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