“The day,” said he, “I parted from you, I being in mind to return to a town from whence I came hither, my horse being before tired, would scarce bear me a mile hence, where being benighted, the sight of a candle, I saw a good way off, guided me to a young shepherd’s house, by name Menalcas, who seeing me to be a {89} straying stranger, with the right honest hospitality which seems to be harboured in the Arcadian breasts, and, though not with curious costliness, yet cleanly sufficiency entertained me; and having by talk with him found the manner of the country something more in particular than I had by Kalander’s report, I agreed to sojourn with him in secret, which he faithfully promised to observe. And so hither to your arbour divers times repaired, and here by your means had the fight, O that it had never been so, nay, O that it might ever be so, of the goddess, who in a definite compass can set forth infinite beauty.” All this while Zelmane was racked with jealousy. But he went on, “For,” said he, “I lying close, and in truth thinking of you, and saying thus to myself, ‘O sweet Pyrocles, how art thou bewitched? where is thy virtue? where is the use of thy reason? how much am I inferior to thee in that state of mind? and yet know I that all the heavens cannot bring me such a thraldom.’ Scarcely, think I, had I spoken this word, when the ladies came forth; at which sight, I think the very words returned back again to strike my soul; at least, an unmeasurable sting I felt in myself that I had spoken such words.” “At which sight,” said Zelmane, not able to bear him any longer. “O,” said Musidorus, “I know your suspicion; No, no, banish all such fear, it was, it is, and must be Pamela.” “Then all is safe,” said Zelmane, “proceed dear Musidorus.” “I will not,” said he, “impute it to my late solitary life, which yet is prone to affections, nor to the much thinking of you (though that called the consideration of love into my mind, which before I ever neglected) not to the exaltation of Venus, nor revenge of Cupid, but even to her, who is the planet, nay, the goddess, against which the only shield must be my sepulchre. When I first saw her I was presently stricken, and I (like a foolish child, that when anything hits him, will strike himself again upon it) would needs look again, as though I would persuade mine eyes, that they were deceived. But alas, well have I found, that love to a yielding heart is a king; but to a resisting, is a tyrant. The more with arguments I shaked the stake, which he had planted in the ground of my heart, the deeper still it sank into it. But what mean I to speak of the causes of my love, which is as impossible to describe, as to measure the back-side of heaven? let this word suffice, I love.