IN the beginning of the reign of that famous Henry, whose merits brought from France, and seated in the throne of Po­land, before a legitimate suc­cession placed the royal Dia­dem of St. Lewis on his head, it appeared the Golden age, which is but a vanity bo [...] in the brains of Poets, yet seemed like a truth in France. For Peace coming with golden wings, after the furious torments it had suffered during the reign of generous Charls his prede­cessor brought the vessel of this Estate within two fingers of her utter loss and destruction, but now returned in all abun­dance of joy and tranquillity, contentment and all the plea­sures which are to be imagined. And truly this world can no way be pleasing but in variety, nor harmonious according to the imaginations of the Platonicians: As for example, we must yield that the darkness of the night makes us think the day more fair; and as sad colours set off the light with greater [Page 2] lustre, and as the blacks and sullied colours contribute to the sweetness and whiteness of the lilly, and as the thorns serve for an ornament to the roses, as a calm appears never so pleasing as after a fearfull tempest, as wines are never so sweet as when the taste hath somwhat of bitterness, or as hunger and thirst makes one find those meats delicious of least savour; so peace is never in its true lustre but after a long and hard war, even such was before the return of this bright Star; war had even rent this Monarchy in peeces with dissentions uncivilly civil, that it appeared our Nation was become a manicle, and took pleasure in opening her own entrails and to unrip herself, more hungry then Saturn after the flesh of his own children.

Then appeared this Henry, which returning from one end of the world, leaving a Country and Kingdom where he was adored, to give himself to this where his birth and inclination called him, was welcomed like another Saint Elme, or if you will, as a Neptune ferming the winds of seditions in their gale; and calming with the Trident of his valour, prudence, and goodness, the mutinous [...]lotes which beat the flanks of this great Bark, who quickly knew him for her Pilot, and received him for her legitimate Prince: the sword was now no more shaken over the heads of the Citizens; experience now had taught, that fire and sword were needless threatnings to strike off the heads of the Hydra, which was cause of all these mischiefs; the earth had drank the blood and wiped away all remembrance from men, all tears dryed, all displeasures forgot, peace and quietness published this great Prince.

And then as the bitterness of gall makes us prove the sweet­ness of honey, so contentment and peace unexpected ravished so the enjoyers, as it took away the means to express their happiness. You would have said, it was a Solomon peaceably succeeding a bloody David; that greatness whereof France is the Mine, hiding in her own breast all her treasures, which [Page 3] now she set forth to shew to the face of the earth: The Court shined like the heavens, strewed with as many stars as there were Princes and Lords; the King appeared like a Sun, not only by his soveraignty which spread the beams of all his other greatness, but also the merits of his person; for in his counsels he was wisest, at his exercises the readiest, in arms the most valiant, amongst the gallants of the best grace, in company the quickest-witted, amongst the braves the most agreeable, amongst the well-spoken the most eloquent, with the devout the most religious, among the rich and pompous the most magnificent; and wheresoever he was, he could never be mi­staken, nor take Alexander for Ephestion; for he held his Ma­jesty with so grave a sweetness, a face worthy of the Empire, as if appeared, shewed as if it had been written on his forehead and carriage, Behold the King. Yet all these truths are so far from flattery, that one ought to have had but eyes to see and swear that all came short that could be said of his heroick parts. True it is, I may with more boldness proceed to set forth his praises by the permission of the wisest of Kings: but in a time in the which one cannot imagine any pretension of acknow­ledgment, being there remains none of his race; for what re­compence should one expect of a Prince, that after the having possessed two great Scepters, hath lain many years upon the earth deprived of his last honour, his Sepulchre, remaining as the Poet sung of his time his and his creature,

And as to the sole image of his vertues it is that I give this due memory, there was nevertheless this gracious difference be­tween the Sun and this Prince; that in the midst of his Court, that is, that in place of swallowing the brightness of the small­er Planets, this great King on the contrary gave such a lustre to those that invironed him, that without so sing any of his preheminence, he gave them of his brightness; that made him respected of many, and envied of others, for all birds bea [...] not equally the brightness of his favour. Verily one may say of the magnificence of this Prince, the same as the Queen of Mid [...] said of Solomon, That happy were his servants; for besides his liberality to them, he was very courteous in the begi [...]ning of [Page 4] his reign; he practised many great things, and there passed so many wonders at Court, that as there is no face without some blemish, so they were in greater pain to hinder the profuse expences of this great Monarch, then to praise his liberality. Living thus happy, adored of his subjects, beloved of his neighbours, feared of strangers, esteemed of all the world; when the heavens jealous to see so much prosperity on earth, sowed emulation and jealousies among the great ones, that have risen to those rayes which we can no way express but with si­lence, being it makes nothing to the History that I have now to write, the which tragical misfortune happened during these great prosperities which I intend to paint forth. Me­thinks it should be a presage without ills, this publike happi­ness: but as it happens at sea ordinarily, that certain white birds coming to sup at the water, or sit on the ship, is a cer­tain sign of the storm; so Innocencie made guilty and punish­ed as a delinquent, as it shall appear in this following story, was an augure, being born and fed as a canker in the fairest roses, ought by miserable arts to cover this great Prince from [...] many black calumnies, that his religion should be taken for impiety, and his piety for irreligion, by those which ought to have been the trumpets of his glory, and to be persecuted by those that should have been arches and tables of his autho­rity and of his Empire. But not to draw any harder this knot too delicate for my rude hand, I will only content my self with this saying to come to my end, That the heart of this good King was very open to all worthiness; many favourites he had. Let us repeat again this little word of liberty, as I said, Favourites, and in great numbers; and as it is impossible in a multitude there will not multiply diversity of humours and passions, according to the diversity of judgments, and as they are interessed, It happened that a Lord of great birth and qua­lity that had place in the Kings house, fell not altogether in disgrace, but in disesteem with the Prince, by the artificious industries of a Favourite that loved him not; and because it doth concern me to conceal the names and qualities of the persons in this history, by reason of the tragical events that shews in the line of this deduction, we will hide them with so much art, imitating the thunder that bruises the bones with­out hurting the skin, melts swords and silver without hurting the seab [...]ard or the purses; being very needfull to gain profit [Page 5] by an example to know the particular circumstances of the places of the persons and their titles, provided that that which is treated of be truly, neatly, and clearly set down. We will do then as we behold the Bee, who draws the honey from flowers without any impression, she is content to drink of the rose, and to draw the sweetness and the essence, leaving it as if she had never touched it; so we hope to conduct the nib of our pen with so much prudence and circumspection, upon the flowers bitterly-sweet of this field, now white with innocence, now red with murders; and without offending the families, or interessing the parties, we will discover the ray of this truth, learning from a great Historian, that it is very dangerous a­mongst so many humane errors, and amongst so many obscu­rities that darken the course of this mortal life, to live only upon the support of his proper innocence. For as the sun, as bright and splendent as it is, may be darkened with the clouds, or shut up by the appearing of the moon, that his light is stollen away to our thinking; even so the greatest purity may be soiled by a false accusation, and the greatest whiteness blacked by calumnious tongues. This Lord then, the which we are to speak of, and whose name we will shadow under that of Timoleon, seeing himself deprived of that ancient grace and favour which he had been accustomed to gather every morning like a sweet Manna on the visage of his Prince, was sad and melancholy, because he could not know wh [...] malici­ous tongue had caused all this woe. And doubting [...]at the inveterate hatred which was betwixt his house [...] his of this new Haman's of whom he had no looks but [...] one side, procured him these good favours towards his [...]; he essayed, but in vain, by means of an excelent Est [...] that then reigned, to make known to his Soveraign his faith [...] ser­vices: What shall I say? he imployed the credit of a Barshe [...] to this great Solomon, that the [...] had an ascendant power over his judgment, without being able to find the calm now changed by the winds of preoccupations of a favour that put him in disfavour. This is the sport at Court; a perpetual putting our all Jacobs supplanters; on O [...]ean that hath his [...] and flowes continually, their risings and f [...]llings [...] Sea of glass shining, but brittle; and by how much the [...] it shines the brighter. He sees the edi [...]ice of his fortune; that looks like an old building sustained with his own proper weight; [Page 6] he sees his ruine threatned by a secret Mine that promised no­thing but to reduce him to powder, if he should think to coun­termine. Favour is a torrent that overthrows all that opposeth against his strength; he must give way, make the place large, it were folly to think to stay his course; it's a brawl that comes from a superior power, as speaking of the makers of laws; an in­ferior authority cannot withstand those that fortune conducts to that point, and makes them masters and possessors of the hearts and ears of Soveraigns. These are the Heroes that have I know not what of half between the condition, and those of personages redoubtable, that the Ancients called Demy-gods. In vain our Timoleon wrastles against this spirit, no greater then his, but far stronger; he must yield and become lame, with­out having had any victory, like Jacob. The houses of this old Mordecai, and this young Haman, were not only of one Province, but also very neer: And as it happens ordinarily, that friendship or enmities are in extreams between neigh­bours, hatred rather then friendship had continued as an inhe­ritance betwixt these two families, although much unequal; for this of our Timoleon in the country held another sort of rank, carriage and good fashion then this other, which it is needless here to name, unless for a simple opinion. But since such are the variable changes of humane States, that as the Proverb says, the servant hath outrun the master, and is arrived in the [...]ists of happiness: For this same leaving behind him an obse [...] [...] posterity, that dares no more appear before this other then a small star of the lower heavens to a great Planet; such are the changes of this world, and thus God holds the ballance in the hand of his justice, by ways unknown to us raising one and throwing down another, making of the same clay like a judicious Potter now vessels of honour, and then vessels of ignominie.

Thus our Timoleon was forced to yield under weight of his disgrace; and as great courages are nourished with favours of their Prince, could not endure to see they should be grown cold in their affection; nor suffer the rising of this new star whose brightness seemed as the sun to dim the small morning-stars, to affront and darken this bright light which had shined so cleer, at least with a jealous envy which did torment him pitti­fully. So that without staying for a shameful leave, prevented his disgrace, pretending to retire, desired leave to sell his place. [Page 7] The King being good, although cold towards him, as having his thoughts occupied with opinions unworthy of his worth and true services, and on the other side being a wise Prince, would not give him the discontent, put him off disgracefully, was very glad that this demand came of himself; Timoleon ha­ving read in his face, that his absence would be as pleasing to him, as his presence unpleasing. But to enter the synagogue honorably, after having thanked him for his services shewed to him and to his Ancestors in his office, which appertained to the conservation of their persons, having been executed by him and his family to the Kings his predecessors with all loyalty that Soveraigns could desire of faithfull subjects; his Majesty, commended his resolution, which was to retire from the un­quietness of the Court, to enjoy towards the end of his dayes in his house a quiet tranquillity, which could not be tasted in the affairs of the world. And because the King desired this office should fall into the hands of a Lord, kinsman to the same we have described, and one who had followed him in his jour­ney to Poland, he made it known to Timoleon it would please him to have it conferred on him; and for a recompence, he should receive such as he should hold himself very well satis­fied, making a shew to be very sorry that his son was not of years to execute it, who was brought up in Court with other Noblemens sons; promising to acknowledge it when it should be time, with some dignity or place that should not be less in value. There was enough said, and wisely spoken for a Prince, that ought to hold it for a maxim inviolable, not to let any one leave him ill-satisfied. But it is ill done to jest with his Ma­ster; for the ears of Kings ought not to be imployed but with things that are pleasant, and with sweetness and humility. Timoleon having ill practised these rules, will have much le [...] ­sure to repent him; for being of a high courage, and accord­ing to the name we give him, Heart of a Lyon▪ when he felt his honour touched, let himself be carried with passion, passing the terms of respect which he ought to have used to his Sove­raign; and being in a humour common to most of that Nation of his Province, to vaunt and brag of his birth, and to es [...]ee [...] his services and those of his Ancestors, without considering that good deeds reproached take the quality of injuries: And speaking further, it seemed he taxed his Majesty the libe [...]allest Prince that could be of ingratitude towards him; nay more, [Page 8] of violence to force him to render his place to one of the crea­tures of his enemy, being he had a design to leave the exercises of it to one of his own kinsmen, to have yielded to his son when he should come to years to execute it. Upon which there slipt from him many strange words, that the Kings pati­ence too much urged changed into such extreme choler,(anger of Kings the wise man compares to the fierceness of a Lyon, that makes all tremble that hear them) that he commanded him to void the Court within three dayes, and to take his son with him, giving him his own country for banishment, and his house for his prison, with an express command never to pre­sent himself before his face. He would have answered, having suddenly repented; but the King retiring, left him there like a man struck with a thunderbolt, before having seen the light­ning. Truly these indiscretions are insupportable; for as we ought not to write against those we know can return it again, so we ought never to contend with those that with a look are able to confound us. Behold Goliah, behold the Colosses of Nabuchadnezar broken with one blow of thunder, and a blow of one stone: here is a fortune overthrown for want of con­sideration; and Timoleon reduced even to the terms of despair, imploys both young and old to obtain that at first so courte­ously was granted: but all his means and those of his friends were in vain; for the King being full of rage and ill opinions against him, accusing him of Rodomontadoes and insolence, would shew him he was the Master; and thus imitating God, whereof he was the Image, he knew how to raise the humble, and cast down the proud.

His Enemy which lost no time, believing that his expulsion from Court would give a greater freedom to his fortunes, and that the lessening of this house would be a means to raise his own, obtained his office for his kinsman; which to satisfie the murmures and whispers, Timoleon was but too happy to receive a sad recompence far off from that he might have had, if retiring in appearance with the favour of his Prince, and with hopes of better for his son. Here are dear bravings; this last makes all the sweetness of the Court bitter: yet having been accustomed, he leaves it unwillingly and with grief; as slaves accustomed to servitude, their liberty seems wearisom; the air of the Country that is so sweet to every one, to him is unpleasing, because he comes to be commanded by his exile; [Page 9] his house which he ought naturally [...] love, being become his prison, to fulfill the proverb, appears to him dark and loath­som, although it were fair and large; the which being seated upon one of the fairest Rivers in France, which hath the view of two of the principal Cities of this Kingdom, we will take the liberty to call it Bellerive; and that which made this place seem less pleasing, besides the remembrance in what manner he left the Court, which made him a subject for the discourse of all tongues, which are ever ready on these occasions to the or­dinary humour of men to desire that which is forbidden, and to hate that which is commanded. This is the solitude of a sad widowhood, the which he finds he is reduced to in age so advanced, that if he should attempt a second shipwrack, would be laid open to the laughter of all the world: And although that at this time he had need more then at any other of a wife to have care of his person, and to have comforted him in the government of his estate, a thing of Courtiers but very ill understood for the most part. And certainly it seems that which God in the beginning of the world said of the first man, we may now say to the worldly man, That it is not good for him to be alone: for why? in the paradice of delights where Adam was created, he gave him a companion full of sweetness and beauty, to the end that nothing should be wanting that he could desire in this happy estate of innocencie. Although the house of Timoleon were the fairest of the world, yet coming from the most excellent conversations, with which the Court was as then both famous and in its lustre; this sudden change much astonished him, principally when in this wearisom sharp solitude his many businesses which his long absence had made very troublesom, began now to be shut from all parts, having seen himself at Court much made of by his Master, cherished by the greatest, honored by his equals, obliging the meanest at his pleasure, in a place of great esteem; at a blow here in­vironed with the meanest of Nobility, which with the appear­ance to honour him come with hope to devour him. All this displeases him strangely; all his comfort is in his son, a com­pleat Gentleman, and of so good a fashion, as that the most curious and sumptuous King of the world had chosen him to be of his chamber. But as of one side this fair presence gave him content, seeing himself to live again in this young branch; on the other side the heat of the wounds coming from the same [Page 10] place of his joy, in considering how by his own folly he had ruined the fortune of this child, having frozen him in his flower and root; this put him in an extreme melancholy, that cannot be expressed but by those whose passions are only for the advancement of their posterity. But what, is there no remedy? it is a bone of a horse broken, which there is no means to set again. Now all his thoughts are to marry his son, yet thinks he is too young to put him to the yoke, and yet too old to be reprehended; he considered it would be very neces­sary to have a fair and good daughter in law, which would be a great comfort to him in his age, easing him of those houshold-cares and businesses, which to a noble courage are far more troublesom then affairs of greater import; even as Flies are more troublesome then beasts of greater stature which are more hurtfull, by reason of their continual importunity. Many times he would say to himself that which the most in­genious of Poets said of the Father of Daphne, desiring infi­nitely that this maid should leave the company and delights of Diana, and put herself under the laws of Hymen.

And many times our Timoleon would suddenly say to his son,

But this young Lord, which we will call Philippin, without much disguising the name he received at his birth, very neer that of the famous Apostle which converted the Eunuch of the Queen of Candace, applying himself to games and pastimes conformable to his humour and his years, gave little attention to these fatherly admonitions; for what can one ingrave upon a Mercury not fixt, or upon a running water which is never firm? Hunting is the principal exercise of this Adonis; for to what could this generous and noble spirit addict himself better, then to this occupation which is in peace the lively image of war. Timoleon goes sometimes, but rarely, and sometimes to those which had more strength; for the benefit, or if you will, the ill effect of years began now to make him unable for these [Page 11] exercises; he loves his stable better then the following hounds, or the prey, then to hunt it: On the contrary, Philippin delighteth rather in the pursuit, then to see it in the dish. The young Gentlemen thereabouts came often to this young Lord, he is much made of, honoured and respected of all; as it is the custom of Courtiers to adore rather the sun rising then the going down. Whilst the Father feasts it with the aged, Philippin spits the woods in company of the youth: like that young Ascanio neer the Prince of the Poets of the Romans, full of strength and valour, he asks no more but even to encounter some huge Bore or furious Wolf, or some old Stag, to shew his strength by the greatness of his prize. But after so many preys, he becomes a prey; after so many prizes he himself is taken, and all his strength thrown to the ground, not by the teeth of a cruel Bore, nor by the horns of a Stag, nor by a ravenous Wolf, but by the glance of an eye worse then that of Basilisk; for this glance is his death, and which is worse, a miserable death.

There was in a fair valley very neer to Bellerive, a little house belonging to a Gentleman that was Tenant to Timoleon, the situation of which shall be the occasion to call it Vaupre, by reason it was invironed with delicate meadows and plea­sant brooks, which made the seat very delightfull and pleasing; you would have said, having seen it, though little, but very well composed and trussed together, that it shewed like a nosegay in the midst of a garden of sweet flowers. It was possest by a Master, in goods of fortune poor, but of a brave and resolute courage, which will be well known in this our history under the name of Pyrrhe, without altering his own but in one letter. This same had of children a son and a daughter, sprung from a mother generous in all her actions, which we will name Va­lentine. So that as Eagles do not ingender Doves, these Chil­dren were nothing but courage and generosity: The daughter which we must call Isabella, brought into this condition by her brother, which shall be known under the name of Harman, leaving in her most tender yeares the occupa­tions ordinary to her sexe, gave herself to exercises of arms and hunting with such strength and address, that she was much admired of all the neighbourhood, and esteemed another Amazon. Her Father liking this humour in her, was well pleased to see her ride a horse like man, to run at the [Page 12] ring, and to vault, to fence, and handle a harquebuzer, and to these contributed his own help and industry. The mother was not displeased, as judging there was no point of honour lost, of which she was very jealous. So now as things strange and new are most esteemed, so these qualities extraordinary gave such a fame to this maid, that all the vallies did resound of nothing but her praises; and the eccho's gave an envy to the hearers, to see this wonder to all those that heard of her.

There was no assembly of hunting where she was not yet always accompanied with either her father or brother: And as she was alone in her fashions, so she shewed with so much the more advantage, and always accompanied with so much mo­desty, as her presence unaccustomed filled the hearts and eyes of the beholders with admiration and astonishment: For she had been very well brought up, very ready in any thing she undertook; she spake with great discretion; her actions were composed, and at pleasure detained, and although she gave som what a lively natural liking to these exercises so far from her condition, yet nevertheless it was with so much simplicity and so little vanity, as if malice it self should have strove to have bit, she made herself not only irreprehensible, but com­mendable. And would to God that she had either continued in these terms, or that she had been retained within the bounds of those exercises fitting her sexe; we should not then see her defamed as she will be, nor the only instrument of these tragick businesses, the which bloodies the course of this History. The reputation of this Diana was not long before it came to the ears of Philippin; the which more for curiosity then for any affe­ction he had ever experimented, desired to see her a hors-back, and made this request to her father, whom he saw often, who would not deny so small a courtesie to his Landlords son, and the which should one day be his chief jewel. There is a match made for hunting the Stag; Pyrrhe and Herman bring Isabella to the sport; who without any other design then that which all those of her sexe have, to seem pleasing to the eyes of those which did with curiosity consider her, put herself in such order, as her natural graces not being small, were much heightened with art, that it was very easie for her to draw upon her the eyes of all that troop. I will not trouble my self with the description of her form, nor of the habit: For although the pi­cture [Page 13] of her fashion might much set forth and beautifie this discourse, being dressed; yet nevertheless to shew the beauty of vertue and deformity of vice, rather then to present cor­poral perfections, it shall suffice me to shew the cause by the effect, in saying that fire takes not hold so soon of the Nap [...]h [...] of Babylon, or of the herb called Aproxis, as this of Love seised on the heart of this young Philippin at the presence of this object, which appeared to him the fairest that ever he had seen: The sight of his person was so ravished in this con­templation, carrying such a dimness into that of his under­standing, that he lost both his liberty and the knowledge of himself; so as may be said of him these words of an antient Poet,

This great blow struck him in such; sort, as he remained pen­sive and astonished, all the time of the hunting; he did no­thing but rub over again his new wound, being more devoured in his thoughts then Actaeon was with his hounds: His heart was of soft wax for the impression of this seal; and this excel­lent form finding a soul as innocent as the whitest paper, drew a line so strong that death it self defaced the character. Isabella imployed in the pursuit of the Stag, thought least of this new prize, not esteeming him coming newly from a Court as full of rare objects as there are stars in the skies shining in the night, would cast his eyes so low as on her rusticity, nor being so pre­sumptuous to raise hers so high as his with any design to make him her captive, to whom she owed all sort of obedience. So that the heart of Philippin, was a broken Looking-glass to receive the beams of this new light, and hers a Glass embossed which threw beams of deep impression. Oh how happy had she been still to have done so▪ an eternal blame would not then have covered her memory.

The issue of the hunting had such success as one would de­sire; and when Isabella had given good testimony of her skill in riding, and of her understanding in this exercise, Philippin is returned to Beleriue, carrying to his father the head of a great Stag, the which had given them great pain in the taking; not without recounting the wonders of this Amazon with terms of that advantage, that it was easily judged he had considered her [Page 14] with very much attention; and yet he spake not the half of what he thought, and yet enough to make Timoleon desire to see this Damosel, that knew by skill to manage a horse with as much skill as any Gentleman in these quarters. There is a new assembly made for hunting, where Timoleon sees and ad­mires her, wondring to see so much strength and vigor in one of her sexe, which usually have weakness and debility for their part, & considering that all which is extraordinary hath a kind of excellence. I say nothing of her beauty, because I neither understand truly to consider it, nor how to write of it; yet they say she past all mediocrity, and being accompanied with so much grace and good fashion, that the setting surpast the rich­ness of the stone, and the fashion surpast the stuff. So that Phi­lippin is not only touched, but transported; for to him all was admirable in her. This is not sure that huntsman which lately had nothing in his head but woods and hounds; his imagination is so transported and fill'd with this new passion, that there is hardly left place in himself for himself; for rea­son, that is quite banished; this deity fills all his senses; he is become sad and melancholy; and he that heretofore could not understand other passion then an earnest desire to be riding and running, is now become grave and reserved, much unbefitting his years; and losing no occasion of hunting where he thinks he may be so happy as to meet her, who hath thus taken him; on the contrary 'tis that which he seeks, and with so much curiosity, that he seems rather to flie then go; more lover then hunter in place of her, whose thoughts are more of her game then any way touched with love. Thus he sees often Isabel, but speaks of nothing less then of his passion, covering it with the excess of his gravity, as there appears not so much as a spark in appearance.

This Io is kept by two Arguses, which have their eyes as sharp as those of Linx; this garden of golden apples is kept by two Dragons always waking for their preservation. So that Phi­lippin sees before his eyes

[Page 15]But who can carry fire in his breast long, says the wise man, without shewing some flame, or at least smoke? The conti­nual praises of this Virgin, that like lively flames came from the mouth of this young Lover from the furnace of his heart, were testimonies enough to Timoleon, whom years had taught the excess of this furious passion, and that the gentle fashion and beauty of this Maid were fixed in the eyes of his son: For as Physitians will give strong and great opinions of the indis­positions of men by the sight of their tongues, even so our own speech will betray our interior thoughts to persons of quick understanding; and who knows not that the birds, and other beasts of the earth, by their continual cryes and stuttering make known to those that understand them the heat which moves them when they are touched with the thing we call Love?

At the first the good man disdained to give a remedy, esteem­ing it was but a flame flying light, and might be extinguished with the blast of his word. But his wisdom found himself de­ceived: for not having well practised this precept, That in ills of this kind we must at the beginning give remedies, Antidotes late and out of season being improper to take away these inveterate impressions. The whilst this little Butter-flie burns inconsiderately the wings of his desire about this torch, which will be his end. Here is nothing but visits to Vaupre, and matches for hunting; which he cares not much for, but as Dido loved it for to see her Aeneas, without his Diana it is to no purpose: Isabella is the star that lightens the darkest ob­scurities of the woods. When they are returned, he cannot speak without protesting, that as she is the honour of the For­rests, so she is the fortune of their prize; he should say his mis­fortune, as she will be one day the dishonour of his house. So that even as that cunning Anne, sister to the Queen of Carthage, found that Dido was touched with the perfections of her new guest whom the tempests had forced to land in her ports, by the excessive praises which she raised of his merits, esteeming him a man descended of the race of gods: even so this young bird began to discover his note without shadowing his passion to the publike knowledge of men, and boasts of it. He is or­dinarily at Vaupre, drawn by the invisible chains of his affecti­ons; and when he is at Belleriue, he is there in his thoughts: for why? the soul is more in the object beloved then in its own [Page 16] body that keeps it. But because he cannot accost this beauty without being acquainted with her mother Valentine, and her father and brother, he so subtilises his passion, which is the mother of inventions, to win these three's affections, which are very proud of these visits; and when they perceived what he sought, they esteemed themselves as much honoured, as the Match would be advantagious for them. Already Pyrrhe, and Valentine feed themselves with smoak of this great alli­ance; and Isabella, which was not made of brass, seeing her self so religiously served and honoured by this young Lord, foresaw things to her highest hopes, let herself be carried away with a reciprocal liking; in the which neither the one nor the other could have any blame; for almost their affections had one end by that great Sacrament which our Lord Jesus Christ in­stituted in his Church.

It is neither my humour nor my design to set down here what past in their woing: for besides that I must either fain or divine; and although I should know the truth, I esteem it not fit with such small entertainments to stay my pen any lon­ger, pretending rather to write of tragick actions then of affect­ed speeches. Well, our Philippin is very welcome, well re­ceived according to his merit, and the quality of his person obliged his vassals of which he desired alliance; all were con­tent, as they say, without their Host. For Timoleon perceiving clearly at length, that this affection took too great root in the heart of his son; having once shewed and admonished him that he should do better to keep company with his equals, and not to be continually with his inferiors; and that his too much frequenting of Vaupre going and coming, were not pleasing to him. This was rather to augment his passion, then any way to disswade him from it: For in place of facility, the difficulty made him more desirous and eager in this pur­suit. Even as the fire in the forge is made more violent rather then quenched by the often sprinkling of water; so this Father of his being terrible severe, the least word of his being like a flash of lightning which made his son tremble, he is become now more reserved in his visits. But as fire shut up in a furnace is much more hot then when it is free and in the air, so it is in the heart of this young Philippin. Letters, which make ab­sence present, are not spared: Isabella having permission of her friends to entertain this match, is no nigard of her answers. [Page 17] And even as in those Nations bordering upon France, where the women are kept in a continual prison, and in so slavish a servitude as is impossible to be conceived, the least action serves for a grant to those that seek them; it was so here; for at these stollen visits, by a thousand arts which affection teaches, the protestations of fidelity were so strong and vehe­ment which Philippin made, vowing and protesting that he could never be any others but Isabella's: This maid assured for her part to this Lord, that she would never receive other affection but his. Yet those enterviews being kept close from Timoleon, were nevertheless always in presence of her mo­ther or father, or at least her brother, as those stampers in the golden mines; so that her honour could not receive the least blemish, no, not so much as a thought.

Timoleon, which had his watchfull spies upon the actions of his son, hath some notice of these secret meetings: which makes him raise his voice, and check his son more bitterly for his disobedience, and with such threats which much astonish­ed the heart of this young youth, yet no way removed his love; but on the contrary, like those rubies of Ethiopia, which being put in vinegar redouble their lustre, became more stubborn for these reproofs full of sharp bitterness: And that which gave the most lively touch of his cruelty, was the forbidding of Herman the conversation of his son, which was brother to Isabel; for in the absence of the sister, Philippin took such delight in the presence of her brother, that he could not be without him, and had as it were taken him to be about him. This was a kind of an affront to Herman, and which offended Pyrrhe; who, although the meanest Gentleman, yet had a courage such as could not suffer of his Landlord, nor of a Prince the least word or action which should not only hurt, but touch his honour. So that being touched with a kind of revenge, after having made known his complaints to his neighbours of this usage of Timoleon, he thought with himself to forbid Phi­lippin his house, which was to use as his equal his superior. Here is Herman, Philippin, and Isabella in all the troubles of the world. Timoleon puts a man to his son, which should have charge to look to all his actions, with an express command never to leave him, or to be so much as a foot from him; leaving anything else to his pleasure and free liberty, what he could desire. On the other side, Isabel is kept up very strictly [Page 18] by her mother, nor ever gets leave to stir out of the house, which is an impenetrable goale. Philippin gets no more ac­cess: Timoleon laughs at Pyrrhe for having forbid him, being the greatest favour he could have done him. There rests no­thing but only their Pens, the which we give the name of cer­tain Birds, because they flie and enter every where. By this means they make known their griefs; and this Danae com­plains of the cruelty of Acrise, which augments the desire in him that seeks her to find the invention of Jupin. But not­withstanding all this, his active heat which like thunder pierces and enters all sorts of obstacles, in spight of all the watches of one side and the other, shewes them means to see and speak together. The extream love and affection that was be­tween Herman and Philippin, the which had some resemblance of that of David and Jonathan, brought forth this commodity. They meet at the hunting: And as Philippin made his com­plaint to him whom already he esteemed as his brother, of the extream cruelty of Timoleon and of Pyrrhe, which in despight of their worst nothing should alter him from the design he had to marry his sister; Herman, who much pittied this young Youth whom he saw in so sensible grief, gave him counsel to have patience, and to remit it to time, which might change and give some ease to his griefs; and excusing his father who had forbid him his house, that it was not for any malice to him, whom he extremly loved and honoured for the worthy seek­ing his alliance, but to let Timoleon know that he ought not to use a Gentleman in that fashion, or to slight him so.

All this did not heal Philippin, who could no way admit of this long absence; and in the impatience of his displeasure protested to dye a languishing death, if there were no means for him to shew to her which possessed him the assured testi­monies of his faith, either by verbal promises, or by writing, that might tye him so to her, as it should be impossible to dis­engage them, in despight of the cruel usage of their pa [...]n [...]ts; and rather submitting themselves to all sorts of misfortunes, then to fail in the least point of their resolution, even where passion should go to the greatest excess of cruelty against their youth. Herman, who passionately desired this alliance for his proper a advancement, was easily perswaded to find com­modity for this enterview, which was very easie for him to find, his sister not being otherwise kept but within the closure of [Page 19] the walls of Vaupre. He returns again to Philippin, and after having conferred with his sister, told him he should come in the night, and promised him to speak with his sister Isabella at a window in her house, provided that it might be in his pre­sence. The which Philippin, who had no ill intent, yielded to very voluntarily. There is preparation for hunting the Bore: Herman is there in company of a Gentleman of the Country, a neighbour which was invited by Timoleon and Phi­lippin. There are toils pitched in divers places where they think the horrible beast should pass; the word is given be­tween Herman, and Philippin for to retire themselves; they are trusted through many woods; at last their hunting is ended, without ever once getting the prey into their tolls. At their return Philippin is not to be found; they hold him lost in the woods; but this cunning old man doubting of the cause of his absence, was very angry with this old Gentleman whom he had commanded not to let him go out of his sight, commanding him to go & watch all night at Vaupre, to see if he were not gone thither: for if he were lost in the woods, it was an accident which often happens to Huntsmen; but if he were in the place he had forbidden him, he had prepared a rude reprehension.

He was but too good a Diviner: For Scipion (so was this Gentleman called which had this charge of him) failed not to meet with the encounter: For coming to Vaupre just at mid­night, where the neighing of a horse gave him sufficiently to understand there were Sentinels which watched without, he left his horse tyed to a tree far enough from being seen, and came himself stealing softly neer the place, and had the pastime to hear the discourse of this young couple, which cut their own throats with their own knives. But he was most troubled to hear the verbal contracts of marriage which past between them in the presence of Herman, taking God and the hea­vens to witness of their constant resolutions; adding to that by the hands of her brother he received promises reciprocally in writing, to the end that the reproach of Infidelity might rest upon the foreheads of those that should upon any occasion be the breakers; protesting solemnly, that neither the violence of their parents, nor any other humane power should ever break this knot, but it should be inviolably kept and main­tained just unto death: And after some rings given and re­ceived [Page 20] in sign of this alliance, they parted with much joy of that which they had promised and sworn, and with grief to break off this sweet company. A hundred times Scipion was just at the point to discover himself to have broken this busi­ness, which infinitely displeased him; but for fear to put this young Gentleman into a despair, he durst not; for if he had found himself discovered, his love would have kindled such a choler in him, as he would have kill'd this Spy in the field, who rather chose to serve himself with the Foxes skin then the Lyons, esteeming that wisdom would find easier wayes to remedy these follies then force; certainly follies, by the fashion of their carriage, which were neither unlawfull nor dis­honourable in their affections, all that was being in the un­equality of their conditions.

Timoleon is advertised of all this business by Scipion and falls into such a fury, as he was very cholcrick; that there wanted not much, without saying any thing else to his son, to have shut him up in a prison for a long time, intending to use him so severely, as he would make him repent of his youth­full inconsiderateness. Besides, knowing that these secret prom­ises are not to be esteemed by divine nor humane laws, so as he jested at this, promising to break them as chains of glass: but he means to teach this Gallant to play him no more of these tricks in this kind. He comes home the next morning to Bellerive, feigning to have been lost in the woods, and to have been all night on horse-back; and in that he spake but truth.

But cunning Timoleon bridled his anger at his first sight, to the end to make his correction more penetrating, being done in cold blood; and withall thinking by deferring his displeasure, to get into his hands those writings which had passed between them, which should have been returned of Herman, the which Scipion had advertised him of. He cor­rupts all his sons Foot-men, to the end to discover this busi­ness, but in vain, for the business was already done: For at break of day, Herman coming out of Vaupre, and having brought to Philippin that of his sister, and receiving of Phi­lippin his, which he would have signed with his blood (an ordinary ferventness in young men in the like occasions) if Herman had not hindred him.

[Page 21]In vain did Timoleon hope to surprise that which was al­ready received. But understanding by the treason of a Lac­quay, that Herman and Philippin did meet in many places, but with such artificious subtilty, as the eyes of Scipon were still deceived: At this Timoleon lost all sort of patience; and taking his son aside, after having dimmed his eyes with flashes of his own full of anger, made him understand, and should feel the thunder of his threats, if he left not the conversation of Herman, and the foolish love to his sister, so far unfit for his quality. At which this young Courage was like to have fallen down at this so sudden fright: For searching excuses the best coloured he could, he found himself so taken, that the more he sought to cover, the more he dishonoured his passion; and the more he spake, the less made himself understood.

Timoleon judging by the often changing of his colour, and alteration of his discourse so far from purpose, the con­fusion of his thoughts and the apprehension of his soul, yet re­doubled this perplexity of relating the particularities of these meetings with Herman, he found certainly, he was betrayed. But more following this discourse, by discovering of his speech with Isabella and Herman neer the walls of Vaupre, the night he feigned to be lost, with the same words and promises, and those also in writing which should be put into the hands of his pretended brother-in-law; this frighted him in such sort, as thinking for certain it had been his Father which had heard this Comedie, he fell down at his feet, craving a thousand pardons, beseeching him to attribute this to the excess of his passion, which may well bring Youth to these strange, courses, being Age it self when it is touched, is subject to commit many the like follies.

Timoleon made tender by these submissions, and believing he had applied the iron to the fire of this ulcer in such manner as it was healed; promised him to forget what was passed, so that hereafter he would carry himself, with obedience to his commands and discretion in his actions, so that he might believe certainly that arrow was out of his flanks, and this vain affection quite removed from his heart.

[Page 22]But as youth is like soft wax, that receives all forts of im­pressions, and keeps not one; so Philippin promises what one would have him, being resolv'd not to maintain any thing that the apprehension of fear makes him say, his love being far stronger then his fear. When retired from his fathers sight, like a Criminal from the Tribunal of his Judge, it was then he blamed himself of weakness and want of cou­rage; and giving himself a thousand injurious names, ac­cusing his fearfulness, and protesting a new loyalty and service to this Idol which swam in his fancy, he rubbed his sore, and invenomed his wound by this constraint, disanul­ing all he had said in prejudice of his promise; he renews his meetings and secret practises with Herman. But being sold by his Lacquays in whom he trusted most, who for hansel of their treachery put many of his letters and those of Isabels into the hands of Timoleon, by which he understood that reciprocal promises had been given on both sides; which made him enter into such an extream choler, as he had never had the like, sometime threatning to ruine Pyrrhe and all his house, and then to be revenged on his son for this disobedience, as also to publish the shame of Isabella. Being transported to these extremities by his choler, he calls his son the second time; and after having reviled him with all the outragious speeches that could be imagined, esteemed this relapse worse then his first fault.

This young Lyon having taken courage for the shame of his last flight, like him which said of himself, If I fled at the first encounter, it was to return the second time to fight with more resolution; setting aside those invective speeches of his father, which his duty bound him to endure; after some holy protestations of the honour and reverence which he would always give him, he told him plainly, and in a fashion of that height more then the spirit of Timoleon could endure, that he would lose a thousand lives rather then to fail in the least point of his love; that his honour was engaged by word and by writing, and that his soul should never receive other im­pression but that of Isabella's; the which was a Gentlewoman, and of that birth, as she could receive no reproach for her No­bility, having no other wants but the goods of fortune; esteem­ing rather to chuse a wife which had vertues and perfections in abundance, then one with great wealth, which should have no­thing [Page 23] more unpleasing then herself; and that this affection of his was led rather by reason then passion, honour and mar­riage having been the end of his pretensions; and if there Were any thing worthy reprehension; it was his carriage, not any thing in Isabella or Herman; and for himself, he was resolved never to leave their friendships for all the violence could be used on him, chusing rather to suffer the extremity of cruelty, and the worst of indignities, which should be like flames to purifie his fidelity to the proof: And (as God lives) answered Timoleon, we will see whose head is best, yours or mine: How now, Gallant! what, scarce born, and are you at your defiance with me? I'll make thee as supple as glove, and to bend to my will, and break that stubborn will of yours, though it cost me my life and goods, and yours too; I will teach you the duty of a son, and the authority of a father, said he. And so turning from him, he commanded to put Philippin in a chamber which served for a prison, to the end to teach this young bird to sing another tune. Philippin goes very joyfully contented, to give a testimony of his firmness and constancie of his flames. But that which put him in an extream agony, was to hear that his father having searched his chamber, and his secret Cabinet wherein were his sweetest tyes, amongst a thousand Letters seised of the Promise of Isabella, at which he made a trophie of mockery and laughter, and would have made a sacrifice of it and of his choler to the fire. For now as being transported, what says he not against his father and his ill fortune, and against heaven? Truly those things, which ought not to be repeated, but throughly blamed. Yet never­theless comforting himself upon the word of his Mistress, which he esteemed beyond all the writings in the world, he resolves upon the common remedy of all the ills of the world, Patience: Not but that the wearisomness of a prison was ex­treamly sensible to this stirring spirit, active and full of heat; yet in this extream youth, which is nothing but fire and life, the tediousness is redoubled by being deprived of news, which served at least in this his constraint of liberty to diminish his flame. Before he hoped all, and feared nothing; now fears all, and hath no hope But in the faith of the brother and sister. He fears that those Letters should come to the hand of Pyrrhe and Valentine, they would not take occasion to ease their childrens ill, His thoughts are so troubled, as when he rests in this prison [Page 24] he thinks he is invironed with a thousand thorns; he suspects all which come near him, as he had reason, being made so many spies by Timoleon's means: He wants wherewith to corrupt them; this metal which changes courages, fails him; and his servants, whom his father had made his, dare not yield to pitty this young Lord. He thinks to entertain them with discourse; yet seeing pitty dead in some, and affection in others, refused all, to entertain himself with his own private thoughts, the onely recreation that accompanied him; which in stead of di­verting him, nourished his displeasures. 'Tis Musick which hath that property, to make them merry which are content, and those which are sad more melancholy: He plays reason­able well on the Lute, and sings well enough for a young Ca­valier, who was more given to violent exercises then to these sweet and peaceable. One day, for to expell the grief he felt, in these words expressing

Thus the imprisoned Philippin comforted himself the best it was possible: But at last being not able to bear this weak and melancholy life, nor having any with whom he might freely converse, his thoughts giving way to the vehemencie of his desires, he was constrained to yield himself to the mercy of a sickness, which brought him so low as within a foot of his grave; had it not been for his youth, good temper, and strong disposition, with the help of the Physitians and good means applied, he was even at the last point to lose his life; and that most affected the sad father, to see at point of death his onely son. Knowing the cause which brought him to this pittifull estate, he repented a thousand times the cruelties he had used; an hundred times he promised him, but with words far from the thoughts of heart, to give him Isabel to wife. At which name this poor dying man seem'd to enjoy new life; of such, strength is the empire of Love in the most violent pangs of death. His soul took strength at this feeble hope to encourage his body, and by little and little the hopes of life came again, but yet so leisurely he recovered, as rather languishing then living, they knew not what to do to restore him. Timoleon having many houses, had him conveyed from one to another, [Page 25] to try if the change of air would give him health: but it comes as heavy as lead, although his sickness came post; certainly it is easie to descend, says the Poet, but very hard to get up. The farther he went from Bellerive, the worse he was, because he was further off Vaupre, where was the only remedy of his longings, and the only air that could recover him.

ELISE, OR Innocencie guilty. The Second Book.

NOt far from the Pyrene Mountains, amongst many very pleasant habitations, there is a little Hill, that for the beauty and fertility of it, the inhabitants call Gold-Mount. Here Timoleon hath a Castle, that hath two pro­perties which lightly are not found together, being both strong and fair, invironed with a pleasant country, and accommodated with all the delights one can desire in a Country-house. He commands Philippin to be removed thither, and accompanies him himself. But by reason they separated him from the Center of his affections, all these sweet delights of this pleasant Country were to him bitter and unpleasing: they are constrained to bring him back again to Bellarive; where when as he began by little and little to get strength, helped by the hope he had not to be any more crossed in his love; Timoleon having made Scipion tell him, that now he thought no more of those promises which he had made him, that he did it but to cozen his disease; he fell sud­denly into such a terrible frensie, that whereas in his first sick­ness they thought only of the loss of his life, this second they thought to take away his wits; for this troubled him so strangely, and produced such unformed actions and fearfull words, as none had ever heard tell of the like raving. Here is Timoleon more afflicted then ever; and the Physitians much troubled to find the cause of this new disease of body, not any [Page 27] way considering the troubles of his mind, but only by con­jectures drawn from the sympathie of the two principal parts which compose our being, they imagine that having been bred at Paris and at Court, the air of the Country is not so natural as that of the Town for him, and that his sadness causes these strange humours in his spirit. Timoleon is perswaded the same, and resolves to bring him to a place where the frequenting of company might divert him from these melancholy fits. Bille­rive is but a dayes journey from one of the principal Cities in France, where he may go without passing the bounds of his exile, which was not limited but within his own Province. There are more store of Physitians and remedies at hand, and spiritual Comforters in greater number. His rank and quality noted in the Country, made him at first coming visited by many of the chiefest persons of remark. Time, which is the great Physitian of the affliction of the spirit, having drawn away the clouds which suffocated the reason of Philippin, ren­ders him now more fit for consolation then he had been be­fore; and this house in Town seeming more like the life and air of the Court his first element, gives him some ease of his many sufferings. Here of a sudden he is returned to his senses and perfect health; yet nevertheless always his heart returns towards Vaupre, as loving that side of the North. Many visits he hath every day, as much for the respect of his father, as for the sweetness of his own conversation. Though not quite healed of his wound, nothing is so pleasing to him as to steal by him­self sometimes, to contemplate his thoughts in the object he could not see but with the eyes of his understanding. As many men as attend him, are as so many Watches; so that he might say as the holy Scripture saith, So many domesticks, as many enemies.

Timoleon, which saw this fire was covered with ashes, not quite out; pressed in part with desire to divert his son from this affection prejudicial to the greatness of his house, and partly with desire to see him married, which of necessity must be done; sometimes consulting if he should send him into Italy, or to travel into Spain, or to imploy him in the Town in those exercises which young Noblemen ordinarily use. His friends counselled him not to send him into those strange Countries so suddenly after his sickness; it is his only son, the light of his eyes, the staff of his age; this changing of Country [Page 28] will not change his affection, as marriage would. All con­clude, that marriage was a tye that would settle him in peace, and bring him comfort, and assure his house, withdrawing him from all these youthfull passions. Timoleon makes choise of this, forced to it by his domestick necessities; for his so long having been a Courtier, living at a great height of ex­pence, had brought him much behind-hand and in great debts, having been constrained to mortgage a good part of his estate. A good portion would clear all this. This deliberati­on made known, there would not need much time to find a fit Match for him, as being of so noble a house; the best in that Town would be very proud of his alliance, to match their daughter so honorably. A Magistrate of a soveraign Com­pany, wonderfull rich, having but two Daughters, the eldest being married to one of the Officers of this Estate, the second we will call Elise for two reasons; for truly she bore the name of the famous Cousin visited by the Mother of our blessed Sa­viour, when she was with child of the Forerunner of Messias; and because methinks she hath somthing in her innocencie found fit to be compared to the Queen of Carthage, whom the Prince of the Roman Poets, that pleasing lyre, hath taxed with having committed a fault with Aeneas, of which she is reven­ged by those which have written the true history of her chaste carriage.

This younger was a Maid, although but indifferently en­dowed with the gifts of nature in what concerns the face, in so much as she was judged better for a Wife then for a Mistress; but on the other side she was so endowed with vertue, and with that which most esteem, riches, that this abundance of gold was able to make any one to think deformity it self fair. Ti­moleon sees this Maid for his Son, and like him which more considered her wealth then her form, finds that this great portion would quite clear all his affairs, and disengage all his house. He speaks with Scevole (thus we will name this Magi­strate, father of this Gentlewoman) who is not slow in open­ing his eyes on this great alliance, and promises to set all his rest, and to make Elise his absolute heir universal, so it may be accomplished. To ask & obtain, is all one thing. She is some­thing elder then the Youth; but that is no matter, that's the least, Timoleon cares not for that; he shall have crowns in abun­dance, and which is more, an Officer which will maintain and [Page 29] govern all the businesses of his house. He concludes it abso­lutely with Scevole, who doubts nothing of the obedience of his daughter, though Timoleon cannot assure himself of his sons. Yet resolved to imploy his force where love could get no place, one day having called him, makes a speech to him with all the sweetness he could borrow of his pride and greatness of his spirit: He shewed him the debts and necessities of his house, of which the fall and ruine was at hand, if it were not restored by some rich Match, and therefore counselled him to think seriously on it, forgetting his unworthy thoughts of that Isabel which had almost lost him his life and wits too, and to bestow his love upon some Lady of the City, without thinking longer of this Country-wench. Doth not he play the father of Sampson, seeking to turn his son from the marri­age of Dalilah?

His son finding himself used with all sort of sweetness, having heretofore found nothing but rough carriage, found himself touched in the tendrest of his affections. But as it is impossible that a new Vessel should lose the smell and colour of the liquor with which it hath been first fill'd; he was in great pain how to answer his father according to his desire: And yet not willing to set him abroad to no purpose, he esteemed it better to direct his speech with that government, as might not seem altogether to oppose him. He began to consider the necessities of his house, yet not esteeming them other but that his father might repair them with good husbandry. But when he was urged by his father to seek a Match in the Town, after having excused himself of his tenderness of years unapt for that; Timoleon having taken him at that word, told him he ought not then to do it with Isabel. Sir, I believe it, replied he, that marriages are made in heaven, and practised on earth; and it is hard to resist the influence of this cause, being conclu­ded above to that point. And therefore he besought him to pardon him, having received of God free-will, and not of him: Although the respect he ought him might hinder him from marrying, yet his authority should not be so tyrannous as to make him take a wife against his will: For hot being possible to have both, he could never be others then hers, whom the heavens and his consent had first given him. Scarce had Ti­moleon patience to hear his last word with a dying liberty, when putting himself into his accustomed threats and revi­lings, [Page 30] yet withholding himself in the midst of this torrent as impetuous as impious, for fear to put this young Lord into those extremities which his violent cruelty had heretofore reduced him to. So constraining his nature, he cast himself on rebellion and disobedience, and ingratitude of children; saying they were accompanied with the pride of liberty, that without any wisdom or experience they will make laws to their fathers, and by their sottish love and particular fancies bring desolation to their house. With this his choler made him utter many frivolous threats; as, That if he did not marry, he would disinherit him, and give him his curse if he should ever marry with his Vassal, reproaching him of baseness and poorness of spirit; withall speaking many invective words against this Gentlewoman, by reason of her skill in so many exercises, the rock and wheel being fitter for her. To all which Philippin answered with silence; excusing himself, that having given his word and promise in writing given and received, he could not before God nor men take other wife but Isabel, without deceiving her. Hereupon Timoleon consulted with Scevole; yet hiding most part of his displeasure, and these denials of Philippin: This foolish Boy (says he) being abroad one day, falls in love with a Tenants daughter of mine, a Gentleman here by, and so far as he hath promised marriage; Can this promise bind him? To which Scevole answered, no; but that all these private contracts, secret practises and flying oaths, promises by word or by writing, were as air or running water. Timoleon joyed as if Scevole had given him life, goes and consults with the Theologians, which teach him the same doctrine, the last Councel of Oecumenie declaring null all marriages clandestine.

He returns to his son, of whom he promised himself an as­sured victory: For having demanded of him if he would sub­mit himself to his obedience, if he did shew him that all his oaths and signings were worth nothing; now this youth e­steeming them in full strength, yielded to give him all honour and respect: He brings a company of Lawyers and Divines to decide this difficulty before him; but he esteeming it a trick, would not believe them. He gives him liberty to go to any of the Town, to enquire himself; where having found conformity in all, he was much astonished, finding himself taken by the nose, to the prejudice of his affection. He must [Page 31] doubt no more. Whilst he strives to hinder these baits, and to kick against the pricks, the more he fills his way, and puts him­self into blame and ill opinion of all, and encourages his father to use his authority, who hath no watch but on his goods. He is reprehended of rebellion and disobedience: here is heaven and earth against him, stoned with the reasons of all those which have no feeling or sense of his love. One day seeing himself vanquished by his fathers propositions, which like a cunning Fencer pressed him still further; after having put the shame in his face, and turned all the fault on him; Sir, answer­ed he, they which will ask a reason for Love, may as well seek fresh water in the sea, or birds in the floods, and fishes in the air: For the reason of Love is Love it felf, whose empire is so strong, as it maintains it self good against our selves, forcing us to do that we would not, and making us do that we ought not. 'Tis true, these promises by words or writing are nothing in right, but yet in deed, for the one and the other are in being: That which I received of Isabel, is in your power; but that which I writ and sealed, is in her hands. I know not how to resolve my self of this shamefull denial, as long as these are in being firm; for they will serve for an eternal reproach of my infidelity, which will be to my perpetual shame.

Is this the cause, quoth Timoleon, that withholds you from shewing your duty in obeying my commands? Why, whether Pyrrhe will or no, it shall be very easie for me to break and make it of no effect. He suddenly dispatches Scipion to Vau­pre with the Promise of Isabel, to deliver into into the hands of her father, and to demand that of his son; who was much astonished to hear this news by the mouth of Scipion, with let­ters of credit from Timoleon: For as all this business was pra­ctised without his knowledge, he was much displeased that his daughter durst proceed so far without his consent, fearing some further business: but understanding of Scipion that had been an eye-witness of that nights meeting, that all their discourse was performed according to laws of honour, and in presence of Harman, who had received the promises in writing on the one part and the other; he had reason to say the same which the despiteful Juno said against the Goddess of Cypres, in the greatest of Poets: [Page 32]

For how was it possible that poor Isabella should not yield at the perswasions of a brother, proposing the greatness of a Marriage, on which (said he) depends the happiness of our house; besides, being pressed by his ardent affection to Phi­lippin, which in his person wanted not perfections to deserve the love and service of all. Now Pyrrhe, although poor in the goods of fortune, was nevertheless so rich in honour, that he would not by any unlawfull means have come to a better. Having then promised Scipion to give Timoleon all content­ment, and to employ his uttermost power for to return the Promise of Philippin; he called aside his son and daughter in the presence of their mother, and chid them sharply for their proceedings; telling them how he had discovered from point to point (as he had heard from Scipion though not naming him) their nights-meeting, their discourse, and promises given in writing.

You never saw any so astonished as Harman and Isabel were; who threw herself at her fathers feet, asking pardon, excusing herself by the permission she had to entertain this seeking of Philippin. But Harman more couragious, taking all the fault on him, besought his father to excuse the innocencie of his sister, for whom he thought to procure a fortune very advanta­gious, nothing having past in all their affections which might any way alter the reputation of their family. But where is this Promise of Philippin's? quoth Pyrrhe. The which Isabel, who carried it ordinarily in her bosom, gave freely into her fathers hands to dispose of as he thought fit. They consuited with themselves, if they should deliver it to the hands of Sci­pion, taking that which he brought, or if Pyrrhe should go himself and deliver it to Timoleon? but found inconveniences in both these propositions; yet the most assured was that they resolved: For in the first there was bounty and generosity, and in the second more certainty of reconciliation between [Page 33] the Lord and his Vassal, betwixt whom there was no small hatred; and yet to trust Scipion in a business of that impor­tance, under a simple writing, was not fit. That Pyrrhe should go speak himself with Timoleon, there was some danger to be feared, being both of a stout courage, and of a Nation whose heads are very hot; falling to words, might produce some dan­gerous effect. Harman is appointed to go with Scipion, to re­turn this promise to Philippin, and to bring back that of Isabel. But the brother and sister retired into secret counsel, intend­ing other proceedings; for Harman resolved to carry the pro­mise to Philippin to summon him to the effecting of it, which was not according to the intention of his father. See but into what a labyrinth disobedient youth thrusts it self. He returns with Scipion to the City, leaving his sister to the mercy of a mother which torments and uses her cruelly: For Valentine finding this action odious and dishonorable, had almost with her extreme chiding brought her to despair.

But let us leave her between the anvil and the hammer, be­tween these assaults fatherly and motherly, refining the temper of her patience; to understand the good operations of Har­man; who being arrived, instead of exchanging Promises, cites Philippin before the Justice, to acknowledge his Deed and Seal. Philippin received this assault strangely; for he would have been very glad not to have denied his hand, yet this form of proceeding a little altered him. As for Timoleon, he was so enraged, that if he had met with Harman, he had torn him in as many peeces as a furious Lion would a Goat. Scipion said, this was not the command of Pyrrhe; but that he should ren­der the Promise of the son, and receive that of his daughter. Harman stood obstinately not to give it up, desiring the ad­vancement of his sister against the will of his father. The dis­pleasure betwixt Philippin and Harman came by reason of the strict watch Timoleon kept of his son, so neer, as he took away all means of communication, or writing. This signification was made by Harman so suddenly, as it was done without any consultation of Lawyer or other councel; for having laid the business on the Table before the grave and wise Judges, they told him it was a simple part of him to undertake a business of that contestation. Scevole is advertised of it, who assures Timoleon to break all this like a glass. Yet Harman having spoken with Philippin, pursues his cause by the advice he had [Page 34] of him; having received assurance, if it came to judgment, he would not detract either from his word or writing. In the mean time Timoleon dispatches another Letter to Pyrrhe, in which he tells him, That the Gentleman he had sent the other times had brought other testimonies of his worth then his son made now shew of; and that if he were a man of his word, he should make Harman forbear these proceedings, the success whereof would but turn to his confusion; desiring him to come himself, or to send a testimony of his express will and pleasure, that by that he might judge of his intentions; and that he would still have him for his friend, if he would deal in that sort, that his daughter might not pretend any alliance with his son.

At this news Pyrrhe fell into extreme choler against Harman; and getting on hors-back, comes presently to Town: where no sooner arrived, but Harman retires for fear of his displea­sure. Pyrrhe desires to see the writings of the Process, and takes forth Philippin's Promise, and with the same speed carries it to Timoleon, and in the delivery gives braving words and [...]o­domontado's usuall with those of that Country. The subtile old man puts him off with fair words, without any other an­swer, but only that Pyrrhe had just reason to be angry with his son Harman, which had passed the command he gave him; and had reason like an honourable Gentleman to disprove the proceeding of his daughter, who would have seduced Philip­pin. At which word (seduce) Pyrrhe enters into a new fury, which made him speak wonders. But Timoleon was so glad to have gotten into his hands the Paper which so angred him, that he thought (as they say) to have the Wolf by the ears: so that giving way to the passion of Pyrrhe to gather scum at his pleasure, he was content only to answer him thus coldly, That he was content to have him for his Vassal, but not for his Com­panion, and that he knew the means how to humble him at his pleasure as time should serve; that for the present he was con­tent to return him the Promise of his daughter, counselling him if he esteemed the honour of his house, to deal with her in that sort, as that she should not be so liberal of her promises and writings, otherwise he would hardly find her a husband. These words spoken with somwhat a satyrical tone, bit out­ragiously cruel our Pyrrhe, never answering but with taunts and bravado's, making himself laught at by those which heard [Page 35] him; for although a Gentleman, he was nevertheless so infe­rior to Timoleon, as they were not to measure their swords to­gether.

The Promises rendred, there was no more cause of plead­ing: Pyrrhe gave a disavow of what his daughter had done, and Timoleon the same for his son; friends of both sides seek to make peace with the vassal and his Lord. Timoleon for his part seems not unwilling: Pyrrhe, who knows of what im­portance it is to him to be reconciled, lets himself be easily drawn: words of precipitation are given in choler, they part friends. Here are all the strings of Philippin's bow broken; what shall he do? he is like the bird tyed by the leg, the more it flutters, the more it is pinched, and more it strives, the more strangled. Pyrrhe arrives, and keeps such a life against his son and daughter, such as one may judge of a proud man having lost his pretensions, and being returned with having engaged a piece of his honour. Whereas Timoleon triumphs on his side, and tells of his intention to match his son with Elise; she was both vertuous and rich, which are two qualities which both the world and reason esteem more then beauty. He knew not how to withstand his father by contradiction; his youth told him this was another Lea that they would put upon him in­stead of his fair Rachel; for truly this Maid had not so much of beauty as to be esteemed fair, and yet enough to warrant her from the title of being ilfavoured, although she was so in the opinion of Philippin, not being fair; his thoughts are continually occupied in the idea of Isabel, whose only name spake beauty it self, and was able to make the brightest star appear to him deformed. What shall he do? for this grief is incident to all: He feigns to be touched in conscience with many scruples; not contented with the restitutions of their Promises, he will have an act of Justice for his justification. Timoleon demands it of Scevole, who obtains it incontinently by his credit, and by reason and justice. This is not enough, he says; it was their parents which have made restitution of the Contracts, but he held not himself disengaged, if first he saw not a writing of Isabel, by which she acquitted him of his promise by words; esteeming that a man or worth is as much bound to preserve his word as his writ; the writing being no­thing but a visible testimony of faith given. Said this young Lord to himself, Isabel will never sign to such a disavow, and [Page 36] if she should, he might have just occasion to complain of her, and to accuse her of inconstancie and aptness to change: Ti­moleon, who saw that this was the last rampire of his sons ob­stination, having promised his father to think of Elise, if this Disavow were but obtained; anew sollicites Pyrrhe, desiring him to oblige him so much as to procure him a declaration from his daughter, importing the return of his sons word given her, although it were no way necessary but to satisfie the scru­ples of the conscience of Philippin; promising to acknowledg this courtesie by those good offices, which should bind him to believe their reconciliation was not fained. Pyrrhe, which saw himself sought to by his Lord, and in a thing wherein he believed to return that which he thought he had engaged his reputation in at their last meeting; promised to Scipion in­continently, who was imployed in this business, to give him that which Timoleon demanded. But he counted without his Host, forasmuch as he found more resistance in Isabella in this, then he had ever done before: For judging well by this (as she was wise) that Philippin sought all possible means to defer the marriage with Elise, of which she had already had news, being now common in City and Country, she plainly shewed her unwillingness, saying that was unnecessary, and that she would not give a writing which might prove prejudicial to her honour. But in the end Pyrrhe and Valentine her mother threatned her so much, that having drawn from her many Letters which gave testimony enough of her constrained wri­ting to that effect, at last contented themselves with this, where she seemed to open herself with more freedom and liberty, addressing herself to Timoleon thus:

This long Letter; conformable to the humour of Pyrrhe, and the generosity of the Amazon, was delivered to Scipion: which he having given to Timoleon, brought more subject of laughter then of choler. For boasting is so ordinary with this Nation, as being their common discourse, joyned with the quality of the person, took away all occasion of having any feeling of this. It is shewed to Philippin; who knowing the hand, yet noting many places procured by constraint, is never­theless pressed by Timoleon to take this return for sufficient, with command to pay her in her own mony, which was in this manner to Pyrrhe.

[Page 40] Timoleon found many things in this Letter contrary to his humour; nevertheless was glad to draw what he could from this ill pair; and did not desire altogether to displease this young man, in constraining him to write another more con­formable to his own fancie, being that in effect he had what he desired, with the return of the word of Isabel; who had no sooner had communication of this writing that Pyrrhe let her see, but left almost to live with having ended the Letter. To tell you the raving and assault that this wrought in her spirit, cannot be expressed but by silence: Yet nevertheless being wise and discreet, at first, and before her father she strongly dissembled the grief which pinched her very heart, shewing so constant in apparence, that you would have said this action of Philippin's was in different to her. But when she was re­tired into her private Cabinet, and this retreat, without testi­monies, gave her liberty to recall her passion; saying those words, and using those actions, which she ought neither to have done nor said, if she had had but any reason left; there wanted not much that her soul had not stollen from her in her abundance of tears, and that the sobs and sighs had not stopped her breath. I will not with a lazie pen fill the pages of this book with reciting the inutility of her complaints; we must leave them to the divining of those souls outraged by feeling the like disgrace. How many different projects rolled in her thoughts? Sometime she would, in a sute of her bro­thers, go find out this perfidious Lord, to grapple with him like a Fury revengetrix, and to cover him with reproaches of his weakness and inconstancie. But as she was of a great spirit, the consideration of her honour held her within the bounds of modesty, knowing well that such a habit would wrap her in an everlasting infamy. But then shall she dye an obscure death, not only deprived of enjoying her legitimate pretensions, but also of revenge? I assure you, that between these two extre­mities her understanding was thrown into strange convulsi­ons. In this outrage she became invironed with so strong a melancholy, that she would neither see any, nor be seen of any; if she could have separated herself from herself, she would wil­lingly have done it. So she fell into a profound slumber, forced by a thousand griefs, nor thinking of ought but of displeasures which continually pelled her patience. [Page 41]

Thus the unfortunate Amazon tormenting herself without comfort, nothing pleases her, being so displeased with herself: Nights are tedious to her, having lost her accustomed repose; and Day as unwelcome, because it makes her see too cleerly her disaster. This is not that Atalanta that destroyed by her valour the number of Bores in this our Thessaly. The horror of the woods, which heretofore were so pleasing while the eye of day looked favourably on her, is now become most fear­full: She troubles no more the dark solitary Forrests, the assemblies of hunting are no more lightned with this star; and that which most of all displeases, is, that every one spends their judgments and makes discourses according to their fancies, of this her change of life and humour. [Page 42]

Her parents, which knew the cause of grief, yet having no remedy, were much affected; Valentine principally, which saw the flowers fade in the face of this Virgin whom she loved so dearly, was excessively tormented, cursing the hour that ever she knew Philippin. But Pyrrhe and Harman, who knew that this strange manner of life gave occasion of talk to many men, are touched with a more lively feeling. Poor men! if the thorns prick you being scarce shot forth, how will you endure them when they become more hard and less corrigible? she will be cause of your loss of life and honour.

But let us leave her desolate in her melancholy, to see what is done in the City touching the marriage of Philippin: There he is imbarqued by the commandment of his father in the re­search of Elise: But how can we call it a research, which is already agreed on by their friends? Timoleon is agreed with Scevole, who offers him a blank, promising such a dowry as should quite disengage his house, making his daughter his universal heir, and putting her in possession of more then he could imagine.

He that said, Liberty is a blessing he would not sell for all the good in the world, is deceived in more then the half of the just price; because in the world there are as many and more chains of gold then of iron: For is it not gold which makes the servitude of idols, against which the Apostle cries so loud? Philippin goes to make experience, who marries more to satisfie the covetous eyes of his father, then for his own desires; marries rather coffers and wealth, then the per­son of a woman; nor doth he go to this alliance but with one wing, being there is nothing more displeasing then an af­fection ordained for interest and good of others; Will being of a quality so free, that commanded, it is to put it in a swound. [Page 43]

So Timoleon judged it would very hard to draw such lively flames as the first, by the beauty of this second, makes Philippin take Elise as a sick man doth a medicine, and as Laban gave Leah to Jacob, without almost seeing her. Not that she was unworthy to be considered, not being so unpleasing but she might deserve the love of any: but truly, how she could be loved with the love of friendship, I will not say; but very hardly by that of love, by a heart already enjoyed, as was this of our young Courtiers. He nevertheless sees her, more satis­fied with her vertue, then amorous of her person; and enter­tains her like a man whose affection is rather in his looks then in his heart: It is a simple thing to make love by command­ment; in the end he enters like a fish into a net, even as forced, not having any will that the beginning should tie a knot of necessity which could not be broken but with the sharpness of death, and with all the repentings in the world could not be dissolved during life; for it is not in humane power to dis­joyn those which the divine hath joyned.

Elise, this innocent unfortunate creature, which is the prin­cipal person in this tragick Scene which we present, was a Gentlewoman well born, endowed with more chastity and vertues then beauty of face; for it appears in this our lamen­table age wherein we live, that beauty and vertue are enemies. Her mother, wife of Scevole her father, shall be by us for her wisdom called Sophie: her birth was not so illustrious, as she was full of vertues; for,

She had brought up these two Daughters, which were all the children she had, with much modesty and great fear of God; and as Elise had been longer under her discipline then [Page 44] her sister Elinor, so she surpassed her in humility and obedi­ence. She was of more years then Philippin, but very few, being very discreet and judicious, that nothing was wanting in her to make her an accomplished mother of a family: Her vertue, sweetness, modesty, and the extreme affection she had to her husband, was so great, that in the end he was constrained by so many obligations of strong chains to love. You would have said that she brought into the house of Timoleon the same qualities that Raguel ordained in his daughter Sara in the house of Tobias. She was quiet and pleasing to her husband, respectfull and serviceable to her Father-in-law, who became almost her idolater, he was so much ravished with the good offices she rendred him.

Philippin, who is not altogether insensible, is constrained to yield to so much goodness; for there is no heart so hard, says an Antient, which will not give love not being constrain­ed, for the only price of love is love; the charm without witchcraft to make one beloved, is to love: And what ap­pearance is there not to love her, which loved but him; who loved not day but to see him, nor breathed but to please him? He must be a rock that should not yield himself to so just, so holy and legitimate a flame. For although his thoughts re­fused, and his imagination filled with the consideration of an­other idea, not leaving any void to imprint this new impressi­on; yet his reason vanquished by so much love, is constrained to acknowledge it by a mutual return of love. You would say that as Isaac tempred the grief he had for the death of his mo­ther, by the coming of his wife; so our new Bridegroom for­getting altogether his first furies, to range himself within the bounds of duty and obedience, wrapping up these flying fires in the sacred and solid: marriage is a wise march, which we ought to conduct with much temperance and good govern­ment. That husband which expects so much seeking from his wife, is, as an Antient says, no other but an adulterer; those who mingle so much niceness and curiosity in this venerable alliance, strengthening their valour and esteeming their dig­nity. This Sacrament ought rather to be practised by ripe and staid judgments, then by heat and desire. Happy had Philippin been, had these considerations been weighed in the other scale of his carriage: but his years too tender did not as yet make him capable of these solid governments; but only necessity, the [Page 45] fear of his father, and the strong ascendant power the vertues of his new wife had gained in his judgment, held him within the bounds of duty, with much admiration of all those which saw it, who would never have thought so happy a beginning in marriage to have had so unfortunate an end, as this which I have almost with Honor writ. Thrice happy Elise, as the Poet says of his Did [...], if on the borders of Carthage Aeneas had never arrived, than under a fain shew of being free and noble, hid falshood and disloyalty. Elise was but too happy, we may say of her, if her parents had not been blinded with the bright­ness of immoderate ambition, bringing her to so great and il­lustrious an alliance, for this height serves her but like that of the Tortoise, which is raised by the Eagle to be thrown upon the rocks and broken [...] thousand peeces. If resem­blance of dispositions is the cause of the firmness of friendship, equality is also the surest pillar of a good marriage: For dis­proportions in birth or in faculties, early or late, brings always distastes and riots; these are the seeds of divisions for the latter season. All this nevertheless appears no more in the beginning of the marriage, then seeds freely sowed in the earth: but such as you sow, such shall you reap.

Timoleon bring his son and daughter to Bellerive, so full of joy and contentment to see himself freed of his debts, the busi­ness of his house in the hands of one both wise and of authority, his son delivered (as he thought) of his antient passions, that there was not any of all those which visited him, to which he did not shew in his face and in his discourse the excess of his joy. He was so carefully served, so religiously honoured by his daughter-in-law, that he esteemed by this fashion his life crowned with the happiest age imagineable; he thanks of nothing but making good chea [...], and running smoothly the rest of his days. The care of his domestick businesses troubled him not; for Elise, instructed in the knowledge of these things by her mother Sophie, in her tendrest years, takes all this charge; and with such care and good order, as nothing was wanting, all in abundance, every one content, and all the world blessed them. What doth not a vertuous and well given person, accompanied with piety, perform? she inspires all the house with devotion; it is a salt which seasons all things: she is Mary in her orisons, Martha in her solitude: you would say by her vigilance and affairs, that she had no time for prayer; [Page 48] and seeing her spiritual exercisc [...], that she spent no time but in prayer; all sweetness in her exterior, all fervor in her in­terior; the perpetual visits of companies did no way divert her from the service of Godo It is wisdom in a woman to be watchfull in great things, without neglecting the least. Hum­ble, gracious, temperate, wise, advised, modest, pleasing, metry, the honour and glory of her her race, and of all that coun­try. How is not Philippin's heart charmed with so much merits? he wanted nothing but a little more judgment to e­steem so many obliging qualities.

Among those which came to visit Timoleon and Philippin, to congratulate this haypy alliance, Pyrrhe and Harman failed not, to which their neighbourhood obliged, as also their vas­salage, There is no speech of what's past: Timoleon keeps an open table; Philippin strives to oblige them a thousand ways. Our young son is married; he hath no more need of a Gover­nour, having so good a Governess. The exercises of hunting are renewed, which the Citizen understands not so well as the Country wench: Elise understands nothing but what a wo­man ought to know; Isabel is a souldier of the long robe. She hears by the mouth of fame, not without jealousie, the income parable vertues of Elise; but when she knew the prehe­minence of beauty she herself had of her, this temperated this passion in her heart; she is resolved of a perpetual spining, and to spend her days in the violent exercises of hunting, so fit for the preservation of chastity. Was it despight, or a despair to reconquer Philippin, which had healed her? it is so as she hath [...]ained her first air and fashion.

The Gentlemen thereabouts, to honour this new marriage of Elise, make meeting at Bellerive, where many courses and tornies are practised, and where Isabel is in company of her father and brothers, and did perform wonders. She comes in company of her mother Valentine, to see Elise and her mother Sophie, which came to help her in her houshold-government. This visit filled all the neighbourhood with joy and content, seeing this quarrel alogether extinguished. There Elise sees Isabel with the eyes of a Dove full of meekness, like Simplicity it self; using her with those courtesies so extremely obliging, that shewed plainly the goodness of her heart. But the other more malitious, beheld her as one which did robbed her of her treasure, dissembling nevertheless with much art the [Page 47] thoughts of her heart, although she felt much grief within, distilling from her lips a beam of enamelled words. O how contrary were the thoughts of these two Rivals! the one full of vertue, admired and loved the graces which God had endued her with; the other with a jealous envy consulted often with her glass, to see what advantage her complexion had of that of her supplanter.

Timoleon, who fears from the eyes of this Basilisk to his son a new wound worse the first, hath always an eye on the actions of Philippin; who trembling under the eyes of his father, like a scholar under the rod of his master, to hinder all suspition, governs his looks and discourse in such a fashion, that he speaks but of ordinary things in the ears of all, nor be­holds this object but as a thing indifferent, nor seems too much reserved, nor to appear artificious or constrained, but with a mediocrity of freedom makes them think him without a de­sign; thus he deceives the eyes of this Argus that watcheth him. All this is but artificial within, although without he makes no shew of any thing but simplicity. But even as the fire of thunder, the more it is inclosed in the clouds, the great­er is the lightning it shoots forth; so the more there was con­straint, the more dangerously he lanched his looks on this A­mazon, heretofore so passionately desired; yet nevertheless he felt great contention in himself betwixt reason and his de­sire: For when Reason was mistress, favoured by the absence of Isabel, and the sight of so many vertues which shined in all the parts of his Elise, he tryed with a sponge to forget and deface the form of this Face, the idea of which tormented him. Sometime being alone, to strengthen him in this just war of Reason against Desire, animating himself to follow the part of vertue, by these fair words ensuing.

Poor Philippin, thou speakest well, now that thy reasons are strengthened by the services of thy Elise, which kept thee ma­ster of thy desires: but when the law of sense rebels against that of thy understanding, sowing revolts, seditions and contra­dictions in the city of thy exterior, 'tis then that losing courage, thou returnest into thy first frensies: yet fight thy self, and thou mayst become a reasonable vanquisher, van­quish thy passion.

The whilst these active visits passed under colour of civi­lity, being made more frequent then Timoleon could have de­sired; the hunting served often for a pretext, but another cause is the subject. The cunning old man intends to get be­fore this misfortune, and not to fall from a fever to a hotter ill, cut off all new beginnings of loves. Although his son be not much advanced in years, yet marriage having given him more liberty, it would be unfit to exercise upon him the same com­mandments and rigorous cruelty which he used to him being a youth. Remedy there is none better then that Physitians pra­ctise in the cure of cathars and rheums, diverting them when they cannot dry them. We have said that Monte-gold is a very fair Castle, and of strength and importance, which was within three days journy of Bellerive, at the foot of the Pyrene moun­tains. Under pretext to shew it to his daughter-in-law, he brings all his train, and, that of his sons. 'Twas Philippin who was disoriented, but more Isabella; who at this last sight had so increased her flames, whether it were by temptation or otherwise, that thus being deprived, it had almost cast her into her grave: she judged this remove was caused against her; she knew no remedy but to flie to patience. Philippin was somwhat astonished at first for this absence, and remains sad [Page 49] and pensive some time. But this light fire which began to burn about his heart, kindled by the sight of this object, this absence made his relenting less: For as one wins by the losing of others, so there is no doubt but absence revives, as presence kills. The holy and sincere love of Elise won him so strongly, that his reason was quite renewed; for if Vertue, as an Antient saith, would ravish altogether the heart, if it were but visible, why should it not ravish his, shewing so visibly in the person of the chaste Elise?

Oh if he had made in this time a happy provision of wisdom, or if he had tasted seriously and solidly this butter and honey of discretion, which makes one distinguish good from evil, he might well have known the extreme difference which is between a vertuous affection just and holy, and a bruitish passion unlawfull and dishonest: For in stead of the precious balm of this, as the sweet smell of a flowry field pleasing both heaven and earth, God and men, giving to those which, sa­voured as they ought a taste of the pleasures of Paradise; the infamous exhalation of the other defames the proper au­thors, scandalizes their neighbours, and makes them feel in its tyrannie a forerunning of the unquietness and torments of hell. If Philippin could but have conceived to have received in effect this thought, we should not be in pain to find words pittifull enough to express the calamities which drive him in consequences of depravings insupportable. But not to make him unfortunate before his time, give us leisure to consider him in this good hap, too great for him, if he could but have known or comprehended it. For as if void, or at least exempt of the most lively points of his first love which tormented him, he thought of nothing more then pleasing his father, and full of desire to render himself reciprocal to the tender affections of his new Bride Elise; passing in this fashion the most quiet and tranquile life as may fall into humane thoughts, in ease, wealth, pastime, and abundance, without solitude; all honour and invite him, rejoice and are pleased with his fortune. Truly he enjoyed a happiness not common, and which cannot be easily conceived but by those which know the difference of a vicious frivolous love, and a constant and vertuous; for the glory of such delights cannot be comprehended by all sorts of understandings. The sun never shines on the earth, but it brings to these chaste Lovers some ray of new favour; Night [Page 50] shewed not so many torches in the deepest of the heavens, as they kindled fires in their souls; their contentments not suf­focated with their holy and legitimate usage, finding as in heaven desire in society, because that modesty held their sin­cere affections under the bridle of reason in such a fashion, that being possessors of their desires, they seemed yet to desire the possession, by a strange agreeing in hope of enjoying. It pleases me to paint thus fair and pure, though soft and deli­cate, these marriage-affections; because methinks one cannot set too high a price of that which is legitimate; For why? all that is good, all that is holy and chaste, all that favours well and which hath renown of worthy, ought it not to be raised by a Pen, which hath no other end in that he writes but to honour vertue, and detest vice? Must we always represent Antigonus with that side his eye was worst? shall we never shew draughts with our pencil, that we may shew that side which is most pleasing? Malicious pens will do wonders to set forth falshoods with that art, that it is uneasie to read them without being filled with ill suggestions; and shall it not be permitted them which fight for chastity, to shew the legitimate inclosures in this sacred bond, or according to the Apostle, that their bed is without stain, which is the true sign of Chri­stianity? But alas, how fair weather keeps least constantly his clearness; and how few days cleer, but are troubled with some clouds! Whilst Philippin makes heaven jealous of the felicities he enjoys on earth, this fair day hath his night; and as his subjection was his happiness, his liberty was his ruine.

ELISE, OR Innocencie guilty. The Third Book.

THe Sun was now the third time in midst of the course of his twelve houses. Now the thoughts of his Idea Isabel was so weak in his soul, that he thought not of her but as a thing indifferent; he sees but by the eyes of his Elise, nor discerns nothing but by her judg­ment; so possessed by the object of so much vertue, that vice could have no place in his soul. This Golden Mountain was a hill of perfections; and for the temporal blessings and spi­ritual that God shewed largely upon this house, one might have called it a Mountain of God; a mountain very fertile, a Mountain in which it pleased God to inhabit; God filled it with his blessings in favour of Elise, as he did heretofore the house of Laban in consideration of Jacob.

Timoleon seeing his hopes and desires surmounted by his prosperities; sayes sometimes as Themistocles chased from Athens, That he had been lost if he had not been lost; and his following of the Court would have ruined his house, if his banishment from thence had not called him to its restoring. He sees himself new-born in the beginning of a posterity; for during this time Elise was brought to bed of a daughter, which Timoleon named by the name of his wife deceased, which was that of the famous Penitent, which we will express by that of Dalimene. He desires a son; there is great likelihood heaven will grant him this grace; for Elise had some feeling of a [Page 52] second birth, when all of a sudden a great outrage came and troubled these felicities, and to cover with thorns so many roses. It was the unexpected and sudden death of Timoleon, who going a hunting, fell from his horse coming down a steep place; and having much bruised his head, a hurt very danger­ous to old men, he yet had some time to think of the health of his soul, and so yielded his breath to God; not having had leisure to exhort his son, not to dispose of any thing whatsoever. They carry home the body (for he dyed in the fields) in a blanket to Gold-mount. Which poor Elise think­ing had been the Stag which they had hunted, ran full of joy to meet her Father-in-law deceased: which when she saw, it touched her so lively, the passions of joy and melancholy meet­ing together in her heart, that fell into a swound; and being in the estate she was, brought her almost to keep company with her deceased father. But too happy, if this misfortune had but fallen on her; for then this bloody tragedy would have ended, which we intend to write; for after this, ill fortune never ceased to persecute her innocence, even to make her guilty of death, without having committed any crime at all. Injurious fortune, when wilt thou cease thus to persecute ver­tue? ill encountred Cranker, must thou have still the fairest Roses?

Bellerive is the burial-place of the ancestors of Timoleon; the pleasure of Gold-mount is turned into sadness by the acci­dent of his death: This body must be conducted to the sepul­chre of his fathers. O Philippin, whither goest thou? must thou, to shew thy love and duty to the dead, give death to thy Love? or rather to light with those Funeral-torches the fear­full brand of this Isabel, which will reduce thee and thine ho­nour into dust? Oh if the lips of Timoleon could but speak, they would counsel thee from this journy: Oh if death would permit him to make an oration to thee, with what efficacie of words would he have disswaded the meeting the first object of thy flames. Poor Butter-flie, thou goest to burn the wings of thy desires in a torch which will undo thee. Love is that devil of the Evangel, which once returned into a house from whence it hath been banished, remains more strong then before, making those whom it possesses more furious then ever. We must not set those which are full of rage, in the presence of the beasts which bit them, they will but redouble their torment; we [Page 53] must not approach a smoaking torch with fire, if we will not have it lighted. The greatest secret the Apostle knows to prevent fornication, is to flie; those which love peril, will perish. Elise, why dost not thou by thy wisdom find some in­vention to prevent this disaster which thou goest to gather in this funeral-voyage? But when a misfortune will follow one, says a grave Antient, it seems his wisdom is shadowed, and his judgment blinded, not being able to prevent his headlong ruine.

Being come to Bellerive, all the Gentlemen thereabouts, but especially those which held of Timoleon as his vassals, came to render their last obedience to the s [...]pulchre of their Lord. O dead ashes, is it possible that from the midst of this coldness should come forth so many coals as to burn the heart of thy miserable successor? The fair Amazon, now as free as a man, by the death of Valentine which was gone to God during this residence at Gold-mount, being become unseparable company to her brother Harman and Pyrrhe her father, came with them to the funerals of Timoleon, which was her honour, and the happiness of Philippin; for the appear'd clothed in a mourn­ing habit, so advantagious to her natural graces, that one would have said, what she had done simply to honour the funeral pomp, and wearing the mourning for her mother, made with such art, seem'd exceedingly to grace her. Mourning hath the property to make the fair appear more fair, and the unpleasing more deformed then they are. Under these black vail [...] Isabel lanched forth looks more shining then the fore­runner of thunder, lightning, sent from a dark black cloud: And for a pittifull encounter, Elise, which had no beauty but in her vertues, shewed with an extreme disadvantage to her natural disposition under these mourning habits; withall be­ing much affected for the loss of her father-in-law, whom she honoured infinitely, and loved with an incomparable affecti­on. Nothing defaces so much the beauty of the face, as a true and sincere grief: For to appear fair and pleasing, she must have been content too, and happy. So that just as the bargain is half made with the second merchant, when we are displeased with the first; the desires of Philippin revolted against reason by this enterview; of which the one rubbed with the wings of sadness, hath lost her ordinary effect to draw the iron of his heart; the other armed with a thousand drawing spirits, raised [Page 54] and transported him in a moment from his true being: Their looks, messengers of their intentions, made their hearts speak, which were reduced to ashes by these sparkles framed by this unhappy collection. The furious Lion roaring and watching without cease to devour us; that Dragon that seduces us by these artificious idea's, filling our thoughts with malicious il­lusions; that Spirit sworn against our salvation, which loses no time to indammage us, covering the eyes of Philippin with double deceit, made this illegitimate object appear far more pleasing then she was; and on the other side made her which he should and ought justly to have loved, appear hideous to him, that he conceived a secret horror against her, not being able to comprehend with himself how he had continued so long. And truly her grief, and the estate she was in, which we hold will make the most fair seem unpleasant, with this habit so little favorable to the mediocrity of the form of Elise, contributed to this dislike of Philippin. The other strangely insolent by the knowledge of her preheminences, like a Pea­cock, with her tail covering and crowning herself with pride, throws shame upon other birds; glorying in her victory, and loaden with trophies of her new conquest, retires home triumphing, leaving Philipin in the most strange unquiet­ness that can be imagined. When we throw a stone into a still water, it multiplies the circles infinitely: This sight forms a thousand impressions in the soul of this young man, till now so peaceable and quiet. O Philippin, 'tis here thou shouldst resist this evil which fights against thee; 'tis here thou oughtst to take antidotes against this poison, which slides through thy veins, and will trouble the rest of thy bones and the health of thy flesh. If thou dissemblest, thy intrails will become rotten and old; and the spiritual gangrene giving death, grace is un­available. But unfortunate, thou flatterest thy misfortunes, and angrest thy ulcers with scratching.

He will do nothing: his sickness pleases him better then his health, he prefers a tempest before a calm, and death before life, the prison before liberty. This Syren hath sung him a­sleep in so deep a lethargie, as it quite transformed him; al­though [Page 55] a captived will, yet voluntarily he yields to this servi­tude, and holds it his greatest happiness. He foresaw many ills which threatned this change, but he shuts the eyes of his judgment not to take knowledge of them.

Thus the huntsman always altered with a new prey, leaves that which he had already taken, to follow [...]iercely that he hath not. Here is this young Lord respected like a new star rising in the horison of this Country: his Vassals come to give him homage, whilst he meditates how to make himself Compani­on to his Vassal. He appears free, and yet is more a slave then when he was under the jurisdiction of his father; A horse broke loose without either bit or bridle, a ship without a stern, a cloud full of black water; of blind passion blown by the wind of covetous ills. Already he receives the innocent embraces of Elise against his heart; and as sick men that loath the meats which they have been greedy of during their healths, so that which was here to fore his contentment, is now become insuppportable. His eyes armed with scorn, never looked on her but to disdain her; her presence is odious, her prudence suspect, her care and good huswifery avaritiousness, her mode­sty a beastly defect. And as all we see through a coloured glass appears of the same colour as the middest that deceives our sight; even so not considering her vertues, but on the contrary judging by this secret change, which will shortly change into a formal hatred, she appears odious to him like vice it selfs.

Already this Leah, although fruitfull, is nothing to the ima­gination of possessing a fair Rachel; all the hony that he had heretofore gathered in the company of Elise, changed into bitter forgetfulness. Elise easily perceives this coldness; but as she was good and simply discreet, she threw the cause upon the death of Timoleon, which she thought affected Philippin, [Page 56] although her grief were far greater then his for that loss, whose boiling heat of passion in love was far from thought of sorrow­ing for the death of his father. The more she thinks to com­fort him, the more he is displeased; the more she courts him, the more he seems to be importuned; and although she strives as much as may be to cover with a false joy a true sad­ness, yet could he not hinder but his face, his actions and words betrayed him, making it appear to those which had least of apprehension, that there was I know not what in his thoughts which tormented him. Elise sees this, and is in an agony incon­ceivable: She thought it was a wrong to her husband to e­steem he had any ill opinion of her; she is too innocent to find in herself any subject of discontentment that she had ever given him, and there is nothing she thinks less on then the true cause of this alteration. Jealousie of Isabel she had none; for she believes that time hath healed Philippin of this old impres­sion. But in the end the many matches made for hunting, made her plainly see they were not without design; and the other visits to Vaupre made her to know the fire by the smoak, the beast by the foot: but so late, that the evil was almost with­out remedy.

On the other side Philippin was in extreme agonies; for the way of the perverse is sowed with a thousand thorns: All seemed contrary to his desires. The cunning Isabel which saw she had returned him into her net, and that she held him in her goal by means as full of subtilty, as Elise was full of simple in­nocence, who made as if she saw not that which she did but too well perceive. Isabel seems not to take notice of that which doth clearly appear; and by her flying and fained retiredness adds desire in Philippin to see her. Industrious Galatee, that drawest in flying, and hidest in shewing thy self! For coming to Bellerive to visit Elise, and then he seeing her at Vaupre, it was always in the presence of his wife, or of her father or bro­ther, that he spake to her, which was an extreme torment to this passionate. This damosel full of vanity, took pride tormenting him, without giving him any hope to quench the least spark of this great fire in his breast. Judge but the craft of this creature: Here is a Tantalus dead with drougth in midst of waters; and like the Page of Alexander, he is constrained in silence to burn. It serves him not to speak with Eyes, language [Page 57] which she hath heretofore well understood; now fains not to understand, by a deafness as great and greater then that by which she is beloved. The good of Philippin is his hurt: For this liberty to see that which he desired, redoubled his passion, and makes him perish with a death and languishing grief by the object which is the cause. All his study is to make known to this malitious creature the renewing of his antient flames; but that in such a fashion, that neither Elise, Pyrrhe, nor Har­man understood any thing; yet all see clearly like Eagles. The jealousie of a wife is not to be feared: The valour of Pyrrhe and Harman are not unknown to him; although his Vassals, they are noble, and Gentlemen full of honour, and that rather then abate the least point, would lose a thousand lives.

Oh how true it is, that evil men travel by ways stubled and full of stops and difficulties, and attain much weariness in the end of their iniquities. If once his courtings be but perceived by so many eyes as watch him, all is lost, there will be nothing but tempests within, and shipwrack without. If he but con­sider the end of his unjust pretension, it is but an assured loss of his reputation, and may be of his life: For if Elise perceive it once, farewell friendship and peace; but that is the least he thinks of: If either her father or brother should suspect any thing, there's no more frequenting nor visits, no more duty nor acknowledgment; A quarrel that would set all the Gen­tlemen upon him thereabouts, and make him odious to Scevole and to all that knew the rare vertues of his wife. And to re­venge himself, there is no hope. He is too far in the business; his passion holds his foot at his throat; he is fallen and lost, he is altogether undone. To dissemble his ill he cannot any lon­ger, he cannot without death; and to dye without daring to complain or make known who is the cause, he cannot resolve. Here is our Ixion on the wheel. It is most true that a disorder­ed spirit is his own hangman; he gets much by ruling his actions and motions. He loses his countenance at the aspect of the Basilisco, whose sight kills him. This moving he can­not hinder, betrays. He speaks to her enough, but not enough; as much as becomes him, but not enough; for 'tis not that he would, or cannot, or dares not manifest to her. She see [...] him nevertheless, and seems ignorant. (Learn the cunning of women by this same.) So that our passionate Philippin dies [Page 58] of a sickness obscure and hidden, in midst of all these com­modities and remedies that opportunity seems to present him. In the end the imposthume grows; That which he cannot in­treat for with his tongue, he borrows with his pen, being an interpreter of his thoughts which cannot blush. That makes known to the artificious Amazon what she knew already; but as she loved her honour, and was jealous of her reputation, she struck against the rock of a chaste resolution these first points, making all these considerations recoil before the impenitrable buckler of a holy cruelty. The glory of having captived so great a courage, left not to flatter her; seconded with pride of a secret joy, that she had in her hands the means to be re­venged of Philippin for the wrong she thought he had done her, in leaving her for one of meaner beauty. And as there needs to infernal Archimedes but one point out of the earth, for to raise all the earth; it was by this large gate of vengeance that he convey'd into the soul of this maiden the Trojan horse, the funeral-torch that put all her reputation in ashes. What dost thou, Isabel? in stead of sending back his Pacquets, thou receivest and concealest them, without giving any notice to thy father or brother. Ha! this is not the course of a wise Maiden, which like the Mother of Pearl ought not to open but to receive the dew of heaven; nor to receive other court­ings but those of a legitimate marriage, with the permission of her parents. You will hide serpents in your breast, and then complain you are stung very ill; you let in the thieves, and then complain of being robbed; you put in fire, and then are astonished if it burn you. Where is your wisdom, Isabella? I well perceive you are of that unfortunate band, that are not wise but in doing ill; whilst you are parlied with, you intend to yield, you betray your self in capitulating with a Traitor, as if you were agreed with him to your own ruine. You help him to make to your parents invisible, that which he will not have visible but to you. Poor Rahab, thou hidest the Spies that will be cause of thy destruction and infamy. O daughters that have understanding, learn by the fault of this mise­rable one, since ill examples ingender good manners; and re­fuse these little Letters, which are as so many chains to bring your hearts into servitude; and hunt these foxes which break down those inclosures that make you honoured and esteemed. The abuser Isabel becomes abused, and disadvisedly seduced; [Page 59] A just punishment of her craft and cunning. She lends her ears; and consents to the writings and discourse of this deceiver Phi­lippin, and helps herself by her folly to weave the cord which draws her to shame. She hears this charmer, which flatters so well, as he awakes in her that which disdain had made but sleepy, not killed; covered, not quite put out. He colours his courting with a mask of honour, to make her by this golden outside better to swallow the pill of dishonour: Protests he esteems her his legitimate wife; says he will declare that mar­riage with Elise null, as having but too many proofs of the con­straint of Timoleon, as to her that of Pyrrhe; that the declara­tions contrary to their first promises were forced from their pens, not from their hearts, and that violence was notorious. To these rays of apparent reason Isabel lights her first heats, putting (as in the time of Nehemiah) fire in the oven:

Greatness flatters her courage, which is high; Honour, which she conceives by a just alliance, moves her strangely; and in the end Love wins her absolutely: For although she dissem­bled, a property common enough to all her sex, the impression of Philippin had never been quite defaced in her soul; neither for despight, her affection having still been stronger then the outrage, nor for another object; for after having failed of so high a design as the first, all other Matches were displeasant to her, and her universal disdain had lost her many fortunes; nor for absence, for amongst the divertings of her many exer­cises, always this Idea swam in her imaginations. So that it was easie for him to perswade her, her own inclination import­ing her belief. Painting cannot last long; the first sweating, it falls off a face that hath been daubed with it. The fained despight, the apparent cruelty, the artificious disdain, the af­fected scorn of this Damosel, cannot be maintained long; for that which is counterfeited hath no solid substance, 'tis as snow before the sun. After having kindled the fire of Philippin by a thousand reproaches, there flew up a sparkle from so many coals that lighted in her own heart, and burned herself. It happens ordinarily, that those which shoot artificious fire are burnt first; and desiring to endammage other, lose them­selves. [Page 60] The Bee never stings, but leaves the sting in the wound; and in losing her sting, remains wounded to death. The fire of love is of that nature, that those which will give love are taken; it is a game, in which who will take, are taken.

It is hard to give love, without receiving; 'tis so fine gold, as it remains always between the fingers of those which distri­bute it. Mens hearts are as dry as kixes to take fire; and the greatest courages are soonest cast down under this violence, which hath his greatest strength in his sweetness, and makes us find nothing so sweet as this strength. It was very easie for Philippin to deceive the eyes of his wife, Pyrrhe and Herman; having this intelligence with Isabel, he thought himself above the clouds, being plunged into a foul quagmire. This proud Maid loved honour, and would never yield but with the hope of a future marriage. He importunes her, forced by the vehe­mencie of his infamous desires: But on the other side she ear­nestly pressed him to break with Elise, otherwise he should not hope any thing of her but cruelty and disdain. Here is Philippin in strange convulsions: How shall he break this sa­cred knot, to satisfie his unbridled appetite, and the tyrannie of this imperious Mistress? This Mine must play by a prodigi­ous clap. He yields extraordinary submission to her, and seems an Idolater; for all that she comes no forwarder: He swears, protests and promises; but the second oaths are refused by the example of the first. He passes to promises in writing; Isabel receives them, but for all that he gets no forwarder in the ground of her honour. What shall he do to this infle­xible creature? He resolves to come to the worst of extremi­ties, and to repudiate Elise, sending her shamefully from his house, breaking violently the laws of friendship, and brutally lets himself be carried by the torrent of a passion that will pre­cipitate him blindly in a misfortune irremediable. He sees Isabel every day; and with so much cunning of this false female, that her parents see their discourses and meeting, without perceiving their practises, confounding by their arti­ficious carriages this word of the Oracle of truth, That he which doth ill hates light; for in the face of the sun and sight [Page 61] of men they dissembled their ill doings. But blind and cruel Philippin began to use with much inhumanity the innocent Elise, that his insolencies and indignities are no more support­able by a woman of her worth and quality. She desires to know the subject of a usage so rude as this was; but the more she enquires, the more he hides it from her. All she can do to give him content, displeases him; her presence is so odious, that he can no longer suffer her. They say the Tygres, at the hearing of musick, become more cruel. Philippin is of that humour; the sweet harmony of the vertues of his wife makes him more savage and cruel: He now makes her to understand that he acknowledges her for no wife of his, having been con­strained by the violence of Timoleon to marry her: that he had nothing to do with her riches, she might take them and be gone, for his house was great enough without her help: He reproaches her with her birth unequal to his, the baseness of her parents, her ill fashion, he calls her Courtesies cosenings. To be short, he nourishes her with gall, and gives her vinegar to drink. Upon these subjects of nothing, he puts himself into excessive choler, and threatens to kill her if she consent not to the divorce.

Imagine you if Elise, as wise and discreet as she was, had patience to suffer so many affronts. She is his companion, and he uses her as his slave; she hath raised his house with her wealth, and is told she is the ruine of it. Her estate of being great with child, doth it not make you pitty her? She endures nevertheless these taunts, these injuries, these threats, with a prodigious constancie, without answering so much as one word; not to throw oil on the fire by contesting, desiring ra­ther to quench it by the water of silence. Nor doth this ap­pease this barbarous man, (for how would you have me call this obdurate Philippin?) He torments her horribly, being like a domestick Fury tyed to the neck of this Innocent. In the end affliction, that gives intelligence to the deafest ears, and like a biting powder or strong water breaks open the strongest lets that stop its passage, opens the secret of this my­stery to her, and makes her penetrate into the chest of darkness and into the counsel of perverse hearts, the cause of her mis­fortune. She enters into herself, visiting her interior Hieru­salem with a lamp, that is, a serious Examen; and not find­ing herself guilty of any thing, she sees this change of Philippin [Page 62] is cause of all her trouble; but considers not till it be too late the practises of Isabel. She complains to Scevole and Sophie of the usage of her husband, that could not longer be suffered; she advertises Pyrrhe and Harman underhand to look to the carriage of this Maiden. Pyrrhe declares this advice freely to Philippin; who knowing from whence it came, laught and mocked at it before her father, saying that was the jealousie of his wife, that every shadow frighted. But he conceived such a hatred, and was in such a fury, as finding here a thing unwor­thy of a Lord of his quality, that he basely struck her, after having vomited all the outragious speeches his passion could suggest against her. Which so seised this poor Lady with grief, as she thought presently to have dyed there. Too happy if it had so happened, she had not then been reserved sor an end more tragick and shamefull.

In the mean time Isabel triumphs over all these debates, these being combats which promised her the victory. Mise­rable she, that sowes seeds of discord in this loyal marriage, troubling the highest serenity can be imagined. One thing troubles him, which is, the advertisement Elise gave to Pyrrhe and Herman; which makes them more attentive on the car­riage of Isabel, whereby she suffers strangely, they watching her so neerly, fearing she mould escape them, as seeing her equipages too knightly for a maiden, intend to send her far enough from Vaupre, to one of her Aunts, a woman much more severe then Valentine, where she should not have that liberty she had in her fathers house. This makes her hasten the end of her design; and press the divorcing of Elise; to which Phi­lippin by her perswasions is absolutely resolved. Why do I spin so long this mournfull cord? let us hasten to this ill step. She advertises Philippin that they will remove her far from him; a journey which she esteems the tomb of her contentment, and the ruine of her pretensions. He conjures her to come to Bellerive, for her coming to him would be the expul­sion of Elise, whom he will send to her friends with a bill of divorce; so that declaring his marriage null, he will never have other wife but her. This damosel opens her ears to these perswasions; and banishing reason from her without shame, and making bankrupt her honour, she thinks of nothing but to triumph on the ruines of Elise, upon the exile of whom she pretends to erect the trophie of her contentments.

[Page 63]That which is feigned by the greatest of Roman Poets touching the hunting in which the Queen of Carthage con­summated hymeneal rights of marriage with the fair Trojan, is true in this our History: For there is a match for hunting the Stag, where Philippin took a prey, letting himself be taken Stag and Slave of his foul desires. This is the plot: Isabel loses herself in the woods, and doubly lost both body and honour. But Philippin finds both the one and the other, and are lost both in finding.

Herman who had the conduct of the assembly, troubled with this, judges it cannot be for any good. At their return she is chidden: But she more fool then ever in the love of Philippin, being so far engaged as she must either dye in this pain, or end the marriage, without declaring to her brother her fault, tells him openly her intentions she had to marry with Philippin, after he had broke his marriage with Elise. Herman shewed her it was a simple folly to think of that, all the ceremonies required for a legitimate marriage having been observed, and which is more, consummated, so as Elise hath a daughter, and is great with another. He conjured her to put these thoughts out of her head, but it was too late; for this sister of his stopping her ears at this wise counsel, like an asp, vows she must either die, or end it.

Herman seeing her so wilfull, fearing somwhat else might happen, presses his father to send away his sister to his aunt, without telling him why, but rather casting this advice upon the too frequent visits of Philippin, which could not be hin­dred by reason of his quality, and would make the world talk. Pyrrhe resolves, and commands his daughter to prepare her for the journey, alleadging some other slight considerations. But she goes to make another: For one night being got on hors-back, she got to a place where Philippin stayed for her, who conducted her like a triumph to Bellerive, putting her in the same possession of his house that she had of his heart. In the morning Pyrrhe went to her chamber to dispose of her parting, Herman being destined to conduct her, having all things in readiness. There was much to do when they found [Page 64] her not; they know not what is become of her; Harman doubting, told his father freely, he thought she was gone with Philippin. What alarms were there in this house! what an assault to the heart of her father! He tore his beard, and call'd himself unhappy to have put such a daughter into the world, esteeming them happy which are not charged with these mer­chandises so difficult and hard to be kept. He will not be com­forted in his grief for his loss; for he fears to find her without honour, rather then without life.

This conjecture of Herman proves but too true; Isabel is at Bellerive in the hands of Philippin. It is the abominable cu­stom in France, and in all this Province of which I speak, for the least wrong in the world that happens between Gentle­men, to call one another to the field. Without being other­wise informed of the particulars of this business, Pyrrhe sent by Herman a challenge to Philippin, to meet him in the field with his sword in his hand, to do him right for having stollen his daughter, and to bring his second, he having his son. Phi­lippin for the first Present of his new marriage receives this bloody Paper; his courage commanded him to go, but his conscience which gnaws him gives him fear. The Amazon hath the news, who offers (impudent and unnatural as she is) to second Philippin against her own father and brother, if there be occasion; So true it is, that one forgetfulness brings on a hundred. But Philippin more reserved then she forget­full, being touched with a secret horror of this proposition, an­swers Herman, That he pretends not to keep Isabel in his house as a Concubine, but as his legitimate wife, being resolved to send away Elise, and to declare his marriage null with her; beseeching Pyrrhe to appease his choler, and consider that that which he esteemed a dishonour to his house, was the great­est and the highest advantage he could hope for his family; and that he would not upon a sudden ligntness bloody his hands in the blood of him which honoured him already as his father-in-law: And imbracing Herman in quality of his bro­ther, so flatters him, as he returns him to Pyrrhe with these protestations. Who, furious like a Tygre that hath lost her whelps, could not at first taste these excuses; demands his daughter, promising to give him her when the divorce of Elise was authorised by Justice, and his marriage declared illegiti­mate and forced. Herman returns to Bellerive: but Isabel [Page 65] will not hear of this return, so that the fault was all in her; her father and brother are forced to mitigate their discontent­ment against Philippin, the rape having been voluntary on his daughters part.

But whilst they temporise with their Lord, what becomes of poor Elise? Without attending to be more outragiously com­manded, she intends to depart. For as one cannot serve two masters, much less can a man have two wives. The Angel and the Dragon cannot endure together: The adulterer and the legitimate cannot be associates in the kingdom of the vo­luptuous.

Here is the contrary of Jacob and Esau: The reproved supplants the rased; darkness overcomes light, and vice triumphs proudly over innocence; Sarah and Isaac are ba­nished his house by insolent Hagar. At last Elise by an unheard of cruelty, without having leave to give her last farewell to her dear Philippin, s;aw herself with her daughter Dalimene shame­fully sent from Bellerive, and conducted roughly by the Offi­cers, executors of her husbands passions, into the place of her birth, where full of grief she flies into the arms of her parents. Here we see fulfilled that verse in the Psalm, Whilst the proud exalt themselves, the poor are in affliction: whilst innocence is on the rack, the guilty are in their pride; and whilst the Dove suffers, the Eagle ravished skips in the air of her vanity. Isabel (as the Queen of Carthage) being returned from hunting, goes no more meditating with Philippin for their stollen meet­ings; making defence of her confusion, she calls this ilformed practice Marriage, entituling with the honorable name of Wedding the miserable torch of her impurity. Philippin himself would have it so, and calls her his wife.

And to accomplish the measure of his insolence, and to load with calamities the innocent Elise, he strives to cover his do­ings with a cloak of equity. He publishes every where how he was constrained to marry her, and by consequence the nullity of the marriage: For if will be forced, it is n [...] free will; and if free consent ties this knot of marriage, who knows not, or who sees not that which seemed marriage, and is not? These [Page 66] are the apparent reasons with which this young Lord flatters himself, injured by this new passion that governs him. He imploys Herman's testimony of his first Promises, to break the second. In which the brother of Isabel seems very carefull, who looks not so much to the advantage of the match, as to the conservation of the honour of his house; for his sister had in­considerately laid open the way to her shame, and permitted that which was neither lawful nor honest, but when a marriage is solemnly contracted in the face of the Church.

But the wise Scevole, who hath all prudence and right in his thoughts, and is for his sufficiencie of much esteem and great authority in his company, understands well how to un­do this web, in sustaining the honour of his daughter and his house; making it appear both by the spiritual and temporal Justice, that the first Promises of Philippin and Isabel were un­lawfull and of no effect, their Restitutions valuable, their re­nouncings authentical, and the marriage of Elise and Philippin validly contracted, and also the little Dalimene, with that she went with, legitimate heirs of the one and the other. By these sentences irrevocable, by these decrees of heaven and earth, Herman remains confused in this pursuit; Philippin deceived of his unjust pretensions; Isabel mocked and become the fa­ble of all the Country. Pyrrhe seeing that by this lightness of his daughter, his house heretofore, although not rich in goods of fortune, yet rich in pride, was now all covered with shame and ignominy, not being able to contain his choler by his pati­ence, resolves to take out this shamefull spot which dishonours him, in the blood of the Complices; and calls Philippin the second time to fight, but sees himself disdained as his vassal, and his quality of Gentleman rejected with an affront alto­gether insupportable to a great heart as his was. The affronted Isabel made hard by impenitence, defends her fault, and re­joyces in her evil, imputing the cause of the loss of her cause not to the justice of Elise, but to the favour and authority of Scevole. She makes herself be called by the title of the house of Philippin, who commands his subjects to esteem and honour her as his wife. Thus is verified the word of Truth it self, that the impious being arrived at the depth of his malice, disdains both honour and laws. Pyrrhe outraged cruelly for the disdain of Philippin, and for the insolence of his daughter, and scorn and mockery of all their neighbours, not being able to digest [Page 67] all these indignities, falls into a terrible rage, and determines rather to lose his life, then to draw it out with shame and igno­miny. Philippin stands upon his guards; and being much assisted according to his eminent quality, laughs at these poor Gentlemen, who do nothing but watch neer about his house to do him some mischief; as a great mastiff disdains the bark­ing of little dogs about him. But being advised by some of his friends to beware of a surprise, or of some treason, that be­ing master of the life of the greatest Monarch in the world, who will disdain his own; not willing to live any longer a­mongst these thorns and agonies, resolves to change the air, and to carry Isabel to Gold-mount. It is a sure hold, a seat far off; he thinks to s;pend his dayes with more tranquillity. But as those that are sick at sea, it avails them little to go from one ship to another; or he that hath the feaver in his veins, changes beds to no purpose; even so an ill conscience carries always terror about him, fear and defiance follows him like the shadow the body. The guilty may well be in places of security, says a wise Antient, but not in assurance; for they always see the knife of vengeance divine or humane hanging and shaken over their heads; their sleeps are troubled with a thousand fearfull visions, as if they had drunk the juice of the herb called Ophinsa. Their own thoughts serve them for a hangman, to torment them with horror of their faults, that they enjoy no quiet, but it passes suddenly from them. This far remove hath not appeased the rage of Pyrrhe and Herman, seconded in all his designs by him, which would not be appeased; these are the importunate stingings which shout threats and inve­ctive speeches in the ears of Philippin, These angry elfs which promise nothing less to themselves, prick him to death, esteeming they had reason to take the life of him that had ra­vished their honour; they make about Gold-mount a thousand secret meetings, accompanied with strangers, resolving to spend the remnant of their fortunes in this quarrel. To the greatest the least enemies are redoubtable; there needs but a little Viper to pluck down a great Bull. If they would but have retired, he would very willingly have made them a bridge of gold; but they cruelly desirous of his bloo [...] would not be satisfied but with his life, which he is not reso [...] to abandon. O how great are the multitude of evils which inviron the ta­bernacle of the sinner! This miserable man sees himself pos­sessed [Page 68] within with a domestick devil, so much the more dan­gerous, that he esteems her an Angel of light, adoring his pri­son and his shackles; and besieged without by these furious revenges, which are as sowed to his choler, of whom he thinks to have always their knife in his throat. See what it is to serve strange gods, and to abandon himself to unlawful passions, which make continual wars without truce, and give no rest night nor day. O how pittifull and bitter a thing it is to for­sake the way of vertue; and how assured he is of shipwrack, that loses the Tramontane of the grace of God.

What can one hope for but disasters? Would you not say, that the mercy of God shining upon the lines of his justice cals him by these [...]rplexities in which he now finds himself? But this Pharoah [...]dned by all these wonders, is not converted; but persevering in this abominable train, he dies in his sin, pre­cipitated into the red sea of a bloody trespass. Yet neverthe­less [Page 69] he obtains some respite to accomplish the measure of his pain, by the excess of his fault: For, after hiving besought the Justices of those places to deliver him from the pursuits of the father and son, which had conjured his ruine; by the same arms he would have imployed for his defence, he feared to have been taken; forasmuch as Scevole seemed to favour the party of Pyrrhe, counselling him to declare he had no intent against Philippin as for his Concubine, which he would retire as being his daughter, to take away the scandal and shame of his house.

Thus Philippin saw himself in midst of his enemies, and that justice on his shoulders which he had besought for his de­fence. VVho sees not in this a just judgment of God? only this blind Lover takes no knowledge of it; so strong are the inchantments wich which Isabel charmed him, that besides the despight to see herself pursued and so shamefully qualified by her father, losing all respect and natural love both to father and brother, counsels Philippin to make an assembly of his vassals and friends, and to cut all his enemies in peeces. But as an an­tient Consul said to an Emperor, It is more easie to commit a murther of an adultery, then to defend it: These crimes are not so easily justified, as they are practised; there are few friends that will venture their lives, goods and honours, in ha­zard of so vile a business; when it comes in question to set up­on the justice of the Prince, they will think thrice: Other crimes being more particular, are more easie to obtain pardon; but that which is publike and lesae majestati [...], according to the rules of the best Politicks, ought to be irremissible; 'tis a base­ness which it were impiety to pardon or to pitty, those who commit it ought to perish for an example: Nor is there one of the neighbours of Philippin that will second him in an enter­prise so unreasonable, so dangerous, and full of ruine. On the contrary they complain of his cruelty, and lament the misery of Elise; detesting Isabel as a monster, cause of all the misfor­tunes of this young Lord, and the ruine of his house. By the impossibility to revenge himself and withstand, he shrinketh; and doubting that this quarrel being in the heat, Scevole should take occasion to persecute him, he sees himself brought to a shamefull capitulation, coming again to [...]ers and sub­mission to Pyrrhe, promising that he would di [...]ndamage him of all his pretended wrongs; having been bea [...]n, and forced to [Page 70] pay for his amendment, and to procure the advancement of Herman: protesting to appeal to Rome the sentence which had confirmed his marriage with Elise, and to imploy his ut­termost means to break it; swearing never to have other wise but Isabel, whom he esteemed his legitimate Bride, ordaining his subjects to hold and esteem her by that quality. He sees Herman in secret, upon whom he hath same kind of power, helped by the tears and supplications of his sister; he wins him so, as he brings his father to this agreement; who upon hope to cover his honour somwhat by this promise, returns to Vaupre, leaving Philippin in peace at Gold-mount. But we shall find in the end it was but a peace dissembled, according to the speech of the wise man which says, Peace, peace, where there is no peace.

The whiles this miserable Lord respires, if a man troubled with a thousand fears within can have any repose, although freed of outward combats. We will take this time to go to the Town, to see what Elise doth; also the long ceremoni­ous formality of the Ecclesiastical justice in these appeals, by reason of the distance of places, doth give us leisure. She living retired with her father, under the wings of her mother Sophy, with as much will and obedience, as when she was a Maid. Oh if she had not tempred the rage of her fathers anger against Philippin, what would he not have done to have brought this deboist son-in-law to his duty and obedience? See but what a good disposition she is of, to procure all good to him which had used her so cruelly, and so shamefully sent her away! But it may be her goodness was not commendable in this, for hindring the course of justice, which reduces sometime to good the most desperate, for fear of punishment. So that being pa­tient, and hoping that this foolish love would be past over quickly out of the fancy of this cruel man, whom though lost as he was, she loved as her life; she inspires patience into Scevole, although he had much ado to suffer these out­rages.

We have told you how she was great with child; and be­cause she did not nourish the fruit in her body but with bread of grief and [...]ink of tears, we must not wonder if brought to bed before [...] time, a son came into the world without life, for grief had stifled it in his mothers womb, Philippin being both its father and deaths-man. This pittiful creature thought [Page 71] to carry with herself that she had brought forth, into the sepul­chre. Too happy Elise, if dying thus thou hadst not been re­served to a trespass unworthy thy fair life! I will leave take to speak of her excellent vertues which she practised during this horrible travel, which she thought should have put her in her grave: what holy and Christian thoughts sustained her cou­rage during these assaults? She receives all the Sacraments of the Church, with that devotion, that edified all those which saw these actions; they thought their hearts would have cleft with pitty. She asks a thousand pardons of her parents, filled with grief to see her in this estate: Committing to her sister Leonore the pardon she demanded of Philippin, whose cruelties she even honoured in this extreme agony. She lost so much blood, as she thought verily to have rendred up her soul by this flux, the Physitians believing no less. But as this languishing death is rather tedious then violent, leaving their judgments, with a great clearness and understanding, she had leisure to write this Letter in her extremities, which she would have sub­scribed with her blood, to touch with pitty the insensible heart of her welbeloved Adversary; VVe will report it thus.

She thought to have le [...]t her life, ending her long Letter: For grief and love, two strong passions, with the extreme pain which affected her body, made such an impression as she thought verily to have lost her senses with her blood. But by her youth and good constitution, the care of her pa­rents help of physitians, and perfections of remedies, the great Conductor of the world which reserved her for a more sad spectacle, preserved her for this time.

ELISE, OR Innocencie guilty. The Fourth Book.

WHen this writing, subscribed with the blood of this languishing creature, came to the hands of Philippin, he felt in his soul strange con­vulsions; as what Tygre had not been moved at so much sweetness and humility? For comparing in his memory the paradise of tran­quillity passed, with the h [...]ll of unquietness present, he grieves for her being dead, whom he had afflicted living. But these touches were like the weak pushes of those which wake out of a sound sleep; but being drowsie, fall incontinently down upon their pillow, from which they cannot raise themselves but with great pain. His heart was so glued to his present vo­luptuousness, that he had almost forgot the remembrance of his past happiness; the clouds hindred him from knowledge of the brightness of this vertue, that like a torch casts greater flames, by how much the more it draws neer the end. Even as an Antient said,

These characters imprinted some kind of pitty in this cou­rage, before deaf to all that could be said, and drew some tears [Page 78] from his eyes: but those small drops falling on his hard heart, did no more penetrate then rain falling on rocks; on the con­trary this water, like the flood of the Sycionians that dries the wood, seemed to redouble his obstinacie, and to produce the same effects as the small showers that the vehement heat of the sun draws from the clouds in the hottest of summer, which ra­ther burns the leafs of plants, then any way refreshes them. For fearing his compassion should give jealousie to Isabel, or sha­dow her with some doubt of his affection, he is angry with his pitty, holding cruelty for a great vertue.

Proud Isabel, at the report of the pitteous news of Elise's death which the messenger assured her, thought she should have swouned with extreme joy and contentment, esteeming that this obstacle being removed, nothing could hinder Phi­lippin from healing the shame of her love by marriage. She gives thanks to heaven, as if it had been guilty of her fault, and bound to repair it by so bloody a means; by which you may note the humours of these creatures, that are many times so im­pudent to mingle divinity with their misdeeds. Pyrrhe is pre­sently advertised at Vaupre, who much rejoices for the ensuing wedding of his daughter; and the house of Philippin in stead of wearing blacks for the decease of their Mistress, are imploy­ed in feasting and joy of a nuptial pomp, to honour a mar­riage with small honour consummated.

Philippin receives a double joy by this death, seeing himself delivered of her, which he could not have been but by it; and in possession of her, which he could not make his legitimate wife as long as Elise had lived. He saw himself possessed with great wealth by Scevole, by the means of Dalimene; which if he should have restituted or been deprived of, would have been his utter ruine. He imagines to be gotten above all his preten­sions: And as the loadstone hath no force to draw to it that iron that is rubbed with garlick, even so his heart invironed with the stinking garlick of dishonest voluptuousness, cannot be moved to any pitty towards poor Elise, whose love trains her to death.

[Page 79]For as they were preparing for these nuptial feasts with great diligence, news came to them of the recovery of Elise, which turned all their joy into smoke, and buried all their designs. Oh how vain and light is humane understanding! Philippin hates the life of her, whom he lamented being dead: Isabel is in despair, Pyrrhe in fury, and Herman afflicted, all deceived, because prevented of their hopes and pretensions. Certainly God would have it so, and reserve Elise for misfortunes more cruel, to make his glory shine on the depth of an apparent ig­nominie.

But the rage of Philippin rests not there: For being pressed by Pyrrhe to keep his word with him, having removed his Appeal to Rome to make that sentence void which had con­firmed his marriage with Elise; he imploies his uttermost means to remove all lets and hindrances to prove it of no ef­fect, not forgetting any diligence or earnestness in the pur­suit thereof. But if he were a violent undertaker, he hath to do with a better defendant: For Scevole being upheld by the most equitable right in the world, knew better how to handle these Process-weapons then himself. This hinders not nevertheless but this labyrinth of contestations ingenders a marvellous long proceeding, during which years slide away. Philippin is always in possession of Isabel, by whom he had some children, which were brought up as legitimate. The whilst he is lost in his debauches, and by these ill proceedings offends again with new outrages the goodness of the chaste Elise; which cruel persecution carries him to an action more inconsiderate then malicious, and which will cost him his life.

You must understand, that Elise being a Maid had been sought in marriage by a Gentleman well qualified, and of a reasonable good estate; whom we will call Andronico, for some reasons which make this name proper to him, of which this is the principal, that among his qualities he had one which drew his title from the Apostle who was brother to S. Peter; with this being very valiant, having had many encounters in which he was still victorious; this name methinks agrees well, to make all these things darkly understood. This young An­dronico, after a long pursuit, because of a secret dislike Scevole had of men of the sword, not willing to give his daughter but to a son of his own gown, as he had done before his eldest; [Page 80] being now at the point to obtain his desire, the dispositions of the parents of Elise gave him hope of a happy success, his ver­tue and perseverance having won them. Now Timoleon coming on these terms, and offering to Scevole Philippin his son, an alliance so great and high, this of Andronico vanished like a star before the sun. Andronico digested this bitterness with a patience which may be better praised then exprest: He makes great complaints, which the wind blows away. Challenge Philippin he cannot; for why, the greatness and authority of Timoleon threw too much dust and powder before his eyes, and it would have been to set a Wren against an Eagle. An ho­norable retreat seems more advantagious then a needless con­testation. Well, he retires to his house, not without leaving Elise in some kind of sorrow, which under the permission of a just research, was far advanced in her favour, and could not be left without grief. Yet Andronico having at first sought her for the respect of wealth, had now by long frequentation observed in her many vertues, and lodged them deeply in his heart, letting her gain much in his best affection. I will not spread my self too far in the patticularities of their mutual loves, not to take from this History its brevity. So it is, An­dronico yields where he could not dispute with the greatness of his Competitor; and Elise instructed by her mother to have no other will but that of her parents, yields to the marri­age of Philippin, rather for obedience then any inclination; and Scevole imitating the dog in the fable, leaves a small body for a great shadow, losing both the one and the other; so weak and feeble is our humane wisdom.

Elise being Philippins, giving him her body, and with it her heart absolutely to love him, as an honest wife ought to do a husband, blotting from her thoughts all the impressions she had of Andronico; and he having lost all hope to enjoy her, lost also the design of pursuing any further. But as a man sleeping is not dead, nor a fire out that is covered with ashes; even so this love rejoiced to awake and lighten in these young hearts, which a holy amitie had heretofore tied in a mutual bond. Elise being thus separated from Philippin (as you have seen) and returned to her parents; Andronico, who was ordinarily in the town, expecting some good match, sees her at her fathers, where his own worth gave him free access; at which sight he feels some sparks of his first flame. At first [Page 81] it was without design, and rather for a kind of civility then otherwise; yet he after continues his visits by inclination and pleasure that he takes in the conversation of this creature; of whose pittiful misfortunes he conceives as much compassion, as he had heretofore been passionate for her. And because love enters not into the soul by any gate so wide as that of condo­lence, the extreme misfortunes of poor Elise made and ample breach in the heart of this young Gentleman, who doubtless loved her truly, yet with all the honour and respect that might be desired of a man which made profession of vertue. But this entertainment went so far, that Elise lets herself be carried to yield to the entertainments of Andronico, being also much pleased in his conversation, which was full of discretion and modesty, example of his ends and pretensions, that renders rather marcenarie then true these worldy friendships. They lived like brother and sister, enjoying a pure and perfect uni­on. And as there is nothing so precious in a great affliction, as to find a confident friend, in whose breast one may impose their griefs, and which partakes of our ills by an unfained cha­ritie; Elise esteems it her happiness to have met with Andro­nico, to whom she communicates her griefs with a holy and innocent confidence; and he on the other side took such part, that Elise receives a marvellous consolation; for by his words and reasons he tempred the sharp points which augmented the smart of this disaster, withal having a certain grace in his speech that made his counsels and consolations very commendable. If Elise complain of the rigorous usage of Philippin, his fierce­ness and cruelty; Andronico blames this fierce cruelty, and judges him unworthy to enjoy so great a goodness as hers; saying that the love of Elise was too sincere for a subject so full of ingratitude; and that if she had not yielded to him so much, he would have more respected her, and not given her this ill usage.

I shall never have done, if I should undertake to represent their discourse and entertainments, which made them esteem the hours as short as minutes, in which they were present one with the other; and a moment of absence seemed infinite ages. Thus by little and little the sympathie of their dispositions made them find themselves tied in knot indissoluble, with­out ever passing in this their frequentation (which was always in the presence of either Sophie or Scevole) any action, word [Page 82] or thought, directly or indirectly contrary to purity and ho­nesty. Their eyes were of doves, washed in the milk of inno­cence and whiteness; their lips bound with a scarlet ribbon, so full of puritie was their discourse; with hands full of myrrhe (preservative against corruption) were exempt of impurity; their hearts and bodies breathed nothing but modest. How often both Scevole and Sophie, seeing this commendable amity, grieved they had not joined them in marriage according to their first intent! But repentance came too late, the dice are thrown.

The whilst these unadvised parents considered not they threw oil on the fire that their youths kindled, though she covers it with a vail of chaste modestie; this gave liberty to Elise to desire Andronico, if she had been free from the slavish tyrannie of Philippin: she reproves often the ambition of her parents, who had been cause of her fall by an ascent too high; how much more sweet appears a mediocrit fortune, then those so eminent, which like the fate of huge rocks are sooner struck thunder then the humble vallies; considering

Andronico gathers these plants as pearls from roses, for he was not without tears, making ruddie the plants of his desires, and cursing his ill fortune, which made them acceptable now out of season, and were refused when receivable. Till when, says he, O confounder of vertue, and my sworn enemy! wilt thou persecute me?

But then coming to himself, and seeing that under these fan­tastical names of fortune and destinie he taxed the divine pro­vidence, under whom slides the thread of out days, and which [Page 83] holds our being in his hands; resolves to adore rather then to outrage; and full of confidence, flatters himself with some aiery hope by these words:

But why do I delay so long to let you see the rock of precipi­tation, the end of scandal, and shelf of shipwrack of these souls, in effect innocents, yet in appearance will become horrible guilty. Alas! the bird which produces the feather is taken; and the Eagle oftentimes furnishes the feather which makes the arrow that wounds her to death. After they had long figh­ed in one anothers ears their griefs, and cursed their miserable condition which had hindred their being one anothers; after having many times desired that Philippin had been Isabels, and Andronico Elise's; the laws, which are not always confor­mable to the desires of Lovers, were found to contradict these alliances; for the knot which God ties, cannot be cut but by the axe of death. After many reciprocal words of good will, followed with a thousand protestations to enjoy one another in marriage, if death in punishing the perfidies of Philippin would give way to their loves; after many Letters which con­tained the same language, coming so forward, falling by little and little into pits, which in stead of snaring drew them out at length to strangle them; that they made reciprocal promises one to the other, which could have no other ground but the death of Philippin; which neither the one nor the other had any thought to procure by any way, but to attend it by the hand of God.

Here is all their fault: And certainly 'tis true, vertuous Elise, that by a vain assurance of fidelity, which will be as strongly tied to your heart as to the paper, you put in great hazard both your honour and life. This was the highest de­gree and end of Andronico's designs; for he knew too well the humour of Elise, to pretend of her any thing which was not honorable; nothing passing between them of that which this [Page 84] honest wife ought to her legitimate, although barbarous hus­band; for she had her purity in such a recommendation, that modesty ruled not only her actions and words, but also her thoughts. O must she, to prevent the title of ingratitude, which could not have been given but by the mouth of An­dronico, fall into such an imprudence, which will make her die in the sight of all the world in quality of an infamous adulterer and bloody homicide of her own husband, although in effect or in will she was no ways guilty.

Thus a sparkle sometime blown far, increases to a great fire; and a small hurt neglected, becomes an incurable ulcer; a little spring increasing to a flood, runs with a large compass into the salt sea. But how shall this Promise be discovered, which should not see the day, but when the sun should leave to see Philippin on earth? Yet you will understand it by a means, that will force you to cry with the great Apostle, O height of riches of the wisdom of God, whose judgments are incomprehensible, and his wayes unsearchable! The whilst Philippin is at Gold-mount, in Possession of the body of Isabel, with whom he consumes his days in abominable and unlawfull delights, gilding his evils with the fair name of marriage, and by a false malicious conscience esteeming her his wife: An­dronico is in the town in possession of the heart of Elise, who laments no more the absence of Philippin, by enjoying the presence of Andronico; their conversations all pure and spi­ritual, have nothing that the most severe censurers can justly blame; and living under the eye and discipline of a Sophie, who trusted not so much her daughter, as that she had not al­ways an eye on her conversation.

Thus whilst the Process of Philippin for dissolving his marriage is drawn out still longer, ('tis a web cannot be un­tangled) Pyrrhe enraged by these dalays, murmurs and threat­ens to kill Philippin, if he pursues it not to an issue, as he had promised him. So that the sollicitation of this business calls Philippin to town, having many points in his cause which could not be decided but in his presence, besides that he could have no better Sollicitor then himself. Being thus imployed, in all companies wheresoever he came, he was still speaking invective words against Scevole and his daughter, which made him odious to all that heard him: For, wronging her whom all held his wife, was it not to gather filth to cover his head, and [Page 85] to throw hot burning coals in his own face? He was then doubly blamed and mocked of those which knew the integrity of the father, and worth of the mother of vertuous Elise; who attributed all these words to the lightness of his understand­ing, nourished in vice, and rotten in his debauches. But when many times his wisest friend would reproach him with his in­constancie, presenting to him the ill opinion which was spread in the world of this vile life he lived with Isabel; in stead of taking these admonitions with the right hand, he receives them with the left, is displeased with these truths, or turns them to laughter, rejoicing in his misfortune and vice, and glorying in his ills. For many time in the company of Ladies, where he was for this most persecuted, in a vain humour he describes the graces of his Diana, and deciphers (what shall I say?) rends the ill form of poor Elise. He makes them see that all the pre­cepts of the art of well-speaking, have nothing that gives greater eloquence then passion: For as love made him fruit­full in one subject, hatred makes him as wild in the other; having a voice equally strong to praise and blame, excessive in both.

Andronico frequents, as well as he, these companies, wel­comed wheresoever, for being full of worthy parts that made him commendable; which he accompanied with as much wisdom and staidness, as Philippin shewed lightness. He hears sometimes recited the indiscreet discourse of this Lord, who spake without punishment what he pleased: And being pricked in the tendrest part of his affection, knowing the ver­tues of Elise, could not suffer they should be so cruelly defa­med by the tongue of Philippin. But as then fearing to dis­cover his love in sustaining this innocence, finds himself re­duced into strange agonies: Nevertheless at the assault of these reports, which took him sometimes on the sudden, he could not contain himself from replying as sharp and biting words against Philippin, as he received sweet from Elise: sometime accusing him of backbiting and indiscretion, and often of falshood, saying that Scevole wanted not friends to sustain the contrary of that he so unworthily sought to ad­vance; sometimes affirming it was a shame for a Cavalier to have to do with one of the Gown, and more to tail against a Woman, who had no other arms but her tears; many times for mirth makes Satyrs of Isabel not only to his nose, but also with [Page 86] the pen: He Writ certain verses against her, and long ones; but because they were too biting, I would not black this paper with then. Often in defending Elise, he publishes her worth and patience, saying that Philippin abused her goodnes, was not worthy of such a wife; for in following the dissoluti­on of his marriage, he sought his own ruine and shame: His ruine, for without the wealth of Scevole his house remains engaged without hope of recovery; his shame, in having married one he covers with infamie and dishonour. And for the insupportable disdain that pride drew from the spirit of Philippin against the family of Scevole, he said that the in­equality in condition made him not less noble; Justice be­ing during peace, that which Military art is during wars: That if Nobility were drawn from its first and most just measure, which is Vertue, it would be found greater of the fathers side then of the son-in-law's: That according to the course of the world, a new Nobility accompanied with great riches, ought to be in as great esteem as an antient boasting under miserable poverty. As the wind carries often a small sparkle here and there, which at length is cause of great flames; so there want not in the world reporters, which like Smiths bellows serve to light and kindle cholers, and to put fire into mens courages. The speeches of Andronico come by these means to the proud ears of Philippin, who at first began to carry himself with threats, appearing as a cowardly dog that barks more then bites. It was true, that for anti­quity and greatness of descent, Andronico was much the in­ferior; yet was he a Gentleman, and of a descent too good to endure any thing unworthy. When Philippin spake of a cudgel, he replied he would answer him with a blade of steel; and being born a Gentleman, might measure his sword with any man that wore iron at his side.

By an ill encounter they met in a company; where at the first sight, after the lightning of looks, succeeds the thunder of words, and had come to the hail of blows, if they had not been by the multitude of their friends parted. Andronico not having lost any thing in this encounter, retains himself within modesty; but furious Philippin foaming with rage, chal­lenges him with as much noise, as small effect: For it was never in their powers to meet; the Justice having set guards on them, and the Governour desirous to agree them, had [Page 87] straitly forbid them fighting. The whilst Philippin, besides the spight to see himself braved by a man he thought not wor­thy to be his servant, redoubling his injuries not only against Scevole and Elise, but also against Andronico; obliges his patience to return sharp replies. Philippin enquires from whence this humour of Andronico's should proceed, to sustain so ardently the cause of Elise: And having learned his ordi­nary frequenting the house of Scevole, with some addition by the calumnious reporter, as it is ordinary, adding something to flatter his passion; we need not ask if he added to the letter. As those which are ill, think all are like themselves, he accuses her of dishonour, who was as innocent as he guilty; calling ordinarily Andronico, in mockery, the Squire of Elise; a word in apparence simple, but furred with black malice, and to be understood as sharp as it appeared subtile.

The courteous Andronico turning to laughter these mocke­ries, said, his madness made him spit at heaven, and his own filth returned on his head. Which was true: for if Elise had been such as Philippin had described her, and his marriage with her not yet declared null; who sees not that that which he said to dishonour her, returned infamy on himself? But in that he shot his arrow at a rock, which returns to hurt him that shot it. And Andronico, to shew he wanted not wit nor spirit to defend himself with a tongue, more then the other that as­sailed him; would say, that if he had lived in the time of the antient Palatines, which made profession to revenge the wrongs done by the strongest to the weakest, as also to defend the afflicted innocent, and principally to vindicate the honour of Ladies, he would easily have been drawn to the field as Elise's Knight, to make known by a victory the justice of this Lady, so unjustly accused and unworthily used by her barba­rous husband.

But since they were so strictly watched that they could not join, and the use of those antient Combats abolished; ac­commodating themselves according to the time, bear patient­ly the yoke the laws had imposed, and observing the customs of the place they live in, all these contestations of words seem­ed like storms and thunder, which after much lightening in dark mists of rain and noise, leave no sign of their passage but only darkness: For after these reports and bitings, all these bravado's end in air, which filled with filth the authors them­selves, [Page 88] as snails which soil themselves in their own scum. But at last as lightning is ordinarily followed with thunder-claps, even so choler passes ordinarily from the tongue to the hand.

A Gentleman of Philippin's, whom we will call Valfran, mad to see his Master could not be revenged of a meaner then himself, resolves on a base and unworthy act, which was to shoot a pistol at the head of Andronico. He takes his time, and as day was shut in, (for these shamefull actions require darkness) having learnt he was in a company where he passed his time in hearing a pleasing Consort of musick; he sent to him by one of his Lacquays, saying he was to speak with him from the Lord Philippin, and would attend him at the cham­ber door. The Lacquay tells his Master secretly; who full of the furious courage of our French Nation, that esteems most valor in single Combats, although it be nothing but brutality; and dead with envy to see this Rodomonts sword in his hand, hoping to abate his pride, and make his day by his death to the promise of Elise, steals subtilly from his company, as if he would but go into another chamber; and stepping to the door, he no sooner appeared, but the traiterous murderer which attended him with his foot firm, without saying any word, presents his pistol to his head. Andronico slips quickly aside, and so happily, that the blow given with a noise (such as you may judge) against the door, burst it like thun­der. Hereat all the house and neighbourhood is in alarms; the Consort ceases, and yields to this hellish musick. The murderer would have drawn his sword; but Andronico throw­ing himself resolutely upon him, rolls him down the stairs. Above and below were many blows given; the Lacquays cry murder; all run to the rescue of Andronico; but the place was so strait, that the sword of Valfran was of no use. Andro­nico is altogether unarmed; who perceiving the murderer sought his poniard to offend him, having more strength gets it, and holding it to his throat, says, Remember thou mist me, but I will not fail thee; and strikes it twice or thrice into his body. The murderer cries out fearfully: He would have ended him; but desirous to know from whence this should come, he leaves him yet with some part of life. Andronico's friends came with their swords in their hands, and thinking this enterprise was followed, run up and down the streets to [Page 89] find out the Complices of Valfran: but finding none, the Justice is sent for, into whose hands the Traitor is remitted; who confessed in the place, that he was incited to this base act (unworthy a Gentleman as he was) because he saw his Master could not meet Andronico to end their quarrel; and that he could not endure that a meaner then his master should resist him so strongly.

Philippin advertised of this accident, loving Valfran as much as he hated Andronico, knows not of which side to range himself: For if he sustain the traitor, he covers himself with shame and infamy, and although he protest, will be thought partaker in the treason; and to renounce him, would be to imbrace the cause of his enemy, and abandon his friend. But honour bears him above friendship; and blaming this way as altogether shamefull and illbecoming a generous courage, he disavows Valfran, yet beseeches the Justice to content them­selves with his wounds, without putting him to a shamefull death. But they were found such, as they prevented the pu­nishment of justice; for three days after he dyed: God, by a secret pitty, giving him that time to acknowledg his faults, which he did, demanding a thousand pardons of Andronico for his attempt; and understanding the disavow of Philippin, which had left him in the point of his greatest necessity, cries, O how great is the ingratitude of worlings! how frail their strength, whose amity is enmity to that of God's!

This death shewed the justice of God, which leaves no evil unpunished, increased justice in men, satisfied Andronico, purged Philippin; and by this example teaches us the truth of the celestial oracle spoken by the mouth of King David in his Psalm,

[Page 90]All that Philippin could protest against Valfran notwith­standing, in the opinion of the world this shamefull stain rests in his forehead, that he was not only cause, but also consent­ing to this abominable act, for the fault of the servant is often thrown on the master. This raised marvellously the estima­tion of Andronico; who was quitted for stabbing of Valfran. Oh how much did Elise find herself bound to him for all this! how much love did she protest to him, and to keep in her memory an eternal acknowledgment! For Andronico was not content to employ his tongue in the defence of her honour in all companies, but vowed he would expose his life a thou­sand times for her protection. She must have been insensible to have neglected so many obligations.

Philippin pursues still his first point, to be disengaged in marriage from Elise; persevering in his ordinary mockeries, and calling Andronico his Rival, (for so he had been, when he first knew Elise, being then a Maid) and wondring he should contradict him in this separation, which he esteemed ought to have been sought by Andronico, if he had any design to marry her. Thus into what strange speeches was he not trans­sported! saying, he should but be too happy being refused; and was very glad to yield him a good, as he was sorry to take from him: And full of many other nipping taunts, which I will leave to the conjecture of a good judgment, rather then to soil the whiteness of these pages.

Amongst all these small riots there was great hatred, and almost all the Town took part with the one or the other side. Those which held with Philippin, trumpeted every where the violence Timoleon had used on his will to make him yield to this marriage: And Scevole being rich, wanted not envi­ers, which rejoyced to see these troubles in his family. But this party was least: For the insupportable insolence and pride of Philippin, in his words and actions, made him odious to those which had no interest in his cause. So that justice and vertue fighting for Elise, made the side of Andronico much more strong and puissant. His modesty and discretion con­tributed not a little to the good will that was borne him by many: There was not any that esteemed not Elise to have been happier being his, then Philippin's; for contentment having been preferred before wealth and riches, it is not to be doubted she should have enjoyed as much in the company [Page 91] of this mean Gentleman, as this great Lord, which uses her with so much cruelty and disdain.

As things were in this estate, there happens to be a marri­age not far from Philippins lodging, which are common friends to both our Opposites. They are both invited to the feast; but besought with all affection not to quarrel there, for not hindring a Company that was assembled to be only merry and make good cheer. Which they both solemnly promise to those that invite them, in so free a planner, that their inviters hoped I know not what of reconcilation. But here is a strange web made. For you shall know that Pyrrhe weary to live so long, without seeing the issue of his daugh­ters process; and not able to support seeing himself the shame­full proverb and object to all his neighbours, by a secret sug­gestion of the devil (as it's to to be believed) lets himself be led by the spirit of vengeance, esteeming Philippin dealt un­derhand with his adversary, to abuse his patience and the ho­nour of his daughter, holding his reputation in suspence during the length of this pursuit. He could not come to his ends of Philippin at Bellerive, nor at Gold-mount, because in the Country he always went so well accompanied in time of his defiance, that he had no means to approach him. He ima­gines, that walking the streets without suspect, it would be easie to surprise him, and take the life of him that had made him lose his honour, stealing it traiterously as he had ravished and stole his daughter.

Ill designs are as soon taken as thought on, and pernicious counsels as soon followed as proposed. For at first discovery he made to his son Herman, he offers to execute this enter­prise; and Pyrrhe himself would be of the party; but Herman conjures him to keep his house for the conservation of his goods, to the end that if it should come to be discovered after the blow, he might (having passed the Alps, or crossed the seas) be assisted by his meanes in Italy or in Spain, Pyrrhe, though with much pain yields to this advice to: And having, acquainted an antient Servant whom, they trusted, stout of his hands, whom we will call R [...]boaldo, he's ready to assist Herman in this enterprise. They come to the town well mounted, with arms necessary to execute it; and being hid in the day, not going out but by night, hoping to entrap Philippin returning from some company, the occasion of this Wedding-supper [Page 92] seems fit to b [...]ing to pass their vengeance. Whilst Philippin and Andronico are in feasting, dancing, mirth and joy, with pleasant jests and gallantries, their looks are always at'on'side, not speaking but with eyes whose sparkles in stead of love threaten death; yet do they contain themselves, to maintain their promise. Not but that they said what they pleased; for in those corners separated it was impossible to joyn, not holding themselves to have power to speak without being moved, and once moved, to strike; it was very hard to discourse, and not betray their passions.

Here are wars made at Philippin upon the subject of his Amazon: but he raises her merits with such art, as his elo­quence blinds the judgments of all those that hear him; and those who accused him in the beginning, excuse him in the end. At another corner, Andronico being persecuted in jest and sport as Elise's Knight; what says he not in the praise of this vertuous woman? And that he says in honour of her, could not but turn to the disadvantage of him that used her with so much in justice. And as he was founded in a truth, he he sustains it with so good terms, that there was not any of those which heard him that had not their eyes fixed on his good fashion, and ears on his tongue. Many times he unfor­tunately happened to say, That if Philippin were dead, which might shortly be expected by the justice of heaven, he would esteem himself much honoured to marry Elise, as widow to a Knight, and one of the honestest women on earth. But Isa­bel could not say so much: For if Philippin lived, she was dishonored; He being dead, she durst not appear in the eyes of the world.

From thence his passion carried him to say, that Elise de­served better fortune then Philippin; who (in truth) with­out the express commandment of her parents would never have married him. And after this falls to other particularities, which had not fallen to the ground, though they had not been gathered up by the ears of Philippin. Many times those which heard them speak so disgracefully one of the other, would fain have broken off this discourse: But as there is nothing that tickles the ears more then detraction, by a natural malice which inclines us to ill, all give way to their discourse. And that which at last lost Andronico, was a word that slipt from him unawares, as reproaching Philippin of the assassination [Page 93] of Valfran, although he were innocent by the oath of the de­linquent. It might have been easie, and it may be permitted (says he) by the course of the world, to return a treason by an­other; but I hate too much such base unworthiness. Andro­nico, this will cost you very dear.

It is now time to conduct the new married pair to bed; where being arrived, all this fair company are separated. In the great number of Caroches and horses which waited at the gates, it was easie for Herman and Roboald to stand in the dark­ness of the night amongst this press; from the midst of which comes Philippin slightly accompanied, and on foot, by reason of the neerness of his lodging. As he drew neer Roboald, who stroke down the Page that carried the torch, Herman on hors­back comes upon Philippin like thunder, presenting the mouth of his pistol to his forehead with a steel-bullet, which strikes out his brains on the stones. Philippin seeing him come, believed it was Andronico; and cryed, O Traitor! O Elise! thou mak'st me be murdered! And so dyed. After this blow, Herman and Roboald retire by favour of the night to their lodgings, from whence they went next morn­ing by break of day; arriving at Vaupre with an assurance as if they had done nothing, for they were certain not to have been perceived.

But let's return to the City, where in an instant all was in rumor and alarm: Many fled; others more valiant, went to behold this tragick spectacle of Philippin spread stark dead on the pavement. Andronico, who was no way guilty, comes on hors-back with others. He laments, as Caesar did Pompey, the death of his enemy; nevertheless with a certain fashion min­gled with joy, which gives an entrance to suspision if it were not himself, that after so detestable a deed comes to counter­feit the innocent. Many circumstances seem to accuse him; as the discourse he had held in the Wedding-hall, and 'twas a man on hors-back that kill'd Philippin. Many said aloud, that if he did it not, he had made it to be done; which he de­nies with as much constancie, as truth. There were other te­stimonies of some that had seen him take horse at the very time that Philippin was shot, giving assurance that he could not have committed an action so base; but that he was of the plot there was place for suspition, leaving all these groundless reports. He raising his head, strengthened with his own in­nocence, [Page 94] retires confidently to his house, believing already to be in possession of his Elise. Who had no sooner understood the bloody murder of her husband, with this miserable circum­stance of Andronico's being suspected; but changing the love she had for Philippin into pitty, and the good will so worthy which she had born Andronico into a mortal hatred, she takes this conjecture for a truth, and upon this first impression no way doubts it; whether it was to have her in possession accord­ing to the promise she had given him, or to be revenged for the attempt of Valfran, he had done this base act himself, or made it be done. And even as that friendship which is ground­ed on vertue, swouns before its contrary; the same doth cha­rity in the soul, encountring vice; like the stone called Prassu [...], that loses its lustre at the approach of any poyson. Here is she for the loss of Philippin filled with grief not to be comforted; her affection is redoubled by this cruel and dan­gerous trespass; and so void of good will for Andronico, that she hath his name in horror, and the thought of him is an a­bomination insupportable.

Philippin is conveyed to Bellerive to the sepulchre of his fathers, whither couragious Elise had the strength to accom­pany him. Her mourning and tears, as sincere as her love was true, moved more pitty in those that saw her thus living, then for her dead husband. For all saw by the misgovernment of this young Lord a just punishment from heaven; the hand of God lay heavy on his head that had been dashed in peeces: according to that word of David, A perfidious man given to flesh and blood, never sees the days of half the course his life. Scevole, a man of great understanding, accompanies his daughter, as Dowager to the house of Philippin, to these fune­ral rights; with his Grandchild Dalimene, as she that was now universal heir by the declaration of the validity of the marri­age of Elise and Philippin, whose rightfull succession none could withstand.

But this is not all in question to dislodge the Amazon out of Goldmount. For, not to speak of the complaints of this desperate Lover, and the furies that seised her at the receit of the news of his death, then when she hoped to have come to Town to have married him; who being the corrupter of her integrity, ought to be the repairer of her renown. There wanted not much, being filled with a rage full of blindness, [Page 95] that she had not killed two miserable children which she had by Philippin the time they had been together; and for to have kept them company, have pierced herself with the same blade that had murdered them. But the inspiration of her good Angel was stronger in this assault then the suggestion of the ill; who raises for a time the impious above the cedars of Libanus, for to throw them in the end into the deep pit of despair. At length she resolves on an enterprise as foolish as hardy; (but on what doth one not think in extremities?) which was, To make herself Mistress of the Castle of Gold-mount, and to keep it by force of arms, to which her courage and ordinary exercises had incited her. For to return to her father was a thing she could not hear of, doubting the ill usage and indignation of Pyrrhe, and after so much greatness and magnificences that she had tasted in the house of Philippin; could not reduce herself to the poverty of the paternal, that she knew for the subject of her ill life was become altogether incommodate.

But Scevole having had the wind of this design, goes strait to Gold-mount; and authorised by the Justice of the Country, assembles by the Provost all the Commons, and begirts this Warrior in her Castle; who having made more provision of men then victuals, was delivered by those that ought to have defended her, into the hands of Scevole, who was pleased to remit her into those of her fathers, that fains to be ignorant of the death of Philippin; he receives her alone, refusing to meddle with her children, which Scevole takes charge of as descended of his son-in-law, though illegitimate. When Isa­bel saw herself in Vaupre shut up in a dark prison, it was then she had occasion to curse her faults passed, and to acknowledg that these tribulations were the least that she deserved. VVe will leave her to suffer under the hardness of her irons, and such barbarous usage that I abhor to write of, to come to Scevole, who returns to the City triumphing in the execution of this justice mingled with so much mercy, for he might have used a more exemplary punishment on this criminal rebellion. He again confirms the marriage of Elise with Philippin, and anew declares Dalimene heir, and her Mother dowager and governess. Elise shews in her face the signs a widowhood full of grief and bitterness; her voice is like the turtles, no­thing but solitude is pleasing to her.

[Page 96] Andronico; which could not think the ill usage of Philippin could have begot so strange a mourning, believes some art, where there is nothing but simplicity. He intends to visit this desolate Lady, to contribute, at least for complement, some image of consolation to this grief that he esteems [...]ained. But finding her so much changed in her self, and for him, that she was to be misknown in face, and more in her understand­ing; At first aboard he esteems that the goodness of her na­ture had renewed her antient love by the pitty of so mourn­full an accident, which was cause of all this wildness. And desirous, pressed by his own affections, to give her some com­fort; as he thought to have drawn her aside, she prevents his design by her sudden retiring, which gave him no means of speech but before Sophie, his discourse being no other but that is accustomed in the like occasions. But at last Sophie being called into another place, left Elise (as formerly) in conver­sation of Andronico. But she turning her back to him, as if she had seen a serpent or fearfull dragon, follows her mother, and leaves him not only as an indifferent person, but as a de­tested; which was greater in the heart of Andronico then ei­ther spittle or shame; for such an outrage in the lightning of her eyes threatned a horrible tempest.

The troublesom confusion to see himself left, now when he thought to be most favourably received of this woman, ha­ving given her so many testimonies of his love, and honoured her so respectfully; puts more colours in her face then we see in the Rainbow that proclaims a storm. And truly, being this man is innocent, let it be permitted us to say this word in his defence: O Elise, you will have time to repent you, to have condemned one before hearing him, and to have so soon given belief to a light conjecture. There is nothing ordinarily more false then the reports of the Town; for fame increases not but for the most part with lyes; the divers reports and con­jectures are but dreams of men waking. You will ruine your own happiness; and for a slight disdain you make this gene­rous heart feel, it will cost you your life; you wrong your self more then him, and lay a foundation of dislike which will be your common loss. Who is not astonished at your incon­stancie? to see her which in her greatest adversities shewed more strength then a man, for a vain shadow shew weaker then a woman; like a Rose-tree that bends with the smallest [Page 97] wind? who can justifie your ingratitude, or uphold your forgetfulness, in but thinking of the good offices this young Gentleman did you, when exposing himself to so many quar­rels and hazards to maintain your honour, and the validity of your marriage, against himself and his own contentment? You permitted him to love you, when there was no hope to see the fruits of the flowers of his affections; and now that the day of hope begins to appear, you cover him with a night of despair, not only forbidding him to love or seek you (the lawfull gate being open) but also to see or speak to you. As great a heart as a woman shews in the most fearfull accidents, she returns always to her own nature, and many times in the smallest encounters makes known her great weakness; like the captive King that wept not seeing his son slain, and yet shed tears at the death of his slave. I have much ado, Elise, that I accuse you not of lightness, and esteem you worthy of the pains you go to suffer, forgetting the grief I felt in reciting what you have suffered. For is it not like the Prince of Israel; to hate so unworthily those that love you, and love unjustly those that hate you? I see you are like the sick, that have their taste so changed, that those meats they held delicate being well, go against their stomacks in their indisposition: For this sincere affection which you have had to this Gentleman, is converted into hatred. This change cannot but be extreme, the effect being ordinarily compared to its cause. She is like the fi [...]s of the Prophet, either perfectly good, or extreme ill; and like delicate bodies which turn sooner to corruption, by how much they have been tenderly nourished.

Andronico retires by this blow, with a thousand divers thoughts that troubled his very soul. Not able to rest all night, being so afflicted with different passions, he doth no­thing but search in himself, and plunge into the secret corners of his soul, to find in what he had failed in duty to his Love, to be used in this sort: And after having turned often in this labyrinth, from whence he still came forth by the gate of in­nocence, thought it was for the small assistance he had given to Scevole and Elise in their journey to Bellerive and Gold-mount, where he thought he should have testified the fidelity of his courage. Sometime he was perswaded, that Elise much grieved, consolation displeased her; being there is nothing that displeases more in tears then musick, though in it self [Page 98] most pleasing: But to think that she grieved for the death of a man that had so wronged her during his life, and of whom she had complained a thousand times to himself; it was a thing he could dot admit into his belief.

VVhat shall he do amongst these perplexities? He writes; but his Letters heretofore so well received, are rejected with a fashion that testified a discontentment, and no small one. This affront seems very sensible to his honour: Many times despight counsels him to rase it, as not to the purpose to suffer this indignity, if he were to live with her, as he desires and hopes. He hopes it; for his love, of more strength then this outrage, makes him wave all these punctual considerations: He desires it, because this Match will be extremely advantagi­ous to him. And esteeming it sure, being founded on her strong promises; not able to resist the fierce assaults of his passion, nor the disdain received, nor to forget his pursuit, or resolve on patience,(that so soveraign herb in all the trou­bles of our thoughts) he is resolved, on what price soever, to accost Elise, with opportunity, or by importunity. For to live longer in this incertitude of the cause of his disgrace, is impossible; and impossible it was for him to find the occasion; for what prayers soever he make, this favour is denied him, without other reason but a furious indignation. He prevails so much with Sophie to whom he addresses himself, that he ob­tains permission to speak with Elise, but in her presence; yet nevertheless apart, and in that fashion, as she might not heat any thing of importance which he had to communicate to her. Sophie according to her promise commands Elise to hear An­dronico; wondring much from whence this sudden change should proceed towards this Gentleman, that had given her so many testimonies of his love, and done her those obliging services, the conversation of whom had heretofore been so pleasing to her. For although this soul report came to her ears of the suspition for the death of Philippin, nevertheless she was a woman so wise and so advised, that without heark­ning to these Town-reports, she chose rather to believe her eyes, which made her see many vertues in this honest man, then to incline too lightly to a flying murmur that entred her ears. She had much ado to make Elise yield to this enterview; and demanding the reasons of this difficulty she made, think­ing it had been some one of those gentile repulses or amiable [Page 99] [...]iots that ingender ordinarily between those that love dearest. Elise besought her not to press any further on that subject, which was dangerous, and would draw blood of the nose of her child with often blowing. Yet nevertheless as she was hum­ble and submissive, putting her will under the obedience of the commandment of her mother, she consents to this meet­ing: but being in presence one of the other, their contrary passions were so vehement, that the words they had purposed to say, die in the utterance, resting a long space without pre­ferring one word; An evident sign of the troubles of their thoughts. But oh how different were they! For Elise's were of hatred and disdain, and those of Andronico of love and grief. 'Tis true, a mean grief may be told; but an extreme, astonish­ing the understanding, surmounts the power to express it. At last, as the fear of the death of Craesus untied the tongue of his son being born dumb; even so the fear to lose this fair occasion that he had purchased with so much pain, drew from the mouth of Andronico, rather dead then living, these words drawn from the essence of the same displeasure:

Madam, My grief is such, that if it would but give me the means to present it, I should diminish the infinity of it, as I ad­vance in terms that will rather offend the greatness; then any way decipher the least part thereof; it would be too weak, if it gave not leave to the sighing of my complaint. All that comforts me in this mortal distress, is, that I suffer for your occasion; so that the excellencie of the cause eases the rigor of the effect: For it is so much honour for me to suffer for you, that for so worthy a subject, there is no sort of torment, which, in stead of offence, is not held by me for a re­compence.

At these doubtfull words, Elise suddenly judged he was guilty of the death of her husband; but the biting of his con­science made him fearfull, and therefore strove to cover it with these artificious words; searching excuses to make him, if not pardonable, less odious. Which made her return him this sharp answer: Content yourself with my silence, Andronico, and convert not my patience into fury, for fear my forbearing lightens not from the just feeling of my wrong. Content you to have reduced me, by your execrable vileness, to the highest period of grief that a soul can feel, that loses the half of herself in the loss of her husband.

[Page 100]Madam, replied Andronico, I easily pardon the grief your good nature feels for the death of him, to whom the law of marriage had tyed you in a strait bond; for I know how strongly you loved him, notwithstanding the ill usage by which he violated your constancie: but I cannot conceive what grief should make you call me vile and execrable; ac­cents so far different from so many other sweet names that I have heretofore seen you choose to favour me; titles so far from those that your courtesie not long since did oblige, not my desert, but my fidelity; that I am forced to tell you, that as the bee which makes the hony, is that which stings the most sensibly; and as hony so sweet in the mouth, is most sharp to wounds; and as there is nothing more scalding then oil, when it is hot; so these outrages coming from your mouth are so much more grievous, by how much I have received consola­tion and gratification. Must I be so unhappy to see the fire of my wounds come from the place from whence I expected my healing? Is it possible after such a metamorphosis, that you retain the name of that Elise that professed so much love to me then, when it was less lawfull to love me? of that Elise which I so devoutly honoured, and against all these contra­dictions I cherish yet more then my proper life? I cannot tell more how to name you, nor know not what term to find ex­pressing enough in any idiom, that can set forth as it ought such an inconstancie. At least, Madam, let me know the rea­son that hath caused so long time your pitty to be deaf at my prayers; and after this knowledge, let hea [...]en cut my life by the knife of your cruelty, when it pleases him. This is the smallest favour I may hope of you, seeing I can draw so much from cruelty it self; there is nothing more just then to make known to an offender the cause of his suffering, nor any thing more unjust then to conceal it from him.

If a small cloud can take from our eyes the sight of the sun that is so great, replied Elise, it is easie with a small fault to shadow out one of a greater importance. But that God that sees all, and which knows the secrets of hearts, and dives into the dark corners of our reins, that is served with things of smaller appearance to make known the most covered, and which can draw the light of the truth from midst of the thick­est obscurities of falshoods; will also be served with my good­ness, and the consideration of that love which I have here­tofore [Page 101] born thee, for to give thee means to shun a shamefull punishment, and to withdraw thee quickly from this place, where 'tis wonder that thou caus [...] have so much assurance, having committed so great a fact; my silence and thy retreat will be more safe, then my discourse and thy stay. I would to God you had not done that which I dare not tell you, because I have not forehead enough to blush for the loss of thine. Content your self, that my honour being ti [...]d to your life, not to lose the one, I will conserve the other; although the one is as precious to me, as the other is detestable.

In all this there was much said, yet nothing of what should have been said: And what is he that would not wonder at these delays, and at the length of these circumlocutions? For since Passion is a labyrinth, it is no marvel if it have many turnings. Andronico having had some feeling of the reports which ran to his disadvantage upon the death of Philippin, doubts it might be about this accusation; comforts himself in the hope to see an end of this Mine, that threatned a great de­scent after it had taken wing; being founded on the truth of his innocence. So that for fear to anger this woman, knowing there is nothing more fierce then a Bee when it is moved, which puts her life in the wound she makes, and never stings that she rests not wounded to death, he fains to be ignorant of the end of this her fury, in saying to her, That when one endures a pain deserved, it is made so much the more tole­rable; that one believes to extinguish a sin, is to suffer with­out desert; it would be hard, but more insupportable to suffer innocently, and again in being ignorant of the cause of his sufferance. And then kneeling down at the feet of Elise, with a voice somthing higher then before, or then the place where he was, and the presence of Sophie, although not neer, seemed to permit him. Madam, says he, I will die here, or learn from your mouth what can be the cause that puts me in­to so fierce a disgrace; nor will I ever leave you till you give me this satisfaction, to let me know of what death I shall die; for I take heaven to witness, I find not my self guilty of any thing that may be prejudicial to you. I beseech you not to give way to calumnies and reports, to the prejudice of my sincerity.

Elise surprised to see him in this estate, and before her mo­ther, did not know on what side to turn her: wherefore in­treating [Page 102] him to rise, which he refused to do, she says to him softly, Content yourself, that I cannot speak without offend­ing mine honour, and your life: And that in the midst of the hatred with which I detest your vileness, I reserve this spark of my antient affection for the conservation of them both; to which I found my self bound, not so much for any good I wish you, but for the respect I owe my modesty. Madam, replied the unfortunate Andronico, this is not to give me light, but to plunge me into a new obscurity: I beseech you disco­ver these riddles, and not to tell me again in other terms the same thing you have already told me; for what can he fear, that doubts not death? but on the contrary, if I lose your favour, I desire it to free me of a life which will be more trou­blesom then it, being deprived of your love. All that astoni­shes me, is your honour, which you say is engaged to my con­servation; and in that it may be you have said better then you think: For when the purity of my intentions shall be known, the greatness of my affections, the sincerity of my soul, and how many dangers I have run to give you proof of my service, and that you have recompenced me with despair that will take my life; it will be hard for you to remove this stain of ingratitude, which like an eternal infamy will remain on the pureness of your understanding. If ever it happen, not that I attempt, but only think any thing that might never so little prejudice your honour, for the conservation whereof I'll spend a thousand lives, I desire that the heavens never pardon me any fault.

It will be easie for me to resolve to die, after being deprived of that I held dearer then life. What do I say? Truly it will be harder to me to resolve to live, or rather to outlive such a loss; yet to lose my life without knowing the cause for which I die, this is that I cannot resolve on, if I do not bury my self with the quality of the maddest of all humane creatures. [Page 103] Wherefore I intreat you to permit me to press you with all sort of importunity, to declare to me the ground of my con­demnation; otherwise I shall believe that the words you have given me, and those promises you have made me, even by writing, as I can easily testifie, proceeded not but from a changeable humour, incident to your f [...]x, and of which I ought to expect nothing but pure inconstancie.

At this Elise was touched to the quick, and (as they say) in the ball of the eye: Who cutting off suddenly this long discourse, all inflamed with spight, and red with choler, an­swers him, VVhat do you upbraid me with my words, and taxe me with promises, to draw me into your crime, and to match with the murderer of my husband God will not pu­nish my disloyalty, although thy falshood. Go traitor! and the most soiled with infidelity that earth ever bore! Doest thou in this sort wrong my easie belief and simplicity, to make me guilty, although innocent of the bloody falshood that you wrought in your thoughts? Go crocodile, that weeps before me to devoure me, and to ravish mine honour with my life. It was not on the miseries that I suffered then, that thou con­tributedst thy tears, but on the ill fortunes thou preparest for me. Oh, I will never trust on the faith and words of any man; or let heaven punish me with all griefs that are to be imagined, if it happen to me again to let my self be cozened.

At these words, uttered in a fashion that testified that the excess of indignation had made her beside herself, Andronico knew cleerly the truth of her distaste. Of which much joyfull in himself, because the testimony of his conscience made him unblameable; in stead of excusing this invective with sharp words, being wronged, smiling as it were, and sweetly blotting out this error which seemed pleasing; well, Madam, replied he, if I should have committed this crime of which you accuse me, what had I done but rendred Philippin that he would have given me by the attempt of Valfran? But I have not so base a courage to give such commission to others, nor so trai­terous to execute them my self. I often desired to see him with his sword in his hand, without other advantage but my courage, and the justice of your cause; but we were hindred in this design by our friends. But when I should have thrown [Page 104] him where his misfortune has cast him, what had I done in it but the office of the divine justice, which vanquished by his unworthiness was forced to extermine him off the face of the earth, where he led so infamous and shamefull a life. And to you, Madam, what service should I have done you in breaking the bands of your slavery, and of the hardest tyrannie that was ever proved? But as I do quit the thanks you should owe me, if I had done you that good office; so you ought not to accuse me of a fact I have not committed, but (to confess to you ingeniously) many times thought. For why should I not desire the death of him that had conspired against my life? and of him that in possessing of you, ravished me barba­rously of the dearest pretension I had in the world?

By these words Elise believes assuredly Andronico had at least caused this murder to be committed; which made her thunder in these words full of fury and indignation; Ah dis­loyal [...] thou art not contented to confess thy fault, but to glory in it too, esteeming it not only worthy of thanks, but of praise; not willing to sin with imputation, but with rea­son; and for to imbarque me in the vessel of thy shame, and to carry me with thee into the certain shipwrack of thy honor, thou wouldst cover me with thy infamy. But know, cruel, that although Philippin was severe to me, he never had a soul so base and traiterous as thou. But this shall not rest so: for in the place where thou wouldst offer mine honour to thy pas­sion, thy own life shall be offered.

She uttered this discourse so loud, as she made Sophie run to her; for with it she cried out, as if Andronico had pressed her with some unjust matter. To whom she said, Look you, dear mother, to what you have reduced me by your command­ment, to entertain the murderer of my husband! Should you have tormented me so much, to make me hearken to this Bru­tal; who not satisfied with the blood of Philippin, will also by a certain art, as abominable as malicious, ravish the honour of his poor wife! And judge if I had not reason to shun with all care this rock so dangerous: Not only he confesses his crime, but boasts of it; and what is the end of his vileness, but only to intangle innocence in guilt with him? He thinks by the help of a certain Paper which his artificial importunities have torn from my simplicity, to make me consenting to this [Page 105] homicide: Of which if ever I thought, I desire the justice of heaven nor of men may ever favour me.

If Sophie were not amazed heading this language, I leave it to you to judge. And during the astonishment that seised her, Andronico had time to say to Elise, Madam, you have many other ways to be rid of my life, if you had but imployed that of your cruelty, without casting also mine honour into the depth of shame, which is unsupportable to me; that is al­so to break violently the laws of friendship, as barbarously as those of courtesie. But I would have you know, that as I have loved you honourably and vertuously, these two props fail­ing, my love goes to ruine. I honour love when it hath vertue for its principle; but I love honour by a singular preferance it hath before life, and all things. Those that touch mine ho­nour, touch the sight of mine eyes; for that was the only thing I could prefer to your love. But since that love will become ruinous to mine honour, I must protest I hold it for enmity, and mortal enmity; for never any of what quality or condition soever shall attempt on mine honour, whose life I will not take. Pardon me in losing the duty I owe to love, being you are grown bankrupt of fidelity. And truly, if I say that it's false I confessed to be guilty of the murder of Phi­lippin, of which I detest the author and the action as much as you can do with all the cunning of your ceremonious mourn­ing; 'tis certainly not for the loss of that man that hated me, but that I have in abomination a murder so detestable. You might have contented you with your falshood, and to have broken your oaths, and the writings of your promises, with­out seeking this odious pretext by which you conspire the loss of him that hath offered his blood for the sustent of your ho­nour. But as God lives in heaven that reveals the secrets of all hearts, and the seals most dark, I will turn these evils on your own head. And to the end you may know it was love, and not interest which made me seek you as long as I esteem­ed you vertuous; from henceforth renouncing the words you gave me, and writings I have of yours, I will make it appear in the face of Justice and of all the world, that I am innocent of the crime you would impose on me, and that you are guilty of the most noted perfidie that was ever acted.

[Page 106]With these words Andronico goes out, leaving the mother in extreme perplexities; and the daughter in an anger that cannot be conceived but by a woman outraged with the like affront, by a man that had always honoured her with all respects.

ELISE, OR Innocencie guilty. The Fifth Book.

MEan while Elise tells her mother, this business is of that consequence, as she thinks it fit to make it known in the presence of her father. They go to the chamber of Scevole; to whom Elise, accompanied with Sophie, re­cites all that had passed between her and An­dronico during the life of Philippin, the promises they had made both by word and writing; upon which she lays a strong conjecture, that Andronico had murdered her husband, which himself came to avow, but in such doubtfull and covered terms, that although he did not expresly confess the crime, nevertheless it was easie to judge he was consenting: For her self making those promises, she had never thought of other death to Philippin then natural, having never had any design against his life by any bloody means, nor poyson. Wherefore she besought her father to help her in the pursuit she intended against Andronico, being there was nothing more just for an honest wife, then to seek by justice revenge for the murder of her husband.

Scevole was much surprised to understand all this; and as he was wise and judicious, judged this business was very doubtfull. He takes his daughter aside, promising her all assistance; but conjured her not to imbark herself in so dan­gerous a navigation, without a firm biscot of innocence and patience; prays her to tell him freely, as to her father that [Page 108] would hide her faults with his cloke, and save her life as by his own, if she had never had any words with Andronico against the life of Philippin, for that the quarrels they had gave some shadowes thereof? Elise assures him that there had never been any; and if she did not find herself entirely exempt of guilt, she would not attempt so dangerous a design.

Upon this Scevole made her see her great indiscretion in the promise she had made in writing, during the life of Philippin; saying that it was the rock on which Andronico had made ship­wrack; and although she were innocent in effect, neverthe­less the world would esteem her the cause: So that if Andro­nico had kill'd him with the sword, she had kill'd him with the pen, forasmuch as it appeared she had given the cause of the execution. So that one may sing of her that which the most ingenious of Poets engraved on the tomb of the Elise of Carthage:

I'll tell you, daughter, it is lawfull for a wife during her mar­riage to promise to Jesus Christ to take him for husband, if she outlive her husband. It was a councel that the antient Origen gives to married women, which make a particular pro­fession to imbrace piety; and 'twas that vow that the jealous Ter [...]nllian desired so earnestly of his wife. But to promise mar­riage to another man during the life of her first husband, it is an action not only forbidden by the laws, but which gives an evident conjecture of adultery and murder: And as the con­cealer and the thief are subject to the same punishment, even so those that in consequence of the like promises give occa­sion to those that seek them to execute so villanous a deed. Daughter, here is in this more difficulty then you think on; and though your innocence be justified by justice, your honor will always rest with some flaws in the opinion of men, and especially by those that are jealous to see wealth and dig­nity in our house, who will esteem that my credit and autho­rity hath rather saved you then your innocence. If you will [Page 109] take my counsel, I would have you hold on the defensive, without undertaking to accuse Andronico, except you had stronger proofs; for God in time will bring to light the truth, not leaving unpunished so vile a fault.

To which Elise replied; But (father) would one have a more evident proof then his own proper confession? I am assured that if he were called in question, his conscience would constrain him to flie, and would make guilt appear to the day; for his denial before my mother is a great sign of ac­ [...]usation, being there is nothing that one denies with so much ardor, as a fault one finds themselves guilty of, seeing there is none will publickly open his own dishonour: And is it pos­sible that the common report hath not made you know there are great suspitions against Andronico, which will become cleer convictions by the least examination of Justice? Daughter, replies Scevole, I am of the trade; and you must know that that which we think many times the most notable, grows so doubtfull by the proceedings, that it's like a spring cleer where it rises, but becomes troubled and muddy in its course; many times innocence suffers for the guilty, and those are lost that maliciously plead to lose another.

O Elise, if thou hadst received these paternal words as ora­cles, thou shouldst not then for thine own feminine wilfulness have been precipitated in the misery whereinto thou goest to plunge thy self, in answering him thus. Sir, I owe you my life, but I owe my self the conservation of mine honour. I am a widow, and enjoying my rights; it is not that I would take my self from the submission I owe you, nor draw my self from your obedience; but I humbly beseech you to permit to my just grief, that in revenging the death of my husband, I make lye and give death to this Traitor; who not content to have deprived him of life, would also rend mine honour from me. I hope to make it appear that he is only guilty both of his death and my surprise.

She goes out from her father, and resolves to accuse Andro­nico. But [...]son had no sooner returned the day, but she sees herself prevented [...] her adversary in this enterprise; for he cited her to appear before the Official Court, to acknowledge her promise of marriage, and to bring his own. This citation is told to Scevole, who goes quicker to work; for he causes Andronico to be cast into the bottom of a prison, acousing him [Page 110] in the name of Elise for the murder of Philippin. Andronico hath kindred in the Town, as also in the body of the Justice, where Scevole holds a principal rank. They go as suddenly to visit him in prison: where he having protested to them his innocence, saying it was an artificial trick of Elise's to deny her promise by this false accusation; Look you, says he, how she cuts her throat with her own knife! For if I had done this act, which can never be proved nor found by me, it must be by her perswasions, and by the instigation of her promises. Upon this, the friends of Andronico present a request against Elise, obtaining of the Justice that she might be in prison to justifie herself of the same crime. Scevole, who is confident of the innocence of his daughter, and the strength of his authori­ty, and being just and a man of conscience; although he feels a contradiction in this action that appears not very honorable; nevertheless pressed by Elise herself, who runs voluntarily to yield herself prisoner, so much she is encouraged to be reven­ged of Andronico, whose ruine she holds assured, he contents to this imprisonment.

Here are our Lovers enemies in separated places, runing with the bridle on their necks to their loss, by the way of a recipro­cal hatred. Andronico sees himself accused of a murder he never so much as thought; and pursued by her of whom he hoped the greatest felicities of life: And Elise sees herself accused as consenting to this death, bye him that she thought certainly had procured it. At last their innocence is ecclipsed in the shadow of these dark dungeons, where they learned to their cost, that prisons are like quagmires, which one gets not out of so easily as they slip in. Andronico being examined, denies absolutely to have done, or caused this murder. But having to do with so able a person as Scevole, who knew so exactly to gather all these particularities that might make him guilty, at last all the world seemed to conjure his death: For all the words, his threats, his quarrels with Philippin are examined; his frequenting the house of Scevole with Elise; this Promise, which she acknowledges to have been forced from her simplicity; shewing reciprocally that of Androni­co's which he had forced her to receive, signed with his blood, the presage of his hellish enterprise. And not to make here a procedure of a process in law; all the circumstances and con­jestures of the time of the assassination of Philippin, with his [Page 111] last words at his death, that seemed to accuse Elise to have made him be killed by the hands of Andronico, whom he call'd t [...]rritor. All this makes him guilty in that sort, that the Judges following that which was produced and proved, in the end the opinion of all being changed by the prod [...]cing of this Promise of marriage, went all for death; there rested nothing but to confront him with Elise. Now as there are many forms of contrary qualities in a cloud, that produce the thunder that breaks all to powder the places where it falls: Even so in this enterview, after a thousand flashes of lightening, spark­ling no more of love, but of hatred that fl [...]w from their eyes; the thunder of their words was understood, that broke in a thousand peeces both their reputations and lives. For Andro­nico having heard, that after this confrontation he must lose his head; carried by despair, resolves to draw into his con­demnation her that accused him with so much injustice, and turning his antient affection into a mortal hatred, it resolved to have for company in death, her that he could no more hope for in life.

So that being in presence one of the other, as Elise did re­present to him what he had said to her at her fathers, where it seemed he accused himself in terms obscure. It is true, an­swered Andronico, with a tone furious, and a look on one side, that I did desire the death of Philippin, and I have sought it; and it doth not anger me to have done it, so that it were ac­cording to the rules of honour that are observed amongst Gentlemen. It displeases me, that being dead as he is, I am charged to have killed him thus; but if that were, it had not been but by thy perswasion, ungratefull Elise! For who knows not but it was for thee that I had quarrels with him; that it was to deliver thee from tyrannie, that I have exposed my life to h [...]zards? How often hast thou sighed in mine ears the grief of thy [...]r [...]ude? and wherefore, but only to en­flame mine anger by the pitty of thy disaster, and to b [...]ing me to this shipwrack by [...] [...]eceiving song, O disloyal Syrene! My Lords, says he to the judges, full of despair; if you find me guilty, behold the ca [...] of my evil, shewing Elise; for if I killed, or made Philippin be killed, it was this Fury made me do it.

Elise finding herself innocent, laughs at this accusation; but the judges told her there was rather occasion to weep; [Page 112] for the strongest proof that was against Andronico, being founded on the promise that he had drawn from her to marry him after the death of Philippin, was not the same presum­ption as great against her, that had received from the hands of Andrinico a writing of the same effect ? They find these accu­sations so connext, that they cannot condemn nor absolve the one without the other. Elise may weep and protest her inno­cence; Andronico hath struck a stroke that will bring them both to death. As much as Scevole understands in this science, he finds himself swallowed in this business; his credit nor his authority cannot stay this torrent, that will overwhelm the honour of his house. His prophecies prove true, to the great grief of Elise, who repents (although too late) to have pre­ferred the violence of her unjust anger before the wholsom counsel of her father.

To end quickly this troublesom passage, she finds herself innocent to be condemned as an infamous adulteress, and as a cruel murderer of her own husband, to lose her head with Andronico, as complice of his dishonesty, and murder of Philippin. It is a soveraign decree, that excepts no appeal; being pronounced in the morning, 'tis executed at night; where these unfortunate Lovers serve for a tragick spectacle to all the Town. Scevole not able to drink of the bitterness of this chalice, nor support the indignity of this affront, ab­sents himself; his wife Sophie took such grief to the heart, as in three days death lays her in her tomb. Elise abandoned of the world, hath no more recourse but to heaven. She's now come into the high sea of grief, where a tempest promises her an assured shipwrack. She hears her sentence, which brought thunder with lightning; and struck with an assault so little look'd for, and so suddenly her understanding, that she swouns with the horror, and thought to have dyed for fear of death. Happy in her pittifull misfortunes, if this death had antici­pated her shame! Returning from this swoun, her face paint­ed with the colours of death, her eyes sunk and heavy, her lips pale, and with a voice trembling and mingled with a thousand sighs, she breathed forth her sad complaints. Who hath done this impittiable duty, to recall my soul into this miserable body, to make it retire by a second separation more hard and cruel then this first, as more ingenious and less infamous! Who hath ravished the peace I felt in this sweet [Page 113] languishing, for to draw me an innocent offering to the war of a sacrifice as bloody as unjust! O Elise, must thou be the scandal of thy blood, the dishonour of ancestors! What is be­come of thy pomps, thy greatness, and honours? O my dear­est Philippin! was it not enough that I lost thee, without seeing my self not only accused as the cause of thy loss, but condemned as guilty of thy death? Ha cruel Andronico! that the honest respects thou hast heretofore offered me, are become now hurtfull; and that thy conversation heretofore so sweet, is changed into cruel bitterness! O how dearly do I pay the interest of my simplicity and inconsideration! Ah barbarous, thou knowest well the contrary of thy accusation: But thou wast not satisfied with the life of the husband, if thou dost not quench thy enraged thirst with the blood of his wife. Yet if thou hadst done to me as to my husband, thou mightst make me lose my life, without tearing mine honour from me, but thou must needs add this to the measure of thy insatiable cru­elty. Ah Judges! why can you not see into my innocence? One day, but it will be too late, the just heavens that see the outrage your injustice doth to me, breaking the vail of a false accusation, will let you see it; and then you will render to my ashes the honour that you now ravish from me.

We would pursue further the end of these complaints, yet more pitttifull then they can be imagined, if we did not fear to beget pitty in these dungeons where inflexible cruelty makes its eternal residence. The presence of a Dominican, (for the religious of this order, as they are in great esteem every where, so principally in this City where this sad adventure hapned) tempering by his words the extreme grief of her who com­plains thus without comfort, brought her in small time to acknowledge that this disaster was not hapned to her without some secret providence of God, which could not turn but to her greater good; so that she did not take that on the left, which should be on the right; nor seized not the brand there where it burned most. Good Father (quoth she) it is not death that I fear; knowing that is the end of all humane mi­series: On the contrary, I have desired it heretofore with no less impatience against the outrages of my ill fortunes; and if the laws of God did not forbid to have recourse to a volun­tary trespass; I should have fled it it as to a safe port. But that this death makes me run a double infamy, crimes of which I [Page 114] am accused, although I be exempt both of the one and the other stain. This is it that makes my griefs unconsolable, and hinders me to frame in my soul a good resolution. And that which is hardest to me, is, that the shame of this stain reflects on so many persons of quality to whom I have the honour to appertain in this place. For to speak truth, the grief of the death of my body is nothing comparable with this bitterness that assails at once all my understanding.

Madam, replied the religious man, If it be the cause that makes the martyr, and not the pain; if you are innocent of that that is imposed on you, you ought not to fear the loss of your honour, nor any shame; for he that draws light from darkness, knows well a time that his providence hath deter­mined to make known your justification to those very same that have condemned you. The disciples of an antient Philo­sopher grieving to see him condemned innocently, Alas my friends, said he, would you have me die guilty! That which you esteem a high point of desolation, ought to be according to my judgment the strength of your consolation. If you but cast your eyes upon the Example of Christians, the Saviour crucified, is there anything comparable to Innocence, that defies all the most mortal enemies to reprehend it with any fault? And can there be any grief equal to his suffering? What his adversaries had procured to obscure his glory, proves the height of his greatness; and the gibber of the Cross before so ignominious, is now the most precious ornament of crowns and diadems. The judgment of men should not trouble you; it is God that judges you, and them and their judgments too: They are ordinarily false in their ballances; but the time will come that the hidden secrets of the dark shall be reveal­ed, and the thoughts of all hearts manifested; and then every one shall be praised or blamed according as they have truly deserved. Mean while, Madam, imploy this little time that remains to you of life, not in inutile complaints for the cutting off your days, not in protesting your innocence, nor in ex­claiming against your ill fortune, nor in reprehending the sin­cerity of your Judges that have condemned you according to their laws, that make the rule of their consciences; since the Lord, before whose tribunal you are going to appear, will that we be at peace and accord with our enemies whilst we are in the way of this life; otherwise he will not be pleased with [Page 115] the sacrifice you go to offer him of your heart and body. Take heed you harden not your heart to day, when you hear the voice of the heavenly Bridegroom that knocks at your ears by my tongue; for it is written, that those that have their hearts hardned will make an ill end.

This discourse was preferred with so much devotion by this good Friar, whom we give the name of Symphorian, that the courage of Elise strengthened on the one part against the as­saults of death and ignominie, was also sweetned on the other towards Andronico, ready to pardon him her death, without considering that she was more cause of the loss of this Gentle­mans life, then he had been of hers. After having discharged her conscience in the ears of this good Father, and protested before God and that tribunal of penitence, where it is a fault inexpiable to lye unto the Holy Ghost, that she was not any way consenting to the murder of Philippin; yet nevertheless adores the will of God, to whom she submitted herself with all her heart, as to the rule of all justice. She embraces the cross of him, that would die on the tree dishonorably for her salvation.

The whilst Elise is thus disposing herself, Andronico is brought to the same point of resignation and reconciliation by a venerable Priest, whom we will name Cyrille; who having seen that this Patient drew no other consolation of his death, but the pleasure to be revenged of his enemy; after having plucked from his heart this malicious humour, with which if he should have dyed, it had endangered his loss eternally. Why but, Father, do I ill to rejoyce to see that this unworthy Elise is fallen into the pit she had prepared for me, and that herself is brought into the precipice where she had plunged my innocence? To which this worthy Churchman answered, That it was the work of a good and true Christian not to render evil for evil, but good for evil; by the example of him that being cursed, cursed not again; but being unjustly per­secuted, presented his che [...]k to blows, his face to be spit on, and his body to the murderers, without making more noise then a tender lamb whose throat is cut. And that he must be more spa [...]ing of the time that was left him to acknowledge his faults. That it was question of a minute, whereon eternity did depend: That it would be less judiciously done to los [...] a Kingdom that hath no end, for a moment of ransom; that it [Page 116] was better to swallow this draught of bitterness as a man of courage, and not with cowardly fear; and that it was the greatest of all baseness of the heart, not to pardon an injury; that revenge was the mark of a faint heart, and effeminate; a dangerous ulcer which invenomed his soul, and made him bring forth a mortal canker.

Having now won thus much on the great courage of An­dronico, to pardon her his death that was the unjust cause of it; it was easie for him to purge this soul: which free, noble and open of his own nature, gives free passage to penitence, which made an operation of a marvellous conversion, a true change unto the right of God. He confesses his sins with great com­punction, discovering all his heart with an extreme freedom; adoring the hand of God laid heavy on his head, and humbly kist the rod that chastised him, to the end it might serve him for a rod of direction to bring him to the kingdom of God. This worthy man pressed him hard to award this fault before that tribunal, where falshood is a sacriledge; and not lose him­self in the way of C [...]in, that denied the murder of his brother. For as S. Peter said to Ananias, one may easily deceive men by falshood, but not God.

Yet still he firmly denies to have given any advice, or had any design on the life of Philippin. This at first aboard asto­nish'd Cyrille: who carried by the vulgar opinion, and vio­lence of the conjecture, doubts that an attempt so dishonest had hardened his heart by a foolish shame. He gives him many examples on this subject. But seeing on the one side his ex­treme earnestness in the accusation of the rest of his faults, and a strong perseverance in the denial of the same, he began to be perswaded he had not committed it. Having then purged suf­ficiently his thoughts of his offence by a good absolution, and having made him perform divers acts of contrition, humility, resignation, and of renouncement of the world, and submis­sion to the will of God; of patience, hope, faith and confi­dence in the goodness and mercies of God; he raises him thus by little and little into the air of divine love. Even as the heat of the fire loosens the flesh from the bones; even so death that heretofore appeared so terrible to him, seems now a sure and pleasing port, where he may enjoy the eternity of peace which passes all understanding.

[Page 117]When these two hear to thus dissposed came to meet in the Chappel of the Prison, whither these poor Patients were brought attending the hour of their suffering; we must not marvel if their antient loves were renewed, being they were not only prepared for pardon, but also to charity, which is no other thing but the [...]ame dilection all cordial and sincere. The Confessors, after they had reconciled them to God, reconciled them one unto the other with great facility. For as the iron flies unto the loadstone as soon as the garlick is removed; the presence of the diamond is taken away, that gives it liberty to carry it self to that straw that draws it to it: Even so those souls being delivered of the stinking garlick of hatred, and the hard diamond of obstination, were easily drawn to these acts of humility; that without the assistance of grace, one might rather desire, then have hoped this condescension; and to see their tears mingled, whose blood must shortly be mingled upon a shamefull scaffold. Here Elise confessed aloud, that she had no other proof against Andronico for the death of Phi­lippin, but the common report, and conjecture that the pro­mise she had given in writing had brought him to that attempt to enjoy her in marriage. There Andronico professed openly, that as he had never so much as thought of that murder, nor had ever been incited to it by Elise; but only his despair had forced him to avouch this crime, seeing he could not shun his punishment: so by the same despair he had accused Elise to be guilty, to make her perish for his revenge.

Some of the beholders esteemed these excuses as fained, as they were most true. And the Judges, those inflexible Rada­manthes, mocked at these denials out of season: The irrevo­cable sentence is pronounced by their mouths; they have given it according to their consciences, and conformable to the law: Their ears are so accustomed to hear these excuses of offenders, that they are to them as unnecessary songs; for it is the custom of men to say they are innocent, considering only their witnesses, not their own consciences. They imagine that this miserable pair being resolved to lose their lives, intended to preserve some vain shadow of honour, in saying they were innocent of so odious a crime; but that being on the scaffold at the last hour of their death, which is the rack of racks, they would then declare all to the discharge of those that had judg­ed and condemned them.

[Page 118]I will not here present the griefs of these two spirits, being I think they cannot be comprehended, nor express their com­plaints; seeing their innocence was made guilty more by their inconsideration, then by their malice: Nor can describe their displeasure, finding they were cause of one anothers loss. You may judge that their griefs, their complaints and dis­pleasures were as pittifull, as their affections were now sin­cere; for in these extremities there is no more dissimulation, no faining nor art, and less colour; it is no more but a plain simplicity. Elise desires many times to take her last farewell of her parents: But having heard that the news of her con­demnation had caused her father to retire into the Country, not being able to support the sight of so tragick a fortune, of which there was no remedy; And that the grief of this had given such an assault to the heart of Sohpie her mother, that she was in bed sick unto death; she obtains permission to write to them, to make known unto them in these last words the feeling she had of their sorrows, which was more incom­parably then what she had of her own.

With the same hand and heart she drew these other lines for Sophie.

Time with an insensible course advanced with great paces the hour of execution of this Innocencie guilty. Our Lovers are brought to the place with as much joy and gladness, as if it had been to their wedding. When they appeared on the bloody Theatre, they were beheld with many eyes, yet very different: For many had compassion of their miseries, by a natural feeling that touches the hardest hearts; Others had them in horror, not so much for their faults, (for to sin is a thing humane) but because they published so loud their in­nocence, this displeased them, like Bats to whom light is un­pleasing. Strange quality of confession, that makes the inno­cent guilty.! The resistance that our Patients made in not avowing that which truly they had not committed, made them odious in the eyes of the malicious world, that esteemed them so much the more guilty. Neither their youth, quality, blood, freedom and courage, nor the other testimonies of piety that they shewed in this action, was capable to draw any sorrow from the spectators; but all gave blessings on the Justice that purged the world of such plagues. The Confessors imploy their utmost endeavours to draw this thorn from their hearts, by their mouths; and used the most pressing and earnest rea­sons they could from divine inspiration. But how could that come from their mouths, that was not entred into their thoughts? They died praising God, that was pleased to draw them to him by so rough and hard a way. The whilst the world enemy to heaven, and father of rash judgments, curses them, God blesses them in giving them an invincible courage, [Page 122] and fearless in this inevitable danger. Elise pardons all the world; and asking a thousand pardons of Andronico as cause of his suffering, her head flew off in uttering these words, Jesus be with me, Lord Jesus! And Andronico incontinently after, with these words that his Confessor put in his mouth, My God, I remit my spirit into thy hand.

The opinions upon this Execution were very different: The Judges themselves, whilst the world praised their equity, were not well satisfied in their souls, although their hearts felt nothing. So much force hath truth, that those that see it not, are nevertheless constrained by a secret vertue to have a feeling of it. But as the Seed-corn thrown into the earth, that one would think should rot, is nourished, & taking root raises his head loaden and crowned with fruit out of the earth; even so this innocence for some time hidden and lost by death, having gotten the victory by suffering, shall appear like a Palm so much the more strait and high, by how much it had been overcharged; it will come from the midst of hot burning coals, as pure as gold from a fornace.

But Sophie, in stead or being comforted by the Letter of her daughter, finds herself so full of grief, that not being able to support the greatness of her sorrow, she was constrained to yield to her tomb that which all flesh owes it; which she did three days after the death of her daughter; for to outlive such a disgrace, was a thing impossible to her: Scevole being in the Country, assailed with this new grief for the death of his wife, experimented the proverb that says, One misfortune goes always accompanied with another. The Town begins to be odious to him as a prison, or rather the sepulchre of his honour and glory. This solitude appears a paradise to him of sweet repose; How late (said he) have I known thee! The sweetness of this tranquile life begins to flatter his thoughts, and to resolve him to quit the inseparable unquietness of af­fairs and businesses; which are so annexed to great dignities, that it is not without reason they are called Charges ; under which lies many times the rack, and makes the strongest judg­ments suffer. He will deliver himself from the torment of Ambition, and make himself invisible to the eyes of Envy, that doth nothing but murmur at his great wealth. And what shall he do in a place where all present him with the infamie of his house by the death of his daughter, and its desolation by the [Page 123] loss of his wife? He goes meditating of the Country-solitude of the antient Courtier called Similis; who of an hundred years of life having passed fo [...] in the Country, made it to be written on his [...]omb, That he had lived but time happily that he had been delivered from the troubles of Court.

The Muses came to receive Scevole, and to sweeten this solitary residence. S [...]udy is all his ente [...]tainment: Those Verses that Socrates loved even to his death, recreate him, and much please him to recite thus.

Whilst Scevole goes tempering his afflictions by these sweet entertainments, and conforming himself to the exam­ples of so many great and grave Personages that crowned a fair course of life by a sweet and happy retreat; seeing the Emperors, Dioclesian among the Pagans, and Charls the Fifth among the Christians, retired and did prefer a Rustick life to their Crowns Kingdoms; and so many more of all sorts of eminent qualities had so followed this happy trace, as much for that they were out of all necessity, as not to commit any thing willingly, in an age so advanced as his; He pretends to leave his Office, although he was sollicited from divers places. Happy in leaving this trouble, if he had with full sails arrived at the Port of peace now met withall, in saying with an Antient,

But it will take him as the Mariners, that are accustomed with the tossing of the sea and breaking of the waves, and to long navigations; yet in horrible tempests they commend the firmness of the earth, and tranquillity of the port; but no sooner arrived, but it is tedious to them to stay in this place of assurance. The whilst he thus goes temporising, he was called to end his days in troublesom affairs, as you shall hear.

[Page 125]After than Elise and Andronico, more unfortunate then ma­licious, had been punished for a fault they had not committed, as the Psalmist says,

Pyrrhe and Herman esteemed that the death of these inno­cents would be a satisfaction, and covering to their fault; lived, though not with interior assurance, (for an ill conscience serves for a Judg and Hangman to it self) yet at least with an exterior safety that promised them an apparent nonpunish­ment: For they were not only exempt of the accusation of this matter, but also of suspition to have attempted any thing against Philippin. Pyrrhe repairs in part his honour by the ill usage wherewith he treated the miserable Isabel, making it appear by it that her ill life had been extremely unpleasing to to him.

And this Maid being fallen from this high fate of pro­sperity where she had seen herself in the company of Philippin, and now reduced to a prison, in which besides the deprivation of liberty she experimented excessive cruelty; not knowing where to find more patience to sustain the force of so cruel a persecution: I will not fill these leaves with the multitude of her complaints with which she filled her dark cabbin, that less deaf to her complaints then the ears of her father, seemed to suffer at her pains by its eccho and [...]ound. And I believe if Pyrrhe had heard them, he must have been of marble, or have had pitty to have produced in the world a creature so misera­bly unfortunate. But not content to stop his ears at her do­lorous griefs, and to the protestations she made to live better hereafter, and to give him as much cause to love her in her re­pentance, as she had given him to hate her for her dissolute life. Nor would he that his eyes should see the pittifull estate she was reduced to, for fear to have had some compassion on her.

An hundred times he had murdered her with his own hands, if nature had not strongly resisted against such a crime, and if the force of blood had not withstood so bloody a de­sign. But he believed that this perpetual imprisonment, and [Page 126] the barbarous usage he exercised on this miserable Caitiff, would in a short time deliver him of her, whose life was as odious, as her death desired. And it may be God, who hates hearts that are hardned and unpittifull, already displeased with the murder of Philipin, throws on the heads of Pyrrhe and Herman a judgment without mercy, because they had been without mercy. Although the Israelites among the Egyptians committed great sins, and were carried to dete­stable idolatry, for which the yoke, of a cruel slavery fell on their heads; yet in the midst of their wickedness calling on the mercy of God, his eternal goodness hears their cryes, and hasted to their deliverance. Achab and Manasse were evil Princes; but their prayers drawn from their hearts by the strength of their tribulations, made incontinently their peace with God, which inclined their aid.

It is true, that Isabel cannot be excused in having stain'd the honour of her family by her ill carriage: But it may be that being converted to God in midst of her fighs, he heard favo­rably her complaints, and resolved to pluck her from this chain; to the end that being delivered from the hands of this tyrant, she might give herself to his service in the quality of a Nun, to serve in holiness and justice at the foot of his Altars even to the last hour of her life. Now I desire that we should remark, admire, and adore this divine Conductor, who brings her to this end by marvellous turnings, and sweetness incom­parable.

We have seen in the course of this history, how Herman was induced by Pyrrhe to the murder of Philippin, and how he was assisted by Roboald, an antient servant of their house, in this homicide; and it was by this Roboald, that love made trai [...]o [...] to himself, that this crime is discovered, which forgetfulness seemed to have wrapped up in a perpetual silence. But how enters love into this heart? it was by the gate of pitty; false gate, that deceivest ordinarily the most wise! Pyrrhe dis­charges on him the keeping of Isabel; O it is an ill charge for a man, a fair Maid! Yet in the beginning he executes with fidelity the commandment of his master, which was, To shut her up straitly, to feed her poorly; in brief, to exercise on her all kind of cruelties. But in the end the water of the tears of Isabel pursue this heart of stone; and the Lover with the [Page 127] beauties of her face draws this breast of iron to a yielding con­descension. Such strength hath a pleasing form, of which all the force is in the sweetness, but as much loved as it is pleasing. Beauty hath an ascendant power, and invitable on the fiercest courages; the most cruel Tygres may be tamed and made fa­miliar by an amirable conversation.

Isabel, in the beginning of her imprisonment, by a high and arrogant humour, contributed much to the ill usage that Roboald made her feel: For there is nothing more odious and less insupportable to God and men, then pride and cruelty.

But when experience, Mistress of the least advised, had taught her, that as a bird taken in a snare, the more it strives, the more it fastens the knot; and the more she desired to be free, the stricter she was kept; and that her de­spite drew on her a more severe punishment; she begins to change her battery, and to spin fine, and to sow the skin of the Fox to that of the Lyon. Her vain threats had served her to nothing; it may be her smiles, and the charms of her conversation would get her more advantage. Of an angry and disdainfull, she becomes plaintiff, and a suppliant: So that changing the fashion of her carriage, she makes tender by little and little this savage courage, that begins to use her with more sweetness, from that to hearken to her, then to behold her. At last, as a Man that cannot be always a Wolf to another Man, but hath a secret advo­cate in his humanity that perswades him to mildness, lets himself be taken by the ears, and sees his heart ravished by the eyes.

For both pitty and beauty gave such assaults into the thoughts of Roboald, that forgetting the faith he had sworne to his Master, he esteems it would be impiety to obey him any longer in so savage and unnatural a commission, to the prejudice of so many graces that appeared in the face of this fair Prisoner. And certainly the advantages that affections of Love have of those of Friendship, are such, that those that are touched with the one make more difficulty to prejudice the other; even till their faults seem not only pardonable, but commendable, and rather worthy of glory then of blame.

[Page 128] Roboald flatters himself with these vain hopes, and re­solves to oblige this Maiden to love him by all kind of good offices; and to deceive in that the intention of his Master, that had put her into his keeping, but to use her with all hardness and cruelty.

ELISE, OR Innocencie guilty. The Sixth Book.

ALready the cunning Isabel feels some sweet liberty that she hath gotten in ties of [...]his new slave, and that her beauty hath pene­trated his eyes. Upon this foundation she builds her hopes (and not without reason) of effecting her deliverance. She is cunning in the art of this Passion that inchants men, and makes them supple to the wiles of those they love. She blots out the ma [...]ks of despair setled in her face, and her f [...]esh colour re­turns with joy; she hides her strong griefs in the smoothness of her forehead.

Why do I defer to tell you that Roboald is taken by his prisoner, that he is Captive to his Captive? (fals [...]ying the proverb) He finds nothing so fair nor pleasing as his prison. He that heretofore beheld her with an envious eye, beholding her now with pitty, begins to take part of her pains; and ap­proving the complaints she made of the cruelty of her father, he repented to have been the executor. If she intreat him to be a means to make her peace with her father, or for some comfort in this her cruel usage, he promises it, but suddenly recants; for, says he, if he perceive that I lend an ear to your prayers, he will suspect me, and think that I plo [...] your liberty; and taking you from my keeping, it may be will put you into their hands that will be more rigorous to you. And this was, because being pricked by the interest of his passion, he feared [Page 130] that the deliverance of this Maid should take away the empire he had of her body, although she had a far greater on his heart. Nevertheless to give her some testimony of his good will, he makes her hope her delivery on what price soever, though with the loss of his life.

Already crafty Isabel knew by the sighs and eyes of this new Lover, that he was in the toils she had pitched for him; he hath no pleasure but in her conversation, nor no content­ment but when she speaks to him. But he speaks not to her of love, nor of any thing near it; for he knew the high courage of this Dame, that beheld him always as a servant; and as sub­ject as she was to his government, used him nevertheless as an imperious Mistress: besides, to cast his eyes on the daughter of his Master, he cannot but expect punishment for so insolent an attempt; and a disgrace that will bring his fortune into a ruine irrepairable.

Isabel, that knew by this change of his face, and the variety of his discourse, the troubles of his heart and confusions of his thoughts; although she had in horror this presumption, and hated the authority of this Jailer, (for it is natural to hate those that tyrannise over our liberty) yet her cunning made her seem ignorant of that she was clearly certain of; and although she lightens love in this heart, she fains to see nothing but pitty: And demanding of him if he grieved not to see her reduced to so pittifull an estate? I would to God, Madam, (quoth he) that One had as much pitty of my passion, as I have of compassion!

It was enough said to an understanding so quick as that of Isabels. Who knowing the greatness of this flame, and heat of this spark, and as much inflamed with despight to see how high the insolence of this Fellow was mounted, and being troubled that he had given too evident a testimony of his love; she mocks at this discourse by a subtile quickness: How now (said she) Roboald! you are then taken with this furious passion that hath caused me so many misfortunes: Truly I will from henceforth promise not only some comfort in my miseries, but also some excuse for my errors, if you are touched with this sickness that made me run so foolishly after the just promises of marriage, which only the death of Phi­lippin hath annulled. For besides the natural inclination I had to love him, his carriage being accompanied with so many [Page 131] graces, augmented by so long conversation that made so pleasing his lawfull seeking me in marriage; what Maid had not been conquered by so many charms of greatnes and good fashion, accompanied with an intended wedding? I am asto­nished that my Father allows not somthing to the weakness of my sex, and the strength of my affection; seeing that in the beginning of this young Lords seeking me, he permitted me to love him, and to receive his service; it was himself that brought me into the folds, from whence after it was not in my power to return my self.

Roboald approving these excuses, accuses afterwards the unreasonable cruelty of his Master; and finding himself taken by the beak, without denial that he loved her, he tries to hide at least the cause of his flame, although he had unwisely dis­covered the effect. This was to throw a little water on a great fire; and in flying, to make himself be followed; and to stir the curiosity of this Maid, by the protestation that he made to die, rather then to discover the object that held him in a trance. Crafty Isabel, that had had leisure enough in her prison to consult with her glass, to learn in this faithfull glass the force the fire of her eyes had; being much pleased to tor­ment this Jailer, and to make his fire so much the more scor­ching, as it was covered with the ashes of silence and modesty; this proud Captive intended to melt the wings of this new Icarus, hiding under a fained apparence of sweetness a de­spitefull disdain, armed with indignation not to be matched against the insolence of this fellow, that had dared to raise his eyes to her, prepares in deceiving him to draw herself out of prison and slavery, and to leave him covered with scorn and shame. At one time her fierce and high heart was combated with two passions very different, of love and liberty, and of hatred to him that should be the author: For it seems that the succour she thought to receive of this man to get out of this misery, would be a kind of obligation to love him; and on the other side, she could not endure to let her thoughts fix on a servile object. She loves almost as much to remain a slave of body, and free of this obligation, as to see herself at liberty, and tyed by the bonds of duty to a man she hated in her very soul. So that if she could have found any other means to draw her from misery, she would certainly have passed it, rather then to make herself beholding to Roboald. But necessity (that [Page 132] savage and cruel mistress) made her resolve, after having con­sulted some time in herself, to take this occasion by the lock, reserving after the recovering of her liberty the punishment of this madness, even with the sword, if there were occasion, and to purge him by this means of his error and folly. And as she was practised in the arts of love, knowing well how to coun­terfeit the person of a Maid that is easie to be won; Roboald imagines he may win her heart, and make himself (as well as Philippin) possessor of her body. He flatters her and speaks of love, but in such generall terms, that he left always place to some exception, and made as if he sighed for an object absent; but she sees well that it was her presence that drew these sighs from his breast.

Here are two cunning Gamesters that play who shall be cozened. Roboald protests he would not entertain her with so ill discourse as that of his affections, if they were not sincere and legitimate: But it being the greatest comfort one can have in their sorrows, to communicate them to a faithfull friend; and he thinking she had felt for Philippin all the stings that this passion is accustomed to incite in their hearts that receive it.

It is true, replied Isabel, that I might give some sort of re­medy to your wound, if I knew the particularities: but there is nothing more needfull to a singular evil, then general re­medy; for according to the circumstances, it changes ordi­narily the face of the business. Roboald besought her to ex­cuse him that he could not declare to her the cause of his un­quietness, for fear to be held too presumptuous; that would would plunge him rather into despair, then any way bring him consolation, esteeming it less worthy of healing then of blame.

Isabel, whose eyes were so piercing as they saw into his darkest thoughts, and into this breast covered with the cloud of dissimulation, excused herself also to give remedy to an evil she was ignorant of; and complains on the other side, of the small confidence Roboald had in her; draws him insensi­bly to discover his design: just as when the birds are in love, [Page 133] it is then they are taken with more ease; for by the different notes they warble to one another, they make themselves fall into the nets and pits, finding the end of their lives where they thought to meet and enjoy their pleasures; it will take Robo­ald even so, who by an undiscreet love goes to twist a cord to strangle himself. It is not without reason that the Antients heve painted Love naked, by reason it can conceal not secret from the thing beloved. Who knows not how the perfidie of Dalilah, by the sweet violence of love, drew out the secret of the strength of generous Sampson, whom she brought after­wards to his fall and ruine? You will understand in this histo­ry somthing like that; for Roboald, in imitation of Sampson, after having given some fained excuses to Isabel, desiring to make her believe that he loved the daughter of a Gentleman, a neighbour there by, without da [...]ing by any demonstration to make shew of his thoughts, resolves rather to die an obscure death, then to make known a design so presumptuous. Isabel that saw well that her fained neighbour was meant by herself, hiding a profound fury in the depth of her soul, comforted Roboald the best she could; as thus, that being all-inflamed for and object of merit, he should not be astonished if it rise high; that it was a mark of the goodness of his courage, in which he was more commendable for generosity, then blame­able for presumption; and that although he were not born a Gentleman, it was a title that rather depended on for­tune then desert, and that he was not the first of mean birth that had der [...]d to set his affections on a Gentlewoman; that true nobility was in valour, and in that he would not yield to whatsoever Gentleman; and that she knew well that there was not any business in which he would not be led by Pyrrhe with as much affection as Herman himself would be, for the antient servants in a house held the quality of children: That the inequality of conditions should not disparage him; that since she had dared to lift her thoughts even to Philippin that was her Lord to whom she ought homage, he might well raise his to Gentlewoman; and that a faithful Lover ought to promise himself all things happy, since hope was the wings of love, and that love equalized Lovers; that Kings loving their subjects, have submitted their scepters to their affections; that according to her judgment, there was not a more eminent greatness in love, then love it self; and the greatest amongst [Page 136] Lovers, he that loves most. Imagine if this discourse cast not oil into the fire of Roboald, in a Country where Coblers make themselves Gentleman, and the Gentleman Princes, by an humour that Nation hath. But when she added, that if she knew that Gentlewoman, and had but liberty to speak to her, there was no sort of good offices she would not do for Roboald to favour his design; honoring his passion in another subject whereby she would esteem herself honored. It was now that this saucy Jailer touched the stars with his forehead, promising to his presumption all that he had heretofore desired rather hoped. Methinks I see the picture of the feeling of this soul swelled with vanity of his own desires, well represented in the the rich Verses of one of the Mistresses of the Muses of our France.

Although this man had presumption enough to dare to love a person more high then his duty could permit him, yet the same love that gave him courage to fix his affections so eminently for his condition, took from him the daring to discover it, retained by that respectful fear that ordinarily ac­companies this passion; fear that proceeds of the apprehen­sion [Page 135] of despairing of the object beloved. He seeks in the cor­ners of his fancie some artificial invention, to tell her that he durst not utter, and to make her understand that he durst not speak.

But the more he troubles himself to meet with it, the less he finds it; the confusion of his thoughts being a Labyrinth from whence he cannot get out; His desire is like quick silver, the more he presses, the less it is kept; the more he would gather, the more it disperses it self. All know the combat of the Wind and the Sun, who should despoil man; at last the sweet rays of the Sun did that the blustring blasts of the other could not. The more Isabel importunes Roboald to discover his af­fection with confidence, the more he hides it, and the more he enters into distrusts: yet when she presses him least, he burns with impatience to manifest it to her, not being able to die of a silent grief, being so neer his remedy. Love, whose attempts are not so hard, but as quick as those of necessity, sub­tilsied his spirit, and gave divers means to make known to this Damosel that which she knew but too well already, but fains to be ignorant of by an artificious countermine.

It is reason that Verses, symbols of this passion that touches the heart, and Poesie, daughter of this affection, come to the relief of Roboald, He is acquainted with [...]imer that would furnish him with Madrigals; which he lets often fall as by negligence, but with design, in the chamber of this prisoner. She reads them, and laughs; and to let him burn in a little fire, and take her vengeance in this love by a new industry, she makes no shew to understand these Enig [...]a's nor did they say any thing in particular. Such is the folly of this childish pas­sion, which is not fed but with follies, nor imployed but in thoughts as frivolous as the hunting of Butterflies. And to let you see the impertinencies of Roboald, behold his folly in these three scrolls, of which this is the first.

Here is the second, that seems to cherish the folly of the first. Nor do I here present it in this place for any thing of worth, but to make known clearly how hard it is, yea impossible to be wise, and love, at once; and as shadows serve to pictures, even so the follies of some to raise the wisdom of others. From thence it comes that Cato said, that the wise learnt more of fools, then fools did of the wise. But let us hearken to our Rimer,

At last to throw the third scroll, was the accomplishment of his impertinence; for it is the end of presumption, always to rise. He says,

But why do I stay in reciting his idle thoughts, which would be better buried under silence, then raised upon this paper? But to imitate the fashion of Painters, that set off the features of a fair face by an extreme deformity; as also to throw confusion in the face of those that in their follies com­mit [Page 137] these extravagances. I follow expresly in this the imita­tion of Nathan, that threatned David to manifest to the light of the sun what he had committed in darkness, and to cast his shame on his face, if by a confession unfained and healthfull penitence he had not prevented the publication. Even so the Saviour of the world threatned to make be preached in the publike places the evils committed in the most private cham­bers, when the secrets of the dark should be manifested, and the counsel of hearts given to iniquity. And who knows not that shame and disgrace is the certain recompence of vile Love?

Thus Roboald seeing that all these small lights gave none to Isabel, to make her know that herself was the idol to which he offers his thoughts; languishing with a silent grief so neer his remedy, and such a remedy as seemed should yield to his mercy with much facility; yet durst not promise it himself, however resolves to attempt by an art, after which he thought that necessity would break for him, as to the son of Craesus the obstacle that hindred his speech. One day as Isabel pressed him on this subject, which was their ordinary entertainment, (for from the mouth proceeds the abundance of the heart) you will not believe, said he, to what extremity hath brought me, shall I say my affection, or my folly? to an evil so extra­ordinary, having sought all the strangest remedies that humane thoughts can devise.

The curious Maid conjures him not to hide his means, be­ing they gave no knowledge of the cause. Roboald, that strove always to oblige her, and to make this obligation more preci­ous, made himself to be prayed earnestly for a thing, of which he had more desire then his suppliant herself. And to cherish this in her, You press me (quoth he) to discover a means that you lead as by the hand in the sight of the subject of my passi­on; and then my secret will be no more a secret, nor my own; being disclosed not only to another, but to a woman, as ca­pable to contain it under silence, as a sieve is to hold water. At which Isabel makes a thousand protestations of fidelity and silence; but they were oaths as light, as if they had been written on the sands, or drawn on the waves. At which Robo­ald fained to yield, and to remit his life with his love into the hands of this gracious prisoner. If your oaths, quoth he, should not bind you with chains as strong as they seem holy, [Page 138] the interest you have your self will bind you to conceal that I shall manifest unto you; for the part you have in heir whose face I will let you see, is such, that you will be constrained to confess to me when you have seen it, that you have not a bet­ter friend in the world.

You must know then, that having been just to that point to consult with a Magitian of this Country, who as yet hath promised nothing good of the issue of my design, but on the contrary threatens me that the hope of a Nuptial bed will be the grave of my desires; yet I have taken his prophesie as coming from the father of lyes; so that as the antient Oracles, I have believed one may better judge of his truth by the con­trary. And indeed I have already known by some hopes, that if I persevere to love with fidelity, there is nothing comes sooner to its end then a constant love: For,

Without then caring for these Funeral-predictions of this Sorcerer, I desired him to give me a glass like to that wherein he had shewed me many wonders; and in which I see, when I please, her whom I honour, in the same fashion and place, and in the same conversation that she shall be when I would look to see her, as much to comfort my self by this false good of her image in absence, which is the most cruel torment that a soul can suffer that loves as mine doth, that is to say extremely; as also to learn by her carriage if my perseverance may one day find some favour before her eyes, though not obtained without much difficulty, and with a thousand oaths not to communicate this secret to any. You must therefore dispence with me, courteous Isabel, if I shew you not this glass, for fear to be forsworn, or it may be to take away the effect which is so sweet to me, and the only consolation of my eyes, if they should be deprived of the object that is most pleating to them. For what do I know if the verity may not vanish at the same time that I should make another participant of this sight; or if this may be disclosed without some misfortune? or how shall I know that this Creature will have the belief that my [Page 139] extreme love hath given me for to see this face, that is not better presented in this glass then in the affections of thy heart. And then there are certain barbarous words written on the back­side of it, which must be pronounced before one can enjoy the sight of this spectacle: And who can promise to a woman the courage to pronounce them without trembling and a secret horror?

All this might plead my excuse to you and should perswade you not to attempt so bold an enterprise; Let me die by lit­tle and little secretly; I am to my self a theatre ample enough; it is glory enough to me to have aspired so high, and to see that in falling, it is from heaven I am precipitated. Fearful­ness is incident to women; but we may say that their curi­osity is far stronger then their apprehension; for to satisfie this desire, we know they renounce all fear. Such appears Isabel; for although a secret fear incited a panting of her heart, on the imagination that some devil should do her hurt in being curious to penetrate into this secret; yet shutting her eyes at these considerations, she left not importuning Roboald shew her this glass, assuring him she had courage enough to look into it, and faith enough to pronounce the doubtfull words.

Now you must know that all this imaginary fortil [...]ge was but a pure invention of this man, to shew to this Damosel the form of her proper face in this ordinary glass, desiring to let her know by that, that all the charms of his heart proceeded from the beauties of her form. Now after many conju [...]ations, and so strong, that there was no more place of resistance with­out angring the spirit of (what shall I say?) curious, or furious Isabel; drawing out of his breast the glass, of which the lustre reflected on eyes of this impatient Maid; faining that it would have no effect if she were not alone, and he to be retired. A certain terror seises her, fearing to be without help in the company of Devils; the first which figures a thousand forms flying about her: which made her earnestly conjure Roboald to stay, or else to take again his glass; for already cold fear began to seise her.

I doubted this, replies this man, that you would not have courage enough; and if you want confidence, how will you have belief enough? But here I dispensed with all by your self, that ought to content you with the testimony of my good will.

[Page 140] Isabel never saw herself in the like agony: For on the one side pressed with the vehemencie of her desires, and on the other retained by an extreme fear, she sees herself like the Child in the Emblem, raised by one wing, and stayed by a stone. A relenting stays her in midst of her course of this she had so ardently pursued. Stay here a little, says she, O Robo­ald, to the end that I may regain my spirits, and have more assurance. I cannot stay, replied he, and give you the satis­faction you desire in this glass. Which he said to make her more eager, to affirm his assurance, and to escape; not esteem­ing he could obtain so much of his own courage, he shrinketh enough to sustain in her presence the discovery of his design. They capitulated, and agreed, that Roboald should stay in the next chamber, whilst Isabel pronounced the unknown words, and looked in the glass; and if any extraordinary terror seised her, Roboald, should come at her cry, and give her all sort of assistance.

He goes out; she takes the glass with one hand trembling, where not seeing other but her face, she feared it was for want of not having pronounced the words written on the back-side. With a faint voice she tries to utter them, and suddenly turns the glass; and seeing but herself, thinks she hath pronounced them imperfectly. Being now more couragious, she recites them neatly, and cleerly distinguishes the syllables and letters. But yet she sees nothing but her face. She knows not what to thing; but then perceives some Verses written round about the chafing of it, that said thus:

This doth not yet satisfie her, till she read on the circum­ference of the orb these same:

[Page 141]For, this Anagram was the little key that opened to her all this secret; it was choler that unsealed her eyes to penetrate into the art of Roboald; for that the last writing in form of num­bers described her name. But as there is no deafness worse then that is counterfeited, so there is no stupidity more gross then that that is fained, not to understand that she knows very well. She calls Roboald, but with a tone and voice that had no feeling of haste or astonishment, and gives him his glass: Go, go, said she; all your Devils are lyars, which give no­thing but elusions for truth: I have spoken the barbarous words with as much attention as was possible; and yet I have seen nothing in this glass, but that I see in that comes next to my hands; and then you add belief to this sorcery.

Madam, replied Roboald, and it may be it is want of belief that makes you fail of that you seek for; and you had with­out doubt perceived it, if you had as much faith as I have to see the fair effect of so fair a cause. Truly, replied Isabel, it is here I see that Lovers are not only fed with dreams in sleep­ing, but with falshoods in waking; leaving solid content­ment, to follow vain shadows. Go, go feed on these spirits and images as much as you please; methinks you wrong credit, and for a small matter. Verily if you were an Idolater, I would freely say,

But being a Christian as you are, I am astonished to see you led after these superstitions so vain and ridiculous. But, Ma­dam, replied Roboald, is it possible that fortune hath so blind­ed you, as it hath hindred you from seeing any thing in that Glass, after having uttered that fearfull words? Those words that are to me as disdainfull, as you esteem them venerable, answered Isabel, have no way sealed my eyes, nor have shewed me in that Glass other then what I see ordinarily in my own, that is, my own face. And to let you see I have looked into it not fearfully, but attentively; it is true, it is one of the finest and cleerest that I ever looked into.

[Page 142]Yet said Roboald, you are some other thing then nothing; and you have not altogether lost your time, in that you have contem [...]plated your self so well. I, but that is not all I sought, continued Isabel; for I have a glass of my own that doth me that office at my pleasure, without art or inchantment. Many times it happens by the strength of charms, replied Ro­boald, that we see that we thought not to see, and see not that we thought to have seen, that is, an elusion, and the strangest that can be told. For my self, every time I look into that Chrystal, I cherish the object I bear stamped so profound­ly in my soul; I feel my affections renewed and augment­ed, the excess of my passion redoubling the excess of my fever.

If this glass be so hurtfull to you, give me leave that I may break it, says this Lady; otherwise I shall think you are of intelligence with your enemies in the conjuration of your own ruine. I beseech you, said Roboald, not to commit such a sacrilege, to break that that hath received so noble an im­pression; for since it had but the honour to represent your self, it deserves to be eternally preserved; and my ill is so pre­cious to me, that that which other sick men do to be healed, I do for conservation of my sickness. But is it possible that this Glass, from whence comes the fire that consumes me, hath not inflamed you with love of your self? Can it be, that your sight that gathers all splendor, hath not incited in your soul the effects of a burning glass? You are far from the fortune of Narcissus, that became taken with his own form presented in a Spring, that served him for a tomb: yet Love of it self is natural to fair Maids, witness the continual traffick they have with their Glasses. Roboald, said Isabel, you would by these jests flatter my miseries, and sweeten the rigor of my prison, in which it is as hard to find me fair, as merry; for nothing alters, nothing so much changes beauty, as sadness and melan­choly.

[Page 143]It to not that I do not much love my self; for it is a thing so natural, as it is very hard to hinder, if one be in a high de­gree of perfection. But truly I am not yet arrived at this pe­riod of folly, to love my self in a Chrystal, not to sigh for an object I carry with me, and is as much mine as I am mine own.

But when Narcissus loved, replied Roboald, lie took his own Arm for that of anothers; and in loving, thought of nothing less then to love himself: So that destroying by his own dilection with too much loving, he hates himself: And even like a torch that turned down, goes out With the same wax that gave it life; so this fabulous youth in seeing him­self, though yet he saw not, was so possessed with his own raving, as he had no place in himself for himself. Let us leave these fables, said Isabel Yea, but fables, replied Roboald, hide many times under their shadowes the cleerest truths: And what truth can be drawn out of these ravings? The strongest that ever mounted into the brains of Poets.

If ever Roboald were pressed to cast off the vail of his fears, it was here: For Occasion shewed him the lock of hair on his forehead; and he thinks if he let it slip by his negligence, her despight against his baseness would never shew him so favour­able a face again. Therefore searching in his thoughts the subtilest inventions that his passion could produce; and to imitate the nimble Galataea that the Poet speaks of, which threw Apples in flying, and would hide herself artificiously after having been discovered; He leads this Damosel by the clue of his tongue into a labyrinth of so many winding dis­courses, biassed, cover'd, double and of divers senses, that now saying, and then unsaying, he enters, and goes out; he's in­closed, and again loosed; and still fains not to say that he would say; with an eloquence, of which the art is not known but to those that love, and dare not discover their affe­ction.

Now if the Assailant were quick, the Defendant was not less cunning. For crafty Isabel seeing this beast taken, and strugling in her toils, this Spider wrapped up in its own web; faining not to comprehend these dissemblings, took an admi­rable pastime: for it was a pleasure incomparable, that she saw him now pale with fear to have manifested himself too much; now red with shame to unsay; anon inflamed with [Page 144] desire to pull off the mask of his discourse; and then to with­hold himself by the apprehension he had to displease her; changing colour as often as a Camelion, his forehead being ashamed of the variety of those that make the Aurora so ap­pear agreeable.

At last having pursued this Stag, and brought her to a stand, keeping the change notwithstanding all these hoverings, she pressed him in such sort by her questions, and the passion of this man brought him to that point, as he was forced to let fall the colour of his art, and to take off the vail of his dissi­mulation, confessing there was no other inchantment in his glass but that of art; that he served himself to make known to this Maid, to herself, and in herself, the subject of his bold affections. A Criminal that the torture hath made confess his irremissible crime, attends not with more certainty the sen­tence of his death, then lost Roboald that of the condemnation of his presumption. But the strong and cunning Amazon could not forbear blushing at this declaration; yet knows with so much art to colour her colours, that that which came with an inflamation of despight and shame to see herself be­loved by a subject unworthy of her, was taken by this abused to promise him that he hopes by an inclination of good will.

Thus he flatters his hopes by this cozening appearance. And although she were as full as a Bee that hath lost her sting, yet this Maid hides the tempest that invaded her soul under the calm of her eyes, which she had cleared on purpose to de­ceive this presumptuous fellow, making appear by this fain­ing some sort of joy in the midst of despair and shame that be­gan to seise on the heart of Roboald; who made bold by this easie acceptance that hid disdain under a sweet countenance, begins to perswade himself, that since the water carries the stone, his perseverance and fidelity might soften this courage, and make her condescend where his quality and birth hindred him to hope.

This conjecture became a certainty in his thoughts; when dissembling Isabel made shew she held for an honour; that which in her soul she held for an affront and disgrace, to be so religiously and respectfully adored by a subject whose merits she esteemed; faining to be angry to have been the cause of all his pains passed; excusing herself on the innocence of her [Page 145] ignorance, not being able to divine that which was unknown to her, yet what she had but too cunningly perceived almost from the beginning. Will you then trust the apparent sim­plicity of women, that under a seeming childishness deceives the subtilty of the most cunning?

In following this point, to bring this Jailer yet more for­ward into the snares where he was already altogether ingaged, and to draw the liberty of her body from the slavery of this heart, not only the testimonies to have his service agreeable, but also to hold for an advantage this Match, although she had it in horror. Raising his vertues above the defects of his birth; esteeming herself more happy to marry one ignoble, that loved and honoured her, then one noble, that after the life she had led with Philippin, could not have her but in disdain and outrage.

Imagine you what Lover had not been easie to be decei­ved with these words so dissembled; and if the courage of Roboald were not disposed to belief of that that was so advan­tagious to him, and let himself transported by his passion; since his interior inclination had intelligence with the treason without, to lessen his ruine. All he can do, is to praise the bounty of Isabel, in raising her even to the heavens, where his forehead touched already by the hope to see his pretensions succeed, plunging into the centre of the earth by the words of submission and humility of a shadow, with which he vailed the arrogance of his design. But Isabel faining to find so many difficulties in this enterprise, that it almost appeared impossi­ble; it was now that he makes her to understand that there was nothing impossible to a Lover; that huge mountains be­came plains to a courage lightned with this passion, that made valiant the most fearfull, and that all that opposed his desire would easily be surmounted by his valour or industry. Alas, said this cunning Amazon, I neither doubt of your under­standing nor strength: but how will the inheriting pride of my friends suffer you to match with me, if they could not suffer to see me live with Philippin, who never possessed me but as his wife?

At which Roboald proposes to her to flie on the other side the Alps, and into the Countries so far off, that neither Pyrrhe nor Herman should have either wind or mark of their retreat. Love, replied Isabel, ought not to have his eye so hard tyed, [Page 146] as not to take heed to his course; otherwise he will be sub­ject in this blindness to fall into great and horrible precipices. Do you not see that it were to [...]ast our selves in trust into ca­lamities and miseries the most extreme that can enter into humane thoughts, and be lost in thinking to be safe. I ap­peal to your passion and judgment: The prison in which I am, of which your courtesie tempers now the rigorous cruel­ty, is more supportable then a calamitous liberty, full of infamy.

To which Roboald answered, But (Madam) if I disclose the means that you may live the only Mistress of your goods and house, will you promise to honour me with the quality of your Husband, and not to pay with base ingratitude the ser­vice I shall do you. At these words a secret horror seised the heart of this Maid, esteeming that this barbarous Roboald would propose to her some parricide either by sword or poi­son: Oh, said she, what do you tell me here! I will rather rot and die in prison, then go forth with so abominable en­largement; I will not like a Viper draw my life by the death of those that have put me into the world.

Madam, replied Roboald, you take on the left that which I intend on the right: I am not so unfortunate as you think, nor do I believe you so unnatural. It is a means that I know, by which not only your father and brother will give you li­berty, but will have nothing in more horror then this house, nor any thing so dear as to seek their safety by their flight, and to leave it free to your enjoying. It is then by some trick, answered Isabel; but if it be as vain as that of your Glass, I perceive nothing of all this but laughter and misery; for if my father but perceives that you use me not with all the cru­elty he commanded, I fear he should put me into their hands that are worse then yours, and put yourself in prison, or dis­charge you from his service, and so your assistance in the one and other fashion become inutile.

Madam, quoth Roboald, there is no more inchantment in the secret I have to discover to you, then in my Glass; and yet the effect is as assured as that, where without sorcery you have seen that you desired to see. I have only to manifest a truth to you, by which you will remain Mistress of your house; and without chasing or violating your Father, he shall depend on your mercy. [Page 147] I cannot comprehend these riddles, said Isabel. But then vile Roboald, to put her out of pain, puts himself up to the throat, as you shall see by the tragick history that follows. It was in manifesting the murder of Philippin committed by Herman, by the perswasion and following the commandment of Pyrrhe; denying expresly that he assisted Herman and was Complice of this attempt, saying he was only testimony of this treason, of which he fained not to have been any way advertised.

What became this woman when she heard this news? what hatred was not formed in her heart against her Brother, and against her own Father? measuring it by the extreme love she bore to Philippin. Suddenly like a Fury she threatens their trespass, resolves to disclose it to the Justice, and to sa­tisfie at once to her revenge, to the hands of her Lover, the innocence of Elise and unfortunate Andronico, and to render by this means the honour to Scevole, making him of an enemy her protector against the insolent sollicitations of Roboald, to whom she fains to be much bound for the revelation of this secret: She promises him that she means not to hold; know­ing, that will being forced is no will; and that the oaths of Lovers and Prisoners do not serve but to deceive.

Methinks I see in this History that of Sampson renewed by the treachery of Dalilah; which had no sooner discovered the truth in what consisted the strength of this inconsiderate A­morous, but she advertises the Philistines his enemies, who came upon him and bound him, covering him with a thousand reproaches. For, faining she would give an affright to her Fa­ther and brother, to the end that thinking of their flight, they might leave her at liberty and in full possession of their lands; she finds means by the diligence of Roboald, that like another Ʋriah carries the pacquet of his own death, to write to Scevole this Letter.

This writing found Scevole retired in his solitude, and plunged into the profoundest melancholy that he had ever felt. For on one side, the dishonours of the world made the sweetness of this life unpleasing; on the other, the tediousness began to take him; for there is nothing so sharp as idleness to him that had always spent his days in the managing of bu­siness. It seemed, when he saw these lines, that it was some Letter fallen from heaven for his consolation, and for the re­establishing of his fortune: And then returning into his me­mory the furious assaults and long pursuits of Pyrrhe and Her­man against the life of Philippin; the pain he had to dissolve those clouds, and to defer their revenge; at last having long consulted with himself, he thinks it fitter to receive then to neglect this advice, doubting that this smoak could not be without fire. He assembles the Provosts, and in a fair night invirons the house of Vaupre.

The Break of day, forerunner of the Sun, had no sooner discovered to the world the divers colours of his breast, when Pyrrhe and Herman saw themselves besieged and sum­moned to yield. They, whose consciences served for a thou­sand testimonies, and as many hangmen, believed themselves accused and condemned; and resolved rather to bury them­selves under the ruines of their Castle, then to dye shamefully on a Scaffold. At this their refusal Scevole conjectures them guilty; their rebellion accuses them, and makes them doubly Criminals, and as Murderers and revolted against the Justice of the Prince, a crime irremissible. This Castle is weak, and rather built for the pleasure of the eye, then for the shot of Cannon. They are charged on the sudden, unprovided of provisions defensive and offensive; the gates are broke open, [Page 149] and what shall two men do against so many? for Roboald and the rest of the servants were rather a hindrance then any assi­stance. In the end they are taken; Herman being sore hurt, and shot through the side with a bullet. Pyrrhe uses his sword with incredible valour; crying, So strong is the love of a father, that they should pardon his son being innocent, he only being guilty of the death of Philippin. Wounded in divers places, he is rather seised and oppressed by the multi­tude, then vanquished.

Scevole having that he desired, makes their wounds be dressed, which were found not mortal. Pyrrhe tells freely all, excusing his son as much as it was possible for him. Roboald is accused as having been an actor, and sees himself bound with his masters, and conducted to the prison of the City. Isabel the Accusatrix is in full liberty: Scevole takes her with him, in taking on him her protection. The process was soon ended, for the guilty confessed their fault, without other rack but their consciences. Roboald, which saw cleerly the act, and could not deny it, repents too late to have trusted this secret to a woman: His marriage-hopes are loaden with a funeral-despair, and his love rewarded with a shamefull death. For his two Masters being condemned to lose their heads, after having made an honorable amends publikely to the memory of miserable Andronico and unfortunate Elise; He was con­demned to lose his life on the gibbet, seeing himself bound and drawn by the neck rather for a punishment of the folly of his tongue, then the excution of his hands; for he had not lent to Herman in the murder of Philippin more then his pre­sence, being he was shot on the ground ere he had need to give any help to his Master. Thus God, admirable in his judgments, punishes this Traitor by the same treason he designed for his masters; and gives him his end under the ruines of a house of which he intended to be master: like Icarus and Phaeton in the fable, which made their fall more heavy, as their flight had been presumptuons.

It is not my design to relate the particularities of this Execution, which may make all the world admire the heighth and depth of the judgments of God, which had permitted that Innocence made guilty suffered a death un­deserved, by reasons unknown to humane understanding; and then that investigable truth had brought the guilty to [Page 150] the same place where innocence for their misdeeds had suffer­ed the grief of a shameful pain. The honour of Scevole is seen entirely restituted, the memory of Elise honoured, as also that of Andronico. Scevole returns to the exercise of his charge. Pyrrhe and Herman amidst their sufferings testified so much of repentance and resignation, that all were edified at their end, and praised God, that can so wisely bring all unto their end, drawing from the evil of pain the health of him was hurt, as the theorick of the serpent.

Isabel sees herself at liberty; but by the confiscation of their goods despoiled of all means to live, and reduced to an extreme misery. And here the piety and pitty of Scevole shews it self, that with a courage worthy of his name and truly Christian, having already taken the Children she had by Phi­lippin during the repudiation of Elise, takes also the Mother into his house, promising to use her not as an enemy and one that had been a flaw to his house, but as his own daughter, and to give her a portion as rich and more as her father could have done, in case any occasion did present it self suitable to her condition. Which made Scevole esteemed of all the world, and almost adored by Isabel; who coming to herself, and con­sidering with how many murders she was soiled, her ill life having made void the earth not only of Philippin, but also of innocent Andronico and Elise; and which was more, her un­natural accusation had brought her own father and brother to an ignominious death, that made her, besides her own carriage, infamous for ever: Touched with a just grief and lively re­pentance, she renounces freely the world, wherein she had known so many miseries, experimented so many outrages, to retire to the tranquile port of Religion, which was into a Monastery of the Repentants, where she's confined; interring alive her beauties under a vail, consecrating her eyes to con­tinual tears, her body to healthfull mortifications, her breast to perpetual strokes, her mouth to sighs, her tongue to con­fession of her faults, and to ask pardon for them of God. There of a falling stone full of scandal, she becomes a stone of edification, making appear the abundance of grace where sin had abounded; there she spent the rest of her time religiously, there she dyed holily. The mercies of God are pleased to be magnifi'd in the conversion of sinful souls, that fly for refuge to the haven of grace, and assured port of a healthful penitence.