Yes, yes, you, like the rest of your fair glorious s.e.x, love the admirer though you hate the c.o.xcomb. It is vain! it is great! And shews your beauty's power----Is it possible, that for the safety of my life I cannot retire, but you must think I am fled from love and _Sylvia_? Or is it possible that pitying tenderness that made me incapable of taking leave of her should be interpreted as false--and base--and that an absence of thirty days, so forc'd, and so compelled, must render me inconstant--lost--ungrateful----as if that after _Sylvia_ heaven ever made a beauty that could charm me?

You charge my letter with a thousand faults, it is short, it is cold, and wants those usual softnesses that gave them all their welcome, and their graces. I fear my _Sylvia_ loves the flatterer, and not the man, the lover only, not _Philander_: and she considers him not for himself, but the gay, glorious thing he makes of her! Ah! too self-interested! Is that your justice? You never allow for my unhappy circ.u.mstances; you never think how care oppresses me, nor what my love contributes to that care. How business, danger, and a thousand ills, take up my harra.s.sed mind: by every power! I love thee still, my _Sylvia_, but time has made us more familiar now, and we begin to leave off ceremony, and come to closer joys to join our interests now, as people fixed, resolved to live and die together; to weave our thoughts and be united stronger. At first we shew the gayest side of love, dress and be nice in every word and look, set out for conquest all; spread every art, use every stratagem--But when the toil is past, and the dear victory gained, we then propose a little idle rest, a little easy slumber: we then embrace, lay by the gaudy shew, the plumes and gilded equipage of love, the trappings of the conqueror, and bring the naked lover to your arms; we shew him then uncased with all his little disadvantages; perhaps the flowing hair, (those ebony curls you have so often combed and dressed, and kissed) are then put up, and shew a fiercer air, more like an antique _Roman_ than _Philander_: and shall I then, because I want a grace, be thought to love you less? Because the embroidered coat, the point and garniture's laid by, must I put off my pa.s.sion with my dress? No, _Sylvia_, love allows a thousand little freedoms, allows me to unbosom all my secrets; tell thee my wants, my fears, complaints and dangers, and think it great relief if thou but sigh and pity me: and oft thy charming wit has aided me, but now I find thee adding to my pain. O where shall I unload my weight of cares, when _Sylvia_, who was wont to sigh and weep, and suffer me to ease the heavy burden, now grows displeased and peevish with my moans, and calls them the effects of dying love! Instead of those dear smiles, that fond bewitching prattle, that used to calm my roughest storm of grief, she now reproaches me with coldness, want of concern, and lover's rhetoric: and when I seem to beg relief and shew my soul's resentment, it is then I'm false; it is my aversion, or the effects of some new kindling flame: is this fair dealing, _Sylvia_? Can I not spare a little sigh from love, but you must think I rob you of your due? If I omit a tender name, by which I used to call you, must I be thought to lose that pa.s.sion that taught me such endearments? And must I never reflect upon the ruin both of my fame and fortune, but I must run the risk of losing _Sylvia_ too? Oh cruelty of love! Oh too, too fond and jealous maid, what crimes thy innocent pa.s.sion can create, when it extends beyond the bounds of reason! Ah too, too nicely tender _Sylvia_, that will not give me leave to cast a thought back on my former glory; yet even that loss I could support with tameness and content, if I believed my suffering reached only to my heart; but _Sylvia_, if she love, must feel my torments too, must share my loss, and want a thousand ornaments, my sinking fortune cannot purchase her: believe me, charming creature, if I should love you less, I have a sense so just of what you have suffered for _Philander_, I'd be content to be a galley-slave, to give thy beauty, birth and love their due; but as I am thy faithful lover still, depend upon that fortune heaven has left me; which if thou canst (as thou hast often sworn) then thou would'st submit to be cheerful still, be gay and confident, and do not judge my heart by little words; my heart--too great and fond for such poor demonstrations.

You ask me, _Sylvia_, where I am, and what I do; and all I can say is, that at present I am safe from any fears of being delivered up to _France_, and what I do is sighing, dying, grieving; I want my _Sylvia_; but my circ.u.mstances yet have nothing to encourage that hope; when I resolve where to settle, you shall see what haste I will make to have you brought to me: I am impatient to hear from you, and to know how that dear pledge of our soft hours advances. I mean, what I believe I left thee possessed of, a young _Philander_: cherish it, _Sylvia_, for that is a certain obligation to keep a dying fire alive; be sure you do it no hurt by your unnecessary grief, though there needs no other tie but that of love to make me more entirely

_Your_ PHILANDER.

If _Sylvia_'s fears were great before she opened the letter, what were her pains when all those fears were confirmed from that never-failing mark of a declining love, the coldness and alteration of the style of letters, that first symptom of a dying flame! 'O where,' said she, 'where, oh perjured charmer, is all that ardency that used to warm the reader? Where is all that natural innocence of love that could not, even to discover and express a grace in eloquence, force one soft word, or one pa.s.sion? Oh,' continued she, 'he is lost and gone from _Sylvia_ and his vows; some other has him all, clasps that dear body, hangs upon that face, gazes upon his eyes, and listens to his voice, when he is looking, sighing, swearing, dying, lying and d.a.m.ning of himself for some new beauty--He is, I will not endure it; aid me, _Antonet_! Oh, where is the perjured traitor!' _Antonet_, who was waiting on her, seeing her rise on the sudden in so great a fury, would have stayed her hasty turns and ravings, beseeching her to tell her what was the occasion, and by a discovery to ease her heart; but she with all the fury imaginable flung from her arms, and ran to the table, and s.n.a.t.c.hing up a penknife, had certainly sent it to her heart, had not _Antonet_ stepped to her and caught her hand, which she resisted not, and blushing resigned, with telling her, she was ashamed of her own cowardice; 'For,' said she, 'if it had designed to have been brave, I had sent you off, and by a n.o.ble resolution have freed this slave within' (striking her breast) 'from a tyranny which it should disdain to suffer under:' with that she raged about the chamber with broken words and imperfect threatenings, unconsidered imprecations, and unheeded vows and oaths; at which _Antonet_ redoubled her pet.i.tion to know the cause; and she replied--'_Philander_!

The dear, the soft, the fond and charming _Philander_ is now no more the same. O, _Antonet_,' said she, 'didst thou but see this letter compared to those of heretofore, when love was gay and young, when new desire dressed his soft eyes in tears, and taught his tongue the harmony of angels; when every tender word had more of pa.s.sion, than volumes of this forced, this trifling business; Oh thou wouldst say I were the wretchedest thing that ever nature made--Oh, thou wouldst curse as I do--not the dear murderer, but thy frantic self, thy mad, deceived, believing, easy self; if thou wert so undone--' Then while she wept she gave _Antonet_ liberty to speak, which was to persuade her, her fears were vain; she urged every argument of love she had been witness to, and could not think it possible he could be false. To all which the still weeping _Sylvia_ lent a willing ear; for lovers are much inclined to believe every thing they wish.

_Antonet_, having a little calmed her, continued telling her, that to be better convinced of his love, or his perfidy, she ought to have patience till _Octavio_ should come to visit her; 'For you have forgotten, madam,' said she, 'that the generous rival has sent him word he is your lover:' for _Antonet_ was waiting at the reading of that letter, nor was there any thing the open-hearted _Sylvia_ concealed from that servant; and women who have made a breach in their honour, are seldom so careful of their rest of fame, as those who have a stock entire; and _Sylvia_ believed after she had entrusted the secret of one amour to her discretion, she might conceal none.

'See, madam,' says _Antonet_, 'here is a letter yet unread:' _Sylvia_, who had been a great while impatient for the return of _Octavio_'s answer from _Philander_, expecting from thence the confirmation of all her doubts, hastily s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter out of _Antonet_'s hand, and read it, hoping to have found something there to have eased her soul one way or other; a soul the most raging and haughty by nature that ever possessed a body: the words were these.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

At least you will pity me, oh charming _Sylvia_, when you shall call to mind the cruel services I am obliged to render you, to be the messenger of love from him, whom beauty and that G.o.d plead so strongly for already in your heart.

If, after this, you can propose a torture that yet may speak my pa.s.sion and obedience in any higher measure, command and try my fort.i.tude; for I too well divine, O rigorous beauty, the business of your love-sick slave will be only to give you proofs how much he does adore you, and never to taste a joy, even in a distant hope; like lamps in urns my lasting fire must burn, without one kind material to supply it. Ah _Sylvia_, if ever it be thy wretched fate to see the lord of all your vows given to another's arms----when you shall see in those soft eyes that you adore, a languishment and joy if you but name another beauty to him;----when you behold his blushes fade and rise at the approaches of another mistress,----hear broken sighs and una.s.sured replies, whenever he answers some new conqueress; tremblings, and pantings seizing every part at the warm touch as of a second charmer: ah, _Sylvia_, do but do me justice then, and sighing say--I pity poor _Octavio_.

Take here a letter from the blest _Philander_, which I had brought myself, but cannot bear the torment of that joy that I shall see advancing in your eyes when you shall read it over--no--it is too much that I imagine all! Yet bless that patient fondness of my pa.s.sion that makes me still your slave, and your adorer,

OCTAVIO.

At finishing this, the jealous fair one redoubled her tears with such violence, that it was in vain her woman strove to abate the flowing tide by all the reasonable arguments she could bring to her aid; and _Sylvia_, to increase it, read again the latter part of the ominous letter; which she wet with the tears that streamed from her bright eyes. 'Yes, yes,' (cried she, laying the letter down) 'I know, _Octavio_, this is no prophecy of yours, but a known truth: alas, you know too well the fatal time is already come, when I shall find these changes in _Philander_!' 'Ah madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'how curious are you to search out torment for your own heart, and as much a lover as you are, how little do you understand the arts and politics of love! Alas, madam,' continued she, 'you yourself have armed my Lord _Octavio_ with these weapons that wound you: the last time he writ to my lord _Philander_, he found you possessed with a thousand fears and jealousies; of these he took advantage to attack his rival: for what man is there so dull, that would not a.s.sault his enemy in that part where the most considerable mischief may be done him? It is now _Octavio_'s interest, and his business, to render _Philander_ false, to give you all the umbrage that is possible of so powerful a rival, and to say any thing that may render him hateful to you, or at least to make him love you less.' 'Away,' (replied _Sylvia_ with an uneasy smile) 'how foolish are thy reasonings; for were it possible I could love _Philander_ less, is it to be imagined that should make way for _Octavio_ in my heart, or any after that dear deceiver?' 'No doubt of it,' replied _Antonet_, 'but that very effect it would have on your heart; for love in the soul of a witty person is like a skein of silk; to unwind it from the bottom, you must wind it on another, or it runs into confusion, and becomes of no use, and then of course, as one lessens the other increases, and what _Philander_ loses in love, _Octavio_, or some one industrious lover, will most certainly gain.'

'Oh,' replied _Sylvia_, 'you are a great philosopher in love.' 'I should, madam,' cried _Antonet_, 'had I but had a good memory, for I had a young churchman once in love with me, who has read many a philosophical lecture to me upon love; among the rest, he used to say the soul was all composed of love. I used to ask him then, if it were formed of so soft materials, how it came to pa.s.s that we were no oftener in love, or why so many were so long before they loved, and others who never loved at all?' 'No question but he answered you wisely,' said _Sylvia_ carelessly, and sighing, with her thoughts but half attentive. 'Marry, and so he did,' cried _Antonet_, 'at least I thought so then, because I loved a little. He said, love of itself was inactive, but it was informed by object; and then too that object must depend on fancy; (for souls, though all love, are not to love all.) Now fancy, he said, was sometimes nice, humorous, and fantastic, which is the reason we so often love those of no merit, and despise those that are most excellent; and sometimes fancy guides us to like neither; he used to say, women were like misers, though they had always love in store, they seldom cared to part with it, but on very good interest and security, _cent per cent_ most commonly, heart for heart at least; and for security, he said, we were most times too unconscionable, we asked vows at least, at worst matrimony--' Half angry, _Sylvia_ cried--'And what is all this to my loving again?' 'Oh madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'he said a woman was like a gamester, if on the winning hand, hope, interest, and vanity made him play on, besides the pleasure of the play itself; if on the losing, then he continued throwing at all to save a stake at last, if not to recover all; so either way they find occasion to continue the game.' 'But oh,' said _Sylvia_ sighing, 'what shall that gamester set, who has already played for all he had, and lost it at a cast?' 'O, madam,' replied _Antonet_,'the young and fair find credit every where, there is still a prospect of a return, and that gamester that plays thus upon the tick is sure to lose but little; and if they win it is all clear gains.' 'I find,' said _Sylvia_, 'you are a good manager in love; you are for the frugal part of it.' 'Faith, madam,' said _Antonet_, 'I am indeed of that opinion, that love and interest always do best together, as two most excellent ingredients in that rare art of preserving of beauty. Love makes us put on all our charms, and interest gives us all the advantage of dress, without which beauty is lost, and of little use. Love would have us appear always new, always gay, and magnificent, and money alone can render us so; and we find no women want lovers so much as those who want petticoats, jewels, and all the necessary trifles of gallantry. Of this last opinion I find you yourself to be; for even when _Octavio_ comes, on whose heart you have no design, I see you dress to the best advantage, and put on many, to like one: why is this, but that even unknown to yourself, you have a secret joy and pleasure in gaining conquests, and of being adored, and thought the most charming of your s.e.x?' 'That is not from the inconstancy of my heart,' cried _Sylvia_, 'but from the little vanity of our natures.' 'Oh, madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'there is no friend to love like vanity; it is the falsest betrayer of a woman's heart of any pa.s.sion, not love itself betrays her sooner to love than vanity or pride; and madam, I would I might have the pleasure of my next wish, when I find you not only listening to the love of _Octavio_, but even approving it too.' 'Away,' replied _Sylvia_, in frowning, 'your mirth grows rude and troublesome--Go bid the page wait while I return an answer to what his lord has sent me.' So sitting at the table she dismissed _Antonet_, and writ this following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

I find, _Octavio_, this little gallantry of yours, of shewing me the lover, stands you in very great stead, and serves you upon all occasions for abundance of uses; amongst the rest, it is no small obligation you have to it, for furnishing you with handsome pretences to keep from those who importune you, and from giving them that satisfaction by your counsel and conversation, which possibly the unfortunate may have need of sometimes; and when you are pressed and obliged to render me the friendship of your visits, this necessary ready love of yours is the only evasion you have for the answering a thousand little questions I ask you of _Philander_; whose heart I am afraid you know much better than _Sylvia_ does. I could almost wish, _Octavio_, that all you tell me of your pa.s.sion were true, that my commands might be of force sufficient to compel you to resolve my heart in some doubts that oppress it. And indeed if you would have me believe the one, you must obey me in the other; to which end I conjure you to hasten to me, for something of an unusual coldness in _Philander_'s letter, and some ominous divinations in yours, have put me on a rack of thought; from which nothing but confirmation can relieve me; this you dare not deny, if you value the repose of SYLVIA.

She read it over; and was often about to tear it, fancying it was too kind: but when she considered it was from no other inclination of her heart than that of getting the secrets out of his, she pardoned herself the little levity she found it guilty of; all which, considering as the effects of the violent pa.s.sion she had for _Philander_, she found it easy to do; and sealing it she gave it to _Antonet_ to deliver to the page, and set herself down to ease her soul of its heavy weight of grief by her complaints to the dear author of her pain; for when a lover is insupportably afflicted, there is no ease like that of writing to the person loved; and that, all that comes uppermost in the soul: for true love is all unthinking artless speaking, incorrect disorder, and without method, as 'tis without bounds or rules; such were _Sylvia_'s unstudied thoughts, and such her following letter.

SYLVIA _to_ PHILANDER.

Oh my _Philander_, how hard it is to bring my soul to doubt, when I consider all thy past tender vows, when I reflect how thou hast loved and sworn. Methinks I hear the music of thy voice still whispering in my bosom; methinks the charming softness of thy words remains like lessening echoes of my soul, whose distant voices by degrees decay, till they be heard no more! Alas, I've read thy letter over and over, and turned the sense a thousand several ways, and all to make it speak and look like love--Oh I have flattered it with all my heart.

Sometimes I fancied my ill reading spoiled it, and then I tuned my voice to softer notes, and read it over again; but still the words appeared too rough and harsh for any moving air; I which way soever I changed, which way soever I questioned it of love, it answered in such language--as others would perhaps interpret love, or something like it; but I, who've heard the very G.o.d himself speak from thy wondrous lips, and known him guide thy pen, when all the eloquence of moving angels flowed from thy charming tongue! When I have seen thee fainting at my feet, (whilst all heaven opened in thy glorious face) and now and then sigh out a trembling word, in which there was contained more love, more soul, than all the arts of speaking ever found; what sense?

Oh what reflections must I make on this decay, this strange--this sudden alteration in thee? But that the cause is fled, and the effect is ceased, the G.o.d retired, and all the oracles silenced! Confess--oh thou eternal conqueror of my soul, whom every hour, and every tender joy, renders more dear and lovely--tell me why (if thou still lovest me, and lovest as well) does love not dictate to thee as before? Dost thou want words? Oh then begin again, I repeat the old ones over ten thousand times; such repet.i.tions are love's rhetoric! How often have I asked thee in an hour, when my fond soul was doting on thy eyes, when with my arms clasping thy yielding neck, my lips imprinting kisses on thy cheeks, and taking in the breath that sighed from thine? How often have I asked this little but important question of thee? 'Does my _Philander_ love me?' Then kiss thee for thy 'Yes' and sighs, and ask again; and still my soul was ravished with new joy, when thou wouldst answer, 'Yes, I love thee dearly!' And if I thought you spoke it with a tone that seemed less soft and fervent than I wished, I asked so often, till I made thee answer in such a voice as I would wish to hear it; all this had been impertinent and foolish in any thing but love, to any but a lover: but oh--give me the impertinence of love! Talk little nonsense to me all the day, and be as wanton as a playing _Cupid_, and that will please and charm my love-sick heart better than all fine sense and reasoning.

Tell me, _Philander_, what new accident, what powerful misfortune has befallen thee, greater than what we have experienced yet, to drive the little G.o.d out of thy heart, and make thee so unlike my soft _Philander_? What place contains thee, or what pleasures ease thee, that thou art now contented to live a tedious day without thy _Sylvia_? How then the long long age of forty more, and yet thou livest, art patient, tame and well; thou talkest not now of ravings, or of dying, but look'st about thee like a well pleased conqueror after the toils of battle--oh, I have known a time--but let me never think upon it more! It cannot be remembered without madness! What, think thee fallen from love! To think, that I must never hear thee more pouring thy soul out in soft sighs of love? A thousand dear expressions by which I knew the story of thy heart, and while you tell it, bid me feel it panting--never to see thy eyes fixed on my face--till the soft showers of joy would gently fall and hang their shining dew upon thy looks, then in a transport s.n.a.t.c.h me to thy bosom, and sigh a thousand times ere thou couldst utter--'Ah _Sylvia_, how I love thee'--oh the dear eloquence those few short words contain, when they are sent with lovers' accents to a soul all languishing! But now--alas, thy love is more familiar grown--oh take the other part of the proverb too, and say it has bred contempt, for nothing less than that your letter shews, but more it does, and that is indifference, less to be borne than hate, or any thing--

At least be just, and let me know my doom: do not deceive the heart that trusted all thy vows, if thou be'st generous--if thou lettest me know--thy date of love--is out (for love perhaps as life has dates) and equally uncertain, and thou no more canst stay the one than the other; yet if thou art so kind for all my honour lost, my youth undone, my beauty tarnished, and my lasting vows, to let me fairly know thou art departing, my worthless life will be the only loss: but if thou still continuest to impose upon my easy faith, and I should any other way learn my approaching fate--look to it _Philander_,--she that had the courage to abandon all for love and faithless thee, can, when she finds herself betrayed and lost, n.o.bly revenge the ruin of her fame, and send thee to the other world with SYLVIA.

She having writ this, read it over, and fancied she had not spoke half the sense of her soul--fancied if she were again to begin, she could express herself much more to the purpose she designed, than she had done. She began again, and writ two or three new ones, but they were either too kind or too rough; the first she feared would shew a weakness of spirit, since he had given her occasion of jealousy; the last she feared would disoblige if all those jealousies were false; she therefore tore those last she had writ, and before she sealed up the first she read _Philander_'s, letter again, but still ended it with fears that did not lessen those she had first conceived; still she thought she had more to say, as lovers do, who are never weary of speaking or writing to the dear object of their vows; and having already forgotten what she had just said before--and her heart being by this time as full as ere she began, she took up her complaining pen, and made it say this in the covert of the letter.

Oh _Philander_! Oh thou eternal charmer of my soul, how fain I would repent me of the cruel thoughts I have of thee! When I had finished this enclosed I read again thy chilling letter, and strove with all the force of love and soft imagination, to find a dear occasion of asking pardon for those fears which press my breaking heart: but oh, the more I read, the more they strike upon my tenderest part,--something so very cold, so careless and indifferent you end your letter with--I will not think of it--by heaven it makes me rave--and hate my little power, that could no longer keep thee soft and kind. Oh if those killing fears (bred by excess of love) are vainly taken up, in pity, my adorable--in pity to my tortured soul convince them, redress the torment of my jealous doubts, and either way confirm me; be kind to her that dies and languishes for thee, return me all the softness that first charmed me, or frankly tell me my approaching fate. Be generous or be kind to the unfortunate and undone

SYLVIA.

She thought she had ended here, but here again she read _Philander_'s letter, as if on purpose to find new torments out for a heart too much pressed already; a sour that is always mixed with the sweets of love, a pain that ever accompanies the pleasure. Love else were not to be numbered among the pa.s.sions of men, and was at first ordained in heaven for some divine motion of the soul, till _Adam_, with his loss of _Paradise_, debauched it with jealousies, fears and curiosities, and mixed it with all that was afflicting; but you'll say he had reason to be jealous, whose woman, for want of other seducers, listened to the serpent, and for the love of change, would give way even to a devil; this little love of novelty and knowledge has been entailed upon her daughters ever since, and I have known more women rendered unhappy and miserable from this torment of curiosity, which they bring upon themselves, than have ever been undone by less villainous men. One of this humour was our haughty and charming _Sylvia_, whose pride and beauty possessing her with a belief that all men were born to die her slaves, made her uneasy at every action of the lover (whether beloved or not) that did but seem to slight her empire: but where indeed she loved and doted, as now in _Philander_, this humour put her on the rack at every thought or fancy that he might break his chains, and having laid the last obligation upon him, she expected him to be her slave for ever, and treated him with all the haughty tyranny of her s.e.x, in all those moments when softness was not predominant in her soul. She was chagrin at every thing, if but displeased with one thing; and while she gave torments to others, she failed not to feel them the most sensibly herself; so that still searching for new occasion of quarrel with _Philander_, she drew on herself most intolerable pains, such as doubting lovers feel after long hopes and confirmed joy; she reads and weeps, and when she came to that part of it that inquired of the health and being of the pledge of love--she grew so tender that she was almost fainting in her chair, but recovering from the soft reflection, and finding she had said nothing of it already, she took her pen again and writ.

You ask me, oh charming _Philander_, how the pledge of our soft hours thrives: alas, as if it meant to brave the worst of fate! It does advance my sorrows, and all your cruelties have not destroyed that: but I still bear about me the destiny of many a sighing maid, that this (who will, I am sure, be like _Philander_) will ruin with his looks.

Thou sacred treasure of my soul, forgive me, if I have wronged thy love, _adieu_.

She made an end of writing this, just when _Antonet_ arrived, and told her _Octavio_ was alighted at the gate, and coming to visit her, which gave her occasion to say this of him to _Philander_.

I think I had not ended here, but that _Octavio_, the bravest and the best of friends, is come to visit me. The only satisfaction I have to support my life in _Philander_'s absence. Pay him those thanks that are due to him from me; pay him for all the generous cares he has taken of me; beyond a friend! Almost _Philander_ in his blooming pa.s.sion, when it was all new and young, and full of duty, could not have rendered me his service with a more awful industry: sure he was made for love and glorious friendship. Cherish him then, preserve him next your soul, for he is a jewel fit for such a cabinet: his form, his parts, and every n.o.ble action, shews us the royal race from whence he sprung, and the victorious _Orange_ confesses him his own in every virtue, and in every grace; nor can the illegitimacy eclipse him: sure he was got in the first heat of love, which formed him so a _hero_--but no more. _Philander_ is as kind a judge as

SYLVIA.

She had no sooner finished this and sealed it, but _Octavio_ came into the chamber, and with such an air, with such a grace and mien he approached her--with all the languishment of soft trembling love in his face, which with the addition of the dress he was that day in, (which was extremely rich and advantageous, and altogether such as pleases the vanity of women,) I have since heard the charming _Sylvia_ say, in spite of her tenderness for _Philander_, she found a soft emotion in her soul, a kind of pleasure at his approach, which made her blush with some kind of anger at her own easiness. Nor could she have blushed in a more happy season; for _Octavio_ saw it, and it served at once to add a l.u.s.tre to her paler beauty, and to betray some little kind sentiment, which possessed him with a joy that had the same effects on him: _Sylvia_ saw it; and the care she took to hide her own, served but to increase her blushes, which put her into a confusion she had much ado to reclaim: she cast her eyes to earth, and leaning her cheek on her hand, she continued on her seat without paying him that usual ceremony she was wont to do; while he stood speechless for a moment, gazing on her with infinite satisfaction: when she, to a.s.sume a formality as well as she could, rose up and cried, (fearing he had seen too much) '_Octavio_, I have been considering after what manner I ought to receive you? And while I was so, I left those civilities unpaid, which your quality and my good manners ought to have rendered you.' 'Ah, madam,' replied he sighing, 'if you would receive me as I merited, and you ought, at least you would receive me as the most pa.s.sionate lover that ever adored you.'

'I was rather believing,' said _Sylvia_, 'that I ought to have received you as my foe; since you conceal from me so long what you cannot but believe I am extremely impatient of hearing, and what so nearly concerns my repose.' At this, he only answering with a sigh, she pursued, 'Sure, _Octavio_, you understand me: _Philander_'s answer to the letter of your confessing pa.s.sion, has not so long been the subject of our discourse and expectation, but you guess at what I mean?' _Octavio_, who on all occasions wanted not wit, or reply, was here at a loss what to answer; notwithstanding he had considered before what he would say: but let those in love fancy, and make what fine speeches they please, and believe themselves furnished with abundance of eloquent harangues, at the sight of the dear object they lose them all, and love teaches them a dialect much more prevailing, without the expense of duller thought: and they leave unsaid all they had so floridly formed before, a sigh a thousand things with more success: love, like poetry, cannot be taught, but uninstructed flows without painful study, if it be true; it is born in the soul, a n.o.ble inspiration, not a science! Such was _Octavio_'s, he thought it dishonourable to be guilty of the meanness of a lie; and say he had no answer: he thought it rude to say he had one and would not shew it _Sylvia_; and he believed it the height of ungenerous baseness to shew it. While he remained this moment silent, _Sylvia_, whose love, jealousy, and impatience endured no delay, with a malicious half smile, and a tone all angry, scorn in her eyes, and pa.s.sion on her tongue, she cried--'It is well, _Octavio_, that you so early let me know, you can be false, unjust, and faithless; you knew your power, and in pity to that youth and easiness you found in me, have given a civil warning to my heart. In this I must confess,' continued she, 'you have given a much greater testimony of your friendship for _Philander_, than your pa.s.sion for _Sylvia_, and I suppose you came not here to resolve yourself which you should prefer; that was decided ere you arrived, and this visit I imagine was only to put me out of doubt: a piece of charity you might have spared.' She ended this with a scorn, that had a thousand charms, because it gave him a little hope; and he answered with a sigh, 'Ah, madam, how very easy you find it to entertain thoughts disadvantageous of me: and how small a fault your wit and cruelty can improve to a crime! You are not offended at my friendship for _Philander_. I know you do not value my life, and my repose so much, as to be concerned who, or what shares this heart that adores you! No, it has not merited that glory; nor dare I presume to hope, you should so much as wish my pa.s.sion for _Sylvia_, should surmount my friendship to _Philander_.' 'If I did,' replied she with a scorn, 'I perceive I might wish in vain.' 'Madam,' answered he, 'I have too divine an opinion of the justice of the charming _Sylvia_ to believe I ought, or could make my approaches to her heart, by ways so base and ungenerous, the result of even tolerated treason is to hate the traitor.' 'Oh, you are very nice, _Octavio_,' replied _Sylvia_, 'in your punctilio to _Philander_; but I perceive you are not so tender in those you ought to have for _Sylvia_: I find honour in you men, is only what you please to make it; for at the same time you think it ungenerous to betray _Philander_, you believe it no breach of honour to betray the eternal repose of _Sylvia_. You have promised _Philander_ your friendship; you have avowed yourself my lover, my slave, my friend, my every thing; and yet not one of these has any tie to oblige you to my interest: pray tell me,' continued she, 'when you last writ to him; was it not in order to receive an answer from him?

And was not I to see that answer? And here you think it no dishonour to break your word or promise; by which I find your false notions of virtue and honour, with which you serve yourselves, when interest, design, or self-love makes you think it necessary.' 'Madam,' replied _Octavio_, 'you are pleased to pursue your anger, as if indeed I had disobeyed your command, or refused to shew you what you imagine I have from _Philander_:' 'Yes, I do,' replied she hastily; 'and wonder why you should have a greater friendship for _Philander_, than for _Sylvia_; especially if it be true that you say, you have joined love to friendship: or are you of the opinion of those that cry, they cannot be a lover and a friend of the same object.' 'Ah, madam,' cried our perplexed lover, 'I beg you to believe, I think it so much more my duty and inclination to serve and obey _Sylvia_, than I do _Philander_, that I swear to you, oh charming conqueress of my soul, if _Philander_ have betrayed _Sylvia_, he has at the same time betrayed _Octavio_, and that I would revenge it with the loss of my life: in injuring the adorable _Sylvia_, believe me, lovely maid, he injures so much more than a friend, as honour is above the inclinations; if he wrong you, by heaven he cancels all! He wrongs my soul, my honour, mistress, and my sister:' fearing he had said too much, he stopped and sighed at the word sister, and casting down his eyes, blushing with shame and anger, he continued. 'Oh give me leave to say a sister, madam, lest mistress had been too daring and presumptuous, and a t.i.tle that would not justify my quarrel half so well, since it would take the honour from my just resentment, and blast it with the scandal of self-interest or jealous revenge.' 'What you say,' replied she, 'deserves abundance of acknowledgement; but if you would have me believe you, you ought to hide nothing from me; and he, methinks, that was so daring to confess his pa.s.sion to _Philander_, may after that, venture on any discovery: in short, _Octavio_, I demand to see the return you have from _Philander_, for possibly--' said she, sweetening her charming face into a smile designed, 'I should not be displeased to find I might with more freedom receive your addresses, and on the coldness of _Philander_'s reasoning may depend a great part of your fate, or fortune: come, come, produce your credentials, they may recommend your heart more effectually than all the fine things you can say; you know how the least appearance of a slight from a lover may advance the pride of a mistress; and pride in this affair will be your best advocate.' Thus she insinuated with all her female arts, and put on all her charms of looks and smiles, sweetened her mouth, softened her voice and eyes, a.s.suming all the tenderness and little affectations her subtle s.e.x was capable of, while he lay all ravished and almost expiring at her feet; sometimes transported with imagined joys in the possession of the dear flattering charmer, he was ready to unravel all the secrets of _Philander_'s letter; but honour yet was even above his pa.s.sion, and made him blush at his first hasty thought; and now he strove to put her off with all the art he could, who had so very little in his nature, and whose real love and perfect honour had set him above the little evasions of truth, who scorned in all other cases the baseness and cowardice of a lie; and so unsuccessful now was the little honest cheat, which he knew not how to manage well, that it was soon discovered to the witty, jealous, and angry _Sylvia_: so that after all the rage a pa.s.sionate woman could express, who believed herself injured by the only two persons in the world from whom she expected most adoration; she had recourse to that natural and softening aid of her s.e.x, her tears; and having already reproached _Octavio_ with all the malice of a defeated woman, she now continued it in so moving a manner, that our _hero_ could no longer remain unconquered by that powerful way of charming, but unfixed to all he had resolved, gave up, at least, a part of the secret, and owned he had a letter from _Philander_; and after this confession knowing very well he could not keep her from the sight of it; no, though an empire were rendered her to buy it off; his wit was next employed how he should defend the sense of it, that she might not think _Philander_ false. In order to this, he, forcing a smile, told her, that _Philander_ was the most malicious of his s.e.x, and had contrived the best stratagem in the world to find whether _Sylvia_ still loved, or _Octavio_ retained his friendship for him: 'And but that,' continued he, 'I know the nature of your curious s.e.x to be such, that if I should persuade you not to see it, it would but the more inflame your desire of seeing it; I would ask no more of the charming _Sylvia_, than that she would not oblige me to shew what would turn so greatly to my own advantage: if I were not too sensible, it is but to entrap me, that _Philander_ has taken this method in his answer. Believe me, adorable _Sylvia_, I plead against my own life, while I beg you not to put my honour to the test, by commanding me to shew this letter, and that I join against the interest of my own eternal repose while I plead thus.' She hears him with a hundred changes of countenance. Love, rage, and jealousy swell in her fierce eyes, her breath beats short, and she was ready to burst into speaking before he had finished what he had to say; she called up all the little discretion and reason love had left her to manage herself as she ought in this great occasion; she bit her lips, and swallowed her rising sighs; but he soon saw the storm he had raised, and knew not how to stand the shock of its fury; he sighs, he pleads in vain, and the more he endeavours to excuse the levity of _Philander_, the more he rends her heart, and sets her on the rack; and concluding him false, she could no longer contain her rage, but broke out into all the fury that madness can inspire, and from one degree to another wrought her pa.s.sion to the height of lunacy: she tore her hair, and bit his hands that endeavoured to restrain hers from violence; she rent the ornaments from her fair body, and discovered a thousand charms and beauties; and finding now that both his strength and reason were too weak to prevent the mischiefs he found he had brought on her, he calls for help: when _Brilliard_ was but too ready at hand, with _Antonet_, and some others who came to his a.s.sistance. _Brilliard_, who knew nothing of the occasion of all this, believed it the second part of his own late adventure, and fancied that _Octavio_ had used some violence to her; upon this he a.s.sumes the authority of his lord, and secretly that of a husband or lover, and upbraiding the innocent _Octavio_ with his brutality, they fell to such words as ended in a challenge the next morning, for _Brilliard_ appeared a gentleman, companion to his lord; and one whom _Octavio_ could not well refuse: this was not carried so silently but _Antonet_, busy as she was about her raving lady, heard the appointment, and _Octavio_ quitted the chamber almost as much disturbed as _Sylvia_, whom, with much ado they persuaded him to leave; but before he did so, he on his knees offered her the letter, and implored her to receive it; so absolutely his love had vanquished his n.o.bler part, that of honour. But she attending no motions but those of her own rage, had no regard either to _Octavio_'s proffer, or his arguments of excuse; so that he went away with the letter in all the extremity of disorder.

This last part of his submission was not seen by _Brilliard_; who immediately left the chamber, upon receiving _Octavio_'s answer to his challenge; so that _Sylvia_ was now left with her woman only; who by degrees brought her to more calmness; and _Brilliard_, impatient to hear the reproaches he hoped she would give _Octavio_ when she was returned to reason, being curious of any thing that might redound to his disadvantage, whom he took to be a powerful rival, returned again into her chamber: but in lieu of hearing what he wished, _Sylvia_ being recovered from her pa.s.sion of madness, and her soul in a state of thinking a little with reason, she misses _Octavio_ in the crowd, and with a voice her rage had enfeebled to a languishment, she cried--surveying carefully those about her, 'Oh where is _Octavio_?

Where is that angel man: he who of all his kind can give me comfort?'

'Madam,' replied _Antonet_, 'he is gone; while he was here, he kneeled and prayed in vain, but for a word, or look; his tears are yet remaining wet upon your feet, and all for one sensible reply, but rage had deafened you; what has he done to merit this?' 'Oh _Antonet_,'

cried _Sylvia_----'It was what he would not do, that makes me rave; run, haste and fetch him back----but let him leave his honour all behind: tell him he has too much consideration for _Philander_, and none for my repose. Oh, _Brilliard_,----Have I no friend in view dares carry a message from me to _Octavio_? Bid him return, oh instantly return----I die, I languish for a sight of him----descending angels would not be so welcome----Why stand ye still----have I no power with you----Will none obey----' Then running hastily to the chamber door, she called her page to whom she cried----'Haste, haste, dear youth, and find _Octavio_ out, and bring him to me instantly: tell him I die to see him.' The boy, glad of so kind a message to so liberal a lover, runs on his errand, while she returns to her chamber, and endeavours to recollect her senses against _Octavio_'s coming as much as possibly she could: she dismisses her attendant with different apprehensions; sometimes _Brilliard_ believed this was the second part of her first raving, and having never seen her thus, but for _Philander_, concludes it the height of tenderness and pa.s.sion for _Octavio_; but because she made so public a declaration of it, he believed he had given her a philtre, which had raised her flame so much above the bounds of modesty and discretion; concluding it so, he knew the usual effects of things of that nature, and that nothing could allay the heat of such a love but possession; and easily deluded with every fancy that flattered his love, mad, stark-mad, by any way to obtain the last blessing with _Sylvia_, he consults with _Antonet_ how to get one of _Octavio_'s letters out of her lady's cabinet, and feigning many frivolous reasons, which deluded the amorous maid, he persuaded her to get him one, which she did in half an hour after; for by this time _Sylvia_ being in as much tranquillity as it was possible a lover could be in, who had the hopes of knowing all the secrets of the false betrayer, she had called _Antonet_ to dress her; which she resolved should be in all the careless magnificence that art or nature could put on; to charm _Octavio_ wholly to obedience, whom she had sent for, and whom she expected! But she was no sooner set to her toilet, but _Octavio_'s page arrived with a letter from his master, which she greedily s.n.a.t.c.hed, and read this:

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

By this time, oh charming _Sylvia_, give me leave to hope your rage is abated, and your reason returned, and that you will hear a little from the most unfortunate of men, whom you have reduced to this miserable extremity of losing either the adorable object of his soul, or his honour: if you can prefer a little curiosity that will serve but to afflict you, before either that or my repose, what esteem ought I to believe you have for the unfortunate _Octavio_: and if you hate me, as it is evident, if you compel me to the extremity of losing my repose or honour, what reason or argument have I to prefer so careless a fair one above the last? It is certain you neither do nor can love me now; and how much below that hope shall the exposed and abandoned _Octavio_ be, when he shall pretend to that glory without his honour? Believe me, charming maid, I would sacrifice my life, and my entire fortune at your least command to serve you; but to render you a devoir that must point me out the basest of my s.e.x, is what my temper must resist in spite of all the violence of my love; and I thank my happier stars, that they have given me resolution enough, rather to fall a sacrifice to the last, than be guilty of the breach of the first: this is the last and present thought and pleasure of my soul; and lest it should, by the force of those divine ideas which eternally surround it, be soothed and flattered from its n.o.ble principles, I will to-morrow put myself out of the hazard of temptation, and divert if possible, by absence, to the campaign, those soft importunate betrayers of my liberty, that perpetually solicit in favour of you: I dare not so much as bid you adieu, one sight of that bright angel's face would undo me, unfix my n.o.bler resolution, and leave me a despicable slave, sighing my unrewarded treason at your insensible feet: my fortune I leave to be disposed by you; but the more useless necessary I will for ever take from those lovely eyes, you can look on nothing with joy, but the happy _Philander_: if I have denied you one satisfaction, at least I have given you this other, of securing you eternally from the trouble and importunity of, madam, your faithful

OCTAVIO.

This letter to any other less secure of her power than was our fair subject, would have made them impatient and angry; but she found that there was something yet in her power, the dispensation of which could soon recall him from any resolution he was able to make of absenting himself. Her gla.s.s stood before her, and every glance that way was an a.s.surance and security to her heart; she could not see that beauty, and doubt its power of persuasion. She therefore took her pen, and writ him this answer, being in a moment furnished with all the art and subtlety that was necessary on this occasion.

SYLVIA _to_ Octavio.

_My Lord_,

Though I have not beauty enough to command your heart; at least allow me sense enough to oblige your belief, that I fancy and resent all that the letter contains which you have denied me, and that I am not of that sort of women, whose want of youth or beauty renders so constant to pursue the ghost of a departed love: it is enough to justify my honour, that I was not the first aggressor. I find myself pursued by too many charms of wit, youth, and gallantry, to bury myself beneath the willows, or to whine away my youth by murmuring rivers, or betake me to the last refuge of a declining beauty, a monastery: no, my lord, when I have revenged and recompensed myself for the injuries of one inconstant, with the joys a thousand imploring lovers offer, it will be time to be weary of a world, which yet every day presents me new joys; and I swear to you, _Octavio_, that it was more to recompense what I owed your pa.s.sion, that I desired a convincing proof of _Philander_'s falsehood, than for any other reason, and you have too much wit not to know it; for what other use could I make of the secret? If he be false he is gone, unworthy of me, and impossible to be retrieved; and I would as soon dye my sullied garments, and wear them over again, as take to my embraces a reformed lover, the native first l.u.s.tre of whose pa.s.sion is quite extinct, and is no more the same; no, my lord, she must be poor in beauty, that has recourse to shifts so mean; if I would know the secret, by all that is good it were to hate him heartily, and to dispose of my person to the best advantage; which in honour I cannot do, while I am unconvinced of the falseness of him with whom I exchanged a thousand vows of fidelity; but if he unlink the chain, I am at perfect liberty; and why by this delay you should make me lose my time, I am not able to conceive, unless you fear I should then take you at your word, and expect the performance of all the vows of love you have made me----If that be it--my pride shall be your security, or if other recompense you expect, set the price upon your secret, and see at what rate I shall purchase the liberty it will procure me; possibly it may be such as may at once enfranchise me, and revenge me on the perjured ingrate, than which nothing can be a greater satisfaction to

SYLVIA.

She seals this letter with a wafer, and giving it to _Antonet_ to give the page, believing she had writ what would not be in vain to the quick-sighted _Octavio_; _Antonet_ takes both that and the other which _Octavio_ had sent, and left her lady busy in dressing her head, and went to _Brilliard_'s chamber, who thought every moment an age till she came, so vigorous he was on his new design. That which was sent to _Octavio_, being sealed with a wet wafer, he neatly opens, as it was easy to do, and read, and sealed again, and _Antonet_ delivered it to the page. After receiving what pay _Brilliard_ could force himself to bestow upon her, some flatteries of dissembled love, and some cold kisses, which even imagination could not render better, she returned to her lady, and he to his stratagem, which was to counterfeit a letter from _Octavio_; she having in hers given him a hint, by bidding him set a price upon the secret, which he had heard was that of a letter from _Philander_, with all the circ.u.mstances of it, from the faithless _Antonet_, whom love had betrayed; and after blotting much paper to try every letter through the alphabet, and to produce them like those of _Octavio_, which was not hard for a lover of ingenuity, he fell to the business of what he would write; and having finished it to his liking, his next trouble was how to convey it to her; for _Octavio_ always sent his by his page, whom he could trust. He now was certain of love between them; for though he often had persuaded _Antonet_ to bring him letters, yet she could not be wrought on till now to betray her trust; and what he long apprehended, he found too true on both sides, and now he waited but for an opportunity to send it seasonably, and in a lucky minute. In the mean time _Sylvia_ adorns herself for an absolute conquest, and disposing herself in the most charming, careless, and tempting manner she could devise, she lay expecting her coming lover, on a repose of rich embroidery of gold on blue satin, hung within-side with little amorous pictures of _Venus_ descending in her chariot naked to _Adonis_, she embracing, while the youth, more eager of his rural sports, turns half from her in a posture of pursuing his dogs, who are on their chase: another of _Armida_, who is dressing the sleeping warrior up in wreaths of flowers, while a hundred little Loves are playing with his gilded armour; this puts on his helmet too big for his little head, that hides his whole face; another makes a hobby-horse of his sword and lance; another fits on his breast-piece, while three or four little _Cupids_ are seeming to heave and help him to hold it an end, and all turned the emblems of the hero into ridicule. These, and some either of the like nature, adorned the pavilion of the languishing fair one, who lay carelessly on her side, her arm leaning on little pillows of point of _Venice_, and a book of amours in her other hand. Every noise alarmed her with trembling hope that her lover was come, and I have heard she said, she verily believed, that acting and feigning the lover possessed her with a tenderness against her knowledge and will; and she found something more in her soul than a bare curiosity of seeing _Octavio_ for the letter's sake: but in lieu of her lover, she found herself once more approached with a billet from him, which brought this.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Ah, _Sylvia_, he must be more than human that can withstand your charms; I confess my frailty, and fall before you the weakest of my s.e.x, and own I am ready to believe all your dear letter contains, and have vanity enough to wrest every hopeful word to my own interest, and in favour of my own heart: what will become of me, if my easy faith should only flatter me, and I with shame should find it was not meant to me, or if it were, it was only to draw me from a virtue which has been hitherto the pride and beauty of my youth, the glory of my name, and my comfort and refuge in all extremes of fortune; the eternal companion, guide and counsellor of all my actions: yet this good you only have power to rob me of, and leave me exposed to the scorn of all the laughing world; yet give me love! Give me but hope in lieu of it, and I am content to divest myself of all besides.

Perhaps you will say I ask too mighty a rate for so poor a secret. But even in that there lies one of my own, that will more expose the feebleness of my blood and name, than the discovery will me in particular, so that I know not what I do, when I give you up the knowledge you desire. Still you will say all this is to enhance its value, and raise the price: and oh, I fear you have taught my soul every quality it fears and dreads in yours, and learnt it to chaffer for every thought, if I could fix upon the rate to sell it at: and I with shame confess I would be mercenary, could we but agree upon the price; but my respect forbids me all things but silent hope, and that, in spite of me and all my reason, will predominate; for the rest I will wholly resign myself, and all the faculties of my soul, to the charming arbitrator of my peace, the powerful judge of love, the adorable _Sylvia_; and at her feet render all she demands; yes, she shall find me there to justify all the weakness this proclaims; for I confess, oh too too powerful maid, that you have absolutely subdued

_Your_ OCTAVIO.

She had no sooner read this letter, but _Antonet_, instead of laying it by, carried it to _Brilliard_, and departed the chamber to make way for _Octavio_, who she imagined was coming to make his visit, and left _Sylvia_ considering how she should manage him to the best advantage, and with most honour acquit herself of what she had made him hope; but instead of his coming to wait on her, an unexpected accident arrived to prevent him; for a messenger from the Prince came with commands that he should forthwith come to His Highness, the messenger having command to bring him along with him: so that not able to disobey, he only begged time to write a note of business, which was a billet to _Sylvia_ to excuse himself till the next day; for it being five leagues to the village where the Prince waited his coming, he could not return that night; which was the business of the note, with which his page hasted to _Sylvia_. _Brilliard_, who was now a vigilant lover, and waiting for every opportunity that might favour his design, saw the page arrive with the note; and, as it was usual, he took it to carry to his conqueress; but meeting _Antonet_ on the stairs, he gave her what he had before counterfeited with such art, after he had opened what _Octavio_ had sent, and found fortune was wholly on his side, he having learned from the page besides, that his lord had taken coach with Monsieur----to go to His Highness, and would not return that night: _Antonet_, not knowing the deceit, carried her lady the forged letter, who opened it with eager haste, and read this.

_To the Charming_ SYLVIA.