Oh thou most charming of thy sex! Thou lovely dear delight of my transported soul! thou everlasting treasure of my heart! What hast thou done? Given me an over-joy, that fails but very little of performing what grief’s excess had almost finished before: eternal blessings on thee, for a goodness so divine, oh, thou most excellent, and dearest of thy sex! I know not what to do, or what to say. I am not what I was, I do not speak, nor walk, nor think as I was wont to do; sure the excess of joy is far above dull sense, or formal thinking, it cannot stay for ceremonious method. I rave with pleasure, rage with the dear thought of coming ecstasy. Oh _Sylvia_, _Sylvia_, _Sylvia_! My soul, my vital blood, and without which I could as well subsist--oh, my adorable, my _Sylvia_! Methinks I press thee, kiss thee, hear thee sigh, behold thy eyes, and all the wondrous beauty of thy face; a solemn joy has spread itself through every vein, sensibly through every artery of my heart, and I can think of nothing but of _Sylvia_, the lovely _Sylvia_, the blooming flowing _Sylvia_! And shall I see thee? Shall I touch thy hands, and press thy dear, thy charming body in my arms, and taste a thousand joys, a thousand ravishments? Oh God! shall I? Oh _Sylvia_, say; but thou hast said enough to make me mad, and I, forgetful of thy safety and my own, shall bring thy wild adoring slave to _Bellfont_, and throw him at thy feet, to pay his humble gratitude for this great condescension, this vast bounty. Ah, _Sylvia_! How shall I live till night? And you impose too cruelly upon me, in conjuring me to go to _Cesario_; alas! Does _Sylvia_ know to what she exposes her _Philander_? Whose joy is so transporting, great, that when he comes into the grave cabal, he must betray the story of his heart, and, in lieu of the mighty business there in hand, be raving still on _Sylvia_, telling his joy to all the amazed listeners, and answering questions that concern our great affair, with something of my love; all which will pass for madness, and undo me: no, give me leave to rave in silence, and unseen among the trees, they’ll humour my disease, answer my murmuring joy, and echoes flatter it, repeat thy name, repeat that _Sylvia_’. mine! and never hurt her fame; while the cabals, business and noisy town will add confusion to my present transport, and make me mad indeed: no, let me alone, thou sacred lovely creature, let me be calm and quiet here, and tell all the insensibles I meet in the woods what _Sylvia_ has this happy minute destined me: oh, let me record it on every bark, on every oak and beech, that all the world may wonder at my fortune, and bless the generous maid; let it grow up to ages that shall come, that they may know the story of our loves, and how a happy youth, they called _Philander_, was once so blest by heaven as to possess the charming, the adored and loved by all, the glorious _Sylvia_! a maid, the most