Chapter XVII: Book II: {121} (8)

“But when she saw my tears, ‘O God,’ said she, ‘how largely am I recompensed for my losses? why then,’ said she, ‘I may take boldness to make some requests unto you.’ I besought her to do, vowing the performance, though my life were the price thereof. She showed great joy. ‘The first,’ said she, ‘is this, that you will pardon my father the displeasure you have justly received against him, and for this once succour him out of the danger wherein he is: I hope he will amend: and I pray you, whensoever you remember him to be the faulty Plexirtus, remember withal that he is Zelmane’s father. The second is, that when you come once into Greece, you will take unto yourself this name, though unlucky, of Daiphantus, and vouchsafe to be called by it: for so shall I be sure you shall have cause to remember me, and let it please your noble cousin to be called Palladius, that I may do that right to that poor prince, that his name yet may live upon the earth in so excellent a person: and so between you, I trust sometimes your unlucky page shall be, perhaps with a sigh, mentioned; lastly, let me be buried here obscurely, not suffering my friends to know my fortune (till, when you are safely returned to your own country) you cause my bones to be conveyed thither, and, laid I beseech you, in some place where yourself vouchsafe sometimes to resort.’ Alas! small petitions for such a suitor; which yet she so earnestly craved that I was fain to swear the accomplishment. And then kissing me, and often desiring me not to condemn her of lightness, in mine arms, she delivered her pure soul to the purest place, leaving me as full of agony as kindness, pity, and sorrow could make an honest heart. For I must confess for true, that if my stars had not only reserved me for you, there else perhaps I might have loved, and, which had been most strange, begun my love after death: whereof let it be the less marvel, because somewhat {245} she did resemble you, though as far short of your perfection as herself dying, was of herself flourishing: yet something there was, which, when I saw a picture of yours, brought again her figure into my remembrance, and made my heart as apt to receive the wound, as the power of your beauty with unresistable force to pierce.

“But we in woeful, and yet private, manner burying her, performed her commandment: and then enquiring of her father’s estate, certainly learned that he was presently to be succoured, or by death to pass the need of succour. Therefore we determined to divide ourselves; I, according to my vow, to help him, and Musidorus toward the king of Pontus, who stood in no less need than immediate succour: and even ready to depart one from the other, there came a messenger from him, who after some enquiry found us, giving us to understand that he, trusting upon us two, had appointed the combat between him and us, against Otanes and the two giants. Now the day was so accorded, as it was impossible for me both to succour Plexirtus, and be there, where my honour was not only so far engaged, but, by the strange working of unjust fortune, I was to leave the standing by Musidorus, whom better than myself I loved, to go save him, whom for just causes, I hated. But my promise given, and given to Zelmane, and to Zelmane dying, prevailed more with me than my friendship to Musidorus, though certainly I may affirm, nothing had so great rule in my thoughts as that. But my promise carried me the easier, because Musidorus himself would not suffer me to break it. And so with heavy minds, more careful each of other’s success than of our own, we parted; I toward the place, where I understood Plexirtus was prisoner to an ancient lord, absolutely governing a goodly castle, with a large territory about it, whereof he acknowledged no other sovereign but himself, whose hate to Plexirtus grew for a kinsman of his whom he maliciously had murdered, because in the time that he reigned in Galatia, he found him apt to practice for the restoring of his virtuous brother Leonatus. This old knight still thirsting for revenge, used as the way to it a policy, which this occasion, I will tell you prepared for him. Plexirtus in his youth had married Zelmane’s mother, who dying of that only childbirth, he a widower and not yet a king, haunted the court of Armenia, where, as he was cunning to win favour, he obtained great good liking of Artaxia; which he pursued: till, being called home by his father, he falsely got his father’s kingdom: and then neglected his former love: till, thrown out of that by our means, before he was deeply rooted in it, and by and by again placed in Trebizond, understanding that Artaxia by her brother’s death was become queen of Armenia, he was hotter {246} than ever in that pursuit, which being understood by this old knight, he forged such a letter, as might be written from Artaxia, entreating his present, but very private, repair thither, giving him faithful promise of present marriage: a thing far from her thought, having faithfully and publicly protested that she would never marry any, but some such prince who would give sure proof that by his means we were destroyed. But he no more witty to frame, than blind to judge hopes, bit hastily at the bait, and in private manner posted toward her, but by the way he was met by this knight, far better accompanied, who quickly laid hold of him, and condemned him to a death, cruel enough, if anything may be both cruel and just. For he caused him to be kept in a miserable prison, till a day appointed, at which time he would deliver him to be devoured by a monstrous beast of most ugly shape, armed like a rhinoceros, as strong as an elephant, as fierce as a lion, as nimble as a leopard, and as cruel as a tiger; whom he having kept in a strong place, from the first youth of it, now thought no fitter match than such a beastly monster with a monstrous tyrant; proclaiming yet withal, that if any so well loved him as to venture their lives against his beast for him, if they overcame, he should be saved: not caring how many they were, such confidence he had in that monstrous strength, but especially hoping to entrap thereby the great courages of Tydeus and Telenor, whom he no less hated, because they had been principal instruments of the other’s power.

“I dare say, if Zelmane had known what danger I should have passed, she would rather have let her father to perish, than me to have bidden that adventure. But my word was past; and truly the hardness of the enterprise was not so much a bit as a spur unto me, knowing well that the journey of high honour lies not in plain ways. Therefore going thither, and taking sufficient security that Plexirtus should be delivered if I were victorious, I undertook the combat: and to make short, excellent lady, and not to trouble your ears with recounting a terrible matter, so was my weakness blessed from above that, without dangerous wounds, I slew that monster, which hundreds durst not attempt; to so great admiration of many, who from a safe place might look on that there was order given, to have the fight both by sculpture and picture, celebrated in most parts of Asia. And the old nobleman so well liked me that he loved me; only bewailing my virtue had been employed to save a worse monster than I killed: whom yet, according to faith given, he delivered, and accompanied me to the kingdom of Pontus, whither I would needs in all speed go, to see whether it were possible for me, if perchance the day had been delayed, to come to the combat: but that, before I came, had been thus finished.

{247}

“The virtuous Leonatus understanding two so good friends of his were to be in that danger, would perforce be one himself; where he did valiantly, and so did the king of Pontus. But the truth is, that both they being sore hurt, the incomparable Musidorus finished the combat by the death of both the giants, and the taking of Otanes prisoner. To whom as he gave his life, so he got a noble friend, for so he gave his word to be, and he is well known to think himself greater in being subject to that, than in the greatness of his principality.

“But thither, understanding of our being there, flocked great multitudes of many great persons, and even of princes, especially those whom we had made beholding unto us: as, the kings of Phrygia, Bithynia, with those two hurt of Pontus and Galatia, and Otanes the prisoner, by Musidorus set free; and thither came Plexirtus of Trebizond, and Antiphilus then king of Lycia; with as many more great princes, drawn either by our reputation, or by willingness to acknowledge themselves obliged unto us for what we had done for the others. So as in those parts of the world, I think, in many hundreds of years there was not seen so royal an assembly, where nothing was let pass to do us the highest honours; which such persons, who might command both purses and inventions, could perform: all from all sides bringing unto us right royal presents, which we, to avoid both unkindness and importunity, liberally received; and not content therewith, would needs accept as from us their crowns, and acknowledge to hold them of us: with many other excessive honours, which would not suffer the measure of this short leisure to describe unto you.

“But we quickly aweary thereof, hasted to Greece-ward, led thither partly with the desire of our parents, but hastened principally because I understood that Anaxius with open mouth of defamation had gone thither to seek me, and was now come to Peloponnesus, where from court to court he made enquiry of me, doing yet himself so noble deeds as might hap to authorize an ill opinion of me. We therefore suffered but short delays, desiring to take this country in our way, so renowned over the world that no prince could pretend height, nor beggar lowness, to bar him from the sound thereof: renowned indeed, not so much for the ancient praises attributed thereunto, as for the having in it Argalus and Amphialus, two knights of such rare prowess, as we desired especially to know, and yet by far, not so much for that, as without suffering of comparison for the beauty of you and your sister, which makes all indifferent judges that speak thereof, account this country as a temple of deities. But those causes indeed moving us to come by this land, we embarked ourselves in the next port, whither all those princes (saving Antiphilus, who {248} returned, as he pretended, not able to tarry longer from Erona) conveyed us. And there found we a ship most royally furnished by Plexirtus, who had made all things so proper, as well for our defence, as ease, that all the other princes greatly commended him for it, who seeming a quite altered man, had nothing but repentance in his eyes, friendship in his gesture, and virtue in his mouth: so that we, who had promised the sweet Zelmane to pardon him, now not only forgave, but began to favour, persuading ourselves with a youthful credulity that perchance things were not so evil as we took them, and as it were, desiring our own memory that it might be so. But so were we licensed from those princes, truly not without tears, especially of the virtuous Leonatus, who with the king of Pontus would have come with us, but that we, in respect of the one’s young wife, and both their new settled kingdoms, would not suffer it. Then would they have sent whole fleets to guard us; but we that desired to pass secretly into Greece, made them leave that motion when they found that more ships than one would be displeasing unto us. But so committing ourselves unto the uncertain discretion of the wind, we (then determining as soon as we came to Greece to take the names of Daiphantus and Palladius, as well for our own promises to Zelmane, as because we desired to come unknown into Greece) left the Asian shore full of princely persons, who even upon their knees recommended our safeties to the devotion of their chief desires, among whom none had been so officious, though I dare affirm, all quite contrary to his unfaithfulness, as Plexirtus.

“And so having failed almost two days, looking for nothing, but when we might look upon the land, a grave man, whom we had seen of great trust with Plexirtus, and was sent as our principal guide, came unto us, and with a certain kind manner mixed with shame, and repentance, began to tell us that he had taken such a love unto us, considering our youth and fame, that though he were a servant, and a servant of such trust about Plexirtus, as that he had committed unto him even those secrets of his heart, which abhorred all other knowledge, yet he rather chose to reveal at this time a most pernicious counsel, than by concealing it bring to ruin those whom he could not choose but honour. So went he on, and told us, that Plexirtus (in hope thereby to have Artaxia, endowed with the great kingdom of Armenia, to his wife) had given him order, when we were near Greece, to find some opportunity to murder us, bidding him to take us asleep, because he had seen what we could do waking. ‘Now, Sirs,’ said he, ‘I would rather a thousand times lose my life than have my remembrance, while I live, poisoned with such a mischief: and therefore if it were only I, that knew herein the king’s order, then should my disobedience {249} be a warrant of your safety. But to one more,’ said he, ‘namely the captain of the ship, Plexirtus hath opened so much touching the effect of murdering you, though I think laying the cause rather upon an old grudge, than his hope of Artaxia. And myself, before the consideration of your excellencies had drawn love and pity into my mind, imparted it to such, as I thought fittest for such a mischief: therefore I wish you to stand upon your guard, assuring you that what I can do for your safety, you shall see, if it come to the push, by me performed.’ We thanked him, as the matter indeed deserved, and from that time would no more disarm ourselves, nor the one sleep without his friend’s eyes waked for him; so that it delayed the going forward of their bad enterprise, while they thought it rather chance, than providence, which made us so behave ourselves.

“But when we came within half a day’s sailing of the shore, so that they saw it was speedily, or not at all to be done; then, and I remember it was about the first watch in the night, came the captain and whispered the counsellor in the ear: but he, as it would seem, dissuaded him from it: the captain, who had been a pirate from his youth, and often blooded in it, with a loud voice swore that if Plexirtus bade him, he would not stick to kill God himself. And therewith called his mates, and in the King’s name willed them to take us alive or dead, encouraging them with the spoil of us, which he said, and indeed was true, would yield many exceeding rich jewels. But the counsellor, according to his promise, commanded them they should not commit such a villainy, protesting that he would stand between them and the king’s anger therein. Wherewith the captain enraged: ‘Nay,’ said he, ‘then we must begin with this traitor himself,’ and therewith gave him a sore blow upon the head, who honestly did the best he could to revenge himself.

“But then we knew it time rather to encounter, than wait for mischief. And so against the captain we went, who straight was environed with most part of the soldiers and mariners. And yet the truth is, there were some, whom either the authority of the counsellor, doubt of the king’s mind, or liking of us, made draw their swords of our side, so that quickly it grew a most confused fight. For the narrowness of the place, the darkness of time, and the uncertainty in such a tumult how to know friends from foes, made the rage of the swords rather guide than be guided by their masters. For my cousin and me, truly I think we never performed less in any place, doing no other hurt than the defence of ourselves, and succouring them who came, for it, drove us to: for not discerning perfectly, who were for, or against us, we thought it less evil to spare a foe, than spoil a friend. But from the highest {250} to the lowest part of the ship there was no place left, without cries of murdering, and murdered persons. The captain I happened a while to fight withal, but was driven to part with him by hearing the cry of the counsellor, who received a mortal wound, mistaken of one of his own side.

“Some of the wiser would call to parley, and wish peace: but while the words of peace were in their mouths, some of their evil auditors gave them death for their hire. So that no man almost could conceive hope of living, but by being last alive: and therefore every one was willing to make himself room, by dispatching almost any other: so that the great number in the ship was reduced to exceeding few, when of those few the most part weary of those troubles, leapt into the boat, which was fast to the ship; but while they that were first were cutting off the rope that tied it, others came leaping in so disorderly that they drowned both the boat and themselves.

“But while even in that little remnant, like the children of Cadmus, we continued still to slay one another, a fire, which, whether by the desperate malice of some, or intention to separate, or accidentally, while all things were cast up and down, it should seem had taken a good while before, but never heeded of us; who only thought to preserve or revenge, now violently burst out in many places and began to master the principal parts of the ship. Then necessity made us see, that a common enemy sets one at a civil war: for that little all we are, as if we had been waged by some man to quench a fire, straight went to resist that furious enemy by all art and labour: but it was too late, for already it did embrace and devour from the stern to the waist of the ship: so as labouring in vain, we were driven to get up to the prow of the ship, by the work of nature seeking to preserve life as long as we could; while truly it was a strange and ugly sight to see so huge a fire, as it quickly grew to be in the sea; and in the night, as if it had come to light as to death. And by and by it had burned off the mast, which all this while had proudly borne the sail, the wind, as might seem, delighted to carry fire and blood in his mouth, but now it fell overboard, and the fire growing nearer us, it was not only terrible in respect of what we were to attend, but insupportable through the heat of it.

“So that we were constrained to bide it no longer, but disarming and stripping ourselves, and laying ourselves upon such things as we thought might help our swimming to the land, too far for our strength to bear us, my cousin and I threw ourselves into the sea. But I had swam a very little way when I felt, by reason of a wound I had, that I should not be able to abide the travel: and therefore seeing the mast, whose tackling had been burnt off, float {251} clear from the ship, I swam unto it, and getting on it, I found mine own sword, which by chance, when I threw it away, caught by a piece of canvas, had hung to the mast. I was glad because I loved it well, but gladder, when I saw at the other end the captain of the ship, and of all this mischief, who having a long pike, belike had borne himself up with that till he had set himself upon the mast. But when I perceived him, ‘Villain,’ said I, ‘dost thou think to over-live so many honest men whom thy falsehood hath brought to destruction?’ with that bestriding the mast, I got by little and little towards him after such a manner as boys are wont, if ever you saw that sport, when they ride the wild mare. And he perceiving my intention, like a fellow that had much more courage than honesty, set himself to resist: but I had in short space gotten within him, and, giving him a sound blow, sent him to feed fishes. But there myself remained, until by pirates I was taken up, and among them again taken prisoner, and brought into Laconia.”

“But what,” said Philoclea, “became of your cousin Musidorus?” “Lost,” said Pyrocles. “Ah, my Pyrocles,” said Philoclea, “I am glad I have taken you. I perceive you lovers do not always say truly: as though I knew not your cousin Dorus the shepherd?” “Life of my desires,” said Pyrocles, “what is mine, even to my soul, is yours, but the secret of my friend is not mine. But if you know so much, then I may truly say, he is lost since he is no more his own. But I perceive your noble sister and you are great friends, and well doth it become you so to be.” “But go forward, dear Pyrocles, I long to hear out till your meeting me: for there to me-ward is the best part of your story.” “Ah sweet Philoclea,” said Pyrocles, “do you think I can think so precious leisure as this well spent in talking? are your eyes a fit book, think you, to read a tale upon? is my love quiet enough to be an historian? dear princess, be gracious unto me.” And then he fain would have remembered to have forgot himself. But she with a sweetly disobeying grace, desired him that her desire once for ever might serve, that no spot might disgrace that love which shortly she hoped should be to the world warrantable. Fain he would not have heard, till she threatened anger; and then the poor lover durst not, because he durst not. “Nay, I pray thee, dear Pyrocles,” said she, “let me have my story.” “Sweet princess,” said he, “give my thoughts a little respite: and if it please you, since this time must be so spoiled, yet it shall suffer the less harm if you vouchsafe to bestow your voice, and let me know how the good queen Erona was betrayed into such danger, and why Plangus sought me. For indeed I should pity greatly any mischance fallen to that princess.” “I will,” said Philoclea, smiling, “so you {252} give me your word your hands shall be quiet auditors.” “They shall,” said he, “because subject.”

Then began she to speak, but with so pretty and delightful a majesty, when she set her countenance to tell the matter, that Pyrocles could not choose but rebel so far as to kiss her. She would have pulled her head away, and spoke, but while she spoke, he kissed, and it seemed he fed upon her words; but she got away. “How will you have your discourse,” said she, “without you let my lips alone?” He yielded, and took her hand. “On this,” said he, “will I revenge my wrong;” and so began to make much of that hand, when her tale, and his delight were interrupted by Miso, who taking her time, while Basilius’s back was turned, came unto them, and told Philoclea, she deserved she knew what for leaving her mother, being evil at ease, to keep company with strangers. But Philoclea telling her that she was there by her father’s commandment, she went away muttering that though her back and her shoulders and her neck were broken, yet as long as her tongue would wag, it should do her errand to her mother; and so went up to Gynecia, who was at that time miserably vexed with this manner of dream. It seemed unto her to be in a place full of thorns, which so molested her that she could neither abide standing still, nor tread safely going forward. In this case she thought Zelmane being upon a fair hill, delightful to the eye, and easy in appearance, called her thither, whither with such anguish being come, Zelmane was vanished and she found nothing but a dead body like unto her husband, which seeming at the first with a strange smell to infect her, as she was ready likewise within a while to die; the dead body, she thought, took her in his arms, and said, “Gynecia, leave all, for here is thy only rest.”

With that she awaked, crying very loud, “Zelmane, Zelmane.”

But remembering herself, and seeing Basilius by (her guilty conscience more suspecting than being suspected) she turned her call, and called for Philoclea. Miso forthwith like a valiant shrew, looking at Basilius, as though she would speak though she died for it, told Gynecia that her daughter had been a whole hour together in secret talk with Zelmane. “And,” said she, “for my part I could not be heard, your daughters are brought up in such awe, though I told her of your pleasure sufficiently.” Gynecia as if she had heard her last doom pronounced against her, with a side look and changed countenance, “O my lord,” said she, “what mean you to suffer those young folks together?” Basilius, that aimed nothing at the mark of her suspicion, smiling, took her in his arms: “Sweet wife,” said he, “I thank you for your care of your child; but they must be youths of other metal than Zelmane that can endanger her.” “O but----,” cried Gynecia, and therewith {253} she stayed, for then indeed she did suffer a right conflict betwixt the force of love, and rage of jealousy. Many times was she about to satisfy the spite of her mind, and tell Basilius how she knew Zelmane to be far otherwise than the outward appearance. But those many times were all put back by the manifold objections of her vehement love. Fain she would have barred her daughter’s hap, but loth she was to cut off her own hope. But now, as if her life had been set upon a wager of quick rising, as weak as she was, she got up; though Basilius (with a kindness flowing only from the fountain of unkindness, being indeed desirous to win his daughter as much time as might be) was loth to suffer it, swearing he saw sickness in her face, and therefore was loth she should adventure the air.

But the great and wretched lady Gynecia, possessed with those devils of love and jealousy, did rid herself from her tedious husband: and taking nobody with her, going toward them; “O jealousy,” said she, “the frenzy of wise folks, the well-wishing spite, and unkind carefulness, the self-punishment for other’s faults, and self-misery in other’s happiness, the cousin of envy, daughter of love, and mother of hate, how could’st thou so quietly get thee a seat in the unquiet heart of Gynecia! Gynecia,” said she sighing, “thought wise and once virtuous! alas! it is thy breeder’s power which plants thee there: it is the flaming agony of affection, that works the chilling access of thy fever, in such sort, that nature gives place; the growing of my daughter seems the decay of myself; the blessings of a mother turn to the curses of a competitor; and the fair face of Philoclea appears more horrible in my sight than the image of death.” Then remembered she this song, which she thought took a right measure of her present mind.

With two strange fires of equal heat possessed,
The one of love, the other of jealousy,
Both still do work, in neither I find rest:
For both, alas, their strength together tie:
The one aloft doth hold, the other high.
Love wakes the jealous eye, lest thence it moves:
The jealous eye, the more it looks it loves.

Those fires increase; in those I daily burn,
They feed on me, and with my wings do fly:
My lovely joys to doleful ashes turn:
Their flames mount up, my prayers prostrate lie;
They live in force; I quite consumed die.
One wonder yet far passes my conceit,
The fuel small; how be the fires so great?

{254}

But her unleisured thoughts ran not over the ten first words; but going with a pace not so much too fast for her body, as slow for her mind, she found them together, who after Miso’s departure had left their tale, and determined what to say to Basilius. But full abashed was poor Philoclea, whose conscience now began to know cause of blushing, for first salutation, receiving an eye from her mother, full of the same disdainful scorn which Pallas showed to poor Arachne that durst contend with her for the price of well weaving: yet did the force of love so much rule her that, though for Zelmane’s sake she did detest her, yet for Zelmane’s sake she used no harder words to her than to bid her go home, and accompany her solitary father.

Then began she to display to Zelmane the store-house of her deadly desires, when suddenly the confused rumour of a mutinous multitude gave just occasion to Zelmane to break off any such conference, for well she found they were not friendly voices they heard, and to retire with as much diligence as conveniently they could towards the lodge. Yet before they could win the lodge by twenty paces, they were overtaken by an unruly sort of clowns, and other rebels, which like a violent flood, were carried, they themselves knew not whither. But as soon as they came within perfect discerning those ladies, like enraged beasts, without respect of their estates, or pity of their sex, they began to run against them, as right villains thinking ability to do hurt to be a great advancement; yet so many as they were, so many almost were their minds, all knit together only in madness. Some cried, “take;” some, “kill;” some, “save.” But even they that cried “save,” ran for company with them that meant to kill. Everyone commanded, none obeyed, he only seemed chief captain, that was most rageful.

Zelmane, whose virtuous courage was ever awake, drew out her sword, which upon those ill-armed churls giving as many wounds as blows, and as many deaths almost as wounds, lightning courage, and thundering smart upon them, kept them at a bay, while the two ladies got themselves into the lodge, out of the which Basilius, having put on an armour long untried, came to prove his authority among his subjects, or at least, to adventure his life with his dear mistress, to whom he brought a shield, while the ladies trembling attended by the issue of this dangerous adventure. But Zelmane made them perceive the odds between an eagle and a kite, with such nimble steadiness, and assured nimbleness, that while one was running back for fear, his fellow had her sword in his guts.

And by and by was her heart and her help well increased by the coming in of Dorus, who having been making of hurdles for {255} his master’s sheep, heard the horrible cries of this mad multitude, and having straight represented before the eyes of his careful love, the peril wherein the soul of his soul might be, he went to Pamela’s lodge, but found her in a cave hard by, with Mopsa and Dametas, who at that time would not have opened the entry to his father. And therefore leaving them there, as in a place safe, both for being strong and unknown, he ran as the noise guided him. But when he saw his friend in such danger among them, anger and contempt, asking no counsel but of courage, made him run among them, with no other weapon but his sheep-hook, and with that overthrowing one of the villains, took away a two-hand sword from him, and withal helped him from ever being ashamed of losing it. Then lifting up his brave head, and flashing terror into their faces, he made arms and legs go complain to the earth, how evil their masters had kept them. Yet the multitude still growing, and the very killing wearying them, fearing lest in long fight they should be conquered with conquering, they drew back towards the lodge; but drew back in such sort, that still their terror went forward like a valiant mastiff, whom, when his master pulls back by the tail from the bear, with whom he had already interchanged a hateful embracement, though his pace be backward, his gesture is forward, his teeth and his eyes threatening more in the retiring than they did in the advancing: so guided they themselves homeward, never stepping step backward, but that they proved themselves masters of the ground where they stepped.

Yet among the rebels there was a dapper fellow, a tailor by occupation, who fetching his courage only from their going back, began to bow his knees, and very fencer-like to draw near to Zelmane. But as he came within her distance, turning his sword very nicely about his crown, Basilius, with a side blow, struck off his nose, he (being suitor to a seamster’s daughter, and therefore not a little grieved for such a disgrace) stooped down, because he had heard that if it were fresh put to, it would cleave on again. But as his hand was on the ground to bring his nose to his head, Zelmane with a blow sent his head to his nose. That saw a butcher, a butcherly chuff indeed, who that day was sworn brother to him in a cup of wine, and lifted up a great leaver, calling Zelmane all the vile names of a butcherly eloquence. But she letting slip the blow of the leaver, hit him so surely upon the side of the face that she left nothing but the nether jaw, where the tongue still wagged, as willing to say more if his master’s remembrance had served. “O!” said a miller that was half drunk, “see the luck of a good-fellow,” and with that word ran with a pitchfork at Dorus; but the nimbleness of the wine carried his head so fast that it made it {256} over-run his feet, so that he fell withal just between the legs of Dorus, who setting his foot on his neck, though he offered two milch kine and four fat hogs for his life, thrust his sword quite through, from one ear to the other; which took it very unkindly, to feel such news before they heard of them, instead of hearing, to be put to such feeling. But Dorus, leaving the miller to vomit his soul out in wine and blood, with his two-hand sword struck off another quite by the waist, who the night before had dreamed he was grown a couple, and, interpreting it that he should be married, had bragged of his dream that morning among his neighbours. But that blow astonished quite a poor painter, who stood by with a pike in his hands. This painter was to counterfeit the skirmish between the Centaurs and Lapithes, and had been very desirous to see some notable wounds, to be able the more lively to express them; and this morning, being carried by the stream of this company, the foolish fellow was even delighted to see the effect of blows. But this last, happening near him, so amazed him that he stood stock still, while Dorus, with a turn of his sword, struck off both his hands. And so the painter returned, well skilled in wounds, but with never a hand to perform his skill.

In this manner they recovered the lodge, and gave the rebels a face of wood of the outside. But they then, though no more furious, yet more outrageous when they saw no resister, went about with pickaxe to the wall, and fire to the gate, to get themselves entrance. Then did the two ladies mix fear with love, especially Philoclea, who ever caught hold of Zelmane, so, by the folly of love, hindering the succour which she desired. But Zelmane seeing no way of defence, nor time to deliberate (the number of those villains still increasing, and their madness still increasing with their number) thought it the only means, to go beyond their expectation with an unused boldness, and with danger to avoid danger, and therefore opened again the gates; and Dorus and Basilius standing ready for her defence, she issued again among them. The blows she had dealt before, though all in general were hasty, made each of them in particular take breath, before they brought them suddenly over-near her, so that she had time to get up to the judgment-seat of the prince, which, according to the guess of that country, was before the court gate. There she paused a while, making sign with her hand unto them, and withal, speaking aloud that she had something to say unto them that would please them. But she was answered a while with nothing but shouts and cries; and some beginning to throw stones at her, not daring to approach her. But at length a young farmer, who might do most among the country sort, and was caught in a little affection towards Zelmane, hoping by his kindness to have some {257} good of her, desired them if they were honest men, to hear the woman speak. “Fie fellows, fie,” said he, “what will all the maids in our town say if so many tall men shall be afraid to hear a fair wench? I swear unto you, by no little ones, I had rather give my team of oxen than we should show ourselves so uncivil wights. Besides, I tell you true, I have heard it of old men counted wisdom, to hear much, and say little.” His sententious speech so prevailed, that the most part began to listen. Then she, with such efficacy of gracefulness, and such a quiet magnanimity represented in her face in this uttermost peril, that the more the barbarous people looked, the more it fixed their looks upon her, in this sort began unto them.

“It is no small comfort unto me,” said she, “having to speak something unto you for your own behoofs, to find that I have to deal with such a people, who show indeed in themselves the right nature of valour: which as it leaves no violence unattempted, while the choler is nourished with resistance, so when the subject of their wrath doth of itself unlooked-for offer itself into their hands, it makes them at least take a pause before they determine cruelties. Now then first, before I come to the principal matter, have I to say unto you; that your prince Basilius himself in person is within this lodge, and was one of the three, whom a few of you went about to fight withal:” and (this she said, not doubting but they knew it well enough, but because she would have them imagine that the prince might think that they did not know it) “by him I am sent unto you, as from a prince to his well-approved subjects, nay as from a father to beloved children, to know what it is that hath bred just quarrel among you, or who they be that have any way wronged you; what it is with which you are displeased, or of which you are desirous? This he requires, and indeed, for he knows your faithfulness, he commands you presently to set down and choose among yourselves, someone, who may relate your griefs or demands unto him.”

This, being more than they hoped for from their prince, assuaged well their fury, and many of them consented, especially the young farmer helping on, who meant to make one of the demands that he might have Zelmane for his wife, but when they began to talk of their griefs, never bees made such a confused humming: the town dwellers demanding putting down of imposts; the country fellows laying out of commons: some would have the prince keep his court in one place, some in another: all cried out to have new counsellors; but when they should think of any new, they liked them as well as any other that they could remember, especially they would have the treasure so looked unto, as that he should never need to take any more subsidies. At length they {258} fell to direct contrarieties. For the artisans they would have corn and wine set at a lower price, and bound to be kept so still: the ploughmen, vine-labourers, and the farmers would none of that. The countrymen demanded that every man might be free in the chief towns; that could not the burgesses like of. The peasants would have all the gentlemen destroyed, the citizens, especially such as cooks, barbers, and those other that lived most on gentlemen, would but have them reformed. And of each side were like divisions, one neighbourhood beginning to find fault with another; but no confusion was greater than of particular men’s likings and dislikings: one dispraising such a one, whom another praised, and demanding such a one to be punished, whom the other would have exalted. No less ado was there about choosing him, who should be their spokesman. The finer sort of burgesses, as merchants, prentices, and cloth-workers, because of their riches, disdaining the baser occupations; and they because of their number, as much disdaining them; all they scorning the countrymen’s ignorance, and the countrymen suspecting as much their cunning: so that Zelmane (finding that their united rage was now grown, not only to dividing, but to a crossing of one another, and that the mislike grown among themselves did well allay the heat against her) made tokens again unto them, as though she took great care of their well-doing, and were afraid of their falling out, that she would speak unto them. They now grow jealous one of another, the stay having engendered division, and division having manifested their weakness, were willing enough to hear, the most part striving to show themselves willinger than their fellows: which Zelmane, by the acquaintance she had had with such kind of humours soon perceiving, with an angerless bravery, and an unabashed mildness, in this manner spoke unto them.

“An unused thing it is, and I think not heretofore seen, O Arcadians, that a woman should give public counsel to men, a stranger to the country people, and that lastly in such a presence by a private person, the regal throne should be possessed. But the strangeness of your action makes that used for virtue, which your violent necessity imposeth. For certainly a woman may well speak to such men, who have forgotten all man-like government; a stranger may with reason instruct such subjects that neglect due points of subjection; and is it marvel this place is entered into by another, since your own prince, after thirty years’ government, dare not show his face unto faithful people? hear therefore, O Arcadians, and be ashamed; against whom hath this zealous rage been stirred? whither have been bent those manful weapons of yours? in this quiet harmless lodge there be harboured no Argians, your ancient enemies; nor Laconians, your now {259} feared neighbours. Here be neither hard landlords, nor biting usurers. Here lodge none, but such, as either you have great cause to love, or no cause to hate: here being none, besides your prince, princess, and their children, but myself. Is it I then, O Arcadians, against whom your anger is armed? am I the mark of your vehement quarrel? if it be so, that innocency shall not be stopped for fury; if it be so, that the law of hospitality, so long and holily observed among you, may not defend a stranger fled to your arms for succour: if in fine, it be so, that so many valiant men’s courages can be inflamed to the mischief of one silly woman; I refuse not to make my life a sacrifice to your wrath. Exercise on me your indignation, so it go no further; I am content to pay the great favours I have received among you, with my life not ill-deserving: I present here unto you, O Arcadians, if that may satisfy you; rather than you, called over the world the wise and quiet Arcadians, should be so vain, as to attempt that alone, which all the rest of your country will abhor; than you shall show yourselves so ungrateful as to forget the fruit of so many years peaceable government; or so unnatural, as not to have with the holy name of your natural prince, any fury overmastered. For such a hellish madness, I know, did never enter into your hearts as to attempt anything against his person; which no successor, though never so hateful, will ever leave, for his own sake, unrevenged. Neither can your wonted valour be turned to such a baseness, as instead of a prince, delivered unto you by so many royal ancestors, to take the tyrannous yoke of your fellow subject, in whom the innate means will bring forth ravenous covetousness and the newness of his estate suspectful cruelty. Imagine, what could your enemies more wish unto you than to see your own estate with your own hands undermined? O what would your forefathers say if they lived at this time, and saw their offspring defacing such an excellent principality, which they with much labour and blood so wisely have established? do you think them fools, that saw you should not enjoy your vines, your cattle, no not your wives and children without government? and that there could be no government without a magistrate, and no magistrate without obedience, and no obedience where everyone upon his own private passion may interpret the doings of the rulers? let your wits make your present example a lesson to you. What sweetness, in good faith, find you in your present condition; what choice of choice find you, if you had lost Basilius? under whose ensign would you go, if your enemies should invade you? if you cannot agree upon one to speak for you, how will you agree upon one to fight for you? but with this fear of I cannot tell what one is troubled, and with that past wrong another is {260} grieved. And I pray you did the sun ever bring you a fruitful harvest but that it was more hot than pleasant? have any of you children that be not sometimes cumbersome? have any of you fathers that be not sometimes wearish? what, shall we curse the sun, hate our children, or disobey our fathers--but what need I use those words, since I see in your countenances, now virtuously settled, nothing else but love and duty to him, by whom for your only sakes, the government is embraced. For all that is done, he doth not only pardon you, but thank you; judging the action by the minds, and not the minds by the action. Your griefs, and desires whatsoever, and whensoever you list, he will consider of, and to his consideration it is reason you should refer them. So then, to conclude; the uncertainty of his estate made you take arms; now you see him well; with the same love lay them down. If now you end, as I know you will, he will make no other account of this matter, but as of a vehement, I must confess, over vehement affection, the only continuance might prove a wickedness. But it is not so, I see very well, you began with zeal, and will end with reverence.”

The action Zelmane used, being beautified by nature and apparelled with skill, her gestures being such, that, as her words did paint out her mind, so they served as a shadow to make the picture more lively and sensible, with the sweet clearness of her voice, rising and falling kindly as the nature of the word and efficacy of the matter required, altogether in such an admirable person, whose incomparable valour they had well felt, whose beauty did pierce through the thick dullness of their senses, gave such a way unto her speech through the rugged wilderness of their imaginations, who, besides they were stricken in admiration of her, as of more than a human creature, where cooled with taking breath, and had learned doubts out of leisure that instead of roaring cries there was now heard nothing but a confused muttering, whether her saying were to be followed: betwixt fear to pursue, and loathness to leave, most of them could have been content it had never been begun, but how to end it, each afraid of his companion, they knew not, finding it far easier to tie, than to loose knots. But Zelmane thinking it no evil way in such mutinies, to give the mutinous some occasion of such service as they might think, in their own judgment, would countervail their trespass, withal to take the more assured possession of their minds, which she feared might begin to waver.

“Loyal Arcadians,” said she, “now do I offer unto you the manifesting of your duties: all those that have taken arms for the prince’s safety, let them turn their backs to the gate, with their weapons bent again such as would hurt his sacred person.” “O {261} weak trust of the many-headed multitude, whom inconstancy only doth guide to well-doing, who can set confidence there where company takes away shame, and each may lay the fault on his fellow?” So said a crafty fellow among them, named Clinias, to himself, when he saw the word no sooner out of Zelmane’s mouth, but there were some shouts of joy, with, “God save Basilius,” and divers of them with much jollity grown to be his guard that but little before meant to be his murderers.

This Clinias in his youth had been a scholar so far as to learn rather words than manners, and of words rather plenty than order; and often had used to be an actor in tragedies, where he had learned, besides a slidingness of language, acquaintance with many passions, and to frame his face to bear the figure of them: long used to the eyes and ears of men, and to reckon no fault but shamefac’dness in nature; a most notable coward, and yet more strangely than rarely venturous in privy practices.

This fellow was become of near trust to Cecropia, Amphialus’s mother, so that he was privy to all the mischievous devices wherewith she went about to ruin Basilius and his children, for the advancing of her son, and though his education had made him full of tongue, yet his love to be doing, taught him in any evil to be secret, and had by his mistress been used ever since the strange retiring of Basilius, to whisper rumours in the people’s ears: and this time, finding great aptness in the multitude, was one of the chief that set them in the uproar, though quite without the consent of Amphialus, who would not for all the kingdoms of the world so have adventured the life of Philoclea. But now perceiving the flood of their fury begun to ebb, he thought in policy to take the first of the tide, so that no man cried louder than he upon Basilius. And some of the lustiest rebels not yet agreeing to the rest, he caused two or three of his mates that were at his commandment to lift him up, and then as if he had a prologue to utter, he began with nice gravity to demand audience. But few attending what he said, with vehement gesture, as if he would tear the stars from the skies he fell to crying out so loud that not only Zelmane, but Basilius might hear him. “O unhappy men, more mad than the giants that would have plucked Jupiter out of heaven, how long shall this rage continue? why do you not all throw down your weapons and submit yourselves to our good prince, our good Basilius, the Pelops of wisdom, and Minos of all good government? when will you begin to believe me, and other honest and faithful subjects, that have done all we could to stop your fury.”