To SYLVIA.
My life, my Sylvia, my eternal joy, art thou then safe! And art thou reserved for Philander? Am I so blest by heaven, by love, and my dear charming maid? Then let me die in peace, since I have lived to see all that my soul desires in Sylvia's being mine; perplex not thy soft heart with fears or jealousies, nor think so basely, so poorly of my love, to need more oaths or vows; yet to confirm thee, I would swear my breath away; but oh, it needs not here;----take then no care, my lovely dear, turn not thy charming eyes or thoughts on afflicting objects; oh think not on what thou hast abandoned, but what thou art arrived to; look forward on the joys of love and youth, for I will dedicate all my remaining life to render thine serene and glad; and yet, my Sylvia, thou art so dear to me, so wondrous precious to my soul, that in my extravagance of love, I fear I shall grow a troublesome and wearying coxcomb, shall dread every look thou givest away from me--a smile will make me rave, a sigh or touch make me commit a murder on the happy slave, or my own jealous heart, but all the world besides is Sylvia's, all but another lover; but I rave and run too fast away; ages must pass a tedious term of years before I can be jealous, or conceive thou can'st be weary of Philander--I will be so fond, so doting, and so playing, thou shalt not have an idle minute to throw away a look in, or a thought on any other; no, no, I have thee now, and will maintain my right by dint and force of love--oh, I am wild to see thee--but, Sylvia, I am wounded--do not be frighted though, for it is not much or dangerous, but very troublesome, since it permits me not to fly to Sylvia, but she must come to me in order to it. Brilliard has a bill on my goldsmith in Paris for a thousand pistoles to buy thee something to put on; any thing that is ready, and he will conduct thee to me, for I shall rave myself into a fever if I see thee not to-day--I cannot live without thee now, for thou art my life, my everlasting charmer: I have ordered Brilliard to get a chariot and some unknown livery for thee, and I think the continuance of passing for what he has already rendered thee will do very well, till I have taken farther care of thy dear safety, which will be as soon as I am able to rise; for most unfortunately, my dear Sylvia, quitting the chariot in the thicket for fear of being seen with it, and walking down a shaded path that suited with the melancholy and fears of unsuccess in thy adventure; I went so far, as ere I could return to the place where I left the chariot it was gone--it seems with thee; I know not how you missed me--but possessed myself with a thousand false fears, sometimes that in thy flight thou mightest be pursued and overtaken, seized in the chariot and returned back to Bellfont; or that the chariot was found seized on upon suspicion, though the coachman and Brilliard were disguised past knowledge----or if thou wert gone, alas I knew not whither; but that was a thought my doubts and fears would not suffer me to ease my soul with; no, I (as jealous lovers do) imagined the most tormenting things for my own repose. I imagined the chariot taken, or at least so discovered as to be forced away without thee: I imagined that thou wert false--- -heaven forgive me, false, my Sylvia, and hadst changed thy mind; mad with this thought (which I fancied most reasonable, and fixt it in my soul) I raved about the wood, making a thousand vows to be revenged on all; in order to it I left the thicket, and betook myself to the high road of the wood, where I laid me down among the fern, close hid, with sword ready, waiting for the happy bridegroom, who I knew (it being the wedding eve) would that way pass that evening; pleased with revenge, which now had got even the place of love, I waited there not above a little hour but heard the trampling of a horse, and looking up with mighty joy, I found it Foscario's; alone he was, and unattended, for he'd outstripped his equipage, and with a lover's haste, and full of joy, was making towards Bellfont; but I (now fired with rage) leaped from my cover, cried, 'Stay, Foscario, ere you arrive to Sylvia, we must adjust an odd account between us'----at which he stopping, as nimbly alighted;--in fine, we fought, and many wounds were given and received on both sides, till his people coming up, parted us, just as we were fainting with loss of blood in each other's arms; his coach and chariot were amongst his equipage; into the first his servants lifted him, when he cried out with a feeble voice, to have me, who now lay bleeding on the ground, put into the chariot, and to be safely conveyed where-ever I commanded, and so in haste they drove him towards Bellfont, and me, who was resolved not to stir far from it, to a village within a mile of it; from whence I sent to Paris for a surgeon, and dismissed the chariot, ordering, in the hearing of the coachman, a litter to be brought me immediately, to convey me that night to Paris; but the surgeon coming, found it not safe for me to be removed, and I am now willing to live, since Sylvia is mine; haste to me then, my lovely maid, and fear not being discovered, for I have given order here in the cabaret where I am, if any inquiry is made after me, to say, I went last night to Paris. Haste, my love, haste to my arms, as feeble as they are, they'll grasp thee a dear welcome: I will say no more, nor prescribe rules to thy love, that can inform thee best what thou must do to save the life of thy most passionate adorer,
PHILANDER.
To PHILANDER.
I have sent Brilliard to see if the coast be clear, that we may come with safety; he brings you, instead of Sylvia, a young cavalier that will be altogether as welcome to Philander, and who impatiently waits his return at a little cottage at the end of the village.
To SYLVIA.
From the Bastille.