To SYLVIA.
From Dorillus his farm.
Raving and mad at the news your billet brought me, I (without considering the effects that would follow) am arrived at Bellfont; I have yet so much patience about me, to suffer myself to be concealed at Dorillus his cottage; but if I see thee not to-night, or find no hopes of it----by heaven I'll set Bellfont all in a flame but I will have my Sylvia; be sure I'll do it--What? To be married--Sylvia to be married--and given from Philander--Oh, never think it, forsworn fair creature--What? Give Foscario that dear charming body? Shall he be grasped in those dear naked arms? Taste all thy kisses, press thy snowy breasts, command thy joys, and rifle all thy heaven? Furies and hell environ me if he do----Oh, Sylvia, faithless, perjured, charming Sylvia--and canst thou suffer it--Hear my vows, oh fickle angel--hear me, thou faithless ravisher! That fatal moment that the daring priest offers to join your hands, and give thee from me, I will sacrifice your lover; by heaven I will, before the altar, stab him at your feet; the holy place, nor the numbers that attend ye, nor all your prayers nor tears, shall save his heart; look to it, and be not false----yet I'll trust not thy faith; no, she that can think but falsely, and she that can so easily be perjured----for, but to suffer it is such a sin--such an undoing sin--that thou art surely damned! And yet, by heaven, that is not all the ruin shall attend thee; no, lovely mischief, no----you shall not escape till the damnation day; for I will rack thee, torture thee and plague thee, those few hours I have to live, (if spiteful fate prevent my just revenge upon Foscario) and when I am dead--as I shall quickly be killed by thy cruelty--know, thou fair murderer, I will haunt thy sight, be ever with thee, and surround thy bed, and fright thee from the ravisher; fright all thy loose delights, and check thy joys----Oh, I am mad!---- I cannot think that thought, no, thou shalt never advance so far in wickedness, I will save thee, if I can----Oh, my adorable, why dost thou torture me? How hast thou sworn so often and so loud that heaven I am sure has heard thee, and will punish thee? How didst thou swear that happy blessed night, in which I saw thee last, clasped in my arms, weeping with eager love, with melting softness on my bosom----remember how thou swor'st----oh, that dear night,--let me recover strength--and then I will tell thee more--I must repeat the story of that night, which thou perhaps (oh faithless!) hast forgot--that glorious night, when all the heavens were gay, and every favouring power looked down and smiled upon our thefts of love, that gloomy night, the first of all my joys, the blessedest of my life--trembling and fainting I approach your chamber, and while you met and grasped me at the door, taking my trembling body in your arms-remember how I fainted at your feet, and what dear arts you used to call me back to life-- remember how you kissed and pressed my face--Remember what dear charming words you spoke--and when I did recover, how I asked you with a feeble doubtful voice- -'Ah, Sylvia, will you still continue thus, thus wondrous soft and fond? Will you be ever mine, and ever true?'--What did you then reply, when kneeling on the carpet where I lay, what Sylvia, did you vow? How invoke heaven? How call its vengeance down if ever you loved another man again, if ever you touched or smiled on any other, if ever you suffered words or acts of love but from Philander? Both heaven and hell thou didst awaken with thy oaths, one was an angry listener to what it knew thou'dst break, the other laughed to know thou would'st be perjured, while only I, poor I, was all the while a silent fond believer; your vows stopped all my language, as your kisses did my lips, you swore and kissed, and vowed and clasped my neck--Oh charming flatterer! Oh artful, dear beguiler! Thus into life, and peace, and fond security, you charmed my willing soul! It was then, my Sylvia, (certain of your heart, and that it never could be given away to any other) I pressed my eager joys, but with such tender caution--such fear and fondness, such an awful passion, as overcame your faint resistance; my reasons and my arguments were strong, for you were mine by love, by sacred vows, and who could lay a better claim to Sylvia? How oft I cried--'Why this resistance, Sylvia? My charming dear, whose are you? Not Philander's? And shall Philander not command his own- ---you must----ah cruel----' then a soft struggle followed, with half-breathed words, with sighs and trembling hearts, and now and then--'Ah cruel and unreasonable'--was softly said on both sides; thus strove, thus argued--till both lay panting in each other's arms, not with the toil, but rapture; I need not say what followed after this--what tender showers of strange endearing mixtures 'twixt joy and shame, 'twixt love and new surprise, and ever when I dried your eyes with kisses, unable to repeat any other language than--'Oh my Sylvia! Oh my charming angel!' While sighs of joy, and close grasping thee--spoke all the rest--while every tender word, and every sigh was echoed back by thee; you pressed me--and you vowed you loved me more than ever yet you did; then swore anew, and in my bosom, hid your charming blushing face, then with excess of love would call on heaven, 'Be witness, oh ye powers' (a thousand times ye cried) 'if ever maid e'er loved like Sylvia--punish me strangely, oh eternal powers, if ever I leave Philander, if ever I cease to love him; no force, no art, not interest, honour, wealth, convenience, duty, or what other necessary cause--shall ever be of force to make me leave thee----' Thus hast thou sworn, oh charming, faithless flatterer, thus betwixt each ravishing minute thou would'st swear--and I as fast believed--and loved thee more----Hast thou forgot it all, oh fickle charmer, hast thou? Hast thou forgot between each awful ceremony of love, how you cried out 'Farewell the world and mortal cares, give me Philander, heaven, I ask no more'--Hast thou forgot all this? Did all the live-long night hear any other sound but those our mutual vows, of invocations, broken sighs, and soft and trembling whispers? Say, had we any other business for the tender hours? Oh, all ye host of heaven, ye stars that shone, and all ye powers the faithless lovely maid has sworn by, be witness how she is perjur'd; revenge it all, ye injured powers, revenge it, since by it she has undone the faithfullest youth, and broke the tenderest heart--that ever fell a sacrifice to love; and all ye little weeping gods of love, revenge your murdered victim--your
PHILANDER.
To PHILANDER.
In the leaves of a table-book.
On, my Philander, how dearly welcome, and how needless were thy kind reproaches! Which I will not endeavour to convince by argument, but such a deed as shall at once secure thy fears now and for the future. I have not a minute to write in; place, my dear Philander, your chariot in St Vincent's Wood, and since I am not able to fix the hour of my flight, let it wait there my coming; it is but a little mile from Bellfont, Dorillus is suspected there, remove thyself to the high-way-gate cottage--there I'll call on thee----'twas lucky, that thy fears, or love, or jealousy brought thee so near me, since I'd resolv'd before upon my flight. Parents and honour, interest and fame, farewell--I leave you all to follow my Philander ----Haste the chariot to the thickest part of the wood, for I am impatient to be gone, and shall take the first opportunity to fly to my Philander----Oh, love me, love me, love me!
Under pretence of reaching the jessamine which shades my window, I unperceived let down and receive what letters you send by the honest weeder; by her send your sense of my flight, or rather your direction, for it is resolved already.