If it take effect, I shall thereby find means to free myself from those cares which might else much abate the vigour of my spirit, trouble my inventions, and consume my youth before I could be fit to settle myself about that, which, if I may live to effect according to my intent, will require, besides an undistempered mind, all the best assistances of Nature, with the utmost of my endeavours.

And if I fail in my hopes, it shall never discontent me! for my greatest loss will be but a little labour, which will be, another way, very well recompensed. For when I shall perceive the No Trust that is to be reposed on this world's love, I shall, ever after, be so far from flattering myself again with any such confidence, or troubling my mind with studying after others' satisfactions, as I will persuade myself all my former determinations were but impossible Ideas! and with less charge and pain, enjoy alone that delight and contentment which with dis-easing myself, I should but share amongst an unthankful multitude.

But I make no question, I shall find as good success in this as I do or can justly expect: and the sooner, because as the project is honest, so it is unhurtful to all. And my comfort is, if any should, in their foolish imagination, deem me aught disparaged thereby; it were but their weakness to think so! for in respect of those base courses, suits, and enterprises (by which some men, now of great account) have increased aud raised their fortunes out of the dunghill; I hold this honourable! seeing I shall receive willingly with love, what they, against men's wills, have either defrauded by subtilties, or extorted by violence.

But what mean I? My intent is, by this time, sufficiently understood! and there needs no more Apologies to my Friends : because they will approve or hold it indifferent; and, questionless, to their power, further it. Now, as for others, they shall, by my will, never come to the honour or credit to be acquainted with a FIDELIA!

Valete.

An Elegiacal Epistle
of FIDELIA:

to her unconstant friend.

This Elegiacal Epistle, being a fragment of some greater poem, discovers the modest affections of a discreet and constant woman, shadowed under the name of FIDELIA; wherein you may perceive the height of her Passions so far as they seem to agree with Reason, and keep within such decent bounds as beseemeth their Sex: but further it meddles not.

The occasion seems to proceed from some mutability in her friend; whose objections she here presupposing, confuteth: and, in the person of him, justly upbraideth all that are subject to the like change or fickleness in mind.

Among the rest, some more weighty arguments than are, perhaps, expected in such a subject, are briefly, and yet somewhat seriously handled.

FT I heard tell, and now for truth I find,
"Once out of sight, and quickly out of
mind!"

And that it hath been rightly said of old,
Love that's soonest hot, is ever soonest
cold!"

Or else my tears at this time had not
stained

The spotless paper, nor my lines complained!
I had not now been forced to have sent

These for the Nuncios of my discontent;
Or thus exchanged, so unhappily,

My Songs of Mirth, to write an Elegy!

But now I must! and since I must do so;

Let me but crave, thou wilt not flout my woe!

Nor entertain my sorrows with a scoff;

But, at least, read them! ere thou cast them off.

And though thy heart's too hard to have compassion,
If thou'lt not pity, do not blame my Passion!

For, well thou knowst! (alas, that e'er 'twas known!)
There was a time, although that time be gone,

I, that for this, scarce dare a beggar be;
Presumed for more! to have commanded thee!

Yea, the day was (but see how things may change!)
When thou and I have not been half so strange;

But oft embraced, with a gentle greeting,

And no worse words than "Turtle-dove!" and "Sweeting!"
Yea, had thy meaning, and those vows of thine
Proved but as faithful and as true as mine,
It still had been so! (for, I do not feign!)

I should rejoice, it might be so again.
But sith thy love grows cold, and thou, unkind;
Be not displeased I somewhat breathe my mind!
I am in hope, my words may prove a mirror;
Whereon, thou looking, mayest behold thine error!
And yet the Heaven, and my sad heart doth know,
How grieved I am! and with what feeling woe
My mind is tortured, to think that I
Should be the brand of thy disloyalty!

Or live, to be the author of a line

That shall be tainted with a fault of thine!
Since if that thou but slightly touched be;

Deep wounds of grief and shame, it strikes in me!
And yet I must! Ill hap compels me to!
What I ne'er thought to have had cause to do.
And therefore seeing that some angry Fate
Imposes on me what I so much hate;
Or since it is so, that the Powers divine,
Me miserable! to such cares assign :

O that Love's Patron, or some sacred Muse,
Amongst my Passions, would such Art infuse,
My well-framed words and airy sighs might prove
The happy blasts to re-inflame thy love!

Or, at least, touch thee with thy fault so near,

That thou mightst see thou wrongedst who held thee dear! Seeing, confess the same! and so, abhor it!

Abhorring, pity! and repent thee for it!

But, Dear! I hope that I may call thee so!
(For thou art dear to me, although a foe)
Tell me, is't true that I do hear of thee

And by thy absence now, so seems to be?
Can such abuse be in thy Court of Love?

False and inconstant now, thou He shouldst prove;
He that so woful and so pensive sate,
Vowing his service at my feet, of late?
Art thou that quondam lover, whose sad eye
I never saw yet, in my presence dry?

And from whose gentle-seeming tongue, I know
So many pity-moving words could flow?

Was't thou! so soughtst my love? so seeking that
As if it had been all th' hadst aimèd at!
Making me think thy Passion without stain,
And gently quite thee with my love again?
With this persuasion, I so fairly placed it;
Nor Time, nor Envy should have e'er defaced it!
Is 't so? Have I done thus much? and art thou
So over-cloyed with my favours now?
Art weary since with loving, and estranged
So far? Is thy affection so much changed,
That I, of all my hopes must be deceived;
And all good thoughts of thee be quite bereaved?
Then I find true, which, long before this day,
I feared myself, and heard some wiser say,
"That there is nought on earth so sweet, that can
Long relish with the curious taste of Man!"
Happy was I! Yea, well it was with me!
Before I came to be bewitched by thee,
I joyed the sweet'st content that ever Maid
Possessed yet! and, truly well-a-paid,
Made to myself alone, as pleasant mirth
As ever any Virgin did on earth!

The melody I used was free, and such

As that bird makes, whom never hand did touch;
But unallured with fowlers, whistling flies

Above the reach of human treacheries.
And well I do remember, often then,
Could I read o'er the policies of men!
Discover what uncertainties they were!

How they would sigh! look sad! protest! and swear!
Nay, feign to die! when they did never prove
The slenderest touch of a right worthy love :
But had chilled hearts, whose dulness understood
No more of Passion, than they did of Good!
All which I noted well, and in my mind.
(A general humour amongst womenkind!)
This vow I made (thinking to keep it then!),
"That never the fair tongue of any man,

Nor his Complaint, though never so much grieved,
Should move my heart to liking, whilst I lived!
But who can say what she shall live to do?
I have believed, and let in liking too!
And that so far, I cannot yet see how
I may so much as hope, to help it now!

Which makes me think, whate'er we women say,
"Another mind will come another day!

And that men may to things unhoped for climb,
Who watch but Opportunity and Time."

For 'tis well known, we were not made of clay,
Or such coarse and ill-tempered stuff as they!
For He that framed us of their flesh, did deign,
When 'twas at best, to new refine 't again!
Which makes us, ever since, the kinder creatures,
Of far more flexible and yielding natures.
And as we oft excel in outward parts,
So have we nobler and more gentle hearts!
Which you, well knowing, daily do devise,
How to imprint on them, your cruelties!

But do I find my cause thus bad indeed;
Or else on things imaginary feed?
Am I the Lass that late so truly jolly,
Made myself merry, oft, at others' folly?

Am I the Nymph that, CUPID's fancies blamed;
That was so cold, so hard to be inflamed?

Am I myself? or is myself that She,

Who, from this thraldom, or such falsehoods free,