The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
her wisdom to know, that her heavenly will shall be accomplished.
“O my Philoclea, is he a person to write those words? and are those
words lightly to be regarded? but if you had seen when with trembling
hand he had delivered it how he went away, as if he had been but the
coffin that carried himself to his sepulchre. Two times, I must
confess, I was about to take courtesy into mine eyes, but both times
the former resolution stopped the entry of it, so that he departed
without obtaining any further kindness. But he was no sooner out of
the door; but that I looked to the door kindly, and truly the fear of
him ever since hath put me into such perplexity, as now you found me.”
“Ah my Pamela,” said Philoclea, “leave sorrow. The river of your tears
will soon lose his fountain; it is in your hand as well to stitch up
his life again, as it was before to rent it.” And so, though with
self-grieved mind, she comforted her sister, till sleep came to bathe
himself in Pamela’s fair weeping eyes.
Which when Philoclea found, wringing her hands, “O me,” said she,
“indeed the only subject of the destinies’ displeasure, whose greatest
fortunateness is more unfortunate than my sister’s greatest
unfortunateness. Alas! she weeps because she would be no sooner happy;
I weep, because I can never be happy; her tears flow from pity, mine
from being too far lower than the reach of pity: Yet do I not envy
thee, dear Pamela, I do not envy thee, only I could wish that being
thy sister in nature I were not so far off akin in fortune.”
But the darkness of sorrow overshadowing her mind, as the night did
her eyes, they were both content to hide themselves under the wings of
sleep, till the next morning had almost lost his name, before the two
sweet sleeping sisters awaked from dreams, which flattered them with
more comfort than their waking could, or would consent unto. For then
they were called up by Miso, who, having been with Gynecia, had
received commandment to be continually with her daughters, and
particularly not to let Zelmane and Philoclea have any private
conference but that she should be present to hear what passed: Miso
having now her authority increased, but came with scowling eyes to
deliver a slavering good morrow to the two ladies, telling them it was
a shame for them to mar their complexions, yea and conditions too,
with long lying abed; and that when she was of their age, she trowed,
she would have made a handkerchief by that time a-day. The two sweet
princesses with a smiling silence answered her entertainment, and,
obeying her direction, covered their dainty beauties with the glad
{152} clothes. But as soon as Pamela was ready, and sooner she was
than her sister, of the agony of Dorus’s giving a fit to herself,
which the words of his letter, lively imprinted in her mind, still
remembered her of, she called to Mopsa, and willed her to fetch Dorus
to speak with her; because, she said, she would take further judgment
of him before she would move Dametas to grant her in marriage unto
him: Mopsa, as glad as of sweetmeat to go of such an errand, quickly
returned with Dorus to Pamela, who intended both by speaking with him
to give some comfort to his passionate heart, and withal to hear some
part of his life past, which although fame had already delivered unto
her, yet she desired in more particular certainties to have it from so
beloved an historian. Yet the sweetness of virtue’s disposition,
jealous, even over itself, suffered her not to enter abruptly into
questions of Musidorus, whom she was half ashamed she did love so
well, and more than half sorry she could love no better, but thought
best first to make her talk arise of Pyrocles, and his virtuous
father: which thus she did.
“Dorus,” said she, “you told me the last day that Plangus was deceived
in that he affirmed the prince Musidorus was drowned, but, withal, you
confessed his cousin Pyrocles perished, of whom certainly in that age
there was a great loss, since, as I have heard, he was a young prince,
of whom all men expected as much as man’s power could bring forth, and
yet virtue promised for him their expectation should not be deceived.”
“Most excellent lady,” said Dorus, “no expectation in others, nor hope
in himself could aspire to a higher mark than to be thought worthy to
be praised by your judgment, and made worthy to be praised by your
mouth. But most sure it is, that as his fame could by no means get so
sweet and noble an air to fly in, as in your breath, so could not you,
leaving yourself aside, find in the world a fitter subject of
commendation; as noble as a long succession of royal ancestors, famous
and famous for victories, could make him; of shape most lovely, and
yet of mind more lovely, valiant, courteous, wise, what should I say
more? sweet Pyrocles, excellent Pyrocles, what can my words but wrong
thy perfections, which I would to God in some small measure thou
had’st bequeathed to him that ever must have thy virtues in
admiration, that, masked at least in them, I might have found some
more gracious acceptation?” With that he imprisoned his look for a
while upon Mopsa, who thereupon fell into a very wide smiling.
“Truly,” said Pamela, “Dorus I like well your mind that can raise
itself out of so base a fortune as yours is, to think of the imitating
so excellent a prince as Pyrocles was. Who shoots at the mid-day sun,
though he be sure he shall never hit the mark, yet as sure he is, he
shall shoot higher {153} than who aims but at a bush. But I pray you,
Dorus,” said she, “tell me, since I perceive you are well acquainted
with that story, what prince was that Euarchus father to Pyrocles, of
whom so much fame goes, for his rightly royal virtues, or by what ways
he got that opinion. And then so descend to the causes of his sending
first away from him, and then to him for that excellent son of his,
with the discourse of his life and loss: and therein you may, if you
list, say something of that same Musidorus his cousin, because they
going together, the story of Pyrocles, which I only desire, may be the
better understood.”
“Incomparable lady,” said he, “your commandment doth not only give me
the will, but the power to obey you; such influence hath your
excellency. And first, for that famous king Euarchus, he was, at this
time you speak of, king of Macedon, a kingdom, which in older time had
such a sovereignty over all the provinces of Greece that even the
particular kings therein did acknowledge, with more or less degrees of
homage, some kind of fealty thereunto: as among the rest, even this
now most noble, and by you ennobled, kingdom of Arcadia. But he, when
he came to his crown finding by his latter ancestors either
negligence, or misfortune that in some ages many of those duties had
been intermitted would never stir up old titles, how apparent soever,
whereby the public peace, with the loss of many not guilty souls,
should be broken; but contenting himself to guide that ship, wherein
the heavens had placed him, showed no less magnanimity in dangerless
despising than others in dangerous affecting the multiplying of
kingdoms: for the earth hath since borne enough bleeding witnesses
that it was no want of true courage. Who as he was most wise to see
what was best, and most just in the performing what he saw, and
temperate in abstaining from anything anyway contrary, so think I, no
thought can imagine a greater heart to see and contemn danger, where
danger would offer to make any wrongful threatening upon him. A
prince, that indeed especially measured his greatness by his goodness:
and if for anything he loved greatness it was because therein he might
exercise his goodness. A prince of a goodly aspect, and the more
goodly by a grave majesty, wherewith his mind did deck his outward
graces; strong of body, and so much the stronger, that he by a
well-disciplined exercise taught it both to do, and suffer. Of age so
as he was above fifty years, when his nephew Musidorus took on such
shepherdish apparel for the love of the world’s paragon, as I now
wear.
“This king left orphan both of father and mother, whose father and
grandfather likewise had died young, he found his estate, when he came
to the age which allowed his authority, so disjointed even in the
noblest and strongest limbs of government that the {154} name of a
king was grown even odious to the people, his authority having been
abused by those great lords and little kings, who in those
between-times of reigning, by unjust favouring those that were
partially theirs, and oppressing them that would defend their liberty
against them, had brought in, by a more felt than seen manner of
proceeding, the worst kind of Oligarchy; that is, when men are
governed indeed by a few, and yet are not taught to know what those
few be to whom they should obey.
“For they having the power of kings, but not the nature of kings, used
the authority as men do their farms, of which they see within a year
they shall go out; making the king’s sword strike whom they hated, the
king’s purse reward whom they loved; and, which is worst of all,
making the royal countenance serve to undermine the royal sovereignty.
For the subjects could taste no sweeter fruits of having a king than
grievous taxation to serve vain purposes; laws made rather to find
faults than to prevent faults: the court of a prince rather deemed as
a privileged place of the unbridled licentiousness than as the abiding
of him, who as a father should give a fatherly example unto his
people. Hence grew a very dissolution of all estates, while the great
men, by the nature of ambition never satisfied, grew factious among
themselves: and the underlings glad indeed to be underlings to them
they hated least, to preserve them from such they hated most. Men of
virtue suppressed, lest the shining should discover the others’
filthiness; and at length virtue itself almost forgotten, when it had
no hopeful end whereunto to be directed; old men long nusled in
corruption, scorning them that would seek reformation, young men were
fault-finding, but very faulty, and so given to new-fangleness both of
manners, apparel, and each thing else, by the custom of self-guilty
evil, glad to change, though oft for worse; merchandise abused, and so
towns decayed for want of just and natural liberty; offices even of
judging souls, sold; public defences neglected; and in sum, left too
long I trouble you, all awry, and, which wried it to the most wry
course of all, wit abused, rather to feign reason why it should be
amiss, than how it should be amended.
“In this, and a much worse plight than it is fit to trouble your
excellent ears withal, did the king Euarchus find his estate when he
took upon him the regiment, which, by reason of the long stream of
abuse, he was forced to establish by some even extreme severity, not
so much for the very faults themselves, which he rather sought to
prevent than to punish, as for the faulty ones, who, strong even in
their faults, scorned his youth, and could not learn to digest that
the man which they so long had used to mask their own appetites,
should now be the reducer of them into order. But so soon as some few,
but indeed notable examples, had thundered a duty into {155} the
subjects’ hearts, he soon showed, no baseness of suspicion, nor the
basest baseness of envy, could any whit rule such a ruler. But then
shined forth indeed all love among them, when an awful fear engendered
by justice, did make that love most lovely: his first and principal
care being to appear unto his people such as he would have them be,
and to be such as he appeared; making his life the example of his
laws, and his laws as it were his axioms arising out of his deeds. So
that within small time he won a singular love in his people, and