AFter that Pharicles vnder the professi­on of a Pilgrim was parted from the coastes of Italie, his secret and sodaine departure caused all the citizens of Pa­dua to coniecture diuersly of the cause of his iourney, but especially it draue such a doubt into the sorrowfull heart of Mamillia, and stroke such a dump into the musing mind of her father Gonsaga, as it was hard to gesse whether Ma­millia conceiued greater griefe for the vnkinde departure of her newe betrothed friend, or her father sorrow, in that he gaue his consent of so chary chaffre to so churlish a chap­man: But whether it were, no doubt their care was grea­ter than their well meaning mindes in any respect had de­serued, and by so much the more their sorrowe increased, by how much the report of Pharicles supposed Pilgrimage was to his great reproch daily bruted abroad the Cittie: Gonsaga supposing Pharicles discredite considering the late contract, to bréede his daughters vtter infamie. For the Citizens gaue their verdit of the Gentlemans iourney as their fond affection had perswaded them to thinke eyther [Page] well or ill of his person: his friendes supposing the best, said, that he meant to spend his time in trauell vntill the next spring, wherein he meant to cōsummate the mariage his foes contrariwise coniecturing the worst, said that his pompous prodigalitie and rich attire, were the two bla­zing starres and carefull comets which did alwaies prog­nosticate some such euent in tract of time should happen, and that his sumptuous expenses had so rackt his reue­newes, wasted his patrimonie, and brought his wealth to such a lowe ebbe, as being fallen into an english consump­tion, there remained no hope of his health, vnlesse hée meant for debt to take his Innes in S. Patricks purgatory. But these dry blowes could draw no bloud, this wauering winde could shake no corne, neither coulde those spightfull reportes of his protested foes anie iot mooue Mamillia to thinke euill of her professed friend, & by so much the lesse, in that she knew his reuenewes were able to maintaine a greater port than euer he caried in Padua. But as thus her panting heart wauered betwéene feare and hope, it was for certaintie told her and her father by a secret friend, that Pharicles was either married or betroathed to her cousin Publia, and the sting of conscience so combred his guiltie minde for committing this troathlesse treacherie, that the shame of so haplesse a fact caused him to take this vnhappie iourney. This tale not fully finished, Mamillia stoode vpon thornes cast beyond the moone, and coniectured that which neither the tale did import, nor Pharicles himself imagine: but the lesse she was to be blamed, because the more perfect loue, as the sooner it is drencht with the misling showres of distrust, and this direfull distrust is such a hellish foe to the heauie minde, that it suffers the passionate person to take no rest till manifest triall hath raced out this foolish frenzie, which Mamillia tried true: for combred thus with the clog of care, she conueied her selfe couertly into her clo­set, where surcharged with the sorrowe of this noysome [Page] news, she burst forth into bitter teares and balefull terms to this effect.

With what greater plague quoth she, can either the vn­iust gods or cruel destinies wreck their wrath and exreme rigour vppon any man, than whiles he safely flotes in the seas of prosperitie, to ouerwhelme him with the raging waues of aduersitie, than amidst the happie gale of good lucke, to daunt him with the stormes of disaster fortune, than to repay his blisse with bale, his ioy with annoy, and his happy felicitie with most haplesse & distressed misery? And yet there is no sore so ill, but it séemes more sower be­ing remedilesse, than if it might be cured with cūning, nor no wound so déepe, but it is thought more dangerous being incurable, than if either nature or art had prouided a salue to heale it, nor no misfortune so great but it séemes more grieuous if there be left no hope that the present miserie may in time be requited with prosperitie. For where the conserue of hopes is wanting to cōfort the distressed heart, there the corasiue of despaire doth so fret asunder the mole­sted mind as it maketh the perplexed person to pine in per­petuall calamitie.

All which alasse I sée performed by proofe in mée most miserable creature, which alate safely harboured in the hauen of happinesse, and so fostered vp by fortune as shée séemed to will that I did wish, am now so daunted with the despight of sinister mishap, and so crossed with the rigorous repulse of frowning fortune by the disloyall dealing of flat­tering Pharicles, as my weale to woe, my happinesse to heauinesse, yea all my ioy and delight is turned to extreme sorrowe and despight: and by so much the more this my griefe is intollerable, by howe much the more there re­maineth the hope of redresse. For alaste, too late it is to re­call the stone alreadie cast, to beate the bush the bird being flowen, to breake the bargaine the bandes being sealed, and to reclaime affection where both lawe and loue hath [Page] fettered fancie with constraint, and as hard it is for thée poore Mamillia to hope to winne Pharicles againe to thy lure he being alreadie seased on his desired pray, yea, so fast tied to his tackling with thy cosin Publia, as no means but death can breake the bargaine, no the knot is so knit, that if Pharicles himselfe did will what thou didst wish, and would proue as lewd vnto her as light vnto thée, yet hée striues against the streame, and séekes to beare saile both against winde and weather: for as hée was assured vnto thée by promise, so he is betrothed vnto her by performāce: as he was linked vnto thée (as thou supposedst) in the per­fect league of amitie, so he is (for certaine) coupled vnto her in the perfect lawe of matrimonie.

O ingratefull and periured Pharicles, hath the constant state of thy Mamillia procured thy inconstancie? hath her troath made the trecherous? hath her loue made thée dis­loyall? wilt thou disgresse so farre from nature, and resist the lawe of nurture, as to repay faith with flatterie, sin­cere affection with fained fancie, and good will with hate? hast thou no more care of thy credite but to cracke it with inconstancie? nor no more regard to thy solemne othe than to foile it with periurie? Why was nature so fond vnder so fine a shell to hide so rotten a kernell, vnder such golden fethers such ranke fleshe, vnder the shape of a Lambe the substaunce of a Tigre, vnder so sweete a face so sower a minde, to match so currsh conditions vnder so courteous a countenance, so perfect a person with such imperfect quali­ties, so fine a feature with such filthy flatterie?

Why but Mamillia can these sorrowfull exclamations cure thy maladie, or can the rubbing of thy wound procure thine ease? nay rather remember the olde prouerbe, not so common as true, past cure, past care, without remedie without remembrance? Wilt thou proue so fond to set that at thy heart which Pharicles sets at his héele, to wéep for him which wailes not for thée: to sorrow for his amitie [Page] which laughes at thy miserie? No no, cast away care, let the remembraunce of his treacherie mittigate the fire of thy fancie, lyke not where thou art not loued, nor loue not where thou findes such inconstancie: as hée hath made a chaunge, so make thou a new choice, for since he hath falsi­fied his faith without cause, thou art frée from thy promise without care: yea as he hath laide his loue vpon Publia, so laie thou thy liking vpon some other gentleman which both for his person and parentage may deserue as well to be loued as hée to be liked, and in so doing shalt thou con­tent thy parents, procure thine owne ease, and pay Phari­cles his debt in the same coine.

Why Mamillia art thou mad, or is fancie turned into frenzie? Shal the cowardize of the Kistrel make the Faul­con fearefull? Shall the dread of the Lambe make the Li­on a dastard? Shall the leaudnesse of Pharicles procure thy lightnesse, or his inconstancie make thée wauering? His new desire in choice make thée delight in chaunge? Shall I say his fault make thée offend, his want of vertue force thée yéeld to vanitie? If hée by committing periurie be a discredite vnto men, wilt thou by falsifying thy promise be an vtter infamie to women? No the Gods forbid. For since Pharicles first wonne me, either he himselfe or none shall weare me, and although he hath crackt his credit, violated his oath-falsified his faith, and broke his protested promise, yet his inconstancie shall neuer make mée to wauer, nor his fléeting fancie shall not diminish mine affection. But in despight both of him and fortune, I will be his in dust & ashes. Y [...] [...]uen that vnfaithfull Pharicles shall be the saint at whose sh [...]e I meane to doo my deuotion vntil my hap­lesse heart through extreame sorrow receiue the stroke of vntimely death, which if it come not spéedelie, these hands inforced by dispaire, by some sinister meanes shall ende my miserie, and with that such scalding teares distilled from her christall eyes, as they were sufficient witnesses of her [Page] insupportable sorrow.

Where, by the way, Gentlemen, if fond affection be not preiudiciall vnto your iudgement, wée are by conscience constrained to condemne those vnséemly Satyres and vaine inuectiues, wherein with taunting tearmes and cutting quippes diuerse iniurious persons most vniustlie accuse Gentlewomen of inconstancy, they themselues being such coloured Camelions, as their fondnesse is so manifest, that although like Aesops asse they clad themselues in a Lions skinne, yet their eares wil bewray what they be: yea they accuse women of wauering when as they themselues are such weathercocks as euerie wind can turne their tippets, and euerie new face make them haue a new fancy, disprai­sing others as guiltie of that crime wherewith they them­selues are most infected, most vniustly straining at a gnat, and letting passe an elephant, espying one dram of drosse, and not séeing a whole tunne of ore, so iniuriously descan­ting vppon some one dame which for her wauering minde perhaps deserueth dispraise, and not attributing due honor to so manie thousand Ladies which merite to be canonized as Saintes for their incomparable constancie. But now their cauilling is so common, and their causelesse condem­ning come to such a custome, as Gentlewomen thinke to bee dispraised of a vaine iangler rather bringeth commen­dation than inferreth discredite, estéeming their wordes as winde and their talke as tales: yea their despightfull spée­ches carrie so litle credite, as euerie man thinkes they ra­ther come of course than of cause, & that their cynicall cen­sures procéed rather of selfe will than either of right or rea­son. Well Gentlemen, if I might without offence inferre comparison, we should plainly perceiue that for inconstan­cie men are farre more worthie to be condemned than wo­men to be accused. For if we reade the Romane records or Grecian histories, either fained fables or true tales, yet we shall neuer finde anie man so faithfull which hath sur­passed [Page] women in constancie. Their onelie paragon wherof they haue to boast is poore Piramus, which killed himselfe for Thisbe, but to giue them a sop of a more sharper sauce, let them tel me if euer any of their brauest champiōs offe­red to die for his wife as Admeta did for her husband Al­cest? What man euer swallowed burning coales as Portia did for Cato? Who so affectioned to his wife as Cornelia was to Gracchus? Who euer so sorowed for y^e misfortune of his Lady as Iulia did for y^e mishap of her best beloued Pom­pey? Did euer any aduēture such desperat dangers to inioy his loue as Hipsicratea did for her husbande Mithridates? What shuld I speak of Tercia, Aemillia, Turia, Lentula, Pe­nelope, or this our constant Mamillia with innumerable o­ther, whose chastitie faith & constancy toward their louers could not euen by the dint of death be chaunged? But least for saying my fancie some accuse me of flatterie, againe to Mamillia, who thus plunged in perplexity, & driuē into the dangerous gulf of distrust, ouercharged afresh with the re­membrance of Pharicles discurtesie, had burst foorth a new into her woonted teares, had not her father preuented her by comming into the closet, where finding her so bedewed with teares, yea in such distresse as a woman halfe in dis­paire, blamed her follie in this effect.

Daughter, quoth hée, as it is a signe of a carelesse minde not to be moued with mishap, so it is a token of follie to be careful without cause, and to be gréeued for that which if it were iustly weied offreth at al no occasiō of sorow: in which you commit y^e fault, & deserue the blame, for your care is too great, & the cause none at all. The sodain departure of your friend Pharicles (as I gesse) brought you into this dumpe, which in my fancie could bréed no doubt: for although sun­drie and vncertaine rumors be spredde of his iourney, and diuerse men descant diuerslie of his departure, as fonde affection leadeth them, his friendes supposing the best excuse his faulte, his foes mistrusting the worst accuse him [Page] of follie, and yet they both ayme at the marke as the blinde man shootes at the crowe, Pharicles perhaps hauing so iust occasion of his iourney (as his spéedie and happie returne shall make manifest) that his friends by hoping well shall merite praise, and his foes by iudging ill discredite. But perhaps the late report how either he was married or be­troathed to your cousin Publia is the fretting canker which so combers your disquiet conscience, which tale in my opi­nion as it was last set abroach, so it deserueth least trust, and especially on your behalf, since neither you haue heard him counted for inconstant, nor you your selfe haue tryed him wauering. Wil you then be so light as to call his cre­dite in suspence which neuer gaue you occasion of suspiti­on, and reward him with distrust which neuer gaue you occasion to doubt? No Mamillia, beware of such fondnesse, least Pharicles hearing of your follie performe that in déed whereof you suspect him without desert. But suppose the worst, he hath falsified his faith, hath crackt his credit, and like a troathlesse Theseus proued himselfe a traitor: what then? Shall this his dissembling driue thée into dispaire? or his péeuish inconstancie be thy perpetuall care? No, but rather Mamillia as he hath stained his faith, so straine thou thy affection, as hée hath fainted in performance, so faile thou in promise, yea learn to loath him for his vice as thou louedst him for his vertue, moderate thine affection, with­draw thy good will, and if thou hap to finde him halting, race him quite out of thy remembrance, and in so doing it shall both please me and ease thée, in the meane time sup­pose the best.

Mamillia perceiuing her fathers friendly affection by this his carefull counsel, and seeing his talke tended to her weale, was driuen into a doubtful dilemma what answere to frame: for if she should séeme so light of loue as to haue her heart at libertie both to like and loath as fickle fancie ledde her, all y^e world might condemne her of inconstancie: [Page] againe if shée did not whollie agrée to her fathers iudge­ment, he might thinke shée did contemne his counsell and her owne commoditie: to auoid therfore the blame of diso­bedience and the blemish of discurtesie, she framed him an answere on this wise.

Sir, quoth she, it is farre more easie for the Phisition to giue counsell, than for the patient to put it in practise, and a thing of lesse charge to finde a fault than to amend it: yea it were an easie matter to be prickt with sorrow if the di­stressed man might assoone bée cured as counselled: but to remoue care or cease from griefe is lightly perswaded, but verie hardly performed, which by experience I finde in my selfe. For I both know your counsell to be good, and also I most heartily desire to follow it, yet the griefe of Pharicles ingratitude hath taken such déepe roote in my haplesse hart that neither counsaile nor constraint can race it out of my remembrance. And whereas sir you perswade me to mo­derate mine affection, to withdraw my good wil from Pha­ricles, and to quench the fire of fancie with the despightfull droppes of hatred, I coniecture they be rather wordes of course to trie my constancie, than spoken in good earnest to exhort mée to such trecherie. For you know I chose Pha­ricles for my mate, and you were content with the match, I fixed mine affection not to continue with him a yeare in dalliance, but to remaine with him all my life in marri­age, wherin no fond and vncertaine liking but sincere and perpetuall loue is to be required: for to marrie without the force of fancie, is to become a seruile slaue to sorrowe. There must bee a knitting of hearts before a striking of hands, and a constraint of the minde before a consent with the mouth, or else whatsoeuer the flower is, the fruite shall be repentaunce. Which things considered, I am not to be blamed, though I cannot leaue to loue at mine owne pleasure, nor to be condemned though I am so ouerchar­ged with sorrow, sith an other shall enioy him vpon whom [Page] my heart is wholie fixed.

Tush Mamillia quoth Gonzaga interrupting her talke, I say as I said before, that it is good to be carefull if there were any cause, but since no occasion of sorrow is offered, why should you be ouergrowne with griefe? Pharicles hath taken a sodaine and vncertaine iourney, what then? Wilt thou condemne him of follie before thou heare the vrgent cause of his spéedie departure? No, but wil you say the case is too manifest, and so inferre the rumor of his late suppo­sed marriage, which I deny as a most infamous slaunder raised vpon so honest a Gentleman. And for better proofe thereof come with me, for I will go to my brother Gosti­no, that there your cousin Publia may dissolue your doubt and confirme my hope, and so without any delaie they ha­sted to heare the case decided.

Where I cannot passe ouer without some spéech, gen­telwomen, the incomparable constancie of Mamillia, which was so surelie defenced with the rampier of vertue, as all the fierce assaults of fortune could nowhit preuaile as pre­iudiciall to such professed amitie, no the fained treacherie of so troathlesse a traitour as Pharicles, did rather streng­then than astonish her infallible friendship: the counsell of her father, the feare of his displeasure, the hope of profit, or the dread of future daunger, were of so litle force to dimi­nish her affection, as it rather remained by those contrarie blastes of fortune farre more inflamed than anie whit ex­tinguished.

And yet inferre Mamillia and a thousand other Ladies (who for their loyaltie deserue as good report and as great renowne) as perfect presidentes against those vniust prat­lers, which séeke like sicophants to discredit womens con­stancie, and forsooth they must stand for no paiment: but alasse, if they spie one silly dame to halt or tread her shoe a­wrie, her fault is as much as though all did offend, for they will exclaime against all in general, as though none were [Page] to bee founde guiltlesse. But it is no maruell if the sillie Lambe be vniustly accused where the Woolfe comes in as plaintife.

Well, Gonzaga being come to the house of his brother in lawe Gostyno, he found the olde gentleman so far spent with his long and lingring sicknes, that he was very loth with such friuolous questions to trouble his patience, yet after salutations and many wordes passed betwéene them, wherin the one deciphred his paines, and the other lamen­ted his case, the sicke man vttering his griefe with sighes, and the other his sorrow with teares, Gonzaga like a wi­lie Foxe found occasion to bring the matter in question so subtilly, as Gostyno either not at all, or else verie hardlie spied the fetch, framing his talke to this or such like effect.

Although Plato in y^e bookes of his common wealth doth counsell the Athenians not to visit any of their friendes in time of aduersitie, except they could by some meanes re­dresse their miserie, because that comfort (saith hée) is cold and vnsauourie which commeth not bewrapt with some kind of remedy: yet as one condemning Platoes iudgement in this case, I am come to comfort you as a friend, but not to cure you as a Phisition, lest I might be thought to hant my friend in his health, and hate him in his sicknes, which either belongeth to a foole or a flatterer. But if I were as cunning a Phisition as a constant friend, and had as great skill to cure as to counsell, yet if I take not my markes amisse, I shoulde more profite you with good aduise than with anie potions were they neuer so soueraigne. For your daungerous disease, which most importeth death, is age, and your sorest sicknesse is many yéeres, I speake Go­styno the more boldly, sith I heare you are more willing to die than desirous to liue, & that you séek more the welth of your soule than the health of your bodie. In déed Appol­lonius Tianeus reporteth, that the Gymnosophists made a lawe, that no man hauing passed thréescore yeares should [Page] buy any land before he made himselfe a graue, nor build a­ny house before he had prouided for himselfe a Sepulchre: because in age wée ought to make more readinesse to die than prouisions to liue, for the stéele being spent, the knife cannot cut, the oyle consumed the lampe goeth out, the Sunne being set the day cannot tarry, the flower being fa­len there is no hope of fruite, and old age being once come life cannot be lasting. You knowing therefore that no­thing is so certaine in old age as euerie day to looke to die, hauing shewed your self both to be wise and warie, in that hauing but one only daughter, you both sée her brought vp in your life, and that which is more, most worshipfully married before your death, yea and to such a mate as shée cannot but loue for his person, and you like for his paren­tage and patrimonie, I meane our friend & neighbor Pha­ricles, whose wit, wealth, and exquisite perfection both of minde and bodie, hath made all Padua astonished.

Staie there quoth Gostyno, & thinke not much though I interrupt your talk so rashly, for as I receiue both com­fort and consolation by your good aduise and counsaile, so your strange news hath driuen me into a quandary, whe­ther I should take your wordes in earnest or iest: for I am sure my daughter Publia is as far from a husband as I am from a wife, or else I am greatly beguiled. And with that he called Publia which stoode at the window talking with her cousin Mamillia, and began to sift her on this wise.

If the newes daughter be true that your vncle Gonzaga hath told me, I may iustly be accused of folly, & you be con­demned of disobedience: for in that I alwaies left you the raines of libertie being yong, to vse your wil as a law, and to leade your life after your owne lust, I may be counted a foole, and in that you haue abused this law of libertie, wed­ding your self to your own wil & despising my fatherly care & counsel as of none effect, you may be thought a disobediēt child. Why? was my nature euer so strange, or your nour­ture [Page] so straight, was I so vnwilling that you shuld match, or so wilfull to kéepe you from marriage, as you shoulde choose without my aduise, yea, and that which is more, mar­rie without my consent? Well, I knowe I haue alwayes had such a care to pleasure you as a father, and you such a feare to displease me as a daughter, that I both thinke the newes vntrue, and thée vnworthy of such a report. But if the case be so, thou art not the first, nor shalt be the last which haue slipt awrie in this point: yet since thou hast heere such a care of thy choice as to looke before thou leape, and to loue such a one as is to be liked for his liuing, both for his person and vertue, thou deseruest the lesse to be bla­med, and I haue the lesse cause to be offended: to put mée therefore out of doubt, and to satisfie thine vnckle Gonza­ga, I charge thée by the law of dutie to tell me what hath passed betwéene thée and Pharicles.

Sir quoth she, as I haue alwaies found you to haue had a fatherly care to prouide for my welfare, so I haue al­wayes counted it religion to requite that fatherly affecti­on with the dutie and obedience of a childe, least happily I might séeme to be more void of nature than y^e brute beasts which want nurture. The yoong lamb by méere instinct of Nature obeieth the bleating of the old shéepe: The sucking fawne followeth the steps of the Doe: The Cignets dare not resist the call of the old Swan: the yong Tigre (though neuer so wild) runneth at the beck of the old Tygresse: and should I then, syr, be so voide of grace, as to be more lewd than the yong lambe, more voide of Nature than the sillie Fawne, more senselesse than the yong Cignets, and more fierce than the cruell Tygres: No no sir: But when I so farre forget my selfe, as to passe these vnreasonable crea­tures in carelesse disobedience, then the Gods requite so lothsome a fact with most hellish misery. Although y^e voyce of the common people be a great verdit to confirme a thing in question, yet that which is spokē of many is not always [Page] true, much lesse the rumour which is raised by some one tatling person, doth followe by consequence as a thing ne­cessarily to be beléeued. And therefore mine vncle Gonza­ga did verie ill in giuing credite to such a flying tale, and did more ouershoote himselfe in blowing it into your eares, vntill by further triall he had searched out the trueth of the matter.

In déede sir I confesse, that Pharicles hath shewed mée some curtesie, and I haue not altogither requited him with curiositie, he hath made some shew of loue, and I haue not wholie séemed to mislike, least in louing lightly I might séeme lasciuious, and in contemning churlishly I might be iudged very curious: but for to contract I neuer meant without your consent, nor neuer intended to set on the seales before you had strooke vp the bargaine. And for the confirmation of these my wordes, and the better satisfying of mine vnckle Gonzaga, sée héere the letters which haue passed betwixt me and Pharicles.

Gostyno perceiuing by the tenure of these letters, that this tale which was told of his daughter was wholy with­out troth, woulde verie gladly haue knowen of Gonzaga who was the authour of such a report, thinking himselfe ill dealt withal to haue so causelesse a slaunder raised vpon his daughter: but Gonzaga not willing to bring the mat­ter any surther in question, made him this answere.

Brother Gostyno quoth he, I know it is ill putting the hand betwéen the barke and the trée, & great folly to meddle in other mens matters, neither was it my minde when I told you this tale, to sowe any dissention betwéene your daughter Publia and you, but I came to warne her as a friend, and counsell her as a kinsman, that she might take héede of the traine, least she were taken in the trap, that she might not strike at the stale least she were canuased in the nettes, that she might not venter no father into the foord than she might easily retire without danger, I meane [Page] that she shoulde not lay her loue no surer vppon Pharicles, but that she might plucke it off at her owne pleasure, for Pharicles is betroathed, and contracted long since to my daughter Mamillia, so that there remaineth nothing but that at his returne home they consummate the marriage. To cause therefore your daughter to take héed of such cog­ging copesmates was the cause of my comming, least vn­aduisedly shée might buy repentance too deare.

Gostyno séeing the danger whereinto his daughter had fallen, if Gonzaga had not preuented it, gaue him heartie thankes for his friendly counsell, and counted both himself and his daughter greatly bound vnto him for preuenting so secret a mischiefe, being to exclaime against the péeuish periurie and trothlesse trecherie of Pharicles, had not Gon­zaga broken off the talke with taking his leaue of his bro­ther, and Mamillia giuing the A dio to her coosin Publia, departed leauing Gostyno and his daughter wholly coun­selled, but not halfe comforted, because they could not so so­dainly disgest the great abuse of Pharacles.

But poore Mamillia who before was drowned in dread, doth now swimme in hope, before (as shée thought) crossed with calamitie, but now crowned with prosperitie, alate drenched in the dregs of distrust, and now safely setled in assurance, before she feared the worst, and now she hoped the best, at her comming nothing but woe woe, at her re­turne all was ioy, her woe to weale, her bale to blisse, her despight was turned to pleasure and delight. For now she hoped that although Pharicles had sowen wilde Oates hée should reape good graine, that he had not runne so farre but he might easily return, that bought wit was best, and y^e being throughly beaten with his owne rod, he would in time learne to be wise, and that whereas before hée was trothlesse now he woulde be trustie, as he was false so hée would be faithful: she thus perswading her selfe of the best was as merry as before she was sorie. But contrariwise [Page] Publia being before secure was now crossed with care, be­fore in happinesse now wholly in heauinesse, alate in ioy, now in sorrow and annoy, so that getting her selfe secretlie into her chamber she fell into these pittifull plaints.

Alasse quoth she, poore soule, it is too late to defend the walles when the Citie is ouerrunne, to sound the retreate when the battell is fought, to applie the salue when y^e sore is incurable, and to séeke to comfort where counsell com­meth too late, and to reclaime affection fancie being alrea­die fixed. Thou speakest poore Publia by experience, for the counsell thine vncle Gonzaga, gaue thée was not a confect to heale thy sorrow, but a corasiue to renew thy griefe. And why? because to séeke to cure an incurable disease is to dou­ble the patients paines. Mine vncle Gonzaga did wisely warne me to beware of the traine, and alas I was before taken in the trap, he wisht me to beware of liking and I was long before in loue, he had me take héede for wading too far, and I was before ouer my shoes. Why but fond foole thou hast not gone so farre but thou mayst retire, thou art not so fast in the nettes but thou mayst returne, thy loue is not so surely lodged, but thou mayst pull off thy liking, thou hast made no contract but thou mayst reclaime, nor giuen no consent but thou mayst recall, yea, & without clog to thy conscience or crack to thy credit. For why, he hath sworne to performe that which he could not iustly promise, he hath offered thée his faith, whereas before another had his frée­dome, the greatest substance of his loue was but a meare shadowe of lust, then Publia cast him off which so did scoffe thée, and detest him which so déepely dissembled: yea, for what fondnesse were it for thée to like him which is ano­ther womans loue, to make a choice of him whom another already hath chosen, to fixe thy fancie vpon Pharicles since Mamillia shall enioy him. Alasse I know all this, but what then? the person of Pharicles, his beautie, bountie, and rare qualities are so surely shryned in my breast, as they can ne­uer [Page] be raced out with obliuion: let Mamillia enioy him as her husband (yea, and I pray the Gods send them long and happie daies togither) yet I will both loue him and like him in a chast minde for euer. What though he were false, shall I be faithlesse? though he had no troth, shall I be tre­cherous? shall his sleeting make me fickle, or his inconstan­cie make me without conscience? No, no, I haue once giuē my heart and I meane not to pull backe my hand, I haue once loued him and I meane neuer to like any other: but here before the Gods I vowe my selfe a vestall virgin till death shall end my sorrow.

And indéed shée promised nothing but she did performe, for not long after Gostyno died leauing her sole heire to al his possessions. And although shée was dayly sued vnto by diuerse braue and gallant gentlemen, yet she refused them all, and the better to auoyd the resort of suters which dayly frequented her house, she let all her lands to lease, and en­tred her selfe into a religious Monasterie where shée led her life as a chast and famous virgin, and at her death dy­ing without issue (for all his treacherie) she bequeathed her possessions to her best beloued Pharicles.

Where gentlemen (thinke of me what you please) I am constrained by conscience (considering the constancie of Pu­blia) to blame those blasphemous blabs which are neuer in their vaine except they be breathing out some iniurious spéeches against the constancie of women, not yéelding any reason of their verdit or reproch, but the reckles rancor of their own peruerse will pricks thē forward to this despite­full folly. But I hope whatsoeuer the enuious crue shall crow against me for defending the loyaltie of women, ver­tuous & wel disposed gentlemen wil neither appeach me of flattery, nor cōdemne me of folly: But leauing these suppo­sitions at last to Pharicles, who after y^t vnder the profession of a Pilgrim he had cut the straightes with a spéedie gale, and y^e mariners by compas of their course were come with­in [Page] ken of land, and had descried the cliffes of Sicilia: séeing the place of this pretensed ixile to be so neare, had his hart encountred with such a diuerse combate, and was so plun­ged in perplexitie and drenched in the dregges of doubt, as being almost frettised for feare, the marriners by his oft changing of coulours thought that either the poore pilgrim was in his Orisons, or else paying his debt by death vnto nature. But as their imagination procéeded but by coniec­ture of his féeble complexion, so their aime was quite be­yond the marke, for Pharicles was wishing for rayne when the shower was past, drying the malt when the kill was on fire, sounding the retreat when the battell was fought, yea buying repentance too late. Now he confessed the fault when iudgement was past, and found himselfe guilti [...] when there was no hope of pardon: Nowe he fealt within his crazed conscience a cruell conflict betwéene wit & wil­fulnesse, loue and lightnesse, fancie and faith: on the one side the fixed minde of Mamillia proued his fading fancie to be founded on the tottering stage of flattery: on the other the constancie of Publia so galded his guiltie conscience, as he frankly accused himselfe to be as fickle in his faith, and as light in his loue, as the leaues of the hearbe Baaran which continually shake without ceasing.

But the Pirate although hée knowes his practise to be plaine theft, yet he turneth forth a newe leafe, till eyther he be drowned in the sea, or else tossed by some infortunate tempest, land his shippe at Tyborne: The counterfaite Coyner although hée knowes his craft to be a flatte trick of treason, yet hée will not take the checke for his fault, vntill he hath the finall mate for his offence. So Pharicles, although he knewe himselfe to be a déepe dissembler, and that flatterie was coosin germain to trecherie, yet he feared not to mock so long with Mamillia, & dissemble with Pub­lia, vntill he gained nothing for his reward but a ship of sorrow to disgest the recklesse roote of repentance: for as he [Page] had receiued the stroke by ficklenesse, so he meant to salue the sore by flight: as he had bred his bane by their presence, so he would cure his disease by absence: thinking that Ari­stotle his sentence in Logick was also an Axiome in loue, that one contrary driues out another: Iudging as priuate familiaritie was the father of fancie, so discontinuance should be of sufficient force to quench out y^e frying flames of loue. But he sate beside the saddle, for he spake by gesse and not by experience, by wit, but not by wisedome. The sting of a serpent by continuance enuenometh the whole bodie. He which is charmed of the Torpedo by procrasti­nation runneth mad, and the pricke of loue by delay is vn­curable: yet Pharicles blinded with the vale of vanitie, and sowsed in the seas of selfeloue, was so wrapped in y^e waues of wilfulnesse, as at the first hee thought his iourney into Sicilia a perfect pumicestone to race out the memorie of his daintie dames in Italie. But he skipt beyond his skill, and was verie grossely blinded with folly, for he was not only frustrate of his imagination, but did euen frie amidst the flouds, that as he sailed on the seas, the bewtie of his god­desses gaue his conscience such a cruell canuizado by the meanes of fancie, as the poore Gentleman driuen al­most into the dungeon of despaire, burst forth into these termes.

O infortunate Pharicles, hath the dolorous destinies de­créed thy destructiō, or the peruerse planets in thy natiuity conspired thy bitter bane? Hath froward fortune sworne to make thée a miserable mirrour of her mutabilitie? Shall thy friendes sorrow at thy hap, and thy foes reioyce at thy chance? yea all the worlde wonder at thy staylesse state of life. Shall Mamillia muse at thy madnesse in change, and Publia laugh at thy lightnes in choise? Yea shal they count thée more curious thā careful, more wittie than wise, more light in thy loue than lewd in thy life, and yet so lewd as sufficient to winne the best game? Ah Pharicles, shall thy [Page] daintie dames in Italie trie by experience, that although thy person is so brauely beautified with the dowries of na­ture, as she séemed to shew her cunning in caruing a péece of so curious perfection, yet thy mind to be so blotted with the blemish of inconstancie, and so foiled with the filthie spot of ficklenesse, as nature may séeme to make a supplie in the bodie, sith there was such a want in the mind? Shall (I say) they compare thée to the diamonde, who for all her glistering hue distilleth deadly poyson? To the Seastar, whose shell stayneth the Iuorie and whose meat is blacker than Iet? Vnto the trées in the Mount Vermise, whose barke burneth like fire, and whose sap is colder than Ice? Well Pharicles, cast thy cardes, make thine accountes, and thou shalt finde the greatest gaine to be losse, and thy profite to be such as hee that maketh of a mountaine of golde a myerie moulhill, of an Elephant a Gnatte, and commeth from a wealthie merchant to a bare banckrout. Consider with thy selfe thou hast stayned thy stocke, and what more to be regarded? Thou hast crackt thy credite, and what of greater price? Thou hast lost thy friendes, and what of more value? Thou hast purchased two most trustie louers to be thy mortall foes, and exiled thy selfe as a poore pilgrime into a strange countrie. Why Pha­ricles, can these thy dolorous discourses cure thy care? or can vnfoulding of thy infortunate life be a meanes to mit­tigate thy miserie? rubbe not thy galded conscience for feare of a déeper sore, but if thou hast béene carelesse in chaunge be nowe carefull and constant in choyce, if thou hast committed a fault séeke in secret wise to make some part of amendes, if thou hast offended by breaking pro­mise make a recompence in paying performance. Yea but the salue (be it neuer so pure) is not worth a rush if vn­apt for the soare, the medicine being vnfit for the patients disease, though neuer so soueraigne, bringeth small pro­fite, so this thy clarkely counsell vnapt for the cause will [Page] procure thée but litle ease: for thou hast deceiued Mamillia, and halted with Publia, thou hast made a fault to both and canst make amendes but to one, thy promise is to laie thy loue on two where the performance can light but vppon some particular person, so that in any wise thou canst not make a ful satisfaction for thy fault, vnlesse thou take vpon thée such a charge as thou shalt neuer bée able to rule nor they suffer. O vnhappie man art thou the onelie marke at which fortune meanes to vnloose her infortunate quiuer? And with that hée cast foorth such a sigh, as it was a suffici­ent sign to witnesse a ready remorse in his troubled mind, that the maister of the ship taking compassion on this per­plexed pilgrim, thought to comfort his care with this mer­rie motion.

Sir, quoth he, your bitter teares and déepe sighs which you powre foorth so plentifully, as tokens of some inwarde griefe, hath driuen both the marriners & me into a diuerse dumpe, as we all stand in doubt whether those pittifull plaints procéed from a carefull cōscience combred with sin, or else y^t you are of that order of pilgrims, whose pretensed pilgrimage is to séeke S. Iames, but their heart & deuotion is vowed to an other Saint, which with a crabbed counte­nance hath giuen them such a cutting corasiue as they séek by absence either to mittigate her moode or procure their owne ease: and if you bée of the same case and in the like minde, I will thinke you as madde as he that counteth fa­sting a soueraigne preseruatiue against famine.

Pharicles hearing the Pilots parle to touch him some­what, & perceiuing his talke to sende to some end, thought as closely to stand him the warde as he had clarkely giuen him the blow, and therefore trickt vp his talke with this cunning scuse.

Pilot quoth Pharicles, although they skill in nauigation be great, yet if thou hadst no greater cunning in stirring of the stearne, than in coniecturing the cause of my sorrow, [Page] I would verie lothly haue committed my selfe vnder thy charge to haue sailed into Sicillia: for whether thou presu­mest vppon phisiognomie or follie, it is but a bare diuision to say that either loue or sinne must be the cause of griefe: but put case thou hast hit the marke, and that my outward sighes be signes of inward loue, will not absence thinkest thou diminish affection?

Yes quoth the Pilote, when you finde solitarinesse a so­ueraigne salue against sorrow, then will the dewe of dis­continuance quench out the fire of fancie: but leauing these amorous questions, you are welcome to the coastes of Si­cillia.

Pharicles séeing the cockboate readie to carrie him to the shoare, rewarded both the maister and the marriners very francklie, desiring the Pilot (sith he himselfe was a stran­ger) to guide him to some honest Inne, where hée might make his aboade while he staied in the countrie. Who be­ing verie desirous to gratifie the Gentleman, carried Pha­ricles to a verie friends house of his, who for the Pilottes cause gaue Pharicles such curteous entertainment, as hée thought himselfe to haue hapt on a verie good hoast.

Where by the way Gentlemen, we sée the tickle state of such yong youthes whose wits are wils, and their wils are lawes, coueting so much sensual libertie, as they bring themselues into perpetuall bondage: for y^e Polype hath not more colours, nor the Camelion more sundrie shapes than they haue change in thoughts, now liking, now loathing: for a while professed enimies to Venus court, & then sworn true subiects to the crowne of Cupid, so variable as a man can neither iudge of their nature, nor nourture, vnlesse by natiuitie they be lunatikes, not taking this worde as the English men do, for starke mad, but as borne vnder the in­fluence of Luna, and therfore as firme in their faith as the melting waxe that receiueth euerie impression, thinking [Page] as Pharicles did, that it is a Courtiers profession to court to euerie dame but to bee constant to none, that it is the grace to speak finely though without faith, and to be wed­ded in words to as many as the lusting eie can like: so that at length whē their talke is found tales, their loue lust, and their protested promises smal performance, then their cre­dite béeing crackt, they must be trauellers to séeke that in a strange country which they could neuer find in their own: they must into Sicillia for shiftes, into Italie for pride, to France for fraude, and to Englande for fashions and follie, so that they returne home laden, not with learning, but with leaudnesse, not with vertue but with vice, yea, their whole fraught is a masse of mischiefes. I speake not of all trauellers Gentlemen, but of such as Pharicles, which take their iourney, either that their credite at home is crasie, or else being wedded to vanitie séeke to augment their fol­lie.

But againe to Pharicles, who now safely setled in Sara­gossa the chiefe citie in Sicillia, a place of no lesse suspition than resort (and yet the most famous mart in all the coun­trie) dealt so clarkely in his calling, and behaued himselfe so demurely, as his pretensed kinde of life gaue occasion to no man to suspect his fained profession: for his Palmers wéed was worne with such a grauitie in his countenance, and such a modestie in his maners, as all men thought the man to be halfe mortified. For Pharicles knew verie well that he could not liue in Saragossa vnder the state of a gen­tleman, but either he must spende with the best or sit with the woorst: yea, beside that without companions hée could not bée: and hée thought it verie harde to choose a dramme of golde among a pounde of drosse, to finde one Gemme a­midst a whole heape of flint, one Eele among many Scor­pions, and one friend amōg a thousand flatterers: it might assoone be his happe to chaunce on a dissembling Dauus as on a trusty Damon, to commit his counsel to a subtil Sinon [Page] as to a faithfull Pilades, to take him for a professed friend which might be a protested foe, in the fairest grasse to finde the fowlest Snake, in Oryllus boxe a deadly poyson, in Ca­rolus scarph a withered roote, in the shape of a friende the substance of a foe. Hée thought likewise that such a Citie as Saragossa was often times as well stored with Para­sites as garded with souldiers, and as full of counterfaites as counsellers, and that he might finde many cousins clai­ming more acquaintance to his purse than kinred to his person, more allyed to his liuing than to his linage: to con­clude, more to féed his fancie for gaine than either good wil or friendship.

Pharicles partly feared and partly perswaded with the consideration of the former premisses, was fully resolued in his minde to abandon all company, & to giue a finall fare­wel to his forepassed follie, to make a change of his chaffer with better ware, of his drosse with golde, and of his flée­ting will with staied wisedome. Hauing thus determined to leade a Pilgrims life to punish his bodie with this Pal­mers penance, in satisfaction of his disloyall dealings with his trusty louers, he had not liued in this Hermits state by the space of a moneth, but he proued the Pilots talke to be no tales, nor his wordes to be winde, but a setled sentence: for want of company so increased his care, and brought such melancholike motions to his musing mind, as now he per­ceiued solitarinesse to be the nursse of sorrow, and disconti­nuance the father of fancie. The modestie of Mamillia, the constancie of Publia, his credite crakt in Italie, his youth spent in vanity, his great promises and smal performance, his fained faith & forged flatterie, so battered the bulwarke of his brest, & gaue such fierce assaults to his carefull con­science, as he thought himselfe to be in a second Hell, vntill he might find a meanes to mitigate his miserie: and ther­fore as solitarines was the sore, so he meant societie should be the salue, determining to driue away those dumpes by [Page] frequenting of companie, which otherwise woulde haue bredde his vtter bane: respecting neither cost, expences, nor hazarding of himselfe, so his minde might remaine in quiet.

Pharicles hauing thus cast off his Pilgrimes wéed and Pilgrims profession, gaue the citizens of Saragossa in short time to vnderstand that hée was as well a Gentleman by nature as by nurture, and as worthily brought vp as wor­shipfully borne. For first hée made a restraint of his will by wit, then vsed his wit so warilie and wiselie, shewing such a curteous countenance and franke liberalitie to al e­states, as he draue them into a dout, whether the comlines of his person, or the worthinesse of his mind deserued grea­ter commendation: In so much as those yong Gentlemen thought themselues happie which might be counted com­paniōs to this new guest, & aboue all the rest of this court­ly true which kept him company, a yong gentlemā named Ferragus, onely sonne to the gouernour of Saragossa, was ioyned with him in most priuate familiarity, thinking that day euill spent, wherein he had not visited his new friend Pharicles, and the more to do him honor being a stranger, hée oftentimes carried him to his fathers house, where in short time Pharicles wonne such credit by his curtesie, that Signor Fernese (for so was y^e old gentleman called) thought his house the more luckie he had such a guest, & his sonne the more happie he had chosen such a companion: but for al this Pharicles fearing to find a pad in the straw, and a bur­ning sparke amongst colde ashes, was a foe to none, nor a friend to anie, neither durst trust Ferragus without suffici­ent triall, but bare himselfe so indifferent to all, yet shew­ing himselfe so fit for all companies, as well in ripenesse of wit as reuenewes of wealth, that there was no talke for a time but of the perfection of Pharicles.

While thus flattering fame had spread abroad his fa­mous qualities, there was a yong gentlewoman in Sara­gossa [Page] called Clarynda, of more wealth than beautie, and yet so sufficientlie furnished with the perfections & dowries of nature, that if she could haue bene continent and not com­mon in her loue, shée might haue bene for her person a fit mate for the most famous Prince in the worlde. But shée being both yong, rich, and beautifull, hauing neither father nor mother which might make a restraint of her nature by due nurture, and enioying a libertie without controle­ment which be the greatest bawdes in the world to make a Gentlewoman slide in such slipperie pathes, hauing nei­ther care of her person nor regard of her parentage, but set­ting both honour and honestie to sale became a professed Curtizan.

In which staylesse state of life she waded so far, that her chiefest care was to bée carelesse in that which aboue all things she ought most to haue regarded, for whereas both her birth and beautie had béene of sufficient force to per­swade her to beautifie the goods of fortune and gifts of na­ture with a maidenlie modestie and silent chastitie, shée contrariwise linking her selfe to sensual libertie, and wed­ding her minde to vanitie, sought to reape renowne & pur­chase fame by y^e which she tried in time to bréede her grea­test infamie: for why, she found both such pleasure and pro­fite by setting her honestie to sale in the shamelesse shop of voluptuous desires, that neither the shame of her life, nor the feare of her death, the state of her birth, or the staine of her beautie, might in any wise mooue her from her loathed kinde of liuing: no her heart was so hardened, and her eares so enchanted with the alluring charme of Venus so­phistry, y^t neither the persuasions of her friends lamenting her case, nor y^e reioysing of her foes laughing at her leaud­nesse, could driue her to desist from her detestable kinde of dealing. Nay y^e more she was counselled, the lesse she was conformable; the more she was intreated, the lesse she was tractable: yea, she setled her selfe so surely, as she thought [Page] in the seate of selfewill and securitie, that she imployed all her time and studie to entertaine her licentious louers, shewing her selfe such a subtile Circes and craftie Calipso, in giuing them pestiferous potions, and drowning them in the dregges of diuellish delights, that vnlesse it were some warie Vlisses that had prouided a preseruatiue against her poison, they returned transformed into apes or asses, or in­to worse if worse may be. And yet for all this fained affecti­on, her fléeting fancie was neuer fixed vpon any, but laying the net, was frée her selfe, casting the bayte, auoyded the hooke, séeking to entrappe others, she her selfe was neuer intangled: and as the most infectious serpent hath alwaies the swéetest breath, so for all her vicious mind she had such a vertuous tongue, and trickt vp her talke with such pain­ted colours, as they of Saragossa did maruell how she could so clarkely couer y^e substance of vice vnder the shape of ver­tue: yea they learned by her leaudnesse to warn their chil­dren from such state of life, they did sée verie well how that which was bredde by the boane would not out of the flesh, that the yoong Adder would prooue an olde Serpent, that the cragged twigge woulde prooue a crooked trée, that shée which spent her youth without restraint, woulde leade her age without controlement, that the mayd which was vow­ed to vanitie would wedde her selfe in time to follie. But againe to Clarynda, who wallowing in the waues of wan­tonnesse, and offering her incense at the altar of Venus, heard as well as others y^e rare report of Pharicles perfecti­ons, which tickling somewhat her toyish minde, made her desirous to trie what was in the gentleman by experience, and to reape both pleasure by his person, and profite by his purse, which was the chiefest marke whereat shée al­waies aymed: Couering therefore the heart of a Tigre with the fléece of a Lambe, the clawes of a Grype with the pennes of a Doue, the vanitie of Lais with the vale of Lu­cretia, the miserable conditions of a Curtizan with the [Page] modest countenance of a matrone, decking her selfe with i [...]ns & iewels of infinit valour, set her self in her window as an adamant obiect to draw the wauering eyes of Phari­cles, thinking that as none could heare the Syrens sing, but they should be charmed with their melodie, so it were as impossible to sée her and not bee allured with her beautie. But as y^e Lion séeking to intrap the hart as a pray, is him­self vnwares taken in the toiles: so Clarinda making the snare fell in the pit, holding the view was taken at y^e gaze, séeking to catch an other captiue, was brought her self into perpetuall bondage: for indéed (according to her desire and imagination) Pharicles constrained by certaine his necessa­rie affairs came by her house, yet armed with such a priuie coate as hée warilie withstood the greatest daunger of her inuenomed shot: giuing her to vnderstand that he could flie about the candle and not be singed, sée the Scorpion and not be stricken, that hée could laugh and looke without liking: yea warme himselfe verie nigh the fire and not be burned, that he could accedere ad hunc ignem, and yet not calescere plusquam satis: For why, passing by her window and sée­ing this gorgious Gorgon so shrined in the shape of a god­desse, did not onely repu [...]e at Nature for placing so hellish a minde in so heauenlie a creature, but also smiled to sée such brauerie linked with so litle honestie, and such perfect beautie blemisht with the want of chastitie. Yet willing to shew himselfe a friend to all, he gaue her the Salue with a cringing curtesie, and went to his lodging without anie more losse than in lending his looke to such alluring vani­ties. But she contrariwise being at discouert, noting the comelinesse of Pharicles countenance, & imprinting in her heart the perfection of his person, had her fancie so fettered aswel with y^e report of others as with her own iudgemēt, that she maruelled to find such a straunge Metamorphosis in her immodest mind: for thinking to shake off y^e shackles with a bare farwell as she had done before, she felt her self [Page] so fast tyed to the stake, that it craued her greatest cunning to vnloose the knot. Nowe she felt the poyson to worke on her selfe that she had prouided for others, and perceiued that intending to lay the snare, shée her selfe was wholly entrapped: yea the force of fancie gaue such fierce allarmes to her new besieged minde, as no rampier that she coulde make might withstand the batterie. The more she stroue against the streame the lesse it did preuaile, the closer shée couered the sparke, the more it kindled: yea, in séeking to vnlose the Lunes, the more shée was intangled: In fine after she had passed two or thrée dayes in kicking against the pricke, she felt such a haplesse horrour in her troubled mind, that she was forced to enter into consideration with her selfe what conditions she should offer to her newe pro­fessed enemie, and therefore entering into her closet vtte­red these spéeches.

O vniust Gods quoth shée, which haue indued brute beastes with greater perfection in their kinde than reaso­nable creatures: The Garlike killeth the Serpent, & shée by instinct of nature escheweth the same. The iuice of hem­locke poysoneth the beare and what more abhorred? the grease of the snayle infecteth the ape, and what more loa­thed? yea euery creature shunneth the occasion of danger, man onely excepted, which séeketh with pursuit to obtaine that which bréedeth his confusion: what bruiseth the brain? what mazeth the minde? what weakeneth the wit? what bréedeth feare? what bringeth frenzie? what soweth sorrowe? what reapeth care more than loue? and yet the onely thing wherein man delighteth. The byrd louing the woodes loatheth the nets, the hart liking the lawnes ha­teth the snares: But man placing his felicitie in fréedome, taketh greatest care to cast himselfe into perpetuall bon­dage.

O Clarinda, would to God thou mightest accuse others and be frée thy selfe from this follie: but alas thou doest [Page] condemne others of that cryme wherein thou thy selfe de­seruest greatest blame: Wilt thou now fond foole become a professed friend to affection, which hast alwayes béene a protested foe to fancie? wilt thou now suffer thy minde to bée nousled vp in captiuitie, which hath alwaies béene noursed vp in libertie? Thou hast counselled others to be­ware of the traine, and wilt thou now thy selfe be taken in the trappe? thou hast boasted that thou couldest both like and loath at thine owne pleasure, and shall thy brags now bée daunted with disgrace? wilt thou now proue such a cowarde to yéelde to the file, to stoope at the stampe, to giue ouer the fielde before there be a stroake stroken, yea and to such a cruell tyrant as loue is? It is a saying not so common as true, that shée which soweth all her loue in an houre, shall not reape all her care in a yeare, that shée which liketh without remembrance shall not liue without repentaunce. So then Clarynda be wise, since thou art warned, looke before thou leapest: there is no better de­fence against daunger than to consider the ende of thine enterprise. Thou art intangled with the loue of a stran­ger, who perhaps hath his heart fixed on some other place, thou hast fondly set thine affection vpon one whose wealth, wit, and conditions, thou onely knowest by the flattering report of fame, he is in outwarde shewe a Saint, and per­happes in inward mind a serpent, for his person a paragon of beauty, for his conditions since he soiourned in Saragossa most highlie to bée commended: yea so perfect in substance and qualitie as he may in no respect be appeached of want: why? but Clarynda fame is not alwaies true, and the bra­uest bloome hath not alwayes the best fruite: those birdes which sing swéetest, haue oftentimes the sowrest flesh, the ryuer Silia is most pleasant to the eye and yet most hurtful to the stomacke, the stone Nememphis is not so delicate without, as deadly within, all that glisters is not golde. Pharicles (Clarynda) for all his pompous fame of perfect cō ­ditions [Page] may bée a parasiticall flatterer of most imperfect conuersatiō. Who was more curteous than Conon the A­thenian? and yet a verie counterfeite; who more gentle than Galba in shewe? yet none more trecherous in proofe; Vlisses had a faire tongue but a false heart, Metellus was modest but yet mutable: the cloath is not knowne till it come to the wéeting, nor a louers quallities perceiued till he come to the wearing. Well Clarinda although it is good to doubt the worst, yet suppose the best, he is constant, tru­stie, not vain-glorious nor wedded vnto vanitie, but a pro­tested foe to vice and a professed friend to vertue: Alas fond foole? if thou wey thy case in the equall ballance the grea­ter is thy care & the more is thy miserie, for by how much the more he himselfe is vertuous, so much lesse hée will e­stéeme thée which art vicious: doest thou thinke he which is trustie wil regard thée which art trothlesse? y^t his faith­full curtesie will brooke thy fained inconstancie? is thy sen­ses so besotted with selfeloue to suppose that a Gentleman of great wealth and no lesse wit, famous both for his per­son and parentage, will bée so witlesse in chaunge or care­lesse in choice, so light in his loue or leaude in his life, as to fixe his affection vpon a professed Curtizan, whose honestie and credit is so wracked in the waues of wantonnesse, and so weatherbeaten with the billowes of immodestie, that it is set to sale in the shamelesse shop of Venus as a thing of no value to be cheapt of euery stragling chapman. No no Clarinda, there is such a great difference betwéene thy hap­lesse chaunce and his happie choice, betwéene thy carelesse liuing and his carefull life, as there remains to thée not so much as one dramme of hope to cure thy intollerable ma­ladie. And why fond foole? Was not Lamia in profession a Curtizan, in life a lasciuious vassall to Venus vanitie, yea to figure her foorth in plaine tearmes a sta [...]esse strumpet racking her honestie to the vttermost, therby to raise reue­newes to maintaine her immodest life, and yet for all the [Page] blemish of immoderate lust wherein she was lulled a sléep by security, she so charmed and enchanted with her Syren subtleties the senses of king Demetrius, y^t he was so blin­ded with the beames of her beautie, and dimmed with the wanton vale of her alluring vanities, forgetting that shée was by calling a curtizan & by custome common to all that could wage her honestie with the appointed price, he so en­tirely loued this gracelesse dame, that neither the remem­brance of her forepassed follie, nor the suspition of her pre­sent immodestie coulde driue that worthy king to mislike her, vntill the extreame date of death parted their insepa­rable amitie? Were not manie noble Princes allured to the loue of Lais? Was not that worthy Romane Cassius so fettered with the forme of Flora the renowmed curtizan of Rome, that hee offered the prime of his yéeres at the shrine of that gorgeous Goddesse, and yet the worst of these two worthie wights farre surpassing Pharicles as well in ripe­nesse of wit as reuenewes of wealth. Yea but Clarynda inferre no comparison, for these two stately dames were so decked and adorned with the giftes of nature, and so poli­shed with princely perfection, that they were the most rare iems and péerelesse paragons of beautie that euer were shrowded vnder the shape of mortalitie, so that if Iupiter had but once frequented their companie, no doubt Iuno would haue béen infected with ielowsie, wheras thy come­linesse deserueth no such surpassing commendation, but that thou mayst yéeld the palme of a victorie to a thousand whose beautie is such as their greatest imperfection may daunt thée with disgrace. Why but Clarynda, art thou so mad to lay a cutting corasiue to a gréene wound, to procure heat with colde, to represse hunger with famine, to salue sorrow with solitarinesse, and to mittigate thy misery with extreme dispaire? No no, since thou art once lodged vp in the lothsome labyrinth of loue, thou must like Theseus be haled out with the thréed of hope: for better hadst thou met [Page] with Minotaurus in plaine combat, than be but once arre­sted with the miserable mase of distrust. And therefore Cla­rynda cast away care, retire not before thou hast the re­pulse, but kéepe the course by thy compasse: and since thou hast the sore séeke the salue, applie thy wit & will, thy hand and heart to atchieue that thing, in atteining whereof con­sists either thy continuall calamitie or perpetuall ioy, and with that she stept to her standish which stoode in the win­dow, and wrote a letter to Pharicles in this effect.

CLarynda hauing thus finisht her Letter, called one of her maydes which shée thought most méete for suche a purpose, and willed her to carrie it with as much spéede as might bee to Pharicles, who hauing taken the charge in hand, dealt so clarklie in the cause as shée sought such fit opportunitie for the performance of her message, that shée found Pharicles sitting solitarie in his chamber, to whom she offered the letter in her mistresse behalf on this wise.

Sir quoth she, if my bold attempt to trouble your studie may import small manners or little modestie, the vrgent cause being once knowne, I hope both I shalbe excused and you pacified. For so it is, that my mistresse Clarynda by the space of two or thrée daies hath bene pinched with such vn­acquainted paines, and griped with suche vnspeakeable griefs, as the extremitie of her sicknesse is such, as we looke onely when the stroake of death shall frée her from this in­credible calamitie. Yet amidst the sorest panges of her pin­ching distresse, she commaunded me to present this letter [Page] to your worships hands, wherein both the cause and the sickenesse it selfe is decyphered. For she hath heard by re­port that you haue such perfect skill in curing that kinde of maladie which by fortune is inflicted vpon her, that eyther of her death or the restoring of her health consisteth in your cunning, which if it be such, as no doubt it is, if ey­ther you haue the nature of a Gentleman, or your courte­sie be such as all Saragossa speaketh of, I hope her disease being once knowen, you will send such a soueraigne salue for her sickenesse, as we her poore handmaides shall haue cause to giue you thankes for our mistresse health, and she her selfe be bound to remayne a duetifull debter of yours for euer.

Pharicles hearing the subtile song of this enchaunting Syren, doubted to touch the scrappe for feare of the snare, and was loath to taste of any daintie delicates, least he might vnhappilie be crossed with some impoysoned dish of charming Cyrces, for Pharicles knewe himselfe an vnfitte Physition for such a paltring patient, neither could he on the sodaine diuine of her dangerous disease, nor coniecture the cause of her insupportable sorowe, vnlesse she were fal­len in loue with his friend Ferragus, and thought to make him a meanes to perswade his friend to the like affection. But to auoide the trappe whatsoeuer the trayne were, he though best to looke before he did leape, and to cast the water before he gaue counsell, least in knéeling to Saint Francis shrine, he should be thought a Fryer of the same fraternitie: to auoyde therefore such inconuenience as might happen by replying too rashlie, he gaue her this vn­certaine answere.

Maide quoth he, as you haue for your part sufficientlie satisfied me with this excuse, not to thinke euill of your boldnesse, so you haue driuen me into a doubt what I should coniecture of y^e strangenes of the message, sith that since I soiourned in Saragossa, I haue neither openly pro­fessed [Page] my selfe a Physition, nor secretly ministred to any of my friends wherby any such supposition might be gathe­red, but perhaps it pleaseth your Mistresse to descant thus merily with me for my pilgrims apparell which at my first cōming to Saragossa I did vse to weare, which if it be so, tell her I traueiled not as a Pilgrim that had cunning to cure the disease of a Curtizan, because I would not buy repentance too déere, but that my pilgrims wéed did warne me to beware for cheaping such chaffre, as was set to sale in the shamelesse shop of Venus: Marrie if your mistresse be in earnest, & that her disease be so dangerous that all the learned Physitions in Saragossa dare not deale withall, and yet my small skill may cure it, I meane first to séeke out the nature of the sicknesse, and then the vertue of the simples to make the receipt, which being done, my Page shal bring her an answer of her letter spéedily. The maide hearing this doubtfull answere departed, but Pharicles de­sirous to sée what clarklie conclusions he should find in the Curtizans scrowle, could scarcely stay while the maide had turned her back from vnripping the Seales, wherein he found Clarinda combred with such a perilous sicknesse, as must of necessity bréede her death if she were not cured, or his extreme miserie if she were amended, séeing him­selfe therefore chosen a Physition for such a passionate pa­tient as would reward him with large reuenewes & rich possessions for his paines (yea and that which was more, yéelded her person into his power in part of payment, whose comely proportion surpassed the brauest dames in Europe, if the stayne of her honesty had not béen a blemish to her incomparable beawtie) he was with these large offers driuen into a doubtfull dilemma what he should re­plie to Clarindas demaunde, his dissembling with Mamil­lia, his treacherie to Publia, his credite crackt in Italie, the losse of his friends, the hate of his foes, and nowe a­gaine the riches of Clarinda, her surpassing beawtie, and [Page] her promise to take a new course of life so assaulted the fort of this perplexed Pharicles, as he had almost yéelded a liste­ning eare to the melodie of this immodest mermaide. But as there is no hearbe so perillous which hath not some one vertue which is precious, nor no Serpent so infectious whiche is not indewed with some one qualitie which is commodious: So Pharicles although he was who­lie wedded vnto vanitie, and had professed himselfe a mortall foe to vertue, béeing in the state of his life such a mutable machauilian, as he neither regarded friend nor faith, oath nor promise, if his wauering wit perswaded him to the contrarie: yet he entered into such déep conside­rations of the curtizans conditions and of the care of his owne credite, yea the feare of God and dread of man so daunted his conscience, that now he so loathed this lasciui­ous Lamia, as full of chollar he fel into these melancholike passions.

Is it not sufficient (O fickle and vnstedfast fortune) that thou hast drenched me in the waues of distresse, and tossed me with the tempest of aduersitie, in loosing two such true and trustie louers as by thy frowning frowardnes I haue lost, but now to aggrauate my griefe and to repaie my care with greater calamitie, thou séekest in a straunge countrie to trappe me in the snares of captiuitie, where I haue nei­ther kinsmen to comfort me, nor friendes to giue mée good aduise to redresse my miserie: yea and that which is most despight, to entangle me with such trash, the burden wher­of is the greatest plague that any mortall man can sustain? O haplesse man, and vnhappie fortune! Why but Phari­cles, why doest thou so fondlie accuse fortune of iniustice? Whereas if thou weyest all things in the equall ballance, she séeketh more thy preferment than thou thy selfe canst desire. Consider but thine owne case: Mamillia hath reiec­ted thée for a flatterer, and Publia accounts thée for a Para­site, Gonzaga is thy foe, Gostyno thine enemie, yea thy [Page] verie friendes are become thine aduersaries, and all Padua despiseth thée as a patterne of leawdenesse: what hope canst thou haue then Pharicles to recouer thy credit where euerie man of reputation will refuse thy companie? Doest thou hope to winne fame where thou art infamous, or to bée counted vertuous where thou art tried to be most las­ciuious? No, no, and therefore count fortune thy friende, who in a straunge countrie hath offered thée such a match, as for her parentage & patrimonie, lands and liuing, birth and beautie, may deserue to be a mate for the most famous Prince in the world. Yea but Pharicles, she is a Curtizan, common and inconstant. What then? Hath she not promi­sed to chaunge her vicious liking into a most vertuous li­uing, the state of a Curtizan into the staie a of matron, & to make a Metamorphosis of her forepassed dishonestie into most perfect modestie? The palme y^t is most crooked being a twig is most straight being a trée. What more hurtful to the heart than the buds of a date, & yet no greater cordiall than the fruite: nothing sauoureth worse than a Panther being a whelp, yet no beast hath so swéet a smel being old: that which oft times in prime of yéeres is most perilous, in ripe age proueth most precious. So Pharicles althogh Cla­rinda hath bene a most gracelesse monster in her youth, yet she may proue a most gracious matron in her age: yea and by how much the more shée hath knowne the filthinesse of vice being a maide, by so much the more she will embrace vertue being a wife. O Pharicles are thy senses alate so be­sotted, and thy wit so inueigled, art thou so blinded with the vale of vice & dimmed with the maske of vanitie, that thou art become more sottish than the senselesse stones, or more bruite than vnreasonable creatures. The Crysolite being worne on the finger of an adulteresse, so detesteth the crime as it cracketh in péeces by méere instinct of na­ture. The Vnicorne is such a foe to adulterie, and such a friend to chastitie, as hée alwaies preserueth the one and [Page] killeth the other. The iuice of the Basco leafe so abhorreth vnlawfull lust, as it will not by any meanes be digested in the stomacke of a strumpet. Wilt thou then Pharicles loue her whom the senslesse stones do loath, or deale with that person whom verie bruite beasts do detest? No, no, Mamil­lia will rather both forgiue and forget thy flatterie, & Pub­lia pardon thy periurie, than they would but once haue thée consent to companie with such a gracelesse Curtizan. And with that such a sorowfull sadnes oppressed his melancho­like mind, as he had fallen into forepassed passions had not his friende Ferragus driuen him out of that dumpe, who comming into the chamber & finding him as one hauing his heart on his halfpeny, wakened him out of his dreame with this pleasant salutation.

I am sorie friend Pharicles to finde you in this dumpe, so I am the more gréeued because I cannot coniecture the cause: and although it be the dutie of a friend to be copart­ner of his friendes sorrow, yet I dare not wish my selfe a partaker of your sadnesse, because I suppose you are offring incense at the aultar of such a Saint, at whose shryne you will not so much as once vouchsafe that I should but sing placebo. If this be the care that combers your minde, good Pharicles find some other time for your amorous passions: But if it be any sinister mishap which hath driuen you into this dumpe, either want of wealth, losse of friends or other frowne of Fortune, only reueale Pharicles wherein I may pleasure thée, and I will supplie thy want with my weale, & cure thy care with such comfortable counsell as my sim­ple wit can afoord. The fairest sandes Pharicles are oftimes most fickle. When the leafe of the Seahuluer looketh most gréene, then is the roote most withered, where the Sea breaketh with greatest billows, there is the water shallo­west: so oftimes in the fairest spéech lies hid y^e falsest heart, in flourishing wordes dissembling déedes, and in the grea­test shew of good wil the smallest effect of friendship. I can [Page] not Pharicles paint out my affection towards thée with co­loured spéeches, nor decipher my amitie with the pensill of flatterie, but if thou wilt account me for thy friend, & so vse me when thou hast occasion, thou shalt (to be short) finde me farre more prodigall in performance than pratling in pro­mises, and so I ende.

Pharicles for all these painted spéeches of his friend Fer­ragus, durst not wade vs farre where the foord was vnkno­wen, nor reueale the cause of his care to his companion, lest happily he might find a Pad in the straw, and try that oftimes of the smoothest talke ensueth the smallest trueth: to satisfie therfore his friend and to cloake the cause of his care, he coyned this pretie scuse.

O Ferragus quoth he, it is not as you imagin the pangs of loue which haue driuen me into these passions, neither the want of wealth which haue thus wrapped me in woe? for to be intangled with loue I haue alwayes thought it a madnesse, and to waile for wealth a point of méer folly, but it is Ferragus such a miserie, as the sturdie Stoikes them­selues, which were neuer moued with aduersitie, did onlie dread to be strooken with this despightfull dart of calami­tie. Yet amidst this my greatest misfortune thy friendly affection is such a comfortable collife to my crazed minde, & I find such comfort in thy frendship, as I think my lands life nor libertie halfe sufficient to requite thy curtesie, but promising vnto thée the like vnfained affection, & reposing the staie of my life in thy trustinesse, I wil vnfold vnto thée the cause of my distresse. The smoake Ferragus of Padua is more deare vnto mée than the fire of Saragossa, and the waters of Italie doe farre more delight my taste than the most delicate wines in Sicilia, and rather had I liue in a poore cottage in my natiue soyle, than be pampered vp in princely pallaces in a strange country: Yea, it is Ferragus naturally giuen to all to choose rather to liue in aduersitie amongst their friends at home, than in prosperitie among [Page] strangers abroad: in so much that no greater miserie can be inflicted vppon any man, than to leade an exiled life in a forraine nation. This this Ferragus is the crosse wherwith I am afflicted. For I must confesse vnto thée by the lawe of friendship, that through the displeasure of the Empe­rour I am condemned to leade my life in perpetuall exile, so that neither I cannot nor may not so much as once ap­proach the confines of Italie, which restraint from my na­tiue country is such a hell to my minde, and such a horrour to my conscience, as death should be thrise welcome to re­lease me from banishment. It is not the losse of my landes or liuing Ferragus which so molests my mind, but the want of my faithfull and familiar friendes: for wealth may bée gotten by wisedome, but a trustie friend is hardly recoue­red, so that Zeno himself was of this opinion, that the losse of friends is only to be lamented. Solon the Athenian being demaunded why he made no lawe for adulterers, answe­red, because there were none in his common wealth. Why quoth the other, but howe if there happen to be any, shall hée dye? No quoth Solon, hée shall be banished, meaning that no torture, torment nor calamity is to be compared to the miserie of exile. Woe is me then most miserable crea­ture.

Why Pharicles quoth Ferragus, wilt thou salue sadnesse with sorrow, or cure care with calamitie? Wilt thou wipe away woe with wailing? or driue away these dumps with dith despaire? No no Pharicles, but to adde a salue to this sore, thus I replie to thy complaint.

The most wise & auntient Philosophers Pharicles haue bene of this opinion, that the worlde generally is but as one Citie: so that wheresoeuer a wise man remaineth, hée dwelleth in his owne home, for nature hath appointed the selfesame lawes to euerie place, neither is she contrarie to her self in the furthest parts of y^e world. There is no place where the fire is colde, and the water hot, the aire heauie, [Page] and the earth light: neither hath wit or learning lesse force in India than in Italie, and vertue is had in reputation as well in the North as in the South: so that Anacharsis was wont to say, vnaquae (que) patria Sapienti patria. But perhaps Pharicles thou wilt obiect thy great possessions which thou hast lost, and how thou wert of more account for thy birth and parentage among thine owne, than euer thou shalt be among strangers. But I say Pharicles, that Coriolanus was more beloued of the Volscians, among whome he liued in exile, than of the Romanes with whom he was a citizen. Alcibiades being banished by the Atheni­ans, became chiefe Captaine of the armie of the Lacedemo­nians. And Hanniball was better entertained by king An­tiochus, than with his owne subiects in Carthage. And I dare say Pharicles, thou wert neuer more famous in Padua than thou art here in Saragossa: Yea, and the more to mi­tigate thy miserie, consider with thy selfe that there is no greater comfort than to haue companions in sorrow: thou art not the first, nor shalt not be the last which haue béene exiled into forraine countries, yea, and such to whom thou art farre inferiour both in calling and countenance. Cad­mus the king of Thebes was driuen out of the selfe same citie which he had builded, and dyed old in exile among the Illyrians. Sarcas the king of the Molossians vanquished by Philip king of Macedonia, ended his miserable dayes in ex­ile. Dionysius the Syracusan driuen out of his countrie was constrayned to teache a Schoole at Corynth. Syphax the great king of Numidia séeing his citie taken and his wife Sophonisba in the armes of his mortall foe Masynissa, and that his miserie should be a trumpet to sounde out Scipios tryumph, ended his life both exiled and imprisoned. Perseus the king of Macedonia, first discomfited and then depriued of his kingdome, and lastly yéelded into the hands of Paulus Aemilius, remained long time a poore-banished prisoner. These Pharicles without reciting any more, are sufficient, [Page] considering their crownes, kingdomes and Maiesties, to prooue that Fortune hath not onely offered the like mishap to others, but also hath not done so great despite vnto thée as was in her power to haue done. But perhaps Phari­cles thou wilt replie that these mightie Monarchs are not in the same predicamēt, for they were banished their king­domes by open enimies, and thou thy countrie by supposed friendes: they were exiled by sinister enmitie of forreine foes, and thou by the secrete enuie of flattering compani­ons: so that the selfe same citizens who were bound vnto thy father for his prudent gouernement being their magi­strate, and to thée for thy liberalitie maintaining their li­berties, haue repayed thy curtesie with most ingratefull crueltie. To which I answere, that Theseus whose famous actes are so blazed abroade through all the world, was dri­uen out of Athens by the selfe same citizens which he him selfe had placed, and dyed an olde banished man in Tyrus. Solon who gouerned his citizens with most golden lawes, was notwithstanding exiled by them into Cyprus. The Lacedemonians béeing bounde nor beholding to no man so much as vnto Lycurgus, for all his prudent policie in go­uerning the citie constrained him to leade his life in exile. The Romanes suffered Scipio Africanus the first which defended them from so many perils, most miserablie to die in Lyntermum. And the second Scipio for all that he sub­dued Carthage and Numantia which refused to become tri­butaries to the Romanes, found in Rome a murtherer but not a reuenger. Ingratitude Pharicles, is the most aunti­ent mischiefe which raigneth among the people, béeing so déepelie rooted that it doth not as all other things waxe olde, but waxeth daily more fresh, so that the flower falling there followeth great store of fruite. And further Phari­cles, for the losse of thy friendes I confesse it is the greatest cause of care, and yet oftimes the fairest face hath the fow­lest heart, and the swéetest wordes the sowrest déedes, thou [Page] hast therfore the meanes by this mishap to iudge betwéene the faithfull and fained friende: for as the touchestone tri­eth the golde, so aduersitie prooueth friends. Had not Ore­stes fallen into his extreme phrensie, he had neuer tried the sacred faith of Pilades: and if the warres of the Lapy­thans had not lighted vppon Perithous, hée mighte haue thought himselfe to haue had many friendes, whereas hée found none but one, the famous Theseus. Eurialus had ne­uer prooued the constancie of Nysus, had he not fallen into the hands of the souldiers of Turnus. Sith then (Pharicles) fortune hath but giuen thée occasion to trie thy friendes, count it not for such a miserie. For if all thy companions and kinsemen in Padua prooue but clawbackes, assure thy selfe thou hast such a faithfull friend héere in Saragossa, as counts thy mishap his misfortune, and thy care his owne calamitie: yea, if eyther my counsell may comfort thy cra­zed minde, or my wealth reléeue thy want, trie and then trust: and if thou findest me troathlesse, the gods reward my trecherie with most vile and extreme miserie.

Pharicles hearing the great protestations of his faith­full friende Ferragus, and perceiuing that his friendship was constant and not counterfeite, not onelie tolde him that this report of his exile was but a tale to trie his af­fection, but also reuealed vnto him the verie troath of his departure from Italie: what hap had passed betwéene him and Mamillia, and also the letter of Clarinda: which when Ferragus sawe, he both gaue him counsell to auoide such a common Curtizan, and further to driue him out of those dumps, caried him to his fathers house to passe away the time in parle.

Where, assoone as they came, they found Signor Farnesse in the garden deuising pleasantlie with diuerse Gentle­women, amongst whome was Madam Gambara the Mar­quesse of Saldena, and the yong Ladie Modesta: who sée­ing Pharicles, were verie glad of his so happie arriuall, [Page] that now they might trie what was in the Gentleman, sith he was the man that bare the bell for courtly bringing vp throughout all Sicillia. But Pharicles séeing them in earnest talke, thought they had béene canuasing of some serious and secret matter, and not being verie well ac­quainted with the Marquesse, knewe it past maners to come to counsell before he were called, began to withdraw himselfe out of the garden had not Signor Farnesse recald him on this wise.

What Master Pharicles quoth he, is it the fashion in Padua to be so strange with your friendes, knowing that you are not so soone come as welcome, nor so hastilie arri­ued as hartilie desired of all the companie? I speake also for my Ladie Gambara and Madam Modesta, especiallie at this time, since there is such a passing doubtfull matter in question as all our cunning cannot decide. Wee knowing therefore that you trauellers cannot be without experi­ence and especiallie in such louing cases, will referre our whole controuersie, if the Marquesse and my Ladie Mode­sta be content, to your skilfull determination, and in my opinion we shall haue hapt on a verie fit iudge.

Syr quoth he, I both knowe and finde my selfe far more welcome to your house than my small deserts can merite: yet not willing to straine so much vpon your courtesie, to be so bolde to intrude my selfe into companie where both my betters are in presence and the talke vtterly vnknow­en, least they might iudge I had eyther small nurture or lesse manners. But since it hath pleased my Lady the Mar­quesse and Madam Modesta (to whome I thinke my selfe greatlie bound that their Ladyships will vouchsafe of such a simple Gentleman) to admit mée for a hearer of such a doubtfull discourse: yet Syr I accept not the conditions, for if the case be so intricate as neyther your olde yeres nor great experience can decide, it were farre vnfit for me to set downe a sentence whose age and skill is yet in the bud­ding, [Page] and especiallie in such an honorable companie where either their countenance or calling may force me speake eyther for feare or fauour.

No Master Pharicles (quoth the Marquesse) although I haue such opinion both of your wit and skill as I durst in a more weightie matter than this admit you for a iudge: yet since you are a partie touched within the compasse of the commission, I will not tie my selfe so straightlie to your verdit, as eyther your yea or nay shall stand for pay­ment vnlesse you bring the soundest reason.

Our question is Master Pharicles whether the man or the woman be more constant or loyall in loue. The cause of our controuersie arose about certaine vaine verses com­piled by an iniurious Gentleman héere in Saràgossa, who with despightfull taunts hath abused the Gentlewomen of Sicillia, most péeuishlie describing their apparell, and presumptuouslie decyphering their nature. But leauing him to his follie, you know both the case and the cause, and therefore let vs heare your opinion.

Pharicles hauing read these verses smiling at the vaine of the Gentleman, found his minde clogged with a double care. For to praise men for their loyaltie he found his own conscience a iust accuser of their inconstancie, to condemne women for their ficklenesse he sawe Mamillia and Publia two presidents of perfect affection: yet for fashion sake he made this or such like aunswere.

If credite Madame may bée giuen to those auntient authors, whose wit, wisedome and learning hath shrined them vp in the famous temple of immortalitie, your de­maund is answered, and the question easily decided. For Socrates, Plato, yea and Aristotle himselfe, who spent all their time in searching out the secret nature of all things, assigned this as a particular qualitie appertaining to wo­mankinde, namely, to be fickle and inconstant, alledging this Astronomicall reason, that Luna a feminine and mu­table Planet hath such predominant power in the consti­tution of their complexion because they be phlegmatike, that of necessitie they must be fickle, mutable and incon­stant, whereas Choller, wherewith men do abound, is contrarie, and therefore by consequence stable, firme and without change: so that by how much the more the bodie is Phlegmatike, by so much the more the minde is fickle: and where the bodie is most Chollerick, there the mind is most constant. To leaue these rules of Astronomie, and to come to humane reason, Pindarus, Homer, Hesiodus, Ennius, Virgil, Martiall, Propertius, and many authors [Page] more, whose pithie and golden sentences haue in all ages béene holden as diuine Oracles, haue in all their writings with one consent auerred, that the naturall disposition of women is framed of contraries: now liking, now loa­thing, delighting this, and now againe despising the same: louing and hating: yea laughing & wéeping, and all with one winde: so that it is their naturall constitution in this one propertie to be like the Polipe: that if it happen some one woman not to be variable, it is not so because it is her nature, but because shée hath amended her fault by nour­ture. For the confirmation of the former premisses, Ma­dame, it is not necessarie to inferre examples, sith there is none héere but could report infinite histories of such dissem­bling dames as haue falsified their faith to their louers, whereas the constancie of men is such, that neither hath any authors found it faultie, neither can as I coniecture, if you speake as you thinke, your conscience condemne them as guiltie, so that to confirme the loyaltie of men were as much as to proue that which is not denyed.

How say you to this quoth Signor Farnese, hath not Pha­ricles aunswered you fully to your question? is not nowe my former reasons cōfirmed and yours vtterly infringed?

Tush syr quoth the Marquesse, one tale is alwayes good vntil another is heard, but all this winde shakes no corne, neither is the defendant ouerthrowen at the fist plea of the plaintife. The more glistring the skinne of the Serpent is, the more infectious: where the billowes be greatest, there the water is shallowest: the rotten wall hath the most néed of painting, and the falsest tale hath néede of the fairest toung: where the greatest showe of eloquence is, there is the smallest effect of troth. But to your surmised Sophistrie thus I aunswere master Pharicles, that where­as you build your reasons vppon the credit of auncient au­thors, I will lay my foundation vppon the same rocke, and so thrust you on the bosome with your owne launce. [Page] For as for Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, whom you alleage as ratifiers of your former reasons, I say that both they and others who farre surpasse them in the sacred skill of Astronomie, affirme (as you say) that the naturall consti­tution of women is Phlegme, and of men Choller, which if you consider with indifferent iudgement, prooueth vs trustie and you trothlesse, vs constant and you variable, vs loyall vnder Luna, and you mutable vnder Mars. For the Phlegmatike complexion is cold and moist, vtterly re­pugnant to the flaming heate of voluptuous desires, parti­cipating of the nature of water, which so cooleth and quen­cheth the fire of fancie, as hauing once fixed the minde, it resisteth with the colde moisture the frying heate of fond and fickle affection, whereas the Chollerike constitution is hote & drie, soone set on fire and soone out, easily inflamed and as easily quenched, readie to be scorched with the least heate of beawtie, being of the nature of fire which is the most light and mouing Element of all, fiering at the first sight, and yet so dry as it hath no continuance, being verie violent and little permanent. And though Luna is predominant in our complexion, yet Mercurie is Lorde of your constitution, being in his constellation fléeting, in­constant, variable, trecherous, trothlesse, and delighting in change: so that it is not so common as true, the nature of men is desirous of noueltie. And as touching Hesiodus, Homer, Virgil and others, I aunswere that euill will ne­uer spoke well, and that Martiall & the rest of his cogging companions, because they found some one halting, they wil condemne all for créeples, thinking by discrediting others vniustly to make themselues famous, and condemning o­thers of that whereof they themselues are chiefely to be accused. Who fixeth his fancie, and then changeth affecti­on? who promiseth loue and perfourmeth hate? who now liketh and within a moment lotheth? who wooeth one and sueth to another? who loyall in his lippes and a lyer in [Page] his heart? but onelie men, and yet they must bée constant. As for the infinit examples you could inferre master Pha­ricles to proue the disloialtie of women, you do well to con­ceale them because you cannot reueale them: for it is hard to reape corne where no séed was sowne, to gather grapes of a barraine vine, to pull haire from a balde mans head, or to bring examples of womens disloyaltie which neuer committed suche trothlesse treacherie. But as for your changing champiōs which challenge to defend your crazed constancie, howe trustie was Theseus to poore Ariadne? Demophoon dissembled with Phillis, and yet she died con­stant. Aeneas a verie stragler, yet Dido neuer founde hal­ting. Iason without faith, and yet Medea neuer fléeting. Pa­ris a counterfait Camelion, & yet Oenone a trustie Turtle. Vlisses variable, and Penelope most constant. Yea, Phari­cles infinit examples might be brought which would bréed our credite and your infamie, if time as well as matter would permit mée. So that the inconstancie of such muta­ble Mercurialistes, and courtly copesmates as you bée, is growne to such a custom, that flatterie is no fault, & varie­tie is rather imbraced as a vertue than reiected as a vice. In fine, the blossome of disloyaltie hath brought foorth such faithlesse fruite in your mutable minds, as he that is con­stant is counted a calfe, and he that cannot dissemble can­not liue.

How now Signor Farnese, quoth the lady Modesta, hath not the Marquesse giuen Pharicles a cake of the same dow, yea, hath shée not better defended the Fort than hée could assault it? Now you sée Pharicles counterfait coine will go for no paiment, and his rampier too weake to withstand her force, and his reason not so strong but they are clearely infringed.

In troth, quoth Farnese, my Ladie Marquesse hath plai­ed the valiant champion, and hath put in so perfect a plea to defend her clients cause, that if I haue euer any case in the [Page] Court, she shall be my counseller.

Iest how you please, quoth the Marquesse, I am sure mine aduersarie will confesse, that howsoeuer I faltred in my tale, I failed not in the truth.

Indéed Madame, quoth Pharicles, it is a fowle byrd de­files the owne neast, and yet I will say my conscience, that for constancie men are farre more to be appeached of want than women to be condemned for defect, and therefore who soeuer made the forepassed verses, was both vniust and in­iurious: yea, the railing of Mantuan in his Eglogs, the ex­claiming of Euripides in his Tragedies, the tants of Mar­tiall, and priuie quippes of Propertius, are more of course than cause, and rather inforced by rage than inferred by reason.

What Pharicles quoth Signor Fernese, I sée thou canst hold a candle before the diuel, and that you can so cunning­ly runne a point of Descant, that be the plaine song neuer so simple thou canst quauer to please both parts. You were euen now a condemner of womens varietie, and are you now an accuser of mens inconstancie? If you be so variable in your verdit, we wil thinke that either you speak foolish­lie without skill or as a flatterer to please women. But indéede it is daungerous for him to speake ill of an Irish kearne that is offering a Cowe to Saint Patricke, and as perillous for a man to blaspheme women that is knée­ling at the shrine of Venus: sith then you are in the same case we will take your deuotion for a sufficient excuse. In the meane time if it please my Ladie the Marquesse wée will go to dinner, and there ende our discourse more at lei­sure.

Content, quoth the Marquesse, and with that they went to dinner, where Pharicles behaued himselfe so wittily, as they stood in doubt whether his wit, beautie, or behauiour deserued greater commendations.

Well, dinner being ended, Pharicles hauing the spurres [Page] in his side, alledging vrgent cause of his so hastly departure tooke his leaue of the Marquesse, and the rest of the compa­ny, and giuing great thanks to Signor Fernese for his good cheare, hyed him home in haste to his chamber. Where séeing the letter of Clarynda, a gastly obiect to his gazing eyes, willing to returne an answere that she might not ac­cuse him of discurtesie, tooke Penne and Inke and wrote a letter to this effect.

Pharicles hauing thus finished his letter, sent it by his Page to Clarynda, who receiuing it hartily and rewarding the Page bountifully, went hastily into her closet, where vnripping y^e seales she found not a preseruatiue, but a poy­son; not newes to encrease her ioy, but to bréed her annoy; not louing lines as from a friend, but a quipping letter as from a foe; not a comfortiue to lengthen her life, but a cora­siue to shorten her dayes: yea, she found the letter so con­trarie to her former expectation, that nowe falling into a desperate minde, she turned her feruent loue into extreme [Page] hate, her déep delight into deadly despite, as now her chie­fest care and industrie was to reuenge her broyling rage vppon guiltlesse Pharicles, which she spéedily performed on this wise.

It happened that vpon the same day wherein shée recei­ued the Letter, Signor Farnese and the rest of the Magi­strates of Saragossa were assembled togither in the commō Hall, to consult of matters as concerning the state of their Citie, whither Clarynda came, and there openly accused Pharicles to be a Spie, and that his remaining in Saragossa was to sée where the Citie was weakest, and that hée had conferred with her how and when hée might most conue­niently betraie it: and that shée regarding more the com­moditie of her country than the loue of a stranger, thought good to reueale the matter spéedilie, that they might the better preuent such a mischiefe.

The Magistrates giuing credit to Clarynda, and know­ing that Pharicles had a pestilent wit for suche a purpose, sent the officers to apprehend him, who finding him in his lodging, made him greatly astonished when hée knew the cause of their comming, yet he made them good cheare and went the more willingly, because hée felte his conscience cleare from anie suche cryme as might be obiected against him. Pharicles being come into the common Hall, Signor Farnese saluted him on this maner.

I sée master Pharicles, quoth he, tis hard to iudge the trée by the leaues, to choose the stone by his outward hew, cloth by his colour, and a man by his faire wordes, for none so faire as the Panther, and yet none so rauenous, the Pea­cocke hath moste glistering feathers and yet most ouglie féete, the barren leafe is most delightfull to be séene & most deadly to be tasted, the Chrisolite pleaseth the eye and in­fecteth the stomack, yea, that which oft times séemeth most precious, prooueth most perilous, for trecherie hath a more glozing shewe than troth, and flatterie displaies a brauer [Page] flag than faith: subtill Synon could tell a finer tale than simple Brennus, and deceitfull Vlisses had a fairer tongue than faithfull Aiax: so Pharicles I perceiue, the more wit thou hast, the more to be suspected, and thy fairest spéech infers the foulest mind, thy curtesie here in Saragossa hath bene but a cloake for thy trecherie. Well Pharicles, haue I brought vp a birde to picke out mine owne eyes? haue I hatched vp the egge that wil proue a Cockatrice? yea, haue I cherished thée as a friend, which wouldest murther mée as a foe? haue I sought to bréed thy credit and thou deuised my destruction? haue (I say) I sought thy blisse and thou my bale? I thy weale and thou my woe? haue our citizens here in Saragossa honored thée as thy friends, and thou ab­horred them as thine enemies? well, the greater their loue was counting thée curteous, the greater plague will they inflict vpon thée finding thée trecherous? The Troyans ne­uer shewed more fauour to any than to Synon, who after­ward betraied the citie. Who so welcome into Carthage as Aeneas, and yet he repaied them with ingratitude: the Babylonians neuer trusted any better than Zopyrus and he moste traiterously betraied them to Darius: and shall not their mishaps learne vs to beware? yes Pharicles, we will preuent our daunger with heaping coales vpon thy head. The cause of these my spéeches I néed not rehearse, because thine owne conscience condemnes thée as guilty. Thou art accused here Pharicles by Clarinda to be a spy, yea, thou hast fought secretly to betray the citie into the hands of the Ita­lians thy countrimen, & vppon this she hath here solemnely taken her oath. And besides this I giue thée to vnderstand, that thou canst not by the Statutes of Saragossa pleade for thy selfe being a straunger if thou be appeached of treason, neither will it serue thee to haue a testimoniall from thy countrie, sith we know that the Italians are confederate to thy treacherie, so that by the lawe this day thou shouldest die, since thy accuser hath cōfirmed the complaint with her [Page] corporall oath: yet I will stand so much thy friend as re­priue thée for fortie daies, to sée what will fall betwéen the cup and the lip, and with that he sate downe.

Pharicles amazed with this trecherous accusatiō of this gracelesse Curtizan, was so drenched in distresse, and sow­sed in sorrow to sée that he might not acquite himselfe with vnfolding this deuised knauerie, that if verie courage had not bene a conserue to comfort his care, he had there with present death ended this dissention. But chearing himselfe vp as well as he could, he went to the Iailors house with­out vttering anie one word, vntill there being solitary by himselfe he fell into these extremities.

It is more griefe (quoth he) to the silly Lambe to lie lin­gring in the gripe of the Tygre, thā presently to be deuou­red, and he which is cast into the Lyons denne wisheth ra­ther to be torne in péeces than to liue in feare of future tor­ment: yea, I try by experience that to die cannot be full of care, because death cutteth off all occasions of sorrow, but to liue & yet euerie day to looke to die, of all woes is the most hellish misery: for the stinging feare to die, and the gréedy desire to liue make such a cruell combat in the mind of the condemned person, as no kinde of torture (how euer so ter­rible) is to be compared to that when as one lingereth in life without any hope at all to liue. And what then Phari­cles, is there anie mishap so miserable which thou hast not merited, or any death so despitefull, which thou hast not de­serued? No, were thy torment thrise more terrible, it were not halfe sufficient to repay thy trecherie: thy dissem­bling with Mamillia, and thy falshood with Publia, vnlesse the Gods be too vniust, cannot escape without vengeance. Why but do the Gods fret more at my flatterie than they fumed at others follie? Aeneas dissembled with Dido, and yet was prosperous: Theseus deceiued Ariadne, and yet happie: Paris contemned Oenone, and yet the Gods fa­uoured his enterprise in gaining Helena: Iason was vniust [Page] to Medea, and yet returned safe to Greece. Yea, but Phari­cles, they were not so wilfull as thou wert, to set thy selfe opposite both to the Gods and Fortune, they tooke time while time was, and held ope the poake when the Pigge was offered. For Aeneas though he forsooke Dido, he o­bayed the Gods in taking Lauinia, and Theseus though he reiected Ariadne, yet he tooke the dame which Fortune as­signed him and that was Phedra: But Pharicles thou hast committed double offence, not onely in forsaking thy fore­passed louers, but also in reiecting her whome Fortune proffered thée, and that was Clarinda. Oh Pharicles bée content with thy state, and let patience be the remedie to asswage this thy intollerable maladie: for better hadst thou farre turne the stone with Sysiphus, and be torne vp­pon the whéele with Ixion, than be coupled with such a common Curtizan: yea, ere it be long thou wouldest thinke thy selfe happie to suffer ten thousand deathes to be sepa­rated from her companie: for as there is no payne to bee compared to the stinging of an Aspick, so there is no such plague as to be troubled with a strumpet. And with that such sorrow surcharged his molested minde, as he was not able to vtter any more complaints.

While thus Pharicles lay languishing in dispaire, there was a Merchant of Padua named Signor Rhamberto, who being newly arriued in Saragossa, and hearing of the late mishap of Pharicles, durst not bewray what countreyman he was for feare of further daunger, but conueyed himselfe out of Sicillia with as much spéede as might be, and being come to Padua, thought good to shewe Signor Gonzaga in what distresse Pharicles lay in Saragossa, but being come to the house, he found the Gentleman at the point of death, and all the Senatours of Padua lamenting the extremitie of his sickenesse, and therefore sate downe among the rest and helde his peace, when as Gonzaga scarse able to vtter one worde for weakenesse, taking his daugh­ter [Page] Mamillia by the hande, gaue her this fatherlie aduer­tisement.

As daughter, quoth he, the man which hath the stone Agathes about him is surely defenced against aduersitie, so he which is forewarned by counsell if he be wise, is suffi­ciently armed against future mishap and miserie. I there­fore Mamillia hauing such fatherly affection and care for thy future state as duetie bindes mée by instinct of nature, seeing I lye looking euerie minute when my sillie soule shall leaue my carefull carckasse, thought good to giue thée this fatherly farewell, as the onely treasure which I charge thée by the lawe of duetie most carefully to kéepe.

Virginitie Mamillia, is such a precious Iewell to a ver­tuous Gentlewoman, as Euphronia being demaunded of one of her suters what dowrie shée had to the aduaunce­ment of her marriage, aunswered, such wealth as coulde not be valued, for (quoth shée) I am a virgine: meaning, that no wealth doeth so enrich a mayden, nor no dowrie, of what price so euer so adorne a Damsell, as to be renow­med for inuiolable virginitie. Sith then Mamillia it ought to be more deare than life, and more estéemed than wealth, as thou hast béene carefull in my dayes to keepe it without spot and thereby hast reaped renowne, so I charge thée after my death to be as charie of such precious chaffer, least thy sorepassed fame turne to thy greater discredit. Yea Mamillia and when the time commeth that thou meanest to match thy selfe in Marriage, bestowe not that careleslie in one moment which thou hast kept carefully all thy life, but looke before thou leape, trie before thou trust, hast makes wast, hotte loue soone colde, and then too late com­meth repentance: contemne not the counsell of thy friends, nor reiect not the aduise of thy kinsemen, preferre not thine own wit before the wisedome of thine Auncestours, nor leane not to wilfulnesse least had I wist come too late. Be not secure least want of care procure thy calamitie, [Page] nor be not too carefull least pensiue thought oppresse thée with miserie. Build not thy loue vpon the outward shape of beautie, least thou trie thy foundation was laide on the fickle sands of vanitie. Vow not thy selfe to his wealth whome thou meanest to loue, nor wed not thy selfe to his wit, but let thy fansie growe so farre as thou hearest the report of his vertue. Choose not by the eye Mamillia, but by the eare, and yet be not delighted with his faire words, least if thou takest pleasure in hearing the Syrens sing, thou dash thy ship against most dangerous rockes. I néede not I hope Mamillia stand so much vppon these points, for a burnt childe will dread the fire, and thou hast béene too sore canuased in the nettes, to be allured to the scrap, thou hast béene too sore sowsed in the waues to venter in an vn­knowen foorde, and the treacherie of Pharicles is sufficient to cause thée take héede of others flatterie. Well Mamillia, after thou hast chosen howsoeuer thy choice be, séeke to che­rish thy husband with loue, and obey him with reuerence, be not too sad least he thinke thou art sollempe, nor too light least he condemne thée of leaudnesse, and aboue all haue a regard to thy good name, and a care to the safe kéeping of thy honour. Let not too much familiaritie bréede any suspi­tion, nor shewe no such countenance as may giue occasion of mistrust, but so behaue thy selfe as thou maist be a cre­dite to thy husband, and a comfort to thy friendes. Vpon these considerations Mamillia I haue left thée by my last will and testament onely heire and sole executor of all my landes and moueables, yet with this prouiso, that if thou marrie with faithlesse Pharicles, that then thou shalt be dis­inherited of all my goods and lands, and that the Citie of Padua shal as mine heire enter into all my possessions, and for the performance of my will, I leaue the whole Senate as superuisors. Gonzaga had scarselie spoken these last words, but his breath was so short that he could speake no longer, and within thrée houres after he departed, leauing [Page] Mamillia a sorrowfull child for the losse of so good a Father.

Well, after that Mamillia had by the space of a wéeke worne her mourning wéede, and the dayly resort of her friends had something redressed her sorrow, Signor Rham­berto (though verie loath) reuealed vnto her the whole e­state of Pharicles distresse, how he was put in prison for a spie, and that he was accused as one that sought to betray Saragossa where he soiourned into the hands of the Itali­ans, and that in liew of this his treacherie he should vpon the fortith day for this so haynous a fact be executed.

Mamillia hearing into what miserie Pharicles was fallen, although his vniust dealings had deserued reuenge, yet she remitted all forepassed iniuries, and began to take compassion of his mishap, yéelding forth such sobbing sighes and scalding teares, as they were witnesses of her distres­sed minde, and earnestlie intreating Signor Rhamberto for Pharicles credite to conceale y^e matter as secretly as might be, who hauing promised to kéepe the matter as secrete as she could request, tooke his leaue & departed, but Mamillia seeing her selfe solitarie, fell into these contrarie passions.

Well now I sée it true by experience, that where the hedge is lowest there euery man goeth ouer, that the wea­kest is thrust to the wall, and he that worst may holdes the candle: that the slendrest twig is oftimes laden with most fruite, the smallest stalke of corne hath the greatest eare, and he that hath most néede of comfort is oftime most cros­sed with calamitie. Alas iniurious fortune, is it not suffi­cient for thée to depriue me of my Father which was more deare vnto me than mine owne life: but also to heape care vpon care, and sorrowe vpon sorrowe, I meane to murther that man whome in all the world I chiefly estéeme! Pha­ricles I meane, who is the fountaine of my ioy, the hauen of my happinesse, and the stay of all my felicitie, who hath wonne my heart by loue, and shall weare it by lawe. What sayest thou Mamillia, shall Pharicles enioy thée? [Page] Art thou so carelesse of thy fathers commandement, so soone to forget his counsell? Shall his wordes be as winde, and his talke of so little effect as thou meanest rechlesly to re­garde it? Wilt not thou in thy life obserue that which hée enioyned thée at his death? Was not Pharicles the onelie man he forbad thée to marrie, and wilt thou choose him for thy mate? In louing him thou doest forfeit thy landes and shewe thy selfe a disobedient daughter, in hating the man thou enioyest thy possessions, and declares thy selfe a duti­full childe. Tush Mamillia, is not Pharicles the man to whō thou art confirmed by loue and contracted by law? Did not thy father consent to the match and agrée to the couenant? And shall he nowe vpon so light an occasion cause thée to violate thine oath, breake thy promise, and turne thy loue to hate? No, I will obey my father as farre as the lawe of Nature commands me, but to crack my credit and clog my conscience I wil not consent: neither his fatherly counsell nor the losse of my goods and landes shall constraine mée to forsake Pharicles, no misling mists of miserie, no dren­ching showers of disaster fortune, nor terrible tempests of aduersitie shal abate my loue or wracke my fancie against the slipperie rockes of inconstancie: yea if my landes will buy his raunsome or my life purchase his fréedome, he shal no longer leade his life in calamitie.

And with that she flung out of her chamber being so di­ligent and carefull to bring her purpose to passe, that with­in short space she furnished a ship wherein in disguized ap­parrell shée sailed to Sicillia comming to Saragossa the daie before Pharicles should be executed, where she dealt so wa­rily and wisely, that not onely she learned the cause of his imprisonment, but also got the coppy of those letters which had passed betwéene Clarynda and Pharicles, thinking eue­rie houre a yéere till the next morning.

Well the dismall day being come wherein Pharicles by the dint of death should dispatch al his forepassed miseries, [Page] Ferragus being cladde in mourning attire with a pensiue heart and sorrowfull countenance commeth to accompany Pharicles so distressed with griefe & oppressed with sorrow, so blubbered with teares and blowne vp with sighes, that Pharicles was faine to comfort him on this wise.

Why friend Ferragus quoth he, shal the patient appoint the salue, or the sicke man set down the medicine? Shall he that is crossed with care be a comforter, or y^e distressed man be driuen to giue counsell? Shall I which now on euerie side am pinched with the pains of death become a Phisiti­on to cure thy calamitie? Or rather shouldest not thou in this extremitie séeke to asswage my dollor with comforta­ble incouragemēt? Why Ferragus am I more hardy which am at the hazard of death, than thou which art deuoide of daunger? Yea: for by how much the more I féele my con­science guiltlesse of this crime, by so much the more I féele my minde frée from sorrow. Socrates would not haue his friend lament when hée drunke his fatall drafte, because quoth he, causelesse death ought to be without dollour: so good Ferragus chéere thy selfe since thy friend Pharicles is so far from treason to Saragossa, as thou from treacherie to Padua. Pharicles scarsly had vttered these words when the officers intreated him to make haste, for Signior Farnese and the rest of the Magistrates had staied a great space for his comming at the common Hall. Pharicles knowing that procrastination in care was but to increase sorrow, founde no fish on his fingers, nor made no delaies from his death, but went with them willingly. Hée being arriued there before the Magistrats, Signior Farnese standing vp to pro­nounce the fatall sentence, was interrupted by Mamillia, who comming in richly attired and straungely disguised, knéeling on her knées craued leaue to speake, which being graunted, she vttered these words.

You haue great cause to muse and maruel) O noble and worthie Sicillians) in that a silly virgin a stranger, yea and [Page] of the same Citie of Padua, which is now so detested of the citizens of Saragossa, dare presume not fearing any danger to present her selfe amidst so many enemies. But whome the diuell driues he must néeds runne, and where law and necessitie are two spurs in the side, there the partie so per­plexed neither maketh delaie nor feareth daunger, so that Gentlemen by howe much the more my arriuall is to bée thought strange, by so much the more my distressed griefe is to be supposed greater. It is not the hope of preferment which forced me to this extremitie, because I am of suffici­ent parentage and patrimonie in mine owne country, nei­ther the desire to sée forraine fashions, because it is not fit for a virgin to be counted a wanderer. No it is partly for thy cause Signior Farnese that I came, both to kéepe thée from pronouncing vniust iudgement, to discouer the mon­strous treacherie of a trothlesse Curtizan, and to saue this guiltlesse Gentleman from present danger. Who by birth is a Paduan & of noble parentage, issued from such a stocke as yet was neuer stained either for cowards or traitours. For his state, he is not frée but contracted vnto me by con­sent of both our parents. As concerning his soiourning in Saragossa, it was not to betray your citie, but to learn your fashions, not to be counted a counterfaite, but to be called curteous? But to be briefe, least my tale might séeme tedi­ous to his vniust accusation inferred by such an iniurious Curtizan, thus I answere, that if the calling of a strumpet carried as little credite here as it doth with vs in Padua, Pharicles would haue bene more fauourably examined, and her accusation more throughly canuased. It was not (O noble Farnese) that she accused Pharicles because of his tre­cherie, but in that he would not consent to her vanitie: not because she had such loue to her natiue countrie, but in that Pharicles would not agrée to match himself with so grace­lesse a monster: and for the confirmation of this my alle­geance, sée here the Letter of Clarynda, and the replie of [Page] Pharicles, and with that she held her peace.

Farnese and the rest of the Magistrates hauing read the contents of the letters, maruelling at y^e mischieuous mind of so hellish a harlot, sent spéedily for Clarynda, who being come and more strictly examined, confessed the fault, and receiued the punishment due for such an offence. But whē the citizens of Saragossa, and especially Ferragus, heard how Pharicles was acquited and the treacherie discouered, they both reioyced for his happie deliuerie, and also wondered that such maruellous wit, wisdome, and incomparable con­stancie could remaine within the yoong and tender yeares of Mamillia. But Pharicles séeing before his eyes the God­desse which had giuen him vnhoped for life, driuen as it were into an extasie for ioy, with blushing chéekes & trem­bling ioynts as one féeling in his cōscience the sting of his former inconstancie, welcomed her on this wise.

Oh Mamillia quoth hée, howe welcome thou art to thy poore perplexed Pharicles I can scarsly conceiue, much lesse able to expresse, but if time and place were conuenient ei­ther to confesse my fault or acknowledge my offence, thou shouldest perceiue I did now as heartily repent as before wilfully offend. Alas how am I bounde if it were but for this one onely desert to remaine thy bondslaue for euer at command, well, omitting such secrets till a more conueni­ent leisure, hoping thou hast forgiuen and forgotten al fore­passed follies, I bid thée once againe most hartily welcome to Saragossa. Pharicles quoth shée, thy Mamillia takes this thy hartie welcome as a sufficient recompence for all her trouble and trauel, assuring thée she hath both forgiuen and forgotten all forepassed iniuries, otherwise I would neuer haue taken such paines to frée thée from daunger. Let your amorous discourses alone till an other time quoth Farnese, for you shall with the rest of the Magistrates of Saragossa be my guests to day at dinner. Pharicles and Mamillia than­king Farnese for his curtesie, & accepting his gentle profer, [Page] were not only his guests for that day, but were so sumptu­ously banqueted there for the space of a wéeke, that they ea­silie perceiued by their good chéere how welcome they were to the Gentleman. At last taking their leaue of Farnese, they returned home to Padua, where the Senators hearing of the straunge aduentures which Pharicles had passed, and perceiuing the incomparable constancie of Mamillia, they were not onely content that they two should marrie toge­ther, but also, contrarie to her fathers last will & testament, let her peaceably enioy all his landes and possessions. Mar­rie whether Pharicles proued as inconstant a husband as a faithlesse wooer, I knowe not: but if it be my hap to heare, looke for newes as spéedilie as may be.