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Updated: June 16, 2025
By heaven, if I should find it true, he shall not dare to think it. Then with a generous rage she broke open Philander's, letter; and which she soon perceived did but too well prove the truth of Octavio's suspicion, and her own fears.
I find myself pursued by too many charms of wit, youth, and gallantry, to bury myself beneath the willows, or to whine away my youth by murmuring rivers, or betake me to the last refuge of a declining beauty, a monastery: no, my lord, when I have revenged and recompensed myself for the injuries of one inconstant, with the joys a thousand imploring lovers offer, it will be time to be weary of a world, which yet every day presents me new joys; and I swear to you, Octavio, that it was more to recompense what I owed your passion, that I desired a convincing proof of Philander's falsehood, than for any other reason, and you have too much wit not to know it; for what other use could I make of the secret?
But I grow wild, and know not what I say: impatient love betrays me to a thousand follies, a thousand rashnesses: I die with shame; but I must be undone, and it is no matter how, whether by my own weakness, Philander's charms, or both, I know not; but so it is destin'd, oh Philander, it is two tedious hours love has counted since you writ to me, yet are but a quarter of a mile distant; what have you been doing all that live-long while?
Approach, approach, you sacred Queen of Night, and bring Philander veil'd from all eyes but mine; approach at a fond lover's call, behold how I lie panting with expectation, tir'd out with your tedious ceremony to the God of Day; be kind, oh lovely night, and let the deity descend to his beloved Thetis's arms, and I to my Philander's; the sun and I must snatch our joys in the same happy hours; favour'd by thee, oh sacred, silent Night!
Imagine not, that I have prepared those instruments of revenge that are so justly due to your perfidy; but rather, that I have yet too tender sentiments for you, in spite of the outrage you have done my heart; and that for all the ruin you have made, I still adore you: and though I know you now another's slave, yet I beg you would vouchsafe to behold the spoils you have made, and allow me this recompense for all, to say Here was the beauty I once esteemed, though now she is no more Philander's
Oh say, at least, it was pity that love had the ascendant over Philander's soul, say it was his destiny, but say withal, that it put no stop to his advance to glory; rather it set an edge upon his sword, and gave wings to his ambition! Yes, try me in your Councils, prove me in your camps, place me in any hazard but give me love!
And it was in vain that he looked back upon the reward he had to stand for that necessary cypher a husband. In vain he considered the reasons why, and the occasion wherefore; he now seeks precedents of usurped dominion, and thinks she is his wife, and has forgot that he is her creature, and Philander's vassal.
While Philander returned to Sylvia, the most dejected lover that ever fate produced, when he had not sighed away above an hour, but received a billet by Octavio's page from his lord; he went to his own apartment to read it, fearing it might contain something too sad for him to be able to hold his temper at the reading of, and which would infallibly have disturbed the repose of Sylvia, who shared in every cruel thought of Philander's: when he was alone he opened it, and read this.
The page, who waited no answer, was departed: but Sylvia, who believed he attended, was in a thousand minds what to say or do: she blushed, as she read, and then looked pale with anger and disdain, and, but that she had already given her honour up, it would have been something more surprising: but she was used to questions of that nature, and therefore received this with so much the less concern; nevertheless, it was sufficient to fill her soul with a thousand agitations; but when she would be angry, the consideration of what she had writ to him, to encourage him to this boldness, stopped her rage: when she would take it ill, she considered his knowledge of her lost fame, and that took off a great part of her resentment on that side; and in midst of all she was raving for the knowledge of Philander's secret.
Philander's, married, the lovely charming thing for whom I languish is married! That fatal word's enough, I need not add to whom.
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