We have two new advancers come in of youth and money, teach them not negligence; be careful, and let nothing hinder you from taking horse immediately, as you value the repose and fortune of,
_My dear_, _Your_ CESARIO.
_I called last night on you, and your page following me to my coach, whispered me--if I had any earnest business with you, he knew where to find you; I soon imagined where, and bid him call within an hour for this, and post with it immediately, though dark._
_To_ PHILANDER.
Ah! What have I done, _Philander_, and where shall I hide my guilty blushing face? Thou hast undone my eternal quiet: oh, thou hast ruin"d my everlasting repose, and I must never, never look abroad again: curse on my face that first debauched my virtue, and taught thee how to love; curse on my tempting youth, my shape, my air, my eyes, my voice, my hands, and every charm that did contribute to my fatal love, a lasting curse on all--but those of the adorable _Philander_, and those----even in this raging minute, my furious pa.s.sion dares not approach with an indecent thought: no, they are sacred all, madness itself would spare them, and shouldst thou now behold me as I sit, my hair dishevelled, ruffled and disordered, my eyes bedewing every word I write, when for each letter I let fall a tear; then (pressed with thought) starting, I dropped my pen, and fell to rave anew, and tear those garments whose loose negligence helped to betray me to my shameful ruin, wounding my breast, but want the resolution to wound it as I ought; which when I but propose, love stays the thought, raging and wild as it is, the conqueror checks it, with whispering only _Philander_ to my soul; the dear name calms me to an easiness, gives me the pen into my trembling hand, and I pursue my silent soft complaint: oh! shouldst thou see me thus, in all these sudden different changes of pa.s.sion, thou wouldst say, _Philander_, I were mad indeed, madness itself can find no stranger motions: and I would calmly ask thee, for I am calm again, how comes it, my adorable _Philander_, that thou canst possess a maid with so much madness? Who art thyself a miracle of softness, all sweet and all serene, the most of angel in thy composition that ever mingled with humanity; the very words fall so gently from thy tongue,--are uttered with a voice so ravishingly soft, a tone so tender and so full of love, it would charm even frenzy, calm rude distraction, and wildness would become a silent listener; there"s such a sweet serenity in thy face, such innocence and softness in thy eyes, should desert savages but gaze on thee, sure they would forget their native forest wildness, and be inspired with easy gentleness: most certainly this G.o.d-like power thou hast. Why then? Oh tell me in the agony of my soul, why must those charms that bring tranquillity and peace to all, make me alone a wild, unseemly raver? Why has it contrary effects on me? Oh! all I act and say is perfect madness: yet this is the least unaccountable part of my most wretched story;--oh! I must never behold thy lovely face again, for if I should, sure I should blush my soul away; no, no, I must not, nor ever more believe thy dear deluding vows; never thy charming perjured oaths, after a violation like to this. Oh heaven, what have I done?
Yet by heaven I swear, I dare not ask my soul, lest it inform me how I was to blame, unless that fatal minute would instruct me how to revenge my wrongs upon my heart,----my fond betraying heart, despair and madness seize me, darkness and horror hide me from human sight, after an easiness like this;----what to yield,--to yield my honour?
Betray the secrets of my virgin wishes?--My new desires, my unknown shameful flame.--h.e.l.l and Death! Where got I so much confidence? Where learned I the hardened and unblushing folly? To wish was such a fault, as is a crime unpardonable to own; to shew desire is such a sin in virtue as must deserve reproach from all the world; but I, unlucky I, have not only betrayed all these, but with a transport void of sense and shame, I yield to thy arms----I"ll not endure the thought----by heaven! I cannot; there is something more than rage that animates that thought: some magic spell, that in the midst of all my sense of shame keeps me from true repentance; this angers me, and makes me know my honour but a phantom: now I could curse again my youth and love; but oh! When I have done, alas, _Philander_, I find myself as guilty as before; I cannot make one firm resolve against thee, or if I do, when I consider thee, they weigh not all one lovely hair of thine. It is all in vain, the charming cause remains, _Philander"s_ still as lovely as before; it is him I must remove from my fond eyes and heart, him I must banish from my touch, my smell, and every other sense; by heaven I cannot bear the mighty pressure, I cannot see his eyes, and touch his hands, smell the perfume every pore of his breathes forth, taste thy soft kisses, hear thy charming voice, but I am all on a flame: no, it is these I must exclaim on, not my youth, it is they debauch my soul, no natural propensity in me to yield, or to admit of such destructive fires. Fain I would put it off, but it will not do, I am the aggressor still; else why is not every living maid undone that does but touch or see thee? Tell me why? No, the fault is in me, and thou art innocent.--Were but my soul less delicate, were it less sensible of what it loves and likes in thee, I yet were dully happy; but oh, there is a nicety there so charmed, so apprehensive of thy beauties, as has betrayed me to unrest for ever:----yet something I will do to tame this lewd betrayer of my right, and it shall plead no more in thy behalf; no more, no more disperse the joys which it conceives through every vein (cold and insensible by nature) to kindle new desires there.--No more shall fill me with unknown curiosity; no, I will in spite of all the perfumes that dwell about thee, in spite of all the arts thou hast of looking, of speaking, and of touching, I will, I say, a.s.sume my native temper, I will be calm, be cold and unconcerned, as I have been to all the World,--but to _Philander_.-- The almighty power he has is unaccountable:--by yonder breaking day that opens in the east, opens to see my shame--I swear--by that great ruler of the day, the sun, by that Almighty Power that rules them both, I swear--I swear, _Philander_, charming lovely youth! Thou art the first e"er kindled soft desires about my soul, thou art the first that ever did inform me that there was such a sort of wish about me.
I thought the vanity of being beloved made up the greatest part of the satisfaction; it was joy to see my lovers sigh about me, adore and praise me, and increase my pride by every look, by every word and action; and him I fancied best I favoured most, and he past for the happy fortune; him I have suffered too to kiss and press me, to tell me all his tale of love, and sigh, which I would listen to with pride and pleasure, permitted it, and smiled him kind returns; nay, by my life, then thought I loved him too, thought I could have been content to have pa.s.sed my life at this gay rate, with this fond hoping lover, and thought no farther than of being great, having rich coaches, shewing equipage, to pa.s.s my hours in dressing, in going to the operas and the tower, make visits where I list, be seen at b.a.l.l.s; and having still the vanity to think the men would gaze and languish where I came, and all the women envy me; I thought no farther on--but thou, _Philander_, hast made me take new measures, I now can think of nothing but of thee, I loathe the sound of love from any other voice, and conversation makes my soul impatient, and does not only dull me into melancholy, but perplexes me out of all humour, out of all patient sufferance, and I am never so well pleased when from _Philander_, as when I am retired, and curse my character and figure in the world, because it permits me not to prevent being visited; one thought of thee is worth the world"s enjoyment, I hate to dress, I hate to be agreeable to any eyes but thine; I hate the noise of equipage and crowds, and would be more content to live with thee in some lone shaded cottage, than be a queen, and hindered by that grandeur one moment"s conversation with _Philander_: may"st thou despise and loathe me, a curse the greatest that I can invent, if this be any thing but real honest truth. No, no, _Philander_, I find I never lov"d till now, I understood it not, nor knew what those sighs and pressings meant which others gave me; yet every speaking glance thy eyes put on, inform my soul what it is they plead and languish for: if you but touch my hand, my breath grows faint and short, my blood glows in my face, and runs with an unusual warmth through every vein, and tells my heart what it is _Philander_ ails, when he falls sighing on my bosom; oh then, I fear, I answer every look, and every sigh and touch, in the same silent but intelligible language, and understood, I fear, too well by thee: till now I never feared love as a criminal. Oh tell me not, mistaken foolish maids, true love is innocent, ye cold, ye dull, ye unconsidering lovers; though I have often heard it from the grave and wise, and preached myself that doctrine: I now renounce it all, it is false, by heaven! it is false, for now I love, and know it all a fiction; yes, and love so, as never any woman can equal me in love, my soul being all composed (as I have often said) of softer materials. Nor is it fancy sets my rates on beauty, there is an intrinsic value in thy charms, who surely none but I am able to understand, and to those that view thee not with my judging eyes, ugliness fancied would appear the same, and please as well. If all could love or judge like me, why does _Philander_ pa.s.s so unregarded by a thousand women, who never sighed for him? What makes _Myrtilla_, who possesses all, looks on thee, feels thy kisses, hears thee speak, and yet wants sense to know how blessed she is, it is want of judgement all; and how, and how can she that judges ill, love well?
Granting my pa.s.sion equal to its object, you must allow it infinite, and more in me than any other woman, by how much more my soul is composed of tenderness; and yet I say I own, for I may own it, now heaven and you are witness of my shame, I own with all this love, with all this pa.s.sion, so vast, so true, and so unchangeable, that I have wishes, new, unwonted wishes, at every thought of thee I find a strange disorder in my blood, that pants and burns in every vein, and makes me blush, and sigh, and grow impatient, ashamed and angry; but when I know it the effects of love, I am reconciled, and wish and sigh anew; for when I sit and gaze upon thy eyes, thy languishing, thy lovely dying eyes, play with thy soft white hand, and lay my glowing cheeks to thine----Oh G.o.d! What language can express my transport! All that is tender, all that is soft desire, seizes every trembling limb, and it is with pain concealed.--Yes, yes, _Philander_, it is the fatal truth, since thou hast found it, I confess it too, and yet I love thee dearly; long, long it was that I essayed to hide the guilty flame, if love be guilt; for I confess I did dissemble a coldness which I was not mistress of: there lies a woman"s art, there all her boasted virtue, it is but well dissembling, and no more--but mine, alas, is gone, for ever fled; this, this feeble guard that should secure my honour, thou hast betrayed, and left it quite defenceless. Ah, what"s a woman"s honour when it is so poorly guarded! No wonder that you conquer with such ease, when we are only safe by the mean arts of base dissimulation, an ill as shameful as that to which we fall. Oh silly refuge! What foolish nonsense fond custom can persuade: Yet so it is; and she that breaks her laws, loses her fame, her honour and esteem.
Oh heavens! How quickly lost it is! Give me, ye powers, my fame, and let me be a fool; let me retain my virtue and my honour, and be a dull insensible--But, oh! Where is it? I have lost it all; it is irrecoverably lost: yes, yes, ye charming perjured man, it is gone, and thou hast quite undone me.--
What though I lay extended on my bed, undressed, unapprehensive of my fate, my bosom loose and easy of access, my garments ready, thin and wantonly put on, as if they would with little force submit to the fond straying hand: what then, _Philander_, must you take the advantage?
Must you be perjured because I was tempting? It is true, I let you in by stealth by night, whose silent darkness favoured your treachery; but oh, _Philander_, were not your vows as binding by a glimmering taper, as if the sun with all his awful light had been a looker on? I urged your vows as you pressed on,--but oh, I fear it was in such a way, so faintly and so feebly I upbraided you, as did but more advance your perjuries. Your strength increas"d, but mine alas declin"d;"till I quite fainted in your arms, left you triumphant lord of all: no more my faint denials do persuade, no more my trembling hands resist your force, unregarded lay the treasure which you toil"d for, betrayed and yielded to the lovely conqueror--but oh tormenting,----when you saw the store, and found the prize no richer, with what contempt, (yes false, dear man) with what contempt you view"d the unvalu"d trophy: what, despised! Was all you call a heaven of joy and beauty exposed to view, and then neglected? Were all your prayers heard, your wishes granted, and your toils rewarded, the trembling victim ready for the sacrifice, and did you want devotion to perform it? And did you thus receive the expected blessing?----Oh--by heaven I"ll never see thee more, and it will be charity to thee, for thou hast no excuse in store that can convince my opinion that I am hated, loathed,--I cannot bear that thought--or if I do, it shall only serve to fortify my fixed resolve never to see thee more.--And yet I long to hear thy false excuse, let it be quickly then; it is my disdain invites thee--to strengthen which, there needs no more than that you let me hear your poor defence.----But it is a tedious time to that slow hour wherein I dare permit thee, but hope not to incline my soul to love: no, I am yet safe if I can stop but here, but here be wise, resolve and be myself.
SYLVIA.
_To_ PHILANDER.
As my page was coming with the enclosed, he met _Alexis_ at the gate with yours, and who would not depart without an answer to it;--to go or stay is the question. Ah, Philander! Why do you press a heart too ready to yield to love and you! Alas, I fear you guess too well my answer, and your own soul might save me the blushing trouble of a reply. I am plunged in, past hope of a retreat; and since my fate has pointed me out for ruin, I cannot fall more gloriously. Take then, _Philander_, to your dear arms, a maid that can no longer resist, who is disarmed of all defensive power: she yields, she yields, and does confess it too; and sure she must be more than mortal, that can hold out against thy charms and vows. Since I must be undone, and give all away; I"ll do it generously, and scorn all mean reserves: I will be brave in love, and lavish all; nor shall _Philander_ think I love him well, unless I do. Take, charming victor, then, what your own merits, and what love has given you; take, take, at last, the dear reward of all your sighs and tears, your vows and sufferings. But since, _Philander_, it is an age to night, and till the approach of those dear silent hours, thou knowest I dare not give thee admittance; I do conjure thee, go to _Cesario_, whom I find too pressing, not to believe the concerns great; and so jealous I am of thy dear safety, that every thing alarms my fears: oh! satisfy them then and go, it is early yet, and if you take horse immediately, you will be there by eight this morning; go, I conjure you; for though it is an unspeakable satisfaction to know you are so near me, yet I prefer your safety and honour to all considerations else. You may soon dispatch your affair, and render yourself time enough on the place appointed, which is where you last night waited, and it will be at least eight at night before it is possible to bring you to my arms. Come in your chariot, and do not heat yourself with riding; have a care of me and my life, in the preservation of all I love. Be sure you go, and do not, my _Philander_, out of a punctilio of love, neglect your dear safety----go then, _Philander_, and all the G.o.ds of love preserve and attend thee on thy way, and bring thee safely back to
SYLVIA.
_To_ SYLVIA.
Oh thou most charming of thy s.e.x! Thou lovely dear delight of my transported soul! thou everlasting treasure of my heart! What hast thou done? Given me an over-joy, that fails but very little of performing what grief"s excess had almost finished before: eternal blessings on thee, for a goodness so divine, oh, thou most excellent, and dearest of thy s.e.x! I know not what to do, or what to say. I am not what I was, I do not speak, nor walk, nor think as I was wont to do; sure the excess of joy is far above dull sense, or formal thinking, it cannot stay for ceremonious method. I rave with pleasure, rage with the dear thought of coming ecstasy. Oh _Sylvia_, _Sylvia_, _Sylvia_! My soul, my vital blood, and without which I could as well subsist--oh, my adorable, my _Sylvia_! Methinks I press thee, kiss thee, hear thee sigh, behold thy eyes, and all the wondrous beauty of thy face; a solemn joy has spread itself through every vein, sensibly through every artery of my heart, and I can think of nothing but of _Sylvia_, the lovely _Sylvia_, the blooming flowing _Sylvta_! And shall I see thee? Shall I touch thy hands, and press thy dear, thy charming body in my arms, and taste a thousand joys, a thousand ravishments? Oh G.o.d! shall I? Oh _Sylvia_, say; but thou hast said enough to make me mad, and I, forgetful of thy safety and my own, shall bring thy wild adoring slave to _Bellfont_, and throw him at thy feet, to pay his humble grat.i.tude for this great condescension, this vast bounty.
Ah, _Sylvia_! How shall I live till night? And you impose too cruelly upon me, in conjuring me to go to _Cesario_; alas! Does _Sylvia_ know to what she exposes her _Philander_? Whose joy is so transporting, great, that when he comes into the grave cabal, he must betray the story of his heart, and, in lieu of the mighty business there in hand, be raving still on _Sylvia_, telling his joy to all the amazed listeners, and answering questions that concern our great affair, with something of my love; all which will pa.s.s for madness, and undo me: no, give me leave to rave in silence, and unseen among the trees, they"ll humour my disease, answer my murmuring joy, and echoes flatter it, repeat thy name, repeat that _Sylvia_"s mine! and never hurt her fame; while the cabals, business and noisy town will add confusion to my present transport, and make me mad indeed: no, let me alone, thou sacred lovely creature, let me be calm and quiet here, and tell all the insensibles I meet in the woods what _Sylvia_ has this happy minute destined me: oh, let me record it on every bark, on every oak and beech, that all the world may wonder at my fortune, and bless the generous maid; let it grow up to ages that shall come, that they may know the story of our loves, and how a happy youth, they called _Philander_, was once so blest by heaven as to possess the charming, the adored and loved by all, the glorious _Sylvia_! a maid, the most divine that ever graced a story; and when the nymphs would look for an example of love and constancy, let them point out _Philander_ to their doubted swains, and cry, "Ah! love but as the young _Philander_ did, and then be fortunate, and then reap all your wishes:" and when the shepherd would upbraid his nymph, let him but cry,--"See here what _Sylvia_ did to save the young _Philander_;" but oh! There never will be such another nymph as _Sylvia_; heaven formed but one to shew the world what angels are, and she was formed for me, yes she was--in whom I would not quit my glorious interest to reign a monarch here, or any boasted gilded thing above! Take all, take all, ye G.o.ds, and give me but this happy coming night! Oh, _Sylvia, Sylvia_! By all thy promised joys I am undone if any accident should ravish this night from me: this night! No not for a lease of years to all eternity would I throw thee away: oh! I am all flame, all joyful fire and softness; methinks it is heaven where-ever I look round me, air where I tread, and ravishing music when I speak, because it is all of _Sylvia_----let me alone, oh let me cool a little, or I shall by an excess of joyful thought lose all my hoped for bliss. Remove a little from me; go, my _Sylvia_, you are so excessive sweet, so wondrous dazzling, you press my senses even to pain--away--let me take air--let me recover breath: oh let me lay me down beneath some cooling shade, near some refreshing crystal murmuring spring, and fan the gentle air about me. I suffocate, I faint with this close loving, I must allay my joy or be undone--I will read thy cruel letters, or I will think of some sad melancholy hour wherein thou hast dismissed me despairing from thy presence: or while you press me now to be gone with so much earnestness, you have some lover to receive and entertain; perhaps it is only for the vanity to hear him tell his nauseous pa.s.sion to you, breathe on your lovely face, and daub your garments with his fulsome embrace; but oh, by heaven, I cannot think that thought! And thou hast sworn thou canst not suffer it--if I should find thee false--but it is impossible.--Oh! Should I find _Foscario_ visit thee, him whom thy parents favour, I should undo you all, by heaven I should--but thou hast sworn, what need _Philander_ more? Yes, _Sylvia_, thou hast sworn and called heaven"s vengeance down whenever thou gavest a look, or a dear smile in love to that pretending fop: yet from his mighty fortune there is danger in him--What makes that thought torment me now?--Be gone, for _Sylvia_ loves me, and will preserve my life----
I am not able, my adorable charmer, to obey your commands in going from the sight of happy _Bellfont_; no, let the great wheel of the vast design roll on----or for ever stand still, for I will not aid its motion to leave the mightier business of my love unfinished; no, let fortune and the duller fools toil on----for I"ll not bate a minute of my joys with thee to save the world, much less so poor a parcel of it; and sure there is more solid pleasure even in these expecting hours I wait to s.n.a.t.c.h my bliss, than to be lord of all the universe without it: then let me wait, my _Sylvia_, in those melancholy shades that part _Bellfont_ from _Dorillus_"s farm; perhaps my _Sylvia_ may walk that way so unattended, that we might meet and lose ourselves for a few moments in those intricate retreats: ah _Sylvia_! I am dying with that thought----oh heavens! What cruel destiny is mine? Whose fatal circ.u.mstances do not permit me to own my pa.s.sion, and lay claim to _Sylvia_, to take her without control to shades and palaces, to live for ever with her, to gaze for ever on her, to eat, to loll, to rise, to play, to sleep, to act over all the pleasures and the joys of life with her--but it is in vain I rave, in vain employ myself in the fool"s barren business, wishing--this thought has made me sad as death: oh, _Sylvia_! I can never be truly happy--adieu, employ thyself in writing to me, and remember my life bears date but only with thy faith and love.
PHILANDER.
_Try, my adorable, what you can do to meet me in the wood this afternoon, for there I will live to-day._
_To_ PHILANDER.
Obstinate _Philander_, I conjure you by all your vows, by all your sacred love, by those dear hours this happy night designed in favour of you, to go without delay to _Cesario_; "twill be unsafe to disobey a prince in his jealous circ.u.mstances. The fatigue of the journey cannot be great, and you well know the torment of my fears! Oh! I shall never be happy, or think you safe, till you have quitted this fatal interest: go, my _Philander_----and remember whatever toils you take will be rewarded at night in the arms of
SYLVIA.
_To_ SYLVIA.
Whatever toils you take shall be rewarded in the arms of _Sylvia_----by heaven, I am inspired to act wonders: yes, _Sylvia_, yes, my adorable maid, I am gone, I fly as swift as lightning, or the soft darts of love shot from thy charming eyes, and I can hardly stay to say----adieu----
_To_ the Lady----
_Dear Child_,
Long foreseeing the misery whereto you must arrive, by this fatal correspondence with my unhappy lord, I have often, with tears and prayers, implored you to decline so dangerous a pa.s.sion: I have never yet acquainted our parents with your misfortunes, but I fear I must at last make use of their authority for the prevention of your ruin. It is not my dearest child, that part of this unhappy story that relates to me, that grieves me, but purely that of thine.
Consider, oh young n.o.ble maid, the infamy of being a prost.i.tute! And yet the act itself in this fatal amour is not the greatest sin, but the manner, which carries an unusual horror with it; for it is a brother too, my child, as well as a lover, one that has lain by thy unhappy sister"s side so many tender years, by whom he has a dear and lovely off-spring, by which he has more fixed himself to thee by relation and blood: consider this, oh fond heedless girl! And suffer not a momentary joy to rob thee of thy eternal fame, me of my eternal repose, and fix a brand upon our n.o.ble house, and so undo us all.----Alas, consider, after an action so shameful, thou must obscure thyself in some remote corner of the world, where honesty and honour never are heard of: no, thou canst not shew thy face, but it will be pointed at for something monstrous; for a hundred ages may not produce a story so lewdly infamous and loose as thine. Perhaps (fond as you are) you imagine the sole joy of being beloved by him, will atone for those affronts and reproaches you will meet with in the censuring world: but, child, remember and believe me, there is no lasting faith in sin; he that has broke his vows with heaven and me, will be again perjured to heaven and thee, and all the world!----He once thought me as lovely, lay at my feet, and sighed away his soul, and told such piteous stories of his sufferings, such sad, such mournful tales of his departed rest, his broken heart and everlasting love, that sure I thought it had been a sin not to have credited his charming perjuries; in such a way he swore, with such a grace he sighed, so artfully he moved, so tenderly he looked. Alas, dear child, then all he said was new, unusual with him, never told before, now it is a beaten road, it is learned by heart, and easily addressed to any fond believing woman, the tattered, worn out fragments of my trophies, the dregs of what I long since drained from off his fickle heart; then it was fine, then it was brisk and new, now palled and dull by being repeated often.
Think, my child, what your victorious beauty merits, the victim of a heart unconquered by any but your eyes: alas, he has been my captive, my humble whining slave, disdain to put him on your fetters now; alas, he can say no new thing of his heart to thee, it is love at second hand, worn out, and all its gaudy l.u.s.tre tarnished; besides, my child, if thou hadst no religion binding enough, no honour that could stay thy fatal course, yet nature should oblige thee, and give a check to the unreasonable enterprise. The griefs and dishonour of our n.o.ble parents, who have been eminent for virtue and piety, oh suffer them not to be regarded in this censuring world as the most unhappy of all the race of old n.o.bility; thou art the darling child, the joy of all, the last hope left, the refuge of their sorrow, for they, alas, have had but unkind stars to influence their unadvised off-spring; no want of virtue in their education, but this last blow of fate must strike them dead; think, think of this, my child, and yet retire from ruin; haste, fly from destruction which pursues thee fast; haste, haste and save thy parents and a sister, or what is more dear, thy fame; mine has already received but too many desperate wounds, and all through my unkind lord"s growing pa.s.sion for thee, which was most fatally founded on my ruin, and nothing but my ruin could advance it; and when, my sister, thou hast run thy race, made thyself loathed, undone and infamous as h.e.l.l, despis"d, scorn"d and abandon"d by all, lampoon"d, perhaps diseas"d; this faithless man, this cause of all will leave thee too, grow weary of thee, nauseated by use; he may perhaps consider what sins, what evils, and what inconveniencies and shames thou"st brought him to, and will not be the last shall loathe and hate thee: for though youth fancy it have a mighty race to run of pleasing vice and vanity, the course will end, the goal will be arrived to at the last, where they will sighing stand, look back, and view the length of precious time they"ve fool"d away; when traversed over with honour and discretion, how glorious were the journey, and with what joy the wearied traveller lies down and basks beneath the shades that end the happy course.
Forgive, dear child, this advice, and pursue it; it is the effect of my pity, not anger; nor could the name of rival ever yet have power to banish that of sister from my soul----farewell, remember me; pray heaven thou hast not this night made a forfeit of thy honour, and that this which comes from a tender bleeding heart may have the fortune to inspire thee with grace to avoid all temptations for the future, since they must end in sorrows which is the eternal prayer of,
_Dearest child,_
_Your affectionate Sister._
_To_ PHILANDER.
Ask me not, my dearest brother, the reason of this sudden change, ask me no more from whence proceeds this strange coldness, or why this alteration; it is enough my destiny has not decreed me for _Philander_: alas, I see my error, and looking round about me, find nothing but approaching horror and confusion in my pursuit of love: oh whither was I going, to what dark paths, to what everlasting shades had smiling love betray"d me, had I pursued him farther? But I at last have subdued his force, and the fond charmer shall no more renew his arts and flatteries; for I"m resolv"d as heaven, as fix"d as fate and death, and I conjure you trouble my repose no more; for if you do (regardless of my honour, which if you loved you would preserve) I will do a deed shall free me from your importunities, that shall amaze and cool your vicious flame. No more--remember you have a n.o.ble wife, companion of your vows, and I have honour, both which are worth preserving, and for which, though you want generous love, you will find neither that nor courage wanting in _Sylvia_.
_To_ SYLVIA.
Yes, my adorable _Sylvia_, I will pursue you no farther; only for all my pains, for all my sufferings, for my tormenting sleepless nights, and thoughtful anxious days; for all my faithless hopes, my fears, my sighs, my prayers and my tears, for my unequalled and unbounded pa.s.sion, and my unwearied pursuits in love, my never-dying flame, and lastly, for my death; I only beg, in recompense for all, this last favour from your pity; That you will deign to view the bleeding wound that pierced the truest heart that ever fell a sacrifice to love; you will find my body lying beneath that spreading oak, so sacred to _Philander_, since it was there he first took into his greedy ravished soul, the dear, the soft confession of thy pa.s.sion, though now forgotten and neglected all--make what haste you can, you will find there stretched out the mangled carcase of the lost
PHILANDER.
_Ah_ Sylvia! _Was it for this that I was sent in such haste away this morning to_ Cesario_? Did I for this neglect the world, our great affair, and all that Prince"s interest, and fly back to_ Bellfont _on the wings of love? Where in lieu of receiving a dear blessing from thy hand, do I find----never see me more--good heaven--but, with my life, all my complaints are ended; only it would be, some ease, even in death, to know what happy rival it is has armed thy cruel hand against_ Philander"s _heart_.
_To_ PHILANDER.
Stay, I conjure thee, stay thy sacrilegious hand; for the least wound it gives the lord of all my wishes, I"ll double on my breast a thousand fold; stay then, by all thy vows, thy love, and all thy hopes, I swear thou hast this night a full recompense of all thy pains from yielding _Sylvia_; I do conjure thee stay----for when the news arrives thou art no more, this poor, this lost, abandoned heart of mine shall fall a victim to thy cruelty: no, live, my _Philander_, I conjure thee, and receive all thou canst ask, and all that can be given by
SYLVIA.