Chapter IV: Part I: To SYLVIA (3)

Oh _Melinda_, what have you told me? Stay me with an immediate account of the recovery and calmness of my adorable weeping _Sylvia_, or I shall enter _Bellfont_ with my sword drawn, bearing down all before me, ‘till I make my way to my charming mourner: O God! _Sylvia_ in a rage! _Sylvia_ in any passion but that of love? I cannot bear it, no, by heaven I cannot; I shall do some outrage either on myself or at _Bellfont_. Oh thou dear advocate of my tenderest wishes, thou confidante of my never dying flame, thou kind administering maid, send some relief to my breaking heart--haste and tell me, _Sylvia_ is calm, that her bright eyes sparkle with smiles, or if they languish, say ’.is with love, with expecting joys; that her dear hands are no more employed in exercises too rough and unbecoming their native softness. O eternal God! tearing perhaps her divine hair, brighter than the sun’s reflecting beams, injuring the heavenly beauty of her charming face and bosom, the joy and wish of all mankind that look upon her: oh charm her with prayers and tears, stop her dear fingers from the rude assaults; bind her fair hands; repeat _Philander_ to her, tell her he’s fainting with the news of her unkindness and outrage on her lovely self; but tell her too, I die adoring her; tell her I rave, I tear, I curse myself,--for so I do; tell her I would break out into a violence that should set all _Bellfont_ in a flame, but for my care of her. Heaven and earth should not restrain me,--no, they should not,----But her least frown should still me, tame me, and make me a calm coward: say this, say all, say any thing to charm her rage and tears. Oh I am mad, stark-mad, and ready to run on business I die to think her guilty of: tell her how it would grieve her to see me torn and mangled; to see that hair she loves ruffled and diminish’d by rage, violated by my insupportable grief, myself quite bereft of all sense but that of love, but that of adoration for my charming, cruel insensible, who is possessed with every thought, with every imagination that can render me unhappy, borne away with every fancy that is in disfavour of the wretched _Philander_. Oh _Melinda_, write immediately, or you will behold me enter a most deplorable object of pity.

When I receiv’d yours, I fell into such a passion that I forc’d myself back to _Dorillus_ his house, left my transports and hurried me to _Bellfont_, where I should have undone all: but as I can now rest no where, I am now returning to the meadow again, where I will expect your aid, or die.

_From_ Dorillus _his cottage, almost nine o’clock._

* * * * *

_To_ PHILANDER.

I must own, my charming _Philander_, that my love is now arrived to that excess, that every thought which before but discompos’d me, now puts me into a violence of rage unbecoming my sex; or any thing but the mighty occasion of it, love, and which only had power to calm what it had before ruffled into a destructive storm: but like the anger’d sea, which pants and heaves, and retains still an uneasy motion long after the rude winds are appeas’d and hush’d to silence; my heart beats still, and heaves with the sensible remains of the late dangerous tempest of my mind, and nothing can absolutely calm me but the approach of the all-powerful _Philander_; though that thought possesses me with ten thousand fears, which I know will vanish all at thy appearance, and assume no more their dreadful shapes till thou art gone again: bring me then that kind cessation, bring me my _Philander_, and set me above the thoughts of cares, frights, or any other thoughts but those of tender love; haste then, thou charming object of my eternal wishes, and of my new desires; haste to my arms, my eyes, my soul,--but oh, be wondrous careful there, do not betray the easy maid that trusts thee amidst all her sacred store.

’.is almost dark, and my mother is retired to her chamber, my father to his cabinet, and has left all that apartment next the garden wholly without spies. I have, by trusty _Dorillus_, sent you a key _Melinda_ got made to the door, which leads from the garden to the black-stairs to my apartment, so carefully locked, and the original key so closely guarded by my jealous father: that way I beg you to come; a way but too well known to _Philander_, and by which he has made many an escape to and from _Myrtilla_. Oh damn that thought, what makes it torturing me,----let me change it for those of _Philander_, the advantage will be as great as bartering hell for heaven; haste then, _Philander_: but what need I bid thee, love will lend thee his wings; thou who commandest all his artillery, put them on, and fly to thy languishing

SYLVIA.

_Oh I faint with the dear thought of thy approach._

* * * * *

_To the Charming_ SYLVIA.

With much ado, with many a sigh, a panting heart, and many a languishing look back towards happy _Bellfont_, I have recovered _Dorillus_ his farm, where I threw me on a bed, and lay without motion, and almost without life for two hours; till at last, through all my sighs, my great concern, my torment, my love and rage broke silence, and burst into all the different complaints both soft and mad by turns, that ever possessed a soul extravagantly seized with frantic love; ah, _Sylvia_, what did not I say? How did I not curse, and who except my charming maid? For yet my _Sylvia_ is a maid: yes, yes, ye envying powers, she is, and yet the sacred and inestimable treasure was offered a trembling victim to the overjoyed and fancied deity, for then and there I thought myself happier than a triumphing god; but having overcome all difficulties, all the fatigues and toils of love’s long sieges, vanquish’d the mighty phantom of the fair, the giant honour, and routed all the numerous host of women’s little reasonings, passed all the bounds of peevish modesty; nay, even all the loose and silken counterscarps that fenced the sacred fort, and nothing stopped my glorious pursuit: then, then, ye gods, just then, by an over-transport, to fall just fainting before the surrendering gates, unable to receive the yielding treasure! Oh _Sylvia_! What _demon_, malicious at my glory, seized my vigour? What god, envious of my mighty joy, rendered me a shameful object of his raillery? Snatched my (till then) never failing power, and left me dying on thy charming bosom. Heavens, how I lay! Silent with wonder, rage and ecstasy of love, unable to complain, or rail, or storm, or seek for ease, but with my sighs alone, which made up all my breath; my mad desires remained, but all inactive, as age or death itself, as cold and feeble, as unfit for joy, as if my youthful fire had long been past, or _Sylvia_ had never been blest with charms. Tell me, thou wondrous perfect creature, tell me, where lay the hidden witchcraft? Was _Sylvia_’. beauty too divine to mix with mortal joys? Ah no, ‘twas ravishing, but human all. Yet sure ‘twas so approaching to divinity, as changed my fire to awful adoration, and all my wanton heat to reverent contemplation.--But this is nonsense all, it was something more that gave me rage, despair and torments insupportable: no, it was no dull devotion, tame divinity, but mortal killing agony, unlucky disappointment, unnatural impotence. Oh! I am lost, enchanted by some magic spell: oh, what can _Sylvia_ say? What can she think of my fond passion; she’ll swear it is all a cheat, I had it not. No, it could not be; such tales I’ve often heard, as often laughed at too, of disappointed lovers; would _Sylvia_ believe (as sure she may) mine was excess of passion: what! My _Sylvia_! being arrived to all the joy of love, just come to reap the glorious recompense, the full reward, the heaven for all my sufferings, do I lie gazing only, and no more? A dull, a feeble unconcerned admirer! Oh my eternal shame!--Curse on my youth; give me, ye powers, old age, for that has some excuse, but youth has none: ‘tis dullness, stupid insensibility: where shall I hide my head when this lewd story’s told? When it shall be confirmed, _Philander_ the young, the brisk and gay _Philander_, who never failed the woman he scarce wished for, never baulked the amorous conceited old, nor the ill-favoured young, yet when he had extended in his arms the young, the charming fair and longing _Sylvia_, the untouched, unspotted, and till then, unwishing lovely maid, yielded, defenceless, and unguarded all, he wanted power to seize the trembling prey: defend me, heaven, from madness. Oh _Sylvia_, I have reflected on all the little circumstances that might occasion this disaster, and damn me to this degree of coldness, but I can fix on none: I had, it is true, for _Sylvia_’. sake, some apprehensions of fear of being surprised; for coming through the garden, I saw at the farther end a man, at least I fancied by that light it was a man; who perceiving the glimpse of something approach from the grove, made softly towards me, but with such caution, as if he feared to be mistaken in the person, as much as I was to approach him: and reminding what _Melinda_ told me, of an assignation she had made to _Monsieur_ the Count--imagined it him; nor was I mistaken when I heard his voice calling in low tone--’_Melinda_’--at which I mended my pace, and ere he got half way the garden recovered the door, and softly unlocking it, got in unperceived, and fastened it after me, well enough assured that he saw not which way I vanished: however, it failed not to alarm me with some fears on your dear account, that disturbed my repose, and which I thought then not necessary to impart to you, and which indeed all vanished at the sight of my adorable maid: when entering thy apartment, I beheld thee extended on a bed of roses, in garments, which, if possible, by their wanton loose negligence and gaiety, augmented thy natural charms: I trembling fell on my knees by your bed-side and gazed a while, unable to speak for transports of joy and love: you too were silent, and remained so, so long that I ventured to press your lips with mine, which all their eager kisses could not put in motion, so that I feared you fainted; a sudden fright, that in a moment changed my fever of love into a cold ague fit; but you revived me with a sigh again, and fired me anew, by pressing my hand, and from that silent soft encouragement, I, by degrees, ravished a thousand blisses; yet still between your tempting charming kisses, you would cry--’Oh, my _Philander_, do not injure me,--be sure you press me not to the last joys of love,--Oh have a care, or I am undone for ever: restrain your roving hands,----Oh whither would they wander?----My soul, my joy, my everlasting charmer, oh whither would you go?’--Thus with a thousand cautions more, which did but raise what you designed to calm, you made me but the madder to possess: not all the vows you bid me call to mind, could now restrain my wild and headstrong passion; my raving, raging (but my soft) desire: no, _Sylvia_, no, it was not in the power of feeble flesh and blood to find resistance against so many charms; yet still you made me swear, still I protested, but still burnt on with the same torturing flame, till the vast pleasure even became a pain: to add to this, I saw, (yes, _Sylvia_, not all your art and modesty could hide it) I saw the ravishing maid as much inflamed as I; she burnt with equal fire, with equal languishment: not all her care could keep the sparks concealed, but it broke out in every word and look; her trembling tongue, her feeble fainting voice betrayed it all; sighs interrupting every syllable; a languishment I never saw till then dwelt in her charming eyes, that contradicted all her little vows; her short and double breathings heaved her breast, her swelling snowy breast, her hands that grasped me trembling as they closed, while she permitted mine unknown, unheeded to traverse all her beauties, till quite forgetting all I had faintly promised, and wholly abandoning my soul to joy, I rushed upon her, who, all fainting, lay beneath my useless weight, for on a sudden all my power was fled, swifter than lightning hurried through my enfeebled veins, and vanished all: not the dear lovely beauty which I pressed, the dying charms of that fair face and eyes, the clasps of those soft arms, nor the bewitching accent of her voice, that murmured love half smothered in her sighs, nor all my love, my vast, my mighty passion, could call my fugitive vigour back again: oh no, the more I looked--the more I touched and saw, the more I was undone. Oh pity me, my too I too lovely maid, do not revile the faults which you alone create. Consider all your charms at once exposed, consider every sense about me ravished, overcome with joys too mighty to be supported, no wonder if I fell a shameful sacrifice to the fond deity: consider how I waited, how I strove, and still I burnt on, and every tender touch still added fuel to the vigorous fire, which by your delay consumed itself in burning. I want philosophy to make this out, or faith to fix my unhappiness on any chance or natural accident; but this, my charming _Sylvia_, I am sure, that had I loved you less, I’d been less wretched: nor had we parted, _Sylvia_, on so ill terms, nor had I left you with an opinion so disadvantageous for _Philander_, but for that unhappy noise at your chamber-door, which alarming your fear, occasioned your recovery from that dear trance, to which love and soft desire had reduced you, and me from the most tormenting silent agony that disappointed joy ever possessed a fond expecting heart with. Oh heavens! to have my _Sylvia_ in my power, favoured by silence, night and safe retreat! then, then, to lie a tame cold sigher only, as if my _Sylvia_ gave that assignation alone by stealth, undressed, all loose and languishing, fit for the mighty business of the night, only to hear me prattle, see me gaze, or tell her what a pretty sight it was to see the moon shine through the dancing boughs. Oh damn my hardened dullness!--But no more,--I am all fire and madness at the thought,--but I was saying, _Sylvia_, we both recovered then when the noise alarmed us. I long to know whether you think we were betrayed, for on that knowledge rests a mighty part of my destiny: I hope we are not, by an accident that befell me at my going away, which (but for my untimely force of leaving my lovely _Sylvia_, which gave me pains insupportable) would have given me great diversion. You know our fear of being discovered occasioned my disguise, for you found it necessary I should depart, your fear had so prevailed, and that in _Melinda_’. night-gown and head-dress: thus attired, with much ado, I went and left my soul behind me, and finding no body all along the gallery, nor in my passage from your apartment into the garden, I was a thousand times about to return to all my joys; when in the midst of this almost ended dispute, I saw by the light of the moon (which was by good fortune under a cloud, and could not distinctly direct the sight) a man making towards me with cautious speed, which made me advance with the more haste to recover the grove, believing to have escaped him under the covert of the trees; for retreat I could not, without betraying which way I went; but just at the entrance of the thicket, he turning short made up to me, and I perceived it _Monsieur_ the Count, who taking me for _Melinda_, whom it seems he expected, caught hold of my gown as I would have passed him, and cried, ‘Now _Melinda_, I see you are a maid of honour,--come, retire with me into the grove, where I have a present of a heart and something else to make you, that will be of more advantage to you than that of _Alexis_, though something younger.’--I all confounded knew not what to reply, nor how, lest he should find his mistake, at least, if he discovered not who I was: which silence gave him occasion to go on, which he did in this manner: ‘What not a word, _Melinda_, or do you design I shall take your silence for consent? If so, come my pretty creature, let us not lose the hour love has given us;’ at this he would have advanced, leading me by the hand, which he pressed and kissed very amorously: judge, my adorable _Sylvia_, in what a fine condition your _Philander_ then was in. What should I do? To go had disappointed him worse than I was with thee before; not to go, betrayed me: I had much ado to hold my countenance, and unwilling to speak. While I was thus employed in thought, _Monsieur_----pulling me (eager of joys to come,) and I holding back, he stopped and cried, ‘Sure, _Melinda_, you came not hither to bring me a denial.’ I then replied, whispering,--’Softly, sir, for heaven’s sake’ (sweetening my voice as much as possible) ’.onsider I am a maid, and would not be discovered for the world.’ ’.ho can discover us?’ replied my lover, ‘what I take from thee shall never be missed, not by _Alexis_ himself upon thy wedding night;--Come--sweet child, come:--’--’With that I pulled back and whispered--’Heavens! Would you make a mistress of me?’--Says he--’A mistress, what would’st thou be a cherubin?’ Then I replied as before--’I am no whore, sir,’--’No,’ cries he, ‘but I can quickly make thee one, I have my tools about me, sweet-heart; therefore let us lose no time, but fall to work:’ this last raillery from the brisk old gentleman, had in spite of resolution almost made me burst out into a loud laughter, when he took more gravity upon him, and cried--’Come, come, _Melinda_, why all this foolish argument at this hour in this place, and after so much serious courtship; believe me, I’ll be kind to thee for ever;’ with that he clapped fifty guineas in a purse into one hand, and something else that shall be nameless into the other, presents that had been both worth _Melinda_’. acceptance: all this while was I studying an evasion; at last, to shorten my pleasant adventure, looking round, I cried softly, ‘Are you sure, sir, we are safe--for heaven’s sake step towards the garden door and see, for I would not be discovered for the world.’--’Nor I,’ cried he--’but do not fear, all is safe:’--’However see’ (whispered I) ‘that my fear may not disturb your joys.’ With that he went toward the house, and I slipping into the grove, got immediately into the meadow, where _Alexis_ waited my coming with _Brilliard_; so I, left the expecting lover, I suppose, ranging the grove for his fled nymph, and I doubt will fall heavy on poor _Melinda_, who shall have the guineas, either to restore or keep, as she and the angry Count can agree: I leave the management of it to her wit and conduct.

This account I thought necessary to give my charmer, that she might prepare _Melinda_ for the assault, who understanding all that passed between us, may so dispose of matters, that no discovery may happen by mistake, and I know my _Sylvia_ and she can find a thousand excuses for the supposed _Melinda_’. flight. But, my adorable maid, my business here was not to give an account of my adventure only, nor of my ravings, but to tell my _Sylvia_, on what my life depends; which is, in a permission to wait on her again this ensuing night; make no excuse, for if you do, by all I adore in heaven and earth I’ll end my life here where I received it. I will say no more, nor give your love instructions, but wait impatiently here the life or death of your PHILANDER.

_’.is six o’clock, and yet my eyes have not closed themselves to sleep:_ Alexis _and_ Brilliard _give me hopes of a kind return to this, and have brought their flute and violin to charm me into a slumber: if_ Sylvia _love, as I am sure she does, she will wake me with a dear consent to see me; if not, I only wake to sleep for ever_.

* * * * *

_To My Fair_ CHARMER.

When I had sealed the enclosed, my page, whom I had ordered to come to me with an account of any business extraordinary, is this morning arrived with a letter from _Cesario_, which I have sent here enclosed, that my _Sylvia_ may see how little I regard the world, or the mighty revolution in hand, when set in competition with the least hope of beholding her adorable face, or hearing her charming tongue when it whispers the soft dictates of her tender heart into my ravished soul; one moment’s joy like that surmounts an age of dull empire. No, let the busy unregarded rout perish, the cause fall or stand alone for me: give me but love, love and my _Sylvia_; I ask no more of heaven; to which vast joy could you but imagine (O wondrous miracle of beauty!) how poor and little I esteem the valued trifles of the world, you would in return contemn your part of it, and live with me in silent shades for ever. Oh! _Sylvia_, what hast thou this night to add to the soul of thy

PHILANDER.

* * * * *

_To_ the Count of----

I’ll allow you, my dear, to be very fond of so much beauty as the world must own adorns the lovely _Sylvia_: I’ll permit love too to rival me in your heart, but not out-rival glory; haste then, my dear, to the advance of that, make no delay, but with the morning’s dawn let me find you in my arms, where I have something that will surprise you to relate to you: you were last night expected at----It behoves you to give no umbrage to persons whose interest renders them enough jealous. We have two new advancers come in of youth and money, teach them not negligence; be careful, and let nothing hinder you from taking horse immediately, as you value the repose and fortune of,

_My dear_, _Your_ CESARIO.

_I called last night on you, and your page following me to my coach, whispered me--if I had any earnest business with you, he knew where to find you; I soon imagined where, and bid him call within an hour for this, and post with it immediately, though dark._

* * * * *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Ah! What have I done, _Philander_, and where shall I hide my guilty blushing face? Thou hast undone my eternal quiet: oh, thou hast ruin’d my everlasting repose, and I must never, never look abroad again: curse on my face that first debauched my virtue, and taught thee how to love; curse on my tempting youth, my shape, my air, my eyes, my voice, my hands, and every charm that did contribute to my fatal love, a lasting curse on all--but those of the adorable _Philander_, and those----even in this raging minute, my furious passion dares not approach with an indecent thought: no, they are sacred all, madness itself would spare them, and shouldst thou now behold me as I sit, my hair dishevelled, ruffled and disordered, my eyes bedewing every word I write, when for each letter I let fall a tear; then (pressed with thought) starting, I dropped my pen, and fell to rave anew, and tear those garments whose loose negligence helped to betray me to my shameful ruin, wounding my breast, but want the resolution to wound it as I ought; which when I but propose, love stays the thought, raging and wild as it is, the conqueror checks it, with whispering only _Philander_ to my soul; the dear name calms me to an easiness, gives me the pen into my trembling hand, and I pursue my silent soft complaint: oh! shouldst thou see me thus, in all these sudden different changes of passion, thou wouldst say, _Philander_, I were mad indeed, madness itself can find no stranger motions: and I would calmly ask thee, for I am calm again, how comes it, my adorable _Philander_, that thou canst possess a maid with so much madness? Who art thyself a miracle of softness, all sweet and all serene, the most of angel in thy composition that ever mingled with humanity; the very words fall so gently from thy tongue,--are uttered with a voice so ravishingly soft, a tone so tender and so full of love, it would charm even frenzy, calm rude distraction, and wildness would become a silent listener; there’s such a sweet serenity in thy face, such innocence and softness in thy eyes, should desert savages but gaze on thee, sure they would forget their native forest wildness, and be inspired with easy gentleness: most certainly this god-like power thou hast. Why then? Oh tell me in the agony of my soul, why must those charms that bring tranquillity and peace to all, make me alone a wild, unseemly raver? Why has it contrary effects on me? Oh! all I act and say is perfect madness: yet this is the least unaccountable part of my most wretched story;--oh! I must never behold thy lovely face again, for if I should, sure I should blush my soul away; no, no, I must not, nor ever more believe thy dear deluding vows; never thy charming perjured oaths, after a violation like to this. Oh heaven, what have I done? Yet by heaven I swear, I dare not ask my soul, lest it inform me how I was to blame, unless that fatal minute would instruct me how to revenge my wrongs upon my heart,----my fond betraying heart, despair and madness seize me, darkness and horror hide me from human sight, after an easiness like this;----what to yield,--to yield my honour? Betray the secrets of my virgin wishes?--My new desires, my unknown shameful flame.--Hell and Death! Where got I so much confidence? Where learned I the hardened and unblushing folly? To wish was such a fault, as is a crime unpardonable to own; to shew desire is such a sin in virtue as must deserve reproach from all the world; but I, unlucky I, have not only betrayed all these, but with a transport void of sense and shame, I yield to thy arms----I’ll not endure the thought----by heaven! I cannot; there is something more than rage that animates that thought: some magic spell, that in the midst of all my sense of shame keeps me from true repentance; this angers me, and makes me know my honour but a phantom: now I could curse again my youth and love; but oh! When I have done, alas, _Philander_, I find myself as guilty as before; I cannot make one firm resolve against thee, or if I do, when I consider thee, they weigh not all one lovely hair of thine. It is all in vain, the charming cause remains, _Philander’s_ still as lovely as before; it is him I must remove from my fond eyes and heart, him I must banish from my touch, my smell, and every other sense; by heaven I cannot bear the mighty pressure, I cannot see his eyes, and touch his hands, smell the perfume every pore of his breathes forth, taste thy soft kisses, hear thy charming voice, but I am all on a flame: no, it is these I must exclaim on, not my youth, it is they debauch my soul, no natural propensity in me to yield, or to admit of such destructive fires. Fain I would put it off, but it will not do, I am the aggressor still; else why is not every living maid undone that does but touch or see thee? Tell me why? No, the fault is in me, and thou art innocent.--Were but my soul less delicate, were it less sensible of what it loves and likes in thee, I yet were dully happy; but oh, there is a nicety there so charmed, so apprehensive of thy beauties, as has betrayed me to unrest for ever:----yet something I will do to tame this lewd betrayer of my right, and it shall plead no more in thy behalf; no more, no more disperse the joys which it conceives through every vein (cold and insensible by nature) to kindle new desires there.--No more shall fill me with unknown curiosity; no, I will in spite of all the perfumes that dwell about thee, in spite of all the arts thou hast of looking, of speaking, and of touching, I will, I say, assume my native temper, I will be calm, be cold and unconcerned, as I have been to all the World,--but to _Philander_.-- The almighty power he has is unaccountable:--by yonder breaking day that opens in the east, opens to see my shame--I swear--by that great ruler of the day, the sun, by that Almighty Power that rules them both, I swear--I swear, _Philander_, charming lovely youth! Thou art the first e’er kindled soft desires about my soul, thou art the first that ever did inform me that there was such a sort of wish about me. I thought the vanity of being beloved made up the greatest part of the satisfaction; it was joy to see my lovers sigh about me, adore and praise me, and increase my pride by every look, by every word and action; and him I fancied best I favoured most, and he past for the happy fortune; him I have suffered too to kiss and press me, to tell me all his tale of love, and sigh, which I would listen to with pride and pleasure, permitted it, and smiled him kind returns; nay, by my life, then thought I loved him too, thought I could have been content to have passed my life at this gay rate, with this fond hoping lover, and thought no farther than of being great, having rich coaches, shewing equipage, to pass my hours in dressing, in going to the operas and the tower, make visits where I list, be seen at balls; and having still the vanity to think the men would gaze and languish where I came, and all the women envy me; I thought no farther on--but thou, _Philander_, hast made me take new measures, I now can think of nothing but of thee, I loathe the sound of love from any other voice, and conversation makes my soul impatient, and does not only dull me into melancholy, but perplexes me out of all humour, out of all patient sufferance, and I am never so well pleased when from _Philander_, as when I am retired, and curse my character and figure in the world, because it permits me not to prevent being visited; one thought of thee is worth the world’s enjoyment, I hate to dress, I hate to be agreeable to any eyes but thine; I hate the noise of equipage and crowds, and would be more content to live with thee in some lone shaded cottage, than be a queen, and hindered by that grandeur one moment’s conversation with _Philander_: may’st thou despise and loathe me, a curse the greatest that I can invent, if this be any thing but real honest truth. No, no, _Philander_, I find I never lov’d till now, I understood it not, nor knew what those sighs and pressings meant which others gave me; yet every speaking glance thy eyes put on, inform my soul what it is they plead and languish for: if you but touch my hand, my breath grows faint and short, my blood glows in my face, and runs with an unusual warmth through every vein, and tells my heart what it is _Philander_ ails, when he falls sighing on my bosom; oh then, I fear, I answer every look, and every sigh and touch, in the same silent but intelligible language, and understood, I fear, too well by thee: till now I never feared love as a criminal. Oh tell me not, mistaken foolish maids, true love is innocent, ye cold, ye dull, ye unconsidering lovers; though I have often heard it from the grave and wise, and preached myself that doctrine: I now renounce it all, it is false, by heaven! it is false, for now I love, and know it all a fiction; yes, and love so, as never any woman can equal me in love, my soul being all composed (as I have often said) of softer materials. Nor is it fancy sets my rates on beauty, there is an intrinsic value in thy charms, who surely none but I am able to understand, and to those that view thee not with my judging eyes, ugliness fancied would appear the same, and please as well. If all could love or judge like me, why does _Philander_ pass so unregarded by a thousand women, who never sighed for him? What makes _Myrtilla_, who possesses all, looks on thee, feels thy kisses, hears thee speak, and yet wants sense to know how blessed she is, it is want of judgement all; and how, and how can she that judges ill, love well?

Granting my passion equal to its object, you must allow it infinite, and more in me than any other woman, by how much more my soul is composed of tenderness; and yet I say I own, for I may own it, now heaven and you are witness of my shame, I own with all this love, with all this passion, so vast, so true, and so unchangeable, that I have wishes, new, unwonted wishes, at every thought of thee I find a strange disorder in my blood, that pants and burns in every vein, and makes me blush, and sigh, and grow impatient, ashamed and angry; but when I know it the effects of love, I am reconciled, and wish and sigh anew; for when I sit and gaze upon thy eyes, thy languishing, thy lovely dying eyes, play with thy soft white hand, and lay my glowing cheeks to thine----Oh God! What language can express my transport! All that is tender, all that is soft desire, seizes every trembling limb, and it is with pain concealed.--Yes, yes, _Philander_, it is the fatal truth, since thou hast found it, I confess it too, and yet I love thee dearly; long, long it was that I essayed to hide the guilty flame, if love be guilt; for I confess I did dissemble a coldness which I was not mistress of: there lies a woman’s art, there all her boasted virtue, it is but well dissembling, and no more--but mine, alas, is gone, for ever fled; this, this feeble guard that should secure my honour, thou hast betrayed, and left it quite defenceless. Ah, what’s a woman’s honour when it is so poorly guarded! No wonder that you conquer with such ease, when we are only safe by the mean arts of base dissimulation, an ill as shameful as that to which we fall. Oh silly refuge! What foolish nonsense fond custom can persuade: Yet so it is; and she that breaks her laws, loses her fame, her honour and esteem. Oh heavens! How quickly lost it is! Give me, ye powers, my fame, and let me be a fool; let me retain my virtue and my honour, and be a dull insensible--But, oh! Where is it? I have lost it all; it is irrecoverably lost: yes, yes, ye charming perjured man, it is gone, and thou hast quite undone me.--

What though I lay extended on my bed, undressed, unapprehensive of my fate, my bosom loose and easy of access, my garments ready, thin and wantonly put on, as if they would with little force submit to the fond straying hand: what then, _Philander_, must you take the advantage? Must you be perjured because I was tempting? It is true, I let you in by stealth by night, whose silent darkness favoured your treachery; but oh, _Philander_, were not your vows as binding by a glimmering taper, as if the sun with all his awful light had been a looker on? I urged your vows as you pressed on,--but oh, I fear it was in such a way, so faintly and so feebly I upbraided you, as did but more advance your perjuries. Your strength increas’d, but mine alas declin’d;’.ill I quite fainted in your arms, left you triumphant lord of all: no more my faint denials do persuade, no more my trembling hands resist your force, unregarded lay the treasure which you toil’d for, betrayed and yielded to the lovely conqueror--but oh tormenting,----when you saw the store, and found the prize no richer, with what contempt, (yes false, dear man) with what contempt you view’d the unvalu’d trophy: what, despised! Was all you call a heaven of joy and beauty exposed to view, and then neglected? Were all your prayers heard, your wishes granted, and your toils rewarded, the trembling victim ready for the sacrifice, and did you want devotion to perform it? And did you thus receive the expected blessing?----Oh--by heaven I’ll never see thee more, and it will be charity to thee, for thou hast no excuse in store that can convince my opinion that I am hated, loathed,--I cannot bear that thought--or if I do, it shall only serve to fortify my fixed resolve never to see thee more.--And yet I long to hear thy false excuse, let it be quickly then; it is my disdain invites thee--to strengthen which, there needs no more than that you let me hear your poor defence.----But it is a tedious time to that slow hour wherein I dare permit thee, but hope not to incline my soul to love: no, I am yet safe if I can stop but here, but here be wise, resolve and be myself.

SYLVIA.

* * * * *

_To_ PHILANDER.

As my page was coming with the enclosed, he met _Alexis_ at the gate with yours, and who would not depart without an answer to it;--to go or stay is the question. Ah, Philander! Why do you press a heart too ready to yield to love and you! Alas, I fear you guess too well my answer, and your own soul might save me the blushing trouble of a reply. I am plunged in, past hope of a retreat; and since my fate has pointed me out for ruin, I cannot fall more gloriously. Take then, _Philander_, to your dear arms, a maid that can no longer resist, who is disarmed of all defensive power: she yields, she yields, and does confess it too; and sure she must be more than mortal, that can hold out against thy charms and vows. Since I must be undone, and give all away; I’ll do it generously, and scorn all mean reserves: I will be brave in love, and lavish all; nor shall _Philander_ think I love him well, unless I do. Take, charming victor, then, what your own merits, and what love has given you; take, take, at last, the dear reward of all your sighs and tears, your vows and sufferings. But since, _Philander_, it is an age to night, and till the approach of those dear silent hours, thou knowest I dare not give thee admittance; I do conjure thee, go to _Cesario_, whom I find too pressing, not to believe the concerns great; and so jealous I am of thy dear safety, that every thing alarms my fears: oh! satisfy them then and go, it is early yet, and if you take horse immediately, you will be there by eight this morning; go, I conjure you; for though it is an unspeakable satisfaction to know you are so near me, yet I prefer your safety and honour to all considerations else. You may soon dispatch your affair, and render yourself time enough on the place appointed, which is where you last night waited, and it will be at least eight at night before it is possible to bring you to my arms. Come in your chariot, and do not heat yourself with riding; have a care of me and my life, in the preservation of all I love. Be sure you go, and do not, my _Philander_, out of a punctilio of love, neglect your dear safety----go then, _Philander_, and all the gods of love preserve and attend thee on thy way, and bring thee safely back to

SYLVIA.

* * * * *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Oh thou most charming of thy sex! Thou lovely dear delight of my transported soul! thou everlasting treasure of my heart! What hast thou done? Given me an over-joy, that fails but very little of performing what grief’s excess had almost finished before: eternal blessings on thee, for a goodness so divine, oh, thou most excellent, and dearest of thy sex! I know not what to do, or what to say. I am not what I was, I do not speak, nor walk, nor think as I was wont to do; sure the excess of joy is far above dull sense, or formal thinking, it cannot stay for ceremonious method. I rave with pleasure, rage with the dear thought of coming ecstasy. Oh _Sylvia_, _Sylvia_, _Sylvia_! My soul, my vital blood, and without which I could as well subsist--oh, my adorable, my _Sylvia_! Methinks I press thee, kiss thee, hear thee sigh, behold thy eyes, and all the wondrous beauty of thy face; a solemn joy has spread itself through every vein, sensibly through every artery of my heart, and I can think of nothing but of _Sylvia_, the lovely _Sylvia_, the blooming flowing _Sylvia_! And shall I see thee? Shall I touch thy hands, and press thy dear, thy charming body in my arms, and taste a thousand joys, a thousand ravishments? Oh God! shall I? Oh _Sylvia_, say; but thou hast said enough to make me mad, and I, forgetful of thy safety and my own, shall bring thy wild adoring slave to _Bellfont_, and throw him at thy feet, to pay his humble gratitude for this great condescension, this vast bounty.

Ah, _Sylvia_! How shall I live till night? And you impose too cruelly upon me, in conjuring me to go to _Cesario_; alas! Does _Sylvia_ know to what she exposes her _Philander_? Whose joy is so transporting, great, that when he comes into the grave cabal, he must betray the story of his heart, and, in lieu of the mighty business there in hand, be raving still on _Sylvia_, telling his joy to all the amazed listeners, and answering questions that concern our great affair, with something of my love; all which will pass for madness, and undo me: no, give me leave to rave in silence, and unseen among the trees, they’ll humour my disease, answer my murmuring joy, and echoes flatter it, repeat thy name, repeat that _Sylvia_’. mine! and never hurt her fame; while the cabals, business and noisy town will add confusion to my present transport, and make me mad indeed: no, let me alone, thou sacred lovely creature, let me be calm and quiet here, and tell all the insensibles I meet in the woods what _Sylvia_ has this happy minute destined me: oh, let me record it on every bark, on every oak and beech, that all the world may wonder at my fortune, and bless the generous maid; let it grow up to ages that shall come, that they may know the story of our loves, and how a happy youth, they called _Philander_, was once so blest by heaven as to possess the charming, the adored and loved by all, the glorious _Sylvia_! a maid, the most divine that ever graced a story; and when the nymphs would look for an example of love and constancy, let them point out _Philander_ to their doubted swains, and cry, ‘Ah! love but as the young _Philander_ did, and then be fortunate, and then reap all your wishes:’ and when the shepherd would upbraid his nymph, let him but cry,--’See here what _Sylvia_ did to save the young _Philander_;’ but oh! There never will be such another nymph as _Sylvia_; heaven formed but one to shew the world what angels are, and she was formed for me, yes she was--in whom I would not quit my glorious interest to reign a monarch here, or any boasted gilded thing above! Take all, take all, ye gods, and give me but this happy coming night! Oh, _Sylvia, Sylvia_! By all thy promised joys I am undone if any accident should ravish this night from me: this night! No not for a lease of years to all eternity would I throw thee away: oh! I am all flame, all joyful fire and softness; methinks it is heaven where-ever I look round me, air where I tread, and ravishing music when I speak, because it is all of _Sylvia_----let me alone, oh let me cool a little, or I shall by an excess of joyful thought lose all my hoped for bliss. Remove a little from me; go, my _Sylvia_, you are so excessive sweet, so wondrous dazzling, you press my senses even to pain--away--let me take air--let me recover breath: oh let me lay me down beneath some cooling shade, near some refreshing crystal murmuring spring, and fan the gentle air about me. I suffocate, I faint with this close loving, I must allay my joy or be undone--I will read thy cruel letters, or I will think of some sad melancholy hour wherein thou hast dismissed me despairing from thy presence: or while you press me now to be gone with so much earnestness, you have some lover to receive and entertain; perhaps it is only for the vanity to hear him tell his nauseous passion to you, breathe on your lovely face, and daub your garments with his fulsome embrace; but oh, by heaven, I cannot think that thought! And thou hast sworn thou canst not suffer it--if I should find thee false--but it is impossible.--Oh! Should I find _Foscario_ visit thee, him whom thy parents favour, I should undo you all, by heaven I should--but thou hast sworn, what need _Philander_ more? Yes, _Sylvia_, thou hast sworn and called heaven’s vengeance down whenever thou gavest a look, or a dear smile in love to that pretending fop: yet from his mighty fortune there is danger in him--What makes that thought torment me now?--Be gone, for _Sylvia_ loves me, and will preserve my life----

I am not able, my adorable charmer, to obey your commands in going from the sight of happy _Bellfont_; no, let the great wheel of the vast design roll on----or for ever stand still, for I will not aid its motion to leave the mightier business of my love unfinished; no, let fortune and the duller fools toil on----for I’ll not bate a minute of my joys with thee to save the world, much less so poor a parcel of it; and sure there is more solid pleasure even in these expecting hours I wait to snatch my bliss, than to be lord of all the universe without it: then let me wait, my _Sylvia_, in those melancholy shades that part _Bellfont_ from _Dorillus_’. farm; perhaps my _Sylvia_ may walk that way so unattended, that we might meet and lose ourselves for a few moments in those intricate retreats: ah _Sylvia_! I am dying with that thought----oh heavens! What cruel destiny is mine? Whose fatal circumstances do not permit me to own my passion, and lay claim to _Sylvia_, to take her without control to shades and palaces, to live for ever with her, to gaze for ever on her, to eat, to loll, to rise, to play, to sleep, to act over all the pleasures and the joys of life with her--but it is in vain I rave, in vain employ myself in the fool’s barren business, wishing--this thought has made me sad as death: oh, _Sylvia_! I can never be truly happy--adieu, employ thyself in writing to me, and remember my life bears date but only with thy faith and love.

PHILANDER.

_Try, my adorable, what you can do to meet me in the wood this afternoon, for there I will live to-day._

* * * * *

_To_ PHILANDER.

Obstinate _Philander_, I conjure you by all your vows, by all your sacred love, by those dear hours this happy night designed in favour of you, to go without delay to _Cesario_; ‘twill be unsafe to disobey a prince in his jealous circumstances. The fatigue of the journey cannot be great, and you well know the torment of my fears! Oh! I shall never be happy, or think you safe, till you have quitted this fatal interest: go, my _Philander_----and remember whatever toils you take will be rewarded at night in the arms of

SYLVIA.

* * * * *

_To_ SYLVIA.

Whatever toils you take shall be rewarded in the arms of _Sylvia_----by heaven, I am inspired to act wonders: yes, _Sylvia_, yes, my adorable maid, I am gone, I fly as swift as lightning, or the soft darts of love shot from thy charming eyes, and I can hardly stay to say----adieu----

* * * * *

_To_ the Lady----

_Dear Child_,

Long foreseeing the misery whereto you must arrive, by this fatal correspondence with my unhappy lord, I have often, with tears and prayers, implored you to decline so dangerous a passion: I have never yet acquainted our parents with your misfortunes, but I fear I must at last make use of their authority for the prevention of your ruin. It is not my dearest child, that part of this unhappy story that relates to me, that grieves me, but purely that of thine.