Another would have pleased the indifferent Myrtilla's soul as well, but mine was fitted for no other man; only Philander, the adored Philander, with that dear form, that shape, that charming face, that hair, those lovely speaking eyes, that wounding softness in his tender voice, had power to conquer Sylvia; and can this be a sin? Oh, heavens, can it? Must laws, which man contrived for mere conveniency, have power to alter the divine decrees at our creation?--Perhaps they argue to-morrow at the bar, that Myrtilla was ordained by heaven for Philander; no, no, he mistook the sister, it was pretty near he came, but by a fatal error was mistaken; his hasty youth made him too negligently stop before his time at the wrong woman, he should have gazed a little farther on--and then it had been Sylvia's lot- ---It is fine divinity they teach, that cry marriages are made in heaven--folly and madness grown into grave custom; should an unheedy youth in heat of blood take up with the first convenient she that offers, though he be an heir to some grave politician, great and rich, and she the outcast of the common stews, coupled in height of wine, and sudden lust, which once allayed, and that the sober morning wakes him to see his error, he quits with shame the jilt, and owns no more the folly; shall this be called a heavenly conjunction? Were I in height of youth, as now I am, forced by my parents, obliged by interest and honour, to marry the old, deformed, diseased, decrepit Count Anthonio, whose person, qualities and principles I loathe, and rather than suffer him to consummate his nuptials, suppose I should (as sure I should) kill myself, it were blasphemy to lay this fatal marriage to heaven's charge----curse on your nonsense, ye imposing gownmen, curse on your holy cant; you may as well call rapes and murders, treason and robbery, the acts of heaven; because heaven suffers them to be committed. Is it heaven's pleasure therefore, heaven's decree? A trick, a wise device of priests, no more----to make the nauseated, tired- out pair drag on the careful business of life, drudge for the dull-got family with greater satisfaction, because they are taught to think marriage was made in heaven; a mighty comfort that, when all the joys of life are lost by it: were it not nobler far that honour kept him just, and that good nature made him reasonable provision? Daily experience proves to us, no couple live with less content, less ease, than those who cry heaven joins? Who is it loves less than those that marry? And where love is not, there is hate and loathing at best, disgust, disquiet, noise and repentance: no, Philander, that's a heavenly match when two souls touched with equal passion meet, (which is but rarely seen)--when willing vows, with serious considerations, are weighed and made, when a true view is taken of the soul, when no base interest makes the hasty bargain, when no conveniency or design, or drudge, or slave, shall find it necessary, when equal judgements meet that can esteem the blessings they possess, and distinguish the good of either's love, and set a value on each other's merits, and where both understand to take and pay; who find the beauty of each other's minds and rate them as they ought; whom not a formal ceremony binds, (with which I've nought to do, but dully give a cold consenting affirmative) but well considered vows from soft inclining hearts, uttered with love, with joy, with dear delight, when heaven is called to witness; she is thy wife, Philander he is my husband; this is the match, this heaven designs and means; how then, oh how came I to miss Philander? Or he his
SYLVIA.
Since I writ this, which I designed not an invective against marriage, when I began, but to inform thee of my being where you directed; but since I write this, I say, the house where I am is broken open with warrants and officers for me, but being all undressed and ill, the officer has taken my word for my appearance to-morrow, it seems they saw me when I went from my lodgings, and pursued me; haste to me, for I shall need your counsel.
To SYLVIA.
My eternal joy, my affliction is inexpressible at the news you send me of your being surprised; I am not able to wait on thee yet--not being suffered to leave the cabal, I only borrow this minute to tell thee the sense of my advocate in this case; which was, if thou should be taken, there was no way, no law to save thee from being ravished from my arms, but that of marrying thee to some body whom I can trust; this we have often discoursed, and thou hast often vowed thou'lt do any thing rather than kill me with a separation; resolve then, oh thou charmer of my soul, to do a deed, that though the name would fright thee, only can preserve both thee and me; it is--and though it have no other terror in it than the name, I faint to speak it--to marry, Sylvia; yes, thou must marry; though thou art mine as fast as heaven can make us, yet thou must marry; I have pitched upon the property, it is Brilliard, him I can only trust in this affair; it is but joining hands--no more, my Sylvia,-- Brilliard is a gentleman, though a cadet, and may be supposed to pretend to so great a happiness, and whose only crime is want of fortune; he is handsome too, well made, well bred, and so much real esteem he has for me, and I have so obliged him, that I am confident he will pretend no farther than to the honour of owning thee in Court; I'll time him from it, nay, he dares not do it, I will trust him with my life--but oh, Sylvia is more--think of it, and this night we will perform it, there being no other way to keep Sylvia eternally
PHILANDER's.
To SYLVIA.
Now, my adorable Sylvia, you have truly need of all that heroic bravery of mind I ever thought thee mistress of; for Sylvia, coming from thee this morning, and riding full speed for Paris, I was met, stopped, and seized for high-treason by the King's messengers, and possibly may fall a sacrifice to the anger of an incensed monarch. My Sylvia, bear this last shock of fate with a courage worthy thy great and glorious soul; 'tis but a little separation, Sylvia, and we shall one day meet again; by heaven, I find no other sting in death but parting with my Sylvia, and every parting would have been the same; I might have died by thy disdain, thou might'st have grown weary of thy Philander, have loved another, and have broke thy vows, and tortured me to death these crueller ways: but fate is kinder to me, and I go blest with my Sylvia's, love, for which heaven may do much, for her dear sake, to recompense her faith, a maid so innocent and true to sacred love; expect the best, my lovely dear, the worst has this comfort in it, that I shall die my charming Sylvia's