>
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 MRS APHRA BEHN
 
 LIBRARY OF EARLY NOVELISTS. 
 Edited by E. A. BAKER, M.A., LittD. 
 
 Each with an Introduction by the Editor, or other Specialist. 
 Large cr. 8vo. Buckram. Gilt top. 
 
 Amory: Life and Opinions of 
 John Buncle, Esquire. Intro- 
 duction by E. A. Baker, M.A. 
 
 Behn, Mrs. Aphra : Novels and 
 Novelettes. Introduction by 
 E. A. Baker, M.A. 
 
 Boccaccio : The Decameron. 
 Translated by J. M. Rigg. 
 With J. A, Symonds 1 Essay on 
 Boccaccio. 
 
 Brooke: The Fool of Quality. 
 With a new life of the author 
 bj E. A. Baker, M.A. 
 
 Chrysal ; or, The Adventures of 
 a Guinea. Introduction by 
 E. A. Baker, M.A. 
 
 Defoe : Moll Flanders, and 
 Roxana. Edited by E. A. 
 Baker. M.A. 
 
 Gesta Romanorum ; Entertaining 
 Moral Stories Invented by the 
 
 Monks. Translated, with In- 
 troduction and Notes, by Rev. 
 
 Charles Swan. Introduction 
 
 by E. A. Baker. 
 Lewis : The Monk. Edited by 
 
 E. A. Baker. 
 Queen of Navarre : The Hepta- 
 
 meron. Translated by Arthur 
 
 Machen. 
 Sidney (Sir Philip) : Arcadia. 
 
 Introduction by E. A. Baker, 
 
 M.A. 
 Swift : Gulliver's Travels, and 
 
 other Writings. From the First 
 
 Editions. With a note on the 
 
 name ' Gulliver ' by J. P. Gilson. 
 Thorns, W. J. : Early English 
 
 Prose Romances. Introduction 
 
 by E. A. Baker, M.A. 
 Wieland : Don Silvio de Rosalva. 
 
 Introduction by E. A. Baker, 
 
 M.A. 
 
 Picaresque Section. 
 Edited by H. WARNER ALLEN, M.A. (Oxon.). 
 
 Celestina, also Callisto and Meliboea, with Introduction on the Pica- 
 resque Novel, by the Editor. 
 Adventures of Gil Bias, with an Introduction by William M. Fullerton. 
 
 Otkert in f reparation.
 
 THE NOVELS OF 
 MRS APHRA BEHN 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 ERNEST A. BAKER, M.A. 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LIMITED 
 
 NEW YORK: E. P. BUTTON & CO. 
 1913

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION . ^ , ; # . . vii 
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE . . . . i 
 
 THE FAIR JILT , . -'-. ", . 83 
 
 THE NUN . . ' * . 137 
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO j ... 159 
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH , T:> . 203 
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH . . '.; . 271 
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS TO DRESS HERSELF BY 285 
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE * *:* . * . 303 
 
 THE COURT OF THE KING OF BANTAM : v . 351 
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK LADY _, . . 373
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 To most people nowadays the name of Aphra Behn conveys 
 nothing more intelligible than certain vague associations 
 of license and impropriety. She is dimly remembered as 
 the author of plays and novels, now unread, that embodied 
 the immorality of Restoration times, and were all the more 
 scandalous in that they were written by a woman. Her 
 works are to be found in few libraries, and are rarely met 
 with at the booksellers'. Although they were republished 
 in an expensive form and in a limited edition in 1871, they 
 have now been many years out of print. Nor is this much 
 to be regretted. Her novels are worth reprinting now and 
 again, not because they are more clever, but because they 
 are less offensive to modern taste than her comedies ; 
 and in addition to their intrinsic merits, they have an 
 interest for the student of literature. But a general reprint 
 of the plays would hardly be justified, at least, in anything 
 like a cheap and popular form. This is a case where, for 
 many reasons, it is best to have one's reading done by proxy. 
 
 The obstacles which she herself has set to our apprecia- 
 tion have done her an injustice. In dismissing her merely 
 as a purveyor of scandalous amusement in a profligate age, 
 we are apt to give her none of the credit due to a long 
 career of arduous work and of persevering struggle against 
 adverse circumstances. Mrs. Behn was not only the first 
 Englishwoman who became a novelist and a playwright, 
 but the first of all those numerous women who have earned 
 their livelihood by their pens. 
 
 We can form a better idea of the once popular Astrea 
 from her works than from the scanty memorials that have 
 come down to us ; more is known of her personal character
 
 vitf NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BERN 
 
 than about the events of her life. The so-called History 
 of the Life and Memoirs of Mrs. Aphra Behn, written by one 
 of the Fair Sex, and prefixed to the collection of her 
 histories and novels published in 1735, is rather of the 
 nature of a eulogium and of a vindication from certain 
 aspersions on her conduct and originality than of any 
 biographical value. The admiring writer, although she 
 describes herself as an intimate friend, seems to have 
 known less about her subject than the average journalist 
 who is called upon to produce an obituary notice in a 
 hurry, and to have pressed into her service a great deal 
 of gossip, with letters, presumably written by Mrs. Behn, 
 but undated, recounting tender episodes from Astrea's own 
 history and that of her acquaintances, which read more like 
 studies for her novels than authentic epistles. Astrea, 
 probably, whilst she affected to pour out the secrets of her 
 heart into the bosom of her friend, preferred to wrap the 
 actual incidents of her life in romantic obscurity. Thus we 
 are told that "She was a gentlewoman by birth, of a good 
 family in the city of Canterbury in Kent; her father's 
 name was Johnson, whose relation to the Lord Willoughby 
 drew him for the advantageous post of Lieutenant-General 
 of many isles, besides the continent of Surinam, from his 
 quiet retreat at Canterbury, to run the hazardous voyage 
 of the West-Indies. With him he took his chief riches, his 
 wife and children, and in that number, Afra, his promising 
 darling, our future heroine, and admired Astrea, who even 
 in the first bud of infancy discovered such early hopes 
 of her riper years, that she was equally her parents' joy and 
 fears." But the recent discovery of Aphra's baptismal 
 register has shown that she was born at Wye, and that her 
 father was a barber ; and, furthermore, whoever the friend 
 or relative was with whom she went to Surinam, there is 
 little reason to believe that he was her father. However 
 that may be, this protector died on the voyage out ; whilst 
 the family did not return forthwith, but settled at St. John's 
 Hill, the best house in Surinam a house described very 
 seductively in the pages of Oroonoko. Here befell the 
 chapter of tragic events afterwards related, with a certain 
 amount of idealisation, in the story of that famous negro 
 prince. "One of the fair sex" makes it her business to 
 defend Astrea from the scandalous gossip that arose about
 
 INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 her friendship for Oroonoko quite an unnecessary task. 
 When the colony was ceded to the Dutch, Aphra, an 
 attractive girl of eighteen, returned to England. As a 
 matter of fact, this was before the Restoration, but her fair 
 biographer states that she gave Charles II. "so pleasant 
 and rational an account of his affairs there, and particularly 
 of the misfortunes of Oroonoko, that he desired her to 
 deliver them publicly to the world, and was satisfied of her 
 abilities in the management of business, and the fidelity 
 of our heroine to his interest." It was most likely through 
 her marriage, later on, to Mr. Behn, a Dutchman who had 
 become a wealthy merchant of the city of London, that 
 she gained admittance to the Court. By the year 1666 he 
 was dead, and Astrea was sent by the Government as a 
 secret agent to the Low Countries, which were then at war 
 with England. 
 
 Her memoirist gives a flowery account of her love adven- 
 tures in Antwerp, with the letters of one of her suitors, 
 Van Bruin who was about twice the age and bulk of a 
 more favoured lover, Van der Albert and Astrea's replies. 
 The episode and the letters, as they are given us, are 
 like the burlesque of some tale of high-flown sentiment. 
 " Most Transcendent Charmer," writes that elephantine 
 euphuist, Van Bruin, " I have strove often to tell you the 
 tempests of my heart, and with my own mouth scale the 
 walls of your affections; but terrified with the strength 
 of your fortifications, I concluded to make more regular 
 approaches, and first attack you at a farther distance, and 
 try first what a bombardment of letters would do ; whether 
 these carcasses of love, thrown into the sconces of your 
 eyes, would break into the midst of your breast, beat down 
 the court of guard of your aversion, and blow up the 
 magazine of your cruelty, that you might be brought to 
 a capitulation, and yield upon reasonable terms." This 
 warlike language, perhaps, derives some appropriateness 
 from the fact that the bulky Dutchman was addressing one 
 of his country's foes. But Van Bruin was at no loss for 
 metaphors, and he goes on to compare his inamorata, some- 
 what indelicately, with a ship, in a style that reminds one 
 of a facetious dialogue in Sam Slick, clinching the simile 
 with a rhetorical appeal : " Is it not a pity that so spruce 
 a ship should be unmanned, should lie in the harbour for
 
 x NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN 
 
 want of her crew?" Though she had the cruelty to 
 encourage this " Most Magnificent Hero," as she addresses 
 him in her reply, by answering him in the same rhapsodical 
 vein, Mrs. Behn eventually dismissed him, and turned her 
 attention to Albert. What follows is too like an incident 
 repeatedly utilised in her comedies, and taxes credulity to 
 the utmost. Albert, as wicked a young man as any of her 
 favourite heroes, Willmore, Wilding, or the Rover, is already 
 married, but has deserted his bride on the wedding day. 
 To punish him Mrs. Behn contrives, like Isabella in 
 Measure for Measure, to put the forsaken wife in her place, 
 but, unfortunately, without succeeding in re-tying the mar- 
 riage knot Albert's subsequent stratagem for retaliating 
 the affront in kind upon Astrea, is discomfited in a farcical 
 manner by the substitution of a young gallant for the 
 heroine. 
 
 The end of it was that Mrs. Behn promised to marry 
 Albert, but before the union could be consummated he 
 died ; and soon after she returned to England, all but losing 
 her life by shipwreck on the way. Her services as a spy 
 had met with a severe snub from the Government. Through 
 Van der Albert she had obtained early information of 
 De Witt's intended raid upon the Thames. Though she 
 sent instant intelligence of this to London, her warning was 
 treated with ridicule ; the Dutch fleet sailed, and she had 
 the painful satisfaction of seeing her accuracy verified by 
 the misfortunes of her country. She seems to have received 
 no reward from the Government, and having been left by 
 her husband without means, she now found herself obliged 
 to write for a living. Henceforward tragedies, comedies, 
 novels, and poems came in rapid succession from her pen. 
 No literary task came amiss to her : she translated Van 
 Dale's Latin History of Oracles, La Rochefoucauld's Maxims, 
 and Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds, prefixing to the last an 
 able essay on translated prose. She collaborated in an 
 English translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles in 1683 ; and 
 few occasions of public rejoicing passed uncelebrated by an 
 ode from Astrea. The brief memoir already quoted con- 
 tains a series of perfervid letters, signed Astrea, to one 
 Lycidas, who appears to have treated her advances with 
 indifference. Doubtless, her life was as free and uncon- 
 ventional for the seventeenth century as that of certain
 
 INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 emancipated women of letters was for the nineteenth ; but 
 we must not suppose her own conduct was as irregular as 
 the life depicted in her comedies. Let the warm affection 
 of her friend speak once more as to her personal character: 
 
 She was of a generous and open temper, something passion- 
 ate, very serviceable to her friends in all that was in her power ; 
 and could sooner forgive an injury than do one. She was mistress 
 of all the pleasing arts of conversation, but used 'em not to 
 any but those who love plain-dealing. She was a woman of 
 sense, and by consequence a lover of pleasure, as indeed all, 
 both men and women, are ; but only some would be thought to 
 be above the conditions of humanity, and place their chief 
 pleasure in a proud vain hypocrisy. For my part, I knew her 
 intimately, and never saw aught unbecoming the just modesty 
 of our sex, tho' more gay and free than the folly of the precise 
 will allow. She was, I'm satisfied, a greater honour to our sex 
 than all the canting tribe of dissemblers that die with the false 
 reputation of saints. 
 
 She died on the i6th of April, 1689, and was buried in 
 Westminster Abbey, the marble slab that covered her being 
 inscribed with " two wretched verses," made, so her friend 
 relates, " by a very ingenious gentleman, tho' no poet 
 the very person whom the envious of our sex, and the 
 malicious of the other, would needs have the author of 
 most of hers." The person referred to is the playwright, 
 Edward Ravenscroft, with whom she was on very intimate 
 terms. There is no reason to believe that he was the author 
 or part-author of any of her works, although he wrote a 
 number of her epilogues. 
 
 It is usual to add a piquancy to reminiscences of ladies 
 who write by giving particulars as to their earnings. All 
 that we may be sure of in the case of Mrs. Aphra Behn is 
 that she must have obtained a good deal more by her plays 
 than by her novels. In her collected works, the latter are 
 scarcely able to fill out two volumes of large print ; whereas 
 the former occupy four thick and closely printed volumes, 
 even with the omission of one or two inferior productions. 
 Then, as now, there was a huge disproportion between the 
 profits of fiction and of writing for the stage. Astrea's first 
 attempt was a tragedy, written partly in rhyme and partly in 
 prose, and entitled The Young King ; or, the Mistake. It 
 was adapted from a romance by La Calprenede. The scene
 
 xii NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN 
 
 is Dacia ; the Dacians and the Scythians are at war ; and the 
 dramatis personce consist of the hostile princes and their 
 soldiers, with a crowd of shepherds and shepherdesses. 
 No further description is necessary. The play failed to 
 obtain either a manager or a publisher. Her next effort 
 was more fortunate. This was The Forced Marriage ; or, 
 the Jealous Bridegroom, a tragi-comedy in blank verse, 
 which was produced at the Duke's Theatre in 1671. Better- 
 ton and his wife took the part of the two lovers, and young 
 Otway, a boy from college, appeared on the boards for the 
 first and only time as the king. I need say no more about 
 this work than that the scene is laid " within the Court of 
 France," and the characters bear such names as Alcippus, 
 Orgulius, Cleontius, Galatea. A very gross and immoral 
 comedy, The Amorous Prince^ was brought out the same 
 year at the Duke's Theatre, and afterwards published. 
 
 An equally objectionable play, The Dutch Lover, was 
 published in 1673. Here, though she drew upon her Dutch 
 experiences in depicting the boorish Haunce van Ezel, a 
 sort of gasconading Van Bruin, there is not much advance 
 in realism. The plot is a series of errors of identity, blunders 
 in the dark, mistaken relationships, with the ensuing compli- 
 cations. We have a man in love with his supposed sister, 
 and engaged in mortal combat with his alleged brother ; 
 a gallant colonel impersonating the Dutch fop, in order to 
 secure a bride with whom he falls in love by accident; stage 
 tears, and conventional passion to excess. But if the incidents 
 are far-fetched, they are brought about with exemplary skill. 
 In spite of its intricacy, the plot is clearly developed ; the 
 dialogue is smooth and tripping, always lively, and some- 
 times witty. The play has, at all events, one excellence 
 that of workmanship. The blank verse, however, and the 
 serious passages generally, are the most arrant bombast. 
 
 The next play was all in blank verse. Abdelazar ; or, the 
 Moor's Revenge, which was played at the Duke's Theatre in 
 1676, is an adaptation of the old tragedy, Lusfs Dominion, 
 erroneously ascribed to Marlowe ; it reads like a travesty of 
 Macbeth, ambition, however, playing in the long run a 
 secondary part to sexual passion, as might be expected in 
 a drama by Mrs. Behn. The usurper who murders his 
 trusting sovereign, and puts to death all who oppose his 
 way to the throne, is the Moorish chieftain, Abdelazar ; and
 
 INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 the woman who assists at his career of crime, and hopes to 
 reign by his side, is the wife of the betrayed king. She 
 helps on the death of her husband to pave the way for her 
 paramour, and then by coquetting with another lover 
 paralyses the opposition to Abdelazar. He meanwhile 
 makes a handle of the new king's passion for his own wife, 
 whom he loves, but sacrifices without a scruple to ambition. 
 His rivals are overthrown, the crown of Spain is in his 
 grasp, the infamous queen is no longer of use as an instru- 
 ment of his villainy. He murders her. But, according to 
 the ideas of Mrs. Behn and her public, what swayed most 
 potently the greatest saint and the greatest sinner was sexual 
 passion. The ferocious Abdelazar, who has slaughtered 
 friend and foe without a qualm, now gives way to a fatal 
 madness for the daughter of the royal house, throws the 
 crown into her lap, and becomes the prey of his enemies. 
 
 This is a theme worthy of the early unchastened Eliza- 
 bethans, Marlowe, Nash, and Kyd, who preceded Shake- 
 speare, or of the school of Dryden, who succeeded him; 
 it is what the age considered a pre-eminently tragic theme. 
 As Mrs. Behn treated it, Abdelazar is merely rant and 
 melodrama, masquerading as tragedy. Yet there are 
 echoes of Elizabethan poetry in the distichs at the end of 
 the scenes; and some of the lyrics are pure in feeling. 
 Let me quote two, the second of them a favourite of Mr. 
 Swinburne's, who justly styles it "that melodious and 
 magnificent song." 
 
 I 
 
 Make haste, Amyntas, come away, 
 The sun is up and will not stay ; 
 And oh ! how very short's a lover's day ! 
 Make haste, Amyntas, to this grove, 
 Beneath whose shade so oft I've sat, 
 And heard my dear lov'd swain repeat 
 How much he Galatea lov'd ; 
 Whilst all the list'ning birds around, 
 Sung to the music of the blessed sound. 
 Make haste, Amyntas, come away, 
 The sun is up and will not stay ; 
 And oh ! how very short's a lover's day !
 
 xiv NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN 
 II 
 
 Love in fantastic triumph sat, 
 
 Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, 
 For whom fresh pains he did create, 
 
 And strange tyrannic power he showed ; 
 From thy bright eyes he took his fires, 
 
 Which round about in sport he hurl'd ; 
 But 'twas from mine he took desires, 
 
 Enough t' undo the amorous world. 
 
 From me he took his sighs and tears, 
 
 From thee his pride and cruelty ; 
 From me his languishments and fears, 
 
 And every killing dart from thee ; 
 Thus thou and I the god have arm'd, 
 
 And set him up a deity ; 
 But my poor heart alone is harm'd, 
 
 Whilst thine the victor is, and free. 
 
 'Often in reading Abdelazar one seems to recognise a 
 suggestion from Shakespeare used or misused, travestied, 
 yet not deprived entirely of dramatic force. Edmund, in 
 King Lear, is brought to mind when we read : 
 
 Abd. So I thank thee, Nature, that in making me 
 Thou did'st design me villain, 
 Hitting each faculty for active mischief: 
 Thou skilful artist, thank thee for my face, 
 It will discover nought that's hid within. 
 Thus arm'd for ills, 
 
 Darkness and Horror, I invoke your aid ; 
 And thou dread Night, shade all your busy stars 
 In blackest clouds, 
 
 And let my dagger's brightness only serve 
 To guide me to the mark, and guide it so, 
 It may undo a kingdom at one blow. 
 
 Abdelazar's speech before the king's murder, on the other 
 hand, is a crude parody of the famous prelude to Duncan's 
 murder. 
 
 'Tis now dead time of night, when rapes, and murders 
 Are hid beneath the horrid veil of darkness 
 I'll ring through all the court, with doleful sound, 
 The sad alarms of murder Murder Zarrack 
 Take up thy standing yonder Osmin, thou 
 At the queen's apartment cry out Murder 
 Whilst I, like his ill genius, do awake the king ; 
 Perhaps in this disorder I may kill him.
 
 INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 But we get bombast surpassing this as we approach the 
 climax. 
 
 Prince Philip and the Cardinal now ride 
 
 Like Jove in thunder ; we in storms must meet them. 
 
 To arms ! to arms ! and then to victory, 
 
 Resolv'd to conquer, or resolv'd to die. 
 
 This grandiloquence subsides into the most astounding 
 bathos. 
 
 Sebast. Advance, advance, my lord, with all your force, 
 Or else the prince and victory is lost, 
 Which now depends upon his single valour ; 
 Who, like some ancient hero, or some god, 
 Thunders amongst the thickest of his enemies, 
 Destroying all before him in such numbers, 
 That piles of dead obstruct his passage to the living 
 Relieve him straight, my lord, with our last cavalry and hopes. 
 
 Perhaps in this case, the faulty scansion and doubtful 
 grammar are evidence of a corrupt text. Here is a senti- 
 mental passage, a description of night, intended to be 
 poetical. 
 
 Queen. Let all the chambers too be filled with lights : 
 There's a solemnity, methinks, in night, 
 That does insinuate love into the soul, 
 And makes the bashful lover more assured. 
 
 Elvira. Madam, 
 You speak as if this were your first enjoyment. 
 
 Queen. My first ! Oh, Elvira, his powers, like his charms, 
 His wit, or bravery, every hour renews ; 
 Love gathers sweets like flowers, which grow more fragrant 
 The nearer they approach maturity. [Knock. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis my Moor, give him admittance straight. 
 The thought comes o'er me like a gentle gale, 
 Raising my blood into a thousand curls. 
 
 There are ranting passages, too long to quote, that merit 
 the ridicule cast upon the Drydenian drama in Chrononho- 
 tonthologos, with its inimitable 
 
 Bom. A blow ! Shall Bombardinian take a blow ? 
 Blush blush, thou sun ! start back, thou rapid ocean ! 
 Hills ! vales ! seas ! mountains ! all commixing, crumble, 
 And into chaos pulverise the world ! 
 For Bombardinian has received a blow, 
 And Chrononhotonthoiogos shall die !
 
 xvi NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BERN 
 
 In her next play, The Rover, Mrs. Behn left these crude 
 heroics for what was to be her most prolific comedy vein. 
 It appeared anonymously, and was so successful that she 
 followed it up immediately with another anonymous play, 
 The Debauchee, which has been described as the worst and 
 least original of all her dramatic works. The Rover was 
 produced in 1677, and held the stage the longest of any of 
 her plays. In 1681 she brought out a second part, changing 
 the scene from Naples to Madrid ; otherwise the sequel is 
 almost a replica of the first. 
 
 What helped to make The Rover so popular was the sub- 
 ject. As she said in the Epilogue 
 
 The banished Cavaliers ! a roving blade ! 
 A Popish carnival ! a masquerade ! 
 The devil's in't if this will please the nation, 
 In these our blessed times of reformation, 
 When conventicling is so much in fashion, 
 And yet 
 
 Her argument is in the aposiopesis. This was the year 
 before Titus Gates denounced the alleged Popish Plot; 
 Shaftesbury was in opposition, the champion of Noncon- 
 formity, the idol of the populace, and the bugbear of the 
 Court party, who believed him to be fomenting heresy and 
 sedition. A year or two later, Mrs. Behn was to caricature 
 him at full length in The City Heiress; or, Sir Timothy Treat- 
 all. In The Rover, she was making the same political 
 appeal to the party prejudices of the Tories. Almighty 
 rabble, says the Prologue to the second part, " 'tis to you 
 this day our humble author dedicates the play." 
 
 A band of exiled Royalists are engaged in the chase 
 of pleasure in a foreign capital. The most reckless and 
 dissipated of the merry crew is Willmore, the Rover, one 
 of those swaggering inconstants whom, according to Mrs. 
 Behn, no woman can resist. A certain lady, nevertheless, 
 observes, " I should as soon be enamoured on the north 
 wind, a tempest, or a clap of thunder. Bless me from such 
 a blast." The most prominent female character in each of 
 the two plays bearing the name of " The Rover " is set 
 down in the bill as " a famous curtezan ' ; so the indescrib- 
 able nature of the incidents may be imagined. Willmore 
 was born to dash the matrimonial schemes of soberer men ;
 
 INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 he cuts the knot of all the intrigues, licit or illicit ; he is 
 the impersonation of Astrea's code of sexual morality, of 
 which the two most salient definitions are summed up as 
 follows : 
 
 " Conscience : a cheap pretence to cozen fools withal " 
 " Constancy, that current coin for fools." 
 
 The dialogue is always full of life and vigour, often spark- 
 ling with wit, never quotable ; and it is the same with the 
 highly diverting scenes of both these plays. One marvels 
 at the state of society when such impudent things could be 
 put on the stage, and an audience applaud them. 
 
 In Sir Patient fancy ; Mrs. Behn borrowed her plot from 
 Moliere's Malade Imaginaire. It is one of the most viva- 
 cious of her plays, and the most completely devoid of moral 
 feeling. The valetudinarian is a rich old alderman, married 
 to a beautiful young wife, who has a gallant. His sus- 
 picions being awakened, the jealous old man is persuaded, 
 on what must be confessed very inadequate evidence, that 
 VVittmore, the gallant, is really a suitor for his daughter. 
 But the daughter has a lover already whom he dislikes, and 
 so we have two intrigues going on with divers others, be 
 it understood the lover and the gallant both in seeming 
 rivalry courting the daughter of the house, whilst VVittmore 
 and Lady Fancy are scheming to outwit the doubly deluded 
 husband. The usual complications are provided in the 
 usual way. There is a double assignation in the dark ; the 
 gallant is mistaken for the lover, and the lover for the 
 gallant ; and at the critical moment Sir Patient appears on 
 the scene. Lady Fancy is one of the shameless and abso- 
 lutely unscrupulous women Astrea loved to portray. She 
 carries off the situation with unabashed address, continues 
 to hoodwink her spouse, until, by a combination of acci- 
 dents, her perfidy is revealed. But all the characters are 
 so entirely absorbed in self that there is no bias in the 
 reader's mind in favour either of the hypochondriacal knight 
 the clever unfaithful wife, or the honest lovers; and the con 
 fusion of the intriguers gives real satisfaction to nobody. 
 
 Betterton took the part of Wittmore, and Mrs. Gwyn 
 that of the affected learned woman Lady Knowell, who 
 must have been a very comic figure on the stage, well acted. 
 She is one of those who think there is no learning but what
 
 xviii NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN 
 
 is comprised in the tongues of antiquity : she is a Mrs. 
 Malaprop in Latin. 
 
 O faugh ! Mr. Fancy, what have you said, mother tongue ! 
 Can anything that's great or moving be expressed in filthy 
 English ? I'll give you an energetic proof, Mr. Fancy ; observe 
 but divine Homer in the Grecian language Ton apamibomenos 
 prosiphe podas ochus Achilles! ah, how it sounds! which 
 English 'd dwindles into the most grating stuff Then the 
 swift-foot Achilles made reply ; oh faugh ! 
 
 Her niece has very different views, and expresses the com- 
 moner opinion of her sex in the remark, "Sure he's too 
 much a gentleman to be a scholar." 
 
 Lady Knowell's excessive conversation bores Sir Patient 
 dreadfully, though he is no less a bore with his anxious 
 absorption in the progress of his imaginary ailments. Says 
 one of the characters, " He has been on the point of going 
 off this twenty years." He is continually setting his affairs 
 in order. His favourite reading is furnished by prescrip- 
 tions and apothecaries' bills, which provide him with a sort 
 of diary. " By this rule, good Mr. Doctor," says he, " I am 
 sicker this month than I was the last." 
 
 Broader farce comes in with the daughter's clownish 
 suitor, Sir Credulous Easy, " a foolish Devonshire squire." 
 
 Sir Cred. Come, undo my portmantle, and equip me, that 
 I may look like some body before I see the ladies Curry, thou 
 shall e'en remove now from groom to footman ; for I'll ne'ei 
 keep horse more, no, nor mare neither, since my poor Gillian's 
 departed this life. 
 
 Cur. Nay, to say truth, sir, 'twas a good-natured civil beast, 
 and so she remained to her last gasp, for she cou'd never have 
 left this world in a better time, as the saying is, so near her 
 journey's end. 
 
 Sir Cred. A civil beast ! Why was it civilly done of her, 
 thinkest thou, to die at Brentford, when had she liv'd till 
 to-morrow, she had been converted into money and have been 
 in my pocket ? for now I am to marry and live in town, I'll sell 
 off all my pads ; poor fool, I think she e'en died of grief I 
 wou'd have sold her. 
 
 Cur. Well, well, sir, her time was come you must think, and 
 we are all mortal as the saying is. 
 
 Sir Cred. Well, 'twas the loving'st tit but grass and hay, 
 she's gone where be her shoes, Curry ?
 
 INTRODUCTION xix 
 
 Cur. Here, sir, her skin went for good ale at Brentford. 
 
 [Gives htm the shoes. 
 
 Sir Cred. Ah, how often has she carried me upon these 
 shoes to Mother Jumbles. What pure ale she brewed ! 
 
 At a later stage Sir Credulous enacts the part of Falstaff, 
 taking refuge in a basket, in which he has to submit to 
 various indignities without daring to move a muscle lest he 
 betray himself. Mrs. Behn must have had indulgent 
 audiences, who were satisfied with a very cheap kind of 
 humour. In one scene, which has no more affectation 
 of probability than a harlequinade, Sir Credulous is per- 
 suaded to feign dumbness, and to court his mistress by 
 signs, whilst his pretended interpreter relieves him of his 
 diamond ring, his cambric handkerchief, and his purse, as 
 presents to the lady. 
 
 The enfant terrible is already a figure in low comedy. 
 Sir Patient's seven-year-old daughter admonishes her father, 
 when he tries to escape the loquacious Lady Knowell, in 
 these terms: 
 
 Fan. Shou'd I tell a lie, Sir Father, and to a lady of her 
 quality ? 
 
 Sir Pat. Her quality and she are a couple of impertinent 
 things, which are very troublesome, and not to be endur'd I 
 take it. 
 
 Fan. Sir, we shou'd bear with things we dp not love some- 
 times, 'tis a sort of trial, sir, a kind of mortification fit for a 
 good Christian. 
 
 Sir Pat. Why, what a notable talking baggage is this? 
 How came you by this doctrine? 
 
 Fan. I remember, sir, you preached it once to my sister, 
 when the old alderman was the text, whom you exhorted her to 
 marry, but the wicked creature made ill use on't. 
 
 Unfortunately, Mrs. Behn's sense of propriety is so defec- 
 tive that she makes this precocious child the confidante of 
 her elder sister's highly improper love affairs. ' For I have 
 heard you say,' this budding coquette remarks, ' women 
 were born to no other end than to love ; and 'tis fit I should 
 learn to live and die in my calling.' Such is the cynicism 
 of one who has no faith in the virtue of her own sex, and 
 less in that of men. Yet she could say, in her epilogue,
 
 xx NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BERN 
 
 to the coxcomb who cried 'Ah rot it 'tis a woman's 
 comedy,' 
 
 ' What has poor woman done, that she must be 
 Debar'd from sense, and sacred poetry?' 
 
 Sacred poetry indeed ! 
 
 In 1682, her most successful year, she brought out, 
 besides The False Count, two political comedies, or at 
 least, comedies that owed much of their popularity to their 
 direct appeal to party feeling. The Roundheads; or, the 
 Good Old Cause is a scurrilous lampoon on the Common- 
 wealth. It represents the Parliamentarian generals, Fleet- 
 wood, Lambert, and Desborough, as sanctimonious hypo- 
 crites, each scheming to betray his comrades and raise him- 
 self to supreme office in the state, largely by the efforts of his 
 wife. A traitor in the camp, Corporal Right, is described in 
 the playbill as, { An Oliverian commander, but honest and a 
 cavalier in his heart.' This is an index to the character 
 of the piece, which, if a man had written it, we should 
 speak of as a cowardly attack on the fallen a shameless 
 appeal to the basest instincts of the mob. For the most 
 part the abuse is too offensive to quote, but the following 
 scene representing a meeting of the council of ladies will 
 illustrate the spirit of Mrs. Behn's satire : 
 
 Enter page with women, and Loveless dressed as a woman. 
 
 Lady Lambert. Gentlewomen, what's your business with us ? 
 
 Lov. Gentlewomen ! some of us are ladies. 
 
 L. Lam. Ladies, in good time ; by what authority, and from 
 whom do you derive your title of ladies ? 
 
 Lov. From our husbands. 
 
 Gill. Husbands, who are they, and of what standing ? 
 
 2 Lady. Of no long standing, I confess. 
 
 Gill. That's a common grievance indeed. 
 
 L. Desborough. And ought to be redressed. 
 
 L. Lam. And that shall be taken into consideration ; write it 
 down, Gilliflower, who made your husband a knight, woman ? 
 
 Lov. Oliver the first, an't please ye. 
 
 L. Lam. Of horrid memory ; write that down who yours ? 
 
 2 Lady. Richard the fourth, an't like your honour. 
 
 Gill. Of sottish memory ; shall I write that down too ? 
 
 L. Des. Most remarkably. 
 
 L. Cromwell. Heav'ns ! can I hear this profanation of our 
 Royal Family.
 
 INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 Lov. I petition for a pension ; my husband, deceas'd, was a 
 constant active man, in all the late rebellion, against the Man ; 
 he plundered my Lord Capel, he betray'd his dearest friend, 
 Brown Bushel, who trusted his life in his hands, and several 
 others ; plundering their wives and children even to their 
 smocks. 
 
 L. Lam. Most considerable service, and ought to be con- 
 sidered. 
 
 2 Lady. And most remarkably, at the trial of the late Man, 
 I spit in's face, and betrayed the Earl of Holland to the 
 Parliament. 
 
 L. Crotn. In the king's face, you mean it showed your zeal 
 for the good cause. 
 
 3 Lady. And 'twas my husband that headed the rabble, to 
 pull down Gog and Magog, the bishops, broke the idols in the 
 windows, and turned the churches into stables and dens of 
 thieves ; robb'd the altar of the cathedral of the twelve pieces 
 of plate called the twelve Apostles, turn'd eleven of 'em into 
 money, and kept Judas for his own use at home. 
 
 L. Fleetivood. On my word, most wisely perform'd, note it 
 down 
 
 3 Lady. And my husband made libels on the Man from the 
 first troubles to this day, defam'd and profaned the Woman and 
 her children, printed all the Man's letters to the Woman with 
 burlesque marginal notes, pull'd down the sumptuous shrines in 
 churches, and with the golden and popish spoils adorn'd his 
 house and chimney-pieces. 
 
 L. Lam. We shall consider these great services. 
 
 We must stop here ; the rest of the scene is a more ribald 
 kind of invective even than the foregoing. 
 
 In The City Heiress (1682), based on Middleton's 
 A Mad World, My Masters, the satire is not so heavy, and 
 has far more wit. There is no need to describe the plot, 
 which has a family resemblance to most of the others. 
 The hero is a certain Tom Wilding, the very counterpart of 
 Wittmore and Willmore the Rover. He is the scapegrace 
 nephew of Sir Timothy Treat-all, who is undisguisedly 
 intended for Shaftesbury, Dryden's ' false Achitophel.' 
 Sir Timothy is, of course, the general butt of the satire, 
 being cozened of his property, tricked by his nephew into 
 receiving him as an emissary from the Polish electors, and, 
 to cap the whole, married to a supposed heiress, who turns 
 out to be an impostor. In the scene where Wilding carries 
 out his trickery the political meaning is very obvious. 
 b^
 
 xxii NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN 
 
 Enter Wilding in disguise, Dresswell, footmen and pages. 
 
 Wild. Sir, by your reverend aspect, you shou'd be the 
 renown'd Maitre de Hotel. 
 
 Sir Tim. Mater de Otell ! I have not the honour to know 
 any of that name, I am called Sir Timothy Treat-all. [Bowing. 
 
 Wild. The same, sir ; I have been bred abroad, and thought 
 all persons of quality had spoke French. 
 
 Sir Tim. Not City persons of quality, my lord. 
 
 Wild. I'm glad on't, sir ; for 'tis a nation I hate, as indeed 
 I do all monarchies. 
 
 Sir Tim. Hum! Hate monarchy! Your lordship is most 
 welcome. [Bows. 
 
 Wild. Unless elective monarchies, which so resemble a 
 commonwealth. 
 
 Sir Tim. Right, my lord ; where every man may hope to 
 take his turn Your lordship is most singularly welcome. 
 
 [Bows low. 
 
 Wild. And though I am a stranger to your person, I am not 
 to your fame, amongst the sober party of the Amsterdamians, 
 all the French Hugonots throughout Geneva ; even to Hungary 
 and Poland, fame's trumpet sounds your praise, making the 
 Pope to fear, the rest to admire you. 
 
 Sir Tim. I'm much obliged to the renowned mobile. 
 
 Wild. So you will say, when you shall hear my embassy. 
 The Polanders by me salute you, sir, and have in the next new 
 election pricked ye down for their succeeding king. 
 
 Sir Tim. How, my lord, pricked me down for their king ! 
 Why this is wonderful ! pricked me, unworthy me down for a 
 king ! How cou'd I merit this amazing glory ! 
 
 Wild. They know, he that can be so great a patriot to his 
 native country, when but a private person, what must he be 
 when power is on his side ? 
 
 Sir Tim. Ay, my lord, my country, my bleeding country ! 
 there's the stop to all my rising greatness. Shall I be so un- 
 grateful to disappoint this big expecting nation? defeat the 
 sober party, and my neighbours, for any Polish crown? But 
 yet, my lord, I will consider on't : meantime my house is yours. 
 
 Wild. I've brought you, sir, the measure of the crown : ha, 
 it fits you to a hair. [Pulls out a riband, measures his head.] 
 You were by heaven and nature fram'd that monarch. 
 
 When Sir Timothy finds out the trick that has been played 
 upon him, he cries, ' Undone, undone ! I shall never make 
 Guildhall speech more : but he shall hang for't, if there be 
 e'er a witness between this and Salamanca for money.' 
 There are many more hits against false witnesses and
 
 INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 credulous juries. When hard pressed, Sir Timothy is quite 
 ready to protest himself a good friend even to the Pope. 
 
 Sir Tim. Nay, gentlemen, not but I love and honour his 
 Holiness with all my soul ; and if his Grace did but know what 
 I've done for him, d'ye see 
 
 Fop. You done for the Pope, sirrah ! Why what have you 
 done for the Pope ? 
 
 Sir Tim. Why, sir, an't like ye, I have done you very great 
 service, very great service ; for I have been, d'ye see, in a small 
 trial I had, the cause and occasion of invalidating the evidence 
 to that degree, that I suppose no jury in Christendom will ever 
 have the impudence to believe 'em hereafter, shou'd they swear 
 against his Holiness and all the conclave of cardinals. 
 
 And when his house is found to be full of ' knavery, sedi- 
 tion, libels, rights and privileges, with a new fashion'd oath 
 of abjuration, call'd the Association/ he shouts, 
 
 'Why I'll deny it, sir ; for what jury will believe so wise a 
 magistrate as I cou'd communicate such secrets to such as 
 you ? I'll say you forged 'em, and put 'em in or print every 
 one of 'em, and own 'em, as long as they were writ and pub- 
 lished in Lbndon, sir. Come, come, the world is not so bad 
 yet, but a man may speak treason within the walls of London, 
 thanks be to God, and honest conscientious jurymen. 3 
 
 Two later plays, The Lucky Chance, a comedy, and 
 The Emperor of the Moon, a farce, were both failures. 
 In The Widow Ranter Astrea tells the story of Bacon's 
 rebellion in Virginia, and makes use of her own experiences 
 of life in the American colonies. 
 
 It was the truth and power with which she recounted what 
 she had herself witnessed in Surinam that has singled out 
 for permanence the best of her novels, the story of the 
 royal slave, Oroonoko. We need not give ear to the 
 whispers of a liaison with the heroic black. A very differ- 
 ent emotion inspires the tale, the same feeling of out- 
 raged humanity that in after days inflamed Mrs. Stowe. 
 Oroonoko is the first emancipation novel. It is also the 
 first glorification of the Natural Man. Mrs. Behn was, in a 
 manner, the precursor of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre ; and in 
 her attempts to depict the splendour of tropical scenery she 
 foreshadows, though feebly, the prose-epics of Chateau- 
 briand. There is fierce satire in Oroonoko. Who would 
 think that Astrea, who entertained the depraved pit at the
 
 xxiv NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN 
 
 Duke's Theatre, could have drawn those idyllic pictures of 
 Oroonoko in his native Coromantien, of the truth and 
 purity of the savage uncontaminated with the vices of 
 Christian Europe, or have written such vehement invectives 
 against the baseness and utter falsehood of the whites ? 
 
 'These people represented to me,' she said, 'an absolute idea 
 of the first state of innocence, before man knew how to sin : 
 and 'tis most evident and plain that simple nature is the most 
 harmless, inoffensive and virtuous mistress. 'Tis she alone, if 
 she were permitted, that better instructs the world than all the 
 inventions of man : religion would here but destroy that tran- 
 quillity they possess by ignorance ; and laws would teach 'em to 
 know offences of which now they have no notion. They once 
 made mourning and fasting for the death of the English 
 governor, who had given his hand to come on such a day to 
 'em, and neither came nor sent ; believing when a man's word 
 was past, nothing but death could or should prevent his keeping 
 it : and when they saw he was not dead, they ask'd him what 
 name they had for a man who promis'd a thing he did not do ? 
 The governor told them such a man was a lyar, which was 
 a word of infamy to a gentleman. Then one of 'em replied, 
 ' Governor, you are a lyar, and guilty of that infamy.' 
 
 It is said further on, 'Such ill morals are only practis'd 
 in Christian countries, where they prefer the bare name 
 of religion; and, without virtue and morality, think that 
 sufficient.' 
 
 Oroonoko is no savage, but the ideal man, as conceived 
 by Mrs. Behn, the man out of Eden ; and in him she has 
 an absolute criterion by which to judge and condemn the 
 object of her satire European civilisation. His bravery, 
 wisdom, chastity, his high sense of honour, are the idealisa- 
 tions of a sentimental young lady, carried away by her 
 admiration for a truly heroic figure, and disgusted by the 
 vicious manners of the colonists, whom she describes as 
 'rogues and runagades, that have abandoned their own 
 countries for rapine, murder, theft and villainies.' ' Do 
 you not hear,' says Oroonoko, ' how they upbraid each 
 other with infamy of life, below the wildest savages ? And 
 shall we render obedience to such a degenerate race, who 
 have no one human virtue left, to distinguish them from 
 the vilest creatures ? ' 
 
 The story has the natural elements of drama. Southern 
 wrote a very bad tragedy on the theme of Mrs. Behn's
 
 INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 narrative, altering it slightly, and adding a great deal of 
 foulness that is, happily, not in the original. Oroonoko 
 loves the beautiful Imoinda, a maiden of his own race, not 
 the child of a European who has adopted a savage life, as 
 in Southern's play. But when they are on the brink of 
 happiness, the old king, Oroonoko's grandfather, demands 
 her for his harem. Imoinda acts the part of Abishag the 
 Shunamite, and her lover that of Adonijah. The vengeful 
 monarch discovers their attachment, and sells her into 
 slavery. Oroonoko, soon afterwards, is kidnapped, and finds 
 himself in Surinam, where Imoinda is already famous as the 
 beautiful slave, as chaste as she is beautiful. They recog- 
 nise each other in a touching scene, and are suffered to be 
 re-united. Oroonoko distinguishes himself by his virtue 
 and prowess. But he quickly finds that his tyrants promise 
 freedom to himself and Imoinda merely to delude them 
 into good behaviour. He flies into the wilderness at the 
 head of a body of slaves. The planters follow, the blacks 
 fling down their arms, and Oroonoko surrenders on the 
 assurance that they shall not be chastised. The white 
 governor is a scoundrel. The magnanimous negro is put in 
 irons and tortured. Imoinda is set apart for a worse fate. 
 But she prefers to die at his beloved hands, rather than 
 bear dishonour. Oroonoko, with Roman fortitude, slays 
 his wife, and with the stoicism of the Indian smokes a pipe 
 of tobacco while his captors execute him piecemeal. 
 
 The. Fair Jilt ; or, the Amours of Prince Tarquin and 
 Miranda, also purports to be a recital of incidents Astrea 
 herself had witnessed. 'As Love,' it begins, 'is the most 
 noble and divine passion of the soul, so it is that to which 
 we may justly attribute all the real satisfactions of life ; and 
 without it man is unfinished and unhappy." She hardly 
 succeeds in proving the divinity of the passion she portrays. 
 Miranda is only a false name for a Beguine at Antwerp, who 
 had many lovers ; Tarquin is the real name of a German 
 prince, the most illustrious of her votaries. It is the story 
 of a fair hypocrite, whose beauty drives men mad. Miranda, 
 whose raging fever of desire reminds one of Phaedra, being 
 repulsed by a handsome young friar, falls back on the device 
 of Potiphar's wife, to secure revenge. This episode is full 
 of force and vigour; but Tarquin's subjugation to the 
 enchantress, his complaisant obedience to her criminal
 
 xxvi NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN 
 
 schemes, which is offered for our admiration as an ex- 
 ample of the illimitable power of love, does not strike us so. 
 Passion, Mrs. Behn maintains, condones everything. There 
 is nothing too heinous, too flagitious, to attain a sort of 
 dignity if done in the cause of love. Tarquin attempts to 
 assassinate the Fair Jilt's sister, and is deservedly condemned 
 to death. The novelist depicts him as a martyr, and has 
 a tear to spare even for the more culpable Miranda. 
 
 At last the bell toll'd, and he was to take leave of the princess, 
 as his last work of life, and the most hard he had to accomplish. 
 He threw himself at her feet, and gazing on her as she sat more 
 dead than alive, overwhelm'd with silent grief, they both re- 
 mained some moments speechless ; and then, as if one rising 
 tide of tears had supplied both their eyes, it burst out in tears 
 at the same instant : and when his sighs gave way, he utter'd 
 a thousand farewells, so soft, so passionate, and moving, that 
 all who were by were extremely touch'd with it, and said, ' That 
 nothing could be seen more deplorable and melancholy.' 
 
 All that can be said in comment is, that there have been 
 novelists since Mrs. Behn who have written stuff that is 
 quite as false, lurid, and depraved, and readers who have 
 gushed over it. Only the sinners begotten of later romancers 
 do not sin with such abandon. Astrea has never lacked 
 successors, though the cut of her mantle has been altered 
 to suit the changes of the mode. 
 
 The omnipotence of love is again the theme in another 
 ' true novel,' The Nun ; or, the Perjured Beauty, in which 
 a similar heroine is also the villain of the plot. Astrea 
 frankly accepted Charles the Second's well-known opinion 
 as to the frailty of woman. ' Virtue,' she makes one of her 
 characters say, ' is but a name kept from scandal, which the 
 most base of women best preserve.' But Ardelia does not 
 even trouble about appearances. She is one of those 
 passionate, insatiable, capricious women who play a leading 
 role in every one of Astrea's comedies, and are always 
 drawn with energy and truth because their author's heart 
 was in them. The plot is worked out with great ingenuity 
 in this story, and also in a later one, The Lucky Mistake, in 
 *?vhich the reader is kept in the titillations of suspense to the 
 final page. In the last-named, also, there is some attempt 
 at character-drawing. 
 
 Oroonoko was not the only novel in which Mrs. Behn
 
 INTRODUCTION xxvii 
 
 tried to portray ideal feelings and elevated morality. Agnes 
 de Castro is a sweet, sentimental tragedy, which at least has 
 the merit of being free from errors of taste. Agnes is maid- 
 of-honour to Donna Constantia, wife of the Prince of 
 Portugal, and has the misfortune to be loved by her 
 mistress's husband. But there is no foul intrigue in the 
 story. Don Pedro struggles honourably against his passion : 
 ' his fault was not voluntary ':...' a commanding power, 
 a fatal star, had forc'd him to love in spite of himself.' The 
 Princess is so high-minded after the seventeenth-century 
 pattern of high-mindedness that she admits his innocence. 
 ' I have no reproaches to make against you, knowing that 
 'tis inclination that disposes hearts, and not reason." Her 
 complaisance goes so far that she even conjures Agnes not 
 to deprive him of her society, since it is necessary to his 
 happiness. But the truce is brought to a fatal ending by the 
 malice of an envious woman, who persuades Constantia 
 that the lovers are guilty, and so breaks her heart. The 
 novel is painfully stilted, and reads like the discarded sketch 
 for a tragedy, which had been worked up to suit another 
 style. 
 
 It must be confessed that, apart from Oroonoko, Mrs. 
 Behn's fiction is of very little importance in the history of 
 our literature. Her best work was put into her comedies, 
 which contain, not only much diversion, but also strong, and 
 perhaps too highly coloured, pictures of the manners and 
 morals of the pleasure-seekers of her time, in all classes. 
 Unfortunately, it would be difficult indeed to compile even 
 a book of elegant extracts that would give the modern 
 reader any adequate idea of their merits, without either 
 emasculating them altogether or nauseating him with their 
 coarseness. 
 
 ERNEST A. BAKER 
 
 February ; 1905.
 
 THE HISTORY OF 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 
 
 I DO not pretend, in giving you the history of this 
 ROYAL SLA VE, to entertain my Reader with the 
 adventures of a feigned hero, whose life and fortunes 
 fancy may manage at the poet's pleasure ; nor, in 
 relating the truth, design to adorn it with any acci- 
 dents, but such as arrived in earnest to him : and it 
 shall come simply into the world, recommended by 
 its own proper merits, and natural intrigues; there 
 being enough of reality to support it, and to render 
 it diverting, without the addition of invention. 
 
 I was myself an eye-witness to a great part of 
 what you will find here set down ; and what I could 
 not be witness of, I received from the mouth of the 
 chief actor in this history, the hero himself, who gave 
 us the whole transactions of his youth : and I shall 
 omit, for brevity's sake, a thousand little accidents 
 of his life, which, however pleasant to us, where his- 
 tory was scarce, and adventures very rare, yet might 
 prove tedious and heavy to my reader, in a world 
 where he finds diversions for every minute, new and 
 strange. But we who were perfectly charmed with 
 the character of this great man, were curious to 
 gather every circumstance of his life. 
 
 The scene of the last part of his adventures lies 
 in a colony in America, called Surinam, in the West 
 Indies. 
 
 But before I give you the story of this gallant slave,
 
 2 OROONOKO 
 
 it is fit I tell you the manner of bringing them to 
 these new colonies ; those they make use of there, 
 not being natives of the place : for those we live with 
 in perfect amity, without daring to command them ; 
 but, on the contrary, caress them with all the brotherly 
 and friendly affection in the world ; trading with 
 them for their fish, venison, buffaloes' skins, and little 
 rarities ; as marmosets, a sort of monkey, as big as 
 a rat or weasel, but of a marvellous and delicate 
 shape, having face and hands like a human creature ; 
 and cousheries, a little beast in the form and fashion 
 of a lion, as big as a kitten, but so exactly made in 
 all parts like that noble beast, that it is it in 
 miniature : then for little parrakeets, great parrots, 
 mackaws and a thousand other birds and beasts of 
 wonderful and surprising forms, shapes, and colours : 
 for skins of prodigious snakes, of which there are 
 some three-score yards in length ; as is the skin of 
 one that may be seen at his Majesty's Antiquary's ; 
 where are also some rare flies, of amazing forms and 
 colours, presented to them by myself: some as big 
 as my fist, some less ; and all of various excellences, 
 such as art cannot imitate. Then we trade for 
 feathers, which they order into all shapes, make 
 themselves little short habits of them, and glorious 
 wreaths for their heads, necks, arms and legs, whose 
 tinctures are inconceivable. I had a set of these 
 presented to me, and I gave them to the King's 
 Theatre ; it was the dress of the Indian Queen, 
 infinitely admired by persons of quality; and was 
 inimitable. Besides these, a thousand little knacks, 
 and rarities in nature; and some of art, as their 
 baskets, weapons, aprons, etc. We dealt with them 
 with beads of all colours, knives, axes, pins, and 
 needles, which they used only as tools to drill holes 
 with in their ears, noses, and lips, where they hang 
 a great many little things ; as long beads, bits of tin, 
 brass or silver beat thin, and any shining trinket. 
 The beads they weave into aprons about a quarter
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 3 
 
 of an ell long, and of the same breadth ; working 
 them very prettily in flowers of several colours; 
 which apron they wear just before them, as Adam 
 and Eve did the fig-leaves ; the men wearing a long 
 strip of linen, which they deal with us for. They 
 thread these beads also on long cotton-threads, and 
 make girdles to tie their aprons to, which come 
 twenty times, or more, about the waist, and then 
 cross, like a shoulder-belt, both ways, and round 
 their necks, arms and legs. This adornment, with 
 their long black hair, and the face painted in little 
 specks or flowers here and there, makes them a 
 wonderful figure to behold. Some of the beauties, 
 which indeed are finely shaped, as almost all are, and 
 who have pretty features, are charming and novel; 
 for they have all that is called beauty, except the 
 colour, which is a reddish yellow ; or after a new 
 oiling, which they often use to themselves, they are 
 of the colour of a new brick, but smooth, soft and 
 sleek. They are extreme modest and bashful, very 
 shy, and nice of being touched. And though they 
 are all thus naked, if one lives for ever among them, 
 there is not to be seen an indecent action, or glance : 
 and being continually used to see one another so 
 unadorned, so like our first parents before the fall, it 
 seems as if they had no wishes, there being nothing 
 to heighten curiosity : but all you can see, you see at 
 once, and every moment see ; and where there is no 
 novelty, there can be no curiosity. Not but I have 
 seen a handsome young Indian, dying for love of a 
 very beautiful young Indian maid ; but all his court- 
 ship was, to fold his arms, pursue her with his eyes, and 
 sighs were all his language : whilst she, as if no such 
 lover were present, or rather as if she desired none 
 such, carefully guarded her eyes from beholding him ; 
 and never approached him, but she looked down with 
 all the blushing modesty I have seen in the most 
 severe and cautious of our world. And these people 
 represented to me an absolute idea of the first state
 
 4 OROONOKO 
 
 of innocence, before man knew how to sin : And 'tis 
 most evident and plain, that simple Nature is the 
 most harmless, inoffensive and virtuous mistress. It 
 is she alone, if she were permitted, that better in- 
 structs the world, than all the inventions of man : 
 religion would here but destroy that tranquillity they 
 possess by ignorance ; and laws would but teach 
 them to know offences, of which now they have 
 no notion. They once made mourning and fasting 
 for the death of the English Governor, who had given 
 his hand to come on such a day to them, and neither 
 came nor sent ; believing when, a man's word was 
 past, nothing but death could or should prevent his 
 keeping it : and when they saw he was not dead, 
 they asked him what name they had for a man who 
 promised a thing he did not do? The Governor 
 told them such a man was a liar, which was a word 
 of infamy to a gentleman. Then one of them 
 replied, ' Governor, you are a liar, and guilty of that 
 infamy.' They have a native justice, which knows 
 no fraud ; and they understand no vice, or cunning, 
 but when they are taught by the white men. They 
 have plurality of wives ; which when they grow old, 
 serve those that succeed them, who are young, but 
 with a servitude easy and respected ; and unless they 
 take slaves in war, they have no other attendants. 
 
 Those on that continent where I was, had no King; 
 but the oldest War-Captain was obeyed with great 
 resignation. 
 
 A War-Captain is a man who has led them on to 
 battle with conduct and success ; of whom I shall 
 have occasion to speak more hereafter, and of some 
 other of their customs and manners, as they fall in 
 my way. 
 
 With these people, as I said, we live in perfect 
 tranquillity, and good understanding, as it behoves us 
 to do ; they knowing all the places where to seek the 
 best food of the country, and the means of getting it ; 
 and for very small and invaluable trifles, supplying
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 5 
 
 us with what it is almost impossible for us to get : for 
 they do not only in the woods, and over the Sevana's, 
 in hunting, supply the parts of hounds, by swiftly 
 scouring through those almost impassable places, and 
 by .the mere activity of their feet, run down the 
 nimblest deer, and other eatable beasts ; but in the 
 water, one would think they were gods of the rivers, 
 or fellow-citizens of the deep ; so rare an art they 
 have in swimming, diving, and almost living in water; 
 by which they command the less swift inhabitants of 
 the floods. And then for shooting, what they cannot 
 take, or reach with their hands, they do with arrows ; 
 and have so admirable an aim, that they will split 
 almost a hair, and at any distance that an arrow can 
 reach : they will shoot down oranges, and other 
 fruit, and only touch the stalk with the dart's point, 
 that they may not hurt the fruit. So that they being 
 on all occasions very useful to us, we find it absolutely 
 necessary to caress them as friends, and not to treat 
 them as slaves ; nor dare we do otherwise, their 
 numbers so far surpassing ours in that continent. 
 
 Those then whom we make use of to work in our 
 plantations of sugar, are Negroes, black-slaves alto- 
 gether, who are transported thither in this manner. 
 
 Those who want slaves, make a bargain with a 
 master, or a captain of a ship, and contract to pay 
 him so much apiece, a matter of twenty pound a head, 
 for as many as he agrees for, and to pay for them 
 when they shall be delivered on such a plantation : so 
 that when there arrives a ship laden with slaves, they 
 who have so contracted, go aboard, and receive their 
 number by lot ; and perhaps in one lot that may be 
 for ten, there may happen to be three or four men, 
 the rest women and children. Or be there more or 
 less of either sex, you are obliged to be contented 
 with your lot. 
 
 Coramantien, a country of blacks so called, was one 
 of those places in which they found the most advan- 
 tageous trading for these slaves, and thither most of
 
 6 OROONOKO 
 
 our great traders in that merchandise traffic ; for 
 that nation is very warlike and brave : and having a 
 continual campaign, being always in hostility with 
 one neighbouring Prince or other, they had the 
 fortune to take a great many captives : for all they 
 took in battle were sold as slaves ; at least those 
 common men who could not ransom themselves. Of 
 these slaves so taken, the General only has all the 
 profit ; and of these Generals our captains and mas- 
 ters of ships buy all their freights. 
 
 The King of Coramantien was of himself a man of 
 an hundred and odd years old, and had no son, 
 though he had many beautiful black wives : for most 
 certainly there are beauties that can charm of that 
 colour. In his younger years he had had many 
 gallant men to his sons, thirteen of whom died in 
 battle, conquering when they fell ; and he had only 
 left him for his successor, one grandchild, son to one 
 of these dead victors, who, as soon as he could bear 
 a bow in his hand, and a quiver at his back, was sent 
 into the field, to be trained up by one of the oldest 
 Generals to war ; where, from his natural inclination 
 to arms, and the occasions given him, with the good 
 conduct of the old General, he became, at the age of 
 seventeen, one of the most expert Captains, and 
 bravest soldiers that ever saw the field of Mars : so 
 that he was adored as the wonder of all that world, 
 and the darling of the soldiers. Besides, he was 
 adorned with a native beauty, so transcending all 
 those of his gloomy race, that he struck an awe and 
 reverence, even into those that knew not his quality ; 
 as he did into me, who beheld him with surprise and 
 wonder, when afterwards he arrived in our world. 
 
 He had scarce arrived at his seventeenth year, 
 when, fighting by his side, the General was killed with 
 an arrow in his eye, which the Prince Oroonoko (for 
 so was this gallant Moor called) very narrowly 
 avoided ; nor had he, if the General who saw the 
 arrow shot, and perceiving it aimed at the Prince,
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 7 
 
 had not bowed his head between, on purpose to 
 receive it in his own body, rather than it should touch 
 that of the Prince, and so saved him. 
 
 It was then, afflicted as Oroonoko was, that he was 
 proclaimed General in the old man's place : and then 
 it was, at the finishing of that war, which had con- 
 tinued for two years, that the Prince came to Court, 
 where he had hardly been a month together, from 
 the time of his fifth year to that of seventeen : and it 
 was amazing to imagine where it was he learned 
 so much humanity ; or to give his accomplishments a 
 juster name, where it was he got that real greatness 
 of soul, those refined notions of true honour, that 
 absolute generosity, and that softness that was capable 
 of the highest passions of love and gallantry, whose 
 objects were almost continually fighting men, or those 
 mangled or dead, who heard no sounds but those of 
 war and groans. Some part of it we may attribute to 
 the care of a Frenchman of wit and learning, who 
 finding it turn to a very good account to be a sort of 
 royal tutor to this young black, and perceiving him 
 very ready, apt, and quick of apprehension, took a 
 great pleasure to teach him morals, language and 
 science ; and was for it extremely beloved and valued 
 by him. Another reason was, he loved when he came 
 from war, to see all the English gentlemen that 
 traded thither ; and did not only learn their language, 
 but that of the Spaniard also, with whom he traded 
 afterwards for slaves. 
 
 I have often seen and conversed with this great 
 man, and been a witness to many of his mighty 
 actions, and do assure my reader, the most illustrious 
 Courts could not have produced a braver both for 
 greatness of courage and mind, a judgment more solid, 
 a wit more quick, and a conversation more sweet and 
 diverting. He knew almost as much as if he had read 
 much : he had heard of and admired the Romans : 
 he had heard of the late Civil Wars in England, 
 and the deplorable death of our great Monarch ; and
 
 8 OROONOKO 
 
 would discourse of it with all the sense and abhorrence 
 of the injustice imaginable. He had an extreme 
 good and graceful mien, and all the civility of a well- 
 bred great man. He had nothing of barbarity in 
 his nature, but in all points addressed himself as if his 
 education had been in some European Court. 
 
 This great and just character of Oroonoko gave me 
 an extreme curiosity to see him, especially when 
 I knew he spoke French and English, and that I 
 could talk with him. But though I had heard so 
 much of him, I was as greatly surprised when I saw 
 him, as if I had heard nothing of him ; so beyond all 
 report I found him. He came into the room, and 
 addressed himself to me, and some other women, 
 with the best grace in the world. He was pretty tall, 
 but of a shape the most exact that can be fancied : 
 the most famous statuary could not form the figure of 
 a man more admirably turned from head to foot. His 
 face was not of that brown rusty black which most of 
 that nation are, but a perfect ebony, or polished jet. 
 His eyes were the most awful that could be seen, and 
 very piercing ; the white of them being like snow, as 
 were his teeth. His nose was rising and Roman, 
 instead of African and flat : his mouth the finest 
 shaped that could be seen ; far from those great 
 turned lips, which are so natural to the rest of the 
 Negroes. The whole proportion and air of his face 
 was so nobly and exactly formed, that, bating his 
 colour, there could be nothing in nature more beauti- 
 ful, agreeable and handsome. There was no one 
 grace wanting, that bears the standard of true beauty. 
 His hair came down to his shoulders, by the aids 
 of art, which was by pulling it out with a quill, and 
 keeping it combed ; of which he took particular care. 
 Nor did the perfections of his mind come short 
 of those of his person ; for his discourse was admir- 
 able upon almost any subject : and whoever had 
 heard him speak, would have been convinced of their 
 errors, that all fine wit is confined to the white men,
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 9 
 
 especially to those of Christendom ; and would have 
 confessed that Oroonoko was as capable even of 
 reigning well, and of governing as wisely, had as great 
 a soul, as politic maxims, and was as sensible of 
 power, as any Prince civilised in the most refined 
 schools of humanity and learning, or the most illus- 
 trious courts. 
 
 This Prince, such as I have described him, whose 
 soul and body were so admirably adorned, was (while 
 yet he was in the Court of his grandfather, as I said) 
 as capable of love, as it was possible for a brave and 
 gallant man to be ; and in saying that, I have named 
 the highest degree of love : for sure great souls are 
 most capable of that passion. 
 
 I have already said, the old General was killed by 
 the shot of an arrow, by the side of this Prince, in 
 battle; and that Oroonoko was made General. This 
 old dead hero had one only daughter left of his 
 race, a beauty, that to describe her truly, one need 
 say only, she was female to the noble male ; the beau- 
 tiful black Venus to our young Mars ; as charming in 
 her person as he, and of delicate virtues. I have seen 
 a hundred white men sighing after her, and making a 
 thousand vows at her feet, all in vain and unsuccess- 
 ful. And she was indeed too great for any but a 
 prince of her own nation to adore. 
 
 Oroonoko coming from the wars (which were now 
 ended) after he had made his Court to his grand- 
 father, he thought in honour he ought to make a visit 
 to Imoinda, the daughter of his foster-father, the dead 
 General; and to make some excuses to her, because 
 his preservation was the occasion of her father's 
 death ; and to present her with those slaves that had 
 been taken in this last battle, as the trophies of her 
 father's victories. When he came, attended by all the 
 young soldiers of any merit, he was infinitely sur- 
 prised at the beauty of this fair Queen of Night, 
 whose face and person were so exceeding all he had 
 ever beheld, that lovely modesty with which she
 
 io OROONOKO 
 
 received him, that softness in her look and sighs, 
 upon the melancholy occasion of this honour that 
 was done by so great a man as Oroonoko, and a 
 Prince of whom she had heard such admirable things; 
 the awfulness wherewith she received him, and the 
 sweetness of her words and behaviour while he stayed, 
 gained a perfect conquest over his fierce heart, and 
 made him feel, the victor could be subdued. So that 
 having made his first compliments, and presented her 
 an hundred and fifty slaves in fetters, he told her 
 with his eyes, that he was not insensible of her 
 charms ; while Imoinda, who wished for nothing 
 more than so glorious a conquest, was pleased to 
 believe, she understood that silent language of new- 
 born love; and, from that moment, put on all her 
 additions to beauty. 
 
 The Prince returned to Court with quite another 
 humour than before; and though he did not speak 
 much of the fair Imoinda, he had the pleasure to 
 hear all his followers speak of nothing but the charms 
 of that maid, insomuch, that, even in the presence of 
 the old King, they were extolling her, and heighten- 
 ing, if possible, the beauties they had found in her : 
 so that nothing else was talked of, no other sound 
 was heard in every corner where there were whis- 
 perers, but Imoinda! Imoinda! 
 
 It will be imagined Oroonoko stayed not long 
 before he made his second visit ; nor, considering his 
 quality, not much longer before he told her, he adored 
 her. I have often heard him say, that he admired by 
 what strange inspiration he came to talk things so 
 soft, and so passionate, who never knew love, nor was 
 used to the conversation of women ; but (to use his 
 own words) he said, ' Most happily, some new, and, 
 till then, unknown power instructed his heart and 
 tongue in the language of love ; and at the same 
 time, in favour of him, inspired Imoinda with a sense 
 of his passion.' She was touched with what he 
 said, and returned it all in such answers as went to
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE n 
 
 his very heart, with a pleasure unknown before. Nor 
 did he use those obligations ill, that love had done 
 him, but turned all his happy moments to the best 
 advantage ; and as he knew no vice, his flame aimed 
 at nothing but honour, if such a distinction may be 
 made in love; and especially in that country, where 
 men take to themselves as many as they can main- 
 tain; and where the only crime and sin against a 
 woman, is, to turn her off, to abandon her to want, 
 shame and misery; such ill morals are only prac- 
 tised in Christian countries, where they prefer the bare 
 name of religion; and, without religion or morality, 
 think that sufficient. But Oroonoko was none of 
 these professors ; but as he had right notions of 
 honour, so he made her such propositions as were not 
 only and barely such; but, contrary to the custom of 
 his country, he made her, vows she should be the only 
 woman he would possess while he lived ; that no age 
 or wrinkles should incline him to change: for her soul 
 would be always fine, and always young; and he 
 should have an eternal idea in his mind of the charms 
 she now bore; and should look into his heart for that 
 idea, when he could find it no longer in her face. 
 
 After a thousand assurances of his lasting flame, 
 and her eternal empire over him, she condescended to 
 receive him for her husband ; or rather, receive him, as 
 the greatest honour the gods could do her. 
 
 There is a certain ceremony in these cases to be 
 observed, which I forgot to ask how it was per- 
 formed ; but it was concluded on both sides, that in 
 obedience to him, the grandfather was to be first 
 made acquainted with the design : for they pay a 
 most absolute resignation to the monarch, especially 
 when he is a parent also. 
 
 On the other side, the old King, who had many 
 wives, and many concubines, wanted not court-flat- 
 terers to insinuate into his heart a thousand tender 
 thoughts for this young beauty; and who represented 
 her to his fancy, as the most charming he had ever
 
 12 OROONOKO 
 
 possessed in all the long race of his numerous years. 
 At this character, his old heart, like an extinguished 
 brand, most apt to take fire, felt new sparks of love, 
 and began to kindle ; and now grown to his second 
 childhood, longed with impatience to behold this gay 
 thing, with whom, alas ! he could but innocently play. 
 But how he should be confirmed she was this wonder, 
 before he used his power to call her to Court, (where 
 maidens never came, unless for the King's private 
 use) he was next to consider ; and while he was so 
 doing, he had intelligence brought him, that Imoinda 
 was most certainly mistress to the Prince Oroonoko. 
 This gave him some chagrin : however, it gave him 
 also an opportunity, one day, when the Prince was 
 a hunting, to wait on a man of quality, as his slave 
 and attendant, who should go and make a present to 
 Imoinda, as from the Prince ; he should then, un- 
 known, see this fair maid, and have an opportunity to 
 hear what message she would return the Prince for 
 his present, and from thence gather the state of her 
 heart, and degree of her inclination. This was put in 
 execution, and the old monarch saw, and burned: 
 he found her all he had heard, and would not delay 
 his happiness, but found he should have some obstacle 
 to overcome her heart ; for she expressed her sense 
 of the present the Prince had sent her, in terms so 
 sweet, so soft and pretty, with an air of love and joy 
 that could not be dissembled, insomuch that it was 
 past doubt whether she loved Oroonoko entirely. 
 This gave the old King some affliction ; but he salved 
 it with this, that the obedience the people pay their 
 King, was not at all inferior to what they paid their 
 gods; and what love would not oblige Imoinda to do, 
 duty would compel her to. 
 
 He was therefore no sooner got into his apartment, 
 but he sent the Royal Veil to Imoinda ; that is the 
 ceremony of invitation : he sends the lady he has a 
 mind to honour with his bed, a veil, with which she is 
 covered, and secured for the King's use ; and it is
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 13 
 
 death to disobey ; besides, held a most impious dis- 
 obedience. 
 
 It is not to be imagined the surprise and grief that 
 seized the lovely maid at this news and sight. How- 
 ever, as delays in these cases are dangerous, and 
 pleading worse than treason ; trembling, and almost 
 fainting, she was obliged to suffer herself to be 
 covered, and led away. 
 
 They brought her thus to Court; and the King, 
 who had caused a very rich bath to be prepared, was 
 led into it, where he sat under a canopy, in state, to 
 receive this longed-for virgin ; whom he having com- 
 manded to be brought to him, they (after disrobing 
 her) led her to the bath, and making fast the doors, 
 left her to descend. The King, without more court- 
 ship, bade her throw off her mantle, and come to his 
 arms. But Imoinda, all in tears, threw herself on the 
 marble, on the brink of the bath, and besought him to 
 hear her. She told him, as she was a maid, how 
 proud of the divine glory she should have been of 
 having it in her power to oblige her King : but as by 
 the laws he could not, and from his Royal goodness 
 would not take from any man his wedded wife ; so she 
 believed she should be the occasion of making him 
 commit a great sin, if she did not reveal her state and 
 condition ; and tell him she was another's, and could 
 not be so happy to be his. 
 
 The King, enraged at this delay, hastily demanded 
 the name of the bold man, that had married a woman 
 of her degree, without his consent. Imoinda seeing 
 his eyes fierce, and his hands tremble (whether with 
 age or anger, I know not, but she fancied the last) 
 almost repented she had said so much, for now she 
 feared the storm would fall on the Prince ; she there- 
 fore said a thousand things to appease the raging of 
 his flame, and to prepare him to hear who it was with 
 calmness: but before she spoke, he imagined who she 
 meant, but would not seem to do so, but commanded 
 her to lay aside her mantle, and suffer herself to receive
 
 14 OROONOKO 
 
 his caresses, or, by his gods he swore, that happy man 
 whom she was going to name should die, though 
 it were even Oroonoko himself. ' Therefore,' said he, 
 'deny this marriage, and swear thyself a maid.' 
 'That,' replied Imoinda, 'by all our powers I do; 
 for I am not yet known to my husband.' ' It is 
 enough,' said the King, ' it is enough both to satisfy 
 my conscience and my heart.' And rising from his 
 seat, he went and led her into the bath ; it being in 
 vain for her to resist. 
 
 In this time, the Prince, who was returned from 
 hunting, went to visit his Imoinda, but found her 
 gone ; and not only so, but heard she had received 
 the Royal Veil. This raised him to a storm ; and in 
 his madness, they had much ado to save him from 
 laying violent hands on himself. Force first pre- 
 vailed, and then reason : they urged all to him, that 
 might oppose his rage ; but nothing weighed so 
 greatly with him as the King's old age, incapable of 
 injuring him with Imoinda. He would give way to 
 that hope, because it pleased him most, and flattered 
 best his heart. Yet this served not altogether to make 
 him cease his different passions, which sometimes 
 raged within him, and softened into showers. It was 
 not enough to appease him, to tell him, his grand- 
 father was old, and could not that way injure him, 
 while he retained that awful duty which the young 
 men are used there to pay to their grave relations. 
 He could not be convinced he had no cause to sigh 
 and mourn for the loss of a mistress, he could not 
 with all his strength and courage retrieve, and he 
 would often cry, ' Oh, my friends ! were she in walled 
 cities, or confined from me in fortifications of the 
 greatest strength ; did enchantments or monsters 
 detain her from me ; I would venture any hazard to 
 free her : but here, in the arms of a feeble old man, 
 my youth, my violent love, my trade in arms, and all 
 my vast desire of glory, avail me nothing. Imoinda 
 is as irrecoverably lost to me, as if she were snatched
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 15 
 
 by the cold arms of death. Oh ! she is never to be 
 retrieved. If I would wait tedious years ; till fate 
 should bow the old King to his grave, even that 
 would not leave me Imoinda free; but still that 
 custom that makes it so vile a crime for a son to 
 marry his father's wives or mistresses, would hinder 
 my happiness ; unless I would either ignobly set an 
 ill precedent to my successors, or abandon my country, 
 and fly with her to some unknown world who never 
 heard our story.' 
 
 But it was objected to him, that his case was not 
 the same : for Imoinda being his lawful wife by 
 solemn contract, it was he was the injured man, and 
 might, if he so pleased, take Imoinda back, the breach 
 of the law being on his grandfather's side ; and that 
 if he could circumvent him, and redeem her from the 
 Otan, which is the Palace of the King's Women, a 
 fort of Seraglio, it was both just and lawful for him so 
 to do. 
 
 This reasoning had some force upon him, and he 
 should have been entirely comforted, but for the 
 thought that she was possessed by his grandfather. 
 However, he loved her so well, that he was resolved to 
 believe what most favoured his hope, and to endeavour 
 to learn from Imoinda's own mouth, what only she 
 could satisfy him in, whether she was robbed of that 
 blessing which was only due to his faith and love. 
 But as it was very hard to get a sight of the women 
 (for no men ever entered into the Otan, but when the 
 King went to entertain himself with some one of his 
 wives or mistresses ; and it was death, at any other 
 time, for any other to go in) so he knew not how to 
 contrive to get a sight of her. 
 
 While Oroonoko felt all the agonies of love, and 
 suffered under a torment the most painful in the 
 world, the old King was not exempted from his share 
 of affliction. He was troubled, for having been forced, 
 by an irresistible passion, to rob his son of a treasure, 
 he knew, could not but be extremely dear to him ;
 
 16 OROONOKO 
 
 since she was the most beautiful that ever had been 
 seen, and had besides, all the sweetness and innocence 
 of youth and modesty, with a charm of wit surpassing 
 all. He found, that however she was forced to expose 
 her lovely person to his withered arms, she could only 
 sigh and weep there, and think of Oroonoko ; and 
 oftentimes could not forbear speaking of him, though 
 her life were, by custom, forfeited by owning her 
 passion. But she spoke not of a lover only, but of a 
 Prince dear to him to whom she spoke ; and of the 
 praises of a man, who, till now, filled the old man's 
 soul with joy at every recital of his bravery, or even 
 his name. And it was this dotage on our young 
 hero, that gave Imoinda a thousand privileges to 
 speak of him without offending, and this condescen- 
 sion in the old King, that made her take the satisfac- 
 tion of speaking of him so very often. 
 
 Besides, he many times inquired how the Prince 
 bore himself: and those of whom he asked, being 
 entirely slaves to the merits and virtues of the Prince, 
 still answered what they thought conduced best to 
 his service ; which was, to make the old King fancy 
 that the Prince had no more interest in Imoinda, and 
 had resigned her willingly to the pleasure of the 
 King; that he diverted himself with his mathe- 
 maticians, his fortifications, his officers, and his 
 hunting. 
 
 This pleased the old lover, who failed not to report 
 these things again to Imoinda, that she might, by the 
 example of her young lover, withdraw her heart, and 
 rest better contented in his arms. But, however she 
 was forced to receive this unwelcome news, in all 
 appearance, with unconcern and content ; her heart 
 was bursting within, and she was only happy when 
 she could get alone, to vent her griefs and moans 
 with sighs and tears. 
 
 What reports of the Prince's conduct were made 
 to the King, he thought good to justify, as far as 
 possibly he could by his actions ; and when he ap-
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 17 
 
 peared in the presence of the King, he showed a face 
 not at all betraying his heart : so that in a little time, 
 the old man, being entirely convinced that he was no 
 longer a lover of Imoinda, he carried him with him, 
 in his train, to the Otan, often to banquet with his 
 mistresses. But as soon as he entered, one day, into 
 the apartment of Imoinda, with the King, at the first 
 glance from her eyes, notwithstanding all his deter- 
 mined resolution, he was ready to sink in the place 
 where he stood ; and had certainly done so, but for 
 the support of Aboan, a young man who was next 
 to him ; which, with his change of countenance, had 
 betrayed him, had the King chanced to look that 
 way. And I have observed, it is a very great error 
 in those who laugh when one says, ' A Negro can 
 change colour ' : for I have seen them as frequently 
 blush, and look pale, and that as visibly as ever I saw 
 in the most beautiful white. And it is certain, that 
 both these changes were evident, this day, in both 
 these lovers. And Imoinda, who saw with some joy 
 the change in the Prince's face, and found it in her 
 own, strove to divert the King from beholding either, 
 by a forced caress, with which she met him ; which 
 was a new wound in the heart of the poor dying 
 Prince. But as soon as the King was busied in look- 
 ing on some fine thing of Imoinda's making, she had 
 time to tell the Prince, with her angry, but love- 
 darting eyes, that she resented his coldness, and be- 
 moaned her own miserable captivity. Nor were his 
 eyes silent, but answered hers again, as much as eyes 
 could do, instructed by the most tender and most 
 passionate heart that ever loved : and they spoke so 
 well, and so effectually, as Imoinda no longer doubted 
 but she was the only delight and darling of that soul 
 she found pleading in them its right of love, which 
 none was more willing to resign than she. And it 
 was this powerful language alone that in an instant 
 conveyed all the thoughts of their souls to each 
 other ; that they both found there wanted but oppor-
 
 i8 OROONOKO 
 
 tunity to make them both entirely^happy. But when 
 he saw another door opened by Onahal (a former old 
 wife of the King's, who now had charge of Imoinda) 
 and saw the prospect of a bed of state made ready, 
 with sweets and flowers for the dalliance of the King, 
 who immediately led the trembling victim from his 
 sight, into that prepared repose ; what rage ! what 
 wild frenzies seized his heart ! which forcing to keep 
 within bounds, and to suffer without noise, it became 
 the more insupportable, and rent his soul with ten 
 thousand pains. He was forced to retire to vent his 
 groans, where he fell down on a carpet, and lay 
 struggling a long time, and only breathing now and 
 then Oh Imoinda ! When Onahal had finished her 
 necessary affair within, shutting the door, she came 
 forth, to wait till the King called ; and hearing some 
 one sighing in the other room, she passed on, and 
 found the Prince in that deplorable condition, which 
 she thought needed her aid. She gave him cordials, 
 but all in vain ; till finding the nature of his disease, 
 by his sighs, and naming Imoinda, she told him he 
 had not so much cause as he imagined to afflict him- 
 self: for if he knew the King so well as she did, he 
 would not lose a moment in jealousy ; and that she 
 was confident that Imoinda bore, at this minute, part 
 in his affliction. Aboan was of the same opinion, 
 and both together persuaded him to re-assume his 
 courage ; and all sitting down on the carpet, the 
 Prince said so many obliging things to Onahal, that 
 he half persuaded her to be of his party : and she 
 promised him, she would thus far comply with his 
 just desires, that she would let Imoinda know how 
 faithful he was, what he suffered, and what he said. 
 
 This discourse lasted till the King called, which 
 gave Oroonoko a certain satisfaction ; and with the 
 hope Onahal had made him conceive, he assumed 
 a look as gay as it was possible a man in his circum- 
 stances could do : and presently after, he was called 
 in with the rest who waited without. The King com-
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 19 
 
 manded music to be brought, and several of his 
 young wives and mistresses came all together by his 
 command, to dance before him ; where Imoinda per- 
 formed her part with an air and grace so surpassing 
 all the rest, as her beauty was above them, and re- 
 ceived the present ordained as a prize. The Prince 
 was every moment more charmed with the new 
 beauties and graces he beheld in this fair one ; and 
 while he gazed, and she danced, Onahal was retired 
 to a window with Aboan. 
 
 This Onahal, as I said, was one of the Cast- 
 Mistresses of the old King ; and it was these (now 
 past their beauty) that were made guardians or 
 governantes to the new and the young ones, and 
 whose business it was to teach them all those wanton 
 arts of love, with which they prevailed and charmed 
 heretofore in their turn ; and who now treated the 
 triumphing happy-ones with all the severity, as to 
 liberty and freedom, that was possible, in revenge of 
 the honours they rob them of; envying them those 
 satisfactions, those gallantries and presents, that were 
 once made to themselves, while youth and beauty 
 lasted, and which they now saw pass, as it were regard- 
 less by, and paid only to the bloomings. And certainly, 
 nothing is more afflicting to a decayed beauty, than 
 to behold in itself declining charms, that were once 
 adored ; and to find those caresses paid to new 
 beauties, to which once she laid claim ; to hear them 
 whisper, as she passes by, that once was a delicate 
 woman. Those abandoned ladies therefore endeavour 
 to revenge all the despites and decays of time, on 
 these flourishing happy-ones. And it was this 
 severity that gave Oroonoko a thousand fears he 
 should never prevail with Onahal to see Imoinda. 
 But, as I said, she was now retired to a window with 
 Aboan. 
 
 This young man was not only one of the best 
 quality, but a man extremely well made, and beauti- 
 ful ; and coming often to attend the King to the Otan,
 
 20 OROONOKO 
 
 he had subdued the heart of the antiquated Onahal, 
 which had not forgot how pleasant it was to be in 
 love. And though she had some decays in her face, 
 she had none in her sense and wit; she was there 
 agreeable still, even to Aboan's youth : so that he 
 took pleasure in entertaining her with discourses of 
 love. He knew also, that to make his court to these 
 she-favourites, was the way to be great ; these being 
 the persons that do all affairs and business at Court. 
 He had also observed that she had given him glances 
 more tender and inviting than she had done to others 
 of his quality. And now, when he saw that her 
 favour could so absolutely oblige the Prince, he failed 
 not to sigh in her ear, and look with eyes all soft 
 upon her, and gave her hope that she had made some 
 impressions on his heart. He found her pleased at 
 this, and making a thousand advances to him : but 
 the ceremony ending, and the King departing, broke 
 up the company for that day, and his conversation. 
 
 Aboan failed not that night to tell the Prince of his 
 success, and how advantageous the service of Onahal 
 might be to his amour with Imoinda. The Prince 
 was overjoyed with this good news, and besought 
 him, if it were possible, to caress her so, as to engage 
 her entirely, which he could not fail to do, if he com- 
 plied with her desires : ' For then,' said the Prince, 
 ' her life lying at your mercy, she must grant you the 
 request you make in my behalf.' Aboan understood 
 him, and assured him he would make love so effec- 
 tually, that he would defy the most expert mistress of 
 the art to find out whether he dissembled it, or had it 
 really. And it was with impatience they waited the 
 next opportunity of going to the Otan. 
 
 The wars came on, the time of taking the field 
 approached ; and it was impossible for the Prince to 
 delay his going at the head of his Army to encounter 
 the enemy ; so that every day seemed a tedious year, 
 till he saw his Imoinda : for he believed he could not 
 live, if he were forced away without being so happy.
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 21 
 
 It was with impatience therefore that he expected the 
 next visit the King would make ; and, according to 
 his wish, it was not long. 
 
 The parley of the eyes of these two lovers had not 
 passed so secretly, but an old jealous lover could spy 
 it ; or rather, he wanted not flatterers who told him 
 they observed it : so that the Prince was hastened to 
 the camp, and this was the last visit he found he 
 should make to the Otan ; he therefore urged Aboan 
 to make the best of this last effort, and to explain him- 
 self so to Onahal, that she deferring her enjoyment of 
 her young lover no longer, might make way for the 
 Prince to speak to Imoinda. 
 
 The whole affair being agreed on between the 
 Prince and Aboan, they attended the King, as the 
 custom was, to the Otan ; where, while the whole 
 company was taken up in beholding the dancing and 
 antic postures the Women-Royal made to divert the 
 King, Onahal singled out Aboan, whom she found 
 most pliable to her wish. When she had him where 
 she believed she could not be heard, she sighed to him, 
 and softly cried, ' Ah, Aboan ! when will you be 
 sensible of my passion ? I confess it with my mouth, 
 because I would not give my eyes the lie ; and you 
 have but too much already perceived they have con- 
 fessed my flame : nor would I have you believe that 
 because I am the abandoned mistress of a King, I 
 esteem myself altogether divested of charms : No, 
 Aboan ; I have still a rest of beauty enough engaging, 
 and have learned to please too well, not to be de- 
 sirable. I can have lovers still, but will have none 
 but Aboan.' ' Madam,' replied the half-feigning 
 youth, ' you have already, by my eyes, found you can 
 still conquer ; and I believe it is in pity of me you 
 condescend to this kind confession. But, Madam, 
 words are used to be so small a part of our country- 
 courtship, that it is rare one can get so happy an 
 opportunity as to tell one's heart; and those few 
 minutes we have, are forced to be snatched for more
 
 22 OROONOKO 
 
 certain proofs of love than speaking and sighing , 
 and such I languish for.' 
 
 He spoke this with such a tone, that she hoped it 
 true, and could not forbear believing it ; and being 
 wholly transported with joy for having subdued the 
 finest of all the King's subjects to her desires, she 
 took from her ears two large pearls, and commanded 
 him to wear them in his. He would have refused 
 them crying, 'Madam, these are not the proofs of 
 your love that I expect ; it is opportunity, it is a lone 
 hour only that can make me happy." But forcing 
 the pearls into his hand, she whispered softly to him, 
 ' Oh ! do not fear a woman's invention, when love 
 sets her a thinking.' And pressing his hand, she 
 cried, ' This night you shall be happy. Come to the 
 gate of the orange-grove, behind the Otan, and I will 
 be ready about midnight to receive you.' It was thus 
 agreed, and she left him that no notice might be taken 
 of their speaking together. 
 
 The ladies were still dancing, and the King, laid on 
 a carpet, with a great deal of pleasure was beholding 
 them, especially Imoinda, who that day appeared 
 more lovely than ever, being enlivened with the good 
 tidings Onahal had brought her, of the constant 
 passion the Prince had for her. The Prince was 
 laid on another carpet at the other end of the room, 
 with his eyes fixed on the object of his soul ; and as 
 she turned or moved, so did they; and she alone 
 gave his eyes and soul their motions. Nor did 
 Imoinda employ her eyes to any other use, than in 
 beholding with infinite pleasure the joy she produced 
 in those of the Prince. But while she was more 
 regarding him than the steps she took, she chanced 
 to fall, and so near him, as that leaping with extreme 
 force from the carpet, he caught her in his arms as 
 she fell ; and it was visible to the whole presence, the 
 joy wherewith he received her. He clasped her close 
 to his bosom, and quite forgot that reverence that was 
 due to the mistress of a King, and that punishment
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 23 
 
 that is the reward of a boldness of this nature. And 
 had not the presence of mind of Imoinda (fonder of 
 his safety than her own) befriended him, in making 
 her spring from his arms, and fall into her dance 
 again, he had at that instant met his death ; for the 
 old King, jealous to the last degree, rose up in rage, 
 broke all the diversion, and led Imoinda to her apart- 
 ment, and sent out word to the Prince, to go imme- 
 diately to the camp ; and that if he were found 
 another night in Court, he should suffer the death 
 ordained for disobedience to offenders. 
 
 You may imagine how welcome this news was to 
 Oroonoko, whose unseasonable transport and caress 
 of Imoinda was blamed by all men that loved him : 
 and now he perceived his fault, yet cried, ' That for 
 such another moment he would be content to die.' 
 
 All the Otan was in disorder about this accident ; 
 and Onahal was particularly concerned because on the 
 Prince's stay depended her happiness ; for she could 
 no longer expect that of Aboan : so that ere they 
 departed, they contrived it so that the Prince and he 
 should both come that night to the grove of the Otan, 
 which was all of oranges and citrons, and that there 
 they would wait her orders. 
 
 They parted thus with grief enough till night, 
 leaving the King in possession of the lovely maid. 
 But nothing could appease the jealousy of the old 
 lover ; he would not be imposed on, but would have 
 it that Imoinda made a false step on purpose to 
 fall into Oroonoko's bosom, and that all things looked 
 like a design on both sides ; and it was in vain she 
 protested her innocence; he was old and obstinate, 
 and left her, more than half assured that his fear was 
 true. 
 
 The King going to his apartment, sent to know 
 where the Prince was, and if he intended to obey his 
 command. The messenger returned, and told him, 
 he found the Prince pensive, and altogether unpre- 
 pared for the campaign ; that he lay negligently on
 
 24 OROONORO 
 
 the ground, and answered very little. This confirmed 
 the jealousy of the King, and he commanded that 
 they should very narrowly and privately watch his 
 motions ; and that he should not stir from his apart- 
 ment, but one spy or other should be employed to 
 watch him : so that the hour approaching, wherein 
 he was to go to the citron-grove ; and taking only 
 Aboan along with him, he leaves his apartment, and 
 was watched to the very gate of the Otan ; where he 
 was seen to enter, and where they left him, to carry 
 back the tidings to the King. 
 
 Oroonoko and Aboan were no sooner entered, but 
 Onahal led the Prince to the apartment of Imoinda; 
 who, not knowing any thing of her happiness, was 
 laid in bed. But Onahal only left him in her 
 chamber, to make the best of his opportunity, and 
 took her dear Aboan to her own ; where he showed 
 the height of complaisance for his Prince, when, to 
 give him an opportunity, he suffered himself to be 
 caressed in bed by Onahal. 
 
 The Prince softly wakened Imoinda, who was not 
 a little surprised with joy to find him there ; and yet 
 she trembled with a thousand fears. I believe he 
 omitted saying nothing to this young maid, that 
 might persuade her to suffer him to seize his own, 
 and take the rights of love. And I believe she was 
 not long resisting those arms where she so longed to 
 be ; and having opportunity, night, and silence, youth, 
 love, and desire, he soon prevailed, and ravished in a 
 moment what his old grandfather had been endeavour- 
 ing for so many months. 
 
 It is not to be imagined the satisfaction of these 
 two young lovers ; nor the vows she made him, that 
 she remained a spotless maid till that night, and that 
 what she did with his grandfather had robbed him 
 of no part of her virgin honour ; the gods, in mercy 
 and justice, having reserved that for her plighted 
 lord, to whom of right it belonged. And it is im- 
 possible to express the transports he suffered, while
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 25 
 
 he listened to a discourse so charming from her loved 
 lips ; and clasped that body in his arms, for whom he 
 had so long languished ; and nothing now afflicted 
 him, but his sudden departure from her ; for he told 
 her the necessity, and his commands, but should 
 depart satisfied in this, that since the old King had 
 hitherto not been able to deprive him of those enjoy- 
 ments which only belonged to him, he believed for the 
 future he would be less able to injure him ; so that, 
 abating the scandal of the veil, which was no other- 
 wise so, than that she was wife to another, he believed 
 her safe, even in the arms of the King, and innocent; 
 yet would he have ventured at the conquest of the 
 world, and have given it all to have had her avoided 
 that honour of receiving the Royal Veil. It was thus, 
 between a thousand caresses, that both bemoaned the 
 hard fate of youth and beauty, so liable to that cruel 
 promotion : it was a glory that could well have been 
 spared here, though desired and aimed at by all the 
 young females of that kingdom. 
 
 But while they were thus fondly employed, for- 
 getting how time ran on, and that the dawn must 
 conduct him far away from his only happiness, they 
 heard a great noise in the Otan, and unusual voices 
 of men ; at which the Prince, starting from the arms 
 of the frighted Imoinda, ran to a little battle-axe he 
 used to wear by his side ; and having not so much 
 leisure as to put on his habit, he opposed himself 
 against some who were already opening the door : 
 which they did with so much violence, that Oroonoko 
 was not able to defend it ; but was forced to cry out 
 with a commanding voice, ' Whoever ye are that have 
 the boldness to attempt to approach this apartment 
 thus rudely ; know, that I, the Prince Oroonoko, will 
 revenge it with the certain death of him that first 
 enters ; therefore stand back, and know, this place 
 is sacred to love and me this night ; to-morrow 'tis 
 the King's.' 
 
 This he spoke with a voice so resolved and assured,
 
 26 OROONOKO 
 
 that they soon retired from the door; but cried, *'Tis 
 by the King's command we are come ; and being 
 satisfied by thy voice, O Prince, as much as if we 
 had entered, we can report to the King the truth of 
 all his fears, and leave thee to provide for thy own 
 safety, as thou art advised by thy friends.' 
 
 At these words they departed, and left the Prince 
 to take a short and sad leave of his Imoinda ; who, 
 trusting in the strength of her charms, believed she 
 should appease the fury of a jealous King, by saying, 
 she was surprised, and that it was by force of arms 
 he got into her apartment. All her concern now was 
 for his life, and therefore she hastened him to the 
 camp, and with much ado prevailed on him to go. 
 Nor was it she alone that prevailed ; Aboan and 
 Onahal both pleaded, and both assured him of a lie 
 that should be well enough contrived to secure 
 Imoinda. So that at last, with a heart sad as death, 
 dying eyes, and sighing soul, Oroonoko departed, and 
 took his way to the camp. 
 
 It was not long after, the King in person came to 
 the Otan; where beholding Imoinda, with rage in his 
 eyes, he upbraided her wickedness, and perfidy ; and 
 threatening her royal lover, she fell on her face at his 
 feet, bedewing the floor with her tears, and imploring 
 his pardon for a fault which she had not with her will 
 committed ; as Onahal, who was also prostrate with 
 her, could testify : that, unknown to her, he had 
 broken into her apartment, and ravished her. She 
 spoke this much against her conscience ; but to save 
 her own life, it was absolutely necessary she should 
 feign this falsity. She knew it could not injure the 
 Prince, he being fled to an army that would stand by 
 him, against any injuries that should assault him. 
 However, this last thought of Imoinda's being 
 ravished, changed the measures of his revenge ; and 
 whereas before he designed to be himself her execu- 
 tioner, he now resolved she should not die. But as it 
 is the greatest crime in nature amongst them, to touch
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 27 
 
 a woman after having been possessed by a son, a 
 father, or a brother, so now he looked on Imoinda as 
 a polluted thing wholly unfit for his embrace; nor 
 would he resign her to his grandson, because she had 
 received the Royal Veil : he therefore removes her 
 from the Otan, with Onahal ; whom he put into safe 
 hands, with the order they should be both sold off as 
 slaves to another country, either Christian or heathen, 
 it was no matter where. 
 
 This cruel sentence, worse than death, they im- 
 plored might be reversed ; but their prayers were 
 vain, and it was put in execution accordingly, and 
 that with so much secrecy, that none, either without 
 or within the Otan, knew anything of their absence, 
 or their destiny. 
 
 The old King nevertheless executed this with a 
 great deal of reluctancy ; but he believed he had 
 made a very great conquest over himself, when he 
 had once resolved, and had performed what he 
 resolved. He believed now, that his love had been 
 unjust ; and that he could not expect the gods, or 
 Captain of the Clouds (as they call the unknown 
 power) would suffer a better consequence from so ill 
 a cause. He now begins to hold Oroonoko excused ; 
 and to say, he had reason for what he did. And now 
 every body could assure the King how passionately 
 Imoinda was beloved by the Prince ; even those con- 
 fessed it now, who said the contrary before his flame 
 was not abated. So that the King being old, and 
 not able to defend himself in war, and having no 
 sons of all his race remaining alive, but only this to 
 maintain him on his throne ; and looking on this as 
 a man disobliged, first by the rape of his mistress, or 
 rather wife, and now by depriving him wholly of her, 
 he feared, might make him desperate, and do some 
 cruel thing, either to himself or his old grandfather 
 the offender, he began to repent him extremely of 
 the contempt he had, in his rage, put on Imoinda. 
 Besides, he considered he ought in honour to have
 
 28 OROONOKO 
 
 killed her for this offence, if it had been one. He 
 ought to have had so much value and consideration 
 for a maid of her quality, as to have nobly put her to 
 death, and not to have sold her like a common slave ; 
 the greatest revenge, and the most disgraceful of any, 
 and to which they a thousand times prefer death, and 
 implore it ; as Imoinda did, but could not obtain that 
 honour. Seeing therefore it was certain that Oroo- 
 noko would highly resent this affront, he thought 
 good to make some excuse for his rashness to him ; 
 and to that end, he sent a messenger to the camp, 
 with orders to treat with him about the matter, to 
 gain his pardon, and endeavour to mitigate his grief: 
 but that by no means he should tell him she was sold, 
 but secretly put to death ; for he knew he should 
 never obtain his pardon for the other. 
 
 When the messenger came, he found the Prince 
 upon the point of engaging with the enemy; but as soon 
 as he heard of the arrival of the messenger, he com- 
 manded him to his tent, where he embraced him, and 
 received him with joy ; which was soon abated by the 
 downcast looks of the messenger, who was instantly 
 demanded the cause by Oroonoko ; who, impatient of 
 delay, asked a thousand questions in a breath, and all 
 concerning Imoinda. But there needed little return ; 
 for he could almost answer himself of all he de- 
 manded, from his sight and eyes. At last the messen- 
 ger casting himself at the Prince's feet, and kissing 
 them with all the submission of a man that had some- 
 thing to implore which he dreaded to utter, besought 
 him to hear with calmness what he had to deliver to 
 him, and to call up all his noble and heroic courage, 
 to encounter with his words, and defend himself 
 against the ungrateful things he had to relate. Oroo- 
 noko replied, with a deep sigh, and a languishing 
 voice, ' I am armed against their worst efforts, for I 
 
 know they will tell me, Imoinda is no more And 
 
 after that, you may spare the rest.' Then, command- 
 ing him to rise, he laid himself on a carpet, under a
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 29 
 
 rich pavilion, and remained a good while silent, and 
 was hardly heard to sigh. When he was come a 
 little to himself, the messenger asked him leave to 
 deliver that part of his embassy which the Prince had 
 not yet divined : and the Prince cried, ' I permit 
 thee.' Then he told him the affliction the old King 
 was in, for the rashness he had committed in his 
 cruelty to Imoinda ; and how he deigned to ask 
 pardon for his offence, and to implore the Prince would 
 not suffer that loss to touch his heart too sensibly, 
 which now all the gods could not restore him, but 
 might recompense him in glory, which he begged he 
 would pursue ; and that death, that common revenger 
 of all injuries, would soon even the account between 
 him and a feeble old man. 
 
 Oroonoko bad him return his duty to his lord and 
 master ; and to assure him, there was no account of 
 revenge to be adjudged between them : if there was, he 
 was the aggressor, and that death would be just, and, 
 maugre his age, would see him righted ; and he was 
 contented to leave his share of glory to youths more 
 fortunate and worthy of that favour from the gods : 
 that henceforth he would never lift a weapon, or draw 
 a bow, but abandon the small remains of his life to 
 sighs and tears, and the continual thoughts of what 
 his lord and grandfather had thought good to send 
 out of the world, with all that youth, that innocence 
 and beauty. 
 
 After having spoken this, whatever his greatest 
 officers and men of the best rank could do, they could 
 not raise him from the carpet, or persuade him to 
 action, and resolutions of life ; but commanding all 
 to retire, he shut himself into his pavilion all that 
 day, while the enemy was ready to engage : and won- 
 dering at the delay, the whole body of the chief of 
 the army then addressed themselves to him, and to 
 whom they had much ado to get admittance. They 
 fell on their faces at the foot of his carpet, where they 
 lay, and besought him with earnest prayers and tears
 
 30 OROONOKO 
 
 to lead them forth to battle, and not let the enemy 
 take advantages of them ; and implored him to 
 have regard to his glory, and to the world, that de- 
 pended on his courage and conduct. But he made no 
 other reply to all their supplications than this, that he 
 had now no more business for glory ; and for the world, 
 it was a trifle not worth his care : ' Go,' continued he, 
 sighing, 'and divide it amongst you, and reap with 
 joy what you so vainly prize, and leave me to my 
 more welcome destiny.' 
 
 They then demanded what they should do, and 
 whom he would constitute in his room, that the con- 
 fusion of ambitious youth and power might not ruin 
 their order, and make them a prey to the enemy. He 
 replied, he would not give himself that trouble, but 
 wished them to choose the bravest man amongst 
 them, let his quality or birth be what it would : 'For, 
 oh my friends ! ' says he, ' it is not titles make men 
 brave or good ; or birth that bestows courage and 
 generosity, or makes the owner happy. Believe this, 
 when you behold Oroonoko the most wretched, and 
 abandoned by fortune, of all the creation of the 
 gods.' So turning himself about, he would make no 
 more reply to all they could urge or implore. 
 
 The army beholding their officers return unsuccess- 
 ful, with sad faces and ominous looks, that presaged 
 no good luck, suffered a thousand fears to take pos- 
 session of their hearts, and the enemy to come even 
 upon them before they could provide for their safety 
 by any defence : and though they were assured by 
 some who had a mind to animate them, that they 
 should be immediately headed by the Prince: and 
 that in the mean time Aboan had orders to command 
 as General ; yet they were so dismayed for want of 
 that great example of bravery, that they could make 
 but a very feeble resistance ; and, at last, downright 
 fled before the enemy, who pursued them to the very 
 tents, killing them : nor could all Aboan's courage, 
 which that day gained him immortal glory, shame
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 31 
 
 them into a manly defence of themselves. The 
 guards that were left behind about the Prince's tent, 
 seeing the soldiers flee before the enemy, and scatter 
 themselves over the plain, in great disorder, made 
 such outcries, as roused the Prince from his amorous 
 slumber, in which he had remained buried for two 
 days, without permitting any sustenance to approach 
 him. But, in spite of all his resolutions, he had not 
 the constancy of grief to that degree, as to make 
 him insensible of the danger of his army; and in 
 that instant he leaped from his couch, and cried 
 ' Come, if we must die, let us meet death the noblest 
 way ; and it will be more like Oroonoko to encounter 
 him at an army's head, opposing the torrent of a 
 conquering foe, than lazily on a couch, to wait his 
 lingering pleasure, and die every moment by a thou- 
 sand racking thoughts ; or be tamely taken by an 
 enemy, and led a whining, love-sick slave to adorn 
 the triumphs of Jamoan, that young victor, who al- 
 ready is entered beyond the limits I have prescribed 
 him.' 
 
 While he was speaking, he suffered his people to 
 dress him for the field ; and sallying out of his 
 pavilion, with more life and vigour in his countenance 
 than ever he showed, he appeared like some Divine 
 Power descended to save his country from destruction : 
 and his people had purposely put him on all things 
 that might make him shine with most splendour, to 
 strike a reverend awe into the beholders. He flew 
 into the thickest of those that were pursuing his men; 
 and being animated with despair, he fought as if he 
 came on purpose to die, and did such good things as 
 will not be believed that human strength could per- 
 form ; and such, as soon inspired all the rest with 
 new courage, and new ardour. And now it was that 
 they began to fight indeed ; and so, as if they would 
 not be outdone even by their adored hero ; who 
 turning the tide of the victory, changing absolutely 
 the fate of the day, gained an entire conquest : and
 
 32 OROONOKO 
 
 Oroonoko having the good fortune to single out 
 Jamoan, he took him prisoner with his own hand, 
 having wounded him almost to death. 
 
 This Jamoan afterwards became very dear to him, 
 being a man very gallant, and of excellent graces, 
 and fine parts ; so that he never put him amongst 
 the rank of captives as they used to do, without dis- 
 tinction, for the common sale, or market, but kept 
 him in his own court, where he retained nothing of 
 the prisoner but the name, and returned no more 
 into his own country ; so great an affection he took 
 for Oroonoko, and by a thousand tales and adven- 
 tures of love and gallantry, flattered his disease of 
 melancholy and languishment ; which I have often 
 heard him say had certainly killed him, but for the 
 conversation of this prince and Aboan, and the 
 French Governor he had from his childhood, of 
 whom I have spoken before, and who was a man of 
 admirable wit, great ingenuity and learning ; all which 
 he had infused into his young pupil. This French- 
 man was banished out of his own country for some 
 heretical notions he held ; and though he was a man 
 of very little religion, yet he had admirable morals, 
 and a brave soul. 
 
 After the total defeat of Jamoan's army, which all 
 fled, or were left dead upon the place, they spent 
 some time in the camp; Oroonoko choosing rather 
 to remain awhile there in his tents, than to enter 
 into a Palace, or live in a Court where he had so 
 lately suffered so great a loss ; the officers therefore, 
 who saw and knew his cause of discontent, in- 
 vented all sorts of diversions and sports to entertain 
 their Prince : so that what with those amusements 
 abroad, and others at home, that is, within their 
 tents, with the persuasions, arguments, and care of 
 his friends and servants that he more peculiarly 
 prized, he wore off in time a great part of that 
 chagrin, and torture of despair, which the first efforts 
 of Imoinda's death had given him ; insomuch, as
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 33 
 
 having received a thousand kind embassies from the 
 King, and invitation to return to Court, he obeyed, 
 though with no little reluctancy ; and when he did 
 so, there was a visible change in him, and for a long 
 time he was much more melancholy than before. 
 But time lessens all extremes, and reduces them to 
 mediums, and unconcern ; but no motives of beau- 
 ties, though all endeavoured it, could engage him in 
 any sort of amour, though he had all the invitations 
 to it, both from his own youth, and other ambitions 
 and designs. 
 
 Oroonoko was no sooner returned from this last 
 conquest, and received at Court with all the joy and 
 magnificence that could be expressed to a young 
 victor, who was not only returned triumphant, but 
 beloved like a deity, than there arrived in the port an 
 English ship. 
 
 The master of it had often before been in these 
 countries, and was very well known to Oroonoko, 
 with whom he had trafficked for slaves, and had used 
 to do the same with his predecessors. 
 
 This commander was a man of a finer sort of 
 address and conversation, better bred, and more 
 engaging, than most of that sort of men are ; so that 
 he seemed rather never to have been bred out of 
 a Court, than almost all his life at sea. This captain 
 therefore was always better received at Court, than 
 most of the traders to those countries were ; and 
 especially by Oroonoko, who was more civilised, 
 according to the European mode, than any other 
 had been, and took more delight in the white nations; 
 and, above all, men of parts and wit. To this 
 captain he sold abundance of his slaves; and for 
 the favour and esteem he had for him, made him 
 many presents, and obliged him to stay at Court 
 as long as possibly he could. Which the captain 
 seemed to take as a very great honour done him, 
 entertaining the Prince every day with globes and 
 maps, and mathematical discourses and instruments ; 
 
 D
 
 34 OROONOKO 
 
 eating, drinking, hunting, and living with him with 
 so much familiarity, that it was not to be doubted 
 but he had gained very greatly upon the heart of 
 this gallant young man. And the captain, in return 
 of all these mighty favours, besought the Prince 
 to honour his vessel with his presence some day or 
 other at dinner, before he should set sail ; which 
 he condescended to accept, and appointed his day. 
 The captain, on his part, failed not to have all things 
 in a readiness, in the most magnificent order he 
 could possibly ; and the day being come, the captain, 
 in his boat, richly adorned with carpets and velvet 
 cushions, rowed to the shore to receive the Prince ; 
 with another long-boat, where was placed all his 
 music and trumpets, with which Oroonoko was ex- 
 tremely delighted ; who met him on the shore, 
 attended by his French Governor, Jamoan, Aboan, 
 and about a hundred of the noblest of the youths 
 of the Court ; and after they had first carried the 
 Prince on board, the boats fetched the rest off; 
 where they found a very splendid treat, with all sorts 
 of fine wines ; and were as well entertained, as it was 
 possible in such a place to be. 
 
 The Prince having drunk hard of punch, and 
 several sorts of wine, as did all the rest, (for great 
 care was taken they should want nothing of that 
 part of the entertainment) was very merry, and in 
 great admiration of the ship, for he had never been 
 in one before ; so that he was curious of beholding 
 every place where he decently might descend. The 
 rest, no less curious, who were not quite overcome 
 with drinking, rambled at their pleasure fore and aft, 
 as their fancies guided them ; so that the captain, 
 who had well laid his design before, gave the word, 
 and seized on all his guests ; then, clapping great 
 irons suddenly on the Prince, when he was leaped 
 down into the hold, to view that part of the vessel, 
 and locking him fast down, secured him. The same 
 treachery was used to all the rest; and all in one
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 35 
 
 instant, in several places of the ship, were lashed 
 fast in irons, and betrayed to slavery. That great 
 design over, they set all hands at work to hoist sail ; 
 and with as treacherous as fair a wind they made 
 from the shore with this innocent and glorious 
 prize, who thought of nothing less than such an 
 entertainment. 
 
 Some have commended this act, as brave in the 
 captain ; but I will spare my sense of it, and leave 
 it to my reader to judge as he pleases. It may 
 be easily guessed, in what manner the Prince resented 
 this indignity, who may be best resembled to a lion 
 taken in a toil; so he raged, so he struggled for 
 liberty, but all in vain; and they had so wisely 
 managed his fetters, that he could not use a hand 
 in his defence, to quit himself of a life that would by 
 no means endure slavery ; nor could he move from 
 the place where he was tied, to any solid part of the 
 ship, against which he might have beat his head, and 
 have finished his disgrace that way. So that being 
 deprived of all other means, he resolved to perish for 
 want of food ; and pleased at last with that thought, 
 and toiled and tired by rage and indignation, he laid 
 himself down, and sullenly resolved upon dying, and 
 refused all things that were brought him. 
 
 This did not a little vex the captain, and the more 
 so, because he found almost all of them of the same 
 humour; so that the loss of so many brave slaves, 
 so tall and goodly to behold, would have been very 
 considerable; he therefore ordered one to go from 
 him (for he would not be seen himself) to Oroonoko, 
 and to assure him, he was afflicted for having rashly 
 done so inhospitable a deed, and which could not be 
 now remedied, since they were far from shore ; but 
 since he resented it in so high a nature, he assured 
 him he would revoke his resolution, and set both him 
 and his friends ashore on the next land they should 
 touch at; and of this the messenger gave him his 
 oath, provided he would resolve to live. And
 
 36 OROONOKO 
 
 Oroonoko, whose honour was such, as he never had 
 violated a word in his life himself, much less a solemn 
 asseveration, believed in an instant what this man 
 said ; but replied, he expected, for a confirmation 
 of this, to have his shameful fetters dismissed. This 
 demand was carried to the captain ; who returned 
 him answer, that the offence had been so great which 
 he had put upon the Prince, that he durst not trust 
 him with liberty while he remained in the ship, 
 for fear, lest by a valour natural to him, and a 
 revenge that would animate that valour, he might 
 commit some outrage fatal to himself, and the King 
 his master, to whom the vessel did belong. To this 
 Oroonoko replied, He would engage his honour to 
 behave himself in all friendly order and manner, 
 and obey the command of the captain, as he was 
 lord of the King's vessel, and General of those men 
 under his command. 
 
 This was delivered to the still doubting captain, 
 who could not resolve to trust a heathen, he said, 
 upon his parole, a man that had no sense or notion 
 of the god that he worshipped. Oroonoko then 
 replied, He was very sorry to hear that the captain 
 pretended to the knowledge and worship of any gods, 
 who had taught him no better principles, than not 
 to credit as he would be credited. But they told 
 him, the difference of their faith occasioned that 
 distrust ; for the captain had protested to him upon 
 the word of a Christian, and sworn in the name 
 of a great God ; which if he should violate, he must 
 expect eternal torments in the world to come. ' Is 
 that all the obligations he has to be just to his oath ? ' 
 replied Oroonoko. ' Let him know, I swear by my 
 honour; which to violate, would not only render 
 me contemptible and despised by all brave and 
 honest men, and so give myself perpetual pain, but 
 it would be eternally offending and displeasing to 
 all mankind ; harming, betraying, circumventing, and 
 outraging all men. But punishments hereafter are
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 37 
 
 suffered by one's self; and the world takes no 
 cognizance whether this God has revenged them 
 or not, it is done so secretly, and deferred so long ; 
 while the man of no honour suffers every moment 
 the scorn and contempt of the honester world, and 
 dies every day ignominiously in his fame, which is 
 more valuable than life. I speak not this to move 
 belief, but to show you how you mistake, when you 
 imagine, that he who will violate his honour, will 
 keep his word with his gods.' So, turning from him 
 with a disdainful smile, he refused to answer him, 
 when he urged him to know what answer he should 
 carry back to his captain ; so that he departed with- 
 out saying any more. 
 
 The captain pondering and consulting what to do, 
 it was concluded, that nothing but Oroonoko's liberty 
 would encourage any of the rest to eat, except the 
 Frenchman, whom the captain could not pretend 
 to keep prisoner, but only told him, he was secured, 
 because he might act something in favour of the 
 Prince ; but that he should be freed as soon as they 
 came to land. So that they concluded it wholly 
 necessary to free the Prince from his irons, that he 
 might show himself to the rest ; that they might 
 have an eye upon him, and that they could not fear 
 a single man. 
 
 This being resolved, to make the obligation the 
 greater, the captain himself went to Oroonoko ; 
 where, after many compliments, and assurances of 
 what he had already promised, he receiving from 
 the Prince his parole, and his hand, for his good 
 behaviour, dismissed his irons, and brought him 
 to his own cabin ; where, after having treated and 
 reposed him a while, (for he had neither eaten nor 
 slept in four days before) he besought him to visit 
 those obstinate people in chains, who refused all 
 manner of sustenance ; and entreated him to oblige 
 them to eat, and assure them of their liberty the first 
 opportunity.
 
 38 OROONOKO 
 
 Oroonoko, who was too generous not to give credit 
 to his words, showed himself to his people, who were 
 transported with excess of joy at the sight of their 
 darling Prince; falling at his feet, and kissing and 
 embracing them ; believing, as some divine oracle, all 
 he assured them. But he besought them to bear their 
 chains with that bravery that became those whom he 
 had seen act so nobly in arms ; and that they could 
 not give him greater proofs of their love and friend- 
 ship, since it was all the security the captain (his 
 friend) could have against the revenge, he said, they 
 might possibly justly take for the injuries sustained 
 by him. And they all, with one accord, assured 
 him, that they could not suffer enough, when it was 
 for his repose and safety. 
 
 After this, they no longer refused to eat, but took 
 what was brought them, and were pleased with their 
 captivity, since by it they hoped to redeem the Prince, 
 who, all the rest of the voyage, was treated with all 
 the respect due to his birth, though nothing could 
 divert his melancholy ; and he would often sigh for 
 Imoinda, and think this a punishment due to his 
 misfortune, in having left that noble maid behind 
 him, that fatal night, in the Otan, when he fled to the 
 camp. 
 
 Possessed with a thousand thoughts of past joys 
 with this fair young person, and a thousand griefs for 
 her eternal loss, he endured a tedious voyage, and at 
 last arrived at the mouth of the River of Surinam, a 
 colony belonging to the King of England, and where 
 they were to deliver some part of their slaves. There 
 the merchants and gentlemen of the country going on 
 board, to demand those lots of slaves they had already 
 agreed on ; and amongst those, the overseers of those 
 plantations where I then chanced to be. The captain, 
 who had given the word, ordered his men to bring up 
 those noble slaves in fetters, whom I have spoken of ; 
 and having put them, some in one, and some in other 
 lots, with women and children (which they call pick-
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 39 
 
 aninnies) they sold them off, as slaves to several 
 merchants and gentlemen ; not putting any two in 
 one lot, because they would separate them far from 
 each other ; nor daring to trust them together, lest 
 rage and courage should put them upon contriving 
 some great action, to the ruin of the colony. 
 
 Oroonoko was first seized on, and sold to our over- 
 seer, who had the first lot, with seventeen more of all 
 sorts and sizes, but not one of quality with him. 
 When he saw this, he found what they meant ; for, 
 as I said, he understood English pretty well ; and 
 being wholly unarmed and defenceless, so as it was 
 in vain to make any resistance, he only beheld the 
 captain with a look all fierce and disdainful, upbraid- 
 ing him with eyes that forced blushes on his guilty 
 cheeks, he only cried in passing over the side of the 
 ship : ' Farewell, sir, 'tis worth my sufferings to gain 
 so true a knowledge, both of you, and of your gods, 
 by whom you swear.' And desiring those that held 
 him to forbear their pains, and telling them he would 
 make no resistance, he cried, 'Come, my fellow-slaves, 
 let us descend, and see if we can meet with more 
 honour and honesty in the next world we shall touch 
 upon.' So he nimbly leapt into the boat, and show- 
 ing no more concern, suffered himself to be rowed up 
 the river, with his seventeen companions. 
 
 The gentleman that bought him was a young 
 Cornish gentleman, whose name was Trefry ; a man 
 of great wit, and fine learning, and was carried into 
 
 those parts by the Lord , Governor, to manage 
 
 all his affairs. He reflecting on the last words of 
 Oroonoko to the captain, and beholding the richness 
 of his vest, no sooner came into the boat, but he fixed 
 his eyes on him ; and finding something so extra- 
 ordinary in his face, his shape and mien, a greatness 
 of look, and haughtiness in his air, and finding he 
 spoke English, had a great mind to be inquiring into 
 his quality and fortune ; which, though Oroonoko 
 endeavoured to hide, by only confessing he was above
 
 40 OROONOKO 
 
 the rank of common slaves, Trefry soon found he was 
 yet something greater than he confessed ; and from 
 that moment began to conceive so vast an esteem for 
 him, that he ever after loved him as his dearest 
 brother, and showed him all the civilities due to so 
 great a man. 
 
 Trefry was a very good mathematician, and a 
 linguist; could speak French and Spanish; and in 
 the three days they remained in the boat, (for so long 
 were they going from the ship to the plantation) he 
 entertained Oroonoko so agreeably with his art and 
 discourse, that he was no less pleased with Trefry, 
 than he was with the Prince ; and he thought himself, 
 at least, fortunate in this, that since he was a slave, as 
 long as he would suffer himself to remain so, he had 
 a man of so excellent wit and parts for a master. So 
 that before they had finished their voyage up the 
 river, he made no scruple of declaring to Trefry all 
 his fortunes, and most part of what I have here re- 
 lated, and put himself wholly into the hands of his 
 new friend, who he found resented all the injuries 
 were done him, and was charmed with all the great- 
 nesses of his actions ; which were recited with that 
 modesty, and delicate sense, as wholly vanquished 
 him, and subdued him to his interest. And he 
 promised him, on his word and honour, he would find 
 the means to reconduct him to his own country 
 again ; assuring him, he had a perfect abhorrence of 
 so dishonourable an action ; and that he would sooner 
 have died, than have been the author of such a perfidy. 
 He found the Prince was very much concerned to 
 know what became of his friends, and how they took 
 their slavery; and Trefry promised to take care about 
 the inquiring after their condition, and that he should 
 have an account of them. 
 
 Though, as Oroonoko afterwards said, he had little 
 reason to credit the words of a Backearary ; yet he 
 knew not why, but he saw a kind of sincerity, and 
 awful truth in the face of Trefry ; he saw honesty in
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 41 
 
 his eyes, and he found him wise and witty enough to 
 understand honour : for it was one of his maxims, A 
 man of wit could not be a knave or villain. 
 
 In their passage up the river, they put in at several 
 houses for refreshment ; and ever when they landed, 
 numbers of people would flock to behold this man : 
 not but their eyes were daily entertained with the 
 sight of slaves ; but the fame of Oroonoko was gone 
 before him, and all people were in admiration of his 
 beauty. Besides, he had a rich habit on, in which he 
 was taken, so different from the rest, and which the 
 captain could not strip him of, because he was forced 
 to surprise his person in the minute he sold him. 
 When he found his habit made him liable, as he 
 thought, to be gazed at the more, he begged Trefry 
 to give him something more befitting a slave, which 
 he did, and took off his robes : nevertheless, he shone 
 through all, and his osenbrigs (a sort of brown 
 Holland suit he had on) could not conceal the graces 
 of his looks and mien ; and he had no less admirers 
 than when he had his dazzling habit on. The Royal 
 Youth appeared in spite of the slave, and people 
 could not help treating him after a different manner, 
 without designing it. As soon as they approached 
 him, they venerated and esteemed him ; his eyes in- 
 sensibly commanded respect, and his behaviour insinu- 
 ated it into every soul. So that there was nothing 
 talked of but this young and gallant slave, even by 
 those who yet knew not that he was a prince. 
 
 I ought to tell you that the Christians never buy 
 any slaves but they give them some name of their 
 own, their native ones being likely very barbarous, 
 and hard to pronounce ; so that Mr. Trefry gave 
 Oroonoko that of Caesar; which name will live in 
 that country as long as that (scarce more) glorious 
 one of the great Roman : for it is most evident he 
 wanted no part of the personal courage of that 
 Caesar, and acted things as memorable, had they been 
 done in some part of the world replenished with
 
 42 OROONOKO 
 
 people and historians, that might have given him his 
 due. But his misfortune was, to fall in an obscure 
 world, that afforded only a female pen to celebrate 
 his fame ; though I doubt not but it had lived from 
 others' endeavours, if the Dutch, who immediately 
 after his time took that country, had not killed, 
 banished and dispersed all those that were capable 
 of giving the world this great man's life, much better 
 than I have done. And Mr. Trefry, who designed it, 
 died before he began it, and bemoaned himself for 
 not having undertaken it in time. 
 
 For the future therefore I must call Oroonoko 
 Caesar ; since by that name only he was known in 
 our western world, and by that name he was received 
 on shore at Parham House, where he was destined a 
 slave. But if the king himself (God bless him) had 
 come ashore there could not have been greater ex- 
 pectation by all the whole plantation, and those 
 neighbouring ones, than was on ours at that time : 
 and he was received more like a governor than a 
 slave : notwithstanding, as the custom was, they 
 assigned him his portion of land, his house and his 
 business up in the plantation. But as it was more 
 for form, than any design to put him to his task, he 
 endured no more of the slave but the name, and 
 remained some days in the house, receiving all visits 
 that were made him, without stirring towards that 
 part of the plantation where the negroes were. 
 
 At last, he would needs go view his land, his house, 
 and the business assigned him. But he no sooner 
 came to the houses of the slaves, which are like a 
 little town by itself, the negroes all having left work, 
 but they all came forth to behold him, and found he 
 was that Prince who had, at several times, sold most 
 of them to these parts ; and from a veneration they 
 pay to great men, especially if they know them, and 
 from the surprise and awe they had at the sight of 
 him, they all cast themselves at his feet, crying out, 
 in their language, ' Live, O King ! Long live, O
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 43 
 
 King!' and kissing his feet, paid him even divine 
 homage. 
 
 Several English gentlemen were with him, and 
 what Mr. Trefry had told them was here confirmed ; 
 of which he himself before had no other witness than 
 Caesar himself. But he was infinitely glad to find his 
 grandeur confirmed by the adoration of all the slaves. 
 
 Caesar, troubled with their over-joy, and over- 
 ceremony, besought them to rise, and to receive him 
 as their fellow-slave; assuring them he was no better. 
 At which they set up with one accord a most terrible 
 and hideous mourning and condoling, which he and 
 the English had much ado to appease : but at last 
 they prevailed with them, and they prepared all their 
 barbarous music, and every one killed and dressed 
 something of his own stock (for every family has 
 their land apart, on which, at their leisure times, they 
 breed all eatable things) and clubbing it together, 
 made a most magnificent supper, inviting their 
 Grandee Captain, their Prince, to honour it with his 
 presence ; which he did, and several English with 
 him, where they all waited on him, some playing, 
 others dancing before him all the time, according to 
 the manners of their several nations, and with un- 
 wearied industry endeavouring to please and delight 
 him. 
 
 While they sat at meat, Mr. Trefry told Caesar, 
 that most of these young slaves were undone in love 
 with a fine she-slave, whom they had had about six 
 months on their land ; the Prince, who never heard 
 the name of love without a sigh, nor any mention of 
 it without the curiosity of examining further into 
 that tale, which of all discourses was most agreeable 
 to him, asked, how they came to be so unhappy, as 
 to be all undone for one fair slave ? Trefry, who was 
 naturally amorous, and delighted to talk of love as 
 well as anybody, proceeded to tell him, they had the 
 most charming black that ever was beheld on their 
 plantation, about fifteen or sixteen years old, as he
 
 44 OROONOKO 
 
 guessed ; that for his part he had done nothing but 
 sigh for her ever since she came ; and that all the 
 white beauties he had seen, never charmed him so 
 absolutely as this fine creature had done ; and that 
 no man, of any nation, ever beheld her, that did not 
 fall in love with her ; and that she had all the slaves 
 perpetually at her feet ; and the whole country re- 
 sounded with the fame of Clemene, for so (said he) 
 we have christened her: but she denies us all with 
 such a noble disdain, that 'tis a miracle to see, that 
 she who can give such eternal desires, should herself 
 be all ice and unconcern. She is adorned with the 
 most graceful modesty that ever beautified youth ; 
 
 the softest sigher that, if she were capable of 
 
 love, one would swear she languished for some absent 
 happy man ; and so retired, as if she feared a rape 
 even from the God of Day, or that the breezes would 
 steal kisses from her delicate mouth. Her task of 
 work, some sighing lover every day makes it his 
 petition to perform for her ; which she accepts blush- 
 ing, and with reluctancy, for fear he will ask her a 
 look for a recompense, which he dares not presume to 
 hope : so great an awe she strikes into the hearts of 
 her admirers. ' I do not wonder,' replied the Prince, 
 4 that Clemene should refuse slaves, being, as you say, 
 so beautiful ; but wonder how she escapes those that 
 can entertain her as you can do ; or why, being your 
 slave, you do not oblige her to yield ? ' 'I confess,' 
 said Trefry, 'when I have, against her will, entertained 
 her with love so long, as to be transported with my 
 passion even above decency, I have been ready to 
 make use of those advantages of strength and force 
 nature has given me. But, oh ! she disarms me with 
 that modesty and weeping, so tender and so moving, 
 that I retire, and thank my stars she overcame me.' 
 The company laughed at his civility to a slave, and 
 Caesar only applauded the nobleness of his passion 
 and nature, since that slave might be noble, or, what 
 was better, have true notions of honour and virtue in
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 45 
 
 her. Thus passed they this night, after having re- 
 ceived from the slaves all imaginable respect and 
 obedience. 
 
 The next day, Trefry asked Caesar to walk when 
 the heat was allayed, and designedly carried him by 
 the cottage of the fair slave ; and told him she whom 
 he spoke of last night lived there retired : ' But,' 
 says he, ' I would not wish you to approach ; for I 
 am sure you will be in love as soon as you behold 
 her.' Caesar assured him, he was proof against all 
 the charms of that sex ; and that if he imagined his 
 heart could be so perfidious to love again after 
 Imoinda, he believed he should tear it from his 
 bosom. They had no sooner spoken, but a little 
 shock-dog, that Clemene had presented her, which 
 she took great delight in, ran out ; and she, not 
 knowing anybody was there, ran to get it in again, 
 and bolted out on those who were just speaking of 
 her : when seeing them, she would have run in again, 
 but Trefry caught her by the hand, and cried, 
 ' Clemene, however you fly a lover, you ought to pay 
 some respect to this stranger,' pointing to Caesar. 
 But she, as if she had resolved never to raise her 
 eyes to the face of a man again, bent them the more 
 to the earth, when he spoke, and gave the Prince the 
 leisure to look the more at her. There needed no 
 long gazing, or consideration, to examine who this 
 fair creature was ; he soon saw Imoinda all over her ; 
 in a minute he saw her face, her shape, her air, her 
 modesty, and all that called forth his soul with joy 
 at his eyes, and left his body destitute of almost life : 
 it stood without motion, and for a minute knew not 
 that it had a being ; and, I believe, he had never 
 come to himself, so oppressed he was with over-joy, 
 if he had not met with this allay, that he perceived 
 Imoinda fall dead in the hands of Trefry. This 
 awakened him, and he ran to her aid, and caught her 
 in his arms, where by degrees she came to herself; 
 and it is needless to, tell with what transports, what
 
 46 OROONOKO 
 
 ecstasies of joy, they both a while beheld each other, 
 without speaking ; then snatched each other to their 
 arms; then gazed again, as if they still doubted 
 whether they possessed the blessing they grasped : 
 but when they recovered their speech, it is not to be 
 imagined what tender things they expressed to each 
 other ; wondering what strange fate had brought 
 them again together. They soon informed each 
 other of their fortunes, and equally bewailed their 
 fate ; but at the same time they mutually protested, 
 that even fetters and slavery were soft and easy, and 
 would be supported with joy and pleasure, while they 
 could be so happy to possess each other, and to be 
 able to make good their vows. Caesar swore he dis- 
 dained the empire of the world, while he could 
 behold his Imoinda ; and she despised grandeur and 
 pomp, those vanities of her sex, when she could gaze 
 on Oroonoko. He adored the very cottage where 
 she resided, and said, That little inch of the world 
 would give him more happiness than all the universe 
 could do; and she vowed it was a palace, while 
 adorned with the presence of Oroonoko. 
 
 Trefry was infinitely pleased with this novel, and 
 found this Clemene was the fair mistress of whom 
 Caesar had before spoke ; and was not a little satisfied, 
 that heaven was so kind to the Prince as to sweeten 
 his misfortunes by so lucky an accident ; and leaving 
 the lovers to themselves, was impatient to come down 
 to Parham House (which was on the same plantation) 
 to give me an account of what had happened. I was 
 as impatient to make these lovers a visit, having 
 already made a friendship with Caesar, and from his 
 own mouth learned what I have related ; which was 
 confirmed by his Frenchman, who was set on shore 
 to seek his fortune, and of whom they could not 
 make a slave, because a Christian ; and he came daily 
 to Parham Hill to see and pay his respects to his 
 pupil Prince. So that concerning and interesting 
 myself in all that related to Caesar, whom I had
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 47 
 
 assured of liberty as soon as the Governor arrived, 
 I hasted presently to the place where these lovers 
 were, and was infinitely glad to find this beautiful 
 young slave (who had already gained all our esteems, 
 for her modesty and extraordinary prettiness) to be 
 the same I had heard Caesar speak so much of. One 
 may imagine then we paid her a treble respect ; and 
 though from her being carved in fine flowers and birds 
 all over her body, we took her to be of quality before, 
 yet when we knew Clemene was Imoinda, we could 
 not enough admire her. 
 
 I had forgot to tell you, that those who are nobly 
 born of that country, are so delicately cut and raised 
 all over the fore-part of the trunk of their bodies, 
 that it looks as if it were japanned, the works being 
 raised like high point round the edges of the flowers. 
 Some are only carved with a little flower, or bird, at 
 the sides of the temples, as was Caesar ; and those 
 who are so carved over the body, resemble our ancient 
 Picts that are figured in the chronicles, but these 
 carvings are more delicate. 
 
 From that happy day Caesar took Clemene for his 
 wife, to the general joy of all people ; and there was 
 as much magnificence as the country could afford at 
 the celebration of this wedding : and in a very short 
 time after she conceived with child, which made 
 Caesar even adore her, knowing he was the last of his 
 great race. This new accident made him more im- 
 patient of liberty, and he was every day treating with 
 Trefry for his and Clemene's liberty, and offered 
 either gold, or a vast quantity of slaves, which should 
 be paid before they let him go, provided he could 
 have any security that he should go when his ransom 
 was paid. They fed him from day to day with 
 promises, and delayed him till the Lord- Governor 
 should come ; so that he began to suspect them of 
 falsehood, and that they would delay him till the 
 time of his wife's delivery, and make a slave of the 
 child too; for all the breed is theirs to whom the
 
 48 OROONOKO 
 
 parents belong. This thought made him very un- 
 easy, and his sullenness gave them some jealousies 
 of him ; so that I was obliged, by some persons who 
 feared a mutiny (which is very fatal sometimes in 
 those colonies that abound so with slaves, that they 
 exceed the whites in vast numbers), to discourse with 
 Caesar, and to give him all the satisfaction I possibly 
 could. They knew he and Clemene were scarce an 
 hour in a day from my lodgings ; that they ate with 
 me, and that I obliged them in all things I was 
 capable. I entertained them with the lives of the 
 Romans, and great men, which charmed him to my 
 company ; and her, with teaching her all the pretty 
 works that I was mistress of, and telling her stories 
 of nuns, and endeavouring to bring her to the know- 
 ledge of the true God. But of all discourses, Csesar 
 liked that the worst, and would never be reconciled 
 to our notions of the trinity, of which he ever made 
 a jest ; it was a riddle he said would turn his brain 
 to conceive, and one could not make him understand 
 what faith was. However, these conversations failed 
 not altogether so well to divert him, that he liked the 
 company of us women much above the men, for he 
 could not drink, and he is but an ill companion in 
 that country that cannot. So that obliging him to 
 love us very well, we had all the liberty of speech 
 with him, especially myself, whom he called his Great 
 Mistress ; and indeed my word would go a great way 
 with him. For these reasons I had opportunity to 
 take notice of him, that he was not well pleased of 
 late, as he used to be; was more retired and thought- 
 ful ; and told him, I took it ill he should suspect we 
 would break our words with him, and not permit both 
 him and Clemene to return to his own kingdom, 
 which was not so long a way, but when he was once 
 on his voyage he would quickly arrive there. He 
 made me some answers that showed a doubt in him, 
 which made me ask, what advantage it would be to 
 doubt? It would but give us a fear of him, and
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 49 
 
 possibly compel us to treat him so as I should be 
 very loth to behold ; that is, it might occasion his 
 confinement. Perhaps this was not so luckily spoke 
 of me, for I perceived he resented that word, which 
 I strove to soften again in vain : however, he assured 
 me, that whatsoever resolutions he should take, he 
 would act nothing upon the white people ; and as for 
 myself, and those upon that plantation where he was, 
 he would sooner forfeit his eternal liberty, and life 
 itself, than lift his hand against his greatest enemy 
 on that place. He besought me to suffer no fears 
 upon his account, for he could do nothing that 
 honour should not dictate; but he accused himself 
 for having suffered slavery so long ; yet he charged 
 that weakness on love alone, who was capable of 
 making him neglect even glory itself; and, for 
 which, now he reproaches himself every moment of 
 the day. Much more to this effect he spoke, with an 
 air impatient enough to make me know he would not 
 be long in bondage ; and though he suffered only the 
 name of a slave, and had nothing of the toil and 
 labour of one, yet that was sufficient to render him 
 uneasy ; and he had been too long idle, who used to 
 be always in action, and in arms. He had a spirit all 
 rough and fierce, and that could not be tamed to lazy 
 rest : and though all endeavours were used to 
 exercise himself in such actions and sports as this 
 world afforded, as running, wrestling, pitching the 
 bar, hunting and fishing, chasing and killing tigers 
 of a monstrous size, which this continent affords in 
 abundance ; and wonderful snakes, such as Alexander 
 is reported to have encountered at the river of 
 Amazons, and which Caesar took great delight to 
 overcome ; yet these were not actions great enough 
 for his large soul, which was still panting after more 
 renowned actions. 
 
 Before I parted that day with him, I got, with 
 mu % ch ado, a promise from him to rest yet a little 
 longer with patience, and wait the coming of the
 
 50 OROONOKO 
 
 Lord-Governor, who was every day expected on our 
 shore. He assured me he would, and this promise he 
 desired me to know was given perfectly in com- 
 plaisance to me, in whom he had an entire confidence. 
 
 After this, I neither thought it convenient to trust 
 him much out of our view, nor did the country, who 
 feared him ; but with one accord it was advised to 
 treat him fairly, and oblige him to remain within such 
 a compass, and that he should be permitted, as seldom 
 as could be, to go up to the plantations of the 
 negroes ; or, if he did, to be accompanied by some 
 that should be rather, in appearance, attendants than 
 spies. This care was for some time taken, and Caesar 
 looked upon it as a mark of extraordinary respect, 
 and was glad his discontent had obliged them to be 
 more observant to him ; he received new assurance 
 from the overseer, which was confirmed to him by the 
 opinion of all the gentlemen of the country, who 
 made their court to him. During this time that we 
 had his company more frequently than hitherto we 
 had had, it may not be unpleasant to relate to you 
 the diversions we entertained him with, or rather 
 he us. 
 
 My stay was to be short in that country ; because 
 my father died at sea, and never arrived to possess 
 the honour designed him, (which was Lieutenant- 
 General of six-and-thirty islands, besides the con- 
 tinent of Surinam) nor the advantages he hoped to 
 reap by them : so that, though we were obliged to 
 continue on our voyage, we did not intend to stay 
 upon the place. Though, in a word, I must say thus 
 much of it ; that certainly had his late Majesty, of 
 sacred memory, but seen and known what a vast and 
 charming world he had been master of in that 
 continent, he would never have parted so easily with 
 it to the Dutch. It is a continent, whose vast extent 
 was never yet known, and may contain more noble 
 earth than all the universe beside ; for, they say, it 
 reaches from east to west one way as far as China,
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 51 
 
 and another to Peru. It affords all things both for 
 beauty and use ; it is there eternal spring, always the 
 very months of April, May, and June ; the shades are 
 perpetual, the trees bearing at once all degrees of 
 leaves, and fruit, from blooming buds to ripe autumn : 
 groves of oranges, lemons, citrons, figs, nutmegs, and 
 noble aromatics, continually bearing their fragrances: 
 the trees appearing all like nosegays, adorned with 
 flowers of different kinds ; some are all white, some 
 purple, some scarlet, some blue, some yellow; bearing 
 at the same time ripe fruit, and blooming young, or 
 producing every day new. The very wood of all 
 these trees has an intrinsic value, above common 
 timber ; for they are, when cut, of different colours, 
 glorious to behold, and bear a price considerable, to 
 inlay withal. Besides this, they yield rich balm, and 
 gums ; so that we make our candles of such an 
 aromatic substance, as does not only give a sufficient 
 light, but as they burn, they cast their perfumes all 
 about. Cedar is the common firing, and all the houses 
 are built with it. The very meat we eat, when set on 
 the table, if it be native, I mean of the country, per- 
 fumes the whole room ; especially a little beast called 
 an Armadillo, a thing which I can liken to nothing 
 so well as a rhinoceros ; it is all in white armour, 
 so jointed, that it moves as well in it, as if it had 
 nothing on. This beast is about the bigness of a pig 
 of six weeks old. But it were endless to give an 
 account of all the divers wonderful and strange things 
 that country affords, and which he took a great 
 delight to. go in search of; though those adventures 
 are oftentimes fatal, and at least dangerous. But 
 while we had Cassar in our company on these designs, 
 we feared no harm, nor suffered any. 
 
 As soon as I came into the country, the best house 
 in it was presented me, called St. John's Hill. It 
 stood on a vast rock of white marble, at the foot of 
 which the river ran a vast depth down, and not to be 
 descended on that side ; the little waves still dashing
 
 52 OROONOKO 
 
 and washing the foot of this rock, made the softest 
 murmurs and purlings in the world ; and the opposite 
 bank was adorned with such vast quantities of differ- 
 ent flowers eternally blowing, and every day and 
 hour new, fenced behind them with lofty trees of a 
 thousand rare forms and colours, that the prospect was 
 the most ravishing that fancy can create. On the 
 edge of this white rock, towards the river, was a walk, 
 or grove, of orange and lemon trees, about half the 
 length of the Mall here, whose flowery and fruit- 
 bearing branches met at the top, and hindered the 
 sun, whose rays are very fierce there, from entering 
 a beam into the grove ; and the cool air that came 
 from the river made it not only fit to entertain people 
 in, at all the hottest hours of the day, but refresh the 
 sweet blossoms, and made it always sweet and charm- 
 ing ; and sure, the whole globe of the world cannot 
 show so delightful a place as this grove was : not all 
 the gardens of boasted Italy can produce a shade to 
 outvie this, which nature has joined with art to 
 render so exceeding fine ; and it is a marvel to see 
 how such vast trees, as big as English oaks, could 
 take footing on so solid a rock, and in so little earth 
 as covered that rock. But all things by nature there 
 are rare, delightful, and wonderful. But to our sports. 
 Sometimes we would go surprising, and in search 
 of young tigers in their dens, watching when the old 
 ones went forth to forage for prey : and oftentimes we 
 have been in great danger, and have fled apace for 
 our lives, when surprised by the dams. But once, 
 above all other times, we went on this design, and 
 Caesar was with us; who had no sooner stolen a young 
 tiger from her nest, but going off, we encountered the 
 dam, bearing a buttock of a cow, which she had torn 
 off with her mighty paw, and going with it towards 
 her den. We had only four women, Caesar, and an 
 English gentleman, brother to Harry Martin the 
 great Oliverian ; we found there was no escaping this 
 enraged and ravenous beast. However, we women
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 53 
 
 fled as fast as we could from it ; but our heels had 
 not saved our lives, if Cresar had not laid down her 
 cub, when he found the tiger quit her prey to make 
 the more speed towards him ; and taking Mr. Martin's 
 sword, desired him to stand aside, or follow the ladies. 
 He obeyed him ; and Caesar met this monstrous beast 
 of mighty size, and vast limbs, who came with open 
 jaws upon him ; and fixing his awful stern eyes full 
 upon those of the beast, and putting himself into 
 a very steady and good aiming posture of defence, 
 ran his sword quite through his breast, down to his 
 very heart, home to the hilt of the sword. The dying 
 beast stretched forth her paw, and going to grasp his 
 thigh, surprised with death in that very moment, did 
 him no other harm than fixing her long nails in his 
 flesh very deep, feebly wounded him, but could not 
 grasp the flesh to tear off any. When he had done 
 this, he halloaed us to return ; which, after some 
 assurance of his victory, we did, and found him 
 lugging out the sword from the bosom of the tiger, 
 who was laid in her blood on the ground. He took 
 up the cub, and with an unconcern that had nothing 
 of the joy or gladness of victory, he came and laid 
 the whelp at my feet. We all extremely wondered 
 at his daring, and at the bigness of the beast, which 
 was about the height of a heifer, but of mighty 
 great and strong limbs. 
 
 Another time, being in the woods, he killed a tiger, 
 that had long infested that part, and borne away 
 abundance of sheep and oxen, and other things, that 
 were for the support of those to whom they belonged. 
 Abundance of people assailed this beast, some affirm- 
 ing they had shot her with several bullets quite 
 through the body at several times ; and some swear- 
 ing they shot her through the very heart ; and they 
 believed she was a devil, rather than a mortal thing. 
 Csesar had often said, he had a mind to encounter 
 this monster, and spoke with several gentlemen who 
 had attempted her ; one crying, I shot her with so
 
 54 OROONOKO 
 
 many poisoned arrows, another with his gun in this 
 part of her, and another in that ; so that he remark- 
 ing all the places where she was shot, fancied still he 
 should overcome her, by giving her another sort of 
 a wound than any had yet done ; and one day said 
 (at the table) 'What trophies and garlands, ladies, 
 will you make me, if I bring you home the heart of 
 this ravenous beast that eats up all your lambs and 
 pigs ? ' We all promised he should be rewarded at 
 our hands. So taking a bow, which he chose out 
 of a great many, he went up into the wood, with two 
 gentlemen, where he imagined this devourer to be. 
 They had not passed very far into it when they heard 
 her voice, growling and grumbling, as if she were 
 pleased with something she was doing. When they 
 came in view, they found her nuzzling in the belly 
 of a new ravished sheep, which she had torn open; 
 and seeing herself approached, she took fast hold 
 of her prey with her fore-paws, and set a very fierce 
 raging look on Caesar, without offering to approach 
 him, for fear at the same time of losing what she 
 had in possession. So that Caesar remained a good 
 while, only taking aim, and getting an opportunity 
 to shoot her where he designed. It was some time 
 before he could accomplish it; and to wound her, 
 and not kill her, would but have enraged her the 
 more, and endangered him. He had a quiver of 
 arrows at his side, so that if one failed, he could be 
 supplied. At last, retiring a little, he gave her 
 opportunity to eat, for he found she was ravenous, 
 and fell to as soon as she saw him retire, being 
 more eager of her prey, than of doing new mis- 
 chiefs ; when he going softly to one side of her, and 
 hiding his person behind certain herbage, that grew 
 high and thick, he took so good aim that, as he 
 intended he shot her just into the eye, and the 
 arrow was sent with so good a will, and so sure 
 a hand, that it stuck in her brain, and made her 
 caper, and become mad for a moment or two ; but
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 55 
 
 being seconded by another arrow, she fell dead upon 
 the prey. Caesar cut her open with a knife, to 
 see where those wounds were that had been reported 
 to him, and why she did not die of them. But I 
 shall now relate a thing that, possibly, will find no 
 credit among men ; because it is a notion commonly 
 received with us, that nothing can receive a wound 
 in the heart, and live. But when the heart of this 
 courageous animal was taken out, there were seven 
 bullets of lead in it, the wound seamed up with 
 great scars, and she lived with the bullets a great 
 while, for it was long since they were shot. This 
 heart the conqueror brought up to us, and it was 
 a very great curiosity, which all the country came 
 to see ; and which gave Caesar occasion of many 
 fine discourses of accidents in war, and strange 
 escapes. 
 
 At other times he would go a-fishing; and dis- 
 coursing on that diversion, he found we had in that 
 country a very strange fish, called a Numb-Eel, 
 (an eel of which I have eaten) that while it is alive, 
 it has a quality so cold, that those who are angling, 
 though with a line of ever so great a length, with 
 a rod at the end of it, it shall in the same minute 
 the bait is touched by this eel, seize him or her 
 that holds the rod with a numbness, that shall 
 deprive them of sense for a while ; and some have 
 fallen into the water, and others dropped, as dead, 
 on the banks of the rivers where they stood, as 
 soon as this fish touches the bait. Caesar used to 
 laugh at this, and believed it impossible a man 
 could lose his force at the touch of a fish ; and could 
 not understand that philosophy, that a cold quality 
 should be of that nature ; however, he had a great 
 curiosity to try whether it would have the same 
 effect on him it had on others, and often tried, 
 but in vain. At last, the sought-for fish came to 
 the bait, as he stood angling on the bank ; and 
 instead of throwing away the rod, or giving it
 
 56 OROONOKO 
 
 a sudden twitch out of the water, whereby he might 
 have caught both the eel, and have dismissed the rod, 
 before it could have too much power over him ; for 
 experiment-sake, he grasped it but the harder, and 
 fainting, fell into the river ; and being still possessed 
 of the rod, the tide carried him, senseless as he was, a 
 great way, till an Indian boat took him up ; and per- 
 ceived when they touched him, a numbness seize them, 
 and by that knew the rod was in his hand ; which 
 with a paddle, (that is a short oar) they struck away, 
 and snatched it into the boat, eel and all. If Caesar 
 was almost dead, with the effect of this fish, he was 
 more so with that of the water, where he had re- 
 mained the space of going a league, and they found 
 they had much ado to bring him back to life ; but 
 at last they did, and brought him home, where he 
 was in a few hours well recovered and refreshed, and 
 not a little ashamed to find he should be overcome 
 by an eel, and that all the people, who heard his 
 defiance, would laugh at him. But we cheered him 
 up ; and he being convinced, we had the eel at 
 supper, which was a quarter of an ell about, and 
 most delicate meat ; and was of the more value, 
 since it cost so dear as almost the life of so gallant 
 a man. 
 
 About this time we were in many mortal fears, 
 about some disputes the English had with the 
 Indians ; so that we could scarce trust ourselves, 
 without great numbers, to go to any Indian towns, 
 or place where they abode, for fear they should fall 
 upon us, as they did immediately after my coming 
 away ; and the place being in the possession of the 
 Dutch, they used them not so civilly as the English ; 
 so that they cut in pieces all they could take, getting 
 into houses, and hanging up the mother, and all her 
 children about her ; and cut a footman I left behind 
 me, all in joints, and nailed him to trees. 
 
 This feud began while I was there : so that I lost 
 half the satisfaction I proposed, in not seeing and
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 57 
 
 visiting the Indian towns. But one day, bemoaning 
 of our misfortunes on this account, Caesar told us, we 
 need not fear, for if we had a mind to go, he would 
 undertake to be our guard. Some would, but most 
 would not venture. About eighteen of us resolved, 
 and took barge, and after eight days, arrived near 
 an Indian town. But approaching it, the hearts of 
 some of our company failed ; and they would not 
 venture on shore ; so we polled, who would, and who 
 would not. For my part, I said, if Caesar would, 
 I would go. He resolved ; so did my brother, and 
 my woman, a maid of good courage. Now none of us 
 speaking the language of the people, and imagining 
 we should have a half diversion in gazing only ; and 
 not knowing what they said, we took a fisherman 
 that lived at the mouth of the river, who had been a 
 long inhabitant there, and obliged him to go with us. 
 But because he was known to the Indians as trading 
 among them, and being, by long living there, become 
 a perfect Indian in colour, we, who had a mind to 
 surprise them, by making them see something they 
 never had seen (that is, white people), resolved only 
 myself, my brother and woman should go. So 
 Caesar, the fisherman, and the rest, hiding behind 
 some thick reeds and flowers that grew in the banks, 
 let us pass on towards the town, which was on the 
 bank of the river all along. A little distant from 
 the houses, or huts, we saw some dancing, others 
 busied in fetching and carrying of water from the 
 river. They had no sooner spied us, but they set up 
 a loud cry, that frighted us at first ; we thought 
 it had been for those that should kill us, but it seems 
 it was of wonder and amazement. They were all 
 naked ; and we were dressed, so as is most com- 
 mode for the hot countries, very glittering and rich ; 
 so that we appeared extremely fine ; my own hair 
 was cut short, and I had a taffety cap, with black 
 feathers on my head ; my brother was in a stuff-suit, 
 with silver loops and buttons, and abundance of green
 
 58 OROONOKO 
 
 ribbon. This was all infinitely surprising to them : 
 and because we saw them stand still till we approached 
 them, we took heart and advanced, came up to them, 
 and offered them our hands ; which they took, and 
 looked on us round about, calling still for more com- 
 pany ; who came swarming out, all wondering, and 
 crying out Tepeeme ; taking their hair up in their 
 hands, and spreading it wide to those they called out 
 to ; as if they would say (as indeed it signified) 
 Numberless Wonders, or not to be recounted, no more 
 than to number the hair of their heads. By degrees 
 they grew more bold, and from gazing upon us round, 
 they touched us, laying their hands upon all the 
 features of our faces, feeling our breasts and arms, 
 taking up one petticoat, then wondering to see 
 another ; admiring our shoes and stockings, but more 
 our garters, which we gave them, and they tied about 
 their legs, being laced with silver lace at the ends ; 
 for they much esteem any shining things. In fine, 
 we suffered them to survey us as they pleased, and we 
 thought they never would have done admiring us. 
 When Caesar, and the rest, saw we were received 
 with such wonder, they came up to us ; and finding 
 the Indian trader whom they knew, (for it is by these 
 fishermen, called Indian traders, we hold a commerce 
 with them ; for they love not to go far from home, 
 and we never go to them) when they saw him there- 
 fore, they set up a new joy, and cried in their 
 language, ' Oh, here's our Tiguamy, and we shall know 
 whether these things can speak.' So advancing to 
 him, some of them gave him their hands, and cried, 
 ' Amora Tiguamy ' ; which is as much as, How do you 
 do? or, Welcome, friend ; and all, with one din, began 
 to gabble to him, and asked, if we had sense and wit ? 
 If we could talk of affairs of life and war, as they 
 could do ? If we could hunt, swim, and do a thousand 
 things they use? He answered them, We could. 
 Then they invited us into their houses, and dressed 
 venison and buffalo for us ; and going out, gathered
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 59 
 
 a leaf of a tree, called a Sarumbo leaf, of six yards 
 long, and spread it on the ground for a table-cloth ; 
 and cutting another in pieces instead of plates, set us 
 on little low Indian stools, which they cut out of one 
 entire piece of wood, and paint in a sort of Japan- 
 work. They serve every one their mess on these pieces 
 of leaves ; and it was very good, but too high-seasoned 
 with pepper. When we had eaten, my brother and I 
 took out our flutes, and played to them, which gave 
 them new wonder ; and I soon perceived, by an 
 admiration that is natural to these people, and by the 
 extreme ignorance and simplicity of them, it were not 
 difficult to establish any unknown or extravagant 
 religion among them, and to impose any notions 
 or fictions upon them. For seeing a kinsman of mine 
 set some paper on fire with a burning-glass, a trick 
 they had never before seen, they were like to have 
 adored him for a god, and begged he would give 
 them the characters or figures of his name, that they 
 might oppose it against winds and storms : which he 
 did, and they held it up in those seasons, and fancied 
 it had a charm to conquer them, and kept it like a 
 holy relic. They are very superstitious, and called 
 him the Great Peeie, that is, Prophet. They showed 
 us their Indian Peeie, a youth of about sixteen years 
 old, as handsome as nature could make a man. 
 They consecrate a beautiful youth from his infancy, 
 and all arts are used to complete him in the finest 
 manner, both in beauty and shape. He is bred to all 
 the little arts and cunning they are capable of; to all 
 the legerdemain tricks and sleight of hand whereby 
 he imposes on the rabble, and is both a doctor in 
 physic and divinity : and by these tricks makes the 
 sick believe he sometimes eases their pains, by draw- 
 ing from the afflicted part little serpents, or odd flies, 
 or worms, or any strange thing : and though they 
 have besides undoubted good remedies for almost all 
 their diseases, they cure the patient more by fancy 
 than by medicines, and make themselves feared,
 
 60 OROONOKO 
 
 loved, and reverenced. This young Peeie had a very 
 young wife, who seeing my brother kiss her, came 
 running and kissed me. After this they kissed one 
 another, and made it a great jest, it being so novel ; 
 and new admiration and laughing went round the 
 multitude, that they never will forget that ceremony, 
 never before used or known. Caesar had a mind to 
 see and talk with their war-captains, and we were 
 conducted to one of their houses, where we beheld 
 several of the great captains, who had been at council. 
 But so frightful a vision it was to see them, no fancy 
 can create ; no sad dreams can represent so dreadful 
 a spectacle. For my part, I took them for hobgob- 
 lins, or fiends, rather than men. But however their 
 shapes appeared, their souls were very humane and 
 noble ; but some wanted their noses, some their lips, 
 some both noses and lips, some their ears, and others 
 cut through each cheek, with long slashes, through 
 which their teeth appeared. They had several other 
 formidable wounds and scars, or rather dismember- 
 ings. They had Comitias, or little aprons before 
 them, and girdles of cotton, with their knives naked 
 stuck in it ; a bow at their back, and a quiver of 
 arrows on their thighs ; and most had feathers on 
 their heads of divers colours. They cried ' Amora 
 Tiguamy ' to us at our entrance, and were pleased we 
 said as much to them. They seated us, and gave us 
 drink of the best sort, and wondered as much as the 
 others had done before to see us. Caesar was mar- 
 velling as much at their faces, wondering how they 
 should be all so wounded in war ; he was impatient 
 to know how they all came by those frightful marks 
 of rage or malice, rather than wounds got in noble 
 battle. They told us by our interpreter, that when 
 any war was waging, two men, chosen out by some 
 old captain whose righting was past, and who could 
 only teach the theory of war, were to stand in com- 
 petition for the generalship, or great war-captain ; 
 and being brought before the old judges, now past
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 61 
 
 labour, they are asked, what they dare do to show 
 they are worthy to lead an army ? When he who is 
 first asked, making no reply, cuts off his nose, and 
 throws it contemptibly on the ground ; and the other 
 does something to himself that he thinks surpasses 
 him, and perhaps deprives himself of lips and an eye. 
 So they slash on till one gives out, and many have 
 died in this debate. And it is by a passive valour 
 they show and prove their activity; a sort of courage 
 too brutal to be applauded by our black hero ; never- 
 theless, he expressed his esteem of them. 
 
 In this voyage Caesar begat so good an understand- 
 ing between the Indians and the English, that there 
 were no more fears or heart-burnings during our stay, 
 but we had a perfect, open, and free trade with them. 
 Many things remarkable, and worthy reciting, we 
 met with in this short voyage ; because Caesar made 
 it his business to search out and provide for our enter- 
 tainment, especially to please his dearly adored 
 Imoinda, who was a sharer in all our adventures ; we 
 being resolved to make her chains as easy as we 
 could, and to compliment the Prince in that manner 
 that most obliged him. 
 
 As we were coming up again, we met with some 
 Indians of strange aspects ; that is, of a larger size, and 
 other sort of features than those of our country. 
 Our Indian slaves, that rowed us, asked them some 
 questions ; but they could not understand us, but 
 showed us a long cotton string, with several knots on 
 it, and told us, they had been coming from the 
 mountains so many moons as there were knots : they 
 were habited in skins of a strange beast, and brought 
 along with them bags of gold-dust ; which, as well 
 as they could give us to understand, came streaming 
 in little small channels down the high mountains, 
 when the rains fell ; and offered to be the convoy to 
 anybody, or persons, that would go to the mountains. 
 We carried these men up to Parham, where they were 
 kept till the Lord-Governor came. And because all
 
 62 OROONOKO 
 
 the country was mad to be going on this golden 
 adventure, the Governor, by his letters, commanded 
 (for they sent some of the gold to him) that a guard 
 should be set at the mouth of the river of Amazons 
 (a river so called, almost as broad as the river of 
 Thames) and prohibited all people from going up that 
 river, it conducting to those mountains of gold. But 
 we going off for England before the project was 
 further prosecuted, and the Governor being drowned 
 in a hurricane, either the design died, or the Dutch 
 have the advantage of it. And it is to be bemoaned 
 what his Majesty lost, by losing that part of America. 
 
 Though this digression is a little from my story, 
 however, since it contains some proofs of the curiosity 
 and daring of this great man, I was content to omit 
 nothing of his character. 
 
 It was thus for some time we diverted him ; but 
 now Imoinda began to show she was with child, and 
 did nothing but sigh and weep for the captivity of 
 her lord, herself, and the infant yet unborn ; and 
 believed, if it were so hard to gain the liberty of two, 
 it would be more difficult to get that for three. Her 
 griefs were so many darts in the great heart of Caesar, 
 and taking his opportunity, one Sunday, when all 
 the whites were overtaken in drink, as there were 
 abundance of several trades, and slaves for four 
 years, that inhabited among the negro houses ; and 
 Sunday being their day of debauch, (otherwise they 
 were a sort of spies upon Caesar) he went, pretending 
 out of goodness to them, to feast among them, and 
 sent all his music, and ordered a great treat for the 
 whole gang, about three hundred negroes, and about 
 a hundred and fifty were able to bear arms, such 
 as they had, which were sufficient to do execution, 
 with spirits accordingly. For the English had none 
 but rusty swords, that no strength could draw from 
 a scabbard ; except the people of particular quality, 
 who took care to oil them, and keep them in good 
 order. The guns also, unless here and there one,
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 63 
 
 or those newly carried from England, would do no 
 good or harm ; for it is the nature of that country to 
 rust and eat up iron, or any metals but gold and 
 silver. And they are very expert at the bow, which 
 the negroes and Indians are perfect masters of. 
 
 Caesar, having singled out these men from the 
 women and children, made a harangue to them 
 of the miseries and ignominies of slavery; counting 
 up all their toils and sufferings, under such loads, 
 burdens and drudgeries, as were fitter for beasts than 
 men ; senseless brutes, than human souls. He told 
 them, it was not for days, months or years, but for 
 eternity ; there was no end to be of their misfortunes. 
 They suffered not like men, who might find a glory 
 and fortitude in oppression ; but like dogs, that loved 
 the whip and bell, and fawned the more they were 
 beaten ; that they had lost the divine quality of men, 
 and were become insensible asses, fit only to bear : 
 nay, worse ; an ass, or dog, or horse, having done 
 his duty, could lie down in retreat, and rise to work 
 again, and while he did his duty, endured no stripes ; 
 but men, villainous, senseless men, such as they, toiled 
 on all the tedious week till Black Friday ; and then, 
 whether they worked or not, whether they were faulty 
 or meriting, they, promiscuously, the innocent with 
 the guilty, suffered the infamous whip, the sordid 
 stripes, from their fellow-slaves, till their blood 
 trickled from all parts of their body ; blood, whose 
 every drop ought to be revenged with a life of some 
 of those tyrants that impose it. 'And why,' said he, 
 ' my dear friends and fellow-sufferers, should we be 
 slaves to an unknown people? Have they vanquished 
 us nobly in fight ? Have they won us in honourable 
 battle ? And are we by the chance of war become 
 their slaves ? This would not anger a noble heart ; 
 this would not animate a soldier's soul. No, but we 
 are bought and sold like apes or monkeys, to be 
 the sport of women, fools and cowards ; and the 
 support of rogues and runagates, that have aban-
 
 64 OROONOKO 
 
 doned their own countries for rapine, murders, theft 
 and villainies. Do you not hear every day how they 
 upbraid each other with infamy of life, below the 
 wildest savages? And shall we render obedience 
 to such a degenerate race, who have no one human 
 virtue left, to distingush them from the vilest 
 creatures? Will you, I say, suffer the lash from 
 such hands?' They all replied with one accord, 
 ' No, no, no ; Caesar has spoke like a great captain, 
 like a great king.' 
 
 After this he would have proceeded, but was 
 interrupted by a tall negro, of some more quality 
 than the rest, his name was Tuscan ; who bowing 
 at the feet of Caesar, cried, ' My lord, we have listened 
 with joy and attention to what you have said ; and, 
 were we only men, would follow so great a leader 
 through the world. But O ! consider we are husbands 
 and parents too, and have things more dear to us 
 than life ; our wives and children, unfit for travel 
 in those unpassable woods, mountains and bogs. 
 We have not only difficult lands to overcome, but 
 rivers to wade, and mountains to encounter; ravenous 
 beasts of prey.' 
 
 To this Caesar replied, that honour was the first 
 principle in nature, that was to be obeyed ; but as no 
 man would pretend to that, without all the acts of 
 virtue, compassion, charity, love, justice and reason, 
 he found it not inconsistent with that, to take equal 
 care of their wives and children as they would of 
 themselves ; and that he did not design, when he led 
 them to freedom, and glorious liberty, that they 
 should leave that better part of themselves to perish 
 by the hand of the tyrant's whip. But if there were 
 a woman among them so degenerate from love and 
 virtue, to choose slavery before the pursuit of her 
 husband, and with the hazard of her life, to share 
 with him in his fortunes ; that such a one ought to 
 be abandoned, and left as a prey to the common 
 enemy.
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 65 
 
 To which they all agreed and bowed. After 
 this, he spoke of the impassable woods and rivers ; 
 and convinced them, the more danger the more glory. 
 He told them, that he had heard of one Hannibal, 
 a great captain, had cut his way through mountains 
 of solid rocks ; and should a few shrubs oppose them, 
 which they could fire before them ? No, it was a 
 trifling excuse to men resolved to die, or overcome. 
 As for bogs, they are with a little labour filled and 
 hardened ; and the rivers could be no obstacle, since 
 they swam by nature, at least by custom, from the 
 first hour of their birth. That when the children 
 were weary, they must carry them by turns, and the 
 woods and their own industry would afford them 
 food. To this they all assented with joy. 
 
 Tuscan then demanded, what he would do. He 
 said he would travel towards the sea, plant a new 
 colony, and defend it by their valour ; and when they 
 could find a ship, either driven by stress of weather, 
 or guided by providence that way, they would seize 
 it, and make it a prize, till it had transported them to 
 their own countries : at least they should be made 
 free in his kingdom, and be esteemed as his fellow- 
 sufferers, and men that had the courage and the 
 bravery to attempt, at least, for liberty ; and if they 
 died in the attempt, it would be more brave, than to 
 live in perpetual slavery. 
 
 They bowed and kissed his feet at this resolution, 
 and with one accord vowed to follow him to death ; 
 and that night was appointed to begin their march. 
 They made it known to their wives, and directed 
 them to tie their hammocks about their shoulders, and 
 under their arms, like a scarf, and to lead their 
 children that could go, and carry those that could 
 not. The wives, who pay an entire obedience to 
 their husbands, obeyed, and stayed for them where 
 they were appointed. The men stayed but to fur- 
 nish themselves with what defensive arms they could 
 get ; and all met at the rendezvous, where Caesar
 
 66 OROONOKO 
 
 made a new encouraging speech to them and led 
 them out. 
 
 But as they could not march far that night, on 
 Monday early, when the overseers went to call them 
 all together, to go to work, they were extremely sur- 
 prised, to find not one upon the place, but all fled 
 with what baggage they had. You may imagine this 
 news was not only suddenly spread all over the 
 plantation, but soon reached the neighbouring ones ; 
 and we had by noon about six hundred men, they 
 call the Militia of the country, that came to assist us 
 in the pursuit of the fugitives. But never did one 
 see so comical an army march forth to war. The 
 men of any fashion would not concern themselves, 
 though it were almost the common cause ; for such 
 revoltings are very ill examples, and have very fatal 
 consequences oftentimes, in many colonies. But 
 they had a respect for Caesar, and all hands were 
 against the Parhamites (as they called those of Par- 
 ham Plantation) because they did not in the first 
 place love the Lord-Governor ; and secondly, they 
 would have it, that Caesar was ill-used, and baffled 
 with : and it is not impossible but some of the best 
 in the country was of his council in this flight, and 
 depriving us of all the slaves ; so that they of the 
 better sort would not meddle in the matter. The 
 Deputy-Governor, of whom I have had no great 
 occasion to speak, and who was the most fawning 
 fair-tongued fellow in the world, and one that pre- 
 tended the most friendship to Caesar, was now the 
 only violent man against him ; and though he 
 had nothing, and so need fear nothing, yet talked 
 and looked bigger than any man. He was a fellow, 
 whose character is not fit to be mentioned with the 
 worst of the slaves. This fellow would lead his 
 army forth to meet Caesar, or rather to pursue him. 
 Most of their arms were of those sort of cruel whips 
 they call Cat with nine tails ; some had rusty useless 
 guns for show ; others old basket-hilts, whose blades
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 67 
 
 had never seen the light in this age ; and others had 
 long staffs and clubs. Mr. Trefry went along, rather 
 to be a mediator than a conqueror in such a battle ; 
 for he foresaw and knew, if by fighting they put the 
 negroes into despair, they were a sort of sullen fel- 
 lows, that would drown or kill themselves before they 
 would yield ; and he advised that fair means was 
 best. But Byam was one that abounded in his own 
 wit, and would take his own measures. 
 
 It was not hard to find these fugitives ; for as they 
 fled, they were forced to fire and cut the woods before 
 them ; so that night or day they pursued them by the 
 light the}' made, and by the path they had cleared. 
 But as soon as Caesar found he was pursued, he put 
 himself in a posture of defence, placing all the women 
 and children in the rear ; and himself, with Tuscan 
 by his side, or next to him, all promising to die or 
 conquer. Encouraged thus, they never stood to par- 
 ley, but fell on pell-mell upon the English, and killed 
 some, and wounded a great many ; they having re- 
 course to their whips, as the best of their weapons. 
 And as they observed no order, they perplexed the 
 enemy so sorely, with lashing them in the eyes ; and 
 the women and children seeing their husbands so 
 treated, being of fearful and cowardly dispositions, and 
 hearing the English cry out, ' Yield, and live ! Yield, 
 and be pardoned ! ' they all ran in amongst their 
 husbands and fathers, and hung about them, crying 
 out, ' Yield ! Yield ! and leave Caesar to their revenge,' 
 that by degrees the slaves abandoned Caesar, and 
 left him only Tuscan and his heroic Imoinda, who 
 grown as big as she was, did nevertheless press near 
 her lord, having a bow and a quiver full of poisoned 
 arrows, which she managed with such dexterity, that 
 she wounded several, and shot the Governor into the 
 shoulder ; of which wound he had liked to have died, 
 but that an Indian woman, his mistress, sucked the 
 wound, and cleansed it from the venom. But how- 
 ever, he stirred not from the place till he had parleyed
 
 68 OROONOKO 
 
 with Caesar, who he found was resolved to die fighting, 
 and would not be taken ; no more would Tuscan or 
 Imoinda. But he, more thirsting after revenge of 
 another sort, than that of depriving him of life, now 
 made use of all his art of talking and dissembling, and 
 besought Caesar to yield himself upon terms which 
 he himself should propose, and should be sacredly 
 assented to, and kept by him. He told him, it was 
 not that he any longer feared him, or could believe 
 the force of two men, and a young heroine, could 
 overthrow all them, and with all the slaves now on 
 their side also ; but it was the vast esteem he had for 
 his person, the desire he had to serve so gallant a man, 
 and to hinder himself from the reproach hereafter, of 
 having been the occasion of the death of a Prince, 
 whose valour and magnanimity deserved the empire 
 of the world. He protested to him, he looked upon 
 his action as gallant and brave, however tending to 
 the prejudice of his lord and master, who would by it 
 have lost so considerable a number of slaves ; that this 
 flight of his should be looked on as a heat of youth, 
 and a rashness of a too forward courage, and an 
 unconsidered impatience of liberty, and no more; 
 and that he laboured in vain to accomplish that 
 which they would effectually perform as soon as 
 any ship arrived that would touch on his coast : ' So 
 that if you will be pleased,' continued he, ' to sur- 
 render yourself, all imaginable respect shall be paid 
 you ; and yourself, your wife and child, if it be born 
 here, shall depart free out of our land.' But Caesar 
 would hear of no composition ; though Byam urged, 
 if he pursued and went on in his design, he would 
 inevitably perish, either by great snakes, wild beasts 
 or hunger ; and he ought to have regard to his wife, 
 whose condition required ease, and not the fatigues of 
 tedious travel, where she could not be secured from 
 being devoured. But Caesar told him there was no 
 faith in the white men, or the gods they adored ; who 
 instructed them in principles so false, that honest men
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 69 
 
 could not live amongst them ; though no people pro- 
 fessed so much, none performed so little : that he knew 
 what he had to do when he dealt with men of honour ; 
 but with them a man ought to be eternally on his 
 guard, and never to eat and drink with Christians, 
 without his weapon of defence in his hand ; and, for 
 his own security, never to credit one word they spoke. 
 As for the rashness and inconsiderateness of his 
 action, he would confess the Governor is in the right ; 
 and that he was ashamed of what he had done, in 
 endeavouring to make those free, who were by 
 nature slaves, poor wretched rogues, fit to be used as 
 Christians' tools ; dogs, treacherous and cowardly, fit 
 for such masters ; and they wanted only but to be 
 whipped into the knowledge of the Christian gods, to 
 be the vilest of all creeping things ; to learn to wor- 
 ship such deities as had not power to make them just, 
 brave, or honest. In fine, after a thousand things of 
 this nature, not fit here to be recited, he told Byam 
 he had rather die than live upon the same earth with 
 such dogs. But Trefry and Byam pleaded and pro- 
 tested together so much, that Trefry believing the 
 Governor to mean what he said, and speaking very 
 cordially himself, generously put himself into Caesar's 
 hands, and took him aside, and persuaded him, even 
 with tears, to live, by surrendering himself, and to 
 name his conditions. Caesar was overcome by his wit 
 and reasons, and in consideration of Imoinda ; and 
 demanding what he desired, and that it should be 
 ratified by their hands in writing, because he had 
 perceived that was the common way of contract 
 between man and man amongst the whites ; all this 
 was performed, and Tuscan's pardon was put in, and 
 they surrendered to the Governor, who walked peace- 
 ably down into the plantation with them, after giving 
 order to bury their dead. Caesar was very much 
 toiled with the bustle of the day, for he had fought 
 like a fury; and what mischief was done, he and 
 Tuscan performed alone; and gave their enemies a
 
 70 OROONOKO 
 
 fatal proof, that they durst do anything, and feared 
 no mortal force. 
 
 But they were no sooner arrived at the place where 
 all the slaves receive their punishments of whipping, 
 but they laid hands on Caesar and Tuscan, faint with 
 heat and toil; and surprising them, bound them to two 
 several stakes, and whipped them in a most deplor- 
 able and inhuman manner, rending the very flesh 
 from their bones, especially Caesar, who was not per- 
 ceived to make any moan or to alter his face, only 
 to roll his eyes on the faithless Governor, and those 
 he believed guilty, with fierceness and indignation ; 
 and to complete his rage, he saw every one of those 
 slaves who but a few days before adored him as some- 
 thing more than mortal, now had a whip to give him 
 some lashes, while he strove not to break his fetters ; 
 though if he had, it were impossible: but he pronounced 
 a woe and revenge from his eyes, that darted fire, which 
 was at once both awful and terrible to behold. 
 
 When they thought they were sufficiently revenged 
 on him, they untied him, almost fainting with loss of 
 blood from a thousand wounds all over his body, 
 from which they had rent his clothes, and led him 
 bleeding and naked as he was, and loaded him all 
 over with irons; and then rubbed his wounds, to com- 
 plete their cruelty, with Indian pepper, which had 
 like to have made him raving mad ; and, in this condi- 
 tion made him so fast to the ground, that he could not 
 stir, if his pains and wounds would have given him 
 leave. They spared Imoinda, and did not let her see 
 this barbarity committed towards her lord, but carried 
 her down to Parham, and shut her up; which was not 
 in kindness to her, but for fear she should die with 
 the sight, or miscarry, and then they should lose a 
 young slave, and perhaps the mother. 
 
 You must know, that when the news was brought 
 on Monday morning, that Caesar had betaken himself 
 to the woods, and carried with him all the negroes, 
 we were possessed with extreme fear, which no per-
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 71 
 
 suasions could dissipate, that he would secure himself 
 till night, and then would come down and cut all our 
 throats. This apprehension made all the females of 
 us fly down the river, to be secured ; and while we 
 were away, they acted this cruelty ; for I suppose I 
 had authority and interest enough there, had I sus- 
 pected any such thing, to have prevented it : but we 
 had not gone many leagues, but the news overtook 
 us, that Caesar was taken and whipped like a common 
 slave. We met on the river with Colonel Martin, a 
 man of great gallantry, wit, and goodness, and whom 
 I have celebrated in a character of my new comedy, 
 by his own name, in memory of so brave a man. He 
 was wise and eloquent, and, from the fineness of his 
 parts, bore a great sway over the hearts of all the 
 colony. He was a friend to Caesar, and resented this 
 false dealing with him very much. We carried him 
 back to Parham, thinking to have made an accom- 
 modation ; when he came, the first news we heard, 
 was, that the Governor was dead of a wound Imoinda 
 had given him ; but it was not so well. But it seems, 
 he would have the pleasure of beholding the revenge 
 he took on Caesar; and before the cruel ceremony 
 was finished, he dropped down ; and then they per- 
 ceived the wound he had on his shoulder was by a 
 venomed arrow, which, as I said, his Indian mistress 
 healed, by sucking the wound. 
 
 We were no sooner arrived, but we went up to the 
 plantation to see Caesar ; whom we found in a very 
 miserable and inexpressible condition ; and I have a 
 thousand times admired how he lived in so much 
 tormenting pain. We said all things to him, that 
 trouble, pity and good-nature could suggest, protest- 
 ing our innocency of the fact, and our abhorrence of 
 such cruelties ; making a thousand professions and 
 services to him, and begging as many pardons for the 
 offenders, till we said so much, that he believed we 
 had no hand in his ill-treatment; but told us, he 
 could never pardon Byam ; as for Trefry, he con-
 
 72 OROONOKO 
 
 fessed he saw his grief and sorrow for his suffering, 
 which he could not hinder, but was like to have 
 been beaten down by the very slaves, for speaking in 
 his defence. But for Byam, who was their leader, 
 their head and should, by his justice and honour, 
 have been an example to them for him, he wished 
 to live to take a dire revenge of him ; and said, ' It 
 had been well for him, if he had sacrificed me, instead 
 of giving me the contemptible whip.' He refused to 
 talk much ; but begging us to give him our hands, he 
 took them, and protested never to lift up his to do us 
 any harm. He had a great respect for Colonel 
 Martin, and always took his counsel like that of a 
 parent ; and assured him, he would obey him in any- 
 thing, but his revenge on Byam : ' Therefore,' said he, 
 ' for his own safety, let him speedily despatch me; for 
 if I could despatch myself, I would not, till that 
 justice were done to my injured person, and the con- 
 tempt of a soldier. No, I would not kill myself, even 
 after a whipping, but will be content to live with that 
 infamy, and be pointed at by every grinning slave, 
 till I have completed my revenge; and then you shall 
 see, that Oroonoko scorns to live with the indignity 
 that was put on Caesar.' All we could do, could get 
 no more words from him ; and we took care to have 
 him put immediately into a healing bath, to rid him 
 of his pepper, and ordered a chirurgeon to anoint him 
 with healing balm, which he suffered, and in some 
 time he began to be able to walk and eat. We 
 failed not to visit him every day, and to that end 
 had him brought to an apartment at Parham. 
 
 The Governor had no sooner recovered, and had 
 heard of the menaces of Caesar, but he called his 
 Council, who (not to disgrace them, or burlesque the 
 Government there) consisted of such notorious 
 villains as Newgate never transported ; and, possibly, 
 originally were such who understood neither the laws 
 of God or man, and had no sort of principles to make 
 them worthy the name of men ; but at the very
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 73 
 
 council-table would contradict and fight with one 
 another, and swear so bloodily, that it was terrible to 
 hear and see them. (Some of them were afterwards 
 hanged, when the Dutch took possession of the place, 
 others sent off in chains.) But calling these special 
 rulers of the nation together, and requiring their 
 counsel in this weighty affair, they all concluded, that 
 (damn them) it might be their own cases ; and that 
 Caesar ought to be made an example to all the 
 negroes, to fright them from daring to threaten their 
 betters, their lords and masters ; and at this rate no 
 man was safe from his own slaves ; and concluded, 
 nemine contradicente, that Caesar should be hanged. 
 
 Trefry then thought it time to use his authority, 
 and told Byam, his command did not extend to his 
 lord's plantation ; and that Parham was as much 
 exempt from the law as White Hall ; and that they 
 
 ought no more to touch the servants of the Lord 
 
 (who there represented the King's person) than they 
 could those about the King himself; and that Par- 
 ham was a sanctuary; and though his lord were 
 absent in person, his power was still in being there, 
 which he had entrusted with him, as far as the do- 
 minions of his particular plantations reached, and all 
 that belonged to it ; the rest of the country, as Byam 
 was lieutenant to his lord, he might exercise his 
 tyranny upon. Trefry had others as powerful, or 
 more, that interested themselves in Caesar's life, and 
 absolutely said, he should be defended. So turning 
 the Governor, and his wise Council, out of doors, (for 
 they sat at Parham House) we set a guard upon our 
 lodging-place, and would admit none but those we 
 called friends to us and Caesar. 
 
 The Governor having remained wounded at Par- 
 ham, till his recovery was completed, Caesar did not 
 know but he was still there, and indeed for the most 
 part, his time was spent there: for he was one that 
 loved to live at other people's expense, and if he were 
 a day absent, he was ten present there ; and used to
 
 74 OROONOKO 
 
 play, and walk, and hunt, and fish with Caesar. So 
 that Caesar did not at all doubt, if he once recovered 
 strength, but he should find an opportunity of being 
 revenged on him; though, after such a revenge, he 
 could not hope to live : for if he escaped the fury of 
 the English mobile, who perhaps would have been 
 glad of the occasion to have killed him, he was re- 
 solved not to survive his whipping ; yet he had some 
 tender hours, a repenting softness, which he called his 
 fits of cowardice, wherein he struggled with love for 
 the victory of his heart, which took part with his 
 charming Imoinda there ; but for the most part, his 
 time was passed in melancholy thoughts, and black 
 designs. He considered, if he should do this deed, 
 and die either in the attempt, or after it, he left his 
 lovely Imoinda a prey, or at best a slave to the en- 
 raged multitude; his great heart could not endure 
 that thought: 'Perhaps,' said he, 'she may be first 
 ravished by every brute ; exposed first to their nasty 
 lusts, and then a shameful death.' No, he could not 
 live a moment under that apprehension, too insup- 
 portable to be borne. These were his thoughts, and 
 his silent arguments with his heart, as he told us 
 afterwards. So that now resolving not only to kill 
 Byam, but all those he thought had enraged him ; 
 pleasing his great heart with the fancied slaughter he 
 should make over the whole face of the plantation ; 
 he first resolved on a deed (that however horrid it 
 first appeared to us all) when we had heard his 
 reasons, we thought it brave and just. Being able to 
 walk, and, as he believed, fit for the execution of his 
 great design, he begged Trefry to trust him into the 
 air, believing a walk would do him good ; which was 
 granted him ; and taking Imoinda with him, as he 
 used to do in his more happy and calmer days, he led 
 her up into a wood, where (after with a thousand 
 sighs, and long gazing silently on her face, while tears 
 gushed, in spite of him, from his eyes) he told her his 
 design, first of killing her, and then his enemies, and
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 75 
 
 next himself, and the impossibility of escaping, and 
 therefore he told her the necessity of dying. He 
 found the heroic wife faster pleading for death, than he 
 was to propose it, when she found his fixed resolution ; 
 and, on her knees, besought him not to leave her a 
 prey to his enemies. He (grieved to death) yet 
 pleased at her noble resolution, took her up, and em- 
 bracing of her with all the passion and languishment 
 of a dying lover, drew his knife to kill this treasure of 
 his soul, this pleasure of his eyes ; while tears trickled 
 down his cheeks, hers were smiling with joy she 
 should die by so noble a hand, and be sent into her 
 own country (for that is their notion of the next 
 world) by him she so tenderly loved, and so truly 
 adored in this. For wives have a respect for their 
 husbands equal to what any other people pay a deity; 
 and when a man finds any occasion to quit his wife, 
 if he love her, she dies by his hand ; if not, he sells 
 her, or suffers some other to kill her. It being thus, 
 you may believe the deed was soon resolved on ; and 
 it is not to be doubted, but the parting, the eternal 
 leave-taking of two such lovers, so greatly born, so 
 sensible, so beautiful, so young, and so fond, must be 
 very moving, as the relation of it was to me after- 
 wards. 
 
 All that love could say in such cases, being ended, 
 and all the intermitting irresolutions being adjusted, 
 the lovely, young and adored victim lays herself down 
 before the sacrificer ; while he, with a hand resolved, 
 and a heart-breaking within, gave the fatal stroke, 
 first cutting her throat, and then severing her yet 
 smiling face from that delicate body, pregnant as it 
 was with the fruits of tenderest love. As soon as he 
 had done, he laid the body decently on leaves and 
 flowers, of which he made a bed, and concealed it 
 under the same cover-lid of nature ; only her face he 
 left yet bare to look on. But when he found she was 
 dead, and past all retrieve, never more to bless him 
 with her eyes, and soft language, his grief swelled up
 
 76 OROONOKO 
 
 to rage ; he tore, he raved, he roared like some mon- 
 ster of the wood, calling on the loved name of 
 Imoinda. A thousand times he turned the fatal 
 knife that did the deed toward his own heart, with a 
 resolution to go immediately after her ; but dire 
 revenge, which was now a thousand times more fierce 
 in his soul than before, prevents him ; and he would 
 cry out, ' No, since I have sacrificed Imoinda to my 
 revenge, shall I lose that glory which I have pur- 
 chased so dear, as at the price of the fairest, dearest, 
 softest creature that ever nature made ? No, no ! ' 
 Then at her name grief would get the ascendant of 
 rage, and he would lie down by her side, and water 
 her face with showers of tears, which never were wont 
 to fall from those eyes ; and however bent he was on 
 his intended slaughter, he had not power to stir from 
 the sight of this dear object, now more beloved, and 
 more adored than ever. 
 
 He remained in this deplorable condition for two 
 days, and never rose from the ground where he had 
 made her sad sacrifice ; at last rousing from her side, 
 and accusing himself with living too long, now 
 Imoinda was dead, and that the deaths of those 
 barbarous enemies were deferred too long, he resolved 
 now to finish the great work : but offering to rise, he 
 found his strength so decayed, that he reeled to and 
 fro, like boughs assailed by contrary winds ; so that 
 he was forced to lie down again, and try to summon 
 all his courage to his aid. He found his brains turned 
 round, and his eyes were dizzy, and objects appeared 
 not the same to him they were wont to do; his 
 breath was short, and all his limbs surprised with 
 a faintness he had never felt before. He had not 
 eaten in two days, which was one occasion of his 
 feebleness, but excess of grief was the greatest ; yet 
 still he hoped he should recover vigour to act his 
 design, and lay expecting it yet six days longer; 
 still mourning over the dead idol of his heart, and 
 striving every day to rise, but could not.
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 77 
 
 In all this time you may believe we were in no 
 little affliction for Caesar and his wife ; some were 
 of opinion he was escaped, never to return ; others 
 thought some accident had happened to him. But 
 however, we failed not to send out a hundred people 
 several ways, to search for him. A party of about 
 forty went that way he took, among whom was 
 Tuscan, who was perfectly reconciled to Byam. They 
 had not gone very far into the wood, but they smelt 
 an unusual smell, as of a dead body ; for stinks must 
 be very noisome, that can be distinguished among 
 such a quantity of natural sweets, as every inch of 
 that land produces : so that they concluded they 
 should find him dead, or somebody that was so ; they 
 passed on towards it, as loathsome as it was, and 
 made such rustling among the leaves that lie thick 
 on the ground, by continual falling, that Caesar heard 
 he was approached ; and though he had, during 
 the space of these eight days, endeavoured to rise, 
 but found he wanted strength, yet, looking up, and 
 seeing his pursuers, he rose, and reeled to a neighbour- 
 ing tree, against which he fixed his back ; and being 
 within a dozen yards of those that advanced and saw 
 him, he called out to them, and bid them approach 
 no nearer, if they would be safe. So that they stood 
 still, and hardly believing their eyes, that would 
 persuade them that it was Caesar that spoke to them, 
 so much he was altered ; they asked him what he had 
 done with his wife, for they smelt a stink that almost 
 struck them dead ? He, pointing to the dead body, 
 sighing, cried, ' Behold her there.' They put off the 
 flowers that covered her, with their sticks, and found 
 she was killed, and cried out, ' Oh, monster ! thou 
 hast murdered thy wife.' Then asking him, why 
 he did so cruel a deed ? He replied, he had no leisure 
 to answer impertinent questions: ' You may go back," 
 continued he, 'and tell the faithless Governor, he may 
 thank fortune that I am breathing my last ; and that 
 my arm is too feeble to obey my heart, in what it
 
 78 OROONOKO 
 
 had designed him.' But ,his tongue faltering, and 
 trembling, he could scarce end what he was saying. 
 The English taking advantage by his weakness, cried, 
 ' Let us take him alive by all means. 1 He heard 
 them ; and, as if he had revived from a fainting, or 
 a dream, he cried out, ' No, gentlemen, you are 
 deceived ; you will find no more Caesars to be 
 whipped ; no more find a faith in me. Feeble as you 
 think me, I have strength yet left to secure me from 
 a second indignity.' They swore all anew; and he 
 only shook his head, and beheld them with scorn. 
 Then they cried out, 'Who will venture on this single 
 man ? Will nobody ? ' They stood all silent, while 
 Caesar replied, ' Fatal will be the attempt of the first 
 adventurer, let him assure himself,' and, at that word, 
 held up his knife in a menacing posture. ' Look ye, 
 ye faithless crew,' said he, ' 'tis not life I seek, nor am 
 I afraid of dying,' and at that word, cut a piece of 
 flesh from his own throat, and threw it at them, ' yet 
 still I would live if I could, till I had perfected my 
 revenge. But, oh ! it cannot be ; I feel life gliding 
 from my eyes and heart; and if I make not haste, 
 I shall fall a victim to the shameful whip.' At that, 
 he ripped up his own belly, and took his bowels and 
 pulled them out, with what strength he could ; while 
 some, on their knees imploring, besought him to hold 
 his hand. But when they saw him tottering, they 
 cried out, ' Will none venture on him ? ' A bold 
 Englishman cried, ' Yes, if he were the Devil,' (taking 
 courage when he saw him almost dead) and swearing 
 a horrid oath for his farewell to the world, he rushed 
 on him. Caesar with his armed hand, met him so 
 fairly, as stuck him to the heart, and he fell dead 
 at his feet. Tuscan seeing that, cried out, ' I love 
 thee, O Caesar ! and therefore will not let thee die, if 
 possible ' ; and running to him, took him in his arms ; 
 but, at the same time, warding a blow that Caesar 
 made at his bosom, he received it quite through his 
 arm; and Caesar having not strength to pluck the knife
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 79 
 
 forth, though he attempted it, Tuscan neither pulled 
 it out himself nor suffered it to be pulled out, but 
 came down with it sticking in his arm ; and the 
 reason he gave for it, was, because the air should not 
 get into the wound. They put their hands across, 
 and carried Caesar between six of them, fainting as he 
 was, and they thought dead, or just dying ; and they 
 brought him to Parham, and laid him on a couch, 
 and had the chirurgeon immediately to him, who 
 dressed his wounds, and sewed up his belly, and used 
 means to bring him to life, which they effected. We 
 ran all to see him ! and, if before we thought him 
 so beautiful a sight, he was now so altered, that 
 his face was like a death's-head blacked over, nothing 
 but teeth and eye-holes. For some days we suffered 
 nobody to speak to him, but caused cordials to be 
 poured down his throat ; which sustained his life, and 
 in six or seven days he recovered his senses. For, 
 you must know, that wounds are almost to a miracle 
 cured in the Indies ; unless wounds in the legs, which 
 they rarely ever cure. 
 
 When he was well enough to speak, we talked 
 to him, and asked him some questions about his wife, 
 and the reasons why he killed her ; and he then told 
 us what I have related of that resolution, and of his 
 parting, and he besought us we would let him die, 
 and was extremely afflicted to think it was possible 
 he might live. He assured us, if we did not despatch 
 him, he would prove very fatal to a great many. We 
 said all we could to make him live, and gave him new 
 assurances ; but he begged we would not think so 
 poorly of him, or of his love to Imoinda, to imagine 
 we could flatter him to life again. But the chirurgeon 
 assured him he could not live, and therefore he need 
 not fear. We were all (but Caesar) afflicted at this 
 news, and the sight was ghastly. His discourse was 
 sad ; and the earthy smell about him so strong, that 
 I was persuaded to leave the place for some time, 
 (being myself but sickly, and very apt to fall into fits
 
 8o OROONOKO 
 
 of dangerous illness upon any extraordinary melan- 
 choly). The servants, and Trefry, and the chirurgeons, 
 promised all to take what possible care they could 
 of the life of Caesar ; and I, taking boat, went with 
 other company to Colonel Martin's, about three days' 
 journey down the river. But I was no sooner gone, 
 than the Governor taking Trefry, about some pre- 
 tended earnest business, a day's journey up the river, 
 having communicated his design to one Banister, 
 a wild Irishman, one of the Council, a fellow of 
 absolute barbarity, and fit to execute any villainy, 
 but rich ; he came up to Parham, and forcibly took 
 Caesar, and had him carried to the same post where 
 he was whipped ; and causing him to be tied to it, 
 and a great fire made before him, he told him he 
 should die like a dog, as he was. Caesar replied, This 
 was the first piece of bravery that ever Banister did, 
 and he never spoke sense till he pronounced that 
 word ; and if he would keep it, he would declare, 
 in the other world, that he was the only man, of all 
 the whites, that ever he heard speak truth. And 
 turning to the men that had bound him, he said, ' My 
 friends, am I to die, or to be whipt?' And they 
 cried, ' Whipt ! no, you shall not escape so well.' 
 And then he replied, smiling, 4 A blessing on thee ' ; 
 and assured them they need not tie him, for he would 
 stand fixed like a rock, and endure death so as should 
 encourage them to die : ' But if you whip me,' said 
 he, ' be sure you tie me fast' 
 
 He had learned to take tobacco ; and when he was 
 assured he should die, he desired they would give 
 him a pipe in his mouth, ready lighted ; which they 
 did. And the executioner came, and first cut off his 
 members, and threw them into the fire ; after that, 
 with an ill-favoured knife, they cut off his ears and 
 his nose, and burned them ; he still smoked on, as if 
 nothing had touched him ; then they hacked off one 
 of his arms, and still he bore up and held his pipe ; 
 but at the cutting off the other arm, his head sunk,
 
 THE ROYAL SLAVE 81 
 
 and his pipe dropped, and he gave up the ghost, 
 without a groan, or a reproach. My mother and 
 sister were by him all the while, but not suffered to 
 save him ; so rude and wild were the rabble, and so 
 inhuman were the justices who stood by to see the 
 execution, who after paid dear enough for their inso- 
 lence. They cut Caesar into quarters, and sent them 
 to several of the chief plantations : one quarter was 
 sent to Colonel Martin ; who refused it, and swore, 
 he had rather see the quarters of Banister, and the 
 Governor himself, than those of Caesar, on his planta- 
 tions ; and that he could govern his negroes, without 
 terrifying and grieving them with frightful spectacles 
 of a mangled king. 
 
 Thus died this great man, worthy of a better fate, 
 and a more sublime wit than mine to write his praise. 
 Yet, I hope, the reputation of my pen is consider- 
 able enough to make his glorious name to survive to 
 all ages, with that of the brave, the beautiful and the 
 constant Imoinda.
 
 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 OR THE AMOURS OF PRINCE TARQUIN 
 AND MIRANDA 
 
 As love is the most noble and divine passion of the 
 soul, so it is that to which we may justly attribute 
 all the real satisfactions of life ; and without it man 
 is unfinished and unhappy. 
 
 There are a thousand things to be said of the 
 advantages this generous passion brings to those, 
 whose hearts are capable of receiving its soft impres- 
 sions ; for it is not every one that can be sensible of 
 its tender touches. How many examples, from his- 
 tory and observation, could I give of its wondrous 
 power; nay, even to a degree of transmigration! 
 How many idiots has it made wise ! How many 
 fools eloquent! How many home-bred squires 
 accomplished! How many cowards brave! And 
 there is no sort of species of mankind on whom it 
 cannot work some change and miracle, if it be a 
 noble well-grounded passion, except on the fop in 
 fashion, the hardened incorrigible fop ; so often 
 wounded, but never reclaimed. For still, by a dire 
 mistake, conducted by vast opiniatrety, and a greater 
 portion of self-love, than the rest of the race of man, 
 he believes that affectation in his mien and dress, 
 that mathematical movement, that formality in every 
 action, that a face managed with care, and softened 
 into ridicule, the languishing turn, the toss, and the 
 back-shake of the periwig, is the direct way to the 
 
 83
 
 84 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 heart of the fine person he adores ; and instead of 
 curing love in his soul, serves only to advance his 
 folly; and the more he is enamoured, the more 
 industriously he assumes (every hour) the coxcomb. 
 These are love's playthings, a sort of animals with 
 whom he sports ; and whom he never wounds, but 
 when he is in good humour, and always shoots 
 laughing. It is the diversion of the little god, to see 
 what a fluttering and bustle one of these sparks, new- 
 wounded, makes ; to what fantastic fooleries he has 
 recourse. The glass is every moment called to 
 counsel, the valet consulted and plagued for new 
 invention of dress, the footman and scrutore per- 
 petually employed ; billet-doux and madrigals take 
 up all his mornings, till playtime in dressing, till 
 night in gazing; still, like a sun-flower, turned to- 
 wards the beams of the fair eyes of his Caelia, ad- 
 justing himself in the most amorous posture he can 
 assume, his hat under his arm, while the other hand 
 is put carelessly into his bosom, as if laid upon his 
 panting heart ; his head a little bent to one side, sup- 
 ported with a world of cravat-string, which he takes 
 mighty care not to put into disorder ; as one may 
 guess by a never-failing and horrid stiffness in his 
 neck ; and if he had any occasion to look aside, his 
 whole body turns at the same time, for fear the 
 motion of the head alone should incommode the 
 cravat or periwig. And sometimes the glove is well 
 managed, and the white hand displayed. Thus, with 
 a thousand other little motions and formalities, all in 
 the common place or road of foppery, he takes 
 infinite pains to show himself to the pit and boxes, 
 a most accomplished ass. This is he, of all human 
 kind, on whom love can do no miracles, and who can 
 nowhere, and upon no occasion, quit one grain of his 
 refined foppery, unless in a duel, or a battle, if ever 
 his stars should be so severe and ill-mannered, to 
 reduce him to the necessity of either. Fear then 
 would ruffle that fine form he had so long preserved
 
 THE FAIR JILT 85 
 
 in nicest order, with grief considering, that an un- 
 lucky chance-wound in his face, if such a dire mis- 
 fortune should befall him, would spoil the sale of it 
 for ever. 
 
 Perhaps it will be urged, that since no metamor- 
 phosis can be made in a fop by love, you must con- 
 sider him one of those that only talks of love, and 
 thinks himself that happy thing, a lover ; and want- 
 ing fine sense enough for the real passion, believes 
 what he feels to be it. There are in the quiver of the 
 god a great many different darts ; some that wound 
 for a day, and others for a year ; they are all fine, 
 painted, glittering darts, and show as well as those 
 made of the noblest metal ; but the wounds they 
 make reach the desire only, and are cured by possess- 
 ing, while the short-lived passion betrays the cheat. 
 But it is that refined and illustrious passion of the 
 soul whose aim is virtue, and whose end is honour, 
 that has the power of changing nature, and is capable 
 of performing all those heroic things, of which his- 
 tory is full. 
 
 How far distant passions may be from one another, 
 I shall be able to make appear in these following 
 rules. I'll prove to you the strong effects of love in 
 some unguarded and ungoverned hearts; where it 
 rages beyond the inspirations of ' a God all soft and 
 gentle,' and reigns more like ' a Fury from Hell.' 
 
 I do not pretend here to entertain you with a 
 feigned story, or anything pieced together with ro- 
 mantic accidents ; but every circumstance, to a tittle, 
 is truth. To a great part of the main I myself was 
 an eye-witness ; and what I did not see, I was con- 
 firmed of by actors in the intrigue, holy men, of the 
 order of St. Francis. But for the sake of some of her 
 relations, I shall give my Fair Jilt a feigned name, 
 that of Miranda ; but my hero must retain his own, it 
 being too illustrious to be concealed. 
 
 You are to understand, that in all the Catholic 
 countries, where Holy Orders are established, there
 
 86 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 are abundance of differing kinds of religious, both of 
 men and women. Amongst the women, there are 
 those we call Nuns, that make solemn vows of per- 
 petual chastity ; there are others who make but a 
 simple vow, as for five or ten years, or more or less ; 
 and that time expired, they may contract anew for 
 longer time, or marry, or dispose of themselves as 
 they shall see good ; and these are ordinarily called 
 Galloping Nuns. Of these there are several Orders ; 
 as Canonesses, Begines, Quests, Swart-Sisters, and 
 Jesuitesses, with several others I have forgot. Of 
 those of the Begines was our fair votress. 
 
 These Orders are taken up by the best persons of 
 the town, young maids of fortune, who live together, 
 not inclosed, but in palaces that will hold about fifteen 
 hundred or two thousand of these Jit/es devotes ; where 
 they have a regulated government, under a sort of 
 Abbess, or Prioress, or rather a Governante. They 
 are obliged to a method of devotion, and are under a 
 sort of obedience. They wear a habit much like our 
 widows of quality in England, only without a bando ; 
 and their veil is of a thicker crape than what we have 
 here, through which one cannot see the face ; for 
 when they go abroad, they cover themselves all over 
 with it ; but they put them up in the churches, and 
 lay them by in the houses. Every one of these has a 
 confessor, who is to them a sort of steward. For, you 
 must know, they that go into these places, have the 
 management of their own fortunes, and what their 
 parents design them. Without the advice of this 
 confessor, they act nothing, nor admit of a lover that 
 he shall not approve ; at least, this method ought to 
 be taken, and is by almost all of them ; though 
 Miranda thought her wit above it, as her spirit was. 
 
 But as these women are, as I said, of the best 
 quality, and live with the reputation of being retired 
 from the world a little more than ordinary, and 
 because there is a sort of difficulty to approach them, 
 they are the people the most courted, and liable to
 
 THE FAIR JILT 87 
 
 the greatest temptations ; for as difficult as it seems 
 to be, they receive visits from all the men of the best 
 quality, especially strangers. All the men of wit and 
 conversation meet at the apartments of these fair 
 filles devotes, where all manner of gallantries are 
 performed, while all the study of these maids is 
 to accomplish themselves for these noble conversa- 
 tions. They receive presents, balls, serenades, and 
 billets. All the news, wit, verses, songs, novels, music, 
 gaming, and all fine diversion, is in their apartments, 
 they themselves being of the best quality and fortune. 
 So that to manage these gallantries, there is no sort 
 of female arts they are not practised in, no intrigue 
 they are ignorant of, and no management of which 
 they are not capable. 
 
 Of this happy number was the fair Miranda, whose 
 parents being dead, and a vast estate divided between 
 herself and a young sister, (who lived with an un- 
 married old uncle, whose estate afterwards was all 
 divided between them) she put herself into this unin- 
 closed religious house ; but her beauty, which had all 
 the charms that ever nature gave, became the envy of 
 the whole sisterhood. She was tall, and admirably 
 shaped ; she had a bright hair, and hazel eyes, all full 
 of love and sweetness. No art could make a face so 
 fair as hers by nature, which every feature adorned 
 with a grace that imagination cannot reach. Every 
 look, every motion charmed, and her black dress 
 showed the lustre of her face and neck. She had an 
 air, though gay as so much youth could inspire, yet 
 so modest, so nobly reserved, without formality, or 
 stiffness, that one who looked on her would have 
 imagined her soul the twin-angel of her body ; and 
 both together made her appear something divine. To 
 this she had a great deal of wit, read much, and 
 retained all that served her purpose. She sang 
 delicately, and danced well, and played on the lute to 
 a miracle. She spoke several languages naturally; for, 
 being co-heiress to so great a fortune, she was bred
 
 88 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 with the nicest care, in all the finest manners of edu- 
 cation ; and was now arrived to her eighteenth year. 
 
 It were needless to tell you how great a noise the 
 fame of this young beauty, with so considerable a 
 fortune, made in the world. I may say, the world, 
 rather than confine her fame to the scanty limits of a 
 town ; it reached to many others. And there was 
 not a man of any quality that came to Antwerp, or 
 passed through the city, but made it his business to 
 see the lovely Miranda, who was universally adored. 
 Her youth and beauty, her shape, and majesty of 
 mien, and air of greatness, charmed all her beholders ; 
 and thousands of people were dying by her eyes, 
 while she was vain enough to glory in her conquests, 
 and make it her business to wound. She loved 
 nothing so much as to behold sighing slaves at her 
 feet, of the greatest quality ; and treated them all with 
 an affability that gave them hope. Continual music, 
 as soon as it was dark, and songs of dying lovers, 
 were sung under her windows; and she might well 
 have made herself a great fortune (if she had not been 
 so already) by the rich presents that were hourly 
 made her ; and everybody daily expected when she 
 would make some one happy, by suffering herself to 
 be conquered by love and honour, by the assiduities 
 and vows of some one of her adorers. But Miranda 
 accepted their presents, heard their vows with plea- 
 sure, and willingly admitted all their soft addresses ; 
 but would not yield her heart, or give away that 
 lovely person to the possession of one, who could 
 please itself with so many. She was naturally amor- 
 ous, but extremely inconstant. She loved one for his 
 wit, another for his face, and a third for his mien ; 
 but above all, she admired quality. Quality alone 
 had the power to attach her entirely ; yet not to one 
 man, but that virtue was still admired by her in all. 
 Wherever she found that, she loved, or at least acted 
 the lover with such art, that (deceiving well) she failed 
 not to complete her conquest; and yet she never
 
 THE FAIR JILT 89 
 
 durst trust her fickle humour with marriage. She 
 knew the strength of her own heart, and that it could 
 not suffer itself to be confined to one man, and wisely 
 avoided those inquietudes, and that uneasiness of life 
 she was sure to find in that married state, which 
 would, against her nature, oblige her to the embraces 
 of one, whose humour was, to love all the young and 
 the gay. But Love, who had hitherto only played with 
 her heart, and given it nought but pleasing wanton 
 wounds, such as afforded only soft joys, and not pains, 
 resolved, either out of revenge to those numbers she 
 had abandoned, and who had sighed so long in vain, or 
 to try what power he had upon so fickle a heart, to send 
 an arrow dipped in the most tormenting flames that 
 rage in hearts most sensible. He struck it home and 
 deep, with all the malice of an angry god. 
 
 There was a church belonging to the Cordeliers, 
 whither Miranda often repaired to her devotion ; and 
 being there one day, accompanied with a young sister 
 of the Order, after the Mass was ended, as it is the 
 custom, some one of the Fathers goes about the 
 church with a box for contribution, or charity-money. 
 It happened that day, that a young Father, newly 
 initiated, carried the box about, which, in his turn, he 
 brought to Miranda. She had no sooner cast her 
 eyes on this young friar but her face was overspread 
 with blushes of surprise. She beheld him steadfastly, 
 and saw in his face all the charms of youth, wit, and 
 beauty ; he wanted no one grace that could form him 
 for love, he appeared all that is adorable to the fair 
 sex, nor could the misshapen habit hide from her the 
 lovely shape it endeavoured to cover, nor those 
 delicate hands that approached her too near with the 
 box. Besides the beauty of his face and shape, he 
 had an air altogether great, in spite of his professed 
 poverty, it betrayed the man of quality ; and that 
 thought weighed greatly with Miranda. But love, 
 who did not design she should now feel any sort of 
 those easy flames, with which she had heretofore
 
 90 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 burnt, made her soon lay all those considerations 
 aside, which used to invite her to love, and now loved 
 she knew not why. 
 
 She gazed upon him, while he bowed before her, and 
 waited for her charity, till she perceived the lovely 
 friar to blush, and cast his eyes to the ground. This 
 awakened her shame, and she put her hand into her 
 pocket, and was a good while in searching for her 
 purse, as if she thought of nothing less than what she 
 was about ; at last she drew it out, and gave him a 
 pistole ; but with so much deliberation and leisure, as 
 easily betrayed the satisfaction she took in looking on 
 him ; while the good man, having received her bounty, 
 after a very low obeisance, proceeded to the rest ; and 
 Miranda casting after him a look all languishing, as 
 long as he remained in the church, departed with a 
 sigh as soon as she saw him go out, and returned to 
 her apartment without speaking one word all the way 
 to the young fille devote who attended her ; so abso- 
 lutely was her soul employed with this young holy 
 man. Cornelia (so was this maid called who was with 
 her) perceiving she was so silent, who used to be all 
 wit and good humour, and observing her little dis- 
 order at the sight of the young father, though she 
 was far from imagining it to be love, took an occasion, 
 when she was come home, to speak of him. ' Madam,' 
 said she, ' did you not observe that fine young 
 Cordelier, who brought the box?' At a question 
 that named that object of her thoughts, Miranda 
 blushed ; and she finding she did so, redoubled her 
 confusion, and she had scarce courage enough to say, 
 'Yes, I did observe him.' And then, forcing herself 
 to smile a little, continued, ' And I wondered to see 
 so jolly a young friar of an Order so severe and 
 mortified.' ' Madam", replied Cornelia, ' when you 
 know his story, you will not wonder.' Miranda, who 
 was impatient to know all that concerned her new 
 conqueror, obliged her to tell his story ; and Cornelia 
 obeyed, and proceeded.
 
 THE FAIR JILT 91 
 
 THE STORY OF PRINCE HENRICK 
 
 'You must know, Madam, that this young holy man 
 
 is a Prince of Germany, of the House of , whose 
 
 fate it was to fall most passionately in love with a fair 
 young lady, who loved him with an ardour equal to 
 what he vowed her. Sure of her heart, and wanting 
 only the approbation of her parents, and his own, 
 which her quality did not suffer him to despair of, he 
 boasted of his happiness to a young Prince, his elder 
 brother, a youth amorous and fierce, impatient of joys, 
 and sensible of beauty, taking fire with all fair eyes. 
 He was his father's darling, and delight of his fond 
 mother ; and, by an ascendant over both their hearts, 
 ruled their wills. 
 
 ' This young Prince no sooner saw, but loved the 
 fair mistress of his brother ; and with an authority of 
 a sovereign, rather than the advice of a friend, warned 
 his brother Henrick (this now young friar) to approach 
 no more this lady, whom he had seen ; and, seeing, 
 loved. 
 
 ' In vain the poor surprised Prince pleads his right 
 of love, his exchange of vows, and assurance of a 
 heart that could never be but for himself. In vain he 
 urges his nearness of blood, his friendship, his passion, 
 or his life, which so entirely depended on the posses- 
 sion of the charming maid. All his pleading served 
 but to blow his brother's flame ; and the more he im- 
 plores, the more the other burns ; and while Henrick 
 follows him, on his knees, with humble submissions, the 
 other flies from him in rages of transported love ; nor 
 could his tears, that pursued his brother's steps, move 
 him to pity. Hot-headed, vain-conceited of his beauty, 
 and greater quality, as elder brother, he doubts not of 
 success, and resolved to sacrifice all to the violence of 
 his new-born passion. 
 
 1 In short, he speaks of his design to his mother, 
 who promised him her assistance; and accordingly
 
 92 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 proposing it first to the Prince her husband, urging 
 the languishment of her son, she soon wrought so on 
 him, that a match being concluded between the 
 parents of this young beauty and Henrick's brother, 
 the hour was appointed before she knew of the sacri- 
 fice she was to be made. And while this was in 
 agitation, Henrick was sent on some great affairs, up 
 into Germany, far out of the way ; not but his boding 
 heart, with perpetual sighs and throbs, eternally fore- 
 told him his fate. 
 
 ' All the letters he wrote were intercepted, as well 
 as those she wrote to him. She finds herself every 
 day perplexed with the addresses of the Prince she 
 hated ; he was ever sighing at her feet. In vain 
 were all her reproaches, and all her coldness, he was 
 on the surer side ; for what he found love would not 
 do, force of parents would. 
 
 ' She complains, in her heart, of young Henrick, from 
 whom she could never receive one letter ; and at last 
 could not forbear bursting into tears, in spite of all her 
 force, and feigned courage, when, on a day, the Prince 
 told her, that Henrick was withdrawn to give him 
 time to court her ; to whom he said, he confessed he 
 had made some vows, but did repent of them, knowing 
 himself too young to make them good : that it was for 
 that reason he brought him first to see her ; and for 
 that reason, that after that he never saw her more, nor 
 so much as took leave of her ; when, indeed, his 
 death lay upon the next visit, his brother having 
 sworn to murder him ; and to that end, put a guard 
 upon him, till he was sent into Germany. 
 
 'All this he uttered with so many passionate as- 
 severations, vows, and seeming pity for her being so 
 inhumanly abandoned, that she almost gave credit to 
 all he had said, and had much ado to keep herself 
 within the bounds of moderation and silent grief. Her 
 heart was breaking, her eyes languished, and her 
 cheeks grew pale, and she had like to have fallen dead 
 into the treacherous arms of him that had reduced
 
 THE FAIR JILT 93 
 
 her to this discovery ; but she did what she could to 
 assume her courage, and to show as little resentment 
 as possible for a heart, like hers, oppressed with love, 
 and now abandoned by the dear subject of its joys and 
 pains. 
 
 ' But, Madam, not to tire you with this adventure, 
 the day arrived wherein our still weeping fair un- 
 fortunate was to be sacrificed to the capriciousness 
 of love ; and she was carried to Court by her parents, 
 without knowing to what end, where she was even 
 compelled to marry the Prince. 
 
 ' Henrick, who all this while knew no more of his 
 unhappiness, than what his fears suggested, returns, 
 and passes even to the presence of his father, before 
 he knew anything of his fortune ; where he beheld 
 his mistress and his brother, with his father, in such 
 a familiarity, as he no longer doubted his destiny. 
 It is hard to judge, whether the lady, or himself, was 
 most surprised ; she was all pale and unmovable in 
 her chair, and Henrick fixed like a statue ; at last 
 grief and rage took place of amazement, and he 
 could not forbear crying out, 'Ah, traitor! Is it 
 thus you have treated a friend and brother? And 
 you, O perjured charmer ! Is it thus you have 
 rewarded all my vows ? ' He could say no more ; 
 but reeling against the door, had fallen in a swoon 
 upon the floor, had not his page caught him in his 
 arms, who was entering with him. The good old 
 Prince, the father, who knew not what all this meant, 
 was soon informed by the young weeping Princess ; 
 who, in relating the story of her amour with Henrick, 
 told her tale in so moving a manner, as brought tears 
 to the old man's eyes, and rage to those of her 
 husband ; he immediately grew jealous to the last 
 degree. He finds himself in possession ('tis true) 
 of the beauty he adored, but the beauty adoring 
 another ; a Prince young and charming as the light, 
 soft, witty, and raging with an equal passion. He 
 finds this dreaded rival in the same house with him,
 
 94 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 with an authority equal to his own ; and fancies, 
 where two hearts are so entirely agreed, and have 
 so good an understanding, it would not be impossible 
 to find opportunities to satisfy and ease that mutual 
 flame, that burned so equally in both ; he therefore 
 resolved to send him out of the world, and to 
 establish his own repose by a deed, wicked, cruel, and 
 unnatural, to have him assassinated the first oppor- 
 tunity he could find. This resolution set him a little 
 at ease, and he strove to dissemble kindness to Hen- 
 rick, with all the art he was capable of, suffering him 
 to come often to the apartment of the Princess, and 
 to entertain her oftentimes with discourse, when he 
 was not near enough to hear what he spoke ; but still 
 watching their eyes, he found those of Henrick full 
 of tears, ready to flow, but restrained, looking all 
 dying, and yet reproaching, while those of the Princess 
 were ever bent to the earth, and she as much as 
 possible, shunning his conversation. Yet this did 
 not satisfy the jealous husband ; it was not her com- 
 plaisance that could appease him ; he found her heart 
 was panting within, whenever Henrick approached 
 her, and every visit more and more confirmed his 
 death. 
 
 ' The father often found the disorders of the sons ; 
 the softness and address of the one gave him as much 
 fear, as the angry blushings, the fierce looks, and 
 broken replies of the other, whenever he beheld 
 Henrick approach his wife; so that the father, fearing 
 some ill consequence of this, besought Henrick to 
 withdraw to some other country, or travel into Italy, 
 he being now of an age that required a view of 
 the world. He told his father that he would obey 
 his commands, though he was certain, that moment 
 he was to be separated from the sight of the fair 
 Princess, his sister, would be the last of his life ; and, 
 in fine, made so pitiful a story of his suffering love, as 
 almost moved the old Prince to compassionate him 
 so far, as to permit him to stay ; but he saw inevitable
 
 THE FAIR JILT 95 
 
 danger in that, and therefore bid him prepare for his 
 journey. 
 
 ' That which passed between the father and Hen- 
 rick, being a secret, none talked of his departing 
 from Court ; so that the design the brother had went 
 on ; and making a hunting-match one day, where 
 most young people of quality were, he ordered some 
 whom he had hired to follow his brother, so as if he 
 chanced to go out of the way, to despatch him ; and 
 accordingly, fortune gave them an opportunity ; for 
 he lagged behind the company, and turned aside into 
 a pleasant thicket of hazels, where alighting, he walked 
 on foot in the most pleasant part of it, full of thought, 
 how to divide his soul between love and obedience. 
 He was sensible that he ought not to stay ; that he 
 was but an affliction to the young Princess, whose 
 honour could never permit her to ease any part of 
 his flame; nor was he so vicious to entertain a thought 
 that should stain her virtue. He beheld her now as 
 his brother's wife, and that secured his flame from all 
 loose desires, if her native modesty had not been 
 sufficient of itself to have done it, as well as that 
 profound respect he paid her; and he considered, 
 in obeying his father, he left her at ease, and his 
 brother freed of a thousand fears ; he went to seek 
 a cure, which if he could not find, at last he could 
 but die ; and so he must, even at her feet. However, 
 that it was more noble to seek a remedy for his 
 disease, than expect a certain death by staying. 
 After a thousand reflections on his hard fate, and 
 bemoaning himself, and blaming his cruel stars, that 
 had doomed him to die so young, after an infinity 
 of sighs and tears, resolvings and unresolvings, he, 
 on the sudden, was interrupted by the trampling of 
 some horses he heard, and their rushing through the 
 boughs, and saw four men make towards him. He 
 had not time to mount, being walked some paces 
 from his horse. One of the men advanced, and cried, 
 ' Prince, you must die.' ' I do believe thee, 1 replied
 
 96 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 Henrick, ' but not by a hand so base as thine,' and 
 at the same time drawing his sword, ran him into the 
 groin. When the fellow found himself so wounded, 
 he wheeled off and cried, ' Thou art a prophet, and 
 hast rewarded my treachery with death.' The rest 
 came up, and one shot at the Prince, and shot him in 
 the shoulder ; the other two hastily laying hold (but 
 too late) on the hand of the murderer, cried, ' Hold, 
 traitor ; we relent, and he shall not die.' He replied, 
 ' 'Tis too late, he is shot ; and see, he lies dead. Let 
 us provide for ourselves, and tell the Prince, we have 
 done the work ; for you are as guilty as I am.' At 
 that they all fled, and left the Prince lying under 
 a tree, weltering in his blood. 
 
 'About the evening, the forester going his walks, 
 saw the horse richly caparisoned, without a rider, at 
 the entrance of the wood ; and going farther, to see 
 if he could find its owner, found there the Prince 
 almost dead; he immediately mounts him on the 
 horse, and himself behind, bore him up, and carried 
 him to the lodge; where he had only one old man, his 
 father, well skilled in surgery, and a boy. They put 
 him to bed ; and the old forester, with what art he 
 had, dressed his wound, and in the morning sent for 
 an abler surgeon, to whom the Prince enjoined 
 secrecy, because he knew him. The man was faith- 
 ful, and the Prince in time was recovered of his 
 wound ; and as soon as he was well, he came for 
 Flanders, in the habit of a pilgrim, and after some 
 time took the Order of St. Francis, none knowing 
 what became of him, till he was professed ; and then 
 he wrote his own story to the Prince his father, to 
 his mistress, and his ungrateful brother. The young 
 Princess did not long survive his loss, she languished 
 from the moment of 'his depart Jre; and he had this 
 to confirm his devout life, to know she died for him. 
 
 'My brother, Madam, was an officer under the 
 Prince his father, and knew his story perfect y well ; 
 from whose mouth I had it.
 
 THE FAIR JILT 97 
 
 1 What ! ' replied Miranda then, ' is Father Henrick 
 a man of quality?' 'Yes, Madam,' said Cornelia, 
 ' and has changed his name to Francisco.' But 
 Miranda, fearing to betray the sentiments of her 
 heart, by asking any more questions about him, turned 
 the discourse ; and some persons of quality came in 
 to visit her (for her apartment was about six o'clock, 
 like the presence-chamber of a queen, always filled 
 with the greatest people). There meet all the beaux 
 esprits, and all the beauties. But it was visible 
 Miranda was not so gay as she used to be ; but pen- 
 sive, and answering mal a propos to all that was said 
 to her. She was a thousand times going to speak, 
 against her will, something of the charming friar, who 
 was never from her thoughts ; and she imagined, if 
 he could inspire love in a coarse, grey, ill-made habit, 
 a shorn crown, a hair-cord about his waist, bare-legged, 
 in sandals instead of shoes ; what must he do, when 
 looking back on time, she beholds him in a prospect 
 of glory, with all that youth, and illustrious beauty, 
 set off by the advantage of dress and equipage ? She 
 frames an idea of him all gay and splendid, and looks 
 on his present habit as some disguise proper for the 
 stealths of love ; some feigned put-on shape, with the 
 more security to approach a mistress, and make him- 
 self happy ; and that the robe laid by, she has the 
 lover in his proper beauty, the same he would have 
 been, if any other habit (though ever so rich) were 
 put off. In the bed, the silent gloomy night, and the 
 soft embraces of her arms, he loses all the friar, and 
 assumes all the prince ; and that awful reverence, due 
 alone to his holy habit, he exchanges for a thousand 
 dalliances, for which his youth was made : for love, 
 for tender embraces, and all the happiness of life. 
 Some moments she fancies him a lover, and that the 
 fair object that takes up all his heart, has left no room 
 for her there ; but that was a thought that did not 
 long perplex her, and which, almost as soon as born, 
 she turned to her advantage. She beholds him a
 
 98 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 lover, and therefore finds he has a heart sensible and 
 tender; he had youth to be fired, as well as to inspire; 
 he was far from the loved object, and totally without 
 hope ; and she reasonably considered, that flame 
 would of itself soon die, that had only despair to feed 
 on. She beheld her own charms ; and experience, as 
 well as her glass, told her, they never failed of con- 
 quest, especially where they designed it. And she 
 believed Henrick would be glad, at least, to quench 
 that flame in himself, by an amour with her, which 
 was kindled by the young Princess of his sister. 
 
 These, and a thousand other self-flatteries, all vain 
 and indiscreet, took up her waking nights, and now 
 more retired days; while love, to make her truly 
 wretched, suffered her to soothe herself with fond 
 imaginations ; not so much as permitting her reason 
 to plead one moment to save her from undoing. She 
 would not suffer it to tell her, he had taken Holy 
 Orders, made sacred and solemn vows of everlasting 
 chastity, that it was impossible he could marry her, or 
 lay before her any argument that might prevent her 
 ruin ; but love, mad malicious love, was always called 
 to counsel, and like easy monarchs, she had no ears, 
 but for flatterers. 
 
 Well then, she is resolved to love, without consider- 
 ing to what end, and what must be the consequence of 
 such an amour. She now missed no day of being at 
 that little church, where she had the happiness, or 
 rather the misfortune (so love ordained) to see this 
 ravisher of her heart and soul ; and every day she 
 took new fire from his lovely eyes. Unawares, un- 
 known, and unwillingly, he gave her wounds, and the 
 difficulty of her cure made her rage the more. She 
 burned, she languished, and died for the young inno- 
 cent, who knew not he was the author of so much 
 mischief. 
 
 Now she resolves a thousand ways in her tortured 
 mind, to let him know her anguish, and at last pitched 
 upon that of writing to him soft billets, which she had
 
 THE FAIR JILT 99 
 
 learned the art of doing ; or if she had not, she had 
 now fire enough to inspire her with all that could 
 charm and move. These she delivered to a young 
 wench, who waited on her, and whom she had entirely 
 subdued to her interest, to give to a certain lay- 
 brother of the Order, who was a very simple harmless 
 wretch, and who served in the kitchen, in the nature 
 of a cook, in the monastery of Cordeliers. She gave 
 him gold to secure his faith and service ; and not 
 knowing from whence they came (with so good 
 credentials) he undertook to deliver the letters to 
 Father Francisco ; which letters were all afterwards, 
 as you shall hear, produced in open court. These 
 letters failed not to come every day ; and the sense of 
 the first was, to tell him, that a very beautiful young 
 lady, of a great fortune, was in love with him, without 
 naming her; but it came as from a third person, to 
 let him know the secret, that she desired he would 
 let her know whether she might hope any return from 
 him ; assuring him, he needed but only see the fair 
 languisher, to confess himself her slave. 
 
 This letter being delivered him, he read by himself, 
 and was surprised to receive words of this nature, 
 being so great a stranger in that place ; and could 
 not imagine, or would not give himself the trouble of 
 guessing who this should be, because he never de- 
 signed to make returns. 
 
 The next day, Miranda, finding no advantage from 
 her messenger of love, in the evening sends another 
 (impatient of delay) confessing that she who suffered 
 the shame of writing and imploring, was the person 
 herself who adored him. It was there her raging 
 love made her say all things that discovered the 
 nature of its flame, and propose to flee with him to 
 any part of the world, if he would quit the convent ; 
 that she had a fortune considerable enough to make 
 him happy ; and that his youth and quality were not 
 given him to so unprofitable an end as to lose them- 
 selves in a convent, where poverty and ease was all
 
 ioo THE FAIR JILT 
 
 the business. In fine, she leaves nothing unurged 
 that might debauch and invite him ; not forgetting to 
 send him her own character of beauty, and left him 
 to judge of her wit and spirit by her writing, and her 
 love by the extremity of passion she professed. To 
 all which the lovely friar made no return, as believing 
 a gentle capitulation or exhortation to her would 
 but inflame her the more, and give new occasions for 
 her continuing to write. All her reasonings, false 
 and vicious, he despised, pitied the error of her love, 
 and was proof against all she could plead. Yet not- 
 withstanding his silence, which left her in doubt, and 
 more tormented her, she ceased not to pursue him 
 with her letters, varying her style ; sometimes all 
 wanton, loose and raving; sometimes feigning a 
 virgin-modesty all over, accusing herself, blaming 
 her conduct, and sighing her destiny, as one compelled 
 to the shameful discovery by the austerity of his vow 
 and habit, asking his pity and forgiveness ; urging 
 him in charity to use his fatherly care to persuade 
 and reason with her wild desires, and by his counsel 
 drive the god from her heart, whose tyranny was worse 
 than that of a fiend ; and he did not know what his 
 pious advice might do. But still she writes in vain, 
 in vain she varies her style, by a cunning, peculiar to 
 a maid possessed with such a sort of passion. 
 
 This cold neglect was still oil to the burning lamp, 
 and she tries yet more arts, which for want of right 
 thinking were as fruitless. She has recourse to 
 presents ; her letters came loaded with rings of great 
 price, and jewels, which fops of quality had given her. 
 Many of this sort he received, before he knew where 
 to return them, or how ; and on this occasion alone 
 he sent her a letter, and restored her trifles, as he 
 called them. But his habit having not made him 
 forget his quality and education, he wrote to her with 
 all the profound respect imaginable; believing by her 
 presents, and the liberality with which she parted 
 with them, that she was of quality. But the whole
 
 THE FAIR JILT 101 
 
 letter, as he told me afterwards, was to persuade her 
 from the honour she did him, by loving him ; urging 
 a thousand reasons, solid and pious, and assuring her, 
 he had wholly devoted the rest of his days to heaven, 
 and had no need of those gay trifles she had sent 
 him, which were only fit to adorn ladies so fair as 
 herself, and who had business with this glittering 
 world, which he disdained, and had for ever aban- 
 doned. He sent her a thousand blessings, and told 
 her, she should be ever in his prayers, though not in 
 his heart, as she desired. And abundance of good- 
 ness more he expressed, and counsel he gave her, 
 which had the same effect with his silence ; it made 
 her love but the more, and the more impatient she 
 grew. She now had a new occasion to write, she now 
 is charmed with his wit; this was the new subject. 
 She rallies his resolution, and endeavours to recall 
 him to the world, by all the arguments that human 
 invention is capable of. 
 
 But when she had above four months languished 
 thus in vain, not missing one day, wherein she went 
 not to see him, without discovering herself to him ; 
 she resolved, as her last effort, to show her person, 
 and see what that, assisted by her tears, and soft 
 words from her mouth, could do, to prevail upon him. 
 
 It happened to be on the eve of that day when she 
 was to receive the Sacrament, that she, covering her- 
 self with her veil, came to vespers, purposing to make 
 choice of the conquering friar for her confessor. 
 
 She approached him ; and as she did so, she 
 trembled with love. At last she cried, ' Father, my 
 confessor is gone for some time from the town, and 
 I am obliged to-morrow to receive, and beg you will 
 be pleased to take my confession.' 
 
 He could not refuse her; and led her into the 
 sacristy, where there is a confession-chair, in which 
 he seated himself; and on one side of him she 
 kneeled down, over against a little altar, where the 
 priests' robes lie, on which were placed some lighted
 
 102 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 wax-candles, that made the little place very light and 
 splendid, which shone full upon Miranda. 
 
 After the little preparation usual in confession, she 
 turned up her veil, and discovered to his view the 
 most wondrous object of beauty he had ever seen, 
 dressed in all the glory of a young bride ; her hair 
 and stomacher full of diamonds, that gave a lustre all 
 dazzling to her brighter face and eyes. He was 
 surprised at her amazing beauty, and questioned 
 whether he saw a woman, or an angel at his feet. Her 
 hands, which were elevated, as if in prayer, seemed to 
 be formed of polished alabaster ; and he confessed, 
 he had never seen anything in nature so perfect, and 
 so admirable. 
 
 He had some pain to compose himself to hear her 
 confession, and was obliged to turn away his eyes, 
 that his mind might not be perplexed with an object 
 so diverting ; when Miranda, opening the finest mouth 
 in the world, and discovering new charms, began her 
 confession. 
 
 ' Holy father,' said she, ' amongst the number of 
 my vile offences, that which afflicts me to the greatest 
 degree, is, that I am in love. Not/ continued she, 
 ' that I believe simple and virtuous love a sin, when it 
 is placed on an object proper and suitable ; but, my 
 dear father,' said she, and wept, ' I love with a 
 violence which cannot be contained within the bounds 
 of reason, moderation, or virtue. I love a man whom 
 I cannot possess without a crime, and a man who 
 cannot make me happy without being perjured.' 
 ' Is he married ? ' replied the father. ' No,' answered 
 Miranda. 'Are you so?' continued he. 'Neither,' 
 said she. 'Is he too near allied to you?' said 
 Francisco, ' a brother, or relation ? ' ' Neither of 
 these,' said she. ' He is unenjoyed, unpromised ; 
 and so am I. Nothing opposes our happiness, or 
 
 makes my love a vice, but you 'Tis you deny me 
 
 life : 'tis you that forbid my flame : 'tis you will have 
 me die, and seek my remedy in my grave, when I
 
 THE FAIR JILT 103 
 
 complain of tortures, wounds, and flames. O cruel 
 charmer ! 'tis for you I languish ; and here, at your 
 feet, implore that pity, which all my addresses have 
 failed of procuring me.' 
 
 With that, perceiving he was about to rise from his 
 seat, she held him by his habit, and vowed she would 
 in that posture follow him, wherever he flew from her. 
 She elevated her voice so loud, he was afraid she 
 might be heard, and therefore suffered her to force 
 him into his chair again; where being seated, he 
 began, in the most passionate terms imaginable, to 
 dissuade her; but finding she the more persisted in 
 eagerness of passion, he used all the tender assurances 
 that he could force from himself, that he would have 
 for her all the respect, esteem, and friendship that he 
 was capable of paying ; that he had a real compassion 
 for her : and at last she prevailed so far with him, by 
 her sighs and tears, as to own he had a tenderness for 
 her, and that he could not behold so many charms, 
 without being sensibly touched by them, and finding 
 all those effects, that a maid so fair and young causes 
 in the souls of men of youth and sense. But that, as 
 he was assured, he could never be so happy to marry 
 her, and as certain he could not grant anything but 
 honourable passion, he humbly besought her not to 
 expect more from him than such. And then began 
 to tell her how short life was, and transitory its joys ; 
 how soon she would grow weary of vice, and how 
 often change to find real repose in it, but never arrive 
 to it. He made an end, by new assurance of his 
 eternal friendship, but utterly forbad her to hope. 
 
 Behold her now denied, refused and defeated, with 
 all her pleading youth, beauty, tears, and knees, 
 imploring, as she lay, holding fast his scapular, and 
 embracing his feet. What shall she do ? She swells 
 with pride, love, indignation and desire ; her burning 
 heart is bursting with despair, her eyes grow fierce, 
 and from grief she rises to a storm ; and in her agony 
 of passion, with looks all disdainful, haughty, and full
 
 104 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 of rage, she began to revile him, as the poorest of 
 animals; tells him his soul was dwindled to the 
 meanness of his habit, and his vows of poverty, were 
 suited to his degenerate mind. ' And,' said she, 
 ' since all my nobler ways have failed me ; and that, 
 for a little hypocritical devotion, you resolve to lose 
 the greatest blessings of life, and to sacrifice me to 
 your religious pride and vanity, I will either force you 
 to abandon that dull dissimulation, or you shall die, 
 to prove your sanctity real. Therefore answer me 
 immediately, answer my flame, my raging fire, which 
 your eyes have kindled ; or here, in this very moment, 
 I will ruin thee ; and make no scruple of revenging 
 the pains I suffer, by that which shall take away your 
 life and honour.' 
 
 The trembling young man, who, all this while, with 
 extreme anguish of mind, and fear of the dire result, 
 had listened to her ravings, full of dread, demanded 
 what she would have him do ? When she replied, 
 ' Do what thy youth and beauty were ordained to do: 
 this place is private, a sacred silence reigns here, and 
 no one dares to pry into the secrets of this holy place. 
 We are as secure from fears of interruption, as in 
 deserts uninhabited, or caves forsaken by wild beasts. 
 The tapers too shall veil their lights, and only that 
 glimmering lamp shall be witness of our dear stealths 
 of love. Come to my arms, my trembling, longing 
 arms : and curse the folly of thy bigotry, that has 
 made thee so long lose a blessing, for which so many 
 princes sigh in vain.' 
 
 At these words she rose from his feet, and snatch- 
 ing him in her arms, he could not defend himself 
 from receiving a thousand kisses from the lovely 
 mouth of the charming wanton ; after which, she ran 
 herself, and in an instant put out the candles. But he 
 cried to her, ' In vain, O too indiscreet fair one, in 
 vain you put out the light ! for Heaven still has eyes, 
 and will look down upon my broken vows. I own 
 your power, I own I have all the sense in the world of
 
 THE FAIR JILT 105 
 
 your charming touches ; I am frail flesh and blood, 
 
 but yet yet I can resist; and I prefer my 
 
 vows to all your powerful temptations. I will be deaf 
 and blind, and guard my heart with walls of ice, and 
 make you know, that when the flames of true devo- 
 tion are kindled in a heart, it puts out all other fires ; 
 which are as ineffectual, as candles lighted in the face 
 of the sun. Go, vain wanton, and repent, and mortify 
 that blood which has so shamefully betrayed thee, 
 and which will one day ruin both thy soul and body.' 
 
 At these words, Miranda, more enraged, the nearer 
 she imagined herself to happiness, made no reply; but 
 throwing herself, in that instant, into the confessing- 
 chair, and violently pulling the young friar into her 
 lap, she elevated her voice to such a degree, in crying 
 out, ' Help, help ! A rape ! Help, help ! ' that she 
 was heard all over the church, which was full of 
 people at the evening's devotion ; who flocked about 
 the door of the sacristy, which was shut with a spring- 
 lock on the inside, but they durst not open the door. 
 
 It is easily to be imagined in what condition our 
 young friar was, at this last devilish stratagem of his 
 wicked mistress. He strove to break from those 
 arms that held him so fast ; and his bustling to get 
 away, and hers to retain him, disordered her hair and 
 habit to such a degree, as gave the more credit to her 
 false accusation. 
 
 The fathers had a door on the other side, by which 
 they usually entered, to dress in this little room ; and 
 at the report that was in an instant made them, they 
 hasted thither, and found Miranda and the good 
 Father very indecently struggling ; which they mis- 
 interpreted, as Miranda desired ; who, all in tears, 
 immediately threw herself at the feet of the Pro- 
 vincial, who was one of those that entered ; and 
 cried, ' O holy father ! revenge an innocent maid, 
 undone and lost to fame and honour, by that vile 
 monster, born of goats, nursed by tigers, and bred up 
 on savage mountains, where humanity and religion
 
 io6 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 are strangers. For, O holy father, could it have 
 entered into the heart of man, to have done so bar- 
 barous and horrid a deed, as to attempt the virgin- 
 honour of an unspotted maid, and one of my degree, 
 even in the moment of my confession, in that holy 
 time, when I was prostrate before him and heaven, 
 confessing those sins that pressed my tender con- 
 science, even then to load my soul with the blackest 
 of infamies, to add to my number a weight that must 
 sink me to hell ? Alas ! under the security of his 
 innocent looks, his holy habit, and his awful function, 
 I was led into this room to make my confession ; 
 where, he locking the door, I had no sooner began, 
 but he gazing on me, took fire at my fatal beauty ; 
 and starting up, put out the candles and caught me 
 in his arms ; and raising me from the pavement, set 
 
 me in the confession-chair ; and then Oh, spare 
 
 me the rest.' 
 
 With that a shower of tears burst from her fair 
 dissembling eyes, and sobs so naturally acted, and so 
 well managed, as left no doubt upon the good men, 
 but all she had spoken was truth. 
 
 ' At first,' proceeded she, ' I was unwilling to bring 
 so great a scandal on his Order, as to cry out ; but 
 struggled as long as I had breath ; pleaded the 
 heinousness of the crime, urging my quality, and the 
 danger of the attempt. But he, deaf as the winds, 
 and ruffling as a storm, pursued his wild design with 
 so much force and insolence, as I at last, unable to 
 resist, was wholly vanquished, robbed of my native 
 purity. With what life and breath I had, I called for 
 assistance, both from men and heaven ; but oh, alas ! 
 your succours came too late. You find me here a 
 wretched, undone, and ravished maid. Revenge me, 
 fathers ; revenge me on the perfidious hypocrite, or 
 else give me a death that may secure your cruelty 
 and injustice from ever being proclaimed over the 
 world ; or my tongue will be eternally reproaching 
 you, and cursing the wicked author of my infamy.'
 
 THE FAIR JILT 107 
 
 She ended as she began, with a thousand sighs and 
 tears ; and received from the Provincial all assurances 
 of revenge. 
 
 The innocent betrayed victim, all the while she was 
 speaking, heard her with an astonishment that may 
 easily be imagined ; yet showed no extravagant 
 signs of it, as those would do, who feign it, to be 
 thought innocent ; but being really so, he bore with 
 a humble, modest, and blushing countenance, all her 
 accusations; which silent shame they mistook for 
 evident signs of his guilt. 
 
 When the Provincial demanded, with an unwonted 
 severity in his eyes and voice, what he could answer 
 for himself? calling him profaner of his sacred vows, 
 and infamy to the Holy Order ; the injured, but 
 innocently accused, only replied : ' May Heaven for- 
 give that bad woman, and bring her to repentance ! ' 
 For his part, he was not so much in love with life, as 
 to use many arguments to justify his innocence; 
 unless it were to free that Order from a scandal, of 
 which he had the honour to be professed. But as for 
 himself, life or death were things indifferent to him, 
 who heartily despised the world. 
 
 He said no more, and suffered himself to be led 
 before the magistrate ; who committed him to prison, 
 upon the accusation of this implacable beauty ; who, 
 with so much feigned sorrow, prosecuted the matter, 
 even to his trial and condemnation ; where he refused 
 to make any great defence for himself. But being 
 daily visited by all the religious, both of his own and 
 other Orders, they obliged him (some of them know- 
 ing the austerity of his life, others his cause of griefs 
 that first brought him into Orders, and others pre- 
 tending a nearer knowledge, even of his soul itself) 
 to stand upon his justification, and discover what he 
 knew of that wicked woman; whose life had not 
 been so exemplary for virtue, not to have given the 
 world a thousand suspicions of her lewdness and 
 prostitutions.
 
 io8 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 The daily importunities of these fathers made 
 him produce her letters. But as he had all the gown- 
 men on his side, she had all the hats and feathers on 
 hers ; all the men of quality taking her part, and all 
 the church-men his. They heard his daily protesta- 
 tions and vows, but not a word of what passed at 
 confession was yet discovered. He held that as a 
 secret sacred on his part ; and what was said in 
 nature of a confession, was not to be revealed, though 
 his life depended on the discovery. But as to the 
 letters, they were forced from him, and exposed ; 
 however, matters were carried with so high a hand 
 against him, that they served for no proof at all of 
 his innocence, and he was at last condemned to be 
 burned at the market-place. 
 
 After his sentence was passed, the whole body of 
 priests made their addresses to the Marquis Castel 
 Roderigo, the then Governor of Flanders, for a re- 
 prieve ; which, after much ado, was granted him for 
 some weeks, but with an absolute denial of pardon. 
 So prevailing were the young cavaliers of his Court, 
 who were all adorers of this fair jilt. 
 
 About this time, while the poor innocent young 
 Henrick was thus languishing in prison, in a dark 
 and dismal dungeon, and Miranda, cured of her love, 
 was triumphing in her revenge, expecting and daily 
 giving new conquests : and who, by this time, had re- 
 assumed all her wonted gaiety ; there was a great 
 noise about the town, that a Prince of mighty name, 
 and famed for all the excellences of his sex, was 
 arrived ; a Prince young, and gloriously attended, 
 called Prince Tarquin. 
 
 We had often heard of this great man, and that 
 he was making his travels in France and Germany. 
 And we had also heard, that some years before, he 
 being about eighteen years of age, in the time when 
 our King Charles, of blessed memory, was in Brussels, 
 in the last year of his banishment, that all on a-sudden, 
 this young man rose up upon them like the sun all
 
 THE FAIR JILT 109 
 
 glorious and dazzling, demanding place of all the 
 princes in that Court. And when his pretence was 
 demanded, he owned himself Prince Tarquin, of the 
 race of the last Kings of Rome, made good his title, 
 and took his place accordingly. After that he 
 travelled for about six years up and down the world, 
 and then arrived at Antwerp, about the time of my 
 being sent thither by King Charles. 
 
 Perhaps there could be nothing seen so magnificent 
 as this Prince. He was, as I said, extremely hand- 
 some, from head to foot exactly formed, and he 
 wanted nothing that might adorn that native beauty 
 to the best advantage. His parts were suitable to 
 the rest He had an accomplishment fit for a Prince, 
 an air haughty, but a carriage affable, easy in con- 
 versation, and very entertaining, liberal and good- 
 natured, brave and inoffensive. I have seen him pass 
 the streets with twelve footmen, and four pages ; the 
 pages all in green velvet coats laced with gold, and 
 white velvet tunics ; the men in cloth, richly laced 
 with gold ; his coaches, and all other officers suitable 
 to a great man. 
 
 He was all the discourse of the town ; some laugh- 
 ing at his title, others reverencing it. Some cried 
 that he was an impostor ; others, that he had made 
 his title as plain, as if Tarquin had reigned but a 
 year ago. Some made friendships with him, others 
 would have nothing to say to him. But all wondered 
 where his revenue was, that supported this grandeur ; 
 and believed, though he could make his descent from 
 the Roman kings very well out, that he could not 
 lay so good a claim to the Roman land. Thus every- 
 body meddled with what they had nothing to do ; 
 and, as in other places, thought themselves on the 
 surer side, if, in these doubtful cases, they imagined 
 the worst. 
 
 But the men might be of what opinion they pleased 
 concerning him ; the ladies were all agreed that he 
 was a prince, and a young handsome prince, and a
 
 no THE FAIR JILT 
 
 prince not to be resisted. He had all their wishes, all 
 their eyes, and all their hearts. They now dressed 
 only for him ; and what church he graced, was sure, 
 that day, to have the beauties, and all that thought 
 themselves so. 
 
 You may believe, our amorous Miranda was not 
 the least conquest he made. She no sooner heard of 
 him, which was as soon as he arrived, but she fell 
 in love with his very name. ' Jesu ! A young King 
 of Rome ! ' Oh, it was so novel, that she doted on 
 the title ; and had not cared whether the rest had 
 been man or monkey almost. She was resolved 
 to be the Lucretia that this young Tarquin should 
 ravish. 
 
 To this end, she was no sooner up the next day, 
 but she sent him a billet doux, assuring him how 
 much she admired his fame ; and that being a 
 stranger in the town, she begged the honour of intro- 
 ducing him to all the belle conversations, etc., which 
 he took for the invitation of some coquette, who had 
 interest in fair ladies ; and civilly returned her an 
 answer, that he would wait on her. She had him 
 that day watched to church ; and impatient to see 
 what she heard so many people flock to see, she went 
 also to the same church ; those sanctified abodes 
 being too often profaned by such devotees, whose busi- 
 ness is to ogle and ensnare. 
 
 But what a noise and humming was heard all over 
 the church, when Tarquin entered ! His grace, his 
 mien, his fashion, his beauty, his dress, and his equip- 
 age, surprised all that were present. And by the 
 good management and care of Miranda, she got to 
 kneel at the side of the altar, just over against the 
 Prince, so that, if he would, he could not avoid look- 
 ing full upon her. She had turned up her veil, and all 
 her face and shape appeared such, and so enchanting, 
 as I have described ; and her beauty heightened with 
 blushes, and her eyes full of spirit and fire, with joy, 
 to find the young Roman monarch so charming, she
 
 THE FAIR JILT in 
 
 appeared like something more than mortal, and com- 
 pelled his eyes to a fixed gazing on her face ; she 
 never glanced his way, but she met them ; and then 
 would feign so modest a shame, and cast her eyes 
 downwards with such inviting art, that he was wholly 
 ravished and charmed, and she overjoyed to find he 
 was so. 
 
 The ceremony being ended, he sent a page to 
 follow that lady home, himself pursuing her to the 
 door of the church, where he took some holy water, 
 and threw upon her, and made her a profound rever- 
 ence. She forced an innocent look, and a modest 
 gratitude in her face, and bowed, and passed forward, 
 half assured of her conquest ; leaving her, to go 
 home to his lodging, and impatiently wait the return 
 of his page. And all the ladies who saw this first 
 beginning between the Prince and Miranda, began to 
 curse and envy her charms, who had deprived them 
 of half their hopes. 
 
 After this, I need not tell you, he made Miranda a 
 visit ; and from that day never left her apartment, but 
 when he went home at nights, or unless he had 
 business; so entirely was he conquered by this fair 
 one. But the Bishop, and several men of quality, in 
 Orders, that professed friendship to him, advised him 
 from her company ; and spoke several things to him, 
 that might (if love had not made him blind) have 
 reclaimed him from the pursuit of his ruin. But 
 whatever they trusted him with, she had the art to 
 wind herself about his heart, and make him unravel 
 all his secrets ; and then knew as well, by feigned 
 sighs and tears, to make him disbelieve all ; so that 
 he had no faith but for her ; and was wholly en- 
 chanted and bewitched by her. At last, in spite of 
 all that would have opposed it, he married this 
 famous woman, possessed by so many great men and 
 strangers before, while all the world was pitying his 
 shame and misfortunes. 
 
 Being married, they took a great house; and as
 
 ii2 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 she was indeed a great fortune, and now a great 
 princess, there was nothing wanting that was agree- 
 able to their quality; all was splendid and magni- 
 ficent. But all this would not acquire them the 
 world's esteem ; they had an abhorrence for her 
 former life, and despised her ; and for his espousing 
 a woman so infamous, they despised him. So that 
 though they admired, and gazed upon their equipage, 
 and glorious dress, they foresaw the ruin that attended 
 it, and paid her quality little respect. 
 
 She was no sooner married, but her uncle died ; 
 and dividing his fortune between Miranda and her 
 sister, leaves the young heiress, and all her fortune, 
 entirely in the hands of the Princess. 
 
 We will call this sister Alcidiana ; she was about 
 fourteen years of age, and now had chosen her 
 brother, the Prince, for her guardian. If Alcidiana 
 were not altogether so great a beauty as her sister, 
 she had charms sufficient to procure her a great many 
 lovers, though her fortune had not been so consider- 
 able as it was ; but with that addition, you may 
 believe, she wanted no courtships from those of the 
 best quality ; though everybody deplored her being 
 under the tutorage of a lady so expert in all the vices 
 of her sex, and so cunning a manager of sin, as was 
 the Princess ; who, on her part, failed not, by all the 
 caresses, and obliging endearments, to engage the 
 mind of this young maid, and to subdue her wholly 
 to her government. All her senses were eternally 
 regaled with the most bewitching pleasures they were 
 capable of. She saw nothing but glory and magni- 
 ficence, heard nothing but music of the sweetest 
 sounds ; the richest perfumes employed her smelling ; 
 and all she ate and touched was delicate and inviting ; 
 and being too young to consider how this state and 
 grandeur was to be continued, little imagined her 
 vast fortune was every day diminishing, towards its 
 needless support. 
 
 When the Princess went to church, she had her
 
 THE FAIR JILT 113 
 
 gentleman bare before her, carrying a great velvet 
 cushion, with great golden tassels, for her to kneel 
 on, and her train borne up a most prodigious length, 
 led by a gentleman usher, bare; followed by in- 
 numerable footmen, pages, and women. And in this 
 state she would walk in the streets, as in those 
 countries it is the fashion for the great ladies to do, 
 who are well ; and in her train two or three coaches, 
 and perhaps a rich velvet chair embroidered, would 
 follow in state. 
 
 It was thus for some time they lived, and the 
 Princess was daily pressed by young sighing lovers, 
 for her consent to marry Alcidiana ; but she had still 
 one art or other to put them off, and so continually 
 broke all the great matches that were proposed to 
 her, notwithstanding their kindred and other friends 
 had industriously endeavoured to make several great 
 matches for her ; but the Princess was still positive 
 in her denial, and one way or other broke all. At 
 last it happened, there was one proposed, yet more 
 advantageous, a young count, with whom the young 
 maid grew passionately in love, and besought her 
 sister to consent that she might have him, and got 
 the Prince to speak in her behalf; but he had no 
 sooner heard the secret reasons Miranda gave him, 
 but (entirely her slave) he changed his mind, and 
 suited it to hers, and she, as before, broke off that 
 amour : which so extremely incensed Alcidiana, that 
 she, taking an opportunity, got from her guard, and 
 ran away, putting herself into the hands of a wealthy 
 merchant, her kinsman, and one who bore the greatest 
 authority in the city ; him she chose for her guardian, 
 resolving to be no longer a slave to the tyranny of 
 her sister. And so well she ordered matters, that she 
 writ to this young cavalier, her last lover, and re- 
 trieved him ; who came back to Antwerp again, to 
 renew his courtship. 
 
 Both parties being agreed, it was no hard matter 
 to persuade all but the Princess. But though she 
 i
 
 ii4 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 opposed it, it was resolved on, and the day appointed 
 for marriage, and the portion demanded ; demanded 
 only, but never to be paid, the best part of it being 
 spent However, she put them off from day to day, 
 by a thousand frivolous delays; and when she saw 
 they would have recourse to force, and that all her 
 magnificence would be at an end, if the law should 
 prevail against her; and that without this sister's 
 fortune, she could not long support her grandeur ; 
 she bethought herself of a means to make it all her 
 own, by getting her sister made away ; but she being 
 out of her tuition, she was not able to accomplish so 
 great a deed of darkness. But since it was resolved 
 it must be done, she contrives a thousand stratagems ; 
 and at last pitches upon an effectual one. 
 
 She had a page called Van Brune, a youth of great 
 address and wit, and one she had long managed for 
 her purpose. This youth was about seventeen years 
 of age, and extremely beautiful ; and in the time 
 when Alcidiana lived with the Princess, she was a 
 little in love with this handsome boy; but it was 
 checked in its infancy, and never grew up to a flame. 
 Nevertheless, Alcidiana retained still a sort of tender- 
 ness for him, while he burned in good earnest with 
 love for the Princess. 
 
 The Princess one day ordering this page to wait 
 on her in her closet, she shut the door ; and after a 
 thousand questions of what he would undertake to 
 serve her, the amorous boy finding himself alone, 
 and caressed by the fair person he adored, with joy- 
 ful blushes that beautified his face, told her ' There 
 was nothing upon earth he would not do, to obey 
 her least commands.' She grew more familiar with 
 him, to oblige him ; and seeing love dance in his 
 eyes, of which she was so good a judge, she treated 
 him more like a lover, than a servant ; till at last the 
 ravished youth, wholly transported out of himself, 
 fell at her feet, and impatiently implored to receive 
 her commands quickly, that he might fly to execute
 
 THE FAIR JILT 115 
 
 them; for he was not able to bear her charming 
 words, looks, and touches, and retain his duty. At 
 this she smiled, and told him, the work was of such 
 a nature, as would mortify all flames about him ; and 
 he would have more need of rage, envy, and malice, 
 than the aids of a passion so soft as what she now 
 found him capable of. He assured her, he would 
 stick at nothing, though even against his nature, 
 to recompense for the boldness he now, through his 
 indiscretion, had discovered. She smiling, told him, 
 he had committed no fault ; and that possibly, the 
 pay he should receive for the service she required at 
 his hands, should be what he most wished for in the 
 world. At this he bowed to the earth ; and kissing 
 her feet, bade her command. And then she boldly 
 told him, it was to kill her sister Alcidiana. The 
 youth, without so much as starting or pausing upon 
 the matter, told her, it should be done ; and bowing 
 low, immediately went out of the closet. She called 
 him back, and would have given him some instruc- 
 tion ; but he refused it, and said, ' The action and the 
 contrivance should be all his own.' And offering to 
 go again, she again recalled him ; putting into his 
 hand a purse of a hundred pistoles, which he took, 
 and with a low bow departed. 
 
 He no sooner left her presence, but he goes directly, 
 and buys a dose of poison, and went immediately to 
 the house where Alcidiana lived ; where desiring to 
 be brought to her presence, he fell a-weeping ; and 
 told her, his lady had fallen out with him, and dis- 
 missed him her service ; and since from a child he 
 had been brought up in the family, he humbly 
 besought Alcidiana to receive him into hers, she 
 being in a few days to be married. There needed not 
 much entreaty to a thing that pleased her so well, 
 and she immediately received him to pension. And 
 he waited some days on her, before he could get an 
 opportunity to administer his devilish potion. But 
 one night, when she drank wine with roasted apples,
 
 ii6 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 which was usual with her ; instead of sugar, or with 
 the sugar, the baneful drug was mixed, and she drank 
 it down. 
 
 About this time, there was a great talk of this 
 page's coming from one sister, to go to the other. 
 And Prince Tarquin, who was ignorant of the de- 
 sign from the beginning to the end, hearing some 
 men of quality at his table speaking of Van Brune's 
 change of place (the Princess then keeping her 
 chamber upon some trifling indisposition), he 
 answered, ' That surely they were mistaken, that 
 he was not dismissed from the Princess's service ' : 
 and calling some of his servants, he asked for Van 
 Brune; and whether anything had happened be- 
 tween her Highness and him, that had occasioned 
 his being turned off. They all seemed ignorant of 
 this matter ; and those who had spoken of it, began 
 to fancy there was some juggle in the case, which 
 time would bring to light. 
 
 The ensuing day it was all about the town, that 
 Alcidiana was poisoned ; and though not dead, yet 
 very near it ; and that the doctors said, she had taken 
 mercury. So that there was never so formidable a 
 sight as this fair young creature ; her head and body 
 swollen, her eyes starting out, her face black, and all 
 deformed. So that diligent search was made, who it 
 should be that did this ; who gave her drink and 
 meat. The cook and butler were examined, the foot- 
 men called to account; but all concluded, she re- 
 ceived nothing but from the hand of her new page, 
 since he came into her service. He was examined, 
 and showed a thousand guilty looks. And the 
 apothecary, then attending among the doctors, proved 
 he had bought mercury of him three or four days be- 
 fore ; which he could not deny ; and making many 
 excuses for his buying it, betrayed him the more ; so 
 ill he chanced to dissemble. He was immediately 
 sent to be examined by the Margrave or Justice, who 
 made his Mittimus, and sent him to prison.
 
 THE FAIR JILT 117 
 
 It is easy to imagine, in what fears and confusion 
 the Princess was at this news. She took her chamber 
 upon it, more to hide her guilty face, than for any 
 indisposition. And the doctors applied such remedies 
 to Alcidiana, such antidotes against the poison, that 
 in a short time she recovered ; but lost the finest hair 
 in the world, and the complexion of her face ever 
 after. 
 
 It was not long before the trials for criminals came 
 on ; and the day being arrived, Van Brune was tried 
 the first of all ; everybody having already read his 
 destiny, according as they wished it; and none would 
 believe, but just indeed as it was. So that for the 
 revenge they hoped to see fall upon the Princess, 
 every one wished he might find no mercy, that she 
 might share of his shame and misery. 
 
 The sessions -house was filled that day with all 
 the ladies, and chief of the town, to hear the result 
 of his trial ; and the sad youth was brought, loaded 
 with chains, and pale as death ; where every circum- 
 stance being sufficiently proved against him, and he 
 making but a weak defence for himself, he was 
 convicted, and sent back to prison, to receive his 
 sentence of death on the morrow ; where he owned 
 all, and who set him on to do it. He owned it was 
 not reward of gain he did it for, but hope he should 
 command at his pleasure the possession of his 
 mistress, the Princess, who should deny him nothing, 
 after having entrusted him with so great a secret ; 
 and that besides, she had elevated him with the 
 promise of that glorious reward, and had dazzled his 
 young heart with so charming a prospect, that blind 
 and mad with joy, he rushed forward to gain the 
 desired prize, and thought on nothing but his coming 
 happiness. That he saw too late the follies of his 
 presumptuous flame, and cursed the deluding flatteries 
 of the fair hypocrite, who had soothed him to his 
 undoing. That he was a miserable victim to her 
 wickedness; and hoped he should warn all young
 
 Ii8 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 men, by his fall, to avoid the dissimulation of the 
 deceiving fair. That he hoped they would have pity 
 on his youth, and attribute his crime to the subtle 
 persuasions alone of his mistress the Princess : and 
 that since Alcidiana was not dead, they would grant 
 him mercy, and permit him to live to repent of his 
 grievous crime, in some part of the world, whither 
 they might banish him. 
 
 He ended with tears, that fell in abundance from 
 his eyes; and immediately the Princess was appre- 
 hended, and brought to prison, to the same prison 
 where yet the poor young Father Francisco was 
 languishing, he having been from week to week re- 
 prieved, by the intercession of the fathers; and 
 possibly she there had time to make some reflections. 
 
 You may imagine Tarquin left no means un- 
 essayed, to prevent the imprisonment of the Princess, 
 and the public shame and infamy she was likely to 
 undergo in this affair. But the whole city being 
 overjoyed that she should be punished, as an author 
 of all this mischief, were generally bent against her, 
 both priests, magistrates and people ; the whole force 
 of the stream running that way, she found no more 
 favour than the meanest criminal. The Prince there- 
 fore, when he saw it was impossible to rescue her 
 from the hands of justice, suffered with grief un- 
 speakable, what he could not prevent, and led her 
 himself to the prison, followed by all his people, 
 in as much state as if he had been going to his 
 marriage ; where, when she came, she was as well- 
 attended and served as before, he never stirring one 
 moment from her. 
 
 The next day she was tried in open and common 
 court ; where she, appeared in glory, led by Tarquin, 
 and attended according to her quality. And she 
 could not deny all the page had alleged against her, 
 who was brought thither also in chains ; and after a 
 great many circumstances, she was found guilty, and 
 both received sentence ; the page to be hanged till he
 
 THE FAIR JILT 119 
 
 was dead, on a gibbet in the market-place; and the 
 Princess to stand under the gibbet, with a rope about 
 her neck, the other end of which was to be fastened 
 to the gibbet where the page was hanging ; and to 
 have an inscription, in large characters, upon her back 
 and breast, of the cause why ; where she was to stand 
 from ten in the morning to twelve. 
 
 This sentence, the people with one accord, believed 
 too favourable for so ill a woman, whose crimes 
 deserved death, equal to that of Van Brune. Never- 
 theless, there were some who said, it was infinitely 
 more severe than death itself. 
 
 The following Friday was the day of execution, 
 and one need not tell of the abundance of people, 
 who were flocked together in the market-place. And 
 all the windows were taken down, and filled with 
 spectators, and the tops of houses ; when at the hour 
 appointed, the fatal beauty appeared. She was 
 dressed in a black velvet gown, with a rich row of 
 diamonds all down the fore-part of her breast, and a 
 great knot of diamonds at the peak behind ; and a 
 petticoat of flowered gold, very rich, and laced ; with 
 all things else suitable. A gentleman carried her great 
 velvet cushion before her, on which her prayer-book, 
 embroidered, was laid ; her train was borne up by 
 a page, and the Prince led her, bare; followed by 
 his footmen, pages, and other officers of his house. 
 
 When they arrived at the place of execution, the 
 cushion was laid on the ground, upon a Portugal mat, 
 spread there for that purpose; and the Princess stood 
 on the cushion, with her prayer-book in her hand, 
 and a priest by her side ; and was accordingly tied 
 up to the gibbet. 
 
 She had not stood there ten minutes, but she had 
 the mortification (at least one would think it so to her) 
 to see her sad page, Van Brune, approach, fair as an 
 angel, but languishing and pale. That sight moved 
 all the beholders with as much pity, as that of the 
 Princess did with disdain and pleasure,
 
 120 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 He was dressed all in mourning, and very fine 
 linen, bare-headed, with his own hair, the fairest that 
 could be seen, hanging all in curls on his back and 
 shoulders, very long. He had a prayer-book of black 
 velvet in his hand, and behaved himself with much 
 penitence and devotion. 
 
 When he came under the gibbet, he seeing his 
 mistress in that condition, showed an infinite concern, 
 and his fair face was covered over with blushes ; and 
 falling at her feet, he humbly asked her pardon for 
 having been the occasion of so great an infamy to 
 her, by a weak confession, which the fears of youth, 
 and hopes of life, had obliged him to make, so greatly 
 to her dishonour ; for indeed he wanted that manly 
 strength, to bear the efforts of dying, as he ought, in 
 silence, rather than of committing so great a crime 
 against his duty, and honour itself; and that he could 
 not die in peace, unless she would forgive him. The 
 Princess only nodded her head, and cried, ' I do.' 
 
 And after having spoken a little to his father- 
 confessor, who was with him, he cheerfully mounted 
 the ladder, and in sight of the Princess he was turned 
 off, while a loud cry was heard through all the market- 
 place, especially from the fair sex ; he hanged there 
 till the time the Princess was to depart; and then she 
 was put into a rich embroidered chair, and carried 
 away, Tarquin going into his, for he had all that time 
 stood supporting the Princess under the gallows, and 
 was very weary. She was sent back, till her release- 
 ment came, which was that night about seven o'clock ; 
 and then she was conducted to her own house in 
 great state, with a dozen white wax flambeaux about 
 her chain 
 
 If the guardian of Alcidiana, and her friends, before 
 were impatient of having the portion out of the hands 
 of these extravagants, it is not to be imagined but 
 they were now much more so ; and the next day they 
 sent an officer, according to law, to demand it, or to 
 summon the Prince to give reasons why he would not
 
 THE FAIR JILT 121 
 
 pay it. The officer received for answer, that the 
 money should be called in, and paid in such a time, 
 setting a certain time, which I have not been so 
 curious as to retain, or put in my journal-observations ; 
 but I am sure it was not long, as may be easily 
 imagined, for they every moment suspected the Prince 
 would pack up, and be gone, some time or other, on 
 the sudden ; and for that reason they would not trust 
 him without bail, or two officers to remain in his 
 house, to watch that nothing should be removed or 
 touched. As for bail, or security, he could give none ; 
 every one slunk their heads out of the collar, when it 
 came to that. So that he was obliged, at his own 
 expense, to maintain officers in his house. 
 
 The Princess finding herself reduced to the last 
 extremity, and that she must either produce the value 
 of a hundred thousand crowns, or see the Prince her 
 husband lodged for ever in a prison, and all their 
 glory vanish ; and that it was impossible to fly, since 
 guarded ; she had recourse to an extremity, worse 
 than the affair of Van Brune. And in order to this, 
 she first puts on a world of sorrow and concern, for 
 what she feared might arrive to the Prince. And 
 indeed, if ever she shed tears which she did not dis- 
 semble, it was upon this occasion. But here she 
 almost over-acted. She stirred not from her bed, and 
 refused to eat, or sleep, or see the light ; so that the 
 day being shut out of her chamber, she lived by wax- 
 lights, and refused all comfort and consolation. 
 
 The Prince, all raving with love, tender compassion 
 and grief, never stirred from her bedside, nor ceased 
 to implore, that she would suffer herself to live. But 
 she, who was not now so passionately in love with 
 Tarquin, as she was with the Prince ; nor so fond of 
 the man as his titles, and of glory, foresaw the total 
 ruin of the last, if not prevented by avoiding the pay- 
 ment of this great sum ; which could not otherwise 
 be, than by the death of Alcidiana. And therefore, 
 without ceasing, she wept, and cried out, ' She could
 
 122 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 not live, unless Alcidiana died. This Alcidiana,' 
 continued she, 'who has been the author of my 
 shame ; who has exposed me under a gibbet, in the 
 public market-place ! Oh ! I am deaf to all reason, 
 blind to natural affection. I renounce her, I hate her 
 as my mortal foe, my stop to glory, and the finisher 
 of my days, ere half my race of life be run.' 
 
 Then throwing her false, but snowy charming arms 
 about the neck of her heart-breaking lord and lover, 
 who lay sighing, and listening by her side, he was 
 charmed and bewitched into saying all things that 
 appeased her ; and lastly, told her, ' Alcidiana should 
 be no longer any obstacle to her repose ; but that, if 
 she would look up, and cast her eyes of sweetness 
 and love upon him, as heretofore ; forget her sorrow, 
 and redeem her lost health ; he would take what 
 measures she should propose to despatch this fatal 
 stop to her happiness, out of the way.' 
 
 These words failed not to make her caress him in 
 the most endearing manner that love and flattery 
 could invent ; and she kissed him to an oath, a solemn 
 oath, to perform what he had promised ; and he 
 vowed liberally. And she assumed in an instant her 
 good-humour, and suffered a supper to be prepared, 
 and did eat ; which in many days before she had not 
 done. So obstinate and powerful was she in dis- 
 sembling well. 
 
 The next thing to be considered was, which way 
 this deed was to be done ; for they doubted not, but 
 when it was done all the world would lay it upon the 
 Princess, as done by her command. But she urged, 
 suspicion was no proof ; and that they never put to 
 death any one, but when they had great and certain 
 evidence who were the offenders. She was sure of 
 her own constancy, that racks and tortures should 
 never get the secret from her breast ; and if he were 
 as confident on his part, there was no danger. Yet 
 this preparation she made towards laying the fact on 
 others, that she caused several letters to be wrote
 
 THE FAIR JILT 123 
 
 from Germany, as from the relations of Van Brune, 
 who threatened Alcidiana with death, for depriving 
 their kinsman (who was a gentleman) of his life, 
 though he had not taken away hers. And it was 
 the report of the town, how this young maid was 
 threatened. And indeed, the death of the page had 
 so afflicted a great many, that Alcidiana had procured 
 herself abundance of enemies upon that account, 
 because she might have saved him if she had pleased ; 
 but, on the contrary, she was a spectator, and in full 
 health and vigour, at his execution. And people were 
 not so much concerned for her at this report, as they 
 would have been. 
 
 The Prince, who now had, by reasoning the matter 
 soberly with Miranda, found it absolutely necessary 
 to despatch Alcidiana, resolved himself, and with 
 his own hand, to execute it ; not daring to trust any 
 of his most favourite servants, though he had many, 
 who possibly would have obeyed him ; for they loved 
 him as he deserved, and so would all the world, had 
 he not been so purely deluded by this fair enchantress. 
 He therefore, as I said, resolved to keep this great 
 secret to himself ; and taking a pistol, charged well 
 with two bullets, he watched an opportunity to shoot 
 her as she should go out or into her house, or coach, 
 some evening. 
 
 To this end he waited several nights near her 
 lodgings, but still, either she went not out, or when 
 she returned, she was so guarded with friends, her 
 lover, and flambeaux, that he could not aim at her 
 without endangering the life of some other. But one 
 night above the rest, upon a Sunday, when he knew 
 she would be at the theatre, for she never missed that 
 day seeing the play, he waited at the corner of the 
 Stadt House, near the theatre, with his cloak cast 
 over his face, and a black periwig, all alone, with his 
 pistol ready cocked ; and remained not very long but 
 he saw her kinsman's coach come along ; it was almost 
 dark, day was just shutting up her beauties, and left
 
 I2 4 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 such a light to govern the world, as served only just 
 to distinguish one object from another, and a con- 
 venient help to mischief. He saw alight out of the 
 coach only one young lady, the lover, and then the 
 destined victim ; which he (drawing near) knew rather 
 by her tongue than shape. The lady ran into the 
 play-house, and left Alcidiana to be conducted by 
 her lover into it, who led her to the door, and went to 
 give some order to the coachman ; so that the lover 
 was about twenty yards from Alcidiana ; when she 
 stood the fairest mark in the world, on the threshold 
 of the entrance of the theatre, there being many 
 coaches about the door, so that hers could not come 
 so near. Tarquin was resolved not to lose so fair an 
 opportunity, and advanced, but went behind the 
 coaches ; and when he came over against the door, 
 through a great booted velvet coach, that stood 
 between him and her, he shot ; and she having the 
 train of her gown and petticoat on her arm, in great 
 quantity, he missed her body, and shot through her 
 clothes, between her arm and her body. She, fright- 
 ened to find something hit her, and to see the smoke, 
 and hear the report of the pistol ; running in, cried, ' I 
 am shot, I am dead.' 
 
 This noise quickly alarmed her lover ; and all the 
 coachmen and footmen immediately ran, some one 
 way, and some another. One of them seeing a man 
 haste away in a cloak ; he being a lusty bold German, 
 stopped him ; and drawing upon him, bid him stand, 
 and deliver his pistol, or he would run him through. 
 
 Tarquin being surprised at the boldness of this 
 fellow to demand his pistol, as if he positively knew 
 him to be the murderer (for so he thought himself, 
 since he believed Alcidiana dead), had so much 
 presence of mind as to consider, if he suffered himself 
 to be taken, he should poorly die a public death ; and 
 therefore resolved upon one mischief more, to secure 
 himself from the first. And in the moment that the 
 German bade him deliver his pistol, he cried, ' Though
 
 THE FAIR JILT 125 
 
 I have no pistol to deliver, I have a sword to chastise 
 thy insolence.' And throwing off his cloak, and 
 flinging his pistol from him, he drew, and wounded, 
 and disarmed the fellow. 
 
 This noise of swords brought everybody to the 
 place; and immediately the bruit ran, 'The murderer 
 was taken, the murderer was taken.' Yet none knew 
 which was he, nor as yet so much as the cause of the 
 quarrel between the two fighting men ; for it was now 
 darker than before. But at the noise of the murderer 
 being taken, the lover of Alcidiana, who by this time 
 found his lady unhurt, all but the trains of her gown 
 and petticoat, came running to the place, just as 
 Tarquin had disarmed the German, and was ready to 
 kill him ; when laying hold of his arm, they arrested 
 the stroke, and redeemed the footman. 
 
 They then demanded who this stranger was, at 
 whose mercy the fellow lay ; but the Prince, who now 
 found himself venturing for his last stake, made no 
 reply ; but with two swords in his hands went to fight 
 his way through the rabble. And though there were 
 above a hundred persons, some with swords, others 
 with long whips (as coachmen), so invincible was the 
 courage of this poor unfortunate gentleman at that 
 time, that all these were not able to seize him ; but he 
 made his way through the ring that encompassed him, 
 and ran away ; but was, however, so closely pursued, 
 the company still gathering as they ran, that toiled 
 with fighting, oppressed with guilt, and fear of being 
 taken, he grew fainter and fainter, and suffered him- 
 self, at last, to yield to his pursuers, who soon found 
 him to be Prince Tarquin in disguise. And they 
 carried him directly to prison, being Sunday, to wait 
 the coming day, to go before a magistrate. 
 
 In an hour's time the whole fatal adventure was 
 carried all over the city, and every one knew that 
 Tarquin was the intended murderer of Alcidiana ; 
 and not one but had a real sorrow and compassion 
 for him. They heard how bravely he had defended
 
 126 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 himself, how many he had wounded before he could 
 be taken, and what numbers he had fought through. 
 And even those that saw his valour and bravery, and 
 who had assisted at his being seized, now repented 
 from the bottom of their hearts their having any 
 hand in the ruin of so gallant a man ; especially since 
 they knew the lady was not hurt. A thousand ad- 
 dresses were made to her not to prosecute him ; but 
 her lover, a hot-headed fellow, more fierce than brave, 
 would by no means be pacified, but vowed to pursue 
 him to the scaffold. 
 
 The Monday came, and the Prince being examined, 
 confessed the matter of fact, since there was no harm 
 done ; believing a generous confession the best of his 
 game. But he was sent back to closer imprisonment, 
 loaded with irons, to expect the next sessions. All 
 his household goods were seized, and all they could 
 find, for the use of Alcidiana. And the Princess, all 
 in rage, tearing her hair, was carried to the same 
 prison, to behold the cruel effects of her hellish 
 designs. 
 
 One need not tell here how sad and horrid this 
 meeting appeared between her lord and her. Let it 
 suffice, it was the most melancholy and mortifying 
 object that ever eyes beheld. On Miranda's part, it 
 was sometimes all rage and fire, and sometimes all 
 tears and groans ; but still it was sad love, and 
 mournful tenderness on his. Nor could all his suffer- 
 ings, and the prospect of death itself, drive from his 
 soul one spark of that fire the obstinate god had 
 fatally kindled there. And in the midst of all his 
 sighs, he would recall himself, and cry, 'I have 
 Miranda still.' 
 
 He was eternally visited by his friends and ac- 
 quaintance ; and this last action of bravery had got 
 him more than all his former conduct had lost. The 
 fathers were perpetually with him ; and all joined 
 with one common voice in this, that he ought to 
 abandon a woman so wicked as the Princess ; and
 
 THE FAIR JILT 127 
 
 that however fate dealt with him, he could not show 
 himself a true penitent, while he laid the author of 
 so much evil in his bosom : that heaven would never 
 bless him, till he had renounced her : and on such 
 conditions he would find those that would employ 
 their utmost interest to save his life, who else would 
 not stir in this affair. But he was so deaf to all, that 
 he could not so much as dissemble a repentance of 
 having married her. 
 
 He lay a long time in prison, and all that time the 
 poor Father Francisco remained there also. And 
 the good fathers who daily visited these two amorous 
 prisoners, the Prince and Princess ; and who found, 
 by the management of matters, it would go very hard 
 with Tarquin, entertained them often with holy 
 matters relating to the life to come ; from which, 
 before his trial, he gathered what his stars had ap- 
 pointed, and that he was destined to die. 
 
 This gave an unspeakable torment to the now re- 
 penting beauty, who had reduced him to it ; and she 
 began to appear with a more solid grief: which being 
 perceived by the good fathers, they resolved to 
 attack her on the yielding side ; and after some dis- 
 course upon the judgment for sin, they came to 
 reflect on the business of Father Francisco ; and told 
 her, she had never thriven since her accusing of that 
 father, and laid it very home to her conscience ; 
 assuring her that they would do their utmost in her 
 service, if she would confess that secret sin to all the 
 world, so that she might atone for the crime, by the 
 saving that good man. At first she seemed inclined 
 to yield ; but shame of being her own detector, in so 
 vile a matter, recalled her goodness, and she faintly 
 persisted in it. 
 
 At the end of six months, Prince Tarquin was 
 called to his trial ; where I will pass over the circum- 
 stances, which are only what is usual in such criminal 
 cases, and tell you, that he being found guilty of the 
 intent of killing Alcidiana, was condemned to lose his
 
 128 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 head in the market-place, and the Princess to be 
 banished her country. 
 
 After sentence pronounced, to the real grief of all 
 the spectators, he was carried back to prison. And 
 now the fathers attack her anew ; and she, whose 
 griefs daily increased, with a languishment that 
 brought her very near her grave, at last confessed all 
 her life, all the lewdness of her practices with several 
 princes and great men, besides her lusts with people 
 that served her, and others in mean capacity : and 
 lastly, the whole truth of the young friar ; and how 
 she had drawn the page, and the Prince her husband, 
 to this designed murder of her sister. This she 
 signed with her hand, in the presence of the Prince, 
 her husband, and several holy men who were present. 
 Which being signified to the magistrates, the friar 
 was immediately delivered from his irons (where he 
 had languished more than two whole years) in great 
 triumph, with much honour, and lives a most exem- 
 plary pious life, as he did before ; for he is now living 
 in Antwerp. 
 
 After the condemnation of these two unfortunate 
 persons, who begot such different sentiments in the 
 minds of the people (the Prince, all the compassion 
 and pity imaginable ; and the Princess, all the con- 
 tempt and despite); they languished almost six 
 months longer in prison : so great an interest there 
 was made, in order to the saving his life, by all the 
 men of the robe. On the other side, the Princes, and 
 great men of all nations, who were at the Court of 
 Brussels, who bore a secret revenge in their hearts 
 against a man who had, as they pretended, set up a 
 false title, only to take place of them ; who indeed 
 was but a merchant's son of Holland, as they said ; 
 so incensed them against him, that they were too 
 hard at Court for the church-men. However, this 
 dispute gave the Prince his life some months longer 
 than was expected ; which gave him also some hope, 
 that a reprieve for ninety years would have been
 
 THE FAIR JILT 129 
 
 granted, as was desired. Nay, Father Francisco so 
 interested himself in this concern, that he writ to his 
 father, and several princes of Germany, with whom 
 the Marquis Castel Roderigo was well acquainted, to 
 intercede with him for the saving of Tarquin ; since it 
 was more by his persuasions, than those of all who 
 attacked her, that made Miranda confess the truth of 
 her affair with him. But at the end of six months, 
 when all applications were found fruitless and vain, 
 the Prince received news, that in two days he was to 
 die, as his sentence had been before pronounced, and 
 for which he prepared himself with all cheerfulness. 
 
 On the following Friday, as soon as it was light, 
 all people of any condition came to take their leaves 
 of him ; and none departed with dry eyes, or hearts 
 unconcerned to the last degree. For Tarquin, when 
 he found his fate inevitable bore it with a fortitude 
 that showed no signs of regret ; but addressed him- 
 self to all about him with the same cheerful, modest, 
 and great air, he was wont to do in his most flourish- 
 ing fortune. His valet was dressing him all the 
 morning, so many interruptions they had by visitors ; 
 and he was all in mourning, and so were all his 
 followers ; for even to the last he kept up his gran- 
 deur, to the amazement of all people. And indeed, 
 he was so passionately beloved by them, that those he 
 had dismissed, served him voluntarily, and would not 
 be persuaded to abandon him while he lived. 
 
 The Princess was also dressed in mourning, and 
 her two women ; and notwithstanding the unheard-of 
 lewdness and villainies she had confessed of herself, 
 the Prince still adored her ; for she had still those 
 charms that made him first do so; nor, to his last 
 moment, could he be brought to wish, that he had 
 never seen her ; but on the contrary, as a man yet 
 vainly proud of his fetters, he said, ' All the satisfac- 
 tion this short moment of life could afford him, was, 
 that he died in endeavouring to serve Miranda, his 
 adorable Princess.'
 
 130 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 After he had taken leave of all, who thought it 
 necessary to leave him to himself for some time, he 
 retired with his confessor ; where they were about an 
 hour in prayer, all the ceremonies of devotion that 
 were fit to be done, being already passed. At last the 
 bell tolled, and he was to take leave of the Princess, 
 as his last work of life, and the most hard he had to 
 accomplish. He threw himself at her feet, and gazing 
 on her as she sat more dead than alive, overwhelmed 
 with silent grief, they both remained some moments 
 speechless ; and then, as if one rising tide of tears 
 had supplied both their eyes, it burst out in streams 
 at the same instant : and when his sighs gave way, 
 he uttered a thousand farewells, so soft, so passionate, 
 and moving, that all who were by were extremely 
 touched with it, and said, that nothing could be seen 
 more deplorable and melancholy. A thousand times 
 they bade farewell, and still some tender look, or 
 word, would prevent his going ; then embrace, and 
 bid farewell again. A thousand times she asked his 
 pardon for being the occasion of that fatal separation ; 
 a thousand times assuring him, she would follow him, 
 for she could not live without him. And Heaven 
 knows when their soft and sad caresses would have 
 ended, had not the officers assured him it was time to 
 mount the scaffold. At which words the Princess fell 
 fainting in the arms of her women, and they led 
 Tarquin out of prison. 
 
 When he came to the market-place, whither he 
 walked on foot, followed by his own domestics, and 
 some bearing a black velvet coffin with silver hinges ; 
 the headsman before him with his fatal scimitar 
 drawn, his confessor by his side, and many gentlemen 
 and church-men, with Father Francisco attending 
 him, the people showering millions of blessings on 
 him, and beholding him with weeping eyes, he 
 mounted the scaffold ; which was strown with some 
 sawdust, about the place where he was to kneel, to 
 receive the blood. For they behead people kneeling,
 
 THE FAIR JILT 131 
 
 and with the back-stroke of a scimitar ; and not lying 
 on a block, and with an axe, as we in England. The 
 scaffold had a low rail about it, that everybody might 
 more conveniently see. This was hung with black, 
 and all that state that such a death could have, was 
 here in most decent order. 
 
 He did not say much upon the scaffold. The sum 
 of what he said to his friends was, to be kind, and 
 take care of the poor penitent his wife, To others, 
 recommending his honest and generous servants, 
 whose fidelity was so well known and commended, 
 that they were soon promised preferment. He was 
 some time in prayer, and a very short time in speak- 
 ing to his confessor ; then he turned to the heads- 
 man, and desired him to do his office well, and gave 
 him twenty louis d'ors ; and undressing himself with 
 the help of his valet and page, he pulled off his coat, 
 and had underneath a white satin waistcoat. He 
 took off his periwig, and put on a white satin cap, 
 with a holland one done with point under it, which he 
 pulled over his eyes; then took a cheerful leave of 
 all, and kneeled down, and said, ' When he lifted up 
 his hands the third time, the headsman should do 
 his office.' Which accordingly was done, and the 
 headsman gave him his last stroke, and the Prince 
 fell on the scaffold. The people with one common 
 voice, as if it had been but one entire one, prayed for 
 his soul ; and murmurs of sighs were heard from the 
 whole multitude, who scrambled for some of the 
 bloody sawdust, to keep for his memory. 
 
 The headsman going to take up the head, as the 
 manner is, to show it to the people, he found he had 
 not struck it off, and that the body stirred ; with that 
 he stepped to an engine, which they always carry with 
 them, to force those who may be refractory ; think- 
 ing, as he said, to have twisted the head from the 
 shoulders, conceiving it to hang but by a small matter 
 of flesh. Though it was an odd shift of the fellow's, 
 yet it was done, and the best shift he could suddenly
 
 132 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 propose. The Margrave, and another officer, old 
 men, were on the scaffold, with some of the Prince's 
 friends and servants ; who seeing the headsman put 
 the engine about the neck of the Prince, began to 
 call out, and the people made a great noise. The 
 Prince, who found himself yet alive ; or rather, who 
 was past thinking but had some sense of feeling left, 
 when the headsman took him up, and set his back 
 against the rail, and clapped the engine about his 
 neck, got his two thumbs between the rope and his 
 neck, feeling himself pressed there ; and struggling 
 between life and death, and bending himself over the 
 rail backward, while the headsman pulled forward, 
 he threw himself quite over the rail, by chance, and 
 not design, and fell upon the heads and shoulders of 
 the people, who were crying out with amazing shouts 
 of joy. The headsman leaped after him, but the 
 rabble had liked to have pulled him to pieces. All 
 the city was in an uproar, but none knew what the 
 matter was, but those who bore the body of the 
 Prince, whom they found yet living ; but how, or by 
 what strange miracle preserved, they knew not, nor 
 did examine ; but with one accord, as if the whole 
 crowd had been one body, and had but one motion, 
 they bore the Prince on their heads about a hundred 
 yards from the scaffold, where there is a monastery of 
 Jesuits ; and there they secured him. All this was 
 done, his beheading, his falling, and his being secured, 
 almost in a moment's time ; the people rejoicing, as 
 at some extraordinary victory won. One of the 
 officers being, as I said, an old timorous man, was so 
 frightened at the accident, the bustle, the noise, and 
 the confusion, of which he was wholly ignorant, that 
 he died with amazement and fear ; and the other was 
 fain to be let blood. 
 
 The officers of justice went to demand the prisoner, 
 but they demanded in vain ; the Jesuits had now 
 a right to protect him, and would do so. All his 
 overjoyed friends went to see in what condition he
 
 THE FAIR JILT 133 
 
 was, and all of quality found admittance. They saw 
 him in bed, going to be dressed by the most skilful 
 surgeons, who yet could not assure him of life. They 
 desired nobody should speak to him, or ask him any 
 questions. They found that the headsman had 
 struck him too low, and had cut him into the 
 shoulder-bone. A very great wound, you may be 
 sure ; for the sword, in such executions, carries an 
 extreme force. However, so great care was taken on 
 all sides, and so greatly the fathers were concerned 
 for him, that they found an amendment, and hopes 
 of a good effect of their incomparable charity and 
 goodness. 
 
 At last, when he was permitted to speak, the first 
 news he asked was after the Princess. And his 
 friends were very much afflicted to find, that all his 
 loss of blood had not quenched that flame, nor let 
 out that which made him still love that bad woman. 
 He was solicited daily to think no more of her. And 
 all her crimes are laid so open to him, and so shame- 
 fully represented ; and on the other side, his virtues 
 so admired ; and which, they said, would have been 
 eternally celebrated, but for his folly with this 
 infamous creature ; that at last, by assuring him of 
 all their assistance if he abandoned her ; and to re- 
 nounce him, and deliver him up, if he did not ; they 
 wrought so far upon him, as to promise he would 
 suffer her to go alone into banishment, and would 
 not follow her, or live with her any more. But alas ! 
 this was but his gratitude that compelled this com- 
 plaisance, for in his heart he resolved never to aban- 
 don her ; nor was he able to live, and think of doing 
 it. However, his reason assured him, he could not 
 do a deed more justifiable, and one that would regain 
 his fame sooner. 
 
 His friends asked him some questions concerning 
 his escape ; and since he was not beheaded, but only 
 wounded, why he did not immediately rise up. But 
 he replied, he was so absolutely prepossessed, that at
 
 134 THE FAIR JILT 
 
 the third lifting up his hands he should receive the 
 stroke of death, that at the same instant the sword 
 touched him, he had no sense ; nay, not even of pain, 
 so absolutely dead he was with imagination ; and 
 knew not that he stirred, as the headsman found he 
 did ; nor did he remember anything, from the lifting 
 up of his hands, to his fall ; and then awakened, as 
 out of a dream, or rather a moment's sleep without 
 dream, he found he lived, and wondered what was 
 arrived to him, or how he came to live ; having not, 
 as yet, any sense of his wound, though so terrible 
 an one. 
 
 After this, Alcidiana, who was extremely afflicted 
 for having been the prosecutor of this great man ; 
 who, bating this last design against her, which she 
 knew was at the instigation of her sister, had obliged 
 her with all the civility imaginable ; now sought all 
 means possible of getting his pardon, and that of her 
 sister ; though of a hundred thousand crowns, which 
 she should have paid her, she could get but ten thou- 
 sand ; which was from the sale of her rich beds, and 
 some other furniture. So that the young Count, who 
 before should have married her, now went off for 
 want of fortune ; and a young merchant (perhaps the 
 best of the two) was the man to whom she was 
 destined. 
 
 At last, by great intercession, both their pardons 
 were obtained; and the Prince, who would be no 
 more seen in a place that had proved every way so 
 fatal to him, left Flanders, promising never to live 
 with the fair hypocrite more ; but ere he departed, he 
 wrote her a letter, wherein he ordered her, in a little 
 time, to follow him into Holland ; and left a bill of 
 exchange with one of his trusty servants, whom he 
 had left to wait upon her, for money for her accom- 
 modation ; so that she was now reduced to one 
 woman, one page, and this gentleman. The Prince, 
 in this time of his imprisonment, had several bills of 
 great sums from his father, who was exceeding rich,
 
 THE FAIR JILT 135 
 
 and this all the children he had in the world, and 
 whom he tenderly loved. 
 
 As soon as Miranda was come into Holland, she 
 was welcomed with all imaginable respect and en- 
 dearment by the old father ; who was imposed upon 
 so, as that he knew not she was the fatal occasion of 
 all these disasters to his son ; but rather looked on 
 her as a woman, who had brought him a hundred 
 and fifty thousand crowns, which his misfortunes had 
 consumed. But, above all, she was received by Tar- 
 quin with a joy unspeakable ; who, after some time, 
 to redeem his credit, and gain himself a new fame, 
 put himself into the French army, where he did 
 wonders ; and after three campaigns, his father dying, 
 he returned home, and retired to a country-house : 
 where, with his Princess, he lived as a private gentle- 
 man, in all the tranquillity of a man of good fortune. 
 They say Miranda has been very penitent for her life 
 past, and gives Heaven the glory for having given 
 her these afflictions that have reclaimed her, and 
 brought her to as perfect a state of happiness, as this 
 troublesome world can afford. 
 
 Since I began this relation, I heard that Prince 
 Tarquin died about three-quarters of a year ago.
 
 THE NUN 
 
 OR THE PERJURED BEAUTY 
 
 A TRUE NOVEL 
 
 DON HENRIQUE was a person of great birth, of a 
 great estate, of a bravery equal to either, of a most 
 generous education, but of more passion than reason. 
 He was besides of an opener and freer temper than 
 generally his countrymen are (I mean, the Spaniards) 
 and always engaged in some love-intrigue or other. 
 
 One night as he was retreating from one of those 
 engagements, Don Sebastian, whose sister he had 
 abused with a promise of marriage, set upon him at 
 the corner of a street, in Madrid, and by the help 
 of three of his friends, designed to have despatched 
 him on a doubtful embassy to the Almighty Monarch. 
 But he received their first instructions with better 
 address than they expected, and dismissed his envoy 
 first, killing one of Don Sebastian's friends. Which 
 so enraged the injured brother, that his strength and 
 resolution seemed to be redoubled, and so animated his 
 two surviving companions, that (doubtless) they had 
 gained a dishonourable victory, had not Don Antonio 
 accidentally come in to the rescue ; who after a 
 short dispute, killed one of the two who attacked him 
 only ; whilst Don Henrique, with the greatest diffi- 
 culty, defended his life, for some moments, against 
 Sebastian, whose rage deprived him of strength, and 
 gave his adversary the unwished advantage of his 
 seeming death, though not without bequeathing some 
 
 137
 
 138 THE NUN 
 
 bloody legacies to Don Henrique. Antonio had re- 
 ceived but one slight wound in the left arm, and his 
 surviving antagonist none ; who however thought it 
 not advisable to begin a fresh dispute against two, of 
 whose courage he had but too fatal a proof, though 
 one of them was sufficiently disabled. The con- 
 querors on the other side, politicly retreated, and 
 quitting the field to the conquered, left the living to 
 bury the dead, if he could, or thought convenient. 
 
 As they were marching off, Don Antonio, who all 
 this while knew not whose life he had so happily 
 preserved, told his companion in arms, that he 
 thought it indispensably necessary that he should 
 quarter with him that night for his further preserva- 
 tion. To which he prudently consented, and went, 
 with no little uneasiness, to his lodgings ; where he 
 surprised Antonio with the sight of his dearest friend. 
 For they had certainly the nearest sympathy in all 
 their thoughts, that ever made two brave men un- 
 happy. And, undoubtedly, nothing but death, or 
 more fatal love, could have divided them. However, 
 at present, they were united and secure. 
 
 In the meantime, Don Sebastian's friend was just 
 
 going to call help to carry off the bodies, as the 
 
 came by ; who seeing three men lie dead, seized the 
 fourth : who as he was about to justify himself, by 
 discovering one of the authors of so much bloodshed, 
 was interrupted by a groan from his supposed dead 
 friend Don Sebastian ; whom, after a brief account of 
 some part of the matter, and a knowledge of his quality, 
 they took up, and carried to his house; where, within 
 a few days he was recovered past the fear of death. 
 All this while Henrique and Antonio durst not appear, 
 so much as by night ; nor could be found, though 
 diligent and daily search was made after the first; but 
 upon Don Sebastian's recovery, the search ceasing, 
 they took the advantage of the night, and, in disguise, 
 retreated to Seville. It was there they thought them- 
 selves most secure, where indeed they were in the
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 139 
 
 greatest danger ; for though (haply) they might there 
 have escaped the murderous attempt of Don Sebas- 
 tian and his friends, yet they could not there avoid 
 the malicious influence of their stars. 
 
 This city gave birth to Antonio, and to the cause 
 of his greatest misfortunes, as well as of his death. 
 Dona Ardelia was born there, a miracle of beauty and 
 falsehood. It was more than a year since Don Antonio 
 had first seen and loved her. For it was impossible 
 any man should do one without the other. He had 
 had the unkind opportunity of speaking and convey- 
 ing a billet to her at church ; and to his greater mis- 
 fortune, the next time he found her there, he met with 
 too kind a return both from her eyes and from her 
 hand, which privately slipped a paper into his ; in 
 which he found abundantly more than he expected, 
 directing him in that, how he should proceed, in order 
 to carry her off from her father with the least danger 
 he could look for in such an attempt ; since it would 
 have been vain and fruitless to have asked her of her 
 father, because their families had been at enmity for 
 several years ; though Antonio was as well descended 
 as she, and had as ample a fortune; nor was his 
 person, according to his sex, any way inferior to hers; 
 and certainly, the beauties of his mind were more 
 excellent, especially if it be an excellence to be 
 constant. 
 
 He had made several attempts to take possession 
 of her, but all proved ineffectual ; however, he had 
 the good fortune not to be known, though once or 
 twice he narrowly escaped with life, bearing off his 
 wounds with difficulty. (Alas, that the wounds of 
 love should cause those of hate !) Upon which she 
 was strictly confined to one room, whose only window 
 was towards the garden, and that too was grated with 
 iron ; and, once a month, when she went to church, 
 she was constantly and carefully attended by her 
 father, and a mother-in-law, worse than a Duegna. 
 Under this miserable confinement Antonio under-
 
 140 THE NUN 
 
 stood she still continued, at his return to Seville, with 
 Don Henrique, whom he acquainted with his in- 
 vincible passion for her; lamenting the severity of 
 her present circumstances, that admitted of no 
 prospect of relief; which caused a generous concern 
 in Don Henrique, both for the sufferings of his friend, 
 and of the lady. He proposed several ways to Don 
 Antonio, for the release of the fair prisoner ; but 
 none of them was thought practicable, or at least 
 likely to succeed. But Antonio, who (you may 
 believe) was then more nearly engaged, bethought 
 himself of an expedient that would undoubtedly 
 reward their endeavours. It was, that Don Henrique, 
 who was very well acquainted with Ardelia's father, 
 should make him a visit, with pretence of begging 
 his consent and admission to make his addresses to 
 his daughter ; which, in all probability, he could not 
 refuse to Don Henrique's quality and estate ; and 
 then this freedom of access to her would give him the 
 opportunity of delivering the lady to his friend. This 
 was thought so reasonable, that the very next day it 
 was put in practice ; and with so good success, that 
 Don Henrique was received by the father of Ardelia 
 with the greatest and most respectful ceremony 
 imaginable. And when he made the proposal to him 
 of marrying his daughter, it was embraced with a 
 visible satisfaction and joy in the air of his face. 
 This their first conversation ended with all imagin- 
 able content on both sides; Don Henrique being 
 invited by the father to dinner the next day, when 
 Dona Ardelia was to be present ; who, at that time, 
 was said to be indisposed, (as it is very probable she 
 was, with so close an imprisonment). Henrique re- 
 turned to Antonio, and made him happy with the 
 account of his reception ; which could not but have 
 terminated in the perfect felicity of Antonio, had his 
 fate been just to the merits of his love. The day 
 and hour came which brought Henrique, with a 
 private commission from his friend, to Ardelia. He
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 141 
 
 saw her ; (ah ! would he had only seen her veiled !) 
 and, with the first opportunity, gave her the letter, 
 which held so much love, and so much truth, as ought 
 to have preserved him in the empire of her heart. It 
 contained, besides, a discovery of his whole design 
 upon her father, for the completing of their happi- 
 ness ; which nothing then could obstruct but herself. 
 But Henrique had seen her ; he had gazed, and 
 swallowed all her beauties at his eyes. How greedily 
 his soul drank the strong poison in ! But yet his 
 honour and his friendship were strong as ever, and 
 bravely fought against the usurper love, and got a 
 noble victory ; at least he thought and wished so. 
 With this, and a short answer to his letter, Henrique 
 returned to the longing Antonio ; who, receiving the 
 paper with the greatest devotion, and kissing it with 
 the greatest zeal, opened and read these words to 
 himself: 
 
 DON ANTONIO, 
 
 You have, at last, made use of the best and only 
 expedient for my enlargement; for which I thank you, 
 since I know it is purely the effect of your love. Your 
 agent has a mighty influence on my father : and you may 
 assure yourself, that as you have advised and desired me, 
 he shall have no less on me, who am 
 Yours entirely, 
 
 And only yours, 
 
 ARDELIA. 
 
 Having respectfully and tenderly kissed the name, 
 he could not choose but show the billet to his friend ; 
 who reading that part of it which concerned himself, 
 started and blushed : which Antonio observing, was 
 curious to know the cause of it. Henrique told him, 
 that he was surprised to find her express so little love, 
 after so long an absence. To which his friend replied 
 for her, that, doubtless, she had not time enough to 
 attempt so great a matter as a perfect account of her 
 love ; and added, that it was confirmation enough to
 
 142 THE NUN 
 
 him of its continuance, since she subscribed herself 
 his entirely, and only his. How blind is love ! Don 
 Henrique knew how to make it bear another mean- 
 ing; which, however, he had the discretion to conceal. 
 Antonio, who was as real in his friendship, as constant 
 in his love, asked him what he thought of her beauty? 
 To which the other answered, that he thought it 
 irresistible to any, but to a soul prepossessed, and 
 nobly fortified with a perfect friendship : ' Such as is 
 thine, my Henrique,' added Antonio ; ' yet as sincere 
 and perfect as that is, I know you must, nay, I know, 
 you do love her.' ' As I ought to do/ replied Hen- 
 rique. ' Yes, yes,' returned his friend, ' it must be so ; 
 otherwise the sympathy which unites our souls would 
 be wanting, and consequently our friendship were in 
 a state of imperfection.' 'How industriously you 
 would argue me into a crime, that would tear and 
 destroy the foundation of the strongest ties of truth 
 and honour ! ' said Henrique. ' But,' he continued, ' I 
 hope within a few days, to put it out of my power to 
 be guilty of so great a sacrilege.' ' I can't determine,' 
 said Antonio, ' if I knew that you loved one another, 
 whether I could easier part with my friend, or my 
 mistress.' ' Though what you say is highly generous, 
 replied Henrique, ' yet give me leave to urge, that it 
 looks like a trial of friendship, and argues you inclin- 
 able to jealousy. But, pardon me, I know it to be 
 sincerely meant by you ; and must therefore own, 
 that it is the best, because it is the noblest way of 
 securing both your friend and mistress.' ' I need not 
 make use of any arts to secure me of either,' replied 
 Antonio, ' but expect to enjoy them both in a little 
 time.' 
 
 Henrique, who was a little uneasy with a discourse 
 of this nature, diverted it, by reflecting on what had 
 passed at Madrid, between them two and Don Sebas- 
 tian and his friends; which caused Antonio to bethink 
 himself of the danger to which he exposed his friend, 
 by appearing daily, though in disguise. For, doubt-
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 143 
 
 less, Don Sebastian would pursue his revenge to the 
 utmost extremity. These thoughts put him upon 
 desiring his friend, for his own sake, to hasten the 
 performance of his attempt ; and accordingly, each 
 day Don Henrique brought Antonio nearer the hopes 
 of happiness, while he himself was hourly sinking 
 into the lowest state of misery. The last night before 
 the day in which Antonio expected to be blessed in 
 her love, Don Henrique had a long and fatal confer- 
 ence with her about her liberty. Being then with her 
 alone in an arbour of the garden, which privilege he 
 had had for some days ; after a long silence, and 
 observing Don Henrique in much disorder, by the 
 motion of his eyes, which were sometimes steadfastly 
 fixed on the ground, then lifted up to her or heaven, 
 (for he could see nothing more beautiful on earth) she 
 made use of the privilege of her sex, and began the 
 discourse first, to this effect : ' Has anything hap- 
 pened, sir, since our retreat hither, to occasion that 
 disorder which is but too visible in your face, and too 
 dreadful in your continued silence? Speak, I beseech 
 you, sir, and let me know if I have any way un- 
 happily contributed to it ! ' ' No, madam,' replied he, 
 ' my friendship is now likely to be the only cause of 
 my greatest misery ; for to-morrow I must be guilty 
 of an unpardonable crime, in betraying the generous 
 confidence which your noble father has placed in me. 
 To-morrow,' added he, with a piteous sigh, ' I must 
 deliver you into the hands of one whom your father 
 hates even to death, instead of doing myself the 
 honour of becoming his son-in-law within a few days 
 more. But I will consider and remind myself, that 
 I give you into the hands of my friend ; of my friend, 
 that loves you better than his life, which he has often 
 exposed for your sake ; and what is more than all, to 
 my friend, whom you love more than any considera- 
 tion on earth.' ' And must this be done ? ' she asked. 
 ' Is it inevitable as fate ? ' ' Fixed as the laws of 
 nature, madam,' replied he. ' Don't you find the
 
 144 THE NUN 
 
 necessity of it, Ardelia ? ' continued he, by way of 
 question. 'Does not your love require it? Think, 
 you are going to your dear Antonio, who alone can 
 merit you, and whom only you can love.' ' Were 
 your last words true,' returned she, ' I should yet be 
 unhappy in the displeasure of a dear and tender 
 father, and infinitely more, in being the cause of your 
 infidelity to him. No, Don Henrique,' continued she, 
 ' I could with greater satisfaction return to my miser- 
 able confinement, than by any means disturb the 
 peace of your mind, or occasion one moment's inter- 
 ruption of your quiet.' ' Would to Heaven you did 
 not,' sighed he to himself. Then addressing his words 
 more distinctly to her, cried he, ' Ah, cruel ! ah, 
 unjust Ardelia ! these words belong to none but 
 Antonio ; why then would you endeavour to per- 
 suade me, that I do, or ever can merit the tenderness 
 of such an expression ? Have a care ! ' pursued he, 
 ' have a care, Ardelia ! your outward beauties are too 
 powerful to be resisted ; even your frowns have such 
 a sweetness that they attract the very soul that is not 
 strongly prepossessed with the noblest friendship, 
 and the highest principles of honour. Why then, 
 alas ! did you add such sweet and charming accents ? 
 
 Why ' ' Ah, Don Henrique ! ' she interrupted, 
 
 'why did you appear to me so charming in your 
 person, so great in your friendship, and so illustrious 
 in your reputation ? Why did my father, ever since 
 your first visit, continually fill my ears and thoughts 
 with noble characters and glorious ideas, which yet 
 but imperfectly and faintly represent the inimitable 
 original ! But (what is most severe and cruel) why, 
 Don Henrique, why will you defeat my father in his 
 ambition of your alliance, and me of those glorious 
 hopes with which you had blessed my soul, by cast- 
 ing me away from you to Antonio ! ' ' Ha,' cried he, 
 starting, ' what said you, madam ! What did Ardelia 
 say ? That I had blessed your soul with hopes ! 
 That I would cast you away to Antonio ! Can they
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 145 
 
 who safely arrive in their wished-for port, be said to 
 be shipwrecked ? Or, can an abject indigent wretch 
 make a king? These are more than riddles, madam ; 
 and I must not think to expound them.' ' No,' said 
 she, ' let it alone, Don Henrique ; I'll ease you of that 
 trouble, and tell you plainly that I love you.' ' Ah,' 
 cried he, ' now all my fears are come upon me ! ' 
 ' How ! ' asked she, ' were you afraid I should love 
 you ? Is my love so dreadful then ? ' ' Yes, when 
 misplaced,' replied he; ' but it was your falsehood that 
 I feared. Your love was what I would have sought 
 with the utmost hazard of my life, nay, even of my 
 future happiness, I fear, had you not been engaged ; 
 strongly obliged to love elsewhere, both by your own 
 choice and vows, as well as by his dangerous services, 
 and matchless constancy.' ' For which,' said she, ' I 
 do not hate him, though his father killed my uncle. 
 Nay, perhaps,' continued she, ' I have a friendship for 
 him, but no more.' 'No more, said you, madam?' 
 cried he ; ' but tell me, did you never love him ? ' 
 ' Indeed I did,' replied she ; ' but the sight of you has 
 better instructed me, both in my duty to my father, 
 and in causing my passion for you, without whom I 
 shall be eternally miserable. Ah, then pursue your 
 honourable proposal, and make my father happy in 
 my marriage ! ' 'It must not be,' returned Don Hen- 
 rique, 'my honour, my friendship forbids it.' 'No,' 
 she returned, ' your honour requires it ; and if your 
 friendship opposes your honour, it can have no sure 
 and solid foundation.' ' Female sophistry,' cried Hen- 
 rique : ' but you need no art nor artifice, Ardelia, to 
 make me love you. Love you ! ' pursued he, ' by that 
 bright sun, the light and heat of all the world, you are 
 
 my only light and heat Oh, friendship ! Sacred 
 
 friendship, now assist me ! ' [Here for a time he 
 paused, and then afresh proceeded thus,] 'You told 
 me, or my ears deceived me, that you loved me, 
 Ardelia.' ' I did,' she replied, ' and that I do love 
 you, is as true as that I told you so.' ' 'Tis well ; but
 
 146 THE NUN 
 
 would it were not so ! ' ' Did ever man receive a 
 blessing thus ? ' ' Why, I could wish I did not love 
 
 you, Ardelia ! But that were impossible ' ' At 
 
 least unjust,' interrupted she. 'Well then/ he went 
 on, ' to show you that I do sincerely consult your 
 particular happiness, without any regard to my own, 
 to-morrow I will give you to Don Antonio ; and as a 
 proof of your love to me, I expect your ready consent 
 to it' ' To let you see, Don Henrique, how perfectly 
 and tenderly I love you, I will be sacrificed to-morrow 
 to Don Antonio, and to your quiet." ' Oh, strongest, 
 dearest obligation ! ' cried Henrique. ' To-morrow 
 then, as I have told your father, I am to bring you to 
 see the dearest friend I have on earth, who dares not 
 appear within this city for some unhappy reasons, 
 and therefore cannot be present at our nuptials ; for 
 which cause, I could not but think it my duty to one 
 so nearly related to my soul, to make him happy in 
 the sight of my beautiful choice, ere yet she be my 
 bride.' ' I hope,' said she, ' my loving obedience may 
 merit your compassion ; and that at last, ere the fire 
 is lighted that must consume the offering, I mean the 
 marriage-tapers' (alluding to the old Roman cere- 
 mony) ' that you or some other pitying angel, will 
 snatch me from the altar.' ' Ah, no more, Ardelia ! 
 say no more,' cried he, ' we must be cruel, to be just 
 to ourselves.' [Here their discourse ended, and they 
 walked into the house, where they found the good old 
 gentleman and his lady, with whom he stayed till 
 about an hour after supper, when he returned to his 
 friend with joyful news, but a sorrowful heart.] 
 
 Antonio was all rapture with the thoughts of the 
 approaching day ; which though it brought Don 
 Henrique and his dear Ardelia to him, about five 
 o'clock in the evening, yet at the same time brought 
 his last and greatest misfortune. He saw her then at 
 a she relation's of his, above three miles from Seville, 
 which was the place assigned for their fatal interview. 
 He saw her, I say ; but ah ! how strange ! how altered
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 147 
 
 from the dear, kind Ardelia she was when last he left 
 her ! 'Tis true, he flew to her with arms expanded, 
 and with so swift and eager a motion, that she could 
 not avoid, nor get loose from his embrace, till he had 
 kissed, and sighed, and dropped some tears, which all 
 the strength of his mind could not restrain ; whether 
 they were the effects of joy, or whether (which rather 
 may be feared) they were the heat-drops which pre- 
 ceded and threatened the thunder and tempest that 
 should fall on his head, I cannot positively say ; yet 
 all this she was then forced to endure, ere she had 
 liberty to speak, or indeed to breathe. But as soon as 
 she had freed herself from the loving circle that 
 should have been the dear and loved confinement or 
 centre of a faithful heart, she began to dart whole 
 showers of tortures on him from her eyes ; which that 
 mouth that he had just before so tenderly and sacredly 
 kissed, seconded with whole volleys of deaths crammed 
 in every sentence, pointed with the keenest affliction 
 that ever pierced a soul. ' Antonio,' she began, ' you 
 have treated me now as if you were never like to see 
 me more : and would to Heaven you were not ! ' 
 ' Ha ! ' cried he, starting and staring wildly on her, 
 'What said you, madam? What said you, my Ardelia?' 
 1 If you like the repetition, take it ! ' replied she, un- 
 moved. ' Would to Heaven you were never like to 
 see me more ! ' ' Good ! very good ! ' cried he, with 
 a sigh that threw him trembling into a chair behind 
 him, and gave her the opportunity of proceeding thus. 
 ' Yet, Antonio, I must not have my wish ; I must 
 continue with you, not out of choice, but by com- 
 mand, by the strictest and severest obligation that 
 ever bound humanity. Don Henrique, your friend, 
 commands it ; Don Henrique, the dearest object of 
 my soul, enjoins it ; Don Henrique, whose only aver- 
 sion I am, will have it so.' 'Oh, do not wrong me, 
 madam ! ' cried Don Henrique. ' Lead me, lead me 
 a little more by the light of your discourse, I beseech 
 you,' said Don Antonio, ' that I may see your mean-
 
 148 THE NUN 
 
 ing ! for hitherto 'tis darkness all to me.' ' Attend, 
 therefore, with your best faculties/ pursued Ardelia, 
 1 and know, that I do most sincerely and most passion- 
 ately love Don Henrique ; and as a proof of my love 
 to him, I have this day consented to be delivered 
 up to you by him ; not for your sake in the least, 
 Antonio, but purely to sacrifice all the quiet of my 
 life to his satisfaction. And now, sir,' continued she, 
 addressing herself to Don Henrique, ' now, sir, if you 
 can be so cruel, execute your own most dreadful 
 decree, and join our hands, though our hearts never 
 can meet.' ' All this to try me ! It's too much, 
 Ardelia,' said Antonio. And then turning to Don 
 Henrique, he went on, ' Speak, thou ! if yet thou art 
 not apostate to our friendship ! Yet speak, however ! 
 Speak, though the Devil has been tampering with 
 thee too ! Thou art a man, a man of honour once.' 
 c And when I forfeit my just title to that,' interrupted 
 Don Henrique, ' may 1 be made most miserable ! 
 May I lose the blessings of thy friendship ! May 
 I lose thee ! ' ' Say on then, Henrique,' cried Antonio, 
 1 and I charge thee, by all the sacred ties of friendship, 
 say, Is this a trial of me? Is't illusion, sport, or 
 shameful murderous truth ? Oh, my soul burns within 
 me, and I can bear no longer. Tell ! Speak ! Say 
 on ! ' [Here, with folded arms, and eyes fixed stead- 
 fastly on Henrique, he stood like a statue, without 
 motion ; unless sometimes, when his swelling heart 
 raised his overcharged breast.] After a little pause, 
 and a hearty sigh or two, Henrique began : ' Oh, 
 Antonio ! Oh my friend ! prepare thyself to hear yet 
 more dreadful accents! I am,' pursued he, 'unhappily 
 the greatest and most innocent criminal that ere till 
 now offended : I love her, Antonio, I love Ardelia 
 with a passion strong and violent as thine ! Oh ! 
 summon all that used to be more than man about 
 thee, to suffer to the end of my discourse, which 
 nothing but a resolution like thine can bear ! I know 
 it by myself.' ' Though there be wounds, horror, and
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 149 
 
 death in each syllable,' interrupted Antonio, 'yet 
 prithee now go on, but with all haste.' ' I will,' re- 
 turned Henrique, ' though I feel my own words have 
 the same cruel effects on me. I say again, my soul 
 loves Ardelia. And how can it be otherwise ? Have 
 we not both the self-same appetites, the same dis- 
 gusts? How then could I avoid my destiny, that 
 has decreed that I should love and hate just as you 
 do ? Oh, hard necessity ! that obliged you to use me 
 in the recovery of this lady ! Alas, can you think 
 that any man of sense or passion could have seen, 
 and not have loved her ! Then how should I, whose 
 thoughts are unisons to yours, evade those charms 
 that had prevailed on you? And now, to let you 
 know, 'tis no illusion, no sport, but serious and 
 amazing woeful truth, Ardelia best can tell you whom 
 she loves.' ' What I have already said, is true, by 
 Heaven,' cried she, ''tis you, Don Henrique, whom 
 I only love, and who alone can give me happiness. 
 Ah, would you would! With you, Antonio, I must 
 remain unhappy, wretched, cursed. Thou art my 
 Hell ; Don Henrique is my Heaven.' ' And thou art 
 mine,' returned he, 'which here I part with to my 
 dearest friend.' Then taking her hand, ' Pardon me, 
 Antonio,' pursued he, ' that I thus take my last fare- 
 well of all the tastes of bliss from your Ardelia, at 
 this moment.' [At which words he kissed her hand, 
 and gave it to Don Antonio ; who received it, and 
 gently pressed it close to his heart, as if he would 
 have her feel the disorders she had caused there.] 
 ' Be happy, Antonio,' cried Henrique. ' Be very tender 
 of her ; to-morrow early I shall hope to see thee, 
 Ardelia,' pursued he; ' All happiness and joy surround 
 thee ! May'st thou ne'er want those blessings thou 
 canst give Antonio ! Farewell to both ! ' added he, 
 going out. ' Ah,' cried she, ' farewell to all joys, 
 blessings, happiness, if you forsake me. Yet do not 
 go ! Ah, cruel ! ' continued she, seeing him quit the 
 room, ' but you shall take my soul with you.' Here
 
 ISO THE NUN 
 
 she swooned away in Don Antonio's arms ; who, 
 though he was happy that he had her fast there, yet 
 was obliged to call in his cousin, and Ardelia's atten- 
 dants, ere she could be perfectly recovered. In the 
 meanwhile Don Henrique had not the power to go 
 out of sight of the house, but wandered to and fro 
 about it, distracted in his soul ; and not being able 
 longer to refrain her sight, her last words still re- 
 sounding in his ears, he came again into the room 
 where he left her with Don Antonio, just as she 
 revived, and called him, exclaiming on his cruelty, in 
 leaving her so soon. But when, turning her eyes 
 towards the door, she saw him ; oh ! with what eager 
 haste she flew to him ! then clasped him round the 
 waist, obliging him, with all the tender expressions 
 that the soul of a lover, and a woman's too, is capable 
 of uttering, not to leave her in the possession of Don 
 Antonio. This so amazed her slighted lover, that he 
 knew not, at first, how to proceed in this tormenting 
 scene ; but at last, summoning all his wonted resolu- 
 tion, and strength of mind, he told her, he would put 
 her out of his power, if she would consent to retreat 
 for some few hours to a nunnery that was not above 
 half a mile distant from thence, till he had discoursed 
 with his friend, Don Henrique, something more 
 particularly than hitherto, about this matter. To 
 which she readily agreed, upon the promise that Don 
 Henrique made her, of seeing her with the first oppor- 
 tunity. They waited on her then to the convent, 
 where she was kindly and respectfully received by the 
 Lady Abbess ; but it was not long before her grief 
 renewing with greater violence, and more afflicting 
 circumstances, ha,d obliged them to stay with her till 
 it was almost dark, when they once more begged the 
 liberty of an hour's absence ; and the better to palli- 
 ate their design, Henrique told her, that he would 
 make use of her father Don Richardo's coach, in 
 which they came to Don Antonio's, for so small a 
 time : which they did, leaving only Eleonora, her
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 151 
 
 attendant, with her, without whom she had been at a 
 loss, among so many fair strangers ; strangers, I 
 mean, to her unhappy circumstances. Whilst they 
 were carried near a mile farther, where, just as it was 
 dark, they lighted from the coach, Don Henrique 
 ordering the servants not to stir thence till their 
 return from their private walk, which was about a 
 furlong, in a field that belonged to the convent. Here 
 Don Antonio told Don Henrique, that he had not 
 acted honourably ; that he had betrayed him, and 
 robbed him at once both of a friend and mistress. To 
 which the other returned, that he understood his 
 meaning, when he proposed a particular discourse 
 about this affair, which he now perceived must end in 
 blood. ' But you may remind yourself/ continued he, 
 'that I have kept my promise in delivering her to 
 you.' ' Yes,' cried Antonio, ' after you had practised 
 foully and basely on her.' 'Not at all!' returned 
 Henrique. ' It was her fate that brought this mis- 
 chief on her ; for I urged the shame and scandal of 
 inconstancy, but all in vain, to her.' ' But don't you 
 love her, Henrique ? ' the other asked. ' Too well, 
 and cannot live without her, though I fear I may feel 
 the cursed effects of the same inconstancy. However, 
 I had quitted her all to you, but you see how she 
 resents it.' 'And you shall see, sir,' cried Antonio, 
 drawing his sword in a rage, ' how I resent it.' Here, 
 without more words, they fell to action ; to bloody 
 action. (Ah ! how wretched are our sex, in being the 
 unhappy occasion of so many fatal mischiefs, even 
 between the dearest friends !) They fought on each 
 side with the greatest animosity of rivals, forgetting 
 all the sacred bonds of their former friendship ; till 
 Don Antonio fell, and said, dying, 'Forgive me, 
 Henrique ! I was to blame ; I could not live without 
 her : I fear she will betray thy life, which haste and 
 
 preserve, for my sake Let me not die all at once ! 
 
 Heaven pardon both of us ! Farewell ! Oh, haste ! ' 
 1 Farewell ! ' returned Don Henrique, ' Farewell, thou
 
 152 THE NUN 
 
 bravest, truest friend ! Farewell, thou noblest part of 
 me ! And farewell all the quiet of my soul.' Then 
 stooping, he kissed his cheek ; but, rising, he found 
 he must retire in time, or else must perish through 
 loss of blood, for he had received two or three danger- 
 ous wounds, besides others of less consequence. 
 Wherefore, he made all the convenient haste he could 
 to the coach, into which, by the help of the footmen, 
 he got, and ordered them to drive him directly to 
 Don Richardo's with all imaginable speed ; where he 
 arrived in little more than half an hour's time, and 
 was received by Ardelia's father with the greatest 
 confusion and amazement that is expressible, seeing 
 him returned without his daughter, and so desperately 
 wounded. Before he thought it convenient to ask 
 him any question more than to inquire of his 
 daughter's safety, to which he received a short but 
 satisfactory answer, Don Richardo sent for an eminent 
 and able surgeon, who probed and dressed Don 
 Henrique's wounds, who was immediately put to bed ; 
 not without some despondency of his recovery: but 
 (thanks to his kind stars, and kinder constitution !) he 
 rested pretty well for some hours that night, and early 
 in the morning, Ardelia's father, who had scarce 
 taken any rest all that night, came to visit him, as 
 soon as he understood from the servants who watched 
 with him, that he was in a condition to suffer a short 
 discourse ; which, you may be sure, was to learn the 
 circumstances of the past night's adventure ; of which 
 Don Henrique gave him a perfect and pleasant ac- 
 count, since he heard that Don Antonio, his mortal 
 enemy, was killed ; the assurance of whose death was 
 the more delightful to him, since, by this relation, he 
 found that Antonio was the man, whom his care of 
 his daughter had so often frustrated. Don Henrique 
 hardly made an end of his narration, ere a servant 
 came hastily to give Richardo notice, that the officers 
 were come to search for his son-in-law that should 
 have been ; whom the old gentleman's wise pre-
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 153 
 
 caution had secured in a room so unsuspected, that 
 they might as reasonably have imagined the entire 
 walls of his house had a door made of stones, as that 
 there should have been one to that close apartment. 
 He went therefore boldly to the officers, and gave 
 them all the keys of his house, with free liberty to 
 examine every room and chamber ; which they did, 
 but to no purpose ; and Don Henrique lay there un- 
 discovered, till his cure was perfected. 
 
 In the meantime Ardelia, who that fatal night but 
 too rightly guessed that the death of one or both her 
 lovers was the cause that they did not return to their 
 promise, the next day fell into a high fever, in which 
 her father found her soon after he had cleared him- 
 self of those who come to search for a lover. The 
 assurance which her father gave her of Henrique's 
 life, seemed a little to revive her ; but the severity of 
 Antonio's fate was no way obliging to her, since she 
 could not but retain the memory of his love and con- 
 stancy; which added to her afflictions, and heightened 
 her distemper, insomuch that Richardo was con- 
 strained to leave her under the care of the good Lady 
 Abbess, and to the diligent attendance of Eleonora, 
 not daring to hazard her life in a removal to his own 
 house. All their care and diligence was however 
 ineffectual ; for she languished even to the least hope 
 of recovery, till immediately after the first visit of 
 Don Henrique, which was the first he made in a 
 month's time, and that by night incognito, with her 
 father, her distemper visibly retreated each day. 
 Yet, when at last she enjoyed a perfect health of 
 body, her mind grew sick, and she plunged into a 
 deep melancholy ; which made her entertain a posi- 
 tive resolution of taking the veil at the end of her 
 novitiate ; which accordingly she did, notwithstanding 
 all the entreaties, prayers, and tears both of her father 
 and lover. But she soon repented her vow, and often 
 wished that she might by any means see and speak 
 to Don Henrique, by whose help she promised to her-
 
 154 THE NUN 
 
 self a deliverance out of her voluntary imprisonment: 
 nor were his wishes wanting to the same effect, though 
 he was forced to fly into Italy, to avoid the prosecu- 
 tion of Antonio's friends. Thither she pursued him ; 
 nor could he any way shun her, unless he could have 
 left his heart at a distance from his body ; which 
 made him take a fatal resolution of returning to Seville 
 in disguise, where he wandered about the convent 
 every night like a ghost (for indeed his soul was 
 within, while his inanimate trunk was without) till at 
 last he found means to convey a letter to her, which 
 both surprised and delighted her. The messenger 
 that brought it her was one of her mother-in-law's 
 maids whom he had known before, and met acci- 
 dentally one night as he was going his rounds, and 
 she coming out from Ardelia ; with her he prevailed, 
 and with gold obliged her to secrecy and assistance : 
 which proved so successful, that he understood from 
 Ardelia her strong desire of liberty, and the con- 
 tinuance of her passion for him, together with the 
 means and time most convenient and likely to succeed 
 for her enlargement. The time was the fourteenth 
 night following, at twelve o'clock, which just com- 
 pleted a month since his return thither; at which 
 time they both promised themselves the greatest 
 happiness on earth. But you may observe the justice 
 of Heaven, in their disappointment. 
 
 Don Sebastian, who still pursued him with a most 
 implacable hatred, had traced him even to Italy, and 
 there narrowly missing him, posted after him to 
 Toledo ; so sure and secret was his intelligence ! As 
 soon as he arrived, he went directly to the convent 
 where his sister Elvira had been one of the professed, 
 ever since Don Henrique had forsaken her, and where 
 Ardelia had taken her repented vow. Elvira had all 
 along concealed the occasion of her coming thither 
 from Ardelia ; and though she was her only confidant, 
 and knew the whole story of her misfortunes, and 
 heard the name of Don Henrique repeated a hundred
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 155 
 
 times a day, whom still she loved most perfectly, yet 
 never gave her beautiful rival any cause of suspicion 
 that she loved him, either by words or looks. Nay 
 more, when she understood that Don Henrique came 
 to the convent with Ardelia and Antonio, and at 
 other times with her father; yet she had so great 
 a command of herself, as to refrain seeing him, or to 
 be seen by him ; nor ever intended to have spoken or 
 writ to him, had not her brother Don Sebastian put 
 her upon the cruel necessity of doing the last; who 
 coming to visit his sister (as I have said before) found 
 her with Dona Ardelia, whom he never remembered 
 to have seen, nor who ever had seen him but twice, 
 and that was about six years before, when she 
 was but ten years of age, when she fell passion- 
 ately in love with him, and continued her passion 
 till about the fourteenth year of her empire, when 
 unfortunate Antonio first began his court to her. 
 Don Sebastian was really a very desirable person, 
 being at that time very beautiful, his age not exceed- 
 ing six-and-twenty, of a sweet conversation, very 
 brave, but revengeful and irreconcilable (like most of 
 his countrymen) and of an honourable family. At 
 the sight of him Ardelia felt her former passion 
 renew; which proceeded and continued with such 
 violence, that it utterly defaced the ideas of Antonio 
 and Henrique. (No wonder that she who could 
 resolve to forsake her God for man, should quit one 
 lover for another.) In short, she then only wished 
 that he might love her equally, and then she doubted 
 not of contriving the means of their happiness be- 
 twixt them. She had her wish, and more, if possible; 
 for he loved her beyond the thought of any other 
 present or future blessing, and failed not to let her 
 know it, at the second interview; when he received 
 the greatest pleasure he could have wished, next to 
 the joys of a bridal bed. For she confessed her love 
 to him, and presently put him upon thinking on the 
 means of her escape ; but not finding his designs so
 
 156 THE NUN 
 
 likely to succeed, as those measures she had sent to 
 Don Henrique, she communicates the very same to 
 Don Sebastian, and agreed with him to make use of 
 them on that very night, wherein she had obliged 
 Don Henrique to attempt her deliverance. The hour 
 indeed was different, being determined to be at 
 eleven. Elvira, who was present at the conference, 
 took the hint; and not being willing to disoblige 
 a brother who had so hazarded his life in vindication 
 of her, either does not, or would not seem to oppose 
 his inclinations at that time. However, when he 
 retired with her to talk more particularly of his 
 intended revenge on Don Henrique, who he told her 
 lay somewhere absconded in Toledo, and whom he 
 had resolved, as he assured her, to sacrifice to her 
 injured honour, and his resentments ; she opposed 
 that his vindictive resolution with all the forcible 
 arguments in a virtuous and pious lady's capacity, but 
 in vain : so that immediately, upon his retreat from 
 the convent, she took the opportunity of writing to 
 Don Henrique as follows, the fatal hour not being 
 then seven nights distant. 
 
 DON HENRIQUE, 
 
 My brother is now in town, in pursuit of your life ; 
 nay more, of your mistress, who has consented to make her 
 escape from the convent, at the same place of it, and by 
 the same means on which she had agreed to give herself 
 entirely to you, but the hour is eleven. I know, Henrique, 
 your Ardelia is dearer to you than your life : but your life, 
 your dear life, is more desired than anything in this 
 world, by 
 
 Your injured and forsaken 
 
 ELVIRA. 
 
 This she delivered to Richardo's servant, whom 
 Henrique had gained that night, as soon as she came 
 to visit Ardelia, at her usual hour, just as she went out 
 of the cloister. 
 
 Don Henrique was not a little surprised with this
 
 THE PERJURED BEAUTY 157 
 
 billet ; however, he could hardly resolve to forbear 
 his accustomed visits to Ardelia, at first. But upon 
 more mature consideration, he only chose to converse 
 with her by letters, which still pressed her to be 
 mindful of her promise, and of the hour, not taking 
 notice of any caution that he had received of her 
 treachery. To which she still returned in words 
 that might assure him of her constancy. 
 
 The dreadful hour wanted not a quarter of being 
 perfect, when Don Henrique came ; and having fixed 
 his rope-ladder to that part of the garden-wall, where 
 he was expected, Ardelia, who had not stirred from 
 that very place for a quarter of an hour before, 
 prepared to ascend by it ; which she did, as soon as 
 his servant had returned and fixed it on the inner side 
 of the wall : on the top of which, at a little distance, 
 she found another fastened, for her to descend on the 
 outside, whilst Don Henrique eagerly waited to 
 receive her. She came at last, and flew into his 
 arms ; which made Henrique cry out in a rapture, 
 'Am I at last once more happy in having my Ardelia 
 in my possession ! ' She, who knew his voice, and 
 now found she was betrayed, but knew not by whom, 
 shrieked out, ' I am ruined ! help ! help ! Loose me, 
 I charge you, Henrique ! Loose me ! ' At that very 
 moment, and at those very words, came Sebastian, 
 attended by only one servant ; and hearing Henrique 
 reply, ' Not all the powers of hell shall snatch you 
 from me,' drawing his sword, without one word, made 
 a furious pass at him. But his rage and haste mis- 
 guided his arm, for his sword went quite through 
 Ardelia' s body, who only said, ' Ah, wretched maid ! ' 
 and dropped from Henrique's arms, who then was 
 obliged to quit her, to preserve his own life, if pos- 
 sible : however he had not had so much time as 
 to draw, had not Sebastian been amazed at this 
 dreadful mistake of his sword ; but presently recol- 
 lecting himself, he flew with redoubled rage to attack 
 Henrique ; and his servant had seconded him, had
 
 158 THE NUN 
 
 not Henrique's, who was now descended, otherwise 
 diverted him. They fought with the greatest ani- 
 mosity on both sides, and with equal advantage ; for 
 they both fell together : ' Ah, my Ardelia, I come to 
 thee now ! ' Sebastian groaned out. 'Twas this unlucky 
 arm, which now embraces thee, that killed thee.' 
 ' Just Heaven ! ' she sighed out, ' Oh, yet have mercy ! ' 
 [Here they both died.] ' Amen,' cried Henrique, 
 
 dying, ' I want it most Oh, Antonio ! Oh ! Elvira ! 
 
 Ah, there's the weight that sinks me down. And yet 
 I wish forgiveness. Once more, sweet Heaven, have 
 mercy ! ' He could not outlive that last word ; which 
 was echoed by Elvira, who all this while stood weep- 
 ing, and calling out for help, as she stood close to the 
 wall in the garden. 
 
 This alarmed the rest of the sisters, who rising, 
 caused the bell to be rung out, as upon dangerous 
 occasions it used to be ; which raised the neighbour- 
 hood, who came time enough to remove the dead 
 bodies of the two rivals, and of the late fallen angel 
 Ardelia. The injured and neglected Elvira, whose 
 piety designed quite contrary effects, was immediately 
 seized with a violent fever, which, as it was violent, 
 did not last long : for she died within four-and-twenty 
 hours, with all the happy symptoms of a departing 
 saint
 
 THE HISTORY OF 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 THOUGH love, all soft and flattering, promises 
 nothing but pleasures ; yet its consequences are often 
 sad and fatal. It is not enough to be in love, to be 
 happy; since Fortune, who is capricious, and takes 
 delight to trouble the repose of the most elevated 
 and virtuous, has very little respect for passionate and 
 tender hearts, when she designs to produce strange 
 adventures. 
 
 Many examples of past ages render this maxim 
 certain ; but the reign of Don Alphonso IV., King of 
 Portugal, furnishes us with one, the most extraordinary 
 that history can produce. 
 
 He was the son of that Don Denis, who was so 
 successful in all his undertakings, that it was said of 
 him, that he was capable of performing whatever he 
 designed, (and of Isabella, a Princess of eminent 
 virtue) who when he came to inherit a flourishing 
 and tranquil State, endeavoured to establish peace 
 and plenty in abundance in his kingdom. 
 
 And to advance this his design, he agreed on a 
 marriage between his son Don Pedro (then about 
 eight years of age) and Bianca, daughter of Don 
 Pedro, King of Castile ; and whom the young Prince 
 married when he arrived to his sixteenth year. 
 
 Bianca brought nothing to Coimbra but infirmities 
 and very few charms. Don Pedro, who was full of 
 sweetness and generosity, lived nevertheless very well 
 
 159
 
 160 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 with her; but those distempers of the Princess de- 
 generating into the palsy, she made it her request 
 to retire, and at her intercession the Pope broke the 
 marriage, and the melancholy Princess concealed her 
 languishment in a solitary retreat : and Don Pedro, 
 for whom they had provided another match, married 
 Constantia Manuel, daughter of Don John Manuel, 
 a prince of the blood of Castile, and famous for the 
 enmity he had to his king. 
 
 Constantia was promised to the King of Castile ; 
 but that King not keeping his word, they made no 
 difficulty of bestowing her on a young Prince, who 
 was one day to reign over a number of fine provinces. 
 He was but fi ve-and-twenty years of age, and the man 
 of all Spain that had the best fashion and grace : and 
 with the most advantageous qualities of the body he 
 possessed those of the soul, and showed himself 
 worthy in all things of the crown that was destined 
 for him. 
 
 The Princess Constantia had beauty, wit, and 
 generosity, in as great a measure as it was possible 
 for a woman to be possessed with ; her merit alone 
 ought to have attached Don Pedro eternally to her ; 
 and certainly he had for her an esteem, mixed with so 
 great a respect, as might very well pass for love with 
 those that were not of a nice and curious observation : 
 but alas ! his real care was reserved for another 
 beauty. 
 
 Constantia brought into the world, the first year 
 after her marriage, a son, who was called Don Louis : 
 but it scarce saw the light, and died almost as soon as 
 born. The loss of this little Prince sensibly touched 
 her, but the coldness she observed in the Prince her 
 husband, went yet nearer her heart ; for she had 
 given herself absolutely up to her duty, and had made 
 her tenderness for him her only concern : but puissant 
 glory, which tied her so entirely to the interest of the 
 Prince of Portugal, opened her eyes upon his actions, 
 where she observed nothing in his caresses and civili-
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 161 
 
 ties that was natural, or could satisfy her delicate 
 heart. 
 
 At first she fancied herself deceived, but time 
 having confirmed her in what she feared, she sighed 
 in secret ; yet had that consideration for the Prince, 
 as not to let him see her disorder : and which never- 
 theless she could not conceal from Agnes de Castro, 
 who lived with her, rather as a companion, than a 
 maid of honour, and whom her friendship made her 
 infinitely distinguish from the rest. 
 
 This maid, so dear to the Princess, very well 
 merited the preference her mistress gave her; she 
 was beautiful to excess, wise, discreet, witty, and had 
 more tenderness for Constantia than she had for 
 herself, having quitted her family, which was illus- 
 trious, to give herself wholly to the service of the 
 Princess, and to follow her into Portugal. It was 
 into the bosom of this maid, that the Princess un- 
 laded her first moans ; and the charming Agnes 
 forgot nothing that might give ease to her afflicted 
 heart. 
 
 Nor was Constantia the only person who com- 
 plained of Don Pedro- before his divorce from 
 Bianca, he had expressed some care and tenderness 
 for Elvira Gonzales, sister to Don Alvaro Gonzales, 
 favourite to the King of Portugal; and this amuse- 
 ment in the young years of the Prince, had made 
 a deep impression on Elvira, who flattered her ambi- 
 tion with the infirmities of Bianca. She saw, with 
 a secret rage, Constantia take her place, who was 
 possessed with such charms, that quite divested her 
 of all hopes. 
 
 Her jealousy left her not idle, she examined all the 
 actions of the Prince, and easily discovered the little 
 regard he had for the Princess ; but this brought him 
 not back to her. And it was upon very good grounds 
 that she suspected him to be in love with some other 
 person, and possessed with a new passion ; and which 
 she promised herself, she would destroy as soon as
 
 162 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 she could find it out. She had a spirit altogether 
 proper for bold and hazardous enterprises ; and the 
 credit of her brother gave her so much vanity, as 
 all the indifference of the Prince was not capable 
 of humbling. 
 
 The Prince languished, and concealed the cause with 
 so much care, that it was impossible for any to find it 
 out. No public pleasures were agreeable to him, and 
 all conversations were tedious ; and it was solitude 
 alone that was able to give him any ease. 
 
 This change surprised all the world. The King, 
 who loved his son very tenderly, earnestly pressed 
 him to know the reason of his melancholy ; but the 
 Prince made no answer, but only this, that it was the 
 effect of his temper. 
 
 But time ran on, and the Princess was brought to 
 bed of a second son, who lived, and was called Fer- 
 nando. Don Pedro forced himself a little to take 
 part in the public joy, so that they believed his 
 humour was changing ; but this appearance of a calm 
 endured not long, and he fell back again into his 
 black melancholy. 
 
 The artful Elvira was incessantly agitating in 
 searching out the knowledge of this secret. Chance 
 wrought for her ; and, as she was walking, full of 
 indignation and anger, in the garden of the palace of 
 Coimbra, she found the Prince of Portugal sleeping 
 in an obscure grotto. 
 
 Her fury could not contain itself at the sight of 
 this loved object, she rolled her eyes upon him, and 
 perceived, in spite of sleep, that some tears escaped 
 his eyes ; the flame which burnt yet in her heart, 
 soon grew soft and tender there : but oh ! she heard 
 him sigh, and after that utter these words, ' Yes, 
 divine Agnes, I will sooner die than let you know it. 
 Constantia shall have nothing to reproach me with.' 
 Elvira was enraged at this discourse, which repre- 
 sented to her immediately, the same moment, Agnes 
 de Castro with all her charms ; and not at all doubt-
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 163 
 
 ing, but it was she who possessed the heart of Don 
 Pedro, she found in her soul more hatred for this 
 fair rival, than tenderness for him. 
 
 The grotto was not a fit place to make reflections 
 in, or to form designs. Perhaps her first transports 
 would have made her waken him, if she had not 
 perceived a paper lying under his hand, which she 
 softly seized on ; and that she might not be surprised 
 in the reading it, she went out of the garden with as 
 much haste as confusion. 
 
 When she was retired to her apartment, she opened 
 the paper, trembling, and found in it these verses, writ 
 by the hand of Don Pedro ; and which, in appear- 
 ance, he had newly then composed. 
 
 In vain, oh ! sacred honour, you debate 
 
 The mighty business in my heart : 
 Love ! charming love ! rules all my fate ; 
 
 Interest and glory claim no part. 
 The god, sure of his victory, triumphs there, 
 
 And will have nothing in his empire share. 
 
 In vain, oh ! sacred duty, you oppose ; 
 
 In vain, your nuptial tie you plead : 
 Those forced devoirs Love overthrows, 
 
 And breaks the vows he never made. 
 Fixing his fatal arrows everywhere, 
 
 I burn and languish in a soft despair. 
 
 Fair Princess, you to whom my faith is due ; 
 
 Pardon the destiny that drags me on : 
 Tis not my fault my heart's untrue, 
 
 I am compelled to be undone. 
 
 My life is yours, I gave it with my hand, 
 But my fidelity I < 
 
 can't command. 
 
 Elvira did not only know the writing of Don Pedro, 
 but she knew also that he could write verses. And 
 seeing the sad part which Constantia had in these 
 which were now fallen into her hands, she made no 
 scruple of resolving to let the Princess see them : 
 but that she might not be suspected, she took care 
 not to appear in this business herself; and since it 
 was not enough for Constantia to know that the
 
 164 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 Prince did not love her, but that she must know also 
 that he was a slave to Agnes de Castro, Elvira caused 
 these few verses to be written in an unknown hand, 
 under those writ by the Prince. 
 
 Sleep betrayed th 1 unhappy lover, 
 
 While tears were streaming from his eyes ; 
 
 His heedless tongue without disguise, 
 
 The secret did discover : 
 
 The language of his heart declare, 
 
 That Agnes' image triumphs there. 
 
 Elvira regarded neither exactness nor grace in 
 these lines: and if they had but the effect she designed, 
 she wished no more. 
 
 Her impatience could not wait till the next day to 
 expose them : she therefore went immediately to the 
 lodgings of the Princess, who was then walking in 
 the garden of the palace ; and passing without re- 
 sistance, even to her cabinet, she put the paper into 
 a book, in which the Princess used to read, and went 
 out again unseen, and satisfied with her good fortune. 
 
 As soon as Constantia was returned, she entered 
 into her cabinet, and saw the book open, and the 
 verses lying in it, which were to cost her so dear : she 
 soon knew the hand of the Prince which was so familiar 
 to her ; and besides the information of what she had 
 always feared, she understood it was Agnes de Castro 
 (whose friendship alone was able to comfort her in her 
 misfortunes) who was the fatal cause of it : she read 
 over the paper a hundred times, desiring to give her 
 eyes and reason the lie ; but finding but too plainly 
 she was not deceived, she found her soul possessed 
 with more grief than anger : when she considered, as 
 much in love as the Prince was, he had kept his tor- 
 ment secret. After having made her moan, without 
 condemning him, the tenderness she had for him, made 
 her shed a torrent of tears, and inspired her with a 
 resolution of concealing her resentment. 
 
 She would certainly have done it by a virtue extra- 
 ordinary, if the Prince, who missing his verses when
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 165 
 
 he waked, and fearing they might fall into indiscreet 
 hands, had not entered the palace, all troubled with 
 his loss ; and hastily going into Constantia's apart- 
 ment, saw her fair eyes all wet with tears, and at the 
 same instant cast his own on the unhappy verses that 
 had escaped from his soul, and now lay before the 
 Princess. 
 
 He immediately turned pale at this sight, and 
 appeared so moved, that the generous Princess felt 
 more pain than he did : ' Madam,' said he (infinitely 
 alarmed), ' from whom had you that paper ? ' 'It can- 
 not come but from the hand of some person,' answered 
 Constantia, ' who is an enemy both to your repose and 
 mine. It is the work, sir, of your own hand ; and 
 doubtless the sentiment of your heart. But be not 
 surprised, and do not fear ; for if my tenderness should 
 make it pass for a crime in you, the same tenderness 
 which nothing is able to alter, shall hinder me from 
 complaining.' 
 
 The moderation and calmness of Constantia, served 
 only to render the Prince more ashamed and confused. 
 ' How generous are you, madam,' pursued he, ' and 
 how unfortunate am I ! ' Some tears accompanied 
 his words, and the Princess, who loved him with 
 extreme ardour, was so sensibly touched, that it was 
 a good while before she could utter a word. Constantia 
 then broke silence, and showing him what Elvira had 
 caused to be written, ' You are betrayed, sir,' added 
 she, ' you have been heard speak, and your secret is 
 known.' It was at this very moment that all the 
 forces of the Prince abandoned him ; and his condition 
 was really worthy compassion : he could not pardon 
 himself the involuntary crime he had committed, in 
 exposing of the lovely and the innocent Agnes. And 
 though he was convinced of the virtue and goodness 
 of Constantia, the apprehensions that he had, that 
 this modest and prudent maid might suffer by his 
 conduct, carried him beyond all consideration. 
 
 The Princess, who heedfully surveyed him, saw so
 
 166 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 many marks of despair in his face and eyes, that she 
 was afraid of the consequences ; and holding out her 
 hand, in a very obliging manner to him, she said, 
 ' I promise you, sir, I will never more complain of 
 you, and that Agnes shall always be very dear to me ; 
 you shall never hear me make you any reproaches : 
 and since I cannot possess your heart, I will content 
 myself with endeavouring to render myself worthy 
 of it.' Don Pedro, more confused and dejected than 
 before he had been, bent one of his knees at the feet 
 of Constantia, and with respect kissed that fair kind 
 hand she had given him, and perhaps forgot Agnes for 
 a moment. 
 
 But love soon put a stop to all the little advances 
 of Hymen ; the fatal star that presided over the 
 destiny of Don Pedro had not yet vented its malignity; 
 and one moment's sight of Agnes gave new force to 
 his passion. 
 
 The wishes and desires of this charming maid had 
 no part in this victory ; her eyes were just, though 
 penetrating, and they searched not in those of the 
 Prince, what they had a desire to discover to her. 
 
 As she was never far from Constantia, Don Pedro 
 was no sooner gone out of the closet, but Agnes 
 entered; and finding the Princess all pale and languish- 
 ing in her chair, she doubted not but there was some 
 sufficient cause for her affliction : she put herself in 
 the same posture the Prince had been in before, and 
 expressing an inquietude, full of concern : ' Madam,' 
 said she, ' by all your goodness, conceal not from me 
 the cause of your trouble." ' Alas, Agnes,' replied the 
 Princess, 'what would you know? And what should 
 I tell you ? The Prince, the Prince, my dearest maid, 
 is in love ; the hand that he gave me, was not a present 
 of his heart ; and for the advantage of this alliance, 
 I must become the victim of it.' ' What ! the Prince 
 in love ! ' replied Agnes, with an astonishment mixed 
 with indignation. ' What beauty can dispute the 
 empire over a heart so much your due? Alas, madam,
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 167 
 
 all the respect I owe him, cannot hinder me from 
 murmuring against him.' ' Accuse him of nothing,' 
 interrupted Constantia, ' he does what he can ; and 
 I am more obliged to him for desiring to be faithful, 
 than if I possessed his real tenderness. It is not 
 enough to fight, but to overcome ; and the Prince 
 does more in the condition wherein he is, than I 
 ought reasonably to hope for. In fine, he is my 
 husband, and an agreeable one ; to whom nothing 
 is wanting, but what I cannot inspire ; that is, a 
 passion which would have made me but too happy.' 
 ' Ah ! madam,' cried out Agnes, transported with her 
 tenderness for the Princess, 'he is a blind and stupid 
 Prince, who knows not the precious advantages he 
 possesses.' ' He must surely know something,' re- 
 plied the Princess modestly. ' But, madam,' replied 
 Agnes, ' is there anything, not only in Portugal, but 
 in all Spain, that can compare with you ? And, with- 
 out considering the charming qualities of your person, 
 can we enough admire those of your soul ? ' ' My 
 dear Agnes,' interrupted Constantia, sighing, 'she 
 who robs me of my husband's heart, has but too 
 many charms to plead his excuse ; since it is thou, 
 child, whom fortune makes use of, to give me the 
 killing blow. Yes, Agnes, the Prince loves thee ; and 
 the merit I know thou art possessed of, puts bounds 
 to my complaints, without suffering me to have the 
 least resentment.' 
 
 The delicate Agnes little expected to hear what 
 the Princess told her. Thunder would have less sur- 
 prised, and less oppressed her. She remained a long 
 time without speaking ; but at last, fixing her looks 
 all frightful on Constantia, ' What say you, madam ? ' 
 cried she, 'and what thoughts have you of me? 
 What, that I should betray you ? And coming hither 
 only full of ardour to be the repose of your life, do I 
 bring a fatal poison to afflict it? W 7 hat detestation 
 must I have for the beauty they find in me, without 
 aspiring to make it appear? And how ought I to
 
 168 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 curse the unfortunate day, on which I first saw the 
 Prince ? But, madam, it cannot be me whom Heaven 
 has chosen to torment you, and to destroy all your 
 tranquillity. No, it cannot be so much my enemy, to 
 put me to so great a trial. And if I were that odious 
 person, there is no punishment, to which I would not 
 condemn myself. It is Elvira, madam, the Prince 
 loves, and loved before his marriage with you, and 
 also before his divorce from Bianca ; and somebody 
 has made an indiscreet report to you of this intrigue 
 of his youth. But, madam, what was in the time of 
 Bianca, is nothing to you.' ' It is certain that Don 
 Pedro loves you,' answered the Princess, ' and I have 
 vanity enough to believe, that none besides yourself 
 could have disputed his heart with me. But the secret 
 is discovered, and Don Pedro has not disowned it.' 
 ' What,' interrupted Agnes, more surprised than ever, 
 ' is it then from himself you have learned his weak- 
 ness ? ' The Princess then showed her the verses, and 
 there was never any despair like to hers. 
 
 While they were both thus sadly employed, both 
 sighing, and both weeping, the impatient Elvira, who 
 was willing to learn the effect of her malice, returned 
 to the apartment of the Princess, where she freely 
 entered ; even to the cabinet where these unhappy 
 persons were : who all afflicted and troubled as they 
 were, blushed at her approach, whose company they 
 did not desire. She had the pleasure to see Constantia 
 hide from her the paper which had been the cause of 
 all their trouble, and which the Princess had never 
 seen, but for her spite and revenge ; and to observe 
 also in the eyes of the Princess, and those of Agnes, 
 an immoderate grief. She stayed in the cabinet as 
 long as it was necessary to be assured, that she had 
 succeeded in her design ; but the Princess, who did 
 not desire such a witness of the disorder in which she 
 then was, prayed to be left alone. Elvira then went 
 out of the cabinet, and Agnes de Castro withdrew at 
 the same time.
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 169 
 
 It was in her own chamber, that Agnes examining 
 more freely this adventure, found it as cruel as death. 
 She loved Constantia sincerely, and had not till then 
 anything more than an esteem, mixed with admira- 
 tion, for the Prince of Portugal ; which indeed, none 
 could refuse to so many fine qualities. And looking 
 on herself as the most unfortunate of her sex, as 
 being the cause of all the sufferings of the Princess, 
 to whom she was obliged for the greatest bounties, 
 she spent the whole night in tears and complaints, 
 sufficient to have revenged Constantia for all the 
 griefs she made her suffer. 
 
 The Prince, on his side, was in no great tranquillity; 
 the generosity of his Princess increased his remorse, 
 without diminishing his love : he feared, and with 
 reason, that those who were the occasion of Constan- 
 tia's seeing those verses, should discover his passion 
 to the King, from whom he hoped for no indulgence : 
 and he would most willingly have given his life, to 
 have been free from this extremity. 
 
 In the meantime the afflicted Princess languished 
 in a most deplorable sadness : she found nothing 
 in those who were the cause of her misfortunes, but 
 things fitter to move her tenderness than her anger. 
 It was in vain that jealousy strove to combat the 
 inclination she had to love her fair rival ; nor was 
 there any occasion of making the Prince less dear to 
 her : and she felt neither hatred, nor so much as 
 indifference for innocent Agnes. 
 
 While these three disconsolate persons abandoned 
 themselves to their melancholy, Elvira, not to leave 
 her vengeance imperfect, studied in what manner she 
 might bring it to the height of its effects. Her 
 brother, on whom she depended, showed her a great 
 deal of friendship, and judging rightly that the love 
 of Don Pedro to Agnes de Castro would not be 
 approved by the King, she acquainted Don Alvaro 
 her brother with it, who was not ignorant of the 
 passion the Prince had once protested to have for his
 
 170 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 sister. He found himself very much interested in 
 this news, from a second passion he had for Agnes ; 
 which the business of his fortune had hitherto hin- 
 dered him from discovering. And he expected a 
 great many favours from the King, that might render 
 the effort of his heart the more considerable. 
 
 He hid not from his sister this one thing, which he 
 found difficult to conceal ; so that she was now pos- 
 sessed with a double grief, to find Agnes sovereign of 
 all the hearts to which she had a pretension. 
 
 Don Alvaro was one of those ambitious men, that 
 are fierce without moderation, and proud without 
 generosity ; of a melancholy, cloudy humour, of a 
 cruel inclination, and to effect his ends, found nothing 
 difficult or unlawful. Naturally he loved not the 
 Prince, who, on all accounts, ought to have held the 
 first rank in the heart of the King, which should 
 have set bounds to the favour of Don Alvaro ; who 
 when he knew the Prince was his rival, his jealousy 
 increased his hate of him : and he conjured Elvira 
 to employ all her care, to oppose an engagement that 
 could not but be destructive to them both; she 
 promised him, and he not very well satisfied, relied 
 on her promise. 
 
 Don Alvaro, who had too lively a representation 
 within himself, of the beauties and grace of the 
 Prince of Portugal, thought of nothing, but how to 
 combat his merits, he himself not being handsome, or 
 well made. His fashion was as disagreeable as his 
 humour, and Don Pedro had all the advantages that 
 one man may possibly have over another. In fine, all 
 that Don Alvaro wanted, adorned the Prince but as 
 he was the husband of Constantia, and depended upon 
 an absolute father; and that Don Alvaro was free, 
 and master of a good fortune, he thought himself 
 more assured of Agnes, and fixed his hopes on that 
 thought. 
 
 He knew very well, that the passion of Don Pedro 
 could not but inspire a violent anger in the soul of
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 171 
 
 the King. Industrious in doing ill, his first business 
 was to carry this unwelcome news to him. After he 
 had given time to his grief, and had composed himself 
 to his desire, he then besought the King to interest 
 himself in his amorous affair, and to be the protector 
 of his person: 
 
 Though Don Alvaro had no other merit to recom- 
 mend him to the King, than a continual and blind 
 obedience to all his commands ; yet he had favoured 
 him with several testimonies of his vast bounty ; and 
 considering the height to which the King's liberality 
 had raised him, there were few ladies that would have 
 refused his alliance. The King assured him of the 
 continuation of his friendship and favour, and promised 
 him, if he had any authority, he would give him the 
 charming Agnes. 
 
 Don Alvaro, perfectly skilful in managing his 
 master, answered the King's last bounty with a pro- 
 found submission. He had yet never told Agnes 
 what he felt for her ; but he thought now he might 
 make a public declaration of it, and sought all means 
 to do it. 
 
 The gallantry which Coimbra seemed to have for- 
 gotten, began now to be awakened. The King to 
 please Don Alvaro, under pretence of diverting Con- 
 stantia, ordered some public sports, and commanded 
 that everything should be magnificent. 
 
 Since the adventure of the verses, Don Pedro 
 endeavoured to lay a constraint on himself, and to 
 appear less troubled ; but in his heart he suffered 
 always alike : and it was not but with great uneasi- 
 ness he prepared himself for the tournament. And 
 since he could not appear with the colours of Agnes, 
 he took those of his wife, without device, or any 
 great magnificence. 
 
 Don Alvaro adorned himself with the liveries of 
 Agnes de Castro ; and this fair maid, who had yet 
 found no consolation from what the Princess had told 
 her, had this new cause of being displeased.
 
 172 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 Don Pedro appeared in the list with an admirable 
 grace ; and Don Alvaro, who looked on this day as 
 his own, appeared there all shining with gold, mixed 
 with stones of blue, which were the colours of Agnes ; 
 and there were embroidered all over his equipage, 
 flaming hearts of gold on blue velvet, and nets for the 
 snares of love, with abundance of double A's ; his 
 device was a love coming out of a cloud, with these 
 verses written underneath : 
 
 Love from a cloud breaks like the god of day, 
 And to the world his glories does display ; 
 To gaze on charming eyes, and make them know, 
 What to soft hearts, and to his power they owe. 
 
 The pride of Don Alvaro was soon humbled at 
 the feet of the Prince of Portugal, who threw him 
 against the ground with tweniy others, and carried 
 alone the glory of the day. There was in the evening 
 a noble assembly at Constantia's, where Agnes would 
 not have been, unless expressly commanded by the 
 Princess. She appeared there all negligent and care- 
 less in her dress, but yet she appeared all beautiful 
 and charming. She saw, with disdain, her name, and 
 her colours, worn by Don Alvaro, at a public triumph ; 
 and if her heart was capable of any tender motions, 
 it was not for such a man as he for whom her delicacy 
 destined them. She looked on him with a contempt, 
 which did not hinder him from pressing so near, that 
 there was a necessity for her to hear what he had to 
 declare to her. 
 
 She treated him not uncivilly, but her coldness 
 would have rebated the courage of any but Alvaro. 
 ' Madam/ said he (when he could be heard of none 
 but herself), ' I have hitherto concealed the passion 
 you have inspired me with, fearing it should displease 
 you ; but it has committed a violence on my respect ; 
 and I could no longer conceal it from you.' ' I never 
 reflected on your actions,' answered Agnes with all 
 the indifference of which she was capable, ' and if you
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 173 
 
 think you offend me, you are in the wrong to make 
 me perceive it.' * This coldness is but an ill omen for 
 me,' replied Don Alvaro, 'and if you have not found 
 me out to be your lover to-day, I fear you will never 
 approve my passion.' 
 
 4 Oh ! what a time have you chosen to make it 
 appear to me ? ' pursued Agnes. * Is it so great an 
 honour for me, that you must take such care to show 
 it to the world? And do you think that I am so 
 desirous of glory, that I must aspire to it by your 
 actions? If I must, you have very ill maintained it 
 in the tournament ; and if it be that vanity that you 
 depend upon, you will make no great progress on 
 a soul that is not fond of shame. If you were 
 possessed of all the advantages, which the Prince has 
 this day carried away, you yet ought to consider 
 what you are going about ; and it is not a maid like 
 me, who is touched with enterprises, without respect 
 or permission.' 
 
 The favourite of the King was too proud to hear 
 Agnes, without indignation : but as he was willing to 
 conceal it, and not offend her, he made not his resent- 
 ment appear; and considering the observation she 
 made on the triumphs of Don Pedro (which increased 
 his jealousies), ' If I have not overcome at the tourna- 
 ment,' replied he, ' I am not the less in love for being 
 vanquished, nor less capable of success on occasion.' 
 
 They were interrupted here, but from that day, 
 Don Alvaro, who had opened the first difficulties, 
 kept no more his wonted distance, but perpetually 
 persecuted Agnes ; yet, though he were protected by 
 the King, that inspired in her never the more con- 
 sideration for him. Don Pedro was always ignorant 
 by what means the verses he had lost in the garden, 
 fell into the hands of Constantia. As the Princess 
 appeared to him indulgent, he was only concerned 
 for Agnes ; arid the love of Don Alvaro, which was 
 then so well known, increased the pain : and had he 
 been possessed of the authority, he would not have
 
 174 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 suffered her to have been exposed to the persecutions 
 of so unworthy a rival. He was also afraid of the 
 King's being advertised of his passion, but he thought 
 not at all of Elvira, nor apprehended any malice from 
 her resentment. 
 
 While she burned with a desire of destroying 
 Agnes, against whom she vented all her venom, she 
 was never weary of making new reports to her brother, 
 assuring him, that though they could not prove that 
 Agnes made any returns to the tenderness of the 
 Prince, yet that was the cause of Constantia's grief: 
 and, that if this Princess should die of it, Don Pedro 
 might marry Agnes. In fine, she so incensed the 
 jealous Don Alvaro's jealousy, that he could not 
 hinder himself from running immediately to the King, 
 with the discovery of all he knew, and all he guessed, 
 and who, he had the pleasure to find, was infinitely 
 enraged at the news. ' My dear Alvaro/ said the 
 King, 'you shall instantly marry this dangerous 
 beauty : and let possession assure your repose and 
 mine. If I have protected you on other occasions, 
 judge what a service of so great an importance for 
 me, would make me undertake ; and without any 
 reserve, the forces of this State are in your power, and 
 almost anything that I can give shall be assured you, 
 so you render yourself master of the destiny of 
 Agnes.' 
 
 Don Alvaro pleased, and vain with his master's 
 bounty, made use of all the authority he gave him. 
 He passionately loved Agnes, and would not, on the 
 sudden, make use of violence ; but resolved with 
 himself to employ all possible means to win her 
 fairly ; yet if that failed, to have recourse to force, if 
 she continued always insensible. 
 
 While Agnes de Castro (importuned by his assidui- 
 ties, despairing at the grief of Constantia, and perhaps 
 made tender by those she had caused in the Prince of 
 Portugal) took a resolution worthy of her virtue ; yet, 
 amiable as Don Pedro was, she found nothing in him,
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 175 
 
 but his being husband to Constantia, that was dear to 
 her. And, far from encouraging the power she had 
 got over his heart, she thought of nothing but re- 
 moving from Coimbra. The passion of Don Alvaro, 
 which she had no inclination to favour, served her as 
 a pretext ; and pressed with the fear of causing, in 
 the end, a cruel divorce between the Prince and his 
 Princess, she went to find Constantia, with a trouble, 
 which all her care was not able to hide from her. 
 
 The Princess easily found it out; and their com- 
 mon misfortunes having not changed their friendship, 
 4 What ails you, Agnes ? ' said the Princess to her, in 
 a soft tone, and with her ordinary sweetness. ' And 
 what new misfortune causes that sadness in thy 
 looks?' 'Madam,' replied Agnes, shedding a rivulet 
 of tears, ' the obligations and ties I have to you, put 
 me upon a cruel trial. I had bounded the felicity of 
 my life in hope of passing it near your Highness, yet 
 I must carry to some other part of the world this 
 unlucky face of mine, which renders me nothing but 
 ill offices. And it is to obtain that liberty, that I am 
 come to throw myself at your feet; looking upon you 
 as my sovereign.' 
 
 Constantia was so surprised and touched with the 
 proposition of Agnes, that she lost her speech for 
 some moments. Tears, which were sincere, ex- 
 pressed her first sentiments : and after having shed 
 abundance, to give a new mark of her tenderness to 
 the fair afflicted Agnes, she with a sad and melancholy 
 look, fixed her eyes upon her, and holding out her 
 hand to her, in a most obliging manner, sighing, cried, 
 1 You will then, my dear Agnes, leave me; and expose 
 me to the griefs of seeing you no more ? ' ' Alas, 
 madam,' interrupted this lovely maid, ' hide from the 
 unhappy Agnes a bounty which does but increase her 
 misfortunes. It is not I, madam, that would leave 
 you; it is my duty, and my reason that orders my 
 fate. And those days which I shall pass far from 
 you, promise me nothing to oblige me to this design,
 
 176 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 if I did not see myself absolutely forced to it. I am 
 not ignorant of what passes at Coimbra ; and I shall 
 be an accomplice of the injustice there committed, if 
 I should stay there any longer.' ' Ah, I know your 
 virtue,' cried Constantia, ' and you may remain here 
 in all safety, while I am your protectress ; and let 
 what will happen, I will accuse you of nothing. 1 
 'There's no answering for what's to come/ replied 
 Agnes, sadly, ' and I shall be sufficiently guilty, if my 
 presence cause sentiments, which cannot be innocent. 
 Besides, madam, the importunities of Don Alvaro are 
 insupportable to me ; and though I find nothing but 
 aversion to him, since the King protects his in- 
 solence, and he's in a condition of undertaking any- 
 thing, my flight is absolutely necessary. But, madam, 
 though he has nothing but what seems odious to me ; 
 I call Heaven to witness, that if I could cure the 
 Prince by marrying Don Alvaro, I would not consider 
 of it a moment ; and finding in my punishment the 
 consolation of sacrificing myself to my Princess, 
 I would support it without murmuring. But if I were 
 the wife of Don Alvaro, Don Pedro would always 
 look upon me with the same eyes. So that I find 
 nothing more reasonable for me, than to hide myself 
 in some corner of the world ; where, though I shall 
 most certainly live without pleasure, yet I shall pre- 
 serve the repose of my dearest mistress.' 'All the 
 reason you find in this design/ answered the Princess, 
 ' cannot oblige me to approve of your absence. Will 
 it restore me the heart of Don Pedro ? And will he 
 not fly away with you ? His grief is mine, and my 
 life is tied to his ; do not make him despair then, if 
 you love me. I know you, I tell you so once more ; 
 and let your power be ever so great over the heart of 
 the Prince, I will not suffer you to abandon us.' 
 
 Though Agnes thought she had perfectly known 
 Constantia, yet she did not expect to find so entire 
 a virtue in her, which made her think herself more 
 happy, and the Prince more criminal. ' Oh, wisdom !
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 177 
 
 Oh, bounty without example ! ' cried she. ' Why is it, 
 that the cruel destinies do not give you all you 
 deserve ? You are the disposer of my actions,' con- 
 tinued she, in kissing the hand of Constantia, ' I'll do 
 nothing but what you'll have me. But consider, and 
 weigh well the reasons that ought to counsel you in 
 the measures you oblige me to take.' 
 
 Don Pedro, who had not seen the Princess all that 
 day, came in then, and finding them both extremely 
 troubled, with a fierce impatience, demanded the 
 cause : ' Sir,' answered Constantia, * Agnes too wise, 
 and too scrupulous, fears the effects of her beauty, and 
 will live no longer at Coimbra ; and it was on this 
 subject (which cannot be agreeable to me) that she 
 asked my advice.' The Prince grew pale at this dis- 
 course, and snatching the words from her mouth 
 (with more concern than possessed either of them) 
 cried with a voice very feeble, ' Agnes cannot fail, if 
 she follow your counsel, madam: and I leave you full 
 liberty to give it her.' He then immediately went 
 out, and the Princess, whose heart he perfectly pos- 
 sessed, not being able to hide her displeasure, said, 
 ' My dear Agnes, if my satisfaction did not only 
 depend on your conversation, I should desire it of 
 you, for Don Pedro's sake ; it is the only advantage 
 that his unfortunate love can hope. And would not 
 the world have reason to call me barbarous, if I con- 
 tribute to deprive him of that ? ' ' But the sight of 
 me will prove a poison to him,' replied Agnes. 'And 
 what should I do, my Princess, if after the reserve he 
 has hitherto kept, his mouth should add anything to 
 the torments I have already felt, by speaking to me 
 of his flame ? ' ' You would hear him sure, without 
 causing him to despair,' replied Constantia, ' and 
 I should put this obligation to the account of the rest 
 you have done.' ' Would you then have me expect 
 those events which I fear, madam?' replied Agnes. 
 Well I will obey, but just Heaven,' pursued she, 'if 
 they prove fatal, do not punish an innocent heart for
 
 i;8 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 it' Thus this conversation ended. Agnes withdrew 
 into her chamber, but it was not to be more at ease. 
 
 What Don Pedro had learned of the design of 
 Agnes, caused a cruel agitation in his soul ; he wished 
 he had never loved her, and desired a thousand times 
 to die. But it was not for him to make vows against 
 a thing which fate had designed him ; and whatever 
 resolutions he made, to bear the absence of Agnes, 
 his tenderness had not force enough to consent to it. 
 
 After having, for a long time, combated with him- 
 self, he determined to do what was impossible for him 
 to let Agnes do. His courage reproached him with 
 the idleness, in which he passed the most youthful and 
 vigorous part of his days : and making it appear to 
 the King, that his allies, and even the Prince Don 
 John Emanuel, his father-in-law, had concerns in the 
 world which demanded his presence on the frontiers, 
 he easily obtained liberty to make this journey, to 
 which the Princess would put no obstacle. 
 
 Agnes saw him part without any concern, but it 
 was not upon the account of any aversion she had to 
 him. Don Alvaro began then to make his importunity 
 an open persecution ; he forgot nothing that might 
 touch the insensible Agnes, and made use, a long 
 time, only of the arms of love. But seeing that this 
 submission and respect was to no purpose, he formed 
 strange designs. 
 
 As the King had a deference for all his counsels, 
 it was not difficult to inspire him with what he had 
 a mind to. He complained of the ungrateful Agnes, 
 and forgot nothing that might make him perceive 
 that she was not cruel to him on his account, but 
 from the too much sensibility she had for the Prince. 
 The King, who was extremely angry at this, reiterated 
 all the promises he had made him. 
 
 The King had not yet spoken to Agnes in favour 
 of Don Alvaro ; and not doubting but his approbation 
 would surmount all obstacles, he took an occasion to 
 entertain her with it. And removing some distance
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 179 
 
 from those who might hear him, ' I thought Don 
 Alvaro had merit enough,' said he to her, 'to have 
 obtained a little share in your esteem ; and I could 
 not imagine there would have been any necessity of 
 my soliciting it for him : I know you are very charming, 
 but he has nothing that renders him unworthy of you ; 
 and when you shall reflect on the choice my friendship 
 has made of him from among all the great men of my 
 Court, you will do him at the same time justice. His 
 fortune is none of the meanest, since he has me for 
 his protector. He is nobly born, a man of honour 
 and courage ; he adores you, and it seems to me that 
 all these reasons are sufficient to vanquish your pride.' 
 
 The heart of Agnes was so little disposed to give 
 itself to Don Alvaro, that all the King of Portugal 
 had said had no effect on her in his favour. ' If Don 
 Alvaro, sir,' answered she, 'were without merit, he 
 possesses advantages enough in the bounty your 
 Majesty is pleased to honour him with, to make him 
 master of all things. It is not that I find any defect 
 in him that I answer not his desires. But, sir, by 
 what obstinate power would you that I should love, 
 if Heaven has not given me a soul that is tender? 
 And why should you pretend that I should submit to 
 him, when nothing is dearer to me than my liberty ? ' 
 *You are not so free, nor so insensible, as you say,' 
 answered the King, blushing with anger ; ' and if your 
 heart were exempt from all sorts of affection, he might 
 expect a more reasonable return than what he finds. 
 But imprudent maid, conducted by an ill fate,' added 
 he in fury, ' what pretensions have you to Don Pedro ? 
 Hitherto I have hid the chagrin, which his weakness 
 and yours give me ; but it was not the less violent for 
 being hid. And since you oblige me to speak out, 
 I must tell you, that if my son were not already 
 married to Constantia, he should never be your hus- 
 band ; renounce then those vain ideas, which will cure 
 him, and justify you.' 
 
 The courageous Agnes was scarce mistress of the
 
 i8o AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 first transports, at a discourse so full of contempt ; 
 but calling her virtue to the aid of her anger, she 
 recovered herself by the assistance of reason. And 
 considering the outrage she received, not as coming 
 from a great King, but a man blinded and possessed 
 by Don Alvaro, she thought him not worthy of her 
 resentment ; her fair eyes animated themselves with 
 so shining a vivacity, they answered for the purity of 
 her sentiments ; and fixing them steadfastly on the 
 King, ' If the Prince Don Pedro have weaknesses,' 
 replied she, with an air disdainful, 'he never com- 
 municated them to me; and I am certain, I never 
 contributed wilfully to them. But to let you see how 
 little I regard your defiance, and to put my glory in 
 safety, I will live far from you, and all that belongs to 
 you. Yes, sir, I will quit Coimbra with pleasure ; and 
 for this man, who is so dear to you,' answered she 
 with a noble pride and fierceness, of which the King 
 felt all the force, ' for this favourite, so worthy to 
 possess the most tender affections of a great prince, 
 I assure you, that into whatever part of the world 
 fortune conducts me, I will not carry away the least 
 remembrance of him.' At these words she made 
 a profound reverence, and made such haste from his 
 presence, that he could not oppose her going if he 
 would. 
 
 The King was now more strongly convinced than 
 ever, that she favoured the passion of Don Pedro, and 
 immediately went to Constantia, to inspire her with 
 the same thought ; but she was not capable of receiv- 
 ing such impressions, and following her own natural 
 inclinations, she generously defended the virtue of his 
 actions. The King, angry to see her so well in- 
 tentioned to her rival, whom he would have had her 
 hate, reproached her with the sweetness of her temper, 
 and went thence to mix his anger with Don Alvaro's 
 rage, who was totally confounded when he saw the 
 negotiation of his master had taken no effect. ' The 
 haughty maid braves me then, sir,' said he to the
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 181 
 
 King 1 , 'and despises the honour which your bounty 
 offered her ! Why cannot I resist so fatal a passion ? 
 But I must love her, in spite of myself; and if this 
 flame consume me, I can find no way to extinguish 
 it.' 'What can I further do for you?' replied the 
 King. ' Alas, sir,' answered Don Alvaro, ' I must do 
 by force, what I cannot otherwise hope from the 
 proud and cruel Agnes.' ' Well, then,' added the 
 King, ' since it is not fit for me to authorise publicly 
 a violence in the midst of my kingdom, choose those 
 of my subjects whom you think most capable of 
 serving you, and take away by force the beauty that 
 charms you ; and if she do not yield to your love, put 
 that power you are master of into execution, to oblige 
 her to marry you.' 
 
 Don Alvaro, ravished with this proposition, which 
 at the same time flattered both his love and his anger, 
 cast himself at the feet of the King, and renewed his 
 acknowledgments by fresh protestations, and thought 
 of nothing but employing his unjust authority against 
 Agnes. 
 
 Don Pedro had been about three months absent, 
 when Alvaro undertook what the King counselled 
 him to; though the moderation was known to him, 
 yet he feared his presence, and would not attend the 
 return of a rival, with whom he would avoid all 
 disputes. 
 
 One night when the said Agnes, full of her ordinary 
 inquietudes, in vain expected the god of sleep, she 
 heard a noise, and after saw some men unknown 
 enter her chamber, whose measures being well con- 
 sulted, they carried her out of the palace, and putting 
 her in a close coach, forced her out of Coimbra, with- 
 out being hindered by any obstacle. She knew not 
 of whom to complain, nor whom to suspect. Don 
 Alvaro seemed too puissant to seek his satisfaction 
 this way; and she accused not the Prince of this 
 attempt, of whom she had so favourable an opinion ; 
 whatever she could think or say, she could not hinder
 
 182 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 her ill fortune. They hurried her on with diligence, 
 and before it was day, were a considerable way off 
 from the town. 
 
 As soon as day began to break, she surveyed those 
 that encompassed her, without so much as knowing 
 one of them ; and seeing that her cries and prayers 
 were all in vain with these deaf ravishers, she satisfied 
 herself with imploring the protection of Heaven, and 
 abandoned herself to its conduct. 
 
 While she sat thus overwhelmed with grief, uncer- 
 tain of her destiny, she saw a body of horse advance 
 towards the troop which conducted her. The ravishers 
 did not shun them, thinking it to be Don Alvaro : but 
 when he approached more near, they found it was the 
 Prince of Portugal who was at the head of them, and 
 who, without foreseeing the occasion that would offer 
 itself of serving Agnes, was returning to Coimbra full 
 of her idea, after having performed what he ought in 
 this expedition. 
 
 Agnes, who did not expect him, changed now her 
 opinion, and thought that it was the Prince that had 
 caused her to be stolen away. ' Oh, sir ! ' said she to 
 him, having still the same thought, ' is it you that 
 have torn me from the Princess ? And could so cruel 
 a blow come from a hand that is so dear to her? 
 What will you do with an unfortunate creature who 
 desires nothing but death? And why will you ob- 
 scure the glory of your life, by an artifice unworthy 
 of you ? ' This language astonished the Prince no 
 less than the sight of Agnes had done ; he found by 
 what she had said, that she was taken away by force ; 
 and immediately passing to the height of rage, he 
 made her understand by one only look, that he was 
 not the base author of her trouble. ' I tear you from 
 Constantia, whose only pleasure you are ! ' replied he. 
 'What opinion have you of Don Pedro ? No, madam, 
 though you see me here, I am altogether innocent of 
 the violence that has been done you ; and there is 
 nothing I will refuse to hinder it' He then turned
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 183 
 
 himself to behold the ravishers, but his presence 
 had already scattered them ; he ordered some of his 
 men to pursue them, and to seize some of them, 
 that he might know what authority it was that set 
 them at work. 
 
 During this, Agnes was no less confused than 
 before ; she admired the conduct of her destiny, that 
 brought the Prince at a time when he was so necessary 
 to her. Her inclinations to do him justice soon re- 
 paired the offence her suspicions had caused ; she was 
 glad to have escaped a misfortune, which appeared 
 certain to her : but this was not a sincere joy, when 
 she considered that her lover was her deliverer, and 
 a lover worthy of all her acknowledgments, but who 
 owed his heart to the most amiable Princess in the 
 world. 
 
 While the Prince's men were pursuing the ravishers 
 of Agnes, he was left almost alone with her; and 
 though he had always resolved to shun being so, yet 
 his constancy was not proof against so fair an occa- 
 sion : ' Madam,' said he to her, ' is it possible that 
 men born amongst those that obey us, should be 
 capable of offending you ? I never thought myself 
 destined to revenge such an offence; but since Heaven 
 has permitted you to receive it, I will either perish or 
 make them repent it.' ' Sir,' replied Agnes, more 
 concerned at this discourse than at the enterprise of 
 Don Alvaro, ' those who are wanting in their respect 
 to the Princess and you, are not obliged to have any 
 for me. I do not in the least doubt but Don Alvaro 
 was the undertaker of this enterprise ; and I judged 
 what I ought to fear from him, by what his importuni- 
 ties have already made me suffer. He is sure of the 
 King's protection, and he will make him an accomplice 
 in his crime : but, sir, Heaven conducted you hither 
 happily for me, and I am indebted to you for the 
 liberty I have of serving the Princess yet longer.' 
 'You will do for Constantia,' replied the Prince, 
 1 what 'tis impossible not to do for you ; your good-
 
 1 84 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 ness attaches you to her, and my destiny engages me 
 to you for ever.' 
 
 The modest Agnes, who feared this discourse as 
 much as the misfortune she had newly shunned, 
 answered nothing but by downcast eyes ; and the 
 Prince, who knew the trouble she was in, left her to go 
 to speak to his men, who brought back one of those 
 that belonged to Don Alvaro, by whose confession he 
 found the truth. He pardoned him, thinking not fit 
 to punish him, who obeyed a man whom the weakness 
 of his father had rendered powerful. 
 
 Afterwards they conducted Agnes back to Coimbra, 
 where her adventure began to make a great noise. 
 The Princess was ready to die with despair, and at 
 first thought it was only a continuation of the design 
 this fair maid had of retiring ; but some women that 
 served her having told the Princess, that she was 
 carried away by violence, Constantia made her 
 complaint to the King, who regarded her not at all. 
 
 'Madam,' said he to her, 'let this fatal plague 
 remove itself, who takes from you the heart of your 
 husband; and without afflicting yourself for her 
 absence, bless Heaven and me for it.' 
 
 The generous Princess took Agnes's part with a 
 great deal of courage, and was then disputing her 
 defence with the King, when Don Pedro arrived at 
 Coimbra. 
 
 The first object that met the Prince's eyes was 
 Don Alvaro, who was passing through one of the 
 courts of the palace, amidst a crowd of courtiers, 
 whom his favour with the King drew after him. This 
 sight made Don Pedro rage ; but that of the Princess 
 and Agnes caused in Alvaro another sort of emotion. 
 He easily divined, that it was Don Pedro, who had 
 taken her from his men, and, if his fury had acted 
 what it would, it might have produced very sad 
 effects. 
 
 ' Don Alvaro,' said the Prince to him, ' is it thus 
 you make use of the authority which the King my
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 185 
 
 father hath given you ? Have you received employ- 
 ments and power from him, for no other end but to 
 do these base actions, and to commit rapes on ladies ? 
 Are you ignorant how the Princess interests herself 
 in all that concerns this maid? And do you not 
 know the tender and affectionate esteem she has for 
 her ? ' ' No,' replied Don Alvaro, with an insolence 
 that had like to have put the Prince past all patience, 
 ' I am not ignorant of it, nor of the interest your 
 heart takes in her.' ' Base and treacherous as thou 
 art/ replied the Prince, 'neither the favour which 
 thou hast so much abused, nor the insolence which 
 makes thee speak this, should hinder me from punish- 
 ing thee, wert thou worthy of my sword ; but there 
 are other ways to humble thy pride, and 'tis not fit for 
 such an arm as mine to seek so base an employment 
 to punish such a slave as thou art.' 
 
 Don Pedro went away at these words, and left 
 Alvaro in a rage, which is not to be expressed ; 
 despairing to see himself defeated in an enterprise 
 he thought so sure ; and at the contempt the Prince 
 showed him, he promised himself to sacrifice all to his 
 revenge. 
 
 Though the King loved his son, he was so pre- 
 possessed against his passion, that he could not pardon 
 him what he had done, and condemned him as much 
 for this last act of justice, in delivering Agnes, as if it 
 had been the greatest of crimes. 
 
 Elvira, whom the sweetness of hope flattered some 
 moments, saw the return of Agnes with a sensible 
 displeasure, which suffered her to think of nothing 
 but irritating her brother. 
 
 In fine, the Prince saw the King, but instead of 
 being received by him with a joy due to the success 
 of his journey, he appeared all sullen and out of 
 humour. After having paid him his first respects, 
 and given him an exact account of what he had done, 
 he spoke to him about the violence committed against 
 the person of Agnes de Castro, and complained to
 
 186 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 him of it in the name of the Princess, and of his own. 
 'You ought to be silent in this affair,' replied the 
 King ; ' and the motive which makes you speak is so 
 shameful for you, that I sigh and blush at it. What 
 is it to you, if this maid, whose presence is trouble- 
 some to me, be removed hence, since 'tis I that desire 
 it?' 'But, sir/ interrupted the Prince, 'what necessity 
 is there of employing force, artifice, and the night, when 
 the least of your orders had been sufficient? Agnes 
 would willingly have obeyed you ; and if she continue 
 at Coimbra, it is perhaps against her will : but be it 
 as it will, sir, Constantia is offended, and if it were 
 not for fear of displeasing you (the only thing that 
 retains me), the ravisher should not have gone un- 
 punished.' ' How happy are you,' replied the King, 
 smiling with disdain, ' in making use of the name of 
 Constantia to uphold the interest of your heart ! You 
 think I am ignorant of it, and that this unhappy 
 Princess looks on the injury you do her with indiffer- 
 ence. Never speak to me more of Agnes' (with 
 a tone very severe). ' Content yourself, that I pardon 
 what's passed, and think maturely of the considera- 
 tions I have for Don Alvaro, when you would design 
 anything against him.' ' Yes, sir,' replied the Prince 
 with fierceness, 'I will speak to you no more of 
 Agnes ; but Constantia and I will never suffer, that 
 she should be any more exposed to the insolence of 
 your favourite.' The King had like to have broke 
 out into a rage at this discourse ; but he had yet 
 a rest of prudence left that hindered him. ' Retire,' 
 said he to Don Pedro, 'and go make reflections on 
 what my power can do, and what you owe me.' 
 
 During this conversation, Agnes was receiving from 
 the Princess, and from all the ladies of the Court, 
 great expressions of joy and friendship. Constantia 
 saw again her husband, with a great deal of satis- 
 faction ; and far from being sorry at what he had 
 lately done for Agnes, she privately returned him 
 thanks for it, and still was the same towards him, not-
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 187 
 
 withstanding all the jealousy which was endeavoured 
 to be inspired in her. 
 
 Don Alvaro, who found in his sister a maliciousness 
 worthy of his trust, did not conceal his fury from her. 
 After she had made vain attempts to moderate it, 
 in blotting Agnes out of his heart, seeing that his 
 disease was incurable, she made him understand, that 
 so long as Constantia should not be jealous, there 
 were no hopes : that if Agnes should once be sus- 
 pected by her, she would not fail of abandoning her, 
 and that then it would be easy to get satisfaction, the 
 Prince being now so proud of Constantia's indulgence. 
 In giving this advice to her brother, she promised to 
 serve him effectually; and having no need of anybody 
 but herself to perform ill things, she recommended 
 Don Alvaro to manage well the King. 
 
 Four years were passed in that melancholy station, 
 and the Princess, besides her first dead child, and 
 Ferdinando, who was still living, had brought two 
 daughters into the world. 
 
 Some days after Don Pedro's return, Elvira, who 
 was most dexterous in the art of well governing any 
 wicked design, did gain one of the servants who 
 belonged to Constantia's chamber. She first spoke 
 her fair, then overwhelmed her with presents and 
 gifts ; and finding in her as ill a disposition as in her- 
 self, she readily resolved to employ her. 
 
 After she was sure of her, she composed a letter, 
 which was after writ over again in an unknown hand, 
 which she deposited in that maid's hands, that she 
 might deliver to Constantia with the first opportunity, 
 telling her, that Agnes had dropped it. This was the 
 substance of it : 
 
 I employ not my own hand to write to you, for reasons that 
 I shall acquaint you with. How happy am I to have overcome 
 all your scruples ! And what happiness shall I find in the 
 progress of our intrigue ! The whole course of my life shall 
 continually represent to you the sincerity of my affections ; 
 pray think on the secret conversation that I require of you. 
 I dare not speak to you in public, therefore let me conjure you
 
 188 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 here, by all that I have suffered, to come to-night to the place 
 appointed, and speak to me no more of Constantia ; for she 
 must be content with my esteem, since my heart can be only 
 yours. 
 
 The unfaithful Portuguese served Elvira exactly to 
 her desires ; and the very next day seeing Agnes go 
 out from the Princess, she carried Constantia the 
 letter ; which she took, and found there what she was 
 far from imagining. Tenderness never produced an 
 effect more full of grief, than what it made her suffer. 
 'Alas ! they are both culpable,' said she, sighing, 'and 
 in spite of the defence my heart would make for them, 
 my reason condemns them. Unhappy Princess, the 
 sad subject of the capriciousness of fortune ! Why 
 dost not thou die, since thou hast not a heart of 
 honour to revenge itself? O Don Pedro! why did 
 you give me your hand, without your heart ? And 
 thou, fair, and ungrateful ! wert thou born to be the 
 misfortune of my life, and perhaps the only cause of 
 my death ? ' After having given some moments to 
 the violence of her grief, she called the maid, who 
 brought her the letter, commanding her to speak of it 
 to nobody, and to suffer no one to enter into her 
 chamber. 
 
 She considered then of that Prince with more 
 liberty, whose soul she was not able to touch with the 
 least tenderness ; and of the cruel fair one that had 
 betrayed her. Yet, even while her soul was upon the 
 rack, she was willing to excuse them, and ready to do 
 all she could for Don Pedro; at least, she made a firm 
 resolution, not to complain of him. 
 
 Elvira was not long without being informed of what 
 had passed, nor of the melancholy of the Princess, 
 from whom she hoped all she desired. 
 
 Agnes, far from foreseeing this tempest, returned 
 to Constantia; and hearing of her indisposition, 
 passed the rest of the day at her chamber-door, that 
 she might from time to time learn news of her health ; 
 for she was not suffered to come in, at which Agnes
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 189 
 
 was both surprised and troubled. The Prince had the 
 same destiny, and was astonished at an order which 
 ought to have excepted him. 
 
 The next day Constantia appeared, but so altered, 
 that it was not difficult to imagine what she had 
 suffered. Agnes was the most impatient to approach 
 her, and the Princess could not forbear weeping. 
 They were both silent for some time, and Constantia 
 attributed this silence of Agnes to some remorse 
 which she felt : and this unhappy maid being able to 
 hold no longer, ' Is it possible, madam,' said she, 
 'that two days should have taken from me all the 
 goodness you had for me ? What have I done ? And 
 for what do you punish me ? ' The Princess regarded 
 her with a languishing look, and returned her no 
 answer but sighs. Agnes, offended with this reserve, 
 went out with very great dissatisfaction and anger; 
 which contributed to her being thought criminal. 
 The Prince came in immediately after, and found 
 Constantia more disordered than usual, and conjured 
 her in a most obliging manner to take care of her 
 health. ' The greatest good for me/ said she, ' is not 
 the continuation of my life ; I should have more care 
 
 of it if I loved you less : but ' She could not 
 
 proceed ; and the Prince, excessively afflicted at her 
 trouble, sighed sadly, without making her any answer, 
 which redoubled her grief. Spite then began to mix 
 itself; and all things persuading the Princess that 
 they made a sacrifice of her, she would enter into no 
 explanation with her husband, but suffered him to go 
 away without saying anything to him. 
 
 Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, 
 and consuming our health, than secret notions of 
 jealousy in solitude. 
 
 Constantia, who used to open her heart freely to 
 Agnes, now believing she had deceived her, abandoned 
 herself so absolutely to grief, that she was ready to 
 sink under it ; she immediately fell sick with the 
 violence of it, and all the Court was concerned at
 
 igo AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 this misfortune. Don Pedro was truly afflicted at it, 
 but Agnes more than all the world beside. Constantia's 
 coldness towards her, made her continually sigh ; and 
 her distemper created merely by fancy, caused her to 
 reflect on everything that offered itself to her memory : 
 so that at last she began even to fear herself, and to 
 reproach herself for what the Princess suffered. 
 
 But the distemper began to be such that they feared 
 Constantia's death, and she herself began to feel the 
 approaches of it. This thought did not at all disquiet 
 her : she looked on death as the only relief from all 
 her torments ; and regarded the despair of all that 
 approached her without the least concern. 
 
 The King, who loved her tenderly, and who knew 
 her virtue, was infinitely moved at the extremity she 
 was in. And Don Alvaro, who lost not the least 
 occasion of making him understand that it was 
 jealousy which was the cause of Constantia's dis- 
 temper, did but too much incense him against 
 criminals, worthy of compassion. The King was 
 not of a temper to conceal his anger long : ' You 
 give fine examples,' said he to the Prince, ' and such 
 as will render your memory illustrious ! The death 
 of Constantia (of which you only are to be accused) 
 is the unhappy fruit of your guilty passion. Fear 
 Heaven after this : and behold yourself as a monster 
 that does not deserve to see the light. If the interest 
 you have in my blood did not plead for you, what ought 
 you not to fear from my just resentment ? But what 
 must not imprudent Agnes, to whom nothing ties 
 me, expect from my hands ? If Constantia dies, she, 
 who has the boldness, in my Court, to cherish a foolish 
 flame by vain hopes, and make us lose the most 
 amiable Princess, whom thou art not worthy to 
 possess, shall feel the effects of her indiscretion.' 
 
 Don Pedro knew very well, that Constantia was 
 not ignorant of his sentiments for Agnes; but he 
 knew also with what moderation she received it. He 
 was very sensible of the King's reproaches ; but as
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 191 
 
 his fault was not voluntary, and that a commanding 
 power, a fatal star, had forced him to love in spite of 
 himself, he appeared afflicted and confused : ' You 
 condemn me, sir,' answered he, ' without having well 
 examined me ; and if my contentions were known to 
 you, perhaps you would not find me so criminal. I 
 would take the Princess for my judge, who you say 
 I sacrifice, if she were in a condition to be consulted. 
 If I am guilty of any weakness, her justice never 
 reproached me for it ; and my tongue never informed 
 Agnes of it. But suppose I have committed any 
 fault, why would you punish an innocent lady, who 
 perhaps condemns me for it as much as you ? ' * Ah, 
 villain ! ' interrupted the King, ' she has but too much 
 favoured you. You would not have loved thus long, 
 had she not made you some returns.' ' Sir,' replied 
 the Prince, pierced with grief for the outrage that was 
 committed against Agnes, 'you offend a virtue, than 
 which nothing can be purer; and those expressions 
 which break from your choler, are not worthy of you. 
 Agnes never granted me any favours ; I never asked 
 any of her ; and I protest to Heaven, I never thought 
 of anything contrary to the duty I owe Constantia.' 
 
 As they thus argued, one of the Princess's women 
 came all in tears to acquaint Don Pedro, that the 
 Princess was in the last extremities of life : ' Go see 
 thy fatal work,' said the King, ' and expect from a too- 
 long patient father the usage thou deservest.' 
 
 The Prince ran to Constantia, whom he found 
 dying, and Agnes in a swoon, in the arms of some of 
 the ladies. What caused this double calamity, was, 
 that Agnes, who could suffer no longer the indifference 
 of the Princess, had conjured her to tell her what was 
 her crime, and either to take her life from her, or re- 
 store her to her friendship. 
 
 Constantia, who found she must die, could no longer 
 keep her secret affliction from Agnes ; and after some 
 words, which were a preparation to the sad explana- 
 tion, she showed her that fatal billet, which Elvira
 
 1 92 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 had caused to be written : ' Ah, madam ! ' cried out 
 the fair Agnes, after having read it, ' ah, madam ! 
 how many cruel inquietudes had you spared me, had 
 you opened your heart to me with your wonted 
 bounty ! Tis easy to see that this letter is counter- 
 feit, and that 1 have enemies without compassion. 
 Could you believe the Prince so imprudent, to make 
 use of any other hand but his own, on an occasion like 
 this? And do you believe me so simple to keep 
 about me this testimony of my shame, with so little 
 precaution ? You are neither betrayed by your hus- 
 band nor me ; 1 attest Heaven, and those efforts 1 
 have made to leave Coimbra. Alas, my dear Princess ! 
 how little have you known her, whom you have so 
 much honoured ! Do not believe that when I have 
 justified myself, I will have any more communication 
 with the world. No, no ; there will be no retreat far 
 enough from hence for me. I will take care to hide 
 this unlucky face, where it shall be sure to do no more 
 harm.' 
 
 The Princess touched at this discourse, and the 
 tears of Agnes, pressed her hand, which she held in 
 hers ; and fixing looks upon her capable of moving 
 pity in the most insensible souls, ' If I have committed 
 any offence, my dear Agnes,' answered she. ' death, 
 which I expect in a moment, shall revenge it. I ought 
 also to protest to you, that I have not ceased loving 
 you, and that I believe everything you have said, 
 giving you back my most tender affections.' 
 
 It was at this time that the grief, which equally 
 oppressed them, put the Princess into such an ex- 
 tremity, that they sent for the Prince. He came, and 
 found himself almost without life or motion at this 
 sight. And what secret motive soever might call him 
 to the aid of Agnes, it was to Constantia he ran. 
 The Princess, who finding her last moments drawing 
 on, by a cold sweat that covered her all over ; and 
 finding she had no more business with life, and causing 
 those persons she most suspected to retire, ' Sir,' said
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 193 
 
 she to Don Pedro, ' if I abandon life without regret, 
 it is not without trouble that I part with you. But, 
 Prince, we must vanquish when we come to die ; and 
 I will forget myself wholly, to think of nothing but 
 of you. I have no reproaches to mak-i against you, 
 knowing that 'tis inclination that disposes hearts, and 
 not reason. Agnes is beautiful enough to inspire the 
 most ardent passion, and virtuous enough to deserve 
 the first fortunes in the world. I ask her, once more, 
 pardon for the injustice I have done her, and recom- 
 mend her to you, as a person most dear to me. 
 Promise me, my dear Prince, before I expire, to give 
 her my place in your throne: it cannot be better 
 filled : you cannot choose a Princess more perfect for 
 your people, nor a better mother for our little children. 
 And you, my dear and faithful Agnes,' pursued she, 
 ' listen not to a virtue too scrupulous, that may make 
 any opposition to the Prince of Portugal. Refuse 
 him not a heart of which he is worthy ; and give him 
 that friendship which you had for me, with that which 
 is due to his merit. Take care of my little Fernando, 
 and the two young Princesses : let them find me in 
 you, and speak to them sometimes of me. Adieu, live 
 both of you happy, and receive my last embraces.' 
 
 The afflicted Agnes, who had recovered a little her 
 forces, lost them again a second time ; her weakness 
 was followed with convulsions so vehement, that they 
 were afraid of her life ; but Don Pedro never removed 
 from Constantia : ' What, madam,' said he, ' you will 
 leave me then ; and you think 'tis for my good? Alas, 
 Constantia ! if my heart has committed an outrage 
 against you, your virtue has sufficiently revenged you 
 on me in spite of you. Can you think me so bar- 
 barous ? ' As he was going on, he saw death shut the 
 eyes of the most generous Princess for ever ; and he 
 was within a very little of following her. 
 
 But what loads of grief did this bring upon Agnes, 
 when she found in that interval, wherein life and 
 death were struggling in her soul, that Constantia 
 o
 
 194 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 was newly expired ! She would then have taken away 
 her own life, and have let her despair fully appear. 
 
 At the noise of the death of the Princess, the town 
 and the palace were all in tears. Elvira, who saw 
 then Don Pedro free to engage himself, repented of 
 having contributed to the death of Constantia ; and 
 thinking herself the cause of it, promised in her griefs 
 never to pardon herself. 
 
 She had need of being guarded several days to- 
 gether ; during which time she failed not incessantly 
 to weep. And the Prince gave all those days to 
 deepest mourning. But when the first emotions were 
 past, those of his love made him feel that he was still 
 the same. 
 
 He was a long time without seeing Agnes ; but 
 this absence of his served only to make her appear 
 the more charming when he did see her. 
 
 Don Alvaro, who was afraid of the liberty of the 
 Prince, made new efforts to move Agnes de Castro, 
 who was now become insensible to everything but 
 grief. Elvira, who was willing to make the best of 
 the design she had begun, consulted all her woman's 
 arts, and the delicacy of her wit, to revive the flames 
 with which the Prince once burnt for her. But his 
 constancy was bounded, and it was Agnes alone that 
 was to reign over his heart. She had taken a firm 
 resolution, since the death of Constantia, to pass the 
 rest of her days in a solitary retreat. In spite of 
 the precaution she took to hide this design, the 
 Prince was informed of it, and did all he was able to 
 dispose his constancy and fortitude to it. He thought 
 himself stronger than he really was ; but after he had 
 well consulted his heart, he found but too well how 
 necessary the presence of Agnes was to him. ' Madam,' 
 said he to her one day, with a heart big, and his eyes 
 in tears, ' which action of my life has made you deter- 
 mine my death ? Though I never told you how much 
 I loved you, yet I am persuaded you are not ignorant 
 of it. I was constrained to be silent during some
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 195 
 
 years for your sake, for Constantia's, and my own ; 
 but 'tis not possible for me to put this force upon my 
 heart for ever: I must once at least tell you how it 
 languishes. Receive then the assurances of a passion, 
 full of respect and ardour, with an offer of my for- 
 tune, which I wish not better, but for your advantage.' 
 
 Agnes answered not immediately to these words, 
 but with abundance of tears; which having wiped 
 away, and beholding Don Pedro with an air which 
 made him easily comprehend she did not agree with 
 his desires, ' If I were capable of the weakness with 
 which you'd inspire me, you'd be obliged to punish 
 me for it. What!' said she, * Constantia is scarce 
 buried, and you would have me offend her ! No, my 
 Prince,' added she with more softness, ' no, no, she 
 whom you have heaped so many favours on, will not 
 call down the anger of Heaven, and the contempt of 
 men upon her, by an action so perfidious. Be not 
 obstinate then in a design in which I will never show 
 you favour. You owe to Constantia, after her death, 
 a fidelity that may justify you : and I, to repair the 
 ills I have made her suffer, ought to shun all converse 
 with you.' ' Go, madam,' replied the Prince, growing 
 pale, ' go, and expect the news of my death ; in that 
 part of the world, whither your cruelty shall lead you, 
 the news shall follow close after ; you shall quickly 
 hear of it : and I will go seek it in those wars which 
 reign among my neighbours.' 
 
 These words made the fair Agnes de Castro per- 
 ceive that her innocency was not so great as she 
 imagined, and that her heart interested itself in the 
 preservation of Don Pedro : ' You ought, sir, to pre- 
 serve your life,' replied Agnes, ' for the sake of the 
 little Prince and Princesses, which Constantia has left 
 you. Would you abandon their youth,' continued 
 she, with a tender tone, ' to the cruelty of Don Alvaro ? 
 Live ! sir, live ! and let the unhappy Agnes be the 
 only sacrifice.' ' Alas, cruel maid ! ' interrupted Don 
 Pedro, ' why do you command me to live, if I cannot
 
 196 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 live with you ? Is it an effect of your hatred ? ' ' No, 
 sir,' replied Agnes, ' I do not hate you ; and I wish to 
 God that I could be able to defend myself against the 
 weakness with which I find myself possessed. Oblige 
 me to say no more, sir : you see my blushes, interpret 
 them as you please : but consider yet, that the less 
 aversion I find I have to you, the more culpable I am ; 
 and that I ought no more to see, or speak to you. In 
 fine, sir, if you oppose my retreat, I declare to you, 
 that Don Alvaro, as odious as he is to me, shall serve 
 for a defence against you ; and that I will sooner con- 
 sent to marry a man I abhor, than to favour a passion 
 that cost Constantia her life.' ' Well then, Agnes,' re- 
 plied the Prince, with looks all languishing and dying, 
 ' follow the motions which barbarous virtue inspires 
 you with ; take these measures you judge necessary 
 against an unfortunate lover, and enjoy the glory of 
 having cruelly refused me.' 
 
 At these words he went away ; and troubled as 
 Agnes was, she would not stay him. Her courage 
 combated with her grief, and she thought now, more 
 than ever, of departing. 
 
 It was difficult for her to go out of Coimbra; and not 
 to defer what appeared to her so necessary, she went 
 immediately to the apartment of the King, notwith- 
 standing the interest of Don Alvaro. The King re- 
 ceived her with a countenance severe, not being able 
 to consent to what she demanded : ' You shall not go 
 hence,' said he, ' and if you are wise, you shall enjoy 
 here with Don Alvaro both my friendship and my 
 favour.' ' I have taken another resolution,' answered 
 Agnes, ' and the world has no part in it.' ' You will 
 accept Don Pedro,' replied the King, 'his fortune is 
 sufficient to satisfy an ambitious maid : but you will 
 not succeed Constantia, who loved you so tenderly ; 
 and Spain has Princesses enough to fill up part of the 
 throne which I shall leave him.' ' Sir,' replied Agnes, 
 piqued at this discourse, ' if I had a disposition to love, 
 and a design to marry, perhaps the Prince might be
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 197 
 
 the only person on whom I would fix it. And you 
 know, if my ancestors did not possess crowns, yet 
 they were worthy to wear them. But let it be how 
 it will, I am resolved to depart, and to remain no 
 longer a slave in a place to which I came free.' 
 
 This bold answer, which showed the character of 
 Agnes, angered and astonished the King. 'You 
 shall go when we think fit,' replied he, ' and without 
 being a slave at Coimbra, you shall attend our order/ 
 
 Agnes saw she must stay, and was so grieved at 
 it, that she kept her chamber several days, without 
 daring to inform herself of the Prince ; and this 
 retirement spared her the affliction of being visited 
 by Don Alvaro. 
 
 During this, Don Pedro fell sick, and was in so 
 great danger, that there was a general apprehension 
 of his death. Agnes did not in the least doubt, but it 
 was an effect of his discontent : she thought at first 
 she had strength and resolution enough to see him 
 die, rather than to favour him ; but had she reflected 
 a little, she had soon been convinced to the con- 
 trary. She found not in her heart that cruel constancy 
 she thought there so well established. She felt pains 
 and inquietude, shed tears, made wishes ; and, in fine, 
 discovered that she loved. 
 
 It was impossible to see the heir of the crown, 
 a Prince that deserved so well, even at the point 
 of death, without a general affliction. The people 
 who loved him, passed whole days at the palace gate 
 to hear news of him. The Court was all overwhelmed 
 with grief. 
 
 Don Alvaro knew very well how to conceal a 
 malicious joy, under an appearance of sadness. 
 Elvira, full of tenderness, and perhaps of remorse, 
 suffered also on her side. The King, although he 
 condemned the love of his son, yet still had a tender- 
 ness for him, and could not resolve to lose him. 
 Agnes de Castro, who knew the cause of his dis- 
 temper, expected the end of it with strange anxieties.
 
 198 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 In fine, after a month had passed away in fears, they 
 began to have a little hopes of his recovery. The 
 Prince and Don Alvaro were the only persons that 
 were not glad of it : but Agnes rejoiced enough for 
 all the rest. 
 
 Don Pedro, seeing that he must live whether he 
 would or no, thought of nothing but passing his days 
 in melancholy and discontent. As soon as he was in 
 a condition to walk, he sought out the most solitary 
 places, and gained so much upon his own weakness, 
 to go everywhere, where Agnes was not ; but her idea 
 followed him always, and his memory, faithful to 
 represent her to him with all her charms, rendered 
 her always dangerous. 
 
 One day, when they had carried him into the 
 garden, he sought out a labyrinth which was at the 
 farthest part of it, to hide his melancholy, during 
 some hours ; there he found the sad Agnes, whom 
 grief, little different from his, had brought thither; 
 the sight of her whom he expected not, made him 
 tremble. She saw by his pale and meagre face the 
 remains of his distemper ; his eyes full of languish- 
 ment troubled her, and though her desire was so great 
 to have fled from him, an unknown power stopped 
 her, and it was impossible for her to go. 
 
 After some moments of silence, which many sighs 
 interrupted, Don Pedro raised himself from the place 
 where his weakness had forced him to sit ; he made 
 Agnes see, as he approached her, the sad marks of 
 his sufferings : and not content with the pity he saw 
 in her eyes, ' You have resolved my death then, cruel 
 Agnes,' said he, ' my desire was the same with yours ; 
 but Heaven has thought fit to reserve me for other 
 misfortunes, and I see you again, as unhappy, but 
 more in love than ever.' 
 
 There was no need of these words to move Agnes 
 to compassion, the languishment of the Prince spoke 
 enough : and the heart of this fair maid was but too 
 much disposed to yield itself. She thought then that
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 199 
 
 Constantia ought to be satisfied ; love, which com- 
 bated for Don Pedro, triumphed over friendship, and 
 found that happy moment, for which the Prince of 
 Portugal had so long sighed. 
 
 ' Do not reproach me, for that which has cost me 
 more than you, sir,' replied she, 'and do not accuse 
 a heart, which is neither ungrateful nor barbarous : 
 and I must tell you, that I love you. But now I have 
 made you that confession, what is it farther that you 
 require of me?' Don Pedro, who expected not a 
 change so favourable, felt a double satisfaction ; and 
 falling at the feet of Agnes, he expressed more by the 
 silence his passion created, than he coujd have done 
 by the most eloquent words. 
 
 After having known all his good fortune, he then 
 consulted with the amiable Agnes, what was to be 
 feared from the King ; they concluded that the cruel 
 billet, which so troubled the last days of Constantia, 
 could come from none but Elvira and Don Alvaro. 
 The Prince, who knew that his father had searched 
 already an alliance for him, and was resolved on his 
 favourite's marrying Agnes, conjured her so tenderly 
 to prevent these persecutions, by consenting to a 
 secret marriage, that, after having a long time con- 
 sidered, she at last consented. ' I will do what you 
 will have me,' said she, ' though I presage nothing but 
 fatal events from it ; all my blood turns to ice, when 
 I think of this marriage, and the image of Constantia 
 seems to hinder me from doing it.' 
 
 The amorous Prince surmounted all her scruples, 
 and separated himself from Agnes, with a satisfaction 
 which soon redoubled his forces ; he saw her after- 
 ward with the pleasure of a mystery. And the day 
 of their union being arrived, Don Gill, Bishop of 
 Guarda, performed the ceremony of the marriage, in 
 the presence of several witnesses, faithful to Don 
 Pedro, who saw him possessor of all the charms of 
 the fair Agnes. 
 
 She lived not the more peaceable for belonging to
 
 200 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 the Prince of Portugal ; her enemies, who continually 
 persecuted her, left her not without troubles : and the 
 King, whom her refusal enraged, laid his absolute 
 commands on her to marry Don Alvaro, with threats 
 to force her to it, if she continued rebellious. 
 
 The Prince took loudly her part ; and this, joined 
 to the refusal he made of marrying the Princess of 
 Aragon, caused suspicions of the truth in the King 
 his father. He was seconded by those that were too 
 much interested, not to unriddle this secret. Don 
 A) varo and his sister acted with so much care, gave 
 sc many gifts, and made so many promises, that they 
 discovered the secret engagements of Don Pedro and 
 Agnes. 
 
 The King wanted but little of breaking out into all 
 the rage and fury so great a disappointment could 
 inspire him with, against the Princess. Don Alvaro, 
 whose love was changed into the most violent hatred, 
 appeased the first transports of the King, by making 
 him comprehend, that if they could break the marriage 
 of them, that would not be a sufficient revenge ; and 
 so poisoned the soul of the King, to consent to the 
 death of Agnes. 
 
 The barbarous Don Alvaro offered his arm for this 
 terrible execution, and his rage was security for the 
 sacrifice. 
 
 The King, who thought the glory of his family dis- 
 graced by this alliance, and his own in particular in the 
 procedure of his son, gave full power to this murderer, 
 to make the innocent Agnes a victim to his rage. 
 
 It was not easy to execute this horrid design. 
 Though the Prince saw Agnes but in secret, yet all 
 his cares were still awake for her, and he was married 
 to her above a year, before Don Alvaro could find out 
 an opportunity so long sought for. 
 
 The Prince diverted himself but little, and very 
 rarely went far from Coimbra ; but on a day, an 
 unfortunate day, and marked out by Heaven for an 
 unheard-of and horrid assassination, he made a party
 
 AGNES DE CASTRO 201 
 
 to hunt at a fine house, which the King of Portugal 
 had near the city. 
 
 Agnes loved everything that gave the Prince satis- 
 faction ; but a secret trouble made her apprehend 
 some misfortune in this unhappy journey. ' Sir,' said 
 she to him, alarmed, without knowing the reason why, 
 ' I tremble, seeing you to-day as it were designed the 
 last of my life. Preserve yourself, my dear Prince ; 
 and though the exercise you take be not very dan- 
 gerous, beware of the least hazards, and bring me 
 back all that I trust with you.' Don Pedro, who had 
 never found her so handsome and so charming before, 
 embraced her several times, and went out of the 
 palace with his followers, with a design not to return 
 till the next day. 
 
 He was no sooner gone, but the cruel Don Alvaro 
 prepared himself for the execution he had resolved 
 on ; he thought it of that importance, that it required 
 more hands than his own, and so chose for his com- 
 panions Don Lopez Pacheo, and Pedro Cuello, two 
 monsters like himself, whose cruelty he was assured 
 of by the presents he had made them. 
 
 They waited the coming of the night, and the 
 lovely Agnes was in her first sleep, which was the 
 last of her life, when these assassins approached her 
 bed. Nothing made resistance to Don Alvaro, who 
 could do everything, and whom the blackest furies 
 introduced to Agnes ; she wakened, and opening her 
 curtains, saw, by the candle burning in her chamber, 
 the poniard with which Don Alvaro was armed; he 
 having his face not covered, she easily knew him, and 
 forgetting herself, to think of nothing but the Prince: 
 'Just Heaven,' said she, lifting up her fine eyes, 'if 
 you will revenge Constantia, satisfy yourself with my 
 blood only, and spare that of Don Pedro.' The 
 barbarous man that heard her, gave her not time to 
 say more; and finding he could never (by all he could 
 do by love) touch the heart of the fair Agnes, he 
 pierced it with his poniard : his accomplices gave her
 
 202 AGNES DE CASTRO 
 
 several wounds, though there was no necessity of so 
 many to put an end to an innocent life. 
 
 What a sad spectacle was this for those who ap- 
 proached her bed the next day ! And what dismal 
 news was this to the unfortunate Prince of Portugal ! 
 He returned to Coimbra at the first report of this 
 adventure, and saw what had certainly cost him his 
 life, if men could die of grief. After having a 
 thousand times embraced the bloody body of Agnes, 
 and said all that a just despair could inspire him 
 with, he ran like a madman into the palace, demand- 
 ing the murderers of his wife, of things that could not 
 hear him. In fine, he saw the King, and without ob- 
 serving any respect, he gave a loose to his resent- 
 ment : after having railed a long time, overwhelmed 
 with grief, he fell into a swoon, which continued all 
 that day. They carried him into his apartment : and 
 the King, believing that his misfortune would prove 
 his cure, repented not of what he had permitted. 
 
 Don Alvaro, and the two other assassins, quitted 
 Coimbra. This absence of theirs made them appear 
 guilty of the crime ; for which the afflicted Prince 
 vowed a speedy vengeance to the ghost of his lovely 
 Agnes, resolving to pursue them to the uttermost 
 part of the universe. He got a considerable number 
 of men together, sufficient to have made resistance, 
 even to the King of Portugal himself, if he should yet 
 take the part of the murderers : with these he ravaged 
 the whole country, as far as the Duero Waters, and 
 carried on a war, even till the death of the King, con- 
 tinually mixing tears with blood, which he gave to 
 the revenge of his dearest Agnes. 
 
 Such was the deplorable end of the unfortunate 
 love of Don Pedro of Portugal, and of the fair Agnes 
 de Castro, whose remembrance he faithfully preserved 
 in his heart, even upon the throne, to which he 
 mounted, by the right of his birth, after the death of 
 the King.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 OR THE ART OF MAKING LOVE 
 
 THE ARGUMENT 
 
 IT is in the most happy and august Court of the 
 best and greatest monarch of the world, that Damon, 
 a young nobleman, whom we will render under that 
 name, languishes for a maid of quality, who will give 
 us leave to call her Iris. 
 
 Their births are equally illustrious ; they are both 
 rich, and both young ; their beauty such as I do not 
 too nicely particularise, lest I should discover (which 
 I am not permitted to do) who these charming lovers 
 are. Let it suffice, that Iris is the most fair and 
 accomplished person that ever adorned a Court ; and 
 that Damon is only worthy of the glory of her 
 favour ; for he has all that can render him lovely 
 in the fair eyes of the amiable Iris. Nor is he 
 master of those superficial beauties alone, that please 
 at first sight ; he can charm the soul with a thousand 
 arts of wit and gallantry. And, in a word, I may 
 say, without flattering either, that there is no one 
 beauty, no one grace, no perfection of mind and 
 body, that wants to complete a victory on both sides. 
 
 The agreement of age, fortunes, quality and 
 
 humours in these two fair lovers, made the impatient 
 
 Damon hope, that nothing would oppose his passion ; 
 
 and if he saw himself every hour languishing for the 
 
 203
 
 204 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 adorable maid, he did not however despair. And if 
 Iris sighed, it was not for fear of being one day more 
 happy. 
 
 In the midst of the tranquillity of these two lovers, 
 Iris was obliged to go into the country for some 
 months, whither it was impossible for Damon to wait 
 on her, he being obliged to attend the King his 
 master ; and being the most amorous of his sex, 
 suffered with extreme impatience the absence of his 
 mistress. Nevertheless, he failed not to send to her 
 every day, and gave up all his melancholy hours to 
 thinking, sighing, and writing to her the softest letters 
 that love could inspire. So that Iris even blessed 
 that absence that gave her so tender and convincing 
 proofs of his passion ; and found this dear way of 
 conversing, even recompensed all her sighs for his 
 absence. 
 
 After a little intercourse of this kind, Damon be- 
 thought himself to ask Iris a discretion which he had 
 won of her before she left the town ; and in a billet- 
 doux to that purpose, pressed her very earnestly for 
 it Iris being infinitely pleased with his importunity, 
 suffered him to ask it often ; and he never failed of 
 doing so. 
 
 But as I do not here design to relate the adventures 
 of these two amiable persons, nor give you all the 
 billet-douxs that passed between them ; you shall 
 here find nothing but the watch this charming maid 
 sent her impatient lover. 
 
 IRIS TO DAMON 
 
 IT must be confessed, Damon, that you are the most 
 importuning man in the world. Your billets have a 
 hundred times demanded a discretion, which you won 
 of me ; and tell me, will you not wait my return to 
 be paid ? You are either a very faithless creditor, or
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 205 
 
 believe me very unjust, that you dun with such im- 
 patience. But to let you see that I am a maid of 
 honour, and value my word, I will acquit myself of 
 this obligation I have to you, and send you a watch 
 of my fashion ; perhaps you never saw any so good. 
 It is not one of those that have always something to 
 be mended in it : but one that is without fault, very 
 just and good, and will remain so as long as you con- 
 tinue to love me : but, Damon, know, that the very 
 minute you cease to do so, the string will break, and 
 it will go no more. 'Tis only useful in my absence, 
 and when I return 'twill change its motion : and 
 though I have set it but for the springtime, it will 
 serve you the whole year round : and it will be neces- 
 sary only that you alter the business of the hours 
 (which my cupid, in the middle of my watch, points 
 you out) according to the length of the days and nights. 
 Nor is the dart of that little god directed to those 
 hours, so much to inform you how they pass, as how 
 you ought to pass them ; how you ought to employ 
 those of your absence from Iris. 'Tis there you shall 
 find the whole business of a lover, from his mistress ; 
 for I have designed it a rule to all your actions. The 
 consideration of the workman ought to make you set 
 a value upon the work : and though it be not an ac- 
 complished and perfect piece; yet, Damon, you 
 ought to be grateful and esteem it, since I have made 
 it for you alone. But however I may boast of the 
 design, I know, as well as I believe you love me, that 
 you will not suffer me to have the glory of it wholly, 
 but will say in your heart : 
 
 That Love, the great instructor of the mind, 
 That forms anew, and fashions every soul, 
 Refines the gross defects of human kind ; 
 
 Humbles the proud and vain, inspires the dull j 
 Gives cowards noble heat in fight, 
 And teaches feeble women how to write : 
 That doth the universe command, 
 Does from my Iris' heart direct her hand.
 
 206 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 I give you the liberty to say this to your heart, if you 
 please: and that you may know with what justice 
 you do so, I will confess in my turn. 
 
 THE CONFESSION 
 
 That Love's my conduct where I go, 
 
 And Love instructs me all I do. 
 
 Prudence no longer is my guide, 
 
 Nor take I counsel of my pride. 
 
 In vain does honour now invade, 
 
 In vain does reason take my part, 
 
 If against Love it do persuade, 
 
 If it rebel against my heart. 
 
 If the soft evening do invite, 
 
 And I incline to take the air, 
 
 The birds, the spring, the flow'rs no more delight : 
 
 'Tis Love makes all the pleasure there : 
 
 Love, which about me still I bear ; 
 
 I'm charm'd with what I thither bring, 
 
 And add a softness to the spring. 
 
 If for devotion I design, 
 
 Love meets me, even at the shrine ; 
 
 In all my worship claims a part, 
 
 And robs even Heaven of my heart : 
 
 All day does counsel and control, 
 
 And all the night employs my soul. 
 
 No wonder then if all you think be true, 
 
 That Love's concerned in all I do for you. 
 
 And, Damon, you know that Love is no ill master ; 
 and I must say, with a blush, that he has found me 
 no unapt scholar ; and he instructs too agreeably not 
 to succeed in all he undertakes. 
 
 Who can resist his soft commands ? 
 When he resolves, what God withstands ? 
 
 But I ought to explain to you my watch : the 
 naked cupid which you will find in the middle of it, 
 with his wings clipped, to show you he is fixed and 
 constant, and will not fly away, points you out with 
 his arrow the four-and-twenty hours that compose 
 the day and the night : over every hour you will
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 207 
 
 find written what you ought to do, during its course ; 
 and every half-hour is marked with a sigh, since the 
 quality of a lover is, to sigh day and night : sighs are 
 the children of lovers, that are born every hour. 
 And that my watch may always be just, Love himself 
 ought to conduct it ; and your heart should keep 
 time with the movement : 
 
 My present's delicate and new, 
 
 If by your heart the motion's set ; 
 According as that's false or true, 
 You'll find my Watch will answer it. 
 
 Every hour is tedious to a lover, separated from 
 his mistress : and to show you how good I am, I will 
 have my watch instruct you, to pass some of them 
 without inquietude ; that the force of your imagina- 
 tion may sometimes charm the trouble you have for 
 my absence : 
 
 Perhaps I am mistaken here, 
 
 My heart may too much credit give : 
 
 But, Damon, you can charm my fear, 
 And soon my error undeceive. 
 
 But I will not disturb my repose at this time with 
 a jealousy, which I hope is altogether frivolous and 
 vain ; but begin to instruct you in the mysteries of 
 my watch. Cast then your eyes upon the eighth hour 
 in the morning, which is the hour I would have you 
 begin to wake : you will find there written : 
 
 EIGHT O'CLOCK 
 
 AGREEABLE REVERIE 
 
 Do not rise yet ; you may find thoughts agreeable 
 enough, when you awake, to entertain you longer in 
 bed. And 'tis in that hour you ought to recollect all 
 the dreams you had in the night. If you had 
 dreamed anything to my advantage, confirm yourself
 
 208 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 in that thought ; but if to my disadvantage, renounce 
 it, and disown the injurious dream. It is in this 
 hour also that I give you leave to reflect on all that I 
 have ever said and done, that has been most obliging 
 to you, and that gives you the most tender sentiments. 
 
 THE REFLECTIONS 
 
 Remember, Damon, while your mind 
 
 Reflects on things that charm and please, 
 You give me proofs that you are kind, 
 
 And set my doubting soul at ease : 
 For when your heart receives with joy 
 
 The thoughts of favours which I give, 
 My smiles in vain I not employ, 
 
 And on the square we love and live. 
 
 Think then on all I ever did, 
 
 That e'er was charming, e'er was dear ; 
 Let nothing from that soul be hid, 
 
 Whose griefs and joys I feel and share. 
 All that your love and faith have sought, 
 All that your vows and sighs have bought, 
 Now render present to your thought. 
 
 And for what's to come, I give you leave, Damon, 
 to flatter yourself and to expect, I shall still pursue 
 those methods, whose remembrance charms so well. 
 But, if it be possible, conceive these kind thoughts 
 between sleeping and waking, that all my too for- 
 ward complaisance, my goodness, and my tenderness, 
 which I confess to have for you, may pass for half 
 dreams : for it is most certain 
 
 That though the favours of the fair 
 
 Are ever to the lover dear ; 
 
 Yet, lest he should reproach that easy flame, 
 
 That buys its satisfaction with its shame ; 
 
 She ought but rarely to confess 
 
 How much she finds of tenderness ; 
 
 Nicely to guard the yielding part, 
 
 And hide the hard-kept secret in her heart
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 209 
 
 For, let me tell you, Damon, though the passion of a 
 woman of honour be ever so innocent, and the lover 
 ever so discreet and honest ; her heart feels I know 
 not what of reproach within, at the reflection of any 
 favours she has allowed him. For my part, I never 
 call to mind the least soft or kind word I have 
 spoken to Damon, without finding at the same 
 instant my face covered over with blushes, and my 
 heart with sensible pain. I sigh at the remembrance 
 of every touch I have stolen from his hand, and have 
 upbraided my soul, which confesses so much guilty 
 love, as that secret desire of touching him made 
 appear. I am angry at the discovery, though I am 
 pleased at the same time with the satisfaction I take 
 in doing so ; and ever disordered at the remembrance 
 of such arguments of too much love. And these un- 
 quiet sentiments alone are sufficient to persuade me, 
 that our sex cannot be reserved too much. And I 
 have often, on these occasions, said to myself: 
 
 THE RESERVE 
 
 Though Damon every virtue have, 
 
 With all that pleases in his form, 
 That can adorn the just and brave, 
 
 That can the coldest bosom warm ; 
 Though wit and honour there abound, 
 
 Yet the pursuer's ne'er pursued, 
 And when my weakness he has found, 
 
 His love will sink to gratitude : 
 While on the asking part he lives, 
 'Tis she th' obliger is who gives. 
 
 And he that at one throw the stake has won 
 Gives over play, since all the stock is gone. 
 And what dull gamester ventures certain store 
 With losers who can set no more ?
 
 210 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 NINE O'CLOCK 
 
 DESIGN TO PLEASE NOBODY 
 
 I should continue to accuse you of that vice I have 
 often done, that of laziness, if you remained past 
 this hour in bed : it is time for you to rise ; my watch 
 tells you it is nine o'clock. Remember that I am 
 absent, therefore do not take too much pains in dress- 
 ing yourself, and setting your person off. 
 
 THE QUESTION 
 
 Tell me ! What can he design, 
 Who in his mistress' absence will be fine? 
 
 Why does he cock, and comb, and dress ? 
 Why is his cravat string in print ? 
 
 What does th' embroidered coat confess ? 
 
 Why to the glass this long address, 
 If there be nothing in 't ? 
 If no new conquest is design'd, 
 If no new beauty fill his mind ? 
 Let fools and fops, whose talents lie 
 
 In being neat, in being spruce, 
 Be dressed in vain, and tawdery ; 
 
 With men of sense, 'tis out of use : 
 The only folly that distinction sets 
 Between the noisy fluttering fools and wits. 
 Remember, Iris is away ; 
 
 And sighing to your valet cry, 
 Spare your perfumes and care to-day, 
 I have no business to be gay, 
 
 Since Iris is not by. 
 I'll be all negligent in dress, 
 
 And scarce set off for complaisance : 
 Put me on nothing that may please, 
 
 But only such as may give no offence. 
 
 Say to yourself, as you are dressing, ' Would it 
 please Heaven, that I might see Iris to-day ! But 
 oh ! it is impossible : therefore all that I shall see will
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 211 
 
 be but indifferent objects, since it is Iris only that 
 I wish to see.' And sighing, whisper to yourself: 
 
 THE SIGH 
 
 Ah ! charming object of my wishing thought 1 
 
 Ah ! soft idea of a distant bliss ! 
 That only art in dreams and fancy brought, 
 
 That give short intervals of happiness. 
 But when I waking find thou absent art, 
 
 And with thee, all that I adore, 
 What pains, what anguish fills my heart ! 
 
 What sadness seizes me all o'er! 
 All entertainments I neglect, 
 
 Since Iris is no longer there : 
 Beauty scarce claims my bare respect, 
 
 Since in the throng I find not her. 
 Ah then ! how vain it were to dress, and show j 
 Since all I wish to please, is absent now ! 
 
 It is with these thoughts, Damon, that your mind 
 ought to be employed, during your time of dressing. 
 And you are too knowing in love, to be ignorant 
 
 That when a lover ceases to be blest 
 
 With the object he desires, 
 Ah ! how indifferent are the rest ! 
 
 How soon their conversation tires ! 
 Though they a thousand arts to please invent, 
 Their charms are dull, their wit impertinent. 
 
 TEN O'CLOCK 
 
 READING OF LETTERS 
 
 My cupid points you now the hour in which you 
 ought to retire into your cabinet, having already passed 
 an hour in dressing : and for a lover, who is sure not 
 to appear before his mistress, even that hour is too 
 much to be so employed. But I will think, you 
 thought of nothing less than dressing while you were
 
 2i2 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 about it. Lose then no more minutes, but open your 
 escritoire, and read over some of those billets you have 
 received from me. Oh ! what pleasures a lover feels 
 about his heart, in reading those from a mistress he 
 entirely loves ! 
 
 THE JOY 
 
 Who, but a lover, can express 
 The joys, the pants, the tenderness, 
 That the soft amorous soul invades, 
 While the dear billet-doux he reads ? 
 Raptures divine the heart o'erflow, 
 Which he that loves not cannot know. 
 
 A thousand tremblings, thousand fears, 
 The short-breathed sighs, the joyful tears ! 
 The transport, where the love's confessed ; 
 The change, where coldness is expressed j 
 The diff'ring flames the lover burns, 
 As those are shy, or kind, by turns. 
 
 However you find them, Damon, construe them all 
 to my advantage : possibly, some of them have an air 
 of coldness, something different from that softness 
 they are usually too amply filled with ; but where you 
 find they have, believe there, that the sense of honour, 
 and my sex's modesty, guided my hand a little against 
 the inclinations of my heart ; and that it was as a kind 
 of an atonement, I believed I ought to make, for 
 something I feared I had said too kind, and too 
 obliging before. But wherever you find that stop, 
 that check in my career of love, you will be sure to 
 find something that follows it to favour you, and 
 deny that unwilling imposition upon my heart ; which, 
 lest you should mistake, love shows himself in smiles 
 again, and flatters more agreeably, disdaining the 
 tyranny of honour and rigid custom, that imposition 
 upon our sex ; and will, in spite of me, let you see he 
 reigns absolutely in my soul. 
 
 The reading my billet-doux may detain you an 
 hour : I have had so much goodness to write you
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 213 
 
 enough to entertain you so long at least, and some- 
 times reproach myself for it ; but, contrary to all my 
 scruples, I find myself disposed to give you those 
 frequent marks of my tenderness. If yours be so 
 great as you express it, you ought to kiss my letters 
 a thousand times ; you ought to read them with atten- 
 tion, and weigh every word, and value every line. A 
 lover may receive a thousand endearing words from 
 a mistress, more easily than a billet. One says a great 
 many kind things of course to a lover, which one is 
 not willing to write, or to give testified under one's 
 hand, signed and sealed. But when once a lover has 
 brought his mistress to that degree of love, he ought 
 to assure himself, she loves not at the common rate. 
 
 LOVE'S WITNESS 
 
 Slight unpremeditated words are borne 
 By every common wind into the air ; 
 
 Carelessly uttered, die as soon as born, 
 And in one instant give both hope and fear : 
 
 Breathing all contraries with the same wind, 
 
 According to the caprice of the mind. 
 
 But billet-doux are constant witnesses, 
 
 Substantial records to eternity ; 
 Just evidence, who the truth confess, 
 
 On which the lover safely may rely ; 
 They're serious thoughts, digested and resolved ; 
 And last when words are into clouds devolved. 
 
 I will not doubt, but you give credit to all that 
 is kind in my letters; and I will believe, you find 
 a satisfaction in the entertainment they give you, and 
 that the hour of reading them is not disagreeable to 
 you. I could wish, your pleasure might be extreme, 
 even to the degree of suffering the thought of my 
 absence not to diminish any part of it. And I could 
 wish too, at the end of your reading, you would sigh 
 with pleasure, and say to yourself:
 
 214 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 THE TRANSPORT 
 
 O Iris ! While you thus can charm, 
 While at this distance you can wound and warm ; 
 My absent torments I will bless and bear, 
 That give me such dear proofs how kind you are. 
 Present, the valued store was only seen, 
 Now I am rifling the bright mass within. 
 
 Every dear, past, and happy day, 
 When languishing at Iris' feet I lay ; 
 When all my prayers and all my tears could move 
 No more than her permission, I should love : 
 Vain with my glorious destiny, 
 I thought, beyond, scarce any Heaven could be. 
 
 But, charming maid, now I am taught, 
 That absence has a thousand joys to give, 
 On which the lovers present never thought, 
 That recompense the hours we grieve. 
 Rather by absence let me be undone, 
 Than forfeit all the pleasures that has won. 
 
 With this little rapture, I wish you would finish 
 the reading my letters, shut your escritoire, and quit 
 your cabinet ; for my love leads to eleven o'clock. 
 
 ELEVEN O'CLOCK 
 
 THE HOUR TO WRITE IN 
 
 If my watch did not inform you it is now time to 
 write, I believe, Damon, your heart would, and tell 
 you also that I should take it kindly, if you would 
 employ a whole hour that way ; and that you should 
 never lose an occasion of writing to me, since you 
 are assured of the welcome I give your letters. 
 Perhaps you will say, an hour is too much, and that 
 it is not the mode to write long letters. I grant you, 
 Damon, when we write those indifferent ones of 
 gallantry in course, or necessary compliment; the 
 handsome comprising of which in the fewest words,
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 215 
 
 renders them the most agreeable : but in love we 
 have a thousand foolish things to say, that of them- 
 selves bear no great sound, but have a mighty sense 
 in love ; for there is a peculiar eloquence natural 
 alone to a lover, and to be understood by no other 
 creature. To those, words have a thousand graces 
 and sweetnesses ; which, to the unconcerned, appear 
 meanness, and easy sense, at the best. But, Damon, 
 you and I are none of those ill judges of the beauties 
 of love ; we can penetrate beyond the vulgar, and 
 perceive the fine soul in every line, through all the 
 humble dress of phrase; when possibly they who 
 think they discern it best in florid language, do not 
 see it at all. Love was not born or bred in courts, 
 but cottages; and, nursed in groves and shades, smiles 
 on the plains, and wantons in the streams ; all un- 
 adored and harmless. Therefore, Damon, do not 
 consult your wit in this affair, but love alone ; speak 
 all that he and nature taught you, and let the fine 
 things you learn in schools alone. Make use of those 
 flowers you have gathered there, when you conversed 
 with statesmen and the gown. Let Iris possess your 
 heart in all its simple innocence, that is the best 
 eloquence to her that loves : and that is my instruc- 
 tion to a lover that would succeed in his amours ; for 
 I have a heart very difficult to please, and this is the 
 nearest way to it. 
 
 ADVICE TO LOVERS 
 
 Lovers, if you would gain the heart 
 Of Damon, learn to win the prize ; 
 
 He'll show you all its tend'rest part, 
 And where its greatest danger lies ; 
 
 The magazine of its disdain, 
 
 Where honour, feebly guarded, does remain. 
 
 If present, do but little say ; 
 
 Enough the silent lover speaks : 
 But wait, and sigh, and gaze all day ; 
 
 Such rhetoric more than language takes. 
 For words the dullest way do move ; 
 And uttered more to show your wit than love.
 
 216 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 Let your eyes tell her of your heart ; 
 
 Its story is, for words, too delicate. 
 Souls thus exchange, and thus impart, 
 
 And all their secrets can relate. 
 A tear, a broken sigh, she'll understand ; 
 Or the soft trembling pressings of the hand. 
 
 Or if your pain must be in words exprest, 
 Let them fall gently, unassured, and slow ; 
 
 And where they fail, your looks may tell the rest : 
 Thus Damon spoke, and I was conquered so. 
 
 The witty talker has mistook his art ; 
 
 The modest lover only charms the heart. 
 
 Thus, while all day you gazing sit, 
 And fear to speak, and fear your fate, 
 
 You more advantages by silence get, 
 
 Than the gay forward youth with all his prate. 
 
 Let him be silent here ; but when away, 
 
 Whatever love can dictate, let him say. 
 
 There let the bashful soul unveil, 
 And give a loose to love and truth ; 
 
 Let him improve the amorous tale, 
 
 With all the force of words, and fire of youth ; 
 
 There all, and anything let him express ; 
 
 Too long he cannot write, too much confess. 
 
 O Damon ! How well have you made me under- 
 stand this soft pleasure ! You know my tenderness 
 too well, not to be sensible how I am charmed with 
 your agreeable long letters. 
 
 THE INVENTION 
 
 Ah ! he who first found out the way 
 
 Souls to each other to convey, 
 
 Without dull speaking, sure must be, 
 
 Something above humanity. 
 Let the fond world in vain dispute, 
 And the first sacred mystery impute 
 Of letters to the learned brood, 
 And of the glory cheat a god : 
 'Twas Love alone that first the art essayed, 
 And Psyche was the first fair yielding maid, 
 That was by the dear billet-doux betrayed.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 217 
 
 It is an art too ingenious to have been found out 
 by man, and too necessary to lovers, not to have 
 been invented by the god of love himself. But, 
 Damon, I do not pretend to exact from you those 
 letters of gallantry, which, I have told you, are filled 
 with nothing but fine thoughts, and writ with all the 
 arts of wit and subtilty : I would have yours still all 
 tender unaffected love, words unchosen, thoughts un- 
 studied, and love unfeigned. I had rather find more 
 softness than wit in your passion ; more of nature 
 than of art ; more of the lover than the poet. 
 
 Nor would I have you write any of those little 
 short letters, that are read over in a minute ; in love, 
 long letters bring a long pleasure : do not trouble 
 yourself to make them fine, or write a great deal of 
 wit and sense in a few lines ; that is the notion of a 
 witty billet, in any affair but that of love. And have 
 a care rather to avoid these graces to a mistress ; and 
 assure yourself, dear Damon, that what pleases the 
 soul pleases the eye, and the largeness or bulk of 
 your letter shall never offend me ; and that I only am 
 displeased when I find them small. A letter is ever the 
 best and most powerful agent to a mistress, it almost 
 always persuades, it is always renewing little im- 
 pressions, that possibly otherwise absence would 
 deface. Make use then, Damon, of your time while 
 it is given you, and thank me that I permit you to 
 write to me. Perhaps I shall not always continue in 
 the humour of suffering you to do so ; and it may so 
 happen, by some turn of chance and fortune, that you 
 may be deprived, at the same time, both of my 
 presence, and of the means of sending to me. I will 
 believe that such an accident would be a great mis- 
 fortune to you, for I have often heard you say, that 
 'To make the most happy lover suffer martyrdom, 
 one need only forbid him seeing, speaking and writing 
 to the object he loves.' Take all the advantages then 
 you can, you cannot give me too often marks too 
 powerful of your passion . write therefore during this
 
 218 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 hour, every day. I give you leave to believe, that 
 while you do so, you are serving me the most oblig- 
 ingly and agreeably you can, while absent ; and that 
 you are giving me a remedy against all grief, uneasi- 
 ness, melancholy, and despair ; nay, if you exceed 
 your hour, you need not be ashamed. The time you 
 employ in this kind devoir, is the time that I shall be 
 grateful for, and no doubt will recompense it. You 
 ought not however to neglect heaven for me ; I will 
 give you time for your devotion, for my watch tells 
 you it is time to go to the temple. 
 
 TWELVE O'CLOCK 
 
 INDISPENSABLE DUTY 
 
 There are certain duties which one ought never to 
 neglect : that of adoring the gods is of this nature ; 
 and which we ought to pay, from the bottom of our 
 hearts : and that, Damon, is the only time I will dis- 
 pense with your not thinking on me. But I would 
 not have you go to one of those temples, where the 
 celebrated beauties, and those that make a profession 
 of gallantry, go ; and who come thither only to see, 
 and be seen ; and whither they repair, more to show 
 their beauty and dress, than to honour the gods. If 
 you will take my advice, and oblige my wish, you 
 shall go to those that are least frequented, and you 
 shall appear there like a man that has a perfect 
 veneration for all things sacred. 
 
 THE INSTRUCTION 
 
 Damon, if your heart and flame, 
 You wish, should always be the same, 
 Do not give it leave to rove, 
 
 Nor expose it to new harms : 
 Ere you think on't, you may love, 
 
 If you gaze on beauty's charms : 
 If with me you would not part, 
 Turn your eyes into your heart.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 219 
 
 If you find a new desire 
 In your easy soul take fire, 
 From the tempting ruin fly ; 
 
 Think it faithless, think it base : 
 Fancy soon will fade and die, 
 
 If you wisely cease to gaze. 
 Lovers should have honour too, 
 Or they pay but half Love's due. 
 
 Dp not to the temple go, 
 With design to gaze or show : 
 Whate'er thoughts you have abroad, 
 
 Though you can deceive elsewhere, 
 There's no feigning with your God ; 
 
 Souls should be all perfect there. 
 The heart that's to the altar brought, 
 Only heaven should fill its thought. 
 
 Do not your sober thoughts perplex, 
 By gazing on the ogling sex : 
 Or if beauty call your eyes, 
 
 Do not on the object dwell ; 
 Guard your heart from the surprise, 
 
 By thinking Iris doth excel. 
 Above all earthly things I'd be, 
 Damon, most beloved by thee ; 
 And only heaven must rival me. 
 
 ONE O'CLOCK 
 
 FORCED ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 I perceive it will be very difficult to you to quit the 
 temple, without being surrounded with compliments 
 from people of ceremony, friends, and newsmongers, 
 and several of those sorts of persons, who afflict and 
 busy themselves, and rejoice at a hundred things they 
 have no interest in ; coquettes and politicians, who 
 make it the business of their whole lives, to gather all 
 the news of the town ; adding or diminishing accord- 
 ing to the stock of their wit and invention, and 
 spreading it all abroad to the believing fools and 
 gossips ; and perplexing everybody with a hundred
 
 220 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 ridiculous novels, which they pass off for wit and 
 entertainment. Or else some of those recounters of 
 adventures, that are always telling of intrigues, and 
 that make a secret to a hundred people of a thousand 
 foolish things they have heard : like a certain pert 
 and impertinent lady of the town, whose youth and 
 beauty being past, set up for wit, to uphold a feeble 
 empire over hearts ; and whose character is this : 
 
 THE COQUETTE 
 
 Milanda, who had never been 
 Esteem'd a beauty at fifteen. 
 Always amorous was, and kind : 
 
 To every swain she lent an ear ; 
 Free as air, but false as wind ; 
 
 Yet none complained she was severe. 
 She eased more than she made complain ; 
 Was always singing, pert, and vain. 
 
 Where'er the throng was, she was seen, 
 And swept the youths along the green 
 With equal grace she flattered all ; 
 
 And fondly proud of all address, 
 Her smiles invite, her eyes do call, 
 
 And her vain heart her looks confess. 
 She rallies this, to that she bowed, 
 Was talking ever, laughing loud. 
 
 On every side she makes advance, 
 And everywhere a confidence ; 
 She tells for secrets all she knows, 
 
 And all to know she does pretend : 
 Beauty in maids she treats as foes : 
 
 But every handsome youth as friend. 
 
 Scandal still passes off for truth ; 
 And noise and nonsense, wit and youth. 
 Coquette all o'er, and every part, 
 Yet wanting beauty, even of art ; 
 Herds with the ugly, and the old ; 
 
 And plays the critic on the rest : 
 Of men, the bashful, and the bold, 
 
 Either, and all, by turns, likes best : 
 Even now, though youth be languished, she 
 Sets up for love and gallantly.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 221 
 
 This sort of creature, Damon, is very dangerous ; not 
 that I fear you will squander away a heart upon her, 
 but your hours ; for, in spite of you, she'll detain you 
 with a thousand impertinences, and eternal tattle. 
 She passes for a judging wit ; and there is nothing 
 so troublesome as such a pretender. She, perhaps, 
 may get some knowledge of our correspondence ; 
 and then, no doubt, will improve it to my disadvan- 
 tage. Possibly she may rail at me; that is her 
 fashion by the way of friendly speaking; and an 
 awkward commendation, the most effectual way of 
 defaming and traducing. Perhaps she tells you, in 
 a cold tone, that you are a happy man to be beloved 
 by me : that Iris indeed is handsome, and she won- 
 ders she has no more lovers ; but the men are not 
 of her mind ; if they were, you should have more 
 rivals. She commends my face, but that I have blue 
 eyes, and it is a pity my complexion is no better : 
 my shape but too much inclining to fat. Cries she 
 would charm infinitely with her wit, but that she 
 knows too well she is mistress of it. And concludes, 
 
 but altogether she is well enough. Thus she 
 
 runs on without giving you leave to edge in a word 
 in my defence ; and ever and anon crying up her 
 own conduct and management : tells you how she is 
 oppressed with lovers, and fatigued with addresses; 
 and recommending herself, at every turn, with a per- 
 ceivable cunning. And all the while is jilting you 
 of your good opinion ; which she would buy at the 
 price of anybody's repose, or her own fame, though but 
 for the vanity of adding to the number of her lovers. 
 When she sees a new spark, the first thing she does, 
 she inquires into his estate ; if she finds it such as 
 may (if the coxcomb be well managed) supply her 
 vanity, she makes advances to him, and applies 
 herself to all those little arts, she usually makes use 
 of to gain her fools ; and according to his humour 
 dresses and affects her own. But, Damon, since 
 I point to no particular person in this character, I will
 
 222 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 not name who you should avoid ; but all of this sort 
 I conjure you, wheresoever you find them. But if 
 unlucky chance throw you in their way, hear all they 
 say, without credit or regard, as far as decency will 
 suffer you ; hear them without approving their fop- 
 pery ; and hear them without giving them cause to 
 censure you. But it is so much lost time to listen to 
 all the novels this sort of people will perplex you 
 with ; whose business is to be idle, and who even 
 tire themselves with their own impertinences. And 
 be assured after all there is nothing they can tell 
 you that is worth your knowing. And Damon, a 
 perfect lover never asks any news but of the maid 
 he loves. 
 
 THE INQUIRY 
 
 Damon, if your love be true 
 
 To the heart that you possess, 
 Tell me what you have to do 
 
 Where you have no tenderness ? 
 Her affairs who cares to learn, 
 For whom he has not some concern ? 
 
 If a lover fain would know 
 
 If the object loved be true, 
 
 Let her but industrious be 
 
 To watch his curiosity ; 
 Though ne'er so cold his questions seem, 
 They come from warmer thoughts within. 
 
 When I hear a swain inquire 
 
 What gay Melinda does to live. 
 I conclude there is some fire 
 
 In a heart inquisitive ; 
 Or 'tis, at least, the bill that's set 
 To show, the heart is to be let.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 223 
 
 TWO O'CLOCK 
 
 DINNER-TIME 
 
 Leave all those fond entertainments or you will 
 disoblige me, and make dinner wait for you ; for my 
 cupid tells you it is that hour. Love does not pre- 
 tend to make you lose that ; nor is it my province to 
 order you your diet. Here I give you a perfect liberty 
 to do what you please ; and possibly, it is the only 
 hour in the whole four-and-twenty that I will abso- 
 lutely resign you, or dispense with your even so 
 much as thinking on me. It is true, in seating your- 
 self at table, I would not have you placed over 
 against a very beautiful object ; for in such a one 
 there are a thousand little graces in speaking, looking, 
 and laughing, that fail not to charm, if one gives way 
 to the eyes, to gaze and wander that way ; in which, 
 perhaps, in spite of you, you will find a pleasure. 
 And while you do so, though without design or con- 
 cern, you give the fair charmer a sort of vanity in 
 believing you have placed yourself there, only for the 
 advantage of looking on her ; and she assumes a 
 hundred little graces and affectations which are not 
 natural to her, to complete a conquest, which she 
 believes so well begun already. She softens her 
 eyes, and sweetens her mouth ; and in fine, puts on 
 another air than when she had no design, and when 
 you did not, by your continual looking on her, rouse 
 her vanity, and increase her easy opinion of her own 
 charms. Perhaps she knows I have some interest in 
 your heart, and prides herself, at least, with believing 
 she has attracted the eyes of my lover, if not his 
 heart; and thinks it easy to vanquish the whole, if 
 she pleases ; and triumphs over me in her secret 
 imaginations. Remember, Damon, that while you 
 act thus in the company and conversation of other 
 beauties, every look or word you give in favour of
 
 224 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 them, is an indignity to my reputation ; and which 
 you cannot suffer if you love me truly, and with 
 honour : and assure yourself, so much vanity as you 
 inspire in her, so much fame you rob me of; for 
 whatever praises you give another beauty, so much 
 you take away from mine. Therefore, if you dine 
 in company, do as others do : be generally civil, not 
 applying yourself by words or looks to any par- 
 ticular person : be as gay as you please ; talk and 
 laugh with all, for this is not the hour for chagrin. 
 
 THE PERMISSION 
 
 My Damon, though I stint your love, 
 
 I will not stint your appetite ; 
 That I would have you still improve, 
 
 By every new and fresh delight. 
 Feast till Apollo hides his head, 
 Or drink the amorous god to Thetis' bed. 
 
 Be like yourself: all witty, gay ! 
 
 And o'er the bottle bless the board ; 
 The listening round will, all the day, 
 
 Be charmed, and pleased with every word. 
 Though Venus' son inspire your wit, 
 'Tis the Silenian god best utters it. 
 
 Here talk of everything but me, 
 
 Since ev'rything you say with grace : 
 If not disposed your humour be, 
 
 And you'd this hour in silence pass ; 
 Since something must the subject prove 
 Of Damon's thoughts, let it be me and Love. 
 
 But, Damon, this enfranchised hour, 
 No bounds, or laws, will I impose ; 
 But leave it wholly in your power, 
 
 What humour to refuse or choose : 
 I rules prescribe but to your flame ; 
 For I, your mistress, not physician, aro
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 225 
 
 THREE O'CLOCK 
 
 VISITS TO FRIENDS 
 
 Damon, my watch is juster than you imagine ; it 
 would not have you live retired and solitary, but 
 permits you to go and make visits. I am not one of 
 those that believe love and friendship cannot find 
 a place in one and the same heart. And that man 
 would be very unhappy, who, as soon as he had a 
 mistress, should be obliged to renounce the society 
 of his friends. I must confess I would not that you 
 should have so much concern for them, as you have 
 for me ; for I have heard a sort of a proverb that 
 says ' He cannot be very fervent in love, who is not 
 a little cold in friendship.' You are not ignorant, 
 that when Love establishes himself in a heart, he 
 reigns a tyrant there, and will not suffer even 
 friendship, if it pretend to share his empire there. 
 
 CUPID 
 
 Love is a god, whose charming sway 
 
 Both heaven, and earth, and seas obey ; 
 
 A power that will not mingled be 
 
 With any dull equality. 
 
 Since first from heaven, which gave him birth, 
 
 He ruled the empire of the earth ; 
 
 Jealous of sov'reign power he rules, 
 
 And will be absolute in souls. 
 
 I should be very angry if you had any of those 
 friendships which one ought to desire in a mistress 
 only ; for many times it happens that you have 
 sentiments a little too tender for those amiable 
 persons ; and many times love and friendship are so 
 confounded together, that one cannot easily discern 
 one from the other. I have seen a man flatter him- 
 self with an opinion, that he had but an esteem for 
 a woman, when by some turn of fortune in her life, 
 Q
 
 226 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 as marrying, or receiving the addresses of men, he 
 has found by spite and jealousies within, that that 
 was love, which he before took for complaisance or 
 friendship. Therefore have a care, for such amities 
 are dangerous : not but that a lover may have fair 
 and generous female friends, whom he ought to 
 visit; and perhaps I should esteem you less, if I 
 did not believe you were valued by such, if I were 
 perfectly assured they were friends and not lovers. 
 But have a care you hide not a mistress under this 
 veil, or that you gain not a lover by this pretence : 
 for you may begin with friendship, and end with 
 love ; and I should be equally afflicted should you give 
 it or receive it. And though you charge our sex with 
 all the vanity, yet I often find nature to have given 
 you as large a portion of that common crime, which 
 you would shuffle off, as ashamed to own ; and are 
 as fond and vain of the imagination of a conquest, 
 as any coquette of us all : though at the same time 
 you despise the victim, you think it adds a trophy 
 to your fame. And I have seen a man dress and 
 trick, and adjust his looks and mien to make a visit 
 to a woman he loved not, nor ever could love, as for 
 those he made to his mistress ; and only for the 
 vanity of making a conquest upon a heart, even 
 unworthy of the little pains he has taken about it. 
 And what is this but buying vanity at the expense 
 of ease ; and with fatigue to purchase the name 
 of a conceited fop, besides that of a dishonest man ? 
 For he who takes pains to make himself beloved, 
 only to please his curious humour, though he should 
 say nothing that tends to it, more than by his looks, 
 his sighs, and now and then breaking into praises 
 and commendations of the object ; by the care he 
 takes, to appear well dressed before her, and in good 
 order, he lies in his looks, he deceives with his mien 
 and fashion, and cheats with every motion, and every 
 grace he puts on. He cozens when he sings or 
 dances ; he dissembles when he sighs : and every-
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 227 
 
 thing he does that wilfully gains upon her, is malice 
 prepense, baseness, and art below a man of sense 
 or virtue : and yet these arts, these cozenages, are 
 the common practices of the town. What is this 
 but that damnable vice, of which they so reproach 
 our sex; that of jilting for hearts? And it is in 
 vain that my lover, after such foul play, shall think 
 to appease me, with saying ' He did it to try how 
 easy he could conquer, and of how great force his 
 charms were ; and why should I be angry if all the town 
 loved him, since he loved none but Iris ? ' Oh foolish 
 pleasure ! How little sense goes to the making of 
 such a happiness ! And how little love must he have 
 for one particular person, who would wish to inspire 
 it into all the world, and yet himself pretend to be 
 insensible! But this, Damon, is rather what is but 
 too much practised by your sex, than any guilt 
 I charge on you : though vanity be an ingredient 
 that nature very seldom omits in the composition 
 of either sex ; and you may be allowed a tincture 
 of it at least. And, perhaps, I am not wholly 
 exempt from this leaven in my nature, but accuse 
 myself sometimes of finding a secret joy of being 
 adored, though I even hate my worshipper. But 
 if any such pleasure touch my heart, I find it at the 
 same time blushing in my cheeks with a guilty 
 shame, which soon checks the petty triumphs ; and 
 I have a virtue at soberer thoughts, that I find sur- 
 mounts my weakness and indiscretion ; and I hope 
 Damon finds the same : for, should he have any of 
 those attachments, I should have no pity for him. 
 
 THE EXAMPLE 
 
 Damon, if you'd have me true, 
 Be you my precedent and guide : 
 
 Example sooner we pursue, 
 Than the dull dictates of our pride. 
 
 Precepts of virtue are too weak an aim : 
 
 'Tis demonstration that can best reclaim.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 Show me the path you'd have me go ; 
 
 With such a guide I cannot stray : 
 What you approve, whate'er you do, 
 
 It is but just I bend the way. 
 If true, my honour favours your design ; 
 If false, revenge is the result of mine. 
 
 A lover true, a maid sincere, 
 
 Are to be prized as things divine : 
 
 'Tis justice makes the blessing dear, 
 Justice of love without design. 
 
 And she that reigns not in a heart alone, 
 
 Is never safe, or easy, on her throne. 
 
 FOUR O'CLOCK 
 
 GENERAL CONVERSATION 
 
 In this visiting-hour, many people will happen to 
 meet at one and the same time together, in a place : 
 and as you make not visits to friends, to be silent, 
 you ought to enter into conversation with them ; but 
 those conversations ought to be general, and of 
 general things : for there is no necessity of making 
 your friend the confidant of your amours. It would 
 infinitely displease me, to hear you have revealed to 
 them all that I have reposed in you ; though secrets 
 ever so trivial, yet since uttered between lovers, they 
 deserve to be prized at a higher rate. For what can 
 show a heart more indifferent and indiscreet, than to 
 declare in any fashion, or with mirth, or joy, the 
 tender things a mistress says to her lover ; and which 
 possibly, related at second hand, bear not the same 
 sense, because they have not the same sound and air 
 they had originally, when they came from the soft 
 heart of her, who sighed them first to her lavish 
 lover? Perhaps they are told again with mirth, or 
 joy, unbecoming their character and business ; and 
 then they lose their graces: (for love is the most 
 solemn thing in nature, and the most unsuiting with 
 gaiety). Perhaps the soft expressions suit not so
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 229 
 
 well the harsher voice of the masculine lover, whose 
 accents were not formed for so much tenderness ; at 
 least, not of that sort : for words that have the same 
 meaning, are altered from their sense by the least 
 tone or accent of the voice ; and those proper and 
 fitted to my soul, are not possibly so to yours, 
 though both have the same efficacy upon us; yours 
 upon my heart, as mine upon yours: and both will 
 be misunderstood by the unjudging world. Besides 
 this, there is a holiness in love that is true, that ought 
 not to be profaned. And as the poet truly says, at 
 the latter end of an ode, of which I will recite the 
 whole : 
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 Amynta, fear not to confess 
 The charming secret of thy tenderness : 
 
 That which a lover can't conceal, 
 
 That which, to me, thou shouldst reveal ; 
 And is but what thy lovely eyes express. 
 
 Come, whisper to my panting heart, 
 That heaves and meets thy voice half-way ; 
 
 That guesses what thou wouldst impart, 
 And languishes for what thou hast to say. 
 Confirm my trembling doubt, and make me know, 
 Whence all these blessings, and these sighings flow. 
 
 Why dost thou scruple to unfold 
 A mystery that does my life concern ? 
 
 If thou ne'er speakest, it will be told ; 
 For lovers all things can discern. 
 From every look, from every bashful grace, 
 That still succeed each other in thy face, 
 I shall the dear transporting secret learn : 
 
 But 'tis a pleasure not to be exprest, 
 
 To hear it by the voice confest, 
 
 When soft sighs breathe it on my panting breast 
 
 All calm and silent is the grove, 
 Whose shading boughs resist the day ; 
 
 Here thou may'st blush, and talk of love, 
 While only winds, unheeding, stay, 
 That will not bear the sound away : 
 
 While I with solemn awful joy, 
 
 All my attentive faculties employ ;
 
 230 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 Listening to every valued word ; 
 
 And in my soul the secret treasure hoard : 
 There like some mystery divine, 
 The wondrous knowledge I'll enshrine. 
 
 Love can his joys no longer call his own, 
 
 That the dear secret's kept unknown. 
 
 There is nothing more true than those two last lines : 
 and that love ceases to be a pleasure, when it ceases 
 to be a secret, and one you ought to keep sacred. 
 For the world, which never makes a right judgment 
 of things, will misinterpret love, as they do religion ; 
 everyone judging it, according to the notion he hath 
 of it, or the talent of his sense. Love (as a great 
 Duke said) is like apparitions ; everyone talks of 
 them, but few have seen them. Everybody thinks 
 himself capable of understanding love, and that he is 
 a master in the art of it ; when there is nothing so 
 nice, or difficult, to be rightly comprehended ; and 
 indeed cannot be, but to a soul very delicate. Nor 
 will he make himself known to the vulgar : there 
 must be an uncommon fineness in the mind that con- 
 tains him ; the rest he only visits in as many dis- 
 guises as there are dispositions and natures, where he 
 makes but a short stay, and is gone. He can fit 
 himself to all hearts, being the greatest flatterer in 
 the world : and he possesses everyone with a con- 
 fidence, that they are in the number of his elect ; and 
 they think they know him perfectly, when nothing 
 but the spirits refined possess him in his excellency. 
 From this difference of love, in different souls, pro- 
 ceed those odd fantastic maxims, which so many 
 hold of so different kinds. And this makes the most 
 innocent pleasures pass oftentimes for crimes, with 
 the unjudging crowd, who call themselves lovers. 
 And you will have your passion censured by as many 
 as you shall discover it to, and as many several ways. 
 I advise you therefore, Damon, to make no confidants 
 of your amours ; and believe, that silence has, with 
 me, the most powerful charm.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 231 
 
 'Tis also in these conversations, that those indis- 
 creetly civil persons often are, who think to oblige a 
 good man, by letting him know he is beloved by 
 someone or other ; and making him understand how 
 many good qualities he is master of, to render him 
 agreeable to the fair sex, if he would but advance 
 where love and good fortune call ; and that a too 
 constant lover loses a great part of his time, which 
 might be managed to more advantage, since youth 
 hath so short a race to run. This, and a thousand 
 the like indecent complaisances, give him a vanity 
 that suits not with that discretion, which has hitherto 
 acquired him so good a reputation. I would not 
 have you, Damon, act on these occasions, as many of 
 the easy sparks have done before you, who receive 
 such weakness and flattery for truth ; and passing it 
 off with a smile, suffer them to advance in folly, till 
 they have gained a credit with them, and they believe 
 all they hear , telling them they do so, by consenting 
 gestures, silence, or open approbation. For my part, 
 I should not condemn a lover that should answer a 
 sort of civil brokers for love, somewhat briskly ; and 
 by giving them to understand they are already 
 engaged, or directing them to fools, that will possibly 
 hearken to them, and credit such stuff, shame them 
 out of a folly so infamous and disingenuous. In such 
 a case only I am willing you should own your passion ; 
 not that you need tell the object which has charmed 
 you. And you may say, you are already a lover, 
 without saying you are beloved. For so long as you 
 appear to have a heart unengaged, you are exposed 
 to all the little arts and addresses of this sort of 
 obliging procurers of love, and give way to the hope 
 they have of making you their proselyte. For your 
 own reputation then, and my ease and honour, shun 
 such conversations ; for they are neither creditable 
 to you, nor pleasing to me. And believe me, Damon, 
 a true lover has no curiosity, but what concerns his 
 mistress.
 
 232 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 FIVE O'CLOCK 
 
 DANGEROUS VISITS 
 
 I foresee, or fear, that these busy impertinent 
 friends will oblige you to visit some ladies of their 
 acquaintance, or yours ; my watch does not forbid 
 you. Yet I must tell you, I apprehend danger in 
 such visits ; and I fear, you will have need of all your 
 care and precaution, in these encounters, that you 
 may give me no cause to suspect you. Perhaps you 
 will argue, that civility obliges you to it. If I were 
 assured there would no other design be carried on, I 
 should believe it were to advance an enormous 
 prudence too far, to forbid you. Only keep yourself 
 upon your guard ; for the business of most part of 
 the fair sex, is, to seek only the conquest of hearts. 
 All their civilities are but so many interests ; and 
 they do nothing without design. And in such con- 
 versations there is always a Je ne sais quoi, that is 
 feared, especially when beauty is accompanied with 
 youth and gaiety ; and which they assume upon all 
 occasions that may serve their turn. And I confess 
 it is not an easy matter to be just in these hours and 
 conversations : the most certain way of being so, is 
 to imagine I read all your thoughts, observe all your 
 looks, and hear all your words. 
 
 THE CAUTION 
 
 My Damon, if your heart be kind, 
 
 Do not too long with beauty stay ; 
 For there are certain moments when the mind 
 
 Is hurried by the force of charms away. 
 In fate a minute critical there lies, 
 That waits on Love, and takes you by surprise.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 233 
 
 A lover pleased with constancy, 
 Lives still as if the maid he loved were by : 
 As if his actions were in view, 
 As if his steps she did pursue ; 
 Or that his very soul she knew. 
 Take heed ; for though I am not present there, 
 My Love, my genius waits you everywhere. 
 
 I am very much pleased with the remedy, you say, 
 you make use of to defend yourself from the attacks 
 that beauty gives your heart ; which in one of your 
 billets, you said was this, or to this purpose : 
 
 THE CHARM FOR CONSTANCY 
 
 Iris, to keep my soul entire and true, 
 It thinks, each moment of the day, on you. 
 And when a charming face I see, 
 
 That does all other eyes incline, 
 It has no influence on me : 
 
 I think it ev'n deformed to thine. 
 My eyes, my soul, and sense, regardless move 
 To all, but the dear object of my love. 
 
 But, Damon, I know all lovers are naturally flat- 
 terers, though they do not think so themselves ; 
 because everyone makes a sense of beauty according 
 to his own fancy. But perhaps you will say in your 
 own defence, that it is not flattery to say an un- 
 beautiful woman is beautiful, if he that says so be- 
 lieves she is so. I should be content to acquit you 
 of the first, provided you allow me the last : and if I 
 appear charming in Damon's eyes, I am not fond of 
 the approbation of any other. It is enough the world 
 thinks me not altogether disagreeable, to justify his 
 choice ; but let your good opinion give what increase 
 it pleases to my beauty, though your approbation 
 give me a pleasure, it shall not a vanity ; and I am 
 contented that Damon should think me a beauty, 
 without my believing I am one. It is not to draw 
 new assurances, and new vows from you, that I speak
 
 234 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 this ; though tales of love are the only ones we desire 
 to hear often told, and which never tire the hearers if 
 addressed to themselves. But it is not to this end I 
 now seem to doubt what you say to my advantage : 
 no, my heart knows no disguise, nor can dissemble 
 one thought of it to Damon ; it is all sincere, and 
 honest as his wish. Therefore it tells you, it does not 
 credit everything you say ; though I believe you say 
 abundance of truths in a great part of my character. 
 But when you advance to that, which my own sense, 
 my judgment, or my glass cannot persuade me to 
 believe, you must give me leave either to believe you 
 think me vain enough to credit you, or pleased that 
 your sentiments and mine are differing in this point. 
 But I doubt I may rather reply in some verses, a 
 friend of yours and mine sent to a person she thought 
 had but indifferent sentiments for her; yet, who never- 
 theless flattered her, because he imagined she had a 
 very great esteem for him. She is a woman that, you 
 know, naturally hates flattery : on the other side she 
 was extremely dissatisfied, and uneasy at his opinion 
 of his being more in her favour than she desired he 
 should believe. So that one night having left her full 
 of pride and anger, she next morning sent him these 
 verses, instead of a billet-doux. 
 
 THE DEFIANCE 
 
 By Heaven 'tis false, I am not vain ; 
 
 And rather would the subject be 
 Of your indifference, or disdain, 
 
 Than wit or raillery. 
 
 Take back the trifling praise you give, 
 
 And pass it on some easier fool, 
 Who may the injuring wit believe, 
 
 That turns her into ridicule. 
 
 Tell her, she's witty, fair and gay, 
 
 With all the charms that can subdue : 
 
 Perhaps she'll credit what you say ; 
 But curse me if I do.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 235 
 
 If your diversion you design, 
 On my good-nature you have prest : 
 
 Or if you do intend it mine, 
 You have mistook the jest. 
 
 Philander, fly that guilty art : 
 
 Your charming facile wit will find, 
 It cannot play on any heart, 
 
 That is sincere and kind. 
 
 For wit with softness to reside, 
 
 Good-nature is with pity stored ; 
 But flattery's the result of pride, 
 
 And fawns to be adored. 
 
 Nay, even when you smile and bow, 
 'Tis to be rendered more complete : 
 
 Your wit, with ev'ry grace you show, 
 Is but a popular cheat. 
 
 Laugh on, and call me coxcomb do ; 
 
 And, your opinion to improve, 
 Think, all you think of me is true ; 
 
 And to confirm it, swear I love. 
 
 Then, while you wreck my soul with pain, 
 
 And of a cruel conquest boast, 
 'Tis you, Philander, that are vain, 
 
 And witty at my cost. 
 
 Possibly, the angry Amynta, when she writ these 
 verses, was more offended, that he believed himself 
 beloved, than that he flattered ; though she would 
 seem to make that a great part of the quarrel, and 
 cause of her resentment. For we are often in a 
 humour to seem more modest in that point, than 
 naturally we are ; being too apt to have a favourable 
 opinion of ourselves : and it is rather the effects of 
 a fear that we are flattered, than our own ill opinion 
 of the beauty flattered ; and that the praiser thinks 
 not so well of it, as we do ourselves, or at least we 
 wish he should. Not but there are grains of allow- 
 ance for the temper of him that speaks. One man's 
 humour is to talk much ; and he may be permitted 
 to enlarge upon the praise he gives the person he
 
 236 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 pretends to, without being accused of much guilt. 
 Another hates to be wordy ; from such a one, I have 
 known one soft expression, one tender thing, go as 
 far as whole days' everlasting protestations urged with 
 vows, and mighty eloquence. And both the one and 
 the other, indeed, must be allowed in good manners, 
 to stretch the compliment beyond the bounds of nice 
 truth : and we must not wonder to hear a man call 
 a woman a beauty, when she is not ugly ; or another 
 a great wit, if she have but common-sense above the 
 vulgar ; well bred, when well dressed ; and good- 
 natured, when civil. And as I should be very ridicu- 
 lous, if I took all you said for absolute truth ; so I 
 should be very unjust, not to allow you very sincere 
 in almost all you said besides ; and those things, the 
 most material to love, honour, and friendship. And 
 for the rest, Damon, be it true or false, this believe, 
 you speak with such a grace, that I cannot choose but 
 credit you ; and find an infinite pleasure in that faith, 
 because I love you. And if I cannot find the cheat, 
 I am contented you should deceive me on, because 
 you do it so agreeably. 
 
 SIX O'CLOCK 
 
 WALK WITHOUT DESIGN 
 
 You yet have time to walk ; and my watch fore- 
 saw you could not refuse your friends. You must 
 to the Park, or to the Mall ; for the season is fair and 
 inviting, and all the young beauties love those places 
 too well, not to be there. It is there that a thousand 
 intrigues are carried on, and as many more designed. 
 It is there that everyone is set out for conquest ; and 
 who aim at nothing less than hearts. Guard yours 
 well, my Damon ; and be not always admiring what 
 you see. Do not, in passing by, sigh them silent
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 237 
 
 praises. Suffer not so much as a guilty wish to 
 approach your thoughts, nor a heedful glance to steal 
 from your fine eyes : those are regards you ought 
 only to have for her you love. But oh ! above all, 
 have a care of what you say. You are not reproach- 
 able, if you should remain silent all the time of your 
 walk ; nor would those that know you believe it the 
 effects of dulness, but melancholy. And if any of 
 your friends ask you why you are so, I will give 
 you leave to sigh, and say : 
 
 THE MALCONTENT 
 
 Ah ! wonder not if I appear 
 Regardless of the pleasures here ; 
 Or that my thoughts are thus confined 
 To the just limits of my mind. 
 My eyes take no delight to rove 
 O'er all the smiling charmers of the grove, 
 Since she is absent whom they love. 
 
 Ask me not, Why the flow'ry spring, 
 Or the gay little birds that sing, 
 Or the young streams no more delight, 
 Or shades and arbours can't invite ? 
 Why the soft murmurs of the wind, 
 Within the thick-grown groves confined, 
 No more my soul transport, or cheer ; 
 Since all that's charming Iris, is not here ; 
 Nothing seems glorious, nothing fair. 
 
 Then suffer me to wander thus, 
 With downcast eyes, and arms across : 
 Let beauty unregarded go ; 
 The trees and flowers unheeded strow ; 
 Let purling streams neglected glide ; 
 With all the spring's adorning pride. 
 'Tis Iris only soul can give 
 
 To the dull shades, and plains, and make them thrive ; 
 Nature and my last joys retrieve. 
 
 I do not, for all this, wholly confine your eyes: 
 you may look indifferently on all, but with a par- 
 ticular regard on none. You may praise all the
 
 238 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 beauties in general, but no single one too much. I 
 will not exact from you neither an entire silence. 
 There are a thousand civilities you ought to pay to 
 all your friends and acquaintance ; and while I 
 caution you of actions, that may get you the reputa- 
 tion of a lover of some of the fair that haunt those 
 places, I would not have you, by an unnecessary and 
 uncomplaisant sullenness, gain that of a person too 
 negligent or morose. I would have you remiss in 
 no one punctilio of good manners. I would have 
 you very just, and pay all you owe ; but in these 
 affairs be not over generous, and give away too much. 
 In fine, you may look, speak, and walk ; but, Damon, 
 do it all without design : and while you do so, re- 
 member that Iris sent you this advice. 
 
 THE WARNING 
 
 Take heed, my Damon, in the grove, 
 Where beauties with design do walk ; 
 Take heed, my Damon, how you look and talk, 
 
 For there are ambuscades of love. 
 The very winds that softly blow, 
 
 Will help betray your easy heart ; 
 And all the flowers that blushing grow, 
 The shades about, and rivulets below, 
 
 Will take the victor's part. 
 
 Remember, Damon, all thy safety lies 
 In the just conduct of your eyes. 
 The heart, by nature good and brave, 
 Is to those treacherous guards a slave. 
 
 If they let in the fair destructive foe, 
 Scarce honour can defend her noble seat : 
 
 Ev'n she will be corrupted too, 
 Or driven to a retreat. 
 The soul is but the cully to the sight, 
 And must be pleased in what that takes delight. 
 
 Therefore examine yourself well; and conduct your 
 eyes, during this walk, like a lover that seeks nothing: 
 and do not stay too long in these places.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 239 
 
 SEVEN O'CLOCK 
 
 VOLUNTARY RETREAT 
 
 It is time to be weary, it is night : take leave of 
 your friends and retire home. It is in this retreat 
 that you ought to recollect in your thoughts all the 
 actions of the day, and all those things that you 
 ought to give me an account of, in your letter. You 
 cannot hide the least secret from me, without treason 
 against sacred love. For all the world agrees that 
 confidence is one of the greatest proofs of the passion 
 of love ; and that lover who refuses his confidence to 
 the person he loves, is to be suspected to love but 
 very indifferently, and to think very poorly of the 
 sense and generosity of his mistress. But that you 
 may acquit yourself like a man, and a lover of honour, 
 and leave me no doubt upon my soul ; think of all 
 you have done this day, that I may have all the story 
 of it in your next letter to me : but deal faithfully, 
 and neither add nor diminish in your relation; the 
 truth and sincerity of your confession will atone even 
 for little faults that you shall commit against me, 
 in some of those things you shall tell me. For if 
 you have failed in any point or circumstance of love, 
 I had much rather hear it from you than another : 
 for it is a sort of repentance to accuse yourself ; and 
 would be a crime unpardonable, if you suffer me to 
 hear it from any other: and be assured, while you 
 confess it, I shall be indulgent enough to forgive 
 you. The noblest quality of man is sincerity ; and, 
 Damon, one ought to have as much of it in love, as 
 in any other business of one's life, notwithstanding 
 the most part of men make no account of it there ; 
 but will believe there ought to be double-dealing,
 
 240 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 and an art practised in love as well as in war. But, 
 oh ! beware of that notion. 
 
 SINCERITY 
 
 Sincerity ! thou greatest good ! 
 
 Thou virtue which so many boast ! 
 And art so nicely understood ! 
 
 And often in the searching lost ! 
 For when we do approach thee near, 
 
 The fine idea framed of thee, 
 Appears not now so charming fair 
 
 As the most useful flattery. 
 Thou hast no glitt'ring to invite ; 
 Nor takest the lover at first sight. 
 
 The modest virtue shuns the crowd, 
 
 And lives, like Vestals, in a cell ; 
 In cities 'twill not be allowed, 
 
 Nor takes delight in Courts to dwell ; 
 'Tis nonsense with the man of wit ; 
 
 And ev'n a scandal to the great : 
 For all the young, and fair, unfit ; 
 
 And scorned by wiser fops of state. 
 A virtue yet was never known 
 To the false trader, or the falser gown. 
 
 And, Damon, though thy noble blood 
 
 Be most illustrious, and refined ; 
 Though ev'ry grace and ev'ry good 
 
 Adorn thy person and thy mind : 
 Yet, if this virtue shine not there, 
 
 This God-like virtue, which alone, 
 Wert thou less witty, brave, or fair, 
 
 Would for all these, less prized, atone ; 
 My tender folly I'd control, 
 And scorn the conquest of thy soul.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 241 
 
 EIGHT O'CLOCK 
 
 IMPATIENT DEMANDS 
 
 After you have sufficiently collected yourself of all 
 the past actions of the day, call your page into your 
 cabinet, or him whom you trusted with your last 
 letter to me ; where you ought to inquire of him 
 a thousand things, and all of me. Ask impatiently, 
 and be angry if he answers not your curiosity soon 
 enough. Think that he has a dreaming in his voice, 
 in these moments more than at other times; and 
 reproach him with dulness : for 'tis most certain that 
 when one loves tenderly, we would know in a minute, 
 what cannot be related in an hour. Ask him, How 
 I did? How I received his letter? And if he ex- 
 amined the air of my face, when I took it? If I 
 blushed or looked pale? If my hand trembled, or 
 I spoke to him with short interrupting sighs? If I 
 asked him any questions about you, while I was 
 opening the seal ? Or if I could not well speak, and 
 was silent? If I read it attentively, and with joy? 
 And all this, before you open the answer I have sent 
 you by him : which, because you are impatient to 
 read, you, with the more haste and earnestness, de- 
 mand all you expect from him; and that you may 
 the better know what humour I was in, when I writ 
 that to you. For, oh ! a lover has a thousand little 
 fears, and dreads, he knows not why. In fine, make 
 him recount to you all that passed, while he was with 
 me ; and then you ought to read that which I have 
 sent, that you may inform yourself of all that passes 
 in my heart: for you may assure yourself, all that 
 I say to you that way proceeds from thence.
 
 2 4 2 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 THE ASSURANCE 
 
 How shall a lover come to know, 
 Whether he's beloved or no ? 
 What dear things must she impart, 
 To assure him of her heart ? 
 Is it when her blushes rise ; 
 And she languish in her eyes ; 
 Tremble when he does approach ; 
 Look pale, and faint at ev'ry touch ? 
 
 Is it, when a thousand ways 
 She does his wit and beauty praise ; 
 Or she venture to explain, 
 In less moving words, a pain ; 
 Though so indiscreet she grows, 
 To confirm it with her vows ? 
 
 These some short-lived passion moves, 
 While the object's by she loves ; 
 While the gay and sudden fire 
 Kindles by some fond desire : 
 And a coldness will ensue. 
 When the lover's out of view. 
 Then she reflects with scandal o'er 
 The easy scene that passed before : 
 Then, with blushes, would recall 
 The unconsidering criminal ; 
 In which a thousand faults she'll find, 
 And chide the errors of her mind. 
 Such fickle weight is found in words, 
 As no substantial faith affords : 
 Deceived and baffled all may be, 
 Who trust that frail security. 
 
 But a well-digested flame, 
 That will always be the same ; 
 And that does from merit grow, 
 Established by our reason too ; 
 By a better way will prove, 
 'Tis th' unerring fire of love. 
 Lasting records it will give : 
 And, that all she says may live ; 
 Sacred and authentic stand, 
 Her heart confirms it by her hand. 
 If this, a maid, well-born, allow ; 
 Damon, believe her just and true.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 243 
 
 NINE O'CLOCK 
 
 MELANCHOLY REFLECTIONS 
 
 You will not have much trouble to explain what 
 my watch designs here. There can be no thought 
 more afflicting, than that of the absence of a 
 mistress : and which the sighings of the heart will 
 soon make you find. Ten thousand fears oppress 
 him ; he is jealous of everybody, and envies those 
 eyes and ears that are charmed by being near the 
 object adored. He grows impatient, and makes a 
 thousand resolutions, and as soon abandons them all. 
 He gives himself wholly up to the torment of un- 
 certainty ; and by degrees, from one cruel thought to 
 another, winds himself up to insupportable chagrin. 
 Take this hour then, to think on your misfortunes, 
 which cannot be small to a soul that is wholly sensi- 
 ble of love. And everyone knows, that a lover, 
 deprived of the object of his heart, is deprived of all 
 the world, and inconsolable : for though one wishes 
 without ceasing for the dear charmer one loves, and 
 though you speak of her every minute ; though you 
 are writing to her every day, and though you are 
 infinitely pleased with the dear and tender answer ; 
 yet, to speak sincerely, it must be confessed, that the 
 felicity of a true lover is to be always near his 
 mistress. And you may tell me, O Damon ! what 
 you please ; and say that absence inspires the flame, 
 which perpetual presence would satiate. I love too 
 well to be of that mind, and when I am, I shall 
 believe my passion is declining. I know not whether 
 it advances your love ; but surely it must ruin your 
 repose : and it is possible to be, at once, an absent 
 lover, and happy too. For my part, I can meet with 
 nothing that can please in the absence of Damon ; 
 but on the contrary I see all things with disgust. 
 I will flatter myself, that it is so with you ; and that
 
 244 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 the least evils appear great misfortunes ; and that all 
 those who speak to you of anything but of what you 
 love, increase your pain, by a new remembrance of 
 her absence. I will believe that these are your senti- 
 ments, when you are assured not to see me in some 
 weeks ; and if your heart do not betray your words, 
 all those days will be tedious to you. I would not, 
 however, have your melancholy too extreme ; and to 
 lessen it, you may persuade yourself, that I partake it 
 with you : for, I remember, in your last you told me, 
 you would wish we should be both grieved at the 
 same time, and both at the same time pleased ; and 
 I believe I love too well not to obey you. 
 
 LOVE SECURED 
 
 Love, of all joys, the sweetest is, 
 
 The most substantial happiness ; 
 The softest blessing life can crave, 
 The noblest passion souls can have. 
 Yet, if no interruption were, 
 
 No difficulties came between, 
 'Twould not be rendered half so dear : 
 
 The sky is gayest when small clouds are seen. 
 The sweetest flower, the blushing rose, 
 Amidst the thorns securest grows. 
 If love were one continued joy, 
 How soon the happiness would cloy ! 
 The wiser god did this foresee ; 
 
 And to preserve the bliss entire, 
 Mixed it with doubt and jealousy, 
 
 Those necessary fuels to the fire ; 
 Sustained the fleeting pleasures with new fears ; 
 With little quarrels, sighs and tears ; 
 
 With absence, that tormenting smart, 
 That makes a minute seem a day, 
 
 A day a year to the impatient heart, 
 That languishes in the delay, 
 But cannot sigh the tender pain away ; 
 That still returns, and with a greater force, 
 Through every vein it takes its grateful course. 
 
 But whatsoe'er the lover does sustain, 
 Though he still sigh, complain, and fear ; 
 
 It cannot be a mortal pain, 
 When two do the affliction bear.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 245 
 
 TEN O'CLOCK 
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 After the afflicting thoughts of my absence, make 
 some reflections on your happiness. Think it a bless- 
 ing to be permitted to love me ; think it so, because 
 I permit it to you alone, and never could be drawn to 
 allow it any other. The first thing you ought to con- 
 sider, is, that at length I have suffered myself to be 
 overcome, to quit that nicety that is natural to me, 
 and receive your addresses ; nay, thought them agree- 
 able : and that I have at last confessed, the present of 
 your heart is very dear to me. It is true, I did not 
 accept of it the first time it was offered me, nor before 
 you had told me a thousand times, that you could not 
 escape expiring, if I did not give you leave to sigh 
 for me, and gaze upon me ; and that there was an 
 absolute necessity for me, either to give you leave to 
 love, or die. And all those rigours my severity has 
 made you suffer, ought now to be recounted to your 
 memory, as subjects of pleasure ; and you ought to 
 esteem and judge of the price of my affections, by the 
 difficulties you found in being able to touch my heart. 
 Not but you have charms that can conquer at first 
 sight ; and you ought not to have valued me less, if 
 I had been more easily gained. But it is enough to 
 please you, to think and know I am gained ; no matter 
 when and how. When, after a thousand cares and 
 inquietudes, that which we wish for succeeds to our 
 desires, the remembrance of those pains and pleasures 
 we encountered in arriving at it, gives us a new joy. 
 
 Remember also, Damon, that I have preferred you 
 before all those that have been thought worthy of my 
 esteem ; and that I have shut my eyes to all their 
 pleading merits, and could survey none but yours.
 
 246 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 Consider then, that you had not only the happiness 
 to please me, but that you only found out the way of 
 doing it, and I had the goodness at last to tell you so, 
 contrary to all the delicacy and niceness of my soul, 
 contrary to my prudence, and all those scruples, you 
 know, are natural to my humour. 
 
 My tenderness proceeded further, and I gave you 
 innocent marks of my new-born passion, on all 
 occasions that presented themselves. For, after that 
 from my eyes and tongue you knew the sentiments 
 of my heart, I confirmed that truth to you by my 
 letters. Confess, Damon, that if you make these 
 reflections, you will not pass this hour very disagree- 
 ably. 
 
 BEGINNING LOVE 
 
 As free as wanton winds I lived, 
 
 That unconcerned do play : 
 No broken faith, no fate I grieved ; 
 
 No fortune gave me joy. 
 A dull content crowned all my hours. 
 
 My heart no sighs opprest ; 
 I called in vain on no deaf powers, 
 
 To ease a tortured breast. 
 
 The sighing swains regardless pined, 
 
 And strove in vain to please : 
 With pain I civilly was kind, 
 
 But could afford no ease. 
 Though wit and beauty did abound, 
 
 The charm was wanting still, 
 That could inspire the tender wound, 
 
 Or bend my careless will. 
 
 Till in my heart a kindling flame 
 
 Your softer sighs had blown ; 
 Which I, with striving, love and shame, 
 
 Too sensibly did own. 
 Whate'er the god before could plead ; 
 
 Whate'er the youth's desert ; 
 The feeble siege in vain was laid 
 
 Against my stubborn heart.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 247 
 
 At first my sighs and blushes spoke, 
 
 Just when your sighs would rise ; 
 And when you gazed, I wished to look, 
 
 But durst not meet your eyes. 
 I trembled when my hand you pressed, 
 
 Nor could my guilt control ; 
 But love prevailed, and I confessed 
 
 The secrets of my soul. 
 
 And when upon the giving part, 
 
 My present to avow, 
 By all the ways confirmed my heart, 
 
 That honour would allow ; 
 Too mean was all that I could say, 
 
 Too poorly understood : 
 I gave my soul the noblest way, 
 
 My letters made it good. 
 
 You may believe I did not easily, nor suddenly, 
 bring my heart to this condescension ; but I loved, 
 and all things in Damon were capable of making me 
 resolve so to do. I could not think it a crime, where 
 every grace, and every virtue justified my choice. 
 And when once one is assured of this, we find not 
 much difficulty in owning that passion which will so 
 well commend one's judgment ; and there is no 
 obstacle that love does not surmount. I confessed 
 my weakness a thousand ways, before I told it you ; 
 and I remember all those things with pleasure, but 
 yet I remember them also with shame. 
 
 ELEVEN O'CLOCK 
 
 SUPPER 
 
 I will believe, Damon, that you have been so well 
 entertained during this hour, and have found so much 
 sweetness in these thoughts, that if one did not tell 
 you that supper waits, you would lose yourself in 
 reflections so pleasing, many more minutes. But you 
 must go where you are expected ; perhaps, among
 
 248 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 the fair, the young, the gay ; but do not abandon 
 your heart to too much joy, though you have so 
 much reason to be contented : but the greatest 
 pleasures are always imperfect, if the object beloved 
 do not partake of it. For this reason be cheerful 
 and merry with reserve : do not talk too much, I 
 know you do not love it ; and if you do it, it will be 
 the effect of too much complaisance, or with some 
 design of pleasing too well ; for you know your own 
 charming power, and how agreeable your wit and 
 conversation are to all the world. Remember, I am 
 covetous of every word you speak, that is not 
 addressed to me, and envy the happy listener, if I 
 am not by. And I may reply to you as Amynta did 
 to Philander, when he charged her of loving a talker : 
 and because, perhaps, you have not heard it, I will, 
 to divert you, send it to you ; and at the same time 
 assure you, Damon, that your more noble quality, of 
 speaking little, has reduced me to a perfect abhorrence 
 of those wordy sparks, that value themselves upon 
 their ready and much talking upon every trivial 
 subject, and who have so good an opinion of their 
 talent that way, they will let nobody edge in a word, 
 or a reply ; but will make all the conversation them- 
 selves, that they may pass for very entertaining 
 persons, and pure company. But the verses : 
 
 THE REFORMATION 
 
 Philander, since you'll have it so, 
 
 I grant I was impertinent ; 
 And, till this moment, did not know, 
 
 Through all my life what 'twas I meant. 
 Your kind opinion was the flattering glass, 
 In which my mind found how deformed it was. 
 
 In your clear sense, which knows no art, 
 
 I saw the errors of my soul ; 
 And all the foibles of my heart 
 
 With one reflection you control. 
 Kind as a god, and gently you chastise : 
 By what you hate, you teach me to be wise.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 249 
 
 Impertinence, my sex's shame, 
 
 That has so long my life pursued, 
 You with such modesty reclaim, 
 
 As all the women has subdued. 
 To so divine a power what must I owe, 
 That renders me so like the perfect You ? 
 
 That conversable thing I hate, 
 
 Already, with a just disdain, 
 That prides himself upon his prate, 
 
 And is, of words, that nonsense, vain : 
 When in your few appears such excellence, 
 As have reproached, and charmed me into sense. 
 
 For ever may I listening sit, 
 Though but each hour a word be born ; 
 
 I would attend thy coming wit, 
 And bless what can so well inform. 
 
 Let the dull world henceforth to words be damned ; 
 
 I'm into nobler sense than talking shamed. 
 
 I believe you are so good a lover, as to be of my 
 opinion ; and that you will neither force yourself 
 against nature, nor find much occasion to lavish out 
 those excellent things that must proceed from you, 
 whenever you speak. If all women were like me, I 
 should have more reason to fear your silence than 
 your talk : for you have a thousand ways to charm 
 without speaking, and those which to me show a 
 great deal more concern. But, Damon, you know 
 the greatest part of my sex judge the fine gentleman 
 by the volubility of his tongue, by his dexterity in 
 repartee, and cry ' Oh ! he never wants fine things to 
 say : he's eternally talking the most surprising 
 things.' But, Damon, you are well assured, I hope, 
 that Iris is none of these coquettes : at least, if she 
 had any spark of it once in her nature, she is by the 
 excellency of your contrary temper taught to know, 
 and scorn the folly. And take heed your conduct 
 never gives me cause to suspect you have deceived 
 me in your temper.
 
 250 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 TWELVE O'CLOCK 
 
 COMPLAISANCE 
 
 Nevertheless, Damon, civility requires a little com- 
 plaisance after supper ; and I am assured, you can 
 never want that, though I confess, you are not accused 
 of too general a complaisance, and do not often make 
 use of it to those persons you have an indifference 
 for: though one is not the less esteemable for having 
 more of this than one ought ; and though an excess 
 of it be a fault, it is a very excusable one. Have 
 therefore some for those with whom you are : you 
 may laugh with them, drink with them, dance or 
 sing with them ; yet think of me. You may discourse 
 of a thousand indifferent things with them, and at 
 the same time still think of me. If the subject be 
 any beautiful lady, whom they praise, either for her 
 person, wit, or virtue, you may apply it to me : and 
 if you dare not say it aloud, at least, let your heart 
 answer in this language : 
 
 Yes, the fair object, whom you praise, 
 Can give us love a thousand ways ; 
 Her wit and beauty charming are ; 
 But still my Iris is more fair. 
 
 Nobody ever spoke before me of a faithful lover, 
 but still I sighed, and thought of Damon : and ever 
 when they tell me tales of love, any soft pleasing 
 intercourses of an amour ; oh ! with what pleasures 
 do I listen ! and with pleasure answer them, either 
 with my eyes, or tongue : 
 
 That lover may his Sylvia warm, 
 But cannot, like my Damon, charm. 
 
 If I have not all these excellent qualities you meet 
 with in those beautiful people, I am however very
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 251 
 
 glad that love prepossesses your heart to my ad- 
 vantage : and I need not tell you, Damon, that a true 
 lover ought to persuade himself, that all other objects 
 ought to give place to her, for whom his heart sighs. 
 But see, my Cupid tells you it is one o'clock, and that 
 you ought not to be longer from your apartment; 
 where, while you are undressing, I will give you 
 leave to say to yourself: 
 
 THE REGRET 
 
 Alas ! and must the sun decline, 
 
 Before it have informed my eyes 
 Of all that's glorious, all that's fine, 
 
 Of all I sigh for, all I prize ? 
 How joyful were those happy days, 
 When Iris spread her charming rays, 
 Did my unwearied heart inspire 
 With never-ceasing awful fire, 
 And ev'ry minute gave me new desire t 
 But now, alas ! all dead and pale, 
 
 Like flow'rs that wither in the shade : 
 Where no kind sunbeams can prevail, 
 
 To raise its cold and fading head, 
 
 I sink into my useless bed. 
 I grasp the senseless pillow as I lie ; 
 A thousand times, in vain, I sighing cry. 
 Ah ! would to heaven my Iris were as nigk. 
 
 ONE O'CLOCK 
 
 IMPOSSIBILITY TO SLEEP 
 
 You have been up long enough ; and Cupid, who 
 takes care of your health, tells you, it is time for you 
 to go to bed. Perhaps you may not sleep as soon as 
 you are laid, and possibly you may pass an hour in 
 bed, before you shut your eyes. In this impossibility 
 of sleeping, I think it very proper for you to imagine 
 what I am doing where I am. Let your fancy take 
 a little journey then, invisible, to observe my actions
 
 252 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 and my conduct. You will find me sitting alone in 
 my cabinet (for I am one that do not love to go to 
 bed early) and will find me very uneasy and pensive, 
 pleased with none of those things that so well enter- 
 tain others. I shun all conversation, as far as civility 
 will allow, and find no satisfaction like being alone, 
 where my soul may, without interruption, converse 
 with Damon. I sigh, and sometimes you will see 
 my cheeks wet with tears, that insensibly glide down 
 at a thousand thoughts that present themselves soft 
 and afflicting. I partake of all your inquietude. 
 On other things I think with indifference, if ever my 
 thoughts do stray from the more agreeable object. 
 I find, however, a little sweetness in this thought, 
 that, during my absence, your heart thinks of me, 
 when mine sighs for you. Perhaps I am mistaken, 
 and that at the same time that you are the entertain- 
 ment of all my thoughts, I am no more in yours ; 
 and perhaps you are thinking of those things that 
 immortalise the young and brave, either by those 
 glories the Muses flatter you with, or that of Bellona, 
 and the god of war ; and serving now a monarch, 
 whose glorious acts in arms has outgone all the 
 feigned and real heroes of any age, who has, himself, 
 outdone whatever history can produce of great and 
 brave, and set so illustrious an example to the under- 
 world, that it is not impossible, as much a lover as 
 you are, but you are thinking now how to render 
 yourself worthy the glory of such a god-like master, 
 by projecting a thousand things of gallantry and 
 danger. And though I confess, such thoughts are 
 proper for your youth, your quality, and the place 
 you have the honour to hold under our sovereign, 
 yet let me tell you, Damon, you will not be without 
 inquietude, if you think of either being a delicate 
 poet, or a brave warrior ; for love will still interrupt 
 your glory, however you may think to divert him 
 either by writing or fighting. And you ought to 
 remember these verses :
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 253 
 
 LOVE AND GLORY 
 
 Beneath the kind protecting laurel's shade, 
 For sighing lovers, and for warriors made, 
 The soft Adonis, and rough Mars were laid. 
 
 Both were designed to take their rest ; 
 
 But Love the gentle boy opprest, 
 
 And false alarms shook the stern hero's breast. 
 
 This thinks to soften all his toils of war, 
 In the dear arms of the obliging fair ; 
 And that, by hunting, to divert his care. 
 
 All day, o'er hills and plains, wild beasts he chased, 
 Swift as the flying winds, his eager haste ; 
 In vain, the god of Love pursues as fast. 
 
 But oh ! no sports, no toils, divertive prove, 
 The evening still returns him to the grove, 
 To sigh and languish for the Queen of Love : 
 
 Where elegies and sonnets he does frame, 
 And to the listening echoes sighs her name, 
 And on the trees carves records of his flame. 
 
 The warrior in the dusty camp all day 
 
 With rattling drums and trumpets, does essay 
 
 To fright the tender flatt'ring god away. 
 
 But still, alas, in vain : whate'er delight, 
 What cares he takes the wanton boy to fright, 
 Love still revenges it at night. 
 
 'Tis then he haunts the royal tent, 
 The sleeping hours in sighs are spent, 
 And all his resolutions does prevent. 
 
 In all his pains, Love mixed his smart ; 
 
 In every wound he feels a dart ; 
 
 And the soft god is trembling in his heart. 
 
 Then he retires to shady groves, 
 
 And there, in vain, he seeks repose, 
 
 And strives to fly from what he cannot lose. 
 
 While thus he lay, Bellona came, 
 And with a gen'rous fierce disdain, 
 Upbraids him with his feeble flame.
 
 254 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 Arise, the world's great terror, and their care ; 
 
 Behold the glitt'ring host from far, 
 
 That waits the conduct of the god of war. 
 
 Beneath these glorious laurels, which were made 
 To crown the noble victor's head, 
 Why thus supinely art thou laid ? 
 
 Why on that face, where awful terror grew, 
 Thy sun-parched cheeks why do I view 
 The shining tracks of falling tears bedew ? 
 
 What god has wrought these universal harms ? 
 What fatal nymph, what fatal charms, 
 Has made the hero deaf to war's alarms ? 
 
 Now let the conqu'ring ensigns up be furled : 
 Learn to be gay, be soft, and curled ; 
 And idle, lose the empire of the world. 
 
 In fond effeminate delights go on ; 
 Lose all the glories you have won : 
 Bravely resolve to love, and be undone. 
 
 'Tis thus the martial virgin pleads ; 
 
 Thus she the am'rous god persuades 
 
 To fly from Venus, and the flow'ry meads. 
 
 You see here that poets and warriors are often- 
 times in affliction, even under the shades of their 
 protecting laurels ; and let the nymphs and virgins 
 sing what they please to their memory, under the 
 myrtles, and on flowery beds, they are much better 
 days than in the campaign. Nor do the crowns of 
 glory surpass those of love : the first is but an 
 empty name, which is now kept and lost with hazard ; 
 but love more nobly employs a brave soul, and all 
 his pleasures are solid and lasting ; and when one has 
 a worthy object of one's flame, glory accompanies 
 love too. But go to sleep, the hour is come ; though 
 it is now that your soul ought to be entertained in 
 dreams.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 255 
 
 TWO O'CLOCK 
 
 CONVERSATION IN DREAMS 
 
 I doubt not but you will think it very bold and 
 arbitrary, that my watch should pretend to rule even 
 your sleeping hours, and that my cupid should govern 
 your very dreams ; which are but thoughts disordered, 
 in which reason has no part ; chimeras of the imagina- 
 tion, and no more. But though my watch does not 
 pretend to counsel unreasonable, yet you must allow 
 it here, if not to pass the bounds, at least to advance 
 to the utmost limits of it. I am assured, that after 
 having thought so much of me in the day, you will 
 think of me also in the night. And the first dream 
 my watch permits you to make, is to think you are 
 in conversation with me. 
 
 Imagine, Damon, that you are talking to me of 
 your passion, with all the transport of a lover, and 
 that I hear you with satisfaction ; that all my looks 
 and blushes, while you are speaking, give you new 
 hopes and assurances ; that you are not indifferent to 
 me ; and that I give you a thousand testimonies of 
 my tenderness, all innocent and obliging. 
 
 While you are saying all that love can dictate, all 
 that wit and good manners can invent, and all that I 
 wish to hear from Damon, believe in this dream, all 
 flattering and dear, that after having showed me the 
 ardour of your flame, I confess to you the bottom of 
 my heart, and all the loving secrets there ; that I give 
 you sigh for sigh, tenderness for tenderness, heart for 
 heart, and pleasure for pleasure. And I would have 
 your sense of this dream so perfect, and your joy so 
 entire, that if it happen you should awake with the 
 satisfaction of this dream, you should find your heart 
 still panting with the soft pleasure of the dear
 
 256 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 deceiving transport, and you should be ready to cry 
 out: 
 
 Ah ! how sweet it is to dream, 
 When charming Iris is the theme ! 
 
 For such, I wish, my Damon, your sleeping and your 
 waking thoughts should render me to your heart. 
 
 THREE O'CLOCK 
 
 CAPRICIOUS SUFFERING IN DREAMS 
 
 It is but just to mix a little chagrin with these 
 pleasures, a little bitter with your sweet ; you may be 
 cloyed with too long an imagination of my favours : 
 and I will have your fancy in dreams represent me to 
 it, as the most capricious maid in the world. I know, 
 here you will accuse my watch, and blame me with 
 unnecessary cruelty, as you will call it: but lovers 
 have their little ends, their little advantages, to pursue 
 by methods wholly unaccountable to all, but that 
 heart which contrives them. And as good a lover as 
 I believe you, you will not enter into my design at 
 first sight; and though, on reasonable thoughts, you 
 will be satisfied with this conduct of mine, at its first 
 approach you will be ready to cry out : 
 
 THE REQUEST 
 
 Oh Iris ! let my sleeping hours be fraught 
 With joys, which you deny my waking thought 
 Is't not enough you absent are ? 
 
 Is't not enough I sigh all day, 
 And languish out my life in care, 
 
 To ev'ry passion made a prey ? 
 I burn with love, and soft desire ; 
 
 I rave with jealousy and fear : 
 All day, for ease, my soul I tire ; 
 In vain I search it ev'rywhere : 
 It dwells not with the witty or the fair.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 257 
 
 It is not in the camp or court, 
 In business, music, or in sport ; 
 The plays, the Park, the Mall afford 
 No more than the dull basset-board. 
 The beauties in the drawing-room, 
 With all their sweetness, all their bloom, 
 No more my faithful eyes invite, 
 
 Nor rob my Iris of a sigh or glance, 
 Unless soft thoughts of her incite 
 
 A smile, or trivial complaisance. 
 Then since my days so anxious prove, 
 
 Ah, cruel tyrant ! give 
 A little loose to joys in love, 
 
 And let your Damon live. 
 
 Let him in dreams be happy made, 
 
 And let his sleep some bliss provide : 
 The nicest maid may yield in night's dark shade, 
 
 What she so long by daylight had denied. 
 There let me think you present are, 
 And court my pillow for my fair. 
 There let me find you kind, and that you give 
 All that a man of honour dares receive. 
 
 And may my eyes eternal watches keep, 
 Rather than want that pleasure when I : 
 
 sleep. 
 
 Some such complaint as this I know you will 
 make ; but, Damon, if the little quarrels of lovers 
 render the reconciling moments so infinitely charm- 
 ing, you must needs allow, that these little chagrins 
 in capricious dreams must awaken you to more joy to 
 find them but dreams, than if you had met with no 
 disorder there. It is for this reason that I would have 
 you suffer a little pain for a coming pleasure ; nor, 
 indeed, is it possible for you to escape the dreams my 
 cupid points you out. You shall dream that I have 
 a thousand foibles, something of the lightness of my 
 sex ; that my soul is employed in a thousand vanities ; 
 that (proud and fond of lovers) I make advances for 
 the glory of a slave, without any other interest or design 
 than that of being adored. I will give you leave to 
 think my heart fickle, and that, far from resigning it 
 to anyone, I lend it only for a day, or an hour, and 
 s
 
 258 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 take it back at pleasure ; that I am a very coquette, 
 even to impertinence. 
 
 All this I give you leave to think, and to offend 
 me : but it is in sleep only that I permit it ; for I 
 would never pardon you the least offence of this 
 nature, if in any other kind than in a dream. Nor is 
 it enough affliction to you, to imagine me thus idly 
 vain ; but you are to pass on to a hundred more 
 capricious humours : as that I exact of you a hundred 
 u ijust things; that I pretend you should break off 
 with all your friends, and for the future have none at 
 all; that I will myself do those things, which I 
 violently condemn in you ; and that I will have for 
 others, as well as you, that tender friendship that 
 resembles love, or rather love which people call friend- 
 ship ; and that I will not, after all, have you dare 
 complain of me. 
 
 In fine, be as ingenious as you please to torment 
 yourself; and believe, that I am become unjust, un- 
 grateful, and insensible. But were I so indeed, O 
 Damon ! consider your awaking heart, and tell me, 
 would your love stand the proof of all these faults in 
 me? But know, that I would have you believe I 
 have none of these weaknesses, though I am not 
 wholly without faults, but those will be excusable to 
 a lover ; and this notion I have of a perfect one : 
 
 Whate'er fantastic humours rule the fair, 
 She's still the lover's dotage, and his care. 
 
 FOUR O'CLOCK 
 
 JEALOUSY IN DREAMS 
 
 Do not think, Damon, to wake yet ; for I design 
 you shall yet suffer a little more : jealousy must now 
 possess you, that tyrant over the heart, that compels 
 your very reason, and seduces all your good-nature. 
 And in this dream you must believe that in sleeping,
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 259 
 
 which you could not do me the injustice to do when 
 awake. And here you must explain all my actions 
 to the utmost disadvantage : nay, I will wish, that 
 the force of this jealousy may be so extreme, that it 
 may make you languish in grief, and be overcome 
 with anger. 
 
 You shall now imagine, that one of your rivals is 
 with me, interrupting all you say, or hindering all you 
 would say ; that I have no attention to what you 
 say aloud to me, but that I incline mine ear to 
 hearken to all that he whispers to me. You shall 
 repine, that he pursues me everywhere, and is eter- 
 nally at your heels if you approach me ; that I caress 
 him with sweetness in my eyes, and that vanity in my 
 heart, that possesses the humours of almost all the 
 fair; that is, to believe it greatly for my glory to have 
 abundance of rivals for my lovers. I know you love me 
 too well not to be extremely uneasy in the company 
 of a rival, and to have one perpetually near me ; for 
 let him be beloved or not by the mistress, it must be 
 confessed, a rival is a very troublesome person. But, 
 to afflict you to the utmost, I will have you imagine 
 that my eyes approve of all his thoughts ; that they 
 flatter him with hopes ; and that I have taken away 
 my heart from you, to make a present of it to this 
 more lucky man. You shall suffer, while possessed 
 with this dream, all that a cruel jealousy can make a 
 tender soul suffer. 
 
 THE TORMENT 
 
 O jealousy ! thou passion most ingrate ! 
 Tormenting as despair, envious as hate ! 
 Spiteful as witchcraft, which th' Invoker harms ; 
 Worse than the wretch that suffers by its charms. 
 Thou subtile poison in the fancy bred, 
 Diffused through every vein, the heart and head, 
 And over all, like wild contagion spread, 
 Thou, whose sole property is to destroy, 
 Thou opposite to good, antipathy to joy ; 
 Whose attributes are cruel rage and fire, 
 Reason debauched, false sense, and mad desire.
 
 2<5o THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 In fine, it is a passion that ruffles all the senses, 
 and disorders the whole frame of nature. It makes 
 one hear and see what was never spoken, and what 
 never was in view. It is the bane of health and 
 beauty, an unmannerly intruder ; and an evil of life 
 worse than death. She is a very cruel tyrant in the 
 heart ; she possesses and pierces it with infinite un- 
 quiets ; and we may lay it down as a certain maxim 
 
 She that would rack a lover's heart 
 
 To the extent of cruelty, 
 Must his tranquillity pervert 
 
 To the most torturing jealousy. 
 
 I speak too sensibly of this passion, not to have 
 loved well enough to have been touched with it. And 
 you shall be this unhappy lover, Damon, during this 
 dream, in which nothing shall present itself to your 
 tumultuous thoughts, that shall not bring its pain. 
 You shall here pass and repass a hundred designs, 
 that shall confound one another. In fine, Damon, 
 anger, hatred, and revenge, shall surround your heart. 
 
 There they shall all together reign 
 With mighty force, with mighty pain ; 
 In spite of reason, in contempt of love : 
 Sometimes by turns, sometimes united move. 
 
 FIVE O'CLOCK 
 
 QUARRELS IN DREAMS 
 
 I perceive you are not able to suffer all this in- 
 justice, nor can I permit it any longer : and though 
 you commit no crime yourself, yet you believe in this 
 dream, that I complain of the injuries you do my 
 fame ; and that I am extremely angry with a jealousy 
 so prejudicial to my honour. Upon this belief you
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 261 
 
 accuse me of weakness ; you resolve to see me no 
 more, and are making a thousand feeble vows against 
 love. You esteem me as a false one, and resolve to 
 cease loving the vain coquette, and will say to me, as 
 a certain friend of yours said to his false mistress : 
 
 THE INCONSTANT 
 
 Though, Sylvia, you are very fair, 
 
 Yet disagreeable to me ; 
 And since you so inconstant are, 
 
 Your beauty's damned with levity. 
 Your wit, your most offensive arms, 
 For want of judgment, wants its charms. 
 
 To every lover that is new, 
 
 All new and charming you surprise ; 
 But when your fickle mind they view, 
 They shun the danger of your eyes. 
 Should you a miracle of beauty show, 
 Yet you're inconstant, and will still be so. 
 
 It is thus you will think of me : and in fine, 
 Damon, during this dream, we are in perpetual state 
 of war. 
 
 Thus both resolve to break their chain, 
 And think to do't without much pain, 
 But oh ! alas ! we strive in vain. 
 
 For lovers, of themselves, can nothing do ; 
 There must be the consent of two : 
 You give it me, and I must give it you. 
 
 And if we shall never be free, till we acquit one 
 another, this tie between you and I, Damon, is likely 
 to last as long as we live ; therefore in vain you 
 endeavour, but can never attain your end ; and in 
 conclusion you will say, in thinking of me : 
 
 Oh ! how at ease my heart would live, 
 Could I renounce this fugitive ; 
 This dear, but false, attracting maid 
 That has her vows and faith betrayed I 
 Reason would have it so, but love 
 Dares not the dang'rous trial prove.
 
 262 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 Do not be angry then, for this afflicting hour is 
 drawing to an end, and you ought not to despair of 
 coming into my absolute favour again : 
 
 Then do not let your murm'ring heart, 
 Against my int'rest, take your part. 
 The feud was raised by dreams, all false and vain, 
 And the next sleep shall reconcile again. 
 
 SIX O'CLOCK 
 
 ACCOMMODATION IN DREAMS 
 
 Though the angry lovers force themselves, all they 
 can, to chase away the troublesome tenderness of the 
 heart, in the height of their quarrels, love sees all 
 their sufferings, pities and redresses them. And 
 when we begin to cool, and a soft repentance follows 
 the chagrin of the love-quarrel, it is then that love 
 takes the advantage of both hearts, and renews the 
 charming friendship more forcibly than ever, puts a 
 stop to all our feuds, and renders the peace-making 
 minutes the most dear and tender part of our life. 
 How pleasing it is to see your rage dissolve ! How 
 sweet, how soft is every word that pleads for pardon 
 at my feet ! It is there that you tell me, your very 
 sufferings are overpaid, when I but assure you from 
 my eyes, that I will forget your crime. And your 
 imagination shall here present me the most sensible 
 of your past pain, that you can wish; and that all my 
 anger being banished, I give you a thousand marks 
 of my faith and gratitude ; and lastly, to crown all, 
 that we again make new vows to one another of 
 inviolable peace: 
 
 After these debates of love, 
 Lovers thousand pleasures prove, 
 Which they ever think to taste, 
 Though oftentimes they do not last
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 263 
 
 Enjoy then all the pleasures that a heart that is 
 very amorous, and very tender, can enjoy. Think no 
 more on those inquietudes that you have suffered ; 
 bless Love for his favours, and thank me for my 
 graces : and resolve to endure anything, rather than 
 enter upon any new quarrels. And however dear the 
 reconciling moments are, there proceeds a great deal 
 of evil from these little frequent quarrels; and I think 
 the best counsel we can follow, is to avoid them as near 
 as we can. And if we cannot, but that, in spite of love 
 and good understanding, they should break out, we 
 ought to make as speedy peace as possible ; for it is 
 not good to grate the heart too long, lest it grow 
 hardened insensibly, and lose its native temper. A 
 few quarrels there must be in love : love cannot sup- 
 port itself without them : and, besides the joy of an 
 accommodation, love becomes by it more strongly 
 united, and more charming. Therefore let the lover 
 receive this as a certain receipt against declining love : 
 
 LOVE RECONCILED 
 
 He that would have the passion be 
 
 Entire between the am'rous pair, 
 Let not the little feuds of jealousy 
 
 Be carried on to a despair : 
 That palls the pleasure he would raise ; 
 The fire that he would blow, allays. 
 
 When understandings false arise, 
 When misinterpreted your thought, 
 
 If false conjectures of your smiles and eyes 
 Be up to baneful quarrels wrought ; 
 
 Let love the kind occasion take, 
 
 And straight accommodations make. 
 
 The sullen lover, long unkind, 
 
 Ill-natured, hard to reconcile, 
 Loses the heart he had inclined ; 
 
 Love cannot undergo long toil ; 
 He's soft and sweet, not born to bear 
 The rough fatigues of painful war.
 
 264 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 SEVEN O'CLOCK 
 
 DIVERS DREAMS 
 
 Behold, Damon, the last hour of your sleep, and of 
 my watch. She leaves you at liberty now, and you 
 may choose your dreams : trust them to your imagina- 
 tion, give a loose to fancy, and let it rove at will, 
 provided, Damon, it be always guided by a respectful 
 love. For thus far I pretend to give bounds to your 
 imagination, and will not have it pass beyond them. 
 Take heed, in sleeping, you give no ear to a flattering 
 cupid, that will favour your slumbering minutes with 
 lies too pleasing and vain : you are discreet enough 
 when you are awake ; will you not be so in dreams ? 
 
 Damon, awake ; my watch's course is done : after 
 this, you cannot be ignorant of what you ought to do 
 during my absence. I did not believe it necessary to 
 caution you about balls and comedies ; you know, 
 a lover deprived of his mistress, goes seldom there. 
 But if you cannot handsomely avoid these diversions, 
 I am not so unjust a mistress, to be angry with you 
 for it , go, if civility, or other duties oblige you. 
 I will only forbid you, in consideration of me, not 
 to be too much satisfied with those pleasures; but 
 see them so, as the world may have reason to say, 
 you do not seek them, you do not make a business 
 or pleasure of them ; and that it is complaisance, 
 and not inclination, that carries you thither. Seem 
 rather negligent than concerned at anything there ; 
 and let every part of you say, Iris is not here. 
 
 I say nothing to you neither of your duty else- 
 where ; I am satisfied you know it too well ; and 
 have too great a veneration for your glorious master, 
 to neglect any part of that for even love itself. And 
 I very well know how much you love to be eternally 
 near his illustrious person ; and that you scarce prefer 
 your mistress before him, in point of love : in all
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 265 
 
 things else, I give him leave to take place of Iris in the 
 noble heart of Damon. 
 
 I am satisfied you pass your time well now at 
 Windsor, for you adore that place; and it is not, 
 indeed, without great reason ; for it is most certainly 
 now rendered the most glorious palace in the Chris- 
 tian world. And had our late gracious sovereign, of 
 blessed memory, had no other miracles and wonders 
 of his life and reign to have immortalised his fame 
 (of which there shall remain a thousand to posterity) 
 this noble structure alone, this building (almost 
 divine) would have eternised the great name of 
 glorious Charles II. till the world moulder again to 
 its old confusion, its first chaos. And the painting 
 of the famous Varrio, and noble carvings of the 
 inimitable Gibbon, shall never die, but remain to tell 
 succeeding ages, that all arts and learning were not 
 confined to ancient Rome and Greece, but that 
 England, too, could boast its mightiest share. Nor is 
 the inside of this magnificent structure, immortalised 
 with so many eternal images of the illustrious Charles 
 and Catharine, more to be admired than the wondrous 
 prospects without. The stupendous height, on which 
 the famous pile is built, renders the fields, and flowery 
 meadows below, the woods, the thickets, and the 
 winding streams, the most delightful object that ever 
 nature produced. Beyond all these, and far below, 
 in an inviting vale, the venerable college, an old, but 
 noble building, raises itself, in the midst of all the 
 beauties of nature, high-grown trees, fruitful plains, 
 purling rivulets, and spacious gardens, adorned with 
 all variety of sweets that can delight the senses. 
 
 At farther distance yet, on an ascent almost as 
 high as that to the royal structure, you may behold 
 the famous and noble Clifdon rise, a palace erected 
 by the illustrious Duke of Buckingham, who will 
 leave this wondrous piece of architecture, to inform 
 the future world of the greatness and delicacy of his 
 mind ; it being for its situation, its prospects, and its
 
 266 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 marvellous contrivances, one of the finest villas of 
 the world ; at least, were it finished as begun ; and 
 would sufficiently declare the magnificent soul of the 
 hero that caused it to be built, and contrived all its 
 fineness. And this makes up not the least part of the 
 beautiful prospect from the Palace Royal, while on 
 the other side lies spread a fruitful and delightful park 
 and forest well stored with deer, and all that makes 
 the prospect charming; fine walks, groves, distant 
 valleys, downs, and hills, and all that nature could in- 
 vent, to furnish out a quiet soft retreat for the most 
 fair and most charming of queens, and the most 
 heroic, good, and just of kings. And these groves 
 alone are fit and worthy to divert such earthly gods. 
 
 Nor can heaven, nature, or human art contrive an 
 addition to this earthly paradise, unless those great 
 inventors of the age, Sir Samuel Moreland, or Sir 
 Robert Gordon, could by the power of engines, con- 
 vey the water so into the park and Castle, as to furnish 
 it with delightful fountains, both useful and beautiful. 
 These are only wanting, to render the place all perfec- 
 tion, and without exception. 
 
 This, Damon, is a long digression from the business 
 of my heart ; but, you know I am so in love with that 
 charming Court, that when you gave me an occasion, 
 by your being there now, only to name the place, 
 I could not forbear transgressing a little, in favour of 
 its wondrous beauty ; and the rather, because I would, 
 in recounting it, give you to understand how many 
 fine objects there are, besides the ladies that adorn it, 
 to employ your vacant moments in ; and I hope you 
 will, without my instructions, pass a great part of your 
 idle time in surveying these prospects, and give that 
 admiration you should pay to living beauty, to those 
 more venerable monuments of everlasting fame. 
 
 Neither need I, Damon, assign you your waiting 
 times : your honour, duty, love, and obedience, will 
 instruct you when to be near the person of the King ; 
 and, I believe, you will omit no part of that devoir.
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 267 
 
 You ought to establish your fortune and your glory : 
 for I am not of the mind of those critical lovers, who 
 believe it a very hard matter to reconcile love and 
 interest, to adore a mistress, and serve a master at the 
 same time. And I have heard those, who on this 
 subject, say, ' Let a man be never so careful in these 
 double duties, it is ten to one but he loses his fortune 
 or his mistress.' These are errors that I condemn : 
 and I know that love and ambition are not incom- 
 patible, but that a brave man may preserve all his 
 duties to his sovereign, and his passion and his respect 
 for his mistress. And this is my notion of it : 
 
 LOVE AND AMBITION 
 
 The nobler lover, who would prove 
 
 Uncommon in address, 
 Let him Ambition join with Love ; 
 
 With Glory, Tenderness : 
 But let the virtues so be mixt, 
 
 That when to Love he goes. 
 Ambition may not come betwixt, 
 
 Nor Love his power oppose. 
 The vacant hours from softer sport, 
 Let him give up to interest and the court. 
 
 'Tis Honour shall his business be, 
 
 And Love his noblest play : 
 Those two should never disagree, 
 
 For both make either gay. 
 Love without Honour were too mean 
 
 For any gallant heart ; 
 And Honour singly, but a dream, 
 
 Where Love must have no part. 
 A flame like this you cannot fear. 
 Where Glory claims an equal share. 
 
 Such a passion, Damon, can never make you quit 
 any part of your duty to your Prince. And the 
 monarch you serve is so gallant a master, that the 
 inclination you have to his person obliges you to 
 serve him, as much as your duty ; for Damon's loyal
 
 268 THE LOVER'S WATCH 
 
 soul loves the man, and adores the monarch: for he is 
 certainly all that compels both, by a charming force 
 and goodness, from all mankind. 
 
 THE KING 
 
 Darling of Mars ! Bellona's care 1 
 
 The second deity of war ! 
 
 Delight of heaven, and joy of earth ! 
 
 Born for great and wondrous things, 
 
 Destined at his auspicious birth 
 
 T' outdo the numerous race of long-past kings. 
 
 Best representative of heaven, 
 
 To whom its chiefest attributes are given I 
 
 Great, pious, steadfast, just, and brave ! 
 
 To vengeance slow, but swift to save ! 
 
 Dispensing mercy all abroad ! 
 
 Soft and forgiving as a god ! 
 
 Thou saving angel who preserv'st the land 
 
 From the just rage of the avenging hand ; 
 
 Stopt the dire plague, that o'er the earth was hurled, 
 
 And sheathing thy almighty sword, 
 
 Calmed the wild fears of a distracted world, 
 
 (As heaven first made it) with a sacred word 1 
 
 But I will stop the low flight of my humble Muse, 
 who when she is upon the wing, on this glorious 
 subject, knows no bounds. And all the world has 
 agreed to say so much of the virtues and wonders of 
 this great monarch, that they have left me nothing 
 new to say; though indeed he every day gives us new 
 themes of his growing greatness, and we see nothing 
 that equals him in our age. Oh ! how happy are we 
 to obey his laws ; for he is the greatest of kings, and 
 the best of men. 
 
 You will be very unjust, Damon, if you do not 
 confess I have acquitted myself like a maid of honour, 
 of all the obligations I owe you, upon the account of 
 the discretion I lost to you. If it be not valuable 
 enough, I am generous enough to make it good : and
 
 THE LOVER'S WATCH 269 
 
 since I am so willing to be just, you ought to esteem 
 me, and to make it your chiefest care to preserve me 
 yours ; for I believe I shall deserve it, and wish you 
 should believe so too. Remember me, write to me, 
 and observe punctually all the motions of my watch : 
 the more you regard it, the better you will like it ; and 
 whatever you think of it at first sight, it is no ill 
 present. The invention is soft and gallant ; and 
 Germany, so celebrated for rare watches, can produce 
 nothing to equal this. 
 
 Damon, my watch is just and new j 
 And all a lover ought to do, 
 My cupid faithfully will show. 
 And ev'ry hour he renders there, 
 Except theurc du Berglre.
 
 THE CASE 
 FOR THE WATCH 
 
 DAMON TO IRIS 
 
 EXPECT not, O charming Iris ! that I should choose 
 words to thank you in ; (words, that least part of love, 
 and least the business of the lover) but will say all, 
 and everything that a tender heart can dictate, to 
 make an acknowledgment for so dear and precious 
 a present as this of your charming watch : while 
 all I can say will but too dully express my sense of 
 gratitude, my joy, and the pleasure I receive in the 
 mighty favour. I confess the present too rich, too 
 gay, and too magnificent for my expectation : and 
 though my love and faith deserve it, yet my humbler 
 hope never durst carry me to a wish of so great 
 a bliss, so great an acknowledgment from the maid 
 I adore. The materials are glorious, the work deli- 
 cate, and the movement just, and even gives rules to 
 my heart, who shall observe very exactly all that the 
 cupid remarks to me; even to the minutes, which 
 I will point with sighs, though I am obliged to them 
 there but every half hour. 
 
 You tell me, fair Iris, that I ought to preserve it 
 tenderly, and yet you have sent it me without a case. 
 But that I may obey you justly, and keep it dear to 
 me, as long as I live, I will give it a case of my 
 fashion : it shall be delicate, and suitable to the fine 
 271
 
 272 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 
 
 present, of such materials too. But because I would 
 have it perfect, I will consult your admirable wit and 
 invention in an affair of so curious a consequence. 
 
 THE FIGURE OF THE CASE 
 
 I design to give it the figure of the heart. Does 
 not your watch, Iris, rule the heart? It was your 
 heart that contrived it, and it was your heart you 
 consulted in all the management of it ; and it was 
 your heart that brought it to so fine a conclusion. 
 The heart never acts without reason, and all the heart 
 projects, it performs with pleasure. 
 
 Your watch, my lovely maid, has explained to me 
 a world of rich secrets of love : and where should 
 thoughts so sacred be stored, but in the heart, where 
 all the secrets of the soul are treasured up, and of 
 which only Love alone can take a view ? It is thence 
 he take his sighs and tears, and all his little flatteries 
 and arts to please ; all his fine thoughts, and all his 
 mighty raptures ; nothing is so proper as the heart to 
 preserve it, nothing so worthy as the heart to contain 
 it ; and it concerns my interest too much, not to be 
 infinitely careful of so dear a treasure. And believe 
 me, charming Iris, I will never part with it 
 
 THE VOTARY 
 
 Fair goddess of my just desire, 
 
 Inspirer of my softest fire ! 
 
 Since you, from out the num'rous throng 
 
 That to your altars do belong, 
 To me the sacred myst'ry have revealed, 
 From all my rival-worshippers concealed ; 
 
 And taught my soul with heav'nly fire, 
 
 Refined it from its grosser sense, 
 And wrought it to a higher excellence ; 
 
 It can no more return to earth, 
 
 Like things that thence receive their birth : 
 
 But still aspiring, upward move, 
 And teach the world new flights of love ; 
 
 New arts of secrecy shall learn, 
 And render youth discreet in love's concern.
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 273 
 
 In his soft heart, to hide the charming things 
 
 A mistress whispers to his ear ; 
 
 And ev'ry tender sigh she brings, 
 
 Mix with his soul, and hide it there. 
 To bear himself so well in company, 
 
 That if his mistress present be, 
 
 It may be thought by all the fair, 
 
 Each in his heart does claim a share, 
 
 And all are more beloved than she. 
 But when with the dear maid apart, 
 
 Then at her feet the lover lies ; 
 Opens his soul, shows all his heart, 
 
 While joy is dancing in his eyes. 
 Then all that honour may, or take, or give, 
 
 They both distribute, both receive. 
 A looker-on would spoil a lover's joy ; 
 For love's a game where only two can play. 
 
 And 'tis the hardest of love's mysteries, 
 To feign love where it is not, hide it where it is. 
 
 After having told you, my lovely Iris, that I design 
 to put your watch into a heart, I ought to show you 
 the ornaments of the case. I do intend to have them 
 crowned ciphers : I do not mean those crowns of 
 vanity, which are put indifferently on all sorts of 
 ciphers; no, I must have such as may distinguish 
 mine from the rest, and may be true emblems of 
 what I would represent. My four ciphers therefore 
 shall be crowned with these four wreaths of olive, 
 laurel, myrtle, and roses : and the letters that begin 
 the names of Iris and Damon shall compose the 
 ciphers ; though I must intermix some other letters 
 that bear another sense, and have another signification. 
 
 THE FIRST CIPHER 
 
 The first cipher is composed of an I and a D, 
 which are joined by an L and an E ; which signifies 
 Love Extreme. And it is but just, O adorable Iris ! 
 that love should be mixed with our ciphers, and that 
 love alone should be the union of them.
 
 274 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 
 
 Love ought alone the mystic knot to tie ; 
 
 Love, that great master of all arts : 
 And this dear cipher is to let you see, 
 
 Love unites names as well as hearts. 
 
 Without this charming union, our souls could not 
 communicate those invisible sweetnesses, which com- 
 plete the felicity of lovers, and which the most tender 
 and passionate expressions are too feeble to make us 
 comprehend. But, my adorable Iris, I am contented 
 with the vast pleasure I feel in loving well, without 
 the care of expressing it well ; if you will imagine 
 my pleasure, without expressing it. For I confess, 
 it would be no joy to me to adore you, if you did 
 not perfectly believe I did adore you. Nay, though 
 you loved me, if you had no faith in me, I should 
 languish and love in as much pain, as if you scorned ; 
 and at the same time believe I died for you. For 
 surely, Iris, it is a greater pleasure to please than to 
 be pleased ; and the glorious power of giving, is in- 
 finitely a greater satisfaction, than that of receiving : 
 there is so great and god-like a quality in it. I 
 would have your belief therefore equal to my passion, 
 extreme ; as indeed all love should be, or it cannot 
 bear that divine name : it can pass but for an in- 
 different affection. And these ciphers ought to make 
 the world find all the noble force of delicate passion : 
 for, O my Iris ! what would love signify, if we did 
 not love fervently? Sisters and brothers love; friends 
 and relations have affections: but where the souls 
 are joined, which are filled with eternal soft wishes, 
 oh ! there is some excess of pleasure, which cannot 
 be expressed ! 
 
 Your looks, your dear obliging words, and your 
 charming letters, have sufficiently persuaded me of 
 your tenderness ; and you might surely see the excess 
 of my passion by my cares, my sighs, and entire 
 resignation to your will. I never think of Iris, but 
 my heart feels double flames, and pants and heaves 
 with double sighs ; and whose force makes its ardours
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 275 
 
 known, by a thousand transports. And they are 
 very much to blame, to give the name of love to 
 feeble easy passions. Such transitory tranquil in- 
 clinations are at best but well-wishers to love ; and 
 a heart that has such heats as those, ought not to 
 put itself into the rank of those nobler victims that 
 are offered at the shrine of Love. But our souls, Iris, 
 burn with a more glorious flame, that lights and con- 
 ducts us beyond a possibility of losing one another. 
 It is this that flatters all my hopes ; it is this alone 
 makes me believe myself worthy of Iris : and let her 
 judge of its violence, by the greatness of its splendour. 
 Does not a passion of this nature, so true, so ardent, 
 deserve to be crowned ? And will you wonder to 
 see, over this cipher, a wreath of myrtles, those 
 boughs so sacred to the Queen of Love, and so 
 worshipped by lovers? It is with these soft wreaths, 
 that those are crowned, who understand how to love 
 well and faithfully. 
 
 The smiles, the graces, and the sports, 
 
 That in the secret groves maintain their courts, 
 
 Are with these myrtles crowned : 
 Thither the nymphs their garlands bring ; 
 Their beauties, and their praises sing, 
 
 While echoes do the songs resound. 
 
 Love, though a god, with myrtle wreaths 
 
 Does his soft temples bind ; 
 More valued are those consecrated leaves, 
 
 Than the bright wealth in Eastern rocks confined : 
 And crowns of glory less ambition move, 
 Than those more sacred diadems of love. 
 
 THE SECOND CIPHER 
 
 Is crowned with olives ; and I add to the two 
 letters of our names an R and L, for Reciprocal 
 Love. Every time that I have given you, O lovely 
 Iris, testimonies of my passion, I have been so blest,
 
 276 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 
 
 as to receive some from your bounty ; and you have 
 been pleased to flatter me with a belief, that I was 
 not indifferent to you. I dare therefore say, that 
 being honoured with the glory of your tenderness 
 and care, I ought, as a trophy of my illustrious 
 conquest, to adorn the watch with a cipher that is 
 so advantageous to me. Ought I not to esteem 
 myself the most fortunate and happy of mankind, to 
 have exchanged my heart with so charming and 
 admirable a person as Iris? Ah! how sweet, how 
 precious is the change ; and how vast a glory arrives 
 to me from it ! Oh ! you must not wonder if my 
 soul abandons itself to a thousand ecstasies ! In the 
 merchandise of hearts, oh, how dear it is to receive 
 as much as one gives; and barter heart for heart! 
 Oh ! I would not receive mine again, for all the 
 crowns the universe contains ! Nor ought you, my 
 adorable, make any vows or wishes, ever to retrieve 
 yours ; or show the least repentance for the blessing 
 you have given me. The exchange we made, was 
 confirmed by a noble faith ; and you ought to believe, 
 you have bestowed it well, since you are paid for it 
 a heart that is so conformable to yours, so true, so 
 just, and so full of adoration. And nothing can be 
 the just recompense of love, but love: and to enjoy 
 the true felicity of it, our hearts ought to keep an 
 equal motion ; and, like the scales of justice, always 
 hang even. 
 
 It is the property of reciprocal love, to make the 
 heart feel the delicacy of love, and to give the lover 
 all the ease and softness he can reasonably hope. 
 Such a love renders all things advantageous and 
 prosperous : such a love triumphs over all other 
 pleasures. And I put a crown of olives over the 
 cipher of reciprocal love, to make known, that two 
 hearts, where love is justly equal, enjoy a peace that 
 nothing can disturb.
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 277 
 
 Olives are never fading seen ; 
 
 But always flourishing, and green. 
 The emblem 'tis of Love and Peace ; 
 For Love that's true, will never cease : 
 And Peace does pleasure still increase. 
 
 Joy to the world, the peace of kings imparts ; 
 
 And peace in love distributes it to hearts. 
 
 THE THIRD CIPHER 
 
 The C and L, which are joined to the letters of our 
 names in this cipher crowned with laurel, explains a 
 Constant Love. It will not, my fair Iris, suffice, that 
 my love is extreme, my passion violent, and my 
 wishes fervent, or that our loves are reciprocal ; but 
 they ought also to be constant : for in love, the 
 imagination is oftener carried to those things that may 
 arrive, and which we wish for, than to things that 
 time has robbed us of. And in those agreeable 
 thoughts of joys to come, the heart takes more delight 
 to wander, than in all those that are past; though 
 the remembrance of them be very dear, and very 
 charming. We should be both unjust, if we were not 
 persuaded we are possessed with a virtue, the use of 
 which is so admirable as that of constancy. Our 
 loves are not of that sort that can finish, or have an 
 end ; but such a passion, so perfect, and so constant, 
 that it will be a precedent for future ages, to love per- 
 fectly ; and when they would express an extreme 
 passion, they will say ' They loved, as Damon did the 
 charming Iris.' And he that knows the glory of 
 constant love, will despise those fading passions, 
 those little amusements, that serve for a day. What 
 pleasure or dependence can one have in a love of that 
 sort ? What concern ? What raptures can such an 
 amour produce in a soul ? And what satisfaction can 
 one promise one's self in playing with a false 
 gamester ; who though you are aware of him, in spite 
 of all your precaution, puts the false dice upon you, 
 and wins all ?
 
 278 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 
 
 Those eyes that can no better conquest make, 
 
 Let them ne'er look abroad : 
 Such, but the empty name of lovers take, 
 
 And so profane the god. 
 Better they never should pretend, 
 Than, ere begun, to make an end. 
 
 Of that fond flame what shall we say, 
 That's born and languished in a day ? 
 Such short-lived blessings cannot bring 
 The pleasure of an envying. 
 Who is't will celebrate that flame, 
 That's damned to such a scanty fame ? 
 While constant love the nymphs and swains 
 Still sacred make, in lasting strains 
 And cheerful lays throughout the plains. 
 A constant love knows no decay ; 
 But still advancing ev'ry day, 
 Will last as long as life can stay, 
 With ev'ry look and smile improves, 
 With the same ardour always moves, 
 With such as Damon charming Iris loves 1 
 
 Constant love finds itself impossible to be shaken; it 
 resists the attacks of envy, and a thousand accidents 
 that endeavour to change it. Nothing can disoblige 
 it but a known falseness, or contempt : nothing can 
 remove it; though for a short moment it may lie 
 sullen and resenting, it recovers, and returns with 
 greater force and joy. I therefore, with very good 
 reason, crown this cipher of constant love with a 
 wreath of laurel ; since such love always triumphs 
 over time and fortune, though it be not her property 
 to besiege : for she cannot overcome, but in defending 
 herself; but the victories she gains are nevertheless 
 glorious. 
 
 For far less conquest, we have known 
 
 The victor wear the laurel crown. 
 
 The triumph with more pride let him receive ; 
 
 While those of love, at least, more pleasures give.
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 279 
 
 THE FOURTH CIPHER 
 
 Perhaps, my lovely maid, you will not find out 
 what I mean by the S and the L, in this last cipher, 
 that is crowned with roses. I will therefore tell you, 
 I mean Secret Love. There are very few people who 
 know the nature of that pleasure, which so divine a 
 love creates : and let me say what I will of it, they 
 must feel it themselves, who would rightly understand 
 it, and all its ravishing sweets. But this there is a 
 great deal of reason to believe, that the secrecy in 
 love doubles the pleasures of it. And I am so abso- 
 lutely persuaded of this, that I believe all those 
 favours that are not kept secret, are dull and pallid, 
 very insipid and tasteless pleasures: and let the 
 favours be ever so innocent that a lover receives from 
 a mistress, she ought to value them, set a price upon 
 them, and make the lover pay dear ; while he receives 
 them with difficulty, and sometimes with hazard. A 
 lover that is not secret, but suffers every one to count 
 his sighs, has at most but a feeble passion, such as 
 produces sudden and transitory desires which die as 
 soon as born. A true love has not this character ; for 
 whensoever it is made public, it ceases to be a pleasure, 
 and is only the result of vanity. Not that I expect 
 our loves should always remain a secret. No, I should 
 never, at that rate, arrive to a blessing, which, above 
 all the glories of the earth, I aspire to ; but even then 
 there are a thousand joys, a thousand pleasures that 
 I shall be as careful to conceal from the foolish world, 
 as if the whole preservation of that pleasure depended 
 on my silence ; as indeed it does in a great measure. 
 
 To this cipher I put a crown of roses, which are 
 not flowers of a very lasting date. And it is to let 
 you see, that it is impossible love can be long hid. 
 We see every day, with what fine dissimulation and 
 pains, people conceal a thousand hates and malices, 
 disgusts, disobligations, and resentments, without
 
 2 8o THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 
 
 being able to conceal the least part of their love : but 
 reputation has an odour as well as roses ; and a lover 
 ought to esteem that as the dearest and tenderest 
 thing : not only that of his own, which is, indeed, the 
 least part ; but that of his mistress, more valuable to 
 him than life. He ought to endeavour to give people 
 no occasion to make false judgments of his actions, 
 or to give their censures ; which most certainly are 
 never in the favour of the fair person : for likely, 
 those false censurers are of the busy female sex, the 
 coquettes of that number ; whose little spites and 
 railleries, joined to that fancied wit they boast of, set 
 them at odds with all the beautiful and innocent. 
 And how very little of that kind serves to give the 
 world a faith, when a thousand virtues, told of the 
 same persons, by more credible witnesses and judges, 
 shall pass unregarded ! so willing and inclined is all 
 the world to credit the ill, and condemn the good ! 
 And yet, oh ! what pity it is we are compelled to 
 live in pain, to oblige this foolish scandalous world ! 
 And though we know each other's virtue and honour, 
 we are obliged to observe that caution (to humour the 
 talking town) which takes away so great a part of 
 the pleasure of life. It is therefore that among those 
 roses, you will find some thorns ; by which you may 
 imagine, that in love, precaution is necessary to its 
 secrecy. And we must restrain ourselves, upon a 
 thousand occasions, with so much care, that, O Iris ! 
 it is impossible to be discreet, without pain ; but it is 
 a pain that creates a thousand pleasures. 
 
 Where should a lover hide his joys, 
 Free from malice, free from noise ; 
 
 Where no envy can intrude ; 
 Where no busy rival's spy, 
 
 Made, by disappointment, rude, 
 
 May inform his jealousy ? 
 The heart will the best refuge prove ; 
 Which nature meant the cabinet of love. 
 What would a lover not endure, 
 His mistress' fame and honour to secure?
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 281 
 
 Iris, the care we take to be discreet, 
 
 Is the dear toil that makes the pleasure sweet : 
 
 The thorn that does the wealth inclose, 
 
 That with less saucy freedom we may touch the rose. 
 
 THE CLASP OF THE WATCH 
 
 Ah, charming Iris ! Ah, my lovely maid ! it is 
 now, in a more peculiar manner, that I require your 
 aid in the finishing of my design, and completing the 
 whole piece to the utmost perfection ; and without 
 your aid it cannot be performed. It is about the 
 clasp of the watch ; a material in all appearance, the 
 most trivial of any part of it. But that it may be 
 safe for ever, I design it the image, or figure of two 
 hands ; that fair one of the adorable Iris, joined to 
 mine; with this motto, " Inviolable Faith." For in this 
 case, this heart ought to be shut up by this eternal 
 clasp. Oh ! there is nothing so necessary as this ! 
 Nothing can secure love, but faith. 
 
 That virtue ought to be a guard to all the heart 
 thinks, and all the mouth utters : nor can love say 
 he triumphs without it. And when that remains not 
 in the heart, all the rest deserves no regard. Oh ! I 
 have not loved so ill to leave one doubt upon your 
 soul. Why then, will you want that faith, O unkind 
 charmer, that my passion and my services so justly 
 merit ? 
 
 When two hearts entirely love, 
 
 And in one sphere of honour move, 
 
 Each maintains the other's fire, 
 
 With a faith that is entire. 
 
 For, what heedless youth bestows, 
 
 On a faithless maid, his vows ? 
 
 Faith without love, bears Virtue's price ; 
 
 But love without her mixture, is a vice. 
 Love, like religion, still should be, 
 In the foundation firm and true ; 
 In points of faith should still agree, 
 Though innovations vain and new, 
 
 Love's little quarrels, may arise ; 
 
 In foundations still they're just and wise.
 
 282 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 
 
 Then, charming maid, be sure of this ; 
 
 Allow me faith, as well as love : 
 Since that alone affords no bliss, 
 
 Unless your faith your love improve. 
 Either resolve to let me die 
 By fairer play, your cruelty ; 
 Than not your love with faith impart, 
 And with your vows to give your heart. 
 In mad despair I'd rather fall, 
 Than lose my glorious hopes of conquering all. 
 
 So certain it is, that love without faith, is of no 
 value. 
 
 In fine, my adorable Iris, this case shall be, as near 
 as I can, like those delicate ones of filigrain work, 
 which do not hinder the sight from taking a view of 
 all within : you may therefore see, through this heart, 
 all your watch. Nor is my desire of preserving this 
 inestimable piece more, than to make it the whole 
 rule of my life and actions. And my chiefest design 
 in these ciphers, is to comprehend in them the 
 principal virtues that are most necessary to love. 
 Do not we know that reciprocal love is justice? 
 Constant love, fortitude ? Secret love, prudence ? 
 Though it is true that extreme love, that is, excess 
 of love, in one sense, appears not to be temperance ; 
 yet you must know, my Iris, that in matters of love, 
 excess is a virtue, and that all other degrees of love 
 are worthy scorn alone. It is this alone that can 
 make good the glorious title : it is this alone that can 
 bear the name of love ; and this alone that renders 
 the lovers truly happy, in spite of all the storms of 
 fate, and shocks of fortune. This is an antidote 
 against all other griefs : this bears up the soul in all 
 calamity ; and is the very heaven of life, the last 
 refuge of all worldly pain and care, and may well 
 bear the title of divine.
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 283 
 
 THE ART OF LOVING WELL 
 
 That Love may all perfection be, 
 
 Sweet, charming to the last degree, 
 
 The heart, where the bright flames do dwell, 
 
 In faith and softness should excel : 
 
 Excess of love should fill each vein, 
 
 And all its sacred rites maintain. 
 
 The tend'rest thoughts heav'n can inspire, 
 
 Should be the fuel to its fire : 
 
 And that, like incense, burn as pure ; 
 
 Or that in urns should still endure. 
 
 No fond desire should fill the soul, 
 
 But such as honour may control. 
 
 Jealousy I will allow : 
 
 Not the amorous winds that blow, 
 
 Should wanton in my Iris' hair, 
 
 Or ravish kisses from my fair. 
 
 Not the flowers that grow beneath, 
 
 Should borrow sweetness of her breath, 
 
 If her bird she do caress, 
 How I grudge its happiness, 
 When upon her snowy hand 
 The wanton does triumphing stand ! 
 Or upon her breast she skips, 
 And lays her beak to Iris' lips 1 
 Fainting at my ravished joy, 
 I could the innocent destroy. 
 
 If I can no bliss afford 
 
 To a little harmless bird, 
 
 Tell me, O thou dear-loved maid ! 
 
 What reason could my rage persuade, 
 
 If a rival should invade ? 
 
 If thy charming eyes should dart 
 Looks that sally from the heart ; 
 If you sent a smile, or glance, 
 To another though by chance ; 
 Still thou giv'st what's not thy own, 
 They belong to me alone.
 
 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 
 
 All submission I would pay : 
 
 Man was born the fair t obey. 
 
 Your very look I'd understand, 
 
 And thence receive your least command : 
 
 Never your justice will dispute ; 
 
 But like a lover execute. 
 
 I would no usurper be, 
 
 But in claiming sacred thee. 
 
 I would have all, and every part ; 
 
 No thought would hide within thy heart 
 
 Mine a cabinet was made, 
 
 Where Iris' secrets should be laid. 
 
 In the rest, without control, 
 She should triumph o'er the soul 1 
 Prostrate at her feet I'd lie, 
 Despising power and liberty ; 
 Glorying more by love to fall, 
 Than rule the universal ball. 
 
 Hear me, O you saucy youth ! 
 
 And from my maxims learn this truth : 
 
 Would you great and powerful prove ? 
 
 Be a humble slave to love. 
 
 'Tis nobler far a joy to give, 
 
 Than any blessing to receive.
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 TO DRESS HERSELF BY 
 
 OR THE ART OF CHARMING 
 
 How long, O charming Iris! shall I speak in vain 
 of your adorable beauty? You have been just, and 
 believe I love you with a passion perfectly tender and 
 extreme, and yet you will not allow your charms to 
 be infinite. You must either accuse my flames to be 
 unreasonable, and that my eyes and heart are false 
 judges of wit and beauty ; or allow that you are the 
 most perfect of your sex. But instead of that, you 
 always accuse me of flattery, when I speak of your 
 infinite merit ; and when I refer you to your glass, 
 you tell me, that flatters as well as Damon : though 
 one would imagine, that should be a good witness for 
 the truth of what I say, and undeceive you of the 
 opinion of my injustice. Look and confirm your- 
 self, that nothing can equal your perfections. All the 
 world says it, and you must doubt it no longer. O, 
 Iris ! will you dispute against the whole world ? 
 
 But since you have so long distrusted your own 
 glass, I have here presented you with one, which 
 I know is very true ; and having been made for you 
 only, can serve only you. All other glasses present 
 all objects, but this reflects only Iris : whenever you 
 consult it, it will convince you ; and tell you how 
 much right I have done you, when I told you, you 
 were the fairest person that ever nature made. When 
 285
 
 286 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 other beauties look into it, it will speak to all the fair 
 ones : but let them do what they will, it will say 
 nothing to their advantage. 
 
 Iris, to spare what you call flattery, 
 Consult your glass each hour of the day : 
 
 Twill tell you where your charms and beauties lie, 
 And where your little wanton graces play : 
 
 Where love does revel in your face and eyes ; 
 
 What look invites your slaves, and what denies. 
 
 Where all the loves adorn you with such care, 
 
 Where dress your smiles, where arm your lovely eyes ; 
 
 Where deck the flowing tresses of your hair : 
 How cause your snowy breasts to fall and rise. 
 
 How this severe glance makes a lover die ; 
 
 How that, more soft, gives immortality. 
 
 Where you shall see what 'tis enslaves the soul ; 
 
 Where ev'ry feature, ev'ry look combines : 
 When the adorning air, o'er all the whole, 
 
 To so much wit, and so nice virtue joins. 
 Where the belle taille, and motion still afford 
 Graces to be eternally adored. 
 
 But I will be silent now, and let your glass speak. 
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 Damon (O charming Iris !) has given me to you, 
 that you may sometimes give yourself the trouble, 
 and me the honour of consulting me in the great 
 and weighty affairs of beauty. I am, my adorable 
 mistress ! a faithful glass ; and you ought to believe 
 all I say to you. 
 
 THE SHAPE OF IRIS 
 
 I must begin with your shape, and tell you without 
 flattery, it is the finest in the world, and gives love 
 and admiration to all that see you. Pray observe 
 how free and easy it is, without constraint, stiffness, 
 or affectation : those mistaken graces of the fan- 
 tastic, and the formal, who give themselves pain
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 287 
 
 to show their will to please, and whose dressing 
 makes the greatest part of their fineness, when they 
 are more obliged to the tailor than to nature; who 
 add or diminish, as occasion serves, to form a grace, 
 where heaven never gave it. And while they remain on 
 this wreck of pride, they are eternally uneasy, without 
 pleasing anybody. Iris, I have seen a woman of your 
 acquaintance, who, having a greater opinion of her own 
 person than anybody else, has screwed her body into 
 so fine a form (as she calls it) that she dares no more 
 stir a hand, lift up an arm, or turn her head aside, 
 than if, for the sin of such a disorder, she were to be 
 turned into a pillar of salt ; the less stiff and fixed 
 statue of the two. Nay, she dares not speak or smile, 
 lest she should put her face out of that order she had 
 set it in her glass, when she last looked on herself: 
 and is all over such a Lady Nice (excepting in her 
 conversation) that ever made a ridiculous figure. And 
 there are many ladies more, but too much tainted 
 with that nauseous formality, that old-fashioned vice. 
 But Iris, the charming, the all-perfect Iris, has nothing 
 in her whole form that is not free, natural and easy ; 
 and whose every motion cannot but please ex- 
 tremely; and which has not given Damon a thousand 
 rivals. 
 
 Damon, the young, the am'rous, and the true, 
 
 Who sighs incessantly for you ; 
 
 Whose whole delight, now you are gone, 
 
 Is to retire to shades alone, 
 
 And to the echoes make his moan. 
 
 By purling streams the wishing youth is laid, 
 
 Still sighing Iris ! lovely charming maid ! 
 
 See, in thy absence, how thy lover dies ! 
 
 While to his sighs the echo still replies. 
 
 Then with a stream he holds discourse : 
 O thou that bend'st thy liquid force 
 To lovely Thames ! upon whose shore 
 The maid resides whom I adore ! 
 My tears of love upon thy surface bear : 
 And if upon thy banks thou seest my fair : 
 In all thy softest murmurs sing, 
 From Damon I this present bring ;
 
 288 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 My ev'ry curl contains a tear ! 
 
 Then at her feet thy tribute pay : 
 
 But haste, O happy stream ! away ; 
 
 Lest charmed too much, thou shouldst for ever stay. 
 
 And thou, O gentle, murm'ring breeze ! 
 
 That plays in air, and wantons with the trees ; 
 
 On thy young wings, where gilded sunbeams play, 
 
 To Iris my soft sighs convey, 
 
 Still as they rise, each minute of the day : 
 
 But whisper gently in her ear ; 
 
 Let not the ruder winds thy message hear, 
 
 Nor ruffle one dear curl of her bright hair. 
 
 Oh ! touch her cheeks with sacred reverence, 
 
 And stay not gazing on her lovely eyes ! 
 But if thou bear'st her rosy breath from thence, 
 'Tis incense of that excellence, 
 
 That as thou mount'st, 'twill perfume all the skies. 
 
 IRIS'S COMPLEXION 
 
 Say what you will, I am confident, if you will 
 confess your heart, you are, every time you view 
 yourself in me, surprised at the beauty of your 
 complexion ; and will secretly own, you never saw 
 anything so fair. I am not the first glass, by a 
 thousand, that has assured you of this. If you will 
 not believe me, ask Damon ; he tells it you every day, 
 but that truth from him offends you : and because he 
 loves too much, you think his judgment too little; and 
 since this is so perfect, that must be defective. But 
 it is most certain your complexion is infinitely fine, 
 your skin soft and smooth as polished wax, or ivory, 
 extremely white and clear; though if anybody speaks 
 but of your beauty, an agreeable blush casts itself 
 all over your face, and gives you a thousand new 
 graces. 
 
 And then two flowers newly born, 
 Shine in your heav'nly face ; 
 
 The rose that blushes in the morn, 
 Usurps the lily's place : 
 
 Sometimes the lily does prevail, 
 
 And makes the gen'rous crimson pale.
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 289 
 
 IRIS S HAIR 
 
 Oh, the beautiful hair of Iris ! it seems as if nature 
 had crowned you with a great quantity of lovely fair 
 brown hair, to make us know that you were born to 
 rule, and to repair the faults of fortune that has not 
 given you a diadem. And do not bewail the want of 
 that (so much your merit's due) since heaven has so 
 gloriously recompensed you with what gains more 
 admiring slaves. 
 
 Heav'n for sovereignty has made your form : 
 
 And you were more than for dull empire born ; 
 
 O'er hearts your kingdom shall extend, 
 
 Your vast dominion know no end. 
 
 Thither the Loves and Graces shall resort ; 
 
 To Iris make their homage, and their court. 
 
 No envious star, no common fate, 
 
 Did on my Iris' birthday wait ; 
 
 But all was happy, all was delicate. 
 
 Here fortune would inconstant be in vain : 
 
 Iris, and love, eternally shall reign. 
 
 Love does not make less use of your hair for new 
 conquests, than of all the rest of your beauties that 
 adorn you. If he takes our hearts with your fine 
 eyes, it ties them fast with your hair; and if it 
 weaves a chain, it is not easily broken. It is not 
 of those sorts of hair, whose harshness discovers 
 ill-nature ; nor of those whose softness shows us 
 the weakness of the mind ; not that either of 
 these arguments are without exception. But it is 
 such as bears the character of a perfect mind, and 
 a delicate wit ; and for its colour, the most faithful, 
 discreet, and beautiful in the world ; such as shows 
 a complexion and constitution, neither so cold to be 
 insensible, nor so hot to have too much fire : that is, 
 neither too white, nor too black ; but such a mixture 
 of the two colours, as makes it the most agreeable in 
 the world.
 
 290 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 'Tis that which leads those captivated hearts, 
 That bleeding at your feet do lie ; 
 
 'Tis that the obstinate converts, 
 
 That dare the power of love deny : 
 , 'Tis that which Damon so admires ; 
 
 Damon, who often tells you so. 
 
 If from your eyes Love takes his fires, 
 'Tis with your hair he strings his bow : 
 
 Which touching but the feathered dart, 
 
 It never missed the destined heart. 
 
 IRIS'S EYES 
 
 I believe, my fair mistress, I shall dazzle you with 
 the lustre of your own eyes. They are the finest blue 
 in the world : they have all the sweetness that ever 
 charmed the heart, with a certain languishment that's 
 irresistible ; and never any looked on them, that did 
 not sigh after them. Believe me, Iris, they carry un- 
 avoidable darts and fires ; and whoever expose them- 
 selves to their dangers, pay for their imprudence. 
 
 Cold as my solid crystal is, 
 
 Hard and impenetrable too ; 
 Yet I am sensible of bliss, 
 
 When your charming eyes I view 
 Even by me their flames are felt ; 
 And at each glance I fear to melt. 
 
 Ah, how pleasant are my days ! 
 
 How my glorious fate I bless ! 
 Mortals never knew my joys, 
 
 Nor monarch guessed my happiness. 
 Every look that's soft and gay, 
 Iris gives me every day. 
 
 Spite of her virtue and her pride, 
 
 Every morning I am blest 
 With what to Damon is denied ; 
 
 To view her when she is undrest. 
 All her heaven of beauty's shown 
 To triumphing me alone.
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 291 
 
 Scarce the prying beams of light, 
 
 Or th' impatient god of day, 
 Are allowed so near a sight, 
 
 Or dare profane her with a ray ; 
 When she has appeared to me, 
 Like Venus rising from the sea. 
 
 But oh ! I must those charms conceal, 
 
 All too divine for vulgar eyes : 
 Should I my secret joys reveal, 
 
 Of sacred trust I break the ties ; 
 And Damon would with envy die, 
 Who hopes one day to be as blest as I. 
 
 Extravagant with my joys, I have strayed beyond 
 my limits ; for I was telling you of the wondrous 
 fineness of your eyes, which no mortal can resist, nor 
 any heart stand the force of their charms, and the 
 most difficult conquest they gain, scarce cost them 
 the expense of a look. They are modest and tender, 
 chaste and languishing. There you may take a view 
 of the whole soul, and see wit and good nature 
 (those two inseparable virtues of the mind) in an 
 extraordinary measure. In fine, you see all that fair 
 eyes can produce, to make themselves adored. And 
 when they are angry, they strike an unresistible awe 
 upon the soul ; and those severities Damon wishes 
 may perpetually accompany them, during their 
 absence from him ; for it is with such eyes, he would 
 have you receive all his rivals. 
 
 Keep, lovely maid, the softness in your eyes, 
 To flatter Damon with another day : 
 
 When at your feet the ravished lover lies, 
 Then put on all that's tender, all that's gay : 
 
 And for the griefs your absence makes him prove, 
 
 Give him the softest, dearest looks of love. 
 
 His trembling heart with sweetest smiles caress, 
 And in your eyes soft wishes let him find ; 
 
 That your regret of absence may confess, 
 In which no sense of pleasure you could find 
 
 And to restore him, let your faithful eyes 
 
 Declare, that all his rivals you despise.
 
 292 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 THE MOUTH OF IRIS 
 
 I perceive your modesty would impose silence on 
 me : but, O fair Iris ! do not think to present your- 
 self before a glass, if you would not have it tell you 
 all your beauties. Content yourself that I only 
 speak of them, en passant ; for should I speak what 
 I would, I should dwell all day upon each particular, 
 and still say something new. Give me liberty then 
 to speak of your fine mouth : you need only open it 
 a little, and you will see the most delicate teeth that 
 ever you beheld ; the whitest, and the best set. Your 
 lips are the finest in the world ; so round, so soft, so 
 plump, so dimpled, and of the loveliest colour. And 
 when you smile, oh ! what imagination can conceive 
 how sweet it is, that has not seen you smiling? I 
 cannot describe what I so admire ; and it is in vain 
 to those who have not seen Iris. 
 
 O Iris ! boast that one peculiar charm, 
 
 That has so many conquests made ; 
 So innocent, yet capable of harm ; 
 
 So just itself, yet has so oft betrayed : 
 Where a thousand graces dwell, 
 And wanton round in ev'ry smile. 
 
 A thousand loves do listen when you speak, 
 
 And catch each accent as it flies : 
 Rich flowing wit, whene'er you silence break, 
 
 Flows from your tongue, and sparkles in your eyes. 
 Whether you talk, or silent are, 
 Your lips immortal beauties wear. 
 
 THE NECK OF IRIS 
 
 All your modesty, all your nice care, cannot hide 
 the ravishing beauties of your neck ; we must see it, 
 coy as you are; and see it the whitest, and finest 
 shaped, that ever was formed. Oh ! why will you 
 cover it ? You know all handsome things would be 
 seen. And oh ! how often have you made your
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 293 
 
 lovers envy your scarf, or anything that hides so fine 
 an object from their sight. Damon himself com- 
 plains of your too nice severity. Pray do not hide it 
 so carefully. See how perfectly turned it is ! with 
 small blue veins, wandering and ranging here and 
 there, like little rivulets, that wanton over the flowery 
 meads ! See how the round white rising breasts 
 heave with every breath, as if they disdained to be 
 confined to a covering ; and repel the malicious 
 cloud that would obscure their brightness ! 
 
 Fain I would have leave to tell 
 
 The charms that on your bosom dwell ; 
 
 Describe it like some flow'ry field, 
 
 That does ten thousand pleasures yield ; 
 
 A thousand gliding springs and groves ; 
 
 All receptacles for loves : 
 
 But oh ! what Iris hides, must be 
 
 Ever sacred kept by me. 
 
 THE ARMS AND HANDS OF IRIS 
 
 I shall not be put to much trouble to show you 
 your hands and arms, because you may view them 
 without my help ; and you are very unjust, if you 
 have not admired them a thousand times. The 
 beautiful colour and proportion of your arm is in- 
 imitable, and your hand is dazzling, fine, small, 
 and plump; long pointed fingers delicately turned; 
 dimpled on the snowy outside, but adorned within 
 with rose, all over the soft palm. O Iris ! nothing 
 equals your fair hand ; that hand, of which Love so 
 often makes such use to draw his bow, when he 
 would send the arrow home with more success ; and 
 which irresistibly wounds those, who possibly have 
 not yet seen your eyes. And when you have been 
 veiled, that lovely hand has gained you a thousand 
 adorers. And I have heard Damon say, ' Without 
 the aid of more beauties, that alone had been suffi- 
 cient to have made an absolute conquest over his
 
 294 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 soul.' And he has often vowed 'It never touched 
 him but it made his blood run with little irregular 
 motions in his veins, his breath beat short and double, 
 his blushes rise, and his very soul dance.' 
 
 Oh ! how the hand the lover ought to prize 
 
 'Bove any one peculiar grace, 
 While he is dying for the eyes 
 
 And doting on the lovely face ! 
 The unconsid'ring little knows, 
 How much he to this beauty owes. 
 
 That, when the lover absent is, 
 
 Informs him of his mistress' heart ; 
 
 Tis that which gives him all his bliss, 
 When dear love-secrets 'twill impart. 
 
 That plights the faith the maid bestows ; 
 
 And that confirms the tim'rous vows. 
 
 'Tis that betrays the tenderness, 
 
 Which the too bashful tongue denies : 
 
 Tis that which does the heart confess, 
 And spares the language of the eyes. 
 
 Tis that which treasure gives so vast ; 
 
 Ev'n Iris 'twill to Damon give at last. 
 
 THE GRACE AND AIR OF IRIS 
 
 It is I alone, O charming maid ! that can show you 
 that noble part of your beauty : that generous air 
 that adorns all your lovely person, and renders every 
 motion and action perfectly adorable. With what 
 a grace you walk ! How free, how easy, and how 
 unaffected ! See how you move ! for only here you 
 can see it Damon has told you a thousand times, 
 that never any mortal had so glorious an air : but he 
 could not half describe it, nor would you credit even 
 what he said ; but with a careless smile pass it off 
 for the flattery of a lover. But here behold, and be 
 convinced, and know, no part of your beauty can 
 charm more than this. O Iris! confess, Love has 
 adorned you with all his art and care. Your beauties 
 are the themes of all the Muses; who tell you in daily
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 295 
 
 songs, that the Graces themselves have not more than 
 Iris. And one may truly say, that you alone know 
 how to join the ornaments and dress with beauty ; 
 and you are still adorned, as if that shape and air 
 had a peculiar art to make all things appear gay and 
 fine. Oh ! how well dressed you are ! How every- 
 thing becomes you! Never singular, never gaudy; 
 but always suiting with your quality. 
 
 Oh ! how that negligence becomes your air ! 
 
 That careless flowing of your hair, 
 
 That plays about with wanton grace, 
 
 With evrey motion of your face : 
 
 Disdaining all that dull formality, 
 
 That dares not move the lip, or eye, 
 
 But at some fancied grace's cost ; 
 
 And think, with it, at least, a lover lost. 
 
 But the unlucky minute to reclaim, 
 
 And ease the coquette of her pain, 
 
 The pocket-glass adjusts the face again : 
 
 Resets the mouth, and languishes the eyes ; 
 
 And thinks, the spark that ogles that way dies. 
 
 Of Iris learn, O ye mistaken fair ! 
 
 To dress your face, your smiles, your air : 
 
 Let easy nature all the business do, 
 
 She can the softer graces show ; 
 
 Which art but turns to ridicule, 
 
 And where there's none serves but to show the fool. 
 
 In Iris you all graces find ; 
 
 Charms without art, a motion unconfined ; 
 
 Without constraint, she smiles, she looks, she talks ; 
 
 And without affectation, moves and walks. 
 
 Beauties so perfect ne'er were seen : 
 
 O ye mistaken fair ! Dress ye by Iris' mien. 
 
 THE DISCRETION OF IRIS 
 
 But, O Iris ! the beauties of the body are imperfect, 
 if the beauties of the soul do not advance themselves 
 to an equal height. But, O Iris ! what mortal is 
 there so damned to malice, that does not, with adora- 
 tion, confess, that you, O charming maid, have an
 
 296 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 equal portion of all the braveries and virtues of the 
 mind? And, who is it, that confesses your beauty, 
 that does not at the same time acknowledge and bow 
 to your wisdom ? The whole world admires both in 
 you ; and all with impatience ask ' Which of the two 
 is most surprising, your beauty, or your discretion?' 
 But we dispute in vain on that excellent subject ; 
 for after all, it is determined, that the two charms are 
 equal. It is none of those idle discretions that con- 
 sists in words alone, and ever takes the shadow of 
 reason for the substance ; and that makes use of all 
 the little artifices of subtlety, and florid talking, to 
 make the outside of the argument appear fine, and 
 leave the inside wholly misunderstood ; who runs 
 away with words, and never thinks of sense. But 
 you, O lovely maid ! never make use of these affected 
 arts ; but without being too brisk or too severe, too 
 silent or too talkative, you inspire in all your hearers 
 a joy, and a respect. Your soul is an enemy to that 
 usual vice of your sex, of using little arguments 
 against the fair ; or, by a word or jest, making your- 
 self and hearers pleasant at the expense of the fame 
 of others. 
 
 Your heart is an enemy to all passions, but that 
 of love. And this is one of your noble maxims, 
 ' That every one ought to love, in some part of his 
 life ; and that in a heart truly brave, love is without 
 folly : that wisdom is a friend to love, and love to 
 perfect wisdom.' Since these maxims are your own, 
 do not, O charming Iris ! resist that noble passion : 
 and since Damon is the most tender of all your 
 lovers, answer his passion with a noble ardour. Your 
 prudence never fails in the choice of your friends ; 
 and in choosing so well your lover, you will stand 
 an eternal precedent to all unreasonable fair ones. 
 
 O thou that dost excel in wit and truth ! 
 Be still a precedent for love and youth. 
 Let the dull world say what it will, 
 A noble flame's unblameable.
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 297 
 
 Where a fine sentiment and soft passion rules, 
 They scorn the censure of the fools. 
 
 Yield, Iris, then ; oh, yield to love ! 
 
 Redeem your dying slave from pain ; 
 The world your conduct must approve : 
 Your prudence never acts in vain. 
 
 THE GOODNESS AND COMPLAISANCE OF IRIS 
 
 Who but your lovers, fair Iris ! doubts but you are 
 the most complaisant person in the world ; and that 
 with so much sweetness you oblige all, that you 
 command in yielding. And as you gain the heart 
 of both sexes, with the affability of your noble 
 temper ; so all are proud and vain of obliging you. 
 And, Iris, you may live assured, that your empire is 
 eternally established by your beauty and your good- 
 ness : your power is confirmed, and you grow in 
 strength every minute: your goodness gets you 
 friends, and your beauty lovers. 
 
 This goodness is not one of those, whose folly 
 renders it easy to every desirer ; but a pure effect of 
 the generosity of your soul ; such as prudence alone 
 manages, according to the merit of the person to 
 whom it is extended ; and those whom you esteem, 
 receive the sweet marks of it, and only your lovers 
 complain ; yet even then you charm. And though 
 sometimes you can be a little disturbed, yet through 
 your anger your goodness shines ; and you are but 
 too much afraid, that that may bear a false interpre- 
 tation. For oftentimes scandal makes that pass for 
 an effect of love, which is purely that of complaisance. 
 
 Never had anybody more tenderness for their 
 friends, than Iris : their presence gives her joy, their 
 absence trouble ; and when she cannot see them, she 
 finds no pleasure like speaking of them obligingly. 
 Friendship reigns in your heart, and sincerity on your 
 tongue. Your friendship is so strong, so constant, 
 and so tender, that it charms, pleases, and satisfies all,
 
 298 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 that are not your adorers. Damon therefore is excus- 
 able, if he be not contented with your noble friendship 
 alone ; for he is the most tender of that number. 
 
 No ! give me all, th' impatient lover cries ; 
 
 Without your soul I cannot live : 
 Dull friendship cannot mine suffice, 
 
 That dies for all you have to give. 
 The smiles, the vows, the heart must all be mine ; 
 I cannot spare one thought, or wish of thine. 
 
 I sigh, I languish all the day ; 
 
 Each minute ushers in my groans : 
 To ev'ry god in vain I pray ; 
 
 In ev'ry grove repeat my moans. 
 Still Iris' charms are all my sorrows' themes ! 
 They pain me waking, and they rack in dreams. 
 
 Return, fair Iris ! Oh, return ! 
 
 Lest sighing long your slave destroys. 
 I wish, I rave, I faint, I burn ; 
 
 Restore me quickly all my joys : 
 Your mercy else will come too late ; 
 Distance in love more cruel is than hate. 
 
 THE WIT OF IRIS 
 
 You are deceived in me, fair Iris, if you take me 
 for one of those ordinary glasses, that represent the 
 beauty only of the body ; I remark to you also the 
 beauties of the soul. And all about you declares 
 yours the finest that ever was formed ; that you have 
 a wit that surprises, and is always new. It is none 
 of those that loses its lustre when one considers it ; 
 the more we examine yours, the more adorable we 
 find it. You say nothing that is not at once agreeable 
 and solid ; it is always quick and ready, without im- 
 pertinence, that little vanity of the fair : who, when 
 they know they have wit, rarely manage it so, as not 
 to abound in talking ; and think, that all they say 
 must please, because luckily they sometimes chance 
 to do so. But Iris never speaks, but it is of use ; and 
 gives a pleasure to all that hear her. She has the
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 299 
 
 perfect air of penetrating, even the most secret 
 thoughts. How often have you known, without being 
 told, all that has passed in Damon's heart ! For all 
 great wits are prophets too. 
 
 Tell me ; oh, tell me ! charming prophetess ; 
 For you alone can tell my love's success. 
 
 The lines in my dejected face, 
 I fear, will lead you to no kind result : 
 
 It is your own that you must trace ; 
 Those of your heart you must consult. 
 
 ; Tis there my fortune I must learn, 
 
 And all that Damon does concern. 
 
 I tell you that I love a maid, 
 
 As bright as heav'n, of angel-hue ; 
 The softest nature ever made, 
 
 Whom I with sighs and vows pursue. 
 Oh, tell me, charming prophetess ! 
 Shall I this lovely maid possess ? 
 
 A thousand rivals do obstruct my way ; 
 
 A thousand fears they do create : 
 They throng about her all the day, 
 
 Whilst I at awful distance wait. 
 Say, will the lovely maid so fickle prove, 
 To give my rivals hope, as well as love ? 
 
 She has a thousand charms of wit, 
 With all the beauty heav'n e'er gave : 
 
 Oh ! let her not make use of it, 
 To flatter me into the slave. 
 
 Oh ! tell me truth, to ease my pain ; 
 
 Say rather, I shall die by her disdain. 
 
 THE MODESTY OF IRIS 
 
 I perceive, fair Iris, you have a mind to tell me, 
 I have entertained you too long with a discourse on 
 yourself. I know your modesty makes this declara- 
 tion an offence, and you suffer me, with pain, to 
 unveil those treasures you would hide. Your modesty, 
 that so commendable a virtue in the fair, and so 
 peculiar to you, is here a little too severe. Did I
 
 300 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 flatter you, you should blush : did I seek, by praising 
 you, to show an art of speaking finely, you might 
 chide. But, O Iris, I say nothing but such plain 
 truths, as all the world can witness are so : and so far 
 I am from flattery, that I seek no ornament of words. 
 Why do you take such care to conceal your virtues ? 
 They have too much lustre, not to be seen, in spite of 
 all your modesty : your wit, your youth, and reason, 
 oppose themselves against this dull obstructer of our 
 happiness. Abate, O Iris, a little of this virtue, 
 since you have so many others to defend yourself 
 against the attacks of your adorers. You yourself 
 have the least opinion of your own charms: and 
 being the only person in the world, that is not in love 
 with them, you hate to pass whole hours before your 
 looking-glass ; and to pass your time, like most of 
 the idle fair, in dressing, and setting off those beauties, 
 which need so little art. You, more wise, disdain to 
 give those hours to the fatigue of dressing, which you 
 know so well how to employ a thousand ways. The 
 Muses have blessed you, above your sex ; and you 
 know how to gain a conquest with your pen, more 
 absolutely than all the industrious fair, who trust to 
 dress and equipage. 
 
 I have a thousand things to tell you more, but 
 willingly resign my place to Damon, that faithful 
 lover ; he will speak more ardently than I : for let 
 a glass use all its force, yet, when it speaks its best, 
 it speaks but coldly. 
 
 If my glass, O charming Iris, have the good for- 
 tune (which I could never entirely boast) to be 
 believed, it will serve at least to convince you I have 
 not been so guilty of flattery, as I have a thousand 
 times been charged. Since then my passion is equal 
 to your beauty (without comparison, or end), believe, 
 O lovely maid ! how I sigh in your absence ; and be 
 persuaded to lessen my pain, and restore me to my 
 joys ; for there is no torment so great, as the absence 
 of a lover from his mistress ; of which this is the idea.
 
 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 301 
 
 THE EFFECTS OF ABSENCE FROM WHAT WE LOVE 
 
 Thou one continued sigh ! all over pain ! 
 
 Eternal wish ! but wish, alas, in vain ! 
 
 Thou languishing, impatient hoper on j 
 
 A busy toiler, and yet still undone ! 
 
 A breaking glimpse of distant day, 
 
 Enticing on, and leading more astray ! 
 
 Thou joy in prospect, future bliss extreme ; 
 
 Never to be possessed, but in a dream ! 
 
 Thou fab'lous goddess, which the ravished boy 
 
 In happy slumbers proudly did enjoy ; 
 
 But waking, found an airy cloud he prest ; 
 
 His arms came empty to his panting breast. 
 
 Thou shade, that only haunt'st the soul by night ; 
 
 And when thou shouldst in form thou fly'st the sight : 
 
 Thou false idea of the thinking brain, 
 
 That labours for the charming form in vain : 
 
 Which if by chance it catch, thou'rt lost again.
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 A NEW NOVEL 
 
 THE river Loire has on its delightful banks abun- 
 dance of handsome, beautiful, and rich towns and 
 villages, to which the noble stream adds no small 
 graces and advantages, blessing their fields with 
 plenty, and their eyes with a thousand diversions. 
 In one of these happily situated towns, called Orleans, 
 where abundance of people of the best quality and 
 condition reside, there was a rich nobleman, now 
 retired from the busy Court, where in his youth he 
 had been bred, wearied with the toils of ceremony 
 and noise, to enjoy that perfect tranquillity of life, 
 which is nowhere to be found but in retreat, a faithful 
 friend, and a good library ; and, as the admirable 
 Horace says, in a little house and a large garden. 
 Count Bellyaurd, for so was this nobleman called, 
 was of this opinion ; and the rather, because he had 
 one only son, called Rinaldo, now grown to the age 
 of fifteen, who having all the excellent qualities and 
 graces of youth by nature, he would bring him up in 
 all virtues and noble sciences, which he believed the 
 gaiety and lustre of the Court might divert. He 
 therefore in his retirement spared no cost to those 
 that could instruct and accomplish him ; and he had 
 the best tutors and masters that could be purchased 
 at Court : Bellyaurd making far less account of riches 
 than of fine parts. He found his son capable of all 
 impressions, having a wit suitable to his delicate 
 
 303
 
 304 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 person, so that he was the sole joy of his life, and the 
 darling of his eyes. 
 
 In the very next house, which joined close to that 
 of Bellyaurd's, there lived another Count, who had in 
 his youth been banished the Court of France for 
 some misunderstandings in some high affairs wherein 
 he was concerned. His name was De Pais, a man 
 of great birth, but of no fortune ; or at least one not 
 suitable to the grandeur of his origin. And as it is 
 most natural for great souls to be most proud (if I 
 may call a handsome disdain by that vulgar name) 
 when they are most depressed ; so De Pais was 
 more retired, more estranged from his neighbours, 
 and kept a greater distance, than if he had enjoyed 
 all he had lost at Court ; and took more solemnity 
 and state upon him, because he would not be subject 
 to the reproaches of the world, by making himself 
 familiar with it. So that he rarely visited ; and, 
 contrary to the custom of those in France, who are 
 easy of access, and free of conversation, he kept his 
 family retired so close, that it was rare to see any of 
 them ; and when they went abroad, which was but 
 seldom, they wanted nothing as to outward appear- 
 ance, that was fit for his quality, and what was much 
 above his condition. 
 
 This old Count had two only daughters, of ex- 
 ceeding beauty, who gave the generous father ten 
 thousand torments, as often as he beheld them, when 
 he considered their extreme beauty, their fine wit, 
 their innocence, modesty, and above all their birth ; 
 and that he had not a fortune to marry them accord- 
 ing to their quality ; and below it, he had rather see 
 them laid in their silent graves, than consent to it : 
 for he scorned the world should see him forced by 
 his poverty to commit an action below his dignity. 
 
 There lived in a neighbouring town, a certain 
 nobleman, friend to De Pais, called Count Vernole, 
 a man of about forty years of age, of low stature, 
 complexion very black and swarthy, lean, lame, ex-
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 305 
 
 tremely proud and haughty ; extracted of a descent 
 from the blood-royal ; not extremely brave, but very 
 glorious : he had no very great estate, but was in 
 election of a greater, and of an addition of honour 
 from the King, his father having done most worthy 
 services against the Huguenots, and by the high favour 
 of Cardinal Mazarin, was represented to his Majesty, 
 as a man related to the Crown, of great name, but 
 small estate : so that there were now nothing but 
 great expectations and preparations in the family of 
 Count Vernole to go to the Court, to which he daily 
 hoped an invitation or command. 
 
 Vernole's fortune being hitherto something akin to 
 that of De Pais, there was a greater correspondence 
 between these two gentlemen, than they had with 
 any other persons ; they accounting themselves above 
 the rest of the world, believed none so proper and fit 
 for their conversation, as that of each other ; so that 
 there was a very particular intimacy between them. 
 Whenever they went abroad, they clubbed their train, 
 to make one great show ; and were always together, 
 bemoaning each other's fortune, and that from so 
 high a descent, as one from monarchs by the mother's 
 side, and the other from dukes of the father's side, 
 they were reduced by fate to the degree of private 
 gentlemen. They would often consult how to 
 manage affairs most to advantage, and often De Pais 
 would ask counsel of Vernole, how best he should 
 dispose of his daughters, which now were about their 
 ninth year the eldest, and eighth the youngest. 
 Vernole had often seen those two buds of beauty, 
 and already saw opening in Atlante's face and mind 
 (for that was the name of the eldest, and Chariot the 
 youngest) a glory of wit and beauty, which could not 
 but one day display itself, with dazzling lustre, to the 
 wondering world. 
 
 Vernole was a great virtuoso, of a humour nice, 
 delicate, critical, and opinionative : he had nothing 
 of the French mien in him, but all the gravity of the 
 x
 
 306 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 don. His ill-favoured person, and his low estate, 
 put him out of humour with the world ; and because 
 that should not upbraid or reproach his follies and 
 defects, he was sure to be beforehand with that, and 
 to be always satiric upon it ; and loved to live and 
 act contrary to the custom and usage of all mankind 
 besides. 
 
 He was infinitely delighted to find a man of his 
 own humour in De Pais, or at least a man that would 
 be persuaded to like his so well, to live up to it ; and 
 it was no little joy and satisfaction to him to find, 
 that he kept his daughters in that severity, which 
 was wholly agreeable to him, and so contrary to the 
 manner and fashion of the French quality ; who 
 allow all freedoms, which to Vernole's rigid nature, 
 seemed as so many steps to vice, and in his opinion, 
 the ruiner of all virtue and honour in womankind. 
 De Pais was extremely glad his conduct was so 
 well interpreted, which was no other in him than a 
 proud frugality ; who, because they could not appear 
 in so much gallantry as their quality required, kept 
 them retired, and unseen to all, but his particular 
 friends, of whom Vernole was the chief. 
 
 Vernole never appeared before Atlante (which was 
 seldom) but he assumed a gravity and respect fit to 
 have entertained a maid of twenty, or rather a matron 
 of much greater years and judgment. His discourses 
 were always of matters of state or philosophy ; and 
 sometimes when De Pais would (laughing) say ' He 
 might as well entertain Atlante with Greek and 
 Hebrew/ he would reply gravely, ' You are mistaken, 
 sir, I find the seeds of great and profound matter in 
 the soul of this young maid, which ought to be 
 nourished now while she is young, and they will grow 
 up to very great perfection : I find Atlante capable of 
 the noble virtues of the mind, and am infinitely mis- 
 taken in my observations, and art of physiognomy, 
 if Atlante be not born for greater things than her 
 fortune does now promise. She will be very con-
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 307 
 
 siderable in the world (believe me), and this will 
 arrive to her perfectly from the force of her charms.' 
 De Fais was extremely overjoyed to hear such good 
 prophesied of Atlante, and from that time set a sort 
 of an esteem upon her, which he did not on Chariot 
 his younger ; whom, by the persuasions of Vernole, 
 he resolved to put in a monastery, that what he had 
 might descend to Atlante : not but he confessed 
 Chariot had beauty extremely attractive, and a wit 
 that promised much, when it should be cultivated by 
 years and experience ; and would show itself with 
 great advantage and lustre in a monastery. All this 
 pleased De Pais very well, who was easily persuaded, 
 since he had not a fortune to marry her well in the 
 world. 
 
 As yet Vernole had never spoken to Atlante of love, 
 nor did his gravity think it prudence to discover his 
 heart to so young a maid ; he waited her more sen- 
 sible years, when he could hope to have some return. 
 And all he expected from this her tender age, was by 
 his daily converse with her, and the presents he made 
 her suitable to her years, to ingratiate himself in- 
 sensibly into her friendship and esteem, since she was 
 not yet capable of love ; but even in that he mistook 
 his aim, for every day he grew more and more dis- 
 agreeable to Atlante, and would have been her 
 absolute aversion, had she known she had every day 
 entertained a lover ; but as she grew in years and 
 sense, he seemed the more despicable in her eyes as 
 to his person ; yet as she had respect to his parts and 
 qualities, she paid him all the complaisance she could, 
 and which was due to him, and so must be confessed. 
 Though he had a stiff formality in all he said and 
 did, yet he had wit and learning, and was a great 
 philosopher. As much of his learning as Atlante was 
 capable of attaining to, he made her mistress of, and 
 that was no small portion ; for all his discourse was 
 fine and easily comprehended, his notions of philo- 
 sophy fit for ladies ; and he took greater pains with
 
 3 o8 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 Atlante, than any master would have done with 
 a scholar. So that it was most certain, he added 
 very great accomplishment to her natural wit : and 
 the more, because she took a great delight in philo- 
 sophy ; which very often made her impatient of his 
 coming, especially when she had many questions to 
 ask him concerning it, and she would often receive 
 him with a pleasure in her face, which he did not fail 
 to interpret to his own advantage, being very apt to 
 flatter himself. Her sister Chariot would often ask 
 her, ' How she could give whole afternoons to so dis- 
 agreeable a man. What is it,' said she, ' that charms 
 you so? his tawny leather-face, his extraordinary 
 high nose, his wide mouth and eyebrows, that hang 
 lowering over his eyes, his lean carcase, and his lame 
 and halting hips?' But Atlante would discreetly 
 reply, ' If I must grant all you say of Count Vernole 
 to be true, yet he has a wit and learning that will 
 atone sufficiently for all those faults you mention. 
 A fine soul is infinitely to be preferred to a fine 
 body , this decays, but that is eternal ; and age that 
 ruins one, refines the other.' Though possibly Atlante 
 thought as ill of the Count as her sister, yet in respect 
 to him, she would not own it. 
 
 Atlante was now arrived to her thirteenth year, 
 when her beauty, which every day increased, became 
 the discourse of the whole town, which had already 
 gained her as many lovers as had beheld her ; for 
 none saw her without languishing for her, or at least, 
 but what were in very great admiration of her. 
 Everybody talked of the young Atlante, and all the 
 noblemen, who had sons (knowing the smallness of 
 her fortune, and the lustre of her beauty), would send 
 them, for fear of their being charmed with her beauty, 
 either to some other part of the world, or exhorted 
 them, by way of precaution, to keep out of her sight. 
 Old Bellyaurd was one of those wise parents ; and 
 timely prevention, as he thought, of Rinaldo's falling 
 in love with Atlante, perhaps was the occasion of his
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 309 
 
 being so. He had before heard of Atlante, and of 
 her beauty, yet it had made no impressions on his 
 heart ; but his father no sooner forbid him loving, 
 than he felt a new desire tormenting him, of seeing 
 this lovely and dangerous young person. He wonders 
 at his unaccountable pain, which daily solicits him 
 within, to go where he may behold this beauty ; of 
 whom he frames a thousand ideas, all such as were 
 most agreeable to him ; but then upbraids his fancy 
 for not forming her half so delicate as she was ; and 
 longs yet more to see her, to know how near she 
 approaches to the picture he has drawn of her in his 
 mind : and though he knew she lived the next house 
 to him, yet he knew also she was kept within like a 
 vowed nun, or with the severity of a Spaniard. And 
 though he had a chamber, which had a jutting win- 
 dow, that looked just upon the door of Monsieur 
 De Pais, and that he would watch many hours at a 
 time, in hope to see them go out, yet he could never 
 get a glimpse of her ; yet he heard she often fre- 
 quented the Church of Our Lady. Thither then 
 young Rinaldo resolved to go, and did so two or 
 three mornings ; in which time, to his unspeakable 
 grief, he saw no beauty appear that charmed him ; 
 and yet he fancied that Atlante was there, and that 
 he had seen her ; that some one of those young ladies 
 that he saw in the church was she, though he had no- 
 body to inquire of, and that she was not so fair as the 
 world reported ; for which he would often sigh, as if 
 he had lost some great expectation However, he 
 ceased not to frequent this church, and one day saw 
 a young beauty, who at first glimpse made his heart 
 leap to his mouth, and fall a-trembling again into its 
 wonted place ; for it immediately told him, that that 
 young maid was Atlante : she was with hei sister 
 Chariot, who was very handsome, but not comparable 
 to Atlante. He fixed his eyes upon her as she kneeled 
 at the altar ; he never moved from that charming face 
 as long as she remained there ; he forgot all devotion,
 
 310 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 but what he paid to her ; he adored her, he burnt and 
 languished already for her, and found he must possess 
 Atlante or die. Often as he gazed upon her, he saw 
 her fair eyes lifted up towards his, where they often 
 met ; which she perceiving, would cast hers down 
 into her bosom, or on her book, and blush as if she 
 had done a fault. Chariot perceived all the motions 
 of Rinaldo, how he folded his arms, how he sighed 
 and gazed on her sister ; she took notice of his 
 clothes, his garniture, and every particular of his 
 dress, as young girls do ; and seeing him so very 
 handsome, and so much better dressed than all the 
 young cavaliers that were in the church, she was very 
 much pleased with him ; and could not forbear saying, 
 in a low voice, to Atlante, ' Look, look, my sister, what 
 a pretty monsieur yonder is ! see how fine his face is, 
 how delicate his hair, how gallant his dress ! and do 
 but look how he gazes on you ! ' This would make 
 Atlante blush anew, who durst not raise her eyes for 
 fear she should encounter his. While he had the 
 pleasure to imagine they were talking of him, and he 
 saw in the pretty face of Chariot, that what she said 
 was not to his disadvantage, and by the blushes of 
 Atlante, that she was not displeased with what was 
 spoken to her ; he perceived the young one impor- 
 tunate with her; and Atlante jogging her with her 
 elbow, as much as to say, ' Hold your peace': all this 
 he made a kind interpretation of, and was transported 
 with joy at the good omens. He was willing to 
 flatter his new flame, and to compliment his young 
 desire with a little hope ; but the divine ceremony 
 ceasing, Atlante left the church, and it being very 
 fair weather, she walked home. Rinaldo, who saw 
 her going, felt all the agonies of a lover, who parts 
 with all that can make him happy ; and seeing only 
 Atlante attended with her sister, and a footman 
 following with their books, he was a thousand times 
 about to speak to them ; but he no sooner advanced 
 a step or two towards them to that purpose (for he
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 311 
 
 followed them) but his heart failed, and a certain awe 
 and reverence, or rather the fears and tremblings of a 
 lover, prevented him. But when he considered, that 
 possibly he might never have so favourable an oppor- 
 tunity again, he resolved anew, and called up so 
 much courage to his heart, as to speak to Atlante ; 
 but before he did so, Chariot looking behind her, saw 
 Rinaldo very near to them, and cried out with a voice 
 of joy, ' O sister, sister ! look where the handsome 
 monsieur is, just behind us ! sure he is somebody of 
 quality, for see he has two footmen that follow him, 
 in just such liveries, and so rich as those of our 
 neighbour Monsieur Bellyaurd.' At this Atlante 
 could not forbear, but before she was aware of it, 
 turned her head, and looked on Rinaldo ; which 
 encouraged him to advance, and putting off his hat, 
 which he clapped under his arm, with a low bow, said, 
 ' Ladies, you are slenderly attended, and so many 
 accidents arrive to the fair in the rude streets, that I 
 humbly implore you will permit me, whose duty it is 
 as a neighbour, to wait on you to your door.' ' Sir,' 
 said Atlante, blushing, ' we fear no insolence, and 
 need no protector ; or if we did, we should not be so 
 rude to take you out of your way, to serve us.' 
 ' Madam,' said he, ' my way lies yours. I live at the 
 next door, and am son to Bellyaurd, your neighbour. 
 But, madam,' added he, 'if I were to go all my life 
 out of the way, to do you service, I should take it for 
 the greatest happiness that could arrive to me ; but, 
 madam, sure a man can never be out of his way, who 
 has the honour of so charming company.' Atlante 
 made no reply to this, but blushed and bowed. But 
 Chariot said, ' Nay, sir, if you are our neighbour, we 
 will give you leave to conduct us home ; but pray, 
 sir, how came you to know we are your neighbours ? 
 for we never saw you before, to our knowledge.' ' My 
 pretty miss,' replied Rinaldo, ' I knew it from that 
 transcendent beauty that appeared in your faces, and 
 fine shapes ; for I have heard, there was no beauty in
 
 312 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 the world like that of Atlante's ; and I no sooner 
 saw her, but my heart told me it was she.' ' Heart ! ' 
 said Chariot, laughing, ' why, do hearts speak ? ' 
 ' The most intelligible of anything,' Rinaldo replied, 
 ' when it is tenderly touched, when it is charmed and 
 transported.' At these words he sighed, and Atlante, 
 to his extreme satisfaction, blushed. ' Touched, 
 charmed, and transported,' said Chariot, ' what's that ? 
 And how do you do to have it be all these things? 
 For I would give anything in the world to have my 
 heart speak.' ' Oh ! ' said Rinaldo, ' your heart is too 
 young, it is not yet arrived to the years of speaking ; 
 about thirteen or fourteen, it may possibly be saying 
 a thousand soft things to you ; but it must be first in- 
 spired by some noble object, whose idea it must 
 retain.' ' What,' replied this pretty prattler, ' I'll 
 warrant I must be in love?' 'Yes,' said Rinaldo, 
 ' most passionately, or you will have but little con- 
 versation with your heart.' ' Oh ! ' replied she, ' I am 
 afraid the pleasure of such a conversation will not 
 make me amends for the pain that love will give 
 me.' ' That,' said Rinaldo, ' is according as the object 
 is kind, and as you hope ; if he love, and you hope, 
 you will have double pleasure: and in this, how 
 great an advantage have fair ladies above us men ! 
 It is almost impossible for you to love in vain, you 
 have your choice of a thousand hearts, which you 
 have subdued, and may not only choose your slaves, 
 but be assured of them ; without speaking, you are 
 beloved, it need not cost you a sigh or a tear. But 
 unhappy man is often destined to give his heart, 
 where it is not regarded, to sigh, to weep, and 
 languish, without any hope of pity.' ' You speak so 
 feelingly, sir,' said Chariot, ' that I am afraid this is 
 your case.' ' Yes, madam,' replied Rinaldo, sighing, 
 ' I am that unhappy man.' ' Indeed it is pity,' said 
 she. Pray, how long have you been so ? ' ' Ever 
 since I heard of the charming Atlante,' replied he, 
 sighing again. ' I adored her character ; but now I
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 313 
 
 have seen her, I die for her.' ' For me, sir ! ' said 
 Atlante, who had not yet spoken, ' this is the common 
 compliment of all the young men, who pretend to be 
 lovers ; and if one should pity all those sighers, we 
 should have but very little left for ourselves.' ' I 
 believe,' said Rinaldo, ' there are none that tell you 
 so, who do not mean as they say : yet among all 
 those adorers, and those who say they will die for 
 you, you will find none will be so good as their words 
 but Rinaldo.' ' Perhaps,' said Atlante, ' of all those 
 who tell me of dying, there are none that tell me of 
 it with so little reason as Rinaldo, if that be your 
 name, sir.' 'Madam, it is,' said he, 'and who am 
 transported with an unspeakable joy, to hear those 
 last words from your fair mouth: and let me, O lovely 
 Atlante ! assure you, that what I have said, are not 
 words of course, but proceed from a heart that has 
 vowed itself eternally yours, even before I had the 
 happiness to behold this divine person ; but now 
 that my eyes have made good all my heart before 
 imagined, and did but hope, I swear, I will die a 
 thousand deaths, rather than violate what I have said 
 to you ; that I adore you ; that my soul and all my 
 faculties are charmed with your beauty and innocence, 
 and that my life and fortune, not inconsiderable, shall 
 be laid at your feet.' This he spoke with a fervency 
 of passion, that left her no doubt of what he had 
 said ; yet she blushed for shame, and was a little 
 angry at herself, for suffering him to say so much to 
 her, the very first time she saw him, and accused her- 
 self for giving him any encouragement. And in this 
 confusion she replied, 'Sir, you have said too much 
 to be believed ; and I cannot imagine so short an 
 acquaintance can make so considerable an impres- 
 sion ; of which confession I accuse myself much 
 more than you, in that I did not only hearken to 
 what you said, without forbidding you to entertain 
 me at that rate, but for unheedily speaking some- 
 thing, that has encouraged this boldness: for so I
 
 314 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 must call it, in a man so great a stranger to me.' 
 ' Madam,' said he, ' if I have offended by the sudden- 
 ness of my presumptuous discovery, I beseech you to 
 consider my reasons for it, the few opportunities I am 
 like to have, and the impossibility of waiting on you, 
 both from the severity of your father and mine ; who, 
 ere I saw you, warned me of my fate, as if he foresaw 
 I should fall in love, as soon as I should chance to 
 see you; and for that reason has kept me closer 
 to my studies, than hitherto I have been. And from 
 that time I began to feel a flame, which was kindled 
 by report alone, and the description my father gave 
 of your wondrous and dangerous beauty. Therefore, 
 madam, I have not suddenly told you of my passion. 
 I have been long your lover, and have long languished 
 without telling of my pain ; and you ought to pardon 
 it now, since it is done with all the respect and 
 religious awe, that it is possible for a heart to deliver 
 and unload itself in. Therefore, madam, if you have 
 by chance uttered anything, that I have taken advan- 
 tage or hope from, I assure you it is so small, that 
 you have no reason to repent it ; but rather, if you 
 would have me live, send me not from you, without a 
 confirmation of that little hope. See, madam,' said 
 he, more earnestly and trembling, ' see we are almost 
 arrived at our homes, send me not to mine in a 
 despair that I cannot support with life ; but tell me, I 
 shall be blessed with your sight, sometimes in your 
 balcony, which is very near to a jutting window in 
 our house, from whence I have sent many a longing 
 look towards yours, in hope to have seen my soul's 
 tormentor.' ' I shall be very unwilling,' said she, ' to 
 enter into an intrigue of love or friendship with a 
 man, whose parents will be averse to my happiness, 
 and possibly mine as refractory, though they cannot 
 but know such an alliance would be very considerable, 
 my fortune not being suitable to yours: I tell you 
 this, that you may withdraw in time from an engage- 
 ment, in which I find there will be a great many
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 315 
 
 obstacles.' 'Oh! madam,' replied Rinaldo, sighing, 
 'if my person be not disagreeable to you, you will 
 have no occasion to fear the rest ; it is that I dread, 
 and that which is all my fear.' He, sighing, beheld 
 her with a languishing look, that told her, he expected 
 her answer ; when she replied, ' Sir, if that will be 
 satisfaction enough for you at this time, I do assure 
 you, I have no aversion for your person, in which 
 I find more to be valued, than in any I have yet seen; 
 and if what you say be real, and proceed from a heart 
 truly affected, I find, in spite of me, you will oblige 
 me to give you hope.' 
 
 They were come so near their own houses, that he 
 had not time to return her any answer ; but with a low 
 bow he acknowledged her bounty, and expressed the 
 joy her last words had given him, by a look that 
 made her understand he was charmed and pleased : 
 and she bowing to him with an air of satisfaction in 
 her face, he was well assured, there was nothing to be 
 seen so lovely as she then appeared, and left her to go 
 into her own house. But till she was out of sight, 
 he had not power to stir, and then sighing, retired to 
 his own apartment, to think over all that had passed 
 between them. He found nothing but what gave him 
 a thousand joys, in all she had said ; and he blessed 
 this happy day, and wondered how his stars came so 
 kind, to make him in one hour at once see Atlante, 
 and have the happiness to know from her mouth, that 
 he was not disagreeable to her. Yet with this satis- 
 faction, he had a thousand thoughts mixed which 
 were tormenting, and those were the fear of their 
 parents ; he foresaw from what his father had said to 
 him already, that it would be difficult to draw him 
 to a consent of his marriage with Atlante. These 
 joys and fears were his companions all the night, in 
 which he took but little rest. Nor was Atlante with- 
 out her inquietudes. She found Rinaldo more in her 
 thoughts than she wished, and a sudden change of 
 humour, that made her know something was the
 
 316 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 matter with her more than usual ; she calls to mind 
 Rinaldo's speaking of the conversation with his 
 heart, and found hers would be tattling to her, if she 
 would give way to it ; and yet the more she strove to 
 avoid it, the more it importuned her, and in spite of 
 all her resistance, would tell her, that Rinaldo had 
 a thousand charms. It tells her, that he loves and 
 adores her, and that she would be the most cruel of 
 her sex, should she not be sensible of his passion. 
 She finds a thousand graces in his person and conver- 
 sation, and as many advantages in his fortune, which 
 was one of the most considerable in all those parts ; 
 for his estate exceeded that of the most noble men in 
 Orleans,and she imagines she should be the most fortu- 
 nate of all womankind in such a match. With these 
 thoughts she employed all the hours of the night; 
 so that she lay so long in bed the next day, that 
 Count Vernole, who had invited himself to dinner, 
 came before she had quitted her chamber, and she 
 was forced to say, she had not been well. He had 
 brought her a very fine book, newly come out, of 
 delicate philosophy, fit for the study of ladies. But 
 he appeared so disagreeable to that heart, wholly 
 taken up with a new and fine object, that she could 
 now hardly pay him that civility she was wont to do ; 
 while on the other side that little state and pride 
 Atlante assumed, made her appear the more charming 
 to him : so that if Atlante had no mind to begin 
 a new lesson of philosophy, while she fancied her 
 thoughts were much better employed, the Count 
 every moment expressing his tenderness and passion, 
 had as little an inclination to instruct her, as she had 
 to be instructed. Love had taught her a new lesson, 
 and he would fain teach her a new lesson of love, but 
 fears it will be a diminishing his gravity and grandeur, 
 to open the secrets of his heart to so young a maid. 
 He therefore thinks it more agreeable to his quality 
 and years, being about forty, to use her father's 
 authority in this affair, and that it was sufficient for
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 317 
 
 him to declare himself to Monsieur De Pais, who he 
 knew would be proud of the honour he did him. 
 Some time passed, before he could be persuaded 
 even to declare himself to her father. He fancies 
 the little coldness and pride he saw in Atlante's face, 
 which was not usual, proceeded from some discovery 
 of passion, which his eyes had made, or now and then 
 a sigh, that unawares broke forth; and accuses himself 
 of a levity below his quality, and the dignity of his 
 wit and gravity; and therefore assumes a more rigid 
 and formal behaviour than he was wont, which ren- 
 dered him yet more disagreeable than before ; and it 
 was with greater pain than ever, she gave him that 
 respect which was due to his quality. 
 
 Rinaldo, after a restless night, was up very early in 
 the morning ; and though he was not certain of seeing 
 his adorable Atlante, he dressed himself with all that 
 care, as if he had been to have waited on her, and got 
 himself into the window, that overlooked Monsieur 
 De Pais's balcony, where he had not remained long, 
 before he saw the pretty Chariot come into it, not 
 with any design of seeing Rinaldo, but to look and 
 gaze about her a little. Rinaldo saw her, and made 
 her a very low reverence, and found some disordered 
 joy on the sight of even Chariot, since she was sister 
 to Atlante. He called to her (for the window was so 
 near her, he could easily he heard by her), and told 
 her ' He was infinitely indebted to her bounty, for 
 giving him an opportunity yesterday of falling on 
 that discourse, which had made him the happiest man 
 in the world.' He said, ' If she had not by her agree- 
 able conversation encouraged him, and drawn him 
 from one word to another, he should never have had 
 the confidence to have told Atlante, how much he 
 adored her.' ' I am very glad,' replied Chariot, ' that I 
 was the occasion of the beginning of an amour which 
 was displeasing to neither one nor the other; for 
 I assure you for your comfort, my sister nothing but 
 thinks on you : we lie together, and you have taught
 
 3i8 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 her already to sigh so, that I could not sleep for her.' 
 At this his face was covered all over with a rising joy, 
 which his heart could not contain : and after some 
 discourse, in which this innocent girl discovered more 
 than Atlante wished she should, he besought her to 
 become his advocate ; and she had no brother, to give 
 him leave to assume that honour, and call her sister. 
 Thus, by degrees, he flattered her into a consent of 
 carrying a letter from him to Atlante; which she, 
 who believed all as innocent as herself, and being not 
 forbid to do so, immediately consented to ; when he 
 took his pen and ink, that stood in the window, with 
 paper, and wrote Atlante this following letter : 
 
 RINALDO TO ATLANTE 
 
 If my fate be so severe, as to deny me the happiness 
 of sighing out my pain and passion daily at your feet, if 
 there be any faith in the hope you were pleased to give me 
 (as it were a sin to doubt), O charming Atlante ! suffer me 
 not to languish, both without beholding you, and without 
 the blessing of now and then a billet, in answer to those 
 that shall daily assure you of my eternal faith and vow ; it 
 is all I ask, till fortune, and our affairs, shall allow me the 
 unspeakable satisfaction of claiming you : yet if your charity 
 can sometimes afford me a sight of you, either from your 
 balcony in the evening, or at a church in the morning, it 
 would save me from that despair and torment, which must 
 possess a heart so unassured, as that of your eternal adorer, 
 
 RIN. BELLYAURD. 
 
 He having writ and sealed this, tossed it into the 
 balcony to Chariot, having first looked about to see if 
 none perceived them. She put it in her bosom, and 
 ran in to her sister, whom by chance she found alone; 
 Vernole having taken De Pais into the garden, to 
 discourse him concerning the sending Chariot to the 
 monastery, which work he desired to see performed, 
 before he declared his intentions to Atlante: for 
 among all his other good qualities, he was very
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 319 
 
 avaricious; and as fair as Atlanta was, he thought 
 she would be much fairer with the addition of 
 Chariot's portion. This affair of his with Monsieur 
 De Pais, gave Chariot an opportunity of delivering 
 her letter to her sister ; who no sooner drew it from 
 her bosom, but Atlante's face was covered over with 
 blushes. For she imagined from whence it came, and 
 had a secret joy in that imagination, though she 
 thought she must put on the severity and niceness 
 of a virgin, who would not be thought to have sur- 
 rendered her heart with so small an assault, and the 
 first too. So she demanded from whence Chariot 
 had that letter ; who replied with joy, ' From the 
 fine young gentleman, our neighbour.' At which 
 Atlante assumed all the gravity she could, to chide 
 her sister ; who replied, ' Well, sister, had you this day 
 seen him, you would not have been angry to have 
 received a letter from him ; he looked so handsome, 
 and was so richly dressed, ten times finer than he was 
 yesterday; and I promised him you should read it: 
 therefore, pray let me keep my word with him ; and 
 not only so, but carry him an answer.' ' Well,' said 
 Atlante, ' to save your credit with Monsieur Rinaldo, 
 I will read it.' Which she did, and finished with 
 a sigh. While she was reading, Chariot ran into the 
 garden, to see if they were not likely to be surprised ; 
 and finding the Count and her father set in an arbour, 
 in deep discourse, she brought pen, ink, and paper to 
 her sister, and told her, she might write without the 
 fear of being disturbed : and urged her so long to what 
 was enough her inclination, that she at last obtained 
 this answer : 
 
 ATLANTE TO RINALDO 
 
 Chariot, your little importunate advocate, has at last sub- 
 dued me to a consent of returning you this. She has put 
 me on an affair with which I am wholly unacquainted ; and 
 you ought to take this very kindly from me, since it is the 
 very first time I ever wrote to one of your sex, though per- 
 haps I might with less danger have done it to any other man.
 
 320 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 I tremble while I write, since I dread a correspondence of 
 this nature, which may insensibly draw us into an incon- 
 venience, and engage me beyond the limits of that nicety 
 I ought to preserve. For this way we venture to say a 
 thousand little kind things, which in conversation we dare 
 not do : for now none can see us blush. I am sensible 
 I shall this way put myself too soon into your power ; and 
 though you have abundance of merit, I ought to be 
 
 ashamed of confessing, I am but too sensible of it 
 
 But hold I shall discover for your repose (which I would 
 preserve) too much of the heart of ATLANTE. 
 
 She gave this letter to Chariot ; who immediately 
 ran into the balcony with it, where she still found 
 Rinaldo in a melancholy posture, leaning his head on 
 his hand. She showed him the letter, but was afraid 
 to toss it to him, for fear it might fall to the ground ; 
 so he ran and fetched a long cane, which he cleft at 
 one end, and held it while she put the letter into the 
 cleft, and stayed not to hear what he said to it. But 
 never was man so transported with joy, as he was at 
 the reading of this letter ; it gives him new wounds ; 
 for to the generous, nothing obliges love so much as 
 love : though it is now too much the nature of that 
 inconstant sex, to cease to love as soon as they are 
 sure of the conquest. But it was far different with 
 our cavalier; he was the more inflamed, by imagining 
 he had made some impressions on the heart of 
 Atlante, and kindled some sparks there, that in time 
 might increase to something more ; so that he now 
 resolves to die hers : and considering all the obstacles 
 that may possibly hinder his happiness, he found 
 none but his father's obstinacy, perhaps occasioned 
 by the meanness of Atlante's fortune. To this he 
 urged again, that he was his only son, and a son 
 whom he loved equal to his own life ; and that 
 certainly, as soon as he should behold him dying 
 for Atlante, which if he were forced to quit her he 
 must be, he then believed the tenderness of so fond 
 a parent would break forth into pity, and plead
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 321 
 
 within for his consent. These were the thoughts that 
 flattered this young lover all the day ; and whether 
 he were riding the great horse, or at his study of 
 philosophy, or mathematics, singing, dancing, or 
 whatsoever other exercise his tutors ordered, his 
 thoughts were continually on Atlante. And now 
 he profited no more, whatever he seemed to do; 
 every day he failed not to write to her by the 
 hand of the kind Chariot ; who, young as she was, 
 had conceived a great friendship for Rinaldo, and 
 failed not to fetch her letters, and bring him answers, 
 such as he wished to receive. But all this did not 
 satisfy our impatient lover; absence killed, and he 
 was no longer able to support himself, without a sight 
 of this adorable maid. He therefore implores, she 
 will give him that satisfaction and she at last grants 
 it, with a better will than he imagined. The next 
 day was the appointed time, when she would, under 
 pretence of going to church, give him an assignation. 
 And because all public places were dangerous, and 
 might make a great noise, and they had no private 
 place to trust to, Rinaldo, under pretence of going up 
 the river in his pleasure-boat, which he often did, sent 
 to have it made ready by the next day at ten of the 
 clock. This was accordingly done, and he gave 
 Atlante notice of his design of going an hour or two 
 on the river in his boat, which lay near to such 
 a place, not far from the church. She and Chariot 
 came thither : and because they durst not come out 
 without a footman or two, they taking one, sent him 
 with a ' How-do-ye ' to some young ladies, and told 
 him, he should find them at church. So getting rid 
 of their spy, they hastened to the river-side, and 
 found a boat and Rinaldo, waiting to carry them on 
 board his little vessel, which was richly adorned, and 
 a very handsome collation ready for them, of cold 
 meats, salads and sweetmeats. 
 
 As soon as they were come into the pleasure-boat, 
 unseen of any, he kneeled at the feet of Atlante, and 
 
 Y
 
 322 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 there uttered so many passionate and tender things 
 to her, with a voice so trembling and soft, with eyes 
 so languishing, and a fervency and a fire so sincere, 
 that her young heart, wholly incapable of artifice, 
 could no longer resist such language, and such looks 
 of love. She grows tender, and he perceives it in her 
 fine eyes, who could not dissemble; he reads her 
 heart in her looks, and found it yielding apace ; and 
 therefore assaults it anew, with fresh forces of sighs 
 and tears. He implores she would assure him of her 
 heart, which she could no other way do, than by 
 yielding to marry him. He would carry her to the 
 next village, there consummate that happiness, with- 
 out which he was able to live no longer ; for he had 
 a thousand fears, that some other lover was, or would 
 suddenly be provided for her; and therefore he would 
 make sure of her while he had this opportunity : and 
 to that end, he answered all the objections she could 
 make to the contrary. But ever, when he named 
 marriage, she trembled, with fear of doing something 
 that she fancied she ought not to do without the 
 consent of her father. She was sensible of the advan- 
 tage, but had been so used to a strict obedience, 
 that she could not without horror think of violating 
 it ; and therefore besought him, as he valued her 
 repose, not to urge her to that. And told him further, 
 that if he feared any rival, she would give him what 
 other assurance and satisfaction he pleased, but that 
 of marriage ; which she could not consent to, till she 
 knew such an alliance would not be fatal to him : for 
 she feared, as passionately as he loved her, when he 
 should find she had occasioned him the loss of his 
 fortune, or his father's affection, he would grow to 
 hate her. Though he answered to this all that a fond 
 lover could urge, yet she was resolved, and he forced 
 to content himself with obliging her by his prayers 
 and protestations, his sighs and tears, to a contract, 
 which they solemnly made each other, vowing on 
 either side, they would never marry any other. This
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 323 
 
 being solemnly concluded, he assumed a look more gay 
 and contented than before : he presented her a very 
 rich ring, which she durst not put on her finger, but 
 hid it in her bosom. And beholding each other now 
 as man and wife, she suffered him all the decent free- 
 doms he could wish to take; so that the hours of 
 this voyage seemed the most soft and charming of his 
 life : and doubtless they were so ; every touch of 
 Atlante transported him, every look pierced his soul, 
 and he was all raptures of joy, when he considered 
 this charming lovely maid was his own. 
 
 Chariot all this while was gazing above - deck, 
 admiring the motion of the little vessel, and how 
 easily the wind and tide bore her up the river. She 
 had never been in anything of this kind before, and 
 was very well pleased and entertained, when Rinaldo 
 called her down to tea ; where they enjoyed them- 
 selves, as well as was possible: and Chariot was 
 wondering to see such a content in their eyes. 
 
 But now they thought it was high time for them 
 to return ; they fancy the footman missing them at 
 church, would go home and alarm their father, and 
 the Knight of the Ill-favoured Countenance, as Chariot 
 called Count Vernole, whose severity put their father 
 on a greater restriction of them, than naturally he 
 would do of himself. At the name of this Count, 
 Rinaldo changed colour, fearing he might be some 
 rival ; and asked Atlante, if this Vernole was akin to 
 her ? She answered no ; but was a very great friend 
 to her father, and one who from their infancy had 
 had a particular concern for their breeding, and was 
 her master for philosophy. ' Ah ! ' replied Rinaldo, 
 sighing, 'this man's concern must proceed from 
 something more than friendship for her father'; and 
 therefore conjured her to tell him, whether he was 
 not a lover. 'A lover!' replied Atlante,' I assure you, 
 he is a perfect antidote against that passion.' And 
 though she suffered his ugly presence now, she should 
 loathe and hate him, should he but name love to her.
 
 324 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 She said ' she believed she need not fear any such 
 persecution, since he was a man who was not at all 
 amorous ; that he had too much of the satire in his 
 humour, to harbour any softness there : and nature 
 had formed his body to his mind, wholly unfit for 
 love. And that he might set his heart absolutely at 
 rest, she assured him her father had never yet pro- 
 posed any marriage to her, though many advantageous 
 ones were offered him every day. 
 
 The sails being turned to carry them back from 
 whence they came ; after having discoursed of a 
 thousand things, and all of love, and contrivance to 
 carry on their mutual design, they with sighs parted ; 
 Rinaldo staying behind in the pleasure-boat, and they 
 going ashore in the wherry that attended : after which 
 he cast many an amorous and sad look, and perhaps 
 was answered by those of Atlante. 
 
 It was past church-time two or three hours, when 
 they arrived at home, wholly unprepared with an 
 excuse, so absolutely was Atlante's soul possessed 
 with softer business. The first person they met was 
 the footman, who opened the door, and began to cry 
 out how long he had waited in the church, and how 
 in vain ; without giving them time to reply. De Pais 
 came towards them, and with a frowning look de- 
 manded where they had been. Atlante, who was 
 not accustomed to excuses and untruth, was a while 
 at a stand ; when Chariot with a voice of joy cried 
 out, ' O sir ! we have been aboard of a fine little 
 ship. At this Atlante blushed, fearing she would tell 
 the truth. But she proceeded on, and said, that they 
 had not been above a quarter of an hour at church, 
 
 when the Lady , with some other ladies and 
 
 cavaliers, were going out of the church, and that 
 spying them, they would needs have them go with 
 them. ' My sister, sir/ continued she, ' was very loth 
 
 to go, for fear you should be angry ; but my Lady 
 
 was so importunate with her on one side, and I on 
 the other, because I never saw a little ship in my
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 325 
 
 life, that at last we prevailed with her ; therefore, 
 good sir, be not angry.' He promised them he was 
 not. And when they came in, they found Count 
 Vernole, who had been inspiring De Pais with 
 severity, and counselled him to chide the young 
 ladies, for being too long absent, under pretence of 
 going to their devotion. Nor was it enough for him 
 to set the father on, but himself with a gravity, where 
 concern and malice were both apparent, reproached 
 Atlante with levity ; and told her he believed she 
 had some other motive than the invitation of a lady, 
 to go on ship-board ; and that she had too many 
 lovers, not to make them doubt that this was a 
 designed thing ; and that she had heard love from 
 someone, for whom it was designed. To this she 
 made but a short reply, that if it was so, she had 
 no reason to conceal it, since she had sense enough 
 to look after herself; and if anybody had made love 
 to her, he might be assured, it was someone whose 
 quality and merit deserved to be heard : and with 
 a look of scorn, she passed on to another room, and 
 left him silently raging within with jealousy : which, 
 if before she tormented him, this declaration increased 
 it to a pitch not to be concealed. And this day he 
 said so much to the father, that he resolved forthwith 
 to send Chariot to a nunnery : and accordingly the 
 next day he bid her prepare to go. Chariot, who 
 was not yet arrived to the years of distinction, did 
 not much regret it ; and having no trouble but leaving 
 her sister, she prepared to go to a nunnery, not many 
 streets from that where she dwelt. The Lady Abbess 
 was her father's kinswoman, and had treated her very 
 well, as often as she came to visit her : so that with 
 satisfaction enough, she was condemned to a mon- 
 astic life, and was now going for her probation-year. 
 Atlante was troubled at her departure, because she 
 had nobody to bring and to carry letters between 
 Rinaldo and she : however, she took her leave of her, 
 and promised to come and see her as often as she
 
 326 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 should be permitted to go abroad ; for she feared 
 now some constraint extraordinary would be put 
 upon her: and so it happened. 
 
 Atlante's chamber was that to which the balcony 
 belonged ; and though she durst not appear there in 
 the daytime, she could in the night, and that way 
 give her lover as many hours of conversation as she 
 pleased, without being perceived. But how to give 
 Rinaldo notice of this, she could not tell ; who not 
 knowing Chariot was gone to a monastery, waited 
 many days at his window to see her: at last, they 
 neither of them knowing who to trust with any 
 message, one day, when he was, as usual, upon his 
 watch, he saw Atlante step into the balcony, who 
 having a letter, in which she had put a piece of lead, 
 she tossed it into his window, whose casement was 
 open, and ran in again unperceived by any but him- 
 self. The paper contained only this : 
 
 My chamber is that which looks into the balcony ; from 
 whence, though I cannot converse with you in the day, 
 I can at night, when I am retired to go to bed : therefore 
 be at your window. Farewell. 
 
 There needed no more to make him a diligent 
 watcher : and accordingly she was no sooner retired 
 to her chamber, but she would come into the balcony, 
 where she failed not to see him attending at his 
 window. This happy contrivance was thus carried 
 on for many nights, where they entertained one 
 another with all the endearment that two hearts 
 could dictate, who were perfectly united and assured 
 of each other ; and this pleasing conversation would 
 often last till day appeared, and forced them to part. 
 
 But old Bellyaurd perceiving his son frequent that 
 chamber more than usual, fancied something extra- 
 ordinary must be the cause of it ; and one night ask- 
 ing for his son, his valet told him, he was gone into 
 the Great Chamber, so this was called. Bellyaurd 
 asked the valet what he did there j he told him he
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 327 
 
 could not tell ; for often he had lighted him thither, 
 and that his master would take the candle from him 
 at the chamber-door, and suffer him to go no farther. 
 Though the old gentleman could not imagine what 
 affairs he could have alone every night in that 
 chamber, he had a curiosity to see : and one unlucky 
 night, putting off his shoes, he came to the door of 
 the chamber, which was open ; he entered softly, and 
 saw the candle set in the chimney, and his son at a 
 great open bay-window. He stopped awhile to wait 
 when he would turn, but finding him unmovable, he 
 advanced something farther, and at last heard the 
 soft dialogue of love between him and Atlante, whom 
 he knew to be she, by his often calling her by her 
 name in their discourse. He heard enough to con- 
 firm him how matters went ; and unseen as he came, 
 he returned, full of indignation, and thought how to 
 prevent so great an evil, as this passion of his son 
 might produce. At first he thought to round him 
 severely in the ear about it, and upbraid him for 
 doing the only thing he had thought fit to forbid 
 him ; but then he thought that would but terrify him 
 for a while, and he would return again, where he had 
 so great an inclination, if he were near her ; he there- 
 fore resolves to send him to Paris, that by absence 
 he might forget the young beauty that had charmed 
 his youth. Therefore, without letting Rinaldo know 
 the reason, and without taking notice that he knew 
 anything of his amour, he came to him one day, and 
 told him, all the masters he had for the improving 
 him in noble sciences were very dull, or very remiss ; 
 and that he resolved he should go for a year or two 
 to the Academy at Paris. To this the son made a 
 thousand evasions ; but the father was positive, and 
 not to be persuaded by all his reasons : and finding 
 he should absolutely displease him if he refused to 
 go, and not daring to tell him the dear cause of his 
 desire to remain at Orleans, he therefore, with a 
 breaking heart, consents to go, nay, resolves it, though
 
 328 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 it should be his death. But alas ! he considers that 
 this parting will not only prove the greatest torment 
 upon earth to him, but that Atlante will share in his 
 misfortunes also. This thought gives him a double 
 torment, and yet he finds no way to evade it. 
 
 The night that finished this fatal day, he goes 
 again to his wonted station, the window ; where he 
 had not sighed very long, but he saw Atlante enter 
 the balcony : he was not able a great while to speak 
 to her, or to utter one word. The night was light 
 enough to see him at the wonted place ; and she 
 admires at his silence, and demands the reason in 
 such obliging terms as adds to his grief; and he, with 
 a deep sigh, replied, ' Urge me not, my fair Atlante, 
 to speak, lest by obeying you I give you more cause 
 of grief than my silence is capable of doing ' : and 
 then sighing again, he held his peace, and gave her 
 leave to ask the cause of these last words. But when 
 he made no reply but by sighing, she imagined it 
 much worse than indeed it was ; and with a trembling 
 and fainting voice, she cried, ' Oh ! Rinaldo, give me 
 leave to divine that cruel news you are so unwilling 
 to tell me : is it that,' added she, ' you are destined to 
 some more fortunate maid than Atlante?' At this 
 tears stopped her speech, and she could utter no 
 more. ' No, my dearest charmer,' replied Rinaldo, 
 elevating his voice, ' if that were all, you should see 
 with what fortitude I would die, rather than obey any 
 such commands. I am vowed yours to the last 
 moment of my life ; and will be yours in spite of all 
 the opposition in the world: that cruelty I could 
 evade, but cannot this that threatens me.' ' Ah ! ' 
 cried Atlante, ' let Fate do her worst, so she still con- 
 tinue Rinaldo mine, and keep that faith he hath 
 sworn to me entire. What can she do beside, that 
 can afflict me?' 'She can separate me,' cried he, 
 'for some time from Atlante.' 'Oh!' replied she, 
 'all misfortunes fall so below that which I first 
 imagined, that methinks I do not resent this, as I
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 329 
 
 should otherwise have done ; but I know, when I 
 have a little more considered it, I shall even die with 
 the grief of it, absence being so greater an enemy to 
 love, and making us soon forget the object beloved. 
 This, though I never experienced, I have heard, and 
 fear it may be my fate.' He then convinced her 
 fears with a thousand new vows, and a thousand im- 
 precations of constancy. She then asked him if 
 their loves were discovered, that he was with such 
 haste to depart? He told her nothing of that was 
 the cause ; and he could almost wish it were dis- 
 covered, since he could resolutely then refuse to go 
 but it was only to cultivate his mind more effectually 
 than he could do here ; it was the care of his father 
 to accomplish him the more ; and therefore he could 
 not contradict it. ' But,' said he, ' I am not sent where 
 seas shall part us, nor vast distances of earth, but to 
 Paris,' from whence he might come in two days to see 
 her again ; and that he would expect from that 
 balcony, that had given him so many happy moments, 
 many more when he should come to see her. He be- 
 sought her to send him away with all the satisfaction 
 she could, which she could no otherwise do, than by 
 giving him new assurances that she would never give 
 away that right he had in her to any other lover. 
 She vows this with innumerable tears ; and is almost 
 angry with him for questioning her faith. He tells 
 her he has but one night more to stay, and his grief 
 would be unspeakable, if he should not be able to 
 take a better leave of her, than at a window; and 
 that, if she would give him leave, he would by a rope 
 or two, tied together, so as it may serve for steps, 
 ascend her balcony ; he not having time to provide a 
 ladder of ropes. She tells him she has so great a 
 confidence in his virtue and love, that she will refuse 
 him nothing, though it would be a very bold venture 
 for a maid, to trust herself with a passionate young 
 man, in silence of night : and though she did not 
 extort a vow from him to secure her, she expected
 
 330 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 he would have a care of her honour. He swore to 
 her, his love was too religious for so base an attempt 
 There needed not many vows to confirm her faith; 
 and it was agreed on between them, that he should 
 come the next night into her chamber. 
 
 It happened that night, as it often did, that Count 
 Vernole lay with Monsieur De Pais, which was in a 
 ground-room, just under that of Atlante's. As soon as 
 she knew all were in bed, she gave the word to Rinaldo, 
 who was attending with the impatience of a passionate 
 lover below, under the window ; and who no sooner 
 heard the balcony open, but he ascended with some 
 difficulty, and entered the chamber, where he found 
 Atlante trembling with joy and fear. He throws him- 
 self at her feet, as unable to speak as she; who 
 nothing but blushed and bent down her eyes, hardly 
 daring to glance them towards the dear object of her 
 desires, the lord of all her vows. She was ashamed 
 to see a man in her chamber, where yet none had 
 ever been alone, and by night too. He saw her fear, 
 and felt her trembling ; and after a thousand sighs of 
 love had made way for speech, he besought her to 
 fear nothing from him, for his flame was too sacred, 
 and his passion too holy to offer anything but what 
 honour with love might afford him. At last he 
 brought her to some courage, and the roses of her 
 fair cheeks assumed their wonted colour, not blushing 
 too red, nor languishing too pale. But when the 
 conversation began between them, it was the softest 
 in the world : they said all that parting lovers could 
 say ; all that wit and tenderness could express. They 
 exchanged their vows anew ; and to confirm his, he 
 tied a bracelet of diamonds about her arm, and she 
 returned him one of her hair, which he had long 
 begged, and she had on purpose made, which clasped 
 together with diamonds ; this she put about his arm, 
 and he swore to carry it to his grave. The night was 
 far spent in tender vows, soft sighs and tears on both 
 sides, and it was high time to part : but, as if death
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 331 
 
 had been to have arrived to them in that minute, they 
 both lingered away the time, like lovers who had for- 
 got themselves ; and the day was near approaching 
 when he bid farewell, which he repeated very often : 
 for still he was interrupted by some commanding soft- 
 ness from Atlante, and then lost all his power of 
 going ; till she, more courageous and careful of his 
 interest and her own fame, forced him from her : and 
 it was happy she did, for he was no sooner got over 
 the balcony, and she had flung him down his rope, 
 and shut the door, but Vernole, whom love and con- 
 trivance kept waking, fancied several times he heard 
 a noise in Atlante's chamber. And whether in pass- 
 ing over the balcony, Rinaldo made any noise or not, 
 or whether it was still his jealous fancy, he came up in 
 his night-gown, with a pistol in his hand. Atlante 
 was not so much lost in grief, though she were all in 
 tears, but she heard a man come up, and imagined 
 it had been her father, she not knowing of Count 
 Vernole's lying in the house that night ; if she had, 
 she possibly had taken more care to have been silent : 
 but whoever it was, she could not get to bed soon 
 enough, and therefore turned herself to her dressing- 
 table, where a candle stood, and where lay a book 
 open of the story of Ariadne and Theseus. The 
 Count turning the latch, entered halting into her 
 chamber in his night-gown clapped close about him, 
 which betrayed an ill-favoured shape, his night-cap 
 on, without a periwig, which discovered all his lean 
 withered jaws, his pale face, and his eyes staring : and 
 made altogether so dreadful a figure, that Atlante, 
 who no more dreamt of him than of a devil, had 
 possibly have rather seen the last. She gave a great 
 shriek, which frightened Vernole ; so both stood for a 
 while staring on each other, till both were recollected. 
 He told her the care of her honour had brought him 
 thither; and then rolling his small eyes round the 
 chamber, to see if he could discover anybody, he 
 proceeded, and cried, ' Madam, if I had no other
 
 33* THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 motive than your being up at this time of night, or 
 rather of day, I could easily guess how you have been 
 entertained.' ' What insolence is this,' said she, all in 
 a rage, ' when to cover your boldness of approaching 
 my chamber at this hour, you would question how 
 I have been entertained ! Either explain yourself, or 
 quit my chamber ; for I am not used to see such 
 terrible objects here.' ' Possibly those you do see,' 
 said the Count, ' are indeed more agreeable, but I am 
 afraid have not that regard to your honour as I have' : 
 and at that word he stepped to the balcony, opened it, 
 and looked out ; but seeing nobody, he shut it to 
 again. This enraged Atlante beyond all patience ; 
 and snatching the pistol out of his hand, she told him 
 he deserved to have it aimed at his head, for having 
 the impudence to question her honour, or her conduct; 
 and commanded him to avoid her chamber as he 
 loved his life, which she believed he was fonder of 
 than of her honour. She speaking this in a tone 
 wholly transported with rage, and at the same time 
 holding the pistol towards him made him tremble 
 with fear ; and he now found, whether she were guilty 
 or not, it was his turn to beg pardon. For you must 
 know, however it came to pass that his jealousy made 
 him come up in that fierce posture, at other times 
 Vernole was the most tame and passive man in the 
 world, and one who was afraid of his own shadow in 
 the night. He had a natural aversion for danger, and 
 thought it below a man of wit, or common-sense, to be 
 guilty of that brutal thing, called courage or fighting. 
 His philosophy told him, ' It was safe sleeping in 
 a whole skin'; and possibly he apprehended as much 
 danger from this virago, as ever he did from his own 
 sex. He therefore fell on his knees, and besought 
 her to hold her fair hand, and not to suffer that, 
 which was the greatest mark of his respect, to be the 
 cause of her hate or indignation. The pitiful faces 
 he made, and the signs of mortal fear in him, had 
 almost made her laugh, at least it allayed her anger ;
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 333 
 
 and she bid him rise and play the fool hereafter some- 
 where else, and not in her presence. Yet for once 
 she would deign to give him this satisfaction, that she 
 was got into a book, which had many moving stories 
 very well written ; and that she found herself so well 
 entertained, she had forgotten how the night passed. 
 He most humbly thanked her for this satisfaction, 
 and retired, perhaps not so well satisfied as he pre- 
 tended. 
 
 After this, he appeared more submissive and re- 
 spectful towards Atlante; and she carried herself 
 more reserved and haughty towards him ; which was 
 one reason, he would not yet discover his passion. 
 
 Thus the time ran on at Orleans, while Rinaldo 
 found himself daily languishing at Paris. He was 
 indeed in the best academy in the city, amongst 
 a number of brave and noble youths, where all things 
 that could accomplish them, were to be learned by 
 those that had any genius; but Rinaldo had other 
 thoughts, and other business: his time was wholly 
 passed in the most solitary parts of the garden, by 
 the melancholy fountains, and in the most gloomy 
 shades, where he could with most liberty breathe out 
 his passion and his griefs. He was past the tutorage 
 of a boy ; and his masters could not upbraid him, but 
 found he had some secret cause of grief, which made 
 him not mind those exercises, which were the delight 
 of the rest ; so that nothing being able to divert his 
 melancholy, which daily increased upon him, he 
 feared it would bring him into a fever, if he did not 
 give himself the satisfaction of seeing Atlante. He 
 had no sooner thought of this, but he was impatient 
 to put it in execution ; he resolved to go (having very 
 good horses) without acquainting any of his servants 
 with it. He got a very handsome and light ladder of 
 ropes made, which he carried under his coat, and 
 away he rode for Orleans, stayed at a little village, till 
 the darkness of the night might favour his design. 
 And then walking about Atlanta's lodgings, till he
 
 334 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 saw a light in her chamber, and then making that 
 noise on his sword, as was agreed between them, he 
 was heard by his adorable Atlante, and suffered to 
 mount her chamber, where he would stay till almost 
 break of day, and then return to the village, and take 
 horse, and away for Paris again. This, once in a 
 month, was his exercise, without which he could not 
 live ; so that his whole year was passed in riding 
 between Orleans and Paris, between excess of grief, 
 and excess of joy by turns. 
 
 It was now that Atlante, arrived to her fifteenth 
 year, shone out with a lustre of beauty greater than 
 ever ; and in this year, in the absence of Rinaldo, had 
 carried herself with that severity of life, without the 
 youthful desire of going abroad, or desiring any 
 diversion, but what she found in her own retired 
 thoughts, that Vernole, wholly unable longer to con- 
 ceal his passion, resolved to make a publication of it, 
 first to the father, and then to the lovely daughter, of 
 whom he had some hope, because she had carried her- 
 self very well towards him for this year past ; which 
 she would never have done, if she had imagined he 
 would ever have been her lover. She had seen no 
 signs of any such misfortune towards her in these 
 many years he had conversed with her, and she had 
 no cause to fear him. When one day her father taking 
 her into the garden, told her what honour and happi- 
 ness was in store for her ; and that now the glory of 
 his fallen family would rise again, since she had a 
 lover of an illustrious blood, allied to monarchs ; and 
 one whose fortune was newly increased to a very 
 considerable degree, answerable to his birth. She 
 changed colour at this discourse, imagining but too 
 well who this illustrious lover was ; when De Pais 
 proceeded and told her, 'indeed his person was not 
 the most agreeable that ever was seen : but he 
 married her to glory and fortune, not the man : ' And 
 a woman,' says he, ' ought to look no further." 
 
 She needed not any more to inform her who this
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 335 
 
 intended husband was ; and therefore, bursting forth 
 into tears, she throws herself at his feet, imploring 
 him not to use the authority of a father, to force her 
 to a thing so contrary to her inclination : assuring 
 him, she could not consent to any such thing ; and 
 that she would rather die than yield. She urged 
 many arguments for this her disobedience ; but none 
 would pass for current with the old gentleman, whose 
 pride had flattered him with hopes of so considerable 
 a son-in-law. He was very much surprised at Atlante's 
 refusing what he believed she would receive with joy; 
 and finding that no arguments on his side could draw 
 hers to an obedient consent, he grew to such a rage, 
 as very rarely possessed him : vowing, if she did not 
 conform her will to his, he would abandon her to all 
 the cruelty of contempt and poverty. So that at last 
 she was forced to return him this answer, ' That she 
 would strive all she could with her heart; but she 
 verily believed she should never bring it to consent 
 to a marriage with Monsieur the Count.' The father 
 continued threatening her, and gave her some days to 
 consider of it : so leaving her in tears, he returned to 
 his chamber, to consider what answer he should give 
 Count Vernole, who he knew would be impatient to 
 learn what success he had, and what himself was to 
 hope. De Pais, after some consideration, resolved 
 to tell him, she received the offer very well, but that 
 he must expect a little maiden-nicety in the case : and 
 accordingly did tell him so; and he was not at all 
 doubtful of his good fortune. 
 
 But Atlante, who resolved to die a thousand deaths 
 rather than break her solemn vows to Rinaldo, or to 
 marry the Count, cast about how she should avoid 
 it with the least hazard of her father's rage. She 
 found Rinaldo the better and the more advantageous 
 match of the two, could they but get his father's con- 
 sent. He was beautiful and young ; his title was 
 equal to that of Vernole, when his father should die ; 
 and his estate exceeded his : yet she dares not make
 
 336 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 a discovery, for fear she should injure her lover ; who 
 at this time, though she knew it not, lay sick of 
 a fever, while she was wondering that he came not as 
 he used to do. However, she resolved to send him 
 a letter, and acquaint him with the misfortune ; which 
 she did in these terms : 
 
 ATLANTE TO RINALDO 
 
 My father's authority would force me to violate my sacred 
 vows to you, and give them to the Count Vernole, whom 
 I mortally hate, yet could wish him the greatest monarch in 
 the world, that I might show you I could even then despise 
 him for your sake. My father is already too much enraged 
 by my denial, to hear reason from me, if I should confess 
 to him my vows to you : so that I see nothing but a prospect 
 of death before me ; for assure yourself, my Rinaldo, I will 
 die rather than consent to marry any other. Therefore 
 come, my Rinaldo, and come quickly, to see my funeral, 
 instead of those nuptials they vainly expect from your 
 faithful ATLANTE. 
 
 This letter Rinaldo received ; and there needed no 
 more to make him fly to Orleans. This raised him 
 soon from his bed of sickness, and getting immediately 
 to horse, he arrived at his father's house ; who did not 
 so much admire to see him, because he heard he was 
 sick of a fever, and gave him leave to return, if he 
 pleased. He went directly to his father's house, 
 because he knew somewhat of the business, he was 
 resolved to make his passion known, as soon as he 
 had seen Atlante, from whom he was to take all his 
 measures. He therefore failed not, when all were in 
 bed, to rise and go from his chamber into the street ; 
 where finding a light in Atlante's chamber, for she 
 every night expected him, he made the usual sign, 
 and she went into the balcony ; and he having no 
 conveniency of mounting up into it, they discoursed, 
 and said all they had to say. From thence she tells 
 him of the Count's passion, of her father's resolution,
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 337 
 
 and that her own was rather to die his, than live for 
 anybody else. And at last, as their refuge, they 
 resolved to discover the whole matter : she to her 
 father, and he to his, to see what accommodation they 
 could make ; if not, to die together. They parted at this 
 resolve, for she would permit him no longer to stay in 
 the street after such a sickness ; so he went home to 
 bed, but not to sleep. 
 
 The next day, at dinner, Monsieur Bellyaurd be- 
 lieving his son absolutely cured, by absence, of his 
 passion ; and speaking of all the news in the town, 
 among the rest, told him he was come in good time 
 to dance at the wedding of Count Vernole with 
 Atlante, the match being agreed on. ' No, sir,' replied 
 Rinaldo, ' I shall never dance at the marriage of Count 
 Vernole with Atlante ; and you will see in Monsieur 
 De Pais's house a funeral sooner than a wedding.' 
 And thereupon he told his father all his passion for 
 that lovely maid ; and assured him, if he would not 
 see him laid in his grave, he must consent to this 
 match. Bellyaurd rose in a fury, and told him he 
 had rather see him in his grave, than in the arms of 
 Atlante : ' Not,' continued he, 'so much for any dislike 
 I have to the young lady, or the smallness of her 
 fortune; but because I have so long warned you from 
 such a passion, and have with such care endeavoured 
 by your absence to prevent it.' He traversed the 
 room very fast, still protesting against this alliance : 
 and was deaf to all Rinaldo could say. On the other 
 side the day being come, wherein Atlante was to give 
 her final answer to her father concerning her marriage 
 with Count Vernole ; she assumed all the courage 
 and resolution she could, to withstand the storm that 
 threatened a denial. And her father came to her, and 
 demanding her answer, she told him she could not 
 be the wife of Vernole, since she was wife to Rinaldo, 
 only son to Bellyaurd. If her father stormed before, 
 he grew like a man distracted at her confession ; and 
 Vernole hearing them loud, ran to the chamber to
 
 338 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 learn the cause ; where just as he entered he found 
 De Pais's sword drawn, and ready to kill his daughter, 
 who lay all in tears at his feet. He withheld his 
 hand ; and asking the cause of his rage, he was told 
 all that Atlante had confessed ; which put Vernole 
 quite beside all his gravity, and made him discover 
 the infirmity of anger, which he used to say ought to 
 be dissembled by all wise men. So that De Pais 
 forgot his own to appease his, but it was in vain, for 
 he went out of the house, vowing revenge to Rinaldo. 
 And to that end, being not very well assured of his 
 own courage, as I said before, and being of the 
 opinion, that no man ought to expose his life to him 
 who has injured him ; he hired Swiss and Spanish 
 soldiers to attend him in the nature of footmen ; and 
 watched several nights about Bellyaurd's door, and 
 that of De Pais's, believing he should some time or 
 other see him under the window of Atlante, or per- 
 haps mounting into it: for now he no longer doubted 
 but this happy lover was he, whom he fancied he 
 heard go from the balcony that night he came up 
 with his pistol ; and being more a Spaniard than 
 a Frenchman in his nature, he resolved to take him 
 any way unguarded or unarmed, if he came in his 
 way. 
 
 Atlante, who heard his threatenings when he went 
 from her in a rage, feared his cowardice might put 
 him on some base action, to deprive Rinaldo of his 
 life ; and therefore thought it not safe to suffer him 
 to come to her by night, as he had before done ; but 
 sent him word in a note, that he should forbear her 
 window, for Vernole had sworn his death. This note 
 came, unseen by his father, to his hands : but this 
 could not hinder him from coming to her window, 
 which he did as soon as it was dark : he came thither, 
 only attended with his valet, and two footmen ; for 
 now he cared not who knew the secret. He had no 
 sooner made the sign, but he found himself encom- 
 passed with Vernole's bravos ; and himself standing
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 339 
 
 at a distance cried out ' That is he.' With that they 
 all drew on both sides, and Rinaldo received a wound 
 in his arm. Atlante heard this, and ran crying out 
 ' That Rinaldo pressed by numbers, would be killed.' 
 De Pais, who was reading in his closet, took his 
 sword, and ran out ; and, contrary to all expectation, 
 seeing Rinaldo fighting with his back to the door, 
 pulled him into the house, and fought himself with 
 the bravos : who being very much wounded by Rin- 
 aldo, gave ground, and sheered off; and De Pais, 
 putting up old Bilbo into the scabbard, went into his 
 house, where he found Rinaldo almost fainting with 
 loss of blood, and Atlante, with her maids binding up 
 his wound ; to whom De Pais said, ' This charity, 
 Atlante, very well becomes you, and is what I can 
 allow you ; and I could wish you had no other motive 
 for this action.' Rinaldo by degrees recovered of his 
 fainting, and as well as his weakness would permit 
 him, he got up and made a low reverence to De Pais, 
 telling him he had now a double obligation to pay 
 him all the respect in the world ; first, for his being 
 the father of Atlante ; and secondly, for being the 
 preserver of his life : two ties that should eternally 
 oblige him to love and honour him, as his own 
 parent. De Pais replied, he had done nothing but 
 what common humanity compelled him to do. But 
 if he would make good that respect he professed 
 towards him, it must be in quitting all hopes of 
 Atlante, whom he had destined to another, or an 
 eternal enclosure in a monastery. He had another 
 daughter, whom if he would think worthy of his 
 regard, he should take his alliance as a very great 
 honour ; but his word and reputation, nay his vows 
 were passed, to give Atlante to Count Vernole. 
 Rinaldo, who before he spoke took measure from 
 Atlante's eyes, which told him her heart was his, 
 returned this answer to De Pais, ' That he was 
 infinitely glad to find by the generosity of his offer, 
 that he had no aversion against his being his son-in-
 
 340 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 law ; and that, next to Atlanta, the greatest happiness 
 he could wish would be his receiving Chariot from 
 his hand ; but that he could not think of quitting 
 Atlante, how necessary soever it would be, for glory, 
 and his (the further) repose.' De Pais would not 
 let him at this time argue the matter further, seeing 
 he was ill, and had need of looking after ; he there- 
 fore begged he would for his health's sake retire to 
 his own house, whither he himself conducted him, 
 and left him to the care of his men, who were escaped 
 the fray ; and returning to his own chamber, he 
 found Atlante retired, and so he went to bed full of 
 thoughts. This night had increased his esteem for 
 Rinaldo, and lessened it for Count Vernole ; but his 
 word and honour being passed, he could not break it, 
 neither with safety nor honour : for he knew the 
 haughty resenting nature of the Count, and he feared 
 some danger might arrive to the brave Rinaldo, 
 which troubled him very much. At last he resolved, 
 that neither might take anything ill at his hands, to 
 lose Atlante, and send her to the monastery where 
 her sister was, and compel her to be a nun. This he 
 thought would prevent mischief on both sides ; and 
 accordingly, the next day (having in the morning 
 sent word to the Lady Abbess what he would have 
 done), he carries Atlante, under pretence of visiting 
 her sister (which they often did), to the monastery, 
 where she was no sooner come, but she was led into 
 the enclosure. Her father had rather sacrifice her, 
 than she should be the cause of the murder of two 
 such noble men as Vernole and Rinaldo. 
 
 The noise of Atlante being enclosed, was soon 
 spread all over the busy town, and Rinaldo was not 
 the last to whom the news arrived. He was for a 
 few days confined to his chamber ; where, when alone, 
 he raved like a man distracted. But his wounds had 
 so incensed his father against Atlante, that he swore 
 he would see his son die of them, rather than suffer 
 him to marry Atlante ; and was extremely overjoyed
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 341 
 
 to find she was condemned for ever, to the monastery. 
 So that the son thought it the wisest course, and 
 most for the advantage of his love, to say nothing 
 to contradict his father ; but being almost assured 
 Atlante would never consent to be shut up in a 
 cloister, and abandon him, he flattered himself with 
 hope, that he should steal her from thence, and marry 
 her in spite of all opposition. This he was impatient 
 to put in practice. He believed, if he were not per- 
 mitted to see Atlante, he had still a kind advocate in 
 Chariot, who was now arrived to her thirteenth year, 
 and infinitely advanced in wit and beauty. Rinaldo 
 therefore often goes to the monastery, surrounding it, 
 to see what possibility there was of accomplishing 
 his design ; if he could get her consent, he finds it 
 not impossible, and goes to visit Chariot ; who had 
 command not to see him, or speak to him. This was 
 a cruelty he looked not for, and which gave him an 
 unspeakable trouble, and without her aid it was 
 wholly impossible to give Atlante any account of his 
 design. In this perplexity he remained many days, 
 in which he languished almost to death ; he was dis- 
 tracted with thought, and continually hovering about 
 the nunnery walls, in hope, at some time or other, to 
 see or hear from that lovely maid, who alone could 
 make his happiness. In these traverses he often met 
 Vernole, who had liberty to see her when he pleased. 
 If it happened that they chanced to meet in the day- 
 time, though Vernole was attended with an equipage 
 of ruffians, and Rinaldo but only with a couple of 
 footmen, he could perceive Vernole shun him, grow 
 pale, and almost tremble with fear sometimes, and 
 get to the other side of the street ; and if he did not, 
 Rinaldo having a mortal hate to him, would often 
 bear up so close to him, that he would jostle him 
 against the wall, which Vernole would patiently put 
 up, and pass on ; so that he could never be provoked 
 to fight by daylight, how solitary soever the place 
 was where they met. But if they chanced to meet
 
 342 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 at night, they were certain of a skirmish, in which he 
 would have no part himself; so that Rinaldo was 
 often like to be assassinated, but still came off with 
 some slight wound. This continued so long, and 
 made so great a noise in the town, that the two old 
 gentlemen were mightily alarmed by it ; and Count 
 Bellyaurd came to De Pais, one day, to discourse 
 with him of this affair ; and Bellyaurd, for the 
 preservation of his son, was almost consenting, since 
 there was no remedy, that he should marry Atlante. 
 De Pais confessed the honour he proffered him, and 
 how troubled he was, that his word was already passed 
 to his friend, the Count Vernole, whom he said she 
 should marry, or remain for ever a nun; but if 
 Rinaldo could displace his love from Atlante, and 
 place it on Chariot, he should gladly consent to the 
 match. Bellyaurd, who would now do anything for 
 the repose of his son, though he believed this ex- 
 change would not pass, yet resolved to propose it, 
 since by marrying him he took him out of the danger 
 of Vernole's assassinates, who would never leave him 
 till they had despatched him, should he marry Atlante. 
 While Rinaldo was contriving a thousand ways to 
 come to speak to, or send billets to Atlante, none of 
 which could succeed without the aid of Chariot, his 
 father came and proposed this agreement between 
 De Pais and himself, to his son. At first Rinaldo 
 received it with a changed countenance, and a break- 
 ing heart; but swiftly turning from thought to 
 thought, he conceived this the only way to come 
 at Chariot, and so consequently at Atlante : he there- 
 fore, after some dissembled regret, consents, with a 
 sad put-on look : and Chariot had notice given her 
 to see and entertain Rinaldo. As yet they had not 
 told her the reason ; which her father would tell her, 
 when he came to visit her, he said. Rinaldo over- 
 joyed at this contrivance, and his own dissimulation, 
 goes to the monastery, and visits Chariot ; where he 
 ought to have said something of this proposition :
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 343 
 
 but wholly bent upon other thoughts, he solicits her 
 to convey some letters, and presents to Atlante ; 
 which she readily did, to the unspeakable joy of the 
 poor distressed. Sometimes he would talk to Chariot 
 of her own affairs; asking her, if she resolved to 
 become a nun. To which she would sigh, and say, 
 if she must, it would be extremely against her in- 
 clinations; and, if it pleased her father, she had rather 
 begin the world with any tolerable match. 
 
 Things passed thus for some days, in which our 
 lovers were happy, and Vernole assured he should 
 have Atlante. But at last De Pais came to visit 
 Chariot, who asked her, if she had seen Rinaldo. 
 She answered, she had. ' And how does he enter- 
 tain you ? ' replied De Pais. ' Have you received 
 him as a husband ? and has he behaved himself like 
 one?' At this a sudden joy seized the heart of 
 Chariot ; and loth to confess what she had done for 
 him to her sister, she hung down her blushing face 
 to study for an answer. De Pais continued, and told 
 her the agreement between Bellyaurd and him, for 
 the saving of bloodshed. 
 
 She, who blessed the cause, whatever it was, having 
 always a great friendship and tenderness for Rinaldo, 
 gave her father a thousand thanks for his care ; and 
 assured him, since she was commanded by him, she 
 would receive him as her husband. 
 
 And the next day, when Rinaldo came to visit 
 her, as he used to do, and bringing a letter with him, 
 wherein he proposed the sight of Atlante ; he found 
 a coldness in Chariot, as soon as he told her his 
 design, and desired her to carry the letter. He asked 
 the reason of this change : she tells him she was 
 informed of the agreement between their two fathers, 
 and that she looked upon herself as his wife, and 
 would act no more as a confidante ; that she had 
 ever a violent inclination of friendship for him, which 
 she would soon improve into something more soft. 
 
 He could not deny the agreement, nor his promise;
 
 344 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 but it was in vain to tell her, he did it only to get 
 a correspondence with Atlante. She is obstinate, 
 and he as pressing, with all the tenderness of per- 
 suasion. He vows he can never be any but Atlante's, 
 and she may see him die, but never break his vows. 
 She urges her claim in vain, so that at last she was 
 overcome, and promised she would carry the letter ; 
 which was to have her make her escape that night. 
 He waits at the gate for her answer, and Chariot 
 returns with one that pleased him very well ; which 
 was, that night her sister would make her escape, 
 and that he must stand in such a place of the 
 nunnery wall, and she would come out to him. 
 
 After this she upbraids him with his false promise 
 to her, and of her goodness to serve him after such 
 a disappointment. He receives her reproaches with 
 a thousand sighs, and bemoans her misfortune in not 
 being capable of more than friendship for her; and 
 vows, that next Atlante, he esteems her of all woman- 
 kind. She seems to be obliged by this, and assured 
 him, she would hasten the flight of Atlante; and 
 taking leave, he went home to order a coach, and 
 some servants to assist him. 
 
 In the meantime Count Vernole came to visit 
 Atlante ; but she refused to be seen by him : and all 
 he could do there that afternoon, was entertaining 
 Chariot at the grate ; to whom he spoke a great 
 many fine things, both of her improved beauty and 
 wit ; and how happy Rinaldo would be in so fair a 
 bride. She received this with all the civility that 
 was due to his quality ; and their discourse being at 
 an end, he took his leave, it being towards the 
 evening. 
 
 Rinaldo, wholly impatient, came betimes to the 
 corner of the dead wall, where he was appointed to 
 stand, having ordered his footmen and coach to come 
 to him as soon as it was dark. While he was there 
 walking up and down, Vernole came by the end of 
 the wall to go home ; and looking about, he saw, at
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 345 
 
 the other end, Rinaldo walking, whose back was 
 towards him, but he knew him well ; and though he 
 feared and dreaded his business there, he durst not 
 encounter him, they being both attended but by one 
 footman apiece. But Vernole's jealousy and indigna- 
 tion were so high, that he resolved to fetch his 
 bravos to his aid, and come and assault him : for he 
 knew he waited there for some message from Atlante. 
 In the meantime it grew dark, and Rinaldo's coach 
 came with another footman ; which were hardly 
 arrived, when Vernole, with his assistants, came to 
 the corner of the wall, and screening themselves a 
 little behind it, near to the place where Rinaldo 
 stood, who waited now close to a little door, out of 
 which the gardeners used to throw the weeds and 
 dirt, Vernole could perceive anon the door to open, 
 and a woman come out of it, calling Rinaldo by his 
 name, who stepped up to her, and caught her in his 
 arms with signs of infinite joy. Vernole being now 
 all rage, cried to his assassinates, ' Fall on, and kill 
 the ravisher.' And immediately they all fell on. 
 Rinaldo, who had only his two footmen on his side, 
 was forced to let go the lady ; who would have run 
 into the garden again, but the door fell to and 
 locked: so that while Rinaldo was fighting, and 
 beaten back by the bravos, one of which he laid 
 dead at his feet, Vernole came to the frightened lady, 
 and taking her by the hand, cried, 'Come, my fair 
 fugitive, you must go along with me.' She, wholly 
 scared out of her senses, was willing to go anywhere 
 out of the terror she heard so near her, and without 
 reply, gave herself into his hand, who carried her 
 directly to her father's house ; where she was no 
 sooner come, but he told her father all that had 
 passed, and how she was running away with Rinaldo, 
 but that his good fortune brought him just in the 
 lucky minute. Her father turning to reproach her, 
 found by the light of a candle that this was Chariot, 
 and not Atlante, whom Vernole had brought home.
 
 346 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 At which Vernole was extremely astonished. Her 
 father demanded of her why she was running away 
 with a man, who was designed her by consent? 
 'Yes,' said Chariot, 'you had his consent, sir, and 
 that of his father ; but I was far from getting it : I 
 found he resolved to die rather than quit Atlante ; 
 and promising him my assistance in his amour, since 
 he could never be mine, he got me to carry a letter 
 to Atlante ; which was, to desire her to fly away with 
 him. Instead of carrying her this letter, I told her, 
 he was designed for me, and had cancelled all his 
 vows to her. She swooned at this news ; and being 
 recovered a little, I left her in the hands of the nuns, 
 to persuade her to live ; which she resolves not to do 
 without Rinaldo. Though they pressed me, yet I 
 resolved to pursue my design, which was to tell 
 Rinaldo she would obey his kind summons. He 
 waited for her ; but I put myself into his hands in 
 lieu of Atlante ; and had not the Count received me, 
 we had been married by this time, by some false 
 light that could not have discovered me. But I am 
 satisfied, if I had, he would never have lived with me 
 longer than the cheat had been undiscovered ; for I 
 find them both resolved to die, rather than change. 
 And for my part, sir, I was not so much in love with 
 Rinaldo, as I was out of love with the nunnery ; and 
 took any opportunity to quit a life absolutely con- 
 trary to my humour.' She spoke this with a gaiety 
 so brisk, and an air so agreeable, that Vernole found 
 it touched his heart ; and the rather because he found 
 Atlante would never be his ; or if she were, he should 
 be still in danger from the resentment of Rinaldo : 
 he therefore bowing to Chariot, and taking her by 
 the hand, cried, ' Madam, since Fortune has disposed 
 you thus luckily for me, in my possession, I humbly 
 implore you would consent she should make me 
 entirely happy, and give me the prize for which I 
 fought, and have conquered with my sword.' ' My 
 lord,' replied Chariot, with a modest air, ' I am super-
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 347 
 
 stitious enough to believe, since Fortune, so contrary 
 to all our designs, has given me into your hands, 
 that she from the beginning destined me to the 
 honour, which, with my father's consent, I shall 
 receive as becomes me.' De Pais transported with 
 joy, to find all things would be so well brought 
 about, it being all one to him, whether Chariot or 
 Atlante gave him Count Vernole for his son-in-law, 
 readily consented ; and immediately a priest was sent 
 for, and they were that night married. And it being 
 now not above seven o'clock, many of their friends 
 were invited, the music sent for, and as good a supper 
 as so short a time would provide, was made ready. 
 
 All this was performed in as short a time as 
 Rinaldo was fighting; and having killed one, and 
 wounded the rest, they all fled before his conquering 
 sword, which was never drawn with so good a will. 
 When he came where his coach stood, just against 
 the back-garden door, he looked for his mistress : but 
 the coachman told him, he was no sooner engaged, 
 but a man came, and with a thousand reproaches on 
 her levity, bore her off. 
 
 This made our young lover rave ; and he is satisfied 
 she is in the hands of his rival, and that he had been 
 fighting, and shedding his blood, only to secure her 
 flight with him. He lost all patience, and it was with 
 much ado his servants persuaded him to return ; 
 telling him in their opinion, she was more likely to 
 get out of the hands of his rival, and come to him, 
 than when she was in the monastery. 
 
 He suffers himself to go into his coach and be 
 carried home ; but he was no sooner alighted, than he 
 heard music and noise at De Pais's house. He saw 
 coaches surround his door, and pages and footmen, 
 with flambeaux. The sight and noise of joy made 
 him ready to sink at the door ; and sending his foot- 
 men to learn the cause of this triumph, the pages that 
 waited told him, that Count Vernole was this night 
 married to Monsieur De Pais's daughter. He needed
 
 348 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 
 
 no more to deprive him of all sense ; and staggering 
 against his coach, he was caught by his footmen and 
 carried into his house, and to his chamber, where they 
 put him to bed, all senseless as he was, and had much 
 ado to recover him to life. He asked for his father, 
 with a faint voice, for he desired to see him before he 
 died. It was told him he was gone to Count Vernole's 
 wedding, where there was a perfect peace agreed on 
 between them, and all their animosities laid aside. 
 At this news Rinaldo fainted again ; and his servants 
 called his father home, and told him in what condition 
 they had brought home their master, recounting to 
 him all that was past. He hastened to Rinaldo, 
 whom he found just recovered of his swooning ; who, 
 putting his hand out to his father, all cold and 
 trembling, cried, ' Well, sir, now you are satisfied, 
 since you have seen Atlante married to Count 
 Vernole. I hope now you will give your unfortunate 
 son leave to die ; as you wished he should, rather 
 than give him to the arms of Atlante.' Here his 
 speech failed, and he fell again into a fit of swooning. 
 His father ready to die with fear of his son's death, 
 kneeled down by his bedside ; and after having 
 recovered a little, he said, ' My dear son, I have been 
 indeed at the wedding of Count Vernole, but it is not 
 Atlante to whom he is married, but Chariot; who 
 was the person you were bearing from the monastery, 
 instead of Atlante, who is still reserved for you, and 
 she is dying till she hear you are reserved for her. 
 Therefore, as you regard her life, make much of your 
 own, and make yourself fit to receive her ; for her 
 father and I have agreed to the marriage already.' And 
 without giving him leave to think, he called to one of 
 his gentlemen, and sent him to the monastery, with 
 this news to Atlante. Rinaldo bowed himself as low 
 as he could in his bed, and kissed the hand of his 
 father, with tears of joy. But his weakness continued 
 all the next day ; and they were fain to bring Atlante 
 to him, to confirm his happiness.
 
 THE LUCKY MISTAKE 349 
 
 It must only be guessed by lovers, the perfect joy 
 these two received in the sight of each other. 
 Bellyaurd received her as his daughter ; and the 
 next day made her so, with very great solemnity, at 
 which were Vernole and Chariot. Between Rinaldo 
 and him was concluded a perfect peace, and all 
 thought themselves happy in this double union
 
 THE COURT OF 
 THE KING OF BANTAM 
 
 THIS money certainly is a most devilish thing ! I'm 
 sure the want of it had like to have ruined my dear 
 Philibella, in her love to Valentine Goodland ; who 
 was really a pretty deserving gentleman, heir to 
 about fifteen hundred pounds a year ; which, how- 
 ever, did not so much recommend him, as the sweet- 
 ness of his temper, the comeliness of his person, 
 and the excellence of his parts. In all which cir- 
 cumstances my obliging acquaintance equalled him, 
 unless in the advantage of their fortune. Old Sir 
 George Goodland knew of his son's passion for 
 Philibella ; and though he was generous, and of a 
 humour sufficiently complying, yet he could by no 
 means think it convenient, that his only son should 
 marry with a young lady of so slender a fortune as 
 my friend, who had not above five hundred pound, 
 and that the gift of her uncle, Sir Philip Friendly : 
 though her virtue and beauty might have deserved, 
 and have adorned the throne of an Alexander or a 
 Csesar. 
 
 Sir Philip himself, indeed, was but a younger 
 brother, though of a good family, and of a generous 
 education ; which, with his person, bravery, and wit, 
 recommended him to his Lady Philadelphia, widow 
 of Sir Bartholomew Banquier, who left her possessed 
 of two thousand pounds per annum, besides twenty 
 
 351
 
 352 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 thousand pounds in money and jewels ; which obliged 
 him to get himself dubbed, that she might not de- 
 scend to an inferior quality. When he was in town, 
 he lived let me see ! in the Strand ; or, as near as 
 I can remember, somewhere about Charing Cross ; 
 where, first of all Mr. Would-be King, a gentleman of 
 a large estate in houses, land and money, of a haughty, 
 extravagant and profuse humour, very fond of every 
 new face, had the misfortune to fall passionately in 
 love with Philibella, who then lived with her uncle. 
 
 This Mr. Would-be it seems had often been told, 
 when he was yet a stripling, either by one of his 
 nurses, or his own grandmother, or by some other 
 gipsy, that he should infallibly be what his surname 
 implied, a king, by Providence or chance, ere he died, 
 or never. This glorious prophecy had so great an 
 influence on all his thoughts and actions, that he dis- 
 tributed and dispersed his wealth sometimes so largely, 
 that one would have thought he had undoubtedly 
 been king of some part of the Indies ; to see a present 
 made to-day of a diamond ring, worth two or three 
 hundred pounds, to Madam Flippant ; to-morrow, 
 a large chest of the finest china to my Lady Fleece- 
 well ; and next day, perhaps, a rich necklace of large 
 Oriental pearl, with a locket to it of sapphires, emeralds, 
 rubies, etc., to pretty Miss Ogle-me, for an amorous 
 glance, for a smile, and (it may be, though but rarely) 
 for the mighty blessing of one single kiss. But such 
 were his largesses, not to reckon his treats, his balls, 
 and serenades besides, though at the same time he 
 had married a virtuous lady, and of good quality. 
 But her relation to him (it may be feared) made her 
 very disagreeable: for a man of his humour and 
 estate can no more be satisfied with one woman, than 
 with one dish of meat ; and to say truth, it is some- 
 thing unmodish. However, he might have died a 
 pure celibate, and altogether unexpert of women, had 
 his good or bad hopes only terminated in Sir Philip's 
 niece. But the brave and haughty Mr. Would-be
 
 KING OF BANTAM 353 
 
 was not to be baulked by appearances of virtue, 
 which he thought all womankind only did affect ; 
 besides, he promised himself the victory over any 
 lady whom he attempted, by the force of his damned 
 money, though her virtue were ever so real and strict. 
 
 With Philibella he found another pretty young 
 creature, very like her, who had been a quondam mis- 
 tress to Sir Philip. He, with young Goodland, was 
 then diverting his mistress and niece at a game at 
 cards, when Would-be came to visit him ; he found 
 them very merry, with a flask or two of claret before 
 them, and oranges roasting by a large fire, for it was 
 Christmas-time. The Lady Friendly understanding 
 that this extraordinary man was with Sir Philip in 
 the parlour, came in to them, to make the number of 
 both sexes equal, as well as in hopes to make up a 
 purse of guineas towards the purchase of some new 
 fine business that she had in her head, from his accus- 
 tomed design of losing at play to her. Indeed, she 
 had part of her wish, for she got twenty guineas of 
 him ; Philibella ten ; and Lucy, Sir Philip's quondam, 
 five. Not but that Would-be intended better fortune 
 to the young ones, than he did to Sir Philip's lady ; 
 but her ladyship was utterly unwilling to give him 
 over to their management, though at the last, when 
 they were all tired with the cards, after Would-be had 
 said as many obliging things as his present genius 
 would give him leave, to Philibella and Lucy, es- 
 pecially to the first, not forgetting his baisemains 
 to the Lady Friendly, he bid the Knight and Good- 
 land adieu ; but with a promise of repeating his visit 
 at six o'clock in the evening on twelfth-day, to renew 
 the famous and ancient solemnity of choosing king 
 and queen ; to which Sir Philip before invited him, 
 with a design yet unknown to you, I hope. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, everyone made their 
 remarks on him, but with very little or no difference 
 in all their figures of him. In short, all mankind, 
 had they ever known him, would have universally
 
 354 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 agreed in this his character, that he was an original ; 
 since nothing in humanity was ever so vain, so haughty, 
 so profuse, so fond, and so ridiculously ambitious, as 
 Mr. Would-be King. They laughed and talked about 
 an hour longer, and then young Goodland was obliged 
 to see Lucy home in his coach ; though he had rather 
 have sat up all night in the same house with Philibella, 
 I fancy, of whom he took but an unwilling leave ; 
 which was visible enough to everyone there, since 
 they were all acquainted with his passion for my fair 
 friend. 
 
 About twelve o'clock on the day prefixed, young 
 Goodland came to dine with Sir Philip, whom he 
 found just returned from Court, in a very good 
 humour. On the sight of Valentine, the Knight ran 
 to him, and embracing him, told him, that he had 
 prevented his wishes, in coming thither before he sent 
 for him, as he had just then designed. The other 
 returned, that he therefore hoped he might be of 
 some service to him, by so happy a prevention of his 
 intended kindness. ' No doubt,' replied Sir Philip, 
 ' the kindness, I hope, will be to us both ; I am assured 
 it will, if you will act according to my measures.' 
 ' I desire no better prescriptions for my happiness,' 
 returned Valentine, ' than what you shall please to set 
 down to me : but is it necessary or convenient that 
 I should know them first?' 'It is,' answered Sir 
 Philip, ' let us sit, and you shall understand them. 
 I am very sensible,' continued he, ' of your sincere 
 and honourable affection and pretension to my niece, 
 who, perhaps, is as dear to me as my own child could 
 be, had I one ; nor am I ignorant how averse Sir 
 George your father is to your marriage with her, inso- 
 much that I am confident he would disinherit you im- 
 mediately upon it, merely for want of a fortune some- 
 what proportionable to your estate : but I have now 
 contrived the means to add two or three thousand 
 pounds to the five hundred I have designed to give 
 with her ; I mean, if you marry her, Val, not other-
 
 KING OF BANTAM 355 
 
 wise ; for I will not labour so for any other man.' 
 ' What inviolable obligations you put upon me ! ' 
 cried Goodland. ' No return, by way of compliments, 
 good Val,' said the Knight. " Had I not engaged to 
 my wife, before marriage, that I would not dispose of 
 any part of what she brought me, without her con- 
 sent, I would certainly make Philibella's fortune 
 answerable to your estate. And besides, my wife is 
 not yet full eight-and-twenty, and we may therefore 
 expect children of our own, which hinders me from 
 proposing anything more for the advantage of my 
 niece. But now to my instructions ; King will be 
 here this evening without fail, and, at some time 
 or other to-night, will show the haughtiness of his 
 temper to you, I doubt not, since you are in a manner 
 a stranger to him. Be sure therefore you seem to 
 quarrel with him before you part, but suffer as much 
 as you can first from his tongue ; for I know he will 
 give you occasions enough to exercise your passive 
 valour. I must appear his friend, and you must retire 
 home, if you please, for this night, but let me see you 
 as early as your convenience will permit to-morrow : 
 my late friend Lucy must be my niece too. Observe 
 this, and leave the rest to me.' ' I shall most punctually, 
 and will in all things be directed by you,' said Valen- 
 tine. ' I had forgot to tell you,' said Friendly, ' that 
 I have so ordered matters, that he must be king 
 to-night, and Lucy queen, by the lots in the cake.' 
 ' By all means,' returned Goodland ; ' it must be 
 Majesty.' 
 
 Exactly at six o'clock came Would-be in his coach- 
 and-six, and found Sir Philip, and his lady, Goodland, 
 Philibella, and Lucy ready to receive him ; Lucy as 
 fine as a duchess, and almost as beautiful as she was 
 before her fall. All things were in ample order for his 
 entertainment. They played till supper was served 
 in, which was between eight and nine. The treat was 
 very seasonable and splendid. Just as the second 
 course was set on the table, they were all on a sudden
 
 356 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 surprised, except Would-be, with a flourish of violins, 
 and other instruments, which proceeded to entertain 
 them with the best and newest airs in the last new 
 plays, being then in the year 1683. The ladies were 
 curious to know to whom they owed the cheerful part 
 of their entertainment : on which he called out, ' Hey! 
 Tom Farmer ! Aleworth ! Eccles ! Hall ! and the rest 
 of you ! Here's a health to these ladies, and all this 
 honourable company.' They bowed ; he drank, and 
 commanded another glass to be filled, into which he 
 put something yet better than the wine, I mean, ten 
 guineas. ' Here, Farmer,' said he then, ' this for you 
 and your friends.' We humbly thank the honourable 
 Mr. Would-be King. They all returned, and struck 
 up with more sprightliness than before. For gold and 
 wine, doubtless, are the best rosin for musicians. 
 
 After supper they took a hearty glass or two to the 
 King, Queen, Duke, etc. And then the mighty cake, 
 teeming with the fate of this extraordinary personage, 
 was brought in, the musicians playing an overture at 
 the entrance of the Alimental Oracle; which was then 
 cut and consulted, and the royal bean and pea fell to 
 those to whom Sir Philip had designed them. It was 
 then the Knight began a merry bumper, with three 
 huzzas, and ' Long live King Would-be ! ' to Good- 
 land, who echoed and pledged him, putting the glass 
 about to the harmonious attendants ; while the ladies 
 drank their own quantities among themselves, to his 
 aforesaid Majesty. Then of course you may believe 
 Queen Lucy's health went merrily round, with the 
 same ceremony. After which he saluted his royal 
 consort, and condescended to do the same honour to 
 the two other ladies. 
 
 Then they fell a-dancing, like lightning; I mean, 
 they moved as swift, and made almost as little noise ; 
 but his Majesty was soon weary of that ; for he 
 longed to be making love both to Philibella and 
 Lucy, who (believe me) that night might well enough 
 have passed for a queen.
 
 KING OF BANTAM 357 
 
 They fell then to questions and commands; to 
 cross purposes : ' I think a thought, what is it like ? ' 
 etc. In all which, his Would-be Majesty took the 
 opportunity of showing the excellence of his parts, as, 
 How fit he was to govern ! How dexterous at mining 
 and countermining ! and, how he could reconcile the 
 most contrary and distant thoughts ! The music, at 
 last, good as it was, grew troublesome and too loud ; 
 which made him dismiss them. And then he began 
 to this effect, addressing himself to Philibella : 
 ' Madam, had fortune been just, and were it possible 
 that the world should be governed and influenced by 
 two suns, undoubtedly we had all been subjects 
 to you, from this night's chance, as well as to that 
 lady, who indeed alone can equal you in the empire 
 of beauty, which yet you share with her Majesty here 
 present, who only could dispute it with you, and is 
 only superior to you in title.' ' My wife is infinitely 
 obliged to your Majesty,' interrupted Sir Philip, ' who 
 in my opinion, has greater charms, and more than 
 both of them together.' ' You ought to think so, Sir 
 Philip,' returned the new dubbed King, 'however you 
 should not so liberally have expressed yourself, in 
 opposition and derogation to Majesty. Let me tell 
 you it is a saucy boldness that thus has loosed your 
 tongue ! What think you, young kinsman and coun- 
 sellor ? ' said he to Goodland. ' With all respect due 
 to your sacred title,' returned Valentine, rising and 
 bowing, ' Sir Philip spoke as became a truly affection- 
 ate husband ; and it had been presumption in him, 
 unpardonable, to have seemed to prefer her Majesty, 
 or that other sweet lady, in his thoughts, since your 
 Majesty has been pleased to say so much and so 
 particularly of their merits. It would appear as if he 
 durst lift up his eyes, with thoughts too near the 
 heaven you only would enjoy.' ' And only can de- 
 serve, you should have added,' said King, no longer 
 Would-be. ' How ! may it please your Majesty,' 
 cried Friendly, ' both my nieces ! though you deserve
 
 358 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 ten thousand more, and better, would your Majesty 
 enjoy them both ? ' 'Are they then both your nieces?' 
 asked Chance's King. ' Yes, both, sir,' returned the 
 Knight, 'her Majesty's the eldest, and in that Fortune 
 has shown some justice.' ' So she has,' replied the 
 titular monarch. ' My lot is fair/ pursued he, ' though 
 I can be blessed but with one. 
 
 Let Majesty with Majesty be joined, 
 To get and leave a race of kings behind. 
 
 ' Come, madam,' continued he, kissing Lucy, ' this, as 
 an earnest of our future endeavours.' ' I fear,' re- 
 turned the pretty Queen, 'your Majesty will forget 
 the unhappy Statira, when you return to the embraces 
 of your dear and beautiful Roxana.' ' There is none 
 beautiful but you,' replied the titular King, ' unless 
 this lady, to whom I yet could pay my vows most 
 zealously, were it not that fortune has thus pre- 
 engaged me. But, madam,' continued he, ' to show 
 that still you hold our royal favour, and that, next to 
 our royal consort, we esteem you, we greet you thus ' 
 (kissing Philibella), ' and as a signal of our continued 
 love, wear this rich diamond ' (here he put a diamond 
 ring on her finger, worth three hundred pounds). 
 ' Your Majesty,' pursued he to Lucy, ' may please to 
 wear this necklace, with this locket of emeralds.' 
 ' Your Majesty is bounteous as a god ! ' said Valentine. 
 ' Art thou in want, young spark ? ' asked the King of 
 Bantam ; ' I'll give thee an estate shall make thee 
 merit the mistress of thy vows, be she who she will.' 
 ' That is my other niece, sir,' cried Friendly. ' How ! 
 how ! presumptuous youth ! How are thy eyes and 
 thoughts exalted ? ha ! ' 'To bliss your Majesty must 
 never hope for/ replied Goodland. ' How now ! thou 
 creature of the basest mould ! Not hope for what 
 thou dost aspire to ! ' ' Mock-King ; thou canst not, 
 darest not, shalt not hope it/ returned Valentine in 
 a heat. ' Hold, Val/ cried Sir Philip, ' you grow 
 warm, forget your duty to their Majesties, and abuse
 
 KING OF BANTAM 359 
 
 your friends, by making us suspected. Good-night, 
 dear Philibella, and my Queen ! ' ' Madam, I am your 
 ladyship's servant/ said Goodland ; ' farewell, Sir 
 Philip. Adieu thou pageant ! thou Property-King ! 
 I shall see thy brother on the stage ere long ; but 
 first I'll visit thee : and in the meantime, by way of 
 return to thy proffered estate, I shall add a real terri- 
 tory to the rest of thy empty titles ; for from thy 
 education, barbarous manner of conversation, and 
 complexion, I think I may justly proclaim thee, King 
 of Bantam so, hail, King that Would-be! Hail, 
 thou King of Christmas ! All hail, Would-be King 
 of Bantam/ and so he left them. They all seemed 
 amazed, and gazed on one another, without speaking 
 a syllable, till Sir Philip broke the charm, and sighed 
 out, ' Oh, the monstrous effects of passion ! ' Say 
 rather, ' Oh, the foolish effects of a mean education ! ' 
 interrupted his Majesty of Bantam. ' For passions 
 were given us for use, reason to govern and direct us 
 in the use, and education to cultivate and refine that 
 reason. But/ pursued he, ' for all his impudence to 
 me, which I shall take a time to correct, I am obliged 
 to him, that at last he has found me out a kingdom 
 to my title ; and if I were monarch, of that place 
 believe me, ladies, I would make you all princesses 
 and duchesses; and thou, my old companion, Friendly, 
 shouldst rule the roast with me. But these ladies 
 should be with us there, where we could erect temples 
 and altars to them ; build golden palaces of love, and 
 
 castles ' ' In the air/ interrupted her Majesty, 
 
 Lucy. I, smiling. "Gad take me/ cried King 
 Would-be, ' thou dear partner of my greatness, and 
 shalt be, of all my pleasures ! thy pretty satirical 
 observation has obliged me beyond imitation.' ' I 
 think your Majesty is got into a vein of rhyming 
 to-night/ said Philadelphia. 'Ay! pox of that young 
 insipid fop, we could else have been as great as an 
 Emperor of China, and as witty as Horace in his 
 wine ; but let him go, like a pragmatical, captious,
 
 360 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 giddy fool as he is ! I shall take a time to see him.' 
 'Nay, sir,' said Philibella, 'he has promised your 
 Majesty a visit in our hearing. Come, sir, I beg 
 your Majesty to pledge me this glass to your long 
 and happy reign ; laying aside all thoughts of un- 
 governed youth. Besides, this discourse must needs 
 be ungrateful to her Majesty, to whom, I fear, he will 
 be married within this month ! ' ' How ! ' cried King 
 and no King ' married to my Queen ! I must not, 
 cannot suffer it ! ' c Pray restrain yourself a little, sir,' 
 said Sir Philip, 'and when once these ladies have left 
 us, I will discourse your Majesty further about this 
 business.' ' Well, pray Sir Philip, said his lady, ' let 
 not your Worship be pleased to sit up too long for his 
 Majesty. About five o'clock I shall expect you ; it is 
 your old hour.' ' And yours, madam, to wake to re- 
 ceive me coming to bed ' ' Your ladyship under- 
 stands me, 1 returned Friendly. ' You're merry, my 
 love, you're merry,' cried Philadelphia. ' Come, niece, 
 to bed ! to bed ! ' ' Ay,' said the Knight, ' go, both of 
 you and sleep together, if you can, without the thoughts 
 of a lover, or a husband.' His Majesty was pleased 
 to wish them a good repose ; and so, with a kiss, they 
 parted for that time. 
 
 ' Now we're alone,' said Sir Philip, ' let me assure 
 you, sir, I resent this affront done to you by Mr. 
 Goodland, almost as highly as you can : and though 
 I can't wish that you should take such satisfaction, as 
 perhaps some other hotter sparks would ; yet let me 
 say, his miscarriage ought not to go unpunished in 
 him.' ' Fear not,' replied the other, ' I shall give him 
 a sharp lesson.' ' No, sir,' returned Friendly, ' I would 
 not have you think of a bloody revenge ; for it is that 
 which possibly he designs on you : I know him brave 
 as any man. However, were it convenient that the 
 sword should determine betwixt you, you should not 
 want mine. The affront is partly to me, since done in 
 my house ; but I've already laid down safer measures 
 for us, though of more fatal consequence to him : that
 
 KING OF BANTAM 361 
 
 is, I've formed them in my thoughts. Dismiss your 
 coach and equipage, all but one servant, and I will 
 discourse it to you at large. It is now past twelve; 
 and if you please, I would invite you to take up as 
 easy a lodging here, as my house will afford.' (Accord- 
 ingly they were dismissed, and he proceeded.) ' As 
 I hinted to you before, he is in love with my youngest 
 niece Philibella ; but her fortune not exceeding five 
 hundred pounds, his father will assuredly disinherit 
 him, if he marries her : though he has given his con- 
 sent that he should marry her eldest sister, whose 
 father dying ere he knew his wife was with child of 
 the youngest, left Lucy three thousand pounds, being 
 as much as he thought convenient to match her 
 handsomely ; and accordingly the nuptials of young 
 Goodland and Lucy are to be celebrated next Easter.' 
 ' They shall not, if I can hinder them,' interrupted his 
 offended Majesty. ' Never endeavour the obstruction,' 
 said the Knight, ' for I'll show you the way to a dearer 
 vengeance. Women are women, your Majesty knows ; 
 she may be won to your embraces before that time, 
 and then you antedate him your creature.' ' A cuckold, 
 you mean,' cried King in Fancy ; ' oh, exquisite re- 
 venge ! but can you consent that I should attempt it ? ' 
 'What is it to me? We live not in Spain, where all 
 the relations of the family are obliged to vindicate 
 a whore. No, I would wound him in his most tender 
 part.' ' But how shall we compass it ? ' asked the other. 
 ' Why thus, throw away three thousand pounds on the 
 youngest sister, as a portion, to make her as happy as 
 she can be in her new lover Sir Frederick Flygold, 
 an extravagant young fop, and wholly given over to 
 gaming ; so, ten to one, but you may retrieve your 
 money of him, and have the two sisters at your devo- 
 tion.' ' Oh, thou my better genius than that which 
 was given to me by heaven at my birth ! What 
 thanks, what praises shall I return and sing to thee for 
 this ! ' cried King Conundrum. ' No thanks, no praises, 
 I beseech your Majesty, since in this I gratify myself.
 
 362 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 You think I am your friend ? and, you will agree to 
 this ? ' said Friendly, by way of question. ' Most 
 readily,' returned the fop King: 'would it were 
 broad day, that I might send for the money to my 
 banker's ; for in all my life, in all my frolics, en- 
 counters, and extravagances, I never had one so 
 grateful, and so pleasant as this will be, if you are in 
 earnest, to gratify both my love and revenge ! ' ' That 
 I am in earnest, you will not doubt, when you see 
 with what application I shall pursue my design. In 
 the meantime, my duty to your Majesty ; to our good 
 success in this affair.' While he drank, the other 
 returned, 'With all my heart'; and pledged him. 
 Then Friendly began afresh : ' Leave the whole 
 management of this to me; only one thing more 
 I think necessary, that you make a present of five 
 hundred guineas to her Majesty, the bride that must 
 be.' 'By all means,' returned the wealthy King of 
 Bantam ; ' I had so designed before.' ' Well, sir,' said 
 Sir Philip, ' what think you of a set party or two at 
 piquet, to pass away a few hours, till we can sleep ? ' 
 ' A seasonable and welcome proposition,' returned the 
 King ; ' but I won't play above twenty guineas the 
 game, and forty the lurch.' ' Agreed,' said Friendly ; 
 ' first call in your servant ; mine is here already.' The 
 slave came in, and they began, with unequal fortune 
 at first ; for the Knight had lost a hundred guineas to 
 Majesty, which he paid in specie ; and then proposed 
 fifty guineas the game, and a hundred the lurch. To 
 which the other consented; and without winning 
 more than three games, and those not together, made 
 shift to get three thousand two hundred guineas in 
 debt to Sir Philip ; for which Majesty was pleased to 
 give him bond, whether Friendly would or no, 
 Sealed and delivered in the presence of, 
 
 The mark of (W.) Will. Watchful. 
 And, (S.) Sim. Slyboots. 
 
 A couple of delicate beagles, their mighty attendants,
 
 KING OF BANTAM 363 
 
 It was then about the hour that Sir Philip's (and, 
 it may be, other ladies) began to yawn and stretch ; 
 when the spirits refreshed, trolled about, and tickled 
 the blood with desires of action ; which made Majesty 
 and Worship think of a retreat to bed : where in less 
 than half an hour, or before ever he could say his 
 prayers, I'm sure the first fell fast asleep ; but the last, 
 perhaps, paid his accustomed devotion, ere he began 
 his progress to the shadow of death. However, he 
 waked earlier than his cully Majesty, and got up to 
 receive young Goodland, who came according to his 
 word, with the first opportunity. Sir Philip received 
 him with more than usual joy, though not with 
 greater kindness, and let him know every syllable 
 and accident that had passed between them till they 
 went to bed : which you may believe was not a little 
 pleasantly surprising to Valentine, who began then 
 to have some assurance of his happiness with Phili- 
 bella. His friend told him, that he must now be 
 reconciled to his Mock-Majesty, though with some 
 difficulty ; and so taking one hearty glass apiece, he 
 left Valentine in the parlour to carry the ungrateful 
 
 news of his visit to him that morning. King was 
 
 in an odd sort of taking, when he heard that Valentine 
 was below ; and had been, as Sir Philip informed 
 Majesty, at Majesty's palace, to inquire for him there. 
 But when he told him, that he had already schooled 
 him on his own behalf for the affront done in his 
 house, and that he believed he could bring his 
 Majesty off without any loss of present honour, his 
 countenance visibly discovered his past fear, and 
 present satisfaction ; which was much increased too, 
 when Friendly showing him his bond for the money 
 he won of him at play, let him know, that if he paid 
 three thousand guineas to Philibella, he would im- 
 mediately deliver him up his bond, and not expect 
 the two hundred guineas overplus. His Majesty of 
 Bantam was then in so good a humour, that he could 
 have made love to Sir Philip ; nay, I believe he could
 
 364 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 have kissed Valentine, instead of seeming angry. 
 Down they came, and saluted like gentlemen : but 
 after the greeting was over, Goodland began to talk 
 something of affront, satisfaction, honour, etc., when 
 immediately Friendly interposed, and after a little 
 seeming uneasiness and reluctancy, reconciled the hot 
 and choleric youth to the cold phlegmatic King. 
 
 Peace was no sooner proclaimed, than the King of 
 Bantam took his rival and late antagonist with him in 
 his own coach, not excluding Sir Philip by any means, 
 to Locket's, where they dined. Thence he would have 
 them to Court with him, where the met the Lady 
 Flippant, the Lady Harpy, the Lady Crocodile, Madam 
 Tattlemore, Miss Medler, Mrs. Gingerly, a rich grocer's 
 wife, and some others, besides knights and gentlemen 
 of as good humours as the ladies ; all whom he 
 invited to a ball at his own house, the night follow- 
 ing ; his own lady being then in the country. Madam 
 Tattlemore, I think, was the first he spoke to in 
 Court, and whom first he surprised with the happy 
 news of his advancement to the title of King of 
 Bantam. How wondrous hasty was she to be gone, 
 as soon as she heard it ! It was not in her power, 
 because not in her nature, to stay long enough to 
 take a civil leave of the company ; but away she flew, 
 big with the empty title of a fantastic King, pro- 
 claiming it to every one of her acquaintance, as she 
 passed through every room, till she came to the 
 presence-chamber, where she only whispered it ; but 
 her whispers made above half the honourable company 
 quit the presence of the King of Great Britain, to go 
 make their court to his Majesty of Bantam : some 
 cried ' God bless your Majesty ! ' Some ' Long live 
 the King of Bantam ! ' Others, ' All hail to your 
 Sacred Majesty ! ' In short, he was congratulated on 
 all sides. Indeed I don't hear that his Majesty King 
 Charles II. ever sent an ambassador to compliment 
 him ; though possibly, he saluted him by his title the 
 first time he saw him afterwards : for, you know, he
 
 KING OF BANTAM 365 
 
 is a wonderful good-natured and well-bred gentle- 
 man. 
 
 After he thought the Court of England was uni- 
 versally acquainted with his mighty honour, he was 
 pleased to think fit to retire to his own more private 
 palace, with Sir Philip and Goodland, whom he enter- 
 tained that night very handsomely, till about seven 
 o'clock ; when they went together to the play, which 
 was that night, A King and no King. His attendant- 
 friends could not forbear smiling, to think how aptly 
 the title of the play suited his circumstances. Nor 
 could he choose but take notice of it behind the 
 scenes, between jest and earnest ; telling the players 
 how kind Fortune had been the night past, in dis- 
 posing the bean to him ; and justifying what one of 
 her prophetesses had foretold some years since. ' I 
 shall now no more regard,' said he, ' that old doating 
 fellow Pythagoras's saying, Abstineto a fabis> that is,' 
 added he, by way of construction, " Abstain from 
 beans " : for I find the excellence of them in cakes and 
 dishes ; from the first, they inspire the soul with 
 mighty thoughts ; and from the last our bodies 
 receive a strong and wholesome nourishment.' ' That 
 is,' said a wag among those sharp youths, I think it 
 was my friend the Count, 'these puff you up in mind, 
 sir, those in body.' They had some further discourse 
 among the nymphs of the stage, ere they went into 
 the pit; where Sir Philip spread the news of his 
 friend's accession to the title, though not yet to the 
 throne of Bantam ; upon which he was there again 
 complimented on that occasion. Several of the 
 ladies and gentlemen who saluted him, he invited to 
 the next night's ball at his palace. 
 
 The play done, thsy took each of them a bottle at 
 the ' Rose,' and parted till seven the night following ; 
 which came not sooner than desired : for he had 
 taken such care, that all things were in readiness 
 before eight, only he was not to expect the music 
 till the end of the play. About nine, Sir Philip, his
 
 366 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 Lady, Goodland Philibella, and Lucy came. Sir 
 Philip returned him Rabelais \ which he had borrowed 
 of him, wherein the Knight had written, in an old 
 odd sort of a character, this prophecy of his own 
 making ; with which he surprised the Majesty of 
 Bantam, who vowed he had never taken notice of it 
 before; but he said, he perceived it had been long 
 written, by the character ; and here it follows, as near 
 as I can remember : 
 
 When M. D. C. come L. before, 
 Three XXX's, two II's and one I. more; 
 Then KING, though now but name to thee, 
 Shall both thy name and title be. 
 
 They had hardly made an end of reading it, ere 
 the whole company, and more than he had invited, 
 came in, and were received with a great deal of 
 formality and magnificence. Lucy was there attended 
 as his Queen ; and Philibella, as the Princess her 
 sister. They danced then till they were weary ; and 
 afterwards retired to another large room, where they 
 found the tables spread and furnished with all the 
 most seasonable cold meat ; which was succeeded by 
 the choicest fruits, and the richest dessert of sweet- 
 meats that luxury could think on, or at least that 
 this town could afford. The wines were almost 
 excellent in their kind ; and their spirits flew about 
 through every corner of the house. There was scarce 
 a spark sober in the whole company, with drinking 
 repeated glasses to the health of the King of Bantam, 
 and his Royal Consort, with the Princess Philibella's, 
 who sat together under a royal canopy of state, 
 his Majesty between the two beautiful sisters : only 
 Friendly and Goodland wisely managed that part of 
 the engagement where they were concerned, and pre- 
 served themselves from the heat of the debauch. 
 
 Between three and four most of them began to 
 draw off, laden with fruit and sweetmeats, and rich 
 favours composed of yellow, green, red and white,
 
 KING OF BANTAM 367 
 
 the colours of his new Majesty of Bantam. Before 
 five they were left to themselves ; when the Lady 
 Friendly was discomposed, for want of sleep, and her 
 usual cordial, which obliged Sir Philip to wait on her 
 home, with his two nieces. But his Majesty would 
 by no means part with Goodland ; whom, before nine 
 that morning, he made as drunk as a lord, and by 
 consequence, one of his peers ; for Majesty was then, 
 indeed, as great as an Emperor. He fancied himself 
 Alexander, and young Valentine his Hephestion; 
 and did so be-buss him, that the young gentleman 
 feared he was fallen into the hands of an Italian. 
 However, by the kind persuasions of his condescend- 
 ing and dissembling Majesty, he ventured to go into 
 bed with him ; where King Would-be fell asleep hand- 
 over-head : and not long after, Goodland, his new-made 
 peer, followed him to the cool retreats of Morpheus. 
 
 About three the next afternoon they both waked, 
 as by consent, and called to dress. And after that 
 business was over, I think they swallowed each of 
 them a pint of old hock, with a little sugar, by the 
 way of healing. Their coaches were got ready in 
 the meantime ; but the peer was forced to accept of 
 the honour of being carried in his Majesty's to Sir 
 Philip's, whom they found just risen from dinner, 
 with Philadelphia and his two nieces. They sat 
 down, and asked for something to relish a glass of 
 wine, and Sir Philip ordered a cold chine to be set 
 before them, of which they ate about an ounce 
 apiece ; but they drank more by half, I daresay. 
 
 After their little repast, Friendly called the Would- 
 be-Monarch aside, and told him, that he would have 
 him go to the play that night, which was ' The 
 London-Cuckolds ' ; promising to meet him there in 
 less than half an hour after his departure : telling him 
 withal, that he would surprise him with a much 
 better entertainment than the stage afforded. Majesty 
 took the hint, imagining, and that rightly, that the 
 Knight had some intrigue in his head, for the promo-
 
 368 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 tion of the Commonwealth of Cuckoldom. In order 
 therefore to his advice, he took his leave about a 
 quarter of an hour after. 
 
 When he was gone, Sir Philip thus bespoke his 
 pretended niece : ' Madam, I hope your Majesty will 
 not refuse me the honour of waiting on you to a 
 place where you will meet with better entertainment 
 than your Majesty can expect from the best comedy 
 in Christendom. Val,' continued he, 'you must go 
 with us, to secure me against the jealousy of my 
 wife.' ' That, indeed,' returned his lady, ' is very 
 material ; and you are mightily concerned not to give 
 me occasion, I must own.' ' You see I am now,' 
 
 replied he: 'But come! on with hoods and 
 
 scarf!' pursued he, to Lucy. Then addressing him- 
 self again to his lady : ' Madam,' said he, ' we'll wait 
 on you.' In less time than I could have drunk a 
 bottle to my share, the coach was got ready, aoid on 
 they drove to the play-house. ' By the way,' said 
 Friendly to Val, 'your Honour, noble peer, must 
 be set down at Long's ; for only Lucy and I must be 
 seen to his Majesty of Bantam. And now, I doubt 
 not, you understand what you must trust to.' 'To 
 be robbed of her Majesty's company, I warrant,' re- 
 turned the other, 'for these long three hours.' 'Why,' 
 cried Lucy, 'you don't mean, I hope, to leave me 
 with his Majesty of Bantam ? ' ' It is for thy good, 
 child ! It is for thy good,' returned Friendly. To 
 the ' Rose ' they got then ; where Goodland alighted, 
 and expected Sir Philip ; who led Lucy into the 
 King's box, to his new Majesty; where, after the 
 first scene, he left them together. The overjoyed 
 fantastic monarch would fain have said some fine 
 obliging things to the Knight, as he was going out ; 
 but Friend ly's haste prevented them, who went 
 directly to Valentine, took one glass, called a reckon- 
 ing, mounted his chariot, and away home they came : 
 where I believe he was welcome to his lady; for I 
 never heard anything to the contrary.
 
 KING OF BANTAM 369 
 
 In the meantime, his Majesty had not the patience 
 to stay out half the play, at which he was saluted by 
 above twenty gentlemen and ladies by his new and 
 mighty title : but out he led Miss Majesty ere the 
 third act was half done ; pretending, that it was so 
 damned a bawdy play, that he knew her modesty had 
 been already but too much offended at it ; so into his 
 coach he got her. When they were seated, she told 
 him she would go to no place with him, but to the 
 lodgings her mother had taken for her, when she first 
 came to town, and which still she kept. ' Your mother, 
 madam,' cried he, ' why, is Sir Philip's sister living 
 then ? ' ' His brother's widow is, sir,' she replied. ' Is 
 she there ? ' he asked. ' No, sir,' she returned ; ' she 
 is in the country.' ' Oh, then we will go thither to 
 choose.' The coachman was then ordered to drive 
 to Jermain Street ; where, when he came in to the 
 lodgings, he found them very rich and modishly 
 furnished. He presently called one of his slaves, and 
 whispered him to get three or four pretty dishes for 
 supper ; and then getting a pen, ink and paper wrote 
 
 a note to C d the goldsmith with Temple Bar, for 
 
 five hundred guineas ; which Watchful brought him, 
 in less than an hour's time, when they were just in the 
 height of supper ; Lucy having invited her landlady, 
 for the better colour of the matter. His Bantamite 
 Majesty took the gold from his slave, and threw it by 
 him in the window, that Lucy might take notice of it 
 (which you may assure yourself she did, and after 
 supper winked on the goodly matron of the house to 
 retire, which she immediately obeyed). Then his 
 Majesty began his court very earnestly and hotly, 
 throwing the naked guineas into her lap ; which she 
 seemed to refuse with much disdain ; but upon his 
 repeated promises, confirmed by unheard-of oaths 
 and imprecations, that he would give her sister three 
 thousand guineas to her portion, she began by degrees 
 to mollify, and let the gold lie quietly in her lap. 
 And the next night, after he had drawn notes on two 
 2 B
 
 370 THE COURT OF THE 
 
 or three of his bankers, for the payment of three 
 thousand guineas to Sir Philip, or order, and received 
 his own bond, made for what he had lost at play, 
 from Friendly, she made no great difficulty to admit 
 his Majesty to her bed. Where I think fit to leave 
 them for the present; for (perhaps) they had some 
 private business. 
 
 The next morning before the titular King was 
 (I won't say up, or stirring, but) out of bed, young 
 Goodland and Philibella were privately married ; the 
 bills being all accepted and paid in two days' time. 
 As soon as ever the fantastic monarch could find in 
 his heart to divorce himself from the dear and charm- 
 ing embraces of his beautiful bedfellow, he came 
 flying to Sir Philip, with all the haste that imagination 
 big with pleasure could inspire him with, to discharge 
 itself to a supposed friend. The Knight told him, 
 that he was really much troubled to find that his 
 niece had yielded so soon and easily to him ; however, 
 he wished him joy : to which the other returned, that 
 he could never want it, whilst he had the command of 
 so much beauty, and that without the ungrateful 
 obligations of matrimony, which certainly are the 
 most nauseous, hateful, pernicious and destructive of 
 love imaginable. 'Think you so, sir?' asked the 
 Knight ; ' we shall hear what a friend of mine will 
 say on such an occasion, to-morrow about this time : 
 but I beseech your Majesty to conceal your senti- 
 ments of it to him, lest you make him as uneasy as 
 you seem to be in that circumstance." ' Be assured 
 I will,' returned the other : ' but when shall I see the 
 sweet, the dear, the blooming, the charming Phili- 
 bella?' 'She will be with us at dinner.' 'Where's 
 her Majesty ? ' asked Sir Philip. ' Had you inquired 
 before, she had been here ; for, look, she comes ! ' 
 Friendly seems to regard her with a kind of dis- 
 pleasure, and whispered Majesty, that he should 
 express no particular symptoms of familiarity with 
 Lucy in his house, at any time, especially when
 
 KING OF BANTAM 371 
 
 Goodland was there, as then he was above with his 
 lady and Philibella, who came down presently after 
 to dinner. 
 
 About four o'clock, as his Majesty had intrigued 
 with her, Lucy took a hackney-coach, and went to 
 her lodgings ; whither, about an hour after, he followed 
 her. Next morning, at nine, he came to Friendly's, 
 who carried him up to see his new-married friend. 
 But (O damnation to thoughts !) what torments did 
 he feel, when he saw young Goodland and Philibella 
 in bed together ; the last of which returned him 
 humble and hearty thanks for her portion and hus- 
 band, as the first did for his wife. He shook his head 
 at Sir Philip, and without speaking one word, left 
 them, and hurried to Lucy, to lament the ill-treatment 
 he had met with from Friendly. They cooed and 
 billed as long as he was able ; she (sweet hypocrite) 
 seeming to bemoan his misfortunes ; which he took 
 so kindly, that when he left her, which was about 
 three in the afternoon, he caused a scrivener to draw 
 up an instrument, wherein he settled a hundred 
 pounds a year on Lucy for her life, and gave her 
 a hundred guineas more against her lying-in : (for she 
 told him, and indeed it was true, that she was with 
 child, and knew herself to be so from a very good 
 reason), and indeed she was so by the Friendly 
 Knight. When he returned to her, he threw the 
 obliging instrument into her lap (it seems, he had 
 a particular kindness for that place) ; then called for 
 wine, and something to eat ; for he had not drunk 
 a pint to his share all the day (though he had plied it 
 at the chocolate house). The landlady, who was in- 
 vited to sup with them, bid them good-night, about 
 eleven : when they went to bed, and partly slept till 
 about six ; when they were entertained by some 
 gentlemen of their acquaintance, who played and 
 sang very finely, by way of epithalamium, these 
 words and more :
 
 372 COURT OF THE KING OF BANTAM 
 
 Joy to great Bantam ! 
 Live long, love and wanton ! 
 And thy Royal Consort ! 
 For both are of one sort, etc. 
 
 The rest I have forgot. He took some offence at 
 the words ; but more at the visit that Sir Philip, and 
 Goodland, made him, about an hour after, who found 
 him in bed with his Royal Consort ; and after having 
 wished them joy, and thrown their Majesties' own 
 shoes and stockings at their head, retired. This gave 
 Monarch in Fancy so great a caution, that he took 
 his Royal Consort into the country (but above forty 
 miles off the place where his own lady was), where, 
 in less than eight months, she was delivered of a 
 princely babe, who was christened by the heathenish 
 name of Hayoumorecake Bantam, while her Majesty 
 lay in like a pretty Queen.
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 THE BLACK LADY 
 
 ABOUT the beginning of last June (as near as I can 
 remember) Bellamora came to town from Hampshire, 
 and was obliged to lodge the first night at the same 
 inn where the stage-coach set up. The next day she 
 took coach for Covent Garden, where she thought to 
 find Madam Brightly, a relation of hers, with whom 
 she designed to continue for about half a year un- 
 discovered, if possible, by her friends in the country : 
 and ordered therefore her trunk, with her clothes, and 
 most of her money and jewels, to be brought after her 
 to Madam Brightly's by a strange porter, whom she 
 spoke to in the street as she was taking coach ; being 
 utterly unacquainted with the neat practices of this 
 fine city. When she came to Bridges Street, where 
 indeed her cousin had lodged near three or four years 
 since, she was strangely surprised that she could not 
 learn anything of her ; no, nor so much as meet with 
 any one that had ever heard of her cousin's name. 
 Till, at last, describing Madam Brightly to one of the 
 housekeepers in that place, he told her, that there 
 was such a kind of lady, whom he had sometimes 
 seen there about a year and a half ago ; but that he 
 believed she was married and removed towards Soho. 
 In this perplexity she quite forgot her trunk and 
 money, etc., and wandered in her hackney-coach all 
 over St. Anne's parish; inquiring for Madam Brightly, 
 
 373
 
 374 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 still describing her person, but in vain ; for no soul 
 could give her any tale or tidings of such a lady. 
 After she had thus fruitlessly rambled, till she, the 
 coachman, and the very horses were even tired, by 
 good fortune for her, she happened on a private house, 
 where lived a good, discreet, ancient gentlewoman, 
 who was fallen to decay, and forced to let lodgings 
 for the best part of her livelihood. FYom whom she 
 understood, that there was such a kind of lady who 
 had lain there somewhat more than a twelvemonth, 
 being near three months after she was married ; but 
 that she was now gone abroad with the gentleman 
 her husband, either to the play, or to take the fresh 
 air; and she believed would not return till night. 
 This discourse of the good gentlewoman's so elevated 
 Bellamora's drooping spirits, that after she had begged 
 the liberty of staying there till they came home, she 
 discharged the coachman in all haste, still forgetting 
 her trunk, and the more valuable furniture of it. 
 
 When they were alone, Bellamora desired she might 
 be permitted the freedom to send for a pint of sack ; 
 which, with some little difficulty, was at last allowed 
 her. They began then to chat for a matter of half an 
 hour of things indifferent : and at length the ancient 
 gentlewoman asked the fair innocent (I must not say 
 foolish) one, of what country, and what her name 
 was : to both which she answered directly and truly, 
 though it might have proved not discreetly. She 
 then inquired of Bellamora if her parents were living, 
 and the occasion of her coming to town. The fair 
 unthinking creature replied, that her father and 
 mother were both dead ; and that she had escaped 
 from her uncle, under the pretence of making a visit 
 to a young lady, her cousin, who was lately married, 
 and lived above twenty miles from her uncle's, in the 
 road to London, and that the cause of her quitting 
 the country, was to avoid the hated importunities of 
 a gentleman, whose pretended love to her she feared 
 had been her eternal ruin. At which she wept and
 
 THE BLACK LADY 375 
 
 sighed most extravagantly. The discreet gentle- 
 woman endeavoured to comfort her by all the softest 
 and most powerful arguments in her capacity; 
 promising her all the friendly assistance that she 
 could expect from her, during Bellamora's stay in 
 town : which she did with so much earnestness, and 
 visible integrity, that the pretty innocent creature was 
 going to make her a full and real discovery of her 
 imaginary insupportable misfortunes; and (doubtless) 
 had done it, had she not been prevented by the return 
 of the lady, whom she hoped to have found her 
 Cousin Brightly. The gentleman her husband just 
 saw her within doors, and ordered the coach to drive 
 to some of his bottle-companions ; which gave the 
 women the better opportunity of entertaining one 
 another, which happened to be with some surprise on 
 all sides. As the lady was going up into her apart- 
 ment, the gentlewoman of the house told her there 
 was a young lady in the parlour, who came out of the 
 country that very day on purpose to visit her. The 
 lady stepped immediately to see who it was, and Bella- 
 mora approaching to receive her hoped-for cousin, 
 stopped on the sudden just as she came to her ; and 
 sighed out aloud, ' Ah, madam ! I am lost ; it is not 
 your ladyship I seek.' ' No, madam,' returned the 
 other, ' I am apt to think you did not intend me this 
 honour. But you are as welcome to me, as you could 
 be to the dearest of your acquaintance : have you for- 
 gotten me, Madam Bellamora ? ' continued she. That 
 name startled the other : however, it was with a kind 
 of joy. 'Alas! madam,' replied the young one, 'I now 
 remember that I have been so happy to have seen 
 you ; but where and when, my memory cannot tell 
 me.' ' It is indeed some years since,' returned the 
 lady, ' but of that another time. Meanwhile, if you 
 are unprovided of a lodging, I dare undertake, you 
 shall be welcome to this gentlewoman.' The un- 
 fortunate returned her thanks ; and whilst a chamber 
 was preparing for her, the lady entertained her in her
 
 376 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 own. About ten o'clock they parted, Bellamora being 
 conducted to her lodging by the mistress of the house, 
 who then left her to take what rest she could amidst 
 her so many misfortunes; returning to the other lady, 
 who desired her to search into the cause of Bella- 
 mora's retreat to town. 
 
 The next morning the good gentlewoman of the 
 house coming up to her, found Bellamora almost 
 drowned in tears, which by many kind and sweet 
 words she at last stopped ; and asking whence so 
 great signs of sorrow should proceed, vowed a most 
 profound secrecy if she would discover to her their 
 occasion ; which, after some little reluctancy, she did, 
 in this manner. 
 
 ' I was courted,' said she, 4 above three years ago, 
 when my mother was yet living, by one Mr. Fondlove, 
 a gentleman of good estate, and true worth ; and one 
 who, I dare believe, did then really love me. He 
 continued his passion for me, with all the earnest and 
 honest solicitations imaginable, till some months be- 
 fore my mother's death ; who, at that time, was most 
 desirous to see me disposed of in marriage to another 
 gentleman, of much better estate than Mr. Fondlove ; 
 but one whose person and humour did by no means 
 hit with my inclinations. And this gave Fondlove 
 the unhappy advantage over me. For, finding me 
 one day all alone in my chamber, and lying on my 
 bed, in as mournful and wretched a condition to my 
 then foolish apprehension, as now I am, he urged his 
 passion with such violence, and accursed success for 
 me, with reiterated promises of marriage, whensoever 
 I pleased to challenge them, which he bound with the 
 most sacred oaths, and most dreadful execrations : 
 that partly with my aversion to the other, and partly 
 with my inclinations to pity him, I ruined myself.' 
 Here she relapsed into a greater extravagance of grief 
 than before; which was so extreme that it did not 
 continue long. When therefore she was pretty well 
 come to herself, the ancient gentlewoman asked her,
 
 THE BLACK LADY 377 
 
 why she imagined herself ruined. To which she 
 answered, ' I am great with child by him, madam, and 
 wonder you did not perceive it last night. Alas ! 
 I have not a month to go : I am ashamed, ruined, 
 and damned, I fear, for ever lost.' ' Oh ! fie, madam, 
 think not so,' said the other, ' for the gentleman may 
 yet prove true, and marry you.' 'Ay, madam,' replied 
 Bellamora, * I doubt not that he would marry me; for 
 soon after my mother's death, when I came to be at 
 my own disposal, which happened about two months 
 after, he offered, nay most earnestly solicited me to it, 
 which still he perseveres to do.' ' This is strange ! ' 
 returned the other, ' and it appears to me to be your 
 own fault, that you are yet miserable. Why did you 
 not, or why will you not consent to your own happi- 
 ness ? ' ' Alas ! ' cried Bellamora, ' it is the only thing 
 I dread in this world : for, I am certain, he can never 
 love me after. Besides, ever since I have abhorred 
 the sight of him : and this is the only cause that 
 obliges me to forsake my uncle, and all my friends 
 and relations in the country, hoping in this populous 
 and public place to be most private, especially, 
 madam, in your house, and in your fidelity and dis- 
 cretion.' 'Of the last you may assure yourself, 
 madam,' said the other : ' but what provision have 
 you made for the reception of the young stranger 
 that you carry about you ? ' ' Ah, madam ! ' cried 
 Bellamora, 'you have brought to my mind another 
 misfortune.' Then she acquainted her with the sup- 
 posed loss of her money and jewels, telling her withal, 
 that she had but three guineas and some silver left, 
 and the rings she wore, in her present possession. 
 The good gentlewoman of the house told her, she 
 would send to inquire at the inn where she lay the 
 first night she came to town ; for haply, they might 
 give some account of the porter to whom she had 
 entrusted her trunk; and withal repeated her promise 
 of all the help in her power, and for that time left her 
 much more composed than she found her. The good
 
 378 THE ADVENTURE OF 
 
 gentlewoman went directly to the other lady, her 
 lodger, to whom she recounted Bellamora's mournful 
 confession ; at which the lady appeared mightily 
 concerned : and at last she told her landlady, that she 
 would take care that Bellamora should lie in accord- 
 ing to her quality: 'for,' added she, 'the child, it 
 seems, is my own brother's.' 
 
 As soon as she had dined, she went to the Ex- 
 change, and bought child-bed linen ; but desired that 
 Bellamora might not have the least notice of it. And 
 at her return despatched a letter to her brother Fond- 
 love in Hampshire, with an account of every particular; 
 which soon brought him up to town, without satisfying 
 any of his or her friends with the reason of his sudden 
 departure. Meanwhile, the good gentlewoman of the 
 house had sent to the Star Inn on Fish Street Hill, 
 to demand the trunk, which she rightly supposed to 
 have been carried back thither : for by good luck, it 
 was a fellow that plied thereabouts, who brought it to 
 Bellamora's lodgings that very night, but unknown 
 to her. Fondlove no sooner got to London, but he 
 posts to his sister's lodgings, where he was advised 
 not to be seen of Bellamora till they had worked 
 farther upon her, which the landlady began in this 
 manner. She told her that her things were mis- 
 carried, and she feared lost ; that she had but a little 
 money herself, and if the Overseers of the Poor 
 (justly so called from their overlooking them) should 
 have the least suspicion of a strange and unmarried 
 person, who was entertained in her house big with 
 child, and so near her time as Bellamora was, she 
 should be troubled, if they could not give security to 
 the parish of twenty or thirty pounds, that they 
 should not suffer by her, which she could not; or 
 otherwise she must be sent to the house of correction, 
 and her child to a parish nurse. This discourse, one 
 may imagine, was very dreadful to a person of her 
 youth, beauty, education, family and estate : however, 
 she resolutely protested, that she had rather undergo
 
 THE BLACK LADY 379 
 
 all this, than be exposed to the scorn of her friends 
 and relations in the country. The other told her 
 then, that she must write down to her uncle a farewell 
 letter, as if she were just going aboard the packet- 
 boat for Holland, that he might not send to inquire 
 for her in town, when he should understand she was 
 not at her new-married cousin's in the country; which 
 accordingly she did, keeping herself close prisoner to 
 her chamber ; where she was daily visited by Fond- 
 love's sister and the landlady, but by no soul else, the 
 first dissembling the knowledge she had of her mis- 
 fortunes. Thus she continued for above three weeks, 
 not a servant being suffered to enter her chamber, so 
 much as to make her bed, lest they should take notice 
 of her great belly : but for all this caution, the secret 
 had taken wind, by the means of an attendant of the 
 other lady below, who had overheard her speaking of 
 it to her husband. This soon got out of doors, and 
 spread abroad, till it reached the long ears of the 
 wolves of the parish, who next day designed to pay 
 her a visit. But Fondlove, by good providence, pre- 
 vented it ; who, the night before, was ushered into 
 Bellamora's chamber by his sister, his brother-in-law, 
 and the landlady. At the sight of him she had like 
 to have swooned away: but he taking her in his arms, 
 began again, as he was wont to do, with tears in his 
 eyes, to beg that she would marry him ere she was 
 delivered ; if not for his, nor her own, yet for the 
 child's sake, which she hourly expected ; that it might 
 not be born out of wedlock, and so be made incapable 
 of inheriting either of their estates ; with a great 
 many more pressing arguments on all sides. To 
 which at last she consented ; and an honest officious 
 gentleman, whom they had before provided, was called 
 up, who made an end of the dispute. So to bed they 
 went together that night ; next day to the Exchange, 
 for several pretty businesses that ladies in her con- 
 dition want. Whilst they were abroad, came the 
 vermin of the parish (I mean the Overseers of the
 
 380 ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK LADY 
 
 Poor, who eat the bread from them), to search for 
 a young black-haired lady (for so was Bellamora) 
 who was either brought to bed, or just ready to lie 
 down. The landlady showed them all the rooms in 
 the house, but no such lady could be found. At last 
 she bethought herself, and led them into her parlour, 
 where she opened a little closet door, and showed 
 them a black cat that had just kittened: assuring 
 them, that she should neyer trouble the parish as 
 long as she had rats or mice in the house ; and so 
 dismissed them like loggerheads as they came. 
 
 FINIS 
 
 FLYMOUTH: WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. 
 
 PRINTERS