_That which was left in her hands by_ Monsieur, _her father, in her cabinet._

_My adorable_ Sylvia,

I can no more describe to thee the torment with which I part from _Bellfont_, than I can that heaven of joy I was raised to last night by the transporting effects of thy wondrous love; both are to excess, and both killing, but in different kinds. Oh, _Sylvia_, by all my unspeakable raptures in thy arms, by all thy charms of beauty, too numerous and too ravishing for fancy to imagine--I swear----by this last night, by this dear new discovery, thou hast increased my love to that vast height, it has undone my peace--all my repose is gone--this dear, dear night has ruined me, it has confirmed me now I must have _Sylvia_, and cannot live without her, no not a day, an hour----to save the world, unless I had the entire possession of my lovely maid: ah, _Sylvia_, I am not that indifferent dull lover that can be raised by one beauty to an appet.i.te, and satisfy it with another; I cannot carry the dear flame you kindle to quench it in the embraces of _Myrtilla_; no, by the eternal powers, he that pretends to love, and loves at that coa.r.s.e rate, needs fear no danger from that pa.s.sion, he never was born to love, or die for love; _Sylvia_, _Myrtilla_ and a thousand more were all the same to such a dull insensible; no, _Sylvia_, when you find I can return back to the once left matrimonial bed, despise me, scorn me: swear (as then thou justly may'st) I love not _Sylvia_: let the hot brute drudge on (he who is fired by nature, not by love, whom any body's kisses can inspire) and ease the necessary heats of youth; love is a n.o.bler fire, which nothing can allay but the dear she that raised it; no, no, my purer stream shall never run back to the fountain, whence it is parted, nay it cannot, it were as possible to love again, where one has ceased to love, as carry the desire and wishes back; by heaven, to me there is nothing so unnatural; no, _Sylvia_, it is you I must possess, you have completed my undoing now, and I must die unless you give me all----but oh, I am going from thee----when are we like to meet----oh, how shall I support my absent hours! Thought will destroy me, for it will be all on thee, and those at such a distance will be insupportable.----What shall I do without thee? If after all the toils of dull insipid life I could return and lay me down by thee, _Herculean_ labours would be soft and easy----the harsh fatigues of war, the dangerous hurries of affairs of State, the business and the noise of life, I could support with pleasure, with wondrous satisfaction, could treat _Myrtilla_ too with that respect, that generous care, as would become a husband. I could be easy every where, and every one should be at ease with me; now I shall go and find no _Sylvia_ there, but sigh and wander like an unknown thing, on some strange foreign sh.o.r.e; I shall grow peevish as a new wean'd child, no toys, no bauble of the gaudy world will please my wayward fancy: I shall be out of humour, rail at every thing, in anger shall demand, and sullenly reply to every question asked and answered, and when I think to ease my soul by a retreat, a thousand soft desires, a thousand wishes wreck me, pain me to raving, till beating the senseless floor with my feet----I cried aloud--'My _Sylvia_!'--thus, thus, my charming dear, the poor _Philander_ is employed when banished from his heaven! If thus it used to be when only that bright outside was adored, judge now my pain, now thou hast made known a thousand graces more--oh, pity me----for it is not in thy power to guess what I shall now endure in absence of thee; for thou hast charmed my soul to an excess too mighty for a patient suffering: alas, I die already----

I am yet at _Dorillus_ his farm, lingering on from one swift minute to the other, and have not power to go; a thousand looks all languishing I've cast from eyes all drowned in tears towards _Bellfont_, have sighed a thousand wishes to my angel, from a sad breaking heart--love will not let me go--and honour calls me--alas, I must away; when shall we meet again? Ah, when my _Sylvia_?--Oh charming maid--thou'lt see me shortly dead, for thus I cannot live; thou must be mine, or I must be no more--I must away--farewell--may all the softest joys of heaven attend thee--adieu--fail not to send a hundred times a day, if possible; I've ordered _Alexis_ to do nothing but wait for all that comes, and post away with what thou sendest to me----again adieu, think on me----and till thou callest me to thee, imagine nothing upon earth so wretched as _Sylvia_'s own

PHILANDER.

_Know, my angel, that pa.s.sing through the garden this morning, I met_ Erasto----_I fear he saw me near enough to know me, and will give an account of it; let me know what happens----adieu half dead, just taking horse to go from_ Sylvia.

_To_ PHILANDER.

_Written in a leaf of a table-book_.

I have only time to say, on Thursday I am destined a sacrifice to _Foscario_, which day finishes the life of

SYLVIA.

_To SYLVIA_.

_From_ Dorillus _his farm_.

Raving and mad at the news your billet brought me, I (without considering the effects that would follow) am arrived at _Bellfont_; I have yet so much patience about me, to suffer myself to be concealed at _Dorillus_ his cottage; but if I see thee not to-night, or find no hopes of it----by heaven I'll set Bellfont all in a flame but I will have my _Sylvia_; be sure I'll do it--What? To be married--Sylvia to be married--and given from _Philander_--Oh, never think it, forsworn fair creature--What? Give _Foscario_ that dear charming body? Shall he be grasped in those dear naked arms? Taste all thy kisses, press thy snowy b.r.e.a.s.t.s, command thy joys, and rifle all thy heaven? Furies and h.e.l.l environ me if he do----Oh, Sylvia, faithless, perjured, charming _Sylvia_--and canst thou suffer it--Hear my vows, oh fickle angel--hear me, thou faithless ravisher! That fatal moment that the daring priest offers to join your hands, and give thee from me, I will sacrifice your lover; by heaven I will, before the altar, stab him at your feet; the holy place, nor the numbers that attend ye, nor all your prayers nor tears, shall save his heart; look to it, and be not false----yet I'll trust not thy faith; no, she that can think but falsely, and she that can so easily be perjured----for, but to suffer it is such a sin--such an undoing sin--that thou art surely d.a.m.ned!

And yet, by heaven, that is not all the ruin shall attend thee; no, lovely mischief, no----you shall not escape till the d.a.m.nation day; for I will rack thee, torture thee and plague thee, those few hours I have to live, (if spiteful fate prevent my just revenge upon _Foscario_) and when I am dead--as I shall quickly be killed by thy cruelty--know, thou fair murderer, I will haunt thy sight, be ever with thee, and surround thy bed, and fright thee from the ravisher; fright all thy loose delights, and check thy joys----Oh, I am mad!----I cannot think that thought, no, thou shalt never advance so far in wickedness, I will save thee, if I can----Oh, my adorable, why dost thou torture me? How hast thou sworn so often and so loud that heaven I am sure has heard thee, and will punish thee? How didst thou swear that happy blessed night, in which I saw thee last, clasped in my arms, weeping with eager love, with melting softness on my bosom----remember how thou swor'st----oh, that dear night,--let me recover strength--and then I will tell thee more--I must repeat the story of that night, which thou perhaps (oh faithless!) hast forgot--that glorious night, when all the heavens were gay, and every favouring power looked down and smiled upon our thefts of love, that gloomy night, the first of all my joys, the blessedest of my life--trembling and fainting I approach your chamber, and while you met and grasped me at the door, taking my trembling body in your arms-remember how I fainted at your feet, and what dear arts you used to call me back to life--remember how you kissed and pressed my face--Remember what dear charming words you spoke--and when I did recover, how I asked you with a feeble doubtful voice--'Ah, _Sylvia_, will you still continue thus, thus wondrous soft and fond? Will you be ever mine, and ever true?'--What did you then reply, when kneeling on the carpet where I lay, what _Sylvia_, did you vow? How invoke heaven?

How call its vengeance down if ever you loved another man again, if ever you touched or smiled on any other, if ever you suffered words or acts of love but from _Philander_? Both heaven and h.e.l.l thou didst awaken with thy oaths, one was an angry listener to what it knew thou'dst break, the other laughed to know thou would'st be perjured, while only I, poor I, was all the while a silent fond believer; your vows stopped all my language, as your kisses did my lips, you swore and kissed, and vowed and clasped my neck--Oh charming flatterer! Oh artful, dear beguiler! Thus into life, and peace, and fond security, you charmed my willing soul! It was then, my _Sylvia_, (certain of your heart, and that it never could be given away to any other) I pressed my eager joys, but with such tender caution--such fear and fondness, such an awful pa.s.sion, as overcame your faint resistance; my reasons and my arguments were strong, for you were mine by love, by sacred vows, and who could lay a better claim to _Sylvia_? How oft I cried--'Why this resistance, _Sylvia_? My charming dear, whose are you? Not _Philander_'s? And shall _Philander_ not command his own----you must----ah cruel----' then a soft struggle followed, with half-breathed words, with sighs and trembling hearts, and now and then--'Ah cruel and unreasonable'--was softly said on both sides; thus strove, thus argued--till both lay panting in each other's arms, not with the toil, but rapture; I need not say what followed after this--what tender showers of strange endearing mixtures 'twixt joy and shame, 'twixt love and new surprise, and ever when I dried your eyes with kisses, unable to repeat any other language than--'Oh my _Sylvia_! Oh my charming angel!' While sighs of joy, and close grasping thee--spoke all the rest--while every tender word, and every sigh was echoed back by thee; you pressed me--and you vowed you loved me more than ever yet you did; then swore anew, and in my bosom, hid your charming blushing face, then with excess of love would call on heaven, 'Be witness, oh ye powers' (a thousand times ye cried) 'if ever maid e'er loved like _Sylvia_--punish me strangely, oh eternal powers, if ever I leave _Philander_, if ever I cease to love him; no force, no art, not interest, honour, wealth, convenience, duty, or what other necessary cause--shall ever be of force to make me leave thee----' Thus hast thou sworn, oh charming, faithless flatterer, thus betwixt each ravishing minute thou would'st swear--and I as fast believed--and loved thee more----Hast thou forgot it all, oh fickle charmer, hast thou? Hast thou forgot between each awful ceremony of love, how you cried out 'Farewell the world and mortal cares, give me _Philander_, heaven, I ask no more'--Hast thou forgot all this? Did all the live-long night hear any other sound but those our mutual vows, of invocations, broken sighs, and soft and trembling whispers?

Say, had we any other business for the tender hours? Oh, all ye host of heaven, ye stars that shone, and all ye powers the faithless lovely maid has sworn by, be witness how she is perjur'd; revenge it all, ye injured powers, revenge it, since by it she has undone the faithfullest youth, and broke the tenderest heart--that ever fell a sacrifice to love; and all ye little weeping G.o.ds of love, revenge your murdered victim--your

PHILANDER.

_To_ PHILANDER.

_In the leaves of a table-book_.

On, my _Philander_, how dearly welcome, and how needless were thy kind reproaches! Which I will not endeavour to convince by argument, but such a deed as shall at once secure thy fears now and for the future.

I have not a minute to write in; place, my dear _Philander_, your chariot in St _Vincent's_ Wood, and since I am not able to fix the hour of my flight, let it wait there my coming; it is but a little mile from _Bellfont_, _Dorillus_ is suspected there, remove thyself to the high-way-gate cottage--there I'll call on thee----'twas lucky, that thy fears, or love, or jealousy brought thee so near me, since I'd resolv'd before upon my flight. Parents and honour, interest and fame, farewell--I leave you all to follow my _Philander_--Haste the chariot to the thickest part of the wood, for I am impatient to be gone, and shall take the first opportunity to fly to my _Philander_----Oh, love me, love me, love me!

_Under pretence of reaching the jessamine which shades my window, I unperceived let down and receive what letters you send by the honest weeder; by her send your sense of my flight, or rather your direction, for it is resolved already._

_To_ SYLVIA.

_My lovely Angel_,

So careful I will be of this dear mighty secret, that I will only say, _Sylvia_ shall be obeyed; no more----nay, I'll not dare to think of it, lest in my rapture I should name my joy aloud, and busy winds should bear it to some officious listener, and undo me; no more, no more, my _Sylvia_, extremes of joy (as grief) are ever dumb: let it suffice, this blessing which you proffer I had designed to ask, as soon as you'd convinced me of your faith; yes, _Sylvia_, I had asked it though it was a bounty too great for any mortal to conceive heaven should bestow upon him; but if it do, that very moment I'll resign the world, and barter all for love and charming _Sylvia_. Haste, haste, my life; my arms, my bosom and my soul are open to receive the lovely fugitive; haste, for this moment I am going to plant myself where you directed. _Adieu_.

_To_ PHILANDER.

_After her flight_.

Ah, _Philander_, how have you undone a harmless poor unfortunate?

Alas, where are you? Why would you thus abandon me? Is this the soul, the bosom, these the arms that should receive me? I'll not upbraid thee with my love, or charge thee with my undoing; it was all my own, and were it yet to do, I should again be ruined for _Philander_, and never find repentance, no not for a thought, a word or deed of love, to the dear false forsworn; but I can die, yes, hopeless, friendless--left by all, even by _Philander_--all but resolution has abandoned me, and that can lay me down, whenever I please, in safe repose and peace: but oh, thou art not false, or if thou be'st, oh, let me hear it from thy mouth, see thy repented love, that I may know there is no such thing on earth, as faith, as honesty, as love or truth; however, be thou true, or be thou false, be bold and let me know it, for thus to doubt is torture worse than death. What accident, thou dear, dear man, has happened to prevent thee from pursuing my directions, and staying for me at the gate? Where have I missed thee, thou joy of my soul? By what dire mistake have I lost thee? And where, oh, where art thou, my charming lover? I sought thee every where, but like the languishing abandoned mistress in the _Canticles_ I sought thee, but I found thee not, no bed of roses would discover thee: I saw no print of thy dear shape, nor heard no amorous sigh that could direct me--I asked the wood and springs, complained and called on thee through all the groves, but they confessed thee not; nothing but echoes answered me, and when I cried _'Philander'_--cried-- _'Philander'_; thus searched I till the coming night, and my increasing fears made me resolve for flight, which soon we did, and soon arrived at _Paris_, but whither then to go, heaven knows, I could not tell, for I was almost naked, friendless and forlorn; at last, consulting _Brilliard_ what to do, after a thousand revolutions, he concluded to trust me with a sister he had, who was married to a _Guidon_ of the _Guard de Corps_; he changed my name, and made me pa.s.s for a fortune he had stolen; but oh, no welcomes, nor my safe retreat were sufficient to repose me all the ensuing night, for I had no news of _Philander_, no, not a dream informed me; a thousand fears and jealousies have kept me waking, and _Brilliard_, who has been all night in pursuit of thee, is now returned successless and distracted as thy _Sylvia_, for duty and generosity have almost the same effects in him, with love and tenderness and jealousy in me; and since _Paris_ affords no news of thee, (which sure it would if thou wert in it, for oh, the sun might hide himself with as much ease as great _Philander_) he is resolved to search St _Vincent_'s Wood, and all the adjacent cottages and groves; he thinks that you, not knowing of my escape, may yet be waiting thereabouts; since quitting the chariot for fear of being seen, you might be so far advanced into the wood, as not to find the way back to the thicket where the chariot waited: it is thus he feeds my hope, and flatters my poor heart, that fain would think thee true--or if thou be'st not--but cursed be all such thoughts, and far from _Sylvia_'s soul; no, no, thou art not false, it cannot be, thou art a G.o.d, and art unchangeable: I know, by some mistake, thou art attending me, as wild and impatient as I; perhaps you thinkest me false, and thinkest I have not courage to pursue my love, and fly; and, thou perhaps art waiting for the hour wherein thou thinkest I will give myself away to _Foscario_: oh cruel and unkind! To think I loved so lightly, to think I would attend that fatal hour; no, _Philander_, no faithless, dear enchanter: last night, the eve to my intended wedding-day, having reposed my soul by my resolves for flight, and only waiting the lucky minute for escape, I set a willing hand to every thing that was preparing for the ceremony of the ensuing morning; with that pretence I got me early to my chamber, tried on a thousand dresses, and asked a thousand questions, all impertinent, which would do best, which looked most gay and rich, then dressed my gown with jewels, decked my apartment up, and left nothing undone that might secure 'em both of my being pleased, and of my stay; nay, and to give the less suspicion, I undressed myself even to my under-petticoat and night-gown; I would not take a jewel, not a pistole, but left my women finishing my work, and carelessly and thus undressed, walked towards the garden, and while every one was busy in their office, getting myself out of sight, posted over the meadow to the wood as swift as _Daphne_ from the G.o.d of day, till I arrived most luckily where I found the chariot waiting; attended by _Brilliard_; of whom, when I (all fainting and breathless with my swift flight) demanded his lord, he lifted me into the chariot, and cried, 'a little farther, _Madam_, you will find him; for he, for fear of making a discovery, took yonder shaded path'--towards which we went, but no dear vision of my love appeared--And thus, my charming lover, you have my kind adventure; send me some tidings back that you are found, that you are well, and lastly that you are mine, or this, that should have been my wedding-day, will see itself that of the death of

SYLVIA.

Paris, _Thursday, from my bed, for want of clothes, or rather news from_ Philander.

_To_ SYLVIA.

My life, my _Sylvia_, my eternal joy, art thou then safe! And art thou reserved for _Philander_? Am I so blest by heaven, by love, and my dear charming maid? Then let me die in peace, since I have lived to see all that my soul desires in _Sylvia_'s being mine; perplex not thy soft heart with fears or jealousies, nor think so basely, so poorly of my love, to need more oaths or vows; yet to confirm thee, I would swear my breath away; but oh, it needs not here;----take then no care, my lovely dear, turn not thy charming eyes or thoughts on afflicting objects; oh think not on what thou hast abandoned, but what thou art arrived to; look forward on the joys of love and youth, for I will dedicate all my remaining life to render thine serene and glad; and yet, my _Sylvia_, thou art so dear to me, so wondrous precious to my soul, that in my extravagance of love, I fear I shall grow a troublesome and wearying c.o.xcomb, shall dread every look thou givest away from me--a smile will make me rave, a sigh or touch make me commit a murder on the happy slave, or my own jealous heart, but all the world besides is _Sylvia_'s, all but another lover; but I rave and run too fast away; ages must pa.s.s a tedious term of years before I can be jealous, or conceive thou can'st be weary of _Philander_--I will be so fond, so doting, and so playing, thou shalt not have an idle minute to throw away a look in, or a thought on any other; no, no, I have thee now, and will maintain my right by dint and force of love--oh, I am wild to see thee--but, _Sylvia_, I am wounded--do not be frighted though, for it is not much or dangerous, but very troublesome, since it permits me not to fly to _Sylvia_, but she must come to me in order to it. _Brilliard_ has a bill on my goldsmith in _Paris_ for a thousand pistoles to buy thee something to put on; any thing that is ready, and he will conduct thee to me, for I shall rave myself into a fever if I see thee not to-day--I cannot live without thee now, for thou art my life, my everlasting charmer: I have ordered _Brilliard_ to get a chariot and some unknown livery for thee, and I think the continuance of pa.s.sing for what he has already rendered thee will do very well, till I have taken farther care of thy dear safety, which will be as soon as I am able to rise; for most unfortunately, my dear _Sylvia_, quitting the chariot in the thicket for fear of being seen with it, and walking down a shaded path that suited with the melancholy and fears of unsuccess in thy adventure; I went so far, as ere I could return to the place where I left the chariot it was gone--it seems with thee; I know not how you missed me--but possessed myself with a thousand false fears, sometimes that in thy flight thou mightest be pursued and overtaken, seized in the chariot and returned back to _Bellfont_; or that the chariot was found seized on upon suspicion, though the coachman and _Brilliard_ were disguised past knowledge----or if thou wert gone, alas I knew not whither; but that was a thought my doubts and fears would not suffer me to ease my soul with; no, I (as jealous lovers do) imagined the most tormenting things for my own repose. I imagined the chariot taken, or at least so discovered as to be forced away without thee: I imagined that thou wert false----heaven forgive me, false, my _Sylvia_, and hadst changed thy mind; mad with this thought (which I fancied most reasonable, and fixt it in my soul) I raved about the wood, making a thousand vows to be revenged on all; in order to it I left the thicket, and betook myself to the high road of the wood, where I laid me down among the fern, close hid, with sword ready, waiting for the happy bridegroom, who I knew (it being the wedding eve) would that way pa.s.s that evening; pleased with revenge, which now had got even the place of love, I waited there not above a little hour but heard the trampling of a horse, and looking up with mighty joy, I found it _Foscario_'s; alone he was, and unattended, for he'd outstripped his equipage, and with a lover's haste, and full of joy, was making towards _Bellfont_; but I (now fired with rage) leaped from my cover, cried, 'Stay, _Foscario_, ere you arrive to _Sylvia_, we must adjust an odd account between us'----at which he stopping, as nimbly alighted;--in fine, we fought, and many wounds were given and received on both sides, till his people coming up, parted us, just as we were fainting with loss of blood in each other's arms; his coach and chariot were amongst his equipage; into the first his servants lifted him, when he cried out with a feeble voice, to have me, who now lay bleeding on the ground, put into the chariot, and to be safely conveyed where-ever I commanded, and so in haste they drove him towards _Bellfont_, and me, who was resolved not to stir far from it, to a village within a mile of it; from whence I sent to _Paris_ for a surgeon, and dismissed the chariot, ordering, in the hearing of the coachman, a litter to be brought me immediately, to convey me that night to _Paris_; but the surgeon coming, found it not safe for me to be removed, and I am now willing to live, since _Sylvia_ is mine; haste to me then, my lovely maid, and fear not being discovered, for I have given order here in the _cabaret_ where I am, if any inquiry is made after me, to say, I went last night to _Paris_. Haste, my love, haste to my arms, as feeble as they are, they'll grasp thee a dear welcome: I will say no more, nor prescribe rules to thy love, that can inform thee best what thou must do to save the life of thy most pa.s.sionate adorer,

PHILANDER.

_To_ PHILANDER.

I have sent _Brilliard_ to see if the coast be clear, that we may come with safety; he brings you, instead of _Sylvia_, a young cavalier that will be altogether as welcome to _Philander_, and who impatiently waits his return at a little cottage at the end of the village.

_To_ SYLVIA.

_From the_ Bastille.

I know my _Sylvia_ expected me at home with her at dinner to-day, and wonders how I could live so long as since morning without the eternal joy of my soul; but know, my _Sylvia_, that a trivial misfortune is now fallen upon me, which in the midst of all our heaven of joys, our softest hours of life, has so often changed thy smiles into fears and sighings, and ruffled thy calm soul with cares: nor let it now seem strange or afflicting, since every day for these three months we have been alarmed with new fears that have made thee uneasy even in _Philander_'s arms; we knew some time or other the storm would fall on us, though we had for three happy months sheltered ourselves from its threatening rage; but love, I hope, has armed us both; for me--let me be deprived of all joys, (but those my charmer can dispense) all the false world's respect, the dull esteem of fools and formal c.o.xcombs, the grave advice of the censorious wise, the kind opinion of ill-judging women, no matter, so my _Sylvia_ remain but mine.

I am, my _Sylvia_, arrested at the suit of _Monsieur_ the Count, your father, for a rape on my lovely maid: I desire, my soul, you will immediately take coach and go to the Prince _Cesario_, and he will bail me out. I fear not a fair trial; and, _Sylvia_, thefts of mutual love were never counted felony; I may die for love, my _Sylvia_, but not for loving--go, haste, my _Sylvia_, that I may be no longer detained from the solid pleasure and business of my soul--haste, my loved dear--haste and relieve

PHILANDER.

_Come not to me, lest there should be an order to detain my dear_.

_To_ PHILANDER.

I am not at all surprised, my _Philander_, at the accident that has befallen thee, because so long expected, and love has so well fortified my heart, that I support our misfortunes with a courage worthy of her that loves and is beloved by the glorious _Philander_; I am armed for the worst that can befall me, and that is my being rendered a public shame, who have been so in the private whispers of all the Court for near these happy three months, in which I have had the wondrous satisfaction of being retired from the world with the charming _Philander_; my father too knew it long since, at least he could not hinder himself from guessing it, though his fond indulgence suffered his justice and his anger to sleep, and possibly had still slept, had not _Myrtilla_'s spite and rage (I should say just resentment, but I cannot) roused up his drowsy vengeance: I know she has plied him with her softening eloquence, her prayers and tears, to win him to consent to make a public business of it; but I am entered, love has armed my soul, and I'll pursue my fortune with that height of fort.i.tude as shall surprise the world; yes, _Philander_, since I have lost my honour, fame and friends, my interest and my parents, and all for mightier love, I'll stop at nothing now; if there be any hazards more to run, I will thank the spiteful Fates that bring them on, and will even tire them out with my unwearied pa.s.sion. Love on, _Philander_, if thou darest, like me; let 'em pursue me with their hate and vengeance, let prisons, poverty and tortures seize me, it shall not take one grain of love away from my resolved heart, nor make me shed a tear of penitence for loving thee; no, _Philander_, since I know what a ravishing pleasure it is to live thine, I will never quit the glory of dying also thy