a blow, wherewith his sword brake. But (as if it would do a notable seruice before it died) it preuayled so, euen in the instant of breaking, that the forsaken Knight fell to the ground, quite for that instant forgetting both loue and hatred: and Amphialus (finding him self also in such weaknes, as he loked for speedy death) glad of the victorie, though little hoping to enioy it, puld vp his visar, meaning with his dagger to giue him death; but in stead of death, he gaue him life: for, the aire so reuiued his spirits, that comming to himself, and seeing his present danger, with a life conquering death, he tooke Amphialus by the thigh, & together rose himselfe, and ouerturned him. But Amphialus scrambled vp againe, both now so weake indeede, as their motions rather seemed the afterdrops to a storme, then any matter of great furie.
    But Amphialus might repent himselfe of his wilfull breaking his good sword: for, the forsaken Knight (hauing with the extremitie of iustly-conceiued hate, and the vnpitifulnes of his owne neere-threatning death, blotted out all complements of courtesie) let flie at him so cruelly, that though the blowes were weake, yet weaknes vpon a weakned subiect, proued such stre[n]gth, that Amphialus hauing attempted in vaine, once or twise to close with him, receauing wound vpo[n] wound, sent his whole burden to strike the earth with falling, since he could strike his foe no better in standing: geuing no other tokens of himself, then as of a man euen ready to take his oath to be Deathes true seruant.

    Which when the hardie brothers of Anaxius perceaued, not recking law of armes, nor vse of chiualrie, they flew in to defende their friende, or reuenge their losse of him. But they were foorthwith encountred with the two braue co[m]panions of the forsaken Knight; whereof the one being all in greene, both armour and furniture, it seemed a pleasant garden, wherein grewe orange trees, which with their golden fruites, cunningly beaten in, & embrodered, greatly enriched the eye-pleasing colour of greene. In his shield was a sheep, feeding in a pleasant field, with this word, Without feare, or enuie. And therfore was called the Knight of the sheep. The other Knight was all in milke white, his attiring els, all cutte in starres, which made of cloath of siluer, and siluer spangles, each way seemed to cast many aspects. His deuice was the very Pole it selfe, about which many starres stirring, but the place it selfe lefte voide. The word was, The best place yet reserued. But these foure Knights, inheriting the hate of their friends, began a fierce combat: the forsaken Knight himselfe not able to helpe his side, but was driuen to sit him downe, with the extreame faintnesse of his more & more fainting body. But those valiant couples seeking honour by dishonouring, and to build safety vpon ruine, gaue new appetites, to the almost glutted eies of the beholders: and now bloud began to put sweat from the full possession of their outsides, no aduantage being yet to be seene; onely the Knight of the sheepe seeming most deliuer, and affecting most all that viewed him, when a company of souldiers sent by Cecropia, came out in boates to the Ilande: and all came running to the destruction of the three Knights, whereof the one was vtterly vnable to defend himselfe.
    But then did the other two Knights shewe their wonderfull courage, and fidelitie. For turning backe to backe, and bothe bestriding the blacke forsaken Knight (who had fainted so long till he had lost the feeling of faintnesse) they helde playe against the rest, though the two brothers vnknightly helped them; till Philanax (who watchfully attended such traiterous practises) sent likewise ouer, both by boate and swimming, so choise a number as did put most of the other to the sworde. Onely the two Brothers, with some of the brauest of them, carrying away the body of Amphialus, which they would rather haue died, then haue left behind them.
    So was the forsaken Knight (layed vpon clokes) carried home to the campe. But his two friends knowing his earnest desire
not to be knowen, couering him from any bodies eyes, conueyed him to their owne tente: Basilius himselfe conquering his earnest desire to see him, with feare to displease him, who had fought so notably in his quarrell. But Fame set the honour vpon his backe, which he would not suffer to shine in his face: no mans mouth being barrein of prayses to the noble Knight, that had bettered the most esteemed Knight in the world: euery bodie praying for his life, and thinking that therein they prayed for themselues. But he him selfe, when by the diligent care of friends, and well applied cunning of surgeons, he came to renewe againe the league betweene his minde and body, then fell he to a freshe warre with his owne thoughts, wrongfully condemning his manhood, laying cowardise to him selfe, whome the impudentest backbiter would not so haue wro[n]ged. For his courage (used to vse victory as an inheritaunce) could brooke no resistance at any time: but now that he had promised him selfe, not onely the conquest of him, but the scaling of the walles, and deliuery of Pamela, though he had done beyond al others expectation, yet so short was he of his owne; that he hated to looke vpon the Sunne, that had seene him do so weakely: and so much abhorred all visitation or honour, whereof he thought him selfe vnworthy, that he besought his two noble friends to carrie him away to a castle not far of, where he might cure his wounds, and neuer be knowne till he made successe excuse this (as he thought) want in him. They louingly obeyed him, leauing Basilius and all the campe very sorrie for the parting of these three vnknowne Knights, in whose prowesse they had reposed greatest trust of victory.

CHAP.  19.

l The state of the leaguer, and beleaguered. 2 The agonies of
    Amphialus. 3 The wit-craft of Cecropia, to threaten
    Basilius with the three Ladies death. 4 Kalanders comp-
5 Philanax-his counter-counsell. 6 The brea-
    king vp the siege.

BVt they being gone, Basilius and Philanax gaue good order to the strengthning of the siege, fortifying
themselues, so as they feared no more any such suddaine onset, as that of Anaxius. And they within (by reaso[n] of Anaxius hurt, but especially of Amphialus-his) gaue themselues onely to diligent watch & ward, making no sallies out, but committing the principall trust to Zoilus and Lycurgus. For Anaxius was yet forced to keepe his chamber. And as for Amphialus, his body had such wounds, and gaue such wounds to his mind, as easily it coulde not be determined, whether death or he made the greater hast one to the other: for when the diligent care of cunning surgeons, had brought life to the possession of his owne right, Sorrowe and Shame (like two corrupted seruaunts) came waiting of it, perswading nothing but the giuing ouer of it selfe to destruction. They laide before his eyes his present case, painting euery piece of it in moste ougly colours: they shewed him his loue wrapped in despaire, his fame blotted by ouerthrow; so that if before he languished, because he could not obtaine his desiring, he now lamented because he durst not desire the obtaining. Recreant Amphialus, (would he say to him selfe) how darest thou intitle thy selfe the louer of Philoclea, that hast neither shewed thy self a faithfull coward, nor a valiant rebell, but both rebellious and cowardly, which no law ca[n] quite, nor grace haue pitie of? Alas life, what little pleasure thou doost me, to giue me nothing but sense of reproach, and exercise of ruine? I would sweete Philoclea, I had died, before thy eies had seene my weaknes: & then perchaunce with some sigh thou wouldest haue co[n]fessed, thou hadst lost a worthy seruaunt. But now, caitife that I am, what euer I haue done, serues but to builde vp my riuals glory. To these speeches he would couple such gestures of vexation, & would fortifie the gestures with such effects of furie, as sometimes offring to teare vp his wou[n]ds, sometimes to refuse the sustenance of meat, & counsell of phisitions, that his perplexed mother was driuen to make him by force to be tended, with extreame corsey to her selfe, & annoiance to him: till in the end he was contented to promise her, he would attempt no violence vpon himself, vpon condition he might be troubled by no body, but onely his Phisitions: his melancholy detesting all co[m]pany, so as not the very surgeons nor seruants durst speak vnto him in doing him seruice: only he had praied his mother, as she tendered his life, she would procure him grace; and that without that, she would neuer come at him more.
    His mother, who had co[n]fined all her loue only vnto him, set only such about him, as were absolutely at her com[m]andement, whom she forbad to let him know any thing that passed in the castle, till his wounds were cured, but as she from time to time should instruct them: she (for her selfe) being resolued, now she had the gouernment of al things in her owne hands, to satisfie her sonnes loue, by their yeelding, or satisfie her owne reuenge in their punishment. Yet first, because he should be the freer fro[m] outward force, she sent a messenger to the campe, to denounce vnto Basilius, that if he did not presently raise his siege, she would cause the heads of the three Ladies, prisoners, to be cut of before his eies. And to make him the more feare a present performance, she caused his two daughters & Zelmane to be led vnto the wals, where she had made a scaffold, easie to be seene by Basilius: and there caused the[m] to be kept, as ready for the slaughter, til answere came from Basilius. A sight full of pittie it was, to see those three (all excelling in all those excellencies, wherwith Nature can beautifie any body: Pamela giuing sweetnes to maiesty, Philoclea enriching noblenes with humblenes, Zelmane setting in womanly beautie manlike valour) to be thus subiected to the basest iniury of vniust Fortune. One might see in Pamela a willingnesse to die, rather then to haue life at others discretion, though sometimes a princely disdaine would sparkle out of her Princely eies, that it should be in others power to force her to die. In Philoclea a prety feare came vp, to endamaske her rosie cheekes: but it was such a feare, as rather seemed a kindly childe to her innate humblenes, then any other dismaiednes: or if she were dismaied, it was more for Zelmane, then for her selfe; or if more for her selfe, it was because Zelmane should loose her. As for Zelmane, as she went with her hands bound (for they durst not aduenture on her well knowne valour, especially amo[n]g people which percha[n]ce might be moued by such a spectacle to some reuoke) she was the true image of ouer-maistred courage, & of spite, that sees no remedie. For her breast swelled withall, the bloud burst out at her nose, and she looked paler then accustomed, with her eies cast on the ground, with such a grace, as if she were fallen out with the heauens, for suffering such an iniury. The lookers on were so moued withal, as they misliked what themselues did, and yet still did what themselues misliked. For some, glad to rid themselues of the dangerous annoyaunce of this siege, some willing to shorten the way to Amphialus-his succession (whereon they were dependents) some, & the greatest some, doing because others did, and suffring because none durst begin to hinder, did in this sort set their hands to this (in their owne conscience) wicked enterprise.
    But whe[n] this message was brought to Basilius, & that this pittifull preparation was a sufficient letter of credit for him to beleeue it, he called vnto him his chief cou[n]celors: amo[n]g which, those he chiefly trusted were Philanax and Kalander (lately come to the campe at Basilius co[m]mandement, & in him selfe wery of his solitary life, wanting his sons presence, & neuer hauing heard him his beloued guestes since they parted from him). Now in this doubt what he should do, he willed Kalander to giue him his aduise: who spake much to this purpose. You co[m]maund me Sir (said he) to speake, rather because you will keepe your wonted graue, & noble manner, to do nothing of importa[n]ce without cou[n]cell, then that in this cause (which indeed hath but one way) your mind needs to haue any counsell: so as my speech shall rather be to co[n]firme what you haue alredy determined, the[n] to argue against any possibilitie of other determination. For what sophistical scholler can finde any question in this, whether you will haue your incomparable daughters liue, or dye? whether since you be here to cause their deliuerance, you will make your being here the cause of their destruction? for nothing can be more vnsensible, then
to thinke what one doth, & to forget the end why it is done. Do therfore as I am sure you meane to doo, remoue the siege, and after seeke by practise, or other ge[n]tle meanes, to recouer that which by force you ca[n]not: & therof is indeed (whe[n] it please you) more cou[n]sel to be take[n]. Once, in extremities the winning of time is the purchase of life, & worse by no meanes then their deaths ca[n] befal vnto you. A ma[n] might vse more words, if it were to any purpose to guild gold, or that I had any cause to doubt of your mind: But you are wise, & are a father. He said no more, for he durst not attempt to perswade the marrying of his daughter to Amphialus, but left that to bring in at another consultation. But Basilius made signe to Philanax, who sta[n]ding a while in a maze as inwardly perplexed, at last thus deliuered his opinio[n].
    If euer I could wish my faith vntried, & my counsell vntrusted, it should be at this time, whe[n] in truth I must co[n]fesse I
would be co[n]tent to purchase sile[n]ce with discredit. But since you com[m]and, I obey: onely let me say thus much, that I obey not to these excellent Ladies father, but to my Prince: & a Prince it is to who[m] I giue cou[n]sel. Therefore as to a Prince I say, that the graue and (I well know) true-minded counsell of my Lord Kalander had come in good time whe[n] you first tooke armes, before al your subiects gate notice of your intention, before so much blood was spe[n]t, & before they were driue[n] to seek this shift for their last remedy. But if now, this force you away, why did you take armes since you might be sure when euer they were in extremitie they would haue recourse to this threatning? and for a wise man to take in hand that which his enimie may with a word ouerthrow, hath in my conceit great incongruity, & as great not to forethink what his enemy in reason wil doo. But they threaten they wil kil your daughters. What if they promised you if you remoued your siege, they would honorably send home your daughters? would you be angled by their promises? truly no more ought you be terrified by their threatnings. For yet of the two, promise binds faith more then threatning. But indeede a Prince of iudgeme[n]t

ought not to consider what his enimies promise, or threaten, but what the promisers and  threatners  in  reaso[n] wil do: & the neerest co[n]iecture therunto, is what is best for their own behoofe to do. They threate if you remoue not, they wil kil your daughters, and if you doo remoue, what surety haue you, but that they will kil the[m], since if the purpose be to cut off al impediments of Amphialus-his ambitio[n], the same cause wil continue when you are away; & so much the more encoraged, as  the reuenging  power is absent, & they haue the more oportunitie to draw their factious friends about them: but if it be for their security onely, the same cause wil bring forth the same effect: & for their security they wil preserue the[m]. But it may be said, no man knows what desperate folkes will do: it is true, and as true that no reason nor policie can preuent what desperate folks wil do: & therfore they are amo[n]g those dangers, which wisdome is not to recke. Only let it suffice to take away their despaire, which may be by granting pardon for what is past; so as the Ladies may be freely deliuered. And let them that are your subiects, trust you that are their Prince: doo not you subiect your selfe to trust them, who are so vntrusty as to be manifest traitors. For if they finde you so base-minded, as by their th[r]eatning to remoue your force, what indignitie is it, that  they  would not bring you vnto, still by the same threatning? since then if Loue stir them, loue will keep them from murthering what they loue; and if Ambition prouoke them, ambitious they will be, when you are away, as well as while you are here: take not away your force, which bars not the one, & bridels the other. For as for their shewes and words they are but to feare babes, not worthy once to moue a worthy mans conceit; which must still co[n]sider what in
reaso[n] they are like to do. Their despaire I grant you shall do wel to preuent, which as it is the last of all resolutions, so no man  fals into it, while so good a way as you may offer, is open vnto the[m]. In su[m], you are a Prince, & a father of people, who ought with the eye of wisdome, the hand of fortitude, and the hart of iustice to set downe all priuate conceits, in comparison of what for the publike is profitable.
    He would haue proceeded on, whe[n] Gynecia came riu[n]ning in amazed for her daughter Pamela, but mad for Zelmane; & falling at Basilius feet, besought him to make no delay: using such gestures of co[m]passio[n] insteed of stopped words, that Basilius, otherwise enough tender minded, easily granted to raise the siege, which he saw dangerous to his daughters: but indeed more carefull for Zelmane, by whose besieged person, the poore old man was streightly besieged: so as to rid him of the famine of his minde, he went in speed away; discharging his souldiors: only leauing the authority, as before, in Philanax his hands, he himselfe went with Gynecia to a strong Castle of his, where he took cou[n]sell how first to deliuer Zelmane, whom he called the poore stranger, as though onely Law of hospitalitie moued him; and for that purpose sent diuers messengers to trafficke with Cecropia.

CHAP.  20.

[T]he sweete resistance of the true sisters l to the sower assaultes
    of their false Aunt. The whipping of 3 Philoclea 5 and Pa-
    mela. 4 The patience of both 6 and passions for their louers.

CEcropia by this meanes rid of the present daunger of the siege (desiring Zoilus and Lycurgus to take the
care, till their brother recouered, of reuictualling, and furnishing the Citie, both with men and what els wanted, against any new occasion should vrge them, she her selfe disdaining to harken to Basilius, without he would grant his daughter in mariage to her son, which by no means he would be brought vnto) bent all the sharpenesse of her malicious wit, how to bring a comfortable graunt to her sonne; whereupon she well found no lesse then his life depended. Therfore for a while she atte[m]pted all meanes of eloquent praying, and flattering perswasion, mingling sometimes gifts, somtimes threatnings, as she had cause to hope, that either open force, or vndermining, would best winn the castle of their Resolution. And euer as much as she did to Philoclea, so much did she to Pamela, though in manner sometimes differing, as she found fit to leuell at the ones noble height, and the others sweet lowlinesse. For though she knew her sonnes harte had wholly giuen it selfe to Philoclea, yet seeing the equall gifts in Pamela, she hoped, a faire grant would recouer the sorrow of a faire refusal: cruelly enteding the present impoysoning the one, as soone as the others affection were purchased.
    But in vaine was all her vaine oratory employed. Pamelaes determination was built vpo[n] so braue a Rock, that no shot of hers could reach vnto it: and Philoclea (though humbly seated) was so inuironed with sweete riuers of cleere vertue, as could neither be battred, nor vndermined: her witty perswasions had wise answeres; her eloquence recompenced with sweetnes; her threatnings repelled with disdaine in the one, & patience in the other; her gifts either not accepted, or accepted to obey, but not to bind. So as Cecropia in nature violent; cruel, because ambitious; hateful, for old rooted grudge to their mother, & now spitefull because she could not preuaile with girles, as she counted them; lastly, drawne on by her loue to her son, & held vp by a tyrannical authoritie, forthwith followed the byas of her own crooked disposition, & doubling and redoubling her threatnings, fel to co[n]firme some of her threatned effects: first withdrawing al co[m]fort, both of serua[n]ts, & seruice from the[m]. But that those excelle[n]t Ladies had bene vsed vnto, eue[n] at home, & the[n] fou[n]d in the[m]selues how much good the hardnes of educatio[n] doth to the resista[n]ce of misery. Then dishonorably vsing them both in dyet, and lodging, by a contempt to pull downe their thoughts to yeelding. But as before, the consideration of a prison had disgraced al orname[n]ts, so now the same co[n]sideratio[n] made the[m] attend al diseasefulnes. Then stil, as she found those not preuaile, would she go forward with giuing them terrors, sometimes with noices of horror, sometimes with suddaine frightings in the night, when the solitary darkenesse thereof might easier astonish the disarmed senses. But to all Vertue, and Loue resisted, strengthned one by the other, when each found it selfe ouer-vehemently assaulted. Cecropia still sweetning her fiercenesses with faire promises, if they would promise faire; that feeling euill, and seing a way far better, their minds might the sooner be mollified. But they that could not taste her behauiour, when it was pleasing, indeed could worse now, when they had lost al taste by her iniuries.

    She resoluing all extremities, rather then faile of co[n]quest, pursued on her rugged way: letting no day passe, without new and new perplexing the poore Ladies minds, and troubling their bodies: and still swelling, the more she was stopped, and growing hot with her owne doings, at length, abhominable rage carried her to absolute tyranies, so that taking with her certaine olde women (of wicked dispositions, and apt for enuie-sake to be cruel to youth and beautie) with a countena[n]ce impoysoned with malice, flew to the sweet Philoclea, as if so many Kites should come about a white Doue, & matching violent gestures with mischieuous threatnings, she hauing a rod in her ha[n]d (like a fury that should carry wood to the burning of Dianas temple) fel to scourge that most beautifull body: Loue in vaine holding the shield of Beautie against her blind cruelty. The Son drew clouds vp to hide his face from so pitiful a sight; & the very stone wals did yeeld drops of sweate for agonie of such a mischiefe: each senselesse thing had sense of pittie; onely they that had sense, were senseles. Vertue rarely found her worldly weakenes more, then by the oppression of that day: and weeping Cupid told his weeping mother, that he was sorie he was not deaf, as well as blind, that he might neuer know so lamentable a worke. Philoclea, with tearefull eyes, and sobbing breast (as soon as her wearines rather then compassion, gaue her respite) kneeled dow[n]e to Cecropia, and making pittie in her face honourable, and torment delightfull, besought her, since she hated her (for what cause she tooke God to witnesse she knew not) that she would at once take away her life, and not please her self with the tormenting of a poore Gentlewoman. If (said she) the common course of hu[m]anitie cannot moue you, nor the hauing me in your owne walles, cannot claime pittie: nor womanly mercie, nor neere alliance, nor reme[m]brance (how miserable so euer now) that I am a Princes daughter; yet let the loue (you haue often tolde me) your sonne beares me, so much procure, that for his sake, one death may be thought inough for me; I haue not liued so many yeares, but that one death may be able to conclude them: neither haue my faults, I hope, bene so many, but that one death may satisfie them. It is no great suite to an enemie, when but death is desired. I craue but that, and as for the graunting your request, know for certaine you lose your labours, being euery day furtherof-minded from becoming his wife, who vseth me like a slaue. But that in stead of getting grace renued againe Cecropias, fury: so that (excellent creature) she was newly again tormented by those hellish monsters: Cecropia vsing no other words, but that she was a proud and vngratefull wench: and that she would teach her to know her owne good, since of her selfe she would not conceaue it.
    So with silence and patience (like a faire gorgeous armour, hammered vpon by an ilfauoured Smith) she abode their pittiles dealing with her: till, rather reseruing her for more, then meaning to end, they left her to an vncomfortable leysure, to consider with her selfe her fortune; both helplesse her selfe, being a prisoner, and hopeles, since Zelmane was a prisoner: who therein onely was short of the bottome of miserie, that she knew not how vnworthilie her Angell, by these deuils was abused: but wanted (God wot) no stings of griefe, when those words did but strike vpon her hart, that Philoclea was a captiue, and she not able to succour her. For well she knew the confidence Philoclea had in her, and well she knew, Philoclea had cause to haue confidence: and all troden vnder foot by the wheele of senselesse Fortune. Yet if there be that imperious power in the soule, as it can deliuer knowledge to another, without bodilie organs; so vehement were the workings of their spirites, as one mette with other, though themselues perceaued it not, but only thought it to be the doubling of their owne louing fancies. And that was the onely wordly thing, whereon Philoclea rested her minde, that she knewe she should die beloued of Zelmane, and shoulde die, rather then be false to Zelmane. And so this most daintie Nimphe, easing the paine of her minde with thinking of anothers paine; and almost forgetting the paine of her bodie, through the paine of her minde, she wasted, euen longing for the conclusion of her tedious tragedie.
    But for a while she was vnuisited, Cecropia employing her time in vsing the like crueltie vpon Pamela, her harte growing not onely to desire the fruite of punishing them, but euen to delight in the punishing them. But if euer the beames of perfection shined through the clowdes of affliction, if euer Vertue tooke a bodie to shewe his (els vnconceaueable) beautie, it was in Pamela. For when Reason taught her there was no resistance, (for to iust resistance first her harte was enclined) then with so heauenly a quietnes, and so gracefull a calmenes, did she suffer the diuers kindes of torments they vsed to her, that while they vexed her faire bodie, it seemed, that she rather directed, then obeyed the vexation. And when Cecropia ended, and asked whether her harte woulde yeelde: she a little smiled, but such a smiling as shewed no loue, and yet coulde not but be louelie. And then, Beastly woman (saide she) followe on, doo what thou wilt, and canst vpon me: for I know thy power is not vnlimited. Thou maist well wracke this sillie bodie, but me thou canst neuer ouerthrowe. For my part, I will not doo thee the pleasure to desire death of thee: but assure thy self, both my life and death, shall triumph with honour, laying shame vpon thy detestable tyranny.
    And so; in effect, conquering their doing with her suffering, while Cecropia tried as many sorts of paines, as might rather vexe them, then spoyle them (for that she would not do while she were in any hope to winne either of them for her sonne) Pamela remained almost as much content with triall in her selfe, what vertue could doo, as grieued with the miserie wherein she found her selfe plunged: only sometimes her thoughts softned in her, when with open wings they flew to Musidorus. For then she would thinke with her selfe, how grieuously Musidorus would take this her miserie; and she, that wept not for her selfe, wept yet Musidorus-his teares, which he would weep for her. For gentle Loue did easlier yeeld to lamentation, then the constancy of vertue would els admitte. Then would she remember the case wherein she had left her poore shepheard, and she that wished death for her self, feared death for him; and she that condemned in her selfe the feeblenes of sorrow, yet thought it great reason to be sory for his sorow: & she that long had prayed for the vertuous ioyning themselues together, now thinking to die herself, hartely prayed, that long time their fortunes might be seperated. Liue long my Musidorus (would she say) and let my name liue in thy mouth; in thy harte my memorie. Liue long, that thou mayst loue long the chast loue of thy dead Pamela. Then would she wish to her selfe, that no other woman might euer possesse his harte: and yet scarcely the wish was made a wish, when her selfe would finde fault with it, as being too vniust, that so excellent a man should be banished from the comfort of life. Then would she fortifie her resolution, with bethinking the worste, taking the counsell of vertue, and comfort of loue.

CHAP.   21.

1 Cecropias indurate tyrannies. 2 Her deuise with the death
    of one to threaten another. 3 Philoclea threatned, persi-
    steth. 4 The execution done in sight of Philoclea & Zel-
    mane. 5 Philocleas sorrow for her sister.

SO these diamonds of the worlde whom Nature had made to be preciously set in the eyes of her creatures, to
be the chiefe workes of her workemanship, the chiefe ornaments of the worlde, and Princesses of felicitie, by rebellious iniury were brought to the vttermost distres that an enemies hart could wish, or a womans spite inuent: Cecropia dayly in one or other sorte punishing the[m], still with her euill torments giuing them feare of worse, making the feare it selfe the sorriest torment of all; that in the end wearie of their bodies they should be content to bestow them at her appointme[n]t. But as in labour, the more one doth exercise it, the more by the doing one is enhabled to doo; strength growing vpo[n] the worke, so as what at first would haue seemed impossible, after growes easie: so these Princesses second to none, and far from any second, only to be matched by the[m]selues, with the vse of suffering their minds gat the habit of suffring so, as all feares & terrors were to them but summons to a battaile, whereof they knew before ha[n]d they would be victorious, & which in the suffering was painfull, being suffered, was a trophe to it self: whereby Cecropia found her self still farder of: for where at first she might perchance haue perswaded them to haue visited her sonne, and haue giuen him some comforte in his sicknesse, drawing neere to the co[n]fines of Deaths kingdome, now they protested, that they would neuer otherwise speake to him, then as to the enemy, of most vniust cruelty towards them, that any time or place could euer make them know.
    This made the poison swell in her cankred brest, perceiuing that (as in water) the more she grasped the lesse she held: but yet now hauing run so long the way of rigour, it was too late in reason, and too contrary to her passion, to returne to a course of meekenesse. And therefore (taking counsell of one of her olde associates who so far excelled in wickednesse as that she had not onely lost all feeling of conscience, but had gotten a very glory in euill) in the ende they determined, that beating, and other such sharp dealing did not so much pull downe a womans harte, as it bred anger, and that nothing was more enemy to yeelding, then anger; making their te[n]der harts take on the armour of obstinacy: (for thus did their wicked mindes blind to the light of vertue, & owly eied in the night of wickednes interpret of it) & that therfore that was no more to be tried. And for feare of death (which no question would doo most with them) they had bene so often threatened, as they began to be familiarly acquainted with it, and learned to esteeme threatning wordes to be but words. Therefore the last, but best way now was, that the one seing indeede the others death, should perceiue, there was no dallying meant: and then there was no doubt, that a womans soule would do much, rather then leaue so beautifull a body.
    This being concluded, Cecropia went to Philoclea, and tolde her, that now she was to come to the last parte of the play: for her part, though she found her hard harted obstinacie such, that neither the sweetnesse of louing meanes, nor the force of harde meanes could preuaile with her, yet before she would passe to a further degree of extremity; she had sought to win her sister; in hope, that her sonne might be with time satisfied with the loue of so faire a Lady: but finding her also rather more then lesse wilful, she was now minded that one of their deathes should serue for an example to the other, that despising worthy folks was more hurtfull to the despiser, then the despised: that yet because her sonne especially affected her, & that in her owne selfe she was more inclinable to pittie her, the she had deserued, she would begin with her sister; who that
afternoone should haue her head cut of before her face; if in the mean time one of them, did not pull out their il-wrought stiches of vnkindnes, she bad her looke for no other, nor lo[n]ger time the she told her. There was no assault giue[n] to the sweet Philocleas mind, that entered so far, as this: for where to all paines and daungers of her selfe, foresight with (his Lieutenant Resolution) had made ready defence; now with the loue she bare her sister, she was driuen to a stay, before she determined: but long she staled not, before this reason did shine vnto her, that since in her selfe she preferred death before such a base seruitude, loue did teach her to wish the same to her sister. Therefore crossing her armes, & looking sideward vpon the grou[n]d, Do what you wil (said she) with us: for my part, heauen shall melt before I be remoued. But if you will follow my counsell, for your owne sake (for as for praiers for my sake I haue felt how little they preuaile) let my death first serue for example to win her, who perchaunce is not so resolued against Amphialus, and so shall you not onely iustly punish me (who indeede doo hate both you and your sonne) but, if that may mooue you, you shall doo more vertuously in preseruing one most worthy of life, and killing an other most desirous of death: lastly in winning her, in steed of a peeuish vnhappie creature, that I am, you shall blesse your sonne with the most excellent woman in all praise-worthy thinges, that the worlde holdeth. But Cecropia, (who had already set downe to her selfe what she would do) with bitter both termes, & countenaunce, told her, that she should not neede to woo death ouer-egerly: for if her sister going before her did not teach her witt, herselfe should quickly follow. For since they were not to be gotten, there was no way for her sonnes quiet, but to know, that they were past getting. And so since no intreating, nor threatning might preuayle, she bad her prepare her eies for a new play, which she should see within fewe houres in the hall of that castle.
A place indeed ouerfit for so vnfit a matter: for being so stately made that the bottome of it being euen with the grounde, the roofe reached as hie as any part of the castle, at either ende it had conuenient lodgeings. In the one end was (one storie from the ground) Philocleas abode, in the other of euen height, Pamelas, and Zelmanes in a chamber aboue her: but all so vaulted of strong, and thickly built stone, as one could no way heare the other: each of these chambers had a litle windowe to looke into the hall, but because the sisters should not haue so much comforte, as to looke out to one another, there was (of the outsides) curtaynes drawne, which they could not reach with their hands, so barring the reach of their sight. But when the houre came that the Tragedie should beginne, the curtaynes were withdrawen from before the windowes of Zelmane, and of Philoclea: a sufficient challenge to call their eyes to defende themselues in such an incounter. And by and by came in at one ende of the hall, with about a dozen armed souldiers a Ladie, led by a couple, with her handes bounde before her: from aboue her eyes to her lippes muffled with a faire kerchiefe, but from her mouth to the shoulders all bare: and so was led on to a scaffold raised a good deale from the floore, and all couered with crimsin veluet. But neither Zelmane, nor Philoclea needed to be tolde, who she was: for the apparell she ware made them too well assured, that it was the admirable Pamela. Whereunto the rare whitenesse of her naked necke gaue sufficient testimonie to their astonnished senses. But the fayre Ladie being come to the scaffold, and then made to kneele downe, and so lefte by her vnkinde supporters, as it seemed that she was about to speake somewhat (whereunto Philoclea, poore soule, earnestly listned, according to her speach euen minded to frame her minde, her harte neuer till then almost wauering to saue her sisters life) before the vnfortunate Ladie could pronounce three wordes, the executioner cutt of the ones speech, and the others attention, with making his sworde doo his cruell office vpon that beautifull necke. Yet the pittilesse sworde had such pittie of so pretious an obiect, that at first it did but hitte flat long. But little auailed that, since the Ladie falling downe astonnished withall, the cruell villayne forced the sworde with another blowe to diuorce the faire marriage of the head and body.
    And this was done so in an instant, that the very act did ouerrun Philocleas sorrow (sorrow not being able so quickly to thunderbolte her harte thorough her senses, but first onely opprest her with a storme of amazement) but when her eies saw that they did see, as condemning themselues to haue seene it, they became weary of their owne power of seing: & her soule then drinking vp woe with great draughts, she fel downe to deadly trau[n]ces: but her waiting iaylors with cruell pitty brought lothed life vnto her; which yet many times tooke his leaue as though he would indeed depart: but when he was staied by force, he kept with him deadly Sorrow, which thus exercised her mourning speech. Pamela my sister, my sister Pamela, woe is me for thee, I would I had died for thee. Pamela neuer more shall I see thee: neuer more shall I enioy thy sweet companie, and wise counsell. Alas, thou arte gone to beautifie heauen, and haste thou lefte me here, who haue nothing good in me, but that I did euer loue thee, and euer will lament thee? Let this day be noted of all vertuous folkes for most vnfortunate: let it neuer be mentioned, but among curses; and cursed be they that did this mischiefe, and most accursed be mine eyes that behelde it. Sweete Pamela; that head is striken of, where onely wisedome might be spoken withall; that bodie is destroied, which was the liuing booke of vertue. Deare Pamela, how haste thou lefte me to all wretchednesse, and miserie? Yet while thou liuedst, in thee I breathed, of thee I hoped. O Pamela, how much did I for thy excellencie honour thee, more then my mother, and loue thee more then my selfe? Neuer more shall I lie with thee: neuer more shall we bathe in the pleasant riuer together: neuer more shall I see thee in thy shephearde apparell. But thou arte gone, and where am I? Pamela is dead; and liue I? My God, And with that she fell againe in a soune, so as it was a great while before they could bring her to her selfe againe; but being come to herselfe, Alas (said she) vnkind women, since you haue giuen me so many deathes, torment me not now with life: for Gods sake let me goe, and excuse your hands of more blood. Let me follow my Pamela, whom euer I sought to follow. Alas Pamela, they will not let me come to thee. But if they keepe promise, I shall treade thine owne steppes after thee. For to what am I borne (miserable soule) but to be most vnhappie in my selfe, and yet more vnhappie in others? But ô that a thousand more miseries had happened vnto me, so thou haddest not dyed: Pamela, my sister Pamela. And so, like lamentable Philomela, complained she the horrible wrong done to her sister, which if it stird not in the wickedly closed minds of her tormentors, a pittie of her sorrow, yet bredde it a wearinesse of her sorrow: so as onely leauing one to preuent any harme she should doo her selfe, the rest went away, consulting againe with Cecropia, how to make profite of this their late bloodie act.

CHAP.  22.

1 Cecropias pollicie to vse Zelmanes intercession, 2 Zelma-
    nes selfe-conflict. 3 Her motion to Philoclea rather to dis-
    semble then dye
. 4 Philocleas resolution rather to dye then
5 At sight of Philocleas head Zelmanes ex-
, 7 desperate deseignes,  8 and comfortlesse complaints.

IN the ende, that woman that vsed most to keep company with Zelmane, told Cecropia, that she founde by
many most sensible proofes in Zelmane, that there was neuer woman so loued another, as she loued Philoclea: which was the cause that she (further then the commandement of Cecropia) had caused Zelmanes curtaines to be also drawne: because hauing the same spectacle that Philoclea had, she might stand in the greater feare for her, whom she loued so wel: and that indeed she had hit the needle in that deuise: for neuer saw she creature so astonished as Zelmane, exceedingly sory for Pamela, but exceedingly exceeding that exceedingnes in feare for Philoclea. Therefore her aduice was, she should cause Zelmane to come and speake with Philoclea. For there being such vehemencie of friendship between them, it was both likely to moue Zelmane to perswade, and Philoclea to be perswaded. Cecropia liked wel of the counsell, and gaue order to the same woman to go deale therein with Zelmane, and to assure her with othe, that Cecropia was determined Philoclea should passe the same way that Pamela had done, without she did yeeld to satisfie the extremitie of her sonnes affection: which the woman did, adding therunto many (as she thought) good reasons to make Zelmane thinke Amphialus a fit match for Philoclea.
    But Zelmane (who had from time to time vnderstood the cruell dealing they had vsed to the sisters, & now had her own eies
wounded with the sight of ones death) was so confused withall (her courage still rebelling against her wit, desiring still with force to doo impossible matters) that as her desire was stopped with power, so her co[n]ceit was darkned with a mist of desire. For blind Loue, & inuincible valure stil would cry out, that it could not be, Philoclea should be in so miserable estate, and she not relieue her: and so while she haled her wit to her courage, she drew it from his owne limits. But now Philocleas death (a word able to marshall al his thoughts in order) being come to so short a point either with smal delay to be suffred, or by the giuing her selfe to another to be preuented, she was driue to think, and to desire some leasure of thinking: which the woman granted for that night vnto her. A night that was not halfe so blacke, as her mind; not halfe so silent, as was fit for her musing thoughts. At last, he that would faine haue desperatly lost a thousand liues for her sake, could not finde in his harte, that she should loose any life for her owne sake; and he that despised his owne death in respect of honour, yet could well nye dispense with honor it self in respect of Philocleas death: for once the thought could not enter into his harte, nor the breath issue out of his mouth, which could consent to Philocleas death for any bargaine. Then how to preuent the next degree to death (which was her being possest by another) was the point of his minds labour: and in that he found no other way, but that Philoclea should pretend a yeelding vnto Cecropias request; & so by speaking with Amphialus, and making faire (but delaying) promises, procure libertie for Zelmane; who onely wisht but to come by a sword, not doubting then to destroy them all, and deliuer Philoclea: so little did both the me[n], and their forces seeme in her eyes, looking downe vpon them from the hye toppe of affections tower.
    With that minde therefore (but first wel bound) she was brought to Philoclea, hauing alredy plotted out in her co[n]ceite, how she would deale with her: & so came she with hart and eyes, which did each sacrifice either to Loue vpon the aultar of Sorrow: and there had she the pleasing displeasing sight of Philoclea: Philoclea, who alredie the extreame sense of sorrow had brought to a dulnesse therin, her face not without tokens that beautie had bene by many miseries cruelly battered, & yet shewed it most the perfection of the beautie, which could remaine vnouerthrowne by such enimies. But whe[n] Zelmane was set downe by her, & the wome[n] gone away (because she might be the better perswaded whe[n] no body was by, that had heard her say she would not be perswaded) then began first the eyes to speake, and the harts to crie out: Sorrow a while would needes speake his owne language without vsing their tongues to be his interpreters. At last Zelmane brake silence, but spake with the onely eloquence of amazement: for all her long methodized oration was inherited onely by such kinde of speeches. Deare Ladie, in extreame necessities we must not. But alas vnfortunate wretch that I am, that I liue to see this day. And I take heauen and earth to witnesse, that nothing: and with that her brest swelled so with spite and griefe, that her breath had not leasure to turne her selfe into words. But the sweet Philoclea that had alredie dyed in Pamela, and of the other side had the heauines of her hart somthing quickned in the most beloued sight of Zelmane, ghessed somewhat at Zelmanes minde; and therefore spake vnto her in this sort. My Pyrocles (said she) I know this exceeding comfort of your presence, is not brought vnto me for any good-will that is owed vnto me: but (as I suppose) to make you perswade me to saue my life with the ransome of mine honour: although no bodie should be so vnfit a pleader in that cause, as your selfe, yet perchance you would haue me liue. Your honour? God forbid (said Zelmane) that euer, for any cause, I should yeeld to any touch of it. But a while to pretend some affection, til time, or my libertie might worke somthing for your seruice: this, if my astonished senses would giue me leaue, I would faine haue perswaded you.
    To what purpose my Pyrocles? (said Philoclea) of a miserable time what gaine is there? hath Pamelaes example wrought no more in me? is a captiue life so much worth? ca[n] euer it goe out of these lips, that I loue any other but Pyrocles? shal my tongue be so false a traitor to my hart, as to say I loue any other but Pyrocles? And why should I do all this? to liue? O Pamela, sister Pamela, why should I liue? onely for thy sake Pyrocles I would liue: but to thee I know too well I shal not liue; and if not to thee, hath thy loue so base allay, my Pyrocles, as to wish me to liue? for dissimulation, my Pyrocles, my simplicitie is such, that I haue hardly bene able to keepe a straight way; what shall I doo in a crooked? But in this case there is no meane of dissimulation, not for the cunningest: present answere is required, and present performance vpon the answere. Art thou so terrible, ô Death? No my Pyrocles; and for that I doo thanke thee, and in my soule thanke thee; for I confesse the loue of thee is heerein my chiefest vertue. Trouble me not therefore, deare Pyrocles, nor double not my death by tormenting my resolution: since I cannot liue with thee, I wil dye for thee. Onely remember me deare Pyrocles; and loue the remembrance of me: and if I may craue so much of thee, let me be thy last loue, for though I be not worthy of thee (who indeed art the worthiest creature liuing) yet remember that my loue was a worthy loue. But Pyrocles was so ouercome with sorrow (which wisdome & vertue made iust in so excellent a Ladies case, ful of so excelle[n]t kindnes) that words were ashamed to come forth knowing how weake they were to expresse his mind, & her merit: and therfore so stayed in a deadly silence, forsaken of hope, & forsaking comfort: till the appointed gardians came in, to see the fruits of Zelmanes labour: & then Zelmane warned by their presence, fel againe to perswade, though scarcely her selfe could tell what; but in sum, desirous of delayes. But Philoclea sweetly continuing co[n]stant, & in the end punishing her importunity with silence, Zelmane was faine to ende. Yet crauing an other times co[n]ference, she obtained it, & diuers others; till at the last Cecropia found it was to no purpose, and therfore determined to follow her owne way. Zelmane yet stil desirous to win (by any meanes) respit, euen wasted with sorrow, & vncertaine, whether in worse case in her prese[n]ce, or absence, being able to do nothing for Philocleas succour, but by submitting the greatest corage of the earth to fall at the feete of Cecropia, and craue stay of their sentence till the vttermost was seene, what her perswasions might doo.
    Cecropia seemed much to be moued by her importunitie, so as diuers dayes were wonne of painefull life to the excellent Philoclea: while Zelmane suffred some hope to cherrish her mind, especially trusting vpon the helpe of Musidorus, who (she knew) would not be idle in this matter, till one morning a noise awaked Zelmane, from whose ouer-watchfull mind, the tired body had stolne a little sleep: and straight with the first opening of her eyes, Care taking the woonted place, she ranne to the window which looked into the hall (for that way the noise guided her,) and there might she see (the curtaine being left open euer since the last execution) seuen or eight persons in a cluster vpon the scaffold: who by & by retiring themselues, nothing was to be seene thereupon, but a bason of golde, pitifully enameled with bloud, and in the midst of it, the head of the most beautifull Philoclea. The horriblenes of the mischiefe was such, as Pyrocles could not at first beleeue his own senses, hut bent his woful eyes to discerne it better: where too well he might see it was Philocleas selfe, hauing no veile, but beautie, ouer the face, which still appeared to be aliue: so did those eyes shine, euen as they were wont, and they were woont more then any other: and sometimes as they moued, it might well make the beholder think, that death therin had borowed their beutie, and not they any way disgraced by death: so sweet and pearsing a grace they caried with them.
    It was not a pitie, it was not an amazement, it was not a sorow which then laid holde on Pyrocles, but a wilde furie of
desperate agonie, so that he cried out, O tyraunt heauen, traytor earth, blinde prouidence; no iustice, how is this done? how is this suffered? hath this world a gouernment? If it haue, let it poure out all his mischiefes vpon me, and see whether it haue power to make me more wretched then I am. Did she excell for this? haue I prayed for this? abhominable hande that did it; detestable deuil that commaunded it; cursed light that beheld it: and if the light be cursed, what are then mine eyes that haue seene it? And haue I seen Philoclea dead, and doo I liue? and haue I liued, not to help her, but to talke of her? and stande I still talking? And with that (caried with the madnes of anguish, not hauing a redier way to kill himselfe) he ranne as hard as euer he could, with his head against the wall, with intention to braine himself: but the haste to doo it, made the doing the slower. For, as he came to giue the blow, his foot tript, so as it came not with the full force: yet forcible inough to strike him downe, and withall, to depriue him of his sense, so that he lay a while, comforted by the hurt, in that he felte not his discomfort.
    And when he came againe to himselfe, he heard, or he thought he heard a voice, which cried, Reue[n]ge, Reuenge; whether indeed it were his good Angell, which vsed that voice to stay him from vnnaturall murdering of him selfe; or that his wandering spirites lighted vpon that conceite, and by their weakenes (subiect to apprehensions) supposed they heard it. But that indeed, helped with Vertue, and her valiant seruant Anger, stopped him from present destroying him selfe: yeelding, in reason and manhoode, first to destroy, man, woman, and childe, that were any way of kinne to them that were accessarie to this crueltie; then to raze the Castle, and to builde a sumptuous monument for her sister, and a most sumptuous for her selfe; and then, himselfe to die vpon her tomb. This determining in himselfe to do, and to seeke all meanes how (for that purpose) to get out of prison: he was content a while to beare the thirst of death: and yet went he againe to the windowe, to kisse the beloued head with his eies, but there saw he nothing but the scafiold, all couered ouer with skarlet, and nothing but solitarie silence, to mourn this mischiefe. But then, Sorrow hauing disperste it selfe from his harte, in all his noble partes, it proclaimed his authoritie, in cries, and teares, and with a more gentle dolefulnes, could poure out his inward euill.

    Alas (said he) and is that head taken away too, so soone from mine eyes? What, mine eyes, perhappes they enuie the excellencie of your sorrow? Indeede, there is nothing now left to become the eyes of all ma[n]kind, but teares: and wo be to me, if any exceede me in wofulnes. I do coniure you all, my senses, to accept no obiect, but of Sorow: be ashamed, nay, abhor to thinke of comfort. Vnhappie eyes, you haue seene too much, that euer the light should be welcome to you: vnhappie eares, you shall neuer heare the musicke of Musicke in her voice: vnhappie harte, that hast liued to feel these pangues. Thou hast done thy worst, World, & cursed be thou, and cursed art thou, since to thine owne selfe thou hast done the worst thou couldest doo. Exiled Beautie, let onely now thy beautie be blubbered faces. Widowed Musick, let now thy tunes be rorings, and lamentations. Orphane Vertue, get thee winges, and flie after her into heauen; here is no dwelling place for thee. Why liued I, alas? Alas why loued I? to die wretched, and to be the example of the heauens hate? And hate, & spare not, for your worst blow is striken. Sweet Philoclea, thou art gone, and hast caried with thee my loue; & hast thy loue in me, & I wretched ma[n] do liue; I liue, to die co[n]tinually, till thy reuenge do giue me leaue to dy: & then dy I will, my Philoclea, my hart willinglie makes this promise to it selfe. Surely he did not looke vpon thee, that gaue the cruell blow: for no eye coulde haue abidden to see such beautie ouerthrowen by such mischiefe. Alas, why should they diuide such a head from such a bodie? no other bodye is worthy of that head; no other head is woorthie of that body: O yet, if I had taken my last leaue, if I might haue taken a holie kisse from that dying mouth. Where art thou Hope which promisest neuer to leaue a ma[n] while he liueth? Tell me, what canst thow hope for? nay tel me, what is there which I would willingly hope after? Wishing power (which is accounted infinite) what now is left to wish for? She is gone, and gone with her all my hope, all my wishing. Loue, be ashamed to be called Loue: cruell Hate, vnspeakable Hate is victorious ouer thee. Who is there now left, that can iustifie thy tyrannie, and giue reason to thy passion? O cruell diuorce of the sweetest mariage that euer was in Nature: Philoclea is dead, and dead is with her all goodnesse, all sweetnesse, all excellencie. Philoclea is dead, and yet Life is not ashamed to co[n]tinue vpon the earth. Philoclea is dead: O deadly word; which containeth in it selfe the vttermost of all misfortunes. But happie worde when thou shalt be said of me, and long it shall not be, before it be said.

CHAP.  17 [23].

1 A Ladies kinde comforts to Pyrocles comfortlesse vnkind-
2 His hardly knowing her. 3 Her vnmasking of
Cecropias fruitlesse sophistrie. 4 Their medley of solace and sorowe.

THen stopping his woordes with sighes, drowning his sighes I in teares, & drying againe his teares in rage, he
would sitte a while in a wandring muse, which represented nothing but vexations vnto him: then throwing himselfe somtimes vpon the floore, and sometimes vpon the bedde: then vp againe, till walking was wearisome, and rest loathsome: and so neither suffering foode, nor sleepe to helpe his afflicted nature, all that day and night he did nothing, but weepe Philoclea, sigh Philoclea, and crie out Philoclea: till as it happened (at that time vpon his bed) towarde the dawning of the day, he heard one stirre in his chamber, by the motion of garme[n]ts; and he with an angry voice asked, Who was there? A poore Gentlewoman (answered the partie) that wish long life vnto you. And I soone death to you (said he) for the horrible curse you haue giuen me. Certainely (said she) an vnkinde answere, and far vnworthy the excellencie of your mind; but not vnsutable to the rest of your behauiour. For most parte of this night I haue hearde you (being let into your chamber, you neuer perceiuing it, so was your minde estraunged from your senses) and haue hearde nothing of Zelmane, in Zelmane, nothing but weake waylings, fitter for some nurse of a village, then so famous a creature as you are. O God (cried out Pyrocles) that thou wert a man that vsest these wordes vnto me. I tell thee I am sory: I tell thee I will be sory in despite of thee, and all them that would haue me ioyfull. And yet (replied she) perchaunce Philoclea is not dead, whom you so much bemone. I would we were both dead of that condition, said Pyrocles. See the folly of your passion (said she) as though you should be neerer to her, you being dead, and she aliue; then she being dead, & you aliue: & if she be dead, was she not borne to die? what then do you crie out for? not for her, who must haue died one time or other; but for some fewe yeares: so as it is time, & this world that seeme so louely things, and not Philoclea vnto you. O noble Sisters (cried Pyrocles) now you be gone (who were the onely exalters of all womankind) what is left in that sex, but babling, and businesse? And truly (said she) I will yet a little longer trouble you. Nay, I pray you doo (said Pyrocles) for I wishe for nothing in my shorte life, but mischiefes, and combers: and I am content you shall be one of them. In truth (said she) you would thinke your selfe a greatly priuiledged person, if since the strongest buildings, and lastingest monarchies are subiect to end, onely your Philoclea (because she is yours) should be exempted. But indeede you bemone your selfe, who haue lost a friende: you cannot her, who hath in one act both preserued her honour, and lefte the miseries of this worlde. O womans philosophie, childish follie (said Pyrocles) as though if I do bemone my selfe, I haue not reason to doo so, hauing lost more then any Monarchie, nay then my life can be woorth vnto me. Alas (said she) comforte your selfe, Nature did not forget her skill, when she had made them: you shall find many their superiours, and perchaunce such, as (when your eyes shall looke abroad) your selfe will like better.
    But that speech put all good maners out of the conceit of Pyrocles; in so much, that leaping out of his bed, he ran to haue striken her: but comming neere her (the morning then winning the field of darkenesse) he saw, or he thought he sawe, indeede, the very face of Philoclea; the same sweetenesse, the same grace, the same beautie: with which carried into a diuine astonishment, he fell downe at her feete. Most blessed Angell (said he) well haste thou done to take that shape, since thou wouldest submit thy selfe to mortall sense; for [a] more Angelicall forme could not haue bene created for thee. Alas, euen by that excellent beautie, so beloued of me, let it be lawfull for me to aske of thee, what is the cause, that she, that heauenly creature, whose forme you haue taken, should by the heauens be destined to so vnripe an ende? Why should vniustice so preuaile? Why was she seene to the world, so soone to be rauished from vs? Why was she not suffered to liue, to teach the world perfection? Doo not deceiue thy selfe (answered she) I am no Angell; I am Philoclea, the same Philoclea, so truely louing you, so truly beloued of you. If it be so (said he) that you are indeede the soule of Philoclea, you haue done well to keepe your owne figure: for heauen could haue giuen you a better. Then alas, why haue you taken the paines to leaue your blisfull seat to come to this place most wretched, to me, who am wretchednes it selfe, & not rather obtain for me, that I might come where you are, there eternally to behold, & eternally to loue your beauties? you know (I know) that I desire nothing but death, which I only stay, to be iustly reuenged of your vniust murtherers.
       Deare Pyrocles (said she) I am thy Philoclea, and as yet liuing: not murdred, as you supposed, and therefore to be comforted. And with that gaue him her hand. But the sweet touch of that hande, seemed to his astraied powers so heauenly a thing, that it rather for a while confirmed him in his former beliefe: till she, with vehement protestations (and desire that it might be so, helping to perswade that it was so) brought him to yeeld; yet doubtfully to yeelde to this height of al comfort, that Philoclealiued: which witnessing with the teares of ioy, Alas (said he) how shall I beleeue mine eies any more? or doo you yet but appeare thus vnto me, to stay me from some desperate end? For alas I sawe the excellent Pamela beheaded: I saw your head (the head indeede, and chiefe parte of all natures workes) standing in a dishe of golde, too meane a shrine (God wote) for such a relike. How can this be, my onely deare, and you liue? or if this be not so, how can I bel[ee]ue mine owne senses? and if I can not beleeue the, why should I now beleeue these blessed tidings they bring me?

    The truth is (said she) my Pyrocles, that nether I (as you finde) nor yet my deare sister is dead: although the mischieuously suttle Cecropia vsed slightes to make either of vs thinke so or other. For, hauing in vaine attempted the fardest of her wicked eloquence, to make eyther of vs yeeld to her sonne, and seeing that neither it, accompanied with great flatteries, and riche presents, could get any grounde of vs, nor yet the violent way she fell into of crueltie, tormenting our bodies, could preuayle with vs; at last, she made either of vs thinke the other dead, and so hoped to haue wrested our mindes to the forgetting of vertue: and first she gaue to mine eyes the miserable spectacle of my sisters (as I thought) death: but indeede not my sister: it was onely Artesia, she who so cunningly brought vs to this misery. Truly I am sory for the poore Gentlewoman, though iustly she be punished for her double falshood: but Artesia muffled so, as you could not easily discerne her; and in my sisters apparell (which they had taken from her vnder colour of giuing her other) did they execute: And when I (for thy sake especially deare Pyrocles) could by no force, nor feare be won, they assayed the like with my sister, by bringing me downe vnder the scaffolde, and (making me thrust my head vp through a hole they had made therin) they did put about my poore necke a dishe of gold, whereout they had beaten the bottome, so as hauing set bloud in it, you sawe how I played the parte of death (God knowes euen willing to haue done it in earnest) and so had they set me, that I reached but on tiptoes to the grounde, so as scarcely I could breathe, much lesse speake: And truely if they had kepte me there any whit longer, they had strangled me, in steed of beheading me: but then they tooke me away, and seeking to see their issue of this practise, they found my noble sister (for the deare loue she vouchsafeth to beare me) so grieued withall, that she willed them to doo their vttermost crueltie vnto her: for she vowed, neuer to receiue sustenaunce of them, that had bene the causers of my murther: and finding both of vs, euen giuen ouer, not like to liue many houres longer, and my sister Pamela, rather worse then my selfe, (the strength of her harte worse bearing those indignities) the good woman Cecropia (with the same pittie as folkes keepe foule, when they are not fatte inough for their eating) made vs know her deceipt, & let vs come one to another; with what ioye you can well imagine, who I know feele the like; sauing that we only thought our selues reserued to miseries, and therefore fitter for condoling, then congratulating. For my parte, I am fully perswaded, it is but with a little respite, to haue a more feeling sense of the tormentes she prepares for vs. True it is, that one of my guardians would haue me to beleeue, that this proceedes of my gentle cousin Amphialus: who hauing hearde some inckling that we were euill entreated, had called his mother to his bedside, from whence he neuer rose since his last combat, and besought, & charged her vpon all the loue she bare him, to vse vs with all kindnesse: vowing, with all the imprecations he could imagine, that if euer he vnderstood for his sake, that I receiued further hurt then the want of my libertie, he woulde not liue an houre longer. And the good woman sware to me that he would kill his mother, if he knewe how I had bene dealte with; but that Cecropia keepes him from vnderstanding thinges how they passe, onely hauing heard a whispering, and my selfe named, he had (of aboundaunce, forsooth, of honorable loue) giuen this charge for vs. Whereupon this enlargement of mine was growne: for my parte I know too well their cunning (who leaue no mony vnoffered that may buy mine honour) to beleeue any worde they say, but (my deare Pyrocles) euen looke for the worste, and prepare my selfe for the sam[e]. Yet I must confesse, I was content to robbe from death, and borrowe of my misery the sweet comfort of seeing my sweet sister, and moste sweete comforte of thee my Pyrocles. And so hauing leaue, I came stealing into your chamber: where (O Lord) what a ioy it was vnto me, to heare you solemnise the funerals of the poore Philoclea? That I my selfe might liue to heare my death bewailed? and by whom? by my deere Pyrocles. That I saw death was not strong enough to diuide thy loue from me? O my Pyrocles, I am too well paide for my paines I haue suffred: ioyfull is my woe for so noble a cause; and welcome be all miseries, since to thee I am so welcome. Alas how I pittied to heare thy pittie of me; and yet a great while I could not finde in my hart to interrupt thee, but often had euen pleasure to weepe with thee: and so kindly came forth thy lamentations, that they inforced me to lament to, as if indeed I had beene a looker on, to see poore Philoclea dye. Til at last I spake with you, to try whether I could remoue thee fro[m] sorrow, till I had almost procured my selfe a beating.
    And with that she pretily smiled, which, mingled with her teares, one could not tell whether it were a mourning pleasure, or a delightful sorrow: but like whe[n] a few Aprill drops are scattered by a gentle Zephyrus among fine coloured flowers. But Pyrocles, who had felt (with so smal dista[n]ce of time) in himself the ouerthrow both of hope and despaire, knew not to what key he should tune his mind, either of ioy, or sorrow. But finding perfite reason in neither, suffred himselfe to be caried by the tide of his imagination, & his imaginations to be raised euen by the sway, which hearing or seing, might giue vnto the[m]: he saw her aliue, he was glad to see her aliue: he saw her weep, he was sory to see her weep: he heard her co[m]fortable speeches, nothing more gladsome: he hard her prognosticating her own destructio[n], nothing more dolefull. But when he had a little taken breath from the panting motion of such contrarietie in passions, he fell to consider with her of her present estate, both comforting her, that certainely the worst of this storme was past, since alreadie they had done the worst, which mans wit could imagine: and that if they had determined to haue killed her, they would haue now done it: and also earnestly counselling her, and inhabling his counsels with vehement prayers, that she would so far second the hopes of Amphialus, as that she might but procure him liberty; promising then as much to her, as the liberalitie of louing corage durst promise to himselfe.

CHAP.   24.

1 Amphialus excuseth. 2 The Princesses accuse. 3 Cecropia
    seeking their death 4 findeth her owne. 5 Amphialus-his
    death-panges and selfe-killing
. 6 The wofull knowledge
    of it.

BVt who would liuely describe the manner of these speeches, should paint out the lightsome coulours of
affection, shaded with the deepest shadowes of sorrow, finding them betweene hope and feare, a kind of sweetenes in teares: til Philoclea content to receaue a kisse, and but a kisse of Pyrocles, sealed vp with mouing lippes, and closed them vp in comfort: and herselfe (for the passage was left betweene them open) went to her sister: with whom she had stayed but a while, fortifying one another (while Philoclea tempered Pamelas iust disdaine, and Pamela ennobled Philocleas sweete humblenesse) when Amphialus came vnto them: who neuer since he had heard Philoclea named, coulde bee quiet in himselfe, although none of them about him (fearing more his mothers violence the his power) would discouer what had passed: and many messages he sent to know her estate, which brought answere backe, according as it pleased Cecropiato indite them, till his hart full of vnfortunate affliction, more and more misgiuing him, hauing impatiently borne the delay of the nights vnfitnesse, this morning he gat vp, and though full of wounds (which not without daunger could suffer such exercise) he apparelled himselfe, and with a countenance, that shewed strength in nothing but in griefe, he came where the sisters were; and weakely kneeling downe, he besought them to pardon him, if they had not bene vsed in that castle according to their worthines, arid his duetie; beginning to excuse small matters, poore Gentleman, not knowing in what sort they had bene handled.
    But Pamelaes hye hart (hauing conceiued mortall hate for the iniurie offred to her and her sister) coulde scarcely abide his sight, much lesse heare out his excuses; but interrupted him with these words. Traitor (said she) to thine owne blood, and false to the profession of so much loue as thou hast vowed, doo not defile our eares with thy excuses; but pursue on thy crueltie, that thou and thy godly mother haue vsed towards vs: for my part, assure thy self, and so do I answere for my sister (whose mind I know) I do not more desire mine owne safetie then thy destruction. Amazed with this speech, he turned his eye, ful of humble sorrowfulnesse, to Philoclea. And is this (most excellent Ladie) your doome of me also? She, sweete Ladie, sate weeping: for as her most noble kinsman she had euer fauoured him, & loued his loue, though she could not be in loue with his person; and now partly vnkindnes of his wrong, partly pittie of his case, made her sweete minde yeelde some teares, before she could answere; and her answere was no other, but that she had the same cause as her sister had. He replyed no further, but deliuering from his hart two or three (vntaught) sighes, rose, and with most low reuerence went out of their chamber: and streight by threatning torture, learned of one of the women, in what terrible manner those Princesses had bene vsed. But when he heard it, crying out, O God; and then not able to say any more (for his speech went backe to rebounde woe vpon his hart) he needed no iudge to goe vpon him: for no man could euer thinke any otherworthy of greater punishme[n]t, the[n] he thought himselfe.
    Ful therefore of the horriblest despaire, which a most guiltie conscience could breed, with wild lookes promising some terrible issue, vnderstanding his mother was on the toppe of the leades, he caught one of his seruants swords from him, and none of them daring to stay him, he went vp, carried by furie, in steede of strength; where she was at that time, musing how to goe thorough with this matter, and resoluing to make much of her Neeces in shew, and secreatly to impoison them; thinking since they were not to be wonne, her sonnes loue woulde no otherwise be mitigated.
    But when she sawe him come in with a sworde drawne, and a looke more terrible then the sworde, she streight was stricke
with the guiltines of her own conscience: yet the wel known humblenes of her son somwhat animated her, till he, comming nearer her, and crying to her, Thou damnable creature, onely fit to bring forth such a monster of vnhappines as I am; she fearing he would haue stricken her (though indeed he meant it not, but onely intended to kill himselfe in her presence) went backe so far, til ere she were aware, she ouerthrew her selfe from ouer the Leades, to receaue her deathes kisse at the ground: and yet was she not so happie as presently to dye, but that she had time with hellish agonie to see her sonnes mischiefe (whom she loued so well) before her end; when she confest (with most desperate, but not repe[n]ting mind) the purpose she had to impoison the princesses, & would then haue had them murthred. But euerie bodie seing, and glad to see her end, had left obedience to her tyranny.
    And (if it could be) her ruine increased woe in the noble hart of Amphialus, who when he saw her fal, had his owne rage stayed a little with the soddennes of her destruction. And was I not enough miserable before (said he) but that before my end I must be the death of my mother? who how wicked so euer, yet I would she had receaued her punishme[n]t by some other. O Amphialus) wretched Amphialus; thou hast liued to be the death of thy most deere co[m]panion & friend Philoxenus, and of his father, thy most carefull fosterfather. Thou hast liued to kill a Ladie with thine owne handes, and so excellent, and vertuous a Lady, as the faire Parthenia was: thou hast liued to see thy faithfull Ismenus slaine in succouring thee, and thou not able to defende him: thou hast liued to shew thy selfe such a coward, as that one vnknowne Knight could ouercome thee in thy Ladies presence: thou hast liued to beare armes against thy rightfull Prince, thine owne vnckle: Thou hast liued to be accounted, and iustly accounted, a traitor, by the most excellent persons, that this world holdeth: Thou hast liued to bee the death of her, that gaue thee life. But ah wretched Amphialus, thou hast liued for thy sake, and by thy authoritie, to haue Philoclea tormented: O heauens, in Amphialus castle, where Amphialus commaunded; tormented, tormented? torment of my soule, Philoclea tormented: and thou hast had such comfort in thy life, as to liue all this while. Perchance this hande (used onely to mischieuous actes) thinkes it were too good a deede to kill me[n]; or else filthy hande, onely woorthy to kill women, thou art afraide to strike a man. Feare not cowardly hand, for thou shall kill but a cowardly traitor: and doo it gladlie; for thou shalt kill him, whome Philoclea hateth. With that, furiously he tare open his doublet, and setting the pommell of the sworde to the grounde, and the point to his brest, hee fell vpon it. But the sworde more mercifull then hee to himselfe, with the slipping of the pommell, the point swarued, and razed him but vpon the side: yet with the fall, his other wounds opened so, as hee bledde in such extremitie, that Charons boate might verie well be carried in that flood: which yet he sought to hasten by this meanes. As he opened his dublet, and fell, there fell out Philocleas kniues, which Cecropia at the first had taken from her, and deliuered to her sonne; and he had euer worne them next his hart, as the only relique he had of his Saint: now seeing them by him, (his sword being so, as weakenes could not well draw it out from his doublette) he tooke the kniues, and pulling one of them out, and many times kissing it, and then, first with the passions of kindnes, and vnkindncs, melting in teares, O deare kniues, you are come in a good time, to reuenue the wrong; I haue done you all this while, in keeping you from her blessed side, and wearing; you without your mistresse leaue. Alas, be witnes with me, yet before I die, (and well you may, for you haue layn next my hart) that by my consent, your excellent mistresse should haue had as much honour, as this poore place could haue brought foorth, for so high an excellencie; and now I am condemned to die by her mouth. Alas, other, far other hope would my desire often haue giuen me: but other euent it hath pleased her to lay vpon me. Ah Philoclea (with that his teares gushed out, as though they would striue to ouerflow his bloud) I would yet thou knewest how I loue thee. Vnworthie I am, vnhappie I am, false I am; but to thee, alas, I am not false. But what a traitor am I, any way to excuse him, whom she condemneth? Since there is nothing left me, wherein I may do her seruice, but in punishing him, who hath so offended her. Deare knife, then doo your noble mistresses commaundement. With that, he stabbed himselfe into diuers places of his breast, and throte, vntill those wounds (with the old, freshly bleeding) brought him to the senselesse gate of Death.
    By which time, his seruants hauing (with feare of his furie) abstained a while from comming vnto him, one of them (preferring duetifull affection before fearfull duetie) came in, and there found him swimming in his owne bloud, there giuing a pittiful spectacle, where the conquest was the conquerors ouerthrow, and self-ruine the onely triumph of a battaile, fought betweene him, and himselfe. The time full of danger, the person full of worthines, the maner full of horror, did greatlie astonish all the beholders; so as by and by, all the town was full of it, and then of all ages came running vp to see the beloued body; euery body thinking, their safetie bledde in his woundes, and their honor died in his destruction.

CHAP. 25.

1 Anaxius-his rages for the death 2, Queen Helens comming
     for the cure of
Amphialus. 3 Her complaints ouer him.
    4 Her pasport and safeconduct, to carrie him to her Chirur-
. 5 The peoples sorow, 6 set downe in a song.

BVt when it came, (and quickly it came) to the eares of his proude friende Anaxius, (who by that time was
growe[n] well of his wou[n]d, but neuer had come abroad, disdayning to abase himselfe to the companie of any other but of Amphialus) he was exceedingly vexed, either with kindnes, or (if a proud hart be not capable therof) with disdaine, that he, who had the honor to be called the frend of Anaxius, should come to such an vnexpected ruine. Therfore, then comming abroad, with a face red in anger, and engrained in pride, with liddes raysed vp, and eyes leuelling from toppe to the toe of them that met him, treading, as though he thought to make the earth shake vnder him, with his hande vpon his sword; short speeches, and disdainfull answeres, giuing streight order to his two brothers, to goe take the oath of obedience, in his name, of all the souldiers, and Citizens in the towne: and withall, to sweare them to reuenge the death of Amphialus, vpon Basilius. He himself went to see him, calling for all the surgeons & physicions there; spending some time in vewing the body, and threatning them all to be hanged, if they did not heale him. But they (taking view of his woundes, and falling down at Anaxius feete) assured him, that they were mortall, & no possible meanes to keep him aboue two dayes aliue: and he stood partly in doubt, to kil, or saue them, betweene his own furie, and their humblenes. But vowing, with his owne hands to kill the two sisters, as causers of his friends death: when his brothers came to him, & told him they had done his commaundement, in hauing receaued the oath of allegeance, with no great difficultie: the most part terrified by their valure, & force of their seruants, & many that had bene forward actors in the rebellion, willing to do any thing, rather then come vnder the subiection of Basilius againe; and such fewe as durst gainesay, being cut of by present slaughter.
    But withall (as the chiefe matter of their comming to him) they told Anaxius, that the faire Queen Helen was come, with an honorable retinue, to the towne: hu[m]blie desiring leaue to see Amphialus, who she had sought in many places of the world; & lastly, being returned into her owne countrie, she heard together of the late siege and of his combat with the strange Knight, who had dangerously hurt him. Wherupon, full of louing care (which she was content euen to publish to the world, how vngratefully soeuer he dealt with her) she had gotten leaue of Basilius, to come by his frontiers, to cary away Amphialus with her, to the excellentest surgeon then knowen, whom she had in her Countrey, but so olde, as not able to trauaile: but had giuen her soueraigne annointments, to preserue his body withal, till he might be brought vnto him: and that Basilius had graunted leaue: either naturall kindnes preuailing ouer all the offences done, or rather glad to make any passage, which might leade him out of his countrie, and from his daughters. This discourse Lycurgus vnderstanding of Helene, deliuered to his brother, with her vehement desire to see the body, and take her last farewell of him. Anaxius, though he were fallen out with all womankind (in respect of the hate he bare the sisters, whom he accounted murtherers of Amphialus) yet at his brothers request, graunted her leaue. And she (poore Lady) with grieuous expectation, and languishing desire, caried her faint legs to the place where he lay, ether not breathing, or in all appearance breathing but death.
     In which pittious plight when she saw him, though Sorow had set before her minde the pittifullest conceit thereof that it could paint, yet the present sight went beyonde all former apprehensions: so that beginning to kneele by the bodie, her sight ranne from her seruice, rather then abide such a sight; and she fell in a soune vpon him, as if she could not choose but die of his wounds. But when her breath (aweary to be closed vp in woe) broke the prison of her faire lippes, and brought memorie (with his seruaunt senses) to his naturall office, she yet made the breath conuey these dolefull wordes with it. Alas (said she) Amphialus, what strange diseases be these, that hauing sought thee so long, I should be now sorie to finde thee? that these eyes should looke vpon Amphialus, and be grieued withall? that I should haue thee in my power without glory, and embrace thee without comfort? How often haue I blest the means that might bring me neer thee? Now, woe worth the cause that brings me so neer thee. Often, alas, often hast thou disdained my teares: but now, my deare Amphialus, receiue them: these eies can serue for nothing else, but weepe for thee; since thou wouldest neuer vouchsafe them thy comforte, yet disdaine not them thy sorrowe. I would they had bene more deare vnto thee; for then hadst thou liued. Woe is me that thy noble harte could loue who hated thee, and hate who loued thee. Alas, why should not my faith to thee couer my other defects, who only sought to make my Crowne thy foote-stoole, my selfe thy seruaunt? that was all my ambition; and alas thou disdainedst it to serue them, by whom thy incomparable selfe were disdained. Yet (ô Philoclea) wheresoeuer you are, pardon me, if I speake in the bitternes of my soule, excellent may you be in all other things (and excellent sure you are since he loued you) your want of pittie, where the fault onely was infinitenesse of desert, cannot be excused. I would, O God, I would that you had graunted his deserued suite of marrying you, and that I had bene your seruing-maide, to haue made my estate the foile of your felicitie, so he had liued. How many weary steps haue I trodden after thee, while my onely complaint was, that thou werte vnkinde? Alas I would now thou werte, to be vnkind. Alas why wouldest thou not com[m]aund my seruice, in persuading Philoclea to loue thee? who could, or (if euery one could) who would haue recounted thy perfections so well, as I? who with such kindly passions could haue stirred pittie for thee as I? who should haue deliuered not onely the wordes but the teares I had of thee? and so shouldest thou haue exercised thy disdaine in me, and yet vsed my seruice for thee.
    With that the body mouing somewhat, and giuing a grone full of deaths musicke, she fell vpon his face, & kist him, and with all cried out. O miserable I, that haue onely fauour by miserie: and then, would she haue returned to a fresh careere of complaints, when an aged and wise Gentleman came to her, and besought her, to remember what was fit for her greatnesse, wisdome, & honour: and with al, that it was fitter to shew her loue, in carying the body to her excellent Surgeon, first applying such excellent medicines as she had receiued of him for that purpose, rather then onely shew her selfe a woman-louer in fruitles lame[n]tations. She was streight warned with the obedience of an ouerthrowen mind, and therefore leauing some surgeons of her owne to dresse the body, went her selfe to Anaxius, & humbling her selfe to him, as lowe as his owne pride could wish, besought him, that since the surgeons there had vtterly giuen him ouer, that he would let her carrie him away in her litter with her, since the worst he could haue should be to die, and to die in her armes that loued him aboue al things; & where he should haue such monuments erected ouer him, as were fit for her loue, & his worthines: beseeching him withall, since she was in a country of enemies (where she trusted more to Anaxius valour, then Basilius promise) that he would conuey them safely out of those territories. Her reasons something moued him, but nothing thoroughly perswaded him, but the last request of his helpe: which he straight promised, warra[n]ting all securitie, as long as that sword had his master aliue. She as happy therein as vnhappines could be (hauing receiued as small co[m]fort of her owne surgeons as of the others) caused yet the body to be easily conueyed into the litter: all the people then beginning to roare and crie, as though neuer till then they had lost their Lorde. And if the terrour of Anaxius had not kept them vnder, they would haue mutinied, rather then suffered his bodie to be caried away.
    But Anaxius him selfe riding before the litter, with the choyce men of that place, they were affraid euen to crie, though they were readie to crie for feare: but (because that they might doo) euery bodie forced (euen with harming themselues) to doo honour to him: some throwing themselues vpon the grounde; some tearing their clothes, and casting duste vpon their heades, and some euen wounding themselues, and sprinkling their owne bloud in the aire. Among the rest, one accounted good in that kinde, and made the better by the true feeling of sorrowe, roared out a song of Lamentation, which (as well as might be) was gathered vp in this forme.

SInce that to death is gone the shepheard hie,

    Whom most the silly shepheards pipe did pryse,
Your dolefull tunes sweete
Muses now applie.

And you ô trees (if any life there lies
    In trees) now  through your porous barkes receaue
    The straunge resounde of these my causefull cries:
And let my breath vpon your braunches leaue,
    My breath distinguish'd into wordes of woe,
    That so I may signes of my sorrowe leaue.
But if among yourselues some one tree growe,
    That aptest is to figure miserie,
    Let it embassage beare your grieues to showe.
The weeping Myrrhe I thinke will not denie
    Her helps to this, this iustest cause of plaint.
    Your dolefull tunes sweet
Muses now applie.

And thou poore Earth, whom fortune doth attaint
    In Natures name to suffer such a harme,
    As for to loose thy gemme, and such a Sainct,
Vpon thy face let coaly Rauens swarme:
    Let all the Sea thy teares accounted be:
    Thy bowels with all killing mettals arme.
Let golde now rust, let Diamonds waste in thee:
    Let pearls be wan with woe their damme doth beare;
    Thy selfe henceforth the light doo neuer see.
And you, ô flowers, which sometimes Princes were,
    Till these straunge altrings you did hap to trie,
    Of Princes losse your selues for tokens reare.
Lilly in mourning blacke thy whitenes die:
O Hiacinthe let Ai be on thee still.
    Your dolefull tunes sweet Muses now applie.

O Echo, all these woods with roaring fill,
    And doo not onely marks the accents last,
    But all, for all reach out my wailefull will:
Echo to another Echo cast
    Sounde of my griefes, and let it neuer ende,
    Till that it hath all woods and waters past.
Nay to the heau'ns your iust complaining sende,
    And stay the starrs inconstant constant race,
    Till that they doo vnto our dolours bende:
And aske the reason of that speciall grace,
    That they, which haue no liues, should liue so long,
    And vertuous soules so soone should loose their place?
Aske, if in great men good men doo so thronge,
    That he for want of elbowe roome must die?
    Or if that they be skante, if this be wronge?
Did Wisedome this our wretched time espie
    In one true chest to rob all Vertues treasure?
    Your dohfull tunes sweete Muses now applie.

And if that any counsell you to measure
    Your dolefull tunes, to them still playning say,
    To well felte griefe, plainte is the onely pleasure.
O light of Sunne, which is entitled day,
    O well thou doost that thou no longer bidest;
For mourning light her blacke weedes may display.
Phœbus with good cause thy face thou bidest,
    Rather then haue thy all-beholding eye
    Fould with this sight, while thou thy chariot guidest.
And well (me thinks) becomes this vaultie skie
    A stately tombe to couer him deceased.
Your dolefull tunes sweet Muses now applie.

O Philomela with thy brest oppressed
    By shame and griefe, helpe, helpe me to lament
    Such cursed harmes as cannot be redressed.
Or if thy mourning notes be fully spent,
    Then giue a quiet eare vnto my playning:
    For I to teach the world complainte am bent.
You dimmy clowdes, which well employ your stayning
    This cheerefull aire with your obscured cheere,
    Witnesse your wofull teares with daily rayning.
And if, ô Sunne, thou euer didst appeare,
    In shape, which  by mans eye might be perceiued;
    Vertue is dead, now set thy triumph here.
Now set thy triumph in this world, bereaued
    Of what was good, where now no good doth lie;
    And by thy pompe our losse will be conceaued.
O notes of mine your selues together tie:
    With too much griefe me thinkes you are dissolued.
Your dolefull tunes sweete Muses now applie.

Time euer old, and yonge is still reuolued
    Within it selfe, and neuer tasteth ende:
    But mankind is for aye to nought resolued.
The filthy snake her aged coate can mende,
    And getting youth againe, in youth doth flourish:
    But vnto Man, age euer death doth sende.
The very trees with grafting we can cherish,
    So that we can long time produce their time:
    But Man which helpeth them, helplesse must perish.
Thus, thus the mindes, which ouer all doo clime,
    When they by yeares experience get best graces,
    Must finish then by deaths detested crime.
We last short while, and build long lasting places:
    Ah  let vs all against foule Nature crie:
    We Natures workes doo helpe, she vs defaces.
For how can Nature vnto this reply?
    That she her child, I say, her best child killeth?
Your dolefull tunes sweete Muses now apply.

Alas, me thinkes, my weakned voice but spilleth,
    The vehement course of this iust lamentation:
    Me thinkes, my sound no place with sorrow filleth,
I know  not I,  but once in detestation
    I haue my selfe, and all what life containeth,
    Since Death on Vertues fort hath made inuasion.
One word of woe another after traineth:
    Ne doo I care how rude be my inuention,
    So it be seene what sorrow in me raigneth.
O Elements, by whose (men say) contention,
    Our bodies be in liuing power maintained,
    Was this mans death the fruite of your dissention?
O Phisickes power, which (some say) hath restrained
    Approch of death, alas thou helpest meagerly,
    When once one is for Atropos distrained.
Great be Physitions brags, but aid is beggerly,
    When rooted moisture failes, or groweth drie,
    They leaue off al, and say, death comes too eagerlie.
They are but words therefore that men do buy,
Of any since God Æsculapius ceased.
    Your dolefull tunes sweete Muses now applie.
Iustice, iustice is now (alas) oppressed:
    Bountifulnes hath made his last conclusion:
    Goodnes for best attire in dust is dressed.
Shepheards bewaile your vttermost confusion;
    And see by this picfure to you presented,
    Death is our home, life is but a delusion.
For see alas, who is from you absented?
    Absented?  nay I say for euer banished
    From such as were to dye for him contented?
Out of our sight in turne of hand is vanished
    Shepherd of shepherds, whose well setled order
    Priuate with welth, publike with quiet garnished.
While he did liue, farre, farre was all disorder;
    Example more preuailing then direction,
    Far was homestrife, and far was foe from border.
His life a law, his looke a full correction:
    As in his health we healthfull were preserued,
    So in his sicknesse grew our sure infection.
His death our death. But ah; my Muse hath swarued,
    From such deepe plaint as should such woes descrie,
    Which he of vs for euer hath deserued.
The stile of heauie hart can neuer flie
    So high, as should make such a paine notorious:
    Cease Muse therfore: thy dart ô Death applie;
And farewell Prince, whom goodnesse hath made glorious.

CHAP.   26.

l The publike griefe amplified. 2 Anaxius death-threatning
    to the Princesses. 3 Their resolutenes in it. 4 His returne,
    and stop.
5 Zelmanes braue challenge vnto him 6 scorned
    by him.
7 His loue to Pamela scorned by her. 8 His bro-
    thers braue loues haue as meane successe.

THe general consort of al such numbers mourning, perfourmed so the naturall times of sorrow; that euen to
them (if any such were) that felt not the losse, yet others grief taught them griefe; hauing before their compassionate sense so passionate a spectacle, of a young man, of great beautie, beautified with great honour, honored by great valure, made of inestimable valure, by the noble vsing of it, to lye there languishing, vnder the arrest of death, and a death, where the manner could be no comfort to the discomfortablenes of the matter. But when the bodie was carried thorough the gate, and the people (sauing such as were appointed) not suffred to goe further, then was such an vniuersal crie, as if they had all had but one life, and all receiued but one blow.
    Which so moued Anaxius to consider the losse of his friend, that (his minde apter to reuenge, then tendernesse) he presently

giuing order to his brother to keepe the prisoners safe, and vnuisited, till his retourne from coueying Helen, he sent a messenger to the sisters, to tel them this curteous message: that at his retourne, with his owne hands, he would cut off their heads, and send them for tokens to their father.
    This message was brought vnto the sisters, as they sate at that time together with Zelmane, conferring how to carrie themselues, hauing heard of the death of Amphialus. And as no expectation of death is so painfull, as where the resolution is,, hindred by the intermixing of hopes, so did this new alarum, though not remoue, yet moue somwhat the co[n]stancy of their minds, which were so vnconstantly dealt with. But within a while, the excellent Pamela had brought her minde againe to his old acquaintance: and then, as carefull for her sister (whom most deerely she loued) Sister (said she) you see how many acts our Tragedy hath: Fortune is not yet a wearie of vexing vs: but what? A shippe is not counted strong for byding one storme? It is but the same trumpet of death, which now perhaps giues the last sounde: and let vs make that profile of our former miseries, that in them we learned to dye willingly. Truely said Philoclea, deare sister, I was so beaten with the euils of life, that though I had not vertue enough to despise the sweetnesse of it, yet my weaknesse bredde that strength, to be wearie of the paines of it: onely I must confesse, that little hope, which by these late accidents was awaked in me, was at the first angrie withall. But euen in the darkenesse of that horrour, I see a light of comfort appeare; and how can I treade amisse, that see Pamelas steppes? I would onely (O that my wish might take place) that my schoole-Mistres might liue, to see me say my lesson truely. Were that a life, my Philoclea? said Pamela. No, no, (said she) let it come, and put on his worst face: for at the worst it is but a bug-beare. Ioy is it to me to see you so well resolued; and since the world will not haue vs, let it lose vs. Onely (with that she stayed a little, and sight) onely my Philoclea, (then she bowed downe, and whispered in her eare) onely Musidorus, my shepheard, comes betweene me and death, and makes me thinke I should not dye, because I know he would not I should dye. With that Philoclea sighed also, saying no more, but looking vpon Zelmane: who was walking vp & downe the chamber, hauing heard this message from Anaxius, and hauing in times past heard of his nature, thought him like enough to performe it, which winded her againe into the former maze of perplexitie. Yet debating with her selfe of the manner how to preuent it, she continued her musing humour, little saying, or indeed, little finding in her hart to say, in a case of such extremitie, where peremptorily death was threatned: and so stayed they; hauing yet that comfort, that they might tarrie togither. Pamela nobly, Philoclea sweetly, and Zelmane sadly, and desperately none of them entertaining sleepe, which they thought should shortly begin, neuer to awake.

    But Anaxius came home, hauing safely conducted Helen: and safely he might wel do it: For though many of Basilius Knights would haue attempted something vpon Anaxius, by that meanes to deliuer the Ladies, yet Philanax, hauing receiued his masters commadement, & knowing his word was giue[n], would not co[n]sent vnto it. And the black-Knight (who by the was able to carie abroad his wou[n]ds) did not know therof; but was bringing forces, by force to deliuer his Lady. So as Anaxius, interpreting it rather feare, then faith, and making euen chance an argument of his vertue, returned: and as soone as he was returned, with a felon hart calling his brothers vp with him, he went into the chamber, where they were all three togither; with full intention to kill the sisters with his owne hands, and send their heads for tokens to their father: Though his brothers (who were otherwise inclined) disswaded him: but his reuerence stayed their perswasions. But when he was come into the chamber, with the very words of cholerike threatning climing vp his throate, his eies first lighted vpon Pamela; who hearing he was comming, and looking for death, thought she would keepe her owne maiestie in welcomming it; but the beames thereof so strake his eyes, with such a counterbuffe vnto his pride, that if his anger could not so quickly loue, nor his pride so easily honor, yet both were forced to finde a worthinesse.
    Which while it bred a pause in him, Zelmane (who had ready in her mind both what and how to say) stept out vnto him, & with a resolute stayednes (void either of anger, kindnes, disdaine, or humblenesse) spake in this sort. Anaxius (said she) if Fame haue not bene ouerpartiall to thee, thou art a man of exceeding valour. Therefore I doo call thee euen before that vertue, and will make it the iudge betweene vs. And now I doo affirme, that to the eternall blot of all the faire actes that thou hast done, thou doest weakly, in seeking without daunger to reuenge his death, whose life [with] daunger thou mightst perhaps haue preserued: thou doost cowardly, in going about by the death of these excellent Ladies, to preuent the iust punishme[n]t, that hereafter they by the powers, which they better then their father, or any other could make, might lay vpon thee; and doost most basely, in once presenting thy selfe as an executioner; a vile office vpon men, and in a iust cause: beyond the degree of any vile worde, in so vniust a cause, and vpon Ladies, and such Ladies. And therefore, as a hangman, I say, thou art vnworthy to be counted a Knight, or to be admitted into the companie of Knights. Neither for what, I say, will I alleadge other reasons, of wisdome, or iustice, to prooue my speech, because I know thou doost disdaine to be tied to their rules: but euen in thine owne vertue (whereof thou so much gloriest) I will make my triall: and therefore defie thee, by the death of one of vs two, to proue, or disproue these reproaches. Choose thee what armes thou likest, I onely demaund, that these Ladies (whom I defend) may in liberty see the combat.
    When Zelmane began her speech, the excellency of her beautie, and grace, made him a little content to heare. Besides that, a new lesson he had read in Pamela, had already taught him some regard. But when she entered into brauerie of speech, he thought at first, a mad, and railing humor possest her; till, finding the speeches hold well together, and at length corne to flatte challenge of combat; he stood leaning back with his bodie and head, sometimes with bent browes looking vpon the one side of her, sometimes of the other, beyonde maruell marvailing, that he, who had neuer heard such speeches from any Knight, should be thus rebuffed by a woman; and that maruell made him heare out her speech: which ended, he turned his head to his brother Zoilus, and said nothing, but onely lifting vp his eyes, smiled. But Zelmane finding his minde, Anaxius (said she) perchaunce thou disdaynest to answere me, because, as a woman, thou thinkest me not fitte to be fought withall. But I tell thee, that I haue bene trayned vp in martial matters, with so good successe, that I haue many times ouercome better Knightes then thy selfe: and am well knowen to be equall in feates of armes, to the famous Pyrocles, who slewe thy valiaunt Vncle, the Giant Euardes. The remembraunce of his Vncles death something netled him, so as he answered thus.
    Indeed (saide he) any woman may be as valiaunt as that coward, and traytorly boy, who slewe my Vncle trayterouslie, and after ranne from me in the plaine field. Fiue thousand such could not haue ouercome Euardes, but by falshood. But I sought him all ouer Asia, following him still from one of his cony-holes to another: till, comming into this Countrie, I heard of my friendes being besieged, and so came to blowe away the wretches that troubled him. But wheresoeuer the miserable boy flie, heauen, nor hell, shall keep his harte from being torne by these handes. Thou lyest in thy throate (said Zelmane) that boye, where euer he went, did so noble actes, as thy harte (as proude as it is) dares not thinke of, much lesse perfourme. But to please thee the better with my presence, I tell thee, no creature can be neerer of kinne to him, then my selfe: and so well we loue, that he woulde not be sorrier for his owne death, then for mine: I being begotten by his father, of an Amazon Ladie. And therefore, thou canst not deuise to reuenge thy selfe more vpon him, then by killing me: which, if thou darest doo manfullie, doo it; otherwise, if thou harme these incomparable Ladies, or my selfe, without daring to fight with me, I protest before these Knightes, and before heauen, and earth, (that will reueale thy shame) that thou art the beggerliest dastardly villaine, that dishonoureth the earth with his steppes: and if thou lettest me ouer-liue them, so will I blaze thee. But all this could not moue Anaxius, but that he onely said, euill should it become the terror of the world, to fight, much lesse to skolde with thee.
    But (said he) for the death of these same (pointing to the Princesses) of my grace, I giue them life. And withall, going to

Pamela, and offring to take her by the chin, And as for you, Minion (said he) yeeld but gently to my will, and you shall not only liue, but liue so happely, He would haue said further, whe[n] Pamela, displeased both with words, matter, and maner, putting him away with her faire hand, Proud beast (said she) yet thou plaiest worse thy Comedy, then thy Tragedy. For my part, assure thy selfe, since my destiny is such, that at ech moment my life & death stand in equall balance, I had rather haue thee, & think thee far fitter to be my hangman, then my husband. Pride & anger, would faine haue cruelly reue[n]ged so bitter an answer, but alredy Cupid had begun to make it his sport, to pull his plumes: so that, vnused to a way of courtesie, and put out of his byas of pride, he hastily went away, grumbling to himselfe, betwene threatning & wishing; leauing his brothers with the[m]: the elder of whom, Lycurgus, liked Philoclea, & Zoilus would nedes loue Zelmane; or at lest, entertain themselues with making the[m] beleue so. Lycurgus more braggard, & nere his brothers humor, bega[n], with setting foorth their bloud, their deedes, how many they had despised, of most excellent wome[n]; how much they were bou[n]d to them, that would seek that of them. In summe, in all his speeches, more like the bestower, then the desirer of felicitie. Whom it was an excellent pastime (to those that would delight in the play of vertue) to see, with what a wittie ignorance she would not vnderstand: and how, acknowledging his perfections, she would make, that one of his perfections, not to be iniurio[u]s to Ladies. But when he knew not how to replie, then would he fall to touching and toying, still vewing his graces in no glasse but self-liking. To which, Philocleas shamefastnes, and humblenes, were as strong resisters, as choller, and disdaine. For though she yeelded not, he thought she was to be ouercome: and that thought a while stayed him from further violence. But Zelmane had eye to his behauiour, and set in her memorie, vpon the score of Reuenge, while she her selfe was no lesse attempted by Zoilus; who lesse full of bragges, was forwardest in offering (indeed) dishonourable violence.

CHAP.  27.

1 Zelmanes perswasions to temporize, and referre them to
    Basilius. 2 Anaxius-his embassage to treate the mari-
3 Basilius recourse to a newe Oracle, 4 and his nega-
    tiue thereon.
5 The flattering relation of his Mercurie.
    6 The brothers course to resist force without, and vse force

BVt when after their fruitlesse labours they had gone away, called by their brother, (who began to be perplexed
betweene new conceaued desires, and disdaine, to be disdained) Zelmane (who with most assured quietnesse of iudgement looked into their present estate) earnestly perswaded the two sisters, that to auoide the mischiefes of prowde outrage, they would onely so farre sute their behauiour to their estates, as they might winne time; which as it could not bring them to worse case then they were, so it might bring forth inexpected relief. And why (said Pamela) shal we any longer flatter aduersity? Why should we delight to make our selues any longer balls to iniurious Fortune, since our owne kinne are content traitorously to abuse vs? Certainely, in mishap it may be some comforte to vs, that we are lighted in these fellowes handes, who yet will keepe vs from hauing cause of being miserable by our friends meanes. Nothing grieues me more, then that you, noble Ladie Zelmane (to whome the worlde might haue made vs able to doo honour) shoulde receaue onely hurte by the contagion of our miserie. As for me, and my sister, vndoubtedly it becomes our birth to thinke of dying nobly, while we haue done, or suffered nothing, which might make our
soule ashamed at the parture from these bodies. Hope is the fawning traitour of the minde, while vnder colour of friendship, it robbes it of his chiefe force of resolution. Vertuous and faire Ladie (said Zelmane) what you say is true; and that truth may well make vp a part in the harmonie of your noble thoughts. But yet the time (which ought alwaies to be one) is not tuned for it; while that may bring foorth any good, doo not barre your selfe thereof: for then would be the time to die nobly, when you ca[n] not liue nobly. Then so earnestly she persuaded with them both, to referre themselues to their fathers consent (in obtayning whereof they knewe some while would be spent) and by that meanes to temper the mindes of their prowde woers; that in the ende Pamela yeelded to her, because she spake reason; and Philoclea yeelded to her reason, because she spake it.
    And so when they were againe sollicited in that little pleasing petition, Pamela forced her selfe to make answere to Anaxius, that if her father gaue his consent she would make her selfe belieue, [t]hat such was the heauenly determination, since she had no meanes to auoide it. Anaxius (who was the most franke promiser to him selfe of successe) nothing doubted of Basilius consent, but rather assured him selfe, he would be his oratour in that matter: And therefore he chose out an officious seruaunt (whome he esteemed very wise, because he neuer found him but iust of his opinion) and willed him to be his embassadour to Basilius, and to make him knowe, that if he meant to haue his daughter both safe and happie, and desired him selfe to haue such a sonne in lawe, as would not onely protect him in his quiet course, but (if he listed to accept it) would giue him the monarchy of the worlde, that then he should receaue Anaxius, who neuer before knewe what it was to pray any thing. That if he did not, he would make him know, that the power of Anaxius was in euery thing beyonde his will, and yet his will not to be resisted by any other power. His seruaunt with smiling and caste-vp looke, desired God to make his memorie able to containe the treasure of that wise speach: and therefore besought him to repeate it againe, that by the oftener hearing it, his mind might be the better acquainted with the diuinenesse therof, and that being gratiously granted, he then doubted not by carying with him in his conceit, the grace wherewith Anaxius spake it, to persuade rocky minds to their owne harme: so little doubted he to win Basilius to that, which he thought would make him thinke the heauens opened, when he harde but the proffer thereof. Anaxius grauely allowed the probabilitie of his coniecture, and therefore sent him away, promising him he should haue the bringing vp of his second sonne by Pamela.
The messenger with speede perfourmed his Lords commaundement to Basilius, who by nature quiet, and by superstition made doubtfull, was lothe to take any matter of armes in hand, wherin already he had found so slowe successe; though Philanax vehemently vrged him therunto, making him see that his retiring back did encourage iniuries. But Basilius betwixt the feare of Anaxius might, the passio[n] of his loue, & iealousie of his estate, was so perplexed, that not able to determine, he tooke the com[m]on course of me[n], to flie only the[n] to deuotio[n], whe[n] they want resolutio[n]: so detaining the messeger with delaies, he deferred the directing of his course to the cousell of Apollo, which because himself at that time could not well go to require, he entrusted the matter to his best trusted Philanax: who (as one in whom obedience was a sufficient reason vnto him) wente with diligence to Delphos, where being entred into the secrete place of the temple, and hauing performed the sacrifices usuall, the spirite that possest the pro[p]hesying woman, with a sacred fury, attended not his demaund, but as if it would argue him of incredulitie, tolde him, not in darke wonted speeches, but plainely to be vnderstood, what he came for, and that he should returne to Basilius, and will him to denie his daughters to Anaxius and his brothers, for that they were reserued for such as were better beloued of the gods. That he should not doubte, for they should returne vnto him safely and speedily. And that he should keepe on his solitary course, till bothe Philanax and Basilius fully agreed in the vnderstanding of the former prophecie: withall, commaunding Philanax from thence forward to giue tribute, but not oblation, to humane
then finding that reason cannot shewe it self more reasonable, then to leaue reasoning in things aboue reason, returnes to his Lorde, and like one that preferred truth before the maintaining of an opinion, hidde nothing from him, nor from thence foorth durste any more disswade him, from that which he founde by the celestiall prouidence directed; but he him selfe looking to repayre the gouernment as much as in so broken an estate by ciuill dissencion he might, and fortifying with notable arte, bothe the lodges, so as they were almost made vnaprochable, he lefte Basilius to bemone the absence of his daughters, and to bewayle the imprisonment of Zelmane: yet wholy giuen holily to obey the Oracle, he gaue a resolute negatiue vnto the messenger of Anaxius, who all this while had waited for it, yet in good termes desiring him to shewe him selfe, in respect of his birth and profession, so Princely a Knight, as without forcing him to seeke the way of force, to deliuer in noble sorte those Ladies vnto him, and so should the iniurie haue bene in Amphialus, and the benefite in him.

    The messenger went backe with this answere, yet hauing euer vsed to sugre any thing which his Maister was to receaue, he tolde him, that when Basilius first vnderstood his desires, he did ouerreach so farre all his most hopefull expectations, that he thought it were too great a boldnesse to harken to such a man, in whome the heauens had such interest, without asking the Gods counsell, and therefore had sent his principall counsailour to Delphos, who although he kepte the matter neuer so secrete, yet his diligence, inspired by Anaxius his priuiledge ouer all worldly thinges, had founde out the secrete, which was, that he should not pres[u]me to marrie his daughters, to one who already was enrolled among the demie-Gods, and yet much lesse he should dare the attempting to take them out of his hands.
     Anaxius, who till then had made Fortune his creator, and Force his God, nowe beganne to finde an other wisedome to be
aboue, that iudged so rightly of him: and where in this time of his seruauntes wayting for Basilius resolution, he and his brothers had courted their Ladies, as whome they vouchsafed to haue for their wiues, he resolued now to dally no longer in delayes, but to make violence his Oratour, since he had found persuasions had gotten nothing but answeres. Which intention he opened to his brothers, who hauing all this while wanted nothing to take that way, but his authoritie, gaue spurres to his running, and, vnworthy men, neither feeling vertue in themselues, nor tendring it in others, they were headlong to make that euill consorte of loue and force, when Anaxius had worde, that from the Tower there were descried some companies of armed men, marching towardes the towne; wherefore he gaue presente order to his seruauntes, and souldiers, to goe to the gates and walles, leauing none within but himselfe, and his brothers: his thoughts then so full of their intended pray, that Mars-his lowdest trumpet could scarcely haue awaked him.

CHAP.  28.

1 Zoilus the messenger, 2 and first offerer of force, 3 is for-
    ced to flie, and die.
4 Lycurgus pointed to kill, 5 is fought
    withal, 6 foiled, 7 & killed. 8 Anaxius the Reuenger with
    Pyrocles the Punisher braue, and brauely combatted.

BVt while he was directing what he would haue done, his yongest brother Zoilus, glad that he had the
commission, went in the name of Anaxius, to tel the sisters, that since he had answere from their father, that he and his brother Licurgus, should haue them in what sort it pleased them, that they would now graunt them no longer time, but presently to determine, whether they thought it more honorable comfort to be compelled, or perswaded. Pamela made him answere, that in a matter whereon the whole state of her life depended, and wherin she had euer answered, she would not lead, but follow her parents pleasure; she thought it reason she should, either by letter, or particular messeger vndersta[n]d somthing from the[m]selues, & not haue her beleef bound to the report of their partiall seruants, & therefore, as to their words, she & her sister, had euer a simple & true resolution, so against their vniust force, God, they hoped, would either arme their liues, or take away their liues.
    Wel Ladies (said he) I wil leaue my brothers, who by & by wil come vnto you, to be their own embassadors, for my parte, I must now do my self seruice. And with that turning vp his mustachoes, and marching as if he would begin a pauen, he went toward Zelmane. But Zelmane (hauing had all this while of the messengers being with Basilius, much to do to keepe those excellent Ladies from seeking by the pasport of death, to escape those base dangers whereunto they found themselues subiect) still hoping that Musidorus would finde some meanes to deliuer them; and therefore had often both by her owne example, & comfortable reasons, perswaded the[m] to ouerpasse many insolent indignities of their proud suters, who thought it was a sufficient fauour not to doo the vttermost iniurie, now come againe to the streight she most feared for them, either of death or dishonor, if heroicall courage would haue let her, she had beene beyonde herselfe amazed: but that yet held vp her wit, to attend the vttermost occasion, which eue[n] then brought his hairie forehead vnto her: for Zoilus smacking his lippes, as for the Prologue of a kisse, and something advancing himselfe, Darling (said he) let thy hart be full of ioy, and let thy faire eies be of counsel with it, for this day thou shalt haue Zoilus, who[m] many haue lo[n]ged for; but none shall haue him, but Zelmane. And oh, how much glory I haue to think what a race will be betwene vs. The world, by the heauens, the world will be too litle for them: And with that, he would haue put his arme about her necke, but she, withdrawing her selfe from him, My Lord (said she) much good may your thoughts do you, but that I may not dissemble with you, my natiuitie being cast by one that neuer failed in any of his prognostications, I haue bene assured, that I should neuer be apt to beare children. But since you wil honor me with so hie fauor, I must onely desire that I may performe a vow which I made among my coutriwomen, the famous Amazons, that I would neuer marrie none, but such one as was able to withstand me in Armes: therfore, before I make mine own desire seruiceable to yours, you must vouchsafe to lend me armor and weapons, that at least, with a blow or two of the sword, I may not finde my selfe periured to my selfe. But Zoilus (but laughing with a hartie lowdnes) went by force to embrace her; making no other answere, but since she had a minde to trie his Knighthood, she should quickly know what a man of armes he was: and so, without reuerence to the Ladies, began to struggle with her.
    But in Zelmane then Disdaine became wisdome, & Anger gaue occasion. For abiding no longer aboad in the matter, she that had not put off, though she had disguised, Pyrocles, being farre fuller of strong nimblenes, tript vp his feete, so that he fel down at hers. And withall (meaning to pursue what she had begun) puld out his sword, which he ware about him: but before she could strike him withall, he gat vp, and ranne to a faire chamber, where he had left his two brethre[n], preparing themselues to come downe to their mistresses. But she followed at his heeles, & eue[n] as he came to throw himself into their arms for succor, she hit him with his own sword, such a blow vpo[n] the wast, that she almost cut him a suder: once, she sundred his soule fro[m] his body, se[n]ding it to Proserpina, an angry Goddesse against rauishers.

    But Anaxius, seing before his eyes the miserable end of his brother, fuller of despite the wrath, & yet fuller of wrath then sorow, looking with a wofull eye vpon his brother Lycurgus, Brother, said he, chastice this vile creature, while I go down, & take order lest further mischief arise: & so went down to the Ladies, whom he visited, doubting there had bene some further practise the[n] yet he conceiued. But finding the[m] only strong in pacience, he went & lockt a great Iron gate, by which onely any body might mounte to that part of the Castle, rather to conceale the shame of his brother, slaine by a woman, then for doubt of any other anoyance, and the went vp to receaue some comfort of the execution, he was sure his brother had done of Zelmane.
    But Zelmane no sooner saw those brothers, of whom Reaso[n] assured her she was to expect reuege, but that she lept to a
target, as one that well knew the first marke of valure to be defence. And the accepting the oportunitie of Anaxius going away, she waited not the pleasure of Lycurgus, but without any words (which she euer thought vaine, whe[n] resolutio[n] tooke the place of perswasion) gaue her owne hart the contentment to be the assailer. Lycurgus, who was in the dispositio[n] of his nature hazardouse, & by the luckie passing through many dangers, growne confident in himselfe, went toward her, rather as to spoile, then to fight, so farre from feare, that his assurednesse disdained to hope. But whe[n] her sword made demonstrations aboue al flattery of argume[n]ts, & that he found she prest so vpon him, as shewed that her courage sprang not from blind despair, but was garded both with cunning & strength: self-loue the first in him diuided it selfe fro[m] vain-glory, & made him find that the world of worthines had not his whole globe co[m]prised in his brest, but that it was necessary to haue strong resista[n]ce against so strong assailing. And so between the[m], for a few blowes, Mars himself might haue bin delighted to looke on. But Zelmane, who knew that in her case, slownesse of victory was little better the[n] ruine, with the bellowes of hate, blew the fire of courage, and he striking a maine blow at her head, she warded it with the shield, but so warded, that the shield was cut in two pieces, while it protected her, & withall she ran in to him, and thrusting at his brest, which he put by with his target, as he was lifting vp his sword to strike again, she let fall the piece of her shield, and with her left hand catching his sword of the inside of the po[m]mel, with nimble & strong sleight, she had gotte his sword out of his hand before his sence could co[n]uey to his imaginatio[n], what was to be doubted. And hauing now two swords against one shield,
meaning not foolishly to be vngratefull to good fortune, while he was no more amazed with his being vnweapned, then with the suddainnes therof, she gaue him such a wou[n]d vpo[n] his head, in despite of the shields ouer-weak resista[n]ce, that withal he fel to the grou[n]d, astonished with the paine, & agast with feare. But seing Zelmane ready to co[n]clude her victory in his death, bowing vp his head to her, with a countenance that had forgotten al pride, Enough excellent Lady, said he, the honor is yours: Wherof you shall want the best witnes, if you kil me. As you haue take fro[m] men the glory of ma[n]hood, returne so now againe to your owne sex, for mercy. I wil redeeme my life of you with no smal seruices, for I will vndertake to make my brother obey all your commadements. Grant life I beseech you, for your own honor, and for the persons sake that you loue best.
     Zelmane represt a while her great hart, either disdaining to be cruell, or pitiful, & therfore not cruell: & now the image of humane condition, bega[n] to be an Orator vnto her of compassio[n], whe[n] she saw, as he lifted vp his armes with a supplia[n]ts grace, about one of the[m], vnhappily, tied a garter with a Iewel, which (giue[n] to Pyrocles by his aunt of Thessalia, & greatly esteemed by him) he had prese[n]ted to Philoclea, & with inward rage promising extream hatred, had seene Lycurgus with a proud force, & not with out some hurt vnto her, pull away fro[m] Philoclea because at entreatie she would not giue it him. But the sight of that was like a cyphar, signifying all the iniuries which Philoclea had of him suffred, & that reme[m]brance feeding vpo[n] wrath, trod down al co[n]ceits of mercy. And therfore saying no more, but, No villaine, dye: It is Philoclea that se[n]ds thee this toke[n] for thy loue. With that she made her sword drink the blood of his hart, though he wresting his body, & with a cou[n]tenace prepared to excuse, wold fain haue delaied the receiuing of deaths embassadors.
    But neither that staied Zelmanes hand, nor yet Anaxius crie vnto her, who hauing made fast the Iron gate, euen then came to the top of the staires, when, contrarie to all his imaginations, he saw his brother lie at Zelmanes mercie. Therefore crying, promising, and threatning to her to hold her hand: the last grone of his brother was the onely answere he could get to his vnrespected eloquence. But then Pittie would faine haue drawne teares, which Furie in their spring dried; and Anger would faine haue spoken, but that Disdaine sealed vp his lippes; but in his hart he blasphemed heauen, that it could haue such a power ouer him; no lesse ashamed of the victorie he should haue of her, then of his brothers ouerthrow: and no more spited, that it was yet vnreuenged, then that the reuenge should be no greater, then a womans destruction. Therefore with no speach, but such a groning crie, as often is the language of sorowfull anger, he came running at Zelmane, use of fighting then seruing in steed of patient co[n]sideration what to doo. Guided wherewith, though he did not with knowledge, yet did he according to knowledge, pressing vpon Zelmane in such a wel defended manner, that in all the combats that euer she had fought, she had neuer more need of quicke senses, & ready vertue. For being one of the greatest men of stature then liuing, as he did fully answere that stature in greatnesse of might, so did he exceed both in greatnes of courage, which with a cou[n]tena[n]ce formed by the nature both of his mind & body, to an almost horrible fiercenes, was able to haue carried feare to any mind, that was not priuie to it selfe of a true & co[n]stant worthines. But Pyrocles, whose soule might well be separated fro[m] his body, but neuer alienated fro[m] the remembring what was comely, if at the first he did a little apprehend the dangerousnes of his aduersarie, whom once before he had something tried, & now perfectly saw, as the very picture of forcible furie: yet was that apprehension quickly stayed in him, rather strengthning, then weakning his vertue by that wrestling; like wine, growing the stro[n]ger by being moued. So that they both, prepared in harts, and able in hands, did honor solitarines there with such a combat, as might haue demaunded, as a right of fortune, whole armies of beholders. But no beholders needed there, where manhood blew the trumpet, & satisfaction did whette, as much as glorie. There was strength against nimblenes; rage, against resolution, fury, against vertue; confidence, against courage; pride, against noblenesse: loue, in both, breeding mutual hatred, & desire of reue[n]ging the iniurie of his brothers slaughter, to Anaxius, being like Philocleas captiuity to Pyrocles. Who had seen the one, would haue thought nothing could haue resisted; who had marked the other, would haue maruelled that the other had so long resisted. But like two contrarie tides, either of which are able to carry worldes of shippes, and men vpon them, with such swiftnes, as nothing seemes able to withstand them: yet meeting one another, with mingling their watrie forces, and strugling together, it is long to say whether streame gets the victorie: So betweene these, if Pallas had bene there, she could scarcely haue tolde, whether she had nurced better in the feates of armes. The Irish greyhound, against the English mastiffe; the sword-fish, against the whale; the Rhinoceros, against the elepha[n]t, might be models, & but models of this co[m]bat. Anaxius was better armed defensiuely: for (beside a strong caske brauely couered, wherwith he couerd his head) he had a huge shield, such perchance, as Achilles shewed to the pale walles of Troy, where-withall that body was couered. But Pyrocles, vtterly vnarmed for defence, to offend had the advantage: for, in either hand he had a sword, & with both hands nimbly performed that office. And according as they were diuersly furnished, so did they differ in the manner of fighting. For Anaxius most by warding, and Pyrocles oftnest by auoyding, resisted the aduersaries assault. Both hastie to end, yet both often staying for advantage. Time, distance, & motio[n] custom made them so perfect in, that as if they had bene felow Counsellers, and not enemies, each knewe the others minde, and knew how to preuent it. So as their stre[n]gth fayled them sooner then their skill, and yet their breath fayled them sooner then their strength. And breathles indeed they grew, before either could complaine of any losse of bloud.

CHAP.  29.

l The Combattants first breathing, 2 reencounter, and

SO consenting by the mediation of necessitie, to a breathing time of truce, being withdrawen a little one from
the other; Anaxius stood leaning vpon his sworde, with, his grym eye, so setled vpon Zelmane, as is wont to be the look of an earnest thought. Which Zelmane marking, &, according to the Pyroclean nature, fuller of gay brauerie in the midst, then in the beginning of da[n]ger; What is it (said she) Anaxius, that thou so deeply musest on? Dooth thy brothers exa[m]ple make thee thinke of thy fault past, or of thy coming punishme[n]t? I think (said he) what spiteful God it should be, who, enuying my glory, hath brought me to such a waywarde case, that neither thy death can be a reuenge, nor thy ouerthrow a victorie. Thou doost well indeede (saide Zelmane) to impute thy case to the heauenly prouidence, which will haue thy pride find it selfe (euen in that whereof thou art most proud) punished by the weake sex, which thou most contemnest.
    But then, hauing sufficiently rested themselues, they renewed againe their combatte, farre more terribly then before: like
nimble vaulters, who at the first and second leape, doo but stirre, and (as it were) awake the fierie and aerie partes, which after in the other leapes, they doo with more excellence exercise. For in this pausing, ech had brought to his thoughts the maner of the others fighting, and the advantages, which by that, and by the qualitie of their weapons, they might work themselues; and so againe repeated the lesson they had said before, more perfectly, by the using of it. Anaxius oftner vsed blowes, his huge force (as it were) more delighting therein, and the large protection of his shield, animating him vnto it. Pyrocles, of a more fine, and deliuer strength, watching his time when to giue fitte thrustes; as, with the quick obeying of his bodie, to his eyes quicke commaundement, he shunned any harme Anaxius could do to him: so would he soon haue made an end of Anaxius, if he had not fou[n]d him a ma[n] of wonderful, & almost matchlesse excelle[n]cy in matters of armes. Pyrocles vsed diuers faynings, to bring Anaxius on, into some inconuenience. But Anaxius keeping a sound maner of fighting, neuer offered, but seeing faire cause, & then followed it with wel-gouerned violence. Thus spent they a great time, striuing to doo, and with striuing to doo, wearying themselues, more then with the very doing. Anaxius finding Zelmane so neere vnto him, that with little motion he might reach her, knitting all his strength together, at that time mainly foyned at her face. But Zelmane strongly putting it by with her right hande sword, comming in with her left foote, and hande, woulde haue giuen him a sharpe visitation to his right side, but that he was faine to leape away. Whereat ashamed, (as hauing neuer done so much before in his life)

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