IT was the opinion of Pythagoras that a serpent is engende­red from the marrow in the [Page 2] backe bone of a man decea­sed, and cast into the fields without buriall: upon which it is observed, that as the fall and death of man came by the serpent, so the life of the serpent comes by the death of man. And since the first back-sliding of Adam there hath beene such an antipa­thy betwixt the seed of the woman and the serpent, that if the naked sole of her foot shall tread upon his head, though never so lightly, yet the weight thereof is more ponderous and fatall unto him, than if he were beaten with mallets, or a rocke or mountain should precipitate [Page 3] it selfe upon him; for with her bare touch he instantly expireth. But if hee shall but bite the heele of a man (for at that still is his aime) the poison disperseth it selfe through all the parts of his body, from which procee­deth speedy and inevitable death.

A second thing worthy remarke is, to consider how provident nature hath beene to teach women bashful­nesse and modesty in their lives, by concealing their immodest parts after their deaths: for it is familiar a­mongst us, that if a man be drown'd, his gallis no sooner [Page 4] burst, but he riseth with his face upward: but if a wo­man perish in the water, she swims with her face down­ward: of which some give this reason, Omne leve fer­tur sursum, &c. As every light thing naturally as­cends up into the aire, and that which is weighty stoo­peth it selfe downe to the earth; so a man being broad and heavie in the shoulders, and but thin and light in the breasts, the more ponderous parts sinke, and those lesse heavie appeare above the waters: when on the con­trary, a woman being nar­row and spare shouldred, [Page 5] but more fleshie and tume­rous in the breast, by the weight thereof they smo­ther and obscure her modest cheekes in the water, as if e­ven in death she apprehen­ded that the rest were un­seemly to be exposed unto the aire.

But in this my progresse intended to the praise of their much honoured sexe, I encountred with many difficulties and interposures able to deterre me from my purpose; for in turning o­ver the leaves of some both moderne and forreigne wri­ters, I have met with so ma­ny satyricall invectives ai­med [Page 6] directly against it, and some of them so pathetical­ly bitter, that I am halfe per­swaded they had quite for­got themselves to have been borne of mothers. Mantu­an in one of his Eclogues writes thus: ‘Foemineum servile genus, &c.’ which in my thoughts, in the generality is so adverse to all charity, and refracto­ry to common experience, that I am loath to make it vulgar, or teach it to speake our English language. Plau­tus in Milite saith, What [Page 7] thing can be worse or more audacious than a woman? And in Bacchid. Nothing is more tempting or contagi­ous to the life of a young man, than the opportunity of night, the operation of wine, and the blandishments of a woman. Ovid in his fi [...]st book of Elegies, though not in the same words, yet includes the same sense: and these, with many other, he reckoneth, not as accidents appertaining to some, but adherents belonging to all; as borne with them in their infancie, encreasing with them in their growth, and inseparable from them [Page 8] till their last dissolution: o­thers for divers irregulari­ties task them in particular. Ovid tells us there is no heed or regard to be taken of their teares, as comman­ding them at their will, and exposing them at their plea­sure.

And in another place:

Elsewhere he inveigheth against their fantasticall ha­bits, paintings, borrowed or bought haire, &c. Some call them unfaithfull, light, inconstant, as Catullus: o­thers more moveable than the winds, as Calphurnius: some hold their societie meerly unnecessary, as that an house or familie is much better and more quiet without them. Plautus saith, Mulier rectè olet cum nil olet, a woman is then at the best when sh [...] is not at all. Againe, a question being [Page 10] asked whether it were bet­ter to marry with a maid or a widdow? Answer is re­turned, Malum quod mini­mum est, id minimum est ma­lum. He that can avoid their fellowship, let him shun it; let him beware the day be­fore, that he repent him not the day after. Of their fro­wardnesse and perversenesse Terence admonisheth us, saying most truely & essen­tially, I am acquainted with the wits and dispositions of women; they will not when thou wouldest, and when thou wouldest not, then they will. Of their wrang­ling and litigiousnesse Iu­venal [Page 11] thus speaketh:

And to that purpose hee in­troduceth one Manilia, a bold-fac't Roman Matron, who being full of cont [...]o­versie, and through her wrangling having many suits in agitation, blusht not in open Court to bee her owne Advocate, and plead her owne causes in publike [Page 12] assemblies. They are fur­ther challenged to effacinate the hearts and spirits of the most valiant, to tame even the Giant tam [...]rs; neither their manly courage nor invincible puissance being [...]ble to resist their whorish seducements: for so saith Seneca in Hercule furente.

Many more to this pur­pose I could produce in pri­orem partem, but I am af­fraid lest these few may (to some) appeare too many. I [...] therefore followes that these discouragements past over, I come now to em­boldening and animation; which I shal better illustrate [Page 13] by pr [...]sident and example. For, as Epicuru [...] saith, more faith is to be given to exam­ple than precept. A [...]d Se­neca in his Epistles saith▪ long is the journey that is taken by precept, but short and speedy that which is proposed by example. Om­phulus in his booke De imi­tatione thus discourseth:

The greatest commenda­tion both of ingenuous arts and civill actions is compri­sed within the limits of imitation: the studie of which, either in managing publike or private affaires, begetteth in us both an ala­critie and magnitude. For [Page 14] by calling to remembrance the famous and notable acts of illustrious persons, and conforming our selves unto all such things as were in them worthy both of obser­vation and imitation, it in­flames us with a noble de­sire, and an exurgent ambi­tion, by their president and examp [...]e to aspire unto that celsitude of honour and re­nowne▪ to which they arri­ved before us. This counsell I therefore purpose to fol­low: and, beginning with those created in the begin­ning, d [...]aw a president of good women, even to these our later ages.

[Page 15] Adam and Evah were our first parents; and hee who gave names to all the creatures of the earth, called her Hevah, which implies, the mother of mankind; from whom are descended even those degenerates that so maliciously calumnizethe sexe: just like the young Asse colts, who having suckt their fills, kicke their dams; for so it was said of Aristotle for spurning at his master Plato, from whom he had suckt and drawne all his rudiments of Philosophie.

But as there was an Evah by whom sin came into the world, to the utter subver­sion [Page 16] of the soule of man; so likewise there was a Mar [...]e, the pure, bless [...]d, and imma­culate Virgin, through whom was repaired and restored what in the other was fo [...]feited and lost. To fetch our imitable women as farre as from the time of the first Patriarks: Abraham had a Sarah, and Isaac a Rebecca. Come to the Judges: Lapidoth had a Debora, who was a Prophe­tesse, and a deliverer of I [...]ra­el. We reade that Ioachim had a Susanna, and that churlish Nabal had a libe­rall minded Abigail; and of Manasses widow Iudith, [Page 17] who taking upon her a mas­culine spi [...]it, Virago-like cut off the head of Holopher­nes.

Come to the nationall Kings: Ulysses had a constant Penelope in Greece, and King Priam was the hus­band of a fertile Hecuba in Asia. Amongst the Romans Iulius Caesar, the first per­petuall D [...]ctatour, had an indulgent Calphurnia; and Augustus his Successour a Matron-like Livia. In the time of the Consuls, Colla­tine might boast of an un [...]imitable Lucrece; and the first Africanus of a Tertia Aemilia, for her vertues [Page 18] scarce to be parallel'd. Stra­bo tels us of an Arte [...]isia, Q [...]eene of Caria, the illu­strious wife of King Mau­solus; and Livy, Frontinus, and others, of an excellent Chiomara, the wife of Ori­giant [...]s Regulus.

Come to the ancient and grave Philosophers: Plato had his Astionissa, and Ari­stotle his Hermia; the fa­mous Physician Nicostra­tus, his Antecyra; Perian­der, one of the seven Sages of Greece (as Pythenetus Lib. de Aegina relates) was enamoured on the vertuous Melissa; and the grave So­crates (as Xenophon makes [Page 19] mention of him) was devo­ted to the love of Theodota; and the famous Marcus Cicero to his Terentia, &c.

If wee examine the anci­ent Poets, not one of them but had a Mistresse whom to celebrate. Amongst the Romans, Tibullus had his Delia, Lucan his Argenta­ria, Horace his Lycinia, Te­rence his Leucadia, Proper­tius his Hostia, Cornelius Gallus his Lycoris, and so of the rest.

Amongst the I [...]alians, Dantes had his Beatrix, Petrarch his Aureta, &c. And amongst the Spanish Poets, Crespi Valladaura, [Page 20] Sezephia Centella, Guid [...] Cavalcante, Almudavar, Bonavida, Lopez del Vigo, with infinite others, all emi­nent Poets: and not one of them, whose pen was not imployed in the laborious encomiasticke of some ex­cellent Lady or other.

The like I may say of the Germanes, as Iohannes Gu­lielmus Rosbachius, Mat­thias Baderus, Lambertu [...] Ludolphus, Frenzekius, Franciscus Modius, Bebel [...]lius, &c. Amongst th [...] French, Marrot, and others. And of our English, I will only, at this time, memorize two; famous M^r. Edmund [Page 21] Spencer, magnified in his Gloriana; and the most re­nowned S^r. Philip Sidney, never to bee forgotten in his Pamela and Philoclea.

Nay, none of these Saty­rists against women, but with easie examination, I could bring their owne works to witnesse against themselves; but more need­full occurrents take mee off from them: I will therefore leave them to their contra­dictions, with that of Te­rentius, in the Prologue to his first Comedy called Andraea:

For it is the fashion of ma­ny to prie, and seeke to have a deepe inspection to the a­ctions and behaviours of others, whilst they are meerely carelesse and neg­ligent in managing of their owne manners and de­portment: which Horace ingeniously observes, and with which I conclude this Chapter:

BEfore I come to dissect, or take upon mee to a­natomize the conditions o [...] [...]wives, it lieth in my road [...] way to speake something of virgins; for all women were first maids before they came to bee married. One [Page 25] saith of women in generall, that they are wonders in nature, if they would not wrong nature. And ano­ther, that they bee admira­ble Angels, if they would not be drawen with Angels to become Devils. And of virgins thus: If they bee faire, they are to bee won with praises: and if coy, with prayers: if they bee proud, with gifts: if cove­tous, with promises. And as it is naturall in them to despise what is offered, so it is death to them to be de­nied what they demand. Some compare their hearts to the Cotton tree, whose [Page 26] fruit in the bud is as hard as a bullet of iron, but being ripe, it bringeth forth no­thing but soft wooll. But give me leave a little to de­viate, and leave them for a page or two, to speake something of the excellen­cie of virginitie it selfe.

Pope Gregorie hath these words; Quanquàm lauda­tionem virginitatis non sus­cepi, expressionem tamen, &c. Though I have not undertooke to give virgini­tie the due praise, yet I will afford it some expression▪ and first shew you in what countrey she was bred, and by what parent begot. If [Page 27] that be our countrey where our dwelling is, then is Hea­ven the mansion of cha­stitie. It hath here a pil­grimage, there a perma­nence. For what is virgi­nall chastitie, but an integri­tie voyd of all contagion? And whom can we call the father thereof, but the im­maculate Sonne of God, whose flesh saw no corrup­tion, and whose Divinitie was not sensible of putrefa­ction? How great then is the honour of virginitie, when our blessed Saviour, a virgin, came of a virgin? A virgin the Mother, a vir­gin the Sonne, begot of his [Page 28] Father before all worlds, borne of his Mother in the world; the first proceeding from his eternall goodnes, that the second might bee conducible to our everla­sting glorie. So likewise the holy Mother Church, his Spouse, is immaculate in her conception, and yet fruitfull in her issue, a Vir­gin in her chastitie, a Mo­ther in her children: being a virgin shee generateth us, not by the aid of the flesh▪ but by the assistance of the Spirit; not with the throwes and paines of the womb, but by the joyes of Angels: she gives us suck, not with [Page 29] the milke of the breast, but the doctrine of the Apo­stles. A virgin is the daugh­ter of Sion, a virgin is the new Jerusalem, into which no flesh can enter that is common or uncleane.

Note but how farre the name and vertue of virgini­tie ex [...]endeth: for though amongst those that be mar­ried, the title and honour se [...]meth to bee lost, yet ought we to know that eve­rie chaste soule, which ab­staineth from things unlaw­full and forbidden, keepeth it still. For the Church, which consisteth of young and old, male and female, [Page 30] married and unmarried, e­verie member thereof is honoured with that sacred title, Virgin.

For many causes (saith Iohannes Episcopus) did the Saviour of the world chuse to be borne of a wife espou­sed to an husband: first, to take away all aspersions that might bee alledged a­gainst her by the Jewes, who urging the strength of the Law, would have sto­ned her, being the punish­ment imposed upon an a [...]dulteresse: next, to prevent all occasions from immo­dest virgins, lest they should listen unto any false [Page 31] suspitious rumours, by which our blessed Saviour might bee injured or defa­med: that in going and re­turning from Aegypt, shee might have the company and comfort of her husband Ioseph, not a protectour onely, but a witnesse of her continued virginitie; as also to beguile the Devill, the open adversarie of all man­kinde, who by reason of her marriage, might be in some hesitation and doubt whe­ther she were a virgin, and therefore grow diffident whether our blessed Savi­our were the Sonne of God, or no.

[Page 32]Pope Leo, Parturiente Maria, natus est nobis Dei filius, &c. Mary being de­livered, or bringing forth, to us and for us was borne the Sonne of God; borne of an untoucht woman, that his humane birth might as­sure us that he was perfect man, and her immaculate virginitie confirme to us, that he was perfect God; of whom Maxinus Episcopus to this purpose testates.

Though when hee was borne, earthly swathings contained him, yet that hee was not of earth, heavenly signes witnessed of him. Whilst he lay in the cradle, [Page 33] he shined in the clouds; hee cryed as an infant amidst the Jewes, he raigned as an Emperour amongst the Gentiles: whilst hee suckt amongst the Bethlemites, hee was a worshipped [...] and adored by the Chaldeans; when hee was visited by Shepherds, he was honou­red by Kings; when he was obscure in the stable, hee was visible amidst the starres. Hee was poore in habit amongst the Jewes, he appeared in glory amidst the Gentiles.

Therefore (saith a learned Father) let all virgins re­joyce, for Mary the blessed [Page 34] virgin hath brought forth; let all widowes bee glad, for Anna the widow ac­knowledged Christ in his infancie; let all wives exult, for when Mary came to vi­sit Elizabeth, the wife of Zacharias, the babe sprang in her womb; let all chil­dren give praise, for Iesus himselfe hath vouchsafed to become a child; let all old men give thanks unto the Lord, for old Simeon did not depart the world, till his bodily eyes had seene his spirituall salvation: and this shall suffice for a sheet-discourse, concerning the honour and vertue of (neve [...] [Page 35] too much to bee praised) virginitie.

The Romans so honou­red chastitie, that such of the Vestall virgins, as were knowne to violate their strict vowes of virginitie, were called incestuous (which word comes of Cae­stus, a virginall girdle, ne­ver untyed but on the night succeeding the day of mar­riage): and being convicted of the fact, their judgement was to bee buried alive. They were Votar [...]sses, sa­cred to the Goddesse Vesta, which implyes as much as Earth; for Vesta and Earth are all one: as Ovid Fastor. [Page 36] lib. 6. with great elegancie delivereth it in these words:

Moreover, their persons were had in such reverence, that the people gave them almost divine adorations, [Page 37] and the Senatours and Prin­ces at meeting gave them way.

Amongst the Lawes that Lycurgus made, one was, that no virgin, of what e­state or condition soever, should have any dowrie al­lotted her to her marriage: and being demanded the reason thereof, he made an­swer; lest those that be rich should bee desired for their wealth, or those that want be despised for their pover­tie: so that by marriage, the Maid and not her meanes, beautie & vertue would be acquired solely. He also ap­pointed at what yeeres ei­ther [Page 38] sex should marrie, which was at a mature age▪ that from able bodies might be propagated the stronger issue. Neither would hee suffer them to bed together the marriage night, unlesse by stealth, but to keepe the Bride-groome and the Bride (if it were possible) many nights asunder, by conference and company: and being askt the cause thereof, hee made answer, Because they should still prevent satietie, keepe thei [...] bodies strong and in health▪ which would preserve their love fresh and new, prevent distast, and continue indul­gence.

[Page 39]Unguents and tinctures he banished the Citie, im­posing mulcts and fines on all those who were found to use them: and in his dayes, such was the rare modestie both of their vir­gins and matrons, as that a­dulterie was so little pra­ctised, that the name there­of was not knowne amongst them. For Plutarch in La­con. Apotheg. reports, that a stranger asking one Gera­data, a matron of the old Spartane race, what punish­ment their Lawes inflicted upon adulterers? She made answer, Lycurgus had made none, for there was no such [Page 40] monster to bee found a­mongst them. But hee re­plying: but say any such should be, how then? Why then (saith she) he must bee fined to give a Bull with so long and large a neck, that shall stretch over the mount Taygetus, and drinke of the river Eurota. Which hearing, he said, that was a thing impossible. As im­possible a thing (said she)▪ it is in Sparta to finde an a­dulterer or adulteresse.

Now whether it be law­full or comely for a Vestall, or profest virgin, or any o­ther, in her single and un­contracted estate, to bee [Page 41] pleasant in lookes, free in language, wanton in carri­age, to poetize, or the like, (howsoever she be of mo­dest and chaste condition) may be any just taxation of her continence, it is a que­stion disputable. Seneca in his controversies, speaketh of a Vestall virgin, who but for writing this verse, ‘Felices nuptae, moriar nisi nubere dulce est.’ was summoned into open Court, and pleaded against in these or the like words: Felices nuptae, .i. happy are those which be married. These be the words of one that longs for marriage, [Page 42] which the Vestalls ought not to doe. And Moriar▪ .i. may I die but: in whic [...] she prefers humour before honour, and lewdnesse be­fore life. Nubere dulce est sweet it is to marrie: whic [...] implies she is either rap­tur'd with the thought o [...] what she hath already pro­ved, or extasi'd with th [...] conceit of that she hath no [...] yet tri [...]d: neither of whic [...] pollutions ought to be [...] one of her profession. Sha [...] the magistrates submit th [...] maces? the Tribunes the types of renowne? Sha [...] the Consuls and Preto [...]s Dictators and Flamins, giv [...] [Page 43] way to her in the Forum? Shall any one of her conta­gious humours be held ca­pable of such canonicall ho­nour? The Vestall Priests protest seldome, or (if at all) by the Goddesse Vesta: but Let me die: Doth not this shew that Vesta's living fiers are now quite extinct and dead in her? Let me die but: In these words proclaimes she not that she preferres the spotted bed of the married before the un­ [...]efiled alt [...]r of the God­desse? whom I invoke to be as rigorous in punishing, as she hath beene rebellious in provoking her. Beseemes [Page 44] it a Recluse to become so rude? or a Votaresse to shew her selfe so full of va­nitie? What, a Virgin to versifie? Shall that hand▪ onely reserved to offer [...] the Temple, now be offici­ous in penning nothing bu [...]trifles? Or if shee have a mind to write in praise o [...] marriage, why makes shee not chaste Lucrece her Theme, and her imitable death her Argument? O thou worthy of all sever [...] punishment, that holde [...] any thing dearer to thee than thine owne sacred Priesthood! But to marrie [...] thou saist it is pleasant, it is [Page 45] sweet. How expresly utte­red, how intimately con­cealed! as impudently pro­claimed, as incontinently apprehended. Being one that undoubtedly having done the act, now most un­decently seemes to delight in the ill. Nay such a one as may be truely called In­cesta, who though she never did the deed, yet in her heart hath desired it.

This was (I must confesse) inforced to the full: but in stead of playing the Advo­cate, and shewing what an­swer she might make for her selfe, I will breake off with this gentle admonition: [Page 46] If one facetious line, wri [...] (perhaps) rather to shew her wit than any wanton­nesse, and that any charita­ble censurer might rathe [...] impute it to fancie tha [...] follie, might be so traduc [...] and farre stretcht, as no [...] onely to blemish the fame, but take away the life of so respected and reverent a person as a Vestall; how charie ought all Virgins to be? how carefull and cau­telous in all their deport [...] ­ments? to be wary in the [...] words, and weighty in their writings, that their counte­nances bewray no light­nesse, their eyes no loose­nesse: [Page 47] that their carriages be not complementall, but courteous: their gestures not grosse, but gracious: their language fashiona­ble, not frivolous: And to the name of Virgin still re­member to add that best becomming attribute and character, Vertue. Obser­ving these and the like, there is no doubt but as in your single estate you live like excellent maids, so the time will come when you shall become eminent Matrons.

[Page 48]TO encourage all maides how to behave them­selves, that they may be the better married (for as yet they are not come to the rudiments of reading a Cur­taine Lecture, for that only belongs to wives; the very name whereof will instruct them soone enough (if not too soone) in the practice:) [Page 49] I hold it not impertinent to the present tractate in hand, to shew you an history or two (and those not com­mon) how some Virgins, but of meane condition and quality, have, by their ver­tues meerely, and generous behaviour, attained to great preferment and honour: for varietie of Historie, in­termixt with discourse of times, makes the Argument lesse tedious to the Reader. Thus therefore it happened, Pulgotius the Historian be­ing my Author, who re­members me of one Gal­drata Bertha, the daughter of a private Florentine, but [Page 50] of extraordinarie beautie and vertue.

It so happened, that the Emperour Otho, the fourth of that name, upon some urgent occasion comming to the great Citie of Flo­rence, he was entertained with all the sumptuous and triumphall shewes which could be then provided, as best suiting with a State Im­periall. He being one day a­broad to take the aire, a great confluence of people gathered about him, of all degrees, to behold his per­son, whom till then they had never seene, and to be­stow on him for his wel­come [Page 51] into the Citie, the lowd acclamation of Ave Caesar. Amongst all the o­ther Virgins and Damosels there assembled, he cast his eye upon this Galdrata Ber­tha, and on the sudden was much taken with her beau­tie; in so much that, not a­ble to mother his affecti­on (for he had taken a most especiall notice of her) after he had retired himselfe un­to the Dukes Palace, where he was at that time bounte­ously feasted, he began o­penly at the table to speake of this Damosels beautie, giving her a character of prioritie before all that he [Page 52] had before time seene.

Her father, whose name was Bellincionus, there attending at the table, finding by the Emperours description that there was no other likelihood but that it was his daughter of whom he gave such an extraordi­narie approbation, because he reflected upon her sta­ture, feature and habit, sends for her privately to Court, and commands her by the duty of a child, all delayes set apart, to make there her present and personall appea­rance. To which the inno­cent Damosell (ignorant, and no way suspitious of [Page 53] any such treason intended against her chastity, especi­ally from a father) assented, and came. The banquet being ended, and the table withdrawne, the father (worse than the Roman Cabbus or Phuillus, branded with eternall infamy, who though honoured with the stile of Equites Romani, ei­ther for gaine or flattery were guilty of their wives prostitution) he (I say) whi­spered the Emperour in the eare, and told him that he would presently bring him into the company and ac­quaintance of her whose beauty and feature he had so [Page 54] liberally extolled. The Prince gladly imbracing the motion, he retired him into a private and remote chamber, where she was at­tending her fathers com­mand; the Emperour at the first enterview acknowled­ging her to be the same: when the most unworthy Parent of so accomplisht a child, thus said unto him: Lo here the Virgin by you so much praised ready to pro­strate her self to your Maje­sty, whom you may with all freenesse kisse and embrace at your pleasure. At which words Otho, almost extasi'd, came toward her to take her [Page 55] by the hand, and proceeded further to have toucht her lips: but she astonisht and abasht at her fathers unna­turall levitie and besenesse, denied the Emperour her right hand, and with her left modestly put him back, uttering these words: With pardon to your high and sa­cred Majesty (Royall Sir) n [...]ither of these your faire proffers it lies in me to grant you, having made betwixt my Saviour and my selfe such an irrevocable vow and contract, that I will ne­ver lend that hand or these lips to any, of what state or condition soever, whom I [Page 56] shall not undoubtedly know to be my Lord and Hus­band: (at which the father frown'd) and she further proceeded and said (falling low upon her knees, and ma­ny tears dropping from her eyes) Hee onely insidiates my life that se [...]kes to take away the least part of mine honour; and there she pau­sed. Which in the appre­hension of the Emperour was uttered with such a bashfull shame, and well-be­comming modesty, that in the Prince it tooke a very sudden and solid impression; who comparing the villanie of the father with the ver­tues [Page 57] of the daughter, and setting the base Pandarisme of the one against the rare prudence of the other, it compelled him into a divi­ded and distracted counte­nance. For with a stern and supercelious brow bent a­gainst him, but a smooth and unwrinkled front appli­ed unto her, he made this re­ply, aiming his speech unto her: Delicate and sweet Virgin, are you then already disposed of? or by private contract engaged to any man? To which she with a low and well-beseeming o­bedience answered, that she had not as yet devoted her [Page 58] selfe unto any. Will you then (replied the Emperour) faire Damosell, give mee leave to provide you of an husband? Who answered unto him, that it might ap­peare in her great rudenes & indiscretion withall, not to agree to such a motion, and therefore with all obedi­ [...]nce, submission, and grati­ [...]ude, she surrendred her selfe wholly to his High­nesse choise, assuredly pre­suming that since he him­ [...]elfe was indued with such rare continence and vertue, he could not choose but be [...]ble to distinguish the like in others; holding it a great [Page 59] felicitie and fortune that a Prince of his knowne piety and goodnesse, would be so gracious as to solicite in that nature for his so unworthy and dejected hand-maid. Which language was deli­vered with such discretion and mod [...]stie, that Otho was therewith much taken; when presently calling for a Gen­tleman of especiall remark, who waited on him in his chamber, called Guido Ger­manic [...]s, of a no [...]le House and Familie, whom hee much favoured; hee told him▪ that he had at length found out a gift to reward him, and to remunerate his [Page 60] long and faithfull service; such a one as might be [...]ome the giver, and (withall) prove worthy his acceptance: and in the closure of these words presented unto him the Vir­gin Galdrata Bertha. These two at the first enterview so well loved and liked, for as Ovid saith, ‘None ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight.’ that by their mutuall con­sent they were in a royall assembly publikely contra­cted by Caesar, who gave her for her dower that spa­cious valley which lieth be­neath the hill Casentius, and [Page 61] the fields called Agri Aren­ [...]in [...], which soone after he made an Earledome, and conferred that noble Title upon him; and from these two succeeded the famous and warlike familie of the Guidons (so renowned in historie) which hath conti­nued unto many sucessi­ons.

Paulus Aemilius tells us that Manesteus the Atheni­an, and sonne to Iphicrates that famous Captaine, took unto his bed a maid of a for­raine Countrey, but so low degreed that the historie affords her not so much as a name: who though she was [Page 62] poore in estate, yet was she rich and aboundantly quali­fied both in the riches of the body and the mind. The son being demanded which of his two parents he affe­cted most, his father or his mother? he made answer, that in his fi [...]iall duty and affection he gave the prece­dence unto his mother. But he that proposed the questi­on, knowing the difference in their birth [...] and breeding, demanding the reason there­of, he gave him this satis­faction; True it is (saith he) that m [...] [...] her h [...]th made me an Ally and Countriman of Thrace, but my mother [Page 63] hath made me an Athenian, and the son of a noble Cap­taine.

Bersane was the daughter of one Arbassus a private souldier in the Camp of A­lexander, who, as Quint. Curtius, and Aul. Gelli [...], af­fi [...]me, was of sweet grace, and amiable aspect, that like the Sunne appearing out of a cloud, so out of the dark­nesse of her neglected for­tune there shone such a ma­jesticall lustre, that he who was then the worlds sole Monarch, preferred her be­fore the wife a [...]d beautifull daughters of Darius, whom he had late vanquished: in [Page 64] so much that it is related of him by the forenamed Au­thors, that after his first fa­miliaritie with her he was never knowne to cast an in­continent looke upon any o­ther, nor to have congresse with any third, onely his wife Roxana, and this Ber­sane, whom he commended to his Queene, and made her his [...]ole companion.

It is likewise reported of the famous Rhodope, that she was at the first but ser­vant to Iadmonsamius the Philosopher, yet by her ami­able feature and dexterous carriage she afterwards was advanced to such honour as [Page 65] to be wife unto Psammeti­cus King of Egypt.

Lardana, from whom the renowned family of the Heraclidae boast their de­scent, was a Damosell of a very low and meane paren­tage, and indeed no better than an hand-maid and ser­vant, yet by her rare and un­matchable vertue she after raised her fortunes to the e­minence to be a fruitfull se­minarie of many noble and renowned Gentlemen; for so Herodotus witn [...]sseth of her in his Eutarpe.

Pysostrates, as Phelarchus historifies, matcht himselfe with a Virgin of rare beau­ty, [Page 66] but her birth so obscure and ignoble, that the stori [...] affordeth it no name; yet after, she by her wisdome and counsell adv [...]nced him from being a Gentleman of private condition, to a Mo­narchall government. Of her Clademus in his book [...] intituled Redd [...]tionum, re­ports, that she was for sta [...]e a Iuno, for wisedome a Pal­las, for beauty a Venus, and worthy to be stiled the daughter of Sacrates. It is moreover said of her, tha [...] she dealt Scepters, and di­sposed Crowns at her plea­sure; so great was her power in the place in which she governed.

[Page 67]I will end with Asputia the daughter of one Her­motinus a man of low con­dition (as Aelianus the ap­proved Histo [...]iographer in his book De varia Historia relates) who being snatcht from the armes of her fa­ther by a Persian souldier, was for the excellency of her feature and beauty, by him presented to King Cy­rus the son of Darius and Parasatides. Her vertuous education, unmatchable beauty, singular modestie, and approved wisedome, were the immediate steps to purchase her such favour with the Persian Monarch, [Page 68] that he not only made her his Empresse, but so tender­ly aff [...]cted her, that not­withstanding his choice of wives, and multiplicity of concubines, from the first houre that she grew into his knowledge and acquain­tance he never embrac'd the company of any other wo­man. And after the death of Cyrus, whose funeralls she bewailed with unspeakable sorrow, being afterward as highly favoured by Ar­taxerxes who succeeded him in the Empire, who de­sired to make her a partner in his bed and Throne; yet was it with long suit from [Page 69] him, and great unwi [...]ling­nesse in her, before she could be won to participate in ei­ther of them.

And these out of infinite I have collected onely to shew unto you that Virgins, howsoever obscurely de­scended, who from their Ancestours could neither boast of wealth or Gentrie, yet by their vertues, beau­ty, and generous behaviour, have not only attained unto matches of most especiall remarke, but some also to dignities imperiall.

Famous unto all ages, e­ven to the perpetuitie of memory, shall be that great [Page 70] Arch-champion of virgini­tie, Virginius, that brave Roman knight, whose name was given him in his child­hood as a good omen, presa­ging what a defender of cha­stity he would after prove who because his sole and only daughter. Virgini [...] should not fall into th [...] hands of Appius Claudius one of the Decemviri, to b [...] vitiated and dishonoured when he perceived by th [...] corruptnesse of the Judge and the perfidiousnesse [...] the false evidence, that [...] was ready to fall and suffe [...] under his cruell mercy, [...] the open face of the [...] [Page 91] at the barre at which her cause was then pleaded, [...]e [...]lew her with his owne hands, so vindicate her inno­ [...]ence; desirous rather (as Valerius reports of him) of [...]n innocuous child to be the deaths-man, than the father of a defiled daughter: of whom Silius Italicus l. 13. Bel. Punico thus speakes:

BEfore I come to wed­locke it selfe, it is very [Page 73] pertinent that I speak some­thing of choice before mar­riage. Saith one, Liber esse non potest cui affectus impe­rant, & cupiditates domi [...]nantur: he cannot be truely said to have a free choice and election, in whom his affections rule, and his appe­tites governe. The Queene Artemisia being asked by one of her Nobility what choice should be used in love? replied, All persons ought to imitate the skilfull Lapidaries, who measure not the nature of the gem by the outward hew, but the inward vertue. We have an old Adage frequent a­mongst [Page 74] us, which for the most part proveth true, that choice is soonest deceived in three things; namely, in Brokers wares, Courtiers promises, and Womens con­stancies: therefore it is good for all men to looke before they leap; for it is generally found,

In choosing a wife, looke not upon the feature of the [Page 75] body, but search into the fancies of her mind; and take her not for her out­ward person, but her in­ward perfection. For if thou makest election of beauty, it fadeth; if of riches, they soone waste; if of fame, it oft proves false; if of vertue, that only conti­nues. For as Theopompus tells us, If the eye be the chuser, the delight is short; if the will, the end is want; but if reason, the effect is happy. And Bias, one of the Grecian Sages, was wont to say, that he that marrieth himselfe to a faire face, oftentimes tieth him­selfe [Page 76] to a foule bargaine.

But there are some that scarce will admit of any choice at all, and say, Who that is free will willingly run into fetters like a foole? For whosoever maketh himselfe a Captive with­out constraint, incurreth the imputation either to bee counted wilfull or witlesse: and amongst such, one deep­ly entire unto me, who was in a great hesitation whe­ther to marry or no, shewed me a fancy of his written to that purpose, which was as followeth:

So much for choice: I come now to discourse of marriage it selfe, and the in­conveniences and conveni­ences thereof. For though Diogenes the Cynick Philo­sopher was of opinion, that for a young man to marrie it was ever too soone, and [Page 79] for an old man alwaies too late; and Euripides the Tra­gick Poet calls it an evill, yet to be desired; and that S [...]obaeus saith, a woman bringeth but two joyfull daies only in her whole life time, which are, the day of her marriage, and the day of her death; and that Thales seeing Solon lament the death of his son, gave him no other comfort than this, that for the like reason only he had refused to marrie; and that Cleobulus meeting his son in the way, having finished the nuptiall cere­monie, presented him with a branch of Hen-bane; [Page 80] thereby intimating, that his sweet meat must be served in with sower sawce, and a terrible tempest was to suc­ceed so temperate a calme: yet we reade on the contra­ry part, that Lycurgus the famous Law-giver branded all such with infamy as refu­sed to marrie. And the Ca­spians made an edict, that whosoever past their yeeres singly, and did not contract matrimony before they came to fifty, in all feasts and assemblies such should have the lowest and most dishonourable places allot­ted them, as those who had neglected their prime and [Page 81] most flourishing time of their age, and done a thing meerely repugnant to na­ture.

Homer tells us that the Grecian Ladies in his daies held wedlocke in such ado­ration, as they reckoned their yeeres from their mar­riage, not their birth: and we Christians hold, that our spirituall marriage is con­tracted in baptisme, confir­med in godly life, and con­summated in a repentant death. Now concerning whether it be necessitous or no, it may be thus dispu­ted:

Matrimony is therefore [Page 82] to be esteemed and honou­red, as being first ordained in Paradise, and since conti­nued upon earth, and in a pi­ous gratitude returnes us many pious and gracious children, to be made Citi­zens and Saints in heaven. It purchaseth man the name of father here below, as a type of that great and Al­mighty Father above: here generating, as he there crea­ting. God made nature, man here maintaines her: and to such things as else would perish by time (by his posterity) he giveth per­petuity. Marriage puts for­titude into man, to fight [Page 83] boldly in the defence of his King and his Countrey. For who can be a coward, fearing his wife and children may be made captives? It maketh men wise, as carefull to provide for them: it be­gets temperance, and out of voluptuousnesse breedeth modesty: for it limiteth lust within law, and prescri­beth a moderation to plea­sure, which in it selfe being damnable, is by matrimony made [...]ufferable.

Now if some shall object and say, Though marriage with peace may be called the worlds Paradise, yet if it be with shrife, it may be [Page 84] termed the lives Purgato­ry; and that all such as mar­ry in haste may repent at leisure: and some to the like purpose, may quote Te­rence in Adelphis, in these words:

Many no doubt have for these and the like feares bin affraid, and forborne to mar­rie at all, thinking with Plautus, that he who de­sires to intangle and intri­cate himselfe into a world of troubles, may provide himselfe of a ship to guide, or a wife to governe. An­other will say, he that ta­keth one who is faire and false, weddeth himselfe unto [Page 86] a world of miseries; or if to one as vertuous as beau­tifull, yet in possessing a wo­man he at the best enjoyeth but a needfull evill. To such it may be thus answered, that in this they rather ac­cuse fortune than wedlock; for all things that happen crosse and averse, are the ef­fects of chance, not of ma­trimony. Much better it is therefore carefully to respect those good things thereon necessarily depending, than timerously to regard the disasters accidentally refle­cting. Admit the worst that can be objected, yet is not marriage therefore to be [Page 87] neglected; for if in all other courses and passages of our life we be crost, shall we therefore be altogether de­terr'd from prosecuting them, as things accurst?

Examine all trades, facul­ties, disciplines, or professi­ons: (to instance some few in behalfe of the rest) what practise is it, though the most necessitous and usefull, which may not be cavill'd at, or that we cannot find some colour to accuse? The Husbandman, though the frost prove violent, the snow unseasonable, the showers intempestive or immoderate, yet doth he [Page 88] not therefore forsake his fields, cease his culture, and despaire of an happie harvest.

The Mariner having en­dured many stormes at Sea, in which his goods have been hazzarded, and his life endangered, doth not in­stantly upon his landing un­tackle his ship, and having brought her from the wa­ter, break her up to the fire; but rather proposeth to himselfe those many bene­fits which may arise by na­vigation: as that no profit can be made without perill, and no delightfull gaine but with some great difficultie: [Page 89] [...]ee considereth, that the temperature of weather succeedeth tempests; that wealth commeth not by wishing, but watching: nei­ther can rest in age be pro­cured, where labour and in­dustry in youth is not pra­ctised.

Warres take away the limbs and lives of many, yet doth not that terrifie others from the attaining unto honour by armes: and [...]o of the rest. Good things are not to be forborne for the feare of evills that may ensue, rather the worst things are to be endured, that the better may bee [Page 90] encouraged. Were it not then absurd that Husband­men, Navigators, and Soul­diers, shall not fo [...]beare to use all diligence and exercise in their severall qualities? (as no way deterr'd by the detriments belonging unto them) and shall any man forbeare ma [...]riage for the multiplicitie of cares and crosses which some (through their vaine and idle feares) would asperse upon it?

Shall a Virgin feare to marrie onely with this eva­sion, Say I should be a wi­dow; or having children borne, O what a griefe it would be to me to see them [Page 91] buried? Let her know that in this case death is to be blamed, not matrimonie; and she may as well accuse nature for making us men, and not Gods. If either hus­band or children die, it is be­cause they were borne, and their bodies created mortall, and not immortall.

It may be therefore thus further argued, that marri­age supplies such deficiencie in nature: for by a second nuptiall the wife loseth the name of widow, and redee­meth not only the late lost name of husband, but to her children the forfeited name of father: by which marriage [Page 92] maketh amends in what na­ture seemed to doe amisse, and is rather a restauration than a deprivation to Or­phancie and Widow-hood.

If you shall summe up the cares and troubles that de­pend upon wedlocke, set but against them the profits and the pleasures, and they shall farre surmount them both in nature and number. What greater content to a man, than after the laborious tra­vells of the day to repose at night in the bosome of a sweet and loving bed-fel­low? What more delight­full hope than the exectati­on of an happy issue? The [Page 93] throwes of the mother are forgot in the birth of the child, and the pleasures of the latter farre surmount the paines of the former: the peevishnesse of the childs infancie is quite forgot when he begins to prattle. What comfort their toward youth breeds, and what consolation their more staid yeeres beget, I leave to their consideration who have beene the fruitfull parents of a fortunate progenie.

If then by lawfull marri­age soules are here inspired upon earth to become glo­rious Saints in heaven, and parents (in their issue and [Page 94] succession) imitate the Crea­tor himselfe, by giving life to others, that they by an alternate course, as they re­ceive breath from their fa­thers, may also returne it to their own children (and so till the last dissolution): if it change the common titles of man and woman to the honoured names of father and mother; if it beget tem­perance, providence, and the rest, and make these car­nall pleasures, which are o­therwise interdicted and forbidden, honest and legi­timate; if the certaine com­forts so farre surmount all casuall corsives, as it is so [Page 95] graciously honoured, why should it not be gen [...]rally embraced? And though Saint Ambrose saith, Nuptiae terras implent, virginitas Paradi [...]um; marriage peo­ples the earth, but virginity Paradise; yet Saint Austine preferres humble marriage before proud virginity. I conclude this Chapter with that of Claudian in Eu­ropa.

PLato in his booke De Legib. tells us, that man­kind is by marriage made immortall, and lasteth for ever: for by leaving chil­dren to beget children, the father by successive genera­ [...]ion is made immortall: of [Page 97] which immorta [...]itie all such are justly deprived, who a­bandon themselves to a life single and solitary. But there ought to be a great care in the Parents in dispo­sing of their children, the better to continue this bles­sed perpetuitie. The Empe­rour Aurelius informeth us, that there was a custome a­mongst the Rhodians, or a Proverb at least, that the fathers to marry a son need to spend but one day, but in the disposing of one daugh­ter they ought to consider with themselves ten yeers: which were it even in these times carefully observed, [Page 98] and diligently imitated, might be the prevention of many inconveniences, or ra­ther palpable mischiefes, of which we have had many wofull examples.

Some through their base avarice, not willing to allow unto their daughters suffici­ent dowers. Others (too prodigall) have stretcht themselves beyond their a­bility and meanes, to be the ruine of their children by pride, and of themselves by poverty. Others (ill advi­sed, or too selfe-opinioned) by their too much dotage on the sons have cast too great a neglect upon the [Page 99] daughters; by which, as they lose time, so they for­feit duty, and many times chastity: for when they come to maturity of yeers, such as their fathers have no care to bestow, have a will to dispose of themselves; the event of which is for the most part disaster and penurie. Others will en­force them to marry where themselves like, and not where their children love; the effects of which are commonly discontent and misery (for inequality ei­ther in yeeres, fortunes, or affections, is the road way to spouse-breach and di­divorce: [Page 100] for where there is dis-union of hearts, there must needs be disorders in the house.

How often have forced contracts beene made to add land to land, not love to love? and to unite houses to houses, not hearts to hearts? which hath beene the occasion that men have turned monsters, and wo­men devills. I forbeare to instance any, for in nomina­tion of the dead I might perhaps give distast to such of the kinred who yet sur­vive, who no question could rather with that the memo­ry thereof were rather buri­ed [Page 101] than blazed abroad. Fur­ther, who shall but follow the Circuit in the Coun­trey, besides these trialls here in the City, shall sel­dome find a generall Assises without some evidence or other giv [...] upon the like tragicall accidents. But lea­ving these, I purpose in the next place to speake some­thing concerning the anci­ent ceremonies observed a­mongst the Romans, and o­thers, in their contracts and nuptiall ceremonies.

The Romans called them Sponsalia, à spondendo, of the vow and promise made each to other; which words [Page 102] were writ downe, recorded, and sealed before witnesses, and those were called Sig­natores. Before the cere­mony, the Bride and Bride­groome consulted severally either of them with a sooth­sayer, to know what omen should be in their future marriage. Of which Iuve­nal in his tenth Satyr ma­keth mention: ‘—Veniet cum signatori­bu [...] auspex.’ .i. The Soothsayer comes with those that signed to the contract. Aul. Gellius informes us that the young man gave unto the Virgin a [Page 103] ring, which she ware upon her fourth finger on the left hand, because to that finger alone (as the best Anato­mists tell us) proceeds a veine that hath its originall from the heart. The word nuptiae is derived from nu­bo, which signifieth to co­ver: and Plinie sai [...]h, that the woman was presented unto her husband in a yel­low vaile, which was called Flamineum (which colour is held to be the embleme of jealousie) and with that she covered her face. And in regard of the good successe which Romulus and his souldiers had in their rape [Page 104] of the Sabine Virgins, they still continued a custome, that the Bride-groome should snatch away the Bride from the lap or bo­some of her father, mother, or the next of their alliance and kinred: and after this s [...]eming violence, her hus­band was to part or divide the haire of her head with the point or top of a speare, with which some Gladiator or Fencer had before beene slaine, and that was called Hasta caelibaris. T [...]e mo­rall whereof (as the Author informeth me) was, that no­thing but such a lance or speare, or such like violence, [Page 105] should after dis-joine them.

Plutarch in Roman. Quae­stion. 87. demands why the Brides haire from the up­per part of the forehead to the crowne was separated with such a lance or speare? Was this (saith he) a sym­bole or embleme that the Romans first marriages were made by war and rape? Or is this admonition to the Brides, that they being mar­ried unto a wa [...]like people, should therefore u [...]e mode­ration both in their habit and diet? Or (as Lycurg [...]s commanded) that all the gates and portalls of their houses should (without [Page 106] other curiosity) be only fi­gured with the sawe and the axe, to signifie that nothing vaine or superfluous should enter in at those doores? Or doth it imply (by cir­cumstance) that wedlocke ought not to be dis-joined but by sword and death? Or is it because the speare is consecrate to Iuno, who is also called Pronuba, that is, the Goddesse of marri­age, all her statues being pourtrayed leaning upon a lance or javelin? and that she is called Dea quiritis? and that a speare was anci­ently called quiris? whence Mars tooke his denomina­tion [Page 107] of Quirinus, &c.

The next day after the nuptialls was a feast held, to which all their friends and kinred were invited, and such they called Repotia: their Aruspices or Witch­es conjectured of their fu­ture good or evill by a Crow, because such is the consociety of those birds, that if one of the matched couple perish by accident, the other remaines widow­ed and singular ever af­ter.

There were then severall waies by which a Virgin became a mans lawfull wife: The first was called [...], that [Page 108] is, by prescription, that is, if she were contracted by her Parents or Overseers, and continued with her husband the space of three entire yeeres, without be­ing absent from him three whole nights in a twelve moneth. The second was, Confarreatione, which im­ports, that when being mar­ried before a Flamine or chiefe Priest, before ten witnesses, the married cou­ple eat together of a barlie cake, before used in the sa­crifice, which was called a Far, and the solemnities (as Cicero pro Muraena a­verres) were called Farra­cea, [Page 109] from barley. The third was, Coemptione, of buying and selling: for the wife bought her husband, under a seeming pretence, with a small piece of silver. Sue­tonius speakes of a fourth, which is titled, Sortitione, which was by lot or lotte­ry. But in the former, which is called Coemptione, where, by the ancient Roman lawes, ‘Nubentes mulieres tres ad virum asses ferre sole­bant.’ when the women that were to bee married brought three small pieces of money [Page 110] to the Bridegroome, the man was not called by his owne name, nor the woman by hers, but he Caius, and she Ca [...]a, in remembrance of the most excellent and vertuous Matron Caia Cae­cilia, wife to Tarquinius Priscus. Then the new made Spouse being brought home by her friends to the very doores of her husbands house, she was to say, Ubi t [...] Caius? Hic sum ego Caia: which Erasmus thus inter­preteth, Ut tu Dominus, ita ego Domina: .i. as thou art Master, so am I Mistresse▪ and she that was thus mar­ried might justly challenge [Page 111] the title of Mater familias, or, Mother of the houshold. The Bride was lighted thi­ther with five torches bur­ning, which did intimate the great necessitie that married wives have of these five gods and goddesses, Iupi­ter, Iuno, Venus, Suadela, and Diana, otherwise cal­led Lucina.

There were no contracts held to prove successefull amongst the Romans which were not celebrated with the two elements of Fire and Water. It is in one of Plutarchs Roman questi­ons, What is the reason (saith he) that in all nuptials [Page 112] the Bride is commanded to touch Fire and Water? Is it because the Fire is an a­ctive Element, and there­fore representeth the man; and the water a passive, and consequently an Embleme of the woman? Or is it be­cause the Fire illustrates, and the water purgeth: there­fore the wife ought by all her endevours and industry to preserve her purity and chastity? Or is it because that as Fire without hu­mour to feed loseth its fury, [...]nd abateth its strength; and water without some heat groweth use-lesse and with­out motion: so man and wo­man, [Page 113] separated and dis-joi­ned, are of no validity and power, but by conjunction or commixtion of their se­verall faculties, they by offi­ces belonging unto marriage are made compleat and per­fect? Or doth the morall extend so farre, that the one ought not to forsake the o­ther, but to endure prosperi­ty and adversity alike, though they be driven to that extremity that they have no other good thing left them save only Fire and Water to comfort them? According to that of Seneca the Tragedian, Amor peren­nis Conjugis castae manet: .i. [Page 114] The love of a chaste wife lasteth for ever. Or as O­vid writ in his exile un­to his wise in these words,

But to proceed with the Roman Ceremonies: Ser­vius super Aeneid. obser­veth, that when the woman was brought to the doore of the Bride-chamber, she [Page 115] annointed the posts with oile, and was called uxor, quasi unxor, ab unguendo: this done, the husband took her in his armes, and lifted her over the threshold with a seeming violence, because (in modesty) she should not be thought to goe willingly without some force unto the place where she should unloose her Caestus or Vir­gin girdle. At her comming in, all the company present called with a lowd voice, Talassio, Talassio: the rea­son of which clamour Plu­tarch renders us in vita P [...]mp. as also in his 31. Ro­man question, to this pur­pose:

[Page 116]In that great rape which the souldiers of Romulus committed upon the Sabine Virgins, one of the fairest among them being catcht up by one of the meanest soul­diers, some of the rest, envy­ing his good fortune, would have taken her away from him by force; which he per­ceiving, cried out, Talassius, and that he was bearing her to Talassius, who was then a prime young Gentleman of the Army, and of great remarke amongst the Ro­mans: by which clamour he was suffered to convey her privately unto him. Since which time they have ob­served [Page 117] in all their marriages to use the name of Talassi­us, as in all the Grecian nup­tialls they sing Hymen, Hy­menaee.

Many other superstitions they have used, which might seem tedious here to relate, as their Nuptialia do­na, .i. Their marriage gifts and tokens, the bed in which they reposed the first night being called Lectus genialis, or (as some will have it) Le­ctus genitalis. And if at any time these were at diffe­rence or dissention betwixt themselves, they repaired to a Temple or Chappell erected to the honour of a [Page 118] certaine goddesse called Dea viriplaca, as much as to say, the goddesse pleaseman; where when they had staid a while, and offered such oblations as were by the Flamines appointed to that purpose, all their jarres as they were before debated, so they were then and there ended, and they departed thence well satisfied and re­conciled.

THe maner of solemni­zing Marriage amongst the Russians or people of Muscovie is different from other nations: for the man, though he never in his life time beheld the woman, yet is he not permitted to have any or the least view [Page 120] of her when he would soli­cite her for marriage, but it is done by his mother or next kinswoman: and when the match is agreed upon, as well by the Parents as the parties, (for without the consent of the Parents no marriage is held amongst them lawfull) the father and chiefe friends meet to­gether and conclude about the dower. It is to be ob­served, that the Virgin brings the dower, but the young man maketh her no jointure unlesse she have is­sue by him, and then shee hath full interest in his e­state.

[Page 121]And if she were never married before, the Parents and friends enter into bond that she shall prove a Vir­gin. The contract thus con­cluded, they send tokens the one to the other, but enter­change no lookes all this while. The Eeve before the nuptiall day, the Bride is car­ried either in a Callimago or Coach, or if it be win­ter, on a sledd (by reason of the snow and ice) to the house of the Bride-groome, with her wedding clothes, and the bed on which they are that night to lie, which for the most part is very rich and costly. That night [Page 122] she is accompanied with her mother and her other friends, but all this while of him not seene. The next day she is married in a vaile, or rather an hood of knit [...] wo [...]ke or lawne, which co­vereth her from the Crown of the head to the waste. They and their friends ride all to Church, being well mounted, though never so neere the place, and though they be people of the mea­nest quality amongst them. The words & contract, with the ceremonies, as the Ring, &c. are almost one with ours: and the nuptiall knot being knit by the Priest, th [...] [Page 123] Bride comes to her husband there standing by the Altar, and bowes her selfe as low as to his foot, in signe of fu­ture obedience: in requitall of which, the Bride-groome casteth his upper garment over her, as a token or pro­mise that he will from that time forward shield and pro­tect her.

To these two standing together, come the father and the next alli'd unto the woman, and bowe them­selves to the Bride-groom, and his father and friends doe the like to her, as a tie and union of love and affini­ty betwixt the two kinreds [Page 124] and families: to bind which there is a loafe of bre [...]d pre­sented to the Priest, who breaketh it, and distributeth it amongst them, of which they all eat, and protest withall, that they are all a [...] one loafe made of so many severall graines, or as so ma­ny guests invited to one ta­ble. This ceremonie en­ded, the husband takes the wise by the hand, and lea­deth her to the Church porch, (their fathers and friends following them) where they are met by o­thers, who present them with bowles and cups of severall fashions and siz [...], [Page 125] fill'd with Meade and Russ­wine, whereof the Bride-groome first takes a Chark or Chalice in his hand, and drinkes to the Bride; who opening her hood or vaile below (yet so that her face is still unseene) she pledgeth him: this done, they part at the Church doore, he go­eth to his fathers house, and she to hers, where they en­tertaine their friends a­part.

At the entring into which houses, corne is cast upon them from the upper win­dowes, in token of fertilitie and plentie ever after to at­tend them. The evening [Page 126] come, the Bride is con­ducted to her husbands fa­thers house, and there lodged that night, her vaile still covering her head. Be­sides, she is injoin'd from her mother and other Matrons her friends, not to speake one word, because the hus­band is neither to see her face, nor heare her tongue, till the next morrow after their marriage; neither is she that day to speake at all, saving some few limited words, meerely of forme, nor three dayes after. If she transgresse the least of these ceremonies, it is a great dis-reputation to her all her [Page 127] whole life after.

The third day expired, they depart unto their own house, which is by this time sufficiently accommodated. And herein is to be observed, that for the marriage day, and the whole time that the nuptiall feast is solemnized, he hath the honour to be called Molodax Knez, that is, young Duke; and shee Molodax Knezay, the young Dutchesse.

Iulius Caesar in the 6. book of his Commentaries tells us, that amongst the ancient Gaules (which is now the French nation) the husband brought so much goods, and [Page 128] laid it down, as did amoun [...] to the dower which his wife brought with her, and a just account being ta­ken, the stocke was put to­gether, the party surviving being made full Executour, and possessing both their meanes to them and their children.

Cornelius Tacitus gives a noble commendation of the Germans. The wife, saith he, never bringeth or assu­reth any dower to her hus­band, but he to his wife, the Parents, cousins, and friends being present to approve or dislike of all such passages as are betweene them: nei­ther [Page 129] is there any enter­change of love-tokens, in­tending to delicacie, or to corrupt the chastity of the woman; but his present is a couple of Oxen yoaked, an horse bridled and com­pletely furnished, with a Sword, Buckl [...]r, or Target, and a Javelin: neither doth she enterchangeably present him with any gift, save some weapons, either of of­fence or defence. And that the wife may not thinke her selfe exempted from the [...]ares, travells, and dangers that the husband may ei­ther by his industry at home, or valour abroad in­curre, [Page 130] these yoaked cattle, the Horse, and weapons of warre, are a remembrance unto her.

There are very few knowne adulteries commit­ted amongst that great and populous Nation, for the punishment thereof is very severe and speedy. For she that shall be found guilty of such an act, her husband causeth her to be sh [...]ven, and then stript naked, and after brings her out of his owne doores in the presence of all his and her neerest kinred, then beats her with a bat­toone through the streets: for there is no connivence [Page 131] to be used, or pardon to be granted to any woman who hath once violated her wed­locke chastity: neither can her youth, beauty, or riches, though all should meet to­gether in one, ever purchase her to have the honour of a second husband; so odible and detestable is that sinne held amongst them.

The Assyrians take their daughters with them (when they be marriageable) to the market, and there such as want wives buy them for their money, or money-worth. The like is in cu­stome with the Babyloni­ans, and people of Thrace: so [Page 132] did the ancient Grecians purchase their wives, either for coine, or some other commodity that was ven­dible. The like the Indians in many places observe.

Iphidanas the son of An­tenor, according to Homer, gave fifty yo [...]ke of Oxen to his father-in-law to enjoy his daughter in marriage. In Tapila a great Citie in India, situate betwixt the two Ri­vers of Indus and Hydaspes, they entertain no wives into their conjugall embraces which they buy not at some price. Strabo in his booke of Geography, lib. 15. in­formes us, that in some [Page 133] Countries, as Carthage and others, there was a custome, that if a poore mans daugh­ter by reason of her pover­ty could not compasse a hus­band, she was brought to a publike faire or market, with trumpets and lowd musicke before her, and when a great confluence of people was gathered about her, first h [...]r backe parts were discovered bare as high as to her shoulders from her heele, and then the like before; and if upon that view she were found to be well featured, and no way defective, at the charge of the City she was to be pro­vided [Page 134] of a husband.

Plato in his sixt booke de Legib. writes, lest any man should be deceived in the choice of his Bride, and so after repent himselfe when it is too late, that it was thought convenient, that divers assemblies of young men and maids should be permitted to wrestle, and [...]rie masteries together, ha­ving their bodies naked from the neck to the waste, as farre as modesty would give leave. But St. Ierome against Iovinian condem­neth this wanton and lasci­vious custome, and so doth Clemens Alexandrinus, pe­dag. [Page 135] lib. 2. cap. 9. and St. Cy­prian in his booke De Vir­gin. habit. in these words, The honour and bashfull shame of the body are both preserved in the modest co­verture of the garment. And Blandus supra leges interpo­sit. cap. 1. writeth, that the very feare of shame, with­out the terrour of death or torment, is sufficient of it selfe to put off a contract.

The Namasanes, a peo­ple of Lybia (as Herodo [...]u [...] informes us) had a strange custome, to cause the Bride the first night of her nupti­alls to prostitute her selfe to all her guests, and then she [Page 136] was injoined to preserve her chastity for ever after. The Anthropophagi, the Medes, and some part of the Aethio­pians, after they be once married, are admitted free congresse with their mo­thers and sisters. The Arabs make their wives common to all the kinred. The Moores, Numidians, Persi­ans, Parthians, Garamantes, the Turkes, and some Jewes, take as many wives as they can well maintaine: and the ancient Athenians made their wives and daughters common.

It was once a custome i [...] Scotland, that the Lord of [Page 137] the soile might lay just clai [...]e and title to every Virgins maidenhead, who was to bee married within his Lordship. For by that custome the Tenant held his land; which was after quite abolished by King Malco­line, who ordained that the new married couple should redeeme her virginitie, in which her Landlord preten­ded interest, with a small piece of gold, which in many places of the King­dome is observed even untill this day.

A young man of Lacede­mon, being seated in the Theater, when a valiant [Page 138] and ancient Captaine (a single man and Batchelour) but for his valour and fa­mous atchievements much honoured by his Nation, came to take his place, to be a spectator of the sports and games there presented; hee denyed to give him place: at which Callidus, for so was the Captaine called, much offended at the arrogance of his youth, gave him course and bitter languag [...]: to whom he returned this short answer, Thou hast (O great Captaine Callidus) as yet fa­thered no child, neither ac­casioned the birth of any, who comming unto my [Page 139] age, may when I am come unto thine, in this place a­rise to do me a like honour.

Plato also in his booke of Lawes, appointed single men no place of dignity in the common-weale, nor suf­fered any to bee conferred upon them; but caused them to bee more charged with fines and amerciaments than any of the other married Citizens. Socrates professeth of himselfe, to have learnt more morall philosophy from women, than naturall, of which he made excellent use.

In marriage there is a do­mesticke Common-weale, [Page 140] in which the Father of the family may expresse wise­dome, temperance, justice, pietie, and all other vertues: by loving his wife, in­structing his children, go­verning his familie, ordering his affaires, disposing his goods.

The Romans in the yeere that Quintus Me [...]ellus was Consull, established many famous and worthy Lawes and priviledges, to incou­rage people to marry, and especially, unto those who had numerous issue, and great increase of children: for without wedlock all al­liance would be extinct, all [Page 141] Common-weales in short time decay, and all sweet so­cietie be quite abandoned.

There bee twelve impe­diments to hinder lawfull marriage, or to dis-annull it after it be once consumma­ted, which Cardinall Caj [...] ­tanus comprehends in these foure verses:

[Page 142]Thus paraphrased.

[Page 143]I end with this of So­crates: Let men obey the Lawes, and women their Husbands, whose duty is to bee wise in speaking, and mild in conversation; cir­cumspect in promise, and carefull in performance; faultlesse in taking, and faith­full in giving good counsell; patient in adversity, and not puft up in [...] prosperitie; some­what indulgent over his wife, but most industrious in the education of his chil­dren.

And a good wife, accor­ding to Theophrastus, must bee grave abroad, gentle at home, constant to love, [Page 144] patient to suffer, obs [...]quio [...] to her neighbours, obedi [...]nt to her husband. For silence and patience are the two i [...] dissoluble ties of conjugall love and piety.

YOu see what marriag [...] [...] or at least what it oug [...] [Page 145] to be. But hitherto I have onely read a Lecture unto women, but I come now to shew you what manner of Lectures wives use to read unto their husbands: and for method sake I will devide them into severall heads. And first begin with the Country. I find in a Prog­ [...]ostication or Almanac [...]e, continued from the date [...]ereof to the end of the world, written by Iacobus Henrichmanus, & [...] to the generous S. Christo­phar [...]s Baron of Schwar­ze [...]berg: and the illustrious Poet Henric [...]s [...]ebelli [...]s; to this purpose. In this [Page 146] yeere, saith he, Virgins an [...] Wives shall have long haire and short memories: women shall participate in their domesticall govern­ment with their husband [...] ▪ and strive to rule alike, if not with precedence; and when they are willing to sleepe, whisper many pri­vate lectures in their eares, which they would not listen unto: old strumpets shall be apt to negotiate betwixt young men and new mar­ried wives, to make sinfull bargaines: moreover, there are divers which shall be [...] suspected to be honest, and though they be not so, yet [Page 147] shall they be glad to take the injury upon themselves.

The same Bebellius, in his fecetiae, saith, that from wo­men: themselves hee hath received three things, in which there is no credit to be given unto them. First, when shee weepes, because she can command teares at her will: next, if she feigne her selfe to bee sicke, for there is no trust to bee im­posed upon her till thou seest her quite dead: and lastly, if having invited her friends unto a great feast, she simper or eate nothing, [...] is to be presumed that she [...]ath first dined in the kitchen, [Page 148] or else she hath reserved th [...] choicest bit of all, to please her owne palate after the guests be departed.

Foure things [...]ill a man before his time; a sad or sorrowfull family, meate or drinke immoderately taken, a pestilent aire, and a faire wife. Foure other thing [...] wee are also to take gre [...] care, that we fo [...]beare: first, how we read another [...] letters, the contents nothing concerning us; next how wee meddle with any thing in a Smi [...]hs shop, lest [...] burn our fingers; then to b [...] carefull what we taste [...] [Page 149] light upon poison; lastly, how we adventure upon any woman, to grow into any private familiarity with her, whose condition [...] we know not. Others have a proverb frequent in their mouthes, that those men grow soone rich, whose Bees prosper and their wives perish; or whose sheepe and oxen th [...]ive with them, and their [...]ives faile them.

If a man would have an exact wife, indowed with all the gifts of nature, the better to dec [...]re her, she must have an hand from Prague, a face from Brittaine or England, breasts from Austria, a belly [Page 150] from France, a backe from Brabant, white thighes and hands from Colonia Agrip­pina, feet from the Rhine, pudibu [...]da from Bavaria, and nates from Suevia. But from the constitution of the bo­dy, I come now to the con­dition of the minde.

As there are many sorts of wives, so there are many kinds of husbands: as one for instance (I begin with the country.) A plaine coun­try fellow, upon some ex­traordinary occasion com­ming from plow before his houre, found a young [...] his neighbours sonne, [...] busie with his wife, and [Page 151] came suddenly upon them before they could any way [...]vade it; which hee seeing, said to his wife, O sweet heart, what is this I see? could'st thou not have pickt out a more private place then this? Ile put it to thy selfe, how scurvily would this have showne, if any stranger but my selfe had come in, and seene what I doe how? and with this gentle admonition departed [...].

But all husbands (as I said before) are not of the like temper; for instance: An handsome country-wife, and well reputed of amongst her [Page 152] neighbours, used every night as soone as her hus­band came to bed, to cate­chize him, what companie he had kept? and how hee had spent the day? and still used to keepe him wa­king past midnight, when the poore honest man, who had travelled hard all the day, had rather been at rest; and that shee would have read him asleepe. But at length observing that shee was somewhat precisely gi­ven, and that shee used often to goe to confession, he be­gan to consider what great sins she might be guilty of, of which she need so often [Page 153] to desire absolution: and to that purpose watching the time when shee used to goe unto her Confessour, he had gotten into the Church be­fore, and privately hid him­selfe, so neere to the Altar that hee might easily heare whatsoever passed betwixt them: and when amongst o­ther quotidian (or as some call them venial sins:) she be­gan to proceed further, and say that she had committed adultery with such a man so often, and so often with such a neighbour: her Conf [...]ssor began with her and said, in­deed sister the sinne of adul­tery is a great and hainous [Page 154] crime▪ and therefore leaving the rest, I will begin to [...]l­lot you pennance for that: at which word the fellow rising out) of his place [...], No good Sir you shall not need to doe that, I pray you absolve her of all the rest of her sinnes, but for tha [...] of adultery ile give her such pennance ile warrant her, that she shall not need com­plaine, and desire other from you: so taking her by the arme led her home and basted her soundly.

Poggius the Florentine, an excellent Oratour, in his F [...] ­cetiis, reporteth this storie. A woman amongst us (saith [Page 155] [...]e) [...] so contrary unto her husband in all things, that whatsoever shee had said, how absurd, [...]oever it [...] ▪ [...] maintaine it even to death; who scol­ding and bitterly railing against her husband, one day amongst many other [...]veries which shee gave him to weare for her sake, she called him lowsie knave▪ [...] which words [...] wondrous [...], hee beate her with his [...], and [...]ickt her with his heeles; [...]: [Page 156] [...] so tired himselfe with [...]ea­ [...]ing her, that he was [...] able to lift his arme so high [...] his head, and yet vowing to himselfe that hee would then get the must [...]ry or ne­ver, he b [...]th ought himselfe of another [...], and tying her fast to a cord, let [...] downe into a Well, there threatning to drowne [...] unlesse she would [...] that language: but the more [...] menac't her, the lowde [...] [...] talk't, not changing a sylla­ble: at length he [...] bodie so farre as to the [...], and yet nothing was in he [...] [Page 157] mouth but lowsie [...], which she often repeated; hee then ducked her over head and eares; when not being able to speak because the water choa [...]ed her, what [...]she could not doe with her tongue she expressed with her [...] fingers, and holding her armes above water, by joyning the nailes of her two thumbs together, she did that in action, which she was not able to deliver in words; in so much that her [...] obstinacy prevai­ling above his punishment, hee was forc't to draw her [...] againe, being ever af­ter a subject to her mo­rosity [Page 155] and [...] Another Countrey [...] wife, when no Lecture she could reade unto her husband (though [...] him with many▪ and those not empty of variety) could prevaile with him, when she found that she [...] not able to being him [...] her owne bow, in a [...] malicious despaire [...] river side, and leap [...] [...], and so drowned her self [...]. At length the place being shewed to the good man where she plunged in, [...] her body not appearing [...] the water, he [...] dragge for i [...] against the [Page 157] streame; but his neighbours advising him not to take that course, but rather to search for her with the streame; he made answer, My good neighbours no such matter, for know that in her life time she was so obstinate, froward, and con­trary to all reason, that even in death her very body must needs swim against the tide, though it be preposterous against nature.

This calls to my remem­brance that of the Cyn [...]ke D [...]ogenes, who was wont to [...], he allowed of them who were in a readinesse to saile upon the sea, but sailed [Page 160] not▪ who were about to gi [...]e other mens children their breeding, but bred them not; who advised with themselves to take upon them the affaires of the Common-weale, but tooke them not; and who was al­waies towards wiving, but wedded not: intimating those persons to be wise who runne not rashly into such things of which they have not before made proofe and triall. For when men are once entred into them, they forfeit their own liberty, as not able to retract or withdraw themselves at their pleasure. Whoso com­mitteth [Page 161] himselfe to the mercy of the seas, must stand to the grace of the windes and weather: whoso undergoeth publike office or magistracy, cannot at his will [...] himselfe to a pri­vate state and condition of living: and whosoever mar­rieth a wife, if he be said not [...].

The same Philosopher [...] a very faire woman [...] in a [...] horse [...] or [...], he said to one that stood by him, Now surely another cage than that had beene more [...] [Page 160] of that kind: noting that such froward creatures as some women be, are more fitting to looke out of a grate than a casement. The Le [...]tica in Greece, which I here call a horse-litter, was a certaine manner of [...]eat neere unto that fashion; in which noble women and great Ladies w [...]re used to be born through the streets, not by horses, but upon some sixe mens shoulders; being made with Lattice windows, and grates cro [...]e-barred; which our late Se­dans in some things imitate. Those casements were to o­pen and shut at pleasure, that [Page 161] they might looke and bee seen, or not: so that it shew­ed and represented to the eie the manner and likenesse of a cage for birds, or a pen, in which to keepe divers strange beasts: which was in great frequency among the Grecians. And in such did the wives of the Areopagi­tae, or chiefe S [...]natours, and other great Ladies use to be borne through the streets; and in imitation of them, of­tentimes loose and wanton damsells: for great persons cannot devise that for state, which the proud (how poor soever) will not strive to i­mitate.

[Page 164]I have read further, of a Countrey-man, who had a notorious scold to his wife; and whether he came from the market, or from the field; or whether hee sate downe to meat, or prepared himselfe for bed, she was al­waies thundring in his eares: nay she would not cease do­ctrinating him in his neigh­bours house, but home and abroad were both alike u [...]to her; and still the more he threatned or cudgeled her, her contumelious railing was still more insolent and l [...]wd, abusing him in language by no allowance. At length he thought to try conclusions, [Page 165] and provided himselfe of an harsh tun'd pipe, on which he could not play any thing that tended to musicke; and ever when shee began to s [...]old, he streight without a­ny reply began to play, but so untunably and shrill, that it almost drowned her lan­guage: this fretted her worse, in regard that he [...] gave her no other answer at all, whereby to give her matter to worke upon, in so much that for very anger and despight she left off rai­ling, and fell to skipping and dancing: of which being weary, as having tired her selfe, she flew up to his face, [Page] [...] [Page 168] other (having a shrew to his wife); I marry Gossip, this is a good sight, it were hap­py for us in the countrey if all the rest of our trees had the like fruit hanging upon them. I conclude this chap­ter with that of Iuvenall in his 6. Satyr.

A Question being asked, why our first and great Grandmother Evah, was rather in her formacio [...] taken out of the side of A­dam, than any other part of his bodie? It was thus lear­nedly answered: Because the side is the middle of the bo­dy, to signifie that the wo­man is of equall dignitie [Page 171] with the man; and therefore shee was taken not from the head, nor the foot; for she must not be superiour or in­feriour unto him. It is pro­bable also that shee was taken out of the left side: for the heart of man in­clineth that way, rather than to the other; to denote unto us, that man and wo­man should imbrace each other with an hearty and in­tire love: and as the left side is the weakest, so the wo­man made from thence, is the weaker ve [...]ell. Also all male children are conceived in the right side, and the fe­males in the left: and as the [Page 172] sides are defended by the armes, so ought a woman to be by her husband.

Another demanding a question, why women were more apt to talke, and for the most part, make a greater & lowder noise than men? Answer was returned, that for that there was ve­ry great reason to be given: for saith he, wee know that Adam the first man was created from the dust of the earth, which is of its own na­ture, soft, pliant & tractable, and in the handling yeeldeth no noise or sound at all: but the woman was made of a ribbe (a bone taken out of [Page 173] Adams side) which is of a much harder temper. Now for example, take a bushell bagge or a quarter sacke, and fill it with dust, or with flesh, and tumble it or tosse it which way you please, no eccho ariseth from thence at all; but empty them, and fill them with bones, and so shake and bowlt them to­gether, and you sh [...]ll then heare what a ratling they will keepe.

Of a more gentle disposi­tion than those before re­membred, was she of whom I now am to speake, who instead of a Curtaine Lecture, read by her to her husband, [Page 174] had a strange one read to her; the manner whereof followeth. Not farre from Reevilling, a Towne under the Imperiall jurisdiction, a very faire country wench, but very simple withall, who was newly married to one of the young rusticks there by, some quarter of a yeere after shee had beene married, came to a Friar to be confest, who casting an a­dulterous eye upon her, and finding her by her simple an­swer to bee none of the wi­sest: the businesse which she came for, being quickly run over, he presently fell up­on another matter, and told [Page 175] her that she was run into a great arrerage with him, for not paying him Tithes. The woman innocently de­manded of him what Tithes were due to him? Marry saith hee, for every nine nights which thou liest with thy husband, the tenth is due to me. Truely Sir, re­plied she, I pray you to ex­cuse mine ignorance, and heaven forefend but what­soever should bee due unto you from mee, should bee fully satisfied. At which hee retired her into a sequestred place, and there abused her honest simplicitie. After which returning backe to [Page 176] her house, shee began mo­destly to chide her hus­band, who would not tell her of those duties and tithes due to the Friar her Confessour, and so told him all the whole circumstances before related. The man said little, knowing the weaknesse of his Wife, and loath to have his owne shame to be made publike, yet vowing revenge in heart; and fearing that be­ing a Churchman, upon his complaint the Friar might find some favour with the great ones, he bethought himself of a safer course, and resolved withall to bee his [Page 177] owne justicer: for, dissem­bling the matter, and taking no notice at all of any such thing as passed be­twixt the Friar and his Wife, he made meanes to infinuate into his more fa­miliar acquaintance; to which the Friar most wil­lingly assented, because un­der that colour hee might have the freer and lesse su­spitious consocietie with his Wife. Upon this new ac­quaintance, the rusticke in­vited him to dinner, and de­fired him to come alone; which was a motion that he willingly imbraced. The day was appointed, and [Page 178] good cheare provided: now the good man commanded his Wife to reserve all the water shee made for two dayes together, and keepe it in a vessell by it selfe; which was accordingly done: hee invites two or three of his neighbours, whom hee durst best trust. The Friar keepeth his ap­pointment, the dinner is ser­ved in, and he set betwixt a couple of them so close that there was no rising from the table without leave: the first trenchers were not changed, but the good man takes a deepe bowle, and drinketh it off to the Friars [Page 179] welcome (of wine good and wholsome:) the Friar vowes to pledge him supernacu­lum, and still casting a lee­ring eye upon the woman, which the Host very well observed; he whispereth to have the Friars bowle brim­med with his Wives urine: which he taking and tasting, spit it out and said, Now fie, what tart and unpleasant wine is this? if I should drinke it, it would poyson me. The good man replied, Doth not then this wine tast you well? He replied, No by no meanes: No, saith the Host? Ile assure you it was drawne out of the same vessell [Page 180] from which you received your Tithes; and either drinke it off at one carowse, or bee assured that it is the l [...]st you shall ever swallow. By which the Friar finding his former villany discovered, tooke it off at a draught, concluding with a sowre sawce his former sweet bar­gaine: and being dismissed thence without any other violence, vowed to himselfe, never to come under that mans roofe after.

I have read of a fellow who travelled a great part of the world over with a paire of boots, which hee had vowed to part with [Page 181] to no man, but such a one as had an absolute power and Empire over his wife: he had past through many Countries, and offered them to all that he met, but no man was either willing, or else durst not accept them upon these conditions: at length meeting with a stout fellow, a Black-smith, he asked him if he would re­ceive them upon the cove­nant aforesaid? who an­swered that he would, and weare them in despight of all the women in Europe: (now the Smith had put on a cleane shirt that morning) Upon this answer the Tra­veller [Page 182] replied, Then Friend, here take them to thee, put them into thy bosome, and beare them home. The Smith replied, Not so, I know a tricke worth two of that: if I should put them into my bosome, and durty my cleane shirt, my wife would not be well pleased with that, for we should have no quietnesse in the house for all this day. Which the other hearing, snatched them away from him, and said, Get thee hence in an evill houre, who goest about to cheat me, being, as all others, afraid of thy wives scolding; and [Page 183] so left him: nor have I heard whether he hath yet delive­red them unto any even to this day.

A Countrey fellow ha­ving married a substantiall Farmers daughter, found her within a twelve-moneth to prove not only an arch­scold, still thundering in his eares, but very lascivious and unchaste, of which he had manifest and infallible proofes; and therefore hee tooke occasion to complain to his father-in-law both of the morosity and inchastity of his daughter. To whom the good man gave this comfort; Son, I advise you [Page 184] to have patience, and be con­tent for a time: she is her mo­thers daughter right, for just such an one was she in her youth, for I could neither governe her tongue, nor— but now she is growne old, there is not a more quiet and chaste Matron amongst all her neighbours: there­fore arme your selfe with patience as I did, and I make no question but when the daughter shall arrive unto her mothers age, your wife will prove as tractable and quiet as mine is now; and with this cold comfort dis­mist him:

Another Rusticke being [Page 185] married to a very handsome peece, grew jealours of a young fellow a Farmers son, his neighbour (and he had divers times upbrai­ded her with him:) at length being angry, she bid him not to feare any such matter betwixt them, and prote­sted, she had rather prosti­tute her selfe to ten Gentle­men, than to one such clown as himselfe, or him whom he had so often cast in her teeth.

Another Countrey wo­man, following her husband to his grave, not onely wept and wrung her hands, but tore her haire from her [Page 186] head, uttering such lowd cries and ejulations, that she was much pitied, in regard they feared that the very sorrow for his death would distract her of her senses. Divers came about her to comfort her, and they had much adoe to keepe her from leaping into his grave. The like she did comming backe. At length one that was a widower, and well knowne unto her, stept to­wards her to lead her home by the arme, and spake di­vers comfortable words un­to her. To whom she an­swered, No, she was undone for ever, for she was left a [Page 187] lone woman, and a widow, and had none to manage her affaires, or to guide her fa­mily. Who replied, Let not that be your care, I am, you know, a widower, and if it please you to accept of me, my suit is, that I may be your second husband. To whom she still weeping and howling made answer, I thanke you neighbour for your good will and friend­ly offer, but indeed you speake too late, for I have already past my faith and promise to another.

One related unto me of one who pretended great purity and modesty, who [Page 188] could not endure any u [...]ci­vill speech or obscene talke, and one indeed whom all the young men desired their wives to pattern themselve [...] by; she being brought to bed of a boy, which was her first child, as soone as the child was borne, all the wo­men came about it, and eve­ry one gave their censure of him, and concluded, it was [...] sweet babe, and like the fa­ther: which shee hearing, rowsing her selfe as well as she was able, said, Why I pray you neighbours, hath it a shaven crowne? which put them in mind of a young Friar who had often before [Page 189] frequented the house.

A Rusticke having the day before beaten his wife for reading a Lecture unto him somewhat too lowd, sent her the next day with a Sow to the market to sell. Her way lying through a parke or thicke wood, and she driving the Swine be­fore her with a cord tied to the hinder leg, a young Clowne of her former ac­quaintance, and who had long beene a suitor to her to corrupt her chastity (but ne­ver prevailing) overtooke her just as she was entring into the thicket; and having first given her the good [Page 190] morrow, began earnestly to importune her about his former fuit, alledging, a­mongst other things, the op­portunity of time and place but she still obstinately de­nied him, and in such rigo­rous words, that seeing her resolution, he forbare to speake of it any further, and began to talke of other things. But when she per­ceived they were almost out of the forrest, and that they were ready to come in­to the open fields, and re­membring how churlishly her husband had dealt with her the day before, she be­gan thus to break with him, [Page 191] and say, You spake unto me even now of a businesse I know not what, and urged me to a thing which I may be sorry for I know not when; but if I should now be so mad or foolish to yeeld to your request, I pray you in the meane time where can you find a tree in all this [...] to which to tie the Sow? Which being appre­hended by the other, she found occasion to revenge her selfe upon her husband. And this is growne to be a common Proverb in other Countries, But if I should be so foolish as to yeeld un­to you, where in the meane [Page 192] time can you find a fit tree to which to tie the Sow? From the Countrey I come now to the City.

THere be foure things (saith mine Authour) which women most covet; To be beloved of young men, To be the mothers of fine children, To weare [Page 193] rich and costly clothes, and to domineere and beare rule in their houses.

A Tailor in the Citie, who kept his wife very gallant (who was indeed a very choice girle, and well be­came those cloathes which she wore) before he had beene married a full twelve-moneth, perceiving divers young Citizens, and other Gallants, often to pass by his doore, and sometimes make impertinent businesse to his house, he thinking to pre­vent the worst, call'd up his wife one day into a pri­vate chamber, and began to question her about sundry [Page 194] things, of which the woman was meerely innocent: all this would not perswade the man, but being absolute­ly jealous of her honesty, he began to schoole her in very rough and course lan­guage; which wakened a fire in her bosome which till then lay hid, and now brake forth at her tongue. Then she told him what matches she might have had when she was a maid, and what fortunes she had neglected in making choice of him▪ how she might have beene married to a man, and now she had cast her selfe away upon a Tailor; with the like: [Page 195] in so much that when shee had once begun she knew not how to make an end, but call'd him foole, and jealous coxcomb, putting him to such a silence, that he had not one word to utter; but waiting till the storme was over, he then began to flat­ter her, and give her the best language that he could de­vise, with which they were reconciled betweene them­selves, and made friends.

He then began to breake with her further, that for their continuance of love, and to avoid all suspicion or controversie that might af­ter arise betwixt them, she [Page 196] would sweare unto certaine Articles which he would propound unto her? Who answered, she would with all her heart; but upon con­dition, that afterall, he would sweare her also to one thing which her selfe would pro­pound. Who gladly answe­red that he would. This be­ing constantly agreed be­twixt them, he began thus; Sweet wife, will you never depart over this threshold without my leave, but ac­quaint me first with the bu­sinesse which you goe a­bout? Who answered him, Sweet husband I will. Next saith he, Will you never of­fer [Page 197] to cast a wanton glance upon any man? Or whoso­ever shall offer to tempt your chastity, to deliver un­to me his name? Willing­ly, saith she. Will you also sweare, saith he, whilst you live to be true [...] my bed, and never [...] that con­jugall tie [...] is past be­twixt u [...]? Who answered, With all my heart. And ob­serving his palpable jealou­sie, asked him if these vvere all? Who answered, Yes: and withall sweet wife (saith he) novv vvhat is that fur­ther vvhich you de [...]ire that I should bind you to by oath? Who replied, Onely this [Page 198] svveet husband, that after these oathes taken, you vvill svveare me that I shall not keepe any one of these arti­cles vvhich you vvould have me svvorne to. Which said, she stept out of the chamber, dovvne into the kitchin, and left him ruminating upon this ansvver.

Another Tradesmans wife (for I vvill name no particu­lar Trade, to avoid offence) her husband being at a Faire in the Countrey, the Fore­man of his shop, vvhom he had left to manage his af­faires at home, cast many a vvanton looke upon his Mi­stresse, and she failed not [Page 199] to ansvver him vvith the like: at length he put on that audacity to move her in the businesse, but she coun­terfeited anger, and seemed altogether averse to his suit, threatning him, if he per­sisted to prosecute it any further, she vvould acquaint his Master vvith it at his comming home; vvhich made him at that time to urg [...] it no further. But still such interchange of vvanton glances continued betvvixt them, that it emboldened him in a second encounter: in vvhich he desired her to take the advantage of his Masters absence; but still she [Page 200] ansvvered him vvith No; till at length hee urging still further, from No shee said nothing at all; vvhich gave him such encourage­ment, that the same night, leaving his Mistresse making her selfe unready in the kitchin, hee stole into her chamber, and stripping him­selfe, got into the bed, and covered himselfe over head and eares. At length up comes his Mistresse, and ha­ving lockt her chamber fast to her, unclothes her selfe to her next linnen; and be­fore the candle vvas out, o­pening the bed to step in, [...]pi'd him as he lay: at which [Page 201] she began to rate him, and call'd him all the bad names she could (but softly:) at which the fellow, fearing she would have call'd out, and made an uproare in the house, and so have taken him before he was napping, de­sired her of pardon, and said he would willingly rise and goe from thence unto his owne chamber. To whom she replied; Fellow, thou dost not heare me talke of thy rising, nor of thy going hence to thine ow [...] chamber, for it is not that which I speake of; but it is thy sau­cinesse and boldnesse that I blame, who wouldst offer [Page 202] to creepe into thy Masters place without the consent of thy Mistresse. Well, for this time I pardon thee, but charge you, without first getting my good will, to do so no more hereafter; and without more words put out the candle, and went to bed to him.

The like to this was rela­ted me of another, who im­portuned his mistresse to lewdnesse in the absence of his master; to which act shee would no way appeare to give any consent at all: but he thinking to prove her to the full, told her that he had vowed to steale into [Page 203] her chamber that night, nay more, into her bed. Wilt thou saith she? doe it then upon thine owne perill, and I will leave the doore open a purpose; but withall I tell thee before hand, I will lay a knife ready drawn un­der my beds head, with which (if thou offerest to enter) I will kill thee. Night came, and she stript her selfe, put out the candle, and went to bed: anone after in comes hee▪ and softly stealing (whilst she counterfeited a sound and dead sleep) to the bed side, he began to open the sheetes, but finding her not to move at all, doubted [Page 204] to enter, left being suddenly started, shee with the knife might doe him a mischiefe; and therefore thought to goe [...]oftly out as he came in: which shee perceiving, as if shee had suddenly awaked out of sleepe, asked, Who art thou? who is there? Hee answered againe, It is I. What I, saith shee a­gaine? So hee told her his name. And whats your bu­sinesse here at this time of the night? Marry saith he, I had thought to have come to bed to you, but that I durst not for your knife, and therefore I am going hence: which hearing, she [Page 205] replied, Now beast that I was to forget the knife, and leave it below in the kitchen; and therefore if thou shouldest stay and ven­ture, there could be no great danger in it.

A lusty stout fellow in the Suburbs having a curst shrew to his wife, for all his valour could never master her tongue, but early and late shee would so whisper in his eares, that all the whole street might ring of her. At length he beat her so soundly, that shee durst not thunder unto him for some weekes after; in so much that hee verily presu­med [Page 206] he had got the victory over her, and so hee stick't not to boast to all his neigh­bours about: which vexed her not a little, and there­fore she thought in her selfe, to be revenged upon him at one time or other, and for that she but waited for some fit oppor [...]unitie or other. [...] hapned that upon a summer evening, he and his Wife, sitting amongst others of the neighbours and their wives, she made the motion that they should goe to a sport call'd All-hid, which is a meere chil [...]rens pastime; to which they, then being set upon a merry pin, agreed. [Page 207] Now shee had perswaded her husband to creepe into a Sacke, which he, in regard of her late conformitie su­specting nothing, was wil­ling to do: and when she had tied the Sackes mouth fast, she call'd in two or three of her like conditioned Gos­sips, to whom shee had ac­quainted her project, and they every one with a good cudgell did so bast the gen­tleman, that hee thought his very bones to rattle in his skin; and notwithstanding all his intreatie or faire pro­mises, they would not let him out, or suffer him to take breath, till hee had sworne [Page 208] unto them, not to take up so much as a small sticke to strike her ever after; to which (being almost stifled) he was forced to sweare; nor did hee offer the lest blow after, in regard of his oath. But not long after, a great Wedding being kept in that street, and he and his wife invited amongst the rest, af­ter dinner they fel to dance: amongst the rest hee tooke his wife to taske, and being in a measure where the men are to take the women in their armes, and lift them up from the ground, hee took up his wife, and turning round with her till hee came [Page 209] to the top of the staires, and then letting her fall head­long, she tumbled downe to the bottome, and great odds she had not broke her neck; and this hee did laughing. But such was her good for­tune that shee was onely bruised, as hee had before been beaten; and finding it no advantage for her further to contend with him, shee submitted her selfe, and hee accepted of her submission; which on both sides was so unfainedly done, that they lived in great unity and love all the rest of their life after.

But not altogether to tire [Page 210] the Reader with quarrelling and scolding: I was told of a very faire virgin of the Ci­ty, who by her fathers en­forcement (but farre against her owne minde) was com­peld to matcht with an anci­ent and grave Citizen; who finding her sitting very sad and pensive the same day of her marriage, came to com­fort her: and grasping her a­bout the waste, said, Bee of good cheere my faire wife, an old horse will travell and goe through a long journey as wel as a young. At which words she fetching a grea [...] sigh, and laying her hand upon the bottome of her [Page 211] belly, said, I, but I feare Sir, not in this rode way.

Another Tradesman ha­ving a drunken queane to his wife, whom he could ne­ver keepe from the ale­house, but whatsoever hee got she was ready to spend: or if shee had no monie, she would pawne vvhatsoever vvas about the house; and sittippling among her Gos­sips, somtimes till past mid­night, & then be led home, or carried when her owne legs vvere not able to beare her. And he having read ma­ny a Lecture unto her (as telling her vvhat a loath­some sin drunkennesse vvas, [Page 212] that the end thereof vvas no other then hell fire, with the like good admonitions, but all in vaine. Upon a night, vvhen vvith Ale and hot vvaters shee vvas so o­vercome, that shee vvas brought home both speech­lesse and senselesse, hee thought to trie a conclusi­on, if possible it vvere to [...]e­forme it in her: and causing her to bee laid upon a cold earthen floore, he made a great fire, vvhich compast her about, and calling in his neighbours, for vvhom he had provided (as for him­selfe) furies coates, and every one with a fire-brand in his [Page 213] hand, attending her a­waking; vvho by reason of the heat which compast her, rowsed her somewhat be­fore her time, and looking about her, she began verily to thinke shee vvas in Hell fire, vvith vvhich her hus­band had so often before threatned her, and the ra­ther, because so many like Devils stood about her: then fetching a deep sigh, the first vvords she uttered vvere, Alas poore wretched soule that I am, to be thus in­compast vvith the flames of Hell: Is there never a ghost amongst you all so thirsty as I am novv, that vvill joyn [Page 214] their pennie vvith mine, that vvee may send for a double pot of Ale? At which the neighbours brea­king out into a lowd laugh­ter, they discovered them­selves unto her; and finding her no vvay to bee re­claimed, got her to bed, and left her to bee a perpetuall torment to the honest man her husband.

[...] hath beene related to me, that in the time of auri­cular confession, three young Citizens vvives came to a devoute man, vvho vvas their ghostly Father, to be shriven: and he demanding of them what grievous [...]ins [Page 215] they had committed, saith the first, The greatest sinne that I suppose my selfe to be guilty of, was that upon a time, I tooke a strange knife which was not mine owne, and put it into my sheath. The good man not much considering upon the mat­ter, but thinking that young timerous vvomen vvould take the least errour to be a very hainous offence, past it slightly over, and de­manded of the second, How shee had offended? Who made ansvver that shee had put two into hers: hee past her over with the like slight­nesse, and demanded the like [Page 216] of the third? Who made answer that indeed she was guilty of putting three knives into hers. Is this all said hee? They answered, Yes. Then, saith he, I will dis­patch you presently, and ha­ving quickly absolved the two first, and comming to the third, he began to con­sider with himselfe, what sheath it was which should hold three knives, when hee never saw any that held more then two and a bod­kin; and asked her what she meant by those knives? To whom she plainly answered, that three severall men had had the use of her body, be­sides [Page 217] her husband: when presently finding the errour, he call'd the former whom he had ignorantly absolved, and said, Get you hence for, three pestilent and cun­ning baggages; I absolve none of you all, you have confest amisse: What, would you make me beleeve, that betwixt Penis and Cultellus is no difference? And so unshriven in a great anger he dismist them.

A Nobleman and a wor­thy Merchant jesting together freely, without a­ny exceptions to bee taken, saith the Nobleman to him, I wonder at you Merchants, who for the most part have very beautifull and faire wives, that dare trust them [Page 219] here at home, whil'st you take such long voyages into Countries so farre remote: surely it cannot choose but bee a great trouble to your minds being abroad, for feare they should violate their conjugall tie at home: when wee Noblemen deale more securely; for if we take a journey either from the Court to the Country, or from the Country up to the Court, we leave our Ladies well accommodated & guar­ded by Servants, Groomes, and Pages. The Merchant perceiving how hee plaid upon him, said unto him againe (by your Lordships [Page 220] favour, and without offence be it spoken) How comes it to be a proverb, that Noble­mens children are not (for the most part) so well featu­red and favoured, as the sons and daughters of Citizens? If your Lordship will not be offended, I can shew you the reason. I pray thee doe, saith the Noble man, I give thee free leave and libertie to speake. Then thus, saith the Merchant, In the ab­sence of all such Merchants as have houses in the City, it being so populous, there are choice either of young Aldermens sons, or of such lusty young Gallants as use [Page 221] to insidiate the chastities of beautifull women in the absence of their husbands; and they having their choice, will commonly picke out the properest men to trans­gresse with; and so betwixt them commeth a faire and well featured issue: when you Noblemen taking your journeies, take all your Gen­tlemen along to attend you, leaving none with your La­dies, but a Chamberlaine, Cooke, or a Coachman, and they in your absence being glad to make use of such course groomes, I suppose that may be the reason why your children are not so faire [Page 222] and well favoured as ours. At which answer, the No­bleman smil'd, and taking the retort as well as the Merchant did the jest put upon him at first, they par­ted without any further ex­cep [...]ion. But ere I come to the Court, I must first looke backe upon the, Country, and see how the Gentle­woman there bred useth to lecture to her Esquire or Knight: and after how the Souldiers wife useth to read to her Lievtenant o [...] Cap­taine.

An Esquires wife, be­ing an excellent housewife, but of a very loud tongue [Page 223] withall, used to taxe him for being too free in his kit­chen, sellar and at his table; for keeping too many in­pertinent servants, too ma­ny horses and dogs, hounds, grey-hounds and spaniels, hawkes, &c. which drew him to unnecessary char­ges. Then laied the law to him, what hee might save in the yeere, which he vainely and profusely wasted; with divers other things to the like purpose, with so often iteration (as preaching still upon one text) both at boord and in bed, that tired with her continuall clamours, and withall shee often forbea­ring [Page 224] his imbraces, unlesse he would reforme all things according to her minde, and leave all his estate to her sole management, he grew not to love her so well as at the first, and casting his eie upon a pretty slut, his Gardeners wife, hee neg­lecting his own, grew very much enamored of her, but durst not come to the house, by reason of his wives jea­lousie; yet he wrought so by one of his servants, who dealt for him to the woman, that shee was willing to yeeld to any thing to doe her Master a pleasure, so it might bee done safely, and [Page 225] without suspition, either from her husband or her mistresse. It was then con­cluded, that they should meet in a lodge some halfe a mile from the Mannor house, and to that purpose, hee had sent his Gardener some twenty miles out of the towne; and the better to conveigh her thither, he commanded his man to pro­vide a large basket into which to put the woman, and cover it with strewing flowers, hearbs, and sallets; which was accordingly done. The Master of the house got up early to keepe this appointment: so was [Page 226] the Mistresse to dogge her husband, as mistrusting his early rising: and in the way meets this fellow with his basket, the bottome of which, by reason of the weight of the woman, was quite broken, and her legs and feet hung downe be­low his knees: which shee perceiving, call'd the fel­low unto her, and asked him what hee had in his basket? Sallets Mistresse; saith hee: Sallets, and nothing else? Nothing Mistresse, saith he, but hearbs and sallets. Well saith shee, carry them to your Master, and tell him from mee, this is a fish day, [Page 227] and bid him beware what flesh hee tasteth with those sallets. The fellow no­thing perceiving all this while▪ makes way to the lodge, and delivers his bur­then; the Gentlewoman fol­lowes, and before her Hus­band discovers the woman. The cause was at first some­what bitterly debated be­twixt them; but all the choler being vented, they fell to a more mild attone­ment: in which it was con­cluded, He would ever after forsake his lust, so long as shee would forbeare her Lecture.

A Knights wife in the [Page 228] Country was perfect in the same doctrine, and read it as freely as the former; and ti­ring him one morning with a tale of an houre long, he not interrupting her in one syllable, she vexing all this while that he made her no answer, at length for meere wearinesse she gave over. Then he knockt as lowd as he could, till one came up: he then commanded him to call up the servants of the house, men-servants and maid-servants, up into the chamber, and that instantly: who presently ran downe as he was commanded; she in the meane time wondring [Page 229] what it might meane: (I forgot to tell you that hee bade them to bring their Church books with them.) Well, all of them came up thus accommodated, and de­manded what his Worships pleasure was? Marry (saith he) this was the cause I sent for you, my wife hath prea­ched to me a very learned Sermon, in which she bor­rowed somewhat of the houre-glasse, and exceeded her time, and it is but now ended, and I desire it may not goe off without a Psalme; and therefore saith he (and was going on) when she interrupting him, said, [Page 230] Get you all downe about your severall affaires, and that I charge you instantly, or you shall heare from me in another kind. Which they incontinently did: when she, ashamed of the [...]ricke he had put upon her, desired him to use it or the like no more, and she would never trouble him either in his nights sleep or his mor­nings rest after.

I come now to the Soul­diers wife. It is recorded of a brave and noble Captaine to have a brauling shrew to his wife, from which turbif­lency he could by no gentle meanes reclaime her; and [Page 231] therefore hee so awed her with threats and menaces, and now and then with a kicke or a blow, that she was forced to give her un­seasonable Lectures quite over. Then she going often to confession, still when she came to her ghostly father, in stead of her owne faults reckoned up all that she ei­ther knew or could devise of her husband. In so much that the good man meeting with the Captain, gave him courteous admonitory coun­sell, as to leave drinking, swearing, rioting, and the like; by which the Captaine might perceive that some [Page 232] or other had complained of him. Not long after, the woman insinuates with her husband, that for any thing that had ever past betwixt them either in words or blows, in which she was the sole sufferer, she did heartily forgive him, and desired the like forgiveness from him, if by her lowd tongue she had any way offended him, pro­mising a reformation of all her misdemeanours for ever after; and therefore that lasting unity might continue betwixt them, she desired him to goe to her ghostly father, and heartily confesse him of his sins, which would [Page 233] be a mean to ratifie and con­firme all conjugall love be­twixt them. The Captaine was perswaded, and went, and comming before the grave Church-man, told him he was desired to come unto him, and now being here (saith he) I would know what your will is with me. Who said, I would wish you to consider with your selfe, and rub up your re­membrance, and calling to mind all your sins and offen­ces, riots and disorders, and what else; for which (repen­ting of them unfeignedly) I will give you present ab­solution. Nay if that be all [Page 234] (said the Captaine) that la­bour is sav'd already, and needs no second iteration; I know you are my wives Confessour, and she hath told unto you all my sinnes, and more than I ever did or thought to doe al­ready: and so bluntly left him.

A brave Lievtenant a­mongst many other wounds lost an eie in the wars, and af­terward retiring himself in­to his own Country, where he had some meanes to live on, bethought himself, after all those tumultuous dan­gers past, to betake himselfe to a peaceable and quiet [Page 235] life; and to that purpose in­tended to marry. A match was presently offered him, a Virgin (supposed) both of good feature and competent dower. The marriage day came, and was past with great joy and solemnity, and the Bride and Bride­groome (according to the custome) brought to their bed. The curtaines were drawne, and they left to their rest; when he com­ming to doe the office of an husband, perceived she had bin before devirginated, and was not a true maide; and thrusting her from him in great anger, said, A way thou [Page 236] strumpet, I tooke thee for a perfect Virgin, and now I find thee to be a woman flaw'd and unperfect. Who boldly answered him again▪ And is not the match equall▪ since I have accepted of the [...] being maimed, and wanting one eye? But (repli'd he) I received my hurt from mine enemie. And I (an­swered she) received th [...] which so much troubles thee from my best friend.

I must be sparing to speak of the Court: yet no questi­on even your Court Ladies are women, and have tongues, though they know by their noble breeding bet­ter [Page 237] how to governe them, than others, who have not had their generous educati­on and breeding. Amongst the rest, I have read one short story in an approved Au [...]hor, that a Basket-maker in the country, having with his best care and cunning made an end of an extraordi­nary Basket, which had been bespoke, & finding it finisht to his owne desire and fan­cy, (his wife then sitting by him) he said, Now God be thanked, I have finisht my Basket, and I pray thee wife say so too. But she being ref [...]actory and obstinate, held her tongue; and the [Page 238] more he intreated her, the more adverse shee was to him, giving him foule and course language. Which [...] not able to endure, fell upon her with a good cudgell, and beat her till she was forc'd to crie out. A Noble man comming then by acciden­tally, with a great traine a [...] his heeles, finding her wee­ping, began at first to com­miserate the woman, and to chide the man for striking her: but being by him true­ly informed of the cause, he commended the fellow for justly correcting her dis [...] bedience, and told her [...] had her mends in her [...] [Page 239] hands: so left them; and rid home to his house. At sup­per he related all the cir­cumstance (before discour­sed) to his Lady, and asked her opinion of the matter. Who answered, The Bas­ket-maker vvas a Knave to offer to beat his wife upon so sleight an occasion. Who replied unto her, Why Ma­dam, vvould you be so per­verse and obstinate unto me, if I should command you to speake these words? In­deed my Lord, answered she, I would. How, saith he? I charge you to say these vvords before all this com­pany, God be thanked, I [Page 240] have finisht my Basket. Who answered againe, My Lord I vvill die before I vvill doe it. At vvhich he mightily enraged; rose from the table, and taking a battoone in his hand, had he not beene held by maine force by his noble guests and his Gentlemen about him, there had been as grea [...] a fray betwixt them, as there vvas vvith the Basket-ma­ker and the shrew his vvife. Now what manner of Le­cture she read after to her Lord I cannot relate, being then not present to heare it.

TWelve things have bin the Authours of much mischiefe: Age without wisdome: Prudence without imployment: A Master of an house without a familie: Pride without riches: Riches without honour: Nobilitie without vertue: A people [Page 242] without awe: A Citie with­out Lawes: Office without clemencie: Youth without feare: A religious life with­out peace: A woman with­out shame.

And such an one was Xantippe, the wife of Socra­tes; of whom we will speake something, onely to shew that there have been scolds of old as there bee now. Some report that hee kept two wives at once, the one Myrtho, the other the afore­named Xantippe. And to a friend of his, earnestly de­manding why hee kept two such women at once, under one roofe; especially be­ing [Page 243] scolding queanes, ever brauling and chiding, and did not beat them out of his doores, and confine them his familie? hee made an­swer, These women teach mee at home, the patience that I must use in sufferance abroad: for being throughly exercised with these, I shall be the better able to endure the morosity of others.

Upon a time, when Xan­tippe in the open Market place had plucked his cloake from his backe, and such of his friends as saw it, said unto him, Why Socrates do you not correct this impudent outrage in her, and chastice [Page 244] her soundly for it? replied to t [...]em, Yea marry, that were a jest indeed, that when we two be together by the eares, all the whole market folke looking uponus, may cry, Hold thine own Socra­tes, To him Xantippe: by which meanes wee shall bee made a derision to all men.

Another time, one Euthi­demus a Philosopher, and one of his most intimate friends, comming from the wrastling place, S [...]crates meeting with him, invited him home to supper; the meat being set on the table, and they being in an earnest discourse, more minding to [Page 245] argue than to eat; Xantippe being therewith very an­gry, rose up from the place where shee sat, and wished them choaked with their prating, if they would not fall to their victuals whilst they were hot, giving her husband very bitter and despightfull words: but they by custome being nothing therewith moved, talked on: which she seeing, tipped up the table over and over, and flung downe all that was upon it to the ground, and so went out of the roome. But when Euthidemus, being very much moved there­with, offered to rise up [Page 246] and to depart the house: Nay stay good friend, saith Socrates, what harme hath shee done? did not the like thing happen unto you the last time you bad me home to dinner, when an hen lea­ping up amongst us, cast downe and spoyled whatso­ever was upon the table? yet did we who were then your guests onely laugh at the accident, and neither fret nor fume as you now seeme to doe.

The same Socrates, after hee had indured his wives bitter railing in the house, at last being wearied there­with, hee went out, and sat [Page 247] upon a bench that sided the street doore. Shee at his de­parture being much more incensed, in regard of his silence and quietnesse, as gi­ving her no more argument to speake of; she presently (seeing where he sat) went up into the garret, and poured downe a chamber pot full of stinking water upon his head: at which those that passed by fell in­to a great laughter; which seeing, he laughed as loud as they, & said, Nay, I thought ve [...]ily, and was confident thereon, that after so loud thunder there must needs follow a violent shower of [Page 248] raine. But I have done with Socrates, wishing that all such as have the like shrewes as hee had, might be indued with the like patience to in­dure them.

I come now (and that I propose to be the conclusi­on of this worke) to tell you of a curtaine Lecture, read by a vertuous Queene to the King her Husband; super-exceeding all the for­mer, and worthy the obser­vation and imitation of all good women, of what estate and condition soever. The Historie thus followeth.

Amongst the Kings of Arragon, there was one Don [Page 249] Pedro (vulgarly Don Peter) the seventh of that name; but before his Inauguration, Count of Barcellonas, who tooke to wife a beautifull young Ladie called Donna Maria, daughter to the Earle of Mount Pesulia, and Nephew to the Emperour of Constantinople; who notwithstanding shee was plenally furnished with all the accomplishments both of nature and grace; as know­ing that beautie annext with vertue purchaseth praise with immortality, and that (as another saith) if chastity and good name be lost, there is nothing left in women that [Page 250] can be praise-worthie; and that she knew withall, that true vertue was the beautie of the soule, the grace of the bodie, and the peace of the mind; and that it might bee said of her, as Seneca in Her­cule Furente speakes of Me­gera the wife of Hercules:

Notwithstanding all this goodnesse inherent to her greatnesse, the dissolute King, growing neglectfull of his first faire choice, bends his inordinate affections ful­ly upon fresh change. Hee sleepes now onely in the bosomes of Catamites, and base prostitutes; whil'st her company and consociety is both at boord and bed quite abandoned.

But the good Queen, lesse troubled with the want of his boord or bed fellowship, than grieved with the dis­paire [Page 252] shee had of hopefull and princely issue; knowing, as Basil saith, that barren marriage is seldome with­out braules, she bethought her selfe, how by redee­ming the one, she might re­cover the other. And to that purpose she dealt privately (being wonderously for her vertues sake beloved of all) with one of the Pages of the Kings bed-chamber, whom he most imploied in his private prostitutions, to bring her covertly to the Kings bed, to supply the place appointed for one of his best loved mistresses. This was as effectually per­formed, [Page 253] as considerately plotted: so that the King once more injoyed his Queen, and was as prodigall of those favours to her, as he pretended to another.

The morning growing on, and he now sufficiently sated, hastens her departure, both for his owne honour and her credit. But shee ta­king hold of the present oc­casion, began to discover her selfe in these or the like words, and read unto him this short Lecture: My gra­cious Lord and Husband, if I have offended you in the fervencie of my love, I here voluntarily submit my [Page 254] s [...]lfe to the ty [...]annie of your hate: yet if it please you considerately to examine the cause of my hither com­ [...]ing, it was neither to quench any immoderate de­sire in my selfe, nor envie to intercept any of those fa­vours you intended unto another: it was not lust, but love, hoping that this nights unexpected passage may blesse us with issue, and beautifie the Kingdome with a joyfull heire. For why should strangers in­herit, where there is yet hope left that we may have of our own to succeed. Nor will I leave your side till [Page 255] you call into your chamber some persons of honour and [...]rust; to the end that if hea­ven be so gracious unto us, that royall fruit (by me so much desired) may ensue by this adventure, the world by their testimony may take notice, that it is legiti­mate, to crowne me with the name of an happy Mo­ther; and not adulterate, to brand mee with the title of a lewd and lascivious strumper.

The King, though he see­med somewhat troubled at the first, yet better recolle­cting himselfe, was not any vvay displeased vvith the [Page 256] Q [...]eenes honest deceit: but presently called in two Gentlemen of his chamber, as witnesses of that truth; considering it touched his own honour as much as the Queenes desire. The event of this stratagem proved fortunate, both to the Pa­rents and the kingdome: for by that meeting she concei­ved vvith childe, and accor­ding to the season of vvo­men vvas delivered of a son, on the first day of February in the veere of Grace 1196. The Father and Mother, when the solemnity of his Baptisme vvas to bee cele­brated, differing about the [Page 257] name, they caused twelve torches of equall length and making to bee alighted at once, they bearing the names of the 12. Apostles; with this omen, that the name of that torch vvhich vvas first burnt out, should bee given to the Infant: vvhich happened to be that of S. Iames; and so was hee called Iames, being the chief Saint whom the Arragoni­ans celebrate.

He proved a rare and an unparalleld Prince, as well in forrain warres as domestick government: he was bene­ficiall to his servants, and bountifull to his souldiers: [Page 258] his courage vvas full of con­stancy, and continued vvith­out change; proving such an one as Socrates characters for valiant. Great attempts he undertooke vvithout dif­fidence, and managed them vvithout feare. Making in­vasion upon the Mores, he pierced vvith a great army the Ile of Majorque, then in their possession, and after many skirmishes brought it under his owne subjection. Hee invaded Carihage, and made his name famous in A­frica.

He had a faire and fertile issue, sonnes and daughters. His eldest was Don Peter, [Page 259] who succeeded him in the kingdome of Arragon: his second, Don Iames, whom hee made King of the two Iles, Majorque and Minor­que: his third vvas Archbi­shop of Toledo. His eldest daughter, Donna Tollant, vvas Queen of Castile: the second, Donna Isabella, Queen of France: the third, Donna Urracha, vvas marri­ed to Don Emanuell Prince of Castile. His sonne Don Pedro espoused the daugh­ter of the King of Navarre. Great pity therefore it had beene that the meeting of that happy night had beene intermitted, in vvhich the [Page 260] royall father of so kingly [...] progeny vvas begot. He li­ved 72. yeeres, and died [...]ligiously, retiring himself to a sequestred life. For be­ing troubled vvith a gri [...] ­vous disease, which ma [...] him unable for governmen [...] hee disposed of his scep [...] and estate, and expired in th [...] City Valentia in a Monast [...] ­ry, in the yeere 1266. abo [...] the beginning of August.

I need not to have travell [...] so far for an history to [...] purpose, vvhen our ow [...] kingdome hath afforded [...]work [...] like, betwixt persons of [...] greatest quality, who by the like sleight practised by [...] [Page 261] forsaken Ladies, have not [...]eene onely a meanes of re­ [...]onciliation, but of happy propagation and issue. Great [...]hen hath beene the vertue and patience of those noble Matrons, to suffer such cor­rivalship, in conniving at their owne maid-servants and Gentlewomen; consi­dering that (as Crates saith) nuptiall faith is seldome vi­olated vvithout revenge. Be­sides, there can be no greater temptation to corrupt the constancy and loyalty of a married woman, than when shee perceives her husband to discharge upon her his discontents and virulencies, [Page 262] and reserve all his time and consocietie for the person of another.

Aristotle affirmes, th [...] man or woman is worthy to be accounted stout, bold and valiant, who doe no [...] onely with patience, indu [...] injuries and rebukes of fered them, but strive to repay the best good for th [...] worst evill. For patiencei of such similitude, and nee [...] alliance unto fortitude, th [...] shee is either her sister or her daughter. And thoug [...] this vertue (as Cicero saith) being often provoked with injuries may breake out in­to fury; yet in such distra­ction, [Page 263] it is good for wron­ged women, to thinke upon the worst how to better it, and to wish the best with intent to further it, and whatsoever shall happen patiently to indure it. For the onely remedy for inju­ries, is to study how to for­get them. I conclude with the Emperour Aurelius, who tells us, that it is more safety to forget a wrong than to revenge it; to suffer infirmities, and dissemble mishaps: the one is the of­fice of a constant sicke man, the other of a cunning Statesman. But for a wife to beare with the weakenesse [Page 264] and imperfections of [...] husband, is the true Cha­racter of a wise and vertuous wo­man.