The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
the smart of the cudgel put out of his fancy; and therefore again
turning to his wife, not knowing what in the world she meant, “Miso,”
said he, “hereafter thou mayest examine me, do but now tell me what is
become of Pamela.” “I will first examine this drab,” said she, and
withal let fall her staff as hard as she could upon Mopsa, still
taking her for Charita. But Mopsa that was already angry, thinking
that she had hindered her from Apollo, leaped up and caught her by the
throat, like to have strangled her, but that Dametas from a condemned
man was fain to become a judge, and part this fray, such a picture of
rude discord, where each was out with the other two. And then getting
the opportunity of their falling out to hold himself in surety, who
was indeed the veriest coward of the three, he renewed his earnest
demand of them.
But it was a sport to see, how the former conceits Dorus had printed
in their imaginations, kept still such dominion in them, that Miso,
though now she found and felt it was her daughter Mopsa, yet did
Charita continually pass through her thoughts, {528} which she uttered
with such crabbed questions to Dametas, that he not possibly
conceiving any part of her doubt, remained astonished, and the
astonishment increased her doubt. And as for Mopsa, as first she did
assuredly take him to be Apollo, and thought her mother’s coming did
but mar the bargain: so now much talking to and fro had delivered so
much light into the misty mould of her capacity, as to know him to be
her father. Yet remained there such footsteps of the foretaken opinion
that she thought verily her father and mother were hasted thither to
get the first wish. And therefore to whatsoever they asked of her, she
would never answer, but embracing the tree, as if she feared it had
been running away, “Nay,” says she, “I will have the first wish, for I
was here first;” which they understood no more than Dametas did what
Miso meant by Charita; till at length with much urging them, being
indeed better able to persuade both, than to meet hand to hand with
either, he prevailed so much with them, as to bring them into the
lodge to see what loss their negligence had suffered. Then indeed the
near neighbourhood they bare to themselves, made them leave other
toys, and look into what dangerous plight they were all fallen, as
soon as the king should know his daughter’s escape. And as for the
women, they began afresh to enter into their brawling, whether were in
the fault. But Dametas, who did fear that among his other evils, the
thunderbolt of that storm would fall upon his shoulders, slipped away
from them, but with so maugre a cheer, as might much sooner engender
laughter than pity. “O true Arcadia,” would he say (tearing his hair
and beard, and sometime for too much woe, making unwieldy
former-faults) “how darest thou bear upon thee such a felonious
traitor as I am? And, you false-hearted trees, why would you make no
noise to make her ungracious departure known? Ah Pamela, Pamela, how
often when I brought thee in fine poesies of all coloured flowers,
wouldst thou clap me on the cheek, and say thou wouldst be one day
even with me? Was this thy meaning, to bring me to an even pair of
gallows? ah ill-taught Dorus, that camest hither to learn good manners
of me? did I ever teach thee to make thy master sweat out his heart
for nothing, and in the meantime to run away with thy mistress? O my
dun cow, I did think some evil was towards me ever since the last day
thou didst run away from me, and held up thy tail so pitifully: did I
not see an eagle kill a cuckoo, which was a plain foretoken unto me,
Pamela should be my destruction? O wise Miso, if I durst say it to thy
face, why didst thou suspect thy husband that loveth a piece of cheese
better than a woman? and thou little Mopsa, that shall inherit the
shame of thy father’s death, was it time for thee to climb trees,
which should so shortly be my best burial? O that {529} I could live
without death, or die before I were aware! O heart, why hast thou no
hands at commandment to dispatch thee? O hands, why want you a heart
to kill this villain?” In this sort did he inveigh against everything,
sometimes thinking to run away, while it was yet night: but he that
had included all the world within his sheep-cote, thought that worse
than any death; sometime for dread of hanging he meant to hang
himself; finding, as indeed it is, that fear is far more painful to
cowardice, than death to a true courage.
But his fingers were nothing nimble in that action, and anything was
let enough thereto, he being a true lover of himself without any
rival. But, lastly, guided by a far greater constellation than his
own, he remembered to search the other lodge, where it might be Pamela
that night had retired herself. So thither with trembling hams he
carried himself; but employing his double key, which the king for
special credit had unworthily bestowed upon him, he found all the
gates so barred, that his key could not prevail, saving only one trap
door which went down into the vault by the cellar, which as it was
unknown of Pyrocles, so had he left it unregarded. But Dametas, that
ever knew the buttery better than any other place, got in that way,
and passing softly to Philoclea’s chamber, where he thought most
likely to find Pamela; the door being left open, he entered in, and by
the light of the lamp he might discern one on the bed by her; which
although he took to be Pamela, yet thinking no surety enough in a
matter touching his neck, he went hard to the bedside of these
unfortunate lovers, who at that time being not much before the break
of day (whether it were they were so divinely surprised, to bring this
whole matter to the destined conclusion, or that the unresistable
force of their sorrows had overthrown the wakeful use of their senses)
were as then possessed with a mutual sleep, yet not forgetting with
viny embracements to give any eye a perfect model of affection. But
Dametas looking with the lamp in his hand, but neither with such a
face nor mind upon these excellent creatures, as Psyche did upon her
unknown lover, and giving every way freedom to his fearful eyes, did
not only perceive it was Zelmane, and therefore much different from
the lady he sought: but that this same Zelmane did more differ from
the Zelmane he and others had ever taken her for, wherein the change
of her apparel chiefly confirmed his opinion; satisfied with that, and
not thinking it good to awake the sleeping lion, he went down again,
taking with him Pyrocles’s sword (wherewith upon his slight under-suit
Pyrocles came only apparelled thither) being sure to leave no weapon
in the chamber, and so making the doors as fast as he could on the
outside, hoping with the revealing of this, as he {530} thought
greater fault, to make his own the less, or at least that this injury
would so fill the king’s head, that he should not have leisure to
chastise his negligence (like a fool, not considering, that the more
rage breeds the crueller punishment), he went first into the king’s
chamber, and not finding him there, he ran down crying with open
mouth, the king was betrayed, and that Zelmane did abuse his daughter.
The noise he made, being a man of no few words, joined to the yelping
sound of Miso, and his unpleasant inheritrix, brought together some
number of the shepherds, to whom he without any regard of reserving it
for the king’s knowledge, spattered out the bottom of his stomach,
swearing by him that he never knew that Zelmane, whom they had taken
all the while to be a woman, was as arrant a man as himself was,
whereof he had seen sufficient signs and tokens, and that he was as
close as a butterfly with the lady Philoclea.
The poor men jealous of their prince’s honour, were ready with weapons
to have entered the lodge; standing yet in some pause, whether it were
not best, first to hear some news from the king himself, when by the
sudden coming of other shepherds, which with astonished looks ran from
the one cry to the other, their griefs were surcharged with the evil
tidings of the king’s death. Turning therefore all their minds and
eyes that way, they ran to the cave where they said he lay dead, the
sun beginning now to send some promises of coming light, making haste,
I think, to be a spectator of the following tragedies. For Basilius
having passed over the night more happy in contemplation than action,
having had his spirits sublimed with the sweet imagination of
embracing the most desired Zelmane, doubting lest the cave’s darkness
might deceive him in the day’s approach, thought it now season to
return to his wedlock-bed, remembering the promises he had made to
Zelmane, to observe true orders towards Gynecia. Therefore departing,
but not departing without bequeathing by a will of words, sealed with
many kisses, a full gift of all his love and life to his misconceived
bedfellow, he went to the mouth of the cave, there to apparel himself;
in which doing, the motion of his joy could not be bridled from
uttering such like words: “Blessed be thou, O night,” said he, “that
hast with thy sweet wings shrouded me in the vale of bliss, it is thou
that art the first gotten child of time, the day hath been but an
usurper upon thy delightful inheritance, thou invitest all living
things to comfortable rest, thou art the stop of strife, and the
necessary truce of approaching battles.” And therewith he sung these
verses to confirm his former praises.
{531}
O night, the ease of care, the pledge of pleasure,
Desire’s best mean, harvest of hearts affected,
The seat of peace, the throne which is erected,
Of human life to be the quiet measure.
Be victor still of Phoebus’ golden treasure,
Who hath our sight with too much sight infected,
Whose light is cause we have our lives neglected,
Turning all nature’s courses to self displeasure.
These stately stars in their now shining faces,
With senseless sleep, and silence wisdom’s mother,
Witness his wrong, which by the help is eased.
Thou art therefore of these our desert places
The sure refuge; by thee and by no other
My soul is blest, sense joy’d, and fortune raised.
And yet further would his joys needs break forth. “O Basilius,” said
he, “the rest of thy time hath been but a dream unto thee; it is now
only thou beginnest to live, now only thou hast entered into the way
of blissfulness. Should fancy of marriage keep me from this paradise?
or opinion of I know not what promise bind me from paying the right
duties to nature and affection? O who would have thought there could
have been such difference betwixt women? Be jealous no more, O
Gynecia, but yield to the pre-eminence of more excellent gifts,
support thyself with such marble pillars as she doth, deck thy breast
with those alabaster bowls that Zelmane doth; then accompanied with
such a title, perhaps thou mayest recover the possession of my
otherwise inclined love. But alas! Gynecia thou canst not show such
evidence, therefore thy plea is vain.” Gynecia heard all this he said,
who had cast about her Zelmane’s garment, wherein she came thither,
and had followed Basilius to the cave entry, full of inward vexation,
betwixt the deadly accusation of her own guiltiness, and the spiteful
doubt she had Zelmane had abused her. But because of the one side,
finding the king did think her to be Zelmane, she had liberty to
imagine it might rather be the king’s own unbridled enterprise, which
had barred Zelmane, than Zelmane’s cunning deceiving of her; and that
of the other, if she should headily seek a violent revenge, her own
honour might be as much interested, as Zelmane endangered; she fell to
this determination: First with fine handling of the king to settle in