Chapter VI: Book I: {1} (4)

“Days passed, his eagerness for his friend never decreased, my affection to him ever increased. At length, in way of ordinary courtesy, I obtained of him, who suspected no such matter, this his picture, the only Amphialus, I fear, that I shall ever enjoy; and grown bolder, or madder, or bold with madness, I discovered my affection unto him. But lord, I shall never forget how anger and courtesy at one instant appeared in his eyes when he heard that motion; how with his blush he taught me shame. In sum, he left nothing unassayed which might disgrace himself to grace his friend, in sweet terms making me receive a most resolute refusal of himself. But when he found that his presence did far more persuade for himself than his speech could do for his friend, he left my court, hoping that forgetfulness, which commonly waits upon absence, would make room for his friend, to whom he would not utter thus much, I think, for a kind fear not to grieve him, or perchance, though he cares little for me, of a certain honourable {53} gratefulness, not yet to discover so much of my secrets: but, as it should seem, meant to travel into far countries, until his friend’s affection either ceased or prevailed. But within a while, Philoxenus came to see how onward the fruits were of his friend’s labour, when (as in truth I cared not much how he took it) he found me sitting, beholding this picture, I know not with how affectionate countenance, but I am sure with a most affectionate mind. I straight found jealousy and disdain took hold of him, and yet the froward pain of mine own heart made me so delight to punish him whom I esteemed to be the chiefest let in my way; that when he with humble gesture, and vehement speeches sued for my favour, I told him that I would hear him more willingly if he would speak for Amphialus as well as Amphialus had done for him: he never answered me, but pale and quaking, went straight away; and straight my heart misgave me some evil success: and yet, though I had authority enough to have stayed him (as in these fatal things it falls out that the high-working powers make second causes unwittingly accessory to their determinations) I did no further, but sent a footman of mine (whose faithfulness to me I well knew) from place to place to follow him and bring me word of his proceedings, which (alas!) have brought forth that which I fear I must ever rue.

“For he had travelled scarce a day’s journey out of my country, but that, not far from this place, he overtook Amphialus, who, by succouring a distressed lady, had been here stayed, and by and by called him to fight with him, protesting that one of them two should die. You may easily judge how strange it was to Amphialus, whose heart could accuse itself of no fault but too much affection toward him, which he, refusing to fight with him, would fain have made Philoxenus understand, but, as my servant since told me, the more Amphialus went back, the more he followed, calling him traitor and coward, yet never telling the cause of this strange alteration. ‘Ah Philoxenus,’ said Amphialus, ‘I know I am no traitor, and thou well knowest I am no coward: but I pray thee content thyself with this much, and let this satisfy thee that I love thee, since I bear thus much of thee.’ But he, leaving words, drew his sword and gave Amphialus a great blow or two, which, but for the goodness of his armour, would have slain him: and yet so far did Amphialus contain himself, stepping aside, and saying to him, ‘Well, Philoxenus, and thus much villainy am I content to put up, not any longer for thy sake (whom I have no cause to love since thou dost injure me, and wilt not tell me the cause) but for thy virtuous father’s sake to whom I am so much bound, I pray thee go away, and conquer thy own passions and thou shalt make me soon yield to be thy servant.’ But he would not attend to his {54} words, but still struck so fiercely at Amphialus that in the end (nature prevailing above determination) he was fain to defend himself, and withal so to offend him that by an unlucky blow the poor Philoxenus fell dead at his feet, having had time only to speak some few words, whereby Amphialus knew it was for my sake: which when Amphialus saw, he forthwith gave such tokens of true-felt sorrow that, as my servant said, no imagination could conceive greater woe. But that by and by an unhappy occasion made Amphialus pass himself in sorrow: for Philoxenus was but newly dead, when there comes to the same place the aged and virtuous Timotheus; who (having heard of his son’s sudden and passionate manner of parting from my court) had followed him as speedily as he could, but alas not so speedily but that he found him dead before he could overtake him. Though my heart be nothing but a stage of tragedies, yet, I must confess, it is even unable to bear the miserable representation thereof, knowing Amphialus and Timotheus as I have done. Alas, what sorrow, what amazement, what shame was in Amphialus when he saw his dear foster-father find him the killer of his only son? In my heart, I know he wished mountains had lain upon him to keep him from that meeting. As for Timotheus, sorrow for his son, and, I think principally, unkindness of Amphialus so devoured his vital spirits that, able to say no more, but ‘Amphialus, Amphialus, have I?’ he sank to the earth, and presently died.

“But not my tongue, though daily used to complaints, no, nor if my heart, which is nothing but sorrow, were turned to tongues, durst it undertake to show the unspeakableness of his grief. But, because this serves to make you know my fortune, he threw away his armour, even this which you have now upon you, which at the first sight I vainly hoped he had put on again; and then, as ashamed of the light, he ran into the thickest of the woods, lamenting, and even crying out so pitifully that my servant, though of a fortune not used to much tenderness, could not refrain weeping when he told it me. He once overtook him; but Amphialus drawing his sword, which was the only part of his arms, God knows to what purpose, he carried about him, threatened to kill him if he followed him, and withal bade him deliver this bitter message, that he well enough found I was the cause of all this mischief, and that if I were a man, he would go over the world to kill me, but bade me assure myself that of all creatures in the world he most hated me. Ah, Sir knight, whose ears I think by this time are tired with the rugged ways of these misfortunes, now weigh my case, if at least you know what love is. For this cause have I left my country, putting in hazard how my people will in time deal by me, adventuring what perils or dishonours might {55} ensue, only to follow him who proclaimeth hate against me, and to bring my neck unto him, if that may redeem my trespass, and assuage his fury. And now, Sir,” said she, “you have your request, I pray you take pains to guide me to the next town, that there I may gather such of my company again as your valour hath left me.”

Palladius willingly condescended, but ere they began to go, there came Clitophon who, having been something hurt by one of them, had pursued him a good way: at length overtaking him, and ready to kill him, understood they were servants to the fair queen Helen, and that the cause of this enterprise was for nothing but to make Amphialus prisoner, whom they knew their mistress sought; for she concealed her sorrow, nor cause of her sorrow from nobody. But Clitophon, very sorry for this accident, came back to comfort the queen, helping such as were hurt in the best sort that he could, and framing friendly constructions of this rashly undertaken enmity, when in comes another, till that time unseen, all armed, with his beaver down, who first looking round about upon the company, as soon as he espied Palladius, he drew his sword, and making no other prologue, let fly at him. But Palladius, sorry for so much harm as had already happened, fought rather to retire and ward, thinking he might be someone that belonged to the fair queen, whose case in his heart he pitied. Which Clitophon seeing, stepped between them, asking the new-come knight the cause of this quarrel, who answered him, that he would kill that thief who had stolen away his master’s armour, if he did not restore it. With that Palladius looked upon him and saw that he of the other side had Palladius’s own armour upon him. “Truly,” said Palladius “if I have stolen this armour, you did not buy that; but you shall not fight with me upon such a quarrel; you shall have this armour willingly, which I did only put on to do honour to the owner.” But Clitophon straight knew by his words and voice that it was Ismenus, the faithful and diligent page of Amphialus; and, therefore, telling him that he was Clitophon, and willing him to acknowledge his error to the other, who deserved all honour, the young gentleman pulled off his head-piece, and, lighting, went to kiss Palladius’s hands, desiring him to pardon his folly, caused by extreme grief, which easily might bring forth anger. “Sweet gentleman,” said Palladius, “you shall only make me this amends, that you shall carry this your lord’s armour from me to him, and tell him from an unknown knight, who admires his worthiness, that he cannot cast a greater mist over his glory than by being so unkind to so excellent a princess as this queen is.” Ismenus promised he would as soon as he durst find his master: and with that went to do his duty to the queen, whom in all these encounters {56} astonishment made hardy: but as soon as she saw Ismenus, looking to her picture, “Ismenus,” said she, “here is my lord, where is yours? or come you to bring me some sentence of death from him? if it be so, welcome be it. I pray you speak, and speak quickly.” “Alas! Madam,” said Ismenus, “I have lost my lord;” with that tears came into his eyes, “for as soon as the unhappy combat was concluded, with the death both of father and son, my master, casting off his armour, went his way, forbidding me upon pain of death to follow him. Yet divers days I followed his steps, till lastly I found him, having newly met with an excellent spaniel belonging to his dead companion Philoxenus. The dog straight fawned on my master, for old knowledge, but never was there thing more pitiful than to hear my master blame the dog for loving his master’s murderer, renewing afresh his complaints with the dumb counsellor, as if they might comfort one another in their miseries. But my lord having espied me, rose up in such rage that in truth I feared he would kill me: yet as then he said only, if I would not displease him, I should not come near him till he sent for me: too hard a commandment for me to disobey: I yielded, leaving him only waited on by his dog, and as I think seeking out the most solitary places that this or any other country can grant him: and I, returning where I had left his armour, found another instead thereof, and (disdaining I must confess that any should bear the armour of the best knight living) armed myself therein to play the fool, as even now I did.” “Fair Ismenus,” said the queen, “a fitter messenger could hardly be to unfold my tragedy, I see the end, I see my end.”

With that, sobbing, she desired to be conducted to the next town, where Palladius left her to be waited on by Clitophon, at Palladius’s earnest entreaty, who desired alone to take that melancholy course of seeking his friend; and therefore changing armour again with Ismenus, who went withal to a castle belonging to his master, he continued his quest for his friend Daiphantus.

So directed he his course to Laconia, as well among the Helots, as Spartans: there indeed he found his fame flourishing, his monuments engraved in marble, and yet more durably in men’s memories; but the universal lamenting his absented presence, assured him of his present absence. Thence into the Elean province, to see whether at the Olympian games there celebrated he might in such concourse bless his eyes with so desired an encounter: but that huge and sportful assembly grew to him a tedious loneliness, esteeming nobody found, since Diaphantus was lost. Afterwards he passeth through Achaia and Sicyonia, to the Corinthians, proud of their two seas, to learn whether by the straight of that Isthmus it were possible to know of his passage. {57} But finding every place more dumb than other to his demands, and remembering that it was late-taken love which had wrought this new course, he returned again, after two months travel in vain, to make a fresh search in Arcadia; so much the more as then first he bethought himself of the picture of Philoclea, which resembling her he had once loved, might perhaps awake again that sleeping passion. And having already passed over the greatest part of Arcadia, one day coming under the side of the pleasant mountain Maenalus, his horse, nothing guilty of his inquisitiveness, with flat tiring taught him, that discreet stays make speedy journeys: and therefore lighting down, and unbridling his horse, he himself went to repose himself in a little wood he saw thereby. Where lying under the protection of a shady tree, with intention to make forgetting sleep comfort a sorrowful memory, he saw a sight which persuaded and obtained of his eyes that they would abide yet a while open. It was the appearing of a lady, who because she walked with her side toward him, he could not perfectly see her face, but so much he might see of her, that was a surety for the rest, that all was excellent.

Well might he perceive the hanging of her hair in fairest quantity, in locks some curled, and some as it were forgotten, with such a careless care, and an art so hiding art, that she seemed she would lay them for a pattern, whether nature simply, or nature helped by cunning, be the more excellent: the rest whereof was drawn into a coronet of gold richly set with pearl, and so joined all over with gold wires and covered with feathers of divers colours that it was not unlike to an helmet, such a glittering show it bare, and so bravely it was held up from the head. Upon her body she wore a doublet of sky-coloured satin, covered with plates of gold, and, as it were, nailed with precious stones, that in it she might seem armed; the nether part of her garment was full of stuff, and cut after such a fashion that though the length of it reached to the ankles, yet in her going one might sometimes discern the small of her leg, which with the foot was dressed in a short pair of crimson velvet buskins, in some places open, as the ancient manner was, to show the fairness of the skin. Over all this she wore a certain mantle, made in such manner, that coming under her right arm and covering most of that side, it had no fastening on the left side, but only upon the top of her shoulder, where the two ends met, and were closed together with a very rich jewel: the device whereof, as he after saw, was this: a Hercules made in little form, but set with a distaff in his hand, as he once was by Omphale’s commandment, with a word in Greek, but thus to be interpreted, “Never more valiant.” On the same side on her thigh she wore a sword, which as it witnessed her to be an Amazon, {58} or one following that profession, so it seemed but a needless weapon, since her other forces were without withstanding. But this lady walked out-right till he might see her enter into a fine close arbour: it was of trees, whose branches so lovingly interlaced one the other that it could resist the strongest violence of eye-sight, but she went into it by a door she opened, which moved him, as warily as he could, to follow her; and by and by he might hear her sing this song, with a voice no less beautiful to his ears than her goodliness was full of harmony to his eyes:

Transform’d in shew, but more transform’d in mind,
I cease to strive with double conquest foil’d:
For, woe is me, my powers all I find
With outward force, and inward treason, spoil’d.
For from without came to mine eyes the blow,
Whereto my inward thoughts did faintly yield:
Both these conspir’d poor reason’s overthrow;
False in myself, thus have I lost the field.
Thus are my eyes still captive to one sight,
Thus all my thoughts are slaves to one thought still:
Thus reason to his servants yields his right,
Thus is my power transformed to your will:
What marvel then, I take a woman’s hue,
Since what I see, think, know, is all but you?

This ditty gave him some suspicion, but the voice gave him almost assurance who the singer was. And therefore boldly thrusting open the door and entering into the arbour, he perceived indeed that it was Pyrocles thus disguised; wherewith not receiving so much joy to have found him as grief so to have found him, amazedly looking upon him (as Apollo is painted when he saw Daphne suddenly turned into a laurel) he was not able to bring forth a word. So that Pyrocles, (who had as much shame as Musidorus had sorrow) rising to him, would have formed a substantial excuse, but his insinuation being of blushing, and his division of sighs, his whole oration stood upon a short narration what was the cause of this metamorphosis. But by that time Musidorus had gathered his spirits together, and yet casting a ghastful countenance upon him, as if he would conjure some strange spirit, he thus spake unto him:

“And is it possible that this is Pyrocles, the only young prince in the world formed by nature, and framed by education to the true exercise of virtue? or is it indeed some Amazon that hath counterfeited the face of my friend in this sort to vex me? for likelier sure I would have thought it that any outward face might have been disguised than that the face of so excellent a mind could have been thus blemished. O sweet Pyrocles, separate yourself a little, if it {59} be possible, from yourself, and let your own mind look upon your own proceedings; so shall my words be needless, and you best instructed. See with yourself how fit it will be for you in this your tender youth, born so great a prince, and of so rare not only expectation, but proof, desired of your old father, and wanted of your native country, now so near your home, to divert your thoughts from the way of goodness, to lose, nay, to abuse your time. Lastly, to overthrow all the excellent things you have done, which have filled the world with your fame; as if you should drown your ship in the long desired haven; or, like an ill player, should mar the last act of his tragedy. Remember, for I know you know it, that if we will be men the reasonable part of our soul is to have absolute commandment, against which, if any sensual weakness arise, we are to yield all our sound forces to the overthrowing of so unnatural a rebellion, wherein how can we want courage, since we are to deal against so weak an adversary that in itself is nothing but weakness? nay, we are to resolve that if reason direct it we must do it; and if we must do it, we will do it: for, to say ‘I cannot,’ is childish; and ‘I will not,’ womanish. And see how extremely every way you can endanger your mind; for, to take this womanish habit, without you frame your behavior accordingly, is wholly vain: your behaviour can never come kindly from you, but as the mind is proportioned unto it. So that you must resolve if you will play your part to any purpose, whatsoever peevish imperfections are in that sex to soften your heart to receive them, the very first down-step to all wickedness: for do not deceive yourself, my dear cousin, there is no man suddenly either excellently good or extremely evil, but grows either as he holds himself up in virtue, or lets himself slide to viciousness. And let us see what power is the author of all these troubles; forsooth love, love, a passion, and the basest and fruitlessest of all passions: fear breedeth wit; anger is the cradle of courage; joy openeth and enableth the heart; sorrow, as it closeth, so it draweth it inward to look to the correcting of itself; and so all of them generally have power towards some good by the direction of reason. But this bastard Love (for indeed the name of love is most unworthily applied to so hateful a humour) as it is engendered betwixt lust and idleness, as the matter it works upon is nothing but a certain base weakness which some gentle fools call a gentle heart; as his adjoined companions be unquietness, longings, fond comforts, faint discomforts, hopes, jealousies, ungrounded rages, causeless yielding, so is the highest end it aspires unto, a little pleasure with much pain before and great repentance after. But that end, how endless it runs into infinite evils, were fit enough for the matter we speak of, but not for your ears, in whom, indeed, there is so much true {60} disposition to virtue; yet this much of his worthy effects in yourself is to be seen, that (besides your breaking laws of hospitality with Kalander, and of friendship with me) it utterly subverts the course of nature in making reason give place to sense, and man to woman. And truly I think hereupon it first got the name of love: for indeed the true love hath that excellent nature in it, that it doth transform the very essence of the lover into the thing loved, uniting, and as it were, incorporating it with a secret and inward working. And herein do these kinds of loves imitate the excellent: for, as the love of heaven makes one heavenly, the love of virtue, virtuous, so doth the love of the world make one become worldly: and this effeminate love of a woman doth so womanize a man, that, if he yield to it, it will not only make him an Amazon, but a launder, a distaff, a spinner, or whatsoever other vile occupation their idle heads can imagine and their weak hands perform. Therefore to trouble you no longer with my tedious, but loving words, if either you remember what you are, what you have been, or what you must be, if you consider what it is that moved you, or by what kind of creature you are moved, you shall find the cause so small, the effect so dangerous, yourself so unworthy to run into the one, or to be driven by the other, that I doubt not I shall quickly have occasion rather to praise you for having conquered it, than to give you further counsel how to do it.”

But in Pyrocles this speech wrought no more but that he, who before he was espied was afraid, after being perceived, was ashamed, now being hardly rubbed upon, left both fear and shame, and was moved to anger. But the exceeding goodwill he bore to Musidorus striving with it, he thus partly to satisfy him, but principally to loose the reins to his own motions, made him answer: “Cousin! whatsoever good disposition nature hath bestowed upon me, or however that disposition hath been by bringing up confirmed, this I must confess, that I am not yet come to that degree of wisdom to think light of the sex of whom I have my life, since if I be anything, which your friendship rather finds than I acknowledge, I was, to come to it, born of a woman, and nursed of a woman. And certainly, for this point of your speech doth nearest touch me, it is strange to see the unmanlike cruelty of mankind, who, not content with their tyrannous ambition to have brought the other’s virtuous patience under them, like childish masters, think their masterhood nothing without doing injury to them, who, if we will argue by reason, are framed of nature with the same parts of the mind for the exercise of virtue as we are. And for example, even this estate of Amazons, which I now for my greatest honour do seek to counterfeit, doth well witness that if generally the sweetness of their disposition did not make them see the vainness {61} of these things which we account glorious, they neither want valour of mind, nor yet doth their fairness take away their force. And truly we men, and praisers of men, should remember that if we have such excellencies, it is reason to think them excellent creatures, of whom we are: since a kite never brought forth a good flying hawk. But to tell you true, as I think it superfluous to use any words of such a subject which is so praised in itself as it needs no praises; so withal, I fear, lest my conceit, not able to reach unto them, bring forth words which for their unworthiness may be a disgrace to them I so inwardly honour. Let this suffice that they are capable of virtue, and virtue, you yourselves say, is to be loved, and I too, truly: but this I willingly confess, that it likes me much better when I find virtue in a fair lodging than when I am bound to seek it in an ill-favoured creature, like a pearl in a dunghill. As for my fault of being an uncivil guest to Kalander, if you could feel what an inward guest myself am host unto, ye would think it were excusable, in that I rather perform the duties of an host than the ceremonies of a guest. And for my breaking the laws of friendship with you, which I would rather die than effectually do, truly I could find it in my heart to ask you pardon for it, but that your now handling of me gives me reason to confirm my former dealing.”

And here Pyrocles stayed, as to breathe himself, having been transported with a little vehemency, because it seemed him Musidorus had over-bitterly glanced against the reputation of womankind: but then quieting his countenance, as well as out of an unquiet mind it might be, he thus proceeded on: “And poor love,” said he, “dear cousin, is little beholding unto you, since you are not content to spoil it of the honour of the highest power of the mind which notable men have attributed unto it; but you deject it below all other passions, in truth somewhat strangely, since, if love receive any disgrace, it is by the company of these passions you prefer before it. For those kinds of bitter objections as that lust, idleness, and a weak heart should be, as it were, the matter and form of love, rather touch me, dear Musidorus, than love; but I am good witness of my own imperfections, and therefore will not defend myself: but herein I must say you deal contrary to yourself: for if I be so weak, then can you not with reason stir me up as you did by remembrance of my own virtue; or if indeed I be virtuous, then must ye confess that love hath his working in a virtuous heart; and so no doubt hath it, whatsoever I be: for, if we love virtue, in whom shall we love it but in a virtuous creature? without your meaning be, I should love this word Virtue, where I see it written in a book. Those troublesome effects you say it breeds be not the faults of love, but of him that {62} loves, as an unable vessel to bear such a liquor, like evil eyes not able to look on the sun; or like a weak brain, soonest overthrown with the best wine. Even that heavenly love you speak of is accompanied in some hearts with hopes, griefs, longings, and despairs. And in that heavenly love, since there are two parts, the one the love itself, the other the excellency of the thing loved: I, not able at the first leap to frame both in me, do now, like a diligent workman, make ready the chief instrument and first part of that great work, which is love itself; which when I have a while practised in this sort, then you shall see me turn it to greater matters. And thus gently you may, if it please you, think of me. Neither doubt ye, because I wear a woman’s apparel, I will be the more womanish, since I assure you, for all my apparel, there is nothing I desire more than fully to prove myself a man in this enterprise. Much might be said in my defence, much more for love, and most of all for that divine creature which hath joined me and love together. But these disputations are fitter for quiet schools than my troubled brains, which are bent rather in deeds to perform than in words to defend the noble desire that possesseth me.” “O lord,” said Musidorus, “how sharp-witted you are to hurt yourself.” “No,” answered he, “but it is the hurt you speak of which makes me so sharp-witted.” “Even so,” said Musidorus, “as every base occupation makes one sharp in that practice and foolish in all the rest.” “Nay rather,” answered Pyrocles, “as each excellent thing once well-learned serves for a measure of all other knowledges.” “And is that become,” said Musidorus, “a measure for other things which never received measure in itself?” “It is counted without measure,” answered Pyrocles, “because the workings of it are without measure, but otherwise, in nature it hath measure, since it hath an end allotted unto it.” The beginning, being so excellent, I would gladly know the end. “Enjoying,” answered Pyrocles, with a sigh, “I speak of the end to which it is directed which end ends not, no sooner than the life.” “Alas! let your own brain disenchant you,” said Musidorus. “My heart is too far possessed,” said Pyrocles. “But the head gives you direction, and the heart gives me life,” answered Musidorus.

But Musidorus was so grieved to see his well-beloved friend obstinate, as he thought, to his own destruction, that it forced him with more than accustomed vehemency to speak these words. “Well, well,” said he, “you list to abuse yourself; it was a very white and red virtue, which you could pick out of a painterly glose of a visage. Confess the truth, and you shall find the utmost was but beauty, a thing, which though it be in as great excellency in yourself as may be in any, yet I am sure you make no further reckoning of it than of an outward fading benefit nature {63} bestowed upon you. And yet such is your want of a true grounded virtue, which must be like itself in all points, that what you wisely account a trifle in yourself, you fondly become a slave unto in another. For my part I now protest I have left nothing unsaid which my wit could make me know, or my most entire friendship to you requires of me. I do not beseech you, even for the love betwixt us, if this other love hath left any in you towards me, and for the remembrance of your old careful father (if you can remember him that forgot yourself) lastly, for Pyrocles’ own sake, who is now upon the point of falling or rising, to purge yourself of this vile infection: otherwise give me leave to leave off this name of friendship as an idle title of a thing which cannot be where virtue is not established.”

The length of these speeches before had not so much cloyed Pyrocles, though he were very impatient of long deliberations, as this last farewell of him he loved as his own life did wound his soul. For thinking himself afflicted, he was the apter to conceive unkindness deeply, insomuch that shaking his head, and delivering some show of tears, he thus uttered his grief: “Alas!” said he, “Prince Musidorus, how cruelly you deal with me; if you seek the victory, take it; and, if ye list, the triumph. Have you all the reason of the world, and with me remain all the imperfections; yet such as I can no more lay from me, than the crow can be persuaded by the swan to cast off all his black feathers. But truly you deal with me like a physician who, seeing his patient in a pestilent fever, should chide him instead of ministering help, and bid him be sick no more; or rather like such a friend, that visiting his friend condemned to perpetual prison, and laden with grievous fetters, should will him to shake off his fetters, or he would leave him. I am sick, and sick to the death; I am prisoner, neither is there any redress but by her to whom I am a slave. Now, if you list, leave him that loves you in the highest degree: but remember ever to carry this with you, that you abandon your friend in his greatest extremity.”

And herewith the deep wound of his love being rubbed afresh with this new unkindness, began, as it were, to bleed again in such sort that he was unable to bear it any longer, but gushing out abundance of tears, and crossing his arms over his woeful heart, he sunk down to the ground, which sudden trance went so to the heart of Musidorus, that falling down by him, and kissing the weeping eyes of his friend, he besought him not to make account of his speech, which if it had been over-vehement, yet was it to be borne withal, because it came out of a love much more vehement, that he had not thought fancy could have received so deep a wound; but now finding in him the force of it, he would {64} no further contrary it but employ all his service to medicine it in such sort as the nature of it required. But even this kindness made Pyrocles the more to melt in the former unkindness, which his manlike tears well shewed, with a silent look upon Musidorus, as who should say: “And is it possible that Musidorus should threaten to leave me?” and this struck Musidorus’s mind and senses so dumb, too, that for grief being not able to say anything, they rested with their eyes placed one upon the other, in such sort as might well paint out the true passion of unkindness to be never aright, but betwixt them that most dearly love.

And thus remained they a time, till at length Musidorus embracing him, said “And will you thus shake off your friend?” “It is you that shake me off,” said Pyrocles, “being for my unperfectness unworthy of your friendship.” “But this,” said Musidorus, “shows you more unperfect to be cruel to him that submits himself unto you. But since you are unperfect,” said he, smiling, “it is reason you be governed by us wise and perfect men. And that authority will I begin to take upon me, with three absolute commandments: the first, that you increase not your evil with further griefs: the second, that you love her with all the powers of your mind: and the last commandment shall be, you command me to do what service I can towards the attaining of your desires.” Pyrocles’s heart was not so oppressed with the two mighty passions of love and unkindness but that it yielded to some mirth at this commandment of Musidorus that he should love, so that something clearing his face from his former shows of grief: “Well,” said he, “dear cousin! I see by the well choosing of your commandments that you are far fitter to be a prince than a counsellor, and therefore I am resolved to employ all my endeavour to obey you, with this condition, that the commandments ye command me to lay upon you shall only be, that you continue to love me, and look upon my imperfections with more affection than judgment.” “Love you,” said he, “alas! how can my heart be separated from the true embracing of it without it burst by being too full of it?” “But,” said he, “let us leave off these flowers of new begun friendship: and now I pray you again tell me, but tell it me fully, omitting no circumstance, the story of your affections, both beginning and proceeding, assuring yourself, that there is nothing so great which I will fear to do for you, nor nothing so small which I will disdain to do for you. Let me, therefore, receive a clear understanding, which many times we miss, while those things we account small, as a speech or a look, are omitted, like as a whole sentence may fail of his congruity by wanting one particle. Therefore between friends all must be laid open, nothing being superfluous nor tedious.” “You shall be obeyed,” said Pyrocles, “and here are {65} we in as fit a place for it as may be; for this arbour nobody offers to come into but myself, I using it as my melancholy retiring place, and therefore that respect is borne unto it: yet if by chance any should come, say that you are a servant sent from the queen of the Amazons to seek me, and then let me alone for the rest.” So sat they down, and Pyrocles thus said:

“Cousin!” said he, “then began the fatal overthrow of all my liberty when, walking among the pictures in Kalander’s house, you yourself delivered unto me what you had understood of Philoclea, who much resembling (though I must say much surpassing) the lady Zelmane, whom so well I loved: there were mine eyes, infected, and at your mouth did I drink the poison. Yet alas! so sweet was it unto me, that I could not be contented, till Kalander had made it more and more strong with his declaration. Which the more I questioned, the more pity I conceived of her unworthy fortune; and when with pity once my heart was made tender, according to the aptness of the humour, it received quickly a cruel impression of that wonderful passion, which to be defined is impossible, because no words reach to the strange nature of it: they only know it, which inwardly feel it; it is called love. Yet did I not (poor wretch!) at first know my disease, thinking it only such a wonted kind of desire to see rare sights, and my pity to be no other but the fruits of a gentle nature. But even this arguing with myself came of further thoughts, and the more I argued the more my thoughts increased. Desirous I was to see the place where she remained, as though the architecture of the lodges would have been much for my learning, but more desirous to see herself, to be judge, forsooth, of the painter’s cunning. For thus at the first did I flatter myself, as though my wound had been no deeper: but when within short time I came to the degree of uncertain wishes, and that those wishes grew to unquiet longings, when I could fix my thoughts upon nothing but that within little varying they should end with Philoclea; when each thing I saw seemed to figure out some part of my passions; when even Parthenia’s fair face became a lecture to me of Philoclea’s imagined beauty; when I heard no word spoken, but that methought it carried the sound of Philoclea’s name; then indeed, then I did yield to the burden, finding myself prisoner, before I had leisure to arm myself: and that I might well, like the spaniel, gnaw upon the chain that ties him; but I should sooner mar my teeth, than procure liberty: yet I take to witness the eternal spring of virtue, that I had never read, heard, nor seen anything: I had never any taste of philosophy, nor inward feeling in myself, which for a while I did not call to my succour. But, alas! what resistance was there, when ere long my very reason was, you will say, corrupted, I must {66} confess, conquered, and that methought even reason did assure me that all eyes did degenerate from their creation which did not honour such beauty? nothing in truth could hold any plea with it but the reverend friendship I bear unto you. For as it went against my heart to break anyway from you, so did I fear, more than any assault, to break it to you: finding, as it is indeed, that to a heart fully resolute, counsel is tedious, but reprehension is loathsome: and that there is nothing more terrible to a guilty heart, than the eye of a respected friend. This made me determine with myself, thinking it a less fault in friendship to do a thing without your knowledge, than against your will, to take this secret course, which conceit was most builded up in me the last day of my parting and speaking with you, when upon your speech with me, and my but naming love, when else perchance I would have gone further, I saw your voice and countenance so change, as it assured me my revealing it should but purchase your grief with my cumber, and therefore (dear Musidorus!) even ran away from my well-known chiding: for having written a letter, which I know not whether you found or no, and taking my chief jewels with me, while you were in the midst of your sport, I got a time, as I think, unmarked by any, to steal away I cared not whither, so I might escape you, and so came I to Ithonia, in the province of Messenia, where, lying secret, I put this in practice, which before I had devised. For remembering by Philanax’s letter and Kalander’s speech, how obstinately Basilius was determined not to marry his daughters, and therefore fearing lest any public dealing should rather increase her captivity than further my love; love (the refiner of invention) had put in my head thus to disguise myself, that under that mask I might, if it were possible, get access, and what access could bring forth commit to fortune and industry, determining to bear the countenance of an Amazon. Therefore in the closest manner I could, naming myself Zelmane, for that dear lady’s sake, to whose memory I am so much bound, I caused this apparel to be made, and bringing it near the lodges, which are hard at hand, by night thus dressed myself, resting till occasion might make me to be found by them whom I sought; which the next morning happened as well as mine own plot could have laid it. For after I had run over the whole pedigree of my thoughts, I gave myself to sing a little, which, as you know, I ever delighted in, so now especially, whether it be the nature of this clime to stir up poetical fancies, or rather as I think, of love, whose scope being pleasure, will not so much as utter his griefs, but in some form of pleasure.

“But I had sung very little, when (as I think, displeased with my bad music) comes master Dametas with a hedging bill in his {67} hand, chafing and swearing by the pantoffle of Pallas, and such other oaths as his rustical bravery could imagine; and when he saw me, I assure you, my beauty was no more beholding to him than my harmony; for leaning his hands upon his bill, and his chin upon his hands, with the voice of one that playeth Hercules in a play, but never had his fancy in his head, the first word he spake unto me, was, ‘Am not I Dametas? why am not I Dametas?’ He needed not to name himself, for Kalander’s description had let such a note upon him as made him very notable unto me; and therefore the height of my thoughts would not descend so much as to make him answer, but continued on my inward discourses; which he (perchance witness of his own unworthiness, and therefore the apter to think himself contemned) took in so heinous a manner, that standing upon his tiptoes, and staring as if he would have had a mote pulled out of his eye. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘thou woman or boy, or both, whatsoever thou be, I tell thee here is no place for thee, here is no place for thee, get thee gone, I tell thee it is the prince’s pleasure, it is Dametas’s pleasure.’ I could not choose but smile at him, seeing him look so like an ape that had newly taken a purgation; yet taking myself with the manner, spake these words to myself: ‘O spirit,’ said I, ‘of mine, how canst thou receive any mirth in the midst of thine agonies? and thou mirth, how darest thou enter into a mind so grown of late thy professed enemy?’ ‘Thy spirit,’ said Dametas, ‘dost thou think me a spirit? I tell thee I am Basilius’s officer, and have charge of him and his daughters.’ ‘O only pearl,’ said I sobbing, ‘that so vile an oyster should keep thee?’ ‘By the comb case of Diana,’ sware Dametas, ‘this woman is mad: oysters and pearls? dost thou think I will buy oysters? I tell thee once again, get thee packing,’ and with that lifted up his bill to hit me with the blunt end of it; but indeed that put me quite out of my lesson; so that I forgot all Zelmaneship, and drawing out my sword, the baseness of the villain yet made me stay my hand, and he (who as Kalander told me, from his childhood ever feared the blade of a sword) ran back, backward, with his hands above his head at least twenty paces, gaping and staring with the very grace, I think, of the clowns that by Latona’s prayers were turned into frogs.

“At length staying, finding himself without the compass of blows, he fell to a fresh scolding, in such mannerly manner, as might well show he had passed thro’ the discipline of a tavern; but seeing me walk up and down without marking what he said, he went his way, as I perceived after, to Basilius: for within a while he came unto me, bearing indeed shows in his countenance of an honest and well-minded gentleman, and with as much courtesy as Dametas with rudeness saluting me: ‘Fair lady,’ said he, ‘it is {68} nothing strange that such a solitary place as this should receive solitary persons, but much do I marvel how such a beauty as yours is should be suffered to be thus alone.’ I, that now knew it was my part to play, looking with a grave majesty upon him, as if I found in myself cause to be reverenced. ‘They are never alone,’ said I, ‘that are accompanied with noble thoughts.’ ‘But those thoughts,’ replied Basilius, ‘cannot in this your loneliness neither warrant you from suspicion in others, nor defend you from melancholy in yourself:’ I then showing a mislike that he pressed me so far; ‘I seek no better warrant,’ said I, ‘than my own conscience, nor no greater pleasure than my own contentation.’ ‘Yet virtue seeks to satisfy others,’ said Basilius. ‘Those that be good,’ said I, ‘and they will be satisfied as long as they see no evil.’ ‘Yet will the best in this country,’ said Basilius, ‘suspect so excellent beauty being so weakly guarded.’ ‘Then are the best but stark naught,’ answered I, ‘for open suspecting others, comes of secret condemning themselves: but in my country, whose manners I am in all places to maintain and reverence, the general goodness which is nourished in our hearts makes every one think the strength of virtue in another, whereof they find the assured foundation in themselves.’ ‘Excellent lady,’ said he, ‘you praise so greatly, and yet so wisely, your country that I must needs desire to know what the nest is out of which such birds do fly.’ ‘You must first deserve it,’ said I, ‘before you may obtain it.’ ‘And by what means,’ said Basilius, ‘shall I deserve to know your estate?’ ‘By letting me first know yours,’ answered I. ‘To obey you,’ said he, ‘I will do it, although it were so much more reason yours should be known first, as you do deserve in all points to be preferred. Know you, fair lady, that my name is Basilius, unworthily lord of this country: the rest, either fame hath already brought to your ears, or (if it please you to make this place happy by your presence) at more leisure you shall understand of me.’ I that from the beginning assured myself it was he, but would not seem I did so, to keep my gravity the better, making a piece of reverence unto him; ‘Mighty prince,’ said I, ‘let my not knowing you serve for the excuse of my boldness, and the little reverence I do you impute to the manner of my country, which is the invincible land of the Amazons: myself niece to Senicia, queen thereof, lineally descended of the famous Penthesilea, slain by the bloody hand of Pyrrhus: I having, in this my youth determined to make the world see the Amazons’ excellencies, as well in private as in public virtue, have passed some dangerous adventures in divers countries, till the unmerciful sea deprived me of my company; so that shipwreck casting me not far hence, uncertain wandering brought me to this place.’ But Basilius (who now {69} began to taste of that, which since he had swallowed up, as I will tell you) fell to more cunning intreating my abode, than any greedy host should use to well-paying passengers. I thought nothing could shoot righter at the mark of my desires; yet had I learned already so much, that it was against my womanhood to be forward in my own wishes. And therefore he (to prove whether intercessions in fitter mouths might better prevail) commanded Dametas to bring forthwith his wife and daughters thither; three ladies, although of diverse, yet of excellent beauty.