INCOGNITA: OR, LOVE and DUTY RECONCIL'D.

AƲRELIAN was the only Son to a Principal Gentleman of Florence. The Indulgence of his Father promp⯑ted, and his Wealth enabled him, to beſtow a generous Education upon him, whom, he now began to look upon as the Type of himſelf; an Impreſſion he had made in the Gayety and Vigour of his Youth, before the Ruſt of Age had debilitated and obſcur'd the Splendour of the Original: He was ſenſible, That he ought not to be ſparing in the Adorn⯑ment of him, if he had Reſolution to beautifie his own Memory. Indeed Don Fabio (for ſo was the Old Gentleman call'd) has been ob⯑ſerv'd to have fix'd his Eyes upon Aurelian, when much Company has been at Table, and have wept through Earneſtneſs of Inten⯑tion, if nothing hapned to divert the Object; whether it were for regret, at the Recollection [2] of his former ſelf, or for the Joy he conceiv'd in being, as it were, reviv'd in the Perſon of his Son, I never took upon me to en⯑quire, but ſuppos'd it might be ſometimes one, and ſometimes both together.

Aurelian, at the Age of Eighteen Years, wanted nothing (but a Beard) that the moſt accompliſhed Cavalier in Florence could pre⯑tend to: He had been Educated from Twelve Years old at Siena, where it ſeems his Father kept a Receiver, having a large Income from the Rents of ſeveral Houſes in that Town. Don Fabio gave his Servant Orders, That Aurelian ſhould not be ſtinted in his Expenoes, when he came up to Years of Diſcretion. By which means he was enabled, not only to keep Company with, but alſo to confer many Obligations upon Strangers of Quality, and Gentlemen who travelled from other Countries into Italy, of which Siena never wanted ſtore, being a Town moſt delightfully ſituate, upon a Noble Hill, and very well ſuiting with Stran⯑gers at firſt, by reaſon of the agreeableneſs and purity of the Air: There alſo is the quaintneſs and delicacy of the Italian Tongue moſt likely to be learned, there being many publick Profeſſors of it in that place; and indeed the very Vulgar of Siena do expreſs them⯑ſelves with an eaſineſs and ſweetneſs ſurpri⯑zing, and even grateful to their Ears who underſtand not the Language.

Here Aurelian contracted an acquaintance with Perſons of Worth of ſeveral Countries, [3] but among the reſt an intimacy with a Gen⯑tleman of Quality of Spain, and Nephew to the Archbiſhop of Toledo, who had ſo wrought himſelf into the Affections of Aurelian, thro' a Conformity of Temper, an Equality in Years, and ſomething of reſemblance in Feature and Proportion, that he look'd upon him as his ſecond ſelf. Hippolito, on the other hand, was not ungrateful in return of Friendſhip, but thought himſelf either alone or in ill Company, if Aurelian were abſent: But his Uncle having ſent him to travel, under the Conduct of a Governour, and the two Years which limitted his ſtay at Siena being expired, he was put in mind of his departure.

His Friend grew melancholy at the News, but conſidering that Hippolito had never ſeen Florence, he eaſily prevailed with him to make his firſt Journey thither, whither he would accompany him, and perhaps prevail with his Father to do the like throughout his Travels.

They accordingly ſet out, but not being able eaſily to reach Florence the ſame Night, they reſted a League or two ſhort, at a Villa of the great Duke's called Poggio Imperiale, where they were informed by ſome of his Highneſs's Servants, That the Nuptials of Donna Catharina (near Kinſwoman to the great Duke) and Don Ferdinand de Rovori, were to be ſolemnized the next day, and that extra⯑ordinary Preparations had been making for ſome time paſt, to illuſtrate the Solemnity with Balls and Maſques, and other Divertiſements, [4] that a Tilting had been proclaim'd, and to that purpoſe Scaffolds erected around the Spacious Court, before the Church Di Sancta Croce, where were uſually ſeen all Cavalcades and Shews, performed by Aſſemblies of the Young Nobility: That all Mechanicks and Tradeſmen were forbidden to work or expoſe any Goods to Sale for the ſpace of three days; during which time all Perſons ſhould be enter⯑tain'd at the Great Duke's Coſt; and publick Proviſion was to be made for the ſetting forth and furniſhing a multitude of Tables, with Entertainment for all Comers and Goers, and ſeveral Houſes appointed for that uſe in all Streets.

This Account alarm'd the Spirits of our Young Travellers, and they were overjoy'd at the proſpect of Pleaſures they foreſaw. Aure⯑lian could not contain the ſatisfaction he con⯑ceiv'd in the welcome Fortune had prepar'd for his dear Hippolito. In ſhort, they both Remembred ſo much of the pleaſing Relation had been made them, that they forgot to ſleep, and were up as ſoon as it was light, pound⯑ing at poor Signior Claudio's Door (ſo was Hippolito's Governour call'd) to rouſe him, that no time might be loſt till they were arriv'd at Florence, where they would furniſh them⯑ſelves with Diſguiſes and other Accoutrements neceſſary for the Proſecution of their Deſign of ſharing in the publick Merriment; the rather were they for going ſo early becauſe Aurelian did not think fit to publiſh his being in the [5] Town for a time, leaſt his Father knowing of it, might give ſome reſtraint to that looſe they deſign'd themſelves.

Before Sun riſe they entred Florence at Porta Romana, attended only by two Servants, the reſt being le [...]t behind to avoid notice; but, alas! they needed not to have uſed half that caution; for early as it was, the Streets were crowded with all ſorts of People paſſing to and fro, and every Man employ'd in ſome⯑thing relating to the Diverſions to come; ſo that no notice was taken of any body; a Marqueſs and his Train might have paſs'd by as unregarded as a ſingle Fachin or Cobler. Not a Window in the Streets but echoed the tuning of a Lute or thrumming of a Gitarr: For, by the way, the Inhabitants of Florence are ſtrangely addicted to the love of Muſick, inſomuch that ſcarce their Children can go, before they can ſcratch ſome Inſtrument or other. It was no unpleaſing Spectacle to our Cavaliers (who, ſeeing they were not obſerv'd, reſolved to make Obſervations) to behold the Diverſity of Figures and Poſtu [...]es of many of theſe Muſicians. Here you ſhould have an affected Vallet, who Mimick'd the Beha⯑viour of his Maſter, leaning careleſly againſt the Window, with his Head on one ſide in a languiſhing poſture, whining, in a low, mournful Voice, ſome diſmal Complaint; while, from his ſympathizing Theorbo, iſſued a Baſe no leſs doleful to the Hearers. In Oppoſition to him was ſet up perhaps a [6] Cobler, with a wretched Skeleton of a Gi⯑tarr, battered and waxed together by his own Induſtry, and who with three Strings out of Tune, and his own tearing hoarſe Voice, would rack attention from the Neighbourhood, to the great affliction of many more moderate Practitioners, who, no doubt, were full as deſirous to be heard. By this time Aure⯑lian's Servant had taken a Lodging and was returned, to give his Maſter an Account of it. The Cavaliers grown weary of that ridicu⯑lous Entertainment, which was diverting at firſt ſight, retired whither the Lacquey con⯑ducted them; who, according to their Directi⯑ons, had ſought out one of the moſt ob⯑ſcure Streets in the City. All that day, to the evening, was ſpent in ſending from one Brokers Shop to another, to furniſh them with Habits, ſince they had not time to make any new.

There was, it happened, but one to be got Rich enough to pleaſe our young Gentlemen, ſo many were taken up upon this occaſion. While they were in Diſpute and Compli⯑menting one another, (Aurelian proteſting that Hippolito ſhould wear it, and he, on 'tother hand, forſwearing it as bitterly) a Servant of Hippolito's came up and ended the Con⯑troverſy; telling them, That he had met below with the Vallet de Chambre of a Gentle⯑men, who was one of the greateſt Gallants about the Town, but was at this time in ſuch a Condition he could not poſſibly be at the [7] Entertainment; whereupon the Vallet had de⯑ſigned to dreſs himſelf up in his Maſter's Apparel, and try his talent at Court; which he hearing, told him he would inform him how he might beſtow the Habit for ſome time much more to his profit if not to his plea⯑ſure, and ſo acquainted him with the occa⯑ſion his Maſter had for it. Hippolito ſent for the Fellow up, who was not ſo fond of his deſign as not to be bought off it, but upon having his own demand granted for the uſe of it, brought it; it was very Rich, and upon tryal, as fit for Hippolito as if it had been made for him. The Ceremony was pre⯑formed in the Morning, in the great Dome, with all Magnificence correſpondent to the wealth of the great Duke, and the eſteem he had for the Noble Pair. The next Morning was to be a Tilting, and the ſame Night a Maſquing Ball at Court. To omit the De⯑ſcription of the univerſal Joy, (that had diffus'd it ſelf through all the Conduits of Wine, which convey'd it in large meaſures to the People) and only relate thoſe effects of it which concern our preſent Adventurers: You muſt know, that about the fall of the Evening, and at that time when the aequilibrium of Day and Night, for ſome time, holds the Air in a gloomy ſuſpence between an unwillingneſs to leave the light, and a natural impulſe into the Dominion of Darkneſs. About this time our Hero's, ſhall I ſay, ſally'd or ſlunk out of their Lodgings, and ſteer'd toward the great Palace, whither, [8] before they were arriv'd, ſuch a prodigious number of Torches were on fire, that the day, by help of theſe Auxiliary Forces, ſeem'd to continue its Dominion; the Owls and Bats ap⯑prehending their miſtake, in counting the Hours, retir'd again to a convenient darkneſs; for Madam Night was no more to be ſeen than ſhe was to be heard; and the Chymiſts were of Opinion, That her fuliginous Damps rarefy'd by the abundance of Flame, were evaporated.

Now the Reader I ſuppoſe to be upon Thorns at this and the like impertinent Digreſ⯑ſions, but let him alone and he'll come to him⯑ſelf; at which time I think fit to acquaint him, that when I digreſs, I am at that time writing to pleaſe my ſelf; when I con⯑tinue the Thread of the Story, I write to pleaſe him; ſuppoſing him a reaſonable Man, I con⯑clude him ſatisfied to allow me this liberty, and ſo I proceed.

If our Cavaliers were dazled at the ſplen⯑dour they beheld without doors, what ſurprize, think you, muſt they be in, when entering the Palace they found even the lights there to be but ſo many ſoils to the bright eyes that flaſh'd upon 'em at every turn.

A more glorious Troop no occaſion ever aſſembled; all the fair of Florence, with the moſt accomp [...]i [...]hed Cavaliers, were preſent; and however Nature had been partial in be⯑ſtowing on ſome better Faces than others, Art was alike indulgent to all, and induſtriouſly [9] ſupplyed thoſe Defects ſhe had left, giving ſome Addition alſo to her greateſt Excellencies. Every Body appear'd well ſhap'd, as it is to be ſuppoſed, none who were conſcious to themſelves of any viſible Deformity would preſume to come thither. Their Apparel was equally glorious, though each differing in fancy. In ſhort, our Strangers were ſo well bred, as to conclude from theſe apparent Perfections, that there was not a Maſque which did not at leaſt hide the Face of a Cherubim. Perhaps the Ladies were not behind hand in return of a favourable Opinion of them: for they were both well dreſs'd, and had ſomething inex⯑preſſibly pleaſing in their Air and Mein, diffe⯑rent from other People, and indeed differing from one another. They fancy'd that while they ſtood together they were more particu⯑larly taken notice of than any in the Room, and being unwilling to be taken for Strangers, which they thought they were, by reaſon of ſome whiſpering they obſerved near them: They agreed upon an hour of meeting after the company ſhould be broke up, and ſo ſeparate⯑ly mingled with the thickeſt of the Aſſembly. Aurelian had fixed his eye upon a Lady whom he had obſerv'd to have been a conſiderable time in cloſe whiſper with another Woman; he expected with great impatience the reſult of that private Conference, that he might have an opportunity of engaging the Lady whoſe Perſon was ſo agreeable to him. At laſt he perceived they were broke off, and the 'tother [10] Lady ſeem'd to have taken her leave. He had taken no ſmall Pains in the mean time to put himſelf in a poſture to accoſt the Lady, which, no doubt, he had happily performed had he not been interrupted; but ſcarce had he acquitted himſelf of a preliminary bow (and which, I have heard him ſay, was the loweſt that ever he made) and had juſt opened his Lips to deliver himſelf of a ſmall Comple⯑ment, which, nevertheleſs he was very big with, when he unluckily miſcarried, by the interpoſal of the ſame Lady, whoſe depar⯑ture, not long before, he had ſo zealouſly pray'd for: but, as Providence would have it, there was only ſome very ſmall matter for⯑got, which was recover'd in a ſhort whiſper. The Coaſt being again cleared, he took heart and bore up, and ſtriking ſail, repeated his Ce⯑remony to the Lady; who, having obliging⯑ly returned it, he accoſted her in theſe or the like words:

‘'If I do not uſurp a priviledge reſerved for ſome one more happy in your acquaintance, may I preſume, Madam, to entreat (for a while) the favour of your Converſation, at leaſt till the arrival of whom you expect, provided you are not tired of me before; for then upon the leaſt intimation of uneaſi⯑neſs, I will not fail of doing my ſelf the vi⯑olence to withdraw for your releaſe.’ The Lady made him anſwer, ſhe did not expect any Body; by which he might imagine her Converſation not of value to be beſpoke, and [11] to afford it him, were but farther to con⯑vince him to her own coſt. He reply'd, ‘'She had already ſaid enough to convince him of ſomething he heartily wiſh'd might not be to his coſt in the end.’ She pretended not to underſtand him; but told him, ‘'If he al⯑ready found himſelf grieved with her Con⯑verſation, he would have ſufficient Reaſon to repent the raſhneſs of his firſt Demand before they had ended: for that now ſhe in⯑tended to hold Diſcourſe with him on pur⯑poſe to puniſh his unadviſedneſs, in preſu⯑ming upon a Perſon whoſe dreſs and mien might not (may be) be diſagreeable to have wit. I muſt confeſs (reply'd Aurelian) my ſelf guilty of a Preſumption, and willing⯑ly ſubmit to the Puniſhment you intend: and though it be an aggravation of a Crime to perſevere in its juſtification, yet I cannot help defending an Opinion in which now I am more confirm'd, that probable conje⯑ctures may be made of the Ingenious Diſpo⯑ſition of the Mind, from the fancy and choice of Apparel. The humour I grant ye (ſaid the Lady) or conſtitution of the Perſon whe⯑ther melancholick or brisk; but I ſhould hardly paſs my cenſure upon ſo ſlight an in⯑dication of Wit: for there is your brisk Fool as well as your brisk Man of Senſe, and ſo of the Melancholick. I confeſs 'tis poſſible a Fool may reveal himſelf by his Dreſs, in wearing ſomething extravagantly ſingular and ridiculous, or in prepoſterous ſuiting of [12] Colours; but a decency of Habit (which is all that Men of beſt Senſe pretend to) may be acquired by cuſtom and example, with⯑out putting the Perſon to a ſuperfluous ex⯑pence of wit for the contrivance; and though there ſhould be occaſion for it, few are ſo unfortunate in their Relations and Ac⯑quaintance not to have ſome Friend capable of giving them advice, if they are not too ignorantly conceited to ask it.’ Aurelian was ſo pleaſed with the eaſineſs and ſmartneſs of her Expoſtulation, that he forgot to make a reply, when ſhe ſeem'd to expect it; but being a Woman of a quick Apprehenſion, and juſtly ſenſible of her own Perfections, ſhe ſoon perceived he did not grudge his attention. However ſhe had a Mind to put it upon him to turn the diſcourſe, ſo went on upon the ſame Subject. ‘'Signior (ſaid ſhe) I have been looking round me, and by your Maxim I cannot diſcover one Fool in the Company; for they are all well dreſt. This was ſpoken with an Air of Rallery that awakened the Cavalier, who immediately made anſwer: 'Tis true, Madam, we ſee there may be as much varietyof good fancies as of faces, yet there may be many of both kinds borrowed and adulterate if inquired into; and as you were pleaſed to obſerve, the invention may be Foreign to the Perſon who puts it in pra⯑ctice; and as good an Opinion as I have of an agreeable Dreſs, I ſhould be loath to an⯑ſwer for the wit of all about us. I believe [13] you (ſays the Lady) and hope you are con⯑vinced of your error, ſince you muſt allow it impoſſible to tell who of all this Aſſem⯑bly did or did not make choice of their own Apparel. Not all (ſaid Aurelian) there is an ungaineſs in ſome which betrays them. Look ye there (ſays he) pointing to a La⯑dy who ſtood playing with the Taſſels of her Girdle, I dare anſwer for that Lady, though ſhe be very well dreſs'd, 'tis more than ſhe knows. His fair unknown could not forbear laughing at his particular diſtin⯑ction, and freely told him, he had indeed light upon one who knew as little as any bo⯑dy in the Room, her ſelf excepted. Ah! Ma⯑dam, (reply'd Aurelian) you know every thing in the World but your own Perfecti⯑ons, and you only know not thoſe, becauſe 'tis the top of Perfection not to know them. How? (reply'd the Lady) I thought it had been the extremity of knowledge to know ones ſelf. Aurelian had a little over-ſtrain'd himſelf in that Complement, and I am of O⯑pinion would have been puzzl'd to have brought himſelf off readily: but by good fortune the Muſick came into the Room and gave him an opportunity to ſeem to decline an anſwer, becauſe the Company prepared to Dance: he only told her he was too mean a Conqueſt for her Wit who was al⯑ready a Slave to the Charms of her Perſon. She thanked him for his Complement, and briskly told him ſhe ought to have made [14] him a return in praiſe of his Wit, but ſhe hoped he was a Man more happy than to be diſſatisfy'd with any of his own Endow⯑ments; and if it were ſo, that he had not a juſt Opinion of himſelf, ſhe knew her ſelf incapable of ſaying any thing to beget one.’ Aurelian did not know well what to make of this laſt reply; for he always abhor'd, any thing that was conceited, with which this ſeem'd to reproach him. But however modeſt he had been heretofore in his own thoughts, yet ne⯑ver was he ſo diſtruſtful of his good behaviour as now being rally'd ſo by a Perſon whom he took to be of judgment: Yet he reſolved to take no notice, but with an Air unconcerned and full of good humour entreated her to Dance with him: She promiſed him to Dance with no bo⯑dy elſe, nor I believe had ſhe inclination; for notwithſtanding her tartneſs, ſhe was upon e⯑qual terms with him as to the liking of each others Perſon and Humour, and only gave thoſe little hints to try his Temper; there being certainly no greater ſign of folly and ill breeding, than to grow ſerious and concern⯑ed at any thing ſpoken in rallery: For his part, he was ſtrangely and inſenſibly fallen in love with her Shape, Wit and Air; which, to⯑gether with a white Hand, he had ſeen (per⯑haps not accidentally) were enough to have ſubdued a more ſtubborn Heart than ever he was maſter of; and for her Face, which he had not ſeen, he beſtowed upon her the beſt his Imagination could furniſh him with. I [15] ſhould by right now deſcribe her Dreſs, which was extreamly agreeable and rich, but 'tis poſſible I might err in ſome material Pin or o⯑ther, in the ſticking of which may be the whole grace of the Drapery depended. Well, they danced ſeveral times together, and no leſs to the ſatisfaction of the whole Company, than of themſelves; for at the end of each Dance, ſome publick not of Applauſe or other was given to the graceful Couple.

Aurelian was amaz'd, that among all that danced or ſtood in view he could not ſee Hip⯑polito; but concluding that he had met with ſome pleaſing Converſation, and was with⯑drawn to ſome retired part of the Room, he forbore his ſearch till the mirth of that Night ſhould be over, and the Company ready to break up, where we will leave him for a while, to ſee what became of his adventurous Friend.

Hippolito, a little after he had parted with Aurelian, was got among a knot of Ladies and Cavaliers, who were looking upon a large Gold Cup ſet with Jewels, in which his Royal High⯑neſs had drank to the Proſperity of the new married Couple at Dinner, and which after⯑ward he preſented to his Couſin Donna Ca⯑tharina. He among the reſt was very intent, admiring the richneſs, workmanſhip, and beauty of the Cup, when a Lady came behind him and pulling him by the Elbow, made a ſign ſhe would ſpeak with him; Hippolito, who knew himſelf an utter Stranger to Flo⯑rence and every body in it, immediately gueſſed [16] ſhe had miſtaken him for her acquaintance, as indeed it happened; however he reſolved not to diſcover himſelf till he ſhould be aſſured of it; having followed her into a ſet Window remote from Company, ſhe addreſs'd her ſelf to him in this manner: ‘Signior Don Lorenzo (ſaid ſhe) I am overjoy'd to ſee you are ſo ſpeedily recovered of your Wounds, which by report were much more dangerous than to have ſuffered your coming abroad ſo ſoon; but I muſt accuſe you of great indiſcretion, in appearing in a Habit which ſo many muſt needs remember you to have worn upon the like occaſion not long ago, I mean at the Mar⯑riage of Don Cynthio with your Siſter Ata⯑lanta; I do aſſure you, you were known by it, both to Juliana and my ſelf, who was ſo far concerned for you, as to deſire me to tell you, that her Brother Don Fabritio (who ſaw you when you came in with another Gentle⯑man) had eyed you very narrowly, and is ſince gone out of the Room, ſhe knows not upon what deſign; however ſhe would have you, for your own ſake, be adviſed and cir⯑cumſpect when you depart this place, leſt you ſhould be ſet upon unawares; you know the hatred Don Fabritio has born you ever ſince you had the fortune to kill his Kinſman in a Duel: Here ſhe pauſed as if expecting his reply; but Hippolito was ſo confounded, that he ſtood mute, and contemplating the hazard he had ignorantly brought himſelf into, for⯑got his deſign of informing the Lady of her [17] miſtake.’ She finding he made her no An⯑ſwer, went on. ‘'I perceive (continued ſhe) you are in ſome ſurprize at what I have related, and may be, are doubtful of the Truth; but I thought you had been better acquainted with your Couſin Leonora's Voice, than to have forgot it ſo ſoon: Yet in Com⯑plaiſance to your ill Memory, I will put you paſt doubt, by ſhewing you my Face;’ with that ſhe pulled off her Mask, and diſcovered to Hippolito (now more amaz'd than ever) the moſt Angelick Face that he had ever beheld. He was juſt about to have made her ſome an⯑ſwer, when, clapping on her Mask again with⯑out giving him time, ſhe happily for him pur⯑ſu'd her Diſcourſe. (For 'tis odds but he had made ſome diſcovery of himſelf in the ſurprize he was in.) Having taken him familiarly by the Hand, now ſhe had made her ſelf known to him, ‘'Couſin Lorenzo (added ſhe) you may perhaps have taken it unkindly, that during the time of your Indiſpoſition, by reaſon of your Wounds, I have not been to viſit you; I do aſſure you it was not for want of any Inclination I had both to ſee and ſerve you to my power; but you are well acquainted with the Severity of my Father, whom you know how lately you have diſobliged. I am mighty glad that I have met with you here, where I have had an Opportunity to tell you what ſo much concerns your Safety, which I am afraid you will not find in Florence; con⯑ſidering the great Power Don Fabritio and his [18] Father, the Marqueſs of Viterbo, have in this City. I have another thing to inform you of, That whereas Don Fabio had intereſted himſelf in your Cauſe in Oppoſition to the Marqueſs of Viterbo, by reaſon of the long A⯑nimoſity between them, all hopes of his Countenance and Aſſiſtance are defeated; For there has been a Propoſal of Reconcilia⯑tion made to both Houſes, and it is ſaid it will be confirm'd (as moſt ſuch ancient Quarrels are at laſt) by the Marriage of Juliana the Marqueſs's Daughter, with Aurelian, Son to Don Fabio: To which effect the old Gentleman ſent 'tother Day to Siena, were Aurelian has been Educated, to haſten his coming to Town; but the Meſſenger returning this Morning, brought word, That the ſame day he arriv'd at Siena, Aurelian had ſet out for Florence, in Company with a young Spaniſh Nobleman, his intimate Friend; ſo it is believ'd they are both in Town, and not unlikely in this Room in Maſque⯑rade.’

H [...]ppolito could not forbear ſmiling to himſelf, at th [...]ſe laſt Words. For ever ſince the naming of Don Fabio he had been very attentive; but before, his Thoughts were wholly taken up with the Beauty of the Face he had ſeen, and from the time ſhe had taken him by the Hand, a ſucceſſive warmth and chilneſs had play'd about his Heart, and ſurpriz'd him with an unuſual Tranſport. He was in a hundred Minds, whether he ſhould make her ſenſible [19] of her Error or no; but conſidering he could expect no farther Conference with her after he ſhould diſcover himſelf, and that as yet he knew not of her place of abode, he reſolv'd to humour the miſtake a little further. Having her ſtill by the Hand, which he ſqueez'd ſomewhat more eagerly than is uſual for Couſins to do in a low and undiſtinguiſh⯑able Voice, he let her know how much he held himſelf obliged to her, and avoiding as many words as handſomly he could, at the ſame time, entreated her to give him her Advice, toward the management of himſelf in this Affair. Leonora, who never from the beginning had entertain'd the leaſt Scruple of diſtruſt, imagined he ſpoke faintly, as not being yet perfectly recovered of his Strength; and withal conſidering that the heat of the Room, by reaſon of the Crowd, might be uneaſie to a Perſon in his Condition; ſhe kindly told him, That if he were as inclinable to diſpenſe with the remainder of that Nights Diverſion as ſhe was, and had no other En⯑gagement upon him, by her conſent they ſhould both ſteal out of the Aſſembly, and go to her Houſe, where they might with more freedom diſcourſe about a buſineſs of that im⯑portance, and where he might take ſome⯑thing to refreſh himſelf if he were (as ſhe con⯑ceiv'd him to be) indiſpoſed with his long ſtanding. Judge you whether the Propoſal were acceptable to Hippolito or no; he had been ruminating with himſelf how to bring [20] ſomething like this about, and had almoſt deſpair'd of it; when of a ſuddain he found the ſucceſs of his deſign had prevented his own endeavours. He told his Couſin in the ſame key as before, That he was unwilling to be the occaſion of her Divorce from ſo much good Company; but for his own part, he was afraid he had preſumed too much upon his recovery in coming abroad ſo ſoon, and that he found himſelf ſo unwell, he feared he ſhould be quickly forc'd to retire. Leonora ſtay'd not to make him any other reply, only tipp'd him upon the Arm, and bid him follow her at a convenient diſtance to avoid Obſervation.

Whoever had ſeen the Joy that was in Hippolito's Countenance, and the Sprightlineſs with which he follow'd his Beautiful Con⯑ductreſs, would ſcarce have taken him for a Perſon griev'd with uncured Wounds. She led him down a back pair of Stairs, into one of the Palace Gardens which had a Door open⯑ing into the Piazza, not far from where Don Mario her Father lived. They had little Diſ⯑courſe by the way, which gave Hippolito time to conſider of the beſt way of diſcovering him⯑ſelf. A thouſand things came into his Head in a minute, yet nothing that pleaſed him: And after ſo many Contrivances as he had formed for the diſcovery of himſelf, he found it more rational for him not to reveal him⯑ſelf at all that Night, ſince he could not fore⯑ſee what effect the ſurprize would have, ſhe muſt needs be in, at the appearance of a [21] Stranger, whom ſhe had never ſeen before, yet whom ſhe had treated ſo familiarly. He knew Women were apt to ſhriek or ſwoon upon ſuch Occaſions, and ſhould ſhe happen to do either, he might be at a loſs how to bring himſelf off. He thought he might eaſily pretend to be indiſpoſed ſomewhat more than ordinary, and ſo make an excuſe to go to his own Lodging. It came into his Head too, that under pretence of giving her an account of his Health, he might enquire of her the means how a Letter might be convey'd to her the next Morning, wherein he might in⯑form her gently of her miſtake, and inſinuate ſomething of that Paſſion he had conceiv'd, which he was ſure he could not have oppor⯑tunity to ſpeak of if he bluntly revealed him⯑ſelf. He had juſt reſolv'd upon this Method, as they were come to the great Gates of the Court, when Leonora ſtopping to let him go in before her, he of a ſudden fetch'd his Breath violently as if ſome ſtitch or twinging ſmart had juſt then aſſaulted him. She enquired the matter of him, and adviſed him to make haſte into the Houſe that he might ſit down and reſt him. He told her he found himſelf ſo ill, that he judged it more convenient for him to go home while he was in a condition to move, for he fear'd if he ſhould once ſettle himſelf to reſt he might not be able to ſtir. She was much troubled, and would have had a Chair made ready and Servants to carry him home; but he made anſwer, he would [22] not have any of her Fathers Servants know of his being abroad, and that juſt now he had an interval of eaſe, which he hop'd would continue till he made ſhift to reach his own Lodgings. Yet if ſhe pleaſed to inform him how he might give an account of him⯑ſelf the next morning, in a Line or two, he would not fail to give her the thanks due to her great Kindneſs; and withal, would let her know ſomething which would not a l [...]ttle ſurprize her, though now he had not time to acquaint her with it. She ſhow'd him a little Window at the corner of the Houſe, where one ſhould wait to receive his Letter, and was juſt taking her leave of him, when ſeeing him ſearch haſtily in his Pocket, ſhe ask'd him if he miſs'd any thing; he told her he thought a Wound which was not tho⯑rowly heal'd bled a little, and that he had loſt his Handkerchief. His deſign took; for ſhe immediately gave him hers: Which in⯑deed accordingly he apply'd to the only Wound he was then griev'd with; which though it went quite through his Heart, yet thank God was not Mortal. He was not a little rejoyc'd at his good Fortune in getting ſo early a Fa⯑vour from his Miſtreſs, and notwithſtanding the violence he did himſelf to perſonate a ſick Man, he could not forbear giving ſome Symp⯑toms of an extraordinary Content; and telling her that he did not doubt to receive a con⯑ſiderable Proportion of Eaſe from the Applica⯑tion of what had ſo often kiſs'd her fair Hand, [23] Leonora, who did not ſuſpect the Compliment, told him ſhe ſhould be heartily glad if that or any thing in her power might contribute to his recovery; and wiſhing him well home, went into her Houſe, as much troubled for her Couſin as he was joyful for his Miſtreſs.

Hippolito, as ſoon as ſhe was gone in, began to make his Remarks about the Houſe, walk⯑ing round the great Court, viewing the Gar⯑dens and all the Paſſages leading to that ſide of the Piazza. Having ſufficiently informed him⯑ſelf, with a Heart full of Love, and a Head full of Stratagem, he walked toward his Lodg⯑ing, impatient till the arrival of Aurelian that he might give himſelf vent. In which inte⯑rim, let me take the liberty to digre [...]s a little, and tell the Reader ſomething which I do not doubt he has apprehended himſelf long ago, if he be not the dulleſt Reader in the World; yet only for order ſake, let me tell him, I ſay, That a young Gentleman (Couſin to the afore⯑ſaid Don Fabritio) happened one night to have ſome words at a Gaming Houſe with one Lo⯑renzo, which created a Quarrel of fatal Conſe⯑quence to the former, who was killed upon the Spot, and likely to be ſo to the latter, who was very deſperately Wounded.

Fabritio, being much concerned for his Kinſ⯑man, vow'd revenge (according to the an⯑cient and laudable cuſtom of Italy) upon Lorenzo if he ſurviv'd, or in caſe of his Death (if it ſhould happen to anticipate that, much more ſwinging Death which he had in ſtore [24] for him) upon his next of Kin, and ſo to deſcend Lineally like an Engliſh Eſtate, to all the Heirs Males of his Family. This ſame Fabritio had indeed (as Leonora told Hippolito) taken particular notice of him from his firſt entrance into the Room, and was ſo far doubtful as to go out immediately himſelf, and make enquiry concerning Lorenzo, but was quickly inform'd of the greatneſs of his Error, in believing a Man to be abroad, who was ſo ill of his Wounds, that they now deſpair'd of his recovery; and thereupon returned to the Ball very well ſatisfied, but not before Leonora and Hippolito were departed.

So, Reader, having now diſcharg'd my Con⯑ſcience of a ſmall Diſcovery which I thought my ſelf obliged to make to thee, I proceed to tell thee, that our Friend Aurelian had by this time danced himſelf into a Net which he nei⯑ther could, nor which is worſe deſired to un⯑tangle.

His Soul was charm'd to the movement of her Body: An Air ſo graceful, ſo ſweet, ſo eaſie and ſo great, he had never ſeen. She had ſomething of Majeſty in her, which appear'd to be born with her; and though it ſtruck an awe into the Beholders, yet was it ſweet⯑ned with a familiarity of Behaviour, which rendred it agreeable to every Body. The grandeur of her Mien was not ſtiff, but un⯑ſtudied and unforced, mixed with a ſimplicity; free, yet not looſe nor affected. If the former ſeem'd to condeſcend, the latter ſeem'd to aſpire; [25] and both to unite in the centre of Perfe⯑ction. Every turn ſhe gave in dancing ſnatcht Aurelian into a Rapture, and he had like to have been out two or three times with the following his Eyes, which ſhe led about as Slaves to her Heels.

As ſoon as they had done dancing, he began to complain of his want of Breath and Lungs, to ſpeak ſufficiently in her Commendation; She ſmilingly told him, he did ill to dance ſo much then: Yet in Conſideration of the pains he had taken more than ordinary upon her ac⯑count, ſhe would bate him a great deal of Compliment, but with this Proviſo, That he was to diſcover to her who he was. Aurelian was unwilling for the preſent to own himſelf to be really the Man he was; when a ſud⯑dain thought came into his Head to take upon him the Name and Character of Hippolito, who he was ſure was not known in Florence. He thereupon, after a little pauſe, pretended to recal himſelf in this manner: ‘'Madam, it is no ſmall demonſtration of the entire Reſig⯑nation which I have made of my Heart to your Chains, ſince the ſecrets of it are no longer in my Power. I confeſs I only took Florence in my way, not deſigning any longer Reſidence, than ſhould be requiſite to inform the Curioſity of a Traveller, of the rarities of the Place. Whether Hap⯑pineſs or Miſery will be the Conſequence of that Curioſity, I am yet in fear, and ſub⯑mit to your Determination; but ſure I am, [26] not to depart Florence till you have made me the moſt miſerable Man in it, and re⯑fuſe me the fatal Kindneſs of Dying at your Feet. I am by Birth a Spaniard, of the City of Toledo; my name Hppolito di Savio⯑lina: I was yeſterday a Man free, as Na⯑ture made the firſt; to day I am fallen into a Captivity, which muſt continue with my Life, and which, it is in your Power, to make much dearer to me. Thus in obedi⯑ence to your Commands, and contrary to my Reſolution of remaining unknown in this place, I have inform'd you, Madam, what I am; what I ſhall be, I deſire to know from you; at leaſt, I hope, thefree diſcovery I have made of my ſelf, will encourage you to truſt me with the knowledge of your Perſon.’

Here a low bow, and a deep ſigh, put an end to his Diſcourſe, and ſignified his Expecta⯑tion of her Reply, which was to this pur⯑poſe—(But I had forgot to tell you, That Aurelian kept off his Mask from the time that he told her he was of Spain, till the period of his Relation.) ‘'Had I thought (ſaid ſhe) that my Curioſity would have brought me in debt, I ſhould certainly have forborn it; or at leaſt have agreed with you beforehand about the rate of your diſcovery, then I had not brought my ſelf to the Inconveniency of being cenſur'd, either of too much eaſi⯑neſs or reſervedneſs; but to avoid, as much as I can, the extremity of either, I am reſolv'd [27] but to diſcover my ſelf in part, and will endeavour to give you as little occaſion as I can, either to boaſt of, or ridicule the Behaviour of the Women of Florence in your Travels.’

Aurelian interrupted her, and ſwore very ſo⯑lemnly (and the more heartily, I believe, be⯑cauſe he then indeed ſpoke truth) that he would make Florence the place of his abode, whatever concerns he had elſewhere. She ad⯑viſed him to be cautious how he ſwore to his Expreſſions of Gallantry; and farther told him ſhe now hoped ſhe ſhould make him a return to all the Fine Things he had ſaid, ſince ſhe gave him his choice whether he would know whom ſhe was, or ſee her Face.

Aurelian who was really in Love, and in whom Conſideration would have been a Crime, greedily embrac'd the latter, ſince ſhe aſſured him at that time he ſhould not know both. Well, what follow'd? Why, ſhe pull'd off her Ma [...]k, and appear'd to him at once in the Glory of Beauty. But who can tell the aſtoniſhment Aurelian felt? He was for a time ſenſeleſs; Admiration had ſuppreſs'd his Speech, and his Eyes were entangled in Light. In ſhort, to be made ſenſible of his condition, we muſt conceive ſome Idea of what he beheld, which is not to be imagined till ſeen, nor then to be expreſs'd. Now ſee the imper⯑tinence and conceitedneſs of an Author, who will have a fling at a Deſcription, which he has Prefaced with an impoſſibility. One [28] might have ſeen ſomething in her Compo⯑ſition reſembling the Formation of Epicurus his World, as if every Atome of Beauty had concurr'd to unite an excellency. Had that curious Painter lived in her days, he might have avoided his painful ſearch, when he col⯑lected from the choiceſt pieces the moſt choice Features, and by a due Diſpoſition and Judi⯑cious Symmetry of thoſe exquiſite parts, made one whole and perfect Venus. Nature ſeem'd here to have play'd the Plagiary, and to have molded into Subſtance the moſt refined Thoughts of inſpired Poets. Her Eyes diffus'd Rays comfortable as warmth, and piercing as the light; they would have worked a paſſage through the ſtraighteſt Pores, and with a deli⯑cious heat, have play'd about the moſt ob⯑durate frozen Heart, until 'twere melted down to Love. Such Majeſty and Affability were in her Looks; ſo alluring, yet commanding was her Preſence, that it mingled awe with love; kindling a Flame which trembled to aſpire. She had dancedmuch, which, to⯑gether with her being cloſe masked, gave her a tincture of Carnation more than or⯑dinary. But Aurelian (from whom I had every tittle of her Deſcription) fancy'd he ſaw a little Neſt of Cupids break from the Treſſes of her Hair, and every one officiouſly betake himſelf to his task. Some fann'd with their downy Wings, her glowing Cheeks; while others bruſh'd the balmy Dew from off her Face, leaving alone a heavenly Moiſture blubbing [29] on her Lips, on which they drank and revell'd for their pains; Nay, ſo particular were their allotments in her ſervice, that Aurelian was very poſitive a young Cupid who was but juſt Pen-feather'd, employ'd his naked Quills to pick her Teeth. And a Thouſand other Things his Tranſport Re⯑preſented to him, which none but Lovers who have experience of ſuch Viſions will believe.

As ſoon as he awaked and found his Speech come to him, he employ'd it to this effect:

‘' 'Tis enough that I have ſeen a Divinity—Nothing but Mercy can inhabit theſe Perfecti⯑ons—Their utmoſt rigour brings a Death preferable to any Life, but what they give—Uſe me, Madam, as you pleaſe; for by your fair ſelf, I cannot think a Bliſs beyond what now I feel—You Wound with Pleaſure, and if you Kill it muſt be with Tran⯑ſport—Ah! Yet methinks to live—O Heaven! to have Life pronounced by thoſe Bleſs'd Lips—Did they not inſpire where they command, it were an immediate Death of Joy.’

Aurelian was growing a little too loud with his Admiration, had ſhe not juſt then inter⯑rupted him, by clapping on her Maſque, and telling him they ſhould be obſerved, if he proceeded in his Extravagance; and withal, that his Paſſion was too ſuddain to be real, and too violent to be laſting. He replied, Indeed it might not be very laſting, (with a ſub⯑miſſive mournful Voice) but it would continue [30] during his Life. That it was ſuddain, he denied, for ſhe had raiſed it by degrees from his firſt ſight of her, by a continued diſcovery of Charms, in her Mein and Converſation, till ſhe thought fit to ſet Fire to the Train ſhe had laid, by the Lightning of her Face; and then he could not help it, if he were blown up.

He begg'd her to believe the Sincerity of his Paſſion, at leaſt to enjoin him ſomething, which might tend to the Convincing of her Incredulity. She ſaid, ſhe ſhould find a time to make ſome Trials of him; but for the firſt, ſhe charged him not to follow or obſerve her, after the Diſſolution of the Aſſembly. He promiſed to obey, and entreated her to tell him but her Name, that he might have Re⯑courſe to that in his Affliction for her Abſence, if he were able to ſurvive it. She deſired him to live by all means; and if he muſt have a Name to play with, to call her Incognita, till he were better informed.

The Company breaking up, ſhe took her leave, and at his earneſt Entreaty, gave him a ſhort Viſion of her Face; which, then dreſs'd in an obliging ſmile, cauſed another fit of Tranſport, which laſted till ſhe was gone out of Sight. Aurelian gathered up his Spirits, and walked ſlowly towards his Lodging, ne⯑ver remembring that he had loſt Hippolito, till upon turning the Corner of a Street, he heard a noiſe of Fighting; and coming near, ſaw a Man make a vigorous Defence againſt two, who preſſed violently upon him. He then [31] thought of Hippolito, and fancying he ſaw the glimmering of Diamond Buttons, ſuch as Hip⯑polito had upon the Sleeves of his Habit, im⯑mediately drew to his Aſſiſtance; and with that Eagerneſs and Reſolution, that the Aſſail⯑ants, finding their unmanly odds defeated, took to their Heels. The Perſon reſcued by the Generous Help of Aurelian, came toward him; but as he would have ſtoop'd to have ſaluted him, dropp'd, fainting at his feet. Aurelian, now he was ſo near him, perceiv'd plainly Hippolito's Habit, and ſtep'd haſtily to take him up. Juſt as ſome of the Guards (who were going the Rounds, apprehenſive of ſuch Diſ⯑orders in an Univerſal Merriment) came up to him with Lights, and had taken Priſoners the Two Men, whom they met with their Swords drawn; when looking in the Face of the Wounded Man, he found it was not Hip⯑polito, but his Governour Claudio, in the Habit he had worn at the Ball. He was extreamly ſurpriz'd, as were the Priſoners, who confeſs'd their Deſign to have been upon Lorenzo; grounding their Miſtake upon the Habit which was known to have been his. They were Two Men who formerly had been Servants to him whom Lorenzo had unfortunately ſlain.

They made a ſhift to bring Claudio to him⯑ſelf; and part of the Guard carrying off the Priſoners, whom Aurelian deſired they would ſecure, the reſt accompanied him bearing Clau⯑dio in their Arms to his Lodging. He had not patience to forbear asking for Hippolito by the [32] Way; whom Claudio aſſured him, he had left ſafe in his Chamber, above Two Hours ſince. That his coming Home ſo long before the Di⯑vertiſements were ended, and Undreſſing him⯑ſelf, had given him the Unhappy Curioſity, to put on his Habit, and go to the Palace; in his Return from whence, he was ſet upon in the Manner he found him, which if he reco⯑vered, he muſt own his Life indebted to his timely Aſſiſtance.

Being come to the Houſe, they carried him to his Bed, and having ſent for Surgeons Aure⯑lian rewarded and diſmiſſed the Guard. He ſtay'd the dreſſing of Claudio's Wounds, which were many, though they hop'd none Mortal: and leaving him to his Reſt, went to give Hippolito an Account of what had happened, whom he found with a Table before him, leaning upon both his Elbows, his Face co⯑vered with his Hands, and ſo motionleſs, that Aurelian concluded he was aſleep; ſeeing ſeveral Papers lie before him, half written and blot⯑ted out again, he thought to ſteal ſoftly to the Table, and diſcover what he had been em⯑ployed about. Juſt as he reach'd forth his Hand to take up one of the Papers, Hippolito ſtarted up ſo on the ſuddain, as ſurpriz'd Au⯑relian and made him leap back; Hippolito, on the other hand, not ſuppoſing that any Body had been near him, was ſo diſordered with the Appearance of a Man at his Elbow, (whom his Amazement did not permit him to diſtinguiſh) that he leap'd haſtily to his Sword, [33] and in turning him about, overthrew the Stand and Candles. Here were they both left in the Dark, Hippolito groping about with his Sword, and thruſting at every Chair that he felt oppoſe him. Aurelian was ſcarce come to himſelf, when thinking to ſtep back toward the Door that he might inform his Friend of his Mi⯑ſtake, without expoſing himſelf to his blind Fury; Hippolito heard him ſtir, and made a full thruſt with ſuch Violence, that the Hilt of the Sword meeting with Aurelian's Breaſt beat him down, and Hippolito a top of him, as a Servant alarmed with the noiſe, came into the Chamber with a Light. The Fellow trembled, and thought they were both Dead, till Hippolito raiſing himſelf, to ſee whom he had got under him, ſwoon'd away upon the diſcovery of his Friend. But ſuch was the extraordinary Care of Providence in directing the Sword, that it only paſt under his Arm, giving no Wound to Aurelian, but a little Bruiſe between his Shoulder and Breaſt with the Hilt. He got up, ſcarce recovered of his Fright, and by the help of the Servant laid Hippotito upon the Bed; who when he was come to himſelf could hardly be perſwaded, that his Friend was before him and alive, till he ſhew'd him his Breaſt, where was nothing of a Wound. Hippolito begg'd his Pardon a Thouſand Times, and curs'd himſelf as often, who was ſo near to committing the laſt Execrable Act of Ami⯑cide.

[34] They diſmiſs'd the Fellow, and with many Embraces, congratulated their fortunate Deli⯑very from the Miſchief which came ſo near them, each blaming himſelf as the Occaſion: Aurelian accuſing his own unadviſedneſs in ſtealing upon Hippolito; Hippolito blaming his own temerity and weakneſs, in being ſo eaſily frighted to Diſorder; and laſt of all, his blindneſs, in not knowing his deareſt Friend. But there he gave a Sigh, and paſſionately taking Aurelian by the Hand, cry'd, Ah! my Friend, Love is indeed blind, when it would not ſuffer me to ſee you—There aroſe another Sigh; a Sympathy ſeized Aurelian immediately: (For, by the Way, ſighing is as catching among Lovers, as yawning among the Vulgar.) Beſide hearing the Name of Love, made him fetch ſuch a Sigh, that Hippolito's were but Fly-blows in Compariſon, that was anſwered with all the Might Hippolito had. Aurelian ply'd him cloſe till they were both out of Breath.

Thus not a Word paſs'd, though each won⯑dred why the t'other ſigh'd, at laſt concluded it to be only Complaiſance to one another.

Aurelian broke the Silence, by telling him, the Misfortune of his Governour. Hippolito rejoy'd as at the luckieſt Accident which could have befallen him. Aurelian wondred at his unſeaſonable Mirth, and demanded the Cauſe of it; he anſwered, It would neceſſitate his longer ſtay in Florence, and for ought he knew be the Means of bringing a happy Period to his Amour.

[35] His Friend thought him to be little better than a Mad-man, when he perceiv'd him of a ſuddain ſnatch out of his Boſom a Handker⯑chief, which having kiſs'd with a great deal of Ardour, he took Aurelian by the Hand, and ſmiling at the Surprize he ſaw him in;

‘'Your Florentine Cupid is certainly (ſaid he) the moſt Expert in the World. I have ſince I ſaw you beheld the moſt Beautiful of Wo⯑men. I am faln deſperately in Love with her, and thoſe Papers which you ſee ſo blotted and ſcattered, are but ſo many Eſſays which I have made to the Declaration of my Paſſion. And this Handkerchief which I ſo zealouſly Careſs, is the Ineſtimable Token which I have to make my ſelf known to her. O Leo⯑nora! (continued he) how haſt thou ſtamp'd thine Image on my Soul! How much dearer am I to my ſelf, ſince I have had thy Heaven⯑ly Form in keeping! Now, my Aurelian, I am worthy thee: My exalted Love has Dig⯑nified me, and rais'd me far above thy poor former Deſpicable Hippolito.’

Aurelian ſeeing the Rapture he was in, thought it in vain to expect a ſettled Relation of the Adventure, ſo was reaching to the Table for ſome of the Papers, but Hippolito told him, Ifhe would have a little Patience he would ac⯑quaint him with the whole Matter; and thereupon told him Word for Word how he was miſtaken for Lorenzo, and his Management of himſelf. Aurelian commended his Prudence, in not diſcovering himſelf; and told him, If [36] he could ſpare ſo much time from the Contem⯑plation of his Miſtreſs, he would inform him of an Adventure, though not ſo Accidental, yet of as great Concern to his own future Happineſs. So related all that had happened to him with his Beautiful Incognita.

Having ended the Story, they began to conſider of the means they were to uſe to⯑ward a Review of their Miſtreſſes. Aurelian was Confounded at the Difficulty he conceived on his Part. He underſtood from Hippolito's Adventure, that his Father knew of his being in Town, whom he muſt unavoidably Diſoblige if he yet conceal'd himſelf, and Diſobey if he came into his Sight; for he had already enter⯑tain'd an Averſion for Juliana, in apprehenſion of her being impoſed on him. His Incognita was rooted in his Heart, yet could he not Com⯑fort himſelfwith any Hopes when he ſhould ſee her: He knew not where ſhe lived, and ſhe had made him no Promiſe of a ſecond Confe⯑rence. Then did he repent his inconſiderate Choice, in preferring the momentary Viſion of her Face, to a certain Intelligence of Her Perſon. Every thought that ſucceeded diſtracted him, and all the Hopes he could preſume upon, were within compaſs of the Two Days Merriment yet to come; for which Space he hop'd he might excuſe his remaining conceal'd to his Fa⯑ther.

Hippolito on the other ſide (tho' Aurelian thought him in a much better Way) was no leſs afflicted for himſelf. The Difficulties which [37] he ſaw in his Friend's Circumſtances, put him upon finding out a great many more in his own, than really there were. But what terrified him moſt of all, was his being an utter Stranger to Leonora; ſhe had not the leaſt knowledge of him but through miſtake, and conſequently could form no Idea of him to his Advantage. He look'd upon it as an unlucky thought in Au⯑relian to take upon him his Name, ſince poſſibly the Two Ladies were acquainted, and ſhould they communicate each other their Adven⯑tures, they might both reaſonably ſuffer in their Opinions, and be thought guilty of Fal⯑ſhood, ſince it would appear to them as One Perſon pretending to Two. Aurelian told him, there was but one Remedy for that, which was for Hippolito, in the ſame Manner that he had done, to make uſe of his Name, when he writ to Leonora, and uſe what Arguments he could to perſwade her to Secrecy, leaſt his Fa⯑ther ſhould know of the Reaſon which kept him concealed in Town. And it was likely, tho' perhaps ſhe might not immediately entertain his Paſſion; yet ſhe would out of Generoſity conceal, what was hidden only for her ſake.

Well, this was concluded on, after a great many other Reaſons uſed on either Side, in favour of the Contrivance; they at laſt argued themſelves into a Belief, that Fortune had be⯑friended them with a better Plot, than their re⯑gular Thinking could have contriv'd. So ſoon had they convinc'd themſelves, in what they were willing to believe.

[38] Aurelian laid himſelf down to reſt, that is, upon the Bed; for he was a better Lover than to pretend ſleep that Night, while Hippolito ſet himſelf again to frame his Letter deſign'd for Leonora. He writ ſeveral, at laſt pitched upon one, and very probably the worſt, as you may gueſs when you read it in its proper Place.

It was break of Day when the Servant, who had been employed all the foregoing Day in procuring Accoutrements for the Two Cava⯑liers, to appear in at the Tilting, came into the Room, and told them all the Young Gentlemen in the Town were trying their Equipage, and preparing to be early in the Liſts. They made themſelves ready with all Expedition at the A⯑larm: And Hippolito having made a Viſit to his Governour, diſpatch'd a Meſſenger with the Letter and Directions to Leonora. At the Signal agreed upon the Caſement was opened and a String let down, to which the Bearer having faſtned the Letter, ſaw it drawn up, and re⯑turned. It were a vain attempt to deſcribe Leonora's Surprize, when ſhe read the Super⯑ſcription.—The Ʋnfortunate Aurelian, to the Beautiful Leonora—After ſhe was a little recovered from her Amaze, ſhe recollected to her ſelf all the Paſſages between her and her ſuppoſed Couſin, and immediately concluded him to be Aurelian. Then ſeveral little Cir⯑cumſtances which ſhe thought might have been ſufficient to have convinced her, repreſented themſelves to her; and ſhe was in a ſtrange Uneaſineſs to think of her free Carriage to a Stranger.

[39] She was once in a Mind to have burn'd the Letter, or to have ſtay'd for an Opportunity to ſend it again. But ſhe was a Woman, and her Curioſitiy oppoſed it ſelf to all thoughts of that Nature: At length with a fir [...] Re⯑ſolution, ſhe opened it, and found Word for Word, what is under written.

She read the Letter over and over, then flung it by, then read it again; the Novelty of the Adventure made her repeat Curioſity, and [41] take more than ordinary Pains to underſtand it. At laſt her Familiarity with the Expreſſi⯑ons grew to an Intimacy, and what ſhe at firſt permitted ſhe now began to like. She thought there was ſomewhat in it a little more ſerious, than to be barely Gallantry. She wondred at her own Blindneſs, ſhe fancy'd ſhe cou'd re⯑member ſomething of a more becoming Air in the Stranger than was uſual to Lorenzo. This thought was parent to another of the ſame kind, till a long Chain ſucceſſively had Birth, and eve⯑ry one ſomewhat more than other, in Favour of the ſuppoſed Aurelian. She reflected upon his Diſcretion, in deferring the Diſcovery of him⯑ſelf, till a little time had, as it were, weaned her from her perſwaſion, and by removing her farther from her miſtake, had prepar'd her for a full and determinate Convincement. She thought his Behaviour, in perſonating a Sick Man ſo readily, upon the firſt hint was not a⯑miſs, and ſmil'd to think of his Excuſe to pro⯑cure her Handkerchief; and laſt of all, his ſift⯑ing out the Means to write to her, which he had done with that Modeſty and Reſpect, ſhe could not tell how to find fault with it.

She had proceeded thus far in a maze of Thought, when ſhe ſtarted to find her ſelf ſo loſt to her Reaſon, and would have trod back again that path of deluding Fancy; accuſing her ſelf of Fondneſs, and inconſiderate Eaſi⯑neſs, in giving Credit to the Letter of a Perſon whoſe Face ſhe never ſaw, and whoſe firſt Ac⯑quaintance with her was a Treachery, and he [42] who could ſo readily deliver his Tongue of a Lye upon a Surprize, was ſcarce to be truſted when he had ſufficient Time allow'd him to beget a Fiction, and Means to perfect the Birth.

How did ſhe know this to be Aurelian, if he were? Nay farther, put it to the Extremity, What if ſhe ſhould upon farther Converſation with him proceed to Love him? What Hopes were there for her? Or how could ſhe conſent to Marry a Man already deſtin'd for another Woman? Nay, a Woman that was her Friend, whoſe Marrying with him was to compleat the happy Reconciliation of Two Noble Fami⯑lies, and which might prevent the Effuſion of much Blood likely to be ſhed in that Quarrel: Beſides, ſhe ſhould incurr ſhare of the Guilt, which he would draw upon him by Diſobedi⯑ence to his Father, whom ſhe was ſure would not be conſenting to it.

'Tis ſtrange now, but all Accounts agree, that juſt here Leonora, who had run like a vio⯑lent Stream againſt Aurelian hitherto, now re⯑torted with as much precipitation in his Favour. I could never get any Body to give me a ſatis⯑factory Reaſon, for her ſuddain and dexterous Change of Opinion juſt at that ſtop, which made me conclude ſhe could not help it; and that Nature boil'd over in her at that time when it had ſo fair an Opportunity to ſhow it ſelf: For Leonora it ſeems was a Woman Beautiful, and otherwiſe of an exellent Diſpoſition; but in the Bottom a very Woman. This laſt Ob⯑jection, this Opportunity of perſwading Man to [43] Diſobedience, determined the Matter in Favour of Aurelian, more than all his Excellencies and Qualifications, take him as Aurelian, or Hippo⯑lito, or both together.

Well, the Spirit of Contradiction and of Eve was ſtrong in her; and ſhe was in a fair Way to Love Aurelian, for ſhe lik'd him already; that it was Aurelian ſhe no longer doubted, for had it been a Villain, who had only taken his Name upon him for any ill Deſigns, he would never have ſlip'd ſo favourable an opportunity as when they were alone, and in the Night co⯑ming through the Garden and broad Space be⯑fore the Piazza. In ſhort, thus much ſhe re⯑ſolv'd at leaſt to conceal the Knowledge ſhe had of him, as he had entreated her in his Let⯑ter, and to make particular Remarks of his Be⯑haviour that Day in the Liſts, which ſhould it happen to Charm her with an abſolute liking of his Perſon, ſhe reſolv'd to dreſs her ſelf to the beſt Advantage, and muſter up all her Graces, out of pure Revenge to kill him down right.

I would not have the Reader now be imper⯑tinent, and look upon this to be force, or a whim of the Author's, that a Woman ſhould proceed ſo far in the Approbation of a Man whom ſhe never ſaw, that it is impoſſible, there⯑fore ridiculous to ſuppoſe it. Let me tell ſuch a Critick, that he knows nothing of the Sex, if he does not know that a Woman may be ta⯑ken with the Character and Deſcription of a Man when general and extraordinary, that ſhe [44] may be prepoſſeſs'd with an agreeable Idea of his Perſon and Converſation; and though ſhe cannot imagine his real Features, or manner of Wit, yet ſhe has a general Notion of what is call'd a fine Gentleman, and is prepar'd to like ſuch a one who does not diſagree with that Cha⯑racter. Aurelian, as he bore a very fair Cha⯑racter, ſo was he extreamly deſerving to make it good, which otherways might have been to his pre [...] [...] [...]es, through an impru⯑dent Indu [...]g [...] to our Friends merit, we give ſo large a Deſcription of his Excellencies, that People more more room in their Expectation, than the Intrinſick worth of the Man will fill, which renders him ſo much the more deſpica⯑ble as there is emptineſs to ſpare. 'Tis cer⯑tain, though the Women ſeldom find that out; for though they do not ſee ſo much in a Man as was promiſed, yet they will be ſo kind to ima⯑gine he has ſome hidden excellencies which time may diſcover to them, ſo are content to allow him a conſiderable ſhare of their eſteem, and take him into Favour upon Tick. Aure⯑lian as he had good Credit ſo he had a good Stock to ſupport it, and his Perſon was a good promiſing Security for the payment of any O⯑bligation he could lie under to the Fair Sex. Hippolito, who at this time was our Aurelian, did not at all leſſen him in appearing for him: So that although Leonora was indeed miſta⯑ken, ſhe could not be ſaid to be much in the wrong. I could find in my Heart to beg the Reader's Pardon for this Digreſſion, if I [45] thought he would be ſenſible of the Civility; for I promiſe him, I do not intend to do it again throughout the Story, though I make ne⯑ver ſo many, and though he take them never ſo ill. But becauſe I began this upon a bare Suppoſition of his Impertinence, which might be ſomewhat Impertinent in me to ſuppoſe I do, and hope to make him amends by telling him, that by the time Leonora was dreſs'd, ſeveral Ladies of her Acquaintance came to accompa⯑ny her to the place deſigned for the Tilting, where we will leave them Drinking Chocolate till 'tis time for them to go.

Our Cavaliers had by good Fortune provided themſelves of two Curious Suits of Light Ar⯑mour, finely Enamelled and Gilt. Hippolito had ſent to Poggio Imperiale for a couple of fine led Horſes which he had left there with the reſt of his Train at his entrance into Florence. Mounted on theſe, and every way well Equipt, they took their way, attended only by two Lacqueys, toward the Church di Sancta Croce, before which they were to perform their Exer⯑ciſes of Chivalry. Hippolito wore upon his Helm a large Plume of Crimſon Feathers, in the midſt of which was artificially placed Leo⯑nora's Handkerchief. His Armour was gilt, and Enamell'd with Green and Crimſon. Aure⯑lian was not ſo happy as to were any token to recommend him to the Notice of his Miſtreſs, ſo had only a Plume of Sky-colour and White Feathers, ſuitable to his Armour, which was Silver Enamelled with Azure. I ſhall not deſcribe [46] the Habit of any other Cavaliers, or of the Ladies; let it ſuffice to tell the Reader they were all very Fine and very Glorious, and let him dreſs them in what is moſt agreeable to his own Fancy.

Our Gallants entred the Liſts, and having made their Obeyſance to his Highneſs, turned round to ſalute and view the Company. The Scaffold was circular, ſo that there was no end of the Delightful Proſpect. It ſeem'd a Glory of Beauty which ſhone around the Ad⯑miring Beholders. Our Lovers ſoon perceiv'd the Stars which were to Rule their Deſtiny, which ſparkled a Luſtre beyond all the Infe⯑riour Conſtellations, and ſeem'd like two Suns to diſtribute Light to all the Planets in that Heavenly Sphere. Leonora knew her Slave by his Badge, and bluſhed till the Lillies and Roſes in her Cheeks had reſemblance to the Plume of Crimſon and White Handkerchief in Hippolito's Creſt. He made her a low Bow, and reined his Horſe back with an extraor⯑dinary Grace, into a reſpectful Retreat. Aure⯑lian ſaw his Angel his Beautiful Incognita, and had no other way to make himſelf known to her, but by ſaluting and bowing to her after the Spaniſh mode; ſhe gueſs'd him by it to be her new Servant Hippolito, and ſignified her appre⯑henſion, by making him a more particular and obliging return, than to any of the Cavaliers who had ſaluted her before.

The Exerciſe which was to be perform'd was in general a running at the Ring, and afterwards [47] two Cavaliers undertook to defend the Beauty of Donna Catharina, againſt all who would not allow her preheminence of their Miſtreſſes. This thing was only deſign'd for ſhow and form, none preſuming that any Body would put ſo great an affront upon the Bride and Duke's Kinſwoman, as to diſpute her pretenſions to the firſt place in the Court of Venus. But here our Cavaliers were under a miſtake; for ſeeing a large Shield carry'd before two Knights, with a Lady painted upon it; not knowing who, but reading the Inſcription which was (in large Gold Letters) Above the Inſolence of Competition. They thought them⯑ſelves obliged, eſpecially in the preſence of their Miſtreſſes to vindicate their Beauty; and were juſt ſpurring on to engage the Champions, when a Gentleman ſtopping them, told them their miſtake, that it was the Picture of Donna Ca⯑tharina, and a particular Honour done to her by his Highneſs's Commands, and not to be diſputed. Upon this they would have re⯑turn'd to their Poſt, much concerned for their miſtake; but notice being taken by Don Fer⯑dinand of ſome Show of Oppoſition that was made, he would have begg'd leave of the Duke, to have maintained his Lady's Honour againſt the Inſolence of thoſe Cavaliers; but the Duke would by no means permit it. They were arguing about it when one of them came up, before whom the Shield was born, and demanded his Highneſs's Permiſſion, to inform thoſe Gentlemen better of their miſtake, by [48] giving them the Foyl. By the Interceſſion of Don Ferdinand leave was given them; where upon a Civil Challenge was ſent to the two Strangers, informing them of their Error, and withal telling them they muſt either maintain it by Force of Arms, or make a publick acknow⯑ledgment by riding bear headed before the Picture once round the Liſts. The Stranger⯑Cavaliers remonſtrated to the Duke how ſen⯑ſible they were of their Error, and though they would not juſtifie it, yet they could not decline the Combate, being preſſed to it be⯑yond an honourable refuſal. To the Bride they ſent a Complement, wherein, having firſt begg'd her pardon for not knowing her Picture, they gave her to underſtand, that now they were not about to diſpute her undoubted right to the Crown of Beauty, but the Honour of being her Champions was the Prize they ſought for, which they thought themſelves as able to maintain as any other Pretenders. Wherefore they pray'd her, that if Fortune ſo far befriended their endeavours as to make them Victors, that they might receive no other Re⯑ward, but to be crown'd with the Titles of their Adverſaries, and be ever after eſteem'd as her moſt humble Servants. The excuſe was ſo handſomly deſigned, and much better ex⯑preſs'd than it it here, that it took effect. The Duke Don Ferdinand and his Lady were ſo well ſatisfied with it as to grant their Requeſt.

While the running at the Ring laſted, our Cavaliers alternately bore away great ſhare of [94] the Honour. That Sport ended, Marſhals were appointed for the Field, and every thing in great form ſettled for the Combat. The Ca⯑valiers were all in good earneſt, but orders were given to bring 'em blunted Lances, and to for⯑bid the drawing of a Sword upon pain of his Highneſs's Diſpleaſure. The Trumpets ſound⯑ed and they began their Courſe: The Ladies Hearts, particularly the I [...]cognita and Leonora's beat time to the Horſes Hoof, and hope and fear made a mock Fight within their tender Breaſts, each wiſhing and doubting ſucceſs where ſhe lik'd: But as the generality of their Prayers were for the graceful Strangers, they accord⯑ingly ſucceeded. Aurelian's Adverſary was un⯑horſed in the firſt Encounter, and Hippolito's loſt both his Stirrups and dropt his Lance to ſave himſelf. The Honour of the Field was immediately granted to them, and Donna Catha⯑rina ſent them both Favours, which ſhe pray'd them to wear as her Knights. The Crowd breaking up, our Cavaliers made a ſhift to ſteal off unmarked, ſave by the watchful Leonora and Incognita, whoſe Eyes were never off from their reſpective Servants. There was enquiry made for them, but to no purpoſe; for they, to prevent their being diſcover'd, had prepared another Houſe, diſtant from their Lodging, where a Servant attended to diſarm them, and another carried back their Horſes to the Villa, while they walked unſu⯑ſpected to their Lodging; but Incognita had given command to a Page to dog 'em till the [50] Evening, at a diſtance, and bring her word where they were lateſt houſed.

While ſeveral Conjectures paſs'd among the Company, who were all gone to Dinner at the Palace, who thoſe Cavaliers ſhould be, Don Fabio thought himſelf the only Man able to gueſs; for he knew for certain that his Son and Hippolito were both in Town, and was well enough pleaſed with his humour of re⯑maining Incognito till the Diverſions ſhould be over, believing then that the ſurpize of his Diſcovery would add much to the Gallantry he had ſhown in Maſquerade; but hearing the extraordinary liking that every body ex⯑preſs'd, and in a particular manner, the great Duke himſelf, to the Perſons and Behaviour of the unknown Cavaliers, the Old Gen⯑tleman could not forbear the Vanity to tell his Highneſs, that he believed he had an intereſt in one of the Gentlemen, whom he was pleaſed to honour with ſo favourable a Character; and told him what reaſon he had to believe the one to be his Son, and the other a Spaniſh Nobleman, his Friend.

This diſcovery having thus got vent, was diffuſed like Air; every body ſuck'd it in, and let it out again with their Breath to the next they met withal; and in half an hours time it was talked of in the Houſe where our Adven⯑turers were lodged. Aurelian was ſtark mad at the News, and knew what ſearch would be immediately made for him. Hippolito, had he not been deſperately in Love, would certainly [51] have taken Horſe and rid out of Town juſt then; for he could make no longer doubt of being diſcovered, and he was afraid of the juſt Exceptions Leonora might make to a Perſon who had now deceived her twice. Well, we will leave them both fretting and contriving to no purpoſe, to look about and ſee what was done at the Palace, where their doom was determined much quicker than they ima⯑gined.

Dinner ended, the Duke retired with ſome choſen Friends to a Glaſs of Wine; a⯑mong whom were the Marqueſs of Viterbo and Don Fabio. His Highneſs was no Stranger to the long Fewd that had been between the two Families, and alſo underſtood what O⯑vertures of Reconciliation had been lately made, with the Propoſals of Marriage be⯑tween Aurelian and the Marqueſs's Daugh⯑ter. Having waited till the Wine had taken the effect propoſed, and the Company were rais'd to an uncommon pitch of Chearfulneſ, which he alſo encouraged by an Example of Freedom and Good Humour, he took an op⯑portunity of rallying the two grave Signior's into an Accommodation: That was ſeconded with the praiſes of the young Couple, and the whole Company joined in a large Encomi⯑um upon the Graces of Aurelian and the Beau⯑ties of Juliana. The old Fellows were tickled with Delight to hear their Darlings ſo ad⯑mired, which the Duke perceiving, out of a Principle of Generoſity and Friendſhip, urged [52] the preſent Conſummation of the Mar⯑riage; telling them there was yet one day of publick Rejoycing to come, and how glad he ſhould be to have it improved by ſo ac⯑ceptable an Alliance; and what an honour it would be to have his Couſin's Marriage at⯑tended by the Conjunction of ſo extraordi⯑nary a Pair, the performance of which Cere⯑mony would crown the Joy that was then in Agitation, and make the laſt day vie for equal Glory and Happineſs with the firſt. In ſhort, by the Complaiſant and Perſwaſive Authority of the Duke, the Dons were wrought into a Compliance, and accordingly embraced and ſhook Hands upon the Matter. This News was diſperſed like the former, and Don Fabio gave orders for the enquiring out his Son's Lodging, that the Marqueſs and he might make him a Viſit, as ſoon as he had acquam⯑ted Juliana with his purpoſe, that ſhe might prepare her ſelf. He found her very chearful with Donna Catharina and ſeveral other La⯑dies; whereupon the old Gentleman, pretty well warmed with the Duke's Good fellowſhip, told her aloud he was come to crown their Mirth with another Wedding; that his High⯑neſs had been pleaſed to provide a Husband for h [...]s Daughter, and he would have her pro⯑vide her ſelf to receive him to morrow. All the Company at firſt, as well as Juliana her ſelf, thought he had rally'd, till the Duke coming in confirmed the ſerious part of his Diſcourſe. Juliana was confounded at the [53] haſte that was impoſed on her, and deſired a little time to conſider what ſhe was about. But the Marqueſs told her, ſhe ſhould have all the reſt of her Life to conſider in; that Aurelian ſhould come and conſider with her in the Morning, if ſhe pleaſed; but in the mean time, he adviſed her to go home and call her Maids to Counſel.

Juliana took her leave of the Company very gravely, as if not much delighted with her Father's Rallery. Leonora happened to be by; and heard all that paſſed; ſhe was ready to ſwoon, and found her ſelf ſeized with a more violent Paſſion than ever for Aurelian: Now upon her apprehenſions of loſing him, her active fancy had brought him before her with all the Advantages imaginable, and tho' ſhe had before ſound great tenderneſs in her Inclination toward him, yet was ſhe ſome⯑what ſurprized to find ſhe really lov'd him. She was ſo uneaſie at what ſhe had heard, that ſhe thought it convenient to ſteal out of the preſence and retire to her Cloſet, to bemoan her unhappy helpleſs Condition.

Our Two Cavalier-Lovers had rack'd their Invention till it was quite diſabled, and could not make diſcovery of one Contrivance more for their Relief. Both ſat ſilent, each depend⯑ing upon his Friend, and ſtill expecting when t'other ſhould ſpeak. Night came upon them while they ſate thus thoughtleſs, or rather drowned in Thought; but a Servant bring⯑ing Lights into the Room awakened them: [54] And Hippolito's Speech, uſher'd by a profound Sigh, broke Silence.

'Well! (ſaid he) what muſt we do, Aure⯑lian? We muſt ſuffer, replied Aurelian faintly. When immediately raiſing his Voice, he cry'd out, ‘'Oh ye unequal Powers, why do ye urge us to deſire what ye doom us to forbear; give us a Will to chuſe, then curb us with a Duty to reſtrain that Choice! Cruel Father, Will nothing elſe ſuffice! Am I to be the Sacrifice to expiate your Offences paſt; paſt ere I was born? Were I to loſe my Life, I'd gladly Seal your Reconcile⯑ment with my Blood. But Oh my Soul is free, you have no Title to my Immor⯑tal Being, that has Exiſtence independent of your Power; and muſt I loſe my Love, the Extract of that Being, that Joy, Light, Life, and Darling of my Soul? No, I'll own my Flame, and plead my Title too.—But hold, wretched Aurelian, hold, whither does thy Paſſion hurry thee? Alas! the cruel fair Incognita loves thee not! She knows not of thy Love! If ſhe did, what Merit haſt thou to pretend?—Only Love.—Exceſs of Love. And all the World has that. All that have ſeen her. Yet I had only ſeen her once, and in that once I lov'd above the World; nay, lov'd beyond my ſelf, ſuch Vigorous Flame, ſo ſtrong, ſo quick ſhe darted at my Breaſt; it muſt rebound, and by Reflection, warm her ſelf. Ah! welcome Thought, lovely deluding Fancy, [55] hang ſtill upon my Soul, let me but think, that once ſhe Loves and periſh my Deſpair.’

Here a ſuddain ſtop gave a Period alſo to Hippolito's Expectation, and he hoped now that his Friend had given his Paſſion ſo free a vent, he might recollect and bethink himſelf of what was convenient to be done; but Au⯑relian, as if he had muſtered up all his Spirits purely to acquit himſelf of that paſſionate Harangue, ſtood mute and inſenſible like an Alarum Clock, that had ſpent all its force in one violent Emotion. Hippolito ſhook him by the Arm to rouze him from his Lithargy, when his Lacquey coming into the Room, out of Breath, told him there was a Coach juſt ſtopp'd at the Door, but he did not take time to ſee who came in it. Aurelian concluded immediately it was his Father in queſt of him; and without ſaying any more to Hippolito, than that he was Ruined if diſcovered, took his Sword and ſlipp'd down a back pair of Stairs into the Garden, from whence he conveyed himſelf into the Street. Hippolito had not bethought himſelf what to do, be⯑fore he perceiv'd a Lady come into the Chamber cloſe veil'd, and make toward him. At the firſt Appearance of a Woman, his Imagination flattered him with a Thought of Leonora; but that was quickly over upon nearer Approach to the Lady, who had much the Advantage in Stature of his Mi⯑ſtreſs. He very civily accoſted her, and asked, if he were the Perſon to whom the Honour [56] of that Viſit was intended. She ſaid, her Buſineſs was with Don Hippolito di Saviolina, to whom ſhe had Matter of Concern to import, and which required haſte. He had like to have told her, That he was the Man, but by good Chance reflecting upon his Friend's Adventure, who had taken his name, he made Anſwer, that he believed Don Hippolito not far off, and if ſhe had a Moments Patience he would enquire for him.

He went out, leaving the Lady in the Room, and made ſearch all round the Houſe and Garden for Aurelian, but to no purpoſe. The Lady impatient of his long ſtay took a Pen and Ink and ſome Paper which ſhe found upon the Table, and had juſt made an End of her Letter, when hearing a Noiſe of more than one coming up Stairs, ſhe concluded his Friend had found him, and that her Letter would be to no purpoſe, ſo tore it in peices, which ſhe repented; when turning about, ſhe found her Miſtake, and beheld Don Fabio and the Marqueſs of Viterbo juſt entring at the Door. She gave a Shriek at the Surprize of their Ap⯑pearance, which much troubled the Old Gentlemen, and made them retire in Con⯑fuſion for putting a Gentlewoman into ſuch a Fright. The Marqueſs thinking they had been misinformed, or had miſtaken the Lodg⯑ings, came forward again, and made an A⯑pology to the Lady for their Errour; but ſhe making no reply, walk'd directly by him down Stairs and went into her Coach, [57] which hurried her away as ſpeedily as the Hor⯑ſes were able to draw.

The Dons were at a loſs what to think, when, Hippolito coming into the Room to give the Lady an Account of his Errant, was no leſs aſtoniſhed to find ſhe was departed, and had left Two Old Signiors in her ſtead. He knew Don Fabio's Face, for Aurelian had ſhewn him his Father at the Tilting; but being confident he was not known to him, he ventur'd to ask him concerning the Lady whom juſt now he had left in that Chamber. Don Fabio told him, ſhe was juſt gone down, and doubt⯑ed they had been Guilty of a Miſtake, in com⯑ing to enquire for a Couple of Gentlemen whom they were informed were Lodged in that Houſe; he begg'd his Pardon if he had any Relation to that Lady, and deſired to know if he could give them any Account of the Perſons they ſought for. Hippolito made an⯑ſwer, He was a Stranger in the Place, and only a Servant to that Lady whom they had di⯑ſturb'd, and whom he muſt go and ſeek out. And in this Perplexity he left them, going again in Search of Aurelian, to inform him of what had paſſed.

The Old Gentlemen at laſt meeting with a Servant of the Houſe, were directed to Signior Claudio's Chamber, where they were no ſooner entered but Aurelian came into the Houſe. A Servant who had skulk'd for him by Hippolito's Order, followed him up into the [58] Chamber, and told him who was with Claudio then making Enquiry for him. He thought that to be no Place for him, ſince Claudio muſt needs diſcover all the Truth to his Father; wherefore he left Directions with the Ser⯑vant, where Hippolito ſhould meet him in the Morning. As he was going out of the Room he eſpied the torn Paper, which the Lady had thrown upon the Floor: The firſt piece he took up had Incognita written upon it; the ſight of which ſo Alarm'd him, he ſcarce knew what he was about; but hearing a Noiſe of a Door opening over Head, with as much Care as was conſiſtent with the haſte he was then in, he gathered up the ſcattered pieces of Paper, and betook himſelf to a Ramble.

Coming by a Light which hung at the Cor⯑ner of a Street, he join'd the torn Papers and collected thus much, that his Incognita had Written the Note, and earneſtly deſired him (if there were any reality in what he pre⯑tended to her) to meet her at Twelve a Clock that Night at a Convent Gate; but unluckily the Bit of Paper which ſhould have mentioned what Convent, was broken off and loſt.

Here was a large Subject for Aurelian's Paſſion, which he did not ſpare to pour forth in Abundance of Curſes on his Stars. So earneſt was he in the Contemplation of his Misfortunes, that he walk'd on unwittingly; till at length a Silence (and ſuch as was on⯑ly to be found in that part of the Town, [59] whither his unguided Steps had carried him) ſurpriz'd his Attention. I ſay, a profound Si⯑lence rouzed him from his Thought; and a clap of Thunder could have done no more.

Now becauſe it is poſſible this at ſome time or other may happen to be read by ſome mali⯑cious or Ignorant Perſon, (no Reflection upon the preſent Reader) who will not ad⯑mit, or does not underſtand that Silence ſhould make a Man ſtart; and have the ſame Effect, in provoking his Attention, with its oppoſite Noiſe; I will illuſtrate this Matter, to ſuch a diminutive Critick, by a Parallel Inſtance of Light; which though it does chiefly entertain the Eyes, and is indeed the prime Object of the Sight, yet ſhould it im⯑mediately ceaſe, to have a Man left in the Dark by a ſuddain deficiency of it, would make him ſtare with his Eyes, and though he could not ſee, endeavour to look about him. Why juſt thus did it [...]are with our Adven⯑turer; who ſeeming to have wandred both into the Dominions of Silence and of Night, began to have ſome tender for his own Safe⯑ty, and would willingly have groped his Way back again; when he heard a Voice, as from a Perſon whoſe Breath had been ſtopp'd by ſome forcible Oppreſſion, and juſt then, by a violent Effort, was broke through the Reſtraint.—'Yet—Yet—(again reply'd the Voice, ſtill ſtruggling for Air) ‘'Forbear—and I'll forgive what's paſt—I have done nothing yet that needs a Pardon, [60] (ſays another) and what is to come, will admit of none.’

Here the Perſon who ſeemed to be the Op⯑preſſed, made ſeveral Attempts to ſpeak, but they were only inarticulate Sounds, being all interrupted and choaked in their Paſſage.

Aurelian was ſufficiently aſtoniſh'd, and would have crept nearer to the Place whence he gueſſed the Voice to come; but he was got among the Ruins of an Old Mona⯑ſtery, and could not ſtir ſo ſilently, but ſome looſe Stones he met with made a rum⯑bling. The Noiſe alarm'd both Parties; and as it gave Comfort to the one, it ſo Terrified the t'other, that he could not hinder the Oppreſſed from calling for help. Aurelian fancy'd it was a Womans Voice, and immedi⯑ately drawing his Sword, demanded what was the Matter; he was anſwered with the Appear⯑ance of a Man, who had opened a Dark Lan⯑thorn which he had by him, and came to⯑ward him with a Piſtol in his Hand ready cock'd.

Aurelian ſeeing the irreſiſtable advantage his Adverſary had over him, would fain have retired; and, by the greateſt Providence in the World, going backwards fell down over ſome looſe Stones that lay in his Way, juſt in that Inſtant of Time when the Villain fired his Piſtol, who ſeeing him fall, concluded he had Shot him. The Crys of the afflicted Perſon were redoubled at the Tragical Sight, which made the Murderer, drawing a Poniard, [61] to threaten him, that the next Murmur ſhould be his laſt. Aurelian, who was ſcarce aſſured that he was unhurt, got ſoftly up; and coming near enough to perceive the Vio⯑lence that was uſed to ſtop the Injured Man's Mouth; (for now he ſaw plainly it was a Man) cry'd out,—Turn, Villain, and look upon thy Death.—The Fellow ama⯑zed at the Voice, turn'd about to have ſnatch'd up the Lanthorn from the Ground; either to have given Light only to himſelf, or to have put out the Candle, that he might have made his Eſcape; but which of the Two he deſigned, no Body could tell but himſelf: And if the Reader have a Curioſity to know, he muſt blame Aurelian; who think⯑ing there could be no foul Play offered to ſuch a Villian, ran him immediately through the Heart, ſo that he drop'd down Dead at his Feet, without ſpeaking a Word. He would have ſeen who the Perſon was he had thus happily delivered, but the Dead Body had fallen upon the Lanthorn, which put out the Candle: However, coming up toward him, he ask'd him how he did, and bid him be of good Heart; he was anſwered with nothing but Prayers, Bleſſings and Thanks, called a Thouſand Deliverers, good Genius's, and Guardian Angels. And the Reſcued would certainly have gone upon his Knees to have worſhipped him, had he not been bound Hand and Foot; which Aurelian underſtand⯑ing, groped for the Knots, and either untied [62] them or cut them aſunder; but 'tis more pro⯑bable the latter, becauſe more expeditious.

They took little heed what became of the Body which they left behind them, and Aurelian was conducted from out the Ruins by the Hand of him he had delivered, By a faint light iſſuing from the juſt riſing Moon, he could diſcern that it was a Youth; but com⯑ing into a more frequented part of the Town, where ſeveral Lights were hung out, he was amaz'd at the extream Beauty which appeared in his Face, though a little pale and diſordered with his late fright. Aurelian long⯑ed to hear the Story of ſo odd an adventure, and entreated his Charge to tell it him by the way; but he deſired him to forbear till they were come into ſome Houſe or other, where he might reſt and recover his tired Spirits, for yet he was ſo faint he was unable to look up. Aurelian thought theſe laſt words were deliveed in a Voice, whoſe accent was not new to him. That thought made him look earneſtly in the Youth's Face, which he now was ſure he had ſomewhere ſeen before, and thereupon asked him if he had never been at Siena? That Queſtion made the young Gentleman look up, and ſome⯑thing of a Joy appeared in his Counte⯑nance, which yet he endeavour'd to ſmother; ſo praying Aurelian to conduct him to his Lodg⯑ing, he promiſed him that as ſoon as they ſhould come thither, he would acquaint him with any thing he deſired to know. Aurelian [63] would rather have gone any where elſe than to his own Lodging; but being ſo very late he was at a loſs, and ſo forced to be con⯑tented.

As ſoon as they were come into his Cham⯑ber, and that Lights were brought them and the Servant diſmiſſed, the paleneſs which ſo viſibly before had uſurped the ſweet Counte⯑nance of the afflicted Youth vaniſhed, and gave place to a more lively Flood of Crimſon, which with a modeſt heat glow'd freſhly on his Cheeks. Aurelian waited with a pleaſing Admiration the diſcovery promiſed him, when the Youth ſtill ſtruggling with his Reſolution, with a timorous haſte, pulled off a Peruke which had concealed the moſt beautiful a⯑bundance of Hair that ever graced one Fe⯑male Head; thoſe diſhevelled ſpreading Treſſes, as at firſt they made a diſcovery of, ſo at laſt they ſerved for a veil to the modeſt lovely bluſhes of the fair Incognita; for ſhe it was and none other. But Oh! the inexpreſſi⯑ble, inconceivable joy and amazement of Au⯑relian! As ſoon as he durſt venture to think, he concluded it to be all Viſion, and never doubted ſo much of any thing in his Life as of his being then awake. But ſhe taking him by the Hand, and deſiring him to ſet down by her, partly convinced him of the reality of her preſence.

‘'This is the ſecond time, Don Hippolito, (ſaid ſhe to him) that I have been here this Night. What the occaſion was of my ſeeking [64] you out, and how by miracle you pre⯑ſerved me, would add too much to the ſur⯑prize I perceive you to be already in ſhould I tell you: Nor will I make any further diſ⯑covery, till I know what cenſure you paſs upon the confidence which I have put in you, and the ſtrange Circumſtances in which you find me at this time. I am ſenſible they are ſuch, that I ſhall not blame your ſevereſt Conjectures; but I hope to convince you, when you ſhall hear what I have to ſay in juſtification of my Vertue.’

Juſtification! (cry'd Aurelian) what In⯑fidel dares doubt it!—Then kneeling down, and taking her Hand, ‘'Ah Madam (ſays he) would Heaven would no other ways look up⯑on, than I behold your Perfections—Wrong not your Creature with a Thought, he can be guilty of that horrid Impiety as once to doubt your Virtue.’—Heavens! (cry'd he, ſtarting up) ‘'am I ſo really bleſſed to ſee you once again! May I truſt my Sight?—Or does my fancy now only more ſtrongly work?—For ſtill I did preſerve your Image in my Heart, and you were ever preſent to my deareſt Thoughts—’

‘'Enough Hippolito, enough of Rapture (ſaid ſhe) you cannot much accuſe me of Ingratitude; for you ſee I have not been unmindful of you; but moderate your Joy till I have told you my Condition, and if for my ſake you are raiſed to this Delight, it is not of a long continuance.’

[81] At that (as Aurelian tells the Story) a Sigh diffuſed a mournful ſweetneſs through the Air, and liquid grief fell gently from her Eyes, tri⯑umphant ſadneſs ſat upon her Brow, and e⯑ven ſorrow ſeem'd delighted with the Con⯑queſt he had made. See what a charge Aure⯑lian felt! His Heart bled Tears, and trembled in his Breaſt; Sighs ſtruggling for a vent had choaked each others paſſage up: His Floods of Joys were all ſuppreſt; cold doubts and fears had chill'd 'em with a ſudden Froſt, and he was troubled to exceſs; yet knew not why. Well, the Learned ſay it was Sympathy; and I am always of the Opinion with the Learned, if they ſpeak firſt.

After a World of Condolance had paſſed between them, he prevailed with her to tell him her Story. So having put all her Sighs into one great Sigh, ſhe diſcharged her⯑ſelf of 'em all at once, and formed the Re⯑lation you are juſt about to Read.

‘'Having been in my Infancy Contracted to a Man I could never endure, and now by my Parents being likely to be forced to Marry him, is in ſhort, the great occaſion of my grief, I fancy'd (continued ſhe) ſomething ſo generous in your Countenance, and uncommon in your Behaviour, while you were diverting your ſelf, and rallying me with Expreſſions of Gallantry, at the Ball, as induced me to hold Conference with you. I now freely confeſs to you, out of deſign, That if things ſhould happen as I [82] then feared, and as now they are come to paſs, I might rely upon your aſſiſtance in a matter of Concern; and in which I would ſooner chuſe to depend upon a generous Stranger, than any Acquaintance I have. What Mirth and Freedom I then put on, were, I can aſſure you, far diſtant from my Heart; but I did violence to my ſelf out of Complaiſance to your Temper.—I knew you at the Tilting, and wiſhed you might come off as you did; though I do not doubt, but you would have had as good Succeſs had it been oppoſite to my Inclinations.—Not to detain you by too tedious a Relation, every day my Friends urged me to the Match they had agreed upon for me, before I was capable of Conſenting; at laſt their importunities grew to that degree, that I found I muſt either conſent, which would make me miſe⯑rable, or be miſerable by perpetually endu⯑ring to be baited by my Father, Brother and other Relations. I reſolved yeſterday, on a ſuddain, to give firm Faith to the Opinion I had conceived of you; and accordingly came in the Evening to requeſt your aſſiſtance, in delivering me from my Tormenters, by a ſafe and private conveyance of me to a Monaſtry about four Leagues hence, where I have an Aunt who would receive me, and is the only Relation I have averſe to the Match. I was ſurprized at the appearance of ſome Company I did not expect at your Lodg⯑ings; which made me in haſte tear a Paper [83] which I had written to you with Directions where to find me, and get ſpeedily away in my Coach to an old Servant's Houſe, whom I acquainted with my purpoſe: By my Order ſhe provided me of this Habit which I now wear; I ventured to truſt my ſelf with her Brother, and reſolved to go under his Con⯑duct to the Monaſtry; he proved to be a Villain, and pretending to take me a ſhort and private way to the place where he was to take up a Hackney Coach (for that which I came in was broke ſome where or other, with the haſte it made to carry me from your Lodging) led me into an old ruined Monaſtry, where it pleaſed Heaven, by what Accident I know not, to direct you. I need not tell you how you ſaved my Life and my Honour, by revenging me with the Death of my Perfidious Guide. This is the ſumm of my preſent Condition, bating the apprehen⯑ſions I am in of being taken by ſome of my Relations, and forced to a thing ſo quite con⯑trary to my Inclinations.’

Aurelian was confounded at the Relation ſhe had made, and began to fear his own Eſtate to be more deſperate than ever he had imagi⯑ned. He made her a very Paſſionate and E⯑loquent Speech in behalf of himſelf (much better than I intend to inſert here) and ex⯑preſſed a mighty concern that ſhe ſhould look upon his ardent Affection to be only Rallery or Gallantry. He was very free of his Oaths to confirm the Truth of what he pretended, [84] nor I believe did ſhe doubt it, or at leaſt was unwilling ſo to do: For I would Cau⯑tion the Reader by the bye, not to believe every word which ſhe told him, nor that ad⯑mirable ſorrow which ſhe counterfeited to be accurately true. It was indeed Truth ſo cun⯑ningly intermingled with Fiction, that it required no leſs Wit and Preſence of Mind than ſhe was endowed with ſo to acquit her ſelf on the ſuddain. She had entruſted her ſelf indeed with a Fellow who proved a Villain, to conduct her to a Monaſtry; but one which was in the Town, and where ſhe intended only to lie concealed for his ſake, as the Read⯑er ſhall underſtand ere long: For we have another Diſcovery to make to him, if he have not found it out of himſelf already.

After Aurelian had ſaid what he was able up⯑on the Subject in hand, with a mournful tone and dejected look, he demanded his Doom. She asked him if he would endeavour to con⯑vey her to the Monaſtry ſhe had told him of? ‘'Your commands, Madam, (replied he) are Sacred to me; and were they to lay down my Life I would obey them.’ With that he would have gone out of the Room, to have given order for his Horſes to be got ready immediately; but with a Countenance ſo full of ſorrow as moved Compaſſion in the tender hearted Incognita. ‘'Stay a little Don Hippolito (ſaid ſhe) I fear I ſhall not be able to undergo the Fatigue of a Journey this Night.—Stay and give me your advice how I [85] ſhall conceal my ſelf if I continue to mor⯑row in this Town.’ Aurelian could have ſatisfied her ſhe was not then in a place to avoid Diſcovery: But he muſt alſo have told her then the reaſon of it, viz. whom he was, and who were in queſt of him, which he did not think convenient to declare till neceſſi⯑ty ſhould urge him; for he feared leaſt her knowledge of thoſe deſigns which were in agi⯑tation between him and Juliana, might deter her more from giving her Conſent. At laſt he reſolved to try his utmoſt perſwaſions to gain her, and told her accordingly, he was afraid ſhe would be diſturbed there in the Morning, and he knew no other way (if ſhe had not as great an averſion for him as the Man whom ſhe now endeavour'd to avoid) than by ma⯑king him hapyy to make her [...]elf ſecure. He demonſtrated to her, that the diſobligation to her Parents would be greater by going to a Monaſtry, ſince it was only to avoid a Choice which they had made for her; and which ſhe could not have ſo juſt a pretence to do till ſhe had made one for her ſelf.

A World of other Arguments he uſed, which ſhe contradicted as long as ſhe was a⯑ble, or at leaſt willing. At laſt ſhe told him, ſhe would conſult her Pillow, and in the Morn⯑ing conclude what was fit to be done. He thought it convenient to leave her to her reſt, and having lock'd her up in his Room, went himſelf to repoſe upon a Pallat by Signior Claudio.

[86] In the mean time, it may be convenient to enquire what became of Hippolito. He wan⯑dred much in purſuit of Aurelian, though Leo⯑nora equally took up his Thoughts; He was re⯑flecting upon the oddneſs and extravagance of his Circumſtances, the Continuation of which had doubtleſs created in him a great unea⯑ſineſs, when it was interrupted with the noiſe of opening the Gates of the Convent of St. Lawrence, whither he was arrived ſooner than he thought for, being the place Aurelian had appointed by the Lacquey to meet him in. He wondred to ſee the Gates opened at ſo un⯑ſeaſonable an hour, and went to enquire the reaſon of it from them who were employ'd; but they proved to be Novices, and made him ſigns to go in, where he might meet with ſome body allow'd to anſwer him. He found the Religious Men all up, and Tapers lighting every where: At laſt he follow'd a Friar who was going into the Garden, and asking him the cauſe of theſe Preparations, he was an⯑ſwer'd, That they were entreated to pray for the Soul of a Cavalier, who was juſt departing or departed this Life, and whom upon farther talk with him, he found to be the ſame Lo⯑renzo ſo often mentioned. Don Mario, it ſeems, Uncle to Lorenzo, and Father to Leonora, had a private Door out of the Garden belonging to his Houſe into that of the Convent, which Door this Father was now a going to open, that he and his Family might come and offer up their Oraiſons for the Soul of their Kinſman. [87] Hippolito having informed himſelf of as much as he could ask without ſuſpicion, took his leave of the Friar, not a little joyful at the Hopes he had by ſuch unexpected Means, of ſeeing his Beautiful Leonora: As ſoon as he was got at convenient diſtance from the Friar, (who 'tis like thought he had returned into the Convent to his Devotion) he turned back through a cloſe Walk which led him with a lit⯑tle Compaſs, to the ſame private Door, where juſt before he had left the Friar, who now he ſaw was gone, and the Door open.

He went into Don Mario's Garden, and walk'd round with much Caution and Circum⯑ſpection; for the Moon was then about to riſe, and had already diffuſed a glimmering Light, ſufficient to diſtinguiſh a Man from a Tree. By Computation now (which is a very re⯑markable Circumſtance) Hippolito entred this Garden near upon the ſame Inſtant, when Aurelian wandred into the Old Monaſtry and found his Incognita in Diſtreſs. He was pret⯑ty well acquainted with the Platform, and Sight of the Garden; for he had formerly ſur⯑veyed the Outſide, and knew what part to make to if he ſhould be ſurpriz'd and driven to a precipitate Eſcape. He took his Stand behind a well grown Buſh of Myrtle, which, ſhould the Moon ſhine brighter than was required, had the Advantage to be ſhaded by the Indulgent Boughs, of an ancient Bay-Tree. He was de⯑lighted with the Choice he had made, or he found a Hallow in the Myrtle, as if purpoſely [88] contriv'd for the Reception of one Perſon, who might undiſcovered perceive all about him. He looked upon it as a good Omen, that the Tree Conſecrated to Venus was ſo propitious to him in his Amorous Diſtreſs. The Conſi⯑deration of that, together with the Obligation he lay under to the Muſes, for ſheltering him alſo with ſo large a Crown of Bays, had like to have ſet him a Rhyming.

He was, to tell the Truth, naturally ad⯑dicted to Madrigal, and we ſhould undoubt⯑edly have had a ſmall deſert of Numbers to have pick'd and Criticiz'd upon, had he not been interrupted juſt upon his Delivery; nay, after the Preliminary Sigh had made Way for his Utterance. But ſo was his Fortune, Don Mario was coming towards the Door at that very nick of Time, where he met with a Prieſt juſt out of Breath, who told him that Lorenzo was juſt breathing his laſt, and deſi⯑red to know if he would come and take his final Leave before they were to adminiſter the Extream Unction. Don Mario, who had been at ſome Difference with his Nephew, now thought it his Duty to be reconciled to him; ſo calling to Leonora, who was coming after him, he bid her go to her Devotions in the Chappel, and told her where he was go⯑ing.

He went on with the Prieſt, while Hippolito ſaw Leonora come forward, only accompani⯑ed by her Woman. She was in an undreſs, and by reaſon of a Melancholy viſible in her [89] Face, more Careleſs than uſual in her At⯑tire, which he thought added as much as was poſſible to the abundance of her Charms. He had not much Time to Contemplate this Beauteous Viſion, for ſhe ſoon paſſed into the Garden of the Convent, leaving him Confound⯑ed with Love, Admiration, Joy, Hope, Fear, and all the Train of Paſſions, which ſeize up⯑on Men in his Condition, all at once. He was ſo teazed with this Variety of Torment, that he never miſſed the Two Hours tha thad ſlipped away during his Automachy and Inteſtine Conflict. Leonora's Return ſettled his Spi⯑rits, at leaſt united them, and he had now no other Thought but how he ſhould preſent him⯑ſelf before her. When ſhe calling her Wo⯑man, bid her bolt the Garden Door on the In⯑ſide, that ſhe might not be Surpriz'd by her Father, if he returned through the Convent; which done, ſhe ordered her to bring down her Lute, and leave her to her ſelf in the Garden.

All this Hippolito ſaw and heard to his inex⯑preſſible Content, yet had he much to do to ſmother his Joy, and hinder it from taking a Vent, which would have ruined the only Opportunity of his Life. Leonora withdrew into an Arbour ſo near him, that he could diſtinctly hear her if ſhe Played or Sung: Having tuned her Lute, with a Voice ſoft as the Breath of Angels, ſhe ſung to it this fol⯑lowing Air:

The Song ended grieved Hippolito that it was ſo ſoon ended; and in the Exſtacy he was then rapt, I believe he would have been ſatisfied to have expired with it. He [91] could not help Flattering himſelf, (though at the ſame Time he checked his own Va⯑nity) that he was the Perſon meant in the Song. While he was indulging which thought, to his happy Aſtoniſhment, he heard it encou⯑raged by theſe Words:

‘'Unhappy Leonora (ſaid ſhe) how is thy poor unwary Heart miſled? Whither am I come? The falſe deluding Lights of an i⯑maginary Flame, have led me, a poor be⯑nighted Victim, to a real Fire. I burn and am conſumed with hopeleſs Love; thoſe Beams in whoſe ſoft temperate warmth I wanton'd heretofore, now flaſh deſtru⯑ction to my Soul, my Treacherous greedy Eyes have ſuck'd the glaring Light, they have united all its Rays, and, like a burning-Glaſs, conveyed the pointed Meteor to my Heart—Ah! Aurelian, how quickly haſt thou Conquer'd, and how quickly muſt thou Forſake.—Oh Happy (to me unfortunately Happy) Ju⯑liana!—I am to be the Subject of thy Triumph—To thee Aurelian comes laden with the Tribute of my Heart, and Glories in the Oblation of his broken Vows.—What then, is Aurelian Falſe!—Falſe! alaſs, I know not what I ſay; How can he be Falſe, or True, or any Thing to me? What Promiſes did he ere make or I receive? Sure I dream, or I am mad, and fanſie it to be Love; Fooliſh Girl, recal thy baniſhed Reaſon.—Ah! [92] would it were no more, would I could rave, ſure that would give me Eaſe, and rob me of the Senſe of Pain; at leaſt, among my wandring Thoughts, I ſhould at ſome⯑time light upon Aurelian, and fanſie him to be mine; kind Madneſs would flatter my poor feeble Wiſhes, and ſometimes tell me Aurelian is not loſt—not irreco⯑verably—not for ever loſt.’

Hippolito could hear no more, he had not Room for half his Tranſport. When Leo⯑nora perceived a Man coming toward her, ſhe fell a trembling, and could not ſpeak. Hip⯑polito approached with Reverence, as to a Sacred Shrine; when coming near enough to ſee her Conſternation, he fell upon his Knees.

‘'Behold, O Adored Leonora (ſaid he) your raviſhed Aurelian, behold at your Feet the Happieſt of Men, be not diſturbed at my Appearance, but think that Heaven conducted me to hear my Bliſs pronoun⯑ced by that dear Mouth alone, whoſe breath could fill me with new Life.’

Here he would have come nearer, but Leonora (ſcarce come to her ſelf) was get⯑ting up in haſte to have gone away: He catch'd her Hand, and with all the Endear⯑ments of Love and Tranſport preſſed her ſtay; ſhe was a long time in great Confuſion, at laſt, with many Bluſhes, ſhe entreated him to let her go where ſhe might hide her Guilty Head, and not expoſe her ſhame before his Eyes, [93] ſince his Ears had been ſufficient Witneſſes of her Crime.

He begg'd pardon for his Treachery in over⯑hearing, and confeſſed it to be a Crime he had now repeated. With a Thouſand Sub⯑miſſions, Entreaties, Prayers, Praiſes, Bleſ⯑ſings, and paſſionate Expreſſions he wrought upon her to ſtay and hear him. Here Hippolito made uſe of his Rhetorick, and it prov'd prevailing: 'Twere tedious to tell the many ingenious Arguments he uſed, with all her Nice Diſtinctions and Objections. In ſhort, he convinced her of his Paſſion, repreſented to her the neceſſity they were under, of being ſpeedy in their Reſolves: That his Father (for ſtill he was Aurelian) would undoubtedly find him in the Morning, and then it would be too late to Repent. She on the other Hand, knew it was in vain to deny a Paſſion, which he had heard her ſo frankly own; (and no doubt was very glad it was paſt and done;) beſides apprehending the Danger of delay, and having ſome little Jealouſies and Fears of what Effect might be produced between the Commands of his Father and the Beauties of Juliana; after ſome decent Denials, ſhe conſented to be Conducted by him through the Garden into the Con⯑vent, where ſhe would prevail with her Confeſſor to Marry them. He was a ſcru⯑pulous Old Father whom they had to deal withal, inſomuch that ere they had per⯑ſwaded him, Don Mario was returned by the [94] Way of his own Houſe, where miſſing his Daughter, and her Woman not being able to give any farther Account of her, than that ſhe left her in the Garden, he con⯑cluded ſhe was gone again to her Devotions, and indeed he found her in the Chappel upon her Knees with Hippolito in her Hand, receiving the Father's Benediction upon Con⯑cluſion of the Ceremony.

It would have asked a very skilful Hand, to have depicted to the Life the Faces of thoſe Three Perſons at Don Mario's Ap⯑pearance. He that has ſeen ſome admi⯑rable Piece of Tranſmutation by a Gorgon's Head, may form to himſelf the moſt proba⯑ble Idea of the Prototype. The Old Gentle⯑man was himſelf in a ſort of a Wood, to find his Daughter, with a Young Fellow and a Prieſt, but as yet he did not know the Worſt, till Hippolito and Leonora came, and kneeling at his Feet, begg'd his Forgiveneſs and Bleſſing as his Son and Daughter. Don Mario, inſtead of that, fell into a moſt violent Paſſion, and would undoubtedly have com⯑mitted ſome extravagant Action, had he not been reſtrained, more by the Sanctity of the Place, than the Perſwaſions of all the Re⯑ligious, who were now come about him. Leonora ſtirr'd not off her Knees all this time, but continued begging of him that he would hear her.

‘'Ah! Ungrateful and Undutiful Wretch (cry'd he) how haſt thou requited all my [95] Care and Tenderneſs of thee? Now when I might have expected ſome return of Com⯑fort, to throw thy ſelf away upon an un⯑known Perſon, and, for ought I know, a Villain; to me I'm ſure he is a Villain, who has robb'd me of my Treaſure, my Darling Joy, and all the future Happineſs of my Life prevented. Go—go, thou now to be forgotten Leonora, go and enjoy thy unproſperous Choice; you who wanted not a Father's Counſel cannot need, or elſe will ſlight his Bleſſing.’

Theſe laſt Words were ſpoken with ſo much Paſſion and feeling Concern, that Leonora, moved with Exceſs of Grief, fainted at his Feet, juſt as ſhe had caught hold to Embrace his Knees. The Old Man would have ſhook her off, but Compaſſion and Fatherly Af⯑fection came upon him in the midſt of his Reſolve, and melted him into Tears; he Embraced his Daughter in his Arms, and wept over her, while they endeavoured to reſtore her Senſes.

Hippolito was in ſuch Concern he could not ſpeak, but was buſily employed in rub⯑bing and chafing her Temples; when ſhe opening her Eyes laid hold of his Arm, and cry'd out—Oh my Aurelian—how unhappy have you made me! With that ſhe had again like to have fainted away, but he ſhook her in his Arms, and begg'd Don Mario to have ſome pity on his Daughter, ſince by his Severity ſhe was reduced to that [96] Condition. The Old Man hearing his Daugh⯑ter name Aurelian, was a little revived, and began to hope Things were in a pretty good Condition, he was perſwaded to comfort her; and having brought her wholly to her ſelf, was content to hear her Excuſe, and in a little time was ſo far wrought upon as to beg Hippolito's Pardon for the Ill Opinion he had conceived of him, and not long after gave his Conſent.

The Night was ſpent in this Conflict, and it was now clear Day, when Don Mario Con⯑ducting his new Son and Daughter through the Garden, was met by ſome Servants of the Marqueſs of Viterbo, who had been enquiring for Donna Leonora, to know if Juliana had lately been with her; for that ſhe was miſſing from her Father's Houſe, and no conjectures could be made of what might become of her. Don Mario and Leonora were ſurprized at the News, for he knew well enough of the Match that was deſign'd for Juliana; and having enquired where the Marqueſs was, it was told him, That he was gone with Don Fabio and Fabritio towards Aurelian's Lodg⯑ings. Don Mario having aſſured the Servants that Juliana had not been there, diſmiſſed them, and adviſed with his Son and Daugh⯑ter how they ſhould undeceive the Marqueſs and Don Fabio in their Expectations of Aure⯑lian. Hippolito could oftentimes ſcarce for⯑bear ſmiling at the old Man's Contrivances who was moſt deceiv'd himſelf; he at length [97] adviſed them to go all down together to his Lodging, where he could preſent himſelf be⯑fore his Father, and ingenuouſly confeſs to him the truth, and he did not queſtion his ap⯑proving of his Choice.

This was agreed to, and the Coach made ready. While they were upon their way, Hippolito pray'd heartily that his Friend Au⯑relian might be at the Lodging, to ſatisfie Don Mario and Leonora of his Circumſtances and Quality, when he ſhould be obliged to diſcover himſelf. His Petitions were granted; for Don Fabio had beſet the Houſe long before his Son was up, or Incognita awake.

Upon the Arrival of Don Mario and Hippoli⯑to, they heard a great Noiſe and Hubbub above Stairs, which Don Mario concluded was occaſi⯑oned by their not finding Aurelian, whom he thought he could give the beſt account of: So that it was not in Hippolito's power to diſſwade him from going up before to prepare his Fa⯑ther to receive and forgive him. While Hip⯑polito and Leonora were left in the Coach at the Door, he made himſelf known to her, and begg'd her pardon a thouſand times for con⯑tinuing the Deceit. She was under ſome con⯑cern at firſt to find ſhe was ſtill miſtaken; but his Behaviour, and the Reaſons he gave, ſoon reconciled him to her; his Perſon was altoge⯑ther as agreeable, his Eſtate and Quality not at all inferior to Aurelian's; in the mean time, the true Aurelian who had ſeen his Father, begg'd leave of him to withdraw for a moment; [98] in which time he went into the Cham⯑ber where his Incognita was dreſſing her ſelf, by his deſign, in Woman's Apparel, while he was conſulting with her how they ſhould break the matter to his Father; it happened that Don Mario came up Stairs where the Mar⯑queſs and Don Fabio were; they undoubtedly concluded him Mad, to hear him making Apo⯑logies and Excuſes for Aurelian, whom he told them if they would promiſe to forgive, he would preſent before them immediately. The Marqueſs asked him if his Daughter had lain with Leonora that Night; he anſwered him with another queſtion in behalf of Aurelian. In ſhort, they could not underſtand one ano⯑ther, but each thought 'tother beſide himſelf, Don Mario was ſo concern'd that they would not believe him, that he ran down Stairs and came to the Door out of Breath, deſiring Hippolito that he would come into the Houſe quickly, for that he could not perſwade his Father but that he had already ſeen and ſpoke to him. Hippolito by that underſtood that Aurelian was in the Houſe; ſo taking Leonora by the Hand, he followed Don Mario, who led him up into the Dining-Room, where they found Aurelian upon his Knees, begging his Father to forgive him, that he could not agree to the Choice he had made for him, ſince he had already diſpoſed of himſelf, and that before he underſtood the deſigns he had for him, which was the reaſon that he had hi⯑therto concealed himſelf. Don Fabio knew not [99] how to anſwer him, but look'd upon the Mar⯑queſs, and the Marqueſs upon him, as if the Cement had been cool'd which was to have united their Families.

All was ſilent, and Don Mario for his part took it to be all Conjuration; he was com⯑ing forward to preſent Hippolito to them, when Aurelian ſpying his Friend, ſtarted from his Knees and ran to embrace him—My dear Hippolito (ſaid he) what happy chance has brought you hither, juſt at my Neceſſity? Hippolito pointed to Don Mario and Leonora, and told him upon what terms he came. Don Mario was ready to run mad, hearing him called Hippolito, and went again to examine his Daughter. While ſhe was informing him of the truth, the Marqueſs's Servants returned with the melancholy News that his Daughter was no where to be found. While the Mar⯑queſs and Don Fabritio were wondering at, and lamenting the Misfortune of her loſs, Hip⯑polito came towards Don Fabio, and interceed⯑ed for his Son, ſince the Lady perhaps had withdrawn her ſelf out of an Averſion to the Match. Don Fabio, though very much incens'd, yet forgot not the Reſpect due to Hippolito's Quality; and by his perſwaſion ſpoke to Au⯑relian, though with a ſtern Look and Angry Voice, and asked him where he had diſpoſed the cauſe of his Diſobedience, if he were worthy to ſee her or no? Aurelian made An⯑ſwer, That he deſired no more than for him to ſee her; and he did not doubt a Conſequence [100] of his Approbation and Forgiveneſs—Well (ſaid Don Fabio) you are very conceited of your own Diſcretion, let us ſee this Rari⯑ty. While Aurelian was gone in for Incogni⯑ta, the Marqueſs of Viterbo and Don Fabritio were taking their leaves in great diſorder for their loſs and diſappointment; but Don Fabio entreated their ſtay a moment longer till the return of his Son. Aurelian led Incognita into the Room veil'd, who ſeeing ſome Company there which he had not told her of, would have gone back again. But Don Fabio came bluntly forwards, and ere ſhe was aware, lif⯑ted up her Veil and beheld the Fair Incognita, differing nothing from Juliana, but in her Name. This diſcovery was ſo extreamly ſurprizing and welcome, that either Joy or A⯑mazement had tied up the Tongues of the whole Company. Aurelian here was moſt at a loſs, for he knew not of his Happineſs; and that which all along prevented Juliana's con⯑feſſing her ſelf to him, was her knowing Hip⯑polito (for whom ſhe took him) to be Aure⯑lian's Friend, and ſhe feared if he had known her, that he would never have conſented to have depriv'd him of her. Juliana was the firſt that ſpoke, falling upon her Knees to her Father, who was not enough himſelf to take her up. Don Fabio ran to her, and a⯑waken'd the Marqueſs, who then embraced her, but could not yet ſpeak. Fabritio and Le⯑onora ſtrove who ſhould firſt take her in their Arms; for Aurelian he was out of his Wits [101] for Joy, and Juliana was not much behind him, to ſee how happily their Loves and Duties were Reconcil'd. Don Fabio embraced his Son and forgave him. The Marqueſs and Fabri⯑tio gave Juliana into his Hands, he received the Bleſſing upon his Knees; all were over⯑joy'd, and Don Mario not a little proud at the diſcovery of his Son-in-Law, whom Aurelian did not fail to ſet forth with all the ardent Zeal and Eloquence of Friendſhip. Juliana and Leonora had pleaſant Diſcourſe about their unknown and miſtaken Rivalſhip, and it was the Subject of a great deal of Mirth to hear Juliana relate the ſeveral Contrivances which ſhe had to avoid Aurelian for the ſake of Hip⯑polito.

Having diverted themſelves with many Re⯑marks upon the pleaſing ſurprize, they all thought it proper to attend upon the Great Duke that Morning at the Palace, and to acquaint him with the Novelty of what had paſs'd; while, by the way, the two Young Couple entertained the Company with the Relation of ſeveral Particulars of their Three Days Adventures.