BOOK V

{577}

The dangerous division of men’s minds, the ruinous renting of all

estates, had now brought Arcadia to feel the pangs of uttermost peril,

such convulsions never coming, but that the life of that government

draws near his necessary period, when to the honest and wise Philanax,

equally distracted between desire of his master’s revenge and care of

the estate’s establishment, there came, unlooked for, a Macedonian

gentleman, who in short, but pithy manner, delivered unto him, that

the renowned Euarchus, King of Macedon, purposing to have visited his

old friend and confederate the King Basilius, was now come within half

a mile of the lodges, where having understood by certain shepherds the

sudden death of their prince, had sent unto him, of whose authority

and faith he had good knowledge, desiring him to advertise him in what

security he might rest there for that night, where willingly he would,

if safely he might, help to celebrate the funeral of his ancient

companion and ally; adding he need not doubt, since he had brought but

twenty in his company, he would be so unwise as to enter into any

forcible attempt with so small force. Philanax having entertained the

gentleman, as well as in the midst of so many tumults he could,

pausing a while with himself, considering how it should not only be

unjust and against the law of nations, not well to receive a prince

whom goodwill had brought among them, but, in respect of the greatness

of his might, very dangerous to give him any cause of due offence;

remembering withal the excellent trials of his equity, which made him

more famous than his victories, he thought he might be the fittest

instrument to redress the ruins they were in, since his goodness put

him without suspicion, and his greatness beyond envy. Yet weighing

with himself how hard many heads were to be bridled, and that in this

monstrous confusion such mischief might be attempted, of which {578}

late repentance should after be but a simple remedy, he judged best

first to know how the people’s minds would sway to this determination.

Therefore desiring the gentleman to return to the King his master, and

to beseech him, though with his pains, to stay for an hour or two,

where he was, till he had set things in better order to receive him,

he himself went first to the noblemen, then to Kalander, and the

principal Mantineans, who were most opposite unto him, desiring them,

that as the night had most blessedly staid them from entering into

civil blood, so they would be content in the night to assemble the

people together to hear some news which he was to deliver unto them.

There is nothing more desirous of novelties than a man that fears his

present fortune. Therefore they, whom mutual diffidence made doubtful

of their utter destruction, were quickly persuaded to hear of any new

matter, which might alter at least, if not help the nature of their

fear. Namely, the chiefest men, who as they had most to lose, so were

most jealous of their own case, and were already grown as weary to be

followers of Timautus’s ambition, as before they were enviers of

Philanax’s worthiness. As for Kalander and Sympathus as in the one a

virtuous friendship had made him seek to advance, in the other a

natural commiseration had made him willing to protect the excellent,

though unfortunate prisoners, so were they not against this

convocation. For having nothing but just desires in them, they did not

mistrust the justifying of them. Only Timautus laboured to have

withdrawn them from this assembly, saying it was time to stop their

ears from the ambitious charms of Philanax. Let them first deliver

Gynecia, and her daughters, which were fit persons to hear, and then

they might begin to speak. That this was but Philanax’s cunning, to

link broil upon broil, because he might avoid the answering of his

trespasses, which as he had long intended, so had he prepared coloured

speeches to disguise them. But as his words expressed rather a

violence of rancour than any just ground of accusation, so pierced

they no further than to some partial ear, the multitude yielding good

attention to what Philanax would propose unto them. Who, like a man

whose best building was a well-framed conscience, neither with

plausible words, nor fawning countenance, but even with the grave

behaviour of a wise father, whom nothing but love makes to chide, thus

said unto them.

“I have,” said he, “a great matter to deliver unto you, and thereout

am I to make a greater demand of you: but truly such hath this late

proceeding been of yours that I know not what is to be demanded of

you. Methinks I may have reason to require of you, as men are wont

among pirates, that the life of him that never hurt you, may be safe.

Methinks I am not without {579} appearance of cause, as if you were

Cyclopes or Cannibals, to desire that our prince’s body, which hath

thirty years maintained us in a flourishing peace, be not torn in

pieces, or devoured among you, but may be suffered to yield itself,

which never was defiled with any of your bloods, to the natural rest

of the earth. Methinks, not as to Arcadians renowned for your faith to

prince, and love of country, but as to sworn enemies of this sweet

soil. I am to desire you, that at least, if you will have strangers to

your princes, yet you will not deliver the seigniory of this goodly

kingdom to your noble king’s murderers. Lastly, I have reason, as if I

had to speak to madmen, to desire you to be good to yourselves: for

before God, what either barbarous violence or unnatural folly, hath

not this day had his seat in your minds, and left his footsteps in

your actions? but in troth I love you too well to stand long

displaying your faults: I would you yourselves did forget them, so you

did not fall again into them. For my part, I had much rather be an

orator of your praises. But now, if you will suffer attentive

judgment, and not forejudging passion, to be the weigher of my words,

I will deliver unto you what a blessed mean the gods have sent unto

you, if you list to embrace it. I think there is none among you so

young, either in years, or understanding, but hath heard the true fame

of that just prince Euarchus, King of Macedon. A prince with whom our

late master did ever hold most perfect alliance. He, even he, is this

day come, having but twenty horse with him, within two miles of this

place, hoping to have found the virtuous Basilius alive, but now

willing to do honour to his death. Surely, surely the heavenly powers

have in so full a time bestowed him on us to unite our divisions. For

my part therefore I wish, that since among ourselves we cannot agree

in so manifold partialities, we do put the ordering of all these

things into his hands, as well touching the obsequies of the king, the

punishment of his death, as the marriage and crowning of our

princesses, he is both by experience and wisdom taught how to direct:

his greatness such as no man can disdain to obey him: his equity such

as no man need to fear him. Lastly, as he hath all these qualities to

help, so hath he, though he would, no force to hurt. If therefore you

so think good, since our laws bear that our prince’s murder be

chastised before his murdered body be buried, we may invite him to sit

to-morrow in the judgment seat; which done, you may after proceed to

the burial.”

When Philanax first named Euarchus’ landing, there was a muttering

murmur among the people, as though, in that evil ordered weakness of

theirs he had come to conquer their country. But when they understood

he had so small a retinue, whispering one with another, and looking

who should begin to confirm {580} Philanax’s proposition, at length

Sympathus was the first that allowed it, then the rest of the

noblemen; neither did Kalander strive, hoping so excellent a prince

could not but deal graciously with two such young men, whose authority

joined to Philanax, all the popular sort followed. Timautus still

blinded with his own ambitious haste, not remembering factions are no

longer to be trusted, than the factious may be persuaded it is for

their own good, would needs strive against the stream, exclaiming

against Philanax, that now he showed who it was that would betray his

country to strangers. But well he found, that who is too busy in the

foundation of an house, may pull the building about his ears. For the

people already tired with their own divisions, of which his clampring

had been a principal nurse, and beginning now to espy a haven of rest,

hated anything that should hinder them from it: asking one another

whether this were not he whose evil tongue no man could escape?

whether it were not Timautus that made the first mutinous oration, to

strengthen the troubles? whether Timautus, without their consent, had

not gone about to deliver Gynecia? And thus inflaming one another

against him, they threw him out of the assembly, and after pursued him

with stones and staves, so that with loss of one of his eyes, sore

wounded and beaten, he was fain to fly to Philanax’s feet, for succour

of his life; giving a true lesson, that vice itself is forced to seek

the sanctuary of virtue. For Philanax, who hated his evil, but not his

person, and knew that a just punishment might by the manner be

unjustly done; remembering withal that although herein the people’s

rage might have hit rightly, yet if it were nourished in this, no man

knew to what extremities it might extend itself, with earnest dealing,

and employing the uttermost of his authority he did protect the

trembling Timautus. And then having taken a general oath, that they

should in the nonage of the princess, or till these things were

settled, yield full obedience to Euarchus, so far as were not

prejudicial to the laws, customs and liberties of Arcadia: and having

taken a particular bond of Sympathus, under whom he had a servant of

his own, that the prisoners should be kept close, without conference

with any man: he himself honourably accompanied with a great number of

torches, went to the King Euarchus, whose coming in this sort into

Arcadia had thus fallen out.

The woeful Prince Plangus receiving of Basilius no other succours, but

only certain to conduct him to Euarchus, made all possible speed

towards Byzantium, where he understood the king, having concluded all

his wars with the winning of that town, had now for some good space

made his abode. But being far gone on his way, he received certain

intelligence, that Euarchus was {581} not only some days before

returned into Macedon, but since was gone with some haste to visit

that coast of his country that lay towards Italy; the occasion given

by the Latines, who having already gotten into their hands, partly by

conquest and partly by confederacy, the greatest part of Italy, and

long gaped to devour Greece also, observing the present opportunity of

Euarchus’s absence, and Basilius’s solitariness, which two princes

they knew to be in effect the whole strength of Greece, were even

ready to lay an unjust gripe upon it, which after they might beautify

with the noble name of conquest. Which purpose though they made not

known by any solemn denouncing of war, but contrariwise gave many

tokens of continuing still their former amity: yet the staying of his

subjects’ ships, trafficking as merchants into those parts, together

with the daily preparation of shipping, and other warlike provisions

in ports, most convenient for the transporting of soldiers, occasioned

Euarchus, not unacquainted with such practices, first to suspect, then

to discern, lastly to seek to prevent the intended mischief. Yet

thinking war never to be accepted until it be offered by the hand of

necessity, he determined so long openly to hold them his friends, as

open hospitality betrayed them not his enemies, nor ceasing in the

meantime by letters and messages to move the states of Greece, by

uniting their strength, to make timely provision against this peril;

by many reasons making them see that, though in respect of place some

of them might seem further removed from the first violence of the

storm, yet being embarked in the same ship, the final wreck must needs

be common to them all. And knowing the mighty force of example, with

the weak effect of fair discourses, not waited on with agreeable

actions, what he persuaded them, himself performed, leaving in his own

realm nothing either undone or unprovided which might be thought

necessary for withstanding an invasion. His first care was to put his

people in a readiness for war, and by his experienced soldiers to

train the unskilful to martial exercises. For the better effecting

whereof, as also for meeting with other inconveniences in such

doubtful times incident to the most settled states, making of the

divers regions of his whole kingdom so many divisions as he thought

convenient, he appointed the charge of them to the greatest, and of

greatest trust he had about him: arming them with sufficient authority

to levy forces within their several governments, both for the

resisting the invading enemy, and punishing the disordered subject.

Having thus prepared the body, and assured the heart of his country

against any mischief that might attaint it, he then took into his

careful consideration the external parts, giving order both for the

repairing and increasing his navy, and for the fortifying of {582}

such places, especially on the sea coast, as either commodity of

landing, weakness of the country, or any other respect of advantage

was likeliest to draw the enemy unto. But being none of them who think

all things done, for which they have once given direction, he followed

everywhere his commandment with his presence, which witnessed of every

man’s slackness or diligence, chastising the one, and encouraging the

other, suffered not the fruit of any profitable counsel for want of

timely taking to be lost. And thus making one place succeed another in

the progress of wisdom and virtue, he was now come to Aulon a

principal port of his realm, when the poor Plangus extremely wearied

with his long journey, desire of succouring Erona no more relieving,

than fear of not succouring her in time, aggravating his travel, by a

lamentable narration of his children’s death, called home his cares

from encountering foreign enemies, to suppress the insurrection of

inward passions. The matter so heinous, the manner so villainous, the

loss of such persons, in so unripe years, in a time so dangerous to

the whole state of Greece, how vehemently it moved to grief and

compassion others, only not blind to the light of virtue, nor deaf to

the voice of their country, might perchance by a more cunning workman

in lively colours be delivered. But the face of Euarchus’s sorrow, to

the one in nature, to both in affection a father, and judging the

world so much the more unworthily deprived of those excellencies, as

himself was better judge of so excellent worthiness, can no otherwise

be shadowed out by the skilfullest pencil than by covering it over

with the veil of silence. And indeed that way himself took, with so

patient a quietness receiving this pitiful relation, that all words of

weakness suppressed, magnanimity seemed to triumph over misery. Only

receiving of Plangus perfect instruction of all things concerning

Plexirtus and Artaxia, with promise not only to aid him in delivering

Erona, but also with vehement protestation never to return into

Macedon, till he had pursued the murderers to death, he dispatched

with speed a ship for Byzantium, commanding the governor to provide

all necessaries for the war against his own coming, which he purposed

should be very shortly. In this ship Plangus would needs go, impatient

of stay, for that in many days before he had understood nothing of his

lady’s estate. Soon after whose departure, news was brought to

Euarchus, that all the ships detained in Italy were returned. For the

Latines finding by Euarchus’s proceedings their intent to be

frustrate, as before by his sudden return they doubted it was

discovered, deeming it no wisdom to show the will, not having the

ability to hurt, had not only in free and friendly manner dismissed

them, but for that time wholly omitted their enterprise attending the

opportunity of fitter occasion. By means whereof Euarchus, {583} rid

from the cumber of that war, likely otherwise to have stayed him

longer, with so great a fleet as haste would suffer him to assemble,

forthwith embarked for Byzantium. And now followed with fresh winds he

had in a short time run a long course, when on a night encountered

with an extreme tempest, his ships were so scattered that scarcely any

two were left together. As for the king’s own ship, deprived of all

company, sore bruised, and weather beaten, able no longer to brook the

sea’s churlish entertainment, a little before day it recovered the

shore. The first light made them see it was the unhappy coast of

Laconia: for no other country could have shown the like evidence of

unnatural war. Which having long endured between the nobility and the

Helots, and once compounded by Pyrocles, under the name of Daiphantus,

immediately upon his departure had broken out more violently than ever

before. For the king taking opportunity of their captain’s absence,

refused to perform the conditions of peace as extorted from him by

rebellious violence. Whereupon they were again deeply entered into

war, with so notable an hatred towards the very name of a king, that

Euarchus, though a stranger unto them, thought it not safe there to

leave his person, where neither his own force could be a defence, nor

the sacred name of majesty, a protection. Therefore calling to him an

Arcadian, one that coming with Plangus had remained with Euarchus,

desirous to see the wars, he demanded of him for the next place of

surety where he might make his stay until he might hear somewhat of

his fleet, or cause his ship to be repaired. The gentleman glad to

have this occasion of doing service to Euarchus, and honour to

Basilius, to whom he knew he should bring a most welcome guest, told

him, that if it pleased him to commit himself to Arcadia, a part

whereof lay open to their view, he would undertake ere the next night

were far spent to guide him safely to his master Basilius. The present

necessity much prevailed with Euarchus, yet more a certain virtuous

desire to try whether by his authority he might withdraw Basilius from

burying himself alive, and to employ the rest of his old years in

doing good, the only happy action of man’s life. For besides the

universal case of Greece, deprived by this means of a principal

pillar, he weighed and pitied the pitiful state of the Arcadian

people, who were in worse case than if death had taken away their

prince. For so yet their necessity would have placed someone to the

helm; now, a prince being, and not doing like a prince, keeping and

not exercising the place, they were in so much more evil case, as they

could not provide for their evil.

These rightly wise and virtuous considerations especially moved

Euarchus to take his journey towards the deserts, where arriving

within night, and understanding to his great grief the news of the

{584} prince’s death, he waited for his safe conduct from Philanax; in

the meantime taking his rest under a tree, with no more affected pomps

than as a man that knew, howsoever he was exalted, the beginning and

end of his body was earth. But Philanax as soon as he was in sight of

him, alighting from his horse, presented himself unto him in all those

humble behaviours, which not only the great reverence of the party,

but the conceit of one’s own misery, is wont to frame: Euarchus rose

up unto him, with so gracious a countenance, as the goodness of his

mind had long exercised him unto; careful so much more to descend in

all courtesies, as he saw him bear a low representation of his

afflicted state. But to Philanax, as soon as by near looking on him,

he might perfectly behold him, the gravity of his countenance and

years, not much unlike to his late deceased, but ever beloved master,

brought his form so lively into his memory, and revived so all the

thoughts of his wonted joys within him, that instead of speaking to

Euarchus, he stood a while like a man gone a far journey from himself,

calling as it were with his mind an account of his losses, imagining

that this pain needed not, if nature had not been violently stopped of

her own course; and casting more loving than wise conceits, what a

world would this have been if this sudden accident had not interrupted

it. And so far strayed he into his raving melancholy that his eyes,

nimbler than his tongue, let fall a flood of tears, his voice being

stopped with extremity of sobbing, so much had his friendship carried

him to Basilius that he thought no age was timely for his death. But

at length taking the occasion of his own weeping, he thus did speak to

Euarchus: “Let not my tears, most worthily renowned prince, make my

presence unpleasant, or my speech unmarked of you. For the justice of

the cause takes away the blame of any weakness in me; and the affinity

that the same beareth to your greatness, seems even lawfully to claim

pity in you: a prince of a prince’s fall, a lover of justice, of a

most unjust violence. And give me leave, excellent Euarchus, to say, I

am but the representer of all the late flourishing Arcadia, which now

with mine eyes doth weep, with my tongue doth complain, with my knees

doth lay itself at your feet, which never have been unready to carry

you to the virtuous protecting of innocents. Imagine, vouchsafe to

imagine, most wise and good king, that here is before your eyes the

pitiful spectacle of a most dolorously ending tragedy; wherein I do

but play the part of all the new miserable province, which being

spoiled of their guide, doth lie like a ship without a pilot, tumbling

up and down in the uncertain waves, till it either run itself upon the

rocks of self-division, or be overthrown by the stormy wind of foreign

force. Arcadia finding herself in these desolate terms, doth speak,

and I speak for her, to thee not vainly {585} puissant prince, that

since now she is not only robbed of the natural support of her lord,

but so suddenly robbed that she hath not breathing time to stand for

her safety: so unfortunately, that it doth appall their minds, though

they had leisure; and so mischievously, that it doth exceed both the

suddenness and unfortunateness of it; thou wilt lend thine arm unto

her, and, as a man, take compassion of mankind; as a virtuous man,

chastise most abominable vice; and as a prince protect a people, which

all have with one voice called for thy goodness, thinking that as thou

art only able, so thou art fully able, to redress their imminent

ruins. They do therefore with as much confidence as necessity, fly

unto you for succour, they lay themselves open unto you: to you, I

mean yourself such as you have ever been: that is to say, one that

hath always had his determinations bounded with equity. They only

reserve the right to Basilius’s blood; the manner to the ancient

prescribing of their laws. For the rest without exception they yield

over unto you, as to the elected protector of this kingdom, which name

and office they beseech you, till you have laid a sufficient

foundation of tranquility, to take upon you; the particularity both of

their statutes and demands you shall presently after understand. Now

only I am to say unto you, that this country falls to be a fair field,

to prove whether the goodly tree of your virtue will live in all

soils. Here I say will be seen, whether either fear can make you

short, or the lickerishness of dominion make you beyond justice. And I

can for conclusion say no more but this, you must think upon my words,

and on your answer depends not only the quiet, but the lives of so

many thousands, which for their ancient confederacy, in this their

extreme necessity, desire neither the expense of your treasure, nor

hazard of your subjects, but only the benefit of your wisdom, whose

both glory and increase stands in the exercising of it.”

The sum of this request was utterly unlooked for of Euarchus, which

made him the more diligent in marking his speech, and after his speech

take the greater pause for a perfect resolution. For as of the one

side, he thought nature required nothing more of him than that he

should be a help to them of like creation, and had his heart no wit

commanded with fear, thinking his life well passed, having satisfied

the tyranny of time, with the course of many years, the expectation of

the world with more than expected honour: lastly, the tribute due to

his own mind, with the daily offering of most virtuous actions: so of

the other he weighed the just reproach that followed those who easily

enter into other folk’s business, with the opinion might be conceived,

love of seigniory rather than of justice, had made him embark himself

thus into a matter nothing pertaining to him, especially in a time

when earnest {586} occasion of his own business so greatly required

his presence. But in the end, wisdom being an essential and not an

opinionate thing, made him rather to bend to what was in itself good

than what by evil minds might be judged not good. And therein did see

that though the people did not belong unto him, yet doing good, which

is not enclosed within any terms of people, did belong unto him, and

if necessity forced him for some time to abide in Arcadia, the

necessity of Arcadia might justly demand some fruit of abiding. To

this secret assurance of his own worthiness, which although it be

never so well clothed in modesty, yet always lives in the worthiest

minds, did much push him forward, saying unto himself, the treasure of

those inward gifts he had were bestowed by the heavens upon him to be

beneficial and not idle. On which determination resting, and yet

willing before he waded any further, to examine well the depth of the

other’s proffer; he thus with that well-poised gesture, unpassionate

nature bestoweth upon mankind, made answer to Philanax’s most urgent

petition.

“Although long experience hath made me know all men, and so princes

which be but men, to be subject to infinite casualties, the very

constitution of our lives remaining in continual change: yet the

affairs of this country, or at least my meeting so jumply with them,

makes me abashed with the strangeness of it. With much pain am I come

hither to see my long approved friend, and now I find if I will see

him, I must see him dead: after, for mine own security, I seek to be

warranted mine own life; and there suddenly am I appointed to be a

judge of other men’s lives: though a friend to him, yet am I a

stranger to the country, and now of a stranger you would suddenly make

a director. I might object, to your desire, my weakness, which age

perhaps hath wrought in mind and body: and justly I may pretend the

necessity of mine own affairs, to which as I am by all true rules most

nearly tied, so can they not long bear the delay of my absence. But

though I would and could dispense with these difficulties, what

assurance can I have of the people’s will? which having so many

circles of imaginations can hardly be enclosed in one point. Who knows

a people, that knows not sudden opinion makes them hope, which hope if

it be not answered, they fall into hate, choosing and refusing,

erecting, and overthrowing, according as the presentness of any fancy

carries them. Even this their hasty drawing to me, makes me think they

will be as hastily withdrawn from me; for it is but one ground of

inconstancy, soon to take or soon to leave. It may be they have heard

of Euarchus more than cause: their own eyes will be perhaps more

curious judges, out of hearsay they may have builded many conceits,

which I cannot, perchance will not, perform, then will undeserved

{587} repentance be a greater shame and injury unto me than their

undeserved proffer is honour. And to conclude, I must be fully

informed how the patient is minded, before I can promise to undertake

the cure.”

Philanax was not of the modern minds, who made suitors magistrates;

but did ever think the unwilling worthy man, was fitter than the

undeserving desirer. Therefore the more Euarchus drew back, the more

he found in him, that the cunningest pilot doth most dread the rocks,

the more earnestly he pursued his public request unto him. He desired

him not to make any weak excuses of his weakness, since so many

examples had well proved his mind was strong to overpass the greatest

troubles, and his body strong enough to obey his mind: and that so

long as they were joined together, he knew Euarchus would think it no

wearisome exercise, to make them vessels of virtuous actions. The duty

to his country he acknowledged, which as he had so settled as it was

not to fear any sudden alteration, so since it did want him, as well

it might endure a fruitful as an idle absence. As for the doubt he

conceived of the people’s constancy in this their election, he said it

was such a doubt as all human actions are subject unto; yet as much as

in politic matters, which receive not geometrical certainties, a man

may assure himself there was evident likelihood to be conceived of the

continuance, both in their unanimity, and his worthiness; whereof the

one was apt to be held, and the other to hold, joined to the present

necessity the firmest band of mortal minds. In some he alleged so many

reasons to Euarchus’s mind, already inclined to enter into any

virtuous action, that he yielded to take upon himself the judgment of

the present cause; so as he might find indeed, that such was the

people’s desire out of judgment, and not faction.

Therefore mounting on their horses, they hasted to the lodges, where

they found, though late in the night, the people wakefully watching

for the issue of Philanax’s embassage. No man thinking the matter

would be well done, without he had his voice in it, and each deeming

his own eyes the best guardians of his throat in that unaccustomed

tumult. But when they saw Philanax return, having on his right hand

the King Euarchus, on whom they had now placed the greatest burden of

their fears, with joyful shouts, and applauding acclamations, they

made him and the world quickly know, that one man’s sufficiency is

more available than ten thousand of the multitude. So evil balanced be

the extremities of popular minds: and so much natural imperiousness

there rests in a well-formed spirit. For, as if Euarchus had been born

of the princely blood of Arcadia, or that long and well-acquainted

proof had ingrafted him in their country, so flocked {588} they about

this stranger, most of them already from dejected fears, rising to

ambitious considerations, who should catch the first hold of his

favour. And then from those crying welcomes to babbling one with the

other, some praising Philanax for his exceeding pain, others liking

Euarchus’s aspect, and as they judged his age by his face, so judging

his wisdom by his age, Euarchus passed through them like a man that

did neither disdain a people, nor yet was anything tickled with their

flatteries. But always holding his own, a man might read a constant

determination in his eyes. And in that soft dismounting among them, he

forthwith demanded the convocation to be made, which accordingly was

done, with as much order and silence, as it might appear; Neptune had

not more force to appease the rebellious wind, than the admiration of

an extraordinary virtue hath, to temper a disordered multitude; he

being raised up upon a place more high than the rest, where he might

be best understood, in this sort speak unto them.

“I understand,” said he, “faithful Arcadians, by my Lord Philanax,

that you have with one consent chosen me to be the judge of the late

evils happened; orderer of the present disorders; and finally

protector of this country till therein it be seen what the customs of

Arcadia require.” He could say no further, being stopped with a

general cry, that so it was, giving him all the honourable titles and

happy wishes they could imagine. He beckoned unto them for silence,

and then thus again proceeded, “Well,” said he, “how good choice you

have made, the attending must be in you, the proof in me. But because

it many times falls out, we are much deceived in others, we being the

first to deceive ourselves, I am to require you, not to have an

over-shooting expectation of me, the most cruel adversary of all

honourable doings. Nor promise yourselves wonders out of a sudden

liking: but remember I am a man, that is to say, a creature whose

reason is often darkened with error. Secondly, that you will lay your

hearts void of foretaken opinions: else whatsoever I do or say, will

be measured by a wrong rule, like them that have the yellow jaundice,

every thing seeming yellow unto them. Thirdly, whatsoever debates have

risen among you, may be utterly extinguished; knowing that even among

the best men are diversities of opinions, which are no more in true

reason to breed hatred, than one that loves black, should be angry

with him that is clothed in white; for thoughts and conceits are the

very apparel of the mind: lastly, that you do not easily judge of your

judge, but since you will have me to command, think it is your part to

obey. And in reward of this, I will promise and protest unto you, that

to the uttermost of my skill, both in the general laws of nature,

especially of Greece, and particularly of Arcadia, wherein I must

{589} confess I am not unacquainted, I will not only see the past

evils duly punished, and your weal hereafter established, but for your

defence in it, if need shall require, I will employ the force and

treasures of mine own country. In the meantime, this shall be the

first order I will take, that no man, under pain of grievous

punishment, name me by any other name but protector of Arcadia. For I

will not leave any possible colour, to any of my natural successors,

to make claim to this which by free election you have bestowed upon

me. And so I vow unto you, to depose myself of it as soon as the

judgment is passed, the king buried, and his lawful successor

appointed. For the first whereof, I mean the trying which be guilty of

the king’s death, and these other heinous trespasses, because your

customs require such haste, I will no longer delay it, than till

to-morrow as soon as the sun shall give us fit opportunity. You may

therefore retire yourselves to your rest, that you may be readier to

be present, at these so great important matters.”

With many allowing tokens was Euarchus’s speech heard, who now by

Philanax, that took the principal care of doing all due services unto

him, was offered a lodging made ready for him, the rest of the people

as well as a small commodity of that place would suffer, yielding

their weary heads to sleep, when lo, the night thoroughly spent in

these mixed matters, was for that time banished the face of the earth,

and Euarchus, seeing the day begin to disclose his comfortable

beauties, desiring nothing more than to join speed with justice,

willed Philanax presently to make the judgment-place be put in order:

and as soon as the people, who yet were not fully dispersed, might be

brought together, to bring forth the prisoners and the king’s body.

Which the manner was, should in such cases be held in sight, though

covered with black velvet, until they that were accused to be the

murderers were acquitted or condemned; whether the reason of the law

were to show the more grateful love to their prince, or by that

spectacle, the more to remember the judge of his duty. Philanax, who

now thought in himself, he approached to the just revenge he so much

desired, went with all care and diligence to perform his charge.

But first it shall be well to know how the poor and princely prisoners

passed this tedious night. There was never tyrant exercised his rage

with more grievous torments upon any he most hated, than afflicted

Gynecia did crucify her own soul, after the guiltiness of her heart

was surcharged with the suddenness of her husband’s death: for

although that effect came not from her mind, yet her mind being evil,

and the effect evil, she thought the justice of God had for the

beginning of her pains coupled them together. This incessantly boiled

in her breast, but {590} most of all, when Philanax having closely

imprisoned her, she was left more freely to suffer the firebrands of

her own thoughts, especially when it grew dark, and had nothing left

her but a little lamp whose small light to a perplexed mind, might

rather yield fearful shadows than any assured sight. Then began the

heaps of her miseries, to weigh down the platform of her judgment,

then began despair to lay his ugly claws upon her, she began then to

fear the heavenly powers, she was wont to reverence, not like a child,

but like an enemy, neither kept she herself from blasphemously

repining against her creation, “O God,” would she cry out, “why did

You make me to destruction? if You love goodness, why did You not give

me a good mind? or if I cannot have it without Your gift, why do You

plague me? Is it in me to resist the mightiness of Your power?” Then

would she imagine she saw strange sights, and that she heard the cries

of hellish ghosts, then would she shriek out for succour, but no man

coming unto her, she would fain have killed herself, but knew not how.

At sometimes again, the very heaviness of her imaginations would close

up her senses to a little sleep: but then did her dreams become her

tormentors. One time it would seem unto her, Philanax was hauling her

by the hair of the head, and having put out her eyes was ready to

throw her in a burning furnace. Another time she would think she saw

her husband making the complaint of his death to Pluto, and the

magistrates of that infernal region, contending in great debate to

what eternal punishment they should allot her. But long her dreaming

would not hold, but that it would fall upon Zelmane, to whom she would

think she was crying for mercy, and that she did pass away by her in

silence, without any show of pitying her mischief. Then waking out of

a broken sleep, and yet wishing she might ever have slept; new forms,

but of the same miseries, would seize her mind: she feared death, and

yet desired death; she had passed the uttermost of shame, and yet

shame was one of her cruellest assaulters; she hated Pyrocles as the

original of her mortal overthrow; and yet the love she had conceived

to him, had still a high authority of her passions, “O Zelmane,” would

she say, not knowing how near he himself was to as great a danger,

“now shalt thou glut thy eyes, with the dishonoured death of thy

enemy. Enemy! alas! enemy, since so thou hast well showed thou wilt

have me account thee: couldst thou not as well have given me a

determinate denial, as to disguise thy first disguising, with a double

dissembling? perchance if I had been utterly hopeless, the virtue was

once in me might have called together his forces, and not have been

led captive to this monstrous thraldom of punished wickedness.” Then

would her own knowing of good inflame anew the rage of despair: which

becoming an {591} unresisted lord in her breast, she had no other

comfort but in death, which yet she had in horror, when she thought

of. But the wearisome detesting of herself made her long for the day’s

approach, at which time she determined to continue her former course,

in acknowledging anything that might hasten her end: wherein although

she did not hope for the end of her torments, feeling already the

beginning of hell-agonies; yet according to the nature of pain, the

present being most intolerable, she desired to change that, and put to

adventure the ensuing. And thus rested the restless Gynecia.

No less sorrowful, though less rageful, where the minds of the

Princess Pamela, and the Lady Philoclea, whose only advantages were

that they had not consented to so much evil, and so were at greater

peace with themselves: and that they were not left alone, but might

mutually bear part of each other’s woes. For when Philanax not

regarding Pamela’s princely protestations, had by force left her under

guard with her sister, and that the two sisters were matched, as well

in the disgraces of fortune, as they had been in the best beauties of

nature: those things that till then bashfulness and mistrust had made

them hold reserved one from the other, now fear, the underminer of all

determinations, and necessity the victorious rebel of all laws, forced

them interchangeably to lay open. Their passions then so swelling in

them as they would have made auditors of stones, rather than have

swallowed up in silence the choking adventures were fallen unto them;

truly the hardest hearts, which have at any time thought woman’s tears

to be a matter of slight compassion, imagining that fair weather will

quickly after follow, would now have been mollified; and been

compelled to confess that the fairer a diamond is, the more pity it is

it should receive a blemish. Although, no doubt, their faces did

rather beautify sorrow, than sorrow could darken that which even in

darkness did shine. But after they had so long, as their other

afflictions would suffer them, with doleful ceremonies bemoaned their

father’s death: they sat down together apparelled as their

misadventures had found them; Pamela in her journeying weeds now

converted to another use: Philoclea only in her night-gown, which she

thought should be the raiment of her funerals. But when the excellent

creatures had after much panting, with their inward travel, gotten so

much breathing power as to make a pitiful discourse one to the other,

what had befallen them, and that by the plain comparing the case they

were in, they thoroughly found that their griefs were not more like in

regard of themselves, than like in respect of the subject, the two

princes, as Pamela had learned of Musidorus, being so minded that they

would ever make both their fortunes one, it did more unite, and so

{592} strengthen their lamentation: seeing the one could not be

miserable, but that it must necessarily make the other miserable also.

That therefore was the first matter their sweet mouths delivered, the

declaring the passionate beginning, troublesome proceeding, and

dangerous ending, their never-ending loves had passed. And when at any

time they entered into praises of the young princes, too long it would

have exercised their tongues, but that their memory forthwith warned

them, the more praiseworthy they were, the more at that time they were

worthy of lamentation. Then again to crying and wringing of hands; and

then anew, as unquiet grief sought each corner, to new discourses,

from discourses to wishes, from wishes to prayers. Especially the

tender Philoclea, who as she was in years younger, and had never

lifted up her mind to any opinion of sovereignty, so was she the apter

to yield to her misfortune; having no stronger debates in her mind,

than a man may say a most witty childhood is wont to nourish, as to

imagine with herself, why Philanax and the other noblemen should deal

so cruelly by her that had never deserved evil of any of them. And how

they could find in their hearts, to imprison such a personage as she

did figure Pyrocles, whom she thought all the world was bound to love,

as well as she did. But Pamela, although endued with a virtuous

mildness, yet the knowledge of herself, and what was due unto her,

made her heart full of a stronger disdain against her adversity.

So that she joined the vexation of her friend with the spite to see

herself, as she thought, rebelliously detained, and mixed desirous

thoughts to help, with revengeful thoughts if she could not help. And

as in pangs of death, the stronger heart feels the greater torment,

because it doth the more resist his oppressor: so her mind, the nobler

it was set, and had already embraced the higher thoughts, so much more

it did repine; and the more it repined, the more helpless wounds it

gave unto itself. But when great part of the night was passed over the

doleful music of these sweet ladies’ complaints, and that leisure

though with some strife had brought Pamela to know that an eagle when

she is in a cage must not think to do like an eagle, remembering with

themselves that it was likely the next day the lords would proceed

against those they had imprisoned. They employed the rest of the night

in writing unto them, with such earnestness as the matter required,

but in such styles as the state of their thoughts was apt to fashion.

In the meantime, Pyrocles and Musidorus were recommended to so strong

a guard that they might well see it was meant they should pay no less

price than their lives for the getting out of that place, which they

like men indeed, fortifying courage with {593} the true rampire of

patience, did so endure that they did rather appear governors of

necessity, than servants to fortune. The whole sum of their thoughts

resting upon the safety of their ladies, and their care one for the

other: wherein, if at all, their hearts did seem to receive some

softness. For sometimes Musidorus would feel such a motion to his

friend, and his unworthy case, that he would fall into such kind of

speeches. “My Pyrocles,” would he say, “how unhappy may I think

Thessalia, that hath been as it were the middle way to this evil

estate of yours? For if you had not been there brought up, the sea

should not have had this power thus to sever you from your dear

father. I have therefore, if complaints do at any time become a man’s

heart, most cause to complain, since my country, which received the

honour of Pyrocles’s education, should be a step to his overthrow, if

human chances can be counted an overthrow to him that stands upon

virtue.” “Oh excellent Musidorus,” answered Pyrocles, “how do you

teach me rather to fall out with myself, and my fortune, since by you

I have received all good, you only by me this affliction? To you and

your virtuous mother, I in my tenderest years, and father’s greatest

troubles, was sent for succour. There did I learn the sweet mysteries

of philosophy; there had I your lively example to confirm that which I

learned; there, lastly, had I your friendship, which no unhappiness

can ever make you say, but that hath made me happy. Now see how my

destiny, the gods know, not my will, hath rewarded you: my father

sends for you out of your land, whence but for me you had not come:

what after followed, you know. It was my love, not yours, which first

stayed you here; and therefore if the heavens ever held a just

proportion, it were I, and not you, that should feel the smart.” “O

blame not the heavens, sweet Pyrocles,” said Musidorus, “as their

course never alters, so is there nothing done by the unreachable ruler

of them, but hath an everlasting reason for it. And to say the truth

of these things, we should deal ungratefully with nature, if we should

be forgetful receivers of her gift, and diligent auditors of the

chances we like not. We have lived, and have lived to be good to

ourselves and others: our souls, which are put into the stirring earth

of our bodies, have achieved the causes of their thither coming: they

have known and honoured with knowledge the cause of their creation,

and to many men, for in this time, place and fortune, it is lawful for

us to speak gloriously, it hath been behoveful that we should live.

Since then eternity is not to be had in this conjunction, what is to

be lost by the separation, but time? which since it hath his end, when

that is once come, all that is past is nothing: and by the protracting

nothing gotten, but labour and care. Do {594} not me, therefore, that

wrong, who something in years, but much in all other deserts, am

fitter to die than you, as to say you have brought me to any evil:

since the love of you doth over-balance all bodily mischiefs, and

those mischiefs be but mischiefs to the baser minds, too much

delighted with the kennel of this life. Neither will I any more yield

to my passion of lamenting you, which howsoever it might agree to my

exceeding friendship, surely it would nothing to your exceeding

virtue.” “Add this to your noble speech my dear cousin,” said

Pyrocles, “that if we complain of this our fortune, or seem to

ourselves faulty, in having one hurt the other, we show a repentance

of the love we bear to these matchless creatures, or at least a doubt,

it should be over dearly bought, which for my part, and so dear I

answer for you, I call all the gods to witness, I am so far from, that

no shame, no torment, no death, would make me forego the least part of

the inward honour, essential pleasure, and living life, I have enjoyed

in the presence of the faultless Philoclea.” “Take the pre-eminence in

all things but in true loving,” answered Musidorus, “for the

confession of that no death shall get of me.” “Of that,” answered

Pyrocles, soberly smiling, “I perceive we shall have a debate in the

other world, if at least there remain anything of remembrance in that

place.” “I do not think the contrary,” said Musidorus, “although you

know it is greatly held that with the death of body and senses, which

are not only the beginning, but dwelling and nourishing of passions,

thoughts and imaginations, they failing, memory likewise fails, which

riseth only out of them, and then is there left nothing but the

intellectual part or intelligence, which void of all moral virtues

which stand in the mean of perturbations, doth only live in the

contemplative virtue, and power of the omnipotent good, the soul of

souls, and universal life of this great work, and therefore is utterly

void from the possibility of drawing to itself these sensible

considerations.” “Certainly,” answered Pyrocles, “I easily yield that

we should not know one another, and much less these past things, with

a sensible or passionate knowledge. For the cause being taken away,

the effects follow. Neither do I think we shall have such a memory as

now we have, which is but a relic of the senses, or rather a print the

senses have left of things past in our thoughts, but it shall be a

vital power of that very intelligence: which as vile as it was here,

it held the chief seat of our life, and was as it were the last resort

to which of all our knowledges the highest appeal came, and so by that

means was never ignorant of our actions, though many times

rebelliously resisted, always with this prison darkened; so much more

being free of that prison, and returning to the life of all things,

where all infinite knowledge is, {595} it cannot but be a right

intelligence which is both his name and being, of things both present

and past, though void of imagining to itself anything; but even grown

like to his creator hath all things, with a spiritual knowledge before

it. The difference of which is as hard for us to conceive as it was

for us when we were in our mother’s wombs to comprehend, if anybody

would have told us, what kind of light we now in this life see, what

kind of knowledge we now have: yet now we do not only feel our present

being, but we conceive what we were before we were born, though

remembrance make us not do it, but knowledge, and though we are

utterly without any remorse of any misery we might then suffer. Even

such, and much more odds, shall there be at that second delivery of

ours, when void of sensible memory, or memorative passion, we shall

not see the colours, but lives of all things that have been or can be,

and shall, as I hope, know our friendship, though exempt from the

earthly cares of friendship, having both united it, and ourselves in

that high and heavenly love of the unquenchable light.” As he had

ended his speech, Musidorus looking with a heavenly joy upon him, sang

this song unto him he had made before love turned his muse to another

subject.

Since nature’s works be good, and death doth serve

As nature’s work: why should we fear to die?

Since fear is vain, but when it may preserve:

Why should we fear that which we cannot fly?

Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears,

Disarming human minds of native might:

While each conceit an ugly figure bears,

Which were not evil well view’d in reason’s light.

Our owly eyes, which dimm’d with passions be,

And scarce discern the dawn of coming day,

Let them be clear’d, and now begin to see,

Our life is but a step in dusty way.

Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind,

Since this we feel, great loss we cannot find.

Thus did they, like quiet swans, sing their own obsequies, and

virtuously enable their minds against all extremities which they did

think would fall upon them, especially resolving that the first care

they would have, should be by taking the fault upon themselves, to

clear the two ladies, of whose case, as of nothing else that happened,

they had not any knowledge. Although their friendly host, the honest

gentleman Kalander, seeking all means how to help them, had

endeavoured to speak with them, and to make {596} them know who should

be their judge. But the curious servant of Philanax forbade him the

entry upon pain of death. For so it was agreed upon, that no man

should have any conference with them, for fear of new tumults.

Insomuch that Kalander was constrained to retire himself, having yet

obtained thus much, that he would deliver unto the two princes their

apparel and jewels, which being left with him at Mantinea, wisely

considering that their disguised weeds, which were all as then they

had, would make them more odious in the sight of the judges, he had

that night sent for, and now brought unto them. They accepted their

own with great thankfulness, knowing from whence it came, and attired

themselves in it against the next day, which being indeed rich and

princely, they accordingly determined to maintain the names of

Palladius and Daiphantus, as before it is mentioned. Then gave they

themselves to consider, in what sort they might defend their causes;

for they thought it no less vain to wish death, than cowardly to fear

it, till something before morning, a small slumber taking them, they

were by and by after called up to come to the answer, of no less than

their lives imported. But in this sort was the judgment ordered. As

soon as the morning had took a full possession of the element,

Euarchus called unto him Philanax, and willed him to draw out into the

midst of the green, before the chief lodge, the throne of judgment

seat, in which Basilius was wont to sit, and according to their

customs, was ever carried with the prince. For Euarchus did wisely

consider the people to be naturally taken with exterior shows, far

more than with inward consideration of the material points. And

therefore in this new entry into so entangled a matter, he would leave

nothing which might be either an armour or an ornament unto him, and

in these pompous ceremonies he well knew a secret of government much

to consist. That was performed by the diligent Philanax, and therein

Euarchus did set himself all clothed in black, with the principal men

who could in that suddenness provide themselves of such mourning

raiments; the whole people commanded to keep an orderly silence of

each side, which was duly observed of them, partly for the desire they

had to see a good conclusion of these matters, and partly stricken

with admiration, as well at the grave and princely presence of

Euarchus, as at the greatness of the cause which was then to come in

question. As for Philanax, Euarchus would have done him the honour to

sit by him, but he excused himself, desiring to be the accuser of the

prisoners in his master’s behalf; and therefore since he made himself

a party, it was not convenient for him to sit in the judicial place.

Then was it a while deliberated, whether the two young ladies should

be brought forth in open presence: but that was stopped {597} by

Philanax, whose love and faith did descend from his master to his

children, and only desired the smart should light upon the others,

whom he thought guilty of his death and dishonour, alleging for this,

that neither wisdom would they should be brought in presence of the

people, which might hereupon grow to new uproars, nor justice required

they should be drawn to any shame till somebody accused them. And as

for Pamela, he protested the laws of Arcadia would not allow any

judgment of her, although she herself were to determine nothing till

age or marriage enabled her. Then the king’s body being laid upon a

table, just before Euarchus, and all covered over with black, the

prisoners, namely, the queen and two young princes, were sent for to

appear in the protector’s name: which name was the cause they came not

to knowledge, how near a kinsman was to judge of them, but thought him

to be some nobleman, chosen by the country in this extremity. So

extraordinary a course had the order of the heavens produced at this

time, that both nephew and son were not only prisoners, but unknown to

their uncle and father, who of many years had not seen them. And

Pyrocles was to plead for his life before that throne, in which throne

lately before he had saved the king’s life.

But first was Gynecia led forth in the same weeds that the day and

night before she had worn, saving that instead of Zelmane’s garment in

which she was found, she had cast on a long cloak which reached to the

ground, of russet coarse cloth, with a poor felt hat which almost

covered all her face, most part of her goodly hair, on which her hands

had laid many a spiteful hold, so lying upon her shoulders, as a man

might well see had no artificial carelessness. Her eyes down on the

ground, of purpose not to look on Pyrocles’s face, which she did not

so much shun, for the unkindness she conceived of her own overthrow as

for the fear those motions in this short time of her life should be

revived, which she had with the passage of infinite sorrows mortified.

Great was the compassion the people felt to see their princess’s state

and beauty so deformed by fortune and her own desert, whom they had

ever found a lady most worthy of all honour.

But by and by the sight of the other two prisoners drew most of the

eyes to that spectacle. Pyrocles came out led by Sympathus, clothed,

after the Greek manner, in a long coat of white velvet reaching to the

small of his leg, with great buttons of diamonds all along upon it;

his neck without any collar, not so much as hidden with a ruff, did

pass the whiteness of his garments, which was not much in fashion

unlike to the crimson raiment our Knights of the Order[b5-01] first

put on. On his feet he had nothing {598} but slippers, which, after

the ancient manner, were tied up with certain laces, which were

fastened under his knee, having wrapped about, with many pretty knots,

his naked legs. His fair auburn hair, which he wore in great length,

and gave at that time a delightful show, with being stirred up and

down with the breath of a gentle wind, had nothing upon it, but a

white ribbon, in those days used for a diadem. Which rolled once or

twice about the uppermost part of his forehead, fell down upon his

back, closed up at each end with the richest pearls were to be seen in

the world. After him followed another nobleman, guiding the noble

Musidorus, who had upon him a long cloak, after the fashion of that

which we call the apostle’s mantle, made of purple satin; not that

purple which we now have, and is but a counterfeit of the Getalian

purple, which yet was far the meaner in price and estimation, but of

the right Tyrian purple, which was nearest to a colour betwixt our

murrey and scarlet. On his head, which was black and curled, he wore a

Persian tiara, all set down with rows of so rich rubies, that they

were enough to speak for him that they had to judge of no mean

personage.

In this sort, with erected countenances, did these unfortunate princes

suffer themselves to be led, showing aright, by the comparison of them

and Gynecia, how to divers persons compassion is diversly to be

stirred. For as to Gynecia, a lady known of great estate, and greatly

esteemed, the more miserable representation was made of her sudden

ruin, the more men’s hearts were forced to bewail such an evident

witness of weak humanity: so to these men, not regarded because

unknown, but rather, besides the detestation of their fact, hated as

strangers, the more they should have fallen down in an abject

semblance, the more, instead of compassion, they should have got

contempt: but therefore were to use, as I may term it, the more

violence of magnanimity, and so to conquer the expectation of the

lookers with an extraordinary virtue. And such effect indeed it

wrought in the whole assembly, their eyes yet standing as it were in

balance to whether of them they should most direct their sight.

Musidorus was in stature so much higher than Pyrocles as commonly is

gotten by one year’s growth. His face, now beginning to have some

tokens of a beard, was composed to a kind of manlike beauty. His

colour was of a well-pleasing brownness, and the features of it such

as they carried both delight and majesty: his countenance severe, and

promising a mind much given to thinking. Pyrocles of a pure

complexion, and of such a cheerful favour as might seem either a

woman’s face in a boy, or an excellent boy’s face in a woman. His look

gentle and bashful, which bred the more admiration, having showed such

notable {599} proofs of courage. Lastly, though both had both, if

there were any odds, Musidorus was the more goodly, and Pyrocles the

more lovely. But as soon as Musidorus saw himself so far forth led

among the people, that he knew to a great number of them his voice

should be heard, misdoubting their intention to the Princess Pamela,

of whom he was more careful than of his own life, even as he went,

though his leader sought to interrupt him, he thus with a loud voice

spoke unto them.

“And is it possible, O Arcadians,” said he, “that you can forget the

natural duty you owe to your Princess Pamela? Hath this soil been so

little beholden to her noble ancestors? Hath so long a time rooted no

surer love in your hearts to that line? Where is that faith to your

prince’s blood which hath not only preserved you from all dangers

heretofore, but hath spread your fame to all the nations of the world?

Where is that justice the Arcadians were wont to flourish in, whose

nature is to render to everyone his own? Will you now keep the right

from your prince, who is the only giver of judgment, the key of

justice, and life of your laws? Do you hope in a few years to set up

another race, which nothing but length of time can establish? Will you

reward Basilius’s children with ungratefulness, the very poison of

manhood? Will you betray your long settled reputation with the foul

name of traitors? Is this your mourning for your king’s death, to

increase his loss with his daughter’s misery? Imagine your prince doth

look out of the heavens unto you, what do you think he could wish more

at your hands than that you do well by his children? and what more

honour I pray you can you do to his obsequies than to satisfy his soul

with a loving memory, as you do his body with an unfelt solemnity?

What have you done with the Princess Pamela? Pamela, the just

inheritrix of this country, Pamela, whom this earth may be happy that

it shall be hereafter said, she was born in Arcadia; Pamela, in

herself your ornament, in her education your foster child, and every

way your only princess, what account can you render to yourselves of

her? truly I do not think that you all know what is become of her: so

soon may a diamond be lost: so soon may the fairest light in the world

be put out. But look, look unto it, O Arcadians, be not so wilfully

robbed of your greatest treasure, make not yourselves ministers to

private ambitions, who do but use yourselves to put on your own yokes.

Whatsoever you determine of us, who I must confess are but strangers,

yet let not Basilius’s daughters be strangers unto you. Lastly,

howsoever you bar her from her public sovereignty, which if you do,

little may we hope of equity where rebellion reigns, yet deny not that

child’s right unto her, that she may come and do the last duties to

her father’s body. Deny not that happiness, if in such a case there be

{600} any happiness, to your late king, that his body may have his

last touch of his dearest child.”

With such like broken manner of questions and speeches, was Musidorus

desirous, as much as in passing by them he could, to move the people

to tender Pamela’s fortune. But at length, by that they came to the

judgment-place, both Sympathus and his guider had greatly satisfied

him, with the assurance they gave him, this assembly of people had

neither meaning nor power to do any hurt to the princess, whom they

all acknowledged as their sovereign lady. But that the custom of

Arcadia was such, till she had more years, the state of the country to

be guided by a protector, under whom, he and his fellow were to

receive their judgment. That eased Musidorus’s heart of his most

vehement care, when he found his beloved lady to be out of danger. But

Pyrocles as soon as the queen of the one side, he and Musidorus of the

other, were stayed before the face of their judge, having only for

their bar the table whereon the king’s body lay, being nothing less

vexed with the doubt of Philoclea, than Musidorus was for Pamela, in

this sort with a lowly behaviour, and only then like a suppliant, he

spoke to the protector:

“Pardon me, most honoured judge,” saith he, “that uncommanded I begin

my speech unto you, since both to you and me, those words of mine

shall be most necessary. To you having the sacred exercise of justice

in your hand, nothing appertains more properly than truth nakedly and

freely set down. To me, being environed round about with many

dangerous calamities, what can be more convenient, than, at least, to

be at peace with myself, in having discharged my conscience in a most

behoveful verity. Understand therefore, and truly understand, that the

lady Philoclea, to whose unstained virtue it hath been my unspeakable

misery, that my name should become a blot, if she be accused, is most

unjustly accused of any dishonourable fact, which by my means she may

be thought to have yielded unto. Whatsoever hath been done, hath been

my only attempt, which notwithstanding was never intended against her

chastity. But whatsoever hath been informed, was my fault. And I

attest the heavens, to blaspheme which I am not now in fit tune, that

so much as my coming into her chamber, was wholly unwitting unto her.

This your wisdom may withal consider, if I would lie, I would lie for

mine own behoof, I am not so old as to be weary of myself; but the

very sting of my inward knowledge, joined with the consideration I

must needs have what an infinite loss it should be to all those who

love goodness in good folks if so pure a child of virtue should

wrongfully be destroyed, compels me to use my tongue against myself,

and receive the burden of what evil was {601} upon mine own doing.

Look therefore with pitiful eyes upon so fair beams, and that

misfortune which by me hath fallen upon her, help to repair it with

your public judgment, since whosoever deals cruelly with such a

creature, shows himself a hater of mankind, and an envier of the

world’s bliss. And this petition I make, even in the name of justice,

that before you proceed further against us, I may know how you

conceive of her noble, though unfortunate action, and what judgment

you will make of it.”

He had not spoken his last word, when all the whole people, both of

great and low estate, confirmed with an united murmur Pyrocles’s

demand, longing, for the love generally was borne Philoclea, to know

what they might hope of her. Euarchus though neither regarding a

prisoner’s passionate prayer, nor bearing over-plausible ears to a

many-headed motion, yet well enough content, to win their liking with

things in themselves indifferent, he was content: first, to seek as

much as might be of Philoclea’s behaviour in this matter: which being

cleared by Pyrocles, and but weakly gainsaid by Philanax, who had

framed both his own and Dametas’s evidence most for her favour, and in

truth could have gone no further than conjecture, yet finding by his

wisdom that she was not altogether faultless, he pronounced she should

all her life long be kept prisoner among certain women of religion,

like the Vestal nuns, so to repay the touched honour of her house,

with well observing a strict profession of chastity. Although this

were a great prejudicating of Pyrocles’s case, yet was he exceedingly

joyous of it, being assured of his lady’s life; and in the depth of

his mind not sorry, that what end soever he had, none should obtain

the after enjoying that jewel whereon he had set his life’s happiness.

After it was by public sentence delivered, what should be done with

the sweet Philoclea, the laws of Arcadia bearing that what was

appointed by the magistrates in the nonage of the prince could not

afterwards be repealed. Euarchus still using to himself no other name

but protector of Arcadia, commanded those that had to say against the

Queen Gynecia to proceed, because both her estate required she should

be first heard, and also for that she was taken to be the principal in

the greater matter they were to judge of. Philanax incontinently

stepped forth, and showing in his greedy eyes that he did thirst for

her blood, began a well thought on discourse of her, in his judgment,

execrable wickedness. But Gynecia, standing up before the judge,

casting abroad her arms, with her eyes hidden under the breadth of her

unseemly hat, laying open in all her gestures the despairful

affliction, to which all the might of her reason was converted, with

such like words stopped Philanax, as he was entering into his

invective oration:

{602}

“Stay, stay, Philanax,” said she, “do not defile thy honest mouth with

those dishonourable speeches thou art about to utter against a woman,

now most wretched, lately thy mistress. Let either the remembrance how

great she was move thy heart to some reverence, or the seeing how low

she is, stir in thee some pity. It may be truth doth make thee deal

untruly, and love of justice frames injustice in thee, do not

therefore, neither shalt thou need, tread upon my desolate ruins. Thou

shalt have what thou seekest; and yet shalt not be oppressor of her,

who cannot choose but love thee for thy singular faith to thy master.

I do not speak this to procure mercy, or to prolong my life, no, no, I

say unto you I will not live, but I am only loth, my death should be

engrieved with any wrong thou shouldst do unto me. I have been too

painful a judge over myself to desire pardon in others’ judgment. I

have been too cruel an executioner of my own soul to desire that

execution of justice should be staid for me. Alas, they that know how

sorrow can rend the spirits, they that know what fiery hells are

contained in a self-condemning mind, need not fear that fear can keep

such an one from desiring to be separated from that which nothing but

death can separate. I therefore say to thee, O just judge, that I, and

only I, was the worker of Basilius’s death. They were these hands that

gave unto him the poisonous potion that hath brought death to him, and

loss to Arcadia; it was I, and none but I, that hastened his aged

years to an unnatural end, and that have made all his people orphans

of their royal father. I am the subject that have killed my prince, I

am the wife that have murdered my husband, I am a degenerate woman, an

undoer of this country, a shame of my children. What wouldst thou have

said more, O Philanax! and all this I grant, there resteth then

nothing else to say but that I desire you, you will appoint quickly

some to rid me of my life, rather than these hands, which else are

destined unto it, and that indeed it may be done with such speed as I

may not long die in this life, which I have in so great horror.” With

that she crossed her arms, and sat down upon the ground, attending the

judge’s answer. But a great while it was, before anybody could be

heard speak, the whole people concurring in a lamentable cry, so much

had Gynecia’s words and behaviour stirred their hearts to a doleful

compassion, neither in troth could most of them in their judgments

tell whether they should be more sorry for her fault, or her misery;

for the loss of her estate, or loss of her virtue. But most were most

moved with that which was under their eyes, the sense most subject to

pity. But at length the reverent awe they stood in of Euarchus brought

them to a silent waiting his determination, who, having well

considered the abomination of the fact, attending more the manifest

proof of so horrible a trespass, {603} confessed by herself, and

proved by others, than anything relenting to those tragical phrases of

hers, apter to stir a vulgar pity than his mind, which hated evil in

what colours soever he found it, having considered a while with the

principal men of the country, and demanded their allowance, he

definitively gave this sentence: “That whereas, both in private and

public respects, this woman had most heinously offended, in private,

because marriage being the most holy conjunction that falls to

mankind, out of which all families, and so consequently all societies

do proceed, which not only by community of goods, but community of

children, is to knit the minds in a most perfect union, which whoso

breaks, dissolves all humanity, no man living free from the danger of

so near a neighbour, she had not only broken it, but broken it with

death, and the most pretended death that might be: in public respect,

the princes’ persons, being in all monarchal governments the very knot

of the people’s welfare, and light of all her doings, to which they

are not only in conscience, but in necessity bound to be loyal, she

had traitorously empoisoned him, neither regarding her country’s

profit, her own duty, nor the rigour of the laws. That therefore, as

well for the due satisfaction to eternal justice, and accomplishment

of the Arcadian statutes, as for the everlasting example to all wives

and subjects, she should presently be conveyed to close prison, and

there kept with such food as might serve to sustain her life, until

the day of her husband’s burial, at which time she should be buried

quick, in the same tomb with him: that so his murder might be a murder

to herself, and she forced to keep company with the body from which

she had made so detestable a severance; and lastly, death might

redress their disjoined conjunction of marriage.” His judgment was

received of the whole assembly, as not with disliking, so with great

astonishment, the greatness of the matter and person as it were

overpressing the might of their conceits. But when they did set it to

the beam, with the monstrousness of her ugly misdeed, they could not

but yield in their hearts, there was no over-balancing. As for

Gynecia, who had already settled her thoughts, not only to look but

long for this event, having, in this time of her vexation, found a

sweetness in the rest she hoped by death, with a countenance

witnessing she had before-hand so passed through all the degrees of

sorrow, that she had no new look to figure forth any more, rose up,

and offered forth her fair hands to be bound or led as they would,

being indeed troubled with no part of this judgment, but that her

death was as she thought long delayed. They that were appointed for

it, conveyed her to the place she was in before, where the guard was

relieved, and the number increased to keep her more sure for the time

of her execution: none of them all that led her, though most {604} of

them were such whose hearts had been long hardened with the often

exercising such offices, being able to bar tears from their eyes, and

other manifest tokens of compassionate sorrow. So goodly a virtue is a

resolute constancy, that even in evil deservers, it seems that party

might have been notably well deserving. Thus the excellent lady

Gynecia, having passed five and thirty years of her age, even to the

admiration of a beautiful mind and body, and having not in her own

knowledge ever spotted her soul with any wilful vice, but her

immoderate love of Zelmane, was brought first by that ill-answered

passion, and then by the despairing conceit she took of the judgment

of God in her husband’s death and her own fortune, purposely to

overthrow herself, and confirm by a wrong confession, that abominable

shame, which with her wisdom, joined to the truth, perhaps she might

have repelled.

Then did Euarchus ask Philanax, whether it were he that would charge

the two young prisoners, or that some other should do it, and he sit,

according to his estate, as an assistant in the judgment. Philanax

told him as before he had done, that he thought no man could say

manifest the naughtiness of those two young men with so much either

truth or zeal as himself, and therefore he desired he might do this

last service to his faithfully beloved master, as to prosecute the

traitorous causers of his death and dishonour, which being done, for

his part he meant to give up all dealing in public affairs, since that

man was gone who had made him love them. Philanax thus being ready to

speak, the two princes were commanded to tell their names, who

answered, according to their agreements, that they were Daiphantus of

Lycia, and Palladius Prince of Iberia. Which when they had said, they

demanded to know by what authority they could judge of them, since

they were not only foreigners, and so not born under their laws, but

absolute princes, and therefore not to be touched by laws. But answer

was presently made them that Arcadian laws were to have their force

upon any found in Arcadia: since strangers have scope to know the

customs of a country, before they put themselves in it: and when they

once are entered, they must know that what by many was made must not

for one be broken. And so much less for a stranger, as he is to look

for no privilege in that place, to which in time of need his service

is not to be expected. As for their being princes, whether they were

so or no, the belief stood in their own words, which they had so

diversly falsified, as they did not deserve belief. But whatsoever

they were, Arcadia was to acknowledge them but as private men, since

they were neither by magistracy nor alliance to the princely blood, to

claim anything in that region. Therefore if they had offended, which

now by the plaintiff and their defence was to be judged, against the

laws of nations, by {605} the laws of nations they were to be

chastised: if against the peculiar ordinances of the province, those

peculiar ordinances were to lay hold of them.

The princes stood a while upon that, demanding leisure to give perfect

knowledge of their greatness; but when they were answered, that in a

case of the prince’s death, the law of that country had ever been that

immediate trial should be had, they were forced to yield, resolved

that in those names they would as much as they could cover the shame

of their royal parentage, and keep as long as might be, if evil were

determined against them, the evil news from their careful kinsfolks,

wherein the chief man they considered was Euarchus: whom the strange

and secret working of justice had brought to be the judge over them.

In such a shadow, or rather pit of darkness, the wormish mankind

lives, that neither they know how to foresee, nor what to fear, and

are but like tennis balls, tossed by the racket of the higher powers.

Thus both sides ready, it was determined, because their cases were

separated, first Philanax should be heard against Pyrocles, whom they

termed Daiphantus, and that heard, the other’s cause should follow,

and so receive together such judgment as they should be found to have

deserved.

But Philanax that was even short-breathed at the first, with the

extreme vehemency he had to speak against them, stroking once or twice

his forehead, and wiping his eyes, which either wept, or he would at

that time have them seem to weep, looking first upon Pyrocles, as if

he had proclaimed all hatefulness against him, humbly turning to

Euarchus, who with quiet gravity showed great attention, he thus began

his oration: “That which all men, who take upon them to accuse

another, are wont to desire, most worthy protector, to have many

proofs of faults in them they seek to have condemned, that is to me in

this present action my greatest cumber and annoyance. For the number

is so great, and the quality so monstrous of the enormities this

wretched young man hath committed, that neither I in myself can tell

where to begin, my thoughts being confused with the horrible multitude

of them, neither do I think your virtuous ears will be able to endure

the report, but will rather imagine you hear some tragedy invented of

the extremity of wickedness, than a just recital of a wickedness

indeed committed: for such is the disposition of the most sincere

judgments, that as they can believe mean faults, and such as man’s

nature may slide into, so when they pass to a certain degree, nay,

when they pass all degrees of unspeakable naughtiness, then find they

in themselves a hardness to give credit that human creatures can so

from all humanity be transformed. But in myself the strength of my

faith to my dead master will help the weakness of my memory; in {606}

you, your excellent love of justice will force you to vouchsafe

attention: and as for the matter, it is so manifest, so pitiful

evidences lie before your eyes of it, that I shall need to be but a

brief recounter, and no rhetorical enlarger of this most harmful

mischief. I will therefore, in as few words as so huge a trespass can

be obtained, deliver unto you the sum of this miserable fact: leaving

out a great number of particular tokens of his naughtiness, and only

touching the essential points of this doleful case. This man, whom to

begin withal I know not how to name, since being come into this

country, unaccompanied like a lost pilgrim, from a man grew a woman,

from a woman a ravisher of women, thence a prisoner, and now a prince:

but this Zelmane, this Daiphantus, this what you will, for any shape

or title he can take upon him, that hath no restraint of shame, having

understood the solitary life my late master lived, and considering how

open he had laid himself to any traitorous attempt, for the first mask

of his falsehood, disguised himself like a woman, which being the more

simple and hurtless sex, might easier hide his subtle harmfulness. And

presenting himself to my master, the most courteous prince that lived,

was received of him with so great graciousness that might have bound

not only any grateful mind, but might have mollified any enemy’s

rancour. But this venomous serpent, admitted thus into his bosom, as

contagion will easily find a fit body for it, so had he quickly fallen

into so near acquaintance with this naughty woman, whom even now you

have most justly condemned, that this was her right hand, she saw with

no eyes but his, nor seemed to have any life but in him, so glad she

was to find one more cunning than herself in covering wickedness with

a modest veil. What is to be thought passed betwixt two such virtuous

creatures, whereof the one hath confessed murder, and the other rape,

I leave to your wise consideration. For my heart hastens to the

miserable point of Basilius’s murder, for the executing of which with

more facility, this young nymph of Diana’s bringing up, feigned

certain rites she had to perform, so furious an impiety had carried

him from all remembrance of goodness that he did not only not fear the

gods, as the beholders and punishers of so ungodly a villainy, but did

blasphemously use their sacred holy name as a minister unto it. And

forsooth a cave hereby was chosen for the temple of his devotions, a

cave of such darkness, as did prognosticate he meant to please the

infernal powers; for there this accursed caitiff, upon the altar of

falsehood, sacrificed the life of the virtuous Basilius. By what means

he trained him thither, alas I know not, for if I might have known it,

either my life had accompanied my master, or this fellow’s death had

preserved him. But this may suffice that in {607} the mouth of this

cave, where this traitor had his lodging and chapel, when already

master shepherd, his companion, had conveyed away the undoubted

inheritrix of this country, was Gynecia found by the dead corpse of

her husband, newly empoisoned, apparelled in the garments of the young

lady, and ready no question to have fled to some place, according to

their consort, but that she was by certain honest shepherds arrested:

while in the meantime, because there should be left no revenger of

this bloody mischief, this noble Amazon was violently gotten into the

chamber of the Lady Philoclea, where by the mingling, as much as in

him lay, of her shame with his misdeed, he might enforce her to be

accessory to her father’s death, and under the countenance of her and

her sister, against whom they knew we would not rebel, seize as it

were with one grip into their treacherous hands, the regiment of this

mighty province. But the Almighty Eye prevented him of the end of his

mischief, by using a villain Dametas’s hand to inclose him in there,

where with as much fortification as in a house could be made, he

thought himself in most security. Thus see you most just judge, a

short and simple story of the infamous misery fallen upon this

country; indeed infamous, since by an effeminate man we should suffer

a greater overthrow than our mightiest enemies have been ever able to

lay upon us. And that all this, which I have said is most manifest, as

well of the murdering of Basilius, as the ravishing of Philoclea, for

those two parts I establish of my accusation, who is of so incredulous

a mind, or rather who will so stop his eyes from seeing a thing

clearer than the light, as not to hold for assured so palpable a

matter? For to begin with his most cruel misdeed, is it to be imagined

that Gynecia, a woman though wicked, yet witty, would have attempted

and achieved an enterprise, no less hazardous than horrible, without

having some counsellor in the beginning, and some comforter in the

performing? had she, who showed her thoughts were so over-ruled with

some strange desire, as in despite of God, nature, and womanhood, to

execute that in deeds, which in words we cannot hear without

trembling? Had she, I say, no practice to lead her unto it? or had she

a practice without conspiracy? or could she conspire without somebody

to conspire with? and if one were, who so likely as this, to whom she

communicated I am sure her mind, the world thinks her body? neither

let her words, taking the whole fault upon herself, be herein anything

available. For to those persons who have vomited out of their souls

all remnants of goodness, there rests a certain pride in evil, and

having else no shadow of glory left them, they glory to be constant in

iniquity, and that, God knows, must be held out to the last gasp,

without {608} revealing their accomplices; as thinking great courage

is declared in being neither afraid of the heavens, nor ashamed of the

world. But let Gynecia’s action die with herself, what can all the

earth answer for his coming hither? Why alone, if he be a prince? How

so richly jewelled if he be not a prince? Why then a woman if now a

man? Why now Daiphantus, if then Zelmane? Was all this play for

nothing, or if it had an end, what end but the end of my dear master?

Shall we doubt so many secret conferences with Gynecia, such feigned

favour to the over-soon beguiled Basilius, a cave made a lodging, and

the same lodging made a temple of his religion, lastly, such changes

and traverses, as a quiet poet could scarce fill a poem withal, were

directed to any less scope than to this monstrous murderer? O snaky

ambition, which can wind thyself in so many figures, to slide thither

thou desirest to come! O corrupted reason of mankind, that can yield

to deform thyself with so filthy desires? and O hopeless be those

minds whom so unnatural desires do not with their own ugliness

sufficiently terrify! But yet even of favour let us grant him thus

much more, as to fancy that in these foretold things, fortune might be

a great actor, perchance to an evil end, yet to a less evil end all

these entangled devices were intended. But I beseech your ladyship, my

Lady Daiphantus, tell me what excuse can you find for the changing

your lodging with the queen that very instant she was to finish her

execrable practice? how can you cloak the lending of your cloak unto

her. Was all that by chance too? Had the stars sent such an influence

unto you, as you should be just weary of your lodging and garments

when our prince was destined to the slaughter? What say you to this, O

shameful and shameless creature? fit indeed to be the dishonour of

both sexes. But alas! I spend too many words in so manifest and so

miserable a matter. They must be four wild horses, which according to

our laws are the executioners of men which murder our prince, which

must decide this question with you. Yet see so far had my zeal to my

beloved prince transported me that I had almost forgotten my second

part, and his second abomination, I mean his violence offered to the

Lady Philoclea: wherewith as if it had well become his womanhood, he

came braving to the judgment-seat: indeed our laws appoint not so

cruel a death, although death too, for this fact as for the other. But

whosoever well weighs it shall find it sprung out of the same fountain

of mischievous naughtiness, the killing of the father, dishonouring

the mother, and ravishing the child. Alas, could not so many benefits

received of my prince, the justice of nature, the sign of hospitality

be a bridle to thy lust, if not to thy cruelty? or if thou hadst, as

surely thou hast, a heart recompensing goodness with hatred, could not

his death, which is {609} the last of revenges, satisfy thy malice,

but thou must heap upon it the shame of his daughter? Were thy eyes so

stony, thy breast so tigerish, that the sweet and beautiful shows of

Philoclea’s virtue did not astonish thee? O woeful Arcadia, to whom

the name of this mankind courtesan shall ever be remembered as a

procurer of thy greatest loss! But too far I find my passion, yet

honest passion hath guided me; the cause is every way too, too much

unanswerable. It resteth in you, O excellent protector, to pronounce

judgment, which if there be hope that such a young man may prove

profitable to the world, who in the first exercise of his own

determination, far passed the arrantest strumpet in luxuriousness, the

cunningest forger in falsehood, a player in disguising, a tiger in

cruelty, a dragon in ungratefulness, let him be preserved like a jewel

to do greater mischief. If his youth be not more defiled with

treachery than the eldest man’s age, let, I say, his youth be some

cause of compassion. If he have not every way sought the overthrow of

human society, if he have done anything like a prince, let his naming

himself a prince breed a reverence of his base wickedness. If he have

not broken all the laws of hospitality, and broken them in the most

detestable degree that can be, let his being a guest be a sacred

protection of his more than savage doings: or if his whorish beauty,

have not been as the high way of his wickedness, let the picture drawn

upon so poisonous a wood, be reserved to show how greatly colours can

please us. But if it is as it is, what should I say more, a very

spirit of hellish naughtiness; if his act be to be punished, and his

defiled person not to be pitied, then restore unto us our prince by

duly punishing his murderers, for then we shall think him and his name

to live when we shall see his killers to die. Restore to the excellent

Philoclea her honour, by taking out of the world her dishonour, and

think that at this day, in this matter, are the eyes of the world upon

you, whether anything can sway your mind from a true administration of

justice. Alas! though I have much more to say, I can say no more, for

my tears and sighs interrupt my speech, and force me to give myself

over to my private sorrow.”

Thus when Philanax had uttered the uttermost of his malice, he made

sorrow the cause of his conclusion. But while Philanax was in the

course of his speech, and did with such bitter reproaches defame the

princely Pyrocles, it was well to be seen, his heart was unused to

bear such injuries, and his thoughts such as could arm themselves

better against anything than shame. For sometimes blushing, his blood

with divers motions coming and going, sometimes closing his eyes, and

laying his hand over them, sometimes giving such a look to Philanax,

as might show he assured himself he durst not so have spoken if they

had been {610} in an indifferent place: with some impatiency he bare

the length of his oration; which being ended, with as much modest

humbleness to the judge, as despiteful scorn to the accuser, with

words to this purpose he defended his honour.

“My accuser’s tale may well bear witness with me, most rightful judge,

in how hard a case, and environed with how many troubles, I may esteem

myself. For if he who shows his tongue is not unacquainted with

railing, was in an agony in the beginning of his speech with the

multitude of the matters he had to lay unto me, wherein

notwithstanding the most evil could fall unto him was that he should

not do so much evil as he would, how cumbered do you think may I

acknowledge myself, who, in things no less importing than my life,

must be mine own advocate, without leisure to answer, or foreknowledge

what should be objected? in things, I say, promoted with so cunning

confusion, as having mingled truths with falsehoods, surmises with

certainties, causes of no moment with matters capital, scolding with

complaining, I can absolutely neither grant nor deny, neither can I

tell whether I come hither to be judged, or before judgment to be

punished, being compelled to hear such unworthy words, far more

grievous than any death unto me. But since the form of this government

allows such tongue-liberty unto him, I will pick as well as I can out

of his invective speech those few points which may seem of some

purpose in the touching of me, hoping that by your easy hearing of me,

you will show that though you hate evil, yet you wish men may prove

themselves not evil; so in that he hath said, you will not weigh so

much what he hath said as what he hath proved, remembering that truth

is simple and naked, and that if he had guided himself under that

banner, he needed not out of the way have sought so vile and false

disgracing of me, enough to make the untruest accusation believed. I

will therefore, using truth as my best eloquence, repeat unto you as

much as I know in this matter, and then, by the only clearness of the

discourse, your wisdom I know will find the difference between

cavilling supposition, and direct declaration. This Prince Palladius

and I being inflamed with love, a passion far more easily reprehended

than refrained, to the two peerless daughters of Basilius, and

understanding how he had secluded himself from the world, that, like

princes, there was no access unto him, we disguised ourselves, in such

forms as might soonest bring us to the revealing our affections. The

Prince Palladius had such event of his doings that, with Pamela’s

consent, he was to convey her out of the thraldom she lived in, to

receive the subjection of a greater people than her own, until her

father’s consent might be obtained. My fortune was more hard, for I

bare no more love to the chaste {611} Philoclea, than Basilius,

deceived in my sex, showed to me, insomuch that by his importunacy, I

could have no time to obtain the like favour of the pure Philoclea,

till this policy I found, taking under colour of some devotions, my

lodging, to draw Basilius thither, with hope to enjoy me; which

likewise I revealed to the queen, that she might keep my place, and so

make her husband see his error. While I in the meantime, being

delivered of them both, and having locked so the doors as I hoped, if

the immaculate Philoclea would condescend to go with me, there should

be none to hinder our going, I was made prisoner there, I know not by

what means, when being repelled by her divine virtue, I would fainest

have escaped. Here you have the thread to guide you in the labyrinth,

this man of his tongue, had made so monstrous. Here you see the true

discourse, which he mountebank-fashion doth make so wide a mouth over.

Here may you conceive the reason why the queen had my garment, because

in her going to the cave, in the moon-shine night, she might be taken

for me, which he useth as the knot of all his wise assertions: so that

as this double-minded fellow’s accusation was double, double likewise

my answer must perforce be, to the murder of Basilius, and violence

offered to the inviolate Philoclea. For the first, O heavenly gods,

who would have thought any mouth could have been found so mercenary as

to have opened so slight proofs of so horrible matters! His first

argument is a question, who would imagine that Gynecia would

accomplish such an act, without some accessories? and if any, who but

I? truly I am so far from imagining anything, that till I saw these

mourning tokens, and heard Gynecia’s confession, I never imagined the

king was dead. And for my part so vehemently, and more like the manner

of passionate than guilty folk, I see the queen persecute herself,

that I think condemnation may go too hastily over her, considering the

unlikelihood, if not impossibility, her wisdom and virtue so long

nourished, should in one moment throw down itself to the uttermost end

of wickedness. But whatsoever she hath done, which, as I say, I never

believed, yet how unjustly should that aggravate my fault? she found

abroad, I within doors, for as for the wearing my garment I have told

you the cause, she seeking, as you say, to escape, I locking myself in

a house: without perchance the conspiracy of one poor stranger, might

greatly enable her attempt, or the fortification of the lodge, as the

trim man alleged, might make me hope to resist all Arcadia. And see

how treacherously he seeks to draw from me my chiefest clearing, by

preventing the credit of her words, wherewith she had wholly taken the

fault upon herself. An honest and impartial examiner: her words may

condemn her, but may not absolve me. Thus, {612} void of all probable

allegation, the craven crows upon my affliction, not leaving out any

evil that ever he hath felt in his own soul, to charge my youth

withal. But who can look for a sweet breath out of such a stomach? or

for honey from so filthy a spider? What should I say more? if in so

inhuman a matter, which he himself confesseth, sincerest judgments are

lothest to believe, and in the severest laws proofs clearer than the

sun are required, his reasons are only the scum of a base malice, my

answers most manifest, shining in their own truth, there remain any

doubt of it, because it stands betwixt his affirming and my denial, I

offer, nay I desire, and humbly desire I may be granted the trial by

combat, wherein let him be armed, and me in my shirt, I doubt not

justice will be my shield, and his heart will show itself as faint as

it is false.

“Now come I to the second part of my offence towards the young lady,

which, howsoever you term it, so far forth as I have told you, I

confess, and for her sake heartily lament. But if herein I offered

force to her, love offered more force to me. Let her beauty be

compared to my years, and such effects will be found no miracles. But

since it is thus as it is, and that justice teacheth us not to love

punishment, but to fly to it for necessity: the salve of her honour, I

mean as the world will take it, for else in truth it is most

untouched, must be my marriage and not my death, since the one stops

all mouths, the other becomes a doubtful fable. This matter requires

no more words, and your experience, I hope, in these cases shall need

no more; for myself methinks I have showed already too much love of my

life to bestow so many. But certainly it hath been love of truth,

which could not bear so unworthy falsehood, and love of justice that

would brook no wrong to myself nor other, and makes me now, even in

that respect to desire you to be moved rather with pity at a just

cause of tears, than with the bloody tears this crocodile spends, who

weeps to procure death, and not to lament death. It will be no honour

to Basilius’s tomb to have guiltless blood sprinkled upon it, and much

more may a judge over-weigh himself in cruelty than in clemency. It is

hard, but it is excellent where it is found, a right knowledge when

correction is necessary, when grace doth more avail. For mine own

respect, if I thought in wisdom I had deserved death, I would not

desire life: for I know nature will condemn me to die though you do

not; and longer I would not wish to draw this breath, than I may keep

myself unspotted of any horrible crime; only I cannot, nor ever will

deny the love of Philoclea, whose violence wrought violent effects in

me.”

With that he finished his speech, casting up his eyes to the judge,

and crossing his hands, which he held in their length before him

declaring a resolute patience in whatsoever should be done {613} with

him. Philanax, like a watchful adversary, curiously marked all that he

said, saving that in the beginning he was interrupted by two letters

which were brought him from the Princess Pamela, and the Lady

Philoclea, who having all that night considered and bewailed their

estate, careful for their mother likewise, of whom they could never

think so much evil, but considering with themselves that she assuredly

should have so due trial by the laws, as either she should not need

their help, or should be past their help; they looked to that which

nearliest touched them, and each wrote in this sort for him, in whom

their lives’ joy consisted.

The humble hearted Philoclea wrote much after this manner:

My Lords, what you will determine of me, it is to me uncertain, but

what I have determined of myself, I am most certain, which is no

longer to enjoy my life, than I may enjoy him for my husband, whom the

heavens for my highest glory have bestowed upon me. Those that judge

him, let them execute me. Let my throat satisfy their hunger of

murder. For alas what hath he done, that had not its original in me?

Look upon him I beseech you with indifferency, and see whether in

those eyes all virtue shines not. See whether that face could hide a

murder. Take leisure to know him, and then yourselves will say, it

hath been too great an inhumanity to suspect such excellency. Are the

gods think you deceived in their workmanship? artificers will not use

marble but to noble uses. Should those powers be so overshot, as to

frame so precious an image of their own, but to honourable purposes? O

speak with him, O hear him, O know him, and become not the putters-out

of the world’s light. Hope you to joy my father’s soul with hurting

him he loved above all the world? shall a wrong suspicion make you

forget the certain knowledge of those benefits this house hath

received by him? Alas, alas, let not Arcadia for his loss be accursed

of the whole earth and of all posterity. He is a great prince, I speak

unto you that which I know, for I have seen most evident testimonies.

Why should you hinder my advancement? who if I have passed my

childhood hurtless to any of you, if I have refused nobody to do what

good I could, if I have often mitigated my father’s anger, ever sought

to maintain his favour towards you, nay, if I have held you all as

fathers and brothers unto me, rob me not of more than my life comes

unto. Tear not that which is inseparably joined to my soul; but if he

rest misliked of you, which, O God, how can it be, yet give him to me,

let me have him, you know I pretend no right to your state. Therefore

it is but a private petition I make unto you. Or if you be

hard-heartedly bent to appoint otherwise, which, oh, sooner let me die

than know, then, to end as I began, let me by you be ordered to the

same end: without, for more cruelty, you mean to force Philoclea to

use her own hands to kill one of your king’s children.

{614}

Pamela’s letter, which she meant to send to the general assembly of

the Arcadian nobility, for so closely they were kept, as they were

utterly ignorant of the new taken orders, was thus framed:

In such a state, my Lord, you have placed me that I can neither

write nor be silent; for how can I be silent, since you have left me

nothing but my solitary words to testify my misery? and how should I

write, for as for speech I have none but my jailor that can hear me,

who neither can resolve what to write, nor to whom to write? What to

write is hard for me to say, as what I may not write, so little hope

have I of any success, and so much hath no injury been left undone to

me-wards. To whom to write, where may I learn, since yet I wot not how

to entitle you? shall I call you my sovereigns? set down your laws

that I may do you homage. Shall I fall lower, and name you my fellows?

show me, I beseech you, the lord and master over us. But shall

Basilius’s heir name herself your princess? alas I am your prisoner.

But whatsoever I be, or whatsoever you be, O all you beholders of

these doleful lines, this do I signify unto you, and signify it with a

heart that ever shall remain in that opinion, the good or evil you do

to the excellent prince who was taken with me, and after by force from

me, I will ever impute it as either way done to mine own person. He is

a prince, and worthy to be my husband, and so is he my husband by me

worthily chosen. Believe it, believe it, either you shall be traitors

for murdering of me, or if you let me live the murderers of him shall

smart as traitors. For what do you think I can think? am I so

childish, as not to see wherein you touch him you condemn me? can his

shame be without my reproach? no, nor shall be, since nothing he hath

done that I will not avow. Is this the comfort you bring me in my

father’s death, to make me fuller of shame than sorrow? would you do

this if it were not with full intention to prevent my power with

slaughter? and so do I pray you it is high time for me to be weary of

my life too long led, since you are weary of me, before you have me. I

say again, I say it indefinitely unto you, I will not live without

him, if it be not to revenge him: either do justly in saving both, or

wisely in killing both. If I be your princess, I command his

preservation; if but a private person, then are we both to suffer. I

take all truth to witness he hath done no fault but in going with me.

Therefore to conclude, in judging him you judge me, neither conceive

with yourselves, the matter you treat of is the life of a stranger,

though even in that name he deserved pity; nor of a shepherd, to which

estate love of me made such a prince descend: but determine most

assuredly, the life that is in question is of Pamela, Basilius’s

daughter.

Many blots had the tears of these sweet ladies made in their letters,

which many times they had altered, many times torn, and written anew,

ever thinking something either wanted, or was too much, or would

offend, or, which is worst, would breed denial: {615} but at last, the

day warned them to dispatch, which they accordingly did, and calling

one of their guard, for nobody else was suffered to come near them,

with great entreaty, they requested him that he would present them to

the principal noblemen and gentlemen together. For they had more

confidence in the numbers’ favour, than in any one, upon whom they

would not lay the lives they held so precious. But the fellow trusted

to Philanax, who had placed him there, delivered them both to him,

what time Pyrocles began to speak, which he suddenly opened, and

seeing to what they tended, by the first words, was so far from

publishing them, whereby he feared in Euarchus’s just mind, either the

princesses might be endangered, or the prisoners preserved, of which

choice he knew not which to think the worst, that he would not himself

read them over, doubting his own heart might be mollified, so bent

upon revenge. Therefore utterly suppressing them, he lent a spiteful

ear to Pyrocles, and as soon as he had ended, with a very willing

heart desired Euarchus he might accept the combat: although it would

have framed but evil with him: Pyrocles having never found any match

near him besides Musidorus. But Euarchus made answer, since bodily

strength is but a servant to the mind, it were very barbarous and

preposterous that force should be made judge over reason. Then would

he also have replied in words unto him, but Euarchus who knew what

they could say was already said, taking their arguments into his mind,

commanded him to proceed against the other prisoner, and that then he

would sentence them both together.

Philanax nothing the milder for Pyrocles’s purging himself, but

rather, according to the nature of arguing, especially when it is

bitter, so much more vehement, entered thus into his speech against

Musidorus, being so overgone with rage, that he forgot in this oration

his precise method of oratory. “Behold, most noble protector, to what

a state Arcadia is come, since such manner of men may challenge in

combat the faithfullest of the nobility, and having merited the

shamefullest of all deaths dare name in marriage the princesses of

this country. Certainly my masters, I must say, you were much out of

taste if you had not rather enjoy such ladies than be hanged. But the

one you have as much deserved, as you have dishonoured the other. But

now my speech must be directed to you, good master Dorus, who, with

Pallas’s help perdy, are lately grown Palladius. Too much this sacred

seat of justice grants unto such a fugitive bondslave, who, instead of

these examinations, should be made confess with a whip, that which a

halter should punish. Are not you he, Sir, whose sheephook was

prepared to be our sceptre; in whom lay the knot of all this tragedy?

or else perchance, they that should gain little by it {616} were

dealers in the murder, you only that had provided the fruits for

yourself, knew nothing of it; knew nothing! Hath thy companion here

infected thee with such impudency, as even in the face of the world to

deny that which all the world perceiveth? The other pleads ignorance,

and you, I doubt not, will allege absence. But he was ignorant when he

was hard by, and you had framed your absence, just against the time

the act should be committed, so fit a lieutenant he knew he had left

of his wickedness, that for himself his safest mean, was to convey

away the lady of us all, who once out of the country, he knew we would

come with olive branches of intercession unto her, and fall at his

feet to beseech him to leave keeping of sheep, and vouchsafe the

tyrannizing over us: for to think they are princes, as they say,

although in our laws it behoveth them nothing, I see at all no reason.

These jewels certainly with their disguising slights, they have

pilfered in their vagabonding race. And think you such princes should

be so long without some followers after them? Truly if they be

princes, it manifestly shows their virtues such, as all their subjects

are glad to be rid of them. But be they as they are, for we are to

consider the matter and not the men, Basilius’s murder hath been the

cause of their coming, Basilius’s murder they have most treacherously

brought to pass; yet that I doubt not, you will deny as well as your

fellow. But how will you deny the stealing away the princess of this

province, which is no less than treason? so notably hath the justice

of the gods provided for the punishing of these malefactors, as if it

were possible, men would not believe the certain evidences of their

principal mischief, yet have they discovered themselves sufficiently

for their most just overthrow. I say therefore, to omit my chief

matter of the king’s death, this wolfish shepherd, this counterfeit

prince, hath traitorously, contrary to his allegiance, having made

himself a servant and subject, attempted the depriving this country of

our natural princess, and therefore by all right must receive the

punishment of traitors. This matter is so assured as he himself will

not deny it, being taken and brought back in the fact. This matter is

so odious in nature, so shameful to the world, so contrary to all

laws, so hurtful to us, so false in him, as if I should stand further

in declaring or defacing it, I should either show great doubts in your

wisdom, or in your justice. Therefore I will transfer my care upon

you, and attend, to my learning and comfort, the eternal example you

will leave to all mankind, of disguisers, falsifiers, adulterers,

ravishers, murderers and traitors.”

Musidorus, while Philanax was speaking against his cousin and him, had

looked round about him, to see whether by any means he might come to

have caught him in his arms, and have killed {617} him, so much had

his disgracing words filled his breast with rage. But perceiving

himself so guarded as he should rather show a passionate act, than

perform his revenge, his hand trembling with desire to strike, and all

the veins in his face swelling, casting his eyes over the judgment

seat: “O gods,” said he, “and have you spared my life to bear these

injuries of such a drivel! Is this the justice of this place, to have

such men as we are, submitted not only to apparent falsehood, but most

shameful reviling? But mark I pray you the ungratefulness of the

wretch, how utterly he hath forgotten the benefits both he and all

this country hath received of us. For if ever men may remember their

own noble deeds, it is then when their just defence, and others’

unjust unkindness doth require it. I omit our services done to

Basilius in the late war with Amphialus, importing no less than his

daughters’ lives, and his state’s preservation. Were not we the men

who killed the wild beasts which otherwise had killed the princesses

if we had not succoured them? Consider if it please you where had been

Daiphantus’s rape, or my treason, if the sweet beauties of the earth

had then been devoured? either think them now dead, or remember they

live by us. And yet full often this telltale can acknowledge the loss

they should have by their taking away while maliciously he overpasseth

who were their preservers: neither let this be spoken of me, as if I

meant to balance this evil with that good, for I must confess that

saving of such creatures was rewarded in the act itself, but only to

manifest the partial jangling of this vile pickthank. But if we be

traitors, where was your fidelity, O only tongue-valiant gentleman,

when not only the young princess, but the king himself was defended

from uttermost peril, partly by me, but principally by this excellent

young man’s both wisdom and valour? Were we that made ourselves

against hundreds of armed men, openly the shields of his life, like

secretly to be his impoisoners? Did we then show his life to be dearer

to us than our own, because we might after rob him of his life to die

shamefully? Truly, truly, master orator, whosoever hath hired you to

be so busy in their matters, who keep honester servants than yourself,

he should have bid you in so many railings, bring some excuse for

yourself, why in the greatest need of your prince, to whom you pretend

a miraculous goodwill, you were not then as forward to do like a man

yourself, or at least to accuse them that were slack in that service:

but commonly they use their feet for their defence, whose tongue is

their weapon. Certainly a very simple subtlety it had been in us to

repose our lives in the daughters when we had killed the father. But

as this gentleman thinks to win the reputation of a copious talker by

leaving nothing unsaid which a filthy mind can imagine, so think I, or

else all {618} words are vain, that to wise men’s judgment our

clearness in the King’s death is sufficiently notorious. But at length

when the merchant hath set out his gilded baggage, lastly, he comes to

some stuff of importance, and saith, I conveyed away the princess of

this country. And is she indeed your princess? I pray you then whom

should I wait on else but her that was my mistress by my professed

vow, and princess over me while I lived in this soil? Ask her why she

went, ask not me while I served her. Since accounting me as a prince,

you have not to do with me: taking me as her servant, then take withal

that I must obey her. But you will say I persuaded her to fly away;

certainly I will for no death deny it, knowing to what honour I should

bring her from the thraldom by such fellow’s counsel as you, she was

kept in. Shall persuasion to a prince grow treason to a prince? It

might be error in me, but falsehood it could not be, since I made

myself partaker of whatsoever I wished her unto. Who will ever counsel

his king, if his counsel be judged by the event, and if it be not

found wise, shall therefore be thought wicked? But if I be a traitor,

I hope you will grant me a correlative, to whom I shall be the

traitor. For the princess against whom the treasons are considered, I

am sure will avow my faithfulness, without you will say that I am a

traitor to her because I left the country? and a traitor to the

country because I went with her. Here do I leave out my just excuses

of love’s force, which as thy narrow heart hath never had noble room

enough in it to receive, so yet those manlike courages, that by

experience know how subject the virtuous minds are to love a most

virtuous creature, witnessed to be such by the most excellent gifts of

nature, will deem it a venial trespass to seek the satisfaction of

honourable desires, honourable even in the curiousest points of

honour, whereout there can no disgrace nor disparagement come unto

her. Therefore, O judge, who I hope dost know what it is to be a

judge, that your end is to preserve and not to destroy mankind, that

laws are not made like lime twigs or nets, to catch everything that

toucheth them, but rather like sea-marks, to avoid the shipwreck of

ignorant passengers, since that our doing in the extremest

interpretation is but a human error, and that of it you may make a

profitable event, we being of such estate as their parents would not

have misliked the affinity, you will not I trust at the persuasion of

this babbler, burn your house to make it clean, but like a wise father

turn even the fault of your children to any good that may come of it:

since that is the fruit of wisdom and end of all judgments.”

While this matter was thus handling, a silent and as it were

astonished attention, possessed all the people. A kindly compassion

moved the noble gentleman Sympathus, but as for Kalander, {619}

everything was spoken either by or for his own dear guests, moved an

affect in him: sometimes tears, sometimes hopeful looks, sometimes

whispering persuasions in their ears that stood by him, to seek the

saving the two young princes. But the general multitude waited the

judgment of Euarchus, who showed in his face no motions, either at the

one’s or other’s speech, letting pass the flowers of rhetoric and only

marking whither their reasons tended; having made the question to be

asked of Gynecia, who continued to take the whole fault upon herself,

and having called Dametas with Miso and Mopsa, who by Philanax’s order

had been held in most cruel prison, to make a full declaration how

much they knew of these past matters, and then gathering as assured

satisfaction to his own mind as in that case he could, not needing to

take leisure for that, whereof a long practice had bred a

well-grounded habit in him, with a voice and gesture directed to the

universal assembly, in this form pronounced sentence.

“This weighty matter, whereof presently we are to determine, doth at

the first consideration yield to important doubts. The first whether

these men be to be judged; the second how they are to be judged. The

first doubt ariseth because they give themselves out for princes

absolute, a sacred name, and to which any violence seems to be an

impiety. For how can any laws, which are the bonds of all human

society, be observed if the law-givers and law-rulers, be not held in

an untouched admiration? but hereto, although already they have been

sufficiently answered, yet thus much again will I repeat unto you.

That whatsoever they be or be not, here they be no princes, since

betwixt prince and subject there is as necessary a relation, as

between father and son; and as there is no man a father but to his

child, so is not a prince a prince but to his own subjects. Therefore

is not this place to acknowledge in them any principality, without it

should at the same time, by a secret consent, confess subjection. Yet

hereto may be objected, that the universal civility, the law of

nations, all mankind being as it were co-inhabiters, or world-citizens

together, hath ever required public persons should be of all parties

especially regarded, since not only in peace but in war, not only

princes, but heralds and trumpeters, are with great reason exempted

from injuries. This point is true, but yet so true, as they that will

receive the benefit of a custom, must not be the first to break it,

for then can they not complain, if they be not helped by that which

they themselves hurt. If a prince do acts of hostility without

denouncing war, if he breaks his oath of amity, or innumerable such

other things contrary to the law of arms, he must take heed how he

fall into their hands whom he so wrongeth, for then is courtesy the

best custom he can claim; much more these men, who have {620} not only

left to do like princes, but to be like princes, not only entered into

Arcadia, and so into the Arcadian orders, but into domestical

services, and so, by making themselves private, deprived themselves of

respect due to their public calling. For no proportion it were of

justice that a man might make himself no prince when he would do evil,

and might anew create himself a prince when he would not suffer evil.

Thus therefore by all laws of nature and nations, and especially by

their own putting themselves out of the sanctuary of them, these young

men cannot in justice avoid the judgment, but, like private men, must

have their doings either cleared, excused, or condemned. There resteth

then the second point, how to judge well. And that must undoubtedly be

done, not by a free discourse of reason and skill of philosophy, but

must be tied to the laws of Greece, and municipal statutes of this

kingdom. For although out of them these came, and to them must indeed

refer their offspring, yet because philosophical discourses stand in

the general consideration of things, they leave to every man a scope

of his own interpretation: where the laws applying themselves to the

necessary use, fold us within assured bounds: which once broken, man’s

nature infinitely rangeth. Judged therefore they must be, and by your

laws judged. Now the action offereth itself to due balance, betwixt

the accuser’s twofold accusation, and their answer accordingly

applied. The questions being, the one of a fact simply, the other of

the quality of a fact. To the first they use direct denial; to the

second, qualification and excuse. They deny the murder of the King;

and against mighty presumptions bring forth some probable answers,

which they do principally fortify with the Queen’s acknowledging

herself only culpable. Certainly as in equality of conjectures, we are

not to take hold of the worse, but rather to be glad we may find any

hope that mankind is not grown monstrous, being undoubtedly less evil

a guilty man should escape, than a guiltless perish, so if in the rest

they be spotless, then is this no further to be remembered. But if

they have aggravated these suspicions with new evils, then are those

suspicions so far to show themselves, as to cause the other points to

be thoroughly examined, and with less favour weighed, since this no

man can deny they have been accidental, if not principal causes of the

king’s death. Now then we are to determine of the other matters, which

are laid to them, wherein they do not deny the fact, but deny, or at

least diminish the fault: but first I may remember, though it were not

first alleged by them, the services they had before done, truly

honourable, and worthy of great reward, but not worthy to countervail

a following wickedness. Reward is proper to well doing, punishment to

evil doing, which must not be {621} confounded, no more than good and

evil are to be mingled. Therefore hath it been determined in all

wisdoms, that no man because he hath done well before should have his

present evil spared, but rather so much the more punished, as having

showed he knew how to be good, yet would against his knowledge be

naught. The fact is then nakedly without passion or partiality to be

viewed: wherein without all question they are equally culpable. For

though he that terms himself Daiphantus, were sooner disappointed of

his purpose of conveying away the Lady Philoclea, than he that

persuaded the Princess Pamela to fly her country, and accompanied her

in it: yet seeing in causes of this nature, the will by the rules of

justice standeth for the deed, they are both alike to be found guilty,

and guilty of heinous ravishment. For though they ravished them not

from themselves, yet they ravished them from him that owned them,

which was their father. An act punished by all the Grecian laws, by

the loss of the head, as a most execrable theft. For if they must die,

who steal from us our goods, how much more they who steal from us that

for which we gather our goods? And if our laws have it so in private

persons, much more forcibly are they to be in princes’ children, where

one steals as it were the whole state and well-being of that people,

being tied by the secret of a long use, to be governed by none but the

next of that blood. Neither let any man marvel, our ancestors have

been so severe in these cases, since the example of the Phoenician

Europa, but especially of Grecian Helen, hath taught them, what

destroying fires have grown of such sparkles. And although Helen was a

wife, and this but a child, that booteth not, since the principal

cause of marrying wives is that we may have children of our own. But

now let us see how these young men, truly for their persons worthy of

pity, if they had rightly pitied themselves, do go about to mitigate

the vehemency of their errors. Some of their excuses are common to

both, some peculiar only to him that was the shepherd. Both remember

the force of love, and as it were the mending up of the matter by

their marriage. If that unbridled desire, which is entitled love,

might purge such a sickness as this, surely we should have many loving

excuses of hateful mischief. Nay rather, no mischief should be

committed that should not be veiled under the name of love. For as

well he that steals might allege the love of money; he that murders,

the love of revenge; he that rebels, the love of greatness, as the

adulterer the love of a woman. Since they do in all speeches affirm

they love that, which an ill-governed passion maketh them to follow:

but love may have no such privilege. That sweet and heavenly uniting

of the minds, which properly is called love, hath no other knot but

virtue, and therefore if it {622} be a right love, it can never slide

into any action that is not virtuous. The other, and indeed more

effectual reason is, that they may be married unto them, and so

honourably redress the dishonour of them whom this matter seemeth most

to touch. Surely if the question were, what were convenient for the

parties, and not what is just in the never changing justice, there

might be much said in it. But herein we must consider that the laws

look how to prevent by due examples that such things be not done, and

not how to salve such things when they are done. For if the governors

of justice shall take such a scope, as to measure the foot of the law

by the show of conveniency, and measure that conveniency not by the

public society, but by that which is fittest for them which offend:

young men, strong men, and rich men, shall ever find private

conveniences how to palliate such committed disorders, as to the

public shall not only be inconvenient, but pestilent. The marriage

perchance might be fit for them, but very unfit were it to the state,

to allow a pattern of such procurations of marriage. And thus much do

they both allege. Further goes he that went with the princess Pamela,

and requireth the benefit of a counsellor, who hath place of free

persuasion, and the reasonable excuse of a servant, that did but wait

of his mistress. Without all question, as counsellors have great cause

to take heed how they advise anything, directly opposite to the form

of that present government, especially when they do it singly without

public allowance: yet so is the case much more apparent, since neither

she was an effectual princess, her father being then alive, and though

he had been dead, she not come to the years of authority, nor he her

servant in such manner to obey her, but by his own preferment first

belonging to Dametas, and then to the king; and therefore if not by

Arcadian laws, yet by household orders, bound to have done nothing

without his agreement. Thus therefore since the deeds accomplished by

these two are both abominable and inexcusable, I do in the behalf of

justice, and by the force of Arcadian laws pronounce that Daiphantus

should be thrown out of a high tower to receive his death by his fall,

Palladius shall be beheaded; the time before the sun set; the place,

in Mantinea; the executioner, Dametas, which office he shall execute

all the days of his life for his beastly forgetting the careful duty

he owed to his charge.”

This said, he turned himself to Philanax, and two of the other

noblemen, commanding them to see the judgment presently performed.

Philanax more greedy than any hunter of his prey, went straight to lay

hold of the excellent prisoners, who, casting a farewell look one upon

the other, represented in their faces as much unappalled constancy as

the most excellent courage can {623} deliver in outward graces. Yet if

at all there were any show of change in them, it was that Pyrocles was

somewhat nearer to bashfulness, and Musidorus to anger, both

over-ruled by reason and resolution. But as with great number of armed

men, Philanax was descending unto them, and that Musidorus was

beginning to say something in Pyrocles’s behalf, behold Kalander, that

with arms cast abroad, and open mouth, came crying to Euarchus,

holding a stranger in his hand that cried much more than he, desiring

they might be heard speak before the prisoners were removed, even the

noble gentleman Sympathus aided them in it, and taking such as he

could command, stopped Philanax, betwixt entreaty and force, from

carrying away the princes until it were heard what new matters these

men did bring. So again mounting to the tribunal, they hearkened to

the stranger’s vehement speech, or rather a passionate exclaiming. It

was indeed Kalodulus, the faithful servant of Musidorus, to whom his

master, when in despite of his best-grounded determinations he first

became a slave to affection, had sent the shepherd Menalcas to be

arrested, by the help of whose raiment in the meantime he advanced

himself to that estate which he accounted most high, because it might

be serviceable to that fancy which he had placed most high in his

mind. For Menalcas having faithfully performed his errand, was

faithfully imprisoned by Kalodulus. But as Kalodulus performed the

first part of his duty in doing the commandment of his prince, so was

he with abundance of sincere loyalty extremely perplexed, when he

understood of Menalcas the strange disguising of his beloved master.

For as the acts he and his cousin Pyrocles had done in Asia, had

filled all the ears of the Thessalonians and Macedonians with no less

joy than admiration: so was the fear of their loss no less grievous

unto them, when by the noise of report they understood of their lonely

committing themselves to the sea, the issue of which they had no way

learned. But now that by Menalcas he perceived where he was, guessing

the like of Pyrocles, comparing the unusedness of this act with the

unripeness of their age, seeing in general conjecture they could do it

for nothing that might not fall out dangerous, he was somewhile

troubled with himself what to do, betwixt doubt of their hurt, and

doubt of their displeasure. Often he was minded, as his safest and

honestest way, to reveal it to King Euarchus, that both his authority

might prevent any damage to them, and under his wings he himself might

remain safe. But considering a journey to Byzantium, whereas yet he

supposed Euarchus lay, would require more time than he was willing to

remain doubtful of his prince’s estate, he resolved at length to write

the matter to Euarchus, and himself the while to go into Arcadia:

uncertain what to do when he came thither, but determined to do his

best service to his dear master, {624} if by any good fortune he might

find him. And so it happened, that being even this day come to

Mantinea, and as warily and attentively as he could, giving ear to all

reports, in hope to hear something of them he sought, he straight

received a strange rumour of these things, but so uncertainly, as

popular reports carry so rare accidents. But this by all men he was

willed, to seek out Kalander a great gentleman of that country, who

would soonest satisfy him of all occurrents. Thus instructed he came

even about the midst of Euarchus’s judgment to the desert, where

seeing great multitudes, and hearing unknown names of Palladius and

Daiphantus, and not able to press to the place where Euarchus sat, he

enquired for Kalander, and was soon brought unto him, partly because

he was generally known unto all men, and partly because he had

withdrawn himself from the press, when he perceived by Euarchus’s

words whither they tended, being not able to endure his guests’

condemnation. He requireth forthwith of Kalander the cause of the

assembly; and whether the same were true of Euarchus’s presence: who

with many tears made a doleful recital unto him, both of the Amazon

and shepherd, setting forth their natural graces, and lamenting their

pitiful undoing. But this description made Kalodulus immediately know

the shepherd was his duke, and so judging the other to be Pyrocles,

and speedily communicating it to Kalander, who he saw did favour their

case, they break the press with astonishing every man with their

cries. And being come to Euarchus, Kalodulus fell at his feet, telling

him those he had judged, were his own son and nephew, the one the

comfort of Macedon, the other the only stay of Thessalia. With many

such like words; but as from a man that assured himself in that matter

he should need small speech, while Kalander made it known to all men

what the prisoners were to whom he cried they should salute their

father, and joy in the good hap the gods had sent them, who were no

less glad, than all the people amazed at the strange event of these

matters. Even Philanax’s own revengeful heart was mollified when he

saw from divers parts of the world so near kinsmen should meet in such

a necessity. And withal the fame of Pyrocles and Musidorus greatly

drew him to a compassionate conceit, and had already unclothed his

face of all show of malice.

But Euarchus staid a good while upon himself, like a valiant man that

should receive a notable encounter, being vehemently stricken with the

fatherly love of so excellent children, and studying with his best

reason what his office required: at length with such a kind of

gravity, as was near to sorrow, he thus uttered his mind: “I take

witness of the immortal gods,” said he, “O Arcadians that what this

day I have said, hath been out of my {625} assured persuasion, what

justice itself and your just laws require. Though strangers then to

me, I had no desire to hurt them, but leaving aside all considerations

of the persons, I weighed the matter which you committed into my hands

with my most impartial and farthest reach of reason. And thereout have

condemned them to lose their lives, contaminated with so many foul

breaches of hospitality, civility, and virtue. Now, contrary to all

expectations, I find them to be my only son and nephew, such upon whom

you see what gifts nature hath bestowed: such who have so to the

wonder of the world heretofore behaved themselves as might give just

cause to the greatest hopes that in an excellent youth may be

conceived. Lastly, in few words, such in whom I placed all my mortal

joys, and thought myself now near my grave, to recover a new life. But

alas! shall justice halt? or shall she wink in one’s cause, which had

lynx’s eyes in another’s; or rather shall all private respects give

place to that holy name? Be it so, be it so, let my grey hairs be laid

in the dust with sorrow, let the small remnant of my life be an inward

and outward desolation, and to the world a gazing flock of wretched

misery, but never, never let sacred righteousness fall; it is

immortal, and immortally ought to be preserved. If rightly I have

judged, then rightly I have judged mine own children, unless the name

of a child should have force to change the never changing justice. No,

no, Pyrocles, and Musidorus, I prefer you much before my life, but I

prefer justice as far before you: While you did like yourselves, my

body should willingly have been your shield, but I cannot keep you

from the effects of your own doing: nay, I cannot in this case

acknowledge you for mine, for never had I shepherd to my nephew, nor

ever had woman to my son; your vices have degraded you from being

princes, and have disannulled your birthright. Therefore if there be

anything left in you of princely virtue, show it in constant suffering

that your unprincely dealing hath purchased unto you. For my part I

must tell you, you have forced a father to rob himself of his

children. Do you therefore, O Philanax, and you my other lords of this

country, see the judgment be rightly performed in time, place, and

manner, as before appointed.”

With that though he would have refrained them, a man might perceive

the tears drop down his long white beard. Which moved not only

Kalodulus and Kalander to roaring lamentations, but all the assembly

dolefully to record that pitiful spectacle. Philanax himself could not

abstain from great shows of pitying sorrow, and manifest withdrawing

from performing the King’s commandment. But Musidorus having the hope

of his safety, and recovering of the Princess Pamela, which made him

most desirous to live so {626} suddenly dashed, but especially moved

for his dear Pyrocles, for whom he was ever resolved his last speech

should be, and stirred up with rage of unkindness, he thus spoke:

“Enjoy thy bloody conquest, tyrannical Euarchus,” said he, “for

neither is convenient the title of a king to a murderer, nor the

remembrance of kindred to a destroyer of his kindred. Go home and

glory that it hath been in thy power, shamefully to kill Musidorus.

Let thy flattering orators dedicate crowns of laurel unto thee, that

the first of thy race thou hast overthrown a prince of Thessalia. But

for me, I hope the Thessalians are not so degenerate from their

ancestors but that they will revenge my injury and their loss upon

thee. I hope my death is no more unjust to me than it shall be bitter

to thee; howsoever it be, my death shall triumph over thy cruelty;

neither as now would I live to make my life beholden unto thee. But if

thy cruelty hath not so blinded thine eyes, that thou canst not see

thine own hurt, if thy heart be not so devilish, as thou hast no power

but to torment thyself, then look upon this young Pyrocles with a

manly eye, if not with a pitiful; give not occasion to the whole earth

to say: ‘See how the gods have made the tyrant tear his own bowels!’

Examine the eyes and voices of all this people; and what all men see,

be not blind in thine own cause. Look, I say look upon him, in whom

the most curious searcher is able to find no fault but that he is thy

son. Believe it, thy own subjects will detest thee for robbing them of

such a prince, in whom they have right as well as thyself.”

Some more words to that purpose he would have spoken, but Pyrocles,

who often had called to him, did now fully interrupt him, desiring him

not to do him the wrong to give his father ill words before him,

willing him to consider it was their own fault and not his injustice;

and withal, to remember their resolution of well suffering all

accidents, which this impatiency did seem to vary from: and then

kneeling down with all humbleness, he took the speech in this order to

Euarchus: “If my daily prayers to the almighty gods had so far

prevailed as to have granted me the end whereto I have directed my

actions, I should rather have been now a comfort to your mind than an

example of your justice; rather a preserver of your memory by my life

than a monument of your judgment by my death. But since it hath

pleased their unsearchable wisdoms to overthrow all the desires I had

to serve you and make me become a shame unto you; since the last

obedience I can show you is to die, vouchsafe yet, O Father, if my

fault have not made me altogether unworthy so to term you, vouchsafe I

say to let the few and last words your son shall ever speak, not be

tedious unto you. And if the remembrance of my {627} virtuous mother,

who once was dear unto you, may bear any sway with you, if the name of

Pyrocles have at any time been pleasant, let one request of mine,

which shall not be for mine own life, be graciously accepted of you.

What you owe to justice is performed in my death: A father to have

executed his only son, will leave a sufficient example for a greater

crime than this. My blood will satisfy the highest point of equity, my

blood will satisfy the hardest hearted in this country. O save the

life of this prince; that is the only all I will with my last breath

demand of you. With what face will you look upon your sister, when in

reward of nourishing me in your greatest need, you take away, and in

such sort take away that which is more dear to her than all the world,

and is the only comfort wherewith she nourisheth her old age? O give

not such an occasion to the noble Thessalians, for ever to curse the

match that their prince did make with the Macedonian blood. By my loss

there follows no public loss, for you are to hold the seat, and to

provide yourself perchance of a worthier successor. But how can you or

all the earth recompense that damage that poor Thessalia shall

sustain? Who sending out, whom otherwise they would no more have

spared than their own eyes, their prince to you, and your requesting

to have him, by you he should thus dishonourably be extinguished. Set

before you, I beseech you, the face of that miserable people, when no

sooner shall the news come that you have met your nephew, but withal

they shall hear that you have beheaded him. How many tears they shall

spend, how many complaints they shall make, so many just execrations

will light upon you. And take heed, O Father, for since my death

answers my fault, while I live I will call upon that dear name, lest

seeking too precise a course of justice, you be not thought most

unjust in weakening your neighbours’ mighty estate by taking away

their only pillar. In me, in me this matter began, in me let it

receive his ending. Assure yourself no man will doubt your severe

observing the laws, when it shall be known Euarchus hath killed

Pyrocles. But the time of my ever farewell approaches: if you do think

my death sufficient for my fault, and do not desire to make my death

more miserable than death, let these dying words of him that was once

your son, pierce your ears. Let Musidorus live, and Pyrocles shall

live in him, and you shall not want a child.”

“A child,” cried out Musidorus, “to him that kills Pyrocles?” With

that he fell again to entreat for Pyrocles, and Pyrocles as fast for

Musidorus, each employing his wit how to show himself most worthy to

die, to such an admiration of all the beholders, that most of them

examining the matter by their own passions, thought Euarchus, as often

extraordinary excellencies, not being rightly {628} conceived, do

rather offend than please, an obstinate hearted man, and such an one,

who being pitiless, his dominion must needs be insupportable. But

Euarchus that felt his own misery more than they, and yet loved

goodness more than himself, with such a sad assured behaviour as Cato

killed himself withal, when he had heard the uttermost of that their

speech tended unto, he commanded again they should be carried away,

rising up from the seat, which he would much rather have wished should

have been his grave, and looking who would take the charge, whereto

every one was exceeding backward.

But as this pitiful matter was entering into, those that were next the

Duke’s body, might hear from under the velvet, wherewith he was

covered, a great voice of groaning. Whereat every man astonished, and

their spirits appalled with these former miseries, apt to take any

strange conceit, when they might perfectly perceive the body stir,

then some began to fear spirits, some to look for a miracle, most to

imagine they knew not what. But Philanax and Kalander, whose eyes

honest love, though to divers parties, held most attentive, leaped to

the table, and putting off the velvet cover, might plainly discern,

with as much wonder as gladness, that the Duke lived. For so it was,

that the drink he received was neither as Gynecia first imagined, a

love-potion, nor, as it was after thought, a deadly poison, but a

drink made by notable art, and as it was thought not without natural

magic, to procure for thirty hours such a deadly sleep, as should

oppress all show of life. The cause of the making of this drink had

first been that a princess of Cyprus, grandmother to Gynecia, being

notably learned, and yet not able with all her learning to answer the

objections of Cupid, did furiously love a young nobleman of her

father’s court, who fearing the king’s rage, and not once daring

either to attempt or accept so high a place, she made that sleeping

drink, and found means by a trusty servant of hers, who of purpose

invited him to his chamber, to procure him that suspected no such

thing, to receive it. Which done, he, no way able to resist, was

secretly carried by him into a pleasant chamber, in the midst of a

garden she had of purpose provided for this enterprise, where that

space of time, pleasing herself with seeing and cherishing of him,

when the time came of the drink’s end of working, and he more

astonished than if he had fallen from the clouds, she bade him choose

either then to marry her, and to promise to fly away with her in a

bark she had made ready, or else she would presently cry out, and show

in what place he was, with oath he was come thither to ravish her. The

nobleman in these straights, her beauty prevailed, he married her, and

escaped the realm with her. And after many strange adventures, were

reconciled to the king her {629} father, after whose death they

reigned. But she gratefully remembering the service that drink had

done her, preserved in a bottle, made by singular art long to keep it

without perishing, great quantity of it, with the foretold

inscription, which wrongly interpreted by her daughter-in-law, the

Queen of Cyprus, was given by her to Gynecia at the time of her

marriage; and the drink finding an old body of Basilius, had kept him

some hours longer in the trance than it would have done a younger. But

a while it was before the good Basilius could come again to himself:

in which time Euarchus more glad than of the whole world’s monarchy to

be rid of his miserable magistracy, which even in justice he was now

to surrender to the lawful prince of that country, came from the

throne unto him, and there with much ado made him understand how these

intricate matters had fallen out. Many garboils passed through his

fancy before he could be persuaded Zelmane was other than a woman. At

length remembering the oracle, which now indeed was accomplished, not

as before he had imagined, considering all had fallen out by the

highest providence, and withal weighing in all these matters his own

fault had been the greatest; the first thing he did was with all

honourable pomp to send for Gynecia, who, poor lady, thought she was

leading forth to her lively burial, and, when she came, to recount

before all the people, the excellent virtue was in her, which she had

not only maintained all her life most unspotted, but now was content

so miserably to die, to follow her husband. He told them how she had

warned him to take heed of that drink: and so with all the exaltings

of her that might be, publicly desired her pardon for those errors he

had committed. And so kissing her, left her to receive the most

honourable fame of any princess throughout the world, all men

thinking, saving only Pyrocles and Philoclea, who never betrayed her,

that she was the perfect mirror of all wifely love. Which though in

that point undeserved, she did in the remnant of her life duly

purchase, with observing all duty and faith to the example and glory

of Greece: so uncertain are mortal judgments, the same person most

infamous, and most famous, and neither justly. Then with princely

entertainment to Euarchus, and many kind words to Pyrocles, whom still

he dearly loved, though in a more virtuous kind, the marriage was

concluded, to the inestimable joy of Euarchus, towards whom now

Musidorus acknowledged his fault, betwixt the peerless princes and

princesses. Philanax for his singular faith ever held dear of Basilius

while he lived, and no less of Musidorus, who was to inherit that

kingdom, and therein confirmed to him and his the second place in that

province, with great increase of his living to maintain it. With like

proportion he used to Kalodulus in Thessalia: highly {630} honouring

Kalander while he lived, and after his death continuing in the same

measure to love and advance his son Clitophon. But as for Sympathus,

Pyrocles, to whom his father in his own time gave the whole kingdom of

Thrace, held him always about him, giving him in pure gift the great

city of Abdera. But the solemnities of these marriages, with the

Arcadian pastorals, full of many comical adventures happening to those

rural lovers; the strange stories of Artaxia and Plexirtus, Erona and

Plangus, Helen and Amphialus, with the wonderful chances that befell

them; the shepherdish loves of Menalcas with Kalodulus’s daughter; the

poor hopes of the poor Philisides in the pursuit of his affections;

the strange continuance of Claius and Strephon’s desire; lastly, the

son of Pyrocles, named Pyrophilus, and Melidora, the fair daughter of

Pamela by Musidorus, who even at their birth entered into admirable

fortunes; may awake some other spirit to exercise his pen in that

wherewith mine is already dulled.

[End of Book V]

A SIXTH BOOK TO THE COUNTESS OF

PEMBROKE’S ARCADIA

{631}

By R.B., of Lincoln’s-Inn, Esq.

{632}

TO THE READER

To strive to lessen the greatness of the attempt, were to take away

the glory of the action. To add to Sir Philip Sidney, I know is

rashness; a fault pardonable in me, if custom might as well excuse the

offence, as youth may prescribe in offending in this kind. That he

should undergo that burthen, whose mother-tongue differs as much from

this language, as Irish from English, augments the danger of the

enterprise, and gives your expectation, perhaps, an assurance what the

event must be. Yet, let no man judge wrongfully of my endeavours: I

have added a limb to Apelles’s picture; but my mind never entertained

such vain hopes, to think it of perfection sufficient to delude the

eyes of the most vulgar, with the likeness in the workmanship. No, no,

I do not follow Pythagoras’s opinion of transmigration: I am well

assured divine Sidney’s soul is not infused into me, whose judgment

was only able to finish what his invention was only worthy to

undertake. For this, courteous reader, let it suffice I place Sir

Philip Sidney’s desert (even in mine own esteem) as far beyond my

endeavours, as the most fault-finding censor can imagine this essay of

mine to come short of his Arcadia. Vale.

R. B.

ARCADIA