I wiſhe you the ſame againe Pamphilus as often, and as muche as you pleaſe. And by what name you lyke beſt to be ſaluted. But in the meane while it ſéemeth you haue forgotten my name, my name is Maria.

It might more rightlye haue béene Martia.

And why ſo I beſéech you? what haue I to doe with Mars?

For as that God counteth it but a paſtime to murther and kill men, euen ſo doe you. Herein yet more cruell then Mars, for you murther him that hartily loueth you.

Good wordes I praye you, where is that heape of deade bodies whom I haue murthered? where is the bloud of them which by me are ſlaine?

One lifeleſſe bodye thou ſéeſt preſent wyth thine eyes, if (pardie) thou ſeeſt me.

What ſaye you man? doe you both talke and walke, and yet dead? I pray to God I neuer méete with ghoſtes more to be feared.

Thus thou makeſt but a laughing matter of it. Natheleſſe thou haſt reſt me wofull creature my life, and more cruelly doeſt murther me, than if thou ſhould ſtab me into the body with a weapon, for now am I miſerably torne and vexed with long torments.

Yea good Lord? tell mee how manye women with childe haue loſt their fruite by meeting with you?

Yet this pale wanne colour ſheweth mée to bée more bloudleſſe than any ſhadowe.

But this paleneſſe (thanked be God) is died with ſome Violet colour, you are euen ſo pale as a Chery waxing ripe, or a Grape when he commeth to his purple ſkin.

Thus with diſdaine ynough you mocke a man in ſtate rather to be pittied.

Why in caſe you beléeue not mee, take the Glaſſe, & beléeue your owne eyes.

I woulde wiſhe no better Glaſſe, neyther (I ſuppoſe) is there anye, more cléere, than that in which I preſentlye behold my ſelfe euen now.

What Glaſſe ſpeake you off?

Marie euen your owne eyes.

Ouertharter: how thou talkeſt alwayes lyke thy ſelfe, but howe proue you your ſelfe to bee deade? Doe ghoſtes & ſhadowes vſe to eat meat?

They doe, but find no ſauour therin, no more doe I.

And what, what doe they eate I praye?

Mallowes, Léekes and Lupines.

But you (I hope) let not to eate Capons and Partriches.

I graunt, howbeit I féele no more pleaſure in eating them, than if I ſhould craſhe vpon Mallowes, or Béetes, without Pepper, wine and vinegar.

Alack for you good man, and yet you are in méetely good lyking, & do ghoſtes ſpeake alſo?

Euen as I doe with a verye pewling and faint voice.

But not long ſince, when I hearde you checking with mine other ſuter, your voice was not very féeble pardie. Moreouer I beſéech you tell me this, doe ghoſtes vſe to walke? are they clad in garments? doe they eſtſoones ſléepe?

Yea more than all that, they practiſe the acte of kinde, but after their owne maner.

Now by the faith of my bodye you are a pleaſaunt trifler.

But what will you ſaye, if I proue this by ſubſtantiall and ſtrong reaſons (I meane) my ſelfe to be dead, and you to be a murtherer?

God ſhylde that (friend Pamphile) but let me heare your Sophiſtrie.

Firſt you wil graunt me this? (I ſuppoſe) that death is naught elſe but a ſeperation of the ſoule from the body.

I graunt.

But graunt it ſo yt you reuoke and call it not back againe, afterwarde.

No more I wyll.

Secondly, you wil not denie but he which reaueth the ſoule, wherein conſiſteth life, is a murtherer.

I conſent.

You will I am ſure graunt me this lykewyſe, which moſt graue and credible Authors haue affirmed, & by the conſent and iudgement of all ages hath bene holden truth and allowed, (I meane) that the ſoule of a man is not where he liueth, but where he loueth.

You muſt vtter that after a more groſſe, and plaine ſorte, for in good faith I perceyue not your meaning.

And I am the more ſorie, and euill at eaſe, bicauſe you doe not perceiue and féele this to be true, as well as I doe.

Make me to feele it then.

As well mighteſt thou bid me, make an Adamant féele it.

Now truely I am a yong wench, not a ſtone.

Truth, but more harde yet than the Adamant ſtone.

But procéede with your argument.

Thoſe which are rapt in the ſpirite, or fallen into a traunce (as they call it) neyther heare, nor ſée, nor ſmell, nor féele any thing, no though you would kil them.

Surely I haue hard ſay ſo.

And what think you to be the cauſe of this inſenſibilitie.

I would learne that of you which are a Philoſopher.

Bicauſe (pardie) the ſoule or minde is in heauen, where it hath that which it vehemently loueth, & is not preſent with the body.

And what is next? what conclude you vpon this?

Aſkeſt thou what O cruell? euen this neceſſarily followeth, my ſelfe to be deade, and thy ſelfe to bée a murtherer.

Why, where is your ſoule become and God wil?

There it is, where it loueth.

And who hath reſt it from you? why ſigh you man? ſpeake and feare not, you ſhall not be hindered by me.

A certaine cruell and pittileſſe mayde, whome neuertheleſſe I cannot finde in my hart to hate, being by hir ſpoyled of my life.

Ah, a louing hart, ah gentle nature. But why do you not againe take from hir, hir ſoule, and ſerue hir as they ſaye, with the ſame ſauſe.

The happieſt in the worlde, were I, if I could make that exchaunge (I meane) that hir minde might come dwell in my breſt, in ſorte as mine hath wholye dwelled in hir body.

But wil you giue me leaue now eftſones a while to play the Sophiſter his part with you?

Nay the Sophiſtreſſe parte.

Is it poſſible that one and the ſame bodie both haue the ſoule and be without the ſoule.

Not both togither or at one time.

When the ſoule is awaye, then the body (you ſay) is deade.

Truth.

And it lyueth not but when ye ſoule is preſent withall?

Be it ſo verily.

How commeth this to paſſe then, that ye ſoule being there where it loueth, the body yet wherout it is departed, neuertheleſſe lyueth? for if it lyueth in one place, when it loueth in an other, by what reaſō is it called Exanime Corpus, as you would ſay, a lifeleſſe body, ſince it hath life and ſenſe in it.

By ſaint Marie you playe the Sophiſtres meetelye well, howbeit you cannot ſnarle me in ſuch chicken bandes. That ſoule which after a ſort gouerneth the bodye of a liuing creature being in ſuche caſe is improperly called the ſoule, for in very dede it is a certaine ſmall portion of the ſoule, which remaineth behind, euen as the ſauor of Roſes tarieth ſtill in the hande of him, which bare them, when ye very Roſes themſelues be done away.

I ſée well inough it is hard to take a foxe in a pitch, but anſwere me to this alſo. Is not he a doer which murthereth.

What elſe.

And is not ye partie a ſufferer, who is murthered?

Yes.

How commeth it to paſſe then, that ſince he which loueth is the doer and ſhée which is beloued is but the ſufferer, ſhe ſhould be infamed for a murtherer, which is beloued. When as in verie déede, he that loueth rather murthereth himſelf?

Nay, it is contrarie, for he that loueth ſuffreth, ſhe that is beloued doth.

That ſhall you neuer proue true with the conſent of our chiefe Areopagites of Grammer.

But this will I proue true by the conſent of the whole Parliament of Logitians.

But aunſwere me to this againe, loue you with your wil, or againſt your wyll?

With my will.

Ergo, ſithence it is in frée choiſe to loue, or not to loue, whoſo loueth, is a murtherer of himſelfe, and wrongfullye accuſeth the poore wench beloued.

Why? I ſay not that the wench murthereth bicauſe ſhe is beloued, but bicauſe ſhe loueth not againe the party which loueth hir: for (truth it is) ſhe is guilty of murther, which might ſaue a mans life and will not.

I put caſe a yong man caſt his loue vpon one, which he ought not to loue, or maye not lawfully obtaine, as an other man hys wyfe, or a Virgine, which hath profeſſed continuall chaſtitie, ſhall ſhe loue him againe, ſo to preſerue and ſaue hir louer?

But this yong man loueth that, which to loue is both lawfull and godly, and ſtandeth both with reaſon and equity, and yet neuertheleſſe is caſt away. That in caſe you ſet light by the crime of homicide, I will aguilt you alſo of ſorcerie and enchaunting me.

Marrie gods forbod man, what will you make of me a Circes ympe, a witch?

Yea and ſomewhat more cruell yet, than euer was Circes. For I had rather be a groueling Hog or beare, then as I am, without life or ſoule.

And with what kinde of ſorcerie I praye ye doe I deſtroy men.

By euill aſpect.

Will you then that I hurt you no more with loking vpon you?

Not ſo for Gods ſake, but rather looke more vpon me.

If mine eyes be witches, how hapneth it then that other alſo do not conſume awaye, whome I looke vpon as ofte as you, therfore I feare me much, yt bewitching is in your owne eyes, not in mine.

Why thinke you it not inough to flea Pamphilus, except you triumph ouer him being dead.

Oh queint handſome, niſe dead body: when ſhall your funerals be prouided for.

Sooner than you thinke ywiſſe, except you remedie in time.

I remedie good Lord? am I able to doe ſuch a cure?

Yea ſurely: all were I deade, it lyeth in you to rayſe me vp againe to life, and that with a light thing.

As you ſay, peraduenture I might doe it, if ſome bodye woulde helpe me to the herbe Panaces, wherevnto they aſcribe ſo great a vertue.

There needeth none herbes to doe it, only vouchſafe to loue againe, what is more eaſie to be perfourmed? nay rather what is more due and iuſt? otherwiſe you ſhall neuer acquite your ſelfe of manſpilling.

And before what iudgement ſeate ſhall I be arrayned, before the ſeuere Areopagetes and God will?

Not ſo, but before the tribunall ſeate of Venus.

Beſt of al, for they ſay ſhe is a patient and pitiful Goddeſſe.

Say you ſo, there is not one amongſt them all, whoſe wrath is more to be feared.

Why, hath ſhe a thunderbolte?

No.

Hath ſhe a thréeforked maſe like Neptune?

Not ſo.

Hath ſhe a ſpeare as Pallas?

Neyther: but ſhée is a Goddeſſe of the Sea.

I come not within hir kingdome.

But ſhe hath a boye.

He is readie to reuenge, and will paye home when he ſtriketh.

And what ſhall he doe to me?

What ſhall he doe: the gods fore let him. I will prognoſticate none euill vnto one, whome I beare good will.

Yet tell me I pray you, I will take no conceit of it.

Then will I tell you if you ſhall diſdaine this louer, who doubtleſſe is not vnworthie your loue, verily I beleue, that ſame boy (peraduenture at the cōmaundement of his mother) wyll thirle into your heart a launce embrued with to bad a poyſon, wherby you ſhal ſet your affection miſerably vppon ſome hoblout, who ſhall not loue you any whit againe.

Marrie that were a plague in déede, of all other moſt to be deteſted. Certes I had rather to die, than to be entangled in the loue of one which is deformed, & could not finde in his hart to loue me likewiſe againe.

But it is not long time, ſince there was a right notable example of this euil, which I now ſpeak off, ſhewed in a certaine yong damzel.

In what place, and I may be ſo bold as to aſk you?

At the Citie Aurelia.

Howe many yeares ago?

Howe many yeares, nay, it is ſcarſe yet ten monethes,

And what was the Maydes name? whereat ſticke you?

Nothing. I knewe hir as well as I knewe you.

Why tell you me not hir name then?

Bicauſe I like not the lucke therof, I had rather ſhe had had any other name: She had euen the verie name that you haue.

Who was hir father?

He is yet man aliue, and amongſt the Lawyers is one of chiefe eſtimation, and of ſubſtantiall welth.

Tell me his name alſo.

Mauritius.

His ſurname.

His ſurname was Aglaus.

Liueth the mother yet?

She departed of late.

Of what diſeaſe died ſhée?

Of what diſeaſe, quoth you, for méere ſorrow & heauineſſe. And the father himſelfe albeit he is a man of a ſtrong nature ſcaped very narowly.

And may I learne at your hand alſo the name of the mother.

With all mine hart, who is he that knoweth not Sophrona. But what meane you by this queſtioning? Thinke you that I contriue fables for you.

Why ſhould I thinke ſo, that is rather to be ſuſpected in oure kinde, but tell on, what befell vnto this mayde.

This damzell was come of an honeſt ſtock (as I haue ſaid) and wanted no welth to hir preferment: for bewty and ſhape of body, alſo goodly to beholde, what needeth many words, ſhe was well worthy to haue lien by a Prince his ſide. She had a wooer, who earneſtly beſought hir good will, a man for perſonage & bewtie not vnlike hir ſelf.

And what was his name?

Alas, God bleſſe me from the luck, hys name alſo was Pamphilus, when he had done all that he could, and aſſayed all waies poſſible to obtaine hir good will, ſhe ſtill obſtinately deſpiſed him. In fine, the yong man pined away with ſorrow, and dyed. Not long after, this wench beganne to dote vppon ſuch a handſome ſquire, as for his perſonage, I might more rightly call an Ape than a mā.

What ſay you man?

She was ſo farre fallen in the brakes with him, that I am not able to expreſſe.

What, ſo proper a wench with ſo vnſightly a péece?

He had a head made like a ſugar lofe, the heare thereof growing as it were by ſtitches and that knotted, vnkempt, full of ſcurfe and nittes, and a good parte of hys ſcalpe was bared by the diſeaſe called Alopecia, Alopecia is a diſeaſe that cauſeth the heare to pill off. his eies ſunk into his head, his noſethrils wide & turning vpwardes, a mouth like an Ouen with rotten téeth, and a ſtamering tongue, a ſcuruy beard, a bunch backe, a belly like a tode, and legges as right as a paire of horſe hāmes.

Marry ſir you deſcribe him to be a very Therſites? Therſites a Prince, that came with the Greekes to the ſiege of Troye, which in p • rſon and condicion was of all other most deformed.

Nay beſides al this, they ſay, he had but one of his eares.

Peraduenture he had loſt the other in ſome battaile.

No ſurely, euen in peace.

Who durſt be ſo bolde to doe that?

Who but Dionyſius that cutteth of eares at the Pillery.

Wel, it may be yet yt his ſubſtance at home was ſuch as made a full mendes for all the deformitie that you haue ſpoken of.

Nay ſurely: he had vnthriftilye ſpent all, and ought more than hee was worth, with this ſuchen an huſbande doth this ſo goodly a wench nowe lead hir life.

Surely it is true, the Goddeſſe Nemeſis woulde ſo haue it, Nemeſis, the Goddeſſe of wrath or indignation. that the iniurie of the yong man, whome ſhée deſpiſed might be requited of hir.

I would rather wiſh to be deſtroyed with a thunderbolt out of hande, than to be yoked with ſuch a mate.

Therfore beware how you prouoke this Ladie, who reuengeth diſdaine, and frame your harte to loue him againe, who loueth you.

If that may ſuffice (loe) I loue you again.

But I craue that loue at your hand, which ſhould be perpetuall and to loue me as your owne. I ſéeke a wife, not a friend.

I know that well inough,Deliberandum eſt diu, quod ſtatuendum eſt ſemel. but that thing requireth long deliberation, and much aduiſement, which when it is done, cannot be vndone againe.

I haue deliberated vppon it to long for my part.

Well (I réede you) take béede, leaſt loue who is not the beſt counſeller beguile you, for men ſay that loue is blinde.

Nay, that loue hath eyes which ſpringeth vpon iudgement: I doe not therfore take you to be ſuch a one as you are, bicauſe I loue you: but I loue you for that I plainly ſée you to be ſuch a one.

Beware I ſay, you miſtake me not, you maye bée ouerſéene, if you had worne the ſhoe, then you ſhoulde perceyue where it wringeth.

I muſt put it in a venture, although by many good tokens I conceyue a hope of better lucke.

Whye, are you ſkilfull in ſignes and tokens, are you become an Augur?Augurs bee they which by certaine ſignes in birdes and beaſts deſcrie things to come.

Yea marry am I.

By what Augurall ſignes I praye you, do you coniecture that it ſhalbe thus? hath the night Crowe taken hir flight before you?

She flieth for fooles.

What, haue you ſéene a cowple of Dooues come flying towardes you on the right hande?

No ſuch thing, but I haue knowne for the ſpace of certaine yeares the verteous and honeſt behauiour of your parents, that is a birde not leaſt to be regarded (I think) to be come of a good ſtock. Moreouer, I am not ignorant with what wholeſome inſtructions, and verteous examples you haue bene traded and brought vp by them. And truely good education is of more effect than good Parentage. This is an other ſigne which moueth me to conceyue a good hope, beſide this, betwene my parents, which I hope I neede not to be aſhamed of and yours, haue (as I ſuppoſe) bene, no ſmal loue and friendſhip. Yea we our ſelues from our biggens (as they ſay) haue bene brought vp togither, & not much vnlike one vnto another in nature and diſpoſition. Now our age, ſubſtance, eſtimation, and bloude are as well betwéene vs two, as betwéene both our parentes in a maner equall. Laſtly that which in friendſhip is the chiefe thing, your maners ſéemeth not the worſte to ſquare vnto my minde and liking, for it maye bee that a thing is ſimply and of it ſelfe right excellent and yet not apt and méete for ſome vſe. How my maners frameth vnto your minde againe I knowe not. Theſe, theſe be the birdes (my Ioy) which putteth mee in an aſſured hope, that a coniunction betwéene vs two, ſhall be right ioyfull, pleaſant, ſtable, & ſwéete, ſo that you could finde in your hart to ſing that ſong, which I ſo much deſire to heare.

What ſong is that you woulde haue me to ſing.

Be thou mine.The ſong in déede is ſhort, but me thinks it hath a verie long ende, and much matter dependeth thereon.

What forceth it for the length, ſo it be pleaſant & ſwéete vnto you.

I loue you ſo well that I woulde not haue you doe that, wherof you ſhould herafter repent & beſhrew your ſelf.

I pray you neuer ſpeake of any repentance.

Peraduenture you ſhoulde otherwiſe eſteme of me, when eyther age or ſickneſſe ſhall chaunge this fourme or fauour.

Why? this body of myne (O my déere) ſhall not alwayes continue in this eſtate, thus preſt and luſtie, but I reſpect not ſo muche this flouriſhing and bewtifull houſe, as I doe him that dwelleth therein.

What meane you by that you ſpeak of him that dwelleth within?

Verily I meane your well diſpoſed and vertuous minde, whoſe beawtie alwayes encreaſeth with age.

What, your ſight is yet more pleaſant than Linx, if you can eſpie that, through ſo many couerings.

Yea certes with my mind I doe right well eſpie your minde: moreouer (I ſaye) in thoſe children which God ſhall ſende vs, wée ſhall as it were, waxe yong againe.

But in the meane time virginitie is loſt.

Truth, in good faith, tell me if you had a goodly orchyarde plat, whether woulde you wiſh nothing ſhould therein grow but bloſſomes, or elſe had you rather (the bloſſomes fallen awaye) beholde your trées fraught and laden with pleaſaunt fruite?

Howe ſliely he reaſoneth.

At the leaſt aunſwere me to this: whether is it a better ſight for a Vine to lye vppon the grounde and rot, or the ſame to embrace a poale, or an elme, and lode it full with purple grapes?

Now ſir aunſwere me to this againe, whether is it a more pleaſant ſight a Roſe trim and milkewhite, yet growing on his ſtalk, or the ſame plucked with the hande, and by little and little withering awaye?

Certes in mine opinion the roſe is the happieſt, and commeth to the better ende, which withereth and dieth in the hande of man, delighting in the meane while both the eies and noſethrils, than thother which withereh on the buſh, for there muſte it néedes wither alſo at length, euen as that wine hath better luck which is drunken, than that which ſtandeth ſtill, and is turned into vinigar. And yet the flowring beautie of a woman doth not decay forthwith as ſoone as ſhe is maried, for I knowe ſome my ſelfe, who before they were maried, were pale colored, faint, and as it were pined away, who by the friendly felowſhip of an huſband, haue wared ſo faire, and welfauoured, that you would think they neuer came to the flower of their beautie till then.

But for all your ſaying, virginity is a thing much beloued and lyked with all men.

I graunt you, a yong woman, a virgine, is a fayre, & goodly thing, but what by courſe of kind is more vnſeemly thā an old wrinkled maide: Had not your mother bene contented to loſe that flower of hir virginitie, ſurely we had not had this flower of your beautie. So that in caſe (as I hope) our mariage be not barren, for the loſſe of one virgine we ſhall paye God manye.

But they ſaye chaſtitie is a thing wherein God is much delighted.

And therefore doe I deſire to couple my ſelfe in mariage with a chaſt mayden, that with hir I may leade a chaſte life. As for our mariage it ſhall rather be a mariage of our minds, than of our bodies, we ſhall increaſe vnto Chriſt, we ſhall increaſe vnto the cōmon welth. How little ſhall this matrimonie differ frō virginitie? & peraduenture hereafter we ſhall ſo liue togither, as bleſſed Marie liued with Ioſeph, no man cometh at the firſt to perfection.

What is that I heard you ſay euen now, muſt virginity be violated and loſt, therby to learn chaſtitie?

Whye not, euen as by drinking of wine moderately, we learn by little and little to forbeare wine vtterlye, which of theſe two ſéemeth vnto thée to be more temperat, he that ſitting in the mids of many daintie diſhes, abſtaineth from them all, or he which forbeareth intemperauncie, hauing none occaſiō to moue him vnto the ſame?

I ſuppoſe him to haue the more confirmed habite of temperance whom plentie alwayes preſt can not corrupt.

Whether deſerueth more the prayſe of chaſtitie, he that geldeth him ſelfe, or he which kéeping his members all and ſounde abſtaineth from all womans companie?

Verily by my conſent the latter ſhal haue the praiſe of chaſtitie, that other of mad follie.

Why? thoſe which by vowe haue abiured matrimonye doe they not after a ſort gelde themſelues:

Verily it ſéemeth ſo.

Thus you ſée, it is no vertue to forbeare womens companie.

Is it no vertue?

Marke me this, if it were ſimplye a vertue to forbeare the companie of a woman, then ſhoulde it be alſo a vice to vſe the companie of a woman, but ſometime it befalleth that it is ſin to refuſe the acte, and a vertue to vſe it.

In what caſe is it ſo?

In caſe the huſband requireth of his wife the debt of marriage, euen ſo often as he ſhall do it, eſpecially if he requireth it for the deſire of generation.

But what if he be fleſhfond and wanton, may ſhe not lawfully denie it him?

She maye admoniſh him of his fault and rather gently perſwade him to bridle hys affections, to giue him a flat nay when he fraineth vpon hir, ſhe may not. Albeit I here verie fewe men complaine of their wyfes vncurteſie this way.

Yet mée thinks libertie is ſwéete.

Nay rather virginitie is a heauie burthen. I ſhall be to you a King, and you ſhall be to me a Quéene. And eyther of vs ſhall rule the familie, as we thinke good, take you thys to be a bondage?

The common ſort calleth mariage an halter.

Now on my fayth they are well worthie an halter that ſo termeth it. Tell me I praye you is not your ſoule bounde vnto your body?

I thinke ſo.

Yea ſurely euen as a bird vnto hir cage, & yet if ye ſhould aſke him the queſtion, whether he woulde bée looſed or no, I ſuppoſe he woulde ſaye nay. And why ſo? bicauſe he is willinglie and gladlie bounde therevnto.

We haue little to take to neither of vs both.

So much the leſſe indaungered to fortune are wee, that little you ſhall encreaſe at home wyth ſauing, which as they counteruayleth a great reuenue, and I abroad with diligence.

An houſhold of children bringeth innumerable cares.

Then to lead a barren life in marriage is a great miſerie.

Why are you not now barraine? tell me whether had ye rather neuer be borne, or borne to die.

Certes I had rather be borne to die.

So that barrainneſſe is yet more miſerable which neyther hadde, nor ſhall haue child, euen as they be more happie which haue alreadie lyued, then they which neuer haue, nor ſhall hereafter be borne to liue.

And what be thoſe, I praye you which neyther are, nor ſhall be.

For he that cannot finde in his hart to ſuffer and abide the chaunges, & chaunces, whervnto all we indifferently be ſubiect, as well men of poore eſtate, as Kings, & Emperours, he is not to dwell here, let him get him out of this worlde. And yet, whatſoeuer ſhal miſchaunce vnto vs two, yours ſhoulde be but the one halfe thereof, the greater parte I will alwaies take vnto mine owne ſelfe. So that if anie good thing doe happen vnto vs oure pleaſure ſhall be dubble if anye euill betide vs, you ſhall haue but the one halfe of the griefe, and I the other. As for my ſelfe, if God ſo woulde, it were vnto me a pleaſure, euen to ende my life in your armes.

Men can better ſuſtaine and beare with yt which chaunceth according to the common courſe and rule of nature. For I ſée that ſome parentes are more troubled wyth their childrens euill manners, than with their naturall deathes.

To preuent ſuch miſfortune, that it happen not vnto vs, it reſteth for the moſt part in our power.

How ſo?

For commonly parentes, which bée good and vertuous, haue good & vertuous children, I meane as concerning their natural diſpoſition, for doues do not hatch Puthockes: wherefore we will firſt indeuour to bée good our ſelues, and oure next care ſhall bée, that our children may euen from the mothers breſt, be ſeaſoned with vertuous counſails, and right opinions, for it ſkilleth not a little what licour you poure into a newe veſſell at the firſt. Finallye, we ſhall prouide that they may haue euen at home in our houſe a good example of lyfe to followe.

Harde it is to bring that to paſſe that you ſay. Difficilia que pulchra. Godly things be harde.

No maruaile, for commendable, and good it is. And for that alſo are you harde to bée entreated and wonne, the more deficile and harde it is, the more good will and indeuour ſhall wée put there vnto.

You ſhall haue mée a matter ſoft and plyant, ſée you yt you do your part in forming and ſhaping me as you ought.

But in the meane while ſaye thoſe thrée wordes which I require of you.

Nothing were more eaſie for me to doe, but wordes be wynged, and when they be flowen out once doe not retire, I will tell you what were a better way for vs both. You ſhall treate with your Parentes and myne, and with their will and conſent let the matter be concluded.

Ah you ſet me to wooe againe, it is in you, with thrée words to diſpatch the whole matter.

Whether it lyeth in mée ſo to doe (as you ſay) I knowe not, for I am not at liberty. And in olde time mariages were not concluded without the will & conſent of their parents or elders. But howſoeuer the caſe be, I ſuppoſe our mariage ſhall bée the more luckie, if it be made by the authoritie of our parents. And your part it is to ſeke and craue the good will, for vs to doe it, it were vnſéemelye: virginite would ſéeme alwayes to be taken with violence, yea though ſometime we loue the partie moſt earneſtly.

I wil not let to ſéeke their good will, ſo that I may alwayes be in an aſſurance of your conſent.

You néede not doubt thereof, be of good chéere (my Pamphile)

You are herein more ſcrupulus yet then I woulde wiſh you to be.

Nay marie, waye, and conſider you well with your ſelfe, before, whervnto you haue ſet your minde and will. And do not take into your counſaile, this blind affection borne towardes my perſon, but rather reaſon, for that which affection decerneth is liked for a ceaſō, but that which reaſon auiſeth is neuer miſlyked.

Certes thou ſpeakeſt like a wittie wench: wherefore I intende to followe thy counſayle.

You ſhall not repent you thereof, but how he ſirha there is now fallen into my minde a doubt, which vexeth mée ſore.

Away with all ſuch doubtes for Gods ſake.

Why will you haue me marry my ſelfe to a dead man?

Not ſo, for I will reuiue againe.

Now, loe you haue voided this doubt, fare yée well my Pamphile.

Sée you I pray that I may ſo doe.

I pray God giue you a good night, why fetch you ſuch a ſighe man?

A good night ſay you? I woulde to God you would vouchſafe to giue me that, which you wiſhe mee.

Soft and faire, I pray you your harueſt is as yet but in the greene blade.

Shall I haue nothing of yours wyth me at my departure.

Take this Pomander to théere your harte wyth.

Yet giue me a kiſſe withal I pray thee.

I would kéepe my virginitie whole, and vndefiled for you.

Why doth a kiſſe take ought away from your virginitie?

Would you thinke it well done that I ſhoulde be frée of kiſſes vnto other men?

Nay marrie I would haue my kiſſes ſpared for my ſelfe.

I kéepe them for you then. And yet there is an other thing in ye way, which maketh me that I dare not at thys time giue you a kiſſe.

What is that.

You ſaye that your ſoule is alreadie gone well néere altogither into my body, and a very ſmall parte thereof taryeth behinde in your owne, ſo that I feare in time of a kiſſe, that which remayneth might happen to ſterte out after it, & then were you altogither without a ſoule. Haue you therefore my right hande in token of mutuall loue, and ſo fare you well. Go you earneſtly about your matters. And I for my part in the meane while, ſhall pray vnto Chriſt, that the thing which you do, may be vnto the ioy and felicitie of vs both. Amen