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O eternal God! tearing perhaps her divine hair, brighter than the sun's reflecting beams, injuring the heavenly beauty of her charming face and bosom, the joy and wish of all mankind that look upon her: oh charm her with prayers and tears, stop her dear fingers from the rude assaults; bind her fair hands; repeat Philander to her, tell her he's fainting with the news of her unkindness and outrage on her lovely self; but tell her too, I die adoring her; tell her I rave, I tear, I curse myself, for so I do; tell her I would break out into a violence that should set all Bellfont in a flame, but for my care of her.
Ah Sylvia! Was it for this that I was sent in such haste away this morning to Cesario? Did I for this neglect the world, our great affair, and all that Prince's interest, and fly back to Bellfont on the wings of love?
Stay me with an immediate account of the recovery and calmness of my adorable weeping Sylvia, or I shall enter Bellfont with my sword drawn, bearing down all before me, 'till I make my way to my charming mourner: O God! Sylvia in a rage! Sylvia in any passion but that of love? I cannot bear it, no, by heaven I cannot; I shall do some outrage either on myself or at Bellfont.
I am not able, my adorable charmer, to obey your commands in going from the sight of happy Bellfont; no, let the great wheel of the vast design roll on or for ever stand still, for I will not aid its motion to leave the mightier business of my love unfinished; no, let fortune and the duller fools toil on for I'll not bate a minute of my joys with thee to save the world, much less so poor a parcel of it; and sure there is more solid pleasure even in these expecting hours I wait to snatch my bliss, than to be lord of all the universe without it: then let me wait, my Sylvia, in those melancholy shades that part Bellfont from Dorillus's farm; perhaps my Sylvia may walk that way so unattended, that we might meet and lose ourselves for a few moments in those intricate retreats: ah Sylvia!
Oh Philander, I find I am fond of being undone; and unless you take a more than mortal care of me, I know this night some fatal mischief will befall me; what it is I know not, either the loss of Philander, my life, or my honour, or all together, which a discovery only of your being alone in my apartment, and at such an hour, will most certainly draw upon us: death is the least we must expect, by some surprise or other, my father being rash, and extremely jealous, and the more so of me, by how much more he is fond of me, and nothing would enrage him like the discovery of an interview like this; though you have liberty to range the house of Bellfont as a son, and are indeed at home there; but when you come by stealth, when he shall find his son and virgin daughter, the brother and the sister so retired, so entertained, What but death can ensue?
Pray heaven the unlucky adventure reach not Bellfont; Foscario has no reason to proclaim it, and thou art too generous to boast the conquest, and my page was the only witness, and he is as silent and as secret as the grave: but why, Philander, was he sent me back without reply? What meant that cruel silence say, my Philander, will you not obey me? Will you abandon me?
If nothing but my death or ruin can suffice for my atonement, I will sacrifice either with joy; yes, I'll proclaim my passion aloud, proclaim it at Bellfont, own the dear criminal flame, fly to my Philander's aid and be undone; for thus I cannot, no, I will not live, I rave, I languish, faint and die with pain; say that you live, oh, say but that you live, say you are coming to the meadow behind the garden-grove, in order to your approach to my arms: oh, swear that all your vows are true; oh, swear that you are Sylvia's; and in return, I will swear that I am yours without reserve, whatever fate is destined for your
I have not a minute to write in; place, my dear Philander, your chariot in St Vincent's Wood, and since I am not able to fix the hour of my flight, let it wait there my coming; it is but a little mile from Bellfont, Dorillus is suspected there, remove thyself to the high-way-gate cottage there I'll call on thee 'twas lucky, that thy fears, or love, or jealousy brought thee so near me, since I'd resolv'd before upon my flight.
Oh my adorable, think no more on that dull false thing a wife; let her be banish'd thy thoughts, as she is my soul; let her never appear, though but in a dream, to fright our solid joys, or true happiness; no, let us look forward to pleasures vast and unconfin'd, to coming transports, and leave all behind us that contributes not to that heaven of bliss: remember, oh Sylvia, that five tedious days are past since I sigh'd at your dear feet; and five days, to a man so madly in love as your Philander, is a tedious age: 'tis now six o'clock in the morning, Brilliard will be with you by eight, and by ten I may have your permission to see you, and then I need not say how soon I will present myself before you at Bellfont; for heaven's sake, my eternal blessing, if you design me this happiness, contrive it so, that I may see no body that belongs to Bellfont, but the fair, the lovely Sylvia; for I must be more moments with you, than will be convenient to be taken notice of, lest they suspect our business to be love, and that discovery yet may ruin us.
Curse on the alliance, that gave you a welcome to Bellfont. Ah Philander, could you not have stay'd ten short years longer?
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