Which them into her self, as a pattern of worthy proceeding. when once it was enacted, not onely by the commonalty of passions; but agreed unto by her most noble thoughts, and that reason it selfe (not yet experienced in the issues of such matters) had granted his royall assent; then friendship (a diligent officer) took care to see the statute thoroughly observed. Then grew on that not onely she did imitate the sobernesse of her countenance, the gracefulnesse of her speech, but even their particular gestures: so that as Zelmane did often eye her, she would often eye Zelmane, and as Zelmane's eyes would deliver a submissive but vehement desire in their look, she, though as yet she had not the desire in her, yet should her eyes answer in like piercing kindnesse of a looke. Zelmane, as much as Gynecia's jealousie would suffer, desired to be neere Philoclea; Philoclea, as much as Gynecia's jealousie would suffer, desired to be neer Zelmane. If Zelmane tooke her hand and softly strained it, she also (thinking the knots of friendship ought to be mutuall) would (with a sweet fastnesse) shew she was loth to part from it. And if Zelmane sighed, she would sigh also; when Zelmane was sad, she deemed it wisdome, and therefore she would be sad too. Zelmane's languishing countenance with crost armes, and sometimes cast-up eyes, she thought to have an excellent grace; and therefore she also willingly put on the same countenance: till at the last (poore soule, ere she were aware) she accepted not onely the badge, but the service; not onely the signe, but the passion signified. For whether it were, that her wit in continuance did finde, that Zelmane's friendship was full of impatient desire, having more than ordinary limits, and therefore she was content to second Zelmane, though her selfe knew not the limits, or that in truth, true love (well considered) hath an infective power; at last she fell in acquaintance with love's haṛbenger, wishing: first, she would wish, that they two might live all their lives together, like two of Diana's nymphs. But that wish, she thought, not sufficient, because she knew, there would be more nymphs besides them who also would have their part in Zelmane. Then would she wish, that she were her sister, that such a naturall band might make her more speciall to her. But against that, she considered, that, though being her sister, if she happened to be married, she should be robbed of her. Then, grown bolder, she would wish either her selfe or Zelmane a man, that there might succeed a blessed marriage between them. But when that wish had once displayed his ensigne in her mind, then followed whole squadrons of longings that so it might be, with a maine battell of mislikings and repinings against their creation, that so it was not. Then dreams by night began to bring more unto her, then she durst wish by day, where out waking did make her know her selfe the better by the image of those fancies. But as some diseases when they are easie to be cured, they are hard to be known, but when they grow easie to be known, they are almost impossible to be cured; so the sweet Philoclea, while she might prevent it, she did not feele it, now she felt it, when it was past preventing; like a river, no rampiers being built against it, till al ready it have overflowed. For now indeed love puld off his maske, and shewed his face unto her, and told her plainly that she was his prisoner. Then needed she no more paint her face with passions, for passions shone through her face; then her rosie colour was often encreased with extraordinary blushing, and so another time, perfect whitenesse descended to a degree of palenesse : now hot, then cold, desiring she knew not what, nor how if she knew what. Then her minde (though too late) by the smart was brought to thinke of the disease, and her own proofe taught her to know her mother's minde; which (as no error gives so strong assault as that which comes armed in the authority of a parent,) so greatly fortified her desires, to see that her mother had the like desires. And the more jealous her mother was, the more she thought the jewell precious, which was with so many locks guarded. But that prevailing so farre as to keep the two lovers from private conference, then began she to feele the sweetnesse of a lover's solitarinesse, when freely with words and gestures as if Zelmane were present, she might give passage to her thoughts: and so, as it were, utter out some smoke of those flames, wherewith else she was not only burned but smothered. As this night, that going from the one lodge to the other by her mother's commandment, with dolefull gestures and uncertain paces, she did willingly accept the time's offer to be awhile alone: so that, going a little aside into the wood, where many times before she had delighted to walk, her eyes were saluted with a tuft of trees so close set together, as with the shade the moon gave through it, it might breed a fearfull kinde of devotion to look upon it. But true thoughts of love banished all vaine fancy of superstition. Full well she did both remember and like the place; for there had she often with their shade beguiled Phoebus of looking upon her: there had she enjoyed her selfe often, while she was mistresse of her selfe, and had no other thoughts but such as might arise out of quiet senses.' Musidorus, who had, on entering into the service of Dametas, assumed the name of Dorus, has now frequent opportunities of gazing on the charms of his mistress, and of endeavouring to implant in her, already grateful for the assistance he had afforded her, a reciprocal passion. The apparent meanness of his condition, he perceives will of itself be sufficient to prevent his obtaining any interest in her breast, without removing the scruples of her offended pride. To effect this, he feigns a passion for Mopsa, the mis-shapen daughter of Dametas, and under the pretence of amusing her with a tale, gives Pamela the whole history of himself and his cousin, and relates it so as to give her suspicions of his real birth and character. The following is an account of the manner in which the two young princes were educated. "Almost before they could perfectly speak, they began to receive conceits not unworthy of the best speakers: excellent devices being used to make even their sports profitable; images of battailes and fortifications being then delivered to their memory, which after their stronger judgements might dispense, the delight of tales being converted to the knowledge of all the stories of worthy princes, both to move them to do nobly and teach them how to do nobly, the beauty of vertue still being set before their eyes, and that taught them with far more diligent care than grammaticall rules, their bodies exercised in all abilities, both of doing and suffering, and their minds acquainted by degrees with dangers, and in summe, all bent to the making up of princely minds: no servile feare used towards them, nor any other violent restraint, but still as to princes: so that a habite of commanding was naturallized in them, and therefore the farther from tyranny. Nature having done so much for them in nothing, as that it made them lords of truth, whereon all the other goods were builded.”—p. 122. Notwithstanding the fervor with which he obliquely presses his suit, she gives him little hope of a requital, and covers her inward affections with an outward mask of coldness, of which he thus complains to his friend Pyrocles: "In the princesse I could find no apprehension of what I either said or did, but with a calme carelesnesse letting each thing slide, (just as we do by their speeches who neither in matter nor person doe any way belong unto us) which kinde of cold temper, mixt with that lightning of her naturall majesty, is of all others most terrible unto me: for yet if I found she contemned me, I would desperately labour both in fortune and vertue to overcome it; if she onely misdoubted me, I were in heaven; for quickly I would bring sufficient assurance; lastly, if she hated me, yet I should know what passion to deale with: and either with infinitenesse of desert I would take away the fewell from the fire; or, if nothing would serve, then I would give her my heart bloud to quench it. But this cruell quietnes, neither retiring to mislike, nor proceeding to favour; gracious, but gracious still after one manner: all her courtesies having this engraven in them, that what is done is for vertue's sake, not for the parties, ever keeping her course like the sun, who neither for our praises nor curses will spur or stop his horses. This (I say) heavenlinesse of hers (for howsoever my misery is, I cannot but so entitle it) is so impossible to reach unto, that I almost begin to submit myselfe to the tyranny of despaire, not knowing any way of perswasion, where wisdome seems to be unsensible."-p. 107. : Such is the course of things at the retreat of Basilius. It now becomes necessary to introduce new personages on the drama these are Cecropia and Amphialus. Cecropia, the widow of the younger brother of Basilius, is a proud and ambitious woman; who, from the long period of celibacy which had preceded the marriage of Basilius, had begun to consider the crown of Arcadia as the lawful property of her own family, and her son Amphialus as its certain inheritor. Upon his marriage and the birth of his two daughters, the sharpness of her disappointment is converted into the most bitter hatred against the hindrances of her son's succession. Against them and their lives her machinations are now uniformly bent, and in her endeavours for their destruction, no atrocity of cruelty is considered by her as too savage. Finding that her design of destroying them by the two wild beasts she had let loose for that purpose, was defeated by the bravery of the two young princes, she stirs up the Arcadians to rebellion against their beneficent king. Inflamed by imaginary grievances, and incited by the oratory of the partizans of Cecropia, a tumultuous body of the people assemble, and come before the presence of Basilius, demanding of him satisfaction for their wrongs, and compliance with their requisition. Partly by the eloquence and partly by the bravery of Zelmane and Dorus, they are dispersed, and return without perpetrating any acts of violence on Basilius or his family. Cecropia, stung to the heart, to find that her designs had miscarried, still perseveres in her pursuit, and ultimately, by a successful wile, makes the two princesses and Zelmane her prisoners, whom she immediately carries to her castle.-The character of Amphialus comes next before us. Though the son of Cecropia, he possesses none of the evil principles of her character, and is a personage celebrated for his virtue and valour. Inflamed with love for Philoclea, though he disapproves of the methods by which she has fallen into his hands, he cannot prevail with himself to part with her, and relinquish her to her parents. The struggles of his love and his pity, his honour and his desire, are well described: "In that sort he went to Philoclea's chamber; whom hee found (because her chamber was over-lightsome) sitting of that side of her bed which was from the window, which did cast such a shadow upon her, as a good painter would bestow upon Venus, when under the trees shee bewailed the murther of Adonis: her hands and fingers (as it were) indented one within the other: her shoulder leaning to her bed's-head, and over her head a scarfe, which did eclipse almost halfe her eyes, which under it fixed their beames upon the wall by, with so steddy a manner, as if in that place they might well change, but not mend their object: and so remained they a good while after his comming in, hee not daring to trouble her, nor she perceiving him, till that (a little varying, her thoughts something quickning her senses) she heard him as he hapned to stirre his upper garment; and perceiving him, rose up, with a demeanure, where in the booke of beauty there was nothing to be read but sorrow; for kindnesse was blotted out, and anger was never there. But Amphialus, that had entrusted his memory with long and forcible speeches, found it so locked up in amazement, that hee could picke nothing out of it, but the beseeching her to take what was done in good part, and to assure her selfe there was nothing but honour meant unto her person. But shee making no other answer, but letting her hands fall one from the other, which before were joyned (with eyes something cast aside, and a silent sigh) gave him to understand, that considering his doings, shee thought his speech as full of incongruitie, as her answer would be voyde of purpose. Whereupon he kneeling downe, and kissing her hand (which she suffered with a countenance witnessing captivitie, but not kindnesse) hee besought her to have pitie of him, whose love went beyond the bounds of conceit, much more of uttering: that in her hands the ballance of his life or death did stand; whereto the least motion of her would serve to determine, shee being indeed the mistresse of his life, and he her eternall slave; and with true vehemencie besought her that he might heare her speake, whereupon she suffered her sweet breath to turn it selfe into these kinde of words. Alas cousin, said shee, what shall my tongue be able to doe, which is informed by the eares one way, and by the eyes another? You call for pitie, and use crueltie; you say you love mee, and yet doe the effects of enmitie. You affirme, your death is in my hands, but you have brought mee to so neere a degree of death, as when you will, you may lay death upon mee: so that while you say I am mistresse of your life, I am not mistresse of mine owne. You entitle your selfe my slave, but I am sure I am yours. If then violence, injurie, terrour, and depriving of that which is more deare than life it selfe, libertie, be fit orators for affection, you may expect that I will be easily perswaded. But if the nearnesse of our kindred breed any remorse in you, or there bee any such thing in you, which you call love toward mee, then let not my fortune be disgraced with the name of imprisonment: let not my heart waste it selfe by being vexed with feeling evill, and fearing worse. Let not mee bee a cause of my parents' wofull destruction; but restore mee to my selfe, and so doing, I shall account I have received my selfe of you. And what I say for my selfe, I say for my deare sister, and my friend Zelmane; for I desire no well being, without they may be partakers. With that her teares rained downe from her heavenly eyes, and seemed to water the sweet and beautifull flowers of her face."-p. 239-240. The bold step which Cecropia and her son had taken, having excited the indignation of the country, they find it necessary to prepare themselves against the forces which Basilius is levying for the rescue of his daughters; and, determined to persist in what they had begun, they fortify their castle, naturally strong, and make it ready for a siege. In the mean time, Cecropia leaves no steps unturned to win Philoclea to favour the suit of her son. She goes to her prisoner, fraught with all the arts of subtlety and craft. "She went softly to Philoclea's chamber, and peeping thorow the side of the doore, then being a little open, she saw Philoclea sitting |