In this virtuous wantonness, suffering their minds to descend to each tender enjoying their united thoughts, Pamela having tasted of the fruits, and growing extreme sleepy, having been long kept from it with the perplexity of her dangerous attempt, laying her head in his lap, was invited by him to sleep with these softly uttered verses:
Look up, fair lids, the treasure of my heart,Preserve those beams, this age’s only light:To her sweet sense, sweet sleep some ease impart,Her sense too weak to bear her spirit’s might.And while, O sleep, thou closest up her sight,Her sight where love did forge his fairest dart,O harbour all her parts in easeful plight:Let no strange dream make her fair body start.But, O dream, if thou wilt not departIn this rare subject from thy common right:But wilt thyself in such a seat delight,Then take my shape, and play a lover’s part:Kiss her from me, and say unto her sprite,Till her eyes shine, I live in darkest night.
Look up, fair lids, the treasure of my heart,
Preserve those beams, this age’s only light:
To her sweet sense, sweet sleep some ease impart,
Her sense too weak to bear her spirit’s might.
And while, O sleep, thou closest up her sight,
Her sight where love did forge his fairest dart,
O harbour all her parts in easeful plight:
Let no strange dream make her fair body start.
But, O dream, if thou wilt not depart
In this rare subject from thy common right:
But wilt thyself in such a seat delight,
Then take my shape, and play a lover’s part:
Kiss her from me, and say unto her sprite,
Till her eyes shine, I live in darkest night.
The sweet Pamela was brought into a sweet sleep with this song, which gave Musidorus opportunity at leisure to behold her excellent beauties. He thought her fair forehead was a field where all his fancies fought, and every hair of her head seemed a strong chain that tied him. Her fairer lids then hiding her fairer eyes, seemed unto him sweet boxes of mother-of-pearl, rich in themselves, but containing in them far richer jewels. Her cheeks with their colour most delicately mixed, would have entertained his eyes some while, but that the roses of her lips, whose separating was wont to be accompanied with most wise speeches, now by force drew his sight to mark how prettily they lay one over the other, uniting their divided beauties: and through them the eye of his fancy delivered to his memory the lying, as in ambush, under her lips of those armed ranks, all armed in most pure white, and keeping the most precise order of military discipline. And lest this beauty might seem the picture of some excellent artificer, forth there stole a soft breath, carrying good testimony of her inward sweetness: and so stealing it came out, as it seemed loath to leave his contentful mansion, but that it hoped to be drawn in again to that well-closed paradise, which did so tyrannize over Musidorus’s effects, that he was compelled to put his face as low to hers, as he could, sucking the breath with such joy that he did determine in himself there had been no lifeto a Chameleon’s if he might be suffered to enjoy that food. But long he was not suffered, being within a while interrupted by the coming of a company of clownish villains, armed with divers sorts of weapons, and for the rest both in face and apparel so forewasted that they seemed to bear a great conformity with the savages; who, miserably in themselves, taught to increase their mischiefs in other bodies’ harms, came with such cries that they both awaked Pamela, and made Musidorus turn unto them full of a most violent rage, with the look of a she-tiger when her whelps are stolen away.
But Zelmane, whom I left in the cave hardly bestead, having both great wits and stirring passions to deal with, makes me lend her my pen a while to see with what dexterity she could put by her dangers. For having in one instant both to resist rage, and go beyond wisdom, being to deal with a lady that had her wits awake in everything but in helping her own hurt, she saw now no other remedy in her case, but to qualify her rage with hope, and to satisfy her wit with plainness: Yet lest too abrupt falling into it, should yield too great advantage unto her, she thought good to come to it by degrees with this kind of insinuation. “Your wise, but very dark speeches, most excellent lady, are woven up in so intricate a manner that I know not how to proportion mine answer unto them: so are your prayers mixed with threats, and so is the show of your love hidden with the name of revenge, the natural effect of mortal hatred; you seem displeased with the opinion you have of my disguising, and yet if I be not disguised, you must needs be much more displeased. Hope then, the only succour of perplexed minds, being quite cut off, you desire my affection, and yet you yourself think my affection already bestowed. Your pretend cruelty, before you have the subjection, and are jealous of keeping that which as yet you have not gotten. And that which is strangest in your jealousy, is both the injustice of it, in being loth that should come to your daughter, which you deem good; and the vainness, since you two are so in divers respects, that there is no necessity one of you should fall to be a bar to the other. For neither, if I be such as you fancy, can I marry you, which must needs be the only end I can aspire to in her: neither need the marrying of her keep me from a grateful consideration, how much you honour me in the love you vouchsafe to bear me.” Gynecia, to whom the fearful agonies she still lived in made any small reproval sweet, did quickly find her words falling to a better way of comfort, and therefore, with a mind ready to show nothing could make it rebellious against Zelmane but too extreme tyranny, she thus said: “Alas, too much beloved Zelmane, the thoughts are but overflowings of the mind, and thetongue is but a servant of the thoughts; therefore marvel not that my words suffer contrarieties, since my mind doth hourly suffer in itself whole armies of mortal adversaries. But, alas, if I had the use of mine own reason, then should I not need, for want of it, to find myself in this desperate mischief: but because my reason is vanished, so have I likewise no power to correct my unreasonableness. Do you therefore accept the protection of my mind which hath no other resting place, and drive it not, by being unregarded, to put itself into unknown extremities. I desire but to have my affection answered, and to have a right reflection of my love in you. That granted, assure yourself mine own love will easily teach me to seek your contentment; and make me think my daughter a very mean price to keep still in mine eyes the food of my spirits. But take heed that contempt drive me not into despair, the most violent cause of that miserable effect.”
Zelmane who already saw some fruit of her last determined fancy, so far as came to a mollifying of Gynecia’s rage, seeing no other way to satisfy suspicion which was held open with the continual pricks of love, resolved now with plainness to win trust, which trust she might after deceive with a greater subtlety. Therefore looking upon her with a more relenting grace than ever she had done before, pretending a great bashfulness before she could come to confess such a fault, she thus said unto her: “Most worthy lady, I did never think till now, that pity of another could make me betray myself, nor that the sound of words could overthrow any wise body’s determination. But your words, I think, have charmed me, and your grace bewitched me. Your compassion makes me open my heart to you, and leave unharboured my own thoughts; for proof of it, I will disclose my greatest secret, which well you might suspect, but never know, and so have your wandering hope in a more painful wilderness, being neither way able to be lodged in a perfect resolution. I will, I say, unwrap my hidden estate, and after make you judge of it, perchance director. The truth is, I am a man: nay, I will say further to you, I am born a prince. And to make up your mind in a thorough understanding of me since I came to this place, I may not deny I have had some sprinkling of I know not what good liking to my lady Philoclea. For how could I ever imagine the heavens would have rained down so much of your favour upon me, and of that side there was a show of possible hope, the most comfortable counsellor of love. The cause of this my changed attire, was a journey two years ago I made among the Amazons, where, having sought to try my unfortunate valour, I met not one in all the country but what was too hard for me, till in the end, in the presence of their queenMarpesia, I hoping to prevail against her, challenged an old woman of fourscore years, to fight on horseback to the uttermost with me. Who having overthrown me, for the saving of my life, made me swear I should go like an unarmed Amazon, till the coming of my beard did, with the discharge of my oath deliver me of that bondage.”
Here Zelmane ended, not coming to a full conclusion, because she would see what it wrought in Gynecia’s mind, having in her speech sought to win a belief of her, and, if it might be, by disgrace of herself to diminish Gynecia’s affection. For the first it had much prevailed: but Gynecia, whose end of loving her was not her fighting, neither could her love, too deeply grounded, receive diminishment; and besides, she had seen herself sufficient proofs of Zelmane’s admirable prowess. Therefore slightly passing over that point of her feigned dishonour, but taking good hold of the confessing her manly sex, with the shamefaced look of that suitor, who having already obtained much, is yet forced by want to demand more, put forth her sorrowful suit in these words: “The gods,” said she, “reward thee for thy virtuous pity of my over-laden soul, who yet hath received some breath of comfort, by finding thy confession to maintain some possibility of my languishing hope. But alas! as they who seek to enrich themselves by mineral industry, the first labour is to find the mine, which to their cheerful comfort being found, if after any unlooked for stop, or casual impediment keep them from getting the desired ore, they are so much the more grieved, as the late conceived hope adds torment to their former want. So falls it out with me happy or hapless woman, as it pleaseth you to ordain, who am now either to receive some guerdon of my most woeful labours, or to return into a more wretched darkness, having had some glimmering of my blissful sun. O Zelmane, tread not upon a soul that lies under your foot: let not the abasing of myself make me more base in your eyes, but judge of me according to that I am, and have been, and let my errors be made excusable by the immortal name of love.” With that, under a feigned rage, tearing her clothes, she discovered some parts of her fair body, which if Zelmane’s heart had not been so fully possessed that there was no place left for any new guest, no doubt it would have yielded to that gallant assault. But Zelmane so much the more arming her determination, as, she saw such force threatened, yet still remembering she must wade betwixt constancy and courtesy, embracing Gynecia, and once or twice kissing her, “Dear lady,” said she, “he were a great enemy to himself, that would refuse such an offer, in the purchase of which a man’s life were blessedly bestowed. Nay, how can I ever yield due recompense for so excessive a favour? but havingnothing to give you but myself, take that: I must confess a small but a very free gift: what other affection so ever I have had shall give place to as great perfection, working besides upon the bond of gratefulness. The gods forbid I should be so foolish as not to see, or so wicked, as not to remember, how much my small deserts are over-balanced by your unspeakable goodness. Nay, happy may I well account my mishap among the Amazons, since that dishonour hath been so true a path to my greatest honour, and the changing of my outward raiment hath clothed my mind in such inward contention. Take therefore, noble lady, as much comfort to your heart, as the full commandment of me can yield you: wipe your fair eyes, and keep them for nobler services. And now I will presume thus much to say unto you, that you make much of yourself for my sake, that my joys of my new obtained riches may be accomplished in you. But let us leave this place, lest you be too long missed, and henceforward quiet your mind from any further care, for I will now, to my too much joy, take the charge upon me, within few days to work your satisfaction, and my felicity.” Thus much she said, and withal led Gynecia out of the cave, for well she saw the boiling mind of Gynecia did easily apprehend the fitness of that lonely place. But indeed this direct promise of a short space, joined with the cumbersome familiarness of womankind, I mean modesty, stayed so Gynecia’s mind that she took thus much at that present for good payment, remaining with a painful joy, and a wearisome kind of comfort, not unlike to the condemned prisoner, whose mind still running upon the violent arrival of his death, hears that his pardon is promised, but not yet signed. In this sort they both issued out of that obscure mansion: Gynecia already half persuaded in herself, O weakness of human conceit, that Zelmane’s affection was turned towards her. For such, alas! we are all, in such a mould are we cast, that with the too much love we bear ourselves, being first our own flatterers, we are easily hooked with others’ flattery, we are easily persuaded of others’ love.
But Zelmane, who had now to play her prize, seeing no way things could long remain in that state, and now finding her promise had tied her trial to a small compass of time, began to throw her thoughts into each corner of her invention, how she might achieve her life’s enterprise: for well she knew deceit cannot otherwise be maintained but by deceit: and how to deceive such heedful eyes, and how to satisfy, and yet not satisfy such hopeful desires, it was no small skill. But both their thoughts were called from themselves with the sight of Basilius, who then lying down by his daughter Philoclea, upon the fair, though natural, bed of green grass, seeing the sun what speed he made to leave our westto do his office in the other hemisphere, his inward muses made him in his best music, sing this Madrigal.
Why dost thou haste awayO Titan fair, the giver of the day?It is not to carry newsTo western wights, what stars in east appear?Or dost thou think that hereIs left a sun, whose beams thy place may use?Yet stay and well peruse,What be her gifts, that make her equal thee,Bend all thy light to seeIn earthly clothes enclos’d a heavenly spark:Thy running course cannot such beauties mark.No, no, thy motions beHastened from us with bar of shadow dark,Because that thou the author of our sightDisdain’st we see thee stain’d with others’ light.
Why dost thou haste away
O Titan fair, the giver of the day?
It is not to carry news
To western wights, what stars in east appear?
Or dost thou think that here
Is left a sun, whose beams thy place may use?
Yet stay and well peruse,
What be her gifts, that make her equal thee,
Bend all thy light to see
In earthly clothes enclos’d a heavenly spark:
Thy running course cannot such beauties mark.
No, no, thy motions be
Hastened from us with bar of shadow dark,
Because that thou the author of our sight
Disdain’st we see thee stain’d with others’ light.
And having ended; “Dear Philoclea,” said he, “sing something that may divert my thoughts from the continual task of their ruinous harbour:” she, obedient to him, and not unwilling to disburden her secret passion, made her sweet voice be heard in these words.
O stealing time, the subject of delay(Delay, the rack of unrestrain’d desire)What strange design hast thou my hopes to stay,My hopes which do but to mine own aspire?Mine own? O word on whose sweet sound doth preyMy greedy soul, with gripe of inward fire:Thy title great I justly challenge may,Since in such phrase his faith he did attire.O time, become the chariot of my joys,As thou drawest on, so let my bliss draw near,Each moment lost, part of my hap destroys.Thou art the father of occasion dear:Join with thy son to ease my long annoys,In speedy help, thank-worthy things appear.
O stealing time, the subject of delay
(Delay, the rack of unrestrain’d desire)
What strange design hast thou my hopes to stay,
My hopes which do but to mine own aspire?
Mine own? O word on whose sweet sound doth prey
My greedy soul, with gripe of inward fire:
Thy title great I justly challenge may,
Since in such phrase his faith he did attire.
O time, become the chariot of my joys,
As thou drawest on, so let my bliss draw near,
Each moment lost, part of my hap destroys.
Thou art the father of occasion dear:
Join with thy son to ease my long annoys,
In speedy help, thank-worthy things appear.
Philoclea broke off her song as soon as her mother with Zelmane came near unto them, rising up with a kindly bashfulness, being not ignorant of the spite her mother bare her, and stricken with the sight of that person, whose love made all those troubles seem fair flowers of her dearest garland, nay, rather all those troubles made the love increase. For as the arrival of enemies makes a town to fortify itself as ever after it remains stronger, so thata man may say, enemies were no small cause of the town’s strength: so to a mind once fixed in a well-pleased determination, who hopes by annoyance to overthrow it, does but teach it to knit together all his best grounds, and so perchance of a chanceable purpose, make an unchangeable resolution. But no more did Philoclea see the wonted signs of Zelmane’s affection towards her, she thought she saw another light in her eyes, with a bold and careless look upon her, which was wont to be dazzled with her beauty; and the framing of her courtesies rather ceremonious than affectionate, and that which worst liked her, was, that it proceeded with such quiet settledness, that it rather threatened a full purpose than any sudden passion. She found her behaviour bent altogether to her mother, and presumed in herself she discerned the well-acquainted face of his fancies now turned to another subject. She saw her mother’s worthiness, and too well knew her affection. These joining their divers working powers together in her mind, but yet a prentice in the painful mystery of passions, brought Philoclea into a new traverse of her thoughts, and made her keep her careful look the more attentive upon Zelmane’s behaviour, who indeed, though with much pain, and condemning herself to commit a sacrilege against the sweet saint that lived in her inmost temple, yet strengthening herself in it; being the surest way to make Gynecia bite of her other baits, did so quite over-rule all wonted shows of love to Philoclea, and convert them to Gynecia, that the part she played did work in both a full and lively persuasion: to Gynecia, such excessive comfort, as the being preferred to a rival doth deliver to swelling desire, but to the delicate Philoclea, whose calm thoughts were unable to nourish any strong debate, it gave so stinging a hurt, that, fainting under the force of her inward torment, she withdrew herself to the lodge, and there, weary of supporting her own burden, cast herself upon her bed, suffering her sorrow to melt itself into abundance of tears; at length closing her eyes, as if each thing she saw was a picture of her mishap, and turning upon her heart-side, which, with vehement panting did summon her to consider her fortune, she thus bemoaned herself.
“Alas! Philoclea, is this the price of all thy pains? is this the reward of thy given-way liberty? hath too much yielding bred cruelty? or can too great acquaintance make me held for a stranger? hath the choosing of a companion made me left alone; or doth granting desire, cause the desire to be neglected? alas! despised Philoclea, why didst thou not hold thy thoughts in their simple course, and content thyself with the love of thine own virtue, which would never have betrayed thee? Ah, silly fool, didst thou look for truth in him that with his own mouth confessedhis falsehood? for plain proceeding in him that still goes disguised? They say the falsest men will yet bear outward shows of a pure mind. But he that even outwardly bears the badge of treachery, what hells of wickedness must needs in the depth be contained? But O wicked mouth of mine, how darest thou thus blaspheme the ornament of the earth, the vessel of all virtue? O wretch that I am, that will anger the gods in dispraising their most excellent work: O no, no, there was no fault but in me, that could ever think so high eyes would look so low, or so great perfections would stain themselves with my unworthiness. Alas! why could I not see I was too weak a band to tie so heavenly an heart? I was not fit to limit the infinite course of his wonderful destinies. Was it ever like that upon only Philoclea his thoughts should rest? Ah silly fool, that couldst please thyself with so impossible an imagination! an universal happiness is to flow from him. How was I so inveigled to hope, I might be the mark of such a mind? He did thee no wrong, O Philoclea, he did thee no wrong, it was thy weakness to fancy the beams of the sun should give light to no eyes but to thine! And yet, O Prince Pyrocles, for whom I may well begin to hate myself, but can never leave to love thee, what triumph canst thou make of this conquest? What spoils wilt thou carry away of this my undeserved overthrow? could thy force find out no fitter field than the feeble mind of a poor maid, who at the first sight did wish thee all happiness? Shall it be said, the mirror of mankind hath been employed to destroy a hurtless gentlewoman? O Pyrocles, Pyrocles, let me yet call thee before the judgment of thy virtue, let me be accepted for a plaintiff in cause which concerns my life: what need hadst thou to arm thy face with the enchanting mask of thy painted passions? what need hadst thou to fortify thy excellencies with so exquisite a cunning, in making our own arts betray us? what needest thou descend so far from thy incomparable worthiness, as to take on the habit of weak womankind. Was all this to win the undefended castle of a friend, which being won, thou wouldst after raze? Could so small a cause allure thee? or did not so unjust a cause stop thee? O me, what say I more? this is my case, my love hates me, virtue deals wickedly with me, and he does me wrong, whose doings I can never account a wrong.” With that the sweet lady turning herself upon her weary bed she happily saw a lute, upon the belly of which Gynecia had written this song, what time Basilius imputed her jealous motions to proceed of the doubt she had of his untimely loves. Under which veil she, contented to cover her never ceasing anguish, had made the lute a monument of her mind, which Philoclea had never much marked, till now the fear of a competitor more stirred her, than before the care of a mother.The verses were these:
My lute within thyself thy tunes enclose,Thy mistress’s song is now a sorrow’s cry,Her hand benumb’d with fortune’s daily blows,Her mind amaz’d can neither’s help apply.Wear these my words as mourning weeds of woes,Black ink becomes the state wherein I die,And though my moans be not in music bound,Of written griefs, yet be the silent ground.The world doth yield such ill-consorted shows,With circled course, which no wise stay can try,That childish stuff which knows not friends from foes,(Better despis’d) bewonder gazing eye.Thus noble gold, down to the bottom goes,When worthless cork, aloft doth floating lie.Thus in thyself least strings are loudest found,And lowest stops do yield the highest sound.
My lute within thyself thy tunes enclose,
Thy mistress’s song is now a sorrow’s cry,
Her hand benumb’d with fortune’s daily blows,
Her mind amaz’d can neither’s help apply.
Wear these my words as mourning weeds of woes,
Black ink becomes the state wherein I die,
And though my moans be not in music bound,
Of written griefs, yet be the silent ground.
The world doth yield such ill-consorted shows,
With circled course, which no wise stay can try,
That childish stuff which knows not friends from foes,
(Better despis’d) bewonder gazing eye.
Thus noble gold, down to the bottom goes,
When worthless cork, aloft doth floating lie.
Thus in thyself least strings are loudest found,
And lowest stops do yield the highest sound.
Philoclea read them, and throwing down the lute, “Is this the legacy you have bequeathed me, O kind mother of mine?” said she, “did you bestow the light upon me for this? or did you bear me to be the author of my burial? a trim purchase you have made of your own shame, robbed your daughter to ruin yourself? the birds unreasonable, yet use so much reason, as to make nests for their tender young ones; my cruel mother turns me out of mine own harbour; alas, plaint boots not, for my case can receive no help; for who should give me help? shall I fly to my parents? they are my murderers: shall I go to him, who already being won and lost, must needs have killed all pity? alas! I can bring no new intercessions; he knows already what I am is his. Shall I come home again to myself? O me, contemned wretch; I have given away myself.” With that the poor soul beat her breast, as if that had been guilty of her faults, neither thinking of revenge, nor studying for remedy, but, sweet creature, gave grief a free dominion, keeping her chamber a few days after, not needing to feign herself sick, feeling even in her soul the pangs of extreme pain.
But little did Gynecia reck that, neither when she saw her go away from them, neither when she after found that sickness made her hide her fair face, so much had fancy prevailed against nature. But O you that have ever known, how tender to every motion love makes the lover’s heart, how he measures all his joys upon her contentment: and doth with respectful eye hang his behaviour upon her eyes: judge I pray you now of Zelmane’s troubled thoughts when she saw Philoclea, with an amazed kind of sorrow,carry away her sweet presence, and easily found, so happy a conjecture unhappy affection hath, that her demeanour was guilty of that trespass. There was never foolish soft-hearted mother, that, forced to beat her child, did weep first for his pains, and doing that she was loth to do, did repent before she began, did find half that motion in her weak mind that Zelmane did, now that she was forced by reason to give an outward blow to her passions, and for the lending of a small time, to seek the usury of her desires. The unkindness she conceived Philoclea might conceive, did wound her soul, each tear she doubted she spent, drowned all her comfort. Her sickness was a death unto her. Often would she speak to the image of Philoclea, which lived and ruled in the highest of her inward part, and use vehement oaths, and protestations unto her; that nothing should ever falsify the free chosen vow she had made. Often would she desire her, that she would look well to Pyrocles’s heart, for as for her she had no more interest in it to bestow it any way: “Alas!” would she say, “only Philoclea hast thou not so much feeling of thine own force as to know no new conqueror can prevail against thy conquests? Was ever any dazzled with the moon that used his eyes to the beams of the sun? Is he carried away with a greedy desire of acorns that hath had his senses ravished with a garden of most delightful fruits? O Philoclea, Philoclea, be thou but as merciful a princess to my mind as thou art a true possessor, and I shall have as much cause of gladness, as thou hast no cause of misdoubting? O no, no, when a man’s own heart is the gage of his debt, when a man’s own thoughts are willing witnesses to his promise; lastly, when a man is the jailor over himself; there is little doubt of breaking credit, and less doubt of such an escape.”
In this combat of Zelmane’s doubtful imaginations, in the end reason, well-backed with the vehement desire to bring her matter soon to the desired haven, did over-rule the boiling of her inward kindness, though as I say with such a manifest strife, that both Basilius and Gynecia’s well-waiting eyes, had marked her muses had laboured in deeper subjects than ordinary: which she likewise perceiving they had perceived, awaking herself out of those thoughts, and principally caring how to satisfy Gynecia, whose judgment and passion she stood most in regard of, bowing her head to her attentive ears. “Madam,” said she, “with practice of my thoughts, I have found out a way, by which your contentment shall draw on my happiness.” Gynecia delivering in her face as thankful a joyfulness as her heart could hold, said, “It was then time to retire themselves to their rest, for what with riding abroad the day before, and late sitting up for eclogues, their bodies haddearly purchased that night’s quiet.” So went they home to their lodge, Zelmane framing of both sides bountiful measures of loving countenances to either’s joy, and neither’s jealousy, to the special comfort of Basilius, whose weaker bowels were straight full with the least liquor of hope. So that still holding her by the hand, and sometimes tickling it, he went by her with the most gay conceits that ever had entered his brains, growing now so hearted in his resolution that he little respected Gynecia’s presence. But with a lustier note than wonted, clearing his voice, and cheering his spirits, looking still upon Zelmane, whom now the moon did beautify with her shining almost at the full, as if her eyes had been his song-book, he did the message of his mind in singing these verses.
When two suns do appear,Some say it doth betoken wonders near,As prince’s loss or change:Two gleaming suns of splendour like I see,And seeing feel in meOf prince’s heart quite lost the ruin strange.But now each where doth rangeWith ugly cloak the dark envious night:Who full of guilty spite,Such living beams should her black seat assail,Too weak for them our weaker sight doth veil.“No,” says fair moon, “my lightShall bar that wrong, and though it not prevailLike to my brother’s rays, yet those I sendHurt not the face, which nothing can amend.”
When two suns do appear,
Some say it doth betoken wonders near,
As prince’s loss or change:
Two gleaming suns of splendour like I see,
And seeing feel in me
Of prince’s heart quite lost the ruin strange.
But now each where doth range
With ugly cloak the dark envious night:
Who full of guilty spite,
Such living beams should her black seat assail,
Too weak for them our weaker sight doth veil.
“No,” says fair moon, “my light
Shall bar that wrong, and though it not prevail
Like to my brother’s rays, yet those I send
Hurt not the face, which nothing can amend.”
And by that time being come to the lodge, and visited the sweet Philoclea, with much less than natural care of the parents, and much less than wanted kindness of Zelmane, each party full fraught with diversly working fancies, made their pillows weak props of their over-laden heads. Yet of all other were Zelmane’s brain most turmoiled, troubled with love both active and passive; and lastly, and especially with care, how to use her short limited time to the best purpose, by some wise and happy diverting her two lovers’ unwelcome desires. Zelmane having had the night, her only counsellor in the busy enterprise she was to undertake, and having all that time mused, and yet not fully resolved, how she might join prevailing with preventing, was offended with the day’s bold entry into her chamber, as if he had now by custom grown an assured bringer of evil news. Which she taking a cittern to her, did lay to Aurora’s charge, with these well-sung verses:
Aurora now thou showest thy blushing light,Which oft to hope lays out a guileful bait,That trusts in time to find the way aright,To ease those pains, which on desire do wait.Blush on for shame: that still with thee do lightOn pensive souls (instead of restful bait)Care upon care (instead of doing right)To over pressed breasts, more grievous weight.As oh! myself, whose woes are never light(Tied to the stake of doubt) strange passion’s bait.While thy known course observing nature’s right,Stirs me to think what dangers lie in wait,For mischiefs great, day after day doth show,Make me still fear, thy fair appearing show.
Aurora now thou showest thy blushing light,
Which oft to hope lays out a guileful bait,
That trusts in time to find the way aright,
To ease those pains, which on desire do wait.
Blush on for shame: that still with thee do light
On pensive souls (instead of restful bait)
Care upon care (instead of doing right)
To over pressed breasts, more grievous weight.
As oh! myself, whose woes are never light
(Tied to the stake of doubt) strange passion’s bait.
While thy known course observing nature’s right,
Stirs me to think what dangers lie in wait,
For mischiefs great, day after day doth show,
Make me still fear, thy fair appearing show.
“Alas!” said she, “am I not run into a strange gulf, that am fain for love to hurt her I love? and because I detest the others, to please them I detest? O only Philoclea, whose beauty is matched with nothing but with the unspeakable beauty of thy fairest mind, if thou didst see upon what rack my tormented soul is set, little would you think I had any scope now to leap to any new change.” With that with hasty hands she got herself up, turning her sight to everything, as if change of objects might help her invention. So went she again to the cave, where forthwith it came into her head that should be the fittest place to perform her exploit, of which she had now a kind of confused conceit, although she had not set down in her fancy, the meeting with each particularity that might fall out. But as the painter doth at the first but show a rude proportion of the thing he imitates, which after with more curious hand he draws to the representing each lineament, so had her thoughts, beating about it continually, received into them a ground-plot of her device, although she had not in each part shaped it according to a full determination. But in this sort having early visited the morning’s beauty in those pleasant deserts, she came to the king and queen, and told them that for the performance of certain country devotions, which only were to be exercised in solitariness, she did desire their leave she might for a few days lodge herself in the cave, the fresh sweetness of which did greatly delight her in that hot country; and that for that small space they would not otherwise trouble themselves in visiting her, but at such times as she would come to wait upon them, which should be every day at certain hours; neither should it be long, she would desire this privileged absence of them. They, whose minds had already taken out that lesson, perfectly to yield a willing obedienceto all her desires, with consenting countenance made her soon see her pleasure was a law unto them. Both indeed inwardly glad of it, Basilius hoping that her dividing herself from them, might yet give him some fitter occasion of coming in secret to her, whose favourable face had lately strengthened his fainting courage. But Gynecia of all other most joyous, holding herself assured that this was but a prologue to the play she had promised her.
Thus both flattering themselves with diversly grounded hopes, they rang a bell, which served to call certain poor women which ever lay in cabins not far off, to do the household services of both lodges, and never came to either but being called for, and commanded them to carry forthwith Zelmane’s bed and furniture of her chamber into the pleasant cave, and to deck it up as finely as it was possible for them, that their soul’s rest might rest her body to her best pleasing manner: that was with all diligence performed of them, and Zelmane already in possession of her new-chosen lodging; where she like one of Vesta’s nuns, entertained herself for a few days in all show of straightness, yet once a day coming to her duty to the king and queen, in whom the seldomness of the sight increased the more unquiet longing, though somewhat qualified, as her countenance was decked to either of them with more comfort than wonted; especially to Gynecia, who seeing her, wholly neglected her daughter Philoclea, had now promised herself a full possession of Zelmane’s heart, still expecting the fruit of the happy and hoped for invention. But both she and Basilius kept such a continual watch about the precincts of the cave, that either of them was a bar to the other from having any secret communing with Zelmane.
While in the meantime the sweet Philoclea forgotten of her father, despised of her mother, and in appearance left of Zelmane, had yielded up her soul to be a prey to sorrow and unkindness, not with raging conceit of revenge, as had passed through the wise and stout heart of her mother, but with a kindly meekness taking upon her the weight of her own woes, and suffering them to have so full a course, as it did exceedingly weaken the estate of her body; as well for which cause, as for that she could not see Zelmane, without expressing, more than she would, how far now her love was imprisoned in extremity of sorrow, she bound herself first to the limits of her own chamber, and after (grief breeding sickness) of her bed. But Zelmane having now a full liberty to cast about every way how to bring her conceived attempt to a desired success, was oft so perplexed with the manifold difficulty of it, that sometimes she would resolve by force to take her away, though it were with the death of her parents, sometimes to go away with Musidorus, and bring both their forces, so to win her.But lastly, even the same day that Musidorus by feeding the humour of his three loathsome guardians, had stolen away the princess Pamela (whether it were that love meant to match them every way, or that her friend’s example had helped her invention, or that indeed Zelmane forbare to practise her device till she found her friend had passed thro’ his): the same day, I say, she resolved on a way to rid out of the lodge her two cumbersome lovers, and in the night to carry away Philoclea: whereunto she was assured her own love no less than her sister’s, would easily win her consent; hoping that although their abrupt parting had not suffered her to demand of Musidorus which way he meant to direct his journey; yet either they should by some good fortune find him; or if that course failed, yet they might well recover some town of the Helots, near the frontiers of Arcadia, who being newly again up in arms against the nobility, she knew would be as glad of her presence, as she of their protection. Therefore having taken order for all things requisite for their going, and first put on a slight under-suit of man’s apparel, which before for such purposes she had provided, she curiously trimmed herself to the beautifying of her beauties, that being now at her last trial she might come unto it in her bravest armour. And so putting on that kind of mild countenance, which doth encourage the looker on to hope for a gentle answer, according to her received manner, she left the pleasant darkness of her melancholy cave, to go take her dinner of the King and Queen, and give unto them both a pleasant food of seeing the owner of their desires. But even as the Persians were anciently wont to leave no rising-sun unsaluted, but as his fair beams appeared clearer unto them, would they more heartily rejoice, laying upon them a great foretoken of their following fortune: so was there no time that Zelmane encountered their eyes with her beloved presence, but that it bred a kind of burning devotion in them, yet so much the more gladding their greedy souls, as her countenance was cleared with more favour unto them; which now being determinately framed to the greatest descent of kindness, it took such hold of her unfortunate lovers, that like children about a tender father from a long voyage returned, with lovely childishness hang about him, and yet with simple fear measure by his countenance, how far he accepts their boldness, so were these now thrown into so serviceable an affection, that the turning of Zelmane’s eyes was a strong stern enough to all their motions, winding no way but as the enchanting force of it guided them. But having made a light repast of the pleasant fruits of that country, interlarding their food with such manner of general discourses as lovers are wont to cover their passion, when respect of a third person keeps them from plain particulars, at theearnest entreaty of Basilius, Zelmane first saluting the Muses with a base viol hung hard by her, sent this ambassage in versified music to both her ill-requited lovers.
Beauty hath force to catch the human sight;Sight doth bewitch the fancy evil awaked,Fancy we feel includes all passion’s might,Passion rebell’d oft reason’s strength hath shaked.No wonder then, though sight my sight did taint,And though thereby my fancy was infected,Though, yoked so, my mind with sickness faint,Had reason’s weight for passion’s ease rejected.But now the fit is past; and time hath giv’nLeisure to weigh what due desert requireth.All thoughts so sprung, are from their dwelling driv’n,And wisdom to his wonted seat aspireth;Crying in me: “Eye-hopes deceitful prove;Things rightly priz’d: love is the band of love.”
Beauty hath force to catch the human sight;
Sight doth bewitch the fancy evil awaked,
Fancy we feel includes all passion’s might,
Passion rebell’d oft reason’s strength hath shaked.
No wonder then, though sight my sight did taint,
And though thereby my fancy was infected,
Though, yoked so, my mind with sickness faint,
Had reason’s weight for passion’s ease rejected.
But now the fit is past; and time hath giv’n
Leisure to weigh what due desert requireth.
All thoughts so sprung, are from their dwelling driv’n,
And wisdom to his wonted seat aspireth;
Crying in me: “Eye-hopes deceitful prove;
Things rightly priz’d: love is the band of love.”
And after her song with an affected modesty she threw down her eye, as if the conscience of a secret grant her inward mind made, and suddenly cast a bashful veil over her. Which Basilius finding, and thinking now was the time to urge his painful petition, beseeching his wife with more careful eye to accompany his sickly daughter Philoclea, being rid for that time of her; who was content to grant him any scope, that she might after have the like freedom; with a gesture governed by the force of his passions, making his knees best supporters, he thus said unto her: “If either,” said he, “O lady of my life, my deadly pangs could bear delay, or that this were the first time the same were manifested unto you, I would now but maintain still the remembrance of my misfortune, without urging any further reward, than time and pity might procure for me. But, alas! since my martyrdom is no less painful than manifest, and that I no more feel the miserable danger, than you know the assured truth thereof, why should my tongue deny his service to my heart? Why should I fear the breath of my words, who daily feel the flame of your works? Embrace in your sweet consideration, I beseech you, the misery of my case, acknowledge yourself to be the cause, and think it is reason for you to redress the effects. Alas! let no certain imaginative rules whose truth stands but upon opinion, keep so wise a mind from gratefulness and mercy, whose never failing laws nature hath planted in us. I plainly lay my death unto you, the death of him that loves you, the death of him whose life youmay save; say your absolute determination, for hope itself is a pain, while it is over-mastered with fear; and if you do resolve to be cruel, yet is the speediest condemnation, as in evils, most welcome.” Zelmane, who had fully set to herself the train she should keep, yet knowing that who soonest means to yield, doth well to make the bravest parley, keeping countenance aloft; “Noble prince,” said she, “your words are too well couched to come out of a restless mind, and thanked be the Gods, your face threatens no danger of death. These are but those swelling speeches which give the uttermost name to every trifle, which all were worth nothing, if they were not enamelled with the goodly outside of love. Truly love were very unlovely if it were half so deadly, as you lovers, still living, term it. I think well it may have a certain childish vehemency, which for the time to one desire will engage all the soul, so long as it lasteth. But with what impatience you yourself show, who confess the hope of it a pain, and think your own desire so unworthy that you would fain be rid of it; and so with over-much love sue hard for a hasty refusal.” “A refusal!” cried out Basilius, amazed with all, but pierced with the last, “Now assure yourself whensoever you use that word definitively it will be the undoubted doom of my approaching death. And then shall your own experience know in me, how soon the spirits dried up with anguish leave the performance of their ministry, whereupon our life dependeth. But alas! what a cruelty is this, not only to torment but to think the torment slight? The terriblest tyrants would say by no man they killed, he died not; nor by no man they punished, that he escaped free: for of all other, there is least hope of mercy where there is no acknowledging of the pain; and with like cruelty are my words breathed out from a flamy heart, accounted as messengers of a quiet mind. If I speak nothing I choke myself, and am in no way of relief; if simply, neglected: if confusedly, not understood: if by the bending together all my inward powers, they bring forth any lively expressing of that they truly feel, that is a token, forsooth, the thoughts are at too much leisure. Thus is silence desperate, folly punished, and wit suspected: but indeed it is vain to try any more, for words can bind no belief. Lady, I say, determine of me, I must confess I cannot bear this battle in my mind, and therefore let me soon know what I may account of myself; for it is a hell of dolours when the mind still in doubt for want of resolution, can make no resistance.”
“Indeed,” answered Zelmane, “if I should grant to your request, I should show an example in myself that I esteem the holy band of chastity to be but an imaginative rule, as you termed it, and not the truest observance of nature, the most noble commandmentthat mankind can have over themselves, as indeed both learning teacheth, and inward feeling assureth. But first shall Zelmane’s grave become her marriage bed, before my soul shall consent to his own shame, before I will leave a mark in myself of an unredeemable trespass. And yet must I confess that if ever my heart were stirred, it hath been with the manifest and manifold shows of the misery you live in for me. For in truth so it is, nature gives not to us her degenerate children any more general precept than one to help the other, one to feel a true compassion of the other’s mishap. But yet if I were never so contented to speak with you (for further, never, O Basilius, never look for at my hands) I know not how you can avoid your wife’s jealous attendance but that her suspicion shall bring my honour into question.” Basilius, whose small sails the least wind did fill, was forthwith as far gone into a large promising himself his desire, as before he was stricken down with a threatened denial. And therefore bending his brows, as though he were not a man to take the matter as he had done; “What,” said he, “shall my wife become my mistress? Think you not that thus much time hath taught me to rule her? I will mew the gentlewoman till she have cast all her feathers if she rouse herself against me.” And with that he walked up and down, nodding his head, as though they mistook him much that thought he was not his wife’s master. But Zelmane now seeing it was time to conclude: “Of your wisdom and manhood,” said she, “I doubt not, but that sufficeth not me, for both they can hardly tame a malicious tongue, and impossibly bar the freedom of thought, which be the things that must be only witnesses of honour or judges of dishonour. But that you may see I do not set light your affection, if to-night after your wife be assuredly asleep, whereof by your love I conjure you to have a most precise care, you will steal handsomely to the cave unto me, there do I grant you as great proportion as you will take of free conference with me, ever remembering you seek no more, for so shall you but deceive yourself, and for ever lose me.”
Basilius, who was old enough to know that women are wont to not appoint secret night meetings for the purchasing of land, holding himself already an undoubted possessor of his desires, kissing her hand, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, as if the greatness of the benefit did go beyond all measure of thanks, said no more, lest stirring of more words might bring forth some, perhaps, contrary matter. In which trance of joy Zelmane went from him, saying she would leave him to the remembrance of their appointment, and for her, she would go visit the Lady Philoclea, into whose chamber being come, keeping still her late taken-on gravity, and asking her how she did, rather in the way ofdutiful honour than in any special affection, with extreme inward anguish to them both, she turned from her, and taking the Queen Gynecia, led her into a bay window of the same chamber, determining in herself, not to utter to so excellent a wit as Gynecia had, the uttermost point of her pretended device, but to keep the clause of it for the last instant, when the shortness of the time should not give her spirits leisure to look into all those doubts that easily enter to an open invention. But with smiling eyes, and with a delivered over grace, feigning as much love to her, as she did counterfeit little love to Philoclea, she began with more credible, than eloquent speech, to tell her, that with much consideration of a matter so nearly importing her own fancy, and Gynecia’s honour, she had now concluded that the night following should be the fittest time for the joining together their several desires, what time sleep should perfectly do his office upon the king her husband, and that the one should come to the other into the cave: which place as it was the first receipt of their promised love, so it might have the first honour of the due performance. That the cause why those few days past, she had not sought the like, was, lest the new change of her lodging might make the king more apt to mark any sudden event; which now the use of it would take out of his mind. “And therefore most excellent lady,” said she, “there resteth nothing, but that quickly after supper, you train up the king to visit his daughter Philoclea, and then feigning yourself not well at ease, by your going to bed, draw him not long to be after you. In the meantime I will be gone home to my lodging, where I will attend you, with no less devotion, but as I hope with better fortune than Thisbe did the too much loving, and too much loved Pyramus.” The blood that quickly came into Gynecia’s fair face, was the only answer she made, but that one might easily see, contentment and consent were both to the full in her; which she did testify with the wringing Zelmane fast by the hand, closing her eyes, and letting her head fall, as if she would give her to know, she was not ignorant of her fault, although she were transported with the violence of her evil.
But in this triple agreement did the day seem tedious of all sides, till his never erring course had given place to the night’s succession: and the supper by each hand hasted, was with no less speed ended, when Gynecia presenting a heavy sleepiness in her countenance, brought up both Basilius and Zelmane to see Philoclea, still keeping her bed, and far more sick in mind than body, and more grieved than comforted with any such visitation. Thence Zelmane wishing easeful rest to Philoclea, did seem to take that night’s leave of this princely crew, when Gynecia likewise seeming somewhat diseased, desired Basilius to stay a while withhis daughter, while she recommended her sickness to her bed’s comfort, indeed desirous to determine again of the manner of her stealing away; to no less comfort to Basilius, who the sooner she was asleep, the sooner hoped to come by his long pursued prey. Thus both were bent to deceive each other, and to take the advantage of either other’s disadvantage. But Gynecia having taken Zelmane into her bed-chamber, to speak a little with her of their sweet determination; Zelmane upon a sudden, as though she had never thought of it before. “Now the Gods forbid,” said she, “so great a lady as you are should come to me; or that I should leave it to the hands of fortune, if by either the ill-governing of your passion, or your husband’s sudden waking, any danger might happen unto you: no, if there be any superiority in the points of true love, it shall be yours; if there be any danger, since myself am the author of this device, it is reason it should be mine. Therefore do you but leave with me the keys of the gate, and upon yourself take my upper garment, that if any of Dametas’s house see you they may think you be myself, and I will presently lie down in your place, so muffled for your supposed sickness, as the king shall nothing know me. And then as soon as he is asleep, will I, as it much better becomes me, wait upon you. But if the uttermost of mischiefs should happen, I can assure you the king’s life shall sooner pay for it than your honour.” And with the ending of her words she threw off her mantle, not giving Gynecia any space to take the full image of this new change into her fancy. But seeing no ready objection against it in her heart, and knowing that there was no time then to stand long disputing; besides remembering the giver was to order the manner of his gift, yielded quickly to this conceit, indeed not among the smallest causes tickled thereunto by a certain wanton desire that her husband’s deceit might be the more notable. In this sort did Zelmane nimbly disarraying herself, possess Gynecia’s place hiding her head in such a close manner, as grievous and over watched sickness is wont to invite to itself the solace of sleep. And of the other side the queen putting on Zelmane’s outmost apparel, went first into her closet, there quickly to beautify herself with the best and sweetest night-deckings. But there casting an hasty eye over her precious things, which ever since Zelmane’s coming, her head otherwise occupied, had left unseen, she happened to see a bottle of gold, upon which down along were graved these verses:
Let him drink this, whom long in arms to foldThou dost desire, and with free power to hold.
Let him drink this, whom long in arms to fold
Thou dost desire, and with free power to hold.
She remembered the bottle, for it had been kept of long time by the kings of Cyprus, as a thing of rare virtue, and given toher by her mother, when she being very young married to her husband of much greater age, her mother persuaded it was of property to force love with love effects, had made a precious present of it to this her beloved child, though it had been received rather by tradition to have such a quality than by any approved experiment. This Gynecia (according to the common disposition, not only, though especially of wives, but of all other kinds of people, not to esteem much one’s own, but to think the labour lost employed about it) had never cared to give her husband, but suffered his affection to run according to his own scope. But now that love of her particular choice had awakened her spirits, and perchance the very unlawfulness of it had a little blown the coal, among her other ornaments with glad mind she took most part of this liquor, putting it into a fair cup all set with diamonds: for what dares not love undertake armed with the night, and provoked with lust? And thus down she went to the cave-ward, guided only by the moon’s fair shining, suffering no other thought to have any familiarity with her brains, but that which did present under her a picture of her approaching contentment. She that had long disdained this solitary life her husband had entered into, now wished it much more solitary, so she might only obtain the private presence of Zelmane. She that before would not have gone so far, especially by night, and to so dark a place, now took a pride in the same courage, and framed in her mind a pleasure out of the pain itself. Thus with thick doubled paces she went to the cave, receiving to herself, for her first contentment, the only lying where Zelmane had done; whose pillow she kissed a thousand times, for having born the print of that beloved head. And so keeping with panting heart her travelling fancies so attentive that the wind could stir nothing, but that she stirred herself, as if it had been the space of the longed for Zelmane, she kept her side of the bed, descending only and cherishing the other side with her arms, till after a while waiting, counting with herself how many steps were betwixt the lodge and the cave, and of accusing Zelmane of more curious stay than needed, she was visited with an unexpected guest.
For Basilius, after his wife was departed to her feigned repose, as long as he remained with his daughter, to give his wife time of unreadying herself, it was easily seen it was a very thorny abode he made there: and the discourses with which he entertained his daughter, not unlike to those of earnest players, when in the midst of their game, trifling questions be put unto them, his eyes still looking about, and himself still changing places, beginning to speak of a thing, and breaking it off before it were half done. To any speech Philoclea ministered unto him,with a sudden starting and casting up his head, made an answer far out of all grammar; a certain deep musing, and by and by out of it: uncertain motions, unstayed graces. Having borne out the limit of a reasonable time, with as much pain as might be, he came darkling into his chamber, forcing himself to tread as softly as he could. But the more curious he was, the more he thought everything creaked under him; and his mind being out of the way with another thought, and his eyes not serving his turn in that dark place, each coffer or cupboard he met, one saluted his shins, another his elbows; sometimes ready in revenge to strike them again with his face. Till at length, fearing his wife were not fully asleep, he came lifting up the clothes as gently as I think poor Pan did, when, instead of Ioles’s bed, he came into the rough embracing of Hercules; and laying himself down, as tenderly as a new bride, rested a while with a very open ear, to mark each breath of his supposed wife. And sometimes he himself would yield a long-fetched sigh, as though that had been a music to draw on another to sleep, till within a very little while, with the other party’s well-counterfeit sleep, who was as willing to be rid of him as he was to be gone thence, assuring himself he left all safe there, in the same order stole out again, and putting on his night gown, with much groping and scrambling he got himself out of the little house, and then did the moonlight serve to guide his feet. Thus, with a great deal of pain, did Basilius go to her whom he fled, and with much cunning left the person for whom he had employed all his cunning. But when Basilius was once gotten, as he thought, into a clear coast, what joy he then made, how each thing seemed vile in his sight, in comparison of his fortune, how far already he deemed himself in the chief towers of his desires, it were tedious to tell: once his heart could not choose but yield this song, as a fairing of his contentment.
Get hence, foul grief, the canker of the mind:Farewell complaint, the miser’s only pleasure.Away vain cares, by which few men do findTheir sought-for treasure.Ye helpless sighs, blow out your breath to nought,Tears drown yourselves, for woe, your cause is wasted;Thought, think to end, too long the fruit of thoughtMy mind hath tasted.But thou, sure hope, tickle my leaping heart:Comfort, step thou in place of wonted sadness,Fore-felt desire, begin to favour partOf coming gladness.Let voice of sighs into clear music run;Eyes, let your tears with gazing now be mended,Instead of thought, true pleasure be begun,And never ended.
Get hence, foul grief, the canker of the mind:
Farewell complaint, the miser’s only pleasure.
Away vain cares, by which few men do find
Their sought-for treasure.
Ye helpless sighs, blow out your breath to nought,
Tears drown yourselves, for woe, your cause is wasted;
Thought, think to end, too long the fruit of thought
My mind hath tasted.
But thou, sure hope, tickle my leaping heart:
Comfort, step thou in place of wonted sadness,
Fore-felt desire, begin to favour part
Of coming gladness.
Let voice of sighs into clear music run;
Eyes, let your tears with gazing now be mended,
Instead of thought, true pleasure be begun,
And never ended.
Thus imagining as then with himself, his joys so held him up, that he never touched ground. And like a right old beaten soldier, that knew well enough the greatest captains do never use long orations, when it comes to the very point of execution, as soon as he was gotten into the cave, to the joyful, though silent, expectation of Gynecia, come close to the bed, never recking his promise to look for nothing but conference, he leaped in that side reserved for a more welcome guest. And laying his loving’st hold upon Gynecia: “O Zelmane,” said he, “embrace in your favour this humble servant of yours: hold within me my heart, which pants to leave his master to come unto you.” In what case poor Gynecia was, when she knew the voice, and felt the body of her husband, fair ladies, it is better to know by imagination than experience. For straight was her mind assaulted, partly with the being deprived of her unquenched desire, but principally with the doubt that Zelmane had betrayed her to her husband, besides the renewed sting of jealousy, what in the meantime might befall her daughter. But of the other side her love with a fixed persuasion she had taught her to seek all reason of hopes. And therein thought best before discovering of herself, to mark the behaviour of her husband; who, both in deeds and words still using her, as taking her to be Zelmane, made Gynecia hope that this might be Basilius’s own enterprise, which Zelmane had not stayed, lest she should discover the matter which might be performed at another time. Which hope accompanied with Basilius’s manner of dealing, he being at that time fuller of livelier fancies than many years before he had been, besides the remembrance of her daughter’s sickness, and late strange countenance betwixt her and Zelmane, all coming together into her mind, which was loth to condemn itself of an utter overthrow, made her frame herself, not truly with a sugared joy, but with a determinate patience to let her husband think he had found a very gentle and supple-minded Zelmane; which he good man making full reckoning of, did melt in as much gladness as she was oppressed with divers ungrateful burdens.
But Pyrocles, who had at this present no more to play the part of Zelmane, having so naturally measured the manner of his breathing, that made no doubt of his sound sleeping, and lain a pretty while with the quiet unquietness to perform his intended enterprise, as soon as by the debate between Basilius’s shins and the unregarding forms, he perceived that he had fully left thelodge: after him went he with his stealing steps, having his sword under his arm, still doubting lest some mischance might turn Basilius back again, down to the gate of the lodge. Which not content to lock fast, he barred and fortified with as many devices, as his wit and haste would suffer him, that so he might have full time both for making ready Philoclea, and conveying her to her horse, before any might come in to find them missing. For further ends of those ends, and what might ensue of this action, his love and courage well-matched never looked after, holding for an assured ground, that “whatsoever in great things will think to prevent all objections must lie still and do nothing.” This determination thus weighed, the first part was thus performed, up to Philoclea’s chamber door when Pyrocles, rapt from himself with the excessive fore-feeling of his, as he assured himself, near-coming contentment. Whatever pains he had taken, what dangers he had run into, and especially those saucy pages of love, doubts, griefs, languishing hopes, and threatening despairs, came all now to his mind, in one rank to beautify his expected blissfulness, and to serve for a most fit sauce, whose sourness might give a kind of life to the delightful cheer his imagination fed upon. All the great estate of his father, all his own glory, seemed unto him but a trifling pomp, whose good stands in other men’s conceit, in comparison of the true comfort he found in the depth of his mind, and the knowledge of any misery that might ensue his joyous adventure, was recked of but as a slight purchase of possessing the top of happiness; for so far were his thoughts passed through all perils, that already he conceived himself safely arrived with his lady at the stately palace of Pella, among the exceeding joys of his father, and infinite congratulations of his friends, giving order for the royal entertaining of Philoclea, and for sumptuous shows and triumphs, against their marriage. In the thought whereof as he found extremity of joy, so well found he that the extremity is not without a certain joyful pain, by extending the heart beyond his wonted limits, and by so forcible a holding all the senses to one object, that it confounds their mutual working, not without a charming kind of ravishing them from the free use of their own function. Thus grieved only with too much gladness, being come to the door which should be the entry to his happiness, he was met with the latter end of a song, which Philoclea like a solitary nightingale, bewailing her guiltless punishment, and helpless misfortune, had newly delivered over, meaning none should be judge of her passion, but her own conscience. The song having been accorded to a sweetly played on lute, contained these verses, which she had lately with some art curiously written, to enwrap her secret and resolute woes.
Virtue1, beauty2, and speech3, did strike1, wound2, charm3,[10]My heart1, eyes2, ears3, with wonder1, love2, delight3:First1, second2, last3, did bind1, enforce2and arm3,His works1, shows2, suits3, with wit1, grace2and vows’3might,Thus honour1, liking2, trust3, much1, far2, and deep3,Held1, pierc’d2, possess’d3, my judgment1, sense2and will3.Till wrong1, contempt2, deceit3did grow1, steal2, creep3,Bands1, favour2, faith3, to break1, defile2and kill3,Then grief1, unkindness2, proof3, took1, kindled2, taught3,Well1-grounded, noble2, due3, spite1, rage2, disdain3But1ah2, alas3! (in vain) my mind1, sight2, thought3,Doth him1, his face2, his words3, leave1, shun2, refrain3,For no thing1, time2, nor place3, can lose1, quench2, ease3,Mine own1, embraced2, sought3, knot1, fire2, disease3.
Virtue1, beauty2, and speech3, did strike1, wound2, charm3,[10]
My heart1, eyes2, ears3, with wonder1, love2, delight3:
First1, second2, last3, did bind1, enforce2and arm3,
His works1, shows2, suits3, with wit1, grace2and vows’3might,
Thus honour1, liking2, trust3, much1, far2, and deep3,
Held1, pierc’d2, possess’d3, my judgment1, sense2and will3.
Till wrong1, contempt2, deceit3did grow1, steal2, creep3,
Bands1, favour2, faith3, to break1, defile2and kill3,
Then grief1, unkindness2, proof3, took1, kindled2, taught3,
Well1-grounded, noble2, due3, spite1, rage2, disdain3
But1ah2, alas3! (in vain) my mind1, sight2, thought3,
Doth him1, his face2, his words3, leave1, shun2, refrain3,
For no thing1, time2, nor place3, can lose1, quench2, ease3,
Mine own1, embraced2, sought3, knot1, fire2, disease3.
The force of love to those poor folk that feel it is many ways very strange, but no way stranger than that it doth so enchain the lover’s judgment upon her that holds the reins of his mind, that whatsoever she doth is ever in his eyes best. And that best, being the continual motion of our changing life, turned by her to any other thing that thing again becometh best. So that nature in each kind suffering but one superlative, the lover only admits no positive. If she sits still, that is best, for so is the conspiracy of her several graces, held best together to make one perfect figure of beauty. If she walk, no doubt that is best, for, besides, the making happy the more places by her steps, the very stirring adds a pleasing life to her native perfections. If she be silent, that without comparison is best, since by that means the untroubled eye most freely may devour the sweetness of his object. But if she speak, he will take it upon his death that is best, the quintessence of each word being distilled down into his affected soul: example of this was well to be seen in the given-over Pyrocles, who with panting breath, and sometimes sighs, not such as sorrow restraining the inward parts doth make them glad to deliver, but such as the impatience of delay, with the unsurety of never so sure hope, iswont to breathe out. Now being at the door, of the one side hearing her voice, which he thought if the philosopher said true of the heavenly seven-sphered harmony, was by her not only represented, but far surmounted, and of the other having his eyes over-filled with her beauty, for the king at his parting had left the chamber open, and she at that time lay, as the heat of that country did well suffer, upon the top of her bed, having her beauties eclipsed with nothing but with a fair smock, wrought all in flames of ash-colour silk and gold lying so upon her right side, that the left thigh down to the foot, yielded his delightful proportion to the full view, which was seen by the help of a rich lamp, which through the curtains a little drawn cast forth a light upon her, as the moon doth when it shines into a thin wood: Pyrocles I say was stopped with the violence of so many darts cast by Cupid altogether upon him, that quite forgetting himself, and thinking therein already he was in the best degree of felicity, he would have lost much of his time, and with too much love omitted the enterprise undertaken for his love, had not Philoclea’s pitiful accusing of him forced him to bring his spirits again to a new bias; for she laying her hand under her fair cheek, upon which there did privily trickle the sweet drops of her delightful, though sorrowful tears, made these words wait upon her moanful song. “And hath that cruel Pyrocles,” said she, “deserved thus much of me, that I should for his sake lift up my voice in my best tunes, and to him continually, with pouring out my plaint, make a disdained oblation? shall my soul still do this honour to his unmerciful tyranny, by my lamenting his loss, to show his worthiness and my weakness? He hears thee not, simple Philoclea, he hears thee not; and if he did, some hearts grow the harder the more they find their advantage. Alas! what a miserable constitution of mind have I! I disdain my fortune, and yet reverence him that disdains me. I accuse his ungratefulness, and have his virtue in admiration. O ye deaf heavens, I would either his injury could blot out mine affection, or my affection could forget his injury.” With that giving a pitiful but sweet shriek, she took again the lute, and began to sing this sonnet, which might serve as an explaining to the other.
The love which is imprinted in my soulWith beauty’s seal, and virtue fair disguis’d,With inward cries puts up a bitter rollOf huge complaints, that now it is despis’d.Thus, thus the more I love, the wrong the moreMonstrous appears, long truth received late,Wrong stirs remorsed Grief, grief’s deadly soreUnkindness breeds, unkindness fostereth hate.But ah, the more I hate, the more I thinkWhom I do hate; the more I think on him,The more his matchless gifts do deeply sinkInto my breast, and loves renewed swim.What medicine then can such disease remove,Where love draws hate, and hate engendereth love?
The love which is imprinted in my soul
With beauty’s seal, and virtue fair disguis’d,
With inward cries puts up a bitter roll
Of huge complaints, that now it is despis’d.
Thus, thus the more I love, the wrong the more
Monstrous appears, long truth received late,
Wrong stirs remorsed Grief, grief’s deadly sore
Unkindness breeds, unkindness fostereth hate.
But ah, the more I hate, the more I think
Whom I do hate; the more I think on him,
The more his matchless gifts do deeply sink
Into my breast, and loves renewed swim.
What medicine then can such disease remove,
Where love draws hate, and hate engendereth love?
But Pyrocles, that had heard his name accused and condemned by the mouth, which of all the world, and more than all the world, he most loved, had then cause enough to call his mind to his home, and with the most haste he could, for true love fears the accident of an instant, to match the excusing of his fault, with declaration of his errand thither. And therefore blown up and down with as many contrary passions as Aeolus sent out winds upon the Trojan relics guided upon the sea by the valiant Aeneas, he went into her chamber with such a pace as reverend fear doth teach, where kneeling down, and having prepared a long discourse for her, his eyes were so filled with her sight, that as if they would have robbed all their fellows of their services, both his heart fainted, and his tongue failed in such sort that he could not bring forth one word, but referred her understanding to his eyes’ language. But she in extremity amazed to see him there, at so undue a season, and ashamed that her beautiful body made so naked a prospect, drawing in her delicate limbs into the weak guard of the bed, and presenting in her face to him such a kind of pitiful anger, as might show this was only a fault; therefore, because she had a former grudge unto him, turning away her face from him, she thus said unto him:
“O Zelmane or Pyrocles, for whether name I use, it much skills not, since by the one I was first deceived, and by the other now betrayed, what strange motion is the guide of thy cruel mind hither? Dost thou not think the day-torments thou hast given me sufficient, but that thou dost envy me the night’s quiet? Wilt thou give my sorrows no truce, but by making me see before mine eyes how much I have lost, offer me due cause of confirming my plaint? or is thy heart so full of rancour that thou dost desire to feed thine eyes with the wretched spectacle of thine overthrown enemy, and so to satisfy the full measure of thy undeserved rage with the receiving into thy sight the unrelievable ruins of my desolate life! O Pyrocles, Pyrocles, for thy own virtue’s sake, let miseries be no music unto thee, and be content to take to thyself some colour of excuse, that thou didst not know to what extremity thy inconstancy, or rather falsehood hath brought me.”
Pyrocles, to whom every syllable she pronounced was a thunderbolt to his heart, equally distracted betwixt amazement and sorrow, abashed to see such a stop of his desires, grievedwith her pain, but tormented to find himself the author of it, with quaking lips, and pale cheer, “Alas! divine lady,” said he, “your displeasure is so contrary to my desert, and your words so far beyond all expectations that I have least ability now I have most need to speak in the cause upon which my life dependeth. For my troth is so undoubtedly constant unto you, my heart is so assured a witness to itself, of his unspotted faith, that having no one thing in me, whereout any such sacrilege might arise; I have likewise nothing in so direct a thing to say for myself, but sincere and vehement protestations; for in truth there may most words be spent, where there is some probability to breed of both sides conjectural allegations. But so perfect a thing as my love is of you, as it suffers no question, so it seems to receive injury by any addition of any words unto it. If my soul could have been polluted with treachery it would likewise have provided for itself due furniture of colourable answers, but as it stood upon the naked conscience of his untouched duty, so I must confess it is altogether unarmed against so unjust a violence as you lay upon me. Alas! let not the pains I have taken to serve you, be now accounted injurious unto you, let not the dangerous cunning I have used to please you, be deemed a treason against you: since I have deceived them whom you fear for your sake, do not you destroy me for their sake; what can I without you further do? or to what more forwardness can any counsel bring our desired happiness? I have provided whatsoever is needful for our going, I have rid them both out of the lodge, so that there is none here to be hinderers or knowers of our departure, but only the almighty powers, whom I invoke as triers of mine innocency, and witnesses of my well-meaning. And if ever my thoughts did receive so much as a fainting in their affections, if they have not continually with more and more ardour from time to time pursued the possession of your sweetest favour, if ever in that possession they received either spot or falsehood, then let their most horrible plagues fall upon me, let mine eyes be deprived of the light, which did abase the heavenly beams that struck them, let my falsified tongue serve to no use but to bemoan mine own wretchedness, let my heart impoisoned with detestable treason, be the seat of infernal sorrow, let my soul with the endless anguish of his conscience become his own tormentor.” “O false mankind!” cried out the sweet Philoclea. “How can an imposthumed heart but yield forth evil matter by his mouth? are oaths there to be believed, where vows are broken? No, no, who doth wound the eternal justice of the gods, cares little for abusing their names, and who in doing wickedly doth not fear due recompensing plagues, doth little fear that invoking of plagues will make them comeever a whit the sooner. But alas! what aileth this new conversation, have you yet another sleight to pay, or do you think to deceive me in Pyrocles’s form, as you have done in Zelmane’s: or rather, now you have betrayed me in both, is some third sex left you, to transform yourself into, to inveigle my simplicity? enjoy, enjoy the conquest you have already won: and assure yourself you are to come to the farthest point of your cunning. For my part, unkind Pyrocles, my only defence shall be belief of nothing, my comfort my faithful innocency, and the punishment I desire of you, shall be your own conscience.”
Philoclea’s hard persevering in this unjust condemnation of him, did so overthrow all the might of Pyrocles’s mind, who saw that time would not serve to prove by deeds, and that the better words he used, the more they were suspected of deceitful cunning. That void of all counsel, and deprived of all comfort, finding best deserts punished, and nearest hopes prevented, he did abandon the succour of himself, and suffered grief so to close his heart, that his breath failing him with a dreadful shutting of his eyes, he fell down at her bedside. Having had time to say no more but, “oh! whom dost thou kill Philoclea?” she that little looked for such an extreme event of her doings, started out of her bed, like Venus rising from her mother the sea, not so much stricken down with amazement and grief of her fault, as lifted up with the force of love, and desire to help, she laid her fair body over his breast, and throwing no other water in his face, but the stream of her tears, not giving him other blows, but the kissing of her well-formed mouth, her only cries were these lamentations: “O unfortunate suspicion,” said she, “the very mean to lose what we most suspect to lose. O unkind kindness of mine, which returns an imagined wrong with an effectual injury. O fool to make quarrel my supplication, or to use hate as the mediator of love: childish Philoclea, hast thou thrown away the jewel wherein all thy pride consisted? Hast thou with too much haste over-run thyself?” Then would she renew her kisses, and yet not finding the life return, redouble her plaints in this manner. “O divine soul,” said she, “whose virtue can possess no less than the highest place in heaven, if for mine eternal plague thou hast utterly left this most sweet mansion, before I follow thee with Thisbe’s punishment for my rash unweariness, hear this protestation of mine: that as the wrong I have done thee proceeded of a most sincere, but unresistable affection, so led with this pitiful example, it shall end in the mortal hate of myself, and, if it may be, I will make my soul a tomb of thy memory.” At that word with anguish of mind and weakness of body increased one by the other, and both augmented by this fearful accident, she had fallen down in a swoon, but that Pyrocles,then first severing his eyelids and quickly apprehending her danger, to him more than death, beyond all powers striving to recover the commandment of all his powers, stayed her from falling, and then lifting the sweet burden of her body in his arms, laid her again in her bed. So that she, but then the physician, was now become the patient, and he to whom her weakness had been serviceable, was now enforced to do service to her weakness, which performed by him with that hearty care which the most careful love on the best loved subject in greatest extremity could employ, prevailed so far, that ere long she was able, though in strength exceedingly dejected, to call home her wandering senses, to yield attention to that her beloved Pyrocles had to deliver. But he lying down on the bed by her, holding her hand in his, with so kind an accusing her of unkindness, as in accusing her he condemned himself, began from point to point to discover unto her all that had passed between his loathed lovers and him. How he had entertained, and by entertaining deceived, both Basilius and Gynecia; and that with such a kind of deceit, as either might see the cause in the other, but neither espy the effect in themselves. That all his favours to them had tended only to make them strangers to this his action; and all his strangeness to her, to the final obtaining of her long promised, and now to be performed favour. Which device seeing it had so well succeeded to the removing all other hindrances, that only her resolution remained for the taking their happy journey, he conjured her by all the love she had ever borne him, she would make no longer delay to partake with him whatsoever honours the noble king of Macedon, and all other Euarchus’s dominions might yield him, especially since in this enterprise he had now waded so far, as he could not possibly retire himself back, without being overwhelmed with danger and dishonour: he needed not have used further persuasion: for that only conjuration had so forcibly bound all her spirits that could her body have seconded her mind, or her mind have strengthened her body, without respect of any worldly thing, but only fear to be again unkind to Pyrocles, she had condescended to go with him. But raising herself a little in her bed, and finding her own inability in any sort to endure the air: “My Pyrocles,” said she, with tearful eyes and a pitiful countenance, such as well witnessed she had no will to deny anything, she had power to perform, “if you can convey me hence in such plight as you see me, I am most willing to make my extremest danger a testimony, that I esteem no danger in regard of your virtuous satisfaction.” But she fainted so fast that she was not able to utter the rest of her conceived speech; which also turned Pyrocles’s thoughts from expecting further answer, to the necessary care of reviving her, inwhose fainting, himself was more than overthrown. And that having affected with all the sweet means his wits could devise, though his highest hopes were by this unexpected downfall sunk deeper than any degree of despair: yet lest the appearance of his inward grief might occasion her further discomfort, having wracked his face to a more comfortable semblance, he sought some show of reason, to show she had no reason, either for him, or for herself to be afflicted. Which in the sweet-minded Philoclea, whose consideration was limited by his words, and whose conceit pierced no deeper than his outward countenance, wrought within a while such quietness of mind, and that quietness again such repose of body, that sleep by his harbinger’s weakness, weariness, and watchfulness, had quickly taken up his lodging in all her senses. Then indeed had Pyrocles leisure to sit in judgment on himself, and to hear his reason accuse his rashness, who, without forecast of doubt, without knowledge of his friend, without acquainting Philoclea with his purpose, or being made acquainted with her present estate, had fallen headlong into that attempt, the success whereof he had long since set down to himself as the measure of all his other fortunes. But calling to mind how weakly they do, that rather find fault with what cannot be mended than seek to amend wherein they have been faulty: he soon turned him from remembering what might have been done, to considering what was now to be done, and when that consideration failed, what was now to be expected. Wherein having run over all the thoughts, his reason, called to the strictest accounts, could bring before him, at length he lighted on this. That as long as Gynecia betrayed not the matter, which he thought she would not do, as well for her own honour and safety, as for the hope she might still have of him, which is loth to die in a lover’s heart, all the rest might turn to a pretty merriment, and inflame his lover Basilius, again to cast about for the missed favour. And as naturally the heart stuffed up with woefulness, is glad greedily to suck the thinnest air of comfort, so did he at first embrace this conceit, as offering great hope, if not assurance of well-doing, till looking more nearly into it, and not able to answer the doubts and difficulties he saw therein more and more arising, the night being also far spent, his thoughts even weary of his own burdens, fell to a straying kind of uncertainty; and his mind standing only upon the nature of inward intelligences, left his body to give a sleeping respite to his vital spirits, which he according to the quality of sorrow received with greater greediness than ever in his life before: according to the nature of sorrow, I say, which is past care’s remedy; for care stirring the brains, and making thin the spirits, breaketh rest: but those griefs wherein one is determined there is no preventing,do breed a dull heaviness which easily clothes itself in sleep, so as laid down so near, the beauty of the word, Philoclea, that their necks were subjects each to other’s chaste embracements, it seemed love had come thither to lay a plot in that picture of death, how gladly, if death came, their souls would go together.