The second tome of the Palace of pleasure conteyning store of goodly histories, tragicall matters, and other morall argument, very requisite for delighte and profit. Chosen and selected out of diuers good and commendable authors: by William Painter, clerke of the ordinance and armarie. Anno. 1567. — Palace of pleasure. Vol. 2

The second tome of the Palace of pleasure conteyning store of goodly histories, tragicall matters, and other morall argument, very requisite for delighte and profit. Chosen and selected out of diuers good and commendable authors: by William Painter, clerke of the ordinance and armarie. Anno. 1567. — Palace of pleasure. Vol. 2

Table of contents

Title page

¶ To the right worshipfull Sir George Howarde Knighte, Master of the Quenes Maiesties Armarie.

¶ A Summarie of the Nouels ensuing.

¶ To the Reader.

¶ Authorities from whence these Nouels be collected: and in the same auouched.

THE SECOND TOME of the Palace of Pleasure.

The Amazones. The first Nouel.

Alexander the great. The second Nouel.

Timoclia of Thebes. The third Nouel.

Ariobarzanes. The fourth Nouell.

Aristotimus the Tyrant. The fifth Nouell.

Two Romane Queenes. The sixt Nouell.

Sophonisba. The seuenth Nouell.

Poris and Theoxena The. viij. Nouell.

A Gentlewoman of Hidrusa The nynth Nouell.

Faustina the Empresse. The tenth Nouell.

Two Maydens of Carthage. The. xj. Nouell.

Letters of the Emperour Traiane. The. xiij. Nouell.

Of three Amorous Dames. The. xiiij. Nouel.

Zenobia Queene of Palmyres. The. xv. Nouel.

Euphimia of Corinth. The. xv. Nouel.

The Marchionisse of Monferrato. The. xvj. Nouel.

Mistresse Dianora. The. xvij. Nouell.

Mithridanes and Nathan The. xviij. Nouel.

Mistresse Katherine of Bologna The. xix. Nouel.

Of M. Thorello and Saladine The. xx. Nouel.

Anne the Queene of Hungarie The. xxj. Nouel.

Alexander de Medices Duke of Florence. The. xxij. Nouell.

The Duchesse of Malfi. The. xxiij. Nouel.

The Countesse of Celant. The. xxiiij. Nouel.

Rhomeo and Julietta The. xxv. Nouel.

Two Gentlewomen of Venice. The. xxvj. Nouel.

The Lorde of Virle The. xxvij. Nouel.

A Lady of Boeme The. xxviij. Nouel.

Dom Diego and Gineura The. xxix. Nouel.

The Foster Louer.

Salimbene and Angelica The. xxx. Nouel.

Mistresse Helena of Florence The. xxxi. Nouel.

Camiola and Rolande. The. xxxij. Nouel.

The Lordes of Nocera The. xxxiij. Nouel.

The King of Marocco. The. xxxiiij. Nouel.

The Conclusion, with an Aduertisement to the Reader.

§

Diuers Faultes escaped in Printyng.

§

§

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The second Tome of the Palace of Pleasure, conteyning store of goodly Histories, Tragicall matters, and other Morall argument, very requisite for delighte and profit. Chosen and selected out of diuers good and commendable Authors:

By William Painter, Clerke of the Ordinance and Armarie. ANNO. 1567.

Imprinted at London, in Pater Noster Rowe, by Henry Bynneman, for Nicholas England.

¶ To the right worshipfull Sir George Howarde Knighte, Master of the Quenes Maiesties Armarie.

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EVerie Science hauing hys peculiar cōmoditie, and conducing to the trauailer and diligent searcher, a due deserued benefite (bysides the exercise and shunning the pestilent monster Idlenesse) discloseth the miraculous effect of the Diuinitie and the excellencie of his Creature: Who breathing life into that sencelesse work, framed within the mould of humane Conception, forceth in him by Nature and timely institution, such capacitie of Science, as not only by that knowledge he glorifieth his Creator, but also besides himselfe, helpeth and dothe good to other. For profe wherof, the Science of that surpassing and delightsome pasture of Theologie, is profitable to teach, argue, reproue, and instruct, that by paciēce and consolatiō, we may conceue hope of Eternitie. The knowlege of Philosophie cureth the minde, auoideth childish care, expelleth feare, and shunneth fonde desires. O Philosophie, the guide of life (exclameth Tullie) the inquisitor of Vertue, and expeller of vice. Rhetorike (affirmeth he) causeth vs to learne that we knowe not, and that we know, to teach to other: By the same we exhort, with that we persuade, with that we cōfort the afflicted, by it we incourage the astonned, and appease the outragious. Musike easeth the troubled mind, lenifieth sorowe, comforteth the heauie hearted, and erecteth a contemplation of heauenly things. Astronomie reuealeth the nature of the Starres and Planets, presageth dayes and times for the helpe and maintenance of life. Poesie teacheth amendement of maners, directeth what things be mete for imitation, and with what detriment wantonnesse anoyeth the bodie of man. By meanes of it [Page] (Saint Augustine saith) he learned many good lessons to [...] fite himselfe, and doe good to other. To be short, euery [...] so necessarie, as the same taken away, Reason is depriued, [...] the Life of man, of due order and [...] [...] Thinke (sayth a Greke Orator) the knowledge of many [...] to be more precious and excellent, than a chest heaped vp [...] abundance of money: for the one quickly faileth, and the [...] for euer lasteth. For, Scientia (affirmeth he) is the onely [...] mortall storehouse of all possessions: Amongs which troupe [...] Sciences the knowledge and [...] of Historie deserueth [...] place in the chiefest ranke, and is for example of humane [...] faires, a Christall light to shew the pathes of our [...]. The same displayeth the counsels, aduises, policies, acts, [...] and ends of Kings, Princes, and great men, with the order and description of time and place, And like a liuely image representeth before our eyes the beginning, ende and circumstaunce of eche attempt. The same (like a Mistresse of our life) by probable examples, stirreth vp our sluggishe mindes, to aspire the eternall glorie of praise and fame, and terrifieth the [...] and aduēturous, from enterprise of things vnsemely. The same is a passing picture of Veritie, and an absolute Patern, framing the matter, greater nor lesse than it is. And bicause I am not ignorant what Encomia innumerable Authors in time paste, and writers of oure time doe attribute vnto that Science, and with what titles the Prince of them all decketh the praise of Historicall knowledge, I onely referre the worthinesse, to the practisers, and the singularitie of Histories trauell and delight, to eche willing mind that imploy their leysure and time therin. And I for my part [...] confesse (that by reading of Histories) I find the saying which Tullie aduoucheth of Publius Scipio to be true: That he was neuer lesse idle, than when he was idle, and neuer lesse alone than when he was alone: Meaning thereby, that when he was at beste leisure, he was [...] idle, nor when he was alone, vnoccupied. For when Labour resteth [Page] him selfe in me, and Leisure refresheth other affaires, nothing delights more that vacant time, than reading of Histories in such vulgar speche, wherin my small knowledge taketh repast. And for that my priuate reding might not delight and pleasure me alone, to auoide the nature of that cancred chorle and foe of humane companie, Timon of Athenes, that liued but for him self, I haue (after my skill) culled some floures and fruites from that pleasant store of those my readings to impart for vniuersall gaine and [...], choosing rather hereby to follow the liberalitie of Cimon a Gentleman of that Citie, who knowing himselfe to be borne to profite other, and for the enriching of his countrey, not only atchieued marueious matters for furtherāce of Cōmon wealth, but left his Gardens and Orchardes open for all men to participate the fruits of his plesure and trauell. Wherby (so well as I can) I follow the tracte and practise of other, by whose meanes, so manifold sciences in our knowne tongue, and translation of Histories bee frequent and rife amongs vs. All which be done for our commoditie, pleasure, solace, preseruation and comfort, and without the which we can not be long sustained in this miserable life, but shall become not muche vnlike the barbarous, [...] discrepant from the sauage sort. The inuestigatours and bringers to light wherof, direct their eyes and mening to none other end, but for the benefite of vs and our posteritie, and that our faces be not tainted with the blushing color, to see the passing diligence of other Coūtreys, by curious imbelishing of their states, with the troublous trauaile of their brain, and laborsome course of penne, Who altogether imploye those paines, that no Science lurke in corner, that no Knowledge be shut vp in cloisters, that no Historie remain vnder the maske and vnknowne attire of other tongues. Amōgs which crew (I say) I craue an inferior place, and haue vndertaken the vnfolding of sundry Histories, from the couerture of foren language, for none other purpose and intent but to vniuersall benefite. Parte wherof, two yeares past [Page] (almost) wer made commune in a former boke, now succedeth a seconde, furnished with like ornaments that the other was. The first (by dueties chalenge) was addressed to the right honorable the Erle of Warwike, for respect of his honor, and my calling. This the second, by like band, your worship may iustly claime as a iust tribute, nowe this moneth of Nouembre, payable. Or if your Curtesie woulde not deale so roughly with your bounden creditour, yet for dutie sake I must acquite and content that which hath so long ben due. Thesame I offre now, not with such vsurie and gaine as your beneuolence and singular bountie, by long for bearing hath deserued, but with suche affected will and desire of recompence, as any man aliue can owe to so rare a friend. Your worship I haue chosen for the first person of this boke, and the protectour of the same (the matter most specially therin comprised, treting of courtly fashions and maners, and of the customes of loues galantise, and the good or yll successe thereof) bicause you be an auncient Courtier, and one of the eldest Traine, and suche as hath ben imployed by sundrie our Princes, in their affaires of greatest weight and importance: and for that your self in your lustiest time, (euer bred and brought vp in Court) haue not bene vnacquainted with those occurrents. If I should stande particularly to touch the originall of your noble Ancestrie, the succession of that renoumed line, their fidelitie for graue aduise and counsell, your honourable education, the mariage of a mighty King with one of your sisters, the valiant exploites of your parentes against the French and Scots, the worthie seruice of your self in field, whereby you deseruedly wanne the order of Knighthode, the trust which hir Maiestie reposeth in you, by disposing vnder your charge the Store of hir Armure, and your worthie preferment to be Maister of hir Armarie generall. If I shoulde make recitall of your carefull industrie and painfull trauell, sustained for answering hir Maiesties expectation, your noble cherishing of the skilfull in that Science, your good aduauncement [Page] of the best, to supplie the vacant romes, your refusall of the vnworthie: and finally of your modest and curteous dealings in that office, I feare lacke of abilitie (and not of matter) would want grace and order by further circumstaunce, to adde sufficient praise: Yea although my self do say nothing (but reserue the same in silence to auoide suspect of adulation) the very Armure and their furnitures do speake, vniuersall testimonie doth wonder, and the Readinesse of the same for tyme of seruice doth aduouche. Which care of things continually resting in your breast, hath atchieued suche a timely diligence and successe, as when hir Maiesties aduersarie shall be ready to molest, she shal be prest (by Gods assistance) to defend and marche. But not to hold your worship long by length of preamble, or to discourse what I might further say, eyther in fauour of this Boke, or commendation of your selfe, I meane (for this instant) to leaue the one to general iudgement, and the other to the particular sentence of eche of your acquaintaunce. Humbly making this only sute, that my good will may supplie the imperfection of mine abilitie.

And so with my heartie prayer for your preseruation, to him that is the Author of life and health. I take my leaue.

From my poore house besides the Toure of London, the fourthe of Nouember 1567.

Your moste bounden William Painter.

¶ A Summarie of the Nouels ensuing.

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¶ The Hardinesse and conquestes of diuers stoute and aduenturous Women called Amazones, the beginning, continuance and end of their raigne, and of the great iourney of one of their Quéenes called Thalestris to visit Alexander the great, and the cause of hir trauaile.
Nouel. j.
Fol. 1.

¶ The great pietie and continencie of Alexander the great, and his louing interteinement of Sisigambis, the Wife of the great Monarch Darius after he was vanquished.
Nouel. ij.
Fol. 5.

¶ Thimoclia, a Gentlewoman of Thebes, vnderstanding the couefous desire of a Thracian Knight, that had abused hir and promysed hir mariage rather for hir goodes than Loue, well acquited hirselfe from his falsehode.
Nouel. iij.
Fol. 9.

¶ Ariobarzanes great Stewarde to Artaxerxes King of Persia, goeth about to excéede his soueraigne Lord & maister in Curtesie: wherein are conteyned many notable and pleasant chaunces, besides the great pacience and loyaltie naturally planted in the sayd Ariobarzanes.
Nouel. iiij.
Fol. 11.

¶ Lucius one of the Garde to Aristotimus the Tyranne of the Citie of Elis, fell in loue with a faire Maiden called Micca, the daughter of one Philodemus, and his crueltie done vpon hir. The stoutenesse also of a noble Matrone named Megistona, in defense of hir husband and the Common wealth from the tyrannie of [Page] the sayd Aristotimus: and of other acts done by the subiects, vpon that tyrant.
Nouel. v.
Fol. 32.

¶ The maruelous courage & ambition of a gentlewoman called Tanaquil, yt Quéene & wife of Tarquinus Priscus the fift Romane King, with hir persuasions and pollicie to hir husband, for his aduauncement to the kingdome: hir like encouragement of Seruius Tullius: wherin also is described the ambitiō of one of the two daughters of Seruius Tullius, the sixt Romane King, and hir crueltie towardes hir owne naturall father: with other accidents chaunced in the new erected Common wealth of Rome, specially of the laste Romane King Tarquinus Superbus, who with murder attained the kingdome, with murder mainteined it, and by the murder and insolent life of his sonne, was with all his progenie banished.
Nouel. vj.
Fol. 40.

¶ The vnhappy ende and successe of the loue of King Massinissa, and of Queene Sophonis ba his Wife.
Nouel. vij.
Fol. 49.

¶ The crueltie of a King of Macedon, who forced a Gentlewomā called Theoxena, to persuade hir children to kil & poison themselues: after which fact, she and hir husband Poris, ended their life by drowning.
Nouel. viij.
Fol. 59.

¶ A strange & maruellous vse, which in olde time was obserued in Hidrusa: where it was lawfull (with the licence of a Magistrate ordeyned for that purpose) for euery man and woman that lyst, to kyll [Page] them selues.
Nouel. ix.
Fol. 62.

¶ The dishonest loue of Faustina the Empresse, and with what remedie the same was remoued and taken away.
Nouel. x.
Fol. 65.

¶ Chera hidde a treasure, Elisa going about to hang hir selfe, and sying the halter about a [...], found that treasure, and in place therof lefte the halter. Philene, the daughter of Chera, going for that treasure, and busily searching for the same, sounde the halter, where with all for dispaire shae woulde haue hanged hir selfe: but forbidden by Elisa, who by chaunce espied hir, she was restored to part of hir losse, leading afterwards a happie and prosperous life.
Nouel. xj.
Fol. 67.

¶ Letters of the Philosopher Plutarch, to the noble and [...] Emperour Traiane, and from the sayde Emperour so Plutarch, the like also from the sayde Emperour to the Senate of Rome. In all whiche bée conteyned Godly rules for gouernement of Princes, obedience of Subiects, and their dueties to Cō mon wealth.
Nouel. xij.
Fol. 76.

¶ A notable historie of thrée amorous Gentlewomen, called Lamia, Flora, & Lais: cōteining the sutes of noble Princes, and other greate personages made vnto them, with their answeres to diuers demaunds: and the maner of their death and funeralls.
Nouel. xiij.
Fol. 123.

¶ The life and gestes of the most famous Quéene Zenobia, with the Letters of the Emperoure Aurchanus, [Page] to the sayde Quéene, and hir stoute aunswere therevnto.
Nouel. xiiij.
Fol. 89.

¶ Euphimia the King of Corinths daughter, fell in loue with Acharisto, the seruaunt of hir father, and besides others which required hir to mariage, she [...] Philon, the King of Pelponesus, that loued hir very feruently. Acharisto conspiring against the King, was discouered, tormented, and put in prison, and by meanes of Euphimia deliuered: The Kyng promysed his daughter and kingdome to hym that presented the head of Acharisto. Euphimia so wrought, as he was presented to the King: The King gaue hym his daughter to Wife: and when he died, made him his heire: Acharisto began to hate his wife, and condemned hir to death as an adulteresse. Philon deliuered hir: and vpon the sute of hir Subiectes, shée is contented to marie hym, and thereby he is made Kyng of Corinth.
Nouel xv.
Fol. 101.

¶ The Marchionesse of Monferrato, with a bankette of Hennes, and certaine pleasant words, repressed the fonde loue of Philip, the Frenche King.
Nouel. xvj.
Fol. 112.

¶ Mistresse Dianora demaunded of Master Ansaldo, a Garden so faire in Januarie, as in the Moneth of May. Maister Ansaldo (by meanes of an obligation whiche he made to a Necromancer) caused the same to bée done: The husbande agréed wyth the Gentlewoman that she should do the plesure which master Ansaldo required: who hearing the liberalitie of the husbande, acquited hir of hir promise, & the [Page] Necromancer likewise discharged master Ansaldo.
Nouel. xvij.
Fol. 114.

¶ Mithridanes, enuious of the liberalitie of Nathan, and going about to kill him, spake vnto him vnknowne, and being informed by himselfe by what meanes he might doe the same, he founde him in a little woodde accordingly as he had tolde him, who knowing hym, was ashamed, and became his friende.
Nouel. xviij.
Fol. 118.

¶ Master Gentil of Carisendi, being come from Modena, tooke a woman oute of hir graue, that was buryed for deade, who after shée was come againe, brought forth a sonne, whiche Maister Gentil rendred afterwards with the mother to master Nicholas Chasenemie hir husbande.
Nouel. xix.
Fol. 123.

¶ Saladine, in the habite of a marchant, was honorably receiued into the house of Master Thorello, who went ouer the sea, in companie of the Christians, and assigned a terme to his wife, when she shold marie againe. He was taken, and caried to the Souldan to be his falconer, who knowing hym, and suffering him selfe to be knowne, did him great honor. Master Thorello fell sicke, and by Magike arte, was caried in a night to Pauie, where he founde his wife about to marie againe, who knowing him, returned home with him to his owne house.
Nouel. xx.
Fol. 128.

¶ A Gentleman of meane calling and reputation, both fall in loue with Anne, the Quéene of Hungarie, whō [Page] [...] very royally and liberally requited.
Nouel xxj.
Fol. 140.

¶ The gentle and iust act of Alexander de Medices, the first Duke of Florence, vpon a Gentleman, whome he fauored, who hauyng rauished the daughter of a poore Miller, caused him to marie hir, for the greater honor and celebration wherof, he apointed hir a rich and honourable dowrie.
Nouel. xxij.
Fol. 155.

¶ The Infortunate mariage of a Gentleman, called Antonie Bologna, with the Duchesse of Malfi, and the pitifull death of them both.
Nouel. xxiij.
Fol. 169.

¶ The disordred life of the Countesse of Celant, & how she (causing the Counte of Massino to be murdered) was beheaded at Milan.
Nouel. xxiiij.
Fol. 195.

¶ The goodly historie of the true and constant loue betwéene Rhomeo and Iulietta: the one of whome died of poyson, and the other of sorrowe and heauinesse: wherein be comprised many aduentures of loue, and other deuises touching the same.
Nouel. xxv.
Fol. 218.

¶ Two Gentlemen of Venice, were honorably decetued of their wiues, whose notable practises, and secrete conference for atchieuing their desire, occasioned diuers accidents, and ingendred double benefit, wherin also is recited an eloquent oration made by one of them, pronounced before the Duke and [Page] state of that Citie: with other chaunces and actes concerning the same.
Nouel. xxvj.
Fol. 247.

¶ The Lorde of Virle, by the commaundement of a faire yong Widow called Zilia, and for hir promyse made, the better to attaine hir loue, was contented to remaine dumbe the space of thrée yeares: and by what meanes hée was reuenged and obteyned his sute.
Nouel. xxvij.
Fol. 268.

¶ Two Barons of Hungarie assuring them selues to obtaine their sute made to a faire Ladie of Boeme, receiued of hir a straunge and maruellous repulse, to their shame and infamie, curssing the time that euer they aduentured an enterprise so foolishe.
Nouel. xxviij.
Fol. 292.

¶ Dom Diego, a Gentleman of Spayne, fel in loue with faire Gineura, and she with [...] their loue by meanes of one that enuied Dom Diego his happy choise, was by the default of light credite on hir parte interrupted. He constant of minde, fell into dispaire, and abandonyng all hys friendes and lyuing, repayred to the Pyrene Mountaines, where he ledde a sauage life for certaine Monethes, [...] afterwardes (knowne by one of his friends) was by maruellous circumstance reconciled to hys frowarde mistresse, and maried.
Nouel. xxx.
Fol. 309.

¶ A Gentleman of Siena, called Anselmo Salimbene, curteously and gently deliuereth his enimie from deathe. The condempned partie seyng the kynde parte of Salimbene, rendreth into his handes his syster Angelica, with whome hée was in loue: which gratitude and Eurtesie Salimbene well markyng, moued in conscience woulde not abuse hir, but for recompense toke hir to wife.
Nouel. xxx.
Fol. 350.

¶ A Widow called Mistresse Helena, wyth whome a Scholer was in Loue (shée louyng an other) made the same Scholer to stande a whole Wynters night in the Snowe to wayte for hir, who afterwardes by a sleyghte and policie, made hir in July, to stand vpon a Toure stark naked, amongs Flies, and Gnattes, and in the Sunne.
Nouel. xxxj.
Fol. 376.

¶ A Gentlewoman, and Wydowe, called Camiola, of hir owne mynde raunsomed Rolande, the Kynges sonne of Sicilia, of purpose to haue hym to hir husbande, who when hée was redéemed, vnkyndely denied hir, againste whome verie eloquentely shée inueyed, and although the lawe proued him to bée hir husbande, yet for hys vnkindnesse, shée vtterly refused hym.
Nouel. xxxij.
Fol. 391.

¶ Great cruelties chaunced to the lordes of Nocera, for adulterie by one of them committed with the Captains wife of the Fort of that Citie, with an enterprise moued by the Captaine to the Citizens of the same, for rebellion, and the good and and duetiful answere of them: with other pitifull euents, rising of that notable and outragious vice of whooredome.
Nouel. xxxiij.
Fol. 297.

¶ The greate Curtesie of the King of Marocco, a Citie in Barbarie, towarde a poore Fisherman, one of hys subiects, that had lodged the King, being stolne from his companie in hunting.
Nouel. xxxiiij.
Fol. 410.

¶ To the Reader.

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AS shevved curtesie deserueth gratefull acquitall, & frendly fauor forceth mutual merit, So for gentle acceptation of my other boke, I render to thy delight and profit a Second Tome. For which I craue but like report: albeit neither worthy of any: or other, than the rude [...] gayneth by trial of his arte. Who hauing committed to his skill and workemanship, some substance of golde or other precious mater, fashioneth the same with such [...] shape and order, as (besides dispraise) it carieth the vnablenesse of the workman. Howsoeuer (then) the ablenesse or perfection hereof [...] shall content or particularly displease: the Boke craueth milde construction, for imployed paines. And yet the same (liking or lothing the licorous diet and curious expectation of some) shall beare regarde with those, that more delight in holsome viandes (voide of varietie) than in the confused mixture of foren drugges fetched farre of. Who no dout will supply with fauorable brute, default of ablenesse, and riper skill in the mysteries of sorren speche. Which is the guerdon (besides publique benefit) after which I gaze, and the best stipende that eche well willing mynde (as I suppose) aspireth for their trauell. And briefly to touche what comoditie thou shalt reape of these succeding Histories, I deme it not vnapt for thine instruction, to vnfolde what pithe and substance, resteth vnder the context of their discourse.

¶ In the Nouell of the AMAZONES, is displaied a strange and miraculous porte (to our present skill) of womens gouernment, what states they subdued, what increase of kingdome, what combats and conflicts they durst attempt contrairie to the nature of that sexe.

¶ In ALEXANDRE the great, what ought to be the gratitude and curtesie in a [...] Prince, toward his slaue and captiue, and to what perilous plundge he slippeth by exchange of vice for vertue.

¶ In TIMOCLIA and THEOXENA the stoutnesse of two noble Dames to auoide the beastly lust and raging furie of Tyrants.

¶ ARIOBARZANES telleth the duetie of a Subiect to his Prince: and how he ought not to contend with his soueraine in maters of curtesie, at length also the condition of Courting flaterers: and the poyson of the Monster Enuie.

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¶ ARISTOTIMVS disgarboileth the iutrails of Tyrannie, describing the end whereunto Tyrants do atteine, and how that vice plageth their posteritie.

¶ The two Romane Queenes do point (as it were) with their fingers, the natures of Ambition and Crueltie, and the gredy lust (hidden in that feble sexe) of soueraintie.

¶ SOPHONISBA reporteth the force of beautie, and what poison distilleth from that licorous sappe to inuenim the harts of valiant [...].

¶ The Gentlewoman of HYDRVSA the sicklenesse of Fortune.

¶ The Empresse FAVSTINA and the Countesse of Celant, what [...] blome of whorish life and what fruites thereof be culled.

¶ The Letters of the Emperor TRAIANE, do paint a right shape of vertue, a good state of gouernment, and the comely forme of obedience.

¶ Three Amorous Dames [...] the sleightes of loue, the redinesse of Nobles to be baited with that amorous hooke, and what desire such infamous Strumpets haue, to be honored.

¶ Queene ZENOBIA, what the noble Gentlewomen, (whom the fates ordaino to rule) ought to do, how farre their magnanimitie ought to stretch, and in what boundes to conteine their soueraintie.

¶ EVPHIMIA a Kings daughter of Corinthe, and the vnfortunate Duchesse of Malfi, what matche of mariage Ladies of renowme, and Dames of Princcly houses ought to choose.

¶ Mistresse DIANORA, MITHRIDANES and NATHAN, KATHERINE of Bologna, and SALADINE, the mutual [...] of noble and gentle personages, and for what respectes.

¶ Queene ANNE of Hungarie, the good nature and liberalitie of a Queene: and with what industrie Gentlewomen of priuie chaumbre ought to preferre the sutes of the valiant, and of such as haue well serued the Common welth.

¶ ALEXANDRE de Medices, a Duke of Florence, the iustice of a Prince and Gouernour to the wronged partie, what [...] ought to shine in Courtiers, and with what temperance their insolence is to be repressed.

¶ IVLIETTA and RHOMEO disclose the hartie affections of two incomparable louers, what secret sleightes of loue, what danger either sort incurre which mary without the aduise of Parentes.

¶ Two Gentlewomen of Venice the wisdom and policie of wiues to [...] and restraine the follies of Husbands, and the stoutnesse they ought to vse in their defense.

¶ The Lord of Virle and the widow ZILIA, giue lessons to Louers, to [Page] auoide the immoderate pangs of loue, they pronosticate the indiscretion of promised penance, they warne to beware all vnsemely hestes, lest the penalties of couetise and [...] glory be incurred.

¶ The Lady of Boeme, schooleth two noble Barons, that with great boast assured themselues to impaire hir honor.

¶ DOM DIEGO and GINEVRA, recorde the crueltie of women, bent to hate, and the voluntarie vow performed by a passionate knight, with the perfect frendship of a true [...] in redresse of a frendes missehap.

¶ SALIMBENE & ANGELICA the kindnesse of a gentleman in deliuerie of his enimie, and the constant mynde of a chaste and vertuous mayden.

¶ Mistresse HELENA of Florence, discouereth what lothsom lustes do lurke vnder the barke of fading beautie, what stench of filthie affection fumeth from the smoldring gulf of dishonest Loue, what prankes such Dames do plaie for deceite of other and shame of themselues.

¶ CAMIOLA reproueth the mobilitie of youth, such chiefly as for noble anncestrie regarded riches more than vertue. She like a Mistresse of constancie lessoneth hir equalles from wauering myndes, and not to aduenture vpon vnstedie contracts: with those that care not (vnder what pretence) they come by riches.

¶ The Lords of Nocera foretell the hazards of whordom, the rage of [...], the difference of [...] betwene Prince and subiect, the fructes of a Rebell, the endes of Traiteric and Tiranny, and what monstrous successe such vices do attaine.

¶ The King of Marocco describeth the good nature of the homely and loiall subiect, the matuelous loue of a true and simple Cuntry man toward his liege & soueraigne Lord, & the bountie of a curetous prince, vpō those that vnder rude attire be [...] with the floures of vertue.

To be short, the contēts of these Nouels from degree of highest Emperor, from the state of greatest Queene and Ladie, to the homely [...] peasant and rudest vilage girle, may conduce profit for instruction, & pleasure for delight. They offer rules for auoiding of vice and imitation of vertue, to all estates. This boke is a very Court & Palace for all sorts to fixe their cies therein, to view the deuoires of the Noblest, the vertues of the gentlest, and the dueties of the meanest. Yt is a Stage and Theatre, for shew of true Nobilitie, for proofe of passing loialtie, and for triall of their contraries, Wherefore as in this I haue continued what erst I partly promised in the first: So vpon intelligence of the second signe of thy good will, a Third (by Gods assistance) shall come forth.

Farewell.

¶ Authorities from whence these Nouels be collected: and in the same auouched.

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Strabo.

Plinie

Quintus Curtius.

Plutarche

Titus Liuius.

Dionysius Halcarnasoeus.

Appianus Alexandrinus.

Ouide

Horace

Propertius.

Cicero.

Valerius Max.

Tribelius Pollio.

Xenephon.

Homere

Virgilius.

Baptista Campofulgosus.

Bandello.

Bocaccio.

Gyraldi Cynthio.

Belleforrest.

Boustuau.

Pietro di Seuiglia.

Antonio di Gueuarra

THE SECOND TOME of the Palace of Pleasure.

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The Amazones.
The first Nouel.

¶ The hardinesse and conquests of diuers stout and [...] women, called AMAZONES, the beginning and continuance of their reigne, and of the greate [...] of one of their Queenes called THALESTRIS to visit ALEXANDER the great: and the cause of hir [...].

WHere the first boke began with a Cōbate foughte and tried betwene two mighty cities, for principalitie and gouernment, the one hight Rome after called the heade of the world (as some thinke by reason of a mans head foūd in the place where the Capitole did stand) the other Alba. To which Combat [...] gentlemen of either citie wer appointed, and the victorie chaunced to the Romaine side: In this second parte, in the forefront and first Nouel of the same, is described the beginning, continuaunce and [Page] ende of a Womans Common wealth (an Hystorie [...] and straunge to the vnlearned, ignorant of the [...] fickle ruled stay) which contended with mighty Princes and puissant Potentates for defense of their kingdome, no lesse than the Carthaginians and Romaines did for theirs. But as it is no wōder to the skilful that a whole Monarche and kingdom should be inticrly peopled with that Sexe: so to the not wel trained in Hystories, this may seme miraculous. Wherfore not to stay thée from the discourse of those straunge and Aduenturous women, diuers be of diuers opinions for the Etimologie of the word: wher of amonges the Grecians [...] diuerse iudgementes. These Amazones were moste excellent warriers, very valiant, and without mannes aduise did conquer mighty Countreyes, famous Cities, and notable Kingdomes, continuing of long time in one Seigniorie and gouernment. These people occupied and enioyed a great part of Asia. Some writers deuide them into two Prouinces, one in Scithia in ye North parte of Asia: other by the hill Imaus, which at this day is called the Tartarian Scithia, different from that which is in Europa: the other sort of the Amazones were in Libia a prouince of Africa. But bicause the common sort of Authors doe vnderstand the Amazones to be those of Asia, I meane to leaue off the differēce. The Scithians were a warlike people, and at the beginning of theyr kingdome had two kings, by whome they were gouerned. Notwithstanding the nature of dominion being of it self ambicious, cannot abide any companion or equal. Which caused these two Kinges to beat variance, and afterwardes the matter grew to ciuill warres, wherein the one being Uictory, two of the principal & [...] of the contrary faction, called Plinius and Scolopithos, were banished with a great number of their [...], all [Page] which did withdraw themselues to the limites of Cappadocia in the lesser Asia, & in despite of the Countrey Pesantes, dwelled alonges the riuer of Thermodon, which entreth into the sea Euxinum, otherwise called Pontus. And they being made Lordes of the countrey, & of the places adioyning, raigned for certain yeres vntill the peasantes and their confederates made a conspiracie against them: and assembling by policie, ouercame them and slewe them all. The newes of their deathe knowen to their wiues dwelling in their countrey, caused them to cōceiue great heauinesse and dolor extreme. And although they were womē, yet did they put on mā ly courage, and determined to reuenge the death of their husbandes, by putting their handes to weapons wherwithall they did exercise themselues very ofte. And that they might all be equal & their sorow commō, they murdred certain of their husbands which remained there after the other were banished. Afterward being all together, they made a great army, and forsoke their dwelling places, refusing the mariage of many suters. And arriuing in the land of their enimies (that made smal accōpt therof, although foretolde of their approache) they sodenly came vpon them vnprouided, and put them all to the sword. This being done, the women toke the gouernāce of the Countrey, inhabiting at the beginning along the Riuer of Thermodon, where their husbands wer stain. And although many Authors do differ in the situaciō of the place where the Amazones did dwel, yet the truth is, that the beginning of their kingdome and of their habitacion was vpon that Riuer. But of their manifolde conquestes, be engendred diuers opinions declared by Strabo and others. They fortified them selues in those places and wanne other countries adioyning, chosing among them two Quenes, the one named Martesia, and [Page] and the other Lampedo. Those two louyngly deuided the armie and men of warre in two parts, either of them defending (with great hardinesse) the Lands which they had conquered: and to make them selues more dreadfull (such was the credite and vanitie of men that time) they fained themselues to be yt daughters of Mars. Afterward these miraculous womē liuing after this maner in peace & iustice, considered that by succession of time, for wante of daughters that might succéede, warres, and time, wold extinguishe their race. For this cause they treated mariage with their neighbors named Gargarians (as Plinie sayeth) with condition, that vpon certaine times of the yeare, their husbands shold assemble together in some appointed place, and vse them for certaine dayes vntill they were with childe: which being done and knowen, they shoulde returne home againe to their owne houses. If they brought forth daughters, they norished and trained them vp in armes, and other manlyke exercises, and to ride great horsse. They taught them to run at base, & to follow the chace. If they were deliuered of males, they sent them to their fathers. And if by chaunce they kept any backe, they murdred them, or else brake their armes and leggs in suche wyse as they had no power to beare weapons, and serued for nothing else but to spin, twist, and to doe other feminine labour. And for as much as these Amazones defēded themselues so valiantly in the warres with Bowe and Arrowes, and perceiued, that their breasts did verie much impech the vse of that weapon, and other exercises of armes, they seared vp ye righte breastes of their yong daughters, for which cause they were named Amazones, which signifieth in the Gréeke tong, without breasts, although that some other do giue vnto that name an other Etimologie. Afterwardes, increasing by course of time in numbre & force, they made [Page] great preparation of weapons and other [...] for the warres, and leauing their coūtrey (which they thought was very small) in the keping of some, whom they specially trusted, ye rest marched abrode, cōquering & subduing all those which they foūd rebellious. And hauing passed the riuer of Tanais, they entred Europa, where they vanquished many countreys, directing their way towardes Thracia, from whence they returned a whyle after, with great spoile and victorie: and comming again into Asia, they brought many prouinces vnder their subiection, proceding euen to Mare Caspium. They edified and peopled an infinite numbre of good cities, amōgs which, according to the opinion of diuers, was the famous Citie of Ephesus, the same béeing the chiefe of all their Empire, and the principal place that stoode vpon Thermodon. They defended them selues in warres with certaine Tergats, made in fashion of a half Moone, and entring into battaile vsed a certaine kinde of flutes to giue the people corage to fight, as the Lacedemoniās were wont to do. In this wise increased more & more the same of those women, and so continued vntill the tyme that Hercules, Theseus, and many other valiāt men liued in Graecia. The said Hercules, king Euristeus of Athenes cōmanded, to procede with great force of people against the Amazons, and that he shold bring vnto him the armures of the two Quéenes, which then wer two sisters, that is to say Antiopa and Oritia. At this cōmandemēt Hercules incoraged with desire of honor and glorie, accōpanied with Theseus, & other his frends, sailed [...] Pontus, and arriued in most conuenient place vpon the shoare of Thermodon, wher he lāded in such secret maner & with such oportunity of time, as Oritia, one of the two Quenes was gone out of the coūtrey with the greatest part of hir women, to make warre & conquere newe [Page] Countreyes, in so much that he founde Antiopa, which doubted nothing, ne yet knewe of his comming. Upon which occasiō, Hercules and his people surprising the Amazones vnwares, and although they entred into field and did put them selues in defense with suche diligence as the tyme serued, yet they were ouercome, and put to flight, and many of them slain, & the rest taken: amongst whom were the two sisters of the Quéene, the one named Menalipe which was Hercules prisoner, and the other Hipolita, the prisoner of Theseus. Certain Historiās do say, that they wer vanquished in a pitched field, and appointed battaile. And that afterwards the two [...] sters wer vanquished in singular Combat. The Quéene Antiopa then séeing this ouerthrow, and the taking of hir sisters, cam to composition with Hercules, to whom [...] gaue hir armure to carie to Euristeus. Upon charge that he should rendre vnto hir, hir sister Menalipe. But Theseus for no offer that she could make, would deliuer Hipolita, with whom he was so farre in loue, that he caried hir home with him, and afterward toke hir to wife, of whom he had a sonne called Hipolitus. Hercules satisfied of his purpose, returned very ioyfull of his victorie. Oritia certified of these news, being then out of hir [...], conceiued no lesse shame than sorrow, who fearing greater damage, returned spedily with hir women, ye greter part wherof being of hir opiniō, persuaded [...] opa to be reuēged vpon the Grekes. For which purpose they made great preparation of warre. And afterwards leuying so great a numbre of yt Amazons as they could, they sent to Sigillus kyng of Scythia for succour: who sent them his sonne Pisagoras, with a great numbre of horsmen, by whose helpe the Amazones passing into Europa, and countrey about Athenes, they greatly [...] their [...]. But Pisagoras entred in quarell against [Page] the Quene and hir women, by meanes wherof, the Scythians could not fight, but withdrew them selues aside, whereby the Amazones (not able to supporte the force of the Greekes,) were ouercome and vanquished, & the gretest part of thē cut in pieces. Those which did escape, ranne to the Scythians campe, of whome they were defēded. Afterward being returned into their coūtrey, they liued in lesse force and suretie than before. In processe of time the Greekes passed into Asia, and made a famous conqueste of the Citie of Troy, when Penthesilea was Quéene of the Amazones, who remembring ye iniuries receiued by the Grekes, went with a great armie to help the Troians: Where that Quene did things worthie of remembraunce, but the Troianes vanquished, in many skirmishes al the Amazones wer almost slain. And Penthesilea amongs other, was killed by the hand of Achilles. Wherefore those that remained, returned into their countrey, with so litle power (in respect of that they had before) as with great difficultie they susteined and defē ded their olde possessions, and so continued till the time that Alexander the great wēt into Asia, to make warre againste the Hircanians. In [...] tyme one of their Quéenes named Thalestris, accompanied with a great numbre of the Amazones, went out of hir coūtrey with great desire to sée & knowe Alexander. And approching the place where hée was, she sent hir Ambassadour vnto hym to the ende that shée might obtaine safeconducte to sée him, makyng him to vnderstande howe much the [...] of his personage had inflamed hir hart to sée him. Whereof Alexander béeing [...], graunted hir his [...]. By means wherof, after she had chosen out some of hir principal womē, leauing the rest in a certain place in verie good order, she wente towardes Alexander, of whom she was curteously entertained, & then with very [Page] good countenance, she offred vnto him the effect of al hir abilitie. Who prayed hir to tel him, if he were able to do hir pleasure, & promised that hir request shold be accōplished. She answered that hir cōming was not to demand either lands or dominions, (wherof she had sufficiēt) but rather to knowe and be acquainted with such a famous Prince as he was, of whome shée had heard maruellous and strange report. But the chiefest cause of hir cōming was; to pray him of carnal copulation, that she might be conceiued with childe, and haue an heire begotten of so excellent a prince, telling him that she was come of noble kinde, and of high parentage, & that he ought not to disdain hir vse. Promisyng him that if it pleased the Gods, that she should haue a daughter, she wold nourish it hir selfe, and make it hir vniuersall heire, and if it were a [...], she woulde sende it vnto him. Alexander asked hir if she woulde go with hym to the warres, and if she woulde, he promised hir his companie. But she excusing hir selfe, answered that she coulde not go with him without great shame and daunger of losse of hir kingdome. Wherfore she prayed him againe to satisfie hir request. Finally she kept company with Alexander by the space of. xiij. dayes in publike and secrete sorte, which béeing expired, she toke hir leaue, and returned home to hir prouince. But as it is the propertie of time to consume all things: euen so the kingdom & power of the Amazones grew to vtter decay, no one such nation at this day to be foūd. For what monstrous Sexe was this that durst not onely by many armies encountre with puissant nations, but also by such single Combate, to fight with that terrible personage Hercules, whose vnspekable and incredible labours and victories, are by antiquitie reported to be such, as none but he, duxst euer aduenture the like. Whose nation was comparable to the Greekes, or the [Page] nian citie? and yet these mankynde women for reuenge shronke not to pierce their prouince. What like besieged towne as that of Troy was? and yet Penthesilea one of their Nuéenes with hir maynie, woulde goe aboute to raise the Greekes, that so many yeares had lien before the same. What Quéene (nay what Stalant) durste sue for companie of meanest man? and yet one of these presumed to begge the match of the mightiest Monarch that euer ruled the world. The maners & qualities of which nation, bicause they were women of no common spirite and boldnesse, be thought good in the front of this second volume to be described: bicause of diuers womens liues plentifull varietie is offered in the sequele. And for that some mencion hath bene made of the greate Alexander, and in what wise from vertue he fell to vice, the seconde Nouell ensuing, shall giue some further aduertisement.

Alexander the great.
The second Nouel.

¶ The great pitie and cōtinencie of ALEXANDER the great and his louing entertainmēt of SISIGAMBIS, the wife of the greate Monarch. [...], after he was vanquished.

GReat Monarches and princes be the Gods and onely rulers vpon earthe, and as they be placed by Gods only prouidence and disposition, to conquere and rule the same, euen so in victorious battailes and honorable exploites, they ought to rule & order their conquests [Page] like Gods: that is to say, to vse moderate behauiour to their captiues and slaues, specially to the weaker sorte & feminine kinde, whome like tyrants and barbarous, they ought not to corrupt and abuse, but like Christians and vertuous victors, to cherish and preserue their honour. For what can be safe to a woman (sayd Lucrece, when she was [...] by the Romaine Tarquine) hir chastitie being defiled? Or what can be safe to a man, that giueth him selfe to incontinencie? For when he hath despoiled the virgin, robbed the wife, or abused the widow of their honor and good name, they protrude them selues into many miseries, they be impudent, vnshamefast, aduenturous and carelesse, how many mischiefes they do. And when a Prince or gouerner doth giue him self to licencious life, what mischieues, what rapes, what murders doth he cōmitte? No frende, no [...], no subiecte, no enimie doth he spare or defende. Contrarywise, the mercifull and continent captaine, by subduing his affections recouereth immortal fame, which this historie of king Alexāder full well declareth. And bicause before we spake of that great conquerour in the Nouell of the Amazones, and of the repaire of Quene Thalestris for vse of his bodie, at what tyme (as Curtius sayth) he fell from vertue to vice: wée purpose in this, to declare the greate continencie and mercie that he vsed to Sisigambis, the wife of the Persian Prince Darius, and briefly to touch the time of his abused life, which in this manner doth begin. Alexander the great hauing vanquished Darius and his infinite armie, and retiring with his hoste from the pursute and slaughter of the Persians, entred into their campe to recreate him selfe. And being with his familiars in the mids of his bāket, they sodenly heard a pitifull crie, with straunge howling and crying out, which did verie much astonne them. The wife and mother of [Page] Darius with the other noble women newly taken prisoners, wer ye occasiō of that present noise, by lamenting of Darius, whome they beleued to be slaine, which opinion they cōceiued through one of the Eunuches, which standing before their tent doore, sawe a souldier beare a piece of Darius Diademe. For which cause Alexander, pitying their miserie, sent a noble man called Leonatus to signifie vnto them that they were deceyued, for that Darius was liuing. Repairing towards the tent where the women were with certaine armed men, he sent word before, that he was coming to them with message from the king. But when such as stode at the tent [...] saw armed men, they thought they had ben sent to murder the Ladies: for whiche cause they ranne in to them, crying that their last houre was come, for the souldiers were at hande to kill them. When Leonatus was entred the pauilion, the Mother and wife of Darius fell downe at his féete, intreating him that before they were slain, he wold suffer them to burie Darius, according to the order and maner of his countrey, after the performance of which obsequies, they were content (they sayd) willingly to suffer death. Leonatus assured them, that both Darius was aliue, and that there was no harme towardes them, but shoulde remaine in the same state they were in before. When Sisigambis heard those wordes, she suffered hir selfe to bée lifted vp from the grounde, and to receyue some comfort. The next day, Alexander with great diligence buried the bodies of suche of his owne men as coulde be founde, and willed the same to be done to the noble men of the Persians, giuing licence to Darius mother to burie so many as she liste, after the custome of hir countrey. She performed the same to a fewe that were next of hir kinne, according to the habilitie of their presente fortune, for if shée shoulde haue vsed the Persians [Page] pompe therin, the Macedonians might haue enuied it, which being victors, vsed no great curiositie in the matter. When the due was performed to the dead, Alexander signified to the women prisoners, that he him selfe would come to visit them, and causing such as came with him to tarie without, he onely with Ephestion entred in amongs them. The same Ephestion of al men was best beloued of Alexander, brought vp in his cōpanie from his youth, and most priuie with him in al things. There was none that had such libertie to speke his mynd plainly to the king as he had, which he vsed after such sorte, that he semed to do it by no authoritie, but by suffrance. And as he was of like yeares vnto him, so in shape and personage he did somwhat excel him. Wherfore the women thinking Ephestion to be the king, did fall downe and worship him (as their countrey maner was to do to kings) till suche time as one of the Eunuches that was taken prisoner, shewed which of them was Alexander. Then Sisigambis fell downe at his féete, requiring pardon of hir ignorance, for somuch as she did neuer see him before. The King toke hir vp by the hande, and sayde: ‘Mother you be not deceiued: for this is Alexander also.’ Then he behaued him self after such a maner, that he erceded in continencie and compassion, al the kings that had ben before his time. He entertained ye two Quéenes with those virgins that were of excellent beautie, so reuerently, as if they had bene his sisters. He not onely absteined from al violation of Darius wife, which in beautie excelled all the women of hir time, but also toke great care & diligence, that none other should procure hir any dishonor. And to all the women, he commaunded their ornaments and apparel to be restored: So that they wā ted nothing of the magnificence of their former [...], sauing only the assured trust that creatures want in miserie: [Page] which things considered by Sisigambis, she sayd vnto the king: ‘Sir, your goodnesse towards vs, doth deserue, that we should make the same prayer for you, that whilome we did for Darius: and we perceiue you worthie to passe so greate a king as he was, in felicitie and good fortune, that abounde so in iustice and clemencie. It pleaseth you to terme me by the name of Mother and Quéene: but I confesse my selfe to be your handmaide. For both I conceyue the greatnesse of my state past, and féele that I can beare this present seruitude. It lieth only in your handes how we shal be delt withall, and whether you will make vs notable to the worlde thorough your clemēcie or crueltie.’ The King comforted them all he might, and willing them to be of good chéere, toke Darius sonne in his armes. Therat the child was nothing afraid, hauing neuer séene him before, but toke & imbraced him about the neck. He was so moued with the constancie of the childe, as he behelde Ephestion, and sayde: Oh, I would yt Darius had had some part of this childes gentlenesse. Which mercy, continencie, humilitie and cō stancie of minde in Alexander, if he had still kept to his latter daies, might haue bene accompted much more fortunate than he was, when hauing subdued all Asia from Hellespont to the Occean sea, he did counterfait the [...] of Bacchus. Or if amongs the residue of his cōquests, he would haue trauailed to ouercome his pride and wrath, being vices inuincible. Or in his dronkennesse abstained from the slaughter of his Nobilitie, and not to haue put to deathe those excellent men of warre without iudgement, which helped him to conquer so many Nations. But at this time the greatnesse of his Fortune had not yet altered his nature, although afterwards he could not beare his victories with that Uertue, wherwith he wanne them. For when he gaue him self to [...] [Page] and banketting, he vsed the companie of harlots. Amonges whome there was one Thais, who vpon a day in hir dronkennesse, affirmed to Alexander, yt he should wonderfully winne the fauour of the Greekes, if he commaunded the Palace of Persepolis to be set on fire. The destruction wherof (she said) they greatly desired, for so much as the same was the chief seat of the kings of Persia, which in times past had destroyed so many great Cities. When the dronken harlot had giuen hir [...], there were other present, who being likewise dronken, confirmed hir woordes. Alexander then that had in him more inclinacion of heat than of pacience, said: ‘Why doe we not then reuenge Greece, and set this Citie on fire?’ They were all chafed with drinking, and rose immediatlie vpon those wordes to burne that Citie in their dronkennesse, which the men of warre had spared in their furie. The king himself first, and after his guestes, his seruauntes & his Concubines, set fire in the Pallace, which being builded for the most part of Cedre trées, [...] sodenly in a flame. When the armie that was encamped néere vnto the Citie, saw the fire, which they thought had ben kindled by some casualtie; they came running to quenche the same againe. But when they sawe the king there present increasing the fire, they poured downe the water which they brought, and helped likewise the matter forwardes. Thus the palace that was the head of the whole Orient, from whence so many nacions before had fetched their laws to liue vnder, ye seat of so many kings, the only terror sometime of Greece, the same that hath ben the sender forth of. 9000. ships, and of the armies that ouerflowed all Europa, that made bridges ouer the Sea, and vndermined mountaines where the Sea hath nowe his course, was consumed and had his ende, and neuer rose againe in all the age that did ensue. For the kings [Page] of Macedon vsed other Cities which be now in the Persians hands. The destruction of this Citie was such, that the foundation therof at this day could not be [...], but that the riuer of Araxes doth shew where it stode, which was distant from Persepolis. xx. furlongs, as the inhabitants rather doe beleue than know. The Macedonians were ashamed that so noble [...] was destroyed by their king in his dronkennesse: yet at length it was turned into an earnest matter, and were content to thincks it expedient that the Citie should haue ben destroyed after that maner. But it is certain, that when Alexander had taken his rest, and was become better aduised, he repented him of his doing. And after he had kept companie with Thalestris aforesaid, which was Quéene of the Amazones, he tourned his continencie and moderation (being the most excellent vertues appearing in any kind of estate) into Pride and voluptuousnesse, not estéeming his countrie customes, nor the holsome temperance that was in the vsages and discipline of kyngs of Macedon. For he iudged their ciuill vsage and maner, to be ouer base for his greatnesse, but did counterfaite the height and [...] of the kings of Persia, represēting the greatnesse of the Goddes. He was content to suffre mē there to fal down flat vpō the ground & worship him, & [...] ye victorers of so many nacions, by litle & litle to seruile offices, coueting to make thē like vnto his captiues. He ware vpon his head a Diademe of purple, interpaled with white, like as Darius was accustomed: & fashioned his aparell after the maner of the Persians, without [...] of any euil token that is signified, for the [...] to change his habite into the fashion of him whom he had vanquished. And althoughe he vaunted, that he ware the spoyles of his enimies, yet with those spoyles he put vpon him their euil maners, and the insolencie of [Page] the mynde, folowed the pride of the apparell. Besides, [...] sealed such letters as he sent into Europa, with his accustomed seale, but all the letters he sente abroade into Asia, were sealed with Darius ring. So it appered that one minde coulde not beare the greatenesse that appertained to two. He aparelled also his frēds, his captains, and his horsemen in [...] apparell, whereat though they grudged in their mindes, yet they durste not refuse it, for feare of his displeasure. His courte was replenished with Concubines, for he still mainteined thrée hundred and thrée score that belonged to Darius, and among them were flocks of Eunuches accustomed to performe the vse of women. The old souldiers of Philip naturally abhorring such things, manifestly withstode to be infected with such voluptuousnesse and strange customes. Whervpon there rose a generall talke and opinion thoroughoute the Campe, that they had loste more by the victorie, than they had wonne by the warres. For when they sawe them selues ouercome in suche excesse, and forain customs so to preuaise, they iudged it a simple guerdon of their long béeing abrode, to returne home in prisoners maner. They began to be ashamed of their king, that was more like to such as wer subdued, than to them that were victorious: and that of a King of Macedon, was become a Prince of Persia, and one of Darius Courtiers. Thus this noble prince from continencie and mercie fel into all kind of disorder, the originall whereof, he toke by delite in women, which being vsed in sort lawful, be great comforts and delights, otherwise, the very spring of all crueltie and mischiefe.

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Timoclia of Thebes.
The third Nouel.

[...], a Gentlewoman of [...], vnderstanding the couetous desire of a Thracian knight, that had abused hir, and promised hir mariage, rather for hir goodes than loue, well acquited hir self from his falshode.

QVintus Curtius, that notable historiographer remembring the stoute facte of this Thebane gentlewoman, amongs other the gestes and factes of Alexander the great, I haue déemed it not altogether vnfit for this place, to reueale the fine and notable pollicie deuised by hir, to rid hir selfe from a couetous [...] of the Thracian kinde, who for lucre rather than loue, for gaine than gratitude, promised golden hilles to this distressed poore gentlewoman. But she in the ende paying him his well deserued hire, was liked and praised of Alexander for hir aduēturous fact, being not one of the least vertues that shined in him, before he grewe to excessiue abuse. But bicause Plutarch in his treatise De claris mulieribus, more at large recounteth this historie, I haue thought good almost (verbatim) to follow him. Theagenes a gentleman of Thebes, [...] himself [Page] with Epaminondas. and Pelopidas, and with other noble men, for preseruation of their common wealth, in the battaile sought at Cheronaea, for deliuerie of their [...] of Greece? was slain in the chace of his enimies, as he pursued one of the chiefe of his aduersaries, yt same crying out vnto him: Whether [...] thou pursue vs Theagenes? euen to Macedonia answered he. This gentleman thus slaine had a sister, whose vertue & néerenesse of kin by noble déedes, she well witnessed, although she was not well able to manifest hir vertue, for the aduersitie of the time, but by pacient sufferance of the cōmon calamities. For after Alexander had wonne the citie of Thebes, the souldiers gréedie of spoile running vp and down the citie, euery of them chancing vpon such bootie as fortune offred them, it chaunced that a captain of the Thracian horsmen, (a barbarous and wicked wretch,) happened vpon the house of Timoclia, who somewhat néere the King both in name and kinne, in maners and conditions was greatly different from him. He neither regarding the noble house, ne yet the chastitie of hir forepassed life, vpon a time after supper, glutted & swelled with abundance of wine, caused Timoclia forcibly to be haled to his dronken couch: and not cōtented with the forced wrong, as they were in talke together, diligently demaunded of hir, if she had in no place hidden any gold or siluer, and partly by threates, and partely by promise to kepe hir as his wife, endeuoured to get that he desired. ‘But she being of redy witte, taking that offred occasion of hir aduersarie: I would to God (sayd she) that it had bene my luck to haue died before this night, rather than to liue. For hitherto haue I kept my [...] pure and vntouched from all despite and villanie, vntill vnluckie fate forced me to yeld to thy disordinate lust: but [...] my [...] is such, why should I conceale those thyngs that be [Page] [...] owne, thou being mine only tutor, lorde, and husband (as thou sayst) when the Gods shal please to bring the same to passe. For by thy will and pleasure muste I vnhappie Thebane wench be ruled and gouerned. Eche vanquished wight must subdue their will and minde to their lord & [...]: I being thy slaue and prisoner, must nedes by humble meanes, yelde. vp my selfe to the vnsaciate hest of thy puissant heart. What shall let me to disclose the pray that thou desirest, that we both, if thy mind be such, may rather ioy the same, than the soilie filth of stinking earth, shoulde deuoure such spoile, which for feare and hope of future fortune, I buried in the bowels of the same. Then marke my wordes, and beare them well in mynde, sith lot hath wrought me this mishap. I hauing plentie of coyned siluer, and of fyned gold no litle store besides such Iewels as belong to the setting forth of the grace of womans beautie, of valure and price [...]: when I saw this City brought to such distresse as vnpossible to be saued frō taking, al the same I threw away, or more truly to say, I whelmed altogether in a dry ditch void of water, which my fact fewe or none did knowe. The pitte is couered with a litle couer aboue, and thickly round about beset with bushes and thornes. Those goodes will make thée a welthy personage, none in all the campe to bée compared to thée, the riches and value wherof, will witnesse our former fortune, and the state of our gorgeous and stately house. All those doe I bequeath to thée, as on whome I thinke them wel bestowed.’ This gréedie Lecher, laughing to him self for this sodaine praie, and thinking that his Ladie faste holden within his barbarous armes had tolde him truth, routed in his [...] couch till the day had discouered yt morning light, then gaping for his [...] gaine, he rose & prayed hir to tell the place, that he might recouer the same. She [Page] then brought him into hir garden, the dore whereof she commaunded to be shutte, that none might enter. He in his hose and doublet, went downe to the bottome of the pit. When Timoclia perceiued him downe, she beckned for certain of hir maids, & she rolled downe diuers great stones with hir own hāds, which of purpose she had caused to be placed there, and commaunded hir maides to tumble downe the like. By which meanes she killed that lecherous and couetous vilaine, that rather [...] to satisfie his desire, than coueted to obserue his promysed faith. Which afterwardes being knowen to the Macedonians, they haled his bodie out of the pit. For Alexander had made proclamation, that none should dare to kill any Thebane, and therfore apprehēding Timoclia, they brought hir to yt king, accusing hir for doing of that murder: who by hir countenaunce and stature of bodie, and by hir behauiour and grauitie of maners, beheld in hir the verie Image of gentle kinde. And first of al, he asked hir what she was. To whom boldly with constāt chéere, she [...] answered: Theagenes was my brother (sayd she) who béeing a valiant captaine, & fighting against you for the common safegard of the Greekes, was [...] at Chaeronea, that we might not [...] and proue yt miseries, wherwith we be now oppressed. But I rather than to suffer violence vnworthie of oure race & stock, am in your [...] presence brought ready to refuse no death: For better it were for me to die, than féele such another night, except thou commaūde the contrary. These wordes were vttered in such [...] plight, as the standers by coulde not forbeare to wéepe. But Alexander saying, that he not onely pitied the woman endewed with so noble witte, but much more wondred at hir vertue and wisedome, commaūded the princes of his armie, to foresée no wrong or violence to be done to the [Page] Gentlewoman. He gaue order also, that Timoclia & all hir kinne, should be garded and defended from slaughter or other wrōgs. What say ye (good Ladies) to the heart of this noble Gentlewomā, that durst be so bold to stone this [...] wretch to death, & for wrong done to hir bodie till that time vntouched, to wrong the corps of him that sauoured of no gentle kinde: who rather for earthly [...], than for loue of such a pleasant prisoner, exchanged loue for golde? But note hereby what force the puritie of minde vnwilling of beastly [...] doth carie in it self: A simple woman voide of helpe, not backed with defence of husbandes aide, doeth bring a mightie captaine, a strong and loftie lubber, to enter into a caue, and when she sawe hir best aduauntage, thacked him with stones, vntill he groned forth his [...] [...]. Suche is the might and prowesse of chastitie. No charge too burdenous or weightie for such a vertue, no enterprise too harde for a mynde so pure and cleane.

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Ariobarzanes.
The fourth Nouell.

¶ ARIOBARZANES great Stuarde to [...] king of Persia, goth about to excede his soueraine Lord and maister in curtesie: wherin be conteined many notable and pleasaunt chaunces, besides the greate pacience and loyaltic naturally planted in the sayd ARIOBARZANES.

AQuestion is moued many times among learned men and Gentlemen addicted to the seruice of the Courte, whether cō mendable déede or, curteous and gentle fact done by the gentlemā or courtier towardes his soueraigne lord, ought to be called Liberalitie & Curtesie, or rather Bād and Duetie. Which question is not proponed without greate reason. For so much as eche man doth know, that a seruant doe what he can for his maister, or lette him imploye the vttermoste of his indeuour, all the labour and trauaile he bestoweth, all trouble and daunger which he susteineth, is too litle, yea, and the same his verie bounden duetie. Haue wée not red of many, and knowen the lyke, that to gratifie their prince and maister, haue into a thousand dangers and like numbre of deaths, aduentured their owne proper [Page] liues? Marcus Antonius that notable orator being accused of incest, and brought to the iudgement seat, his accusers required that his seruant shoulde be called for, bicause he bare the candell before his maister, when he went to do the dede, who séeing his maisters life & death to depend vpon his euidence, vtterly denied the fact, and notwithstanding that he was whipped, racked, & suffred other cruel torments, would rather haue lost his life than accuse & betray his maister. I could alleage and bryng forth in place, the example of Mycithus, the seruant of one Anaxilaus Messenius, the fidelitie of the seruantes of Plotinus Plancus, the faithful maiden called Pythias, that waited vpon Octauia the chast Empresse and wife of that Monster Nero, with diuers other: but that I thinke they bée to the learned well knowen, and of the simple the vertue of seruants fidelitie is greatly liked and commended. But if the faithfull seruant knowe that his deserts do gain the grace and fauor of his maister, [...] trauailes, what pains ought he to suffer to maintain his reputation, and to increase the fauour obtained? For as the common [...] and wise saying reporteth, That the vertue is no lesse to conserue Frendship gotten, than the wisedome was great to get and winne the same. Other there be, which do contrarily contend, and with very strong arguments do force to proue, that al which the seruant doth besides his duetie, and beyonde the obligation, wherin he is bounde to his maister, is and oughte to be termed Liberalitie, whiche is a matter to prouoke his patrone and maister, to deuise new benefites for his seruant. And that at all times when a man doth his duetie and seruice appointed by his mayster, executing the same with all diligence and industrie requisite ther vnto, that then he [...] to be rewarded. Which is not to be discommended. For no true and honest seruaunt will [Page] refuse any trauaile for commoditie of his maister, [...] yet discrete and wise maister, will leaue the same [...], according to that porcion of abilitie, wherwith he is possessed. But leauing questions and disputation aside, procéede we to that which this Nouell purposeth. I say then, that there was in the kyngdome of Persia, a kyng called Artaxerxes, a man of moste noble minde, and of great prowesse in armes. This was he which first being a priuate man of armes, not hauing as yet obteined any degrée in the field, killed Artabanus the last king of the Arsacides whose souldier he was, & recouered ye Persian kingdom, which was then in the Macedonians [...] on (by ye deth of Darius, which was vanquished by Alexander the great) the space of. 538. yeares. This noble gē tleman hauing deliuered al Persia, & created King, kept a princely court, wherin were many magnificent facts and vertuous déedes exercised and done, and he himself most noble in all his affaires, besides the titles, which he worthily wanne in many bloudie battels, was estéemed thoroughout the east part of the worlde, to be the most liberall and magnanimous prince that in any age euer raigned. In feastes and bankets he was an other Lucullus, royally intertaining strangers that repaired to his court. This king had in his court, a Senescall or stewarde, named Ariobarzanes, whose office was, that when the king made any pompous or publike feast, to mount vpon a white Courser, with a Mace of golde in his hand, and to ride before the Esquiers & Sewers for the Kings owne mouthe, and those that bare the Kings meate in vessell of golde, couered with fine naperie, wrought and purled with most beautiful workmanship of silk & golde. This office of Senescall was highly estemed, and cōmonly wont to be giuen to one of the chiefest Barons of the Realme. Wherfore this Ariobarzanes, besides that he [Page] was of moste noble Lignage and incomparable riches, was the most curteous and liberall knight that frequented the Court, whose immoderate expence was such, as leauing the mean, wherin al vertue consisteth, by reason of his outrage which many times he vsed, he fell into the vice of prodigalitie. Whereby he séemed not only in curteous déedes to compare with the King, but also contended to excéede and surpasse him. One day the King for his disport and recreation called for the Chesseborde, requiring Ariobarzanes to kéepe him companie. Which game in those days amongs the Persians was in greate vse and estimation, in such wise as a cunning gamster at that pastime was no lesse commended and honored, than among vs in these dayes an excellent Drator, or famous learned man. Yea and the very same game in cōmon vse in the Courte, and noble mens houses of oure tune, no doubt very commendable and mete to be practised by all states & degrées. The King and Ariobarzanes being set down at a table in the great hall of the Palace, one right against an other, accōpanied with a great number of noble personages and Gentlemen looking vpon them, and marking their play with great silence, they began to encountre one an other with the Chessemen. Ariobarzanes, whether it was that he played better than the king, or whether the king [...] no héede to his game, or what soeuer the occasion was, he coursed the King to such a narrow straight, as he could not auoide, but within. ii. or. iij. draughts he muste be forced to receiue the Checkemate: whiche the King perceiuing, and considering the daunger of the mate, by and by there grew a greater colour in his face than was wont to be, & imagining howe he might auoide the checkemate, besides his blushing he shaked his [...] and fetched diuers sighes, whereby the standers by that marked the game, perceiued that he was [Page] driuen to his shiftes. The Senescall espying the Kings demeanour, and séeing the honest shamefastnesse of the King, woulde not suffer hym to receiue suche foile, but made a draught by mouing his Knight backe, to open a way for the King to passe, as not onely he deliuered him from the daunger of the Mate; but also loste one of his Rocks for lack of taking héede: whervpon the game rested equall. The King (who knew ye good nature & noble minde of his seruant, by experience of the same in other causes) faining that he had ouerséene the taking of his Rock, ‘gaue ouer the game, and rising vp, sayd: No more Ariobarzanes, the game is yours, and I confesse my selfe ouercome.’ The King thought that Ariobarzanes did not the same so much for curtesie, as to binde his soueraigne lorde and king by benefite to recompence his subiectes like behauior, which he did not very well like, and therfore would play no more. Notwithstanding the King neither by signe or dede, ne yet in talk, shewed any token of displeasure for that curtesie done. Nowbeit the King would that Ariobarzanes in semblable act, should abstaine to shew him selfe curteous or liberall, except it were to his inferiours and equals, bicause it is not connenient for a seruaunt to contende with his maister in those qualities.

Not long after the King being at Persepolis (the principall citie of Persia, ordeined a not able day of hunting of diuers beastes of that countrey bréede: And when all things were in readinesse, he with the moste part of his Court repaired to the pastime. When they were come to the place, the King commaunded a woode to be beset about with nettes and toiles, and appointed eche man where he should stande in most conuenient place, and he him selfe attended with the doggs and [...], to cause the beastes to issue forth of their [...] and holes. And [Page] beholde, they roused a wilde beast, whiche with greate [...] leapte ouer the nettes, and ranne away with much spéede. The King séeing that straunge beast, purposed to pursue him to death: And making a signe to certain of his noble men which he desired to kepe him companie, he gaue the raine and spurre to his horse, and followed the chace, Ariobarzanes was one of those noble men that pursued the game. It chaunced that day that the King rode vpon a horsse, that was the swiftest in his stable, which he estemed better than a thousand other, as well for his velocitie, as for his readynesse in factes of armes. Thus followyng with bridle at will, the flying rather than running beast, they were diuided far from their companie, and by reason of the Kings spéedinesse, none was able to followe him but Ariobarzanes, and behind him one of his seruants vpon a good horsse, which alwayes he vsed in hunting inatters, which horsse was counted the best in al the Court. And thus folowing the chace with galloping spede, Ariobarzanes at length espied that the horsse of his soueraigne lorde had loste his shooes before, and that the stones had surbated his hoofs, wherevpon the King was driuen either to giue ouer the chace, or else to marre his horsse. But there was none of these two necessities but would haue greatly displeased the King, that did not perceiue his horsse to be vnshodde. The Senescall did no sooner espie the same, but sodainely dismounted from his own, caused his man to deliuer vnto him a hammer and nailes (which for such like chaunces, he always caried about him) and tooke of two shooes from ye [...] of his good horsse, to set vpon the Kings, not caring for his own, rather than the King should forgoe his pleasure. Wherfore hallowing the King which was earnestly bent vpon the chace, tolde him of the danger wherin his horsse was for lack of shooes. The Kyng [Page] hearing that, lighted from his horsse, & séeing two shooes in Ariobarzanes mans hande, thinking that Ariobarzanes had brought them with him, or that they wer the shooes whiche fell from his owne, taried still vntill his horsse was shodde. But when he sawe the notable horsse of his Senescall vnshodde before, then he thoughte that to be the curtesie of Ariobarzanes, & so did let the matter passe, studying by like meanes to requite him with Curtesie, whiche forced him selfe to surmounte in the same. And when his horsse was shod, he gaue the same to Ariobarzanes in rewarde. And so the king chose rather to lose his pleasure of hunting, than to suffer hymselfe by his man to bée excelled in Curtesie, well noting the stoutnesse of Ariobarzanes mynde, which séemed to haue a will to contende with his Prince in factes renoumed and liberall. The Senescall thoughte it not conuenient to refuse the gift of his liege Lorde, but accepted the same with like good will as before he shodde his horsse, still expecting occasion howe he might surpasse his maister in curtesse, and so to binde him to requite the same. They had not taried there lōg, but many of those which came after had ouertaken them. And then the King got vp vpon a spare horsse, and returned to the citie with all his companie.

Within fewe dayes after, the King by proclamation sommoned a solemne and pompous iust and triumph at the tilt, to be done vpon the Kalendes of May next ensuing. The rewarde appointed for the victor and best doer in the same, was a couragious and goodly Courser, with a bridle and bitte of fine golde richely wrought, a saddle correspondent of passing greate price, the furniture and trappers for the bridle and saddle of like cost and workemanship, the raines were two chaines of golde very artificially made, the barbe and couerture of the horsse, of [Page] cloth of golde, vpon golde, fringed round about with like golde, whereat depended certaine belles of golde, ouer which horsse was placed a fine sworde, the hiltes & chape wherof together with the scaverde were curiously beset with pearles and precious stones of inestimable value. On the other side was placed a very beautifull & strong. Mace, very cunningly wroughte with damaskin. The horsse was placed in fourme of triumph, and besides the same, all the Armures and weapons méete for a combatant Knight, riche and faire without comparison: The Placart was maruellous and strong, the Launce was guilt and bigge, as none greater in all the troupe of the chalengers and defendants. And al those furnitures wer appointed to be giuen to him that should do best that day. A great assemblie of strangers repaired to that solemne feast, as wel to do déedes of Armes, as to looke vpon that pompous triumph, Of the Kings subiects there was neither Knight nor Baron, but in rich & sumptuous apparell appeared that day, amongs whome, of chiefest fame the kings eldest sonne was the firste that gaue his name, a Gentleman very valorous, and in [...] of Armes of passing estimation, brought vp from his very youth, and trained in the field & other warlike exercises. The Senescall also caused his name to be inrolled. The like did [...] ther knights, as well Persians as other straungers. For, that ye Proclamation was generall, with safeconduct for all forainers, noble men or other that should make their repaire. The King had elected thrée auncient Barons to be Judges and Arbitratours of their déedes, suche as in their time, for their owne personages had ben very valiant, and in many enterprises well exercised, men of gret discretion and iudgement. Their stage was placed in the middes of the Lists, to view and marke the counterbuffes and blowes of the Combatants. We néede not to remembre, [Page] [...] oughte to forgette the numbre of Ladies and Gentlewomen assembled out of all partes, to beholde and viewe this triumphe, and peraduenture eche knight that ranne that day, was not withoute his amorous Ladie to note and beholde his Actiuitie and Prowesse, euery of them wearing his Ladies sléeue, gloue, or other token, accordyng to the common Custome in suche like cases. At the daye and houre appointed, appeared all the Combatantes in greate Triumphe and pompe, with rich furnitures, as well vpon them selues as vppon their horsse. The triumph begonne, and many Launces broken in good order, on either sides, Judgement was giuen generally, that the Senescall Ariobarzanes had wonne the price, and next vnto him, the kings sonne did passe them all, for that none of all the Combattants had broken past. v. staues, and the sayd yong Gentleman had in the face of his aduersarie broken in pieces nine at the least. This Senescall brought forth eleuen laū ces, which were couragiously and honorably broken, and by breaking of the last staffe which was the twelfthe, he was iudged moste worthie of the price. The condition wherof was, that euery Combatant should run twelue courses with twelue launces, and he which shoulde first breake the same, should without doubt or further controuersie obtaine the rewarde. What pleasure and delight the King did conceyue to sée his sonne behaue him selfe so valiantly that day, I referre to the iudgement of fathers, that haue children indued with like actiuitie. But yet it grieued him, that the Senescall had the greater aduantage, and yet being a matter so wel knowen and discerned by the Judges, like a wise man he dissembled his [...]. On the other side, the yong Gentleman which did combat before his amorous ladie, was very sorowful for that that he was voide of hope of the chiefest [Page] honour. So that betwene the father and the sonne, was one very thought and desire. But the vertue and valor of the Senescall did truncate & cut of all their grief. Now the time was come, that the Senescall should runne with his last staffe, and mounted vppon the horsse which the King gaue him when he was on hunting. And knowing wel that the King was very desirous that his son should excel all mē, perceiuing likewise the inflamed minde of ye yong Gentleman for the presence of his lady to aspire to honor, purposed to giue ouer the honor archieued by himselfe, to leaue it to the sonne and heire of his Lorde and [...]. He knew full well that those his curtesies pleased not ye King, neuerthelesse he was determined to perseuer in his opinion, not to berieue the King of his glorie, but onely to acquire fame and honour for him selfe. And yet he thoughte vnkindenesse in the King, that he would not accept his gentle déedes in better parte. But fully minded that the honor of the triumph should be attributed to the Kings sonne, he welded the staffe within his rest, and when he was readie to encountre (bicause it was he that should come agaynst him) he let fall his launce out of his handes, and sayd: ‘Farewel this curtesie of mine, sith it is no better estemed’. The kings sonne gaue a gentle counterbuffe vpon the Placard of the Senescall, & brake his staffe in many pieces, which was the x. course. Many heard ye words which the Senescal spake when his staffe fell out of his hands, and the standers by well perceiued that he was not minded to giue the laste blowe, bicause the kings sonne might haue the honor of the triumph, which he desired so much. Then Ariobarzanes departed the listes. And ye Prince without any great resistance wan the price & victorie. And so with sounde of diuerse instrumentes the price borne before him, he was throughout the citie honorbaly conueyed, & amōg other, [Page] the Senescal. [...] waited vpon him with mery countenāce, greatly praising & exalting yt valiance of yt yong Prince. The King which was a very wise mā, who many times had had experience of the Chiualrie of his Senescall, at other Tourneys, Iustes, Barriers, and Battels, and always finding him to be prudent, politike, & for his person very valiant, knewe to wel that the fall of his launce was not by chaunce but of purpose, continued his opinion of his Senescals liberalitie and courage. And to say the trouth, such was his exceding curtesie, as fewe may be founde to imitate the same. Wée daily sée that many be liberall of Fortunes goodes, inuesting some with promotion, some with apparell, golde and siluer, Iewels, and other things of great value. We sée also noble men, bountifull to their seruants, not onely of those mouable things, but also of Castels, Landes, and Cities. What shall we speake of them, which will not sticke to sheade their owne bloud, and many times to spende their life to do their frendes good? Of these and such like examples, all Records be full. But a man that contemneth same & glorie, or is of his owne bonor liberall, is neuer founde. The victorious Captain after the bloody battaile, giueth the spoile of his enimies to his souldiers, rewardeth thē with prisoners, departeth vnto them the whole pray, but the glorie and honour of the battaile he reserueth vnto him selfe. And as diuinely that father of Romaine eloquence doth say, Those philosophers, which write yt glorie ought to be despised by their written bokes, doe séeke after glorie them selues. The King was displeased with these noble déedes and curtesie of his Senescall, bicause he thoughte it not méete or decent, that a subiecte and seruaunt should compare with his lorde and maister: and therefore did not beare him that chéerefull countenance which he was wonte to doe. And in the ende, purposed [Page] to let him know, that he spent his braines in very great errour, if he thought to force his maister to be bounde or beneficiall vnto him as hereafter you shall perceiue.

There was an ancient and approued custome in Persia, that the kings yerely did solemnize an Anniuersarie of their Coronation, with great feast and triumph, vpon which day all the Barons of the kingdome were bound to repaire to the Courte, where the King by the space of viii. dayes with sumptuous bankets and other sortes of feastes kepte open house. Upon this Anniuersarie day of Artaxerxes coronation, when all things were disposed in order, the King desirous to accomplishe a certaine conceiued determination, cōmaunded one of his faithful chamberlains spéedily to seke out Ariobarzanes, which the sayde faithfull chamberlaine did, and telling him the kings message, sayd: ‘My lord Ariobarzanes, the King hath willed me to say vnto you, that his pleasure is, that you in your owne person euen forthwith shall cary your white stéede and Courser, the mace of gold, and other [...] due to the office of Senescall, vnto Darius youre mortall enimie, and in his maiesties behalfe to say vnto him, that the king hath giuen him that office, and hath clearely dispossessed you thereof.’ Ariobarzanes hearing those heauie newes, was like to die for sorowe; and the greater was his griefe, bicause it was giuen to his greatest enimie. Notwithstanding, like a Gentleman of noble stomacke, woulde not in open apparance signifie the displeasure which he conceiued within, but with merrie cheare and louing countenance, sayde vnto the chambrelaine: ‘Do my right humble cōmendations vnto the kinges maiestie, and say vnto him, that like as he is the soueraigne lorde of all this lande, and I his faithfull subiect, euen so myne office, my life, landes and goods, be [...] his disposition, and that willingly I will performe his [Page] [...].’ When he had spoken those wordes, he rendred [...] his office to Darius, who at dinner serued in the same. And when the king was set, Ariobarzanes with comely countenaunce sat downe amongs the rest of the Lordes. Which sodaine deposition and depriuation, did [...] lously amaze the whole assemblie, euery man secretly speking their minde either in praise or dispraise of that fact. The king all the dinner time, did marke & note the countenance of Ariobarzanes, which was pleasant and merie as it was wont to be, whereat the king did greately maruell: And to attaine to the ende of his purpose, hée began with sharpe wordes in presence of the nobilitie to disclose his discontented minde, and the grudge which he bare to Ariobarzanes, On the other side, the king suborned diuers persons diligently to espie what he sayde & did. Ariobarzanes hearing the kings sharpe wordes of rebuke, and stimulated by the persuasion of diuers flatterers, which were hired for that purpose, after he perceiued that his declared pacience preuailed nothing, that his modest talke & his long and faithful seruice, which he had done vnto the king, his losse and hinderance sustained, the perill of his life, which so many times he had suffered, at length banquished with disdaine, he brake the Bridle of Pacience, and sorted out of the boundes of his wonted nature, for that in place of honor, he receiued rebuke, & in stede of reward, was depriued of his office, begā in a rage to cōplain of yt king, terming him to be an vnkind prince, which amongs the Persians was estéemed a worde of great offence to the maiestie: wherefore faine he would haue departed the court, and retired home to his coūtrey, which he coulde not doe without speciall licence from the king, and yet to craue the same at his handes, his heart would not serue him. Althese murmures and complaintes which secretely he made, were tolde the king, & therfore [Page] the king commaunded him one day, to be called before him, vnto whome he sayde: ‘Ariobarzanes youre grudging complaints and enuious quarels, which you disparcle behinde my backe throughout my Courte, and your continuall rages outragiously pronounced, through the verie windowes of my Palace haue [...] myne eares, whereby I vnderstande that thing which hardly I would haue beleued. But yet being a Prince as wel inclined to fauour and quiet hearing of al causes, as to credite of light reports, would faine know of you, the cause of your lamentation, and what hath moued you thervnto. For you be not ignorant, that to murmure at the Persian King, or to terme him to be vnkinde, is no lesse offence than to blaspheme the Gods immortall, bicause by auncient Lawes and Decrées they be honored and worshipped as Gods. And among all the penalties conteined in our lawes, the vice of Ingratitude is moste bitterly corrected. But leauing to speake of the threates and dangers of our lawes, I pray you to tell me wherin I haue offended you. For albeit that I am a king, yet reason persuadeth me, not to giue offence to any man, which if I shoulde doe (and the Gods forbid the same) I ought rather to be termed a tyrant than a King.’ Ariobarzanes hearing the King speake so reasonably, was abashed, but yet with stoute countenaunce he feared not particularly to remembre the wordes which he had spoken of the King, and the cause wherefore he spake them. ‘Well (sayd the King) I perceiue that you blushe not at the words, ne yet fear to reherse the same vnto my face, wherby I doe perceiue and note in you a certaine kinde of stoutenesse, which naturally [...] from the greatnesse of your minde. But yet wisedome would that you shoulde consider the reason and cause why I haue depriued you from your office. Doe you not knowe that it appertaineth [Page] vnto me in all mine affaires and déedes to be liberall, curteous, magnificent, and bounteous? Be not those the vertues that make the fame of a Prince to [...] amongs his subiects, as the Sunne beames do vpon the circuit of the worlde? Who ought to rewarde well doers, and recompence eche wight which for any seruice and aduantage haue all the dayes of their life, or else in some particuler seruice vsed their painful trauaile, or aduentured the perill of their life, but I alone béeing your soueraigne Lord and Prince? To the vertuous and obedient, to the Captaine and Souldier, to the politike and wise, to the lerned and graue: finally to eche well [...] wight, I know how to vse the noble princely vertues of Curtesie and Liberalitie. They bée the comely ensignes of a King. They be the onely ornaments of a Prince. They bée my particuler vertues. And will you Ariobarzanes béeing a valiant souldier, a graue counsailer, and a politike personage, goe aboute to dispossesse me of that which is mine? Will you which are my seruant and subiect, of whom I make greatest accompt and haue in dearest estimation, vpon whome I did bestowe the greatest dignitie within the compasse of my whole Monarchie, grate benefite at my hands, by abusing those vertues which I aboue other do principally regard? You do much abuse the credite which I repose in your greate wisedome. For hée in whome I thought to finde moste graue aduise, and déemed to bée a receptacle of all good counsell, doth seke to take vpon him the personage of his Prince, and to vsurpe the kingly state which belongeth only vnto him. Shall I be tied by your deserts, or bound by curteous dedes, or else be forced to rendre recompēce? No no, so long as this imperiall crown shall rest on royall head, no subiecte by any curteous déede of his, shall straine vnwilling minde, which meant it not before. Tel [Page] me I beséech you what rewarde and gift, what honour and preferment haue I euer bestowed vpon you, sithens my first arriuall to this victorious raigne, that euer you by due desert did binde me therunto? Which if you did, then liberall I can not bée termed, but a slauishe Prince bounde to do the same, by subiects merite. High & mightie Kings doe rewarde and aduaunce their men, hauing respect that their gift or benefite shal excede desert, otherwise that preferment can not bée termed liberall. The great conquerour Alexander Magnus, wanne a great and notable Citie for wealth and spoile. For the principalitie and gouernment wherof diuers of his noble men made sute, alleaging their painefull seruice and bloudie woundes about the getting of the same: But what did that worthie King? was he moued with the bloudshead of his Captaines? was he stirred with the valiance of his men of warre? was he prouoked with their earnest sutes? No truely: But calling vnto him a poore man, whome by chaunce he founde there, to him he gaue that riche and wealthie Citie, and the gouernement thereof, that his magnificence and liberalitie to a person so poore and base, might receiue greater fame & estimation: And to declare that the cōferred benefit did not. procede of [...] or duetie, but of mere liberalitie, very curtesie, true munificence, and noble disposition, deriued from princely heart and kingly nature. Howbeit I speake not this that a faithfull seruant shoulde be vnrewarded (a thyng very requisite) but to inferre and proue, that rewarde should excell the merite and seruice of the receiuer. Now then I say, that you going about by large desert and manifold curtesie to binde me to recompence the same, you séeke next way to cut of the meane, whereby I shoulde be liberall. Doe you not sée that through your vnaduised [...] I am preuented, and letted from mine [...] [Page] liberalitie, wherwith dayly I was wont to reward my kinde, louing and loyall seruants, to whome if they deserued one talent of gold, my maner was to giue them two or thrée: If a thousande crownes by the yeare, to giue them fiue? Do you not know that when they looked for least rewarde or preferment, the sooner did I honour and aduaunce them? Take héede then from henceforth Ariobarzanes, that you liue with suche prouidence and circumspection, as you may be knowen to be a seruaunt, and I reputed (as I am) for your soueraigne Lorde and maister. All Princes in mine opinion require. [...]. things of their seruants, that is to say, Fidelitie & Loue, which being had, they care for no more. Therfore he that list to contend with me in curtesie, shall finde in the end that I make small accompt of [...]. And he that is my trustie and faithfull seruaunt, diligent to execute and doe my commaundements, faithfull in my secrete affaires, and duetifull in his vocation, shall trulie witte and most certainly féele, that I am both curteous and liberall. Which thou thy selfe shall well perceiue, and be forced to confesse that I am the same man in déede, for curtesie and liberalitie, whom thou indeuorest to surmount. Then the king held his peace and Ariobarzanes very reuerently and stoutly made answer in this maner.’

‘Most Noble and victorious Prince: Wel vnderstanding the conceiued griefe of your inuincible minde, pleaseth your sacred maiestie to giue me leaue to answer for my selfe, not to aggrauate or heape your wrath and displeasure (which the Gods forbid) but to disclose my humble excuse before your maiestie, yt the same poized with yt equall balance of your rightful mind, my former attemptes may neither seme presumptuous, ne yet my wel meaning minde well measured with iustice, ouerbold or malapert. Most humbly then, prostrate vpon my knées, I say [Page] that I neuer went about, or else did thinke in minde, to excéede or compare with your infinite and incomprehensible bountie, but indeuored by all possible meanes, to let your grace perceiue, and the whole worlde to know, that there is nothing in the worlde which I regarde so much, or estéeme so deare, as your good grace and fauour. And mightie Ioua graunte that I doe neuer fall into so great errour to presume for to contende with the greatnesse of your mind: which fond desire if my beastly minde should apprehend, I might be likened to the man that goeth about to berieue and take away the clerenesse of the Sun, or brightnesse of the splendant starres. But euer I did thinke it to be my bounden duetie not onely of those fortunes goods which by your princely meanes I do inioy, to be a distributer and large giuer, but also bounde for the profite and aduauncement of your regal crowne and dignitie, and defence of your most noble person, of mine owne life and bloude to be both liberall and prodigall. And where your maiestie thinketh that I haue laboured to compare in curteous déede or other liberall behauior, no déede that euer I did, or fact, was euer enterprised by me for other respect, but for to get & continue your more ample fauour, and dayly to increase your loue: for that it is the seruants part with all his force and might to aspire the grace and fauor of his soueraine lord: Howbeit (most noble Prince) before this time I did neuer beleue, nor heard your grace cōfesse, that magnanimitie, gentlenesse and curtesie, wer vertues worthie of blame & correction, as your maiestie hath very [...] done me to vnderstād by words seuere & taunting checks, vnworthy for practise of such rare and noble vertues. But how so euer it be, whether life or death shall depende vpon this praiseworthie & honorable purpose, I mean hereafter to pelde my dutie to my souerain lord, & then it may please [Page] him to terme my déedes courteous or liberall, or to think of my behauior, what his own princely mind shall déeme & iudge. The King vpon those words rose vp & said: Ariobarzanes nowe it is no time to continue in further disputation of this argumēt, cōmitting the determination and iudgement hereof, to the graue deliberation of my Councell, who at conuenient leisure aduisedly shall according to the Persian lawes and customes conclude the same. And for this present time I say vnto thée, that I I am disposed to accompte the accusation made against thée to be true, and confessed by thy selfe. In the means time thou shalte repaire into thy countrey, and come no more to the Court, till I commaunde thée.’ Ariobarzanes receiuing this answere of his soueraigne Lorde, departed, and to his greate contentation, went home into his countrey, merie for that he shoulde be absent out of the dayly sight of his ennimies, yet not well pleased for that the King had remitted his cause to his Councell. Neuerthelesse minded to abide and suffer all fortune, he gaue him selfe to the pastime of hunting of Déere, running of the wilde Boare, and flying of the Hauke. This noble Gentleman had. [...]. only daughters of his wife that was deceassed, the most beautifull Gentlewomen of the countrey, the eldest of which two was péerelesse & without comparison, older than the other by one yeare. The beautie of those fair Ladies was bruted throughout the whole Region of Persia, to whome the greatest Lordes and Barons of the countrey wer great and importunate suters. He was not in his countrey resiant the space of iiij. monethes, which for salubritie of aire was most holsome and pleasant, full of lordelike liberties and gentlemanlike pastimes, as well to be done by the hounde as by the spaniell, but one of the Kings Haraulds sent from the Court, appeared before him with message to this effect, [Page] saying: ‘My lord Ariobarzanes, the King my soueraigne Lorde hath commaunded you to send with me to the Court the fairest of your two daughters, for that the report of their famous beautic hath made him hardly to beleue them to be such, as common brute would fayn do him to vnderstande.’ Ariobarzanes not wel able to conceiue the meaning of the kings commaundement, reuolued in his minde diuers things touching that demaunde, and concluding vpon one which fel to his remembrance, determined to send his yonger daughter, which (as we haue sayd before) was not in beautie comparable to hir elder sister, whereupon he caused the maiden to be sent for, and sayd vnto hir these words: ‘Daughter, the King my maister and thy soueraigne Lorde, hath by his Messanger commaunded me to send vnto him the fairest of my daughters, but for a certain reasonable respect which at this time I purpose not to disclose, my mynde is that thou shalt goe, praying thée not to say but that thou thy selfe art of the twaine the fairest, the concealing of which mine aduise will bréede vnto thée (no doubte) thy greate aduauncement, besides the profite and promotion that shall accriue by that thy silence: and the disclosing of the same may happe to engendre to thy dere father his euerlasting hindrance, and perchance the depriuation of his life; but [...] so be the King doe beget thée with childe, in any wise kéepe close the same: And when thou [...] thy [...] begin to swel, that no longer it can be closely kept, then in conuenient time, when thou séest the King most merily disposed, thou shalt tell the King that thy sister is farre more beautifull than thy self, and that thou art the yonger sister.’ The wise maiden well vnderstanding hir fathers minde, and conceiuing the summe of his intent, promised to performe his charge, & so with the Haraulde and honorable traine, he caused his daughter to be conueyed [Page] to the Courte. An easie matter it was to deceiue the King in the beautie of that maiden. For although the elder daughter was the fairest, yet this Gentlewomā séemed so péerelesse in the Court, that without comparison she appeared the most beautifull that was to be [...] either in Courte or countrey: the behauiour and semblance of which two daughters were so like, that hard it was to iudge whether of them was the eldest. For their father had so kept them in, that seldome they were séene within his house, or at no time marked when they walked abroade. The wife of the King was deade the space of one yere beforé, for which cause he determined to marie the daughter of Ariobarzanes, who although shée was not of the royall bloud, yet of birthe she was right noble. When the King saw this Gentlewoman, he iudged hir to be the fairest that euer he sawe or heard of by report, whom in the presence of his noble mē he [...] did marrie, & seut vnto hir father to appoint the [...] of his married daughter out of hande, and to returne the same by that messanger. When Ariobarzanes herd tell of this vnhoped mariage, right ioyefull for that [...] cesse, sent vnto his daughter yt dowrie which he had promised to giue to eyther of his daughters. Many of the Courte did maruell, that the King béeing in aged yeares would mary so yong a maiden, specially the daughter of his subiect, whome he had vanished from the Courte. Some praised the Kings disposition for taking hir whom he fansied: Eche man speakyng his [...] minde, [...] to the diuers customes of men. Notwithstanding there were diuers that moued the King to that mariage, thereby to force him to confesse, that by taking of the goodes of Ariobarzanes, he might be called Courtenus and Liberall. The mariage being solemnized in very [...] and princely guise, Ariobarzanes sente [Page] to the King the like dowrie which before he had sent him for mariage of his daughter, with message to this effect: That for so much as hée had assigned to his daughters two certain dowries to marie them to their equal [...], and seing that he which was without exception, was the husbande of the one, his duetie was to bestow vpon his grace, a more greater gift, than to any other which shold haue bene his sonne in lawe. But the King woulde not receiue the increase of his dowrie, déeming him self well satisfied with the beautie and good cōdicions of his new spouse, whome he entertained & honored as Quéene. In the meane time she was great with childe with a sonne (as afterwardes in the birth it appered) which so wel as she coulde she kept close and secrete, but afterwards perceiuing hir bellie to ware bigge, the greatnesse whereof she was not able to hide, being vpon a time with yt King and in familiar disporte, she like a wise and sobre Lady, induced matter of diuers argumēt, amongs which as occasion serued, she disclosed to the King, that she was not the fairest of hir fathers daughters, but hir elder sister more beautifull than she. The King hearing that, was greatly offended with Ariobarzanes, for that he had not accomplished his commaundement: and albeit he loued well his wife, yet to attaine the effect of his desire, he called his Haraulde vnto him, whome he had firste sent to make request for his wife, and with him returned again his new maried spouse vnto hir father, cōmaunding him to say these words: That for so much as he knewe him self to be vanquished and ouercome by the Kings humanitie, his grace did maruell, that in place of Curtesie, he would vse such contumacie and disobedience, by sending vnto him, not the fairest of his daughters whiche he required, but such as he himselfe liked to sende. A matter no doubt worthy to be sharpely punished and [...]. [Page] For which cause the King being not a litle offended, [...] home his daughter againe, and willed him to sende his eldest daughter, and that he had returned the dowrie which he gaue with his yonger. Ariobarzanes receiued his daughter and the dowrie with willing minde, & sayd these words to the Harauld: ‘Mine other daughter which the King my soueraigne Lord requireth, is not able presently to go with thée, bicause in hir bed she lieth sick, as thou mayst manifestly perceiue if thou com into hir chā ber: but say vnto the King, ye vpon my faith & allegiance so soone as she is recouered, I will sende hir to the court.’ The Haraulde séeing the maiden lie sicke on hir bedde, weake and impotent, not able to trauell, returned to the King, and tolde him of the sicknesse of the eldest daughter of Ariobarzanes, wher withall being satiffied, he attended the successe of his desired sute. The [...] man no sooner béeing recouered, but the time of the others childbirth was come, which brought forth a goodly boy, both the mother safely brought to bed, and the childe strong and lusty. Which greately contented and pleased Ariobarzanes, and the greater grew his ioy therof, for that he sawe the childe to be like vnto the King his father. And by that time the yong Gentlewoman was rysen from hir childbed, the sister was perfectly whole, & had recouered hir former hiewe & beautie, both which being richely apparelled, Ariobarzanes with an honourable traine, sent vnto the King, instructing them first what they ought to say and do. When they [...] arriued at the Courte, one of the priuie chambre [...] the Kyng that Ariobarzanes had not onely sent one of his daughters, but bothe of them being so many as hée had. The King hearing and séeing the liberalitie of Ariobarzanes, accepted the same in gracious part, and determined for that his [...] [...], [...] [...] [...] with [...] princely liberalitie, [Page] as he should be forced to confesse him self ouercom. And before the messanger which had broughte the yong Gentlewoman did departe, he caused to be called before him his onely sonne called Cyrus vnto whom he sayde: ‘Bicause Cyrus the time of thy yeares be suche, as mete they be to matche thée in mariage, for hope I haue to sée some progenie procede of thée before I die, my mynde is that thou shalt marie this goodly Gentlewoman here, the sister of my wife. To which his fathers hest, the yong Gentleman willingly [...].’ Then the King toke againe his owne, and ordeined a royall feast, for the mariage of his sonne, which was celebrated and done with greate triumph and solemnitie, continuing the space of viij. days. Ariobarzanes hearing these good newes, wold not yet acknowledge him selfe to be ouercome, and séeing that his purpose was now brought to an extremitie, determined to sende the little childe, a litle before begotten of his daughter, to the King, which so resembled the Kings face and countenaunce as was possible. And therfore caused [...] to bée made of the fairest yuorie that was to be [...], [...] and garnished with pure golde, [...] and set with moste precious stokes and Ieinels, wherin he caused the childe to be placed, and couered with rich clothes of finest gold and silke, and together with the nourice, [...] with a pompous [...] of Gentlemen, he sente hun to the King, the very [...] that the solemne mariage should be celebrated. And the King being in his great [...], which was hanged with maruellous rich and costly Arras, attended vpon with a [...] [...] [...] Barons and noble men, he that had the charge of the conduction of the childe, vpon his knées presented the same before him, lying in the cradle. The King and the noble men, maruelling what that did mean expected what the messanger [...] say, who holding the [Page] [...] by one of the pomels, sayde these wordes: ‘Most renoumed and victorious Prince, in the behalfe of Ariobarzanes my Lorde and your subiecte, moste humbly I present vnto your [...], with al submission and reuerence, this gift. And my sayde Lorde doth rendre infinite thankes vnto your highnesse, for the great [...] it hath pleased you to vse, by [...] to entertaine him into your alliance. For which not to séeme [...], this present (and ther withall he opened the cradle) by me he hath [...] vnto your maiestie. When the cradle was discouered, there appeared a goodly yong childe, smiling and laughing vpon his father, the ioyfullest sight that euer his father sawe, and so like vnto him, as the halfe Moone is lyke the proportion of the reste.’ Then euery of the standers by beganne to say his minde touching the resemblaunce of the childe to his father, hardily protestyng the same without doubte to be his owne. The King coulde not bée satisfied with the sight of his childe, by reason of the greate delight he had to looke vppon [...], and of the generall opinion whiche all men [...] touching his likenesse. The childe againe vpon the common reioyce made vpon hym, but specially of his father, with preatie motions and swéete laughings, representing two smilyng pyttes in his ruddie [...], crowed many tymes vpon his father, toying [...] and downe his tender hands. Afterwardes the King behelde the workmanship of that sumptuous cradle, and demaunded whereof the substaunce was. Unto whome the Messanger described the historie and whole contente of that incomparable Iewell. Who [...] that discourse, caused the Quéene to be called forth, and by hir was further certified of hir fathers Noble disposition, with excéeding contentation, and wonderfull reioyce, he receiued the little childe, and [...] hym selfe in maner [Page] vanquished. Not withstandyng, séemyng to bée thus surmounted, hée thoughte if hée dyd not surpasse this Curtesie, his Noble and Princely mynde should be disgraced. Wherefore hée determined to vse a kynde of Magnanimitie, therby eyther to ouercome Ariobarzanes, or else hauing apparant occasion altogether to fall out and to conceyue a mortall malice against him.

The King had a daughter of the age of. xxi. yeares, a very faire and comely Lady (according as hir royall education and princely bringing vp required) whome as yet he had not matched in mariage, meanyng to bestowe hir vpon some King or greate Monarch, with a dowrie of ten hundred thousand Crownes, bisides the princely and great costlye apparell and Iewells, which hir owne mother lying vppon hir death bedde did bequeathe hir.

The King then purposing to excell Ariobarzanes, minded by couplyng hym with his daughter; to make hym his sonue in lawe: Which to a Ladie of royall Linage, appeareth some debacing of hir noble bloud, to bée matched with a man of inferiour birth. The like to a man howe honorable so euer he bée can not chaunce, if he take a wyfe of degrée neuer so base. For if he bée borne of noble and gentle kinde, hée doth illustrate and aduaunce the woman whome hée taketh, all be it she were of the meanest trampe of the popular forto, and the chyldren which bée borne of them, by the fathers meanes, shall be noble and of gentle kynde. But a woman, although shée bée moste Noble, if she bée married to[?] hir inferiour, and that hir husbande bée not fo noble, the children that shall bée borne of them shall not receyue the honour of the mothers storke, but the state of the fathers lotte, and so shall be vnnoble. Such is the Reuerence and Authoritie of the [...]ere of [...]a [...], where vppon doeth ryse comparyson of the wyse, whiche doth resemble the man [Page] vnto the Sunne, and the woman to the Moone. For we sée that the Moone of hir selfe doth not giue light, ne yet can yelde any brightnesse to the darknesse of the night, if the did not partake some shining of the Sun, who with his liuely flames at times and places, doth brighten the Starres, and maketh the Moone to shine. Euen so the woman dependeth of the man, and of him doth take hir nobilitie. The King therefore thoughte the matche not mete for Ariobarzanes to marrie his daughter, and [...] red he shoulde incurre some blemishe of his house. But for all respect and feare of shame, the emulation whiche he had to be victorious of his forced curtesie, did surpasse. Wherefore he sent for Ariobarzanes to come vnto the Court. And he vpon that commaundement came. And so soone as he was entred the Palace, he repaired to do his reuerence vnto the king, of whome he was welcomed with glad and ioyfull entertainement. And after they had a while debated of diuers matters, the King sayde vnto him: ‘Ariobarzanes, for so much as thou art without a wife, we [...] to bestowe vpon thée a Gentlewoman, which not onely we well like and loue, but also is suche a one, as thou thy selfe shalt be well contented to take.’ Ariobarzanes answered, that he was at his commaundement: And that such choyse as pleased his Maiestie, shoulde very well content and satisfie him. Then the King caused his daughter, [...] [...] [...] attired to come before him, and there openly in presence of the [...] Courte, commaunded that Ariobarzanes shoulde marrie hir. Which with séemely ceremonies being [...], Ariobarzanes shewed litle ioy of that parentage, and in apparance made as though he cared not for his wife. The nobles and Gentleman of the Court [...] to sée the straunge [...] of the [...], consideryng the great [...] [...] of their [Page] Prince towards his subiect, by taking him for his father and sonne in lawe: and greatly murmured to sée the obstinacie and rudenesse of Ariobarzanes, towardes the King and the faire newe maried spouse, much blaming and rebuking his vnkinde demeanour. Ariobarzanes that day fared as though he were besides him selfe, voide of ioy and mirth, where all the rest of the Courte spent the time in sport and triumph, the Ladies and noble women together with the King and Quéene them selues, dauncing and [...], vntill the time of night did force [...] wight to retire to their chambers. Notwithstanding the King did marke the gesture and countenance of Ariobarzanes, and after the bankette, the King in solemne guise and greate pompe caused his daughter to bée accompanied with a great train to the lodging of Ariobarzanes, and to be caried with hir hir princely dowrie, where Ariobarzanes very honourably receyued his wife, and at that instant, in the presence of all the noble men and Barons that waited vpon the Bride, he doubled the dowrie receyued, and the same with the ten hū dred thousand crownes, giuen him by the King, he sent backe againe. This vnmeasured Liberalitie séemed passing straunge vnto the King, and bredde in him such disdaine, as doubtfull he was whether to yelde, or to condemne him to perpetual banishment. The King thought that the greatnesse of Ariobarzanes minde was inuincible; and was not able paciently to suffer, that a subiect in matters of Curtesie and liberalitie, shoulde compare with his King and maister. Herewithall the King conceiuing malice, coulde not tell what to say or do. An easy matter it was to perceiue the rage and [...] of the king, who was so sore displeased, as he bare good looke and coū tenance to no man. And bicause in those days the Persian kings [...] honored and reuerenced as Gods, there [Page] was a lawe that when the king was driuen into a [...] or had conceiued a iust displeasure, he shoulde manifest vnto his counsellers, the cause of his anger, who afterwards by mature diligēce hauing examined the cause, [...] finding yt king to be [...] displesed, shold seke means of his appeasing. But if they founde his anger & displeasure to be iustly cōceiued, the cause of the same, according to the qualitie of the offence, little or great, they shoulde punishe, either by banishment or capital death. The sentence of whome should passe and be pronounced without appeale: Howbeit lawfull it was for the kyng, the pronounced sentence, either in all, or in part, to diminishe the paine, or clearely to assoile the partie. Wherby it euidently appeared, that the Counsellers sentence once [...] termined, was very iustice, and the kings will if he pardoned, was mere grace and mercy. The King then was constrained by [...] statutes of his kingdom to disclose [...] to his Counsell the cause of his displeasure, which parti cularly he recited. The Counsellers when they heard the reasons of the king, sent for Ariobarzanes, of whome by due examination, they gathered, that in diuors causes he had prouoked the kings offence. Afterwards the lords of the Counsell, vpon the proposed question began to argue, by inuestigation & serch wherof, in the end they iudged Ariobarzanes worthy to lose his head. For that he woulde not onely compare, but also goe about to [...] him in things [...], and to she we him self discontented with the mariage of his daughter, & vnthankfull of the benefites so curteously bestowed vpon him. A custome was obserued among the Persians, that in euery act or enterprise, wherin the seruant endeuored to surpasse and vanquishe his lorde and maister (albeit the attempt were commendable and praise worthy) for [...] of want of duetie, or contempt to the royall Maiestie, he [Page] [...] lose his best ioynt. And for better confirmation of their iudgement, the Counsellers alleaged a certain [...] sentence, registred in their Chronicles, [...] done by the Kings of Persia. The cause was this: One of the Kings of that Region disposed to disporte with certain of his noble men abrode in the fields, went a Hanking, and with the [...] to flie at diuers gante. Within a while they sprang a Hearon, and the Kyng commanded that one of the Faulcons which was a notable swift and soaring Hauke, shold be cast off to the Hearon: which done, the Hearon began to mount, and the Faucon spéedily pursued, and as the Hauke after many batings and intercourses, was about to seaze vpon the Hearon, he espied an Egle. The stoute Hauke séeing the Egle, gaue ouer the fearfull Hearon, and with swift [...] flewe towards the Egle, and fiercely attempted to [...] vpon hir. But the Egle very stoutly defended [...] self, that the Hauke was forced to let go hir hold. In the end [...] good Hauke, with hir sharpe talands, again seazed vpon the Egles neck, & with hir beake strake hir starke dead, wherwithall she fell downe amidde the companie that waited vpon the King. All the Barons and Gentlemen, highly cōmended and praised the Hauke, affirming that a better was not in the worlde, attributing vnto the same such praise, as they thought mete. The King for all the acclamations and shoutes of the troupe, spake not a worde, but stode musing with him selfe, and did neither praise nor blame yt Hauke. It was very late in the euening, when the Faucon killed the Egle, and therefore the King commaunded eche man to depart to the Citie. The next day the King caused a Goldsmith to make an excéeding faire crown of Gold, apt and mete for the [...] head. Afterwards when he saw time conuenient, he [...] that in the market place of the Citie, a pearche [Page] should be erected; and [...] with tapestrie, Arras, [...] other costly furnitures, suche as Princes palaces are [...] decked withall. Thither with sound of [...] he caused the Falcon to be conueyed, where the King [...] ded one of his noble men to place the Crowne vpon his head, for prise of the excellent pray atchieued vppon the Egle. Then he caused the hangman or common executioner of the Citie, to take the Crowne from the Faucon, and with the trenchant sworde to cut of his head. Upon these contrary [...] the beholders of this sight were amazed, and began diuersly to talke thereof. The King which at a window stoode to beholde this fact, caused silence to be kepte, and so loude opened his Princely voice, as he was well hearde speaking these wordes:

‘There ought (good people) none of you all to [...] and grudge at the present fact executed vpō the Faucon, bicause the same is done vpon good reason and iust cause as by processe of my discourse you shall well perceyue. I am persuaded that it is the office and duetie of euery magnanimous prince, to know the valor and difference betwene vertue and vice, that all vertuous actes & [...] thie attempts may be honoured, and the contrary [...] & punished, otherwise he is not worthy of the name of a King and Prince, but of a cruell and traiterous tyrant. For as the Prince beareth the title by principalitie and chief, so ought his life chiefly to excell other, whome he gouerneth and ruleth. The bare title and dignitie is not sufficient, if his condicions and moderation bée not to that supreme state [...]. Full well I knew and did consider to be in this dead Faucon, a certaine generositie and stoutnesse of minde, ioyned with a certaine fierce [...] and nimblenesse, for which I crowned and rewarded hir with this golden garland, bicause of the stoute slaughter which she made vpon that mightie [Page] Egle, worthie for that [...] and prowesse to be honoured after that solemne guise. But when I considered how boldly and rashely she assailed and killed the Egle, which is [...] Quéene and maistresse, I thought it a part of iustice, that for hir bolde and vncomely act, she shoulde suffer the paine due to hir [...]. For vnlaufull it is for the seruaunte, and vnduetifull for the subiecte, to imbrue his handes in the bloud of his soueraigne Lord. The Faulcon then hauing slaine hir Quéene, and of all other birdes the soueraigne, who can with reason blame me for cutting of the Falcons head? Doubtlesse none, that hath respecte to the quiete state betweene the Prince and subiect.’

This example the [...] alleaged against Ariobarzanes when they pronoūced sentence, And applying the same to him, ordeined that first Ariobarzanes, for his Magnanimitie and liberall Curtesie should be crowned with a Laurel Garland for the generositie of his minde and excéeding curtesie, but for his great emulation, earnest endeuour, and continuall [...] to contende, with his prince, and in Liberalitie to shew him selfe superior, [...] the [...] [...] spéech vttered against him, his hed ought to be striken of. Ariobarzanes being aduertised of this seuere [...], he purposed to sustain the [...] darte of Fortune, as he had endured other bruntes of that enuious inconstant Lady, and in suche maner behaued and directed his [...] and countenance, as no signe of choler or dispaire appeared in him, onely pronouncing this sentence with ioyful [...] in the presence of many. ‘Glad I am that at length there resteth in me so much to be liberal, as I employ my life and bloud, to declare the same to my soueraigne Lorde, which right willingly I meane to do, that the world may know, that I had rather lose my life, than to saint and giue ouer in [Page] mine [...] liberalitie.’ Then calling a Notarie vnto him, he made his will (for so it was lawful by the Persian lawes) and to his wife and daughters he increased the dowries, and to his kinsfolk and frends [...] bequethed diuers riche & bountifull legacies. To the King he [...] a great numbre of most precious Jewels. To Cyrus the Kings sonne, and his by mariage (bisides a great masse of money) he bequeathed all his armure and [...], with all his instrumentes for the warres, and his whole stable of horsse. Last of all he ordeined, that if (perhaps) his wife shoulde be founde with childe, and broughte to bed of a Sonne, he should be his vniuersall heire: But if a woman childe, to haue the like dowrie that his other daughters had. The rest of his goods and cattell he gaue indifferently to all. iii. equally to bée deuided. He prouided also, that all his [...] according to their degrée, should be rewarded. The day before he shoulde be put to death (according to the custome of Persia) his praises and valiant factes, as well by Epitaphes fixed vpon [...], as by [...], were generally sounded [...] the Realme, in suche wise as eche wight [...] [...] him to be the moste liberall and noble personage that was in all the Countrey, and in the borders [...] vpon the same. And if there had not bene some enuious persones néere the King, which studied and practised his ouerthrow, all other would haue déemed him vnworthy of death. Such is the enuie of the maliciously disposed, that rather than they would sée their equals to be in [...] [...] with the Prince than them selues, studie and deuise all policie, either by flatterie or false [...], to bring them in discredite, or to practise by false accusation, their vtter subuersion by death or vanishement. But whiles [...] was disposing his things in order, his wife and daughters with his friends and [...], [Page] were affected with great sorow day and night, complaining for the heauie [...] of that noble Gentleman. The eight day [...] [...] (for the lawe allowed that space to the condemned, for disposition of their things) a skaffolde was made by commaundement of the King, in the middes of the Market place, all couered with blacke [...], and an other righte ouer against the same with purple and [...], where the King (if he [...]) in the mids of the Judges should sitte, and the inditement redde, iudgement (by the Kings owne mouth declared) shoulde be executed, or if it pleased him, discharge and assoile the condemned. And the King vnwilling to be present, gaue to one of the [...] Judges, his full power and authoritie. But yet sorrowfull that a Gentleman so noble and valiant, his father and [...] in lawe, should finishe his life with a death so horrible, would néedes that morning be presente him selfe at that execution, as well to sée the continent and stoute ende of Ariobarzanes, as also to take order for his deliuerie. [...] the time was come, Ariobarzanes by the [...] and [...] was brought vnto the Skaffolde, and there apparelled in riche [...], the Laurell Crowne was set vpon his head, and so continuing for a certaine space, the garmente and Crowne was taken off from his head, together with his other apparel. The Executioner [...] for commaundement to doe his office, and lifting vp his sworde to do the facte, [...] King desired to sée the countenaunce of Ariobarzanes, who neuer chaunged colour for all that terrour of death. The King séeing the great constancie and inuincible minde of Ariobarzanes, spake [...] that all men might heare hym, these wordes:

‘Thou knowest Ariobarzanes, that it is not I, whych haue wroughte thy condemnation, ne yet by [...] desyre haue soughte thy bloude, to bryng thée [Page] to this extremitie, but it hath bene thy yll disordred life, and the statutes of [...] [...], which haue found thée guiltie, and therevpon sentence and death pronounced, and execution now redie to be done, and the minister redie to aduaunce his arme, to play the last acte of this tragedie: And yet for that our holy lawes doe giue libertie that I may assoile and deliuer whome I list, and them restore to their former state, if nowe thou wilt acknowledge thy selfe vanquished and ouer come, and accept thy life in gratefull part, I will pardon thée, and restore thée to thine offices and promotions.’ Ariobarzanes hearing these wordes, knéeled downe with his head declined, and expecting the blow of the sworde, lifted by himselfe, and turning his face to the King, perceiuing his malice not so sore bente against him as the enuie and malice of his ennimies desired, he determined to proue and vse the pitifull liberalitie and fauor of his soueraigne Lorde, that his foes by his death might not triumph, ne yet attaine the thing, for which so long they aspired. Wherefore in reuerent wise [...] before his maiestie, with a [...] & perfect voice sayd these words: ‘Most victorious & merciful soueraine Lord, in equal worship and honour to the immortall Gods, sith of thy abundant grace and mercie it hath pleased thée to graunt me life, I do most humbly accept the same, which if I wist should be prolonged in thy disgrace and wrath, coulde not be pleasaunt vnto me, and therfore do [...] my self altogether [...] & ouercome. I most humbly then do giue thée [...] for preseruation of the same, hoping hereafter to employ the vttermost of mine endeuoure for the benefite and honour of thy Crowne and dignitie, as readily and without supplication made in my behalfe, thou hast [...] to restore the same. And sith thy [...] hath reuiued me thine humble [...], I [...] thy maiestie to [Page] giue me leaue to say my minde, trusting thereby to doe thée to vnderstande the effecte and cause of that my former presumption.’ The King made signes that he should rise and boldly speake the summe of his desire. When he was vpon his féete, silence was proclaimed: who then began to speake these wordes: ‘Two things there bée, (most sacred Prince) which doubtlesse doe resemble the raging waues of surging seas, and the mutabilitie of vnstable windes, and yet greate is the follie of an infinite numbre, which imploy their whole care and diligence to séeke the same. These two things wherof I speake, and be so derely beloued of flattering courtiers, are the grace and fauour of their soueraine Lord, and the luring loue of Amorous dames: which two things doe so often beguile the Courtly Gentleman, that in the ende they engendre nought else but repentance. And to begin with ye loue of Ladies, they, as by common experiēce is proued, most commonly do recline to their inferiours. It is dayly sene by too much vnhappie proofe, that a yong Gentlemā by birth comely and noble, & otherwise riche, vertuous, and indued with many goodly gifts, shall choose and worship one for his soueraigne Ladie and maistresse, and hir shall serue and honour with the same faith and fidelitie due to the immortall Gods, and shal not sticke to employ for hir loue and seruice all the possible power and trauell be is able to doe, and yet shée in despite of all his humble endeuour, shal loue an other voide of all vertue, making him possessour of that benefite, after which the other séeketh, and she not long cōstant in that minde, afterwadrs will attend vnto the first suter, but in such mouable and [...] sort, as the wandring starres (through their naturall instabilitie) be moued to and fro, and him in the ende will suffre to fall headlong into the bottomlesse pit of dispaire: and he that asketh hir the reason of this varietie, [Page] she maketh none other answere but that hir pleasure is such, and wilful will to dallie with hir suters, that seldome times a true and perfit louer can fasten his foote on certaine holde, but that his life is tossed vp and downe like the whirling blastes of the inconstant windes. In like maner in the Courts of Kings and Princes, he which is in fauour with his soueraigne Lord in al mens eyes, so great and neare, as it séemeth the Prince is disposed to resolue vpon nothing without his aduise & coū sell, when such fauoured person shall employ his whole care and industrie to maintaine and increase the cōmenced grace of his soueraigne Lorde, beholde, vpon the sodaine, his mind and vaine is changed, and an other without desert, which neuer carked or laboured to win good will, is taken in place, cherished as though he had serued him an hundred yeares before: and he that was the first minion of the Court in greatest grace and estimation, is in a moment despised, and out of all regarde. An other, within fewe days after, shall be brought in place of the other twaine, very diligent and carefull to serue, trained vp in Courtly exercise, whose mindefull minde shall bée so caring ouer his lordes affaires, as vpon the safegarde and preseruation of his owne propre life. But all his labour is employed in vaine: and when the aged dayes of his expired life approch, for the least displeasure he shall be thrust out without rewarde for former trauell, that right aptly the Common Prouerb may be applied: The common Courtiers life is like a golden miserie, and the faithfull seruant an Asse perpetuall. I haue séene my self the right wel learned man to [...] in Court for want of meate, and a blockish beast voide of vertue for lust and not for merite, aduaunced and made a Gentleman. But this may chaunce bicause his lorde is not disposed to lerning and vertue, little estéeming those that be affected [Page] with good sciences for lacke of carefull trayning vp in youthfull days, or else for that their mind can not frame with the gentle spirites of them, the closets of whose brests be charged and fraught with infinite loades of lerning, and haue not ben noscled in trade of Courtes, ne yet can vse due courtly spéeche, or with vnblushing face can shuffle them selues in presence of their betters, or commen with Ladies of dame [...] toyes: or race of birth not mingled with the noble or gentle Sire. For these causes perhaps that vertuous wight can not attain the happe of Fortunes giftes. Which person though in Court he be not estéemed, in Schoolehouse of good arte yet déemed famous, and for his worthy skill right worthy to be preferred aboue the heauens. In semblable wise, how oftentimes and commonly is it séene that the man perchance which neuer thou sawest before, so soone as he is séene of thée, sodainly he is detested like a plage, & the more earnest he is to do thée seruice and plesure, the greater is thy wrath bent towards him? Contrarywise, some other vpon the first view shal so content and please thée, as if he require the bestowing of thy life, thou hast no power to denie him, thou art in loue with him, and let him twhart thy minde and will neuer so much, thou carest not for it, all is wel he doth. But that these varieties doe procéede from some certaine temprement of bloud within the body conformed and moued by some inward celestiall power, who doubteth? And surely the foundation of these Courtly mutations, is the pricking venomous [...] of pestiferous Enuie, which continually holdeth the fauour of Princes in ballance, and in a moment hoisteth vp him whiche was belowe, and poizeth downe againe him that was exalted. So that no plague or poison is more pestiferous in Courtes, than the hurtfull disease of Enuie. All other vices with little paine [Page] and lesse labour may easily be cured, and so pacified, as they shal not hurt thée: but rooted Enuie by any meanes is discharged, with no pollicie is expelled, ne yet by any drugge or medicine purged. Uerily without great daunger, I know not which way the poinaunt bittes of Enuie can be auoided. The proude man in Courte, the arrogant and ambicious, the loftie minded foole, more eleuate and lustie than Pride it selfe, if reuerence bée done to him, if he be honoured, if place be giuen to him, if he be praised and glorified aboue the heauens, if thou humble thy selfe to him, by and by he will take thée to be his frende, and will déeme thée to bée a curteous and gentle companion. Let the lasciuious and wanton person giuen to the pleasures and lust of women, fixing his minde on nothing else but vpon fugitiue pleasures, if his loue bée not impeached, ne yet his wanton toyes reproued, if he be praised before his Ladie, he will euer be thy friende. The couetous and gluttonous carle, if first thou make him quaffe a money medicine, and afterwardes byd him to thy [...], the one and other disease is spéedily cured. But for the enuious person, what phisicke can be sought to purge his pestiferous humour? Which if thou go about to heale and cure, rather muste thou remedie the same by wasting the life of him that is so possessed, than finde causes of recouerie. And who knoweth not (most [...] Prince) that in your Courte there bée some attached with that poisoned plague, who séeing me your maiesties humble vassall in greater fauor with your grace, than they, my seruice more acceptable than theirs, my prowesse and exercise in armes more worthy thā theirs, my diligence more industrious than theirs: my aduise and counsell more auaileable than theirs, all mine other déedes and doings in better estimation than theirs: They I say, dallied in the lappe of the cancred witch dame Enuie, [Page] by what meanes are they to be recouered? by what meanes their infection purged? by what meanes their malice cured? If not to. sée me depriued of your grace, expelled from your court, and cast headlong into the gulfe of death extreme? If I shoulde bribe them with greate rewardes, if I shoulde honour them with humble reuerence, if I shoulde exalt them aboue the skies, if I shold employ the vttermost of my power, to doe them seruice, all is frustrate and caste away. They will not ceasse to bring me into [...], they will not spare to reduce me to miserie, they will not sticke to imagine all deuises for mine anoyance, when they sée all other remedies impotent and vnable. This is the poysoned plague which enuenometh all Princes Courtes. This is the mischiefe whiche destroyeth all Kingdomes. This is the monster that deuoureth al vertuous enterprises, & offendeth eche gentle spirit. This is the dimme vaile which so ouershadoweth the cléerenesse of the eyes, as the bright beames of veritie can not be séene, and so obscureth the equitie of iustice, as right from falshode can not be discerned. This is the manifest cause that bredeth a thousand errours in the works of men. And to draw nere to the effect of this my tedious talke, briefly, there is no vice in the worlde, that more outragiously corrupteth Princes courtes, that more vnfrendly vntwineth Frendships band, that more vnhappily subuerteth noble houses, than the poyson of Enuie. For hée that inclineth his eares to the enuious person, he that attendeth to his malignant deuises, vnpossible it is for him to do any déede that is either good or vertuous. But to finish and ende for auoiding of wearinesse, and not to stay your maiestie from your weightie affaires, I say that the Enuious man reioyceth not so much in his owne good turnes, nor gladdeth him [...] so greatly with his owne commodities, as he doth insulte, [Page] and laugh at the discōmoditie and hinderance of others, at whose profite and gaine he sorroweth and lanienteth, and to put out both the eyes of his companion, the enuious man careth not to pluck out one of his owne. These wordes (most inuincible Prince) I purposed to speake in the presence of your Maiestie, before your garde & courtlyke traine, and in the vniuersall hearing of all the people, that eche wighte may vnderstande, howe I not of your maiesties pretenced malice, or mine owne committed fault, but through the venomous tongues of the ettuious, fell into the lapse of your displeasure.’ This most true oration of Ariobarzanes greatly pleased the noble Prince, and although he felt him selfe somwhat touched therewith, yet knowing it to bée certaine and true, and that in time to come the same myght profite all sortes of people, he greatly praised him in the presence of al the assemblie. Wherfore Ariobarzanes hauing recouered his life, and confessing himself to be vanquished & ouercome by the King that knew the valour and fealtie of that noble Gentleman, and louing him with heartie [...], he caused him to come downe from the mournyng scaffolde, and to ascende the place where he was hym selfe, whome he imbraced and kissed, in token that all displeasure was remitted. All his auncient offices were restored to hym againe, and for his further aduauncement, he gaue him the citie of Passagarda, where was the olde monument of King Cyrus, and made him Lieuetenant generall of all his Realmes and [...], commaunding euery of his subiectes to obey him as his owne person. And so the Kingrested the honourable father in [...] to Ariobarzanes, and his louing sonne by Mariage, crauing still in all his enterprises, his graue aduise and counsell. And there was neuer thing of any importance done, but his liking or disliking was first demaunded. [Page] Ariobarzanes then returned into greater grace and fauour of his soueraigne lorde than before, and for his singuler vertue, hauing dispersed and broken the armes and malice of all his enimies, if before he were curteous and liberall, after these so stout aduentures he became more than Princely in his déedes, and if somtimes he had done one curteous act, now he doubled the same. But such was his Magnanimitie, so noble were his indeuours, tempred with such measure and equanimitie, as the whole worlde clearely might discerne, that not to contende with his soueraigne Lorde, but to honour him to expresse the Maiestie of his Prince, he imployed the goods and liuing which the King and Fortune had boū tifully bestowed vpon him: Who vntill his dying day famously mainteined him selfe in the good grace and fauour of his Prince, in such wise as the King more clerely than the shining Sunnebeames, knew Ariobarzanes to be framed of Nature for a christalline mirrour of curtesie and Liberalitie, and that more easie it was to berieue the fire of heate, and the Sunne of light, than despoile Ariobarzanes of his glorious déedes. Wherefore he ceassed not continually to honour, exalte, and enriche him, that he might vse the greater liberalitie. And to say the truthe, although these two vertues of [...] and Liberalitie be commendable in all persons, without the which a man truly is not he wherof he bereth the name yet very sitting and mete it is for euery riche and welthie subiect, to beware howe he doth compare in those noble vertues with Princes and great men, whiche béeing right noble and péerelesse vpon earth, can abide no comparisons, which according to the Prouerbe be odious and hateful.

[Page]

Aristotimus the Tyrant.
The fifth Nouell.

¶ LVCIVS one of the Garde to ARISTOTIMVS the Tirant of the Citie of [...], fell in loue with a faire maiden called MICCA, the daughter of one [...], and his crueltie done vpon hir. The stoutnesse also of a noble Matrone named MEGISTONA in defence of hir husbande and the common wealth from the tyrannie of the sayd ARISTOTIMVS: and of other actes done by the subiects vpon that Tyrant.

YOu haue heard, or as it were in a manner, you haue beholden the right images & curteous conditions of two well conditioned persons mutually eche towards other obserued. In the one a Princely mind towards a noble Gentleman his subiecte: In the other a dutiefull obedience of a louing vassall to his soueraigne Lorde and Maister. In both of them the true figure of Liberalitie in liuely orient colours described. Now a contrary plotte, yll grounded vpon extreme tyrannie, is offred to the viewe, done by one Aristotimus and his clawbacks, against his humble subiects of the citie of Elis, standyng in Peloponessus, a countrey of Achaia (which at this day we call Morea.) This Aristotimus [Page] of nature was fierce and passing cruell, who by [...] of king Antigonus was made Tyran of that Citie. And like a Tyran gouerned his Countrie by abuse of his authoritie with newe wrongs and straunge cruelties, vering and afflicting the poore Citizens and all his people. Which chaunced not so much for that of himself he was cruel and tyrannous, as for that his Counsellours and chief about him were barbarous and vicious men, to whom he committed the charge of his kingdom & the guarde of his person. But amongs al his mischiefes wrongfully done by him, which were innumerable, one committed against Philodemus, (the same which afterwardes was the cause, of the depriuation of his life and kingdom) is speciallie remembred. This Philodemus had a daughter called Micca that not onelie for hir right chast and honest qualities and condicions which [...] florished in hir, but for hir extreame & goodlie beautie, was in that Citie of passing [...] and admiration. With this fair maiden one of the Tyrants guard called Lucius fell in loue, if it deserue to be called loue, and not rather, as the end full well declared, a most filthie and heastlie lust. This Lucius was derelie beloued of Aristotimus, for the flendish resemblāce and wicked [...] of his vile & abhominable condicions: and therefore feared and obeyed as the Tyrants owne person. For which cause this Lucius sent one of the [...] of the kings chambre, to [...] Philodemus at an appointed houre al excuses set apart, to bring his daughter vnto him. The parents of the maiden hearing this sodain and fearefull message, constrained by Tyrants force and fatall necessitie, after many teares and [...] sighes, began to persuade their daughter to be contented to goe with hym, declaring vnto hir the rigour of the magistrate that had sent for hir, the [...] that would be executed, & that [Page] there was no other remedie: but to obey. Alas, how sore against their willes, with what trembling gessure, with what [...] the good parents of this [...] [...] were affected, to consider the purpose of that dreadfull message, all dere fathers, and naturall mothers can tell. But this gētle maiden [...], which was of nature stout, & [...] lessoned with sundrie right good and holsome instructions from hir infantes age, was determined rather to die than to suffer hir self to be defloured. This [...] maiden fell downe prostrate at hir fathers féete, and clasping him fast about the knées, louingly did pray him, and pitifully besought him, not to suffer hir to be haled to so [...] and vile an office, but rather with the piercing blade of a two edged sword to kill hir, that thereby she might be rid from the violation of those fleshlie and [...] varlets, saying, that if hir virginitie were taken from hir, she should liue in eternall reproche and shame. As the father and daughter were in these termes, Lucius for the long tariance and [...], dronke with the wine [...] lechery, made impacient and furious, with [...] spéede posted to the house of Philodemus, and finding the maiden prostrate at hir fathers féete, wéeping, hir head in [...] [...], with taunting voice and threatning woordes commaunded presentlie without longer delaie she should rise and goe with him. She refusing his hastie request, and crying out for fathers help, who (God wot) durst not resist, stoode still and would not goe Lucius séeing hir [...], full of furie and proud disdnine, began furiously to hale hir by the garments, vpon whose struggling he fare hir [...] and furnitures off hir head and shoulders, that hir alablaster necke and bosome appeared naked, & without compassion tare and whipt hir flesh on euery side, as the bloud ranne downe, beating that tendre flesh of hirs with manifold and grenous blowes. O [...] tirant, more [Page] [...] and sauage than the desert beast or mountaine [...], [...]. Could crueltie be so déepelie rooted in the hart of man which by nature is affected with reasons instinct, as with out pitie to lay handes, and violontly to hurt the tendre bodie of a [...] Maiden? Can such inhumanitie harbor in any that beareth about him the shape of man? But what did this martyred maidē for al this force? Did [...] yeld to violence, or rendre hir self to the disposition of this mercilesse man? No surelie. But with so great stoutnesse of minde, she suffred those impressed woundes, that no one worde sounding of sorrow, or womanly shrieche was heard to [...] from hir delicate mouth. Howbeit the poore father and miserable mother at that ruefull and lamentable sight, moued with inward [...] and naturall pitie, cried out aloude. But when they saw that neither plaint nor faire spéeche could deliuer their daughter out of the hands of that cruel monster, they began with open cries and horrible exclamation to implore helpe and succour at the hands of the immortall Gods, thinking that they were vnworthely plaged and tormented. Then the proud and most barbarous wretch, moued and [...] by cholers rage and fume of chasing wine, sodainely catched the most constant virgin by the haire of the hed, and in hir fathers lappe did cut hir white and tender throte. O [...] fact right worthie of [...] reuenge. But what did this vnfaithful and cruell Tyrant Aristotimus when by the blustering bruite of peoples rage he hearde of this vengeable murder, not only he shewed himself contented with the fact, but had him in greater regard than before, and towards them which made complaint hereof, greater crueltie and mischief was done and executed. For in open streat, like beastes in the shambles they were [...] and hewed in pieces, which séemed to [...] [...] at this [...] and vnlawfull acte: the rest were banished and expelled [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] the Citie. Eight hundred of these exiled persons [...] into Etolia. (a prouince adioyning to Epirus, which nowe is called Albania.) Those people so banished out of they: countrie, made instant sute to Aristotimus to suffer their wiues & children to repaire to them: but theyr sute was in vaine, their peticions and supplications séemed to be made to the deafe, and dispersed into the windes. Notwithstanding, within few dayes after, he caused by sound of trumpet to be openly proclaimed, that it should be lawfull for the wiues & children of the banished to passe with their baggage and furniture to their husbands in Etolia. This Proclamation was exceding ioyfull to all the women whose husbands were exiled, which at the leaste by common report were the numbre of. vj. hundreds. And for more credite of that Proclamation, the wicked tyrant did ordaine, that all the companie should depart vpon a [...] daie. In the meane time, the ioyfull wiues glad to visite their poore husbands, prepared horse and wagon, to carie their prouisions. The appointed day of their departure out of the Citie being come, all of them assembled at a certaine gate assigned for their repaire, who that time togither resorted with their little children in their hands, bearing vpon their heads their garmēts and furnitures, some on horsebacke, and some bestowed in the wagons, according as eche of their states required: when al things were in readinesse to depart, and the gate of the Citie opened, they begā to issue forth. They were no [...] gone out of the Citie walles, and had left behind them the soile of their natiuitie, but the Tyrants gard and Sergeants brake vpon them, and before they were approched, they [...] out to stay and goe no further vpon paine of their liues. So the poore amazed women, contrarie to the promise of the Tyrant, were [...] to retire. Which sodaine countremaund was sorrowfull and wofull vnto that [...] [Page] flocke. But there was no remedie, for procéede[?] they could not. Then those Termagants and villains caught their horse by the bridles, and droue backe againe their wagons, pricking the poore oxen and beastes with their speares and Iauelyns, that horrible it is to report the tyrannie vsed towards man and beast, in such wise as the poore miserable women (God wot) contrarie to their desires, were forced in dispite of their téeth to retourne. Some (alacke) fell off their horse with their little babes in their lappes, and were miserablie troden vnder horse féete, and ouerrunne with the whéeles of the wagons, their braines and guts gushing out through the weight and comberance of the cariage, and (which was most pitiful) one of them not able to helpe an other, and muche lesse to rescue their yong and tendre sucking babes, the vile sergeāts forcing eche wight with their staues & wepons maugre their desirous mindes to réentre the Citie. Many died by that cōstrained meanes out of hand, many were troden vnder the horseféete, and many gasping betwéene life and death: but the greatest part of the little infants were slain out of hand, and crusht in pieces: those which remained aliue, were committed to prison, & the goods which they caried with them altogether seased upō by the Tyrant. This most wicked and cruell fact was most intollerable and greuous vnto the Citizens of Elis, Whervpon the holy dames consecrated to the God Bacchus, adorned & garnished with their priestly garments, and bearing in their handes the sacred mysteries of their God, as Aristotimus was passing through the strete garded with his Souldiers and men of warre, went in procession to finde him out. The sergeants for the reuerence of those religious women disclosed themselues, and gaue them place to enter in before the Tyrant. He séeing those women[?] apparelled in that guise, and bearing in their [Page] hands the sacred Bachanal mysteries, stoode stil, and with silence heard what they could say. But when he knew the cause of their approch, & that they wer come to make sute for the poore imprisoned women, sodainly possessed with a diuelish rage, with horible hurly burly, bitterly reprehended his garrison for suffering of those women to come so neare him. Then hée commaunded that they should be expelled from that place without respect, and condemned euery of them (for their presuming to intreat for such caitiue prisoners) in. y. [...] a piece. After these mischiefs [...] by the tyrāt, Hellanicus one of the principal & best estéemed persōs of the Citie, although that he was decrepite, and for age very weake and féeble, cared not yet to aduenture any attempt, what soeuer, so it might extend to the deliuerie of his countrey from the vnspeakable tyrannie of most cruell Aristotimus. To this gray haired person, bicause he was of aged yeares, voide of children which were dead, this tyrant gaue no great hede ne yet employed any care, thinking that he was not able to raise any mutine or [...] in the Citie. In the mean space, the Citizens, which as I haue sayd before, were banished into Etolia, practised amongs them selues to proue their Fortune, and to séeke all meanes for recouerie of their countrey, and the death of Aristotimus.

Wherfore hauing leuied and assembled certain bands of Souldiers, they marched forth from their banished seat, and neuer rested till they had gotten a place hard adioyning to their Citie, where they might safely lodge, and with great [...] and aduantage besiege the same, and erpel the tyrant Aristotimus. As the banished were [...] in that place, many citizens of Elis [...] fled forth, and ioyned with them, by reason of which auriliaries and dayly assemblies, they grew to the full numbre of an armie. Aristotimus certified hereof by his espials [Page] was brought into a great chafe and furie, and euen now began to presage his fall and ruine. But yet meaning to [...] his best aduantage, went vnto the prison, where the [...] of the banished were fast inclosed, and bicause he was of a troublesome and tyrannicall nature, he concluded with him self rather to vse & intreate those wiues with hun and threates, than with humanitie and fayre wordes. Being entred the prison, he sharpely and with great fiercenesse commaunded them to write vnto their husbandes that besieged him without, earnestly to persuade them to giue ouer their attempted warres: ‘otherwise (said he) if ye do not folow the effect of my commaū dement, in your owne presence I will first cause cruelly to be slaine al your little children, tearing them by piece meale in pieces, and afterwardes I will cause you to bée whipped and scoutged, and so to die a most cruel & shamfull death.’ At which fierce and tyrannicall newes, there was no one womā amōgs them that opened their mouthes to answer him. The most wicked & vile tyrant seing thē to be in such silence, charged them vpon their liues to answere what they were disposed to doe. But although they [...] not speake a word, yet with silence one beholding eche other in yt face, fared as though they cared not for his threates, more readie rather to die thā to obey his commaundement. Megistona then (which was the wife of Timolion, a matrone as well for hir husbands [...] as hir owne vertue, in great regard and estimatiō, and the chiefe amongs all the women, who at his comming in would not rise, but kept hir place, nor vouchsasing to do any reuerence or honor vnto him, and the like she bad the rest: In this wise sitting vpon the ground we vnlosed tongue and libertie of spéeche, stoutly she answered the tyrants demaunde in this maner: ‘If there were in thée Aristotimus, any manly prudence, wisedome, or [Page] good discretion, truly [...] woldest not cōmande vs poore imprisoned women to write vnto our husbands, but rather suffer vs to goe vnto them, and vse more [...] wordes and mylde behauiour, than wherewith of late thou diddest entertaine vs, by scoffing, mocking, & cruelly dealing with vs, and oure poore children: and if nowe thou béeing voide of all hope, dcest séeke to persuade by oure meanes likewise to deceyue oure husbandes that bée come hither to put their liues in perill for our deliuerāce, I assure thée thou vainely [...] thy self, for wée henceforth do purpose neuer to be [...] of thée: we require thée also to thinke and stedfastly beléeue, that our husbands heads be not so much bewitched with follie, as despising their wiues and children, neglecting their dueties towards them, will béeing in this forwardnesse, abandon their preseruation and gyue ouer the libertie of their cositrey. Think also that they litle esteme or wey yt regard of vs, & their childrē, in respect of the great cōtentation they shal attaine by vnyoking the libertie of their countrey from thy pride & intollerable bondage, & which is worst of all, from that tyrannie whiche neuer people felt the like. For if thou were a King as thou [...] a tyrant, if thou were a Gentleman borne of noble kinde asthou art a slaue, proceding from the deuil, thou [...] neuer execute thy curssed crueltie against a féeble kinde, such as women be, & werest thou alone ioyned in singular cōbat with my baliant & dere beloued husbande, thou durst not hande to hande to shew thy face: for cōmonly it is séene, that the Courtely [...] backed on wyth such mates as he is him selfe, careth not what attempt he taketh in hande, and stareth with haire vpright, looking as though he would kill the deuill, but when he is preast to seruice of the sielde, and in order to encountre with his Princes foe, vpon the small sway by shocke or push that [Page] thaunceth in the fight, he is the first that taketh flight, & last that standeth to the face of his ennimie. Such kinde off man art thou, for so long as our husbands were farre of, absent from their Countrie, not able to ridde vs from thy thrall, thou wroughtest thy malice then against their wiues at home, doing the greatest crueltie towardes thē and their sucking babes, that euer deuill could doe vpon the [...] sorte, and now thou séest them arriued here vnder our countrie walles, thou fliest, and séekest helpe at womens hands, whose power if it serued them according to their willes, would make thée tast the fruit of thy committed smart.’ And as she would haue proceded further in hir liberall talke, the Caitife tyrant not able to abide anie further speache, troubled beyond measure, presently commaunded the little childe of hir to be brought before him, as though immediatly he woulde haue killed him, & as his seruaunts sought him out, the mother espied him playing amōgs other children, not knowing for his small stature and lesse yeres, where he was become, and calling him by his name said vnto him: ‘My boy come hither, that first of all thou maist loose thy life, to féele the proufe and haue experience of the cruell tyrannie wherin we be, for more grieuous it is to me to sée thée serue against the nobilitie of thy bloud, than dismembred and torne in pieces before my face.’ As Megistona stoutly and vnfearfully had spoken those woordes, the furious and angrie tyrant drew forth his glistering blade out of his sheathe, purposing to haue slaine the gentlewoman, had not one Cilon the familiar friend of Aristotimus staid his hand, forbidding him to commit an acte so cruell. This Cilon was a fained and counterfeit frend of the Tyrant, very conuersant with other his familiar friendes, but hated him with deadly hatred, & was one of them yt with Hellanicus had conspired against the tirant. This Gentleman then seing [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] Aristotimus with so greate furie to ware wood against Megistona, imbraced him, and said, that it was not the parte of a gentleman procéeding from a race right honoble, by any meanes to [...] his handes in womans bloud, but rather the signe & token of a cowardly knight, wherefore he besought him to stay his hands. Aristotimus persuaded by Cilon, appeased his rage, and forsoke the companie of the women. Not long after, a great prodige and wonder appeared in this sort: before supper the tyrant and his wife withdrue themselues into their chā ber, and being there, an Egle was séene to soare ouer the tyrants palace, and being aloft, by little and little to descend, and letting fall from hir tallands a huge and great stone vppon the toppe of that chamber, wyth clapping wings and flying noyse soared vp againe, so farre as she was cleane out of sight from them that did behold hir.

With the rumor and shouts of those that saw this sight, Aristotimus was appalled, and vnderstanding the circumstance of the chaūce, he sent for his diuine to declare the signification of this Augurie, which greatly troubled his minde. The Southsayer bad him to be of good chere, for that it did portend the great fauor and loue which Iupiter bare vnto him. But the prophet of the Citie whom the Citizens had wel tried and proued to be faithfull and trustie, manifested vnto them the great daūger that hong ouer the tyrants head, such as the like neuer before. The confederats which had conspired with Hellanicus, made great spéede to prosecute their enterprise, and the nexte night to kill the tyrant. The very same night Hellanicus dreamed that he sawe his dead sonne to speake vnto him these woords: What meane you father this long time to slepe, I am one of your sonnes whom Aristotimus hath slaine, know you not that the same day you attempt your enterprise, you shalbe captaine & prince of your coūtrie? [Page] By this vision Hellanicus confirmed, he rose bytimes in the morning, and exhorted the conspirators that day to execute the benefit of their Countrie. That time Aristotimus was certified how Craterus the tyran of another Citie, with a great armie, was comming to his aide against the banished people of Elis, and that he was arriued at Olympia a Citie betwéene the Mounte Ossa and the mountaine Olympus. With which newes Aristotimus being incouraged, thought alreadie that he had put to flight and takē the banished persons, which made him to aduenture himself abrode without guard or garrison, accompanied only with Cilon and one or two of his familiar frends, the very same time that the conspiratours were assembled to doe the facte. Hellanicus seing the time so cōuenient to deliuer his beloued Countrie by the death of the traiterous Tyrant, not attending any signe to be giuen to his companions (although the same was concluded vpon) the lusty old man lifting vp his handes and eies vnto the heauens, with cleare and open voice cried out to his companions and said: ‘Whie stay ye, O my Citizens and louing country men in the face of your Citie to finishe this good and commendable acte?’ At which woords, Cilon was the first which with his brandishing blade killed one of those that waited vpon the Tyrant. Thrasibulus thē and Lampidus assayled Aristotimus, vpon whose sodaine approch, he fled into the Temple of Iupiter, where he was murdred with a thousand woundes vpon his body, accordingly as he deserued. He being thus deseruedly slain, his body was drawen vp & downe the stréetes, and proclamation of libertie sounded vnto the people: Where vnto eche wight assembled, amongs whome the imprisoned women also brake forth, and reioysed with their countrey deliuerers of that egregious enterprise, by fires and bankettes outwardly disclosing [Page] their excéeding great ioye within, and in midde of their mirth the people in great throngs and companies ranne to the Tyrants palace, whose wife hearyng the peoples noyse, and certified of hir husbands death, inclosed hir selfe in a chamber with hir two daughters, and knowing how hatefull she was vnto the Citizens, with a [...] corde vpon a beame she hong hir selfe. The chamber dores being broke opē, the people viewed the horrible sight of the strangled ladie, wherwithall not moued, they toke the two trembling daughters of the tyrant, and caried them away, purposing to rauish & violate the same, firste to saciate their lust with the spoile of their virginitie, and afterwards to kill them (those Gentlewomen were very beautifull and mariageable) and as they were about to do that shamefull déede, Magistona was tolde therof, who accompanied with other Matrons, sharply rebuked their furie, saying, that vncomely it were for them which sought to establish a ciuile state, to doe such a shamelesse act as tirants rage wold scarce permit. Upon that noble matrons authoritie and interception, they ceassed from their filthie fact, and then the woman tooke the [...] oute of the peoples handes, and brought them into the chambre where their strangled mother was. And vnderstandyng that it was decréed that none of the Tyrants bloud shoulde rest on liue, she turned hir face to the two yong Gentlewomen, and sayde: ‘The chiefest pleasure which I can doe to you, resteth in this choise, that it shall be lawfull for either of you to choose what kinde of death you list, by knife or halter, if you will to dispatche your liues from the hedlesse peoples greater furie, vpon whose two white and tender bodies if they doe seaze, the Gods doe know and we doe feare the crueltie and great abuse which they doe meane to vse, I thinke not for despite of you, but for the iust reuenge of your most cruell fathers [Page] actes, for the tyrannous life of whom, the Gods do thunder downe the boltes of their displeasure, afflicting his nearest bloud and beste beloued wife and children, wyth vengeance poured from heauens.’ Upon the sentence of this their fatall ende, the elder maiden of the twaine vnlosed a girdle from hir middle, and began to tie the same to hang hir selfe, exhortyng hir yonger sister to doe the like: and in any wise to beware by sparing of hir life, to incurre the beastly rage of the monstrous people, which cared not to do eche vile and filthie acte, vnworthie theyr estate. The yonger sister at those wordes, layed handes vpon the fastened corde, and besought hir right earnestly first of all to suffer hir to die. Wherevnto the elder aunswered: ‘So long as it was lawfull for me to liue, and whiles we led our princely time in our fathers courte, & both were frée from enimies danger, all things betwene vs two were common and indifferente: wherefore the Gods forbidth at now the gates of death be opened for vs to enter, when with the Ghostes of our dere parents our soules amids the infernall fieldes be predestined to raunge and wander) that I shoulde make deniall of thy request. Therfore go to good sister mine, and shrink not, when thou séest the vgly face of hir, that must consume vs all. But yet (déere sister) the deadly sight of thée before my selfe, will bréede to me the woe and smart of double death.’ When she had so sayd, she yelded the coller to hir sister, & counselled hir to place the same so néere the neck bone as she could, that the sooner the halters force might stop hir breath. When the vnfearefull yonger sister was dead, the trēbling hands of yt dredlesse elder maid vntied the girdle from hir neck, couering in comly wise hir senslesse corps. Then turning hir self to Megistona, she hū bly prayed hir not to suffer their two bodies to bée séene naked, but so sone as she could, to bury them both in one [Page] earthly graue, referring the frutes of their virginitie to the mould wherof they came. When she had spokē those wordes, without any staye or feare at all, with the selfe same corde the strangled hir self, and so finished hir fatall dayes. The guiltlesse death of which two tender maids, there was none of the citizens of Elis (as I suppose) so stonie hearted & voide of Natures force, ne yet so wroth against the tyrant father, but did lament, as well for the constant stoutnesse and maner of their death, as for their maydenlyke behauioure and right honest petitions made to that sobre matrone Megisthona, who afterwardes caused the other dames, to bury those two bodies in one graue. O how happy & famous had these two sisters ben, if they had not bene the daughters of so wicked and cruell a father? But parentes offence on Childrens trespasse, oughte not to deface the vertuous déedes of their posteritie.

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Two Romane Queenes.
The sixt Nouell.

¶ The maruellous courage and ambition of a Gentlevvoman called TANAQVIL, the Quene & wife of TARQVINVSPRISCVS the fifth Romane King, with hir persuasions and pollicie to hir husbande for his aduauncement to the kingdome: hir like encouragement of SIRVIVSTVLLIVS, wherin also is described the ambition of one of the. ij. daughters of SERVIVSTVLLIVS the sixt Romane King, and hir crueltie towards hir ovvne naturall father: with other accidents chaunced in the nevv erected common welth of Rome, specially of the last Romane Kyng TARQVINVS SVPERBVS, who with murder atteined the kingdom, with murder mainteined it, and by the murder and insolent life of his sonne, was with all his progenie banished.

ANcus Marcius being yt fourth King (after Romulus the first builder of that Citie) there came to dwell in Rome one Lucumo, a lustie gentleman, rich, and desirous of honour, who determined to continewe his habitation there. Thesame Lucumo was the sonne of one Demaratꝰ a Corinthian, who for sedition fled his owne countrie, & dwelt in [...] amongs the stock of the Tarquines: and after he was maried he [Page] begat two sonnes, one of them was this Lucumo, and the other was called Arnus. Lucumo was heire to his father, for that Arnus died before, leauing his wife gret with childe. The father not knowing that his daughter in lawe was with childe, gaue nothing in his will to his Nephewe: for which cause the childe was called Arnus Egerius. Lucumo being the sole heire of his father, maried a noble woman named Tanaquil, and bicause the Thuscans could not abide to sée a straunger growe to abundance of welth and authoritie, she despised hir owne country rather than she would suffer hir husband in any wise to be dishonoured. Wherfore she deuised to forsake the Tarquinians, & to dwel at Rome, where she thought among that honorable sorte and newe rerected state, that hir husband being stout and valiant, should attaine some place of resiance. For she called to remembraunce that Tatius ye Sabine, Numa borne of ye stock of Curetes and Ancus brought forth by a Sabine woman, all strangers, did raigne and became noble and mightie. Thus ambition and desire of honour easily doeth persuade any deuise. Wherfore, carrying with thē al their substance, they repaired to Rome. It chaunced when they came to Ianiculum, as he and his wife were sitting in a Wagon, an Eagle hoouering hir wings ouer Lucumo, sodenly toke away his cappe, which done, she soared ouer the wagon with great force, then she retourned againe, as though she had bene commaunded by some celestiall prouidence, & aptly placed his cappe againe vpon his head, and then soared away vp into the element. Tanaquil conceiuing this act to be some Augurie or Prophecie, being cunning in that knowledge (as commonly all the people of Hetruria be) imbraced hir husband and willed him to be of good chere and to expect great honour. And as they were ymagining and consulting vpon these [Page] euents, they entred the Citie, and when they had gotten a house for him and his familie, he was called Tarquinins Priscus. His riches and great wealth made him a noble man amongs the Romanes, and through his gentle entertainement and curteous behauiour, he wanne the good willes of many, in so much as his fame and good report was bruted throughout the palace. At lēgth he grew in acquaintance with the King him selfe, who séeing his liberall demeanor and duetifull seruice, estéemed him as one of his familiar and nere srends, and both in his warres and also at home he imparted to him the secrets of his counsell, and hauing good experience of his wisedom, by his last will and testament appointed him to be tutour of his children. Ancus raigned. xxiiii. yeres, a man in peace and warre, in policie and valiance with any of his predecessours comparable. His children were very yong, and for that cause Tarquinius was more instant to summon a parliament for creation of a king. When the day was come he sente the yong children abroade a hunting, and then ambiciously presumed to demaunde the kingdome, being the first that euer attempted the like. For the better conciation and obteining of the peoples good will, he vttered this Oration: ‘I doe not presume to require a straunge or newe thyng, that was neuer before put in practise, nor yet am the first, but the third strāger and foraine borne that affected and aspired to this gouernmēt. For which consideration there is no cause why any man ought to muse or maruell more than behoueth. It is euidently knowen that Tatius, not onely being a stranger, but also an ennimie, was made Kyng. Numa also was made King, being altogether a foraine & stranger borne, not through his owne request, but rather voluntarily accited and called therevnto by the Romanes: but for my parte, after I was able to gouerne my self, I repaired to [Page] dwell at Rome with my wyfe, my children, and all my substance, where I haue spent the chiefest porcion of my life, specially after it was mature and able to execute ciuile magisterie, which I chose rather to bestow at Rome than at home in myne owne countrey. I haue lerned the Romane rites and lawes, as wel such as be mete to serne abroade in the warres, as also necessarie to bée practised at home, at the hands of mine olde maister Ancus Martius your late king, a maister right worthie and famous in all pointes to bée followed. I shewed my selfe an humble and obedient subiecte to the King and in friendeship and familiaritie towarde others, I contended with the Kyng him selfe.’ When hée had spoken those wordes, which in déede were very true, with the whole consent of the people, hée was saluted King. And as all things succéeded his Noble requeste, euen so after hée was settled in his Kyngdome, hée gaue hym selfe to [...] the common wealth. Hée chose an hundred graue persons, whiche he called the Fathers of the lesser countries. He warred firste with the Latines, and [...] the Citie of Appiolas, who bryngyng from thence a greater spoyle and bootie than was looked for (ordeined richer and more gorgeous Playes than any of hys predecessoures. Hée builded certayne Galleries and other places of assemblie aboute the Forum, hée walled the Citie rounde about with stone. And as he was doing these things, the Sabines interuented him vpon the [...], in so much as they were passed the Kyuer of Anienes before the Romane hoste was in a redinesse. Whiche was an occasion of greate feare and stirre at Rome. In the [...] after the battailes were ioyned betwéene them bothe, a cruell and blouddie slaughter was committed, the victorie fallyng to neyther parte. Then the Romanes sought meanes to renue their force, by addyng to their [Page] armie a further bande of horsmen. Wherefore Tarquinius sente to the Rammenses, Titienses, Luceres. To the bandes that Romulus had conscribed, hée added other new troupes of horsemen, purposing that the same should continue in memorie of him after his death. And bicause Romulus dyd the same without aduise of the Southsayers, one Accius Nauius the notablest Prophecier in those daies, withstoode that constitution, [...] that it was not lawsull for him eyther to appoint a newe order, or to alter the olde, except the birdes and auguries did assent thervnto. Wherwith the king was displeased, & deluding that science, said: ‘Go to M. Sothsayer, tell me now (quod he) is it possible to bring that to passe which I haue now conceiued in my minde? Yea quod the Southsayer if you tel me what it is. Then quod Tarquinius, I haue deuised that thou shalt pare thine owne skin with a Raser.’ Therfore take this knife & doe as thy birdes doe portend and signifie. And as it was reported he pared his own skin in déede. In memory wherof an Image of Accius was erected, with his head [...]. After that time there was nothing attempted without those auguries. Notwithstanding, Tarquinius procéeded in his constitution, and added to the Centurias an other number, for that. 1800. horsemen were conteined in the thrée Centuriae. The later addition was called also by the same name, which afterward were doubled into vj. Centurias. Whē his numbre was thus increased, once againe he ioyned battel with the Sabines, who by a notable pollicie recouered a great victorie. And bicause the Sabines doubled a freshe onset without any order of battell or good aduisement, they were ouerthrowen, and then constrained to make peticion for peace. The citie of Collatia, and the Coūtrie confining vpon the same, was taken from the Sabines. The Sabine warres being in [Page] this sortended, Tarquinius in triumphant maner [...] to Rome. At that time a prodige and miraculous [...] chaunced to be séene in the Palace. The head of a childe whose name was Seruius Tullius lying a sléepe in the palace, was séene to burne. The king was brought to sée that miracle. And as one of his seruants was going to fetch water to quēch the fire, he was staid by the Quene, who commaunded that the childe should not once be touched vntill he awaked of himselfe. And so soone as he rose from sléepe, the fire vanished. ‘Then she tooke hir husband aside, and said: doe you sée this childe whom we haue verie basely and negligently brought vp? I assure you sir (said she) he wil be the only safegard and defender of this our doubtfull state, and will be the preseruer of our houshold when it is afflicted. Wherefore let vs make much of him, that is like to be the ornament and a worthie stay to all our familie.’ After that they had accompted him amongs the number of their children, & traded him vp in those Arts, which excite all good dispositions to aspire vnto honoure, the pleasure of the Gods appeared in short time: For the child grew to a royal behauior, in so much, as among all the Romane youth, there was none more méete to mary the daughter of Tarquinius. This Seruius Tullius was the sonne of one Seruius Tullius that was a Captain of a towne called Corniculum, at the apprehension whereof, it chaunced that the sayd Tullius the father was [...], leauing his wife great with child: the mother being a captiue and bonde woman was deliuered of hir childe at Rome, in the house of Priscus Tarquinius. After Tarquinius had raigned. xxxviij. yeres, the yong man began to growe to great honor and estimation, aswell with the king himself, as also with the Fathers. Then the Romanes conceiued a hateful indignation against the king, for that he being put in trust to be the Tutor & gouernor [Page] of Ancus children, displaced them from their right inheritance, and specially for that he himself was a stranger, fearing also that the kingdom should not return againe to the election of themselues, but degenerat and grow into seruile bondage. They also called to remembrāce, that the Citie continewed one hundred yeres after the sublation of Romulus, an intier kingdome within one Citie, and that it was a shame for them to suffer a bondman, borne of seruile kind, to possesse the same, and would rebound to their perpetual ignominie, hauing the progenie of Ancus aliue, to suffer the same to be open to straungers and bōdmen. Wherfore they determined to defend the griefe of that iniurie, and to be reuenged rather vpon Tarquinius, than vpon Seruius. In fine, they committed the execution of that fact to two shepherds chosen out for that purpose. Who deuised this pollicie. Before the entrie into the Palace they fell togither by the eares, vpon which fray all the kings officers assembled and repaired thither to know the cause of their falling out, when they were parted, they appealed to the king, with such exclamation, as they were heard to the Palace. Being called before the king, both of them fell to brawling, and one of thē striued of purpose to hinder the tale of the other. The kings sergeant rebuked them, commaunding them to tel their tales in order. Whē they were a litle quieted, one of thē beginneth to discourse the tale. And as the king was attentife to heare the plaintif, the other toke vp a hatchet & threw it at the king, and leauing the weapon sticking in the wound, they conueied themselues out of the dores. Those that waited vpon the King, made hast to relieue him, and the sergeants followed to apprehende the malefactors. With that a hurlie burlie rose amōgs the people, euery man maruelling what the matter shoulde be. Tanaquil commaunded the palace gates to be shut, and séeketh [Page] remedie to cure hir husbande, as though some hope of life had bene remaining. When hope failed of his recouerie, shée called Seruius before hir (which maried hir daughter) and shewed vnto him hir dead husbande, holding him fast by the right hande, shée intreated him that he would not suffer the death of his father in lawe to be vnreuenged, to the intent he might not be ridiculous to the traitours, saying to him further these words: ‘If thou be a man of thy hands (O Seruius) the kingdom is thine and not theirs, which thus cruelly by the hands of other haue committed this abhominable facte. Wherefore put forth thy selfe, and the Gods be thy guide: For they did portende this noble head to be the Gouernour of this citie, at such time as they circumfused the same with a fire descendyng from aboue. Let that heauenly [...] excite thy courage. Be throughly awaked. We being straungers sometime haue raigned. Thinke and consider what thou art, & not from whence thou camest. If the strangenesse of the case doe affray thée, my counsel from time to time shall relieue thée.’ The crie and stirre of the people being vnmesurable, that one could scarse heare an other, Tanaquill opened the windowes that had their prospect to the new way (for the King dwelt at the temple of Iupiter Stator) and then spake to them in this wise: ‘Be of good chéere (good people) the King is but amazed with the sodainesse of the stroke, the wound is not very depe, for euen nowe he is come againe to him selfe, and the wounde being opened and dressed, there is good hope of life: I trust within these fewe days you shall sée him. In the meane time, I pray you to [...] your obedience to Seruius Tullius, who is appointed to execute the lawes, and to doe all other affaires in the absence of my husbande.’ Seruius occupying the state and Authoritie of the Kyng, executed the lawes in some cases, & in other some [Page] made the people beleue that he would consult with the King him self. The death of the King was concealed and kept close a certaine space, till such tyme as Seruius had gathered his force about him. After the death of the King was disclosed, Seruius being garded with a strong Garrison, toke vpon him to be King, not by the consent of the people, but by the will of the Fathers. The children of Ancus vnderstanding that the King was aliue, and that Seruius power and force was greate, conueyed them selues in exile to Suessa Pometia. And least the children of Tarquinius shold attempt like enterprise against him, as the children of Ancus did against Tarquinius, hée maried. [...]. of his daughters to Lucius and Aruns, the children of Tarquinius. But yet the deuise of man could not breake the necessitie of fate and constellation, for the hatred conceiued in desire of Ambicious gouernment, made all things vnstable and vnfaithfull amongs domestical frends. But yet to quiet and pacifie the present time, warre was renued with the Veientes, and other Cities of Hetruria: wherein the fortune and valiāce of Tullius excelled. For when he had giuen an ouerthrow to the ennimie, least the peoples and fathers good wil should be withdrawne, he retourned to Rome: who then attempted and brought to passe a notable woorke in the common wealth. He instituted a certen yerely taxe & reuenew, to satisfie and discharge all charges susteined in the time of peace and warre, with sundrie other notable lawes and deuises for the defense of the publique state. After that he had mustered the whole numbre of the Citizens in the field called Martius, the same amounted to lxxx. M. And as Fabius Pictor saith, there were so many that were able to beare armure. Then the hilles of Quirinalis, Viminalis and Exquiliae, were added to the citie. He compassed the town round about with a vamure, enuironing [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] the same with a double trench. He deuided the Romanes into. v. bands called Classes, and into Centurias, which be bandes of an hundred men. He also builded a Temple to Diana, with the helpe and assistance of the Latine people. Amongs the Sabines there chaunced an Oxe in the house of an husbande man to be brought forth, of an huge bignesse and maruellous shape (the hornes whereof were placed at the porche of Dianas temple for a monument long time after.) The Soothsayers prophecied, that where the same Oxe shoulde be first sacrificed to Diana, there the chief Empire and principall gouernement should remain: which prophecie came to the knowledge of the chiefe minister of Diana hir Temple. One of yt Sabins expecting for a day mete to be employed in that sacrifice, brought the sayde Oxe to Rome to the Temple of Diana, placing the same before the Altar. The chiefe Minister calling to remembrance the oracle, and saw that the greatnesse of that sacrifice should be famous, spake to the Sabine these words. ‘What dost thou meane (thou impure Straunger) to prepare sacrifice to Diana, before thou bée purified and clensed in the liuely Riuer of Tyber? Here belowe in thys valley the sayde riuer doth runne.’ Goe get thou hence and wash thée. The Sabine attached with a religious feare, goeth downe to yt Riuer, and while he is washing of himselfe a Romane doth offer the Sacrifice, which was right acceptable both to the king and his countrie. The king although that of long time he had raigned, yet vnderstoode that the elder Tarquinius which was maried to one of his daughters, did bragge and report [...] that his father in law obteined the gouernmēt and kingdom without the consent of the people: wherfore the king through his liberalitie by diuiding the conquest atchieued of the ennimy amōgs the common people, conciliated their [...] and good wils. [Page] In so much as he affirmed that he would raigne in despite of them all, and that there was no King at any time that raigned with a more generall consent: All which did nothing diminish the hope and desire of Tarquinius. He had a brother whose name was Aruns, being of a quiete & gentle disposition. Both they maried two of the kings daughters, which were of maners and conditions verie vnlike. The yonger daughter being the wife of Aruns, the sharper shrewe, and fiercer of nature, séeing that hir husband was nothing giuen or pliant to match with hir vngracious deuice or ambicious stomack, attempted hir brother, whose condicion was correspondent to hirs, and sayd vnto him, that he was a man in déede, and one worthie to be accompted to be borne and procede of the bloud royall. Then she began to contemne hir sister: for that she hauing such a man to hir husband, would suffer him to neglecte so mete and iust occasion for recouerie of the Kingdome. Their natures being of one disposition, as commonly one [...] procureth an other, al things began to be [...] [...] the attempt of that vngracious woman. To be shorte, they two deuised meanes, that Aruns his brother, and the Elder Tullia hir syster were [...]: which done, they two maried together. The wicked woman ceased not dayly to [...] and prouoke hir husband from one [...] to an other. And amōgs all hir wicked talke and cruel [...], she vsed these words: ‘If thou be that man vnto whom I thinke I am maried, then I wil cal [...] both husband and King: But if thou be not he, then the alteration is chaunged to the worse, and crueltie is matched with cowardise. But why doest thou not put thy selfe in a readinesse? Why thou [...] not nowe from [...], or from the [...] Tarquines, to atchieue and conquere newe kingdoms as thy father did. The [...] Gods, and the Gods of thy [Page] countrey, the nobilitie of thy father, and thy royal bloud, thy stately seate within thine own house, and thy name Tarquinius, doe create and make thée Kyng. But if in all these occasions thou dost wante stomacke, why [...] thou make the whole Citie conceyue a false opinion of thée? Why dost thou not shewe thy selfe to be the sonne of a King? Auoide hence I say, and goe to the Tarquinians, or to Corinth, retire again to thy first linage: thou dost rather resemble thy brothers effeminate heart, than the valiant stomacke of thy father.’ [...] these wordes and such like, she pricked forward hir husbande, and shée hir selfe coulde in no [...] bée quiet. Then Tarquinius went forth to the fathers of the lesser countries, and called to their remembrance the benefites vnto them by his father extended, desiring the like to bée shewed and rendred vnto him: he allured the yonger sort of the Citie by gifts and other liberall rewardes, promising them, if hée atteined to his purpose, more frankly to recōyence them. By this meanes the King became odious and [...] to the people. Tarquinius séeing his time, guarded with a bande of armed men, entred the market place, wherewith the [...] people were greatly abashed, then [...] mounted into the palace, and placed him self in the royal seate of the same, causing the Fathers to be cited before hym by the Haraulde, vnto whome he repeted the petigrée of Seruius, and his first entrance into the kingdom. ‘As he was speaking these wordes, Seruius in great hast repaired to the Palace, and finding Tarquinius sitting in his place, sayd to him these wordes. Why? what is the matter Tarquinius (quod he?) howe darest thou bée so bolde so long as I am liuing to call the Fathers, [...] yet presume to sit in my seat?’ whervnto Tarquinius [...] ly replied, That hée possessed but the roume of his father, which was more mete for a Kings conne and heire, [Page] heire, than for such a bondeman as he was, and that hée had long enough abused his Lordes and maisters: wherwithall a great hurly [...] and tumult began to rise by the [...] of both parts, so that [...] was like to attain yt garland, which best could daunce for it. Tarquinius forced to giue the last aduenture, being more lustie & stronger than the other, toke Seruius by the middle, and carying him out of the Courte, threw him downe the staires, whiche done, hée caused the Senate to retourne into the Palace. Then the King with all his traine of Officers, and other his seruaunts [...] away, and as they were [...], he was slain by those that Tarquinius sent after to pursue him, in the stréete called Cyprius. Tullia vnderstandyng yt Seruins hir father was slaine, [...] bashed not in hir wagon to come into the market place before [...] the assemblie there, called hir husband out of the Court, and boldly was the first that called him King. But being rebuked & commaunded by him to auoid out of that great throng of people, she retired home again, & when she was past yt vpper end of the said strete called Cyprius, the wagoner driuing toward the right hād to the hill called Exquiliae, he stayed the wagon, and shewed his ladie the bodie of hir father, lying [...] dead in the strete. In memory of which shamefull and vnnatural fact, long time after there continued a [...]. For the same strete was called Vicus Sceleratus. Some report that she caused the wagō to be driuen ouer the dead corps of hir father, with the bloud of whom & hir husband, hir wagon being contaminated, [...] presented the same to hir Gods. After which abhominable beginnings, like end ensued. This Seruius Tullius raigned [...]. [...]. Then [...] began to raign, vnto whom Superbus was added for his surname. This wicked some in law would not suffer the dead bodie of Seruius to be buried. His conscience being pricked [Page] with the abhominable gaine of his kingdom, fearing also least other might conceiue like example, he guarded his person with a band of armed men, executing all things [...] force and Tirannie, contrarie to the aduise and consents of the Senate and people. He caused the fautors & frends of Seruius to he put to death, whereby the numbre of the Fathers was diminished, whose places he suffered none other to supplie, of purpose to bring that honorable order to contempt. He gouerned the common welth by his own domesticall and priuate Counsell. Warre, peace, truce, societie of the Cities adioyning, he vsed as he list, without any further assent. The Latines he specially regarded, to the intēt yt through forrein aide he might raigne in more suretie at home, with the chiefe of which countrie he ioyned affinitie. One Octauius Manilius a Tusculan born, was the prince and chief ruler of that countrie, descēding from the stooke of Vlisses, and the [...] Circes, if the [...] be true, vnto whome Tarquinius gaue his daughter in mariage: By reason whereof he conciliated great alliance and frendes. Tarquinius being of great authoritie amongs the Latines, appointed them vpon a day to assemble at a wood called Ferentina, there to intreate of matters concerning both the states. To which place the Latines repaired vpon the breake of the day. But Tarquinius came not thither til the Sunne was set. During which time many things were in talke. There was one amongs them called Turnus Herdonius, which in Tarquinius absence had inueyed [...] against hym, affirming that it was no maruell though he was called Suporbus by yt [...]. For what prouder [...] could be inforced to the Latines, [...] to make thē wait a whole day for his pleasure. ‘Diuers princes and noble mē (quod he) that dwell a far of, be come according to the appointment, and he which first allotted the day, is not present. [Page] Hereby it most euidently appeareth in what sort he will vse vs if he might once atteine the soueraintie. And who can doubt in so manifest apparance, but that he went not about to affecte and aspire the dominion of the Latines? If the Romanes haue had iust cause to beléeue him, and if their kingdom had ben but gotten & not violently rapt and [...] [...] parricide, then the Latines might also beleue him, who being but a straūger to them, had no great cause to beleue him. His own subiects do repent the time that euer he bare rule: For some be slain and heaped vpon the dead bodies of other, some be banished, some haue lost their goodes: what other fruites than these may the Latine people expect and loke for?’ Therfore if they wold be ruled, he required euery man to retourne home to his own house, and giue no more attendaunce for the day of the Counsel, than be doth which first appointed the same. This and such like, this, sedicious and desperate man declared: Whose talke Tarquinius interuented, and vpon his comming euery man conuerted himself to salute him. Then [...] began to excuse himselfe of his long [...], for that he was appointed an arbitrator betwene the father and the sonne, for whose reconciliation he was forced to stay that lōg space, and to spend the time of that day. Wherfore he appoynted the next day. The [...] of which excuse Turnus could not kepe secrete, but said: that a matter betwéene the father and the sonne might be ended in few woords: for if the childe would not be obedient to his father, some mischief must néedes light vpon him. Tarquinius vnderstāding these inuections made against him by Turnus, immediatly deuiseth meanes to kil him, to the intent [...] might inculcate like terror to the Latines, that he did to his owne subiects. And bicause he was not [...] to sort his purpose and effect, by secrete malice, he attempted to accuse him of treason, and [...] [Page] (by meanes of diuers of the Citie of Aricia,) his [...] man whom with gold he had corrupted to bring in a forged accusation, which was, that his master had prepared in one night a number of men with [...] and weapon to distroy the Nobilitie of the Latines, of purpose to recouer the principalitie of the same. This matter began to be suspicious, by reason of the Tumult made the day before against Tarquinius, and therefore the people the soner did credite the case. In [...], Turnus was [...], and therefore a new kind of death deuised. Who being laide vpon a Hurdle, his face vpward, was throwen into the water of Ferrentina. This execution being done Tarquinius reuoked the Latines to Counsell, wherein he praised them for [...] Justice extended vpon Turnus, and then he spake these woords: ‘I may by an old order and constitution iustlie say thus much vnto you. The whole Nation of the Latines descending from the Citie of Alba are bound to obserue that [...], which the Albanes with all their colonies annexing themselues to the Romane Empire in the time of Tullius Hostilius were firmely obliged to accomplishe. The renouation whereof will nowe conduce more aduauntage and vtilitie to them all, than euer it did before. For throughe this [...] the Latines shall possede and participate [...] of the prosperous successe of the Romane people. Better it were in this sort to ioyne themselues togither, than to sée Destruction of either Cities, Depopulacions, and spoiles of their Countries, which in the time of Ancus (my Father then raigning) ye suffred.’ The like also (if you doe forsake this offer) ye may still expect and suffer. The Latines here vnto were soone perswaded, a day was appoynted when the [...] sort of their Countrie should be redy armed at the wood called Ferrentina. Being ioyned in order of battell, they marched towards the Volsciens, [Page] and wanne the Citie of [...] Pometia, the spoile wherof Tarquinius solde for. xl. Talents, imploying the same vpon the Temple of Iupiter. After wards he assaulted the Gabinians, and whē he saw he could not by force obteine the same, he [...] a pollicie. Who séeming to bend him selfe wholly vpon the building of the [...]. and to set aside the affaires of his warres, deuised with his sonne Sextus, which was the yōgest of the thrée, that he should runne to the Gabinians, and complaine of his fathers intollerable crueltie, which accordingly he did.

Who shewing himselfe as a voluntarie exile, said, that his father had conuerted his tyrannie from other, and began to execute the same vpon his owne [...]: And that he was also weary of the presence of his owne children, going about to remoue his [...] conuersants out of his house, as he had done the like out of the Court, to the intent he would leaue no ofspring or heire behind him to possesse his kingdome: adding further, that he was escaped euen through the midde of his fathers weapons and fury, thincking no place better for his safegard and refuge, than to séeke succour amongs his [...]. And bicause (quod he) ye shal not be [...], he is euen now preparing of warres against you, and purposeth vpon the sodain to set vpon you. Now if there be no place of abode for me your humble suppliant [...] you, I must néedes wander through Italie, and first I will attempt the Volscians, afterwardes the Aequians and Hernicians, till such tyme as I finde some nation willing to defend the poore chylde from the cruell and wicked furie of the Father. And perchaunce (quod he) ye shall winne him that may be an Instrument and courage [...] you all, to represse that proude king and cruell Nation.

The Gabinians deliberating what was best to be done in this case, the yong man [...] as though he wer offended, [Page] and would in all hast depart: and séeke refuge of others, then they curteously interteined him. This yong man being had in great estimatiō amongs them, through craftie and vaine persuasions, making them beleue that he would conducte their armie euen vnder the walles of Rome, with sundrie other [...] [...] to bring him self the more in credit. [...] length he was chosen captaine of their warres, and recouered sundry [...] for the Gabinians. Wherby the foolishe nation both of the lower and chiefest sorte, beleued that their captaine was sent vnto them by the prouidence of the Gods. He [...] perill and paine in like sort as the common souldier did, liberally deuiding his spoyles and booties amongs them. He was so well beloued, that his father Tarquinius at Rome was of no greater authoritie than he was among the Gabinians. When he thought that he had recouered force enough to answere his fathers expectation, he sent a post to Rome, to know his fathers pleasure, although the Gods had giuen him sufficient authoritie amongs the Gabinians. And bycause Tarquinius was doubtfull of the trust and fidelitie of the Messanger, hée would aunswere nothing by worde of mouth, but carying the Messanger into a garden, harde adioyning his house, with a wand which he caried in his hande, he cut of the heads of the highest Poppies that were in the garden: meanyng therby that he should dispatche the heads of the chiefest and principal in the Citie. Whervpon the messanger without answere by mouth returned. But by declaring those signes & circumstances which his father vsed, Sextus conceiued his meaning. Then like a [...] [...] sonne, following the steppes of his father, he cut of the heades of the Gabinian nobilitie, whervpon som ran away, vpon whose departure the goodes as well of them as of other that were put to death were deuided. The [Page] of the Gabinians being in this doubtful case, bolde of all counsell and succour, at length was surrendred to the Romanes. Then Tarquinius concluded peace with the Aequians, and renued a truce with the Thuscanes, and wholly bent him selfe to the affaires of the Citie.

This Tarquinius was the father of hym, that rauished the noble Ladie Lucretia: the lamentable historie wherof, is recited in my former Tome, by the ende of whiche stocke, remembred in that historie, and beginning of the same described in this. Nouell, may bée gathered, what fruits Ambition and lothsome lust bring forth. For Tarquinius Priscus repairing out of Hetruria, to dwell at Rome, by the ambicious will of his wife aspired and atchieued the Kingdome, which was by the sundrie deuice of Tullia, the daughter of Seruius Tullius mainteined, and by the [...] desire of Sextus Tarquinius, the sonne of Superbus the. [...]. Romane King ended, and the whole race expelled & euerlastingly vanished out of that Citie, So mete an example for those, that [...] & long after the rights, titles, & Kingdomes of other, as may bée read in any Author. For although the Spring appeare very fresh and [...], of some degenerate grifft planted vpon some aūcient stock, [...] the fruite moste commonly in taste eateth somewhat sower, and the rellishe in mouthe not altogether so pleasaunt, as that which bothe in soile and stocke, is duely planted.

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Sophonisba.
The seuenth Nouell.

¶ The vnhappie end and successe of the loue of king [...], and of Queene SOPHONISBA his wife.

IF men wold haue a fore cōsideration of their own things & doings, before they doe attempt yt same, or else premeditate and studie the scope and successe therof, I doe verely beleue that a [...] wold [...] [...] themselues [...] into so many gulfs of miseries & [...] as they doe, specially noble men & Princes, who oftentimes doe excell in temeritie & rashnesse, by letting the raines of their owne lusts, to farre to [...] at large, wherin they doe plunge and [...] themselues to their great preiudice & dishonor, as teacheth this goodly History ensuing, which affirmeth that there was a prince [...] Massinissa, the sonne of Gala king of Massezali, [...] people of Numidia, and [...] with the Carthaginians in Spaine against the Romanes, hauing first [...] honorably against king Syphax in Numidia, it chaunced that Gala his father died, vpon whose death his kingdom was inuaded and occupied by other, wherfore susteining [...] the surges of aduersitie, and diuersly combating [Page] with his ennimies, sometimes getting parte of his kingdome, and sometimes [...], and many times molesting both Syphax & the Carthaginians, was in diuers cōflicts like to be taken or slaine. With these his [...], impacient of no pain and trouble, he became very famous and renowmed, that amōgs the people of Affrica he acquired the name and title of a valiant and puissant souldier, and of a politique and prouident Capten. Afterwards he was generally wel beloued of the Souldiers, bicause not like the kings sonne or a prince, but as a priuate souldier and companion, his conuersation and vsuall trade of life was amongs them, calling euery mā by his propre name, [...] and estéeming them according to their desert, obseruing neuerthelesse a certaine comelinesse of a Superiour. This Massinissa by means of one Syllanus being in Spayne, priuely entred acquaintance & [...] with that Scipio which afterwardes was surnamed Affricanus, and who in those dayes with the authoritie of Proconsul in that prouince, victoriously subdued the Carthaginians. The same Massinissa entred league with the Romanes, and inuiolably so long as he liued obserued [...] with the Romane people, and left the same to his children and posteritie as an inheritance. When the Romanes began warres in Affrica, spedily with that power he was able to make, he repaired to his old friend Scipio. within a while after Syphax being ouerthrown in battel & takē, Massinissa & Laelius was sent to take the chief [...] of yt kingdom, which somtimes wer king Syphax owne, called Cirta. In that Citie remained Sophonisba yt wife of Syphax & daughter to Hasdrubal of Giscon, who had alienated hir husband from the Romanes, with whome he was in league, and by hir persuasions he went to aide and defend the Carthaginians. Sophonisba perceiuing that the ennimies wire entred the Citie of Cirta: and [Page] that Massinissa was going towards the Palace, [...] ned to méete him, to proue his gentlenesse and curtesie, whereupon in the middes of the souldiers throng, which were alredy entred the Palace, she stoutly thrust, & boldly looked round about, to proue if she could espy by some signes and tokens the personage of Massinissa. She amōgs that prease perceiued one, whose apparel and armure and the reuerence done vnto him, séemed vnto hir that without doubt the same was the king. And therefore incontinently [...] dawne before him, and pitiously began to speake in this maner: ‘For so much (O puissant Prince) as selicitie and good fortune, but specially the fauor of the Gods immortall haue permitted, that thou shouldest recouer thine auncient kingdom descended vnto thée by right and lawfull inheritaunce, and therwithall hast taken and vanquished thine ennimie, and now hast me at thy will [...] pleasure to saue or spil, I poore wretched miserable womā brought into bōdage from Quéenelike state, whilom leading a delicate life in Princely court, accompanied with a royall traine of beautifull dames, and now at shy mercifull disposition, doe humbly appeale to thy mercie & goodnesse, whose Princely maiestie & comfortable aspect, chereth vp my woful heart to looke for grace, and therfore [...] bolde thus to presume with moost hūble voice to implore and crie out, beséeching thée to reach me hither thy victorious hāds to kisse and salute.’ This Lady was a passing faire gentlewoman, of flourishing age and comely behauiour, none [...] vnto hir within the whole region of Affrica. And so much the more as hir pleasant grace by amiable gesture of complaint did increase, so much the heart of Massinissa was delited, who being lusty and [...] youthly age (according to the nature of the Numides,) was easily intrapped and tangled in the nettes of Loue. Whose glutting eyes were neuer ful, nor fiery hart was [Page] [...] in beholding and wondring at hir most excellent beautie: not foreséeing therefore, or takyng héede of the daungerous effect of beauties snares, his hearte was so fiercely kindled, with [...] swinging flames of loue, that causing hir to rise, he exhorted hir to prosecute hir supplication, who then began to procede as foloweth: ‘If it may be lauful for me thy prisoner and bondwoman (O my soneraigne Lord) to make request and petition, I most hū bly do beséech thée, by thy royal maiestie, wherin no long time past we were magnificently placed in so Kinglike guise as thou art nowe, and by that Numidicall name, common vnto thée and my husbande Syphax, and by the sauing Gods and patrons of this Citie, who with better fortune and more ioyfull successe do receyue thée into the same, thā expelled Syphax out frō thence: it may please thy sacred state, to haue pitie on me. I require no hard and difficult thing at thy handes, vse thine imperiall gouernement ouer me, such as lawe of armes and reason of warre require. Cause me if thou wilt, to pine in cruel prison, or do me to such death, wt torments, as thou list to vse. The sharp fierce and cruell death that any wight can [...], or Perillus Bull shall not be dreadfull vnto me, but more deare and acceptable than [...] life in pleasures led. For no death shalbe refused of me, rather than to be rendred into the proud hands of the most cruel Romanes. Rather had I [...] the trust of a natiue Numide, borne wt me in Affricke soile, than the faith of straungers kinde. I know ful well yt thou dost know what curtesie a Carthaginian & daughter of Hasdrubal, shal surely loke for at yt Romans hāds: whose mind is fearful of nothing more thā of their pride & glory intollerable. If thou (my Lord) haddest sisters of [...] owne, or daughters of thy royal bloud brought forth, think yt they may chaūce (if fortune frown) to slide into the pit of aduerse lucke, so well as I am now. [Page] Of that forme Fortunes whéele is made, which we [...] [...] sée to be [...], turning and diuers, that now peace, and now warre it promiseth, now good, now euill it thretneth, now mirth, now sorow it [...], nowe aduauncing [...], now tumbling downe the clymbers vp. Lette Syphax be a cleare & liuely example to thée, which could neuer finde any [...] stay vnder the Moones globe. He was the mightiest and the richest [...] that raigned in Affrica, and now is the most miserable & vnluckie wight that liueth [...] lande. The Gods graunt that I be no prophete or [...] of future euill, whose omnipotencie I deuoutlye beséech to suffer thée and thy posteritie in Numide, and most happily to raigne. Uonchsafe then to [...] me from the Romanes thraldome, which if thou be not able safely to bring to passe; death vnto me shall bée most hartily welcome.’ In speaking those words, she toke the Kings right hand, and many times swéetly kissed the same. And then hir teares turned into pleasant cheare, in such wise as not onely the minde of the armed and [...] [...] Prince was moued to mercie, but [...] wrapped in the amorous nets of the Ladie, whereby the victour was subdued by the vanquished, and the Lorde surprised of his captiue, vnto whom with trēbling voice thus he answered: ‘Make an end O Sophonisba, of thy large complaint, abandon thy conceyued feare, for I will not onely ridde thée from the Romanès handes, but also take thée to my [...] wife (if thou therwith shalt be content) whereby thou shalte not leade a prisoners life, but passe thy youthfull dayes and [...] age (if Gods doe graunt thée life so long) as Quéene vnto a King, & wife vnto a Romane frende.’ When he had sayd so with wéeping teares, he kissed and embraced hir. She by the [...], signes, gestes, and interrupted [...], comprehending that the mind of the Numide King was kindled [Page] with feruent[?] loue: the more to inflame the same, she behaued hir selfe in such pitiful plight, as the beastly hearts of the Hircane Tigres woulde haue bene made gentle, and dispoiled of all fierceness. For againe she fel downe at his féete, and kissed the armed sabbatons vpon yt same, bedewing them with hir warme teares. And after many sobbes and infinite sighes, comforted by him, she sayd: ‘O the glorie and honor of all the Kings that euer were, bée, or shall be hereafter. O the safest aide of Carthage mine unhappie countrey without desert, and nowe the present and most terrible astonishment: If my hard fortune and great distresse after so greate ruine might haue bene relieued, what greater fauore, what thing in all my life, coulde chaunce more and fortunate vnto me, than to bée called wife of thée? O I blessed aboue all other women to haue a man so noble and famous to husband. O mine aduenturous and most happie ruine. O my moste fortunate miserie[?], that such a glorious and incomparable mariage was prepared[?] for me. But bicause the Gods be cōtrary vnto me; and the due ende of my life approcheth, [...]easse from henceforth (my deare soueraigne Lorde) to kindle againe in me, my hope half dead, or rather consumed and spent, bicause I sée my selfe wrapped in a state, that in vaine against the pleasures of the Gods, I go about to molest thée. A great gift (and to say the truthe) a right great good turne, I make accompte to haue receiued of thée, if myne owne death I should procure, that dying by thy meanes or with thy handes, which were more acceptable, I should escape the feare of the Romanes thrall[?] all and subiection, and this soule deliuered of the same, should streight way passe into the Elysian fieldes. The final scope of this my humble playnt, is to rydone from the handes handes the Romanes, whose thraldome to suffer I had rather die. The other benefit which thou dost [Page] frankly offer to me poore wretche, I dare not desire, much lesse require the same, bicause the presēt state of my mishappe dareth not presume so high. But this thy pitie and compassion ioyned with louing regard and mind toward me, mightie Ioua with all the other Gods rewarde and blesse thy gotten kingdome with long raigne, enlarging the same with more ample boundes, to thine eternall renoum and praise. And I do not only render humble thankes for this thy kinde and louing enterteinmēt, but also yelde my selfe thine owne, so long as life gouerneth this caitife corps of myne.’ These wordes were pronounced with such effecte, as Massinissa was not able for pitie to hold his teares, which watred so his comely forme, as the dewe therof soaked into his tender heart, and not able a long time to speake, at last thus he sayd: ‘Gyue ouer (O my Quéene) these cares and thoughts, drie vp thy cries [...] plaints, make an ende of all these dolorous sutes, and reioyce, that frowarde Fortune hath changed hir mind: the[?] Gods no doubt with better successe, will perfourme the rest of thy liuing dayes. Thou shalt hēceforth remain [...]. Quéene & wife, for pledge whereof the sacred Godhead [...]. I call to witnesse. But if perchaūce (which the thūdring mightie God aboue forbid) that I shall bée forced to render thée the Romanes prisoner, be well assured, that on liue they shal not possesse thée.’ For credit and accomplishment of this promisse, and in signe of his assured faith, he reached his right hād to Sophonisba, and led hir into the inner lodgyng of the Kyngs Palace, where afterwarde Massinissa with him self considering how he might perform his promised faith, [...] ered[?] and troubled with a thousande cogitations, séeing in a manner his manifest ouerthrow and ruine at hande, prouoked with mad and temerarious loue, the very same day in open presence he toke hir to wife, solemnizing that mariage, which afterwards [Page] [...] vnto him great veration & trouble, meaning by the same to haue discharged Sophonisba frō the Romanes rule & order. But when Laelius was come and heard tell therof, [...] [...] and chased, & with [...] wordes cōmaunded Massinissa to send his new maried wife (as the bootie and praie of the Romanes) together with Syphax, to their Captaine Scipio. Notwithstanding vanquished with the supplications and teares of Massinissa, referring the matter wholly to the iudgement of Scipio, he dispatched Syphax with the other prisoners and bootie, to the Romane campe, and he himself remained with Massinissa for the recouerie of other places of the Kingdome, minding not to returne before the whole prouince were brought vnder the Romane subiection. In yt meane time Laelius gaue [...] vnto Scipio, of the successe of Massinissa his mariage. Who knowing the same to be so hastily celebrated, was maruellously offended & troubled in minde, much maruellyng, that Massinissa would make such post hast before the comming of Laelius, Yea & vpon the very first day of his entrie into Cirta, that hée would [...] that vnaduised wedding: & the greater was Scipio his displeasure towards Massinissa, for [...] the loue which he had conceiued of that woman, was vnsemely and dishonest, wondering not a little that he could not finde out some Ladie within the region of Spaine, of [...] beautie and [...], to please and content his honest and commendable intent: wherfore he iudged Massinissa his [...] to be done out of time, to the preiudice and great decay of his honor & estimation. [...] like a wise and Prudent personage he dissembled his conceyued griefe, expecting occasion for remedie of the same. Now the time was come that Laelius and Massnissa wer [...] for to the campe. But to declare the teares & lamentable talke, the great [...] and sighes, vttered betwene [Page] this newe maried couple, time would want, and [...] nesse wold ensue to the reader of the same. He had skarce lyen with his beloued two or thrée nights, but that Laelius (to their great grief and sorow) claimed hir to be his prisoner. Wherfore very sorowful and pensiue he departed, and retourned to the Campe. Scipio in honourable wise receiued him, and openly before his Captaines and men of warre, gaue thanks to Laelius & him, for their prowesse and notable exploites. Afterwards sending for him into his Tent, he said vnto him: ‘I do suppose (my dere frend Massinissa) that the vertue and beneuolence, you saw in me did first of all prouoke you, to transfrete the straites, to visite me in Spaine, wherin the goodwill of my valiant friend Syllanus did not a little anaile, to sollicite and procure amitie betwéene vs both, which afterwards induced your constant minde, to retire into [...], & to commit both your self and all your goods into my hands and kéeping. But I well pondering the qualitie of that vertue which moued you thervnto, you being of [...], and I of Europa, you a Numidian borne, and I a Latine and Romane, of diuers customes & language differēt, thought that the temperance and abstinence from veneriall pleasures which you haue séene to be in me, and experience therof well tried and proued, (for the which I render vnto the immortal Gods most hūble thanks) wold or ought to haue moued you to follow mine example, being these vertues which aboue al other I doe most esteme and cherish, which vertues should haue allured you (being a man of great prowesse and discretion) to haue imitated and folowed the same. For he that well marketh the rare giftes and excellent benefits wherwith dame nature hath [...] you, would thinke that there should be no lacke of diligence and trauell to subdue and ouercome the carnall appetites of temporal beautie: which had it [...] applied to [Page] the rare giftes of nature planted in you, had made you a personage to the posteritie very famous and renoumed. Consider wel my present time of youth, full of courage & youthly lust, which contrary to that naturall race I stay and prohibite. No delicate beautie, no voluptuous delectation, no seminine flatterie, can intice the same to the perils and daungers wherevnto that héedelesse age is most prone and subiect, by which prohibition of amorous passions, temperatly raigned and gouerned the tamer and subduer of those passions, closing his breast from lasciuious imaginations, and stopping his eares from the Syrenes & Marmaides, of that sexe and kinde, getteth greater glory and fame, than that which we haue gotten by our victory had against Syphax. Hannibal the greatest ennimie that euer we Romanes felt, the stoutest gentleman & captain without péere, through the delites and imbracements of women effeminated, is no more that mālike and notable Emperor which he was wont to be. The great exploits & enterprises which valiantly you haue done in Numidia, when I was farre from you, your care, redinesse, [...], your strength and valor, your expedition and bolde attepts, with all the rest of your noble vertues worthy of immortall praise, I might & could perticulerly recite, but to commend and extol them, my heart and minde shal never be satisfied, by renouaciō wherof I shuld rather giue occasion of blushing, than my selfe could be contented to let them sléepe in silence. Syphax as you know is taken prisoner by the valiaunce of our men of warre, by reason wherof, him self, his wife, his kingdom, his campe, lands, cities, and inhabitants, and briefly all that which was king Syphax, is the pray and spoile to the Romane people, and the king and his wife, albeit she was no Citizen of Carthage, and hir father, although no captaine of our ennimies, yet we must send them to Rome, there to leaue [Page] them at the pleasure and disposition of the Romane [...] nate and people. Doe you not know that Sophonisba with hir toyes & flatteries did alienat and withdraw king Syphax from our amitie and friendship, and made him to enter force of armes against vs? Be you ignoraunt that she, ful of rancor and malice against the Romane people, endeuored to set al [...] against vs, & now by hir faire inticements hath gained and wonne you, not I say our [...], but an ennimie so farre as she can, with hir cruell inchauntmēts? What damage and hurt haue lighted vpō diuers Monarches and Princes through sugred lips and venemous woords, I will not spend time to recite. With what prouocations and cōiured charmes she hath already bewitched your good nature, I wil not now imagine, but referre the same to the déepe consideration of your wisdome. Wherefore Massinissa, as you haue bene a Conquerer ouer great nations and prouinces, be now a conquerer ouer your owne mind and appetites, the victorie whereof deserueth greater praise than the conquest of the whole world. Take héede I say, that you blot not your good qualities and conditions, with the spots of dishonor and pusillanimitie. [...] not that fame which hitherto is [...] aboue the Region of the glittering starres. Let not this vice of Feminine flatterie spoile the deserts of Noble chiualrie, & vtterly deface those [...] with greater ignominie than the cause of that offence is worthie of dispraise.’

Massinissa hearing these egre & sharp rebukes, not only blushed for shame, but bitterly werping, said yt his poore prisoner and wife was at the commaundemēt of Scipio. Noiwithstanding, so instantly as teares woulde suffer him to speake, he besought hym, that if it were possible, he would giue him leaue to obserue his faith foolishly assured, bicause he had made an othe to Sophonisba that [Page] with life she should not be deliuered to the handes of the Romanes. And after other talke betwene them, Massinissa departed to his pauilion, where alone with manifold sighes, with most bitter teares and plaintes, vttered with such houlings and outcries, as they were heard by those which stode about the same, he rested al the day bewailing his present state: the most part of the night also he spent with like heauinesse, and debating in his minde vpon diuers thoughts and deuises, more confused and amased than before, he could by no meanes take any rest: sometimes he thought to flée and passe the straights commonly called the pillers of Hercules, from thence to saile to the Fortunate Islandes with his wife: then again he thought with hir to escape to Carthage, & in ayde of that Citie to serue against the Romans, somtimes he purposed by sword, poison, halter, or som such means to end his life and finish his dolorous days: many times he was at point by prepared knife & sworde to pierce his heart, & yet stayed the same, not for feare of death, but for preseruatiō of his fame & honor. Thus this wretched & miserable [...] burned & consumed with loue, tossing and tumbling him selfe vpon his bedde, not able to find comfort to ease his paine, thus began to say: ‘O Sophonisba, my deare beloued wife, O the life and comforte of my life, O the deyntie repast of my ioy and quiet, more amiable than the balles of myne vnhappie eyes, what shall become of vs? Alas, & out alas I crie, that I shall sée no more that incō parable beautie of thine, that thy surpassyng comely face, those golden lockes, those glistering eyes which a thousande times haue darkned and obscured the rayes & beames of the Sunne it selfe: Alas I say, that I can no longer be suffred to heare the plesant harmonie of thy voice, whose swéetnesse is able to force Iupiter himselfe to mitigate his rage, when with lightning thunderboltes and [Page] [...] claps in his greatest furie he [...] to plague [...] earth. Ah that it is not lawfull any more for me to throw these vnhappie armes about thy swéet neck, whose [...] of face entermingled with séemely rudds, [...] the morning roses, which by the swéete nightly dewes do sproute and budde. The Gods graunt that I do not long remaine on liue without thy swéete haunt and company, which can no longer draw forth this breathing ghoste of mine, than can a bodie liue without like breathe in it. Graunt (O mightie Iupiter) that one graue may close vs twaine to liue among the ghostes and shadowes that be alreadie past this worlde for like right louing fittes, [...] intent of life be ment to mée without thy fellowship & delectable presēce. And who (O good God) shal be more blisfull amongs the Elysian fields, wandryng amids the spirites and ghostes of departed soules, than I, if there we two may iette and stalke among the shadowed friths and forrests huge, besette with Mirtle trées, odoriferous and swéete? that there we may at large recount and sing the swéete & sower pangs of those oure passed loues without any stay or let at all: that there I say we may remembre things alreadie done, reioycing for delightes and sighing for the paines. There shall no harde hearted Scipio bée founde, there shall no marble minded captain rest, which haue not had regarde of Loues toyes, ne yet haue pitied my bitter pains, by hauing no experiece what is the force of Loue. He then with ouer cruell wordes shall not goe about to persuade me to forsake thée, or to deliuer thée into the Romanes handes, to incurre miserable and [...] cruell bondage: he shal there neuer checke me for the seruent loue I beare thée: we shall there abide without suspition of him or any other: they can not separate vs, they be not able to diuide our swéetest companie. I would the Gods aboue had graunted me the benefite, that hée had [Page] neuer arriued into Affrica, but had still remained in Sicilia, in Italie or Spayne. But what stand I vpon these termes, O I foole and beast? what meanes my drousie head to dreme such fansies? if he had not passed ouer into Affrica, & made warre against king Syphax, howe shold I haue euer séene my faire Sophonisba, whose beautie farre surmounteth eche other wight, whose comlinesse is without péere, whose grace inspeakeable, whose maners rare and incomparable, and whose other qualities generally disparcled throughout dame Natures mould by speche of mā can not be described? If Scipio had not transfraited the seas to arriue in Affrike soyle, howe should I, (O onely hope and last refuge of my desires) haue knowen thée, neither should I haue bene thy féere, ne yet my wife thou sholdest haue ben, but great had ben thy gaine and losse not much, neuer sholdest thou haue felt the present painfull state, wherin thou art thy life (wherof most worthie no doubt thou art) shold not haue lien in ballāce poize, or rested in doubtful plight, which now in choice of enimies thrall thou maist prolong, or else in Romanes hands a praie or spoil by captiue state. But I beséech the Gods to preuent the choice to be a Romane prisoner. And who can thinke that Scipio euer ment to graunt me the life of one, & goeth about to spoil me of the same? Did not he giue me the pardon of one, when he sent me to besiege the Citie of Cirta, where I found fair Sophonisba which is my life? A straūge kind of pardō, by giuing me a pardon to dispossesse me of yt same. Who euer hard tel of such a pardon? So much as if he said to me, thus: Massinissa,) go take the paine to cause yt Citie yeld, or ransack the same by force, & I wil pardon thée thy life, & not with yt only benefit, but wt Craesus goods wil inrich thée, & make shée owner of the happy soile of Arrabia, & when I haue so done & rased the walles by mine indeuor, wherin mine [Page] only life and ioy did rest, at my retourne for guerdone of my noble fact, in stéede of life he choppeth of my head, and for faire promise of golden mountes, he strips me naked, and makes me a Romane slaue. According to which case and state he deales with me. For what auailes my life, if in grief and sorrowes [...] I drown the pleasures of the same? Doth not he berieue my life and bréedes my death by diuiding me from my faire Sophonisba? Ah Caitife wretch what lucke haue I, that neither storm nor whirle winde could send him home to Italian shore, or set him packing to Sicile land? What ment cruell Scipio, when so sone as Syphax was takē, he did not streight way dispatche him to Rome, to present the glorious sight of the Numidian king to yt Romane people? If Scipio had not bene here, thou Sophonisba frankly hadst bene mine: for at Laelius hāds I could haue found some grace. But surely if Scipio did once sée Sophonisba, & reclined his eies to view hir perelesse beautie, I doubt not but he wold be moued to haue compassion vpon hir and me, and would haue iudged hir worthy not only to be Quéene of Numidia but of all the prouince besides. But what? do I make this good accompt? The common prouerbe saith, that he which counteth without his hoste, must recken twice: and so perhaps may be my lot. For what know I if Scipio did wel view hir, whether he himselfe would be inamored of hir or not, & so vtterly depriue me of that Iewel? He is a man no doubt as others be, and it is impossible me think, but that the hardnesse of his heart must bowe to the view of such a noble beautie. But (beast as I am) what mean these woords? What follies doe I vaunt by singing to the deafe, and teaching of the blinde? O wretch, wretch, nay more than miserable wretch. Marke the woords of Scipio, he demaundeth Sophonisba, as a thing belōging vnto him, for which cause he sayeth that she is the pray & [Page] parte of the Romane spoile. But what shall I [...]? shall I giue hir vnto him? He [...] haue hir, he [...] me, he exhortes me, he prayes me, but I know full wel [...] those intreaties tende, & vnder the grasse what linking Serpent lieth. Shal I then put into his hands mine owne [...]. But before I so [...], the [...] God aboue, with his flashing fires & [...] brands shall thunder me downe into the depthe of Hell. The gapyng ground receyue my corps, before I yelde to that request, the trampling stéedes of sauage kinde do teare my membres in thousand gobbets, the desert beastes consume my flesh, the [...] gripes and [...] kites, picke out my tongue and eyes, before I glutte his [...] mind with that demaunde to breake the [...] whith by holy othe I haue promised to performe. Oh [...] [...], but what shall I doe then? It behoueth to obey, & in despite of my téeth to doe that which the Romane Emperour commaū deth. Alas, by thinking vpon that straight and néedefull lot, I die a thousand deathes: wherfore of euils to [...] the least of twaine, and to preserue my plighted faith, O swéete Sophonisba, thou must die, and by meanes of thy beloued féere, shalt void the yoke of Romanes thral: for so it pleaseth vnmindefull Ioua to appoynt. The wretched heauens by cruell fate haue throwen their lot, that I of mine owne mischiefe shal be the minister. And so (O lyfe most dere) I shal perform the [...] to kepe the faith which last of al before thy face I did confirme.’ By this spech and maner of talke, the good Prince bewailed his case, excogitating by what meanes hée myght doe to death the thing which aboue all the world he loued best. At length it came vnto his minde to send hir a draught of poisoned drinke, which deuise he had no sooner inuented, but he was driue into a new kinde of fury, and kindled with disdaine, his [...] were on fire with extreme madnesse, ‘& as though [Page] [...] had bene before him, he [...] and [...] in Bedlemwise, somtimes [...] taunts he checked hir to hir [...], somtimes lamented hir vnfortunate state; somtimes with pawes displayed, he seemed to rampe into hir [...], [...] then againe into amorous toyes his passions droue him [...], When I doe thinke what kinde of man Massinissa was, who in déede was a [...] and [...] noble king, [...] who with such Prndence gouerned his new [...] recouered kingdoms, & so constantly perseuered [...] of ye Romane people, I pray to God to [...] my friends & my selfe also, not to enter into so [...] and louesonie Labyrinth, wherin this noble Prince was tangled, and with more [...] to gouerne our beloued things.’

But retourning againe to this afflicted gentleman Massinissa. He sent vnto his beloued wife and Quéene a potte of [...] to rid hir of hir life: but yet staying his messanger, he cried out these woordes: ‘God forbid that I should commit this infamous murder vpon hir whenie I most déerely loue, I would: rather [...] hir into the extreme parts of the vnknowen and sandy coast of Lybia, where ye Caūtrie is ful of venemous beastes & crawling poysoned serpents, in which place we shalbe safe and sure from the daunger of cruell & inexorable Scipio, by which meanes he shall neuer see ye rare & diuine beautie, which the Serpents once beholding, will mitigate & asswage their bitter poyson; & for whose sake they will not annoy ne yet hurt me hir louing husband & companion. Wherefore let vs make hast to flée thither, to [...] the bondage and death prepared for vs. And if so be we be not able to cary with vs golde and siluer, yet shal we not want there some relief to maintein our lines? for better it is to féede on bread and water, then to liue in perpetual thraldome, And liuing with thée (swéete wife) what [...] & beg gery am not I able to susteine? The [...] of exile and [Page] [...], I haue alreadie suffred. For being driuen out of iny kingdome many times, I haue repaired to obscure dennes and caues, where I haue hidden my selfe, and lined in the wildernesse among the Sanage beastes. But what meane I thus to say of my selfe, whome no misaduenture can affray or mislike? but thou deare wife which hast ben trained vp and norished amongs the delicacies & bankets of the Court, [...] with traines of many faire & noble ladies, liuing like a Quene in al kind of plesures & delights: what shall I doe with thée? I know thy heart will not suffer thée to follow me, and yet if the same would serue thée, frō whence shal I procure present shipping? Upon the sea ye Roman fleet beares the swinge, vpon yt land Scipio with his armie occupieth euery coast, & is generall lord of the field. What then shall I most miserable and infortunate caitife do? For whilest I am thus making my bitter complaints, the night is past away, day light approcheth, and the bright shining mornyng beginneth to cleare the earth. And behold, yonder commeth the Generalls messanger for Sophonisba, whome I must either deliuer into his handes, or else commit hir to present slaughter, being assured that she had rather make choise to die, than fall into the lappes of the cruell Romanes.’

Whervpon he determined to sende hir the poison, and for very sorrow fell downe vpon the grounde like a man halfe deade. Afterwards being come againe to him selfe, he cursed the earth, the aire, the syre, heauen, hell, and all the Gods of the same, and exclaming in lamentable wise he called vnto him one of his moste faithfull seruaunts, who according to the custome of those days, always kept poison in store, and sayd vnto him: ‘Receine this cuppe of golde, and deliuer the same with the poison therin, to the Quéene Sophonisba nowe abiding within the Citie of Cirta, and tell hir that I with greatest good will woulde [Page] fain haue kept the mariage knot, and the first faith which I plighted vnto hir, but the lorde of the fielde, in whose power I am, hath vtterly forbidden the same. I haue assayed all possible meanes to preserue hir my wyfe and Quéene at libertie, but he which commaundeth me, hath pronounced such hard & cruell sentence, as I am forced to offende my self, and to be the minister of mine owne mischiefe. This poyson I send hir with so dolefull message, as my poore heart God knoweth) doth only [...] the smart being the most sorowfull present that euer was offred to any faire Ladie. This is the way alone to saue hir from the Romanes handes. Pray hir to consider the worthinesse of hir father, the dignitie of hir countrey, & the royall maiestie of the. [...]. Kings hir husbands, and to do as hir minde and will shall fansie best. Get thée hence with all possible spede, and lose no time in doing this thy message. For thou shalt cary the bane and present death of the fairest Ladie that euer Nature framed within hir fairest moulde.’ The seruant with this commaundement [...] part, and Massinissa like a childe beaten with the rodde, wept and cried behind. The messanger being come to the Quéene, and giuing hir the cuppe with the poison, declared his cruell ambassage. The Quéene toke the poysoned cuppe, and said vnto the messanger: ‘Giue the king thy maister right humble thankes in my behalfe, and say vnto him, that I receiue and drinke this poyson with a will so good, as if he had commaunded me to enter in triumph with Laurell garlande ouer mine ennimies. For a better gift a husband can not giue to wife, than accomplishment of assured faith, the funeralls whereof shall be done with present obsequie.’ And saying nothing else vnto the Messanger, she toke the cuppe, and myngling well together the poyson within, she vnfearfully [...] it vp. And [...] [...] had dronke the same, she deliuered the messanger his [Page] cuppe againe, and layed hir selfe vpon hir bed, commaū ding hir Gentlewomen in comely wise to couer hir with clothes, and without lamentation or signe of Feminine minde, shée stoutly waighted for approching death. The Gentlewomen which waited vpon hir, bewaited the rufull state of their [...] esse, whose plaints and schriches were heard throughout the palace, wherof the brute and rumor was great. But the good Quéene vanquished with the strong force of the poyson, remained not long before she died. The Messanger returned these heauie newes vnto Massinissa, who sorowfully complained the losse of his beloned wife, in such wise, as many tymes hée was like to kill him selfe, that his soule might haue accompanied the ghost of hir, which was beloued of hym aboue all the deerest things of the worlde. The valiaunt and wise captaine Scipio vnderstanding hereof, to the intent Massinissa shoulde not commit any crueltie against himselfe, or perpetrate other vncomely déede, called hym before him, and comforted him with the swéetest wordes he could deuise, and friendly reproued him for the little faith and trust that he had in him. The next day in the [...] of all the arinie he highly commended him, and rewarded him with the Kingdome of Numidia; giuing hym many rich iewels and treasures, and brought him in great estimation amōgs yt Romans, which the Senate and people of Rome; very well approned and cōfirmed with most ample priuileges, attributing vnto him the title of King of Numidia, and frend of the Romanes. Such was the eude of the vnhappie loue of kyng [...], and the faire and unluckie Quéene Sophonisba.

[Page]

Poris and Theoxena
The. viij. Nouell.

¶ The crueltie of a King of [...], who forced a Gentlewomā called THEOXENA, to persuade hir children to kill and poison them selues: after which facte, she and hir husband PORIS, ended their life by drovvning.

BUt sith wée haue begon to treat of the stoutnesse of certaine noble Quéenes, I will not let also to recite the Historie of a like vnfearefull dame of Thessalian lande, called Theoxena; of right noble race, the daughter of Herodicus prince of that cū trey in the time that Philip the sonne of Demetrius was king of Macedone, tolde also by Titus Liuius, as two of the former be. This lady Theoxena, first was a notable exāple of [...] & vertue, & afterwardes of rigorous crueltie. For the said King Philip, hauing through his wickednesse first murdred Herodicus, and by succession of time cruelly done to death also, the husbands of Theoxena and of Archo hir natural sister, vnto either of them being widowes remaining a sonne: afterwardes Archo beyng maried againe to one of the principall of their countrey named Poris, of [Page] him she had many childrē. But when she was dead, yt sayd ladie Theoxena hir sister, who was of heart more cōstant and stoute than the other, stil refused the second mariage, although sued vnto by many great lordes and princes, at length pitying hir nephewes state, for scare they shold fal into the handes of some cruell stepdame, or that their father would not bring them vp with such diligence, as till that time they were, was contented to be espoused again to Poris, (no lawe that time knowen to defend the same) to the intent she might traine vp hir sisters children as hir owne. That done she began (as if they wer hir own) to intreate and vse them louingly, with great care and [...]: wherby it [...] appeared, that she was not [...] againe to Poris for hir own commoditie and pleasure, but [...] for the welth and gouernement of those hir sisters children. Afterwards Philip king of Macedon, an vnquiete Prince, determining to make new warres vpon the Romanes (then throughout the worlde famous and [...] for their [...] fortune) [...] not onely the chief and noble men, but almost all the auncient inhabi [...] of the Cities along the sea coast of Thessalia, and their whole and entier families into Peonia afterwards called Emathia, a countrey farre distant from the sea: giuing their voided cities for the Thracians to inhabite, as most propre and faithfull for the Romains warres, which he intended to make: and hearing also the [...] & maledictions pronoūced against him by the banished people, and vniuersally by all other, thoughte hée was in no good suretie, if he caused not likewise all the sonnes of them, whome a little before he had [...], to be put to death. Wherfore he commaunded them to be taken and holden vnder good garde inprison, not to do them all to be [...] at once, but at times now one and then an other, as [...] [...]. Theoxena vnderstanding the [...] of this [Page] wicked and cruell King, and well remembring the death of hir husband, and of him that was husband to hir sister, knew wel that hir sonne and nephew [...] [...] be demaunded, and greatly [...] the Kings wrath, and the rigour of his Guarde, if once they fell into their handes, to defende them from shame and crueltie, sodeinly applied hir minde vnto a straunge deuice. For shée durst to say vnto hir husband their fathers sace, that sooner [...] would kill them with hir owne handes, if otherwise she coulde not warraunt [...], than suffer them to bée at the will and power of King Philip. By reason wherof Poris abhorring [...] erecrable crueltie, to comforte his wife and to saue his children, promised hir secretely to transporte them from thence, and caried them himselfe to certain of his faithful friends at Athenes, which done without long delay, he made as though he would go from Thessalonica to Aenias, to be at the [...] of certaine sacrifices, which yearely at an appointed time was done with great ceremonies to the honour of Aenêas the [...] of that citie, where spending the time amongs other in solemne bankets, the. iij. watch of the night when euery mā was a slepe, as though he woulde haue returned home to his countrey with his wife & children, priuily he embarketh him selfe and them, in a shyppe hired of purpose to passe into Euboea, and not to [...] to Thessalonica. But his entent was cleane altered & chaunged: for his shippe was no sooner vnder saile, but at that instant a contrarie winde and tempest rose, that brought him backe againe, in despite of their labour, and all the endeuour they were able to doe. And when daye light appeared, the Kyngs garrison descried that shippe, and manned out a boate, to bring in the same, which secretely they thought was about to escape away, giuing them straight charge, that by no meanes they shoulde returne without hir. When the [Page] [...] drew neare the shippe, Poris bent him self to encourage the mariners to hoyse by saile againe, and to make way with their oares into the sea, if it were possible, to auoide the imminent and present danger, to saue the life of him selfe, his wife & children: then he erected his handes vp vnto the heauens to implore the healpe and succor of the Gods, which the stoute Gentlewoman Theoxena perceiuing, and manifestly séeing the daunger wherein they were, callyng to hir mynde hir former determinate vengeance which she ment to do, and beholding [...] in his prayers, she prosecuted hir intente, preparing a poysoned drinke in a cuppe, and made redie naked swordes: All which bringyng forth before the childrens face, she spake these words: ‘Death alone must bée the reuēge of your siely liues, whervnto there be two wayes, poison or the sworde. Euery of you choose which ye list to haue: or of whether of them your heart shall make the frankest choyse. The Kings crueltie and pride you must auoyde. Wherfore dere children be of good [...], raise vp your no ble courage: ye ye elder aged boyes, shew now your selues like men, and take the sword into your handes to pierce your tender hearts: but if the bloudie smart of that most dreadfull death, shal feare and fright your gréene and vnripe age, then take the venomed cuppe, and gulpe by sundrie draughts, this poisoned drinke. Be franke and lusty in this your destenied death, sith the violence of Fortune by sea, doeth let the lengthning of your life. I craue this request of choise, and let not the same rebound with fearful refuse of this my craued hest. Your mother afterwardes shal passe that straight, wherof she prayeth hir babes to bée the poastes: yée the vaunt currours, and shée, with your louing [...], shall ende and finishe Philips rage bent agaynst vs.’ When shée had spoken these wordes, and [...] the enimies at hand, this couragious dame, the [...] [Page] of the death, egged & prouoked these yong [...] childrē (not yet wel resolued what to do) with hir encharmed words in such wise, as in the ende, some dranke the poison, and other strake them selues into the bodie, and by hir commaundement were throwen ouer boorde, not altogether dead, and so she set them at libertie by death, whom tenderly she had brought vp. Then she imbracing hir husbande the companion of hir death, both did voluntarily throw them selues also into the sea: And when the Kings espials were come aboorde the ship, they found the same abandoned of their praye. The crueltie of which fact, did so moue the cōmon people to detectation and [...] of the king, as a generall cursse was pronounced against him & his children, which heard of the Gods aboue was afterwardes terribly reuenged vpon his stock & [...]. This was the end of good Poris and his stout wise Theoxena, who rather than she would fall into the lapse of the Kings furie, as hir father Herodicus, and hir other husbande did, chose violently to die with hir owne handes, and to cause hir husbands children and hir owne, to berieue them selues of life, which although agaynst the louing order of naturall course, and therefore that kinde of violence to be abhorred, as horrible in it selfe, yet a declaration of a stoute minde, if otherwise she had ben able to reuenge the same. And what coward heart is that, that dare not vpon such extremitie, whé it séeth the mercilesse ennimie at hand, with shining blade redie bent, to strike the blowe, that without remedie muste ridde the same of breath, specially when it séeth the trembling babe, naturally begotten by his owne kinde and nature, before the face imploryng fathers rescue, what [...] heart dare not to offer himself, by singular fight (though one to twē tie) either by desperate hardinesse to auoide the same, or other anoyance, aduenture what he can? which in Christians [Page] is admitted as a comely fight, rather than with that Pagane dame to doe the death it selfe.

But now returne we to describe a facte that passeth all other forced déedes. For Theoxena was compelled in a maner thus to do of méere constraint to eschue the greater torments of a tyrants rage, and thought it better by chosen death to chaunge hir life, than by violent hands of bloudie butchers to bée haled to the slaughter. But this Hidrusian dame was wearie of hir life, not for that shée feared losse of life, but desperate to think of Fortunes [...] staye: which [...] Fortunes darlings would regarde in time, they would foresée their slippery hold.

A Gentlewoman of Hidrusa
The nynth Nouell.

¶ A Straunge and maruellous vse, which in olde time was obserued in HIDRVSA, where it was lawfull, with the licence of a Magistrate ordeined for that purpose, for [...] [...] and woman that list, to kill them selues.

BAndello amongs the company of his [...], telleth this Historie: and in his owne person speaketh these woords. If I should begin to tell those things which I sawe in the time that I sailed alōgs the leuāt seas, very tedious it would be for you to heare, and I in reporting could not tell which way to ende, bicause I saw and [Page] heard things right worthy to be remembred. Notwithstanding[?], for satisfaction of diuers that be my frendes, I will not sticke to reherse some of them. But first of all one straunge custom, which in the Romans time was vsed in one of the Ilandes of the sea Aegeum, called Hidrusa, in these dayes by the trauailers called Cea or Zea, and is one of the Ilandes named Ciclades, whilome full of populous and goodly Cities, as the rumes thereof at this day do declare. Ther was in old time in that Iland a very strange lawe and ordinaunce, which many hundred yeares was very well and perfectly kepte and obserued. The Lawe was, that euery person inhabitant within the sayde [...], of what sexe and condition so euer, béeing thorough age, infirmitie, or other accidents, wearie of their life, might choose that kinde of death which liked them best: howbeit it was prouided that the partie, before the dooing of the same, shoulde manifest the cause that moued hym therevnto, before the Magistrate elected by the people for that speciall purpose, which they ordeyned bycause they sawe that diuers persons had volūtarily killed themselues, vpon triflyng occasions and matters of little importance: accordyng to whiche lawe very many men and women, hardily with so mery chere went to their death, as if they had gone to some bankette or mariage. It chaunced that Pompeius Magnus that dreadfull Romane, vetwene whō and Iulius Caesar were foughte the greatest battailes for superioritie that euer were. Pompeius (I say) sailing by the sea Aegeum, arriued at Hidrusa, and there goyng a land vnderstode of the inhabitants the maner of that law and how the same day a woman of great worship had obteined licence of the Magistrate to poison hir selfe. Pompeius hearing tell hereof, was driuen into great admiration, and thought it very straunge, that a woman which al[?] the days of hir life had liued in greate honour and estimation, [Page] shold vpon light cause or occasion poison hir self, sith it was naturally giuen to eche breathyng wyght, to prolong their liuing dayes with the longest thréede that Atropos could draw out of dame Natures webbe. Wher vpon he commaunded the sayd matrone to be brought before hym, whose death for hir vertue was generally lamented by the whole countrey. When the Gentlewomā was before him, and had vnderstāding that she was fully resolued and determined to die, he began by greate [...] to exhort hir, that she should not wilfully [...] hir selfe away, vpon consideration that she was of lusty yeares, riche and [...] of the whole countrey: & how greate pitie it were but shée shoulde renue hir minde and giue hir selfe still to liue and remayne, til naturall course did ende and finish hir life: howbeit his [...] and earnest persuasion could not diuert hir from hir intēded purpose. But Pompeius [...] to haue hir die, ceassed not still to [...] his former talke with newe reasons and stronger arguments. All which she paciently heard with fired [...], til at length with clere voice and [...] cheare [...] answered him in this maner.

‘You be greatly deceiued (my lord Pompeius) if you do beleue that I without very great prouidence and [...] [...] goe about to end my days: for I do know and am [...] persuaded, that eche creature naturally craueth the prolongation and lengthning of life, & so much abhorreth to die, as the desirous to [...], [...] the poison whiche I haue prepared for consummation of my life. Wher vpon I haue diuers times thought, considered and discoursed with my selfe, and amongs many considerations [...] debated in my minde, there came into the same the [...] and [...] change of Fortune, whose whir [...] [...], neuer [...], ne yet remaineth [...], It [...] dayly séene how she doth exalt and aduance some man [Page] from the lowest and bottomlesse pitte, euen to the [...] of the hygh Heauens, endowyng hym wyth so much substaunce as he can desire. An other that was moste happie, honoured in this worlde lyke a God, vnto whom no goodes and welfare were wantyng, who myghte well haue bene called in his lyfe, a thrée tymes happie and blessed wyght, sodaynly from his honoure and [...] depriued and made a verie poore man and begger. Some man also, that is bothe riche and lustie, accompanied wyth a faire wife and goodlye children, lyuyng in greate myrth and ioylitie, this wicked Ladie Fortune, the deuourer of all oure contentacions, depriueth from the inestimable treasure of health, causeth the fayre wife to loue an other better than hir husbande, and with [...] venomous tooth, biteth the children, that in shorte space myserable deathe catcheth them all within hys dreadfull clouches, whereby hée is defrauded of those chyldren, whome after his deathe hée purposed to leaue [...] his heires.’

‘But what meane I to consume tyme and words in declaration of fortunes vnsteady staye, which is more clere than the beames of the Sunne, of whome dayly a thousande thousande examples bée manifest. All histories be full of them. The myghtie countrey of Graecia doeth render ample witnesse wherein so many excellent men were bredde and brought vp. Who desirous with their fynger to touche the highest heauen, were in a moment throwen downe: And so many famous Cities, whiche gouerned numbers of people, nowe at this presente day wée sée to bée thrall and obedient to thy Citie of Rome. Of these hurtefull and perillous mutations (O noble Pompcius) thy Romane Citie may bée a [...] cleare glasse and Spectacle, and a multitude of thy noble Citizens [Page] in tyme paste and present, may gyue plentyfull witnesse.’

‘But to come to the cause of this my death, I say, that fyndyng my selfe to haue lyued these many yeares (by what chaunce I can not tell) in verie greate prosperitie, in all whiche tyme I neuer dyd suffer any one myssehappe, but styll from good to better, haue passed my time vntil thys daye: Nowe fearyng the frownyng of Lady Fortunes face, and that shée will repente hir long continued fauoure, I feare, I saye, leaste the same Fortune shoulde chaunge hir stile, and begynne in the middest of my pleasaunt life to sprinckle hir poysoned bitternesse, and make mée the [...] and Quiuer of hir sharpe and noysome arrowes. Wherefore I am nowe determined by good aduyse, to ridde my self from the captiuitie of hir force, from all hir misfortunes, and from the noysom and grieuous infirmities, which miserably be incident to vs mortall Creatures: And beleue me (Pompcius) that many in theyr aged dayes haue left their life with litle honour, who had they ben gone in their youth had died famous for euer.’

‘Wherefore (my Lorde Pompeius) that I may not be tedious vnto thée, or hinder thyne affaires by long discourse, I beséeche thée to gyue me leaue to follow my deliberate disposition, that frankely and fréely I may bée [...] of all daunger: for the longer the life doth growe, to the greater discommodities it is subiect.’

When shée had so sayde, to the greate admiration and compassion of all those whiche were present, with tremblyng handes and fearefull cheare, shée quaffed a greate cuppe of poysoned drynke, the whyche shée broughte wyth hir for that purpose, and within a while after dyed.

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This was the strange vse and order obserued in [...]. Whiche good counsell of that dame had the noble and valiaunt captaine followed, no doubt he would haue ben contented to haue ben brought to order: And then he had not lost that bloudie battell atchieued against him by Iulius Cesar at Pharsalia, in Egypt: Then he had not sustained so many ouerthrowes as he did: then had he not ben forsaken of his trendes, and in the ende endured a death so miserable. And for somuch as for the most part [...] therto we haue intreated of many tragical and bloudie rhaunces, respiring nowe from those, lette vs a little touche some medicinable remedies for loue, some lessons for gouernement and obediēce, some treaties of amorous dames, and hautie [...] of Princes, Quéenes and other persons, to variate the chaungeable diet, wherewith dyuers bée affected, rellishyng their Stomackes wyth some more pleasant digestions than they haue tasted.

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Faustina the Empresse.
The tenth Nouell.

¶ The dishonest Loue of [...] AVSTINA the Empresse, and vvith vvhat remedie the same loue vvas remoued and taken avvay.

TRue and moste holie is the sentence, that the ladie, gentlewoman, or other wighte of Female kinde, of what degrée or condition soeuer she bée, be she saire, fowle, or ylfauoured, can not be endewed with a more precious Pearle or Jewell, than is the [...] & pure vertue of honesty: which is of such valour, that it alone without other vertue, is able to render hir that [...] in hir attire, moste famous and excellent. Be she more beautifull than Helena, be she mightier than the Amazon, better learned than Sappho, rycher than Flora, more louing than Quéene Dido, or more noble than the best Empresse and Quéene of the worlde, or be she full of any other vertue, if the want the name of chast, she is not worthie so much as to beare the title of honour, nor to be entertained in honest company. Ye shall peruse hereafter [Page] an historie of a Countesse of Celant, that was a passyng faire dame, singularly adorned with Natures gifts. She was faire, pleasant, [...], comely, and [...] not altogether barraine of good erudition and learning: shée could play vpon the instruments, [...], daunce, make and compose wittie and amorous Sonets, and the more hir companie was frequented, the more amiable and gracious the same was [...], But bicause she was [...] fast and lesse [...], she was of no regard and estimation. Such as be dishonest, do not onely hurt them selues, but gyue cause to the [...] people to mutter and grudge at their parentes education, at their husbandes gouernement and institution of their children, causing them most cōmonly to leade a [...] and heauy life. Think you that Augustus Caefar (albeit he was a victorious Emperour, and led a triumphant raigne) liued a contented life when he saw the two Iuliae, one of them his daughter, the other his Niece, to vse them selues like cōmon [...] constrained through their shameful [...], to pin and close vp himselfe, and to shunne the conuersation of men, and once in minde to cut his daughters vaynes to let cut hir lustie bloud? Was not he wōt the teeres trickling down his Princely face to say, that better it was neuer to haue children & to be dead without them, than to haue a fruteful wife & children so disordred? He [...] his daughter to be a carrion lumpe of fleshe, full of [...] & filthinesse. But if I list to speake of woms̄ of this age, from noble to vnnoble, from an Emperors daughter to a plough mans modder, whose liues do frame after Iulia [...] lore, my pen to the stumpes would weare, and my hande bée wearied with writing. And so likewise it would of numbres now no doubt, that folowe the trace of Lucrece [...], that [...] and chastly contriue the day and nightes in pure and godly exercise. But of the naughtie sorte to speake, [Page] (leauing to voide offence, such as do flourish in our time) I wil not concele the Empresse Messalina, that was wife to the Emperour Claudius, not onely vnworthie of Empresse degrée, but of the title of woman: who being abused by many, at length arriued to suche abhominable lust, that not contented with daily adulterous life, wold resort to the cōmon stewes, where the ruffians and publike harlots haunted, for litle hire, and there for vilest price with eche slaue would humble hir selfe: and at night not satisfied, but wearied, would returne home to hir Palace, not ashamed to disclose hir selfe to any that list to looke vpon hir: And for victorie of that beastly game, cōtended with hir like. But not to say so much of hir as I finde in [...] his naturall historie, in Suetonius, and Cornelius Tacitus, I leaue hir to hir selfe, bycause I haue made promise to remember the dishonest loue for example sake, which I reade of Faustina, whose beautie of all Writers is [...] to bée moste excellent, if excellencie of good life had thervnto bene coupled. She was the daughter and wyfe of two holie and vertuous Emperours, the one called Antonius Pius, the other Marcus Antonius, This M. Antonius in all vertuous workes was perfecte and godly, and singulerly loued his wife [...], and although she was [...] to the worlde, and a [...] to the people, yet cared not for the same, suche was the passyng loue hée bare vnto hir. Leaue we to speake of hir beastly behauiour with the noble sort, without regard vnto hir most noble husbande, and come wée to treate of a certain sauage kind of lust she had [...] one of the Gladratores, which were a certain sort of Gamsters in Rome, which we terme to be masters of Defense. She was so far in [...] with this Gladiator, that she could not eat, drink, or slepe, ne take any kind of rest. And albeit Faustina was thus vnshamfast she thought that the [...] disordinate loue deserued [...], [Page] and ingendred shame vnto the noble house, wherof she came, that she [...] the daughter and wife of two famous Emperours, woulde subdue hir state to a man so base: and many times woulde goe to Caieta, a Citie and hauen of Campania, to ioyne hir selfe with the Galie slaues there. Hir husbande which loued hir dearely, comforting his wife so well as he coulde, caused the best Physicians he could finde, to repaire vnto hir for recouerie of hir health. But all the deuised Physike of the world was not able to cure hir, she was so louesick. In the end knowing by long experience the fauour and loue hir husbande bare vnto hir, and knowing that nothyng coulde withdraw his continued minde, she tolde him, that al the torment and paine [...] sustained, was for the loue of a Gladiator, towards whom hir loue was so miserable, that except she had his company, death was she next [...] for hir disease. The good husband which beyond measure loued his wife, comforted hir with so louing words as he coulde deuise, and bad hir to be of good cheare, promising he would prouide remedie. Afterwards consulting with a wise mā, a Chaldee born, opened vnto him the effect of his wiues disease, & how she was louesick with such a person one of [...] Gamsters of the Citie, promising great rewards if he coulde by his secretes, serche out redresse to saue hir life. The Chaldee could tell him none other remedie, but that he must cause the Gladiator to be slaine, and with the bloud of him to anoint the body of the Empresse, not beknowing vnto hir what it was; which done, that he must goe to naked bed to hir, and doe the acte of matrimonie. Some Historiographers do write, that the Chaldee gaue him counsel, that Faustina should drinke the bloud of the Gladiator, but the most part, that hir body was bathed in the same. But how so euer it was, it wold haue cooled the hottest [...] stomack in the world, to be anointed [Page] with like [...]. To conclude the Gladiator was [...] and the medicine made and applied to the pacient, and the Emperour lay with the Empresse, and begatte hir with childe. And immediatly she forgot the Gladiator, and neuer after that tune remēbred him. If this medicine [...] applied to our carnall louing dames (which God defend) they would not onely folowe Faustine in forgetfulnesse, but also would mislike such Physike: and not greatly regarde the counsell of such [...]. By meanes of this medicine and copulation was the emperour Commodus borne, who rather resembled the Gladiator than his father: In whose breast rested a storehouse of mischief and [...], as Herodian and other writers plentifully do write.

Two Maydens of Carthage.
The. xj. Nouell.

¶ CHERA hid a tresure ELISA going about to hang hir selfe, and tyeng the halter about a beame, founde that treasure, and in place thereof left the halter. PHILENE the daughter of CHERA goyng for that treasure, and busily serching for the same, found the halter, wherwithal for despaire she woulde haue hanged hir selfe, but forbidden by ELISA, who by [...] espied hir, she was restored to parte of hir losse, leading afterwards a happie and prosperous life.

FOrtune the ladie Regent & gouernesse of mās life, so altreth and chaungeth the state thereof as many times we se the noble born from that great mightie port, wherin they be debased so [Page] farre, as either infamously their life is spent in the hungrie lappe of dame penurie, or else contriued in the vgly lothsom house of Wantonnesse, the stepdame of all honestie and vertue. Sometimes we make the vnnoble ladde that was nooseled in the homely countrey [...], or rude ciuile shoppe, attaine to that whiche the onely honorable and gentle do aspire: and he againe that is ambicious in climbing vp the turning whéele, throwen downe beneth the brinke of [...] lucke, whelmed in the ditche & pit of blacke despaire. We note also somtimes that the carelesse wyght of Fortunes giftes, hath (vnlooked for) his mouthe and throte crammed full of promotion and worldes delights. Such is the maner of hir fickle stay. When of this Historie ensuing, giueth some intelligence, by remembring the destenied lucks of. yu poore sorie girles that were left destitute of desired things, both like to fall into despaire, and yet both holyen with that thei most desired: which in this sort beginneth. In the time that Scipio Affricanus had besleged the Citie of Carthage, Chera that was a widow (dwelling there) seing the daunger at hand wherin the Citie stode, and doubtyng the losse and ouerthrowe of the same, and that the honor of the dames and womankinde, coulde vneths be safe and harmelesse, determined not to abide the vttermoste: and hauing a good quantitie of golde and precious stones, she bestowed the same in a casquet, and hid it vpon one of the beames of hir house, purposing when the stirre and daunger was past, to retourne to hir house againe for those hir hidden things. Which done in the habite of a poore womā with hir onely daughter in hir hand that was aboute. b. or. bf. yeares of age, she went out of Caithage, and passed ouer the seas into Scicilia, where falling sick, after she had ben there thre or foure yeares, at length died. But before she departed, she called hir daughter before hir, then about. x. [Page] yeares of age, and tolde hir the place where she had [...] [...] casket. And by reason of the [...] gotten by Scipio, the citie was maruellously chaunged, and amongs other things, the house of Chera was giuen to a Roman [...] that was so enriched with nobilitie of mynde, as he was poore of Fortunes goods. Which Chera vnderstanding, was sorowfull, and doubted of hir things secretly bestowed vpon the beame. Whervpon she sayd vnto hir daughter, that for so much as their house was in the posfession of an other, she ought to be wise and circumspect in the recouerie of hir hidden goods: and that hir death was the more sorowfull vnto hir, bicause she must leaue hir (so yong a maiden) vnprouided of frendes for hir good gouernement. But yet she incouraged hir and sayd: that sith necessitie approched, she must in childishe age, put on a graue and auncient mind, and beware how she bewrayed that casket to any person, for that of purpose she reserued the knowledge thereof, to hir self, that it might serue for hir preferment, and procure hir a husbande worthie of hir selfe. And the maiden demaunding the value of the same, she told hir that it was worth. CC. [...], and gaue hir in writyng the particulers inclosed within the Caskette, and sayde, that the lyke bill shée shoulde finde within the same, written with hir owne hande. And so the good woman wythin a while after dyed, leauing behynde hir the yong mayden hir Daughter, that maruellously lantented the death of hir mother, accordingly as Nature taught hir, and eche other reasonable wyght depriued from their dearest friends. The maiden for hir yeres was very wise, and would disclose to none what hir mother had sayd, kéeping the writing very carefully and [...]. Not long after Philene (which was the maidens name) fell in loue with a Gentleman of Scicilia of greate reputation and authoritie, who all bée it he sawe [Page] hir to be very faire and comely, yet cared not for hir loue in respecte of mariage, for that he knewe hir to be poore, and without dowrie mete for a Gentleman, iesting and mocking to sée hir fire hir mind on him, for desire to haue him to hir husbande, that was a personage so noble and rich: which refusall pierced the heart of that tender maiden, bicause she saw hir self forsaken for nothing else, but for want of goods: which made hir to think and consider, howe shée myght recouer the riches that hir mother had layed vp in Carthage. It chaunced as shée was in this thought, that the daughter of him to whome the house of Chera was giuen, called Elisa, was likewise enamoured of a noble yong gentleman in Carthage, who bicause Elisa was the daughter of a souldiour, and not very rich, in like manner laughed & iested at hir loue, no lesse than the other did at Philene. Notwithstanding Elisa attempted all meanes possible to induce the yong man to loue hir, but hir practise and attemptes tended to none effect. And last of all, desirous to haue a resolute answere, and thereby vnderstode, that he woulde rather die than take hir to wife, she fell into despaire, and curssed fortune, and hir fate, that she was not borne riche enough to match with hir chosen Gentleman, and that she being poore, must fal in loue with such a personage: whervpon she miserably formented hir selfe, styll bewayling hir vnhappie lucke, that she could not win him to be hir husbande, for which only intent and purpose she loued him. And this amorous passion incredibly growing in hir, the rootes whereof bée planted in the restlesse humor of melancholie, and wanting all hope and comforte to stay that ranke and rāmishe wéede, it so increased in hir, as shée franticke in raging loue, gaue hir self ouer to the spoile of hirself: And to rid hir from that griefe, she determined to kill hir selfe, imagining which waye she might doe the same. At length she [Page] was resolueb, with hir fathers sword to pierce hir body: But hir heart not seruing hir therevnto, deuised by the halter to ende hir life, saying thus to hir self: that at lest wise my death shall doe me good, bicause that cruel man shall know that for his sake I haue done this facte, and shall performe my funerals with some teares or sighes: And if his heart be not of yron or stéele, he can not chose but sorowe and lament, that one which loued him better than hir owne life, hath made such wretched ende onely for his crueltie. Elisa concluding vpon this intent, prepared a halter: And being alone in hir house, in the chamber where the Casket lay vpon the beame, placed a stoole vnder the same, and beganne to tie the halter aboute the beame: [...] doing wherof, she espied the casket, and reached the same vnto hir, who féelyng it to be heauie and weightie, immediatly did open it, and found the bil within, which Chera had written with hir owne hand, agreable to that which, she had deliuered to hir daughter, wherin were particularly remembred the Jewels and other riches inclosed within the casket. And disclosing the bagges wherein the golde and Jewels were bounde vp, and seeing the great value of the same, wondred therat, and ioyfull for that fortune, hid the rope which she had prepared for hir death, in the place where shée found the casket, and with great gladnesse and mirth wēt vnto hir father, and shewed him what she had found, wherat the father reioyced no lesse, than his daughter Elisa did, bicause he sawe himselfe thereby to be discharged of his former poore life, and like to proue a man of inestimable wealthe and substance: and saw like wise that the poore wench his daughter, by the addicion of those riches, was like to attaine the partie whome she loued. When hée had taken forth those bagges and well [...] the value, to the intent no man might suspect the sodeine mutation of his state, [Page] toke his daughter with hym, and went to Rome, where after he had remained certaine monethes, he returned to Carthage, and began very galantly to apparell himselfe, and to kéepe a bountifull and liberall house. His table and port was very delicate and sumptuous, and his stable stored with many faire horsse, in all points shewing him selfe very noble and rich: By which sodein chaunge and mutation of state, the whole Citie beléened, that he had brought those riches from Rome. And bicause it is the cō mon opinion of the vulgar people, that where there is no riches, there is no nobilitie, and that they alone make the noble and Gentleman (a foolishe opinion in déede, proceeding from heades that be rash and light) the people séeing such a port and charge kepte by the Souldier, conceiued and thought that he was of some noble house. And thoroughout the whole Citie greate and solemne honour was done vnto him: wherevpon the yong Gentleman, with whome Elisa was in loue, began to bée ashamed of himselfe, that he had disdained such a maiden. And then the yong maiden séeing hir fathers house to be in such reputation, made sute to hir father, that he would procure the Gentleman to be hir husband. But hir father willed hir in any wise to [...] secrete hir desire, and not to seme hir selfe to be in loue, and wisely told hir, that more méete it was, that she shoulde be solicited by hym, than she to make sute or request for mariage: alleaging that the lesse desirous the Gentleman had bene of hir, the more deare and better beloued she was to him. And many times whē his daughter was demaunded to wife, he made answere that Matrimonie was a state of no little importance as enduring the whole course of life, and [...] ought wel to be considered and wayed, before any [...] were made. But for all these demaundes and answers, and all these stops and stayes, the maiden was indowed with [Page] [...] [...] [...], and in the ende hir louer and she were maried, with so great pleasure and satisfaction of them both, as they [...] them selues happie. In the meane time while these things were done at Carthage, Philene in Scicilia toke thought how she might recouer hir goodes giuen to hir by hir mother, destrous by their meanes also to sorte hir earnest and ardcnt loue to happie successe: And debating with hir self (as we haue sayd before) how she might obteine them, bicause the house was in possession of an other, thought it to bée against reason and order, that although she had lost hir house, yet that hir goodes ought to be [...] vnto hir, whiche were hir onely maintenance and reputation, and the fittest instruments that should conduct hir loue to happie ende. And hearing tell that the father of Elisa; the possessour of hir mothers house liued at Carthage with greate royaltie and [...], thought that if by some sleight & policie she found not meanes to enter the house without suspicion, hir attempt would be in vaine: determined therfore to goe to Carthage, and to séeke seruice in that house, counterfaiting the kinde and habite of a Page. For she considered, that if she went thither in order and apparell of a maiden she should incurre the perill of hir virginitie, and fall into the lapse of diuers other daungers: purposed then to goe thither in maner of a page and lackie. And when she had in that sort furnished hir self, she passed the seas, and arriued at Carthage. And séeking seruice about the citie, at length chaūced to be retained in a house that was next neighbour to the Souldier, and bicause this wench was gentle and of good disposition, was well beloued of hir maister, who being the friend of Elisa, hir father, many times sent vnto him diuers presēts and gifts by Philene, wherevpon shée began to be acquainted & familiar with the seruants of the house, and by hir oft repaire thither, [Page] viewed & marked euery corner, and vpon a time entred the chamber, wherin hir mother Chera tolde hir, that she had bestowed hir goods, and looking vpon the beames espied by certaine signes and tokens, one of them to be the same where the casket lay. And therwithal well satisfied and contented, verily beleued that the casket still remained there, and without further businesse for that time, expected some other season for recouerie of the same. In the ende, the good behauiour and diligence of Philene, was so liked of Elisa, as hir father and she made sute to hir master to giue hir leaue to scrue them: who bycause they were his friends, preferred Philene vnto them, and became the page of that house. And one day secretly repairyng into the chamber, where she thoughte the treasure lay, mounted vpon a stoole, and sought the beame for the casket: where she founde no casket, but in place [...] that lay, the halter, wherwithal Elisa woulde haue strangled hir self: And searching all the parts of the chamber and the beames, and finding nothing else but the halter, she was surprised with such incredible sorrow, as she [...] like a stocke, without spirite, voice or life. After Wardes, being come againe to hir selfs, she began pitifully to lament and complaine in this maner: ‘Ah wretched Philene, vnder what vnluckie signe and planet was thou begotten and borne? with what offense were the heauens wroth, when they forced thée to pierce thy mothers wōbe? Coulde I poore creature when I was framed within the moulde of nature, and fed of my mothers substance within hir wombe, and afterwards in due time brought forth to light, commit such crime, as to prouoke the celestiall inpressions to conspire agaynst my Natiuitie, to bryng mine increased age into such wretched state and plighte, wherein it is nowe wrapped and intangled? No no, my faulte was nothing, it was parents offense, if any were [Page] at all: For many times we sée the innocent babe, afflicted and cruciated for the fathers guilt. The Gods do punish the posteritie, for some sacrilege or notorious crime cōmitted by progenitors. Their maner is not to suffer heynous faultes vnreuēged. Their Iustice can not abide such mischief vncorrected for example sake. So fareth it by me. First my father died, afterwardes my mother a widow was driuen to abandon natiue soile, and séeke reliefe in forain land: And leauing that wherwith we wer possessed in [...] keping, were forced a simple life to leade among straungers. And my mother, yeldyng forth hir ghost, made me beleue that she had hidden great tresures here: And I [...] wench thinking to obteine the pray, haue wandred in counter [...] kinde, and fetched many a bitter sigh, vntil I came into this place: And the thing I hoped for, which myght haue bene the meanes and ende of all my care, is turned to nothyng: A casket transformed into a halter, golde and Iewels into a piece of rope? Is this the mariage [...] thou art like to haue to matche with him whom thou so derely [...] Is this the knot that shall conioyne you both in yoke of man and wife? Ah wretche and miserable caitife, the goodes thy mother laide vp for thée, for maintenance of thy rest, and [...] of thine honour, and for the reputation of thy noble house wher of thou camest, is nows berieued from thée. They that kéeye this noble house, and beare their loftie port amid the best, haue despoiled thée poore wench of that after which thon didst vainly trauaile. But what remedie now? Sith thy wicked lot doth thus fall out, [...] thy cruell fate is loth thou shouldest atteine the thing on which thy mind is bent, and sith thy painful life can take no ende, make spéede to rid thy selfe from miserie by [...] meanes which he hath prepared for thée that hath found thy goods: who séeing his good aduenture to be thy bane, [Page] his happie pray to bée thy spoile, hath left in lieu of [...] sure, a halter, that therwith thou [...] dispatche thy selfe from all thy griefes, and in their vnhappie company to cease thy life, that the lothsome lengthning of the same might not increase thy further plaints, sorowes, [...] and affliction. And in the place where infortunate [...] toke hir beginning, there the miserable wretche [...] [...] that, which without hir desired gaine no longer can be maynteined. Peraduenture it may come to passe as when thy soule is losed from this mortall charge, it shall stalke by him, by whom it liueth, and by him also whom she thought to ioy in greatest cōtentation, that euer mortall woman did. And thus plaining and sighing hir ill fortune, when she had ended those wordes, she tied the [...] ter about the beame, where sometimes hir treasure lay, which being done she put the same about hir necke, saying: O crooked Ladie Fortune that hast thus [...] dealt with thyne humble client: Ah dispaire, thou [...] wretch and companion of those that be [...] [...], that is vnwilling to leaue my haunt vntil thou play the hangman. Ah diuel incarnate that goest about to hale & pluck the innocent into thy hellishe [...]. Out vpon thée thou deformed hellish dogge, that waitest at the [...] gate to lette them in, which faine woulde passe an other porte.’ And as she was grinding forth these spitefull wordes, redie to remoue the [...] to fetche [...] swynge, the Gods which would not giue consent, that the innocent wench should enter that vile and [...] death, moued the [...] of Elisa; to passe by the place where she was in workyng on hir self that desperate ende: who hearing those [...] plaints vttred after such terrible manner, opened the chamber doore, and saw that myserable sight: and ignorant of the occasion, moued wyth pitie, ranne and ‘ [...] hir from the facte, saying thus vnto hir: Ah Philou [Page] (which was the name that she had giuen to hir self) what folie hath bewitched thy mind? what phrensie hath incharmed thy braine? what harde aduenture hath moued thée in this miserable wise, to ende thy life? Ah[?] (sayd Philene) suffer me Elisa, to finishe my tormented life, giue me libertie to vnburden my selfe from the bande of cares that do assaile me on euery side: Lette these hellhoundes that stande here rounde aboute me, haue their praye for which they gape. Thou moued by compassion, art come hither to stay me from the halter: but in doyng so, thou doest mée greater wrong, than doeth dispaire, which eggeth me thervnto. Suffer I say, that mine afflictiōs may take some end, sith cruel fortune willeth it to be so, or rather vnhappie fate: For sowre death is swéeter in my cōceite[?] , than bitter life contriued in sharper sause thau gall or wormwood. Elisa hearing hir speake these words, sayd: For so much as thy myshap is such, as onely death is the nearest remedie to depriue thy paine, what wicked chaūce hath induced thée, in this house to finishe those thy miseries? What hath prouoked thée to giue suche augurie to this our moste happy and ioyfull familie? Forced is the partie (sayd Philene) so to do, when destenie hath so appointed. What destenie is that demaūded Elisa? Tell me I beséech thée, perchaunce thou maist preuent the same by other remedie than that wherabout thou goest. No[?] (aunswered Philene) that is impossible, but to satisfie thy request which so instantly thou crauest of me, I will tel thée the summe of al my miserie. In saying so, the teares gushed forth hir eyes, & hir voice brake out into complaints, & thus began to say: Ah Elisa, why should I seke to prolōg my wretched life in this vale of wretchednesse, wherin I haue ben so miserably afflicted? my mother pitieng mine estate and séeing me voide of frends, & a fatherlesse child, vpon hir death bed, disclosed vnto me a tresure which she [Page] had hidden vpon this [...], wherevnto this halter (the best [...] of my miserie) [...] tied, and I making [...] for the same, in place of that treasure founde this halter, ordeined [...] I suppose (by what misfortune I know not) for my death: and where I thought among [...] happy to be the most happie, I sée my self amongs al [...] women to be the most vnfortunate; [...] hearing hir say so, greatly [...] & sayd: Why then I [...] [...] [...] a woman and not a [...]. [...] truly answered the [...] maiden: A singuler example of extreme miserie to all sortes of women. And why so? demaunded Elisa. Bicause (answered [...]) that the pestilent planet vnder which I was [...], will haue it to be [...]: and then she tolde hir all that which had [...] from the time of hir mothers departure out of Carthage, and how she went into Scicilia and recounted [...] hir the loue that she bare to a Scicilia Gentleman, and howe that he [...] hir for hir pouertie, refused to be hir husband: whervpon to atchieue hir desire, as loth to forgoe him, was come in maner [...] page to [...], to recouer the [...] which hir mother had hidden there, to [...] she might obtaine (if not by other meanes) with some rich dowrie, the yong Gentleman to husband whome she so derely loued. And then reenforcing hir complaint, she said, that [...] Fortune had [...] hir of that which might haue accomplished hir desire, resting no cause why she shoulde any longer liue, the halter was prepared for hir to ende hir dayes, and to rid hir life from troubles. And therfore she prayed hir to be cōtented, that she might make that end which hir misaduenture and wicked fortune had predestinate. I doubt not but there be many, which vnderstading that the treasure did belong to Philene, if they had [...] the like as Elisa did, would not only not haue forbidden hir the deth, but also by spéedie méanes haue [...] the same, for so [Page] much as by that occasion the hidden tresure should haue bene out of strife and contention:’ so great is the force of Couetousnesse in the minde of man. But good Elisa knew full well the mutabilitie of Fortune in humaine things, for so much as she by séeking death, had founde the thing which not onely deliuered hir from the same, but made hir the best contented woman of the worlde. And Philene séeking hir contentation, in place therof, and by like occasion, found the thing that would haue ben the instrumēt of hir death. And moued with very greate compassion of the mayden, desired to haue better aduertisement howe that treasure could belong to hir. Then Philene shewing forth hir mothers writing, which particularly remēbred the parcels within the casket: and Elisa séeing the same to be agreable to the hand wherwith the other was writen, that was founde in the casket, was assured that all the gold and Iewels which she had found, did belong vnto [...], and sayde vnto hir selfe: ‘The Gods defende that I should prepare the halter for the death of this innocent wench, whose substance hath yelded vnto me so gret contentation. And comforting the maiden, in the end she sayd: Be contented Philene, and giue ouer this thy desperate determination, for both thy life shal be prolonged, and thy discontented minde appeased, hoping thou shalte receyue the comforte thou desirest.’ And with those words she losed the halter from hir neck, and taking hir by the hande, brought hir to the place where hir father and husbande were, and did them to vnderstand the force & terms whervnto the fier of loue and desperation had broughte that amorous maiden, telling them that all the treasure and Iewels which she had found (where she left the halter, and wherwith Philene was minded to hang hir self) did by good right and reason belong to hir: then shée did let them sée the counterpaine of that bil which was in the [Page] [...], in all pointes agreable thervnto, declaring moreouer, that very mete and reasonable it were, like [...] should be vsed vnto hir, as by whome they had receyued so great honor & contentation. Hir husband which was a Carthaginian borne, very churlish and couetous, albeit by conferring the writings together, he knewe the matter to be true and that Philene ought to be the possessor therof, yet by no meanes wold agrée vnto his wines request, but fell into a rage, calling hir foole and [...], and saying that he had rather that she [...] ben a thousand times hanged, than he would giue hir one peny: and although she had saued hir life, yet she ought to be banished the Citie, forsomuch as the same and all the [...] therof was brought into the Romanes handes, and amongs the same hir mothers house, and all hir goodes in possession of the victors, and euery part therof at their disposition & pleasure. And moreouer, for so much as hir mother and shée had departed Carthage, and would not abide the hazarde and extremitie of their countrey as other Citizens did, and hauyng concealed and hidden those Riches whiche ought to haue ben brought forth for the common defense of their countrey, and gone out of the citie as though she had ben a poore simple woman, poorely therfore she ought to liue in Scicilia, whither she was fled. Wherfore he was of opinion, that she in this maner being departed when the citie had greatest nede of hir helpe, was disfranchised of all the rightes and customes of the countrey, and that like as a straunger can recouer nothing in that citie, except he haue the priuiledge and fréedom of the same, euen so Philene (for the considerations before sayde) ought to be compted for a stranger, & not to participate any thing within the citie, accordingly as the lawes forbid. When he had so sayd he was like by force to [...] the sorowful maiden out of the house. These wordes greatly grieued [Page] Philene, who doubted least his father in law would haue toyned [...] him, and agrée vnto hys alleaged reasons, which séemed to be of great importaunce and effect: and therfore thought newly to returne to the halter for [...] of [...] griefs: ‘but it otherwise chaunced, for the father of Elisa, whiche was a Romane borne, and affected with a Romane minde, and therfore of a gentle and well disposed nature, knew full well, that although the house was giuen vnto him by the cōsent of Scipio, and other the captains, yet he knew that their pleasure was not to [...] on him the treasure hidden in the same, and therefore ought to be restored to the true owner, or else [...] and proprely due to the Romane [...], or cōmon treasure house of the same. And albeit that it was true that hir mother went out of Carthage, in the time of the siege, and therfore had forfaited the same, yet he determined to shew some [...] vnto the yong mayden, and to be thankful to fortune, for the benefite which by hir meanes he had receyued, thynkyng that she would be displeased with him, if he with vngratefull minde or dishonourable intent should receiue hir giftes. For in those dayes the Romanes highly reuerenced lady Fortune, and in hir honor had directed Temples, and dedicated Aultars, and in prosperous time and happy aduentures, they [...] vowes, and did sacrifices vnto hir, thinking although supersticously) that like as from God there proceded none euill, euen so from him all goodnesse was deriued that all felicitie and other good happes, which chaunced vpon the Romane common wealth, proceded from Fortune, as the fountaine and moste principall occasion, and that they which would not confesse hir force, and be thankfull vnto hir godhead, incurred in the ende hir displeasure and daungers very great and heinous. This Romane then hauing this opinion, being (as I sayd before) of a gentle [Page] [...] would at one instant both render thankes to Fortune’, and vse curtesie vnto that maiden, by [...] ches and goodes from lowe degrée he was aduaunced to honourable state. Wherefore turning his face vnto hir, with louing countenance he spake these wordes: ‘Kight gentle damosel, albeit by the reasons alleged by my sonne in lawe, none of the treasure hidden by thy mother, and founde by my daughter in this house, of right [...] [...] to thée, yet I will that thou shalte vnderstande my curtesie, and that thou sée howe the Romanes doe more esteme the nobilitie of their minde, than all the riches of the worlde. Therfore that thou mayst enjoy thy loue, I referre vnto thée and to thy disposition all the goodes and Iewels that were in the Caskette, and conteyned in thy writyng. Beholde therefore (causing the Casket to [...] brought vnto him) all the Iewels and other parcels that were in the same when they were founde, take so muche therof as thou wilte, and if so bée thou desire the whole, willingly I render the same vnto thée, [...] by meanes of those riches, and the industrie of my trafique, I haue gained so muche, as hauyng gyuen a conuenient dowrie vnto my daughter, I can honorably line without it.’ Philene séeing the [...] of this valiant Gentleman, [...] him insinite thanks, and then sayd vnto him: ‘Sir, I for my part dare aske nothing, wel knowing that if you giue me nothing, there is no cause why I should complaine of you, but of my hard and wicked fortune, which hath offered and giuē that to you, which ought to haue ben mine. Wherefore, fith your curtesie is such, as you referre the whole to me, I purpose to take nothing, but wil that the whole shalbe in your disposition: and giue me what you list, & that so giuen of your liberalitie, I shal more thankfully receiue, than if dette or dutie did constraine it: And if it shall please you to giue me nothing, my heart shal be [Page] [...] well appeased, for that your curtesse, as rather woulde I choose to liue in the poore estate wherein I am, than be rich with your displesure.’ Howbeit, the Roman intreated Philene to take therof what she thought good: And Philene craued no more than it pleased [...] to gyue. Cyther of them standyng vpon these termes, Elisa brake the strife, who knowing the force of loue, and the griefs incident to his cliēts, of hir own harmes, moued to haue compassion vpon the afflicted, turned towardes hir father, and [...] vnto him: ‘Right louing father, the contencion betwéene Philene and you, is risen of a matter which came by me. The treasure for which you striue, and cōmit to the will of Philene, was found by me, wherof if it please you both, I will take such order, as both you shall be satisfied. I am contented sayd hir father: and I likewise answered Philene. Then sayd Elisa: You father hitherto haue had but one daughter, which am I, vnto whom like a childe and louing daughter I haue bene obedient, and shalbe all the dayes of my life: And I againe haue receiued from you such fatherly education, as your abilitie and state required. This treasure I sound, and gaue to you for case and comfort of vs both. To me it yelded the only delectation of my heart in choise of husband, to you honour and [...] within this citie. Wherefore, sith the principall came from me, and the right resteth in this carefull maiden, my desire is this, that where before you had but one daughter, you will adopte this maiden for an other, and think that you haue twaine, and that you will intreate Philene in like sort as if she were my [...]: And where this inheritance and renenue wherwith now you be possessed, and this casket also ought to be onely mine aster your decease, for that you haue no sonnes, nor other issue, my desire is that you giue vnto hir the halfe, and that you accept hir for your daughter, as I doe meane to take [Page] hir for my sister:’ and accordingly to vse hir during [...]. With these wordes Elisa imbraced Philene, and louingly dyd kisse hir, saying vnto hir: For my sister I entertain thée Philene, and then she toke hir by the hand, and [...] hir vnto hir father with these wordes: ‘Beholde father; your new daughter, whome I beséech you so heartily to loue, as you doe Elisa youre naturall chylde.’ The father praised the curtesie of Elisa, and receiued Philene for his daughter: And was contented with the arbitrement of his daughter. But Elisa perceyuing hir husbande to bée somewhat offended therewith, specially for that the same shoulde bée [...] into two partes, whiche was like to haue bene his wholly béefore, persuaded hym by gentle meanes to be content with that agrement: and although at the first he coulde not well brooke the liberalitie of his wife, yet at length viewing the good behauiour and gentle disposition of Philene, and the contented minde of his father in lawe, together wyth the noble nature of hys wife, and hir wise aduertisement of Fortunes fickle assurance, yelded, and acknowledged Philene for his [...]. And so Philene put in possession of the halfe of those goodes, wherof she was altogether out of hope, was well satisfied, and had the Romane for hir [...], Elisa for hir sister, and hir husband for hir kinsman. That [...] Roman was so careful ouer Philene, as if she had ben his owne daughter, and so indeuored, as he brought to passe that she obteined hir beloued Scicilian to husbande: who also [...] for him to Carthage, where he continued with his wife in the Romans house, and loued them both so dearely as though he had ben father to the one, and father in lawe to the other.

In this maner these two poore wenches attained their two husbands, for hauing of whome, their only care was for Riches, and for lacke therof were dryuen to despaire. [Page] And in the ende both (though [...], and the one more fortunate than the other) recouered riches, and with the same their husbandes, to their heartes singular ioye and contentation. Whiche lucke I [...] to all other poore Girles (but not hanging ripe, or louing in despaire) that bende their myndes on Mariage, and séeke to people by that estate, their countrey common wealth.

But leauyng for a tyme these Tragicall Nouels and heauie chaunces, wée purpose to remember some morall matters right worthie of remembrance, Letters they bée from a godly Pagane clerk, the famous philosopher Plutarch, Schoolemaister to an Emperour of no lesse vertue, than his maisters schoole and minde was [...] with diuine precepts. Wherfore procéede (good reader) to continue thy paines vpon the reading of these, so well as thou hast [...] to employ thy time before. They shal no lesse delite thée, if vertue brooke thée, they shall no lesse content thée, if duetie please thée, than any delighte some thing, wherevpon (at any time) thou hast employed thy vacant time.

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Letters of the Emperour Traiane.
The. xiij. Nouell.

¶ Letters of the Philosopher Plutarch to the noble and vertuous Emperour Traiane, and from the sayd Emperour to Plutarch: the like also from the said Emperour to the Senate of Rome. In all which be conteined godly rules for gouernement of Princes, obedience of Subiectes, and their dueties to Common wealth.

BIcause these Letters ensuing (proceding from yt infallible schoole of wisedome, and practised by an apt Scholer of the same, by a noble Emperor that was wel trained vp by a famous Philosopher) in myne opinion deserue a place of Recorde among our Englishe [...], and for the wholsom erudition, ought to [...] in English shape to be described, I haue thought good in this place to introduce the same. And although to some it shal not per [...] séeme fit and conuenient to mingle holie with prophane (according to the prouerbe) to intermedle amongs pleasant histories, ernest epistles, amid amorous Nouels, lerned Letters: yet not to care for report or thought of such findefaults, I iudge them not [...], the course of those histories. For amidde the diuine works of Philosophers and Oratours, amongs the [Page] pleasant paines of ancient Poets, and the Nouel writers of our time, merrie verses so well as morall matters [...] mingled, [...] bankets so wel as wise disputatiōs celebrated, taūting & [...] orations so well as [...] declamations & persuasions pronoūced. These Letters conteine many graue & wholesom documents, sundry vertuous and chosen Institutiōs for Princes & noble men yea and for such as beare office & prefermēt in cōmon [...], frō highest title to [...] degrée. These letters do vouch the reioyce of a schoolemaster, for bringing vp a scholer of capacitie and aptnesse, to imbrace & fire in [...] such lessons as he taught him. These letters do gratulate and remēbre the ioy of the disciple for hauing such a maister. These Letters doe [...] the minde of a [...] Prince towards his subiects for choise of him to the Empire, & for that they had respecte rather to the vertue and cōdition, than to the nobilitie or other extreme accident. To be short, these letters speake and pronoūce the very hūblenesse & [...] that ought to rest in subiects hearts: with a thousand other excellent sentences of dueties. So that if the [...] [...] had ben [...] again to peruse these letters and [...] of congratulation betwene the scholemaister and scholer, he wold no lesse haue reioysed in Plutarch, thā King Philip of Macedon did of Aristotle, [...] he affirmed himself to be happie, not so much for hauing suche a sonne as Alexander was, as for that he was [...] in such a time, as [...] brought [...] to be his [...]. That good emperor [...], she wed a patern to his [...] by his good vertuous lyfe & godly gouernement, which made a successor & a people of no lesse consequence than they were trained, accordingly as Herodian [...], That for the most part the people be wont to imitate the life of their Prince & soueraine Lorde. If Philip [...] himself [...] & blessed for hauing such a son and [...], then might Nerua terme him self [...] times [Page] more happie for such a nephew & suche a notable [...] master as Plutarch was, who not only by doctrine, but by practise proued a passyng good scholer. Alexander was a good scholer, & for the time wel practised his maisters lessons, but afterwards as glory & good hap accompanied his noble disposition, so did he degenerate from former lyfe, and had quite forgottē what he had lerned, as the seconde Nouel of this boke more at large declareth. But Traian of a toward scholer, proued such an Emperor and victor ouer him selfe, as schooling and rulyng were in hym mixaculous, a surmounting Paragon of pietie and vertue: wherfore not to stay thée, from the perusing of those Letters, the right image of himself: thus beginneth Plutarch to write vnto his famous scholer Traiane.

A Letter of the philosopher Plutarch to the Emperor Traiane, Wherein is touched how gouerners of Comon Welths ought to be prodigal in dedes & spare in words.

MY most dread and soueraigne Lord, albeit of long time I haue knowne the modesty of your minde, yet neither I nor other [...] man did euer know that you aspired to that, which many men desire, whiche is to be Emperour of Rome: That man shoulde withdrawe him selfe from honour, it were cleane without the boundes of wisedome: but not to licence the heart to desire the same, that truely is a worke diuine, and not procéeding of humaine nature. For he doeth indifferently wel, that represseth the works which his handes be able to do, without staying vpon his own desires, and for good consideration we may terme thine Empire to be very happie, sith thou hast so nobly demeaned thy selfe to deserue the same without searche and séeyng [Page] industrious policie to attaine thervnto. I haue knowne within the citie of Rome many great personages, which were not so much honored for the offices which they had as they were for the meanes & deuises which they sought and endeuored to be aduanced to the same. May it please you to vnderstand (most excellent Prince) that the honor of a vertuous man doth not consist in the office, which he presently hath, but rather in the merites whiche he had before: In such wise, as it is the office that honoreth the partie, & to the officer there resteth but a painful charge. By meanes wherof, when I remember that I was your gouerner from your youth, and instructed your vertuous minde in letters, I can not choose but very much reioyce, so well for your soueraigne vertue, as for your maiesties good fortune, deming it to be a great happinesse vnto me, that in my tyme Rome had hym to bée their soueraigne lorde, whome I had in times past to be my scholler. The principalities of Kyngdomes some winne by force, and mainteine them by armes, which you ought not to doe, nor yet conceiue such opinion of your selfe, but rather to thinke that the Empire which you gouerne by vniuersal consent, ye oughte to entertaine and rule with generall iustice. And therfore if you loue and reuerence the Gods, if you be pacient in trauels, ware in daungers, curteous to your people, gentle to straungers, and not [...] of treasure, nor louer of your owne desires: you shal make your fame immortall, and gouerne the common wealthe in soueraign peace. That you be not a louer of your own desires, I speake it not withoute cause. For there is no worse gouernement than that which is ruled by selfewill and priuate opinion. For as he that gouerneth a cōmen wealth ought to lyue in feare of all men, euen so muche more in feare of him selfe: in so much as he may commit greater errour, by doing that which his owne luste commaunbeth, [Page] than if he were ruled by the counsell of other. Assure you sir, that you can not hurt yourself, and much lesse preiudice vs your subiects, if you do correct your self before you chastise others, estéemyng that to bée a ryght good gouernement, to be prodigal in works, and spare of spéech. Assay then to be such a one now, that you do commaunde, as you were when you were commaunded. For otherwise it wold little auaile to do things for deseruing of ye empire, if afterwards your dedes be cōtrary to your desertes. To come to honour it is a humane worke, but to conserne honour it is a thing [...]. Take hede then, (most excellent Traiane) that you do remembre and still reuolue in minde, that as you be a Prince supreme, so to applie your selfe to be a passing ruler. For there is no authoritie amongs men so high; but that the Gods aboue be iudges of their thoughtes, and men beneth beholders of their déedes. [...] presently you are a mightie Prince, your duetie is the greater to be good, and [...] lesse to be wicked, than when you were a priuate man. For hauing gotten authoritie [...] [...] your libertie is the lesse to be idle: so that if you be not [...] a one as the common people haue [...], & such againe as your maister Plutarch desireth, you shall put your selfe in great daunger, and mine enimies will séeke meanes to be reuenged on me, knowing wel that for the scholers faulte, the maister [...] suffreth wrong, by [...] [...] imputed vnto hym (although wrongfull) for the [...]. And for so much as I haue bene thy maister, and thou my scholer, thou must [...] by well doyng, to render me some honour. And likewise if thou do euill, great infamie shall lyght on me, [...] as it did to Seneca for Nero his cause, whose cruelties done in Rome were [...] to his maister Seneca Thelike wrong was done to the Philosopher Chilo, by being burdened with the negligent [Page] nouriture of his Scholler Leander: They truely were famous personages and greate learned men, in whome the gouernement of myghtie Princes was reposed. Notwithstandyng, for not correctyng them in their youth, nor teachyng them with carefull diligence, they blotted for euermore their renouine, as the cause of the destruction of diuers common wealthes. And forsomuch as my penne spared none in times passe, bee well assured Traiane, that the same will pardon neither thée nor me, in tyme to come. For as we bée confederate in the fault, euen so we shall bée heires of the paine. Thou knowest well what lessons I haue taught thée in thy youth, what counsell I haue [...] thée, béeyng come to the state of man, and what I haue written to thée, [...] thou hast bene Prince, and thou thy selfe art recorde of the words sayde vnto thée in secrete. In all whiche I neuer persuaded thyng but tended to the seruice of the Gods, profite of the common wealthe, and increase of thy renoume. Wherfore, I am right sure, that for any thing whiche I haue written, sayd, or persuaded, I feare not the punishment of the Gods, and much lesse the reprochfull shame of men, verily beleuing that all that which I coulde saye in secrete, might without reproch be openly published in Rome. Now before I toke my pen in hand to write this Letter, I examined ned my life, to know, if (during the time that I had charge of thée) I did or sayde in thy presence any thing that might prouoke thée to euill example. And truely ( [...] for me to say it) vpon that search of my forepassed life, I neuer found my selfe guiltie of fact vnméete a Romane Citizen, nor euer spoke [...] vnsemely for a Philosopher. By meanes wherof I do right heartily wish, thou [...] remember the good education and instruction which thou diddest learne of me. I speake not this, that thou shouldest gratific me againe with any benefite, [Page] but to the ende that thou mightest serue thy selfe, estéemyng that no greater pleasure can redounde to me, than to heare a good report of thée. Be then well assured, that if an Empire be bestowed vpon thée, it was not for that thou were a Citizen of Rome, or a couragious person descended of noble house, rich and mightie, but only bicause vertues did plentifully abounde in thée. I dedicated vnto thée certaine bookes of olde and auncient common welth, which if it please thée to vse, and as at other times I haue sayd vnto thée, thou shalte finde me to be a proclaimer of thy famous works, & a thronicler of all thy noble faicts of armes: but if perchance thou follow thine owne aduise, and chaūge thy selfe to be other than hitherto thou hast ben, presently I inuocate and crie out vpon the immortall Gods, and this Letter shall bée witnesse, that if any hurte do chaunce to thée, or to thine Empire, it is not thorough the counsell or meanes of thy maister Plutarch. And so farewell most noble Prince.

The aunswere of the Emperour Traiane to his maister Plutarch.

COcceius Traiane Emperour of Rome, to thée the Philosopher Plutarch sometymes my maister, salutation and consolation in the Gods of comfort. In Agrippina was deliuered vnto me a letter frō thée, which so soone as I opened, knew to be written with thine owne hande, and endited with thy wisedome. So flowing was the same with góodly words, and accompanied with graue sentences, an occasion that made mée reade the same twice or thrice, thynking that I saw thée write, and beard thée speake, & so welcome was the same [Page] to me, that at that very instāt, I caused it to be red at my table, yea and made the same to be fixed at my beds head, that thy well meaning vnto me might be generally knowen, how much I am bounde vnto thée. I estéemed for a good presage ye cōgratulation that the Consul Rutulus did vnto me from thée, touching my cōming to the Empire. I hope through thy merites, that I shall be a good Emperoure. Thou sayest in thy letter, that thou canste by no meanes beléeue, that I haue giuen bribes, and vsed other endeuors to redeme mine Empire, as other haue done. For aunswere thervnto I say, that as a man I haue dcsired it, but neuer by solicitation or other means attempted it. For I neuer saw within the Citie of Rome, any man to bribe for honour, but for the same, some notable infamie chaunced vnto hym, as for example we may learne of the good olde man Menander my friende & thy neighbour, who to bée Consul, procured the same by vnlawful. meanes, and therfore in the end was banished and died desperately, The great Caius Caesar, and Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, [...], Galba, Otho, Vitellius, and Domitian, some for gettyng the Empire, some for tirannie, some for gettyng the same by bribes, and some by other meanes procuryng the same, loste (by the sufferance of the righteous Gods (not onely their honor and goodes, but also died miserably. When thou [...] reade in thy schoole, and I that time an hearer of thy doctrine, many times hearde thée say, that we ought to trauell to deserue honour, rather than procure the same, esteming it vnlawful to get honour by meanes vnlawful. He that is without credite, ought to assay to procute credite. Hée that is without honour, ought to séeke honour. But the vertuous man hath no nede of noblenesse, ne he himself, ne yet any other person can berieue hym of due honour. Thou knowest wel Plutarch, that the yere past, the office [Page] of Consul was gyuen to Torquatus, and the [...] to Fabritius, who were so vertuous and so little ambitious, as not desirous to receyue suche charges, absented themselues, although that in Rome, they might haue ben in great estimation, by reason of those offices, and yet neuerthelesse without them they be presently estéemed, [...], and honoured. And therefore I conceiue greater delight in Quintius Lincinatus, in Scipio Affricanus, & good Marcus Portius, for contemning of their offices, than for the victories which they atchieued. For victories many times consist in Fortune, and the not caryng for honorable charge in onely wisedome. Semblably, thou thy selfe art witnesse, that when myne vncle Cocceius Nerua was exiled to Capua, he was more [...], and better serued, than when he was at Rome. Whereby may be inferred, that a vertuous man maye bée exiled or banished, but honour he shall neuer want. The Emperour Domitian (if you doe remember) at the departure of Nerua, made me many offers, and thée many faire promisses, to entertain thée in his house, & to send me into Almayne, which thou couldest not abide, and much lesse consent, déeming it to be greater honour with Nerua to be exiled, than of Domitian to be fauored. I sweare by the Gods immortall, that when the good olde man Nerua sent me the ensigne of the Empire, I was [...] ignorant therof, and voide of hope to atteine the same: For I was aduertised from the Senate, that Fuluius sued for it, and that Pamphilius went about to buie it. I knew also, that the Consul Dolobella, attempted to enioy the same. Then sith the gods did permit, that I should be Emperour, and shoulde gouerne the Empire, and that myne vncle Nerua did commaunde the same, the Senate approued it, and the Common wealth would haue it to bée so. And sith it was the generall consent of all men, and specially your aduise, I [Page] haue greate hope that the Gods will be [...] vnto me, and Fortune no enunie at all, assuring you, that like ioye which you doe saye you haue by teaching me, and seing me to bée Emperour, the lyke I haue to thynke that I was youre Scholler. And sith that you will not call mée from henceforth any other but Soueraigne Lorde, I wyll terme you by none other name, than Louyng father. And albeit that I haue bene visited and counselled by many men, since my commyng to the Empire, and by thée aboue the reste, whome aboue all other I will beleue, considering that the intent of those which counsell me, is to drawe my minde to theirs, where your letters purporte nothyng else but mine aduauntage. I doe remember amongs other words, which once you spake to Maxentius the Secretarie of Domitian, thus saying: that they which doe presume to gyue counsell vnto Princes, ought to bée frée from all passions and affections: for in counsell, where the will is more enclined, the mynde [...] prompte and readie. That a Prince in all thyngs doe his will, I praise not. That he take aduise and conusell of euery man, I lesse allowe. That which ho ought to doc (as me thinke) is to doe by counsell, [...] for all that to what counsell hée applieth his mynde. For counsell ought not to be taken of hym whome I do well loue, but of hym of whome I am beloued. All thys I haue written (my Maister Plutarch) to aduertise you, that from henceforth I desire nothyng else at your handes, but to bée holpen with your aduise in mine affaires, and to tell me of my committed faultes. For yf Rome doe thinke me to bée a defender of their common wealth, I make accompte of you to bée an ouerséer of my lyfe. And bycause that I séeme to you sometymes not to béevery thankefull, thorough the defaulte of that whereof you haue sayd your minde, I pray you maister not to bée [Page] displeased therwith. For in such case no griefe can rise in me, for telling me my fault, but rather for shame yt I haue committed the same. The bringing of me vp in the house the hearing of thy loctures, the folowing of thy [...], and liuing vnder thy discipline, haue bene truly the principall causes that I am cōmen to this Empire. This I say (Maister) thinking that it were an vnnaturall part, not to assist me to beare that thing, which thou hast holpen me to gaine and [...]. And although that Vespasian was by nature good, yet greate profite [...] to him by entertainyng of the Philosopher Appolonius. For truely it is to be counted a greater felicitie, when a Prince hath chaunced vpon a good and faithfull man, to be neare about him, than if he had atchicued a great [...] and Kingdome. Thou sayest (Plutarch) that thou shalt receiue great contentation, from [...], if I be such a one as I was before, vpon condition that I ware [...] worse. I beleue that which thou dost say, bicause the Emperour Nero, was the first fiue yeares of his Empire good, and the other nine yeares excéedyng euyll, in such wise as he grew to be greater in wickednesse, thā in dignitie. Notwithstanding, if [...] shinke that as it chaunced vnto [...], so may happen vnto Traiane, I beséeche the [...] Gods rather to depriue me of life, than to suffer me to raigne in Rome. For tirants be they, which procure dignities and promotions, to vse them for delight and filthy [...]: and good Rulers be they which seke them [...] of cōmon wealth. And therfore to them (which before they came to those [...]) were good, and afterwardes wared wicked, greater pitie than enuie ought to be attributed, considering specially, that Fortune doeth not [...] them to honour, but to shame and villanie. [...] [...] then (good maister) that sith hitherto I haue [...] reputed [...], I will [...] by Gods assistance to [Page] aspire the better, rather than to the worsse. And so the Gods preserue thée.

The Letter of the Emperoure Traiane to the Senate of Rome, wherein is conteined, that Honour ought rather to be deserued than procured.

COcceius Traiane Emperoure of the Romanes, euer Augustus,

to our sacred Senate health and consolation in the Gods of comfort.

We being aduertised here at Agrippina, of the death of the Emperour Nerua, your [...] Lorde and my predeccssour, and knowing it to be true, that you haue wept and bewailed the losse of a Prince so noble & righteous, as we likewise haue felt like sorow, for the death of so notable a father. When children lose a good father, & subiects a good prince, eyther they muste dye wyth them, or else by teares they thinke to raise them vp againe, for so much as good princes be in a common wealth so rare, as the Phoenix in Arabia, My lord Nerua brought me out of Spayne to Rome, nourished me vp in youth, caused me to be trained in letters & adopted me for his [...] in mine old age. Which graces and benefits truly I can not forget, knowing that the ingrate man prouoketh the Gods to anger, and men to hatred. The death of a vertuous mā ought to be lamē ted of all men, but the death of a good Prince ought to be extremely mourned. For if a cōmon person die, there is but one dead, but if a good Prince die, together with him dieth a whole realme. I speake this (O ye Fathers) for the rare vertues abounding in mine vncle Nerua: For if the Gods were disposed to sell vs the liues of good Princes alreadie departed, it were but a small ransome to redéeme [Page] them with teares. For what golde or [...] may be sufficient to buie the life of a vertuous mā? Truly there woulde be a great masse of money giuen by the Assyriās to redeme the life of Belus, by the Persiās for Artaxerxes, by the Troians for Hector, by the Greekes for Alexander, by the Lacedemonians for Lycurgus, by the Romanes for Augustus, and by the Carthaginians for Annibal. But as you knowe the Gods haue made all thyngs mortall, hauing reserued onely themselues to bée immortall. Howe eminent and passing the vertue of the good is, and what priu ledge the godly haue, it may easily bée knowne: for so much, as honour is caried euen to the very graues os the deade, but so it is not to the greate Palaces of the wicked. The good and vertuous man, without sighte or knowledge we loue, serue, and aunswer for him: where the wicked wée can not beleue that which he sayeth, and lesse accepte in good parte the thyng whiche hée doeth for vs. Touchyng the election of the Empire, it was done by Nerua, it was demaunded by the people, approued by you, and accepted by me. Wherefore I praye the immorall Goddes that it may bée lyked of their godheades. For to small purpose auayleth the election of Princes, if the Gods doe not confirme it: and therefore a man may knowe hym whiche is chosen by the Gods, or elected by men, for the one shall decline and fall, the other vpholden and preserned. The choyse of man sodaynely exalted doeth decline and fall, but that whiche is planted by the Gods, although it be tossed to and fro with seuerall windes, & receiueth great aduersitie, and boweth a little, yet he shal be neuer sene to fal. Ye know right wel (most honorable Fathers) that I neuer demaunded the Empire of Nerua my Soueraigne Lorde, although hée brought me vp and was his nephew, hauing hearde and well remembryng of my Maister Plutarch, that honour [Page] ought rather to be deserued than procured. Notwithstanding I will not denie that ioyfull I was when my lorde Nerua sent me the ensigne of that greate and high dignitie: but I will also confesse that hauing begon to tast the trauailes and cares which that Imperiall state bringeth, I did repent more than a thousande times for taking vpon me the same. For Empire and gouernemēt is of such qualitie, that although the honour bée great, yet the gouernour sustaineth very great paine and miserable trauaile. O how greatly doeth he bynde himselfe, which by gouernement byndeth other? for if it be iuste, they call it cruell, if it bée pitiefull, it is contemned, if liberall, it is estéemed prodigall, if he kéepe or gather togyther, hée is counted couetous, if he be peaccable and quiet, they deme him for a coward, if he be coragious, he is reputed a quareller, if graue, they will say he is proude, if he be easie to be spoken to, he is thought to be light or simple, if solitarie, they will estéeme him to be an hypocrite, and if he be ioyfull, they will terme hym dissolute: In suche wise as they will be contented, and vse more better termes to all others what soeuer, than towards him, which gouerneth a cōmon wealth. For to suche a one they recken the morsels whiche he eateth, they measure his pases, they note his wordes, they take héede to his companies, and iudge of his workes (many tymes wrongfully,) they examine and murmure of his pastymes, and attempte to coniecture of his thoughtes. Consyder then the trauailes whiche bée in Gouernement, and the Enuie whyche many times they beare vnto him that ruleth. We may saye, that there is no state more sure than to be in that which is furthest off from Enuie. And if a man can not but with greate paine gouerne the wife which he hath chosen, the [...] which he hath begotten, nor the seruant which he hath brought vp, hauing them altogether [Page] in one house: how is it possible that he can still conserue in peace a whole common wealth? I pray you tell me, in whom shall a poore Prince repose his trust? sith that many times he is most slaundered by them whome he fauoureth best? Princes and great lords can not eate without a garde, can not sléepe without a watche, can not speake without espiall, nor walke without some safetie, in suche wise as they beyng lordes of all, they bée as it were, prisoners of their owne people. And if we will beholde somwhat nearely, and consider the seruitude of Princes, and the libertie of subiects, we shall finde that he whiche hath most to doe in the realme, or beareth greatest swinge, is most subiect to thraldom: In somuch as if Princes haue authoritie to giue libertie, they haue no meanes to be frée them selues. The Gods haue created vs so frée, and euery man desireth to haue his libertie so much at will, that a man be he neuer so familiar a friend, or so neare of kin, we had rather haue him to be our subiect, than our lorde and maister. One man alone commaundeth all, and yet it semeth to him but little. Ought we then to maruell, if many be wearie to obey one? We loue and estéeme our selues so much, as I neuer sawe any which of his owne good will woulde be subiect, ne yet against his will was made a lorde, which we sée to bée very true. For the quarells and warres that bée amongs men, are not so much for obedience sake, as to rule and cōmaunde. I say moreouer, that in drinking, eating, clothing, speaking, and louing, al men be of diuers qualities: but to procure libertie, they bée all conformable. I haue spoken all this (O Fathers conscript) vpon occasion of mine owne Empire, which I haue taken with good will, albeit afterwardes I was sorie for that great charge. For the waltering seas and troublesome gouernement be two things agréeable to beholde, and daungerous to proue. Notwithstanding [Page] [...] it hath pleased the Gods that I should be your lord, and you my subiectes, I beséech you heartily to vse your obedience, as to your soueraigne lord, in that which shall be right and méete, and to aduertise me like a father, in things that shall séeme vnreasonable. The Consul Rutulus hath tolde me much in your behalfe, and hath saluted me for the people, he himselfe shal bring answere and salute you all in my name. The Allobrogians and the inhabitants about the riuer of Rhene, bée at controuersie for the limittes of their countrey, and haue prayed me to be their arbitratour, which will stay me a little there. I require that this Letter may bée redde within the Senate house, and manifested to the whole people. The Goddes preserue you.

An other Letter of the Emperour Traian to the Romane Senate, conteining how gouerners of cō mon wealthes ought to be friendes rather to those whiche vse trasicke, than to them that gather and heape together.

COcceius Traiane Emperor of the Romanes

to our holy Senate health and consolation in the Gods of comforte.

The affaires be so manifold, and businesse so graue and weightie, which we haue to doe with diuers countreyes, that scarce wée haue time to eate, and space to take any rest, the Roman Princes hauing still by auncient custome both lacke of tyme, and commonly wante of money. And bicause that they which haue charge of common wealths, to the vttermost of their power ought to be frends to traficke of marchandise, and enimies of heaping treasure togethers, Princes [Page] haue so many people to please, and so greate numbre of crauers, that if they kepe any thing for them, the same shall rather [...] a spice of theft than of prouidence. To take away an other mans goodes, truly is a wicked part: but if it bée permitted to accumulate treasure and money together, better it were to take it out of the Temples, than to defraude the people. For the one is consecrated to the immortall Gods, and the other to the poore Commons. I speake this (right honorable Fathers) to put you in remembraunce, and also to aduise you, that you take good héede to the goodes of the Common welthe, howe they be dispended, howe gathered together, howe they be kept and how they be employed. For ye ought to vnderstande, that the goodes of the Common wealth be committed to you in trust, not to the ende ye shoulde enioy them, but rather by good gouernement to vse them. We do heare that the walles be readie to sall, the towers in decay, and the temples be come to great ruine: wherof we be not a little offended, and you ought also to be ashamed, for so much as the damages and detrimentes of the Cōmon welth, we ought either to remedie, or else to lament. Ye haue written vnto me to know my pleasure, whether the Censors, Pretors, & Ediles, shold be [...] chosen, and not perpetuall, as hitherto they haue bene: and specially you say, that the state of the Dictator (which is the greatest and highest dignitie in Rome) is onely [...] sixe moneths. To that I answere, that we are well contented with that aduise: For not without cause and iust reason our predecessours did [...] the firste Kings of Rome, and ordeined, that the Consuls shoulde yerely bée chosen in the common wealth. Which was done, in consideration that he whiche had perpetuall gouernement, many times became insolent and proude. And [...] that the charges and offices of the Senate, should be yerely, [Page] to auoide daunger, which if they should be perpetuall there might ensue great hurte and damage to the Common wealth. For if the Officers being yerely chosen, be good, they may be continued. And if they bée euill, they may be chaunged. And truely the officer, which knoweth that vpon the ende of euery yeare he must be chaunged, and examined of his charge, he wil take good hede to that which he speaketh, and first of all will wel consider what he taketh in hande. The good Marcus Portius was the fyrst that caused the Officers of the Romane Common wealthe to thée thus visited and corrected. And bycause that these Almayne warres dee still increase, by reason that the Kyng Deceball wyll not as yet bée brought to obedience of the Romanes, but rather goth about to occupie and winne the Kingdomes of Dacia and Polonia, I shall be forced through the businesse of the warrs, so long continuing) to deuise and consult here vpon the affaires cōcerning the gouernemēt of the cōmon welth of Rome. For a lesse euill it is for a Prince to be negligent in matters of warre, than in the gouernement of the common wealth. A prince also ought to thinke, that he is chosen, not to make warres, but to gouerne, not to kill the enimies, but to roote out vices, not that he go in person to inuade or defend his foes, but that he reside and be in the cō mon welth, & not to take away other mens goodes, but to do iustice to euery mā, for somuch as the prince in yt warres can fight but for one, and in the publike wealth he cō mitteth faults against a numbre. Truly it liketh me wel, that from the degrée of Captains men be aduaūced to be Emperors, but I thinke it not good, that Emperours do descend to be Captains, considering that the realme shal neuer be in quiet, whē the Prince is to great a warrior[?]. This haue I spokē (Fathers cōscript) to the intēt ye may beleue, that I for my part, if these warres of Almayne [Page] were to begin, I beyng at Rome, it were impossible that I should be brought vnto the same, for that my principall intent, is to be estemed rather a good gouerner of a common wealth, than a foreward Captain in the field. Now then principally I commend vnto you the veneration of the Temples, and honor of the Gods, bicause Kings neuer liue in suretie, if the Gods be not honored, and the Temples serued. The last words which my good Lorde Nerua wrote vnto mée were these: Honour the Temples, feare the Gods, maynteine Iustice in thy Common wealth, and defende the poore, in so doing thou shalte not bee for, gotten of thy friende, nor vanquished by thy ennimies. I do greatly recommende vnto you the vertues of [...] and Fraternitie, for that you know that in great cōmon wealthes, greater hurt and damage do ciuile and neighborly warres bring vnto the same, than those attempted by the enimies. If parents against parentes, and neighbours againste neighbours had not begon their mutuall hatred & contencion, neuer had Demetrius ouerthrowen the Rhodes, neuer had Alexander conquered Thyr, Marcellus Syracusa, Scipio Nuimantia. I recōmende vnto you also the poore people, loue the Orphanes and fatherlesse children, support and help the widowes, beware of quarels and debates amongs you, and the causes of the helplesse fée that ye maintaine and defende: bicause the gods did neuer wreake more [...] vengeance vpon any, than vpon those which did ill intreat and vse the poore and nedie. And many times I haue heard my lorde Nerua say: that the Gods neuer shewed them selues so rigorous, as against a mercilesse and vnpitiful people. Semblably, we pray you to be modest of wordes, pacient to suffer, & ware in your forme of life. For a great fault it is, and no lesse shame to a gouerner, that he praise the people of his cō mon wealthe, and gyue them occasion to speake euill of [Page] him. And therfore they which haue charge of the cōmon welth, ought rather to repose trust in their workes, than in their words, for so much as the citizens or cōmon people, do rather fire their iudgement vpon that which they sée, than on that which they heare. I woulde wishe that (touchyng the affaires appertinent to the Senate) they might not know in you any sparke of ambicion, malice, deceipt, or enuie: to the intent that the iust men might not so much complaine of the commaunding of the common wealth, as vpon the entertainement and profite of the same. The Empire of the Grekes, and that of the Romanes, were euer contrary, as well in armes and lawes, as in opinions: The Grekes putting their felicitie in eloquence, and we in well doing. I speake this (right honorable Fathers) to counsell and exhorteye, that when ye bée assembled in Senate, ye doe not consume tyme in disputing & holdyng opinions for the verification of any thing. For if you will iudge without parcialitie and affection, without greate disputation; ye may come to reason. I do remember that being at a lesson of Appolonius Thyaneus, I heard hym say that it was not so expédient that Senators and Emperors shold be skilful & wise, as if they suffred themselues to be gouerned by those that were of greate skill and knowledge: and verely he [...] truthe. For by that meanes he prohibited & forbad them, not to arrest and stande vpon their owne opinion, whereof they ought to be many times suspicious: Likewise [...] recommende vnto you the Censores, who haue charge of iudgement, and the Tribunes, whose office is to attende the affaires of Common wealth, that they bée wise and learned in the lawes, expert in the Customes, prouident in Iudgementes, and ware in their trade of life. For I say vnto you, that a wise man is more auaileable in gouernement of a common welth, than a man of ouermuch [Page] skill and experience. The forme then which ye shall obserue in matters of iudgement, shal be thus: That in ciuile processe you kepe the law, and in criminall causes to moderate the same, bicause hainous, cruel, and rigorous lawes be rather made to amase and feare, than to be obserued and kept. When you giue any sentence, ye ought to consider the age of the offendāt, when, how, wherfore, with whome, in whose presence, in what time, and how long ago, for somuch as euery of these things may either excuse or condenme: whiche you ought to [...] and vse towards them in like sort as the Gods towards vs, who giue vs better helpe and succour, and correct vs lesse than we deserue. That cōsideration the iudges ought to haue, bicause the offenders doe rather trespasse the Gods than men. If then they be forgiuen of the Gods for offences which they commit, reason it is that wée pardon those faultes done vnto others, & not vnto our selues. In like maner we commaunde you, yt if your enimies do you any anoiance or iniurie, not [...] to take reuenge, but rather to dissemble yt same, bicause many wrōgs be done in the world, which were better to be [...] than [...]. Wherin ye shall haue like regard, touching yt [...] the Senate and Common wealth, that they be not [...] to ambicious or couetous [...]. For there is no beast in the world so pestiferous and benemotis, as that [...] of man is to the Common wealth, the ambicious I say in cōmaunding, and the couetous in gathering togither. Other things we let passe for this time, vntil we haue intelligence, how these our commaundements be [...]. This Letter shall be red in the chiefess place within the Senate, and afterwards pronoūced to the people, that they may both know what [...] [...], and sée also what ye doe. The Gods kepe you, whome we pray to preserue our mother the Citie of Rome, and to sende vs good [...] in these our warres.

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A notable Letter sent from the Romane Senate to the Emperour Traiane, wherin is declared how sometimes the region of Spayne did furnish Rome with golde from their mines, and nowe doe adorne and garnish the same with Emperours to gouerne their Common wealth.

THe sacred Roman Senate, to thée the great Cocceius Traiane newe Emperor Augustus, health in thy Gods and ours, graces euerlastyng wée render to the immortall Gods, for that thou art in health, whiche we desire and pray may be perpetual. We signified vnto thy maiestie the death of Nerua Cocceius, our soueraigne Lorde, and thy predecessor, a man of sincere life, a friende of his common wealth, and a zealous louer of Justice, wherin also we aduertised, that like as Rome did wéepe for the cruell lyfe of Domitian, so much the more bitterly doth she bewaile the death of thine vncle Nerua, whose councell (although hée was very olde and diseased) which he gaue vs lying on his bedde, we loued better, and imbraced with greater comforte, than all the enterprises and dedes done by his predecessors, when they were in health and lustie. And besides the ordinarie mourning vsed to be done in Rome for princes, we haue caused all recreation and passetime to cease, so well in the common wealth, as with euery of vs particularly. We haue shut vp the Temples and made the Senat to [...] to doe the Gods to vnderstand, how displeasantly we accept the death of good men. The good old gentleman Nerua died in his house, and was buried in the fielde of Mars; [Page] he died in debt, & we haue paid his debts. He died calling vpon the Gods, & we haue canonized him amongs their numbre, and that which is most to be noted, he died commending vnto vs the Common wealth, and the Cōmon wealth recommending it selfe vnto him. And a little before his latter gaspe, the principal of the holy Senate, and many other of the people, standing about his bedside, he sayde: O ye Fathers, I committe vnto you the cōmon wealth and my selfe also vnto the Gods: vnto whome I render infinite thankes, bycause they haue taken from me my children, to bée mine heires, and haue lefte mée Traiane to succéede. You do remembre (most dread soueraigne Lorde) that the good Emperour Nerua had other successours than your maiestie, of nerer alliance, of greater frendship, more bound by seruice, and of greter proofe in warfare: Notwithstandyng amongs other noble personages, vpon you alone he cast his eyes, reposing in you such opinion and confidence, as to reuiue the prowes and valiant faicts of the good Emperor Augustus, by suppressing in obliuion the insolent faicts of Domitian. When Nerua came vnto the Crowne, he found the treasure [...], the Senate in dissention, the people in commotion, iustice not obserued, and the Common welth ouerthrowen: which you likewise presently shall finde, although otherwise quiet and wholly reformed. Wherfore we shall bée right glad, that you conserue the common wealth in the state wherin your vncle Nerua left it, considering specially that newe Princes vnder colour to introduce new customes, do ouerthrow their common wealths. Fourtene Princes your predecessours in the empire wer naturally borne in Rome, and you are the first straunger Prince. Wherefore we pray the immortall Gods, (sith that the stocke of our auncient Caesars is dead) to sende [...] good Fortune. Out of the countrey of Spayne was wont to [Page] [...] to this our Romane Citie great abundance of gold siluer, stéele, leade, tinne, from their [...]: but now in place therof, she giueth vs Emperours to gouerne oure common wealths. Sith then that thou cōmest of so good a countrey as Spayne is, from so good a Prouince as is Vandolosia, and from so excellent a citie as Cales is, of so noble and fortunate a linage as is Cocceius, and [...] to so noble an Empire, It is to be supposed that thou wilt proue good, and not euill. For the Gods immortall many times do take away their graces from vngratefull men. Moreouer (most excellent Prince) sith you wrote vnto vs the maner and order what we ought to do: reason it is that we write to you againe what you ought to foresée. And sith you haue told vs, and taught vs to obey you, mete it is that we may know what your pleasure is to commaunde. For that (it maye come to passe) that as you haue ben brought vp in Spayn, and of long time ben absent from Rome, through following the warres, that not knowing the lawes wherevnto we are sworne, and the customes whiche wée haue in Rome, Ye commaunde some thing that may redound to our damage and to your dishonor. And therefore we accompte it reason that your Maiestie bée aduertised hereof, and the same preuented, for so much as Princes oftentimes be negligent of many things, not for that they will not foresée the same, but rather for wāt of one that dare tel them what they ought to doe. And therfore wée humbly beséech your most excellent maiestie, to extende and shewe forth your wisedome and prudence, for that the Romanes heartes ben drawen and made pliant rather by fauourable diligence, than by prouoked force. Touchyng the vertue, Iustice, may it please you, to remembre the same. For your olde vncle Nerua was wont to say, that a prince for all his magnanimitie, valiance, and felicitie, if he do not vse and maintaine [Page] iustice, ought not for any other merite to bée [...] and [...]. Semblably we make our humble petition, that those commaundements which you shal send and require to be put in execution, bée throughly established and obserued. For the goodnesse of the law doth not consist in the ordinance, but in the fulfillyng and accomplishement of the same. We will not also omitte to say vnto you (most famous Prince) that you must haue pacience to suffer the importunate, & to dissemble with the offenders. For that it is the déede of a Prince to chastise and punishe the wrongs of the common wealth, and [...] pardon the disobedience done vnto hym. You sende vs word by your letters that you wil not come to Rome, vntill you haue finished the Germaine warres. Whiche séemeth vnto vs to be the determination of a [...] and right noble emperor, for so much as good Princes such as you be, ought not to desire & chose places of delite & recreatiō, but rather aspire to seke & win renome & fame. You cōmaunde vs also to haue regard to the veueration of the Temples, and to the seruice of the Gods. Which request is iust, but very iust it were and mete that your self shold do the same. For our seruice would litle preuaile, if you should displease them. You will vs also one to loue an other, which is the counsel of a holy and peaceable prince? but know ye, that we shal not be able to do the same, if you will not loue and intreate vs all in equall and indifferent sorte. For princes cherishyng and louing some aboue the rest, do raise slanders and grudges amongs the people. You likewise recommend vnto vs, the poore and the widowes: wherin we thinke that you ought to commaunde the Collecters of your tributes, that they do not grieue the same, when they gather your rightes & [...]. For greater sinne it is to spoile & pill the nedie sort, than [...] to succour and relieue them. Likewise [Page] you do persuade vs to be quiet & [...] in our affaires, which is a persuasion [...] of a prince, not onely yt is iust, but also of a pitiful father. In [...] maner you require vs not to be opinionatiue & wilfull in the [...], ne affectionate to selfwil, which shal be done accordingly as you cōmaunde, & accept it as you say. But ther [...] you ought to think that in graue & [...] [...], the more depely things [...] debated, yt better they shal be prouided & decréed. You bid vs also to [...] yt the Censores be honest of life and rightful in doing iustice. To that we aunswere that in the same we will haue good respect, but it is expedient that you take héede to them whome you shall name and appoint to those affaires. For if you doe choose them such as they ought to be, no cause shal rise to reprehende them. Item where you say that we ought to take hede, that our children committe no offences to the people, wherein the aduise of the Senate is, that you doe draw them away from vs, and call them to the Almayne warres, for as you do know (right souerain prince) that when the publike welth is exempt, and voide of enimies, then the same wil begin to be replenished with youthful vices. Notwithstanding when the warres bée farre off from Rome, then the same to them is profitable, bicause there is nothing which better [...] common wealths from wicked people, than warres in countrey straunge. Cōcerning other things which you write vnto vs, nedefull it is not nowe to recite them, but onely to sée them kepte. For truely they séeme rather to bée the lawes of God Apollo him selfe, than Counsels of a mortall man. The Gods preserue your Maiestie, and graunt you good successe in those your warres.

These Letters and Epistles, although besides the scope and Nature of a Nouell, yet so woorthie to be read and practised, as no Hystorie or other Morall Precepte [Page] more: expressing the great care of a maister towardes his scholar, that he should proue no worse being an Emperor, than he shewed hym selfe [...] when he was a Scholer: fearing that if he shoulde gouerne contrary to his expectation, or degenerate from the good institution, whiche in his yong yeares hée imbraced, that the blame and slaunder shoulde rest in [...], that was his tutour and bringer vp. O carefull Plutarch, O most happy maister, as well for thine owne industrie, as for the good successe of suche a scholer. And O most fortunate and vertuous Emperor, that could so welbrooke and digest the blissed persuasions of such a master, and whose minde with the blast of promotion was not so swolne & puffed, but that it [...] to cal him Father and Maister, [...] crauing for an instigation of reproofe, when he [...] or slipped from the pathe of reason and duetie. And O happie Counsel & Senate, that could so wel like and practise the documentes of such an Emperour.

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Of three Amorous Dames.
The. xiiij. Nouel.

¶ A notable Historie of three Amorous Gentlewomen, called LAMIA, FLORA, and LAIS: conteinyng the sutes of noble Princes and other great personages made vnto them, with their answeres to diuers demaundes: and the maner of their death and funerals.

LEauyng nowe our morall discourse of a carefull Maister, a prouident Scholer, of a vertuous Emperor, of a sacred Senate, and vniforme magisterie, returne wée to the setting forth and description of. iij. arrant honest women, which for lewdnesse wer famous, and for wicked lyse worthie to bée noted with a black coale, or rather their memorie raked vp in the dust and cindres of the corpses vnpure. But as all histories be full of lessons of vertue and vice, as bokes sacred & prophane describe the liues of good and bad for example sake [...] yelde meanes to ye posteritie, to ensue the one & [...] the other, so haue I thought to intermingle amongest these Nouels the seuerall sortes of either, that eche sexe and kinde may pike out like the Bée of eche floure, honie, to store & furnishe with delightes their well disposed minde. I purpose then to vnlace the dissolute liues of [Page] thrée amorouse dames, that with their graces [...] the greatest princes that euer were: enticed the noble men, and sometimes procured the wisest and best learned to craue their acquaintance, as by the sequele hereof shall well appere. These thrée famous women, (as writers doe witnesse) were furnished with many goodly graces and giftes of nature, that is to say, great beautie offace, goodly proporcion of bodie, large and high forheads, their brestes placed in comly order, small wasted, fayre hands, of passing cunning to play vpon Instruments, a heauenlie voice to faine and sing: [...], their qualities and beautie were more famous, than euer any ye were borne within the coūtries of Asia and Europa. They were neuer beloued of Prince which did forsake them, nor yet they made request of any thing which was denied them. They neuer mocked or flouted man (a thing rare in women of their cōdition) ne yet were mocked of any: But their speciall propreties were to allure men to loue thē: Lamia with hir pleasant looke and eye, Flora with hir eloquent tongue, and Lais with the grace & swetenesse of hir singing voyce, A straunge thing that he wich once was [...] with the loue of any of those thrée, eyther too late or neuer was deliuered of the same. They were the richest Courtizans that euer liued in the worlde, so long as their life did last, & after their decease, great monumentes were erected for their remembraunce, in place where they dyed. The most auncient of these thrée amorous dames was Lamia, who was in the tyme of king Antigonus, that warfared in the seruice of Alexander the great, a valiant gentleman, although not fauored by Fortune. This king Antigonus lefte behinde hym a sonne and heire called Deinetrius, who was lesse valiant, but more fortunate than his father, and had bene a [...] of greate estimation, if in his youth [...] had acquired [Page] frendes, and kept the same, and in his age had not bene giuen to so many vices. This king Demetrius was in loue with Lamia, and presented hir with riche giftes and rewardes, and loued hir to affectionatly, and in such sort, as in the loue of his Lamia, he semed rather a [...] than a true louer: for forgetting the grauitie and authoritie of his person, he did not onelie gyue hir all such things as she demaunded, but bysides yt he vsed no more the companie of his wife Euxonia. On a time king Demetrius asking Lamia, what was the thing wherewith a woman was sonest wonne. Ther is nothing (answered she,) which sooner ouer commeth a woman, than whē she séeth a man to loue hir with all his hart, & to susteine for hir sake great paines and passions with long continuance and entier affection: for to loue men by collusion, causeth afterwards that they be mocked againe. Demetrius asked hir further, tell me Lamia, why doe diuerse women rather hate than loue men? whervnto shée answered: The greatest cause why a woman doth hate a man, is, when the man dothe vaunte & boaste himselfe of that which he doth not, and performeth not the thing which he promiseth. Demetrius demaunded of hir. Tell me Lamia what is the thing wherwith men doe content you best: when we see him (sayde she) to be discrete in wordes, & secrete in his dedes. Demetrius asked hir further. Tell me Lamia how chanceth it ye men be ill matched: bicause answered Lamia, It is impossible that they be well maried, when the wife is in néede, & the husband vndiscrete. Demetrius asked hir what was ye cause, that amity betwene two louers, was [...]? Ther is nothing answered she, that soner maketh colde the loue betwene two louers, than when one of them doth straye in loue, and the woman louer to importunate to craue. He demaunded further. Tell me Lamia, what is the thing that [Page] most [...] the louing man? Not to attaine the thing which he desireth answered she, and thinketh to lose the thing which he hopeth to enioy. Demetrius yet once againe asked hir this question. What is that Lamia which most troubleth a womans hart? Ther is nothing (answered Lamia) wherwith a woman is more grieued, and maketh hir more sad, than to be called yll fauored, or that she hath no good grace, or to vnderstand that she is dissolute of life. This ladie Lamia, was of iudgement delicate and subtill, although yll ymployed in hir: & therby made all the world in loue with hir: and drew all men to hir through hir faire spéech. Now before she lost the heart of king Demetrius, she haunted of long time the Uniuersities of Athenes, where she gained great store of money, and brought to destruction many yong men. Plutarch in the life of Demetrius saith, yt the Athenians hauing presented vnto him. [...]. C. talents of money for a subsidie to pay his men of warre, he gaue all that [...] to his woman Lamia. By meanes wherof, the Athenians grudged, & were offended with the king, not for the losse of their gift, but for yt it was so euill employed. When the king Demetrius would assure any thing by oth, he swore not by his Gods, ne yet by his predecessors, but in this sort: As I may be still in the grace of my lady Lamia, and as hir life & mine may ende together, so true is this which I say & doe, in this & this sort. One yere & two monethes before the death of king Demetrius, his frend Lamia died, who sorowed so much hir death, as for the absence & death of hir, he caused the Philosophers of Athenes to entre disputation: Whether the teares and sorow, which he shed and and toke, were more to be estemed, than the riches which he spent in hir obsequies & funerall pompes. This amorous gentlewoman Lamia was borne in Argos, a citie of Peloponnesus, by [...] [Page] nes, of base parentage, who in hir first yeres haunted the countrie of Asia maior, of very wild & dissolute life, & in ye end came into Phaenicia. And when yt king Demetrius, had caused hir to be buried before a wyndow ioyning to his house, his chiefest frendes asked him, wherfore he had entombed hir in that place. His answere was this: I loued hir so well, & she likewise me so hartily, as I knowe not which way to satisfie yt loue which she bare me, & the duetie I haue to loue hir againe, if not to put hir in such place, as myne eyes may wepe euery daye, & mine hart still lament. Truely this loue was straunge, which so mightie a Monarch as Demetrius was, did beare vnto such a notable Curtizan, a woman vtterly voyde of grace, barren of good workes, & without any zeale or sparke of vertue as it should appere. But sith we reade & know yt none are more giuen or bent to vnreasonable loue, than mightie princes, what shuld it be demed straunge and maruellous, if Demetrius amongs the [...] doe come in place for the loue of that most famous woman, yf fame may stretch to eyther sorts both good and euill? But let vs come to yt second sort, of this infamous gentle woman called Lais. She was of the Isle of Bithritos, which is in the confines of Graecia, & was the [...] of ye great Sacrificer of Appollo his tēple at Delphos, a man greatly experienced in the magike art, wherby he prophecied the perdition of his daughter. Now this [...] Lais was in triumph in the time of the renowmed king Pirrhus, a prince very ambicious to acquire honor, but not very happie to kepe the same, who being yong of sixtene or [...] yeres, came into Italie to make warres against the Romains. He was the first (as some say) that aranged a campe in ordre, and made the Phalanx, the maine square and battell. For before hys time, when they came to entre battell, they assailed confusedly, [Page] and out of array gaue the onset. This amorous Lais, continued long time in the campe of King Pyrrhus, and went wyth hym into Italie, and wyth hym retorned from warre againe. Notwythstanding hir nature was such, as she would neuer bée mainteined with one man alone. The same Lais was so amorous in hir conuersation, so excellent faire, and of so comely grace, that if she would haue kept hir selfe to one, and bene [...] to one lord or gentleman, [...] was no prince in the world but would haue yelded himselfe and all that he had at hir commaundement. Lais from hir retourne out of Italia into Grece, repaired to the citie of Corinth to make hir abode there, where she was pursued by many kings, lordes, and princes. Aulus Gellius saith (which I haue recited in my former part of the Palace of pleasure the fiftenth Nouell) that the good Philosopher Demosthenes, went from Athenes to Corinth, in disguised apparell, to sée Lais, and to haue hir company. But before the dore was opened, she sent one to demaunde. [...]. C. Sestercos of siluer: [...] Demosthenes answered: I bye not repentance so dere. And I beleue that Demosthenes spake those wordes by folowing the sentence of Diogenes, who sayth, that euerie beast after such acte is heauie and sad. Some writers affirme of this amorous Lais, that thing which I neuer reade or heard of woman: which is, that she neuer shewed signe or token of loue to that man which was desirous to doe hir seruice: nor was neuer hated of man that knew hir. Wherby we may comprehend the happe and fortune of that amorous woman. She neuer shewed semblance of great loue to any person, and yet she was beloued of all. If the amorous Lamia had a good spirite and mynde, Lais truely had no lesse. For in the art of loue, she excéeded all other women of hir [Page] [...] art and science, as well in knowledge of loue, as to profite in the same. Upon a day a yong man of Corinth demaunding of hir, what hée should say to a woman whome hée long tyme had loued, and made so great sute, that therby he was like to fall into dispaire. Thou shalt say (sayd Lais) vnto hir, that sith she will not graunt thy request, yet at least wise it might please hir to suffer thée to bée hir seruant, and that she would take in good parte the seruice that thou shalt doe vnto hir. Which request if she doe graunt, then hope to atteine the ende of thy attempt, bycause that we women bée of such nature, as opening the mouth to gyue some myld and pleasant answere to the amorous person, it is to bée thought that we haue gyuen our heart vnto the firste suter. An other daye in the presence of Lais, one praised the Philosophers of Athenes, saying that they were very honest personages, and of greate skyll and knowledge. Whereunto Lais aunswered: I cannot tell what greate knowledge they haue, nor what science they studie, ne yet what bookes your Philosophers doe reade, bycause that I being a woman and neuer was at Athenes, I sée them repaire hither, and of Philosophers béecome amorous persons. A Theban knight demaunded of Lais, what he might doe to enioy a ladie wyth whose loue hée should bée surprised: She aunswered thus. A man that is desirous of a woman, muste followe hys sute, serue hir and suffer hir, and sometimes to séeme as though hée had forgotten hir. For after that a womans heart is moued to loue, she regardeth more the forgetfulnesse and negligence vsed towardes hir, than she doth the seruice béefore time [...] vnto hir. An other Gentleman of Achaia asked hir what hée shoulde doe to a woman, whome hée suspected that she hadde [...] hir fayth. Lais aunswered, make [Page] hir beleue that thou thinkest she is very faythfull, and take from hir the occasions wherby she hath good cause to doe the same: For if she doe perceiue that thou knowest it, and dissemblest the matter, she will soner dye than amēd. A gētleman of Palestine at another time inquired of hir what he should doe to a woman which he serued, and did not esteme the seruice done vnto hir, ne yet gaue him thankes for the loue which he bare hir. Lais sayed vnto him: If thou be disposed to serue hir no longer, let hir not perceiue that thou hast gyuen hir ouer: For naturallie we women be tendre to loue, and hard to hate. Being demaunded by one of hir neighbours what she should doe to make hir daughter very wyse. She (saide Lais) that will haue hir daughter to be good and honest, she must from hir youth lerne hir to feare, and in going abrode to haunte litle companie, and that she be shamefast and moderate in hir talke. An other of hir neighbors inquiring of hir what she might doe to hir daughter which began to haue delight to rome in the fielde & wander abrode. The remedy (saide Lais) that I finde for your daughter disposed to that condition, is, not to suffer hir to be ydle, ne yet to be braue and sumptnous in apparell. This amorous gentlewoman Lais dyed in the citie of Corinth, of the age of. lxxij. yeares, whose death was of many Matrones desired, and of a great numbre of amorous persons lamented.

The third amorous gentlewoman was [...] Flora, which was not so aucient, ne yet of so great renoume as Lamia & Lais wer, whose coūtrie also was not so famous, For she was of Italie, and the other two of Grecia, and although that Lamia & Lais exceded Flora in antiquitie, [...] Flora surmounted them in lineage & generositie. For Flora was of noble house, although in life lesse than chast. She was of the countrie of Nola in Campania, issued of [Page] certein Romans, knights very famous in facts of armes and of great industrie and gouernement in the common wealth. When the father and mother of this Flora deceased, she was of the age of. xb. yeares, indued with great riches and singular beautie, and the very orphane of all hir kynne, For she had neyther brother left with whom she might soiourne, ne yet vncle to gyue hir good councell. In such wise that like as this yong maistres Flora had youth, riches, liberty and beautie, euen so ther wanted neither bauds nor Pandores to [...] hir to fal, and allure hir to follie. Flora seing hir selfe beset in this wise, she determined to goe into the Affrick warres, where she hazarded both hir person and hir honor. This dame florished and tryumphed in the tyme of the first Punique warres, when the Consul Mamillus was sent to Carthage, who dispended more money vpon the loue of Flora, than hée did vpon the chase and pursute of his [...]. This amorous ladie Flora had a writing and tytle fixed vpon hir gate, the effect wher of was thys: King, Prince, Dictator, Consul, Censor, high Bishop, and Questor may knocke and come in. In that writing Flora named neither Emperor nor Caesar, bycause those two most noble names were long tyme after created by the Romanes. This amorous Flora wold neuer abandon hir person, but wyth gentlemen of great house, or of great dignitie and riches. For she was wont to say, that a woman of passing beauty should bée so much estemed as she doth esteme and sette by hir selfe. Lais and Flora were of contrary maners & conditions. For Lais would first bée paide, before she yelded the vse of hir bodie: but Flora without any semblance of desire eyther of golde or siluer was contented to bée ruled by those with whom she committed the facte. Wherof vpon a day being demaunded the question, she answered: I gyue my body [Page] to Princes and noble Barons, that they may deale with me like gentlemen. For I sweare vnto you by the Goddesse Venus, that neuer man gaue me so little, but that I had more than I loked for, and the double of that which I could demaund. This amorous lady Flora was wont many tymes to saye, that a wise woman (or more aptlie to terme hir a subtill wench) ought not to demaund reward of hir louer for the acceptable pleasure which she doth hym, but rather for the loue which she beareth him, bicause that all things in the world haue a certain price, except loue, which cannot bée paide or recompenced but with loue. All the Ambassadors of the worlde, which had accesse into Italie, made so great report of the beauty and generositie of Flora, as they dyd of the Romane common wealth, bycause it semed to bée a monstrous thinge to sée the riches of hir house, hir trayue, hir beautie, the princes & great lordes by whom she was required, and the presents and giftes that were gyuen vnto hir. This amorous Flora had a continuall regard to the noble house wherof she came, touching the magnificence and state of hir seruice. For albeit that she was but a common woman, yet she was serued & honored like a great ladie. That day wherin she rode about the citie of Rome, she gaue occasion to bée spoken of a whole month after, one inquiring of an other what gret Roman lords they were that kept hir company: Whose men they were that waighted vpon hir: And whose liuery they ware? What ladies they were that rode in hir traine: the brauery of hir apparell: hir great beautie & port, and the wordes spoken by the amorous gentlemen in that troupe were not vnremembred. When this maistres Flora wared olde, a yong and beautifull gentleman of Corinth, demaunded hir to [...], to whome she aunswered: I know well that thou wilt not marie, the thrée [Page] score yeares which Flora hath, but rather thou [...] to haue ye twelue hundred thousand Sestercias which she hath in hir house. Content thy selfe therfore my frende, and get thée home againe to Corinth from whence thou [...]. For to such as bée of myne age, great honor is borne, & reuerence done for the riches and wealth they haue, rather than for mariage. There was neuer in the Romane Empire; the like amorous woman that Flora was, indued with so many graces and quéenelike qualities, for she was of noble house, of singuler beautie, of comly personage, discrete in hir affaires, and besides all other comly qualities, very liberall. This maistres Flora spent the most part of hir youth in Africa, Almaine and Gallia [...]. And albeit that she would not suffre any other but great lords to haue possession of hir body, yet she applied hir selfe to the spoile of those that were in place, and to the praie of those that came from the warrs. This amorous Flora died when she was of the age of [...]. yeares. She left for the principall heire of all hir goods and [...], the [...] people, which was estemed sufficiēt & able to make newe the walles of Rome, and to [...] and redeme the common welth of the same. And bicause that she was a Romaine, & had made the state thereof hir heire, the Romanes buylded in hir honor a sumptuous Temple, which in memorie of Flora, was called [...] and euery yeare in the memorie of hir, they celebrated hir feast vpon the daye of hir death: Suctonuis Tranquillus saieth, that the first feaste which the Emperour Galba the second celebrated within Rome, was ye feast of the amorous Flora, vpon which day it was lawfull for men & women, to doe what kinde of dishonestie they could deuise. And she was estemed to be the greater saint which that day shewed hir selfe most dissolute and wanton. And bicause that the temple Florianum, [Page] was dedicated to amorous Flora, the Romās had an opinion, that all women which vpon the same day repaired to the Temple in whorish apparell, should haue the graces and gifts that Flora had. These were the sond opinions and maners of the auncient, which after their owne making & deuises framed Gods and Goddesses, and bycause the proued vnshamefast and rich, a Temple must bée erected, and Sacrifices ordeined for hir whorish triumphes. But that noble men and Kings haue bene rapt and transported with the lurements of such notorious strumpets, is and hath bene common in all ages. And commonly such infamous women bée indewed with greatest giftes and graces, the rather to noosell & dandle their fauorers in the lappes of their fading pleasures. But euery of them a most speciall grace, aboue the rest. As of a king not long agoe we reade that kept thrée, one the holiest, another the crastiest, & the third the [...]. Two of which properties méete for honest women: although the third so incident to that kinde, as heat to a liuing bodie. Cease we then of this kinde, and let vs steppe forth to be acquainted with a ladie & a Quéene the Godliest & stoutest, that is remembred in any aun. cient monument or historie.

[Page]

Zenobia Queene of Palmyres.
The. xv. Nouel.

¶ The life and gestes of the most famous Queene Zenobia, with the letters of the Emperour [...] to the sayd Queene, and hir stoute answere therunto.

ZENOBIA Quéene of Palmyres, was a right famous gentlewoman, as diuerse historiographers largely do report & write. Who although she was a gētle quéene, yet a christian princesse so worthie of imitation, as she was for hir vertues & [...] facts of [...] praise. She by hir wisdome & stoutnesse, subdued all the empire of the Orient, & resisted the inuincible [...]. And for that it is méete and requisite to alleage and aduouche reasones by weight, & wordes by measure, I will orderly beginne to recite the historie of that most famous Quéene. Wherefore I say, that about the. 284. Olimpiade, no long time after the death of the vnhappie Emperour Decius, Valerian was chosen Emperour by the Senat, and (as Trebellius Pollio his historian doth describe) hée was a well learned prince, indued with manifolde vertues, that for his speciall praise, [Page] these wordes be recorded. If all the world had bene assembled to chose a good Prince, they would not haue chosen any other but good Valerian. It is also written of hym that in liberalitie hée was noble, in words true, in talke warie, in promise constant, to his frendes familiar, and to his enimies seuere, and which is more to bée estemed, he could not forgette seruice, nor yet reuenge wrong. It came to passe that in the. [...]. yeare of his raigne, there rose such cruell warres in Asia, that forced hée was to goe thither in his [...] persō, to resist Sapor king of the Persians, a very valiant man of warre and fortunate in his enterprises, which happinesse of his not long time after the arriuall of Valerian into Asia, hée manifested and shewed. For being betwene them such hot & cruell warres, in a skyrmish, throughe the greate faulte of the Generall, (which had the conduct of the armie) the Emperour Valerian was taken, and brought into the puissance of King Sapor his enimie, which curssed tyrant so wiekedly vsed that victorie, as hée would by no meanes put ye Emperour to raunsome, towardes whom hée vsed such crueltie, that so ofte and so many [...], as hée was disposed to gette vp on horsebacke, hée vsed the bodie of olde Valerian to serue him for aduantage, setting his féete vppon the throate of that aged gentleman. In that miserable office and vnhappie captiuitie serued and dyed the good Emperour Valerian, not without the greate [...] of [...] that knew him, and the ruefull compassion of those that fawe him: which the Romans considering, and that neyther by offre of golde, siluer or other meanes, they were able to redéeme Valerian, they determined to choose for Emperour his [...] sonne called Galienus: which they did more for respect of the father; than for any mynde or corage they knewe [...] bée in the sonne. Who afterwardes shewed him selfe [Page] to bée [...] different from the conditions of his father Valerian, being in his entreprises a cowarde, in his promisses a lyer, in correction cruell, towardes them that serued him vnthanckfull, (and which is worse,) hée gaue hymselfe to his desires, and yealded place to sensualitie. By meanes wherof, in his time the Romaine Empire, more than in any other raigne, lost most prouinces and [...] greatest shame. In factes of warre hée was a cowarde, and in gouernement of common wealth, a verie weake and séeble man. Galienus not caring for the state of the Empire, became so miserable, as the Gouernors of the same gaue ouer their obedience, and in the time of his raigne, there rose vp thirtie tirantes, which vsurped the same. Whose names doe followe, Cyriades, Posthumus yt yonger, Lollius, Victorinus, Marius, Ingenuus, Regillianus, Aureolus, Macrianus, Machianus the yonger, Quietus, Odenatus, Herodes, Moenius, Ballista, Valens, Piso, Emilianus, Staturninus, Tetricus, [...] the yonger, Trebelianus, [...], Timolaus, Celsus, Titus, [...], Claudius, Aurelius, and Quintillus, of whom eightene, were captens and seruiters vnder the good Emperour Valerian. Such delighte had the Romanes, in that auncient worlde, to haue good Capteins, as were able to bée preferred to bée [...]. Nowe in that tyme the Romanes had for their Captein generall, a knight called Odenatus, the prince of Palmerines, a man truelie of greate vertue, and of passing industrie & hardinesse in factes of warre. This Captain Odenatus maried a woman that descended of the auncient linage of the Ptolomes, sometimes kings of [...], named Zenobia, which (if the historians doe not deceiue vs) was one of the most famous Women of the worlde. She hadde the hearte of Alexander the greate, she possessed the riches of Croesus, the [Page] diligence of Pyrrhus, the trauell of Haniball, the warie foresight of Marcellus, & the iustice of Traiane, When Zenobia was maried to Odenatus, she had by hir other husband, a sonne called Herodes, & by Odenatus she had two other, wherof the one was called [...], and the other Ptolomeus And when the Emperour Valerian was vanquished and taken, Odenatus was not then in the Campe. For as all men thought, if he had bene ther, they had not receued so great an ouerthrow. So sone as good Odenatus was aduertized of yt defaict of Valerian, in great haste he marched to yt Roman Campe, that then was in great disorder. Which with greate diligence hée reassembled, and reduced the same to order, and (holpen by good Fortune,) [...]. dayes after he recouered all that which Valerian had loste, making ye Persian king to [...], by meanes wherof; and for that Odenatus had taken charge of the armie, hée wanne amonges the Romans great reputation, & truely not without cause: For if in that good time hée had not receiued the [...], the name and glorie of the Romans had taken ende in Asia. During all this time Galienus liued in his delightes at Millan, without care or thought of the common wealth, consuming in his wilfull vices, the money that was [...] for the men of warre. Which was ye cause that the gouernours of the prouinces, and Captens generall, seing him to be so vicious and negligent, [...] the [...] and armies which they had in charge. Galienus voide of all obedience sauing of the Italians & Lombards, the first that rose vp against him were Posthumus in Fraunce, Lollianus in Spaine, Victorinus in Africa, Marius in [...], Ingenuus in Germanie, Regillianus in Denmark, Aureolus in Hungarie, Macrianus in Mesopotamia & Odenatus in Syria. Before Odenatus rose against Valerian, Macrianus enioyed Mesopotamia, & the greatest part [Page] of Syria, wherof Odenatus hauing intelligence, hée marched with his power against him and killed him, and discomfited all his armie. The death of the Tyran Macrian being knowen, and that Galienus was so vicious, the armies in Asia assembled and chose Odenatus Emperour: which election although the Sonate publicklie durst not agrée vpon, yet secretlie they allowed it, bycause they receiued dailie newes, of the great exploites and dedes of armes done by [...], and sawe on the other syde the great cōtinued follies of Galienus. Almost thrée yeares and a halfe was Odenatus Emperour and lords of all the Orient, during which time hée recouered all the landes and prouinces lost by Galienus, and paide, the Romane army all the arrerages of their wages due, vnto them. But Fortune full of inconstancie, suffred not this good Prince very long to raigne. For hauing in hys house a kinsman of his, named Meonius, to whom he bare great good will, for that he sawe him to be a valiant man of warre, although ignorant of his enuie and couetousnesse: it chaunced vpon a daye as they two rode on hunting, & galloping after the pursute of a wilde Bore, with the verie same bore speare which Meonius caried to strike the beast, hée killed by treason his good cousin Odenatus. But that murdre was not long time [...]. For the borespeare wherwith he had so cruelly killed ye Emperor his cousin, was incōtinently knowne by the hunters which folowed Odenatus: whervpon that daye the heade of Meonius was striken off. And Galienus vnderstanding the death of Odenatus, gaue great rewardes & presents to them that brought him the newes, being so ioyfull as the Romans were angrie to vnderstand those pitifull tydings, bycause through the good [...] which Odenatus vsed in Asia, they had great trā quillitle [Page] & peace thorowout Europa. Now after the death of this good Emperour Odenatus, the Armies chose one of his two sonnes to be Emperour of the Orient: But for that hée was yong, they chose Zenobia to bée Protector of hir sonne, and gouerner ouer the said Orient Empire. Who séeing that vpon the decease of Odenatus certain of the East Cuntries began to reuolt, she determined to open hir Treasure, reassemble hir men of warre, and in hir owne person to march into the fielde: where she did such notable enterprises, as shée appalled hir enimies, and made the whole worlde to wonder. About the age of. xxxv. yeares Zenobia was widow, being the Tutrix of hir children, Regent of an Empire, and Captain general of the armie. In which weighty charge she vsed hir selfe so wiselie and well, as she acquired no lesse noble name in Asia, than Quéene Semiramis did in India. Zenobia was constant in that which she toke in hande, true in wordes, liberall, myide, & seuere where she ought to be, discrete, graue, and secrete in hir enterprises, albeit she was ambicious. For, not content with hir title of Gouernesse or Regent, she wrote and caused hir selfe to bée called Empresse, she loued not to ride vpon a Mule, or in a littor, but greatlie estemed to haue greate horse in hir stable, and to learne to handle and ryde them. When Zenobia went forth of hir Tent to sée the order and gouernement of hir Campe, she continually did put on hir Armure, and was well guarded with a bande of men, so that of a woman, she cared but onely for the name, and in the facts of Armes she craued the title of valiant. The Captains of hir Armie, neuer gaue battell, or made assault, they neuer skyrmished or did other enterprise of warre, but she was present in hir owne person, and attempted to shewe hir selfe more hardie than any of all [Page] the troupe, a thing almost incredible in that weake and feble kynde. The sayde noble Quéene was of stature, bigge and well proporcioned, hir eyes black and quicke, hir forehedde large, hir stomake and breastes fayre & vpright, hir face white and ruddy, a litle mouth, hir téeth so white, as they semed like a rancke of white pearles, but aboue all things she was of such excellent spirit and corage, as she was feared for hir stoutnesse, & beloued for hir beautie. And although Zenobia was indued with so great beautie, liberalitie, riches, & puissance, yet she was neuer stayned with the blemishe of vnchaste life, or with other banitie: and as hir husband Odenatus was wont to say, that after she felt hir selfe with childe, she neuer suffred him to come nere hir, (such was hir great chastitie) saying that women ought to marie rather for children than for pleasure. She was also excellently well learned in the Greeke and Latine tong. She did neuer eate but one meale a day. Hir talke was verie litle and rare. The meate which she vsed for hir repaste, was eyther yt hanch of a wilde Bore, or else the syde of a déere. She could drinke no wine, nor abyde the scent thereof. But she was so curious in good and perfect waters, as she would gyue so great a price for that, as is ordinarilie gyuen for wyne: bée it neuer so excellent. So sone as the Kings of Egipte of Persia, and the Greekes, were aduertized of the death of Odenatus, they sent their Ambassadours to Zenobia, as well to visite and comforte hir, as to bée hir confederats and frendes. So much was she feared and [...] for rare vertues sake. The affaires of Zenobia being in such estate in Asia, the Emperour Galienus died in Lombardie, and the Romanes chose Aurelianus to bée Emperour, who although hée was of base & obscure lineage, yet hée was of greate valiance [Page] in factes[?] of armes. When Aurelianus was chosen [...], he made great preparacion into Asia, to [...] warres vpon Quéene Zenobia, and in all his tyme hée neuer attempted greater enterprise for the Romanes. When hée was arriued in Asia, the Emperour proceded against the Quéene, and she as valiantlie defended hir selfe, continually being betwene them greate alarms and skirmishes. But as Zenobia and hir people were of lesse trauell and of better skyll in knowledge of the Cū trie, so they did greater harme & more anoiāce vnto their enimie, and therof receiued lesser damage. The Emperour seing that hée should haue much adoe to vanquishe Zenobia by armes, determined to ouercome hir by gentle wordes and faire promisses: for which cause he wrote vnto hir a letter, the tenor wherof ensueth.

Aurelianus Emperour of Rome & lord of al Asia, to thée ye right honorable Zenobia sēdeth greting. Although to such rebellious women as thou art, it shold séeme uncomely and not decent to make request, yet if thou wilt séeke ayde of my mercie, and rendre thy selfe vnder mine obedience, bée assured that I will doe thée honor, & gyue pardone to thy people. The golde, siluer, and all other riches, within thy Pallace I am content thou shalt enioye, together with the kingdome of Palmyres, which thou maiest kepe during thy life, & leaue after thy death to whom thou shalt think good, vpon condition notwithstanding, that thou abandone all thine other Realmes and Cuntries which thou haste in Asia, and acknowledge Rome to bée thy superior. Of thy vassals and subiects of Palmyres, we demaund none other obedience, but to bée confederats and frendes, so that thou breake vp thy Campe, wherwith thou makest warre in Asia, & disobeyest the citie of Rome, we wil suffer thée to haue a [Page] certain number of men of warre, so wel for the tui [...]ion of thy person, as for the defense of thy kyngdome. And thy two children which thou haddest by thy husband Odenatus: He whom thou louest best shal remaine with thée in Asia, and the other I will carrie with me to Rome, not as prisoner, but as hostage & pledge from thée. The prisoners which thou haste of ours, shal bée rendred in exchange for those which we haue of thyne, without ransome of eyther parts. And by théese meanes thou shalt remaine honored in Asia, and I contented, will retorne to Rome. The Gods bée thy defense, & preserue our mother the citie of Rome from all vnhappie fortune.

The Quéene Zenobia hauing reade the letter of the Emperour Aurelianus, without feare of the contentes, incontinently made such answere as followeth.

Zenobia Quéene of Palmyres, and Ladie of all Asia, and the kingdomes thereof, to thée Aurelianus the Emperour, helth and consolation &c. That thou doe intitle thy selfe with the Emperour of the Romanes I do agrée, but to presume to name thy selfe lorde of the East kingdomes, I saye therein thou doest offende. For thou knowest well, that I alone am Lady Regent of all the Orient, & the onely dame & maistres of ye same. The one part wherof descended vnto me by lawfull inheritaunce from my predecessors, and the other part I haue wonne by my prowesse and dedes of armes. Thou sayest that if I rendre obedience vnto thée, thou wilt doe me greate honor: To that I answere, that it were a dishonest part of me, and a déede moste vniust, that the Gods hauing created Zenobia to comaunde all Asia, she should nowe begyn to be slaue & thrall vnto the citie of Rome. Semblablie, thou sayest that thou wilt gyue and leaue me all the golde, siluer, and other riches which I haue: Whervnto [Page] I answer, that it is a wicked and fonde request, to dispose the goodes of another as they were thine owne. But thine eyes shall neuer sée it, ne yet thy handes shal touch it, but rather I hope in the Gods aboue to bestow and crye a larges of that which thou haste at Rome, before thou finger that which I haue & possesse in Asia. Truely Aurelianus, the warres which thou makest against me, and thy quarell, bée most vniust before the supernall Gods, and verie vnreasonable before men, and I for my part if I haue entred or doe take armes, it is but to defend my selfe and myne. Thy comming then into Asia is for none other purpose, but to spoyle & make hauocke of that which an other hath. And thinke not that I am greatly afrayde of yt name of Roman Prince, nor yet of the power of thyne huge armie. For if it bée in thy handes to gyue battell, it belongeth onely to the gods to giue eyther to thée or me the victory. That I remaine in field it is to me greate fame, but thou to fight with a widdowe, oughtest truely to bée ashamed.

Ther be come vnto myne ayde and Campe the Persians, the Medes, the Agamēnonians, the Irenees, & the Syrians, and with them all the Gods immortall, who bée woont to chastice such proude princes as thou arte, and to helpe poore widows as I am. And if it so come to passe, that the Gods doe permit & suffre my lucke to bée such, as thou doe bereue me of life and dispoile me of goods, yet it wilbe bruted at Rome, and published in Asia, that the wofull wight Zenobia, was ouerthrowne and slaine, in defense of hir patrimonie, and for the conseruation of hir husbandes honor. Labor no more then Aurelianus, to flatter and pray me, nor yet to threaten me: require me no more to yelde and become thy prisoner, nor yet to surrender that which I haue: for by doing that I can, I accomplish [Page] that I ought. For it will be saide and noysed through the world, (may it so come to passe as Fortune doe not fauor me) that if the Empresse Zenobia bée captiue, she was not yet vanquished. The sonne which thou [...] to carie with thée to Rome, truely that request I cannot abide, and much lesse doe meane to [...] the same, knowing full well that thy house is stored full of manyfolde vices, where myne is garnished with many notable Philosophers: Wherby if I leaue vnto my children no great heapes of goodes, yet they shalbe well taught and instructed: For the one halfe of the day they spende in Learnyng, and the other halfe in exercise of Armes.

For conclusion of thy demaunde, and finall answer thervnto, I pray thée trauell no more by letters to write vnto me, ne yet by ambassage to spende any [...] talke, but attend vntill our controuersie bée decided rather by force of armes than by vttered wordes. The Gods preserue thée.

It is said that Aurelianus, receiuing that answere, did reioyce, but when he had redde it, hée was greatly offended, which incontinently hée made to bée knowne, by gathering together his Campe, and besieging the Citie wherin Zenobia was. And Aurelianus, wroth and outraged with that answere, although his armie was werie and halfe in dispaire (by reason of the long warres,) yet hée vsed suche diligence and expedition in the siege of that place, as the [...] was taken and the citie rased: which done, the Emperour Aurelianus retourned to Rome, carying wyth hym Zenobia, not to doe hir to death, but to tryumphe ouer hir. At what tyme to sée that noble Ladie goe on foote, and marche before the triumphing Chariot bare [...], charged wyth yt burden of [Page] heauie chaūce, and hir two children by hir side: truly it made the Roman Matrons to conceiue great pitie, being well knowen to all the Romanes, that neither in valo, rous dedes, nor yet in vertue or chastitie, any mā or woman of hir time did [...] hir. The dayes of the triumph being done, al the noble Ladies of Rome assembled and repaired to Zenobia, and vsed vnto hir greate and honorable enterteinement, giuing hir many goodly presents and rewardes. And Zenobia liued in the companie of those noble matrones the space of. x. yeares béefore she dyed, in estimation like a Lucrecia, and in honor lyke a Cornelia. And if Fortune had accompanied hir personage, so well as vertue and magnanimitie, Rome had felt the egrenesse of hir displeasure, and the whole world tasted the swetenesse of hir regiment.

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Euphimia of Corinth.
The. xv. Nouel.

¶ EVPHIMIA the King of [...] daughter fell in loue with ACHARISTO, the seruant of hir father, and besides others which required hir to mariage, she disdained PHILON the king of PELOPONESVS, that loued hir [...] [...], ACHARISTO conspiring against the king, was discouered, tormented, and put in prison, & by meanes of [...] deliuered. The king promised his daughter and kingdome, to him that presented the heade of ACHARISTO. EVPHIMIA so wrought, as he was presented to the King. The King gaue him his daughter to wyfe, and when he dyed made him his heyre. ACHARISTO began to hate his wyfe, and condemned hir to death as an adulteresse. PHILON deliuered hir: & vpon the sute of hir subiects, she is cōtented to marie him, & therby he is made king of Corinth.

COnstancie in Honeste loue, (beyng a perfect vertue, and a precious ornament to the beloued, indewing [...], besides ioy and contentacion, wyth immortall same fame & glorie,) hath in it self these only marks and propertyes to bée knowne by, Chastitie & toleration of aduersitie: For as the mynd [Page] is constant in loue, not variable, or giuen to chaunge, so is the bodie continent, comely, honest and [...] of Fortunes plagues. A true cōstant mynd is moued with no sugred persuasions of friendes, is diuerted with no eloquence, terrified with no threates, is quiet in all motions. The blustering blastes of parents wrath, can not remoue the constant mayde from that which she hath peculiarly chosen to hir selfe. The rigorous rage of friendes, doth not dismay the louing man from the embracement of hir, whom he hath amongs the rest selected for his vnchanged féere. A goodly exāple of constant & noble loue this history ensuing describeth, although not like in both, yet in both a semblable cōstancie. For Euphimia a Kings daughter, abandoneth the great loue borne vnto hir by Philon, a yong Prince, to loue a seruant of hir fathers, with whome she perseuered in greate constancie, for all his [...] and ingrateful dealings towards hir. Philon séeyng his loue despised, neuer maried vntill hée maried hir, whome afterwardes hée deliuered from the false surmised treason of hir cancred and malicious husbande, Euphimia fondly maried against hir fathers wil, and there fore deseruedly after wards bare the penaunce of hir fault: And albeit she declared hir selfe to bée constant, yet dutie to louing father ought to haue withdrawen hir rashe and headie loue. What daungers doe ensue such like cases, examples be [...], and experience teacheth. A great dishonour it is for the [...] and Gentlewomā to disparage hir no [...] house with mariage of hir inferior. Yea and great grief to the parents to sée their children obstinate & wilfull in carelesse loue. And albeit the [...] Propertius describeth the vehemente loue of those that be noble, and haue wherwith in loue to be [...] [...], in these verses:

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Great is the [...] of Loue; the constant mynde doth [...] [...]:

And he that is well fraught with wealth, in Loue doth much preuaile.

Yet the tender damosell or louing childe, be they neuer so noble or riche, ought to attende the fathers time and choise, and naturally encline to their [...] & liking, otherwise great harme and detriment ensue: For when the parents sée yt disobediēce or rather rebellious minde of their childe, their conceiued sorowe for the same, so gnaweth the rooted plante of naturall loue, as either it hastneth their vntimely death, or else ingēdreth a heape of melancholie humors: which force them to proclaime [...] and bitter cursse against their [...] fruite, vpon whome (if by due regarde they had [...] ruled) they woulde haue pronounced the swéete blessyng that Isaac gaue to Iacob, the mothers best beloued boye: yea and that displeasure may chaunce to dispossesse them of that, which should haue bene the only comfort and stay of the future age. So that negligence of parents [...], and carelesse héede of youthful head, bréedeth double woe, but specially in the not aduised childe: who tumbleth him selfe first into the breach of diuine lawes, to the cursses of the same, to parents wrath, to orphans state, to beggers life, and into a sea of manifold miseries. In whome had obedience ruled, and reason taken place, the hearte mighte haue bene [...], the parent well pleased; the life ioyfully spent, and the posteritie successiuely tast the fruits that elders haue prepared. What care and sorrow, [...] what extremitis the foresayde noble Gentlewoman [...], for not yelding to hir fathers minde, the sequele shal at large declare.

There was sometimes in Corinth, a Citie of [...], a King, which had a daughter called Euphimia, very tenderly [Page] beloued of hir father, and being arriued to the age of mariage, many noble men of Grecia made sute to haue hir to wife. But amongs all, Philon the yong king of Peloponessus, so fiercely fell in loue wyth hir, as hée thought he coulde no longer liue, if hée were maried to any other. For which cause hir father knowing him to be a King, and of singular beautie, and that he was far in loue with his daughter, woulde gladly haue chosen him to be his sonne in law, persuading hir that she shold liue with him a life so happie as was possible for any noble lady matched with Gentleman, were he neuer so honorable. But the daughter by no meanes woulde consent vnto hir fathers will, alleaging vnto him diuers & sundry considerations, wherby hir nature by no means woulde agrée, nor heart consent to ioyne with Philon. The king aboue al worldly things loued his fair daughter: and albeit he woulde faine haue broughte to passe, that she should haue taken him to husband, yet he wold not vse the fathers authoritie, but desired that Loue rather than force, should match his daughter, and therfore for that tyme was contented to agrée vnto hir will. There was in the Court a yong mā, borne of hir fathers bondman, which hight Acharisto, and was manumised by the King, who made him one of the Esquiers for his bodie, and vsed his seruice in sundry enterprises of the warres, and bicause he was in those affaires very skilfull, of bolde personage, in conflictes and [...] verie hardie, the King did very much fauor him, aswell for that hée had defended him from manifold daungers, as also bycause he had deliuered hym from the [...] pretended against him by the king of the Lacedemonians. Whose helpe and valiance, the king vsed for the murder and destruction of the sayde Lacedemonian King. For which valiant enterprise, hée bountifully recompenced [Page] him with honorable prefermentes and stately reuenues. Upon this yong man, Euphimia fired hir amorous eyes, and fell so farre in loue, as vpon him alone she bent hir thoughtes, and all hir louing cogitations: Wherof Acharisto béeing certified, and well espying and marking hir amorous lookes, nourished with like flames the fire, wherewith she burned. Notwithstandyng his loue was not so [...] bent vpon hir personage, as his desire was ambicious for that she shoulde be hir fathers onely heire, and therfore thought that he shold be a most happie man, aboue all other of mortall kynde, if hée might possesse that inheritance. The king perceuing that loue, told his daughter, that she had placed hir mynde in place so straunge, as hée had thought hir wisdome wold haue more warely forséen, and better wayed hir estate & birth, as come of a princely race, and would haue demed such loue, farre vnworthie hir degrée: requiring hir with fatherly words, to withdraw hir settled mynde & to ioyne with him in choise of husbande, for that he had none other worldly heire but hir, and tolde hir howe he meant highly to bestowe hir vpon such a personage, as a moste happie life she should leade, so long as the destenies were disposed to weaue the webbe of hir predestined life: And therefore was resolued to espouse hir vnto that noble Gentleman Philon. Euphimia hearkned to this vnliked tale, & with vnliked words refused hir fathers hest, protesting vnto him such reasons to like effect as she did before, therby to draw him frō his cōceiued purpose. whervnto the wise King hauing made replie, continuing his intended mynde, at length in ragyng wordes and stormed mind, he sayd vnto Euphimia: ‘How much the swéeter is the wine, the sharper is the egred sawe thereof. I speake this Parable, for that thou not knowyng or greatly regarding the gentle disposition of thy fathers [Page] nature, in the ende mayst so abuse the same, as where hitherto he hath bene curteous and benigne, he may become through thy disordered déedes, ryghte sowre and sharpe:’ and without vtterance of further talke, departed. Who resting euil content with that fond fixed loue, thought that the next way to remedie the same, was to tel Acharisto, how [...] he toke his presumed fault, and in what heinous part he conceiued his ingratitude, and how for the benefites which liberally hée had bestowed vpon him, he had brought and enticed his daughter to loue him, that was farre vnagreable hir estate. ‘And therfore he called hym before him, and with reasons first declared the duetie of a faithfull seruant to his souerain Lord, and afterwards he sayd: That if the receyued benefits were not able to lette him know what were conuenient and séemely for his degrée, but would perseuere in that which he had begonne, he would make him féele the iust displeasure of a displeased Prince: whereby hée shoulde repent the tyme that euer hée was borne of womans wombe.’ ‘These wordes of the King semed grieuous to Acharisto, & not to moue him to further anger hée séemed as though that (being fearfull of the kinges displeasure) hée did not loue his daughter at all, but sayd vnto hym, that hée deserued not to bée so rebuked, for that it lay not in his power to withstande hir loue, the same proceding of hir owne good will and libertie. And that hée for his part neuer required loue: if she did bend hir mynde to loue him, [...] could not remedie that affection, for that the fréewill of such vnbridled appetite rested not in him to reforme. Notwithstāding, bycause hée vnderstoode his vnwilling mynd, [...] from that time forth would so indeuor himselfe, as hée shoulde well [...] that the vnstayde mynde of the yong gentlewoman Euphimia, was not incensed by him, but voluntarily conceyued [Page] of hir selfe. You shall doe well (sayde the King) if the effect procede according to the promise. And the more acceptable shall the same bée vnto me, for that I desire it shold so come to passe.’ The king liked wel these words, although that Acharisto had conceiued within [...] plat of his intended minde, some other treason. For albeit that hée affirmed before the kings owne face, that hée would not loue his daughter, yet knowing the assured will of the louing gentlewoman, hée practised the mariage, and like an vnkind & wretched man, deuised cōuenient tyme to kill him. And fully bent to execute that cruell enterprise, hée attempted to corrupt the chiefest men about him, promising promocions vnto some, to some hée assured restitucion of reuenewe, which by fathers fault they had lost béefore, and to other golden hilles, so that hée might attaine by slaughter of the King, to [...] a kingly state and kingdome. Which the sooner he persuaded himselfe to acquire, if in secrete silence, they coulde put vp that which by generall voice they hadde agréed. And although they thought themselues in good assurāce, that their enterprise coulde take no yll successe, by reason of their sounde and good discourse debated amonges them selues for the accomplishement thereof, yet it fortuned that one of the conspiracie (as commonly in suche lyke traiterous attemptes it chaunceth) béeyng with his beloued ladie, and she making mone that little commoditie succéeded of hir loue for hir aduauncement, brake out into these woordes: Holde thy peace (sayde hée:) for the time will not bée long, before thou shalt bée one of the chiefest Ladies of this lande. ‘Howe can that be (sayde his woman?) No more adoe (quod the Gentleman:) Cease from further questions, and bée merrie: for wée shall enioye together, a verie honourable and a quiete lyfe.’ When hir Louer was [Page] departed, the gentlewoman went to an other of hir gossips very iocunde, and tolde hir what hir louer had sayd: and she then not able to kepe counsell, went and told an other: In such wise as in the ende it came to the cares of the Kings stewards wife, and she imparted the same vnto hir husband, who marking those words, like a mā of great wisedome & experience, did verily beléeue that the same touched the daunger of the Kings person: And as a faithfull seruant to his lorde and maister, diligently harkned to the muttering talke murmured in the court, by him which had tolde the same to his beloued ladie: & knowing that it proceded from Acharisto, which was an [...] and sedicious varlet, and that he with thrée or foure other his familiars, kept secrete companie in corners, iudged that which he first coniectured, to be most certaine and true. Wherefore determined to moue the King therof, and vpon a day finding him alone, he sayde vnto him, that the fidelittie and good will wherwith hée serued him, and the desire which he had to sée him liue in long and prosperous estate, made him to attende to the safegarde of his person, & to hearken vnto such as shold attempt to daūger the same. For which cause, marking and espying the doings of certain of his chamber (whose common assemblies and priuie whisperings mislyking) he feared least they conspiring with Acharisto; shoulde worke treason, for berieuyng of his life: and to the intent their endeuors might be preuented, and his safetie foreséene, he thought good to reueale the same to his maiestie. Then he tolde the King the words that were spoken by the first Gentlewomā, to one or two of hir companions, and disclosed the presumptions which hée [...] séene and perceyued touching the same. Amongs the yll conditions of men, there is nothing more common than poyson, conspiracies, and treason of Princes and great [Page] lordes: and therefore euery little suspicion presumyng such [...], is a great demonstration of like mischiefe. Which made the Kyng to giue credite to the wordes of his Steward, hauing for his long experience knowen him to be faithfull and trustie. And sodainly he thought that Acharisto attempted the same, that after his death, by mariage of Euphimia, he might be the inheritour of his kingdome. The beliefe wherof, and the singular credite which he reposed in his Steward besides other thinges, caused him to cōmaunde the captaine of his Guard to apprehend those. iiii. of whom his Steward told him, and Acharisto, cōmitting them to seuerall prisons. Then be sent his officers to examine them, and founde vpon their confessions, the accusation of his Stewarde to be true. But Acharisto, although the whole [...] of the treason was confessed by those foure conspirators that were apprehēded, and aduouched to his face, and for all the tormentes wherewith he was racked and cruciated, yet still denied, that either he was authour of the enterprise, or partaker of a treason so wicked. Then the king incontinently caused the foure Gentlemen of his chamber [...] be rewarded, according to the worthinesse of their offense and wer put to death, and Acharisto to be repriued in sharpe and cruell prison, vntill with tormentes he should be forced to confesse that which he knew to be most certain and true, by the euidēce of those that were done to death. Euphimia for the imprisonment of Acharisto, conceiued incredible sorrow, and vneths coulde bée persuaded, that he woulde imagine, much lesse conspire that [...] fact, as well for the loue which Acharisto séemed to beare vnto hir, as for the greate good will wherewith he was assured that shée bare vnto him, and therfore the death of the [...] to be no lesse griefe vnto him, than the same would be to [...] self, the king being [Page] hir naturall and louyng father. Acharisto thoughte on the other side, that if he might speake with Euphimia, a way woulde be founde eyther for his escape, or else for his deliuerie. Wherupon Acharisto being in this deliberation, founde meanes to talke with the Iailors wife, & intreated hir to shewe him so much fauor, as to procure Euphimia to come vnto him. She accordingly broughte to passe, that the yong gentlewoman in secret wise came to speake with this traiterous varlet, who so sone as he sawe hir, sheding from his eyes store of teares, pitifully complaining, sayde vnto hir: ‘I knowe Euphimia, that the King your father doth not inclose me in this cruell prisō, ne yet afflicteth me with these miserable tormēts, for any suspicion hée conceiueth of me for any intended facte, but onely for the loue which I beare you, and for the like, (for which I rendre humble thankes) that you do beare to me: & bicause that I am werie of this wretched state, & knowe that nothing else can [...] me from this painful life, but onely death, I am determined wyth mine owne propre hands to cut the thréede of lyfe wherwith the destinies hitherto haue prolonged the same, that this my brething ghost, which breatheth forth [...] dolefull plaintes, maie flée into the Skies, to rest it selfe amonges the restfull spirites aboue, or wandre into [...] pleasant hellish fieldes, amongs the shadowes of Creusa, Aeneas wife, or else with the ghost of complaining Dido. But ere I did the same, I made myne humble prayer to the maiestie diuine, that hée would vouchsafe to shewe me somuch grace, as before I dye, I might fulfyl my [...] eyes with sight of you, whose ymage still appereth before those gréedie Gates, and [...] representeth vnto my myndefull heart. Which great desired thing, sith God aboue hath graūted, I yelde him infinit [...], and sith my desteny is such, that such must bée the end of [Page] loue, I doe reioyce that I must dye for your sake, which only is the cause that the King your father so laboureth for my death. I néede not to molest you with the false euidence giuen against me, vp those malicious vilaines, that bée alreadie dead: which onely hath thus incensed the Kyngs wrath and heauie rage against me: whereof I am so frée, as woorthily they bée executed for thesame. For if it were so, then true it is, (and as lightly you might beleue) ye I neuer knewe the loue you beare me, and you likewise did neuer know, what loue I bare to you: and therfore you maye thinke that so impossible is the one, as I did euer meane, thinke, or ymagine any harme or perill to your fathers person. To bée short, I humbly doe besech you to beleue, that so faithfully as man is able to loue a womā, so haue I loued you: & that it may please you to bée so myndfull of me in this fading life, as I shal be of you in that life to com. And in saying so, with face all bathed in teares, he clyped hir about the myddle, and fast imbracing hir said:’ ‘Thus taking my last farewell of you (myne onely life and ioye) I commende you to the gouernment of the supernall God, & my selfe to death, to be disposed as pleaseth him.’ Euphimia, which before was not persuaded ye Acharisto was guiltie of that deuised treason, now gaue ful beliefe and credite to his wordes, and weping with him for company, comforted him so wel as she coulde, and bidding him to bée of good chere, she sayde, that she would seke such meanes, as for hir sake and loue he should not dye. And that before long time did passe, she would help him out of prison, Acharisto although hée vttered by ruful voice that [...] talke, for remedie to ridde him selfe from prison, yet he didde but [...] all that he spake, addyng further: ‘Alas Euphimia, doe not incurre your fathers wrath to please my minde, suffer me quietly to take that [Page] death, which sinister Fortune and cruell fate hath prouided to abridge my daies. Euphimia vanquished with inspeakable griefe and burning passion of loue, saide: Ah Acharisto, the onely ioye and comfort of my lyfe, doe not perce my heart with such displeasant wordes. For what should I doe in this wretched worlde, yf you for my sake shold suffre death? wherfore put awaie ye cruel thought, and be content to saue your life, that hereafter in ioye & myrth you may spend yt same. Trusting that yf meanes maye be founde for your dispatche from hence, we shall liue the rest of our prolonged life together, in swete and happie daies. For my father is not made of stone of flint, nor yet was nourced of Hircan Tigre, he is not so malicious but that in tyme to come, hée may [...] made to know the true discourse of thyne innocent life, and hope thou shalt atteyne his fauour more than euer thou [...] before, the care wherof onely leaue to me, and take no thought thy self, for I make promise vpon mine assured faith to bring the same to passe: Wherefore giue ouer thy conceiued griefe, and bende thy selfe to liue so merie a life, as euer gentleman did, trained vp in court as thou hast bene. I am content sayd Acharisto thus to doe, the Gods forbid that I should declyne my heart and mynde from thy behest, who of thy wonted grace dost seke continuance of my life, but rather swete Euphimia, than thou shouldest suffre any daunger to performe thy promise, I make request (for the common loue betwene vs both) to leaue me in this present dangerous state. Rather wold I lose my life than [...] shouldest hazard the least heare of thy heade for my reliefe. We shal be both safe ynough (answered Euphimia) for my deuise proceding from a womans heade, hath alreadie drawen the plotte of thy deliuerance, and wyth those wordes they both did ende their talke, whose trickling teares did rather [Page] finishe the same, than willing myndes: and eyther of them gyuing a kysse vnto the Tower walle, wherein Acharisto was faste shutte, Euphimia departed, turmoiled with a thousand amorous prickes, and ceased not but first of all to corrupte and wynne the Iaylers wife, whose husband was sent forth on businesse of the kings.’ The conclusion of which practise was, that when she caried meate to Acharisto, according to the ordre appointed, she should faine hir selfe to bée violentlie dispoyled of ye prison-key by Acharisto, who taking the same from hir, should shut hir in the prison and escape, and whē hir husband did returne, she should make compl [...] of the violence done vnto hir: according to which deuise[?], the practise was accomplished. And when hir husbande returned home, hearing his wife crie out within the Tower, was meruellously amazed, and vnderstanding that Acharisto was deade, (ignorant of the pollicie betwene his wyfe and Euphimia,) hée fell into great rage, & spe [...]delie repaired to the king, and tolde him what had chaūced. The King thinking that the breache of prison was rather through the womans simplicitie than purposed malice, did mitigate his displeasure, [...] forthwith he sent out Scoutes to spie and watche in to what place Acharisto was gone, whose secrete flight, made all their trauell to be in vaine. Then the King when he saw that hée coulde not be found, made proclamation throughout his realme, that who so would bring vnto him the hed of Acharisto, should haue to wife his onely daughter, and after his decease should possesse his Kingdome for dowrie of that mariage. ‘Many knightes did put themselues in redinesse to themselues that enterprise, & aboue al, Philon was the chiefe, not for gredinesse of the kingdome, but for loue which hée bare vnto the Gentlewoman. Wherof Acharisto hauing intelligence, and perceuing [Page] that in no place of Europa[?] he coulde be safe and sure frō daunger, for the multitude of them which pursued hym vnto deth, caused Euphimia to vnderstand the miserable estate wherin he was, Euphimia which bent hir mind, & employed hir studie for his safegarde, imparted hir loue which she bare to Acharisto, to an aged Gentlewoman, which was hir nurse & gouernesse, & besought hir yt she wold intreat hir sonne called Sinapus, (one very wel beloued of the King) so reach his help vnto hir desire, that Acharisto might return to the court again. The Nurse like a wise woman lefte no persuasion vnspoken, nor counsell vnremembred, which she thought was able to dissuade the yong gentlewoman frō hir conceiued loue: but the wounde was so déepely made, and hir heart so greuously wounded with the thrée forked arrows of the litle blinde archer Cupide, that despising all the reasons of hir beloued nurse, she sayde, howe shée was firmely bente eyther to runne from hir father, and to séeke out Acharisto, to sustaine with hym one equall fortune, or else with hir owne handes to procure death, if some remedie were not founde to recouer the Kynges good grace for the returne of Acharisto. The Nurse vanquished with pitie of the yong mayden, fearyng bothe the one and the sorte daunger that myght ensue, sent for Sinapus, and vpon their talke together, Euphimia and hée concluded, that Acharisto shoulde bée brought agayne vnto the Courte, and that shée hir selfe should present him to the Kyng: wherin should want no kinde of diligence vntill the Kyng did enterteyne him againe for his faithfull seruaunt, as hée was woont to doe. Upon which resolution, Acharisto was sente for, and being come Sinapus and Euphimia together wyth the Nurse tolde hym in what [...] they thrée had concluded touching his health and safegarde. Which of him being [Page] well lyked, did giue [...] humble thankes: And then Sinapus went vnto the Kyng, and tolde him, that there was one newely arriued at Corinth, to make a present vnto his grace of the hed of Acharisto. At which newes the King shewed him selfe so ioyful, as if he had gotten an other Kingdome: and being placed vnder his cloath of state, with his Counsell and Princely trayne about him, telling them the [...] of that assemblie, cōmaunded hym that brought those newes, to bring the partie forth newely come vnto the Citie to presente the head of Acharisto. Then Sinapus broughte Acharisto before the presence of the King, who no sooner looked vpon hym, but fell into such a rage, as the fire séemed to flame out of his angrie eyes, and commaunded hym presentlye to bée taken and put to death. But Acharisto fallyng [...] vpon his knées, humbly besoughte his Maiestie to gyue hym leaue [...] speake: But the [...] [...] sufferyng hym to vtter one woorde, [...] him away. Then the Counsellours and other Lordes of the Courte, intreated his grace to heare him: At whose requestes and supplications hée [...] to [...] contente. Then Acharisto began to say: Most sacred Prince, and redoubted Soueraigne Lord, the cause of thys my presumptuous repaire before your Maiestie, is not to shew my selfe guiltie of the late beuised conspiracie, ne yet to craue pardon for the same, but to satisfie your Maiestie with that contented desire, whiche by proclamation ye haue prondunced through your highnesse [...] and [...]: whiche is, to offer this heade for reuenge of the fault vniustly laid vnto my charge by those foure, which woorthily haue tasted the deserued pame of their [...]. Whersore I am come hither of mine owne accorde, to shewe the loue and greate desire, whiche euer I had to serue and please your Maiestie: And for that [Page] I would not cōsume my lyfe in your displeasure, I make offer of the same to your mercifull will and disposition, chosing rather to die, and leaue your maiestie satisfied & contented, than to lyue in happie state, your princely minde displeased. But desirous that hour maiestie shuld know myne innocencie, I humbly: besech your grace to heare what I can say, that my fidelitie may bée throughly vnderstanded, & the wickednesse of the [...] myne accusers wel wayed and considered. Then hée began to rehearse all the things done by him for the seruice of his crowne and maiestie, and finally into what daunger he did put himself, when he killed the Lacedemonian king, that went about by treason to murder him: which enterprise might appere vnto him to be [...] sure and euident testimonie, that he ment nothing hurtfull or preindicial to his highnesse. And that hée cstemed not his life, when he aduentured for his seruice & sauegarde to employ the same, & after these alleaged causes, he added briefly, that the loue which his maiestie knew to bée betwene him & Euphimia his daughter, ought to [...] persuaded him, that [...] had rather haue suffered death himselfe, than commit a thing displeasant to Euphimia. And knowing that a more [...] thing could not chaūce to hir, than the [...] death of hir father, he might wel thinke yt he wold haue deuised the death of a thousand other, rather than that horrible & [...] déede, such as his greatest enimie would neuer haue done, much lesse [...] which was bounde vnto him by so many receiued benefits, for whose service & preseruacion he had dedicated & vowed his life and soule. But if so be his maiesties rancor and displeasure could not bée mitigated but by doing hym to death, hée desired yt none of his alleaged reasons should bée accepted, and therfore was there redie to sacrifice his life at his maiesties disposition and pleasure.’ Acharisto [Page] by nature, coulde tell his tale excedyngly well, and the more his tongue stode him in seruice, the greater appered his eloquence: Whiche so pierced the minde of the King, and persuaded the Counsellers, and other of the Court, as he was demed giltlesse of the treason: and the matter was so debated, and the King intreated to graūt him pardon, as he was accompted most worthie of his fauour. Then the Kyng, by the aduise of his Counsell, was persuaded, that by force of hys proclamation, his daughter should be giuen to Acharisto in mariage, and his Kingdome for a dowrie, bicause hée had offered his owne head, accordyng to the effecte of the same. So the King repenting him self that he had offended Acharisto, in the ende agréed to the aduise of his counsel, and gaue him his daughter to wife. Whereof Euphimia was so ioyful, as they bée that atteine the summe of their heartes desire. The father liued one whole yeare after this mariage, and Euphimia so pleasant a life for a certaine time, as was possible for any Gentlewoman. Hir father was no sooner dead, but the vnkind mā, nay rather brute beaste, had forgotten all the benefites receyued of his kinde and louing wise: and hauing by hir only meanes gotten a Kingdom, began to hate hir so straungely, as he could not abide hir sight, (Such is the propertie of cancred obliuion, which after it crepeth into ambicious heades, neuer hath minde of passed amitie, ne regardeth former benefite, but like a monster and deadly enimie to humane nature, ouerwhelmeth in his bottomlesse gulfe all pietie and kindenesse) and determined in the ende for recompence of such great good turnes, to despoile hir of hir life. Howe thinke you faire Ladies, was not thys a faire rewarde for the loue, the trauailes and sorrowes susteined for this ingrate and villainous man, by that royal ladie, to saue his life, and to take him to husband? [Page] Here is manifest (probatum) that in a vile and seruile minde, no vertue, no duetie, no receiued benefites can be harboured. Here is a lesson for yong Gentlewomen to beware how they contemne and despise the graue aduise of their auncient fathers. Here they maye sée the damage and hurt that vnaduised youth incurreth, when neglecting their parentes holeseme admonitions, they giue them selues to the loue of suche as bée [...] their estate and calling. For what should aile the gentle pucell borne of gentle bloud, but to match hir self in like affinitie, & not to care for currish kind, or race of [...]. Bée there no Gentlemen to be founde of personage and beautie woorthie to ioyne in loue with them? Bée they so precious in nature, or tēder in education as their like can not be vouchsafed to couple in mariage yoke? Compare the glistering golde to drossie durte, and such is the difference betwéene gentle and vngentle. But perhaps bringing vp may alter nature, and custome transforme defect of birth: As Licurgus the lawemaker dyd trie betwene the Currish whelpe and the Spaniell kinde, both by training vp running to their contraries, the Spaniel not vsed to hunte eigre vpon the potage dishe, the other nouseled in that pastyme pursuing his game. But that Metamorphosis is seldome séene amongs humane sort, and therfore I aduise the gentle kind, to match them selues in equall lotte, and not to trust sir Customes curtesie in choise of féere. Returne we then to vnkind Acharisto, who now in full possession of his desired praio, reuerting to his puddle of carlish will and cancred nature, after many thousande wrongs done to this moste noble and gentle Quéene, accused hir to be an adulteresse, and as one in déede, (although most innocent) she was condemned to the mercilesse fire. Philon, King of Peloponessus which (as we haue said before) loued Euphimia as [Page] did the balles of his owne eyes, vnderstanding the crueltie that this wicked mā vsed towards hir, to whom both his life & kingdome did belong, moued with nobilitie of minde, determined to declare to Euphimia the inwarde feruent loue which [...] bare hir, and to chastise Acharisto for his ingratitude with due correction. Wherfore depely debatyng with hym selfe of this aduenture, thus hée sayde: ‘Nowe is the time Euphimia, that Philon shewe what faithful loue he hath euer born vnto thée, and that he deliuer thée bothe from the present daunger wherein thou art, and from the hands of that vnkynde wretche, that is farre vnworthie of such a wife. For if thou haddest agréed to thy fathers will, and yelded to the pursute of him that loued thée best, thou haddest no néede of rescue nowe, ne yet bene in perill of the wastful flames of fire, which be readie to consume thy nesh and tender corps, full tenderly sometymes beloued of thy deare father, and of thy louing friend Philon.’ When he had spoken those wordes, he earnestly disposed him selfe vpon that enterprise. There was in those days a custome in Corinth, that they which were condemned to death, were caried. iii. miles forth of the Citie, and there the sentence pronounced against them, wer put to execution. Philon hauyng intelligence hereof, did put in readinesse a good troupe of horsemen, and being secretely imbarked, arriued at Corinth, and closely the nyght before Euphimia shoulde be brought to the fire, harde by the place where the miserable Ladie should be burnt, into a wood he conueyed his people: and so soone as the Sergeants and officers were approched nere the place with the ladie, he issued forth, and did set vpon the throng, not suffering one of them to remaine aliue, to carie newes. When he had deliuered Euphimia from that prcsent daunger of hir life, & the companie dispercled, he said to the Quene: [Page] ‘Now thou mayst sée (faire Quéene,) the diuersitie, betwene the disloyaltie and vnkindnesse of Acharisto, and the faith and loue of Philon. But for that I meane not to leaue hys ingratitude vnreuenged, thou shalte stays here, vntill thou heare newes of the due [...] whiche I shall giue him.’ Those dire and cruell wordes foretolde of hir husbandes death, moued hir honest and Princely hearte, which by no meanes coulde be altered from the gentle nature, which it had first tasted and receiued: And although she had suffred mortall & solemne iniurie of hir vnkinde husband for manifolde benefites, yet (she good Gentlewoman) woulde permit no duetie of a trustie and faithfull wife vnperformed. Wherfore she besoughte Philon vpon hir knées, not to procéede to further reuenge of Acharisto, telling him, that enough it was for hir to haue escaped that presente perill, from which he like a Princely Gentleman had deliuered hir, and therfore during hir life was most bounde vnto him. Philon greately wondred at the goodnesse of this Ladie, howbeit the ingratitude of that [...] by no meanes he woulde suffer to bée vnpunished. And béeing aduertised that Acharisto remained in his Palace without any suspicion of this aduenture, banded neither with Guarde or other assurance, committed Euphimia to safe custodie, and sodainly assailed the Palace of Acharisto: And finding the Gates open, he entred the citie, crying out vpon the wickednesse and treason of Acharisto. At which words the whole Citie began to rise, to helpe Philon in his enterprise. For there was no state or degrée, but abhorred the vnkind order of that variet, towards the noble woman their Quéene. Philon aided with the people, assaulted the Palace, and in short space inuaded ye same: and the Uarlet béeing apprehended, was put to death. The Corinthians séeing the noble minde of Philon, and [Page] the loue which he bare to Euphimia, and knowing that their late Kyng was disposed to haue matched hir with Philon, were very willing to haue him to be their king, and that Euphimia shold be his wife, supposing that vnder the gouernement of a Prince so gentle and valiant, they might liue very happily and ioyefully. Execution done vpon that moste [...] varlet, Philon caused the Ladie to be conueyed home into hir royall Pallace. And the people with humble submission, began to persuade hir to marie with that yong Prince Philon. ‘But shée which had lodged hir thoughts and fixed hir minde vpon that caytife, who vnnaturally had abused hir, would by no meanes consent to take a new husband, saying, that the seconde mariage was not to bée allowed in any woman.’ And albeit that she knew howe greately she was bounde to Philon, as during life not able to recompence his louing kindnesse and baliant exployte performed for hir safegarde, yet for all hir vnhappie fortune, shée was minded still to remayne a widowe, and well contented that Philon shoulde possesse hir whole domynion and kingdome, and she pleased to liue his subiecte: Whiche state she sayd, did like hir best. Philon, that not for desire of the Kingdome, but for loue of the ladie had attempted that worthie and honourable enterprise, sayd vnto hir: ‘Euphimia, it was onely for youre sake that I aduentured this dangerous indeuor, to ridde you from the slander that might haue ensued youre innocent death, and out of the cruell hands of him, whome unworthily you did so dearely loue. No desire of kingdome or worldely glorie induced me herevnto: No care that I had to enlarge the boundes of my countrey soile pricked the courage of my minde (that is altogether emptie of ambition) but the passion of carelesse loue, whiche this long time I haue borne you in your happie fathers dayes, to [Page] whome I made incessant sute: and to your selfe I was so long a suter, vntil I receiued extreme repulse. For which I vowed a perpetuall single life, vntill this occasion was offred: the brute wherof when I heard first, so stirred the minde of your most louing knight, that drousie sléepe or gréedie hunger, could not force this restlesse bodie to tarrie at home, vntill I reuenged my self vpon that vilaine borne, which went about with roasting flames to consume the innocent flesh of hir whom I loued best. And therfore mustred together my men of armes, and in secret sort imbarked our selues and arriued here. Where wée haue accomplished the thyng we came for, and haue settled you in quiet raigne, frée from perill of traiterous mindes, crauing for this my fact nought else of you but willing minde to be my wife: which [...] you do refuse, I passe not for rule of your kyngdome, ne yet for abode in Corinth, but meane to leaue you to youre choise. For satisfied am I, that I haue manifested to the world the greatnesse of my loue, which was so ample as euer King could beare to vertuous Quéene. And so fare well.’ At which wordes he made a signe to his people, that they should shippe them selues for returne to Poloponessus. But the Senatours and al the people of Corinth seing the curtesie of Philon, & how greatly their Quéene was bound vnto him, fel downe vpon their knées, and with ioyned hands befought hir to take him to husband neuer ceasing from teares and supplication, vntill shée had consented to their request. Then the mariage was solemnised with great ioy and triumphe, and the whole Citie after that time, lyued in great felicitie & quiet, so long as nature lengthened the dayes of those two noble Princes.

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The Marchionisse of Monferrato.
The. xvj. Nouel.

¶ The Marchionisse of MONFERRATO, with a banket of hennes, and certaine pleasant wordes, repressed the fonde loue of PHILIP the French King.

GOod Euphimia (as you haue heard) did fondly applie hir loue vpon a seruile mā, who though bred vp in Court, wher trayuyng and vse doth cōmonly alter the rude condicions of suche as bée interteyned there, yet voyde of all gentlenesse, and frustrate of natures swéetenesse in that curteous kinde, as not exchaungyng natiue [...] for noble aduauncement, returned to his hoggish soile, and walowed in the durtie filthe of Inhumanitie, whose nature myght well with Forke or Staffe bee expelled, but home againe it would haue come, as Horace pleadeth in his Epistles. O noble Gentlewoman, that mildly suffred the displeasure of the good King hir father, who woulde faine haue dissuaded hir from that vnséemely matche, to ioyne with a yong Prince, a King, a Gentleman of great perfection: And O pestilent Carle, being beloued of so honourable a pucell, that for treason discharged thy head frō the block, & [Page] of a donghill slaue preferred thée to be a King, wouldest for those deserts in the ende frame [...] matter to consume hir. With iust hatred then did the noble Emperor Claudius Caesar prosecute those of bonde & seruile kinde that were matched with the frée and noble. Right well knew he that some tast of egrenesse wold rest in such sauage frute, & therfore made a law, that the issue of them shold not haue like libertie and preheminence, as other had, which agréeably did couple. What harme such mariage hath inferred to dyuers states and persons (to auoide other exāples) the former Nouel teacheth. Wherfore to ende the same, with bewailing of Euphimia for hir vnluckie lot, begin we now to glad our selues with the wise and stoute aunswere of a chaste Marquesse, a Gentlewoman of singular beautie and discretion, made to the fond demaunde of a mightie Monarch, that fondly fell in loue with hir, and made a reckenyng of that, which was doubtfull to recouer. This King by louing hir whome he neuer saw, fared like the man that in his sléepe dreamed that hée had in holde, the thing furthest from him. For the King neuer saw hir, before he heard hir praised, and when he hearde hir praised, for purpose to winne hir, he trauailed out of his way, so sure to enioy hir, as if he had neuer séene hir. This historie, although briefe, yet sheweth light to noble dames that be pursued by Princes, & teacheth them with what regard they ought to interteine such suters.

The Marquesse then of Monferrato, a citie in Italie, beyng a Gentlemā of great prowesse and valiance, was appointed to transfrete the Seas in a generall passage made by the christians, with an huge Armie and great furniture. And as it chaunced, vpon a day greate talke was had in the court of King Philip surnamed Luscus, (bicause he was poreblinde) who likewise was making [Page] preparation to depart out of Fraunce in the sayd iorney. Reporte was made by a Knight whiche knewe the sayd Marquize, that in all the worlde there was not the like maried couple, as the Marquize and his wyfe were, as well bicause the Marquize had the fame to bée an excellent Gentleman, as also for that his wyfe amonges all the troupe of Ladies, that liued in the world that time, was the fairest and most vertuous: which words so entred the French Kings head, as sodainely (neuer séeing hir in all his life) he began to loue hir. And for that purpose determined to imbarke him selfe at Genoua, that by trauailing that way by lande, he might haue good occasion to sée the Marchionisse, thinking that hir husbande being absent, he might easily obtein that he desired. And as he had deuised, he began his enterprise: who sending al his power before, toke his iorney with a meane train of Gentlemen: and being within a days iourney of the Ladies house, he sente hir worde that the next daye hée would visite hir at dinner. The sage and discrete Ladie ioyfully answered the Messanger, that she would accōpt his comming for a greate and singular pleasure, & sayde that his grace shuld be most heartily welcom. Afterwardes she maruelled why such a King as he was, would in hir husbāds absence, come to hir house. And in yt maruel & consideration she was no whit deceiued, coniecturyng that, the fame of hir beautie was the cause of his comming. Neuerthelesse, like a wise Lady and honest Gentlewoman, she determined to do him honor, & caused the worshipful of hir countrey such as remained behinde, to be assēbled, for aduise in all things that were necessarie for his intertainement: but the feast & varietie of meats that should be serued, she alone toke vpon hir to dispose and order. Wherfore spedily sending about, and making prouision for al the hennes that might be gottē throughout [Page] the countrey, cōmaunded hir cookes, of those hennes without other thing what so euer, to prepare diuers seruices. The Kyng failed not the next day to come accordingly as he had sent worde, and was with great honor receiued of the lady: and in beholding hir, she semed vnto him (bisides his imagination comprehended by the former wordes of the Knight) to be farre more faire, honest and vertuous, than hée thought, attributing vnto hir, singular praise and commendation. And so much the more his desire was kindled, as she passed the estimation bruted of hir. And after that the King had withdrawen him selfe into the chamber ordeined and made ready for him, as appertained to a Prince so greate, & that dinner time was come, the Kyng & Madame the Marchionisse sat together at one boorde, and other according to their degrées were placed at seueral tables. The King serued with many dishes and excellent wines, beholding some times the ladie Marchionisse, conceiued greate delight and pleasure. But viewing the seruice and meates (although dressed in diuers sortes) to be but hennes, he began to wonder, specially knowing the soile wherin they were to be so rich & plentiful, as by litle trauaile, great abundance of foule & veneson might haue ben prouided, and thought that she had indifferent leisure to chase and hunt, after that he had sent hir word of his cōming. Notwithstanding he woulde not take occasion to enter into talke of those wants of better chere (hir hennes only excepted) who looking vpon hir, with mery countenance he said vnto hir:‘Madame wer al these hennes bred in this countrey without a cock?’ The Marchionisse which full wel vnderstode the cause of his demaund, thinking that God had sent hir an apt time for answere as she desired, boldly answered the King:‘No and it please your grace, but of women, albeit in honour and apparell there is [Page] some difference, yet they be al made in this [...] as they be else where.’ The King hearing hir [...], right well did know the occasion of the bankette of Hennes, and whervnto hir wordes did tende: and considred that to bestow any further talke to so wise a ladie, it were in vaine, and that force there could take no place. Like as vnaduisedly he fell in loue, so it behoued him of necessitie wisely to [...] the fire for his honour sake, & without any more taunting wordes, fearing hir reuenge, he dined without hope to get other thing of hir. And when [...] had done, to the intent by his sodaine departure, he might couer his dishonest commyng, thankyng hir for the honour which he had receiued, and she recōmending him to God, he departed to Genoua.

Here may be proued the great difference betwene wisedom and [...], betwene vertue and vice. The King more by lust, than other desire, by circumstances indeuoured to sounde the deapth of the ladies minde. She by comely aunswer payde hym home for his follie. A liuely representation of a noble creature, so well bedecked with vertue as with beautie.

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Mistresse Dianora.
The. xvij. Nouell.

¶ Mistresse DIANORA demaunded of [...] ANSALDO a Garden so faire in Ianuarie, as in the moneth of May. Maister ANSALDO (by meanes of an obligation whiche he made to a Necromancer) caused the same to be done. The husband agreed with the Gentlewoman that she should do the pleasure which maister ANSALDO required, who hearing the liberalitie of the husband, acquited hir of hir promise, and the Necromancer likewise discharged maister ANSALDO.

OF all things commonly accompanying the maner and trade of mans lyfe, nothyng is more circumspectly to bée attended & prouided for, than regarde & [...] of honestie: which attire, as it is moste excellent and comely, so aboue all other vain toyes of outward apparell to be preferred. And as honestie hath al other good cōditions included in it self, as the same by any meanes can not straye oute of that tract, troden before by the steppes of that most excellent vertue: Euen so, impossible it is for the partie adorned with the same, to wander one [...] from that [...] path. Wherefore lette eche wight that traceth this [Page] worldly life, foresée the due obseruation of all things incident to that which is honest. Nothing in this life (saith Tullie in his oration, for the Poet Archias) is so much to be desired as Honestie, for the getting wherof all tormentes of bodie, all perilles and daungers [...] death bée not to bée regarded. Honestie then beyng a treasure so precious, what care not only for the atchieuing, but for the conseruation ought to be employed? In the practise wherof, one speciall thing ought to be attended, whiche is, how a vowe or promise ought to be made, or how the estimation of honestie oughte to bée hazarded for any thing séeme it neuer so impossible. For what is it that loue and money hath not brought to passe? What hard aduentures by Iason, what sleight by Alexander the son of King Priamus, what monsters slaine and labours susteined by Hercules, what daungers and exploites some haue incurred & other attempted by diuers? To be short, Nihil est quod non effreno captus amore, ausit.

As Ouide the Poet sayth:

Nothing there is, but that the louing man doth dare, Surprised with frantike fitte, eche dede he doth not spare. Wherfore let euery wight beware how they gage their honestie for any enterprise (seme it neuer so impossible.) Maistresse Dianora derely beloued of a gentleman, and earnestly assailed, in the ende yelded vpon a condition: which if it could be brought to passe (which she thought impossible) was content to surrender to his loue. Who cōsulting with a Magitian, performed hir request: then what folowed, and what counsell hir husband gaue hir, after she had broken the effect of hir promise to him, and what Curtesie was vsed on all sides, the sequele hereof discloseth.

The countrey of Frioli although it be colde, yet is it pleasaunt by reason of many faire mountaines, riuers, [Page] and cléere springs that are in the same: where there is a Citie called Vdina, & in the same somtime dwelling a faire gentlewomā called Mistresse Dianora, the wife of Gilberto, a notable rich [...], a verie curteous personage, and of good behauiour. This Ladie, for hir graces and vertues, was intierly [...] of a Gentlemā and great lorde, called maister Anfaldo Grandese, who for his liberalitie and valiāce in armes, was famous and well knowen. And albeit that he loued hir [...], séekyng all meanes possible to bée beloued of hir, soliciting hir many tymes by Ambassadours, yet his labour was in vain. And the Ladie béeing offended for his dayly sute, and trauaile, hée for all hir refusall and disagréement to his desire, woulde not absteine from louyng hir, but styll mainteine his importunate sute. She deuising with hir selfe how to ridde hym away, made a request vnto him, so straunge and impossible, (in hir iudgement) as hée was not hable to bryng the same to passe. And vpon a daye shée sayde vnto an olde woman, (the whyche came often tymes to sue vnto hir in hys [...]) these ‘woordes: Good wyfe, thou hast many tymes assured me, that Maister Ansaldo doeth loue mée aboue all other, and thou haste offered vnto mée maruellous giftes and presentes in hys name: All which I haue refused, vpon consideration, that I mynde not to fauour or loue him for his goodes: but if thou canst [...] by warrantize, or other probable argumente, that hée loueth me so much as thou sayest, I will condescend without faile to loue hym againe, and to doe the thing that it shall please hym to commaunde mée. Therfore if hée will assure mée to doe that thyng which I shall require him to doe, tell him that I am at his commaundement. What is that madame (sayd the olde woman) that you desire? The thing which I demaunde (aunswered the [Page] Gentlewoman) is, that he should cause to be made here without the Citie, during the moneth of [...] next comming, a Garden full of gréene herbes, floures, and [...], bespred with leaues, euen as it were in the moneth of May: And if so be that he do it not, then let him neuer send thée or any other vnto me again: for if afterwards he be importunat vpon me, like as I haue hitherto kept it close from my husbande and parentes, [...] so complaining vnto them, I will assaye to bée dispatched from his long and tedious sute. When the Knight vnderstoode’ that request, and the offer that his Mystresse made him (although it séemed a thing very difficult and almost impossible to bée done) knowyng very well that she did the same for none other purpose, but onely to put him out of hope that euer he shold enioy hir, he determined notwithstanding, to proue what he was able to do. And for that purpose sent to séeke in many places of the worlde, if there were any man that could assist him and giue him counsel therin. In the end there was one foūd that offred to do it (if he were well waged therunto) by the arte of Necromancie, with whom maister Ansaldo bargained for a great summe of money. Thē he expected the moneth of [...] with great deuotion, which being come, euen whē the coldest wether was, and that all places were full of snow & yce, this Necromancer vsed his art in such sort, as in the night after the holy days of Christmasse, in a faire medow adioyning to yt citie, there appered in the morning (as they can testifie that saw the same) one of the fairest gardens that euer any mā saw, full of herbes, trées, and fruites of al sorts: which when [...] Ansaldo had séen, God knoweth if he wer glad or not: & incontinently caused to be gathered the fairest fruites & floures that wer there, & secretly sent the same to his friende, inuiting hir to come and sée the Garden [Page] which she had procured him to make, to the intent therby she might know the loue that hée bare hir, & to remē ber the promise which she had made him, and confirmed by othe, that he might from that time forth, estéeme hir a woman so good as hir promise. When the Gentlewoman sawe the floures and frutes and hearing tell by report of the straunge things that were in that Garden, began to repent hir selfe of the promise whiche shée had made: but for all hir repentaunce, she like one desirous to sée straunge things, wente with many other women to sée the same: and hauing praised it, not without great admiration, she returned home, the angriest womā that euer was, when she had considered in what sort she had abused hir self by meanes of that Garden. And hir rage was so greate, that shée coulde by no meanes kéepe the same so secrete or close, but that hir husbande must perceiue the same, who woulde néedes knowe of hir all the whole matter. The Gentlewoman a long time kepte it secrete: in the ende shée was constrained to declare vnto him the whole matter in order. Hir husbande hearing the same was sodainely verye angrie: afterwardes consideryng the pure intente of his wife, hée wisely appeased hir, and sayde: Dianora, it is not the acte of a ‘wise and honest wife to encline hir eare to suche messages as those be, and lesse honest to make any marte or bargaine of hir honestie with any person, vnder what condicion soeuer it be. Words which the hart receiueth by the eares, haue greater [...] than many doe estéeme, and there is nothing so difficulte, but by the amorous is brought to passe. First therfore thou hast done euill to giue eare vnto such ambassage, and afterwardes for agrement to the bargaine. For the weight of chastitie is so ponderous, as by no meanes it oughte to be layde in balance, eyther by impossibilities to bo aste and bragge [Page] therof, or else by assurance of their conceiued thought to bring it into question, least in all places the same may be disputed vpon, and blemishe with the note of lightnesse, the person till that tyme vnspotted: but bicause I know the puritie of thy heart, I wil agrée vnto thée for discharge of thy promise, which peraduenture some other would not do, moued thervnto for the feare I haue of the Necromancer, who if he sée Maister Ansaldo to be offended bicause thou haste deluded him, may doe vs some displeasure: wherfore I will that thou go to maister Ansaldo: and if thou canst by any meanes so vse thy selfe (as thyne honour saued) thou mayst discharge thy promise, I shall commende thy witte: but if there be no remedie otherwise, for that onely time then lende forth thy body and not thy wil. The Gentlewoman hearing hir husband so wisely speake, coulde doe nought else but wéepe, and sayd, that she would not agrée to his request. Notwithstanding, it pleased the husband (for al the deniall which his wife did make) that it shoulde be so: by meanes wherof, the next morning vpon the point of day the Gentlewoman in the homeliest attire she had, with two of hir seruants before, and hir maide behinde, went to the lodging of maister Ansaldo, who when he hearde tel that his louer was come to sée him, maruelled much, and rising vp, called the Necromancer, and sayde vnto him: My wil is, that thou sée how much thine arte hath preuailed, and going vnto hir, without any disordinate lust, he saluted hir with reuerence, and honestly receiued hir. Then they entred into a faire chamber, and sitting downe before a great fire, he sayd vnto hir these words: Madame, I humbly beséeche you, if the loue whiche I haue borne you of longtime, and yet do beare, deserue some recompence, that it please you to tel me vnfainedly the cause whiche hath made you to come hither thus [Page] early, and with such a companie. The shamefast Gentle woman, hir eyes full of teares made answere: Sir, the loue whiche I beare you, nor any promised faith haue brought me hither, but rather the onely cōmaundement of my husbande, who hath greater respecte to the paine and trauaile of your disordinate loue, than to his owne honour or my reputation, who hath caused me to come hither, and by his commaundement am readye for this once to satisfie youre pleasure. If Mayster Ansaldo were abashed at the beginning, he much more did maruell when he hearde the Gentlewoman thus to speake, and moued with the liberalitie of hir husbande, hée began to chaunge his heate into compassion, and sayd: Mistresse God defend if it be true that you doe say, that I should soyle the honour of him, whiche hath pitie vpon my loue: and therfore you may tarrie here so long as it shall please you, with such assurance of your honestie, as if you were my naturall sister, and frankly may depart when you be disposed, vpon such condition, that you render in my behalf those thanks vnto your husband which you shal think cōuenient, for the great liberalitie which he hath imployed vpon me, déeming my selfe henceforth somuch bound vnto him, as if I were his brother or seruant. The Gentlewoman hearing those words, the best contented that euer was, sayd vnto him: Al the worlde coulde neuer make me beleue (your great honestie considered) that other thing coulde happen vnto me by my comming hither, than that which presently I sée: For which I recken my selfe perpetually bounde vnto you. And taking hir leaue, honorably returned in the aforsaid companie home to hir husband, and tolde him what had chaunced, which engendred perfect loue and amitie betwene him and maister Ansaldo. The Necromancer to whome maister Ansaldo determined to gyue the price, [Page] [...] betwene them, seyng the liberalitie which the husbande had vsed towardes maister Ansaldo, and the like of master Ansaldo towards the Gentlewoman s ayd: God defende, that sith I haue séene the husbande liberall of his honour, and you bountifull of your loue and curtesie, but that I be likewise frāke in my reward. For knowyng that it is well employed of you, I purpose that you shall kéepe it still.’ The Knighte was ashamed, and woulde haue forced hym to take the whole, or parte: but in offering the same, he lost his laboure. And the Necromancer the thirde day after, hauing vndone hys Garden, and desirous to departe, tooke his leaue.

Thus Ansaldo extinguishing the dishonest loue kindled in his hearte, for inioying of his ladie, vpon consideration of honest charitie, and regarde of Curtesie, repressed his wanton minde, and absteined frō that, which God graunte that others by like example may refraine.

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Mithridanes and Nathan
The. xviij. Nouel.

¶ MITHRIDANES enuious of the liberalitie of NATHAN, and going aboute to kill him, spake vnto hym vnknowne, and beyng infourmed by him selfe by what meanes he myght doe the same, he founde hym in a little woodde accordingly as he had tolde him, who knowyng him, was ashamed, and became his friende.

STrange may séeme this folowing Historie, and rare amonges those, in whome the vertue of liberalitie euer florished. Many we reade of, that haue kepte Noble and bountiful houses, entertainyng guestes, bothe forreine and frée borne, plētifully feasting them with varietie of chéere, but to entertain a guest that aspireth the death of his host, and to cherish him after he knew of it, or liberally to offer his life, seldome or neuer we reade, or by experience knowe. But what moued the [...] to frowne at the state and life of Nathan? Euen that [...] pestilent passion Enuie, the consumer and deadly monster of all humanitie: who [...] the like [...] and port of his deuout hoste Nathan, [Page] and séeking after equall glorie and same, was thorough enuies force for not atteinyng to the like, driuen to imagine how to kil a good & innocent man. For enuie commonly waiteth vpon the vertuous, euen as the shadow doeth the bodie. And as the Cantharides (which similitude Plutarche vseth) delight in ripe and prosperous wheate, & crawle in spreding roses, so enuie chiefly them which in vertue & richesse doe abound. For had not Nathan bene famous for his goodnesse, & glorious for liberalitie, Mithridanes would neuer haue prosecuted him by enuie, nor gone about to berieue his life. He that enuieth the vertuous and industrious person, may bée compared to Dedalus, whom the Poets faine to murder Telon his apprentice for deuisyng of the Potters whéele. And Mithridanes disdainefull of Nathans hospitalitie, would haue slayne him. But howe liberall the good olde man was of his life, and how ashamed Mithridanes was of his practise, this example at large discourseth.

Uery true it is (at lest wise it credite may be gyuen to the words of certaine Genoua merchantes, and of others which haue trauailed that coūtrey) that in Cataia, there was sometimes a riche Gentleman without comparison, named Nathan, who hauyng a place or pallace ioyning vpon the high way, by whiche the trauailers to and from the West and East, were constrained to passe, and hauing a noble and liberall heart, desirous by experience to haue the same to be knowne, and with what nature and qualitie, it was affected, be assembled diuers maister Masons & Carpenters, and in a short time erected there one of the stateliest palaces for greatnesse and riches that euer was séene in that countrey, which afterwards he caused to be furnished with all things necessarie, honourably to entertaine eche Gentleman that passed that way and with a greate traine of seruauntes hée [Page] welcomed and accepted suche as iourneyed too and fro. And in this commēdable custome he perseuered so long, as bothe in the East and West parts, report was bruted of his renoume and fame: and being come to auncient yeres, not for all that weary of his liberalitie, it chaunced that his fame flewe to the eares of a yong Gentleman called Mithridanes, who in a Countrie not farre of from his, had his abode and resiance. Mithridanes knowing himself to be so rich as Nathan, enuious of his vertue and liberalitie, purposed by some meanes or other to defame and obscure the same. And hauing builded a Palace like to that which Nathan did possesse, began to vse curtesies to those which passed too and fro, in outragious and disordered sort: in such wise as in little time be purchased great fame. Now it chaunced vpon a day, as Mithridanes was alone in the courte of his Palace, a poore woman entring in at one of the gates of the same, craued almes, and had it, and so successiuely euen to the twelfth and thirtenth time also she retourned againe, which Mithridanes perceiuing, said vnto hir: Good wife you come hither very often. And yet he denied not hir almes. The old woman hearing those words, said: O how maruellous is the liberalitie of Nathan, whose Palace hath. [...]. entries by seuerall gates, so greate as this, and daily begging almes there, neuer made [...] as though he knew me, and yet the same was neuer denied me: and being come hither but [...]. times, I haue bene perceiued and reproued: and saying so, she went hir way, and neuer after came thither againe. Mithridanes hearing these wordes to procéede from the olde woman, fell into a great rage, déeming the fame reported of Nathan to be a duninution of his owne, & said: Ah wretch, when shal I be able to attaine the liberalitie of Nathans greatest things? And why then goe I about [Page] to excell him, when in little matters I am not able to come neare him? Uerily I labour all in vaine, if I my self do not rid him out of this world, sithe croked age is not disposed to dispatch him, I must therfore do the same with mine own hands. And in that fury making no mā priuy to his intent, he rode forth with a small traine, and in thrée daies arriued where Nathan dwelt, and then cō maunded his men in any wise not to be knowen that they came with him, and likewise that they knewe him not, but to prouide lodging for themselues, vntill suche time as they had further newes from him. Mithridanes then being arriued about euening, all alone, found Nathan walking vp and downe before his faire Palace, without other companie then himself, who in simple attire and garment went forth to méete him. Of whome Mithridanes, bicause he knew not Nathan, demaunded [...] he could tell him where Nathan dwelt. Nathan pleasantly made him answere: ‘My sonne, there is no man in these quarters that can better tell thée than I, and therefore if thou please, I will bring thée thither.’ Mithridanes said, that he should doe him a very great pleasure: but he would not if it were possible be séene or knowen of Nathan. ‘And that can I very well doe said Nathan, nowe that I know your minde.’ Being then lighted of from his horse, he went with Nathan, who by and by interteined him with diuersitie of talke, to his faire Palace. And Nathan incontinently caused one of his seruaunts to take Mithridanes horse, ‘and saide vnto him in his eare, that he should wyth all spéede giue order to his housholde, that none should tell the yong man that he was Nathan, which accordingly was done.’ But after they were in the Palace, Nathan brought Mithridanes into a verye faire chambre, that none might sée him, excepte suche as he hadde appoyncted to serue hym: [Page] and causing great honour to be done vnto him, he hymselfe kepte him companie. As they two were together, Mithridanes asked him (to whom he vsed conuenable reuerence as to his father) what he was? whome [...] answered: ‘I am one of Nathans poore scruants, that [...] the time of my youth haue bene brought vp with him, and neuer aduaunced me to any thing but to that which you sée. Wherefore, although euery man greately praiseth him, yet haue I no cause to commende hym.’ These wordes gaue some hope to Mithridanes, by better aduise and suretie to execute his wicked intente. And Nathan asked him very [...] what hée was, and for what businesse he was come thither, offering him helpe and counsel in that he was able to do. Mithridanes then paused a while before he would make him answere: and in the ende purposing to put his trust in him, required with great circumstance of words his faith, and after that his counsell and ayde. Then hée wholly discouered what hée was, wherfore he was come, and the cause that moued hym. Nathan hearyng those woordes, and the mischeuous determination of Mithridanes, was chaunged and troubled in mynde, notwithstandyng without making any countenance of displesure, answered him with bold countenance: ‘Mithridanes, thy father was a Gentleman, and of stoute stomacke, from whome so farre as I sée, thou wilt not degenerate, by attempting so great an enterprise as thou hast done. I intende to be liberall to eche man, and praise greately the enuie whiche thou [...] to the vertue of Nathan, bycause if there were many suche, the worlde whyche is nowe myserable, would shortly become prosperous and happie: and doe make thée promise, that the intent thou goest about, shal be kept secreate, wherunto I can sooner giue counsell, than any great helpe, and mine aduise is this: [...] may [Page] sée from the place where [...] [...] be a litle [...], about a [...] of a mile hence, whervnto Nathan in a maner walketh euery morning, and tarieth there a long time: there you may [...] finde him, and doe your pleasure. And if you kill him, you may goe, (to the intent without daunger you may returne home to your owne house) not that way you came, but by that you sée on the lefte hand leade out of the woodde, which although it be not so common as the other, yet is the nearest way home, and safest for you to passe.’

When Mithridanes was thus informed, and that Nathan departed from him, he caused worde secretely to be sent to his men, which likewise lodged there, in what place they shold waight for him the next day. And when the day was come, Nathan not altering from the coūsell be gaue to Mithridanes, ne chaunging any parte of the same, went all alone into a little woodde, to receiue his death. When Mithridanes was vp, and taken his bowe and sweard, (for he had none other weapons) he mounted vpon his horse, and rode to the little woodde, where a farre of [...] [...] Nathan, cōming thitherward all alone, and determining before he wold set vpon him to sée him and heare him speake, made toward him, and catching him by yt band vpon his [...], said vnto him: ‘Did [...], thou art dead.’ Wherevnto Nathan made none other an̄ swere, but: I haue then deserued it. When Mithridanes heard his voyce, and looked him in the face, he knewe by & by that it was he, which had courteously receiued him, familiarly kept him company, and faithfully had giuen him counsel. Wherupon, his fury asswaged, and his anger conuerted to shame: By meanes wherof, throwing downe his sword which he had drawne to strike him, he lighted of from his horsse, and did prostrate himselfe at Nathan his fathers [...], & sayd vnto him wéeping: ‘Imanifestly [Page] perceiue right louing father your great liberalltie, and by what policie, you be come hyther to render to me your life. Whereunto I hauing no right, declared my self desirous to haue the same. But our Lord God, more carefull of my deudir than my self, hath euen at the very point, when it was moste néedefull, opened the eyes of mine vnderstanding, which curssed spite and cancred enuie had closed vp: and therfore, the more you were ready to gratifie my desire, the greater punishmēt I knowledge my selfe to deserue for my fault. Take then of me if it please you, such vengance as you thynke méete for mine offence.’

Nathan caused Mithridanes to rise vp, kissing and imbracing him tenderly, then he sayde vnto him: ‘ [...] sonne, thou nedest not to demaund pardon, for the enterprise done, good or euill as thou list to name it. For thou diddest not goe about to rid me of my life for any hatred thou didst beare me, but only to be accompted the better. Be assured then of me, and verily beleue, that there is no liuing man, that I loue better than thy selfe, considering the greatnesse of thine heart not inclyned to hoorde or gather togither the drossie mucke of Syluer, as the myserable doe, but to spende that whych is gathered. Be not ashamed for hauing a will to kill me, thereby to gette renowme: For Emperoures and greatest kings, neuer streatched forthe their power, and racked their Kealmes, and consequently aspired fame, for other purpose but to kill, not by murdering one man as thou [...] meane, but of an infinite number, bysides the burning of Countries, and rasing of Cities. Wherefore, if to make thy selfe more famous, thou wouldest haue killed me alone, thyne enterprise was not new to be wondred at, but a thing in daily practise.’ Mithridanes no more excusing his wicked intent, but praising the honest excuse, [Page] which Nathan had deuised, drewe neare vnto hym to enter into further talke wyth him, which was, howe he greatly maruelled, that he durst approche the place, with so little rescue, where hys deathe was sworne, and what he meant him selfe to tell the waye and meanes: wherein he required him to say his minde, for disclosing of the cause.

Whereunto Nathan replied: ‘maruell not Mithridanes, of mine intent and purpose, for [...] I was at age disposed to mine owne frée will, and determined to doe that which thou hast gone about to doe, neuer any came to me, but I haue contented them (so farre as I was hable) of that they did demaunde. Thou art come hyther with desire to haue my life, wherefore séeing that thou diddest craue it, I forthwith did meane to giue it, that thou alone mightest not be the man that shoulde departe from hence wythout atchieuing thy request: and to bring to passe that thou myghtest haue the same, I gaue thée the best Counsell I coulde, aswell for bereuing of my life, as for enioying of thine owne. And therefore I saye to thée againe, and praye thée for to take it, thereby to content thy selfe, if thou haue anie pleasure therein. I doe not knowe whiche way better to imploye it. I haue all readye kepte it foure score yeares, and haue consumed the same in pleasures and delyghtes, and doe knowe by course of nature in other men, and generallye in all things, that long it can not reast in breathyng dayes. Wherefore I thinke good, that better it is to giue, as I haue dailye done, and departe with my Treasures, than kéepe it till nature carye it awaye in despite of my téethe, and maugre that I haue. It is a little gifte to giue one hundred yeares, howe much lesse is it then to giue [...] or eighte of those I haue to liue?’

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‘Take it then if it please thée, I thée beséeche. For neuer yet found I mā that did desire the same, ne yet do know when I shall finde such one, if that thy selfe which [...] desire it, doe not take it. And if it chaunce that I do finde some one, I know ful well that so much the longer as I shall [...] the [...], the lesse estéemed it shal be, and therfore before the same be vile and of little price, take it I beséeche thée. Mithridanes sore ashamed, sayd: God [...], that by separating so dere a thing as is thy life, that I should take it, or only to desire the same, as I did erst, from which I would not diminish yeares, but willingly would of mine owne adde therto if I could. Whereunto Nathan by and by replied. And if thou couldest, wouldest thou giue them? And woldest thou cause me doe to [...] that which I neuer did to any mā, that is to say, to take of thy things which neuer I did of any liuing person? Yea verily answered Mithridanes. Then sayd Nathan: Thou shouldest do then that which I wil tell thée. Thou shouldest remaine here in my house so yong as thou art, and shouldest haue the name of Nathan, and I wold goe to thine, and still be called Mithridanes. Then Mithridanes answered: If I had also so great experience as thou hast, I would not refuse that which thou dost offer: but bicause I am assured, that my déedes would diminish the renoume of Nathan, I will not marre that in another, which I can not redresse in my self: and therefore I [...] not take it.’ After this talk & a great deale more betwene them, they repaired to the Palace, vpon the request of Nathan, wher many dayes he did great honor to Mithridanes, incoraging & counselling him, so wel as he could: daily to perseuere in his high & great indeuor. And Mithridanes desirous to returne home with his company, Nathan (after yt he had let him wel to know, that he was not able to surpasse him in liberalitie) gaue him leaue.

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Mistresse Katherine of Bologna
The. xix. Nouel.

¶ Master GENTIL of CARISENDI being come from MODENA toke a woman out of hir graue that was [...] for deade, who after she was come againe, broughte forth a sonne, which Master GENTIL rendred [...] with the mother to master NICHOLAS [...] hir husband.

REading this Historie, I consider two straunge & rare chaunces: the one a lyberall and courteous acte of an [...] louer towardes, his beloued & hir husband, in leauing hir vntouched, and not dishonored, although in full puissance to doe his pleasure: to hir husband or presenting him with [...] whome he [...] loued, and a newe borne childe: bothe supposed to be dead by hir friendes, and therefore intombed in graue. The other chaunce a singular desire of a gentlewoman, by hū ble sute for conseruation of hir honour, although long time pursued by a gentleman that reuiued hir almost frō [...], and thought vtterly to [...] voide of life. To praise the one, and to leaue the other not magnified, it were a part of discurtesie: but to extoll bothe with shoutes and [Page] acclamations of infinite praise, no dout but very commē dable. If comparisons may be made with Princes of elder yeres, and not to note those of later, truely Maister Gentil by that his fact, [...] not much inferior to Scipio Affricanus for sparing the wife of Indibilis, ne yet to king Cyrus for Panthea the [...] of Abradatas: although both of them not in equal state of loue, (as wholy [...] from that passion) like to master Gentil, who in dede for subduing that griefe and motion, deserueth greater praise. For sooner is that torment auoided at the first assault and pinche, than when it is suffred long to flame & raigne in that yelding portion of man, the heart, which once fed with the [...] of loue, is seldome or neuer loosed. To do at large to vnderstand ye proofe of those most [...] persones, thus beginneth the historie.

At Bologna a very notable Citie of Lombardie, there was a Knight of very great respect for his vertue, named maister Gentil Carissendi, who in his youthe fell in loue with a gentlewoman called mistresse Katherine, the wife of one maister Nicholas Chasennemie. And bicause during that loue, he receiued a very yll coūterchange for his affection that he bare vnto that gentlewoman, he went away (like one desperate) to be the iudge & potestate of Modena, wherunto he was called. About yt time the husband being out of Bologna, and the gentlewomā at [...] Manor in the country, about a mile & a halfe from the Citie (whither she went to remaine, bicause she was with childe) it chaunced [...] she was [...] surprised with a sicknesse, which was such and of so great force, as there was no token of life in hir, but rather iudged by all Phisitians to be a dead woman. And bicause that hir [...] [...], sayd that they heard hir say, that she could not be so long time with childe, [...] that the infant must be perfect and ready to be [...], and therefore [...] [Page] wyth some other disease and [...] that would bring hir to hir end; as a [...] or other swelling, rising of grosse humors, they thought hir a dead woman, and past recouerie: wherfore vpō a time she falling into a [...], was verily supposed and left for dead. Who after they had mourned hir death, & bewailed the [...] expiration of [...] soul, caused hir to be buried wtout [...] of recouery (euen as she was in that extasie) in a graue of a church adioyning harde by the house where she dwelt. Which thing [...] was aduertised master Gentil by one of his frēds, who although he was not likely, as he thought, to attaine hir fauor, & in vtter dispaire therof, yet it grieued him very muche that no better héede was taken vnto hir, thinking by diligence and time she would haue come to hir self againe, saying thus in the end vnto him self: ‘How now [...] Katherin, yt death hath wrought, his will with you, and I could neuer obtein during your life one simple looke frō those your glistering eies, which lately I beheld to my great ouerthrow and decay: wherfore now when you cānot defend your self, I may be bold (you being dead) to steale from you some desired kisse.’ When he had said so, being already night, and hauyng taken order that none should know of his departure, he [...] vpon his horse, accompanied with one only seruaūt, & without tarying any where, arriued at the place wher his Lady was buried, and opening the graue, forthwith he entred in, and laying him self down bisides hir, he approched [...] hir face, and many times kissed hir, pouring forthe great abundance of teares. But as we sée the appetite of man not to be content except it procéede further (specially of such as be in loue) being determined to tarye no longer there, and to departe, he sayd: ‘Ah God why should I goe no further, why should I not touche hir, why shold I not proue whither she be aliue or dead?’ [Page] [...] then with that motion, he felt hir [...], and holding his hand there for a certeine time, perceiued hir heart as it were to pant, & thereby some life remaining in hir. Wherefore so softly as he could, with the helpe of his man, he raised hir out of the graue: and setting hir vpon his horsse before him, secretely caried hir home to his house at Bologna. The mother of maister Gentil dwelled there, which was a graue and vertuous gentlewoman, who vnderstanding by hir sonne the whole effect of that chaunce, moued with compassion, vnknowne to any man, placing hir before a great fire, and cōforting hir with bathe prepared for the purpose, she recouered life in the gentlewoman that was supposed to be deade, who so soone as she was come to hir selfe, threwe forth a great sigh, and said: ‘Alas, where am I now? To whom the good olde woman [...] Be of good chéere swete hart, ye be in a good place.’ The gentlewoman hauing wholly recouered hir senses, and looking roūd about hir, not yet well knowing where she was, and séeing [...] Gentil before hir, prayed his mother to tell hir howe she came [...]. To whome maister Gentil declared in order, what he had done for hir, and what meanes he vsed to bring hir thither. Whereof making hir complaint, and lamenting the little regard and negligence of hir frends, she rendred vnto hym innumerable thankes. Then she prayed him for the loue which at other times he bare hir, and for his [...], that she might not receiue in hys house any thing that should be dishonorable to hir person, ne yet to hir husband, but so soone as it was daye [...] suffer hir to goe home to hir owne house: wherunto [...] Gentil answered: ‘Madame, what so euer I haue desired in time [...], nowe I purpose neuer to demaunde of you any thing, or to do here in this place or in any other [...], but that I would to mine [...] sister, sith it hath [Page] pleased God to doe me suche pleasure, [...] from death to life to render you to me, in consideration [...] the loue that I haue borne you heretofore.) But this good woorke, which this nyght I haue done for you, well deferueth some recompence. Wherfore my desire is, that you deny me not the pleasure which I shall demaund: whome the gentlewoman curteously answered, that she was very redy, so the same were honest & in bir power to doe.’ Then said maister Gentil: ‘Mystresse, all [...] [...] and all they of Bologna, doe beleue for a trouthe that you be deade, wherfore there is none that loketh for you at home: and the pleasure then which I demaund, is, that you will [...] secretely to tary here with my mother, vntill I returne from Modena, which shall be with so great expedition as I can: and the cause why I desire the same, is, for that I intend to make a faire and acceptable present of you vnto your husband in the presence of yt principal of this Citie.’ The gentlewoman knowing hirself to be greatly bound to the Knight, and that hys request was honest; disposed hir self to doe what he demaunded. Albeit she desired earnestly to reioyce hir frendes [...] hir recouered life, and so promised vpon hir faith. And vnnethes had she ended hir talke, but she felt the payne of childbirth: wherfore with the aide of the mother of master Gentil, she taried not long before she was deliuered of a faire sonne, which greatly augmēted the [...] of master Gentil and hir. Maister Gentil commaunded that she should haue all things that were necessary ministred vnto hir, and that she should be vsed as though she wer his owne wife. Then he [...] returned to Modena, where when he had a while supplied his office, he returned to Bologna, and prepared a great feast at his house, the same morning that he arriued, for diuers gentlemen of the citie, amongs [...] Nicholas Chasennemie was one. [Page] When the cōpany of the [...] guests [...], (the gentlewoman in so good helth & liking as [...] she was, and hir childe wel and lusty, he sate downe amongs thē, doing vnto them incomparable mirthe and pastime, and serued them bountifully wyth diuerse fortes of meates. When dinner was almost done, hauing before tolde the Gentlewoman what be ment to doe, and in what manner she shoulde behaue hir selfe, he began thus to saye. ‘My maisters, I do remember that whilom I haue heard tell that in the Countrie of Persia, there was a goodly custome (as me séemeth) that when some one was disposed to doe great honoure vnto his friend, he bad hym home to his house, and there shewed him the thyng which he loued best, were it wyfe, woman, daughter, or what so euer it were: affirming that like as he disdained not to shewe the same, which outwardly he loued best, euen so he wold if it were possible, willingly discouer his owne heart: which custome I purpose to obserue in this citie. Ye of your [...] haue [...] to doe me so greate honor, as to repair vnto this my simple [...], which [...] I wil recompēce after the Persian maner, by shewing vnto you the thing which I loue most déerely aboue any in this world, or hereafter shal be able to loue so long as my life endureth: but before I do the same, I pray you to tell me your opinion in a doubt which I shall propose. There was a certaine person which in hys house had a good & faithful seruaunt, who became extremely sick, that person without attending the end of his diseased seruāt, caused him to be caried into ye midst of the [...] without any further care for him: In the meane time there [...] a straunger by, who moued by compassion of the sicke seruaunt, bare him home to his owne house, where with great care and diligence, sparing no cost or charge, made him [...] recouer his former helth. I wold now fain [Page] know of you, whither for [...] and [...] the seruice of that seruaunt, his first maister by good [...] [...] cō plaine vpon the second, [...] he should demannd him again, or by demaunding of him againe, the second not disposed to restore him, might [...] any damage.’ The gentlemen after many opinions and arguments debated too & [...] amongs them, and at lengthe all concluding in one mind, gaue charge [...] Nicholas Chasennemie (bicause he was an eloquent talker) to make the answer: who first [...] the [...] custome, sayde that he was, (with the rest) of this opinion, that the first maister had no further title in hys seruaunt, hauing in such necessitie not only forsaken him, but throwen him into the [...], and that for the good turnes which the secōd master had done him, he oughte by good right to be his: wherefore by keping him, he did no wrong, [...], or [...] to the first. All the rest at the Table (whith were right honest persones) sayde all togither that they were of his opinion. The Knight content with that answer, and specially bicause Nicholas Chasonnemie had pronoūted it, affirmed that he was likewise of that minde, and afterwardes he sayd: ‘Time it is then that I render vnto you the honor which you haue done me, in manner accordinglye as I haue promised.’ Then he called vnto him two of his seruauntes, and sent them to the Gentlewoman, whome he had caused to be apparelled and [...] very gorgeously, praying hir by hir presence to content and satisfie all the companie. And she takyng in hir armes, hir little faire sonne, came into the hall, accompanied wyth the two seruauntes, and was placed (as it pleased the Knight) bisides a very honest Gentleman, and then he sayde: ‘ [...], beholde the thing whyth I loue best, and purpose to loue aboud all worldly things, whither I haue occasion so to doe, your eyes may be iudges.’

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‘The [...] doing [...] reuerence vnto hir, greatly praised hir, & said to the Knight that there was good reason’ why she ought to be beloued, Upon which commendations they began more attentiuely to beholde hir, and many of them would haue sayd and sworne that it had bene she in déede if it had not bene thought that she had bene dead. But Nicholas behelde hir more than the rest, who very desirous to know what she was, could not forbeare (when he saw that the Knight was a little departed from the place) to aske hir whyther she was of Bologna, or a straunger. When the gentlewoman sawe hir husband to aske hir that question, she coulde scarce forbeare frō making answere, notwithstanding to atchieue that which was purposed, she helde hir peace. Another asked hir if that little Boy was hirs: and another if she were the wife of master Gentil, or any kin vnto him: vnto whome she gaue no answer at all. But when master Gentil came in, one of the straungers sayd vnto him. ‘Syr this gentle womā is a very goodly creature, but she séemeth to be [...]. Is it true or not? Sirs sayd maister Gentil, that is but a litle argument of hir vertue, for this time to hold hir peace. Tel vs then (sayd he) what is she? That will I doe very gladly sayd the Knight, vnder condition that none of you shall remoue out of his place for any thing I speake, vntill I haue ended my tale: which request being graunted, and the table taken vp, maister Gentil which was set downe by the gentlewoman, said: My maisters, this gentlewoman is the loyall and faithfull seruant, of whome [...]. I propounded the question, whome I haue relieued from amids the strete, whither hir kin, litle caring for hir, threw hir as a vile and vnprofitable thing: & haue by my greate care brought to passe, that I haue discharged hir from death, vpon an affection which God knoweth to be so pure and perfecte, as of a [Page] lumpe of dead lothsome flesh he hath reuiued so fair and fresh as you sée: but to the intent you may more plainly vnderstand how it is come to passe, I wil open the same in few words.’ And beginning at the day when he fell in loue with hir, he particularly told them, what had [...] til that time, to the great maruell and admiration of them that heard him, and then he added these words: ‘By meanes whereof, if your minde be not chaunged within this little time, & specially maister Nicholas, of good right she is my wife, and none by iust title can claime hir.’ Wherunto none at al made answer, loking that he shold haue procéeded further. In the meane while Nicholas and the rest that were there, fell into earnest weping. But maister Gentil rising from the borde, and taking in his armes the little childe, and the gentlewoman by the hand, went towards Nicholas, and sayd vnto him: ‘Rise vp sir gossip, I doe not restore vnto thée thy wife, whom thy frends and housholde did cast into the strécte, but I wil giue thée this gentlewoman my gossip, with the litle childe, yt is, as I am assured begotten of thée, for whome at the christening I made answer and promise, and called him Gentil, and do pray thée that she be no lesse estéemed of thée (for being in my house almost thrée moneths) than she was before. For I swere by the almighty God, who made me in loue with hir, (peraduenture that my loue might be the cause of hir preseruation) that she neuer liued more honestly with hir father, mother, or with thée, than she hath done in company of my mother.’ Whē he had sayd so, he returned towards the gentlewoman, and sayd vnto hir: Mistresse, from this time forth, I discharge you of the promise which you haue made me, and leaue you to your husband franke and frée. And when he had bestowed the gentlewoman, and the childe in the fathers armes, he returned to his place againe. Nicholas [Page] ioyfully receiued his wife & childe, for the which so much the more he reioysed, as he was furthest of from hope of hir recouerie, rendering innumerable thankes to the Knight and the rest, who moued with compassion wept for company, greatly praising master Gentil for that act, who was commended of eche man that heard the reporte thereof. The Gentlewoman was receiued into hir house with maruellous ioy. And long time after she was gazed vpon by the Citizens of Bologna, as a thing to their great wonder reuiued againe.

Afterwards maister Gentil continued still a friend vnto Nicholas, and vnto his wife and children.

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Of M. Thorello and Saladine
The. xx. Nouel.

¶ SALADINI in the habite of a Marchaunt, was honourably receiued into the house of master THORELLO, who went ouer the sea, in companie of the Christians, and assigned a terme to his wife when she should marry againe. He was taken, and caried to the SOVLDAN to be his Falconer, who knowing him, and suffering him selfe to be knowne, did him great honour. Maister THORELLO fell sicke, and by Magique Arte, was caried in a night to PAVII, where he found his wife about to mary againe, who knowing him, retourned home with him to his owne house.

VEry comely it is (sayeth Cicero in the secōd boke of his Offices,) that Noble mens houses should [...] bée open to Noble guests and straungers. A saying by the honourable and other estates to bée fixed in sure remembraunce, and accordingly practised. For hospitalitie & housholde intertainment, heapeth vp double gain & cōmoditie. [Page] The guest it linketh and knitteth in fast band of perfect friendship, common familiaritie, disport of minde & pleasant recreation, the poore & néedy it féedeth, it cherisheth, it prouoketh in them deuout prayers, godly blessings, & seruice in time of nede. Hospitalitie is a thing so diuine, as in the law of Nature and Christ, it was wel and brotherly obserued. Lothe disdained not to receiue the Angels, which were straungers vnto him, and by reason of his common vse thereof, and their friendly interteinement, he and his houshold was deliuered from the daunger of the Citie, escaped temporal fire, and obteined heauenly rewarde. Abraham was a friendly host to straungers, and therefore in his olde dayes, and in the barrein age of his wife Sara, he begat Isaac. Ietro albeit he was an Ethnicke and vnbeleuing man, yet liberally intertained Moyses, & maried him to Sephora, one of his daughters. The poore widow of Sarepta interteined Helias, and Symon the Currior disdained not Peter, nor Lydia the purple silke woman Paule and his felowes. Forget not Hospitalitie (saythe the sayde Apostle Paule,) for with the same diuers haue pleased Angels by receiuing them into their houses. If Paule the true preacher of eternall health, hath so commended keping of good houses, which by the former terme we cal hospitalitie, then it is a thing to be vsed amongs those that be able to mainteine the same: who ought with liberall hande frankly to reache bread and victuals to their acquaintance, but specially to straungers: which wandering in forein places, be use [...] vnable to helpe them selues, and peraduenture in such néede, as without such curtesie, doe perishe. For the further amplification of which vertue, what shall I néede to remember straunge and prophane Histories? as of Cimon of Athens, who was so famous in the same, as the tyrant Crytias, when he wished for the riches of the Scopades, [Page] the victories of Agesilaus, forgatte not also to craue the liberalitie of Cimon. Pacuuius also, the Prince of Campania, so friendly entertained Annibal, as when his sonne to do the Romanes a good turne, woulde haue killed him as he sate at supper, was stayde by his fathers request (whom he made priuie of his intent before they sate downe.) Pacuuius had he not more regarded the office of hospitalitie, than the safetie of his countrey, might full well by that murder, haue defended the same from the destruction, wherunto afterwards it fell. Homere reporteth, that Menelaus fighting a combat with Paris of Troy made inuocation and prayer vnto the Gods, that he might be reuenged vpon him for the rape of his wife Helena, to thintent the posteritie hearing of his punishment, might feare to polute friendly houshold interteinment. Wherfore, sith hospitalitie hath bene thus put in vse in elder time, practised in all ages, and the poluters of the same detested and accurssed, and hath notorious commodities incident vnto it, I déeme it so worthie to be frequented in noble men and all degrées, as their palaces and great houses should swarme with guests, and their gates clustring with whole multitudes of the poore to be satisfied with relief. Such hath bene the sacred vse and reuerent care of auncient time. Such hath bene the zealous loue of those, whose fieldes and barnes, closets, and chestes haue bene stored and stuffed with worldely wealth, that comparing that golden age, glistering with pietie and vertue, to these our worsse than copper days, cancred with all corruption, we shall finde the match so like, as darke and light, durt and Angell golde. Ceasing then of further discourse hereof, this historie folowing shall elucidate and displaye the mutuall beneuolence of two noble personages, the one a mightie Souldan, an ennimie of God, but yet a friend to those that fauored good [Page] entertainment and housekeping, the other a gentleman of Pauie, a rich and liberall marchaunt, & a frendly welcomer of straungers. The Souldan demaunding the way to Pauie, somewhat digressing from the same, is not only honourably conueyed to Pauie, and feasted there, but also [...] cherished, banketted, and rewarded by the sayd Marchant before his cōming thither. The marchant man desirous to be one of the holy voyage, intended by christian Princes, passed ouer the seas, who put to his shiftes there through the aduerse lucke, receiued by the Christians, became the Souldans Fawconer, and afterwards knowen vnto him by certaine markes and signes, is with greater honor intertained of the Souldan, and more richly guerdoned, sent home again by Magike Arte to anticipate the mariage of his wife, vnto whome he had prefixed a certain date and terme to mary againe, if before that time, he did not returne. All which Noble entertainment, and the circumstances therof, in this maner doe begin.

In the time of the Emperoure Fredericke the first, the Christians to recouer the Holy lande, made a generall voyage and passage ouer the Sea. Saladine a most vertuous Prince, then Souldan of Babylon, hauing intelligence thereof, a certaine time before, determined in his owne person to sée and espie the preparation whych the Christian Princes made for that passage, the better to prouide for his owne, and hauing put order for hys affaires in Egipt, making as though he would goe on Pilgrimage, tooke his iourney in the habite of a Marchant, accompanied only with two of his chiefest and [...] counsellers, and thrée seruaunts. And when he had searched and trauelled many christian prouinces, and riding through Lombardie to passe ouer the Mountaines, it chaunced that betwene Millan and Pauie, somwhat late [Page] he met with a Gentleman named master Thorello [...] Istria of Pauie, who with his housholde, his dogges and hawkes, for his pleasure went to soiorne in one of his manors, that was delectably placed vpō the riuer of Tesino. And when maister Thorello sawe them come, thinking that they were certaine gentlemen straungers, he desired to do them honour. Wherefore Saladine demāunding of one of master Thorello his men, how far it was from thence to Pauie, and whether they might come thither time inough to goe in, master Thorello would not suffer his man to speake, but he him selfe made answer, saying: ‘Sirs, ye cannot get in to Pauie in time, for that the gates will be shut before your comming. Than sayd Saladine: tell vs then we pray you, bicause we be straungers, where we may lodge thys night. Master Thorello sayd, that wil I willingly do, I was about euen presently to send one of my men that be here, so farre as Pauie, about certaine businesse, hym will I appoynt to be your guide to a place where you shall haue very good lodging.’ And calling one of his wysest men vnto him, he gaue him charge of that he had to do, and sent him with them, after whome he followed: where incontinentlye in so good order as he could, caused to be made redy a sumptuous supper, and the tables to be couered in a plesant garden. Afterwards he went hym selfe to entertaine them. The seruaunt talking with the Gentlemen of manye things, cōducted them at leisure somwhat out of the way to protract the time, to his masters house: and so soone as master Thorello espied them, he went to bid them welcome, saying to them with smiling countenaunce: ‘Maisters ye be heartily welcome.’

Saladine which was a very wise man, well perceiued that the Gentleman doubted they would not haue come vnto him if he had inuited them at their first méeting, [Page] and for that cause, to the intent they should not refuse [...] lodge at his house, he had pollitiquely caused them to be conducted thither, and answering to his gréeting, sayd: ‘Syr, if a man may quarell with them that be curteous, we may complaine of you, who leauing aparte our way which you haue caused somwhat to be lengthened, without deseruing your good will, otherwise than by one only salutation, you haue constrained vs to take and receiue this your so great curtesie. The wise and well spoken Knight, sayd: Syr, this curtesie which you receiue of me, in respect of that which belongeth vnto you, as by your countenaunce I may well [...], is very small, but truely out of Pauie ye could haue got no lodging that had bene good: and therefore be not displeased I pray you to be caried out of the way, to haue a little better interteinment’: and saying so, his men came forth to receiue those straungers, and when they were lighted, their horsses were taken and conueyed into the stables, and master Thorello caryed the thrée Gentlemen to their chambres, which he had prepared for them, where their bootes were pulled of, and excellent wine brought forth, somewhat to refresh them before supper: then he held them with pleasant talke vntill the houre of supper was come. Saladine and they which were wyth him, could all speake Latine, and therefore well vnderstanded, & they likewise vnderstode ache man, by meanes whereof euery of thē thought that the Gentleman was the most curteous and best cō ditioned personage, indued with the most eloquent talke that euer they sawe. On the other side it séemed to master Thorello, that they were the noblest and Princelike personages, and farre more worthie of estimation then he thought before. Wherefore, he was very angry with him selfe, that he had no greater companie and better interteinment for them that nyght, which he purposed to [Page] recompence the next day at dinner. Wherefore he sent one of his mē to Pauie, which was not far of frō thence, to his wife, which was a very wise and noble gentlewoman, and afterwards he brought them into the garden, where he curteouslye demaunded what they were. ‘To whome Saladine answered: we be marchants of Cypres, trauailing to Paris [...] our businesse. Then sayd master Thorello: I wold to God that this countrie brought forth such gentlemen as the land of Cypres maketh marchants: and so from one talke to a nother, vntill supper time came.’ Wherefore he to honor them the better, caused them to sit downe at the Table, euery of them according to his degrée and place. And there they were exceadingly wel intreated and serued in good order, their supper being farre more bountifull than they [...] for. And they sate not long after that the table was taken away, but master Thorello supposing them to be weary, caused them to be lodged in gorgeous & costly beds: and he likewise within a while after went to bed. The seruaūt sent to Pauie, did the message to his mistresse, who not like a woman, with a womanish heart, but like one of Princely minde, incontinently caused many of hir husbandes friendes and seruaunts to be sent for. Afterwardes she made ready a great feast, and inuited the noblest & chéefest Citizens of the Citie, apparelling hir house with clothe of gold and silke, tapistrie & other furnitures, putting in order all that which hir husband had cōmaunded. The next day in the morning the Gentlemen rose, with whome maister Thorello mounted on horsebacke, and carying with him his Hawkes, he broughte them to the riuer, and shewed them diuers flightes. But Saladine demaunding where the best lodging was in Pauie, master Thorello sayd: I will shew you my selfe, for that I haue occasion to goe thither. They beléeuing him, were contented, [Page] and rode on their way, and being about nine of the clock, arriued at the Citie, thinking they shold haue bene brought to the best Inne of the towne: but master Thorello conueyed them to his owne house, where fiftie of the chiefest Citizens, ready to receiue them, sodenly appeared before them. Which Saladine, & they that were with him perceiuing, cōiectured by and by what that did meane, and said: ‘Master Thorello, this is not the request which we demaunded, your entertainment yesternight was to sumptuous and more than we desired, wherefore giue vs leaue we pray you to departe. Whome master Thorello answered: My masters, for that which ye receiued yesternight I wil giue thanks to Fortune, and not to you: for I ouertaking you by the way, forced you in a maner, to make your repaire vnto my homely house: but for this morning voyage, I haue my selfe prepared, and likewise the Gentlemen about you, with whome to refuse to dine, if you thinke it curtesie, doe as ye please. [...] and his companions vanquished wyth suche perswasion, lighted, and being receiued by the gentlemen in louing and curteous order, were conueyed to their chambers, which were richly furnished for them, and hauing put of their riding apparell, and somwhat refreshed them selues, they came into the hall, where all things were in redinesse in triumphant sort.’ Then water was brought them to washe, and they placed at the Table, were serued with many delicate meates in magnificent and royall order, in such wise, as if the Emperour himselfe had bene there, he could not haue bene better entertained. And albeit that Saladine and his companiōs were great Lordes, & accustomed to sée maruellous things, yet they wondred very much at this, considering the degrée of the Knight, whome they knewe to be but a Citizen and no Prince or great Lord. When dinner was done, and that [Page] they had talked a little togither, ye weather waring very hot, the gentlemen of Pauie, (as it pleased master Thorello) went to take their rest, & he remained with his thrée guests: with whome he went into a chāber, where to the entent ye nothing which he had & loued might be vnsene, caused his honest wife to be called forth: who being very beautiful & wel fauored, clothed in rich & costly aray, accōpanied with hir two yong sonnes, which were like to Angels, came before them, and gratiously saluted them. When they saw hir, they rose vp, & reuerently receiued hir, then they caused hir to syt downe in the mids of thē, sporting & dalying with hir two faire sonnes. But after she had pleasantly entred in talk, she asked thē of whence they were, and whither they were going? To whom the Gentlemen made the same answere that they had done before to master Thorello. ‘Then the gentlewoman sayd vnto them with smiling chéere: I perceiue then, that mine aduise being a woman, is come well to passe. And therfore I pray you, that of your special grace you wil do me this pleasure, as not to refuse or disdain the litle present that I shal bring before you, but that you take it, in consideration that women according to their little abilitie, giue little things, and that ye regard more the good affection of the person which offreth the gift, then the balue of the giuen thing.’ And causing to be brought before euery of them two faire roabes, the one lined with silk, & the other with Meneuair, not in fashion of a citizin, or of a marchant, but Noblemanlike, & [...]. Turkey gownes wt sleues of taffata, lined with linnē cloth, she said vnto thē: ‘Take I pray you these roabes, with the like wherof this day I apparelled my husband, and the other things may also serue your turnes, although they be little worth, cō sidering ye ye be far from your [...], & the greatnesse of your iorney, which you haue taken, & haue yet to make, [Page] and also for that marchant men loue to be neat and [...] in things appertinent to their bodies.’ The Gentlemen much maruelled, and plainly knew that master Thorello was disposed not to sorget any one part of curtesie towards them, and doubted (by reason of the beautie and richesse of the robes not marchantlike,) that they should not be knowne of master Thorello, notwithstāding one of them answered the Gentlewoman: These be (Gentlewoman) very great gifts, and ought not lightly to be accepted, if your intreatie did not constrayne vs, against which no deniall ought to be made. That done, whē master Thorello returned into the chamber, the Gentlewoman [...] them a Dieu, and went hir way: and then she furnished the seruaunts with diuers other things necessary for them, and master Thorello obtained by earnest request, that they should [...] all that day. Wherefore after they had reasted them selues a while, they did put on their robes, and walked forth on horsebacke into the Citie: and when supper tyme was come, they were bountifully feasted in honorable companie: and whē bed time approched, went to rest. And so soone as it was day, they rose, & found in stead of their weary hackneyes, thrée fat and faire [...], and also the like number of fresh and mightie horsses for their seruaunts: Which Saladine séeing, turned towards his companions, and said vnto thē: ‘I sweare by God that there was neuer a more liberall Gentleman, more courteous or better conditioned than this is. And if Christian kings for their part be suche, I meane indued with such kingly qualities as this gentleman is, the Souldan of Babilon shall haue inough to doe to deale with one, and not to attend for all those which we sée to be in preparation for inuasion of his Countrie.’ But séeing that to refuse them or render them again, serued to no purpose, they thanked him very humbly, and [Page] got vpō their horsse, Master Thorello with many of his friends, accompanied them out of the Citie a great péece of the way: And albeit that it much grieued Saladine to depart from master Thorello (so farre he was already in loue with him,) yet being constrained to forgo his company, he prayed him to returne, who although very loth to depart, sayd vnto them: ‘Syrs, I will be gone, sith it is your pleasure I shall so doe, and yet I say vnto you, that I know not what you be, ne yet demaūd to know, but so farre as pleaseth you. But what soeuer ye be, you shall not make me beleue at this tyme, that ye be marchantes, and so I bid you farewell.’ Saladine hauing taken his leaue of all them that were in companie with maister Thorello, aunswered him: ‘Syr, it may come to passe, that we may let you sée our marchandise, the better to confirme your belefe: And fare you also heartily well.’ Saladine then and his companions being departed, assuredly determined if he liued, and that the warres he looked for did not let him, to doe no lesse honor to master Thorello, then he had done to him, & fell into great talke with his companions of him, of his wife & of his things, actes and déedes, greatly praising all his entertainment. But after he had serched by great trauaile all the West parts, imbarking him self and his company, he returned to Alexandria, and throughly informed of his enimies indeuors, prepared for his defence. Master Thorello returned to Pauie, and mused a long time what these thrée were, but he neuer drew nere, ne yet arriued to [...] truth. When the time of the appointed passage made by the Christians was come, and that great preparation generally was made, master Thorello notwithstanding the [...] and prayers of his wife, was fully bent to goe thither, and hauing set all things in order for that voyage, and ready to get on horsbacke, he sayd vnto hir whome [Page] he perfectlye loued. ‘Swéete wife, I am going as thou séest, this iourney, aswell for mine honoure sake, as for health of my soule. I recommende vnto you our goodes and honoure. And bicause I am not so certaine of returne, for a thousand accidents that may chaunce, as I am sure to goe, I pray thée to do me this pleasure, that what so euer chaunceth of me, if thou haue no certaine newes of my life, that yet thou tarie one yeare, one moneth, and one day before thou marry againe, the same terme to begin at the daye of my departure. The Gentlewoman which bitterly wept, answered: I know not deare husbād how I shal be able to beare the sorow wherein you leaue me, if you goe away. But if my life be more strong and sharpe, than sorow it self: and whether you liue or die, or what so euer come of you, I will liue and die the wife of master Thorello, and the onely spouse of his remembrance. Whereunto master Thorello sayd: Swéete wife, I am more than assured that touching your selfe, it will proue as you doe promise. But you be a yong woman, faire, and well allied, and your vertue is great and wel knowne throughout the Countrey: by reason wherof I doubt not, but that many great personages & Gentlemen (if any suspition be conceiued of my death) wyll make requestes to your brethren and kinred, from whose pursute (although you be not disposed,) you can not defend your selfe, and it behoueth that of force, you please their will, which is the onely reason that moueth me to demaund that terme, and no longer time. The Gentlewoman sayd: I will doe what I can for fulfilling of my promise. And albeit in end that I shal be constrained to doe otherwise, be assured that I will obey you in the charge which now you haue giuen me: I humbly thanke almightye God, for that he neuer brought vs into these termes before this tyme. Their [Page] talke ended, the Gentlewoman wéeping, embraced master Thorello, and drawing a ring from hir finger, she gaue it him, saying: If it chaunce that I die before I sée you, remember me when you shall beholde the same.’

He receiuing the ring, got vp vpon his horsse, and taking his leaue, went on his voyage, and arriued at Geuoua, he shipped him selfe in a Galley, and toke his way, whereunto winde and weather so fauoured, as within fewe dayes he landed at Acres, and ioyned with the armye of the Christians: wherein began a great mortalitie and Plague, during which infection (what so euer was the cause) eyther by the industrie or fortune of Saladine, the rest of the Christians that escaped were almost taken and surprised by hym, without any fighte or blowe stricken. All which were imprysoned in many Cities, and deuided into diuers places, amongs which prisoners master Thorello was one, who was caried prisoner to Alexandria where being not knowne, and fearing to be knowne, forced of necessitie, gaue himselfe to the kéeping of Hawkes, a qualitie wherein he had very good skill, whereby in the end he grewe to the acquaintance of the Souldan, who for that occasion (not knowing him that time) tooke him out of prison, and retained him for his Fawconer. Master Thorello which was called of the Souldan by none other name than Christian, whome he neyther knewe, ne yet the Souldan hym, had none other thing in his minde and remembraunce but Pauie, and manye times assayed to escape and run away. But he neuer came to the point. Wherfore diuers Ambassadoures from Genoua being come to Saladine, to raunsome certaine of their prisoners, and being ready to returne, he thought to wryte vnto his wife, to let hir know that he was aliue, and that he would come home so soone as he coulde, praying hir to tarie his retourne. [Page] Which was the effect of his letter: very earnestly desiring one of the ambassadoures of his acquaintance to doe so much for him as safely to deliuer those letters to yt hands of the Abbot of S. Pietro in ciel Doro, which was his vncle. And master Thorello standing vpon these termes, it chaunced vpon a day as Saladine was talking wt him of his Hawkes, master Thorello began to smile and to make a [...] with his mouth, which Saladine being at his house at Pauie did very wel note, by which act Saladine began to remember master Thorello, and earnestly to viewe him, and thought that it was he in déede. Wherefore leauing his former talke, he sayd: ‘Tell me Christian, of what countrey art thou in the West parts? Spy sayd master Thorello, I am a Lombarde, of a Citie called Pauie, a poore man and of meane estate.’ So soone as Saladine heard that, as assured wherof he doubted, said to him selfe: ‘God hath giuen me a time to let thys man know how thankfully I accepted his curtesie that he vsed towardes me, and without any more woords, hauing caused all his apparell in a chamber to be set in order, he brought him into the same & sayd: behold Christian, if amongs al these roabes, there be any one which thou hast séene before.’ Master Thorello began to looke vpon them, and saw those which his wyfe had giuen to Saladine: but he could not beleue that it was possible that they should be the same, notwithstanding he answered: ‘Sir I know them not, albeit my minde giueth me that these twaine do resemble the roabes which sometimes I ware, & caused them to be giuen to thrée marchaunt men that were lodged at my house. Then Saladine not able to forbeare any longer, tēderly imbraced him, saying: you be master Thorello de Istria, and I am one of the thrée marchantes to whome your wife gaue those roabes: and nowe the time is come to make you certenly beleue what my marchandise [Page] is, as I tolde you when I departed [...] you that it might come to passe.’ Master Thorello hearing those woordes, began to be bothe ioyfull and ashamed, ioyfull for that he had entertained such a guest, & ashamed that his fare and lodging was so simple. ‘To whome Saladine sayd: master Thorello, [...] it hathe pleased God to send you hither, thynke from henceforth that you be Lorde of this place and not I, and making great chéere, and reioysing one with an other, he caused him to be cloathed in royall vestures, and brought him into the presence of all the Noble men of his country: and after he had rehersed many things of his valor and commendation, commaū ded him to be honoured as his owne person, of all those which desired to haue his fauor.’ Which thing euery mā did from that time forth: but aboue the rest, the two Lords that were in company with Saladine at his house. The greatnesse of the sodein glory wherin master Thorello sawe him selfe, did remoue out of his minde his affaires of Lombardie, and specially, bicause he hoped that his letters shold trustely be deliuered to the hands of his vncle. Now there was in the camp of the Christians the day wherein they were taken by Saladine, a Gentleman of Prouince, which died and was buried, called master Thorello de Dignes, a man of great estimation: wherby (master Thorello of Istria, knowne throughout ye whole army for his nobility and prowesse) euery mā that heard tell that master Thorello was dead, beleued that it was master Thorello de Istria, and not he de Dignes, & by reason of his taking, the truth whether of them was deade, was vnknown. Wherfore many Italians returned with those newes, amongs whome some were so presumptuous, as they toke vpon them to say and affirme that they sawe him deade, and were at his burial. Which knowne to his wife & his friends, was an occasion of very great [Page] and inestimable sorow, not only to them: but to all other that knew him.

Uery long it were to tell in what sort, and how great sorow, heauinesse, and lamentings hys wife did vtter, who certaine moneths after she had continually so tormented hir self, (and when hir griefe began to decrease, being demaunded of many great personages of Lombardie,) was counselled by hir brothers, and other of hir kin, to mary againe. Which thing after she had many times refused, in very great anguishe and dolor, finally being constrained thereunto, she must néedes folow the mindes of hir parents. But yet vpon condition, that the nuptials shold not be celebrate vntill such time as she had performed hir promise made to master Thorello. Whilest the affaires of this Gentlewoman were in those termes at Pauie and the time of hir appoyntment within eight dayes approched, it chaunced that master Thorello vpon a day espied a man in Alexandria, (which he had séene before, in the company of the Ambassadors of Genoua,) going into the galley that was bound with them to Genoua: wherefore causing him to be called, he demaunded what voyage they had made, and asked him when they arriued at Genoua? To whome he sayd: Syr the Galley made a: very ill voyage as I heard say in Creta, where I remained behinde them, for being néere the coast of Dicilia, there arose a maruellous tempest, which droue the galley vpon the shoare of Barbarie, and not one of them within borde escaped, amongs whome two of my brethren were likewise drowned. Master Thorello giuyng credite to the woords of this fellow, which were very true, and remembring him selfe that the terme which he had couenaunted with his wife was almost expired, and thinking that they could hardly come by the knowledge of any newes of him or of his state, beleued verily that [Page] his wife was maried againe, for sorow wherof he fel into such melancholy, as he had no lust to eate or drinke, and laying him downe vpon his bed, determined to die: which so soone as Saladine, (who greatly loued him) did vnderstand, he came to visite him, and after that he had (through instant request) known the occasion of his heauinesse and disease, he blamed him very muche for that he did no sooner disclose vnto him his conceipt. And afterwards prayed him to be of good chéere, assuring him if he would, so to prouide, as he should be at Pauie, iust at the terme which he had assigned to his wife: and declared vnto him the order how. Master Thorello geuing credit to the woords of Saladine, and hauing many times heard say, that it was possible, and that the like had bene many times done, began to comfort him selfe, and to vse the cō pany of Saladine, who determined fully vpon his voyage and returne to Pauie. Then Saladine commaunded one of his Necromancers, (whose science already he had well experienced) that he should deuise the meanes how master Thorello might be borne to Pauie in one night, vpon a bed. Whereunto the Necromancer answered, that it should be done, but that it behoued for the better doing thereof, that he should be cast into a sléepe. And when Saladine had giuen order therunto, he returned to master Thorello, and finding him fully purposed to be at Pauie if it were possible at the terme which he had assigned; or if not, to die: sayd thus vnto him.

‘Master Thorello, if you doe heartily loue your wife, and doubt least shée be married to an other, God forbyd that I should stay you by any manner of meanes, bicause of all the women that euer I sawe, she is for maners, comely behauiour; and decent order of apparell, (not remembring hir beautie, which is but a fading floure) me thinke most worthy to be praysed and loued. [Page] A gladsome thing it wold haue bene to me (sith fortune sent you hither) that the tyme which you and I haue to liue in this world, we might haue spent together, and liued Lordes of the kingdome which I possesse, & if God be minded not to doe me that grace, at least [...] sith you be determined either to die or to returne to Pauie, at the terme which you haue appointed, my great desire is, that I might haue knowne the same in time, to the intēt you might haue bene conducted thither with such honor and traine as your vertues do deserue.’ Which sith God wil not that it be brought to passe, and that you will néedes be there presently, I will send you as I can in manner before expressed. Wherunto master Thorello said: ‘Sir, the effect (bisides your woordes) hath done me sufficient knowledge of your good will, which I neuer deserued, & that which you told me, I can not beléeue, so long as life is in me, and therefore am most certaine to die. But sith I am so determined, I beséeche you to do that which you haue promised out of hand: bicause to morrow is the last day of the appointmēt assigned to my wife.’ Saladine said, that for a truthe the same should be done: And the next day the Souldan purposing to send him the nyght following, he caused to be made redy in a great hall a very fair and rich bed, all quilted according to their manner (with veluet and clothe of gold, and caused to be laide ouer the same, a Couerlet wrought ouer wt borders of very great pearles, & rich precious stones: which euer afterwardes was déemed to be an infinite treasure, and two pillowes sutelike vnto that bed: that done, he commaunded that they should inuest master Thorello, (who nowe was [...]) with a Sarazineroabe, the richest and fairest thing that euer any man saw, & vpon his head one of his longest bands, wreathen according to their māner, & being alredy late in the Euening, he and diuers of his Barons [Page] went into the chamber wher master Thorello was, and being set downe bisides hym, in wéeping wise he began to say: ‘Master Thorello, the time of our separation doth now approche, and bicause that I am not able to accompany you, ne cause you to be waited vpon, for the qualitie of the way which you haue to passe, I must take my leaue here in this chāber, for which purpose I am come hither. Wherefore before I bid you farewel, I pray you for the loue and friendship that is betwene vs, that you do remēber me if it be possible before our dayes do end, after you haue giuen order to your affaires in Lombardie, to come againe to sée me before I die, to the end that I being reioyced with your second visitation, may be satisfied of the pleasure which I loose this day for your vntimely hast: & trusting that it shall come to passe, I pray you let it not be tedious vnto you to visite me with your letters, and to require me in things wherein it may like you to commaunde, which assuredly I shall accomplishe more frankly for you, than for any other liuing man.’

Master Thorello was not able to retaine his teares: wherefore to staye the same, he answered him in fewe woordes, that it was impossible that euer he should forget his benefites, and his worthy friendship extended vpon him, and that without default he wold accomplish what he had commaūded, if God did lend him life and leysure Then Saladine louingly imbracing & kissing him, pouring forth many teares, bad him farewell, and so went out of the chamber. And all the other Noble men afterwards tooke their leaue likewise of him, & departed with Saladine into the hall where he had prepared the bed, but being already late, and the Necromancer attending, and hasting his dispatch, a Phisitian brought him a drinke, & made him beleue that it would fortifie & strengthen him in his iorney, causing him to drinke the same: which being [Page] done, within a while after he fell a sléepe, and so sléeping was borne by the commaundement of Saladine, and layde vpon the faire bed, whereupon he placed a rich and goodly crowne of passing price and valor, vpō the which he had ingrauen so plaine an inscription, as afterwards it was knowne that the same was sent by Saladine to the wife of master Thorello.

After that he put a King vpon his finger, whych was beset with a Diamonde, so shining, as it séemed like a flaming torche, the value whereof was hard to be estéemed. Then he caused to be girte about him, a sworde, the furniture and garnishing whereof, coulde not easily he valued: and bisides all this, he hong vpon his [...] a Tablet or Brooche beset wyth stones and Pearles, that the like was neuer séene. And afterwards he placed on either of hys sides, two excéeding great Golden basens, full of double Ducates, and many Cordes of Pearles and rings, girdles, and other things to tedious to reherse, wherewith he bedecked the place about him. Which done, [...] kissed him againe, and wylled the Necromancer to make hast. Wherefore incontinently master Thorello, and the bed in the presence of Saladine was caried out of sight, and Saladine taried still, deuising and talking of him amongs his Barons. Master Thorello being now laide in S. Peters Church at Pauie, according to his request, with all his Jewels and habillimēts aforesaid about him, & yet fast a slepe, the Sexten to ring to Mattens, entred the Churche with light in his hand: and chauncing sodenly to espie the rich bed, did not only maruell thereat, but also ran away in great feare. And when the Abbot and the Monkes saw that he made suche hast away, they were abashed, and asked the cause why he ran so fast? The Sexten tolde them the matter. Why how now sayd the Abbot? ‘Thou art not suche a [Page] Babe, ne yet so newly come vnto the Churche, as thou oughtest so lightly to be afraide. But let vs goe and sée what bugge hath so terribly frayed thée.’ And then they lighted many Torches. And when the Abbot and his Monkes were entred the Church, they sawe that wonderfull rich bed, and the Gentleman sléeping vpon the same. And as they were in this doubt and feare, beholding the goodly Jewels, and durst not goe néere the bed, it chaunced that master Thorello awaked, [...] a great sighe. The Monkes so soone as they saw that, and the Abbot with them, ran all away crying out, God help vs, our Lord haue mercy vpon vs.

Master Thorello opened his eyes, and plainely knew by looking round about him, that he was in the place where he demaunded to be of Saladine whereof he was very gladde, and rising vp, and viewing particularlye, what he had about him, albeit he knew before the magnificence of Saladine, now he thought it greater and better vnderstoode the same, than before. But séeing the Monkes run away, and knowing the cause wherefore, he begā to call the Abbot by his name, and intreate him not to be afraide. For he was master Thorello his Neuewe. The Abbot hearing that, was dryuen into a greater feare, bicause hée was accompted to be deade dyuerse moneths before: but afterwards by diuerse arguments, assured that he was master Thorello, and so often called by hys name (making a signe of the Crosse) he went vnto him. To whome master Thorello sayd: ‘Whereof be you afraide good father? I am aliue I thanke God, and from beyond the Sea returned hither.’ The Abbot (although he had a great bearde, and apparelled after the guise of Arabie) crossed him selfe againe, and was well assured that it was he. Then he tooke hym by the hand, and sayd vnto him as foloweth.

[Page]

‘My sonne thou art welcome home, and maruell not, that we were afraid: for there is none in all this Citie, but doth certainly beleue that thou art dead. In so much as madame Adalietta thy wife, vāquished with the prayers and threates of hir friendes and kin, against hir will is betrouthed againe, and this day the espousals shall be done. For the mariage, and all the preparation necessary for the feast, is ready.’ Master Thorello rising out of the rich bed, and reioysing with the Abbot & all his Monks, prayed euery of them not to speake one word of his comming home, vntill he had done what he was disposed.

Afterwards placing all his rich Iewels in suretie and sauegard, he discoursed vnto his vncle what had chaunced vnto him, till that time. The Abbot ioyful for his fortune, gaue thankes to God. Then master Thorello demaūded of his vncle, what he was that was betrouthed to hys wife. The Abbot tolde him. To whome master Thorello sayd: ‘Before my returne be knowne, I am desirous to sée what countenance my wife wil make at the mariage. And therefore, albeit that the religious doe not vse to repaire to such feasses, yet I pray you for my sake take paine to goe thither.’ The Abbot answered that he wold willingly doe so. And so soone as it was day, he sent woord to the bridegrome, that he, and a frend of his, wold be at the mariage: wherunto the gentleman answered that he was very glad thereof. When dinner time was come, master Thorello in the habite and apparel wherin he was, went with the Lord Abbot to the wedding dinner, where euery of them that saw him, did maruellously beholde him, but no man knew him, bicause the Abbot answered them that inquired, that he was a Sarazene, sent Ambassador from the Souldan to the French king. Master Thorello was then placed at a table which was right ouer against his wife, whome he beheld with great [Page] pleasure and delight, and perceiued very wel by hir face that she was not well content with that mariage. She likewise beheld him sometimes, not for any knowledge she had of him, for his great beard and straunge attire: the firme credite and generall opinion also that he was dead, chiefly hindred that. But when master Thorello thought time to proue whether she had any remembrance of him, be secretely conueyed into his hand, ye ring which she gaue him at his departure, and called a litle boy that wayted vpon hir, and sayd vnto him: ‘Goe tell the bride in my behalfe, that the custome of my countrey is, that when any Straunger (as I am here) is hydden by any newe maried woman (as she is now,) for a token of his welcome, she sendeth vnto him the cup wherein she drinketh full of wine, wherof after the stranger hath dronke what pleaseth him, he couereth the cup againe, and sendeth the same to the bryde, who drinketh the rest that remaineth.’ The page did his message vnto the bride, who like a wise Gentlewoman well brought vp, thinking he had ben some great personage, to declare yt he was welcome, commaunded a standing cup all gilt, standing before hir, to be washed cleane, & to be filled full of wine, & caried to the Gentleman, which accordingly was done. Master Thorello hauing put into his mouthe the aforesaid ring, secretely let fal the same into the cup as he was drinking, not perceiued of any mā, to the intent that she drinking the latter draught, might espy the ring. When he had dronke, he returned the cup vnto the bride, who thankfully receiued the same. And for that the manner of his countrey might bée accomplished, when the cup was deliuered vnto hir, she vncouered the same, & pledging the rest of the wine, beheld the ring, & without speaking any woord, well viewed the same, and knowing that it was the very ring which she had giuen to master Thorello, [Page] when he departed, tooke it out. And [...] [...] marke and looke vpon him, whome she supposed to be a straunger, & already knowing him, tried out as though she had bene straught of hir wittes, throwing downe the Table before hir: ‘this is my Lord and husband, this is of trouth Master’ Thorello: and running to the Table where he sate, without respect to his apparell of cloth of golde, or to any thing that was vpon the table, preassing so néere him as she could, imbraced him very harde, not able to remoue hir hands from about his necke for any thing-that could be sayd or done by the companie that was there, vntill Master Thorello required hir to forbeare for that present, for so much as shée should haue leysur inough to vse hir further imbracements. Then she left him, and contented hir selfe for the time: but the [...] and mariage was wholly troubled and appalled for that sodain chaunce, & the most part of the guests excéedingly reioysed for the returne of that Noble knight. Then the company being intreated to sit still, and not to remoue, Master Thorello rehearsed in open audience what had chaunced vnto him from the day of his departure vntill that time, concluding with a petition to the Bridegrome, that had newly espoused his wife, that he would not be displeased if he tooke hir againe. The newe maried Gentleman, albeit it grieued him very sore, and thought him selfe to be mocked, answered liberally and like a friend, that it was in his power to doe with his owne what he thought best. The Gentlewoman drawing of the rings and garland which she had receyued of hir new husband, did put vpon hir finger the ring which she found within the cup, and likewise the Crowne that was sent vnto hir by Saladine. And the whole troupe and assemblie leauing the house where they were, went home with master Thorello and his wife, and there the [Page] kin and friends, and all the Citizens which haunted the same, and regarded it for a myracle, were with long feasting and great cheare in great ioy and triumph.

Master Thorello departing some of his precious Iewels to him that had bene at the cost of the marriage, likewise to the Lord Abbot and diuerse others, and hauing done Saladine to vnderstād his happy repaire home to his [...], recommending him selfe for euer to his commaundement, liued with his wife afterwardes many prosperous yeres, vsing the vertue of curtesie more than euer he did before.

Such was the end of the troubles of master Thorello, and his welbeloued wife, and the recompence of their franke and honest curtesies.

[Page]

Anne the Queene of Hungarie
The. xxj. Nouel.

¶ A Gentleman of meane calling and reputation, dothe fall in loue with ANNs, the Queene of HVNGARIS, whom she [...] royally and liberally requited.

FOlowing the preceding argumentes treated in certain of yt former Nouels: I wil now discourse the princely kindnesse & curtesie done to a poore Gentleman, by a Ladie of later dayes, Anne the Quene of Hungarie, whiche Gentleman, though beyōd his reach to catch what he aspired, fell in loue with that bountiful and vertuous Gentlewoman, thinking (bylike) that she in end would haue abased hir Maiestie, to recline to his vain and doting trauaile. But she like a Quéene, not despising ye poore mans loue, vouchsafed by familiar spéeche to poure some drops of comfort into his louing minde, and once to proue, on whome hée fixed his fansie, reached him a nosegay, and prayed him to bestowe it vpon whome he liked best. All which familiar dealings she vsed, to kepe the poore pacient from dispaire, that so highly had placed him selfe. But in end perceiuing his continuance, [Page] wold not reiect and giue him ouer, or with scornes and floutes contemne the amorous gentleman: and that long loue might gaine some deserued guerdon, she neuer left him vntill she had preferred him to a Noble office in Spayne. The noble disposition of this chast and gentle Quéene, I thought good to adioyne next to that of master Thorello and Saladine: who for curtesie and passing mutual kindnesse, are worthy of remembrance. And for you noble Dames for a Christall to sharpen your sights, and viewe the recompence of loue, done by a Quéene of passing beautie, and yet most chast & vertuous, that it might somewhat touch your squeymish stomakes and haultie hearts, & lenifie that corrosiue humor, which with frowning face, forceth you to ouerperke your humble suppliants. A helping preseruatiue I hope this Historie shal be to imbolden you to yeld your noble endeuors to Gentlemen, that loue you, in sutes and petitions to their prince and soueraigne. An incoragement (I hope) to be mediators for such, as by seruice and warfare haue confirmed their faithfull deuoirs for defense of their Countrey. Remember the care the Romane matrones had for those that deserued well of their Common wealth: as howe they mourned for Lucius Brutus one whole yeres space, for his good reuenge ouer the rauishers of Lucrece: & for Martius Coriolanus, for his pietie and mothers sake, discharging his Countrey from the enimies siege. Let mistresse Paolina of the priuie chābre to this Quene Anne, render example for prefermēt of such as be worthy to be cherished and estéemed. O how Liberalitie be séemeth a Quéene, no lesse (as one maketh comparison) than the bright beames the Sunne, or the twinkling starres in the firmament. Oh how diligence in Gentlewomen, aduaunced to Princes chambres, no lesse than the gréene leaues to braunched trées, or diuers coloured floures in [Page] Nosegayes. So flourishing be the fruites that bud from liberalitie, and freshe the benifites that [...] of the painfull trauailes sustained in the suites of seruiceable Gentlemen. This Philippo whome the Quéene preferred, and liberally rewarded, was a meane Gentleman, but yet learned & well furnished with commendable qualities. His deserued aduaūcement may stirre vp eche Gitle heart, to merite and serue in Common wealth. His learning & other vertues may awake the sluggish courtier, from loytering on Carpets, and doing things vnséemely: His diligence also reuiue the blockish sprites of some that route their time in sluggish sléepe, or wash the day in hariotrie and other [...] exercise. Whose exam ple if they practise, or imitate such commentable life as becommeth their estates, then glory will followe their déedes, as the shadow doeth the body. Then welfare and liuelihoode aboundantly shal be ministred to supply want of patrimonie or defect of parents portion. And thus the Historie doth begin.

Not long sithens Quéene Anne, the sister of Levves, that was king of Hungarie, & wife to Ferdinando Archeduke of Austriche, (which at this day is parcell of the kingdome of Hungarie and Boeme,) togither wyth the Lady Mary daughter of Philip king of Spaine, and wife of the sayd Levves, went to kéepe hir abode, and so orne in Hispurge, a Countrey among the Dutche very famous, where many times the Court of the Hungarian Princes long space remayned. These two Noble Quéenes remained wythin the Palace of king Maximilian, Emperoure at that time elected, which Palace is so néere adioyning to the Cathedrall Church, as without sight of the people at their pleasure they might by a secrete Gallerie passe to the Church to heare diuine [Page] seruice accustomably celebrated there. Which vse they daily obserued with their Ladies and Gentlewomen, and other Lordes and Gentlemen of the Court. In which Church was made and erected a high place in manner of a Closet gorgeously wrought, and in royall manner apparelled of such amplitude as it was hable to receyue the whole traine and companie attendant vpon the Persons of the two Quéenes. Nowe it came to passe that a Gentleman of Cromona in Italie called Philippo di Nicuoli, which in those dayes by reason of the recouerie of the Duchie of Milane, by the Frenche, departed Lombardie, and went to Hispurge, and was Secretarie to Signor Andrea Borgo, bicause hée was well learned, and coulde wryte very faire, and therewithall a proper and very handsome man. This yong Gentleman very much frequenting the Church, and séeing the beautie of Quéene Anne to excell all the reast of the Ladies, adorned and garnished with Princely behauioure and Quéene like qualities, not foreséeing (when he beheld hir) the nature of loue which once being possessed, neuer leaueth the pacient till it hath infebled his state, like the qualitie of poyson, distilling through the vaines, euen to the heart. Which louing venim this Gentleman did drinke with the lookes of his eyes, to satisfy and content his desired minde by viewing and intentife considering hir wonderfull beautie, that rapt beyonde measure, he was miserably intangled wyth the snares of blinde and deceitfull loue, wherewith he was so cruelly inflamed, that hée was like to sorte out of the boundes of reason and wytte. And the more hée did beholde the highnesse of hir Maiestie, and the excellency of so great a Lady, and ther withal did weigh and cōsider his base degrée [Page] and lignage, and the poore state whereunto srowarde [...] that time had brought him, yt more he thought him selfe [...] and voide of hope, and the more the yerillous flames of loue did assaile & fire his amorous heart, kindling his inward partes with loue so déepely ingraffed, as it was impossible to be rooted out. Master Philippo then in this maner (as you haue heard) knotted and intrapped within the fillets and laces of loue, supposing all labour which he should imploy to be lost & consumed, throughly bent him selfe, with all care and diligence to atchieue this high & honorable enterprise, what so euer should come of it: which effectually he pursued. For alwayes when yt [...] were at church to heare diuine seruice, he failed not to be there. And hauing done his [...] reuerence, which very comely he could doe, he [...] to bestow him selfe [...] ouer against hir: where deliting in the beautie of the Quéene, which daily more & more inflamed his heart, [...] not depart from thence, till the Quéenes were disposed to goe. And if perchaunce for some occasion, the Quéenes went not to Church, master Philippo for all that (were his businesse neuer so great and néedeful) would vouchsafe at least wise to visit the place, where he was wont to sée his Ladie. Suche is the ordinarie force of loue, that although libertie of sight and talke be depriued from the pacient, yet it doeth him good, to treade in the steps of that ground where his mistresse doth vsually haunt, or to sée the place vpon which she eased hir tender corps, or leaned hir delicate elbowes. This yong man baited and fed in amorous toyes & deuises, now armed with hope, and by and by disarmed by despair, reuoluèd in his minde a thousand thoughts and cogitations. And although he knew that his ladder had not steps [...] to clime so high, yèt from his determined purpose he was not able to remoue: but rather the more [Page] difficult and daungerous his enterprise séemed to be, the more grew desire to prosecute and obiect him selfe to all dangers. If peraduenture the Quéenes for their disport and pastime were disposed to walke into the fieldes or gardens of the Citie of Hispurge, he failed not in company of other Courtiers to make one of the troupe, being no houre at rest and [...] if he were not in the sight of Quéene Anne, or néere yt place where she was. At that time there were many Gentlemen departed from Lombardie to Hispurge, which for the most parte followed the Lord Francesco Sforza the second, by whom they hoped, when the Duchie of Milane was recouered, to be restored to their Countrey. There was also Chamberlain to the said Lord Francesco, one master Girolamo Borgo of Verona, betwene whome and master Philippo, was very néere friendship & familiaritie. And bicause it chauncethvery seldome, that seruent loue, can be kept so secrete and couert, but in some part it will discouer it selfe, master Borgo easily did perceiue the passion wherwith master Philippo was inflamed. And one master Philippo Baldo many times being in the company of master Borgo and Philippo, did marke and perceiue his loue, & yet was ignorant of the truthe, or voide of coniecture with what Gentlewoman he was inamored. But séeing him contrary to wonted custome altered, & from vsual mirth transported, fetching many sighes & strainings from his stomake, and marking how many times he wold steale from the cōpany he was in, & withdraw him self alone, to muse vpon hys thoughts, brought thereby into a melancholy and meane estate, hauing lost his sléepe, and [...] of eating meat: iudged that the amorous wormes of [...] [...] bitterly gnawe and teare his heart wyth the nebs of their forked heads. They three then being vpon a time togither, debating of diuers things amōgs them selues, [Page] chaunced to fall in argument of loue, and [...] Baldo & Borgo, the other gentlemen, said to master Philippo, how they were well assured that he was straūgely attached with that passion, by marking and considering the new life, which lately he led contrary to former vse, intreating him very earnestly, that he would manifest his loue to them, that were his déere and faithful frends, telling him that as in weightie matters otherwise hée was alredy sure what they were, euē so in this he might hardily repose his hope and confidence, promising him all their helpe and fauoure, if therein their indeuor and trauaile might minister ayde and comfort. He then like one raised from a traunce, or lately reuiued from an [...], after he hadde composed his countenaunce and gesture, with teares and multitude of sobbes, began to say these woordes: ‘My welbeloued friendes and trusty companiens, being right well assured that ye (whose sidelitie I haue already proued, & whose secrete mouthes be recómmended amongs the wise and vertuous, (will kéepe close and couert the thing which you shall heare me vtter, as of such importaunce, that if the yong [...] Gentleman Papyrius had bene héere, for all hys silence of graue matters required by hys mother, I would vnnethes haue disclosed the same vnto hym. In déede I cannot deny, but must néedes consesse that I am in loue, and that very ardently, which I cannot in suche wise conceale, but that the blinde must néedes clearely and euidently perceiue. And although my mouth would [...] kéepe close, in what plight my passions doe constraine my inwarde affections, yet my face and straunge manner of life, which for a certayne time and space I haue led, doe witnesse, that I am not the man I was [...] to be. So that if shortly I doe not amend, I trust [Page] to arriue to that ende whereunto euery Creature is borne, and that my bitter and paynefull life shall take ende, if I may call it a life, and not rather a liuyng death. I was resolued and throughly determined, neuer to discouer to any man the cause of my cruell torment, being not able to manifest the same to hir, whome I doe only loue, thinking better by conceling it through loue, to make humble sute to Lady Atropos, that shée would cutte of the thréede of my dolorous lyfe. Neuerthelesse to you, from whome I ought to kéepe nothyng secrete, I will disgarboile and [...] the very secretes of my minde, not for that I hope to finde comfort and reliefe, or that my passions by declaration of them, wil lessen and diminishe, but that ye, knowing the occasion of my death, may make reporte thereof to hir, that is the only mistresse of my life, that she vnderstanding the extréeme panges of the truest louer that euer liued, may mourne and waile his losse: which thing if my séely ghost may know, no doubt where so euer it doe wander, shall receiue great ioy and comforte. Be it knowne vnto you therefore, the first daye that mine eyes beheld the diuine beautie and incomparable sauer of that superexcellent Lady Quéene Anne of Hungarie, & that I (more than wisdom required) did meditate and consider the singular behauior and notable [...] and other innumerable gifts wherwith she is indued, the same beyònde measure did so inflame my heart, that impossible it was for me to quenche the feruent loue, or extinguish the least parte of my conceiued torment. I haue done what I can to macerate and mortifie my vnbridled desire, but all in vayne. My force and puissaunce is to weake to matche wyth so mightye an [...]. [...] [...], I knowe what ye wyll obiecte against me, [Page] ye will say that mine ignobilitie, my birth and stocke be no méete matches for such a personage, and that my loue is to highly placed, to sucke relief: And the same I do [...] so well as you. I doe acknowledge my condition & state too base, I confesse that my loue (nay rather I may terme it folly) doth presume beyond the bounds of order. For the first time that I felt my selfe wrapped in those snares, I knew hir to beare the port amōgs the chiefest Quéenes, & to be the [...] princesse of Christendom Againe, I knew my selfe the poorest Gentleman of the world and the most miserable exile. I thought moreouer it to be very vnséemely for me to direct my minde vpon a wight so honorable, and of so great estate. But who can raine the bridle, or prescribe lawes to loue? What is he that in loue hath frée will and choyse? Truely I beleue no man, bicause loue the more it doth séeme to accord in pleasure and delight, the further from the marke he shooteth his bolte, hauing no respect to degrée or state. Haue not many excellent and worthy personages, yea Dukes, Emperours and Kings, bene inflamed wyth the loue of Ladies, and women of base and vile degrée? Haue not most honorable dames, and women of greatest renoume despised the honor of their states, abandoned the companie of their husbāds, and neglected the loue of their children, for the ardent loue that they haue borne to men of inferiour sort? All Histories be full of examples of that purpose. The memories of our auncestors be yet in fresh remembraunce, whereof if they were ignorant vnto you that be of great experience, I could adnouche assured testimony. Yet thus much I say vnto you, that it séeme no new thing for a man to be ouercome by his owne affection: It is not the Nobilitie of hir state, or for that she is a Quéene, it is not the consideration of one parte or other, that moued me first hereunto. But loue it is, that [Page] is of greater force than we our selues be of, which many tymes maketh that to séeme lawfull, which altogether is tymes, and by subduing reason maketh the great potentate and lorde tributarie to his wil & pleasure, whose force is farre greater than the lawes of Nature. And albeit that I neuer hope to attayne to prosperous ende of this [...] and stately loue, which more & more doth seme infortunate, yet I can not for my life else where applie yt same, or alter it to other place. And consuming still through faithfull & feruent loue borne to the Quéene, I haue forced & cōstrained my self by al possible meanes to gyue ouer that fond & foolish enterprise, and to place my minde else where: but mine endeuour and all my labour and resistance is employed in vaine. Yea and if it were not for feare of eternall damnation, and the losse of my poore afflicted soule (which God forbid) mine owne handes before this time had ended my desires. I am therfore determined (sith that I can attaine to no successe of loue, and that god doth suffer me to be inspired with that most honourable and curteous Ladie, beyond al order and estimation) to content my selfe with the sight of those hir faire & glistring eyes, farre excelling yt sparcling glimpse of the Diamonde or Saphire, and to serue loue and honour hir, so long as life doth last within this féeble corps. Upon whose radiant and excelling beautie, my hope shal continually féede: and yet I am not so farre voyde of vnderstanding, but that I do most euidently know none other to be the guide of this vnmeasurable loue, but follie most extreme. Upon the ende of those wordes he let fall many teares, and stayed with sobbes and sighes was able to speake no more. And in very déede he that had séene him, wold haue thought that his heart had bene tormented with most bitter and painefull passions.’ Nowe they being very attentiue to his pitiful oration, were attached [Page] with incredible sorow, thinking thei had ben in a [...] by hering of this discourse, & stode stil a while one loking vpon an other, without speaking word. Afterwards comming to themselues, distraught almost, for the greatadmiration and wonder to heare him speake those words, master Girolamo and Baldo, with suasible arguments went about to persuade him to withdraw his [...] and foolishe mind, praying him to place the same elsewhere, shewing him the impossibilitie of his enterprise, & the great perill that might succéede therof. But they spake to a man that séemed to be deafe, who replied, that he neither coulde or would giue ouer his loue, that had alreadie made too depe impression, what so euer came of it. Notwithstandyng, they ceased not stil with sharp [...] to beate into his head, the fond beginning of his foolish loue: & not only at that time, but continually when they were together, they did their best by oft repetition of his vaine conceipt, to let him vnderstand his manifest error: but their labor and friendly lessons were to no purpose. Wherfore master Borgo & master Baldo, determined to giue him ouer, and to attende what wold succede therof. Master Philippo continuing his pursute, neuer failing to be at church, when he knew the Quéenes to be there, at length it chanced that they begā to espie his loue, for that both of them did mark his order, gesture and demeanure, and did note his oft frequētation of the places where they continually haunted, and his maner in placing himselfe at the church directly ouer against them, and his common vse in beholding and loking vpon their faces, iudgyng thereby that without doubte he was in loue with one of them, or at least with some Gentlewoman in their companie, wherof the two Quéenes began to vse some talk, although not certaine vpon whome his loue was [...]. Neuer thelesse they were desirous to know the truth, & expected [...] [Page] somtime to dissolue that doubt. In the meane while master Philippo thought by gazing on their beauty, to remoue the fire that miserably did consume the sucke & marow of his bones, séeking comfort and reliefe for his afflicted heart, the more I say he sought for ease, the greater he felt his pain. And truly al they that feruently do loue, aspire to that, which otherwise they wold eschue, by sight of them whom they do loue, not remembring that ye more they doe contemplate the beloued beautie, the more increaseth desire, and with desire [...] and bitter smart. Master Philippo then lost no occasiō or time stil to behold Madame ye Quéene, were it in the church or court, or wer she disposed for disport & recreation to walke abrode. It chaūced now while things wer at this point, ye ladies very desirous to know vpon whō master Philippo did expēd his loue, ye fortune opened vnto thē a meane to vnderstād the same. It was then about that time of ye yere, wherin all floures & roses were by Titans force constrained to [...] & deck eche gardens & place of pleasure, & with their fragrant smells & odors, to scent the same. In the moneth of May it was when ye Twinnes were disposed to shroud themselues amōgs the hawthorn boughes & honysuckles that yeld to euery wight gretest store of delights, at what time roses & other floures at their first budding be verie rare and scant, sauing in Kings Courts and princes palaces, where such rarieties by art and industrie be most abundant, and all men haue delight to present such nouelties to the best and principall ladies. Upon a day Quéene Anne had in hir hands certaine floures in due order couched in a Nosegay, and for hir disport walked vp & down a very faire & gorgeous garden, in the company of quene Mary, & other Ladies & gentlewomen, about that time of the day that the Sun werie of trauaile, went to hide him self in the back side of ye western moūtains: where amōgs [Page] other of the Court was maister Philippo. Quéene Anne when she had espied hym, determined to make proufe, with what ladie amongs them all, maister Philippo was in loue, and sporting hir selfe with softe walkes vp and downe the garden, pleasantly iesting with diuerse there attendante, (as the maner is of like ladies) with trimme and pleasant talke, at length happed vpon master Philippo, who although he was in cōmunication with certain Italian Gentlemen, neuerthelesse his mynde and eyes were fired vpon the Quéene, that when [...] she appered before him, his eyes and sace were so firmely bent vpon hir, as the beholder might easily perceiue, that the visage of the Quéene was the vndoubted harborough of his thought. Philippo, séeing the Quéene come toward him, did honor hir with gentle and dutiful reuerence, in such humble wise, as he séemed at hir hands pitifully to craue mercie. And truely who soeuer doth loue with secret and perfect heart, séemeth to vtter more wordes to his Lady with his eyes, than he is able to speake with tong. The Quéene beyng come vnto him with a grace right graue and demure, sayd vnto him: ‘You Gentleman of Lombardie, if these floures which we haue in our hands were giuen vnto you, liberally to vse at your pleasure, and required to make some curteous present of the same to one of vs the ladies here that liked you best, tell mée I pray you, to whether of vs would ye gyue the same, or what wold you do or say? Speake frankely we beséeche you, & tell your minde without respect: for thereby you shall doe to vs very great pleasure, and we shall know to whether of vs you beare your chiefest loue. For it is not to be supposed, that you being a yong man, can spende your time without loue, being a natural qualitie in euery creature.’ Whē master Philippo felt the swete voice of the Quéene pleasantly to pierce his eares, and hearde that he was cō maunded [Page] for the loue of hir that he loued, not only to tell whome he loued best and most entierly, but also hir whō he worshipped and serued in heart, was almoste bysides himselfe, such was the ioylitie and pleasure that he felt in his heart, whose face was tainted with a thousand colors and what for superfluous loue & ioy, whereof the like he neuer tasted before, fell into an extasie, not able to render answere. But when he had recouered stomack, so wel as he could with soft and trembling voice, he answered the Quéene in this wise: ‘Sith youre maiestie (to whome I I yeld mine humble thanks for that curtesie) hath vouchsafed to commaunde me (besides the infinite pleasure and honour, for which eternally I shal stande bound to your highnesse) I am readie sincerely and truely to disclose my minde, being promised by your maiestie in opening of the same, to deserue great thankes. Wherfore your pleasure beyng such, I do say then, with al due reuerence, that not onely here at this time, but at all times and places where it shall please God to appoint mée, beyng not able to bestow them in other sort than they be, but were they more precious and faire, the more ioyfull I shoulde be of them. These floures I say shall of me right humbly bée presented to your maiestie, not bicanse you be a Quéene and of a royall race (which notwithstandyng is a great vertue) but bicause you be a Phoenix, a rare Ladie, and of all the troupe the fairest, garnished with infinite gifts, and passing vertues, for your merites worthie to bée honoured with farre more excellent gifts, than these simple floures be, as she that (aboue al other ladies that liue at this day) is the honour and onely glorie of all womanhoode of our age, as she that is the Paragon péerelesse of the vniuersall worlde: when he had sayd those wordes, he helde his peace. The Quéene with great delight hearing the redy answere of the yong Gentleman, sayd vnto him: And we [Page] do giue you thanks for the great honor and commendation done vnto vs.’ When she had said so, without further talke, she went forth, vsing pleasant talke and sport with diuerse that waited vpon hir. Quéene Anne now vnderstode, and so likewise did Quéene [...], which of them the yong Lombard [...] did accept for his souerain Ladie, whose loue she disdained not, but in [...] minde rather cōmended, esteming him better than euer she did before: and like a discrete and wise Lady gaue him infinite praise. She did not nowe as other women woonte to do, who when they sée them selues of birth more noble, or of degrée more ample than their louers be (which gift they receiue through the fauor of the heauēs) do not onely despise thē, but mock them, & their faithful seruice, & many times with fained countenance & dissembled words do extoll them & set them vp aloft, & by and by almost with one breath, exchanging their fained praise into rebuke, they thrust them downe headlong from the tipe of hope & comfort, to the bottomlesse pit of despaire: and the fuller she is of floutes, the finer girle estemed. But farre better is she to be regarded, that not findyng in hir heart to loue hir suter, will frankely tell him at the first, that she can not like him, & fashion hir minde to loue him, requiring him not to féede his minde with vaine hope, or [...] the time with wordes and lokes, and pray him to séeke some other that can better fansie his person than she. And although perchance a man do very feruently loue a womā, and that it were greate sorrow and griefe vnto him to be cast of, and receiue suche refusall, yet in mine opinion it were lesse grief openly to receiue that repulse, than to be [...] vpon, and flattered with fained talke, and for the time choaked with the baite of vaine hope, & afterwards become ridiculous, and gired by the scornefull. I am assured, that the woman which giueth hir seruant such repulse, [Page] shall bée counted muche more cruell, than Maistresse Helena was to the scholer of Paris, after he was returned from the vniuersitie, to Florence, written by Boccaccio in his Decamerone, and hereafter in place described. But lette vs retourne to master Philippo, who although hée coulde not imagine ne conceiue the intent, wherefore Quéene Anne made that demaunde, yet the same was very dere and acceptable vnto him, vpon which he neuer thought, but felt great cōtentation in his mind, and was more iocunde and pleasant than hée was wonte to bée. On the other side, the Quéene, which was verie discrete and wyse, when she sawe Master Philippo, at the Church or other place, to make obeysaunce vnto hir, verie courteously requited the same, bowyng hir head to hym agayne, (which she neuer vsed but to Barons and Knightes of great reputation) declaryng thereby howe well in worth she regarded his reuerence made vnto hir. Whereat he receyued maruellous pleasure and delight, [...] for none other recompence at hir handes, than continuance of such curtesies and honourable [...]. Amongs certaine Italians that were vpon a daye assembled in the presence chaumber of Quéene Anne, waiting there vpon Madonna Barbara, the wyse of master Pietro Martire Stampa, who with hir two daughters were gone to salute the two Quéenes that wer that time together. There was also maister Philippo, with whom Borgo and Baldo, reasoned of diuerse matters: And as they were in talke, bothe the Quéenes came forth, which was the occasion, that all the Lordes and Gentlemen, attended, vpon whose approche, eche man rose vp, & [...] expected whyther the Quéenes woulde goe. Quéene. Anne [...] a [...] of Italians together, [...] Quéene [...], and wente streight to them, and very gently [...] of dyuerse of the Gentlemen, [Page] their names, and of what partes of Italie they were, then she came to the place where they. iii. were standing together, & curteously asked first master Girolamo, what his name was, of what countrey, & whether he were a Gentleman? To whom reucrentely he sayde, that his name was Girolamo Borgo, a Gentleman of Verona. Master Baldo likewise béeing demaunded the same, answered so well as he coulde, that he was a Gentleman borne, of an auncient house in Milane, and that his name was Philippo Baldo. When she had receiued their answere, with chéerefull and smiling countenance she turned to Master Philippo, inquiring of him also his name and countrey, and whether he were a Gentleman or not? ‘Whom master Philippo after his duetie done reuerently answered: Madame, my soueraine Ladie and onely maistresse, I am a Gentleman, and am called by the name of Philippo de i Nicuoli, of Cremona. The Queene making no further demaundes of any of the other Gentlemen, sayd to Master Philippo: You say true sir, I dare warrant that you be a Gentleman in dede, and he that said [...] contrary, shold declare him selfe to be voide of iudgement, what a Gentleman is.’ She sayde no more, but from thence with Quéene Mary and the whole traine she went to Church. All they that heard the Quéene speake those wordes, did wonder, and could not [...] what shée meant by them, notwithstanding [...] man thought that the Quéene bare to master Philippo singuler good will and [...]. He (as it was his custome) full of diuerse cogitations, whose [...] was building of great cities, went to Church, [...] him selfe in his [...] place, tossyng in his minde the Quéenes words spoken vnto him. And although he [...] not perceiue to what ende that honorable [...] had spoken them: yet he thought that hir maiestie had done him great honour. And verily the humanitie and curtesse of [Page] a Lady so excellent and [...] is [...] to be [...] with infinite praise and cōmendation, who being of high [...] and ligneage, and the wyfe of so greate a Prince that procéeded of the [...] Imperiall, not onely dyd not [...] to be beloued of a man of so base degrée, and banished from his owne house, but also with great care and diligence did deuise, and in effecte declare that shée was the same whom the Italian yong Gentleman did loue, as partly it was euidently to be perceiued, not for other purpose doubtlesse, but to do some noble déede couenable for the greatnesse of hir estate, & incident to the seruent loue of the amorous yong Gentleman, which afterwardes in very dede she accomplished. But howe many be there in these dayes, I doe not speake of Quéenes and Princesses, but of [...] and priuate Gentlewomen, that beyng of meane worship, indued with some shew of beautie, be without good conditions & vertue, who séeyng themselues beloued of some Gentlemen, not enriched with the goods of Fortune as they be, do scorne and mocke them, thynking them selues to good to be loked vpon, or [...] moued of vertuous loue, scornfully casting their face at one side, as though the suters were vnworthy their cōpanie: Now many likewise be possessed and ouerwhelmed with pride by reason nature more propicious vnto them than other, be descended of some great parentage, that will accompt a great iniurie done vnto them, if any other gentlemen beside those that be rich, do [...] to [...] them? Again a great numbre of [...] (I speake of them whose mindes do not aspire to same or honor, so that their delights and brauerie be mainteined) be of this trampe, that they [...] not whether their louers bée [...], well condicioned, [...] and gentle, but onely do regarde whether their pursses be full of money, or their shapes somewhat shoutefaire, not waying the [...] and good condicions [Page] of the minde, with a thousand other qualities that [...] to garnishe a Gentleman, whereby all Gentlemen [...] do growe beautifull, and bée enriched wyth greater perfections. Some other there be that fire their mindes vpon yong men, that bée of goodly persouage, although [...] of vertue or [...] behauiour, louyng rather a piece of flesh with two eyes in his head, than an honest man well furnyshed wyth vertue. Thynke not yet for all thys, that herein men ordinarily bée wyser than women, althoughe they oughte to bée endued with greater [...] than the womankynde: but to say the truth, they be all spotted with one kinde of pitch, that warfare here in the large campe of this present worlde: wherof it commeth to passe, that we sée little loue to continue long, bicause as the beginnyng wanted loue, euen so is the ende altogether [...], the knowledge whereof consumeth lyke the beautie of the [...]. And therevpon many times it chaunceth, that when loue is not grounded but vpon transitorie beautie, which dothe dissolue lyke a windie cloude, the little heate [...] doth not war more [...], but rather congoale to frost, and many times [...] into hatred and [...]. A worsse thyng yet than this is in [...] practise. There be many that wil néedes bée [...] and called Gentlemen, bycause they come of Auncient and Noble race, but growyng vp to [...] state, they appeare in shapes of men, but altogether without vertuo or approued manners, vtterly ignorant what the nature of Gentle is, and doe accompte them selues [...] [...] [...] fellowes, when in companie of other as bigge beasts as them selues, they contriue the day in [...] and bragges, and [...] say: [...] a woman is at my comniaundement, and such a mans wyse I do keepe, suche a one is my companyons friende, whereby they bryng many women, yea and of the moste honest [Page] sort, into slaunder and [...]. Diuerse [...] also bée suchè fooles, and of so simple discretion, that although they know & clerely perceyue thys to be true, yat allured with ye persenages and beautie of such [...], passe not to gyue the rayne to these vnbrideled [...], and doe not foresée (lyhe [...] Woodcockes) that in sewe dayes through their owne [...], they [...] common shame of the vulgar people, being pointed at in the streates as they [...]: where one that is wise and discrete, daily doth feare the least suspition that utay be conceiued. There is no woman that is wise; [...] so [...] [...] she can, wil shunne and auoide all occasion wherby [...] may arise, and will choose [...] hir amongs a number, such one as [...] best please hir fansie, and suche [...] as for his vertue and honestie she purposeth to match [...] self with in mariage, which is the end of all honest loue. Nowe be it Nature hath not framed euery creature of one mettall, ne yet Minerua, [...] lyke brayne: into euery head. And truely this our age doeth bréede many [...] and worthie women, whose condicions be good & [...], adorned with [...] qualities, the generositie, [...] & valour of whose myndes [...] deferue singular praise and estimation. And what is he, chauncing vpon a curteous and vertuous woman, that will not giue ouer the loue of all other, to honour and loue [...] for euer? But we haue digressed too long from oure Historie, and therfore, retourning to the same againe, I say, that [...] ye guide of master Philippo, was fully determined to bestow hir fauor vpon hym. For besides that the Quéene [...] estéemed his loue, it séemed that all thyngs were vnited and agréed to sort his enterprise to happy successe. The Quéene [...] to [...] Gouernesse [...] Paola [...] Caualli, a [...] of Verona, verie [...] & graue (aduāced to yt calling, by Madonna Bianca Maria Sforza, [Page] the wife of the Emperour Maximilian) whome [...] Anne required [...] to procure for hir, such [...] in the Thoscane language, and other Italian workes, as were to be founde, bicause hir disposition was to be [...] and familiar in that tongue, and employed great diligence to learne and exercise the same, wherein she attained such [...], as all Italians coulde very well vnderstande hir. Now (as the good lucke of master Philippo would haue it) he that day went to the Courte alone, continually [...] if it were possible, at all times to be in presence of the [...]: Whome so soone as Madonna Paola espied, bicause she familiarly knew hym, she went vnto him, and sayd: ‘My welbeloued friend master Philippo, bicause the [...] hath great delight to lerne our tongue, and therein alreadie hath [...] good towardnesse, as by hir common speakyng of the same you may perceyue, this mornyng at [...] vprising shée gaue mé a great charge to procure for hir, certaine Italian Rithmes, who besides those bookes in that tongue alreadie printed, gladly desireth to sée some trymme deuises of dyuerse learned [...] [...] that make in oure time: specially [...] minde is earnestly disposed vpon rithmes cunningly [...], wherof I thinke you haue some store, by reason of your delight in that exercise. Wherefore I thought to repaire vnto you, and doe heartily pray you, to make [...] Maiestie partaker ofsuch as you haue, wherein you shall do hir great and gratefull seruice, and I shal remain [...] bound vnto you, besides that I do purpose when I present them vnto hir, to make hir priuie that I receiued them at your handes; which bicause of the loue shée [...] to our nation, she wil fauourably accept, and the same no doubte when oportunitie serueth, liberally rewarde.’ Master Philippo in [...] wise thanked the gentlewomā, and sayd, that he was sorie he was not able [Page] better to satisfie hir request, bicause in that [...] he had small store of such desired things, neuerthelesse he would make diligent search, to get so many as were possible to be founde, either amongs the Gentlemen that folowed the Court, or else where they were to be gotten. In the meane time he sayd that he woulde deliuer those few he had, and wold bring them vnto hir that night. And praying hir to commende him to the good grace and fauour of hir maiestie, he toke his leaue, and wente straight to his lodging, where diligently he began to searche among his writings (the gladdest man in the worlde for that occasion offered) and founde amongs the same diuers rithmes which he thought vnworthie to passe into the handes of so great a Lady, sauing the thirde Rithme or Chapter, as we commonly call it, made by a notable Doctor of the lawes, and excellente Poet called M. Niccolo Amanio, of Crema, who no doubt for making of vulgar rithmes, therby expressing the amorous affections of Louers, was in our time without comparison. And bicause the same was so apt for yt purpose of master Philippo his loue, as could be desired: he wrote the same faire (being in dede a very faire writer) in a shéete of paper, which soundeth to this [...].

Quanto piu cresce (Amor) l'aspro tormento. &c.

The more (O Loue) thy bitter pangs augment,

Melting by times my sad accensed spreete,

The more to burne, I feele my selfe content:

And though eche day a thousande times I fleete

Tvvixt hope and dreade, all dolour yet and smart,

My glorious proofe of enterprise makes svveete.

The fire so high, vvhich kindled hath myne hart,

As by loues flames, none euer had (I knovv)

So loftie source of heate in any part,

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Svveete then my torments are, svvete is my vvoe,

Svvete eke of loue the light, svvete the conceyte

From so high beames, fallen in my breast, groe.

Such povver of porte, such maiestie most gret

I tremble to beholde, and do confesse

My lotte to base, so vvorthy a blisse to get.

But Will herein, my Reason doth suppresse,

And those faire eyes, vvhere loue hym selfe nie lies

Armed vvith lookes of ioy and gentlenesse,

Lokes that vpliftes my soule aboue the Skies,

And in each coast all cloudes expelling cleane,

Do teache ten thousande pathes to Paradise.

My Goddesse braue, Angclicall Sirene

Fairenesse it selfe, Dame Beauties sacred heire,

What mountes of ioy may match my happy peyne?

Whose scaling hope, hovv so ensue dispeire

Leues vaūt of thoughts, vvhich once so highly flevv,

As honour all that earth besides doth beare,

Comparde to this, but baggage vvere to vevv.

When Master Philippo had written out these verses, immediatly he returned to the court, and caused Madonna Paola, to be called vnto him by one of the Gromes of the Chamber, to whome he sayde: ‘Mistresse Paola, I haue brought you a ditie, that is very trim & prety, which I pray you deliuer to the [...], and I will do what I can to get other. Mistresse Paola tooke them, and wente into the chamber, and finding the [...] alone, sayd vnto hir: Madame, this mornyng ye commaunded me to get you some Italian Rithmes, and vpon inquirie I haue receiued these [...] verses of maister Philippo, secretarie to the Lord Andrea Borgo, who hath promised to bring [Page] me other.’ The [...] hearing hir speake those wordes, smiling receiued the paper, and read the same: the sense wherof she liked very wel, thinking that master Philippo had bene the compositor of the same, and that of purpose he had made them for hir, whereby shée was oute of doubt that it was she that master Philippo so feruently loued; and the better hir opinion was confirmed, bicause some of the wordes tended to the state of hir personage. And considering the valor of his minde, she blamed Nature, for that in a mā so basely borne she had sowen séede that brought forth such a Gētlemanlike and noble hart, greatly to hir selfe praising the yong man. Then she conferred the whole matter with hir cousin [...] Marie, which was a wise and comely Ladie, and vpon that loue they vsed many discourses, more and more esteming the yong gentleman. [...] Anne determined, when conueniently shée might, to rendre to maister Philippo for his great loue condigne rewarde: and studying still howe to requite his curtesie, euer when she saw master Philippo, she vsed him with hir wonted chere & grateful salutation, (which thing only euery honest gētlemā ought to [...] that is indued with reason, at yt hands of a princesse so noble & worthy, as a rewarde sufficient, yt inequalitie of the parties considered) Wherof master Philippo was ye best contented man of the world, and durst not hope for greater recompence, continuing his woonted life, féeding him self still with that beloued sight: in suche wise as many gentlemen enuied the fauor borne vnto him by ye [...], who for none other cause did vse that curtesy, but for that she saw him to be a vertuous yong man, and wel lerned: continually estéemyng those, that eyther wyth learnyng or other gyftes of the mynde were indewed: and when occasion chaunced, shée vouchesafed to bestowe vpon them courteous intertainement and liberall rewardes. [Page] It fortuned about that time that the Emperor Maximilian died, Charles his nephew (which was the Emperor Charles, the fifthe) then being in Spayne: by reason of whose death the Lorde Andrea Borgo, purposed to [...] one of his Gentlemen to kyng Charles, for the confirmation of that liuing he enioyed, giuen vnto him for his lōg and faithfull seruice by the sayd Maximilian. Amongs all he chose this master Philippo, for his wisedome and experience in such affaires. Whiche done, he went to the [...], and gaue them to vnderstand that shortely hée would send his Secretarie iuto Spayne, and told them the cause, humbly praying them both, that they would write their fauourable letters in his behalf. The [...] knowing what paine and trauell he had sustained in the seruice of Maximilian, and what daungers hée had passed, were very willyng thervnto. Now [...] Anne [...] that she had conuenient time to recompence master Philippo for his long loue born vnto hir. And bicause she was the most curteous Lady of the world, and ther withall most bountifull and liberall, and not only with comely talke and other gesture: but also in effecte willing [...] do them good, whome she honoured in minde, concluded what to do, requiring the Lorde Andrea to sende his Secretarie vnto hir, when he was readie to depart, for that besides Letters, she would by mouth cōmit certain businesse for hir to do in the Court of Spayne. When the Lord Andrea was gone, [...] Anne began to deuise wyth the other [...] what she might do for master Philippo, who prayed [...] Anne, after she had commended him in letters, to suffer hir to make the ende and conclusion of the same. Wher vpon both the Quéenes wrote many letters into Spayne to king Charles, and to the Lord Chā cellour and other noble men, whome they thought to bée apt and mete ministers to bring the effect of their letters [Page] to passe. When the Lorde Andrea had put all things in ordre for that dispatch, he sayd to master Philippo (which was nowe furnished with all things necessarie and appertinent for that long voyage) ‘Philippo remembre this day that you go to [...] Anne, and tell hir, that I willed you to come vnto hir, to know if she would cōmaund you any seruice to the Catholike Kyng, where you shall humbly offer your selfe, in what it pleaseth hir to commaunde: you shall also tell hir, what thyngs I haue gyuen vnto you in charge by speciall commission.’ Neuer coulde more pleasant talke sounde into the eares of Master Philippo, than this, who for that he should bothe sée and speake vnto his Ladie before his departure, and for that she would [...] vnto him the doing of hir affaires in Spayne, was the gladdest and best contented man of the world. The houre come when he thought good to repaire to the [...], he went vnto hir, & gaue hir to vnderstād by one of the priuie Chamber, that hée was attendant there to know hir pleasure. The [...] certified of his readinesse to depart, by and by toke order that he should come into hir chābre, who entring the same, with tremblyng heart, after he had done his humble reuerēce, with great feare and bashfulnesse, sayd: ‘Pleaseth your Maiestie, that my lorde Borgo, being about to addresse me his Secretarie into Spayne, to the Catholike King there, hath commaunded me to waite vpon your highnesse, to know your pleasure for certain affaires to be done for your maiestie. Wherfore may it please the same to employe mée, youre humble seruaunt, I shall thinke my selfe the happiest man of the worlde: A thyng so blessed and ioyfull vnto me, as no benefite or commoditie can render vnto mée, greater felicitie.’ Then he disclosed vnto hir the rest of his message, which was cōmitted vnto him by his lord and master. The [...] beholding him with mery countenance [Page] gently sayd vnto him: ‘And we for the trust we haue in you to do our message & other affaires in Spayne, haue required you to come hither. And bicause we know you to be a Gentleman, and assured that you will gladly do your endeuour in any thing that may do vs pleasure, haue chosen you aboue any other. Our will and cōmandement is, that fyrst you deliuer these letters, conteining matters of great importance to the handes of the [...] King, and that you do our humble commendations to his maiestie. Then all the rest accordingly as they be directed, which principally aboue other things we praye you to dispatch vpon your arriuall. And if we be able to do you any pleasure, eyther for your [...], or for other commoditie, spare not to write vnto vs poure mynde and (we do assure you) the same shalbe effectually accomplished, to the [...] of our indeuour, which we do of our owne motion frankly offre vnto you, in cō sideration of the [...], worthinesse, and [...] behauiour always knowen to be in you.’ Master Philippo hering these wordes, was replenished with such ioy, as he thought himself rapt into the heauens, and his heart felt such pleasure, as it séemed to flete in some depe sea of delites: and after the best maner he coulde, thanked hir for hir curtesie: and albeit (be sayd) that he knew hym selfe vnworthie of that fauour, yet he dedicated the same to hir commaundement, surrendring himself as a slaue and faithfull seruant to hir maiestie. Then vpon his knées, to his great contentation he kissed hir hāds, which of hir self she offred vnto him, & thē reuerētly he toke his leaue. When he was gone out of the chamber, he met with the [...] coserer, that [...] for him, who taking him aside, did put into his hand a purse with. 500. crownes, & the master of the horsse presented vnto him a very goodly and beautifull horsse, wherwith master Philippo, was so [Page] well pleased, as he was like to [...] out of his skin for ioy. Then he toke his iorney & arriued at the Courte in Spayne, where at [...], he deliuered his Letters to King Charles, and accomplished other businesse and message prescribed vnto him by [...] Anne: And when he had dispatched the [...] other letters, he attended the businesse of his Lorde Andrea Borgo. The King perused the contentes of the letters sent vnto him by his sister and kynswoman, so did the Lord Chauncelour, (which at that time was the lord Mercurino Gattinara) and other: to whom the [...] had written: whereby the Kyng was solicited to stand good Lord, to the Lord Andrea Borgo, [...] likewise exhorted to be beneficial to master Philippo, whō for his good condiciōs & experience they had sent vnto him in yt ambassage. Upon a day ye king moued by the lord chācelor, caused master Philippo to com before him, to whō [...] before his maiesty, ye king said these wordes: ‘The testimonie & report so honorably made of you by the two [...], frō whom you brought vs letters, & the hope which we haue to find you a faithful & profitable seruant, and to be correspondent in effect to the tenor of those letters, moueth vs to accepte you into the numbre of one of our Secretaries, wherein before our presence you shall sweare vnto vs to be faithfull and true.’ Master Philippo that expected for no such dignitie, maruelled at the Kings wordes, and there by othe ministred vnto him by the lorde Chauncelour was receiued into his seruice, & exercised that office, in singular fauor of the King, to the great satisfactiō of al men. And after [...] King Charles was elected Emperor, knowing the experiēce that master Philippo had in the affaires of Italie, and specially in Lombardie, he cōmitted vnto him al maters touching the state of yt region, which so happily came to passe to master Philippo, as besides the ornaments of vertue & wisedom, [Page] he acquired greate riches, and yet he continually serued and worshipped the Quéene as his noble patronesse and worthy mistresse. Tell me now ye faire Ladies and gentlewomen: What shall we [...] of the princely behauiour and noble disposition of this Quene? Truly in my iudgement, she deserueth that praise and commendation that may be attributed to the moste excellente Ladie of the worlde, who neuer gaue ouer hir faithfull seruaunt tyll she had bountifully with hir owne handes and commendation, rendred vnto him a most Princely reward. And as the sunne in beautie and brightnesse doeth surmounte the other furniture of the [...], euen so magnificence and liberalitie in eche Ladie doth excell al other vertues, specially in those personages, that kéepe the state of Princes. But to conclude, méete and requisite it is, that ye beautifie this most curteous and liberall Quéene with due praises. For surely in my iudgement, yf all women would conferre theyr heades and wittes together, and deuise Hymnes and Sonnets of Liberalitie, they can neuer sufficiently be able to celebrate the praise and glorie of this Quéene.

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Alexander de Medices Duke of Florence.
The. xxij. Nouell.

¶ The gentle and iust acte of ALEXANDER de MEDICES the first Duke of FLORENCE, vpon a Gentleman whome he fauoured, who hauing rauished the daughter of a poore Myller, caused him to marie hir, for the greater honour and celebration wherof, he appointed hir a riche and honourable dowrie.

IF the force of Uertue were not apparant at the sighte of eye, it would be demed to be of lesse value than the greatnesse therof deserueth (for sūdry causes rising in the myndes of men) and that by performing the little which rested for yt entier perfectiō of hir whole vnited glorie. Now bicause that hir effectes be diuerse, and that diuersly they be vsed, the examples also of such diuersitie, doe variate and make diuerse yt affections of men: some to folow that qualitie & other that part, proceding from the whole and perfect body of vertue, which hath caused some to winne the price of modestie and temperance in their dedes, other ful of magnanimite [Page] (not familiar to many) haue resisted the assaultes of Fortune. Many other haue embraced that only honor which is the [...] of ech good act, wherby they haue well ruled the state of frée cities, or guided the armies of mightie Monarchs. And such whilom ye cities of Rome Athenes, Sparta, and the ancient monarchs of the Medes, the Persians, and Assyrians did sée. I will omit a good companie of those sage and wise men, which haue [...] the troubles of Cities, the inquietations of Palaces, the cries of Iudgement seates, the dissimulation and deceiptfull flatteries of Courtes, the carefull courtes which the housholder by gouernement of his house and familie doth susteine and féele, of purpose more frankly to retire to the studie of sapience, which alone is able to make a man happie, & worthy to be partaker of the diuinitie. But aboue al, I wil praise him which not subiect to the law, liueth neuerthelesse like him that is most thrall thervnto, or without respect of bloud or frendship shall exercise Iustice vpon his dearest and beste beloued: as in olde tyme Manlius and Torquatus at Rome, the people of Athenes towardes one Tinnagoras, who beyond the duetie of an Ambassador of a franke citie, fell downe on his knées and worshipped the Persian King. And in oure time the Marquize of Ferrara, by doing to death his owne sonne for adulterie committed with his mother in law. And yet Iustice may redounde and sauour of some crueltie, which rather turneth to shame than praise: as Iohn Maria Visconte Duke of Milan, when he caused a couetous priest to be buried quick, with ye corps of him whom he had refused to put into the grounde without money, the historie wherof is hereafter remembred. So as mediocritie of punishment ought to be yoked wt the rigor of the law, for yt mitigation of the same. And beholde, wherfore the great Dictator Iulius Caesar loued better to gain the hart of his [Page] enimies with mercie, than vanquish & bring them to obediēce, with massy manacles & giues of iron. Moreouer in our age Alphonsus of Aragon (the true sampler of a iust & righteous prince) did not he estéeme (when he straightly besieged Gaiette) the victorie to be more glorious & better gotten, which is done by cōposition and gentlenesse, than the bloody conquest, colored with the teares and blood of a poore simple people? And truly princes & great lordes, specially they which newly (without succession receiued from their ancestors) ariue to the gouernement of some cōmon welth, ought continually to haue before their eyes, an honest seueritie for the holinesse of the law, & a graue mildnesse, to moderate the rigor of their formen dutie. For by yt meanes right is mainteined, the heart of mā is won, so wel as by violēce: & the state of gouernmēt taketh so good footing, as the wind of no seditiō afterwards can remoue the same, being foūded vpon a sure stone, & framed vpon a rock durable for a lōg time. Wherof we haue an exāple of fresh memorie of a kind act, ful both of wisedom & gentle soueritie, in a prince of our time, who without effusion of bloud punished with rigor enough, a trespasse cōmitted, and swetely remitted the paine vpon him, which merited grieuous, nay mortal punishment, as at large youshall sée by the discourse that foloweth. Alexander de Medices, fauored by the Church of Rome, and armed with the Papall standard) was he that fyrst with great actiuitie and wisedome inueyed the seniorie of Florence, immediately vsurpyng the name, title, and prerogatiues of Duke. The same albeit vpon the prime face, hée was [...] to the people of Florence, wroth for losing of their auncient libertie, and displeasant to the Senatours and [...], to sée them selues depriued of the soueraintie of Iustice, and of the authoritie they had to [...] all the Citizens, yet for al that was he indued with; [Page] so good qualities, and gouerned so well his principalitie, as that which at the beginnyng was termed Tyrannie, was receiued as iust domination, and that whiche was supposed to be abused by force, semed to be done as it wer by lawful succession. And they counted them selues happy (when they saw their luck to be such as their common wealth must néedes obey the aduise and pleasure of one Prince alone) to haue a soueraine lorde, so wise so vertuous and so ful of curtesie: Who albeit, in other things he shewed him selfe praise worthie, noble, and of gentle kynde, yet vanquished he him selfe in him selfe, and in the rest of his perfection, by that indifferent iustice, which made him wonderfull, by reason hée denied the same to none, and in no one iote shewed him selfe parcial to any, which thought by him to be supported in their follies. And that which was more to be wondred in hym, & augmented the praise of his integritie in iudgement, was, that he punished in an other the thyng, which by reason he oughte to haue pardoned and remitted, he beyng attainted & well beatē with that disease. But the good Lord applied to reason, to time, & to the grauitie of the fact and qualitie of the offended persones. For where the greatnesse of the déede surpasseth all occasion of pardon and mercy, the Prince, Iudge, or Magistrate ought to dispoile and put of his swetest affections, to apparel himself with rigor, which reacheth the knyfe into the hande of him that ruleth, of purpose that so priuate familiaritie, do not in the ende raise in the subiects heart a contempt of their superiours, and an [...] licence, lawlesse to liue at their pleasure. Now the thing which I meane to tel, consisteth in the proofe of a rare and exquisite prudence, which seldome or neuer, harboureth in yong age, the heates wherof, can not but with great difficultie, féele the coldnesse and correction of reason: And likewyse the causes [Page] from whence wisdomes force procéedeth, doe rest in long experience of things, wherby men waxe old in ripenesse of witte and their déedes become worthy of praise. Then Duke Alexander ordred so wel his estates, and kept such a goodly and plentifull Court, as the same gaue place to no Prince of Italic, how great or rich so euer it was, and that he did aswell for his owne garde & honor as to shew the natural stoutnesse of his corage, not vsing for all that any insolencie or vnséemely dealing against the haynous and auncient enimies of his house. Amongs this goodly troupe of courtiers, which ordinarily folowed the Duke, there was a Florentine gentleman, very néere the Duke, and the best beloued of them all. This yong Gentleman had a Manor hard by Florence, where he was very well & stately lodged, which caused him many times to forsake the Citie, with two of his companions, to recreate him self in that pleasant place. It chaunced vpon a day, he being in his fieldish house, bisides the which there was a Mill, the master whereof had a passing faire daughter, whome the sayd Gentleman did well marke and behold, and with hir became straungely in loue, in whome also appeared some Noble port, that excéeded the bloud and race whereof she came. But what? The heauens be not so spare distributers of their gifts, but sometimes diuide them with the least measure, and at other times in equall weight or greatest heape, to them that be of basest sort and popular degrée, so well, as to the greatest men and of most noble race. Rome sometimes hath séen a bondman and slaue, sometimes a runnagates sonne, for his wit and corage to beare the scepter in his hand, and to decide the causes of a lofty people, who already by reason of his sleights and practises, began to aspire the Empire of the whole world. And hée that wythin our Fathers remembrance desireth to know what that great Tambarlane of [Page] Tartarie was, the astonishment and ruine of all the [...] partes, shall well perceiue that his originall sorted from the vulgar sort, & from the basest place that was amongs all estates: wherby must be confessed, that the goodnesse of nature is such and so great, that she wil helpe hir nourice children (whatsoeuer they be,) the best she can. Not that I meane to inferre hereby, but that the bloud of predecessors, with the institution of their posterity, much augmē teth the force of the sprite, and accomplisheth that more sincerely whereunto nature hath giuen a beginning. Now to come to our purpose, this yong Courtier, taken and chained in the bandes of loue, [...] & clogged with the beauty and good grace of that Countrey wench, [...] the meanes how he might inioy the thing after which he hoped. To loue hir, he demed it vnworthy of his degrée. And yet he knew hir to be such (by report of many) as had a very good wit, tongue at wyll, and which is more estemed, a Paragon and mirror of chast life & modesty. Which tormented this amorous Mounsier beyōd mesure, and yet chaunged not his affection, assuring himself, that at length he shold attaine the end of his desires, and glut his vnsatiable hunger, which pressed him frō day to day to gather that soote and sauorous frute which louers so egerly sue for at maydens handes of semblable age to this, who then was betwene. xbj. and. xvtj. yeres. This louer did to vnderstand to his companions his griefe and [...], who sory for the same, assayed by all meanes, to make him forget it, telling him that it was vnséemely for a Gentleman of his accompt, to make himself a [...] to yt people, which would come to passe if they knew how vndiscretely he had placed his loue: & that there wer a number of fair & honest gentlewomen to whom conuenably & with great contentation he might addresse the same. But he which much lesse saw, than blind loue him selfe yt was [Page] his [...], & he that was more [...] of reason & aduise than the Poets faine Cupido to be naked of apparel, wold not heare the good counsel, which his companions gaue him, but rather sayd that it was lost time for them to vse suche words, for he had rather die, and to indure all the mocks & scoffs of the world, than lose the most delicate pray (in his minde,) that could chaunce into the handes of man, adding moreouer, that the homelinesse & rudenesse of the Countrey, had not so much anoyed his new beloued, but she deserued for hir beauty to be compared with the greatest Minion and finest attired gentlewoman of the City. For this maiden had but the ornament and mynionnesse which nature had enlarged, where other artificially force and by trumperies, vsurpe that which the heauens denie them. ‘Touching hir vertue let that passe in silence, sithēs that she (quod hée sighing) is too chast & vertuous for one whome I wold choose to daly with all. My desire is not to make hir a Lucrece, or some of those auncient Matrones, which in elder yeres builded the temple of womans Fortune at Rome.’ The companions of this louer séeing how he was bent, promised him what they were able to doe, for accomplishment of his will, for the which hée thanked thē very heartily, offring himself to like duety, wher fortune should prepare the proofe of their affection & néede of his [...] seruice. In ye meane time, conceiuing in his minde some new deuise, which so sone as hée desired was not able to be brought to passe, & knowing yt the duke seldōe wold haue him out of his sight, begā to muse vpō lies, doing him to vnderstand yt he had necessary occasion, for a certein time to remain & be at his coūtry house. The duke which loued him, & who thought yt either he had some secrete sicknesse, or else some wench which he was lothe to discouer before his cōpaniōs, gaue him leaue for a month, which so pleased the amorous Gentleman, as he [...] for [Page] ioy, & was not able to rest one houre before he had [...] out his friends and companions, to mount on horsbacke to visite hir, that had vnder hir power and obeysance the best portion of him, which was his heart and his most secrete thought. When hée was come to his Countrey house, hée began to stalke abrode, and daunce a round about the Mill, where his beloued did dwell, who was not so foolish, but by and by suspected wherunto those goings and commings of the Pilgrim tended, and for what pray he led his Dogs in lease, and caused so many nets & cords to be displayed by hunters of all ages and eche sexe, who to discouer the Countrey, assayde to beate the bushes, to take the beast at forme. For which cause shée also for [...] parte, began to flie the snares of such Birders, and raunging of the Dogs that vented after hir, & strayed not [...] the house of the good man hir father: whereof [...] poore louer conceiued greate dispaire, not knowing by what meanes he might rouse the praie after which hée hunted, ne finde the meanes to do hir to vnderstand his plaints & vnmeasured griefe of heart, the firme loue and sincere minde wherwith he was so earnestly bent, bothe to [...] and loue hir aboue all other. And that which most of all increased his pain, was, that of so great a troupe of messages which he had sent, with gifts and promisses the better to atchieue his purpose, no one was able to take placeor force (neuer so little) the chastite of that sober & modest maide. It chaunced one day as the Gentleman walking along a woode side newly felled, hard adioyning to his house, by which there was a cleare and goodly fountaine shadowed betwéene two thicke & lofty Maple trées, the Millers daughter went thither for water, and as she had set downe hir pailes vpon the fountaines [...], hir louer came vnto hir, little thinking of such a ioyfull méeting, which he well declared by these woords: ‘Praysed be [Page] God, that when I hoped least of this good happe, hée hath sent me hither, to sée the only substance of my ioy. Then tourning his face towards the maiden, sayd vnto hir. Is it true that thou art héere (or do I dreame) and so neare to him yt most desireth to gratifie thée in any thing wherin it may please thée to commaunde him? Wilt thou not haue pitie vpon the paines and griéfs which continually I indure for the extreme loue I beare thée? And saying so, he would haue imbraced hir.’ But the mayd which cared no more for his flatteries, than before she did for his presents and messages, seing the same to tend to nothing else but to hir ruine and great dishonor, with stout countenance, and by hir liuely colour declaring the chast and vertuous motion of hir bloud, sayd to this valiant Gentleman: ‘How now [...], doe you thinke that the vilenesse of mine apparell, holdeth hidden lesse vertue, than the rich and sumptuous ornaments of the greatest Ladies? Doe you suppose that my bringing vp hathe bred in me such grosse bloud, as for your only pleasure, I should corrupt the perfection of my minde, & blot the honor which hither to so carefully I haue kept and religiously preserued? Be sure that soner death shall separate the soule from my body, than willingly I would suffer the ouerthrowe & violation of my virginitie. It is not the part of a Gentleman as you be, thus to espy and subtely pursue vs poore countrey maids to charme vs with your sleights and [...] talke. It is not the duety of a Gentleman to [...] such vaunte currors to discouer and put in peril, the honoure of maidens and honest wiues, as heretofore you haue done to me. It ought to suffice that you receyued shame by repulse of your messāgers, and not to come your selfe to be partakers of their shame and confusion. And that is it that ought to [...] you swéete heart (answered he) to take pitie vpon my griefe, so plainly séeing [Page] that vnfainedly I doe loue you, and ye my loue is so well planted, as rather had I suffer death, than occasion ye [...] offense that may displease you. Only I beséeche you, not to [...] your self so cruel vnto him, who [...] all other, hath made you so frank an offer both of him self & of all that he hath to commaund.’ The maid not greatly trusting his words, feared that he prolōged the time to make [...] stay til his seruāts came to steale hir away. And therfore without further answer, she taking vp hir pailes, & half running til she came néere the Mil, escaped his [...], telling hir father no part of that talk betwene them: who began already to doubt the treason, deuised by the gētle man, against the pudicitie of his daughter, vnto whom he neuer disclosed his suspition, were it that he knew hir to be vertuous inough, and constant to resist the luring assaults of loue, or considered the imbecillitie of our flesh, & the malice of ye same, which daily aspireth to things thervnto defended, & by lawes limited and prescribed, which lawes it ought not to excéede, and yet thereof wisheth the abolishment. And the goodman also did feare that she did not care for the words, that he had sayd vnto hir, as alredy resolued in opinion, that she wished & desired the loue and acquaintance of him whome she hated to death, and that vanquished by despite (for the litle regard had of hir chastitie) she wold not giue ouer hir louer, which neyed after none other prouender. Who séeing that the maidē [...] forsaken him, and little estemed his amorous onset, outraged for loue, and [...] with choler bothtogether, [...] with him self, sayd. ‘Ah foolish & dastard louer, what [...] thou meane when thou hadst hir so nere thée, in a place so commodious, and was not able, ne durst gainesay thée? And what knowest thou if she came to ease thy pain and finish thy troublesome trauels? Surely I suppose she did so, but that shame & duety forced hir to vse such wordes, [Page] to make me thinke, that lightly she would not be ouercome by my persuasions. And put the case that it were not so, who could haue let me to take by force that, whervnto willingly she would not accorde. But what is she, to be reuenged of suche an iniurie? She is for conclusion the daughter of a Miller, and may make hir vaunte, that she hathe mocked a Gentleman, who being alone with hir, and burning wyth loue, durst not staunche hys thirst (although full dry) so néere the fountaine. And by God (sayd he, rising from a gréene banke néere the fountaines side) if I die therfore, I wil haue it eyther by loue or force. In this wicked and tyrannicall mynde, hée retourned to his place, where his companyons séeing him so out of quiet, sayd vnto him: Is this the guise of gentle minde, to abase it self to the pursute of so simple a wench? Doe not you know the malice of that sexe, and the guiles wherewith those Serpents poysen men? Care you so little for a woman as she doth for you, and then will she imbrace you & make much of you, hir only study is (which I beleue) to frame hir selfe against all that, for whych humble sute is made. But admit, that a woman hath some quality to draw men to loue hir, honoure and serue hir, truely that office and duetifull deuoire ought to be imployed in seruice of them, that be honourable, in sprite and iudgement of gentle kinde, whych no doubte will [...] the merite of the suter. And certesse I am of opinion that a man may vainely consume a yeare or two in pursuite and seruyce of thys mealy Countrey wenche, so well as addresse his loue in the obedience of some faire and honest Gentlewoman: which courteously and with some fauoure will recompence, the trauailes of hir seruaunt, where that rude and sottish gyrle, by pryde will vaunt and looke a lofte, at the honoure done vnto hir, despise them whose worthinesse she knoweth not, [Page] and whome neither she nor the best of hir lede, be worthy to serue in any respect: wil you know then what I think best for you to do? Mine aduise is then, that one of thefe euenings, she be trussed vp in a male and brought hither, or else in place where you thinke good, that you may enioy at pleasure the beautie of hir whome you doe praise and wonder at so much. And afterwards let hir dissemble if she lust, and make a Jewell of hir chastity and modesty when she hath not to triumph ouer you, by bearing away the victory of your pursutes. Ah my good friend, aunswered the desperate louer, how rightly you touche the most daungerous place of all my wound, and how soueraine a salue and plaister you apply therunto. I had thought truly to intreat you of that, whereof euen nowe you haue made the ouerture, but fearing to offend you, or too much vsurpe vpon your friendship, rather had I suffer a death continuall, than raise one point of offense, or discontentation in them, which so frankly haue offred to doe me plesure, wherof (by Gods assistance) I hope to be acquieted with all duety and office of friendship. Now [...] it, to put in proofe, the effect of your deuise, and that so shortly as I can. In like manner you sée that the terme of my héere abode, will shortly be expired, and if we be once at the Courte, impossible it is for me to recouer so good occasion, and peraduēture she wil be maried, or some other shall cary away the pray, after I haue beaten the bushe.’ The plot then of this maidens rape, was resolued vpon, and the first espied occasion taken. But the louer which feared least this heat of his companiōs wold coole, sollicited them so muche, as the execution was ordayned the folowing night: which they did, not so muche for the pleasure of their friend, to whome in suche aduentures they ought to deny all helpe, (sith friendeship ought not to passe, Sed [...] ad ar as, as Pericles the Athenian sayd, [Page] so farre as was sufferable by the lawes of God) as for that they wer of nature of the self same tramp, which their passionate cōpanion was, and would haue made no conscience to enterprise the same for themselues, although the other had not tolde them his affections. These also be the frutes of vnruled youth, wherin only the verdure and gréennesse of the age beareth greatest sway, the will whereof reason can not restrayne, which easily waltreth and tosseth sooner to the carnall part, than to that which tendeth to the pasture and cō tentation of the minde. The next night after, they. [...]. came accompanied with. v. or. vj. seruauntes (so honest as their maisters) in armure & weapons well appointed to defend & hurt, that if any resistance were made, they might be able to repell their aduersaries. Thus about two of the clocke in the night repaired they to the Mill, the heauens hauing throwne their mantell ouer the vaporous earth, & [...] hir face with their vaile obscure & dark, and yet not such, but that the aire was cloudy cléere, & when no man doubted of so great offēse, & of such vnhappy rape, they brake into the pore millers house, betwene whose armes they toke away his daughter déere, & almost dead for fear, piteously begā to cry for help, defending hir self so wel as she could from these Theues and Murderers. The desolate father, raging with no lesse fury than the Hircanian Tigre, when hir Faucons be kylled or taken away, ran first to one, and then to another, to let them from carying of hir away, for whome they came. In the end the amorous rauisher of his daughter sayd vnto him: ‘Father, Father, I aduise thée to get thée hence if thou loue thy life, for thy force is too weake to resist so many, the least of whome is able to coole this thy foolishe heat and choler, for the which I would be sory, for the [Page] great loue I beare vnto thy daughter, who (I hope) before she depart my company, shal haue wherwith to be contēted, and thou cause to pacify this immoderate rage which in vain yu yalpest forth against this troupe. Ah false knaue and théefe, (sayd the honest poore man) is it thou then, which by thine infamous filthinesse & insaciable knauerie, doest dishonor the commendable fame of my daughter, and by like meanes [...] the hoped yeres of me hir poore vnhappy father, losing through thy wickednesse, the staffe and stay of mine olde aged life? Thinkest thou Traitor that liuing till this day (for all my pouertie) in reputation of an honest man in mine old dayes, will become an vnshamefast and vile minister and Chapman of my daughters maidenhoode and virginitie? No knaue, thincke not that I forget the wrong receiued of thée, for which by some meanes or other, I will purchase iust reuenge either vpon thée or thine.’ The Gentleman caring little or nothing for the olde mannes woords, hauing in hand his desired spoile, cōmaunded his men to marche before with the maiden, leauing behinde the pore olde man which thundred against them a thousand [...] and cursses, threatning and reuiling them, by all the termes he could deuise, desirous (as I thinke) to haue them turne backe to kill him. But therunto they gaue so little héede, as when hée demaunded to leaue his daughter behinde them: to whom the amorouse courtier addressing himself, began to make much of hir and kisse hir, & assayed by all meanes with pleasant words and many swéete promisses to comfort hir: but yt pore wench knowing ful wel, that they went about to play the butchers with hir chastity and shamefastnesse, and to commit murder with the floure of hir virginity, [...] to cry so piteously with dolorous voice, as she wold [Page] haue moued to compassion the hardest harts that euer were, except the same which craued nothing more thā the spoile of that his swetest enimy, who hir self detected & blasphemed hir vnhappy fate and constellation. ‘When she saw hir vertue ready to be spoiled by one, who (not in mariage ioyned) went about to violat and possesse the same, & knew yt afterwards he wold vaunt himselfe for the victory of such a precious price, Alas (sayde she) is it possible that the soueraigne iustice of God can abide a mischief so great and curssed, and that the voice of a pore wretched [...] maide cannot be heard in the presence of the mighty Lord aboue? Why may not I now rather suffer deathe than the infamie which I sée to wander before mine eyes? O yt good old man my déere and louing father, how farre better had it bene for thée to haue slaine me wyth thy dagger, betwene the hāds of these most wicked théeues, than to let me goe to be the enimies pray of my vertue & thy reputation. O happy a hundred hundred times be ye, which haue already passed the ineuitable tract of death when ye were in cradle, and I pore vnhappy wēch no lesse blessed had I bene if partaker of your ioy, where now I rest aliue to féele the smart and anguish of that death more egre to support, than that which deuideth the body & soule.’ The Gentleman offended with those complaints, began to threaten that hée wold make hir forget that hir disordered behauioure, saying that she must change an other tune, and that hir plaints were to no purpose amongs them which cared not, or yet were bent to stay vpon those hir womanishe teares, lamentations and cries. The poore Mayden hearing that, and séeing that she dysparckled hir voyce into the aire in vaine, began to holde hir peace, whych caused the Louer to speake vnto hir these woordes: [Page] ‘And what my wench? do you thynke it now so [...] or straunge, if the heate of loue that I beare to you, forceth me to vse such violence? Alas it is not malice or euill will that causeth me to doe the same, it is loue which cā not be inclosed, but must néedes manifest his force. Ah that you had felt, what I do suffer and indure for loue of you, I beleue then you wold not be so hard hearted, but haue pitie vpon the griefe whereof you should haue proued the vehemencie.’ Whereunto the maide answered nothing but teares and sighes, wringing hir armes and hands, & somtimes making warrevpon hir fair hair. But all these feminine fashions nothing moued this gallāt, and lesse remoued his former desire to haue hir, which he atchieued in dispite of hir téeth, so soone as he arriued at his owne house. The rē nant of the night they lay together, where he vsed hir with all such kinde of flattering and louing spéeche, as a louer of long time a suter could deuise to doe to hir, whome at length he did possesse. Now, all these flattering follies tended only to make hir his owne, to kepe hir in his Countrey house for his pleasure. She that for hir age (as before is sayd) was of condition sage, and of gentle minde, began subtilely to dissemble and faine to take pleasure in that which was to hir more bitter than any Aloes or woode of Myrrha and more against hir heart than remembraunce of death, which still she wished for remedy of hir griefe, and voluntarily wold haue killed hir self like a Lucrece, if the feare of God and dreadfull losse of body & soule had not turned hir minde, and also hoped in God that the rauisher should repaire the fault which hée had committed, and beare the penaunce for his temeritie, wherof she was no whit deceiued, as well ye shall perceiue, by that which immediatly doeth follow.

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Nowe whilest the rauisher [...] his pleasure with his rape, the miserable father made the aire to sounde with his complaints, accusing fortune for letting the whorish varlet so to passe, wythout doing him to féele the lustinesse of his age, and the force that yet reasted in his furrowed face, and corpse withered with length of yeares. In the end knowing that his plaintes, curses, and desire, were throwne forthe in vaine, perceiuing also his force vnequall to deale with such an enimy, and to get againe by violence his stolne daughter, or to recouer hir by that meanes wherby she was taken away, hée determined the next day to go and complaine to the Duke: and vpon that determination hée layd him downe to sléepe vnder the trées, which ioyned to the fountaine, where sometimes the Courtier had talked with his daughter. And séeing that the element began to shew some bryghtnesse interpaled with coulours of White, Yealow and Red, signes preceding the rising of fresh Aurora, started from his slepe, & toke his way to Florence whither he came, vpō the opening of the City gates. Then going to the Pallace of the Duke, he taried vntil he saw the Prince goe forthe to seruice. The good man seing him of whom he attended to receiue succoure, fauour and iustice, began to freat and rage for remembrance of his receiued wrong, and was ashamed to sée himself in place not accustomed: & albeit it grieued his heart wyth hardy speache to presume in presence of so many, yet the iust anger & desire of vengeance emboldned him so much, as kneling vpon his knées before the Maiestie of the Duke, aloud he spake these woords: ‘Alas (my soueraigne Lord) if euer your grace had pitie vpon a desolate man, and ful of dispaire, I humbly beséeche the same that nowe you do regard the misory which on euery side assaileth me. [Page] Haue pity vpon the pouerty of that vnfortunate olde man against whome one hath done such wrong, as I hope by force of your vertue and accustomed iustice, you wil not leaue a sinne so detestable without deserued punishment, for respect of mischiefs that may insue where such wickednesse shalbe dissembled and suffred without due correction’: Saying so, the greate teares ran downe his grislye beard, and by reason of his interrupted sighes and continuall sobbes, the panting of his stomake might easily haue bene perceyued all riueld for age, and Sunneburned with heate and continuall Countrey trauaile: and that which moued most the standers by, was the ruefull looke of the good olde man, who casting his lookes héere & there, beheld eche one with his holow & dolorous eyes, in such wise as if hée had not spoken any woord, hys countenaunce wold haue moued the Lords to haue compassion vpon his misery, & his teares wer of such force, as the Duke which was a wise man, and who measured things by reasons guide, prouided with wisedome, and foreséeing not without timely iudgement, wold know the cause which made that man so to make his playnt, and notwithstāding assailed (with what suspition I know not) would not haue him openly to tel his tale, but leading the olde man aside, he sayd vnto him: ‘My friend, [...] that gréeuous faultes and of great importance, ought grieuously and openly to be punished, yet it chaunceth oftentimes, that hée which in a heate and choler dothe execution for the guilt, (although that iustly after hée hath disgested his rage, at leasure hée repenteth his rigor and ouer sodaine seueritie, (offense being natural in man) may sometime (where slander is not euident) by milde and mercifull meanes forget the same without infringing or violating the holy and ciuil constitutions [Page] of Lawmakers. I speake thus much bicause my heart doeth throbbe that some of my house haue done some filthy fault against thée or some of thine. Now I would not that they openly should be slaundered, and yet lesse pretend I to leaue their faultes vnpunished, specially such as by offensiue crime the common peace is molested, wherein my desire is, that my people doe liue. For which purpose God hath constituted Princes & Potestates as shepheards and guids of his [...], to the end that the [...] fury of the vitious, might, not destroy, deuoure, and scatter the impotent [...] of no valoure if it be forsaken and left forlorne by the mighty armes of Principalities and Monarchies.’ A singuler modesty doubtlesse, and an incredible example of clemency in him, whome his Citizens thought to be a Tyrant and vniust vsurper of a frée Seigniorie, who so priuely, and with such familiaritie, as the friend could wishe of his companion, hearkened to the cause of a poore Countrey man, and moreouer his modesty so great, as hée would it not to be knowen what fault it was, or else that the offenders should publikely be accused, offering for all that to be the reuenger of the wrong done vnto the poore, and the punisher of the iniurie exercised against ye desolate; a woork certainly worthy of a true christian Prince, & which establisheth kingdomes decayed, conserueth those that be, rendring the Prince to be beloued of God, and feared of his Subiects. The pore olde man seing the Duke in so good minde, and that accordingly hée demaunded to knowe the wrong done vnto him, the name of the factor, and that also hée had promysed hym his helpe & ryghtfull correction due vnto the deserued fault, the good olde man I say conceiuing courage, recited from point to point the whole discourse of the rape, and the [Page] violence done vpon his poore vertuous daughter, [...] claring besides the name and surname of those which accompanied the Gentleman, the author of that conspiracy, who (as we haue already sayd) was one that was in greatest fauor with the Duke: ‘who not withstanding the loue that he bare to the accused, hearing the vnworthinesse of a déede so execrable, said: As God liueth this is a detestable facte, and well deserueth a sharp and cruell punishment. Not withstanding [...] take good héede that you doe not mistake ye same, by accusing one for an other, for the Gentleman whome thou haste named to be the rauisher of thy daughter, is of all men déemed to be very honest, and doe well assure thée that if I finde thée a lyer, thy heade shall answer for example to eche false accuser and slaunderer in time to come. But if the matter be so true as thou hast sayd, I promise thée by the faith I beare to God, so well to redresse thy wrong, as thou shalt haue cause to be throughly satisfied with my iustice. To whome the good old man thus answered. My Lord the matter is so true, as at this day he kéepeth my daughter (like a cō mon strumpet) in his house. And if it please your highnesse to send thither, you shall know that I doe vse no false accusation or lying wordes before you, my Lord and Prince, in presence of whome as before the minister and lieuetenant of God, man ought not to speake but truely and religiously. Sith it is so, sayd the Duke get thée home to thy house where God willing I will be this day at dinner, but take hede vpon thy life, thou say nothing to any man what so euer it be: for the rest let me alone, I will prouide according to reason.’ The good man almost so glad for his good exploit, as the day before hée was sorowfull for his losse, ioyfully went home to his homely house & Countrey cabaue, which [Page] he [...] to be made ready so well as hée could, attending the comming of his deliuerer, succor, support, and iudge, who when he had heard seruice, commaūded his horsse to be sadled: for (sayd he) ‘I heare say there is a wilde Boare haunting hereby, so wel lodged as is possible to sée, we will goe thither to wake him from his sléepe & ease, and vse that passe time til dinner be redy. So departing frō Florence, he rode straight vnto yt Mil where his dinner was made ready by his seruauntes.’ There he dined very soberly, and vsing fewe wordes vnto his companie, sate still all pensiue, musing vpon that he had to doe. For on the one side the grauitie of yt [...] moued him rigorously to chastise him which had committed the sante with all crueltie and insolencie. On the other side the loue which he bare him (mollifying his heart) made him change his minde, and to moderate his sentence. The Princes minde thus wandering betwéene loue and rigor, one brought him worde that the Dogs had rousde the great est Hart that euer he sawe: which newes pleased him very much, for by that meanes he sent away the multitude of his Gentlemen to follow yt chase, retaining with him his most familiar friends, and those that were of his priuy and secrete councell, whome he would to be witnesses of that which he intended to doe, and causing his hoast to come before him, he sayd: ‘My friend, thou must bring vs to the place wherof this morning thou toldest me, that I may discharge my promise.’ The Courtiers wō dred at those words, ignorant wherunto yt same were spoken: but the good man whose heart lept for ioy, as already féeling some great benefit at hand, and honour prepared for the beautifying of his house, séeing the Duke on horsse backe, ran bisides him in steade of his Lackey, with whome the Prince helde much pleasant [Page] talke all along the way as they went togither, [...] they had not gone sarre, but the Gentleman the [...], wyth his Companions, vnderstanding that the Duke hunted there aboutes, came to doe hym [...]: and his Fortune was such, as hée nor any of his friends perceiued the olde man: by meanes wherof the Duke pursued the praie whereof they nothyng doubted. For that cause the sayd [...] sayd to his Prince: ‘My Lord, if fortune had so much fauoured me, as I myght haue knowen of your commyng into these quarters, I would haue done my duetie to entertaine you, not as appertayneth to the greatnesse of your excelléncie, but according to the abilitie of the least, and yet the most obedient of your [...]. To whome the Duke dissembling his anger sayd: Sir, I dined héere hard by within my tentes, not knowing that your house was so néere vs, but sith that I haue met you vpon your [...] Marches and [...], I will not goe hence before I sée your lodging: for so farre as I can iudge by the outwarde parte of this goodly building, me thinkes the workeman hath not forgotten any thing that should serue for the setting forthe and ornament of this parte of the house, which for the quantitie is one of the fairest plottes that I haue sene.’

So approching the Castel, yt Duke lighted, to view the commodities of the place, and specially the image, for which alone he was departed from his City, wherof the Maister of the house (dronke with the sodaine pleasure to sée the Duke there) thought nothing. So descending into the [...] Court, they sawe a Marble fountaine that discharged the water in foure greate gutters, receyued by foure naked Nymphes, and by them poured forth into [...], [...] wrought with [Page] [...], where was an armed Knight, lying vnder an highe and broade trée, which ouershadowed the Fountaine. And hard by, they espied a litle dore which shewed the way into [...] singulare and well planted a Garden, as euer the delicious and pleasant Gardens were of Alcinoe. For in the same (bysides the Artificiall [...], and ordinary trauel of the gardener) nature produced foure Fountaines in the foure corners, making the place and plaine of the Garden equally parted in fouresquare forme. Now these fountaines watered all the fayre knots of the same, wythout any paine to the gardener, except to open certaine little [...], whereby the water sprang and ran, where hée thoughte it néedefull. I will héere leaue to speake of the Trées & frutes deuided in flue forme order, the Laberynthes subtilely & finely made: the swéete Herbers yelding such contentation to the eye, as if the Duke had had no greater respect to the wrong done to the Millers daughter, than incited wyth the gentlenesse of the maister of the house, and the singularitie of the place, perchaunce hée might haue forgotten himselfe within that little earthly Paradise. And to performe the excellencie of the place, the working hande and industrie of man, holpen by the benefite of Nature, had wrought a [...] or [...] verye déepe, wherein were bestowed a good numbre of [...], and wherin the immortall voyce of an Eccho answered their talk with a triple voyce in that profound and earthly place: which moued the Duke to call the Gentleman vnto hym, vnto whome hée sayd: If it be so, that the rest of the house doe mat [...] wyth that which I haue already séene, I am out of doubte it is one of the [...] and moste delectable [...] at [...] [...] [...] the whole compasse of Italy. Wherefore [Page] my friend, I pray thée that we may sée the hole, [...] for the contētation of our mindes, and also that I may make some vaunt that I haue séene the rarest and best furnished little house that is within all the iurisdiction of Florence. The Gentleman bathed in ease and full of pleasure, séeing that the Duke liked so well his house, brought him from chamber to chamber, which was enriched either with stately tapissarie of Turkey making, or with rich Tables diuinely wrought, with vtensils so neate and fit, as the Duke coulde cast his [...] vpon none of them, but he was driuen into an admiration & wonder. And the further he went, the greater he saw the increase, & almost a regeneration, or as I may say, a new birth of rare things, which made yt littlenesse of the place more stately and wonderfull: wherefore he greatly estéemed him in his minde which had deuised the magnificence of such a furniture. After then that he had visited the Portals, Galleries, Parlers, Chambers, Garrets, Wardrobes, Closets, and chiefest places of that house, they came into a gallerie, which had a direct prospect vpon the Garden, at the end whereof there was a chamber shut, ouer which there was such Antike and Imbossed worke, as it was maruell to behold, and vpon the garden side in like workemanship, ye might haue viewed a troupe of Nymphes flying (à [...] the side of a woode adioyning vpon a great riuer) an hierde of Satires, making as though they would haue ouerrunne them: a pleasure it was to sée their [...] mouthes, their eyes fixed vpon the place where [...] clouenfooted pursuters were, and the countenance of them which so well expressed their feare, as there [...] nothing but spéech. Moreouer a better sight it was to beholde the Satire Bucks, with displayed throfe, and their fingers pointing at the bast of those fearfull [...], [Page] as though they mocked their [...] flyghte. Within a while after ye might haue séene Hercules lying a bed with his wife, towards whom a Eaunus came thinking to inioy the beautie and embracemēts of the sléeping dame. But fayrer it was to sée how that strōg [...] gaue him the mocke, and strained him so hard, as he thought his belly wold burst. The Duke beholding as he thought, the fairest place of the house so shut, by and by suspected the truthe of the cause. For the Gentleman knowing the comming of the Duke, had withdrawen his woman into the same, for that it was the most secrete chamber of his house, and the furdest from all ordinary seruice. ‘And therefore sayde the Duke: wherefore is not this chamber opened vnto vs so wel as the rest? I suppose the same to be your treasure house, and the storehouse of your most delicat things: but you may be assured that we be not come hither to trouble you, but only (as we think) to do you pleasure. My Lord (sayd the Gentleman) the place is to farre out of order, at this time to shew your grace. Moreouer I knowe not where the keyes be, for thys morning the kéeper of my house is gone vnto the city, & I can not tell to whome he hath deliuered the same.’ The Duke which heard the end of his excuse, not accepting the same for the price which the courtier wold & thought to haue solde it, was sure then of that which before he did suspect. Wherfore with furious countenaunce he sayd vnto him: ‘Goe too, goe too, either with the key, or [...] it, let this doore be opened, that I may sée all thy secretes within. The rauisher seing yt Duke to be earnest, could not tell at the first face, of what woode to make his arrowes, and stode [...] [...], and surprised with a newe feare.’ In the end notwithstanding, playing the good fellowe, hée went vnto [Page] [...] Duke, in whose [...] smiling he whispered (bicause he knew right well that the Duke was an indifferent good companion, and loued so well his neighbors wife as his owne.) And sayd: ‘My Lord there is a prety wich within, whome I do kepe, and would not shewe hir to any liuing man but to you. That is the cause I aske, (sayd the Duke) let vs sée hir that I may giue iudgement of hir beautie, & tell you whither she be worthy of kéeping or not.’ The maister of yt house opened the chambre dore, thinking to haue gained much, and supposed to insummate himselfe the better into the fauor of the Duke, but immediatly he saw himself farre deceiued of his accompt. For the rauished and shamefast maiden comming for the of the Chamber with hir hair about hir eyes, and hir garments berent and torne, hir stomake and breast all naked and discouered, hir face and eyes all blubbered with teares, like a desperate woman threw hir selfe at the Princes féete, saying: ‘Ah (my Lord) beholde héere, and haue pitie vpon the moste vnfortunate wenche of all most wretched caytife women, who shamefully and [...] hathe bene abused and defloured by hym, which impudently dareth to bring you into the place the wytnesse of his abhominable and wycked life.’ The Duke séeing thys sight, and hauing compassion vpon the maiden, turned his face towardes the Gentleman and hys Companions (which by chance were come thither, as the Duke was entred into the Gallerie) not wyth milde and pleasant countenaunce as hée shewed from the beginning, but with a looke so graue and seuere, as the hardest of the company could not tell what to do, or what answer to make him. Upon them then began the righteous Prince to vomit his displeasure, saying: ‘ [...] this the [...] of the bloud wherof thou art descended, [Page] to rauishe thy neighbors daughters vnder mine obeysance and protection? Doest thou thus abuse the familiaritie which hitherto I haue shewed vnto thée? Thinkest thou that the lawes be peruerted by séeing some chaunge in the common wealth of Florence? No I assure thée, for so long as the soule shal reside within my body, I will be hée that shall pursue the wicked wyth all extremitie, and shall not indure the oppressyon of the poore, enough afflicted with their owne proper misery. O God could I haue thought that a Gentléman of my house, would haue bene so prodigall of his honoure, as to soyle his handes so [...] by rauishing of them which ought to be required, and to dishonoure them in place where their vertue ought to serue for a generall example? I cannot tell what stayeth me from cutting of those curssed heads of yours from your shoulders like arrant traytors and théeues as you be. Get ye hence ye infamous villaines and beastly Ruffians, the troublers of your neighbours rest, and the spoylers of the same of hir, that is more worth than all ye together. Then speaking to the Maide hée sayd: Rise vp my wench, and on me repose thy comfort, for I promise thée by the Faithe of a Gentleman, that I will doe thée such reason, and vse thée so vprightly, as bothe my Consciente shall be quieted, thou contented, and thine honoure restored for the wrong and iniury which it hathe receiued of these Gallantes.’ And by and by hée commaunded the Miller to come before hym, and all those whome hée had brought wyth him to assist his doings, before whome hée caused to bée brought bothe the rauished mayden, and the condempned of the rape: ‘vnto whom he said: This is the praie my friends that I determined to take, which I haue done without toyles, nets, or chaunting of the Dogs.’ [Page] Behold, I pray you the honor which my housholde seruauntes doe vnto my house, as to ouerrun the simple Countrey people, and rauish their daughters betwene the armes of their proper parents, as to breake, beate downe, and ouerthrow the doores of their houses, who liuing vnder the lawes of our city, ought to enioy like priuiledge of libertie & franchize. If one respect (which I will not disclose) did not impeche & stay me, I wold doe such cruel iustice vpon the offenders, as the posteritie should make report thereof. Notwithstanding it shal suffise that they receiue this shame before you all, by [...] themselues banquished of a crime, whych for expiation and reuenge, deserueth most shameful death and to receiue of me for proofe of my mercy, an vndeserued pardon of their fault, with condition neuerthelesse that thou (speaking to the Gentleman rauisher) shalt take this maiden to wife, (for otherwise thou art not able to repaire the honor thou hast taken from hir) and shalt loue hir so dearely, as fondly [...] she was beloued of thée. I giue hir vnto thée to esteme and loue hir so much, as if she were the very sister of me the Duke of Florence, who commaundeth thée for the raunsome & redemption of thy head, presently to marry hir. ‘I will moreouer, and ordaine by reason of hir fathers pouerty, that for the wrong which he hath receiued of you thrée, his daughter shal be indowed with two thousand Crownes by him that marrieth hir, and with a thousand of either of the two other, to the intēt that if hir husband die (without heire,) she haue wherwith honestly to mainteine hir degrée, and the honest port of hir house. And hereof I will that without delay a contract be made, and a publike instrument of good recorde in rolled, swearing once again before thée, that if I vnderstand that thou vse hir otherwise, thā a wife [Page] ought to be by hir husband, I wil deale such punishmēt and correction ouer thée, as all men in time to come shal take example.’ The Gentleman which expected no better méede than death, ioyfull of that sentence, fell downe prostrate before the Duke in signe of consent, and the like did his Companions. But the ioy of the Miller and his daughter can not be expressed, who extolled the vertue & iustice of their Prince vp into the heauens: to whome wyth such humilitie they rendred their humble thanks, as he wold doe that saw him self in so great calamitie, and brought to such dishonor as earst they were sene to be, by meanes of him that acknowledged one of them for his sonne, & the other for hir lawful spouse. Thus was the mariage made in presence of the Duke, with so great ioy and contentation of all partes, as there was rage and trouble for yt rape of the Bride. The Duke being retourned to Florence, the brute of this acte incontinently was [...] almost throughout the Region of Italy, & this iudgement no lesse praysed, than the sentēce which king Salomon gaue vpon yt controuersie of the two harlots for the liuing childe, which either of them claimed for hir own. And for this cause was hée cōmended aboue any other Prince or Lord which in times passed did commaund or rule the Common wealthe in all the Countrey of Thuscan. In this wise that modestie made him worthy of the Principalitie, which almost against all right hée had vsurped, and of a praise which shall no lesse continue, than the memorie of man is able to extende the same from one generation to an other, and which Couetous of the praise of a Prince so vertuous, iust and modest, shall not cease to illustrate and gloriously aduance him in open euidence, to the end that hys like exercise the same in like things, or of greater consequence, [Page] for not sufferyng venemous and vnprofitable herbes to grow in their Common wealth. Within the Garden wherof, a little nuldew or vntimely raine, is able to marre and corrupt all the good séedes & plants sowen and grifted before. Considering that wycked wéedes and daungerous impes take déeper roote than those that beare a good and sauorous frute, for the conseruation whereof, the diligent husbandman imployeth almost all the seasons of the yeare.

The Duchesse of Malfi.
The. xxiij. Nouel.

¶ The Infortunate mariage of a Gentleman, called ANTONIO BOLOGNA, with the Duchesse of MALFI, and the pitifull death of them bothe.

THe greater Honor and authoritie men haue in this world. & the greater their estimation is, the more sensible & notorious are the faultes by them committed, & the greater is their [...]. In lyke manner more difficult it is for yt man to tolerate and sustaine Fortune, which [Page] all the dayes of his life hathe liued at his [...], if [...] chaunce hée fall into any great necessitie, than for hym which ncuer felt but woe, mishappe, and aduersitie. Dyonisius the Tyrant of Sicilia, felte greater payne when hée was expelled his kingdome, than Milo did, being vanished from Rome. For so muche as the one was a Soueraigne Lord, the sonne of a King, a Iusticiarie on earth, and the other but a simple Citizen of a Citie, wherein the people had Lawes, and the lawes of Magistrates had in reuerence. So likewyse the fall of a high and loftie Trée, maketh a greater noyse, than that whiche is lowe and little. Highe Towers and stately Palaces of Princes be séene further off, than the poore Cabans and hontely shephierds Shéepecotes. The Walles of loftie Cities salute the viewers of the same farther of, than the simple caues, which the poore doe dig belowe the Mountaine rocks. Wherefore it behoueth the Noble, and such as haue charge of Common wealth, to liue an honest lyfe, and beare their port vpryght, that none haue cause to take ill example vpon dyscourse of their déedes and naughtie life. And aboue all, that modestie ought to be kept by women, whome as their race, Noble birth, authoritie and name, maketh them more famous, euē so their vertue, honestie, chastitie, and continencie more praise worthy. And behouefull it is, that like as they wishe to be honoured aboue all other, so their life do make them worthy of that honour, without disgracing their name by déede or woorde, or blemishing that brightnesse which may commende the same. I greatly feare that all the Princely factes, the exploits and conquests done by the Babylonian Quéene Semyramis, neuer was recōmended with such praise, as hir vice had shame, in records by those which left remēbrāce of ancient acts. [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] Thus I say, bicause a woman being as it were the Image of swéetenesse, curtesie & shame fastnesse, so soone as she steppeth out of the right trade, and leaueth the smel of hir duetie and modestie, bisides the denigration of hir honor, thrusteth hir self into infinite troubles and causeth the ruine of such which should be honored and praised, if womens allurement solicited them not to follie. I wil not here indeuor my self to séeke for examples of Samson, Salomon or other, which suffred thē selues fondly to be abused by women: and who by meane of them be tumbled into great faults, and haue incurred greater perils. Contenting my self to recite a right pitifull Historie done almost in our time, when the French vnder the leading of that notable [...] Gaston de Foix, vanquished the force of Spaine and Naples at the iourney of Rauenna in the time of ye French king called Levves the twelfth, who married the Lady Marie, daughter to king Henry the seuenth, and sister to the victorious Prince of worthy memory king Henry the eight, wife (after the death of the sayd Levves) to the puissant Gentleman Charles, late Duke of Suffolke.

In that very time then liued a Gentleman of Naples, called Antonio Bologna, who hauing bene Master of houshold to, Federicke of Aragon, sometime King of Naples, after the French had expelled those of Aragon out of that Citie, the sayde Bologna retired into Fraunce, & thereby recouered the goods, which hée possessed in his countrey. The Gentleman bisides that he was valiant of his persone, a good man of warre, & wel estemed amongs the best, had a passing numbre of good graces, which made him to be beloued & cherished of euery wight: & for riding & managing of great horse, he had not his fellow in Italy: he could also play excéeding well and trim vpon the Lute, whose faining voyce so [Page] well agréed therunto, that the most melancholike persons wold forget their heauinesse, vpon hearing of his heauenly noise: and bisides these qualities, hée was of personage comely, and of good proportion. To be short, Nature hauing trauailed and dispoyled hir Treasure house for inriching of him, he had by Arte gotten that, which made him most happy & worthy of praise, which was, the knowledge of good letters, wherin hée was so well trained, as by talke and dispute thereof, he made those to blushe that were of that state and profession. Antonio Bologna hauing left Federicke of Aragon in Fraunce, who expulsed out of Naples was retired to king Levves, went home to his house to liue at rest and to auoyd trouble, forgetting the delicates of Courtes and houses of great men, to be the only husband of his owne reuenue. But what: It is impossible to eschue that which the heauēs haue determined vpon vs: and lesse the vnhappe, whych séemeth to followe vs, as it were naturally procéeding from our mothers wombe: In such wise as many times, he which séemeth the wisest man, guided by misfortune, hasteth himself wyth stouping head to fall headlong into his deathe & ruine. Euen so it chaūced to this Neapolitane Gentleman: for in the very same place where he attained his aduācement, he receiued also his diminution and decay, and by that house which preferred hym to what he had, he was depriued, both of his estate and life: the discourse whereof you shall vnderstand. I haue tolde you already, that this Gentleman was Maister of the King of Naples houshold, & being a gentle person, a good Courtier, wel trained vp, and wise for gouernment of himself in the Court and in ye seruice of Princes, the Duchesse of Malfi thought to intreat him that hée would serue hir, in that office which he serued the king. This [Page] Duchesse was of the house of Aragon, & sister to yt Cardinal of Aragon, which thē was a rich & puissant personage. Being thus resolued, was wel assured yt she was not deceiued: for so much as she was persuaded, yt Bologna was deuoutly affected to ye house of Aragon, as one brought vp there from a childe. Wherfore sending for him home to his house, she vsed vnto him these, or like words: ‘Master Bologna, sith your ill fortune, nay rather ye vnhap of our whole house is such, as your good Lord & master hath forgon his state & dignitie, and yt you therwithall haue lost a good Master, wythout other recompence but the praise which euery man giueth you for your good seruice, I haue thought good to intreat you to do me yt honor, as to take charge of the gouernment of my house, & to vse the same, as you did that of the king your master. I know well that the office is to vnworthy for your calling: notwithstanding you be not ignoraunt what I am, and how néere to him in bloud, to whō you be so faithfull and louing a seruant: & albeit ye that I am no Quéene, endued with great reuenue, yet with that little I haue, I bear a Princely heart: & such as you by experience do knowe what I haue done, and daily do to those which depart my seruice, recōpensing them according to their paine & trauaile: magnificence is obserued as well in the Courts of poore Princes, as in the stately Palaces of great Kings and monarches. I do remembre that I haue red of a certain noble gentleman, a Persian borne, called Ariobarzanes, who vsed great exāples of curtesie & stoutnes towards king Artaxerxes; wherwith ye king wondred at his magnificēce, & confessed himself to be vanquished: you shall take aduise of this request, & I in the mean time do think you will not refuse ye same, as well for that my demaund is iust, as also being assured, ye our house & race is so well imprinted in your heart, as it is impossible yt the memory [Page] therof can be defaced.’ The gentleman hearing yt courteous demaund of the Duchesse, knowing himself how déepely boūd he was to yt name of Aragon, & led by soure vnknowen prouocation to his great yll luck, answered hir in this wise: ‘I wold to god madame, yt with so good reason & equitie I were able to make denial of your [...], as iustly you require the same: wherfore for yt bounden duety which I owe to yt name & memorie of the house of Aragon, I make promise yt I shall not only sustain ye trauail, but also the daunger of my life, daily ready to be offred for your seruice: but I féele in minde I know not what, which [...] me to [...] my self to liue alone at home at my house, & to be content with the little I haue, forgoing the sūptuouse charge of Princes houses, which life would be wel liked of my self, were it not for the feare that you madame shold be discontented with my refusal, & that you shold conceiue, yt I disdained your offred charge, or cōtempne your Court for respect of the great Office I bare in the Court of the Kyng; my Lord & Master. For I cānot receiue more honor; than to serue hir, which is of that stock & royall race. Therfore at all aduētures I am resolued to obey your wil, & hūbly to satisfy yt duty of yt charge wherin it pleaseth you to imploy me, more to pleasure you for auoiding of displeasure: thē for desire I haue to liue an honorable life in yt greatest princes house of yt world, sith I am discharged from him in whose name resteth my [...] & only stay, thinking to haue liued a solitary life, & to passe my [...] in rest, except it were in ye pore abilitie of my seruice to yt house, wherunto I am bound continually to be a faithful seruaunt. Thus Madame, you sée me to be the rediest mā of the world, to fulfill the request, and accomplish such other seruice wherin it shall please you to imploy me.’ [Page] The Duchesse thanked him very heartily, and gaue him charge of all hir housholde traine, commaunding [...] person to do him such reuerence as to hir self, and to obey him as the chief of all hir familie. This Lady was a widow, but a passing faire Gentlewoman, fine and very yong, hauing a yong sonne vnder hir guard & keping, left by the deceased Duke hir husbād, togither with the Duchie, the inheritaunce of hir childe. Now consider hir personage being such, hir easy life and delicate bringing vp, and daily séeing the youthely trade and maner of Courtiers life, whether she felt hir [...] prickt with any desire, which burned hir heart yt more incessantly, as the flames were hidden & couert: from the outward shew whereof she stayd hir self so well as she could. But she following best aduise, rather estéemed the proofe of mariage, than to burne with so little fire, or to incurre the exchange of louers, as many vnshame fast strūpets do, which be rather giuen ouer, thā satisfied with pleasure of loue. And to say the truthe, they be not guided by wisdomes lore, which suffer a maiden ripe for mariage to be long vnwedded, or yōg wife long to liue in widdowes state, what assurance so euer they make of their chaste and stayed life. For bookes be so full of such enterprises, and houses stored with examples of such stolne and secrete practises, as there néede no further proofe for assurāce of our cause, the same of it self being so plaine and manifest. And a great follie it is to build the fātasies of chastitie, amid the follies of worldly pleasures. I will not goe about to make those matters impossible, ne yet wil iudge at large, but that there be some maidens & wiues, which wisely can conteine themselues amongs the troupe of amorous suters. But what? the experience is very hard, and the proofe no lesse daungerous, & perchaunce [Page] in a moment the minde of some peruerted, whych all their liuing dayes haue closed their eares frō the wordes of those that haue made offer of louing seruice, we néede not run to forayne Histories, ne yet to séeke records that be auncient, sith we may sée the daily effects of the like, [...] in Noble houses, and Courtes of Kings and Princes. That this is true, example of this fair Duchesse, who was moued with that desire which pricketh others that be of Flesh and bone. This Lady waxed very weary of lying alone, & grieued hir heart to be without a match, [...] in the night, when the secrete silēce and darknesse of the same presented before the eies of hir minde, the Image of the pleasure which she felt in the life time of hir deceased Lord and husband, whereof now féeling hir selfe despoiled, she felt a continuall combat, and durst not attempte that which she desired most, but eschued ye thing wherof hir minde liked best. ‘Alas (said she) is it possible after the [...] of the value of honest obedience which the wife oweth vnto hir husband, that I should desire to suffer the heat which burneth & altereth the martired minds of those that subdue them selues [...] loue? Can such attempt pierce the heart of me to become amorous by forgetting & straying from the limittes of honest life? But what desire is this? I haue a certaine vnacquainted lust, & yet very well know not what it is that moueth me, and to whome I shall vow the spoile thereof. I am truely more fonde and foolish than euer. Narcislus was, for there is neither shadow nor [...], vpō which I can well stay my sight, nor yet simple Imagination of any worldly man, whereupon I can arrest the conceipt of my vnstayed heart, and the desires which prouoke my mind. Pygmalion loued once a Marble piller, and I haue but one desire, the coloure wherof is more [Page] pale than death. There is nothyng which can giue the same so much as one spot of vermilion rud. If I do discouer these appetites to any wight, perhaps they will mock me for my labor, and for all the beautie & Noble birth yt is in me, they wil make no conscience to déeme me for their iesting stock, & to solace themselues with rehersall of my fond conceits. But sith there is no enimie in the field, & that but simple suspition doth assaile vs, we must breake of the same, and deface the entier remembrance of the lightnesse of my braine. It appertaineth vnto me to shew my self, as issued forth of the Noble house of Aragon. To me it doeth belong to take héede how I erre or degenerate from the royall bloud wherof I came.’ In this sort that fair widow and yong Princesse fantasied in the nyght vpon the discourse of hir appetites. But when the day was come, séeing the great multitude of the Neapolitan Lords & gentlemen which marched vp & downe the Citie, eying and beholding their best beloued, or vsing talk of mirth with thē whose seruaunts they were, al that which she thought vpō in the night, vanished so sone as yt flame of burned straw, or the pouder of the Canon shot, & purposed for any respect to liue no lōger in yt sort, but promised the conquest of some friend that was lustie and discréete. But the difficultie rested in that she knew not, vpon whom to fixe hir loue, fearing to be slaundered, and also that the light disposition and maner of most part of youth wer to be suspected, in such wise as giuing ouer all them whych vauted vpon their Gennets, Turkey Palfreis, & other Coursers along ye Citie of Naples, she purposed to take repast of other Uenison, than of that fond & wanton troupe. So hir mishap began already to spin the thréede which choked the aire and breath of hir [...] life. Ye haue heard before yt M. Bologna was [Page] one of ye wisest & most perfect gentlemen that the land of Naples yt tyme brought forth, & for his beautie, proportion, galantnesse, valiance, & good grace without cō parison. His fauor was so swéete and pleasant, as they which kept him cōpanie, had somwhat to do to abstain their affection. Who then could blame this faire Princesse, if (pressed with desire of matche, to [...] ye ticklish instigations of hir wāton flesh, and hauing in hir presence a mā so wise) she did set hir minde on him, or fantasie to mary him? wold not yt partie for calming of his thirst & hunger, being set at the table before sundry sorts of delicate viands, ease his hunger? Me think the person doth greatly forget himself, which hauing hādfast vpō occasion, suffreth ye same to vanish & flie away, sith it is wel knowne ye she being bald behinde, hath no place to sease vpon, when desire moueth vs to lay hold vpon hir. Which was the cause yt the Duchesse becam extremely in loue with ye master of hir house. In such wise as before al men, she spared not to praise ye great perfectiōs wherwith he was enriched, whō she desired to be altogether hirs. And so she was [...], that it was as possible to sée yt night to be void of darknesse, as yt Duchesse without the presence of hir Bologna, or else by talk of words to set forth his praise, ye continual remēbrance of whome (for that she loued him as hir self) was hir only minds repast. The gentleman yt was ful wise, & had at other times felt the great force of ye passion which procedeth frō extreme loue, immediatly did mark yt coūtenāce of the Duchesse, & perceiued ye same so nere, as vnfainedly he knew yt very ardētly yt Ladie was in loue we him: & albeit he saw ye inequality & differēce betwene thē both, she being sorted out of ye royal bloud, yet knowing loue to haue no [...] [...] state or dignity determined to folow his fortune & [...] serue [...], [Page] which so louingly shewed hir self to him. Then sodainly reprouing his fonde conceit, hée sayd vnto himself: ‘What follie is that I enterprise, to yt great preiudice and perill of mine honor and life? Dught the wisdom of a Gentleman to straie and wandre through the assaults of an appetite rising of sensuality, and that reason giue place to yt which doeth participate with brute beastes depriued of all reason by subduing the mynde to the affections of the body? No no, a vertuous man ought to let shine in him self the force of the generositie of his mynde. This is not to liue according to the spirite, when pleasure shall make vs forget our duetie and sauegard of our Conscience. The reputation of a wise Gentleman resteth not onely to be valiant, and skilfull in feates of armes, or in seruice of the Noble: But nedefull it is for him by discretion to make himselfe prayse worthy, and by vanquishing of him self to open the gate to fame, whereby he may euerlastingly make himselfe glorious to all posteritie. Loue pricketh and prouoketh the spirit to do wel, I do confesse, but that affection ought to be addressed to some vertuous end, tending to mariage, for otherwise that vertuous image shall be soyled with the villanie of beastly pleasure. Alas said he, how easie it is to dispute, whē the thing is absent, which can bothe force and violently assaile the bulwarks of most constant hearts. I full well doe sée the trothe, and doe féele the thing that is good, and know what behoueth me to follow: but when I view that diuine beautie of my Ladie, hir graces, wisdome, behauior and curtesie, when I sée hir to cast so louing an eie vpon me, that she vseth so great familiaritie, that she forgetteth the greatnesse of hir house to abase hir self for my respect: how is it possible that I should be so foolish to dispise a duetie so rare and precious [Page] and to set light by that which the Noblest would pursue with all reuerence and indeuor? Shall I be so much voide of wisedome to suffer the yong Princesse, to sée hir self contempned of me, to conuert hir loue to teares, by setting hir mynde vpon an other, to séeke mine ouerthrow? Who knoweth not yt furie of a woman? specially of the Noble dame, by séeing hir self despised? No, no, she loueth me, and I will be hir seruaunt, and vse the fortune proffred. Shal I be the first simple Gentleman that hath married or loued a Princesse? Is it not more honourable for me to settle my minde vpon a place so highe, than vpon some simple wenche by whome I shall neither attaine profit, or aduauncement? Baldouine of Flaunders, did not hée a Noble enterprise when he caried away Iudith the daughter of the French King, as she was passing vpon yt seas into England, to be married to the king of that Countrey? I am neither Pirat nor aduenturer, for that the Ladie loueth me. What wrong doe I then to any person by yelding loue againe? Is not she at libertie? To whome ought she to make accompt of hir dedes & doings, but to God alone and to hir owne conscience? I will loue hir, and cary like affection for the loue which I know & sée that she beareth vnto me, being assured yt the same is directed to good end, and that a woman so wise as she is, will not commit a fault so filthy, as to blemish and spot hir honor.’ Thus Bologna framed the plot to intertaine the Duchesse (albeit hir loue alredy was fully bēt vpon him) and fortified him self against all mishap and perillous chaunce that might [...], as ordinarily you sée that louers cōceiue all things for their aduauntage, & fantasie dreames agreable to that which they most desire, resembling the mad and [...] persons, which haue before their eies, the figured [Page] fansies which cause the conceit of their furie, and stay themselues vpon the vision of that, which most troubleth their offēded brain. On the other side, ye Duchesse was in no lesse care of hir louer, the wil of whom was hid & secrete, which more did vexe & tormēt hir, than yt fire of loue yt burned hir so feruētly. She could not tell what way to hold, to do him vnderstand hir heart & affection. She feared to discouer ye same vnto him, doubting either of some fond & rigorous answer, or of reueling of hir mind to him, whose presēce pleased hir more than all yt men of the world. ‘Alas said she, am I happed into so strāge misery, yt with mine own mouth I must make request to him, which with al humilitie ought to offer me his seruice? Shall a Ladie of such bloud as I am, be cōstrained to sue, wher all other be required by importunat instāce of their suters? Ah loue, loue, what so euer he was yt clothed thée with such puissāce, I dare say he was the cruel enimie of mans fredom. It is impossible that thou hadst thy being in heauen, sith yt clemencie & courteous influence of ye same, [...] mā with better benefits, than to suffer hir nourse children to be intreated with such rigor. He lieth which sayth yt Venus is thy mother, for the swéetenesse & good grace yt resteth in yt pitifull Goddesse, who taketh no pleasure to sée louers perced with so egre trauails as that which afflicteth my heart. It was some fierce cogitatiō of Saturne, that brought thée forth, & sent thée into the world to breake the [...] of them which liue at rest without any passion or grief. Pardon me Loue, if I blaspheme thy maiestie, for the stresse and endlesse grief wherein I am plunged, maketh me thus to roue at large, & the doubts which I conceiue, do take away the health and soūdnesse of my mind, the [...] experiēce in thy schole causeth this amaze in me, to be solicited with desire yt [Page] countersayeth the duetie, honor, and reputation of my state: the partie whome I loue, is a Gentleman, vertuous, valiant, sage, & of good grace. In this there is no cause to blame Loue of blindnesse, for all yt inequalitie of our houses, apparāt vpon the first sight and shew of the same. But frō whence issue the Monarches, Princes & greater Lords, but frō the naturall and common mosse of earth, wherof other men doe come? what maketh these differēces betwene those yt loue eche other, if not the sottish opinion which we conceiue of greatnesse, and preheminence: as though naturall affections be like to that ordained by the fantasie of men in their lawes extreme. And what greater right haue [...] to ioyn with a simple gentlewoman, than ye Princesse to mary a Gentleman, and such as Anthonio Bologna is, in whome heauen & nature haue forgotten nothing to make him equall with them which marche amongs the greatest. I thinke we be the daily slaues of the fōd and cruell fantasie of those Tyraunts, which say they haue puissance ouer vs: and that straining our will to their tirannie, we be still bound to the chaine like the galley slaue. No no, Bologna shall be my husband, for of a friend I purpose to make him my loyall and lawfull husband, meaning therby not to offend God & men togither, & pretend to liue without offēse of conscience, wherby my soule shall not be hindred for any thing I do, by marying him whō I so straūgely loue. I am sure not to be deceiued in Loue. He loueth me so much or more as I do him, but he dareth not disclose the same, fearing to be refused & cast off with shame. Thus two vnited wils, & two hearts tied togithers we equal knot cannot choose but bring forth fruites worthie of such societie. Let men say what they list, I will do none otherwise than my head and mind haue alredy [...]. [Page] Semblably I néede not make accompt to any [...] for my fact, my body, and reputation being in ful libertie and fréedome. The bond of mariage made, shall couer the fault which men would déeme, & leauing mine estate, I shall do no wrong but to the greatnesse of my house, which maketh me amōgs men right honorable. But these honors be nothing worth, where the minde is voide of contentation, and where the heart prickt forward by desire leaueth the body and mind restlesse without quiet.’ Thus the Duchesse founded hir enterprise, determining to mary hir housholde Maister, séeking for occasion and time, méete for disclosing of the same, & albeit that a certaine naturall shame [...], which of [...] accompanieth Ladies, did close hir mouth, and made hir to deferre for a certaine time the effect of hir resolued minde. Yet in the end vanquished with loue and impacience, she was forced to breake of silence, and to assure hir self in him, [...] feare cō ceiued of shame, to make hir waie to pleasure, which she lusted more thā mariage, the same seruing hir, but for a Maske and couerture to hide hir follies & shamelesse lusts, for which she did the penance that hir follie deserued. For no colorable dede or deceitful trompery can serue the excuse of any notable wickednesse. She then throughly persuaded in hir intent, dreamyng and thinking of nought else, but vpon the unbracement of hir Bologna, ended and determined hir conceits & pretended follies: and vpon a time sent for him vp into hir chamber, as commonly she did for the affaires and matters of hir house, and taking him a side vnto a [...], hauing prospect into a garden, she knew not how to begin hir talk: (for the heart being seased, ye minde troubled, and the wittes out of course, the tongue failed to doe his office,) in such wise, as of long time she [Page] was vnable to [...] one onely woord. Hée surprised with like affection, was more astōned by séeing the alteration of his Ladie. So the two Louers stoode still like Images beholding one another, without any meuing at all, vntil the Ladie the hardiest of them bothe, as féeling the most vehement and greatest grief, tooke Bologna by the hād, and dissembling what she thought, vsed this or such like language: ‘If any other bisides your self (Gentleman) should vnderstand the secretes which now I purpose to disclose, I doubt what spéeche were necessary to colour my woords: But being assured of your discretion and wisdom, and with what perfection nature hath indued you, and Arte, hauing accō plished that in you, which nature did begin to work, as one bred and brought vp in the royall Court of the second Alphonse, of Ferdinando and Federick of Aragon my cousins, I wil make no doubt at all to manifest to you the hidden secretes of my heart, being well persuaded that, when you shall both heare and [...] my reasons, and tast yt light which I bring for the for me, easily you may [...] that mine [...] cannot be other, than iust and reasonable. But if your conceits shall straye from that which I shal speak, & déeme not good of that which I determine, I shall be forced to thinke & say that they which estéeme you wise & sage, and to be a man of good and ready [...], be maruelously deceiued. Notwithstā ding my heart foretelleth that it is impossible for maister Bologna, to wandre so farre from equitie, but that by and by he wil enter the lystes, & discerne the white from black, and the wrong from that which is iust and right. For so much as hitherto I neuer saw thing done by you, which preposterated or peruerted ye good iudgement that all the world estéemeth to shine in you, the same well manifested & declared by your tongue, the [Page] right iudge of the mind: you know and sée how I am a widow through the death of that noble Gentleman of good remembrance, the Duke my Lord & husband: you be not ignoraunt also, that I haue liued and gouerned my self in such wise in my widow state, as there is no man so hard and seuere of iudgement, that can blason reproche of me in yt which appertaineth to the honesty & reputation of such a Ladie as I am, bearing my port so right, as my conscience yeldeth no remorse, supposing that no man hath where with to bite & accuse me. Louching the order of the goods of the Duke my sōne, I haue vsed them with such diligence and discretion, as bisides the dettes which I haue discharged sithens the death of my Lord, I haue purchased a goodly Manor in Calabria, and haue annexed the same to the Dukedom of his heire: and at this day doe not owe one pennie to any creditor that lent mony to the Duke, which he toke vp to furnish the charges in the warres, which he sustained in the seruice of the Kings our soueraine Lords in the late warres for the kingdome of Naples. I haue as I suppose by this meanes stopped the slaunderous mouth, and giuen cause vnto my sonne, during his life to accōpt himself bound vnto his mother. Now hauing till this time liued for other, and made my self subiect more than Nature could beare, I am entended to chaunge both my life and condition. I haue till thys time run, trauailed, & remoued to the Castels & Lordships of the Dukedome, to Naples and other places, being in mind to tary as I am a widow. But what? new affaires and new councel hath possest my mind. I haue trauailed and pained my self inough, I haue too long abidden a widowes life, I am determined therefore to prouide a husband, who by louing me, shal honor & cherish me, according to the loue which I shal bear to him, [Page] & my desert. For to loue a man without mariage, God defend my heart should euer think, & shall rather die a hundred thousand deathes, thā a desire so wicked shald soile my conscience, knowing well yt a woman which setteth hir honor to sale, is lesse than nothing, & deserueth not yt the cōmon aire shold breathe vpō hir, for all the reuerence yt men do beare or make them. I accuse no person, albeit yt many noble women haue their forheds marked, with the blame of dishonest life, & being honored of some, be neuerthelesse the cōmon fable of ye people. To the intent then yt such mishap happē not to me, & perceiuing my self vnable stil thus to liue, being yong as I am, & (God be thāked) neither deformed nor yet painted, I had rather be the louing wife of a simple féere, than yt Concubine of a king or great Prince. And what? is the mightie Monarche able to wash away the fault of his wife which hath abādoned him cōtrary to yt duty & honest which ye vndefiled bed requireth? no les thē Princesses yt whilom trespassed wt those which wer of baser stuffe than thēselues. Messalina we hir imperial robe could not so wel couer hir faults, but yt the Historiās do defame hir with yt name & title of a cōmon woman. Faustina the wife of yt sage Monarch Marcus Aurelius, gained lyke report by rendring hir self to others pleasure, bisides hir lawful spouse. To mary my self to one that is mine equall, it is impossible, for so much as there is no Lord in all this Countrey méete for my degrée, but is to olde of age, yt rest being dead in these later warres. To mary a husband that yet is but a child, is follie extréeme, for the inconueniences which daily chaūce therby, & the euil intreatie yt Ladies do receiue whē they come to age, & their nature waxe cold, by reson wherof, imbracements be not so fauorable, & their husbāds glutted wt ordinary meat vse to rū in exchāge. [Page] Wherefore I am resolued without respite or delay, to choose some wel qualitied and renoumed Gentleman, that hath more vertue than richesse, of good Fame and brute, to the intēt I may make him my Lord, espouse, and husband. For I cannot imploy my loue vpon treasure, which may be taken away, where richesse of the minde do faile, and shall be better content to sée an honest Gentleman with little reuenue to be praised and cōmended of euery man for his good déedes, than a rich carle curssed and detested of all the world. Thus much I say, and it is the summe of all my secretes, wherin I pray your Councell and aduise. I know that some wil be offended wyth my choise, & the Lords my brothers, specially the Cardinall will think it straunge, and receiue the same with ill digesture, that muche a do shall I haue to be agréed with them and to remoue the grief which they shall conceiue against me for this mine enterprise: wherefore I would the same should secretely be kept, vntil without perill and daunger either of my self or of him, whome I pretende to mary, I may publish and manifest, not my loue but the mariage which I hope in God shall soon be consummate and accomplished with one, whome I doe loue better than my self, and who as I full well do know, doeth loue me better than his owne proper life.’ Maister Bologna, which till then harkned to the Dration of the Duchesse without mouing, féeling himself touched so néere, and hearing yt his Ladie had made hir approche for mariage, stode stil astonned, his tongue not able to frame one word, only fantasied a thousand [...] in the aire, and formed like numbre of imaginations in his minde, not able to coniecture what hée was, to whome the Duchesse had vowed hir loue, & the possession of hir beauty. He could not thinke that this ioy was prepared for himself for yt [Page] his Ladie spake no woord of him, and he lesse durst opē his mouth, and yet was wel assured that she loued him beyōd measure. Not withstāding knowing the ficklenesse and vnstable heart of women, he sayd vnto himself that she would chaunge hir minde, for seing him to be so great a Cowarde, as not to offer hys seruice to a Ladie by whome he saw himself so manie times bothe want only looked vpon, & intertained with some secresie more thā familiar. The Duchesse which was a fine and subtile dame, séeing hir friend rapt with the passion, and standing stil vnmoueable through feare, pale & amazed, as if hée had bene accused and condempned to die, knew by that countenaunce & astonishment of Bologna, yt she was perfectly beloued of him: and so meaning not to suffer hym any longer to continue in that amaze, ne yet to further fear him, wyth hir dissembled and fained mariage of any other but with him, she toke him by the hand, and beholding him with a wāton and luring eye, (in such sort as the curious Philosophers themselues would awake, if such a Lāpe and torch did shine within their studies,) she sayde thus vnto hym: ‘Seignor Anthonio, I pray you be of good chéere, & torment not your self for any thing yt I haue said: I know well, and of long time haue perceyued what good and faithfull loue you beare me, & with what affection you haue serued me, sithens first you vsed my companie. Thinke me not to be so ignorant, but that I know ful wel by outward signes, what secretes be hid in the inner heart: and that coniectures many times doe giue me true and certaine knowledge of concealed things. And am not so foolish to thinke you to be so vndiscrete, but that you haue marked my countenaunce & maner, and therby haue knowen that I haue bene more affectioned to you, than to any other. For that cause (sayd [Page] she, straining him by ye hād very louingly, & with cherefull coloure in hir face) I sweare vnto you, & doe promise yt if you so thinke méete, it shall be none other but your self whom I wil haue, & desire to take to husband and lawfull spouse, assuring my self so much of you, as the loue which so long time hath ben hidden & couered in our hearts, shal appeare by so euident proofe, as only death shal end & vndoe the same.’ The gentleman hearing such sodain talk, & the assurāce of yt which he most wished for, albeit he saw yt daunger extréeme wherunto he laūched himself by espousing this great Ladie, & the enimies he shold get by entring such aliance: notwithstanding building vpon vaine hope, and thinking at length that the choler of the Aragon brother would passe away if they vnderstoode yt mariage, determined to pursue yt purpose, & not to refuse that great preferment, being so prodigally offred, for which cause he answered his Lady in this maner. ‘If it were in my power madame, to bring to passe yt, which I desire for your seruice by acknowledging of ye benefits & fauors which you depart vnto me, as my mind presenteth thāks for the same, I wold think my self the happiest Gentlemā yt lyueth, & you the best serued Princesse of the world. For one better beloued (I dare presume to say, and so long as I liue wil affirm) is not to be found. If til this time I delayed to opē that which now I discouer vnto you, I beséeche you Madame to impute it to the greatnesse of your estate, and to the duetie of my calling & office in your house, being not séemely for a seruant to talk of such secretes with his Ladie and mistresse. And truely yt pain which I haue indured to holde my peace, and to hide my griefe, hath bene more noysome to me than one hundred thousand like sorowes together, although it had ben lawfull to haue reuealed thē to some [Page] trusty friend: I do not deny madame, but of long time you did perceiue my follie and presumption, by addressing my minde so high, as to the Aragon bloud, and to such a Princesse as you be. And who cā beguile the eye of a Louer, specially of hir, whose Paragon for good minde, wisedom & gentlenesse is not? And I cōfesse to you bisides, that I haue most euidently perceiued how certain loue hath lodged in your gracious heart, wherwith you bare me greater affection, thā you did to any other within the compasse of your familie. But what? Great Ladies hearts be fraught wt secretes & conceits of other effects, than the minds of simple womē, which caused me to hope for none other guerdon of my loyal & faithfull affection, than death, & the same very short, Sith yt litle hope accompanied with great, nay rather extreme passion, is not able to giue sufficiēt force, both to suffer & to stablish my heart with constancie. Now for so much as of your motion, grace, curtesie & liberalitie the same is offred, & that it pleaseth you to accept me for yours, I hūbly beseche you to dispose of me not as husband, but of one which is, & shalbe your seruaunt for euer, & such as is more ready to obey, thā you to cō maund. It resteth now Madame, to consider how, & in what wise our affairs are to be directed, yt things being in assurāce, you may so liue without peril and brute of slaunderous tongues, as your good fame & honest port may continue without spot or blemish.’

Beholde the first Acte of the Tragedie, and the prouision of the fare which afterwardes sent them bothe to their graue, who immediately gaue their mutuall faith: and the houre was assigned the next day, that the fair Princesse shold be in hir chamber alone, attended vpon with one only Gentlewoman which had ben brought vp with ye Duchesse frō hir cradle, & was made [Page] priuie to the heauy mariage of those two louers which was consummate in hir presence. And for the present time they passed yt same in words, for ratificatiō wherof they wēt to bed togither. But yt pain in the end was greater than the pleasure, and had ben better for them bothe, yea and also for the third, that they had shewed them selues so wyse in the déede, as discrete in keping silence of that which was done. For albeit their mariage was secrete, and therby politikely gouerned them selues in their stelthes and robberies of loue, and that Bologna more oft held the state of the steward of the house by day, than of Lord of ye same, and by night supplied that place, yet in ye end, the thing was perceiued which they desired to be closely kept. And as it is impossible to till and culture a fertile ground, but yt the same must yelde some frute, euen so the Duchesse after many pleasures (being ripe and plentiful) became with child, which at the first astonned the maried couple: neuerthelesse the same so well was prouided for, as the first childbedde was kept secrete, and [...] did know thereof. The childe was nourced in the towne, and the father desired to haue him named Federick, for remembraunce of the parents of his wife. Now fortune which lieth in daily waite and ambushment, & liketh not yt men shold long loiter in pleasure and passetime, being enuious of such prosperity, cramped so the legges of our two louers, as they must néedes change their game, and learne some other practise: for so much as the Duchesse being great with childe again, and deliuered of a girle, the businesse of the same was not so secretely done, but that it was discouered. And it suffised not that the brute was noised through Naples, but that the sound flew further off. As eche mā doth know that rumor hath many mouthes, who with the multitude [Page] of his tongues and Trumps, proclaimeth in diuers and sundry places, the things which chaunce in al the regions of the earth. Euen so that babling foole, caried the newes of that second childbed to the eares of the Cardinall of Aragon the Duchesse brother, being then at Rome. Think what ioy and pleasure the Aragon brothers had, by hearing the report of their sisters facte. I dare presume to say, that albeit they were extremely wroth with this happened [...], & with yt dishonest fame whych yt Duchesse had gotten throughout Italie, yet farre greater was their sorrow & grief, for that they did not know what hée was, that so courteously was allied to their house, and in their loue had increased their ligneage. And therfore swelling wyth despite, & rapt with furie to sée themselues so defamed by one of their bloud, they purposed by all meanes whatsoeuer it cost them, to know the lucky louer that had so wel tilled the Duchesse their sisters field. Thus desirous to remoue that shame from before their eyes, and to be reuenged of a wrong so notable, they sent espial round about, and scoutes to Naples, to view and spy the behauior & talk of the Duchesse, to settle some certaine iudgement of him, whych stealingly was become their brother in law. The Duchesse Court being in thys trouble, shée dyd continually perceiue in hir house, hir brothers men to mark hir countenance, and to note those that came thither to visite hir, & to whom she vsed greatest familiaritie, bicause it is impossible but that the fire, although it be raked vnder the ashes, must giue some heat. And albeit the two louers vsed eche others companie, without shewing any signe of their affectiō, yet they purposed to chaūge their estate for a time, by yelding truce to their pleasures. Yea, & although Bologna was a wise and prouidēt personage, [Page] fearing to be surprised vpon the fact, or that the Gentlewoman of the Chamber corrupted with Money, or forced by feare, shold pronoūce any matter to his hinderance or disauantage, determined to absent himself from Naples, yet not so sodainly but that hee made the Duchesse his faithfull Ladie & companion priuie of his intent. And as they were secretely in their chāber togither, hee vsed these or such like woords: ‘Madame, albeit the right good intent and vnstained conscience, is free from fault, yet the iudgement of men hath further relation to yt exterior apparance, than to vertues force and innocencie it self, as ignorant of the secrets of the thought: and so in things that be wel done, we must of necessitie fall into the sentence of those, whom beastly affection rauisheth more, than ruled reason. You sée the solempne watch and garde which the seruaunts of the Lords your brothers do within your house, & the suspicion which they haue cōceiued by reason of your secōd childbed, & by what meanes they labor truely to know how your affaires procéede, and things do passe. I feare not death where your seruice may be aduaūced, but if herein the maiden of your chāber be not secrete, if she be corrupted, and if she kepe not close that which she ought to do, it is not ignorant to you that it is ye losse of my life, and shall die suspected to be a whoremonger & varlet, euen I, (I say) shall incurre that perill, which am your true and lawfull husband. Thys separation chaunceth not by Iustice or desert, sith the cause is too righteous for vs: but rather your brethrē will procure my death, when I shall thinke the same in greatest assurāce. If I had to do but with one or two, I wold not change the place, ne march one step from Naples, but be assured, that a great band, and the same wel armed will set vpon me. I pray you madame suffer me to retire [Page] for a time, for I am assured that when I am absent, they will neuer soile their hands, or imbrue their, sweards in your bloud. If I doubted any thing at al of, perill touching your owne person, I had rather a hundred hundred times die in your companie, than liue to sée you no more. But out of doubt I am, yt if the things were discouered, & they knew you to be begottē with childe by me, you should be safe, where I shold sustaine the penaunce of yt fact, committed wtout fault or sinne. And therfore I am determined to goe from Naples, to order mine affaires, and to cause my Reuenue to be brought to the place of mine abode, and from thence to Ancona, vntil it pleaseth God to mitigate the rage of your brethren, and recouer their good wils to consent to our mariage. But I meane not to doe or conclude any thing without your aduise. And if this intent doe not like you, giue me councell Madame, what I were best to doe, that both in life and death you may knowe your faithfull seruaunt and louing husband is ready to obey and please you.’

This good Ladie hearing hir husbands discourse, vncertain what to doe, wept bitterly, as wel for grief to lose his presence, as for that she felt hir self with child the third time. The sighes and teares, the sobbes and heauie lookes, which she threwe forth vpon hir sorowfull husband, gaue sufficient witnesse of hir paine and grief. And if none had heard hir, I thinke hir playntes woulde haue well expressed hir inwarde smarte of minde. But like a wise Ladie, séeing the alleaged reasons of hir husband, licensed him, although against hir minde, not without vtterance of these few words, before hée went out of hir Chamber: ‘Deare husband, if I were so well assured of the affection of my brethren, as I am of my maides fidelitie, I would entreat [Page] you not to leaue me alone: specially in the case I am, being with childe. But knowing that to be iust & true which you haue sayd, I am content to force my wil for a certaine time, that hereafter we may liue at rest together, ioyning our selues in the companie of our children and familie, voide of those troubles, which great Courts ordinarily beare within the compasse of their Palaces. Of one thing I must intreat you, that so oftē as you can by trustie messenger, you send me woord & intelligence of your health and state, bicause the same shal bryng vnto me greater pleasure & contentation, than the welfare of mine owne: and bicause also, vpon such occurrentes as shall chaunce, I may prouyde for mine owne affaires, the suretie of my self, and of our childrē.’ In saying so, she embraced him very amorously, and he kissed hir wyth so great sorrow and grief of heart, as the soule thought in that extasie out of his body to take hir flight, sorowful beyōd mesure so to leue hir whome he loued, for the great curtesies and honor which he had receiued at hir hands. In the end, fearing that the Aragon espials wold come and perceiue them in those priuities, Bologna tooke his leaue, and bad hys Ladie and spouse Farewell.

And thus was the second Acte of this Tragicall Historie, to sée a fugitife husband secretely to mary, especially hir, vpon whom he ought not so much as to loke but with feare and reuerence. Beholde here (O ye foolish louers) a Glasse of your lightnesse, and ye women, the course of your fonde behauior. It behoueth not the wise sodainly to execute their first motiōs and desires of their heart, for so much as they may be assured that pleasure is pursued so neare with a repentāce so sharp to be suffred, and hard to be digested, as their voluptuausnesse shall vtterly discontent them. True it is, that [Page] mariages be done in Heauen, and performed in earth, but that saying may not be applied to fooles, which gouerne themselues by carnall desires, whose scope is but pleasure, & the reward many times equal to their follie. Shall I be of opinion that a housholde seruaunt ought to sollicite, nay rather suborne the daughter of his Lord without punishment, or that a vile and abiect person dare to mount vpon a Princes bed? No no, pollicie requireth order in all, and eche wight ought to be matched according to their qualitie, without making a pastime of it to couer our follies, & know not of what force loue and desteny be, except the same be resisted. A goodly thing it is to loue, but where reason loseth his place, loue is without his effect, and the sequele rage & madnesse. Leaue we yt discourse of those which beleue that they be constrained to folowe the force of their minde, and may easily subdue themselues to ye lawes of vertue and honesty, like one that thrusteth his head into a sack, and thinks he can not get out, such people do please themselues in their losse, and think all well that is noisom to their health, daily folowing their cō trarie. Come we againe then to sir Bologna, who after he had left his wife in hir Castell, went to Naples, and hauing sessed a rent vpon his landes, and leuied a good summe of money, he repaired to Ancona, a Citie of the patrimonie of the Romane Church, whither he caried his two children, which he had of the Duchesse, causing the same to be brought vp with such diligēce and care, as is to be thought a father wel affectioned to his wife would doe, and who delighted to sée a braunche of the trée, that to him was the best beloued fruit of ye world. There he hired a house for his train, and for those that waited vpon his wife, who in the meane time was in great care, & could not tell of what woode to make hir [Page] arowes, perceiuing that hir belly began to [...] and grow to the time of hir deliuerie, séeing that from day to day, hir brothers seruaunts were at hir back, [...] of councel and aduise, if one euening she had not spokē to the Gentlewoman of hir chāber, touching the douts and peril wherin she was, not knowing how she might be deliuered from the same. That maiden was gentle & of a good minde and stomake, and loued hir mistresse very derely, & séeing hir so amazed and tormenting hir self to death, minding to fray hir no further, ne to reproue hir of hir fault, which could not be amended, but rather to prouide for ye daunger wherunto she had hedlong cast hir self, gaue hir this aduise: ‘How now Madame (said she,) is that wisdom which from your childhode hath bene so familiar in you, dislodged from your brest in time, when it ought chiefly to rest for incountring of those mishaps yt are cōming vpon vs? Thinke you to auoid ye dangers, by thus tormenting your self, except you set your hands to the work, thereby to giue the repulse to aduerse fortune? I haue heard you many times speake of the constancie & force of minde, which ought to shine in the dedes of Princesses, more clerely than amōgs those dames of baser house, & which ought to make thē appere like the sunne amid yt litle starres. And yet I sée you now astonned, as though you had neuer forséene, yt aduersitie chaunceth so wel to catch the great within his clouches, as yt base & simple sort. Is it but now, yt you haue called to remembraunce, yt which might insue your mariage with sir Bologna? Did hys only presence assure you against the waits of fortune, & was it the thought of paines, feares & frights, which now turmoileth your dolorous mind? Ought you thus to vexe your self, when nede it is to think how to saue both your honor, and the frute within your [...]? [Page] If your sorow be so great ouer sir Bologna, and if you feare your childbed wil be descried, why séeke you not meanes to attempt some voyage, for couering of the sad, to [...] the eyes of them which so diligently do watch you? Doth your heart faile you in that matter? Whereof do you dreame? Why sweat and freat you before you make me answer? Ah swéete heart (answered the Duchesse,) if thou feltest the paine which I do suffer, thy tongue wold not be so much at will, as thou shewest it now to be for reprofe of my smal cōstancie, I do sorow specially for yt causes which thou alleagest, and aboue all, for that I know wel, that if my brethrē had neuer so litle intelligence of my being with child, I were vndone & my life at an end, and peraduenture poore wench, thou shouldest beare the penaūce for my sinne. But what way can I take, that stil these cādles may not giue light, and I may be voided of the traine which ought to wayt vpon my brethren? I thinke if I should descend into Hel, they would know, whither any shadowe there were in loue with me. Now gesse if I should trauaile the Realme, or retire to any other place, whither they wold leaue me at peace? Nothing lesse, sith they would sodainly suspect, that the cause of my departure procéeded of desire to liue at libertie, to dallie wyth him, whome they suspect to be other than my lawfull husbande. And it may be as they be wicked and suspicious, and will doubt of my greatnesse, so shall I be farre more infortunate by trauailyng, than here in miserie amidde myne anguishe: and you the rest that be kéepers of my Councell, shall fal into greater daunger, vpon whome no doubt they wil be reuenged, and flesh themselues for your vnhappy waiting and attendance vpon vs. Madame said the bolde maiden, be not afraide, and follow mine aduise, [Page] For I hope that it shall be the meanes both to sée your spouse, & to rid those troublesome verlets out of your house, & in like manner safely to deliuer you into good assuraunce. Say your minde sayd the Ladie, for it may be, that I will gouerne my self according to the same. Mine aduise is then, sayd yt Gentlewoman, to let your houshold vnderstand, that you haue made a vow to visite the holy Temple of our Lady of Loretto, (a famous place of Pilgrimage in Italie) and that you commaund your traine to make themselues ready to waite vpon you for accōplishment of your deuotion, & from thence you shall take your iourney to soiorne at Ancona, whither before you depart, you shall send your moueables and plate, with such money as you shall think necessarie. And afterwardes God will performe the rest, and through his holy mercy will guide & direct all your affaires. The Duchesse hearing the maydē speake those woords, and amazed of hir sodaine inuention, could not forbeare to embrace and kisse hir, blessing the houre wherin she was borne, and that euer she chaunced into hir companie, to whome afterwardes she sayd. My wēch, I had well determined to giue ouer mine estate and noble porte, ioyfully to liue like a simple Gentlewoman with my deare and welbeloued husband, but I could not deuise how I should conueniently departe this Countrey wythout suspition of some follie: and sith that thou hast so well instructed me for bringing yt same to passe, I promise thée that so diligently thy coū cel shal be performed, as I sée the same to be right good and necessarie. For rather had I sée my husband, being alone without title of Duchesse or great Lady, than to liue without him beautified with the graces and foolish names of honor and preheminence.’ This deuised [...] was no soner groūded, but she gaue such order for execution [Page] of the same, & brought it to passe wyth such [...], as yt Ladie in lesse than. viij. dayes had conueyed and sent the most part of hir moueables, and specially the chiefest and best to Ancona, taking in yt meane time hir way towards Loretto after she had bruted hir solempne vow made for that Pilgrimage. It was not sufficiēt for this foolish woman to take a husband, more to glut hir libidinous appetite, than for other occasion, except she added to hir sinne, an other execrable impietie, making holy places and dueties of deuotion, to be as it were the ministers of hir follie. But let vs consider the force of Louers rage, which so soone as it hath seased vpon the minds of men, we sée how maruelious be the effects thereof, and with what straint and puissaunce that madnesse subdueth the wise and strongest worldlings. Who wold think that a great Ladie wold haue abandoned hir estate, hir goods and childe, would haue misprised hir honor and reputation, to folow like a vagabond, a pore and simple Gentleman, and him bisides that was the houshold seruaunt of hir Court? And yet you sée this great and mightie Duchesse trot & run after the male, like a female Wolfe or Lionesse (whē they goe to sault,) and forget the Noble bloud of Aragon wherof she was descēded, to couple hir self almost with the simplest person of all the trimmest Gentlemen of Naples. But turne we not the example of follies, to be a matter of cōsequence: for if one or two become bankrupt of their honor, it foloweth not good Ladies, that their facte should serue for a matche to your deserts, & much lesse a patron for you to folow. These Histories be not written to train and trap you, to pursue the thousand thousand slippery sleightes of Loues gallantise, but rather carefully to warn you to behold the semblable faultes, and to serue for a drugge to discharge [Page] the poyson which gnaweth and fretteth the integritie and soūdnesse of the soule. The wise & skilfull Apothecary or compositor of drugges, dresseth Uipers flesh to purge the patient from hote corrupted bloude, which conceiueth and engendreth Leprosie within his body. In like manner, the fonde loue, & wicked ribauldrie of Semiramis, Pasiphae, [...], Faustina, and Romida is shewed in wryt, that euery of you should feare to be numbred and recorded amōgs such common and dishonorable women. You Princes and great Lordes read the follies of Paris, the adulteries of Hercules, the daintie and effeminate life of Sardanapalus, the tirannie of Phalaris Busiris, or Dionysius of Scicile, and sée the History of Tiberius, Nero Caligula, Domitian and Heliogabalus, & spare not to numbre them amongs our [...] youthes which soile thēselues with such villanies more filthily than the swine do in the durt. Al this intendeth it an instruction for your youth to follow the infection and whoredome of those [...] Better it were all those bokes were drēched in bottōlesse depth of seas, than christiā life by their meanes shold be corrupted: but the exāple of yt wicked is induced for to eschue & auoid them as yt life of the good & honest is remē bred to frame & addresse our behauior in this world to be praise worthy & cōmēded. Otherwise ye holinesse of sacred [...] shold [...] for an argument to ye vnthrifty & luxurious to confirm & approue their heastly & licencious wickednesse. Come we again thē to our purpose: the good Pilgrime of Loretto went forth hir voyage to atchieue hir deuotions, & to visite the Saint for whose Reliques she was departed yt Countrey of yt Duke hir sonne. When she had done hir suffrages at [...], hir people thought yt the voyage was at an end, & that she wold haue returned again into hir Countrey. But she [Page] said vnto them: that sith she was so néere [...], being but. xv. miles off, she would not returne before she had séen yt auncient & goodly city, which diuers Histories do greatly recōmend, as wel for the antiquitie, as for the pleasant [...] therof. All were of hir aduise, & went to sée yt antiquities of Ancona, & she to renue ye pleasures which she had before begon wt hir Bologna, who was aduertised of all hir determination, resting now like a God, possessed wt the iewels & richesse of the Duchesse, & had taken a faire palace in the great streat of the Citie, by yt gate wherof the train of his Ladie must passe. The Harbinger of the Duchesse posted before to take vp lodging for the traine: but Bologna offred vnto him his Palace for the Lady. So Bologna which was already welbeloued in Ancona, and entred new amitie and great acquaintance with the Gentlemen of the Citie, with a goodly troupe of them, went forth to [...] his wife, to whome he [...] his house, and besought hir that she and hir traine would vouchsafe to lodge with him. She receiued the same very thākfully, and withdrew hir self vnto his house, who conducted [...] thither, not as a Husband, but like hym that was hir humble and affectionate seruaunt. But what néedeth much discourse of woordes? The Duchesse knowing that it was impossible but eche man must be [...] to hir facte, and know what secretes hath passed betwéene hir and hir Husband, to the ende that no other opinion of hir Childebed should be conceyued, but that which was good and honest, and done since the accomplishment of the mariage, the morrowe after hir arriuall to Ancona, assembled all hir traine in the Hall, of purpose no longer to kéepe secrete that syr Bologna was hir Husbande, and that already she had had two Children by him, and againe was great with childe. [Page] And when they were come together after dinner, in yt presence of hir husbād, she spake vnto thē these [...]: ‘Gentlemen, and al ye my trusty and louing seruants, highe time it is to manifest to euery of you, the thing which hath ben done before the face, and in ye presence of him who knoweth the most obscure & hyddē secrets of our thoughts. And néedefull it is not to kepe silent yt which is neither euill done ne hurtfull to aný person. If things could be kept secrete and still remaine vnknown, except they were declared by the doers of thē, yet would not I commit the wrong in cōcealing that, which to discouer vnto you doth greatly delite me, and deliuereth my mind [...] excéeding grief, in such wise as if yt flames of my desire could breake out with such violence, as the fire hath taken heat within my mind, ye shold sée the smoke mount vp with greater smoulder than that which the mount Gibel doeth vomit forth at certaine seasons of the yeare. And to the intent I may not kéepe you long in this suspect, this secrete fire within my heart, and that which I will cause to flame in open aire, is a certain opinion which I conceiue for a mariage by me made certaine yeares past, at what time I chose and wedded a husband to my fantasie and liking, desirous no longer to liue in widow state, and vnwilling to doe the thing that should [...] & hurt my conscience. The same is done, and yet in one thing I haue offended, which is by long kéeping secrete the performed mariage: for the wicked brute dispearsed through the realme by reason of my childbed, one yere past, hath displeased some, howbeit my conscience [...] comfort, for that the same is frée from fault or blot. Now know ye therfore what he is, whome I acknowledge for my Lord and spouse, and who it is that lawfully hath me espoused in the presēce of this Gentle woman [Page] whom you sée, which is the witnesse of our Nuptials & accorde of mariage. This gentleman here present Antonio Bologna, is he to whom I haue sworn and giuen my faith, and hée againe to me hath ingaged his owne. He it is whom I accompt for my spouse and husband, (& with whome henceforth) I meane to rest and continue. In consideration wherof, if there be any héere amongs you all, that shall mislike of my choise, & is willing to wait vpon my sonne the Duke, I meane not to let them of their intent, praying them faithfully to serue him and to be carefull of his person, and to be vnto him so honest and loyall, as they haue bene to me so long as I was their mistresse. But if any of you desire stil to make your abode with me, and to be partakers of my wealth and woe, I wil so entertain him, as hée shall haue good cause to be contented, if not, depart ye hence to Malfi, and the steward shall prouide for either of you according to your degrée: for touching my self I do minde no more to be termed an infamous Duchesse: rather had I be honored with the title of a simple Gentle woman, or with that estate which she can haue that hath an honest husband, and with whom she holdeth faithfull and loyall companie, than reuerē ced with the glory of a Princesse, subiect to the despite of slaunderous tongues. Ye know (said she to Bologna) what hath passed betwene vs, and God is the witnesse of the integritie of my Conscience, wherefore I pray you bring forth our children, yt eche man may beholde the fruites raised of our alliance.’ Hauing spoken those words, and the children brought forth into the hall, all the companie stode stil so astonned with that new successe and tale, as though hornes sodainely had started forth their heads, and rested vnmoueable and amazed, like the great marble piller of Rome called Pasquile, [Page] for so much as they neuer thought, ne coniectured that Bologna was the successor of the Duke of Malfi in his mariage bed.

This was the preparatiue of the Catastrophe & bloudie end of this Tragedie. For of all the Duchesse seruaunts, there was not one that was willing to continue with their auncient mistresse, who with the faithful maiden of hir chamber remained at Ancona, enioying the ioyful embracements of hir husband, in al such pleasure & delights as they doe, which hauing liued in feare, be set at liberty, & out of al suspition, plunged in a sea of ioy, & fleting in the quiet calme of al passetime, where Bologna had none other care, but how to please his best beloued, & she studied nothing else but how to loue and obey him, as the wife ought to do hir husband. But this faire weather lasted not long, for although yt ioyes of mē do not long endure, and wast in litle time, yet delights of louers be lesse firme & stedfast, & passe away almost in one moment of an hour. Now the seruaunts of the Duchesse which were retired, and durst tary no longer with hir, fearing the fury of the Cardinal of Aragon brother to the Ladie, the very day they departed from Ancona, deuised amongs themselues yt one of them shold ride in post to Rome, to aduertise the Cardinal of the Ladies mariage, to the intent that the Aragon brethren shold conceiue no cause to accuse thē of felonie & treason. That determination spedily was accomplished, one posting towards Rome, and the rest galloping to the Countrey and Castels of the Duke. These newes reported to the Cardinal & his brother, it may be considered how grieuously they toke yt same, & for that they were not able to digest thē with [...], the yōgest of the brethren, yelled forth a thousand cursses & despites, against ye simple sere of womākind. [Page] ‘Ha said yt Prince (trāsported with choler, & driuen in to deadly furie,) what law is able to punish or restrain ye foolish indiscretiō of a womā, that yeldeth hir self to hir own desires? What shame is able to bridle & withdrawe hir from hir minde & madnesse? Or with what seare is it possible to snaffle thē frō execution of their [...]? There is no beast be he neuer so wilde, but man sometime may tame, and bring to his lure and order. The force and diligence of man is able to make milde the strong and proud, and to ouertake the swiftest beast and foule, or otherwise to attaine the highest and déepest thing of the world: but this incarnate diuelish beast the woman, no force can surmount hir, no swiftnesse can approche hir mobilitie, no good mind can preuent hir sleights and deceites, they séeme to be procreated and borne against all order of nature, and to liue without law, which gouerneth all other things indued wyth some reason and vnderstanding. But what a great abhomination is this, that a Gentlewoman of such a house as ours is, hath forgotten hir estate, and the greatnesse of hir aliance, besides the nobilitie of hir deceased husband, with the hope of the towarde youth of the Duke hir sonne and our Nephew. Ah false and vile bitch, I sweare by the almightie God and by his blessed wounds, that if I can catch thée, and that wicked knaue thy chosen mate, I will pipe ye both such a galiarde, as ye neuer felt the lyke ioy and mirthe. I will make ye daunce such a bloudy bargenet, as your whorish heate for euer shall be cooled. What abuse haue they committed vnder title of mariage, which was so secretely done, as their Children do witnesse their filthy: embracements, but their promise of faith was made in open aire, and serueth for a cloke and visarde for their most filthy whoredoine. [Page] And what if mariage was concluded, be we of so little respect, as the carion beast would not vouchsafe to [...] vs of hir entent? Or is Bologna a man worthy to be allied or mingled with the royall bloud of Aragon and Castille? No no, be hée neuer so good a Gentlemā, his race agréeth not with kingly state. But I make to God a vewe, that neuer will I take one sound and restfull sléepe, vntill I haue dispatched that infamous fact from our bloud, and that the caitife whoremonger be vsed according to his desert.’ The Cardinall also was ont of quiet, grinding his téeth togither, chattering forthe Jacke an Apes Pater noster, promising no better vsage to their Bologna than his yonger brother did. And the better to intrap them both (without further sturre for that time) they sent to yt Lord Gismondo Gonsago the Cardinal of Mantua then Legate for Pope Iulius the second at Ancona, at whose hands they enioyed such friendship, as Bologna and all his familie were commaūded spedily to auoide ye Citie. But for al ye the Legate was able to do, of long time he could not preuaile. Bologna had so great intelligēce wtin Ancona. Neuerthelesse whiles he differed his departure, [...] caused the most part of his train, his children & goods to be conueyed to Siena, an auncient Citie of Thoscane, which for the state and liberties, had long time bene at warres with the Florentines, in such wise as the very same day that newes came to Bologna that he shold departe the Citie within. xv. dayes, hée was ready, and moūted on horseback to take his flight to Siena, which brake for sorrow the hearts of the Aragon brethren, séeing that they were deceiued and frustrate of their intent, bicause they purposed by the way to apprehend Bologna, and to cut him in pieces. But what? the time of his hard luck was not yet expired, and so ye marche [Page] from Ancona, serued not for the Theatre of those two infortunate louers ouerthrow, who certain moneths liued in peace in Thoscane. The Cardinal night nor day did sléepe, and his brother stil did wayt to performe his othe of reuenge. And séeing their enimie out of feare, they dispatched a post to Alfonso Castruccio, the Cardinall of Siena, that he might entreat the Lord Borgliese, chief of the seignorie there, that their sister and Bologna should be banished the Countrey and limits of that Citie, which with small sute was brought to passe. These two infortunate, husbād and wife, were chased from al places, and so vnlucky as whilom Acasta was, or Oedipus, after his fathers death and incestuous mariage wt his mother, vncertain to what Saint to vow themselues, and to what place to take their flight. In the end they determined to goe to Venice, and to take their flight to Ramagua, there to imbarke themselues for to retire to the sauegarde of the Citie, enuironned with the sea Adriaticum, the richest in Europa. But the poore soules made their reconing there without their hoste, failing half the price of their banket. For being vpon the territorie of Forly, one of the train a farre off, did sée a troupe of horsenien galloping towardes their cōpany, which by their countenaunce shewed no signe of peace or amitie at all, which made them cōsider that it was some ambush of their enimies. The [...] Gentleman séeing the onset bending vpon them, begā to fear death, not for that he cared at all for his mishap and ruine, but his heart began to cleaue for heauinesse to sée his wife and litle children ready to be murdered, and serue for the passetime of the Aragon brethrens eyes, for whose sakes he knew himself already predestinate to die, and that for despite of him, and to accelerate his death by the ouerthrow of his, he was assured [Page] that they wold kil his childrē before his face & [...]. But what is there to be done, where counsell & meanes to escape do faile? Ful of teares therfore, astonishment & fear, he expected death so cruel as mā could deuise, & was alredy determined to suffer the same [...] good corage, for any thing yt the Duchesse could say [...] him. He might well haue saued himself & his eldest sonne by flight, being both wel moūted vpon two good Turkey horsses, which ran so fast, as yt quarrel discharged forth of a croshow. But he loued too much his wife & children, and wold kéepe them companie both in life and death. ‘In the end the good Ladie sayd vnto him: or for all the ioyes & pleasures which you can doe me, for Gods sake saue your self & the little infant next you, who can wel indure ye galloping of the horse. For sure I am, yt you being out of our cōpanie, we shal not néede to fear any hurt. But if you do tary, you wil be ye cause of the ruine and ouerthrow of vs all, & receiue therby no profit or aduaūtage: take this purse therfore, & saue your self, attending better Fortune in time to come.’ The poore gentleman Bologna knowing that his wife had pronounced reason, & perceiuing yt it was impossible from that time forth that she or hir traine could escape their hāds, taking leaue of hir, & kissing his childrē not forgetting the money which she offred vnto him, willed his seruants to saue thēselues by such meanes as they thought best. So giuing spurrs vnto his horse, he began to flée amaine, and his eldest sonne séeing his father gone, began to followe in like sorte. And so for that time they two were saued by breaking of the intended yll luck like to light vpon them. And in a place to rescue himself at Venice, hée turned another way, & in great iourneys arriued at Millan. In the meane time the horsemē were approched [...] the Duchesse, [Page] who séeing that Bologna had saued himself, very courteously began to speake vnto the Ladie, were it that the Aragou brethren had giuen them that charge, or feared that the Ladie wold trouble them with hir importunate cries & lamentatiōs. One therfore amongs them sayd vnto hir: ‘Madame, we be commaunded by the Lordes your brethren, to conducte you home vnto your house, that you may receiue again the [...] of the Duchie, and the order of the Duke your sonne, & doe maruell very much at your folly, for giuing your self thus to wander the Countrey after a man of so small reputation as Bologna is, who whē he hath glutted his lusting lecherous mind with the comelinesse of your Noble personage, wil despoil you of your goods & honor, and then take his legs into some strange countrey.’ The simple Ladie, albeit grieuous it was vnto hir to heare such spéech of hir husbād, yet held hir peace and dissembled what she thought, glad and well contē ted with the curtesy done vnto hir, fearing before that they came to kill. hir, and thought hir self already discharged, hoping vpon their courteous dealings, that she and hir Children from that time forth should liue in good assuraunce. But she was greatly deceyued, and knew within shorte space after, the good will hir brethren bare vnto hir. For so soone as these gallants had conducted hir into the kingdome of Naples, to one of the Castels of hir sonne, she was committed to prison with hir children, and she also that was the secretarie of hir infortunate mariage. Till this time Fortune was contented to procéede with indifferent quiet [...] those Louers, but benceforth ye shall heare the issue of their little prosperous loue, and how pleasure hauing blinded them, neuer forsoke them vntill it [...] giuen them the [...]. [Page] It booteth not héere to recite fables or histories, contiting my self that ladies do read without too many weping teares, the pitiful end of that miserable princesse, who séeing hir self a prisoner in the companie of hir litle children and welbeloued Maiden, paciently liued in hope to see hir brethren appaised, comforting hir self for the escape of hir husband out of yt hands of his mortal foes. But hir assurance was changed into an horrible feare, & hir hope to no expectation of suretie, when certain dayes after hir [...], hir Gaoler came in, and sayd vnto hir: ‘Madame I do aduise you henceforth to consider vpon your conscience, for so much as I suppose that euen this very day your life shall be taken from you. I leaue for you to thinke what horrour and traunce assailed the feeble heart of this pore Lady, and with what eares she receiued those cruell newes, but hir cries and mones together with hir sighes and lamentations, declared with what chéere she receiued that aduertisement. Alas (sayd she) is it possible that my brethren should so farre forget themselues, as for a fact nothing preiudiciall vnto them, cruelly to put to death their innocent sister, and to imbrue the memory of their fact, in the bloud of one which neuer did offend them? Must I against all right and equitie be put to death before the Judge or Magistrate haue made trial of my life, & known the vnright eousnesse of my cause? Ah God most righteous, and bountiful father, beholde the malice of my brethren, and the tyrannous crucltie of those which wrongfully doe séeke my bloud. Is it a sinne to mary? Is it a fault to flie and auoide the sinne of whoredome? What lawes be these, where mariage bed and ioyned matrimony is pursued with like seueritie, as murder, theft and aduoutrie? And what Christianitie in a Cardinall, to shed yt bloud which he ought [Page] to [...]? What profession is this, to assaile the innocent by the hie way side, in place to punish théeues and murderers? O Lord God thou art iust, & dost al things right cously, I sée well that I haue trespassed against thy Maiestie in some other notorious crime than by mariage: I most humbly therfore beséeche thée to haue compassion vpon me, and to pardon mine [...], accepting the confession and repentance of me thine [...] [...] for satisfaction of my sinnes, which it pleased thée to wash away in the precious bloud of thy sōne our Sauior, that being so purified, I might appere at ye holy banket in thy glorious kingdome. When she had thus [...] hir prayer, two or thrée of the ministers which had taken hir [...] Forly, came in, and sayd vnto hir: Now Madame make ready your self to goe to God, for beholde your houre is come. Praised be that God (sayd she) for the wealth and woe which it pleaseth him to send vs. But I beséeche you my friendes to haue pitie vpon these lyttle children and innocēt creatures. Let thē not feele the smarte which I am assured my brethrē beare against their poore vnhappie father. Well well Madame sayd they, we will conuey them to such a place, as they shal not want. I also recōmend vnto you (quod she) this poore maiden, and entreat hir wel, in consideration of hir good seruice done to the infortunate Duchesse of [...]. As she had ended those woords, yt two Ruffians did [...] a corde about hir neck, and strangled hir.’ The mayden [...] the piteous tragedie commensed vpon hir [...], cried out a main, and cursed the cruell malice of those tormenters, and besought God to be witnesse of yt [...], and crying [...] vpon his diuine Maiestie, she besought him to [...] his iudgement against them which causelesse (being no [...],) hadde killed such innocent. creatures. [Page] ‘Reason it is (said one of the tyrants) that thou be partaker of the ioy of thy mistresse innocencie, sith [...] hast bene so faithfull a minister, and messanger of hir follies. And sodainly caught hir by the hair of the head, & in stead of a carcanet placed a roape about hir necke. How now (quod she,) is this the promised faith which you made vnto my Ladie? But those woords flew into the air with hir soule, in companie of the miserable Duchesse.’

But hearken now the most sorowfull scene of all yt tragedie. The litle children which had séene all the furious game done vpon their mother and hir maide, as nature prouoked thē, or as some presage of their mishap led them therunto, kneled vpon their knées before those tyrants, and embracing their legs, wailed in such wise, as I think that any other, except a pitilesse heart spoiled of all humanitie, wold haue had cōpassion. And impossible it was for them, to vnfold the embracemēts of those innocent creatures, which séemed to forethink their death by the wilde lokes and countenāce of those roisters. Wherby I think that néedes it must be cōfessed, that nature hath in hir self, and vpon vs imprinted some signe of diuination, and specially at the hour and time of death, in such wise as yt very beasts féele some cōceits, although they sée neither sword nor staffe, and indeuor to auoyde the cruell passage of a thing so fearful, as the separation of two things so néerely vnited, euen the body and soule, which for the motion yt chaū ceth at the very instant, she weth how nature is constrained in that monstruous separation, & more than horrible ouerthrow. But who can appease a heart determined to do euil, & hath sworn the death of another forced the runto by some special cōmaundement? The Aragon brethrē ment hereby nothing else, but to roote [Page] out yt whole name & race of Bologna. And therfore the two ministers of iniquitie did like murder & slaughter vpon those two tender babes, as they committed vpon their mother, not without some motion of horror, for doing of an act so detestable. Behold here how far the crueltie of man extēdeth, whē it coueteth nothing else but vengeance, and marke what excessiue choler the minde of thē produceth, which suffer themselues to be forced & ouerwhelmed with furie. Leaue we apart the crueltie of Euchrates, the sonne of the king of Bactria, & of Phraates the sōne of the Persian Prince, of Timon of Athens, & of an infinite nūbre of those which were rulers and gouerners of the Empire of Rome: and let vs match with these Aragon brethrē, one Vitoldus Duke of Litudnia, the crueltie of whom, constrained his own subiects to hang thēselues, for fear least they shold fall into his furious & bloudy hands. We may confesse also these brutal brethrē to be more butcherly thā euer Otho erle of Monferrato, & prince of Vrbin. was, who caused a yeoman of his chamber to be wrapped in a shéete poudred with sulpher & brimstō, & afterwards kindled with a candle, was scalded & cōsumed to death, bicause only he waked not at an hour by him apointed. Let vs not excuse them also frō some affinity with Maufredus the sonne of Henry yt second Emperor, who smoldered his own father, being an old mā, betwene y. couerleds. These former furies might haue some excuse to couer their crueltie, but these had no other cause but a certain beastly madnesse which moued thē to kil those litle childrē their neuews, who by no meanes could preiudice or anoy ye duke of Malfi or his title, in ye successiō of his Duchie, the mother hauing wtdrawn hir goods, & was assigned hir dowry: but a wicked hart must néedes bring forth semblable works according to his malice. [Page] In the time of these murders, the infortunate [...] kept himself at Millan wyth his sonne Federick, and vowed himself to yt Lord Siluio Sauello, who that time belieged the Castell of Millan, in the behalf of Maximilian Sforcia, which in the end he conquered and recouered by composition with ye French within. But that charge being archieued, the generall Sauello marched from thence to Cremona with his campe, whither Bologna durst not folow, but repaired to the Marquize of Bitonte, in which time yt Aragon brethren so wrought, as his goods were confiscate at Naples, and he driuē to his shifts to vse the golden Duckates which the Duchesse gaue him to relieue him self at Millan, whose Death althoughe it was aduertised by many, yet hée coulde not be persuaded to beleue the same, for that diuers which went about to betray him, and feared he should flie from Millan, kept his beake in the water, (as the Prouerbe is,) and assured him both of the life & welfare of his spouse, and that shortly his brethren in law wold be reconciled, bicause that many Noble mē fauored him well, and desired his returne home to his Countrey. Fed and filled with that vaine hope, he remained more than a yeare at Millan, frequenting the companie, and well entertained of the richest Marchants and Gentlemen of the Citie: and aboue all other, he had familiar accesse to the house of the Ladie Hippolita Bentiuoglia, where vpon a day after dinner, taking his Lute in hand, wheron he could exceedingly wel play, he began to sing a certain Sonnet, which he had composed vpon the discourse of his misfortune, the tenor whereof is this.

[Page]

The song of Antonio Bologna, the husband of the Duchesse of Malfi.

If loue, the death, or tract of time, haue measured my distresse,

Or if my beating sorrowes may my languor well expresse:

Then loue come sone to visit me, which most my heart desires,

And so my dolor findes some ease, through flames of fansies fires.

The time runnes out his rolling course, for to prolong mine ease,

To thend I shall enioy my loue, and heart himself appease.

A cruell Darte brings happy death, my soule then rest shall finde:

And sleping body vnder tombe, shall dreame time out of minde.

And yet the Loue, the time, nor Death, lokes not how I decrease:

Nor giueth eare to any thing of this my wofull peace.

Full farre I am from my good happe, or halfe the ioy I craue,

wherby I [...] my state with teares, & draw full nere my graue.

The courteous Gods that giues me life, nowe moues the Planets all:

For to arrest my groning ghost, and hence my sprite to call.

Yet from them still I am separd, by things vnequall here,

Not mēt the Gods may be vniust, that bredes my chāging chere.

For they prouide by their foresight, that none shall doe me harme:

But she whose blasing beuty bright, hath brought me in a charm.

My mistresse hath the powre alone, to rid me from this woe:

whose thrall I am, for whome I die, to whome my sprite shall goe.

Away my soule, go from the griefs, that thee oppresseth still,

And let thy dolor witnesse beare, how much I want my will.

For since that loue and death himself, delights in guiltlesse bloud,

Let time trāsport my troubled sprite, where destny semeth good.

His song ended, the poore Gentleman could not forbeare frō pouring forth his luke warme teares, which aboundantly ran downe his heauie face, and his panting sighes truely discouered yt alteration of his mind, which moued eche wight of that assembly to pitie his [Page] mournefull state: and one specially of small acquaintaunce, and yet knew the deuises which the Aragon brethren had trained and conspired against him: that vnacquainted Gentleman his name was Delio, one very well learned and of [...] inuention, and very excellently hath endited in the Iralion vulgar tongue. Who knowing the Gentleman to be husbande to the deceased Duchesse of [...] came vnto him, & taking him aside, sayd: ‘Sir, albeit I haue no great acquaintance with you, this being the first time that euer I saw you, to my remembrance, so it is, that vertue hath such force, and maketh gentle mindes so amorous of their like, as when they doe beholde [...] other, they féele thēselues coupled as it were in a bande of minds, that impossible it is to diuide the same. Now knowing what you be, and the good and commendable qualities in you, I compte it my duetie to reueale that which may chaunce to bréede you damage. Know you then, that I of late was in companie with a Noble man of Naples, which is in this Citie, banded with a certaine companie of horsemen, who tolde me that hee had a speciall charge to kill you, and therfore prayed me (as he séemed) to require you not to come in his sight, to the intent hée might not be constrained to doe that, which should offende his Conscience, and grieue the same all the dayes of his life. Moreouer I haue worse tidings to tell you, which are, that the Duchesse your wife is deade by violent hand in prison, and the moste parte of them that were in hir companie. Besides this assure your self, that if you doe not take héede to that which this Neapolitane captaine hathe differred, other will doe and execute the same. This much I haue thought good to tell you, bicause it woulde verie much grieue me, that a Gentleman so excellent as you be, [Page] should be murdered in that miserable wife, and would déeme my selfe vnworthy of life, if knowing these practises I should dissemble the same. Wherunto Bologna answered: Syr Delio I am greatly bounde vnto you, and giue you heartie thankes for the good will you beare me. But of the conspiracie of the brethren of Aragon, and the death of my Ladie, you be deceyued, and some haue giuen you wrong intelligence. For within these two dayes I receiued letters from Naples, wherein I am aduertised, that the right honorable and [...] Cardinall and his brother be almost appeased, and that my goodes shall be rendred againe; and my deare wife restored. Ah syr sayd Delio, how you be beguiled and fedde with follies, and nourished with sleights of Courte. Assure your self that they which wryte these tristes, make such shamefull sale of you, as the Butcher doeth of his flesh in the shambles, and so wickedly betray you, as impossible it is to inuent a Treason more detestable: but be thinke you well thereof.’ When he had sayde so, hée tooke his leaue, and ioyned himself in companie of fiue and pregnant wittes, there assembled togither. In the meane tyme, the cruell spryte of the Aragon brethren were not yet appeased with the former murders, but néedes must finish the last acte of Bologna his Tragedie by losse of his life, to kéepe his wife and Children companie, so well in an other worlde, as hée was vnited with them in Loue in this fraile and transitorie passage. The Neapolitan gentleman before spoken of by Delio, which had taken an enterprise to satisfie the barbarous Cardinal, to bericue his Countreyman of life, hauing changes his minde, and differring from day to day to sorte the same to effect, which hée had taken in hande, it chaunced that a Lombarde [Page] of larger conscience than the other, inuegled with Couetousnesse, and hired for readie money, practised the death of the Duchesse pore husband. This bloudy beast was called Daniel de Bozola that had charge of a certaine bande of footemen in Millan. This newe Iudas and assured manqueller, within certaine dayes after, knowing that Bologna oftentimes repaired to heare seruice at the Church and couent of S. Fraunces, secretly conueyed himself in ambush, hard bisides the church of S. Iames whether he came, (being accompanied with a certaine troupe of souldioures) to assaile the infortunate Bologna, who was sooner slaine than hée was able to thinke vpon defense, & whose mishap was such, that he which killed him had good leisure to saue himself by reason of the little pursuite made after him. Beholde héere the Noble facte of a Cardinall, and what sauer it hath of Christian puritie, to commit a slaughter for a facte done many yeares past vpon a poore Gentleman which neuer thought him hurte. Is this the swéete obseruation of the Apostles, of whom they vaunt themselues to be the successors and folowers? And yet we cannot finde nor reade, that the Apostles, or those that slept in their trace, hired Kuffians and Murderers to cut the throtes of them which did thē hurt. But what? It was in the time of Iulius the second, who was more marshall than christian, and loued better to shed bloud than giue blessing to the people. Such ende had the infortunate mariage of him, which ought to haue contē ted himself with that degrée and honor that hée had acquired by his déedes and glory of his vertues, so much by eche wight recōmended. We ought neuer to clime higher than our force permitteth, ne yet surmount the bounds of duety, and lesse suffer our selues to be haled [...] forth with desire of brutal sensualitie. The sinne [Page] being of such nature, that hée neuer giueth ouer yt partie whome he mastereth, vntil he hath brought him to the [...] of some Notable follie. You sée the miserable discourse of a Princesse loue, that was not very wise, and of a gentleman that had forgottē his estate, which ought to serue for a loking glasse to them which be ouer hardie in making of enterprises, and doe not measure their abilitie with the greatnesse of their attemptes: where they ought to maintaine themselues in reputation, and beare the title of wel aduised: foreséeing their ruine to be example to all posteritie, as may be séene by the death of Bologna, and of all them which sprang of him, and of his infortunate spouse his Ladie and mistresse.

But we haue discoursed inoughe hereof, sith diuersitie of other Histories doe call vs to bring the same in place, which were not much more happie than those, whose Historie ye haue already tasted.

[Page]

The Countesse of Celant.
The. xxiiij. Nouel.

¶ The disordered life of the Countesse of CELANT, and how she (causing the Countie of MASINO to be murdered,) was beheaded at MILLAN.

NOt withoute cause of long time haue wise & discrete men prudently gouerned, and giuen great héede ouer their Daughters, and those whome they haue chosen to be their wiues, not in vsing them like bōdwemen and slaues, bereuing them of all libertie, but rather to auoide the murmur and secrete slaunderous speache of the common people, and occasiōs offred for infection and marring of youth, specially circumspect of the assaults bent against maidens, being yet in the first flames of fire, kindled by nature in the hearts, [...] of those that be the wisest. Some persones [...] it to be very straunge, that [Page] such [...] guard shold be obserued of those which ought to liue at libertie, and doe not consider how libertie and licentious bridle let slip vnto youth, brede vnto the same most strong and tedious bondage, that better it had bene the same to haue bene chained and closed in some obscure prison, than marked with those blottes of infamie, which willingly such licence and libertie doe conduce. If England doe not by experience sée maidens of Noble houses infamed through too much vnbrideled and frank maner of life, and their parents desolate for such villanie, and the name of their houses fabulous and ridiculous to the people, yet that manner of espiall and watch ouer children, may be noted in nations not very farre cōfining from vs, where men be iealous of the very fantasie of thē, whome they thinke to be of good grace, and who dare with one very loke giue atteint vnto their Daughters. But where examples be euident, where follie is more than manifest, where all the world is assured of that which they sée by daily experience, and that the frutes of the disordered, breake out into light, it behoueth no more to attend the daungerous customes of a Countrey, and to condescend to the sottishe opinion of them, which say that youth too narrowly looked vnto, is trained vp in such grosenesse and blockishnesse of minde, as impossible it is afterwards the same should do any thing praise worthy. The Romane maidēs [...] were cloistered within their fathers Palaces, stil at their mothers elbowes, & notwithstanding were so wel brought vp, yt those of best ciuility & finest trained vp in our age, shal not be the second to one of the least perfect in yt Citie. But who can learne ciuilitie & vertue in these our daies? our daughters nousled in cōpanies, whose mouths run ouer wt whorish & filthy talk, [Page] with [...] full of ribauldrie, & many times [...] with facts lesse honest thā word is able to expresse. I do not pretend héereby to depriue that sexe of honest and seemely talk and companie, and lesse of exercise amongs the Noble Gentlemen of our English soile, ne yet of the libertie receiued from our auncestors, only (me thinke) that requisite it were to contemplate the maners and inclination of wils, and refrain those that be prone to wantonnesse, & by like meanes to reioyce the mindes of them that be bent to heauinesse, diuided from curtesie and ciuility, by attending of which choise and considering of that difference, impossible it is but vertue must shine more bright in Noble houses than homelinesse in cabanes of pesants and coūtrey carles: who oftentimes better obserue the Discipline of our predecessors in education of their children, than they which presume to praise thēselues for good skill in vse and gouernmēt of that age, more troublesome & painfull to rule, than any other time of mannes life.

Therfore the good and wise Emperor Marcus Aurelius would not haue his daughters to be brought vp in Courts. For (quod he) what profite shall the nurse receiue by learning hir maiden honesty and vertue, whē our works intice them to dalliance, and to learne the follie of those that be amorous? I make this discourse, not that I am so [...] a iudge for our maydens of England, that I wishe them so reformed, as to sée and be séene should be forbidden, being assured that vertue in what place so euer she be, cannot but open things yt shall sauor of the tast therof. But to talke of an Italian dame, who so long as hir first husband (knowing hir inclination) kept hir subiect, she liued in reputation of a modest and sober wife. Nothing is séene in hir that can defame hir [...]. And so soone as the shadow [Page] of that frée captiuitie was passed by the deathe of hir husband, God knoweth what pageant she played, and how she soyled both hir owne renoume, and the honor of hir second husband, as ye shal vnderstand if with pacience ye vouchsafe to reade the discourse of this present Historie.

Cafall, (as it is not vnknown) is a Citie of Piedmont, and subiecte to the Marquize of Montferrato, where dwelled one yt was very rich, although of base birth, named Giachomo Scappardone, who being growne to be rich, more by wicked Art and vsury, to much manifest, than by other his owne diligence, tooke to wife a yong Greke maiden, which the Marchionesse of Montferrato mother of Marquize Guglielmo, had broughte home with hir from yt voyage that she made into Grecia with hir husband, when the Turkes ouerran yt countrey of Macedonia, and seased vpon the Citie of Modena which is in Morea. Of that maiden Scappardone had a daughter indifferent faire, but in behauior liuely and pleasant, who by name was called Bianca Maria. The father died within a while after hir birth, as one that was of good yeres, and had bene greatly turmoiled in getting of riches, whose value amoūted aboue one hundred thousand Crownes. Bianca Maria arriued to the age of. xvj. or. [...]. yeres, was required of many, aswell for hir beautie, gentlenesse & good grace, as for hir great riches. In the ende she was maried to the vicecount Hermes, the sonne of one of the chiefest houses in Millan, who incontinently after the mariage, conueyed hir home to his house, leauing his [...] mother to gouerne the vsuries [...] by hir dead husbād. The Gentleman which amōgs two gréene, knew one that was ripe, hauing for a certain time wel vsed and learned the maners of his wife, saw yt it behoued him [Page] rather to deale with the bit and bridle than the spur, séeing hir to be wanton, full of desire, and coueted nothing so much as fonde and disordered libertie, & therfore without cruell dealing, disquiet, or trouble, he used by little and little to keepe hir in, and cherished hir more than his nature willingly wold suffer, of purpose to holde hir within the bounds of duetie. And although ye [...] [...] haue almost like liberties that ours haue, yet the Lord Hermes kept hir within dores, and suffred hir to frequent none other house and company, but the Ladie Hippolita Sforcia, ‘who vpon a day demaunded of him wherfore he kept in his wife so short, & persuaded him to giue hir somewhat more the bridle bicause diuers already murmured of this order, as too straite & froward, estéeming hint either to be too much fond ouer hir, or else to iealous. Madame said the Millanoise, they which at pleasure so speake of me, know not yet the nature of my wife, who I had rather shold be somewhat restrained, than run at rouers to hir dishonour and my shame. I remember well madame the proper saying of Paulus Emilius that Notable Romane, Who being demaunded wherfore hee refused his wife being a Gentlewoman so faire & beautiful. O (quod he & lifted vp his leg whereupon was a new paire of buskins) ye sée this fair buskin méete and séemely for this leg to outwarde apparance not grieuous or noisome, but in what place it hurteth me, or where it wringeth ye doe neither sée nor yet consider. So I Madame, do feele in what place my hose doeth hurt and wring my legge. I know Madame what it is to graunt to so wā ton a Dame as my wife is, hir will, and how farre I ought to let goe the bridle: Jealous I am not vpon the faith that I beare vnto God, but I know that which I wold not, if it be possible that it chaunce vnto me. And [Page] by my trouth Madame, I giue hir licence to repaire to pou both day and night, and at whatsoeuer hour, being assured of the [...] companie which haunte your house: otherwise my palace shal suffice hir pleasure for the common ioy of vs both, and therfore wold wish no more talk to be héereof, least too importunate sutes do offend my nature, and make me thinke that to be true which of good will I am loth to suspect, contenting my self with hir chastity, for feare least too much liberty do corrupt hir.’ These words were not spokē wtout cause, and the wise husband saw well that such beasts, albeit rudely they ought not to be vsed, yet to be haldē short, and not suffred too much to wander at will. And verily his Prophecy was too true for respect of that which folowed. For they had not bene maried full. vj. yeares, but the good [...] Hermes, departed this world, whereof she was very sory, bicause she loued him derely, hauing as yet not tasted the licorous baites of such libertie, as afterwardes she dranke in Gluttonous draughtes, when after hir husbands obsequies, [...] retired to Montferrato, and then to Cafal to hir Fathers house, hir mother being also dead, and she a lone womā to ioy at pleasure the frute of hir desires, she bent hir only studie to gay and [...] apparell, and imployed the mornings with the Uermilion rudde to coloure hir chéekes by greater curiositie than the most shamelesse Curtisan of Rome, firing hir eyes vpon euery mā, gyring and laughing with open mouth, and pleasantly disposed to talke and reason with [...] Gentleman that passed through the streate. This was the way to attaine the glorious feast of hir triumphāt filthinesse, who wanne the price aboue the most famous women which in hir time made professiō of those armes, wherwith Venus once dispoyled Mars, & tooke from him the [Page] strongest and best [...] armure of all his furniture. Think not faire maids, that talke and clattering with youth is of small regarde. For a Citie is halfe [...] when they within demaunde for Parle, loth then they be to indure the Canon shotte. So when the eare of a [...] wife or maide is pliant to lasciuious talke, [...] in wanton words, albeit hir chastitie receiue no damage, yet occasion of speach is ministred to the people, and perchaunce in such disaduantage, as neuer after hir good name is recouered. Wherfore néedefull it is, not only to auoide the effect of euill, but also yt least suspition: For good fame is so requisite for women as honest life. The great captain Iulius Caesar, (which first of all reduced the common wealth of Rome in fourme of Monarchie) being once demaunded wherfore he had refused his wife, before it was proued that she had offended with Clodius, the night of the sacrifices done to the Goddesse Bona, answered so wisely as truely, that the house of Caesar ought not only to be voide of whordome, but of suspition therof. Behold wherfore I haue sayd, and yet doe say, that ye ought to take great [...] to your selues, and to laugh in time, not bending your eares to vncomely talke, but rather to folowe the nature of the Serpent, that stoppeth his eare with his taile, to auoid the Charmes and Sorceries of the Enchaunter. So lōg then as Bianca Maria was sued vnto, and pursued of many at Cafull that desired hir to wife, two amongs ye rest did profer themselues, which were the Lord Gismondo Gonzaga, the néere kinsman of the Duke of Mantua, and the Countie of Celant, a great Baron of Sauoy, whose lands lie in the vale of Agosta. A great pastime it was to this fine Gentlewoman to féede hir self with the Drations of those two Lords, and a ioy it was to hir, to vse hir owne discourse & answers [Page] thereunto, expressing with right good grace sundry amorous countenances, intermingling therwithall sighes, sobbes, alteration of chéere, that full well it might haue bene said, of loue trickes that she was the only dame and mistresse. The Marchionesse of Montferrato desirous to gratifie the Lord of Mantua his sōne in Law, endeuored to induce this wāton Lady to take for spouse Gismondo Gonzaga, and the sut e so wel procéeded, as almost the mariage had bene concluded if yt Sauoy Earle had not come betwixt, and shewed forth his Noblenesse of minde, when he vnderstoode how things did passe, and that an other was ready to beare away the price, and recouer his mistresse. For yt cause he came to visit the Ladie, who intertained him well, as of custome she did all other. He that would not employ his time in vaine, hauing found hir alone and at conuenient leisure, began to preache vnto hir in this wise with such countenance, as she perceiued yt Countie to be farre in loue with hir.

The Oration of the Counte of Celant to his Ladie.

I Am in doubt Madame, of whome chiefly I ought to make complaint, whether of you, or of my self, or rather of fortune which guideth & bringeth vs together. I see well that you receiue some wrong, and that my cause is not very iust, you taking no regarde vnto my passion which is outragious, and lesse hearkening vnto that which many times I haue giuen you to vnderstād of the honest loue I beare you. But I am bisides this, more to be accused for suffering an other to marche so far ouer my game and soyle, as I haue almost lost the [Page] tract of the pray which I most desire, and specially doe condemne my Fortune, for that I am in daunger to lose the thing which I deserue, & you in perill to passe into that place where your captiuitie shalbe worse [...] the slaues by the Portugales condemned to the mines of India. doeth it not suffise you that the Lord Hermes closed you vp the space of. v. or. vi. yeares in his chamber, but will you nedes attempt the rest of your youthly dayes amid the Mantuanes, whose suspicious heads are full of hammers working in the same? Better it were madame, that we being néerer the gallant guise of Fraunce, should liue after the libertie of that Countrey, rather than be captiue to an Italian house, which wil restrain you with like bondage, as at other times you haue felt ye experience. Moreouer ye sée what opinion is like to be cōceiued of you, [...] it shalbe bruted ye for the Marquize feare, you haue maried the Mātuan Lord. And I know well ye you like not to be estéemed as a pupil, your nature cānot abide compulsion, you be frée from hir authoritie, it were no reason you shold be constrained. And not to stay in framing of orations, or stand vpon discourse of words, I [...] beseche you to behold the cs̄tāt loue I beare you, & being a gentlemā so wealthy as I am, none other cause induceth me to make this sute, but your good grace and bringing vp, which force me to loue you aboue any other Gētlewoman yt liueth. And although I might alleage other reasons to proue my saying, yet refer I my self to the experience & boūty of your mind, & to the equitic of your iudgement. If my passion wer not vehemēt, & my tormēt without cōparison, I wold wish my fained griefs to be laughed to scorne, & my vissibled paine rewarded [...] flouts. But my loue being sincere & pure, my trauail cōtuiuall, & my griefs endlesse, for pitie sake I beseche [Page] you madame to cōsider my faithfull deserts with your duetiful curtesie, & then shal you sée how much I ought to be preferred before them, which vnder the shadow of an other mans puissance, doe seke to purchase power to cōmaund you: wher I do faithfully binde & tie my word & déede cōtinually to loue & serue you, wt promise al ye daies of my life to accōplish your cōmaundement. Behold if it please you what I am, & with what affectiō I make mine hūble plaint, regard ye messanger, loue it is himself ye holdeth me within your snares, & maketh me captiue to your beauty & diuine graces, which haue no piere. But if you refuse my sute, & cause me breath my words into ye aire, you shalbe accused of cruelty, ye shal sée ye entier defaict of a gentlemā which loueth you better thā loue himself is able to yeld flame and fire to force any wight to loue mortal creature. But I think the heauens haue departed in me such aboundāce, to ye [...] in louing you with [...] so great, you might also think ye it is I which ought to be the frend & spouse of that gentle & courteous Lady Bianca Maria, which alone may cal hir self ye mistresse of my hart.

The Lady which before was mocked & [...] with ye Counte his demaunds, hearing that laste discourse, & remembring hir first mariage, & the naturall iealosie of [...], half wonne without making other coūtenance, answered the Counte in this maner:

Syr Counte, albeit yt I am obedient to the wil and commaundement of Madame the Marchionesse, & am loth to displease hir, yet I will not so farre gage my libertie, but still doe reserue one poynt to say what reasteth in my thought. And what shold let me to choose such one, to whome I shalbe both his life & death? And of whom being once possessed, it is impossible to be rid & acquited? I assure you, if I feared not the speche & suspition of malicious minds, and [Page] the venime of slaunderous tongues, neuer husbande shold bring me more to bondage. And if I thought that he whom I pretend to choose, would be so cruel to me, as others whome I know, I would presently refuse mariage for euer. I thanke you neuerthelesse, both of your aduertisements giuen me, & of the honor you doe me, you desiring to accomplish that honor by mariage to be celebrated betwéene vs. For ye [...] of which your talke, & the little dissimulatiō I see to be in you, I promise you that there is no Gentleman in this countrey to whome I giue more puissance ouer me, than to you, if I chaunce to mary, and therof make you so good assurance, as if it were already done. The Counte séeing so good an entry wold not suffer the time so to [...], but beating the bushes vntill the praie was ready to spring, sayd vnto hir. And sith you know what thing is profitable, and what is hurtfull, and that the benefite of libertie is so much recommended, why doe you not performe yt which may redound to your honor? Assure me of your word, and promise me the Faith & loyaltie of mariage, then let me alone to deale with the rest, for I hope to attain the effect without offense and displeasure of any. And séeing hir to remaine in a muse without speaking word, he toke hir by the hand, & kissing ye same a million of times, added these words: How now Madame, be you appalled for so pleasant an assault, wherin your aduersarie confesseth himself to be vanquished? Courage madame, I say corage, & beholde him héere which humbly prayeth you to receiue him for your lawfull husband, and who sweareth vnto you all such amitie and reuerence that husbande oweth to his loyall spouse. Ah syr Counte said she, and what wil the Marquize say, vnto whom I haue wholly referred my self for mariage? Shall not she haue iust occasion [Page] to frowne vpon me, and frowardly to vse me for the litle respect I beare vnto hir? God be my witnesse, if I would not that Gonzaga had neuer come into this coū trey: for although I loued him not, yet I haue almost made him a promise, which I can not kéepe. And sith there is nothing done (sayd the Sauoy Lord) what nede you to torment your self? Wil the Marquesse wreke hir tyrannie ouer the will of hir subiects, and force ladies of hir lande to marrie against their lust? I thinke that so wise a princesse, so well nurtured, will not so farre forget hir self, as to straine that which God hath left at libertie to euery wight. Promise me onely mariage, and leaue me to dcale with the rest, other thinges shall be well prouided for.

Bianca Maria vanquished with that importunitie, and fearyng againe to fal into seruitude, hoping that the Counte woulde mainteine such libertie as he had [...], agréed vnto hym. and plighted vnto him hir faith, and for the time vsed mutuall promises by wordes respectiuely one to another. And the better to confirme the fact, and to let the knotte from breking, they bedded themselues togethers. The Counte very ioyfull for that encountre, yelded such good beginning by his countenance, and by familiar and continuall haunte with Bianca. Maria, as shortly after the matter was known; and came to the Marquesse cares, that the daughter of Scappardone had maried the Counte of Celant. The good lady albeit that she was wroth beyonde mesure, and willingly would haue bene reuenged vpon the bride, yet hauing respect to the Counte, which was a noble man of great authoritie, swallowed downe that pille without chewing, and prayed the Lord Gonzaga not to be offended, who [...] the light behauiour of the Ladie, laughed at the matter, and praised God for that the thing was so wel [Page] broken off: for he did for sée almost already what [...] that Comedie wold haue, being very familiar for certen days in ye house of Biāca Maria. This mariage then was published, & the solemnitie of ye nuptials done very princely, according to ye nobilitie of him which had maried hir: but ye augurie & presage was heauy, & the melancolike face of the season (which was [...] darkned about ye time they shold go to church) declared that the mirth and ioy should not long continue in the house of the Countie, according to the cōmon saying: He that looketh not before he leapeth, may chaūce to siumble before he sleapeth. For the Lorde of [...] being retired home into his daleys of the Sauoy mountains, began to looke aboute his businesse, and perceiued that his wife surpassed al others in light behauior and vnbrideled desires, whereupon he resolued to take order and stop hir passage before she had won the fielde, and that frākly she shold go séeke hir ventures where she list, [...] she would not be ruled by his aduise. The foolish [...] séeing that hir husband well espied hir fonde and foolish behauior, and that wisely he wente about to remedie the same, was no whit astonnied, or regarded his aduise, but rather by forging cōplaints did cast him in ye téeth somtimes [...] hir riches that she brought him, somtime she thwited him with those whō she had refused for his sake, & with whō farre of the liurd like a sauage beast amid yt mountaine deserts & baren dales of Sauoy, & tolde him that by no meanes she minded to be closed and shut vp like a tamelesse beast. The Counte which was wise, & would not breake the Ele vpon his knée, prouidently admonished hir in what wise a Lady ought to estéeme hir honor, & how the lightest faults of noble sorts appered mortall sinnes before the people. That it was not sufficiēt for a Gitlewomā to haue hir [Page] body chast, if hir spech were not according, & the minde [...] to [...] outward semblāce, & the conuersatiō not agreable to ye secrete conceipts of minde: ‘& I shall be ful sory swéete wife (sayd the Counte) to giue you any cause of discōtentation: for wher you shalbe vexed and molested, I shal receiue no ioy or plesure, you being such one as ought to be ye second my self, determining by gods grace to kepe my promise, & vse you like a wife, if so be you do regarde me as you ought to doe your husband. For reason wil not that the head obey [...] [...] & indeuor their relief & succor, if thei shew not thēselues to be such as depend vpon ye helth & life of it. The husband being the wiues chief, ought to be obeyd in [...] which reson requireth: and she referring hir selfe to the pleasure of hir head, [...] him to whom she is adioyned, to do and assay all trauaile and paine for hir sake. Of one thing I must nedes accuse you, which is, that for a trifle you frame complaint, and the mynde occupied in follie, lusteth for nothing more than vaine things, & those that be of litle prosite, specially where the pleasure of the body is only considered: but [...] mind which foloweth reason, dissembleth his griefes, with words ful of wisedom, & in knowing much, [...] not withstanding a subtile and honest ignorāce: but I may be much deceiued herin, by thinking ye a womā fraught with [...] opinions may recline hir eares to what so euer thing, except to ye which deliteth hir minde & plea seth [...] desires framed in hir foolish fātasie. Let not this speach be straunge vnto you, for your wordes vttered without discretion, make me vse this language. More ouer you shal do me plesure & a gret good turn to your self, if you take hede to my request, and thereby folow mine aduise.’ The Coutesse which was so fine & malicious as the [...] was good & wise, dissembling hir grief, [Page] and couering the venome hidden in hir mynde, began so well to play the hypocrite before hir husbande, and to counterfaict the simple dame, as albeit he was right politike, yet he was within hir snare intrapt, and flattered him with so faire words, as she wonne him to go to Casal, to visite the landes of hir inheritance. We see wherunto the intent of this false woman tended and what checkmate she ment to giue both to hir husband, and hir honour: wherby we knowe, that when a woman is disposed to gyue hir selfe to wyckednesse, hir mynde is voide of no malice or inuention to bring to ende any daunger or perill offred vnto hir. The facts of one Medea (if credite may be giuen to Poets) and of Phaedra, the woman of Theseus, wel declare with what beastly zeale they began and ended their attemptes. The Eagles flight is not so high, as the foolish desires and conceipts of a woman which trusteth in hir owne opinion, and treadeth out of the tract of dutie and way of wisedome. Pardon me good Ladies, if I speake so largely, and thinke not that I meane to display any other but such as forget the degrée wherin their auncestours haue placed them, and digresse from the true path of those which haue immortalized the memory of them selues, and of their husbands, and the houses also wherof they came. I am very loth to take vpon me the office of a slanderer, and no lesse do meane to flatter those, whome I sée to their greate shame, offende openly in the sight of the worlde. But why shoulde I dissemble that which I know your selues woulde not conceyle, if in conscience ye were required therunto? It were extreme follie and [...] to decke and clothe vice with the holy garment of vertue, and to call that Curtesie and Ciuilitie, whiche is manifest whooredom: Let vs terme eche thing by his due name, [Page] let vs not blot and deface that which of it selfe is faire and pure, let vs not also staine the renoume of those, whom their owne vertue do recommende, This gentle Countesse beyng at Casal, making much of hir husbande, and kissing him with the kisse of treason, and of him being vnfainedly beloued and cherished, not able to forget his sermons, and much lesse hir owne filthy life, seeing that with hir Counte it was impossible for hir to liue and glut hir lecherous lust, who in dede was the true possessor of the same, determined to runne away and séeke hir aduenture: for the bringing to passe wherof, she had already taken order for money, the interest growing to hir dayly profite at Millan. And hauing leuied a good summe of Ducates in hande, vntill hir other rents were readie, she fled away in the night in companie of certaine of hir men which were priuie to hir doings. Hir retire was to Pauie, a Citie subiect to the state & Duchy of Millan, where she hired a great and princely pallace and aparelled the same according to hir estate and traine of hir husband and as hir owne reuenue was able to beare. I leaue for you to thinke what buzzings entred into the Countes hed, by the sodaine flight of his wife, who wold haue sent and gone him selfe after to séeke hir out, and bryng hir home againe, had he not well considered and wayed his owne profite and aduantage, and knowing that hir absence would rid out of his head a fardell of suspicions which he before conceiued, was in the ende resolued to lette hir alone, and suffer hir remaine in what place soeuer she was retired, from whence he neuer mynded to cal hir home againe. I were a very foole (sayd he) to kepe in my house so pernicious and fearefull an enimie, as that arrant whoore is, who one day before I be ware, wil cause some of hir russians to cut my throte, besides [Page] the violation of hir holy mariage bed: ‘God defend that such a strumpet by hir presence should any longer profane the house of the lord of Celant, who is wel rewarded and punished for the excessiue loue which he bare hir. Let hir goe whether she list, and lyue a gods name at hir ease, I do content my self in knowing what women be able to do, without further attempt of fortune & other proofe of hir wicked life.’ He added further, that the honor of so noble a personage as he was, depended not vpon a womans mischief: and assure your selfe the whole race of womākind was not spared by ye Coūte, against whom he then inueyed more through rage [...] any reason that time in him, he considered not the good and honest sorte of women, which deface the villanie of those that giue them selues ouer to their own lusts, without regarde of modestie and shame, which ought to be familiar, as it wer by a certaine natural inclination in all women and maidens. But come we again to Bianca Maria, holding hir Courte and open house at [...], wher she got so holy a [...], as mistresse Lais of Corinth somtimes was neuer more comon in Asia than this faire dame, almost in euery corner of In [...], whose conuersation was such, as hir frank libertie & familiar demeanor to ech wight, wel witnessed [...] abhominable life. True it was, yt hir reputation there was very smal, and the hired not hir selfe, ne yet toke [...] by setting hir body to sale, but for some resonable gain & earnest pain. Howbeit she (of whom somtimes the famous Greke orator wold not bie repētance for so [...] a price) was more excessiue in sale of hir marchādise, but not more wanton. For [...] no sooner espied a beautiful gentleman yt was youthly, & wel made, but wold presently shew him so good countenance, as he had ben a very foole, which knewe not after what prouender [Page] this Colt did neigh: whose shamelesse gesture Messalina the Romane princesse did neuer surmoūt, except it were in that she visited & haūted cōmon houses: & this dame vsed hir disports within hir owne house: ye other also receiued [...] Carters, Galey slaues, & porters: and this half Greke did hir pastime with [...] mē that were braue and lusty. But in one thing she well resembled hir, which was, yt [...] was sooner werie with trauaile, than she satisfied with plesure. & the [...] vse of hir body, like vnto a sink that receiueth al [...], without disgorgyng any, throwne into the same. This was the chast life which that good lady led, after she had taken flight from hir husband. Marke whether the Milanois that was hir first husbande were a grosse headed person or a foole, & whether he wer not lerned & skilful in ye science of [...], & time for him to make redy ye rods to make hir know hir duetie, therwt to correct hir wāton youth, & to cut of the lusty twigs & proud sciēces yt soked yt moisture & hart of yt stock & brā ches. It chanced whiles she liued at Pauie, in this good & honorable port, ye Coūte of [...] called Ardizzino Valperga came to the emperors seruice, & therby made his abode at Pauie with one of his brothers: the Coūte being a goodly gentlemā, yong & trim in apparel, giuen to many good qualities, had but one onely fault, which was yt he was lame in one of his legs, by reson of a certain aduēture & blow receiued in ye warres, although yt same toke away no part of his beauty & fine behauior. The Coūte I say remaining certain days at Pauie, beheld yt beauty, grace & comlinesse of the Coūtesse of [...], & stayed with such deuotion to viewe & gaze vpon hir, as many [...] he romed vp & down ye strete wherin she dwelt to find means to speake vnto hir. His first talk was but a Boniour, and simple salutation, such as [Page] Gentlemen commōnly vse in company of Ladies, and at that first brunte Valperga coulde settle none other iudgemēt vpon that Goddesse, but that she was a wise and honest dame, and such a one not with standyng as there neded not the Emperors camp to force the place which as he thought was not so well flanked & rampired but that a good man of armes might easily winne, and the breache so liuely and sautable, as any souldier might passe the same. He became so familiar with the Lady, and talked with hir so secretly, as vpon a daye beyng with hir alone, hée vsed this kynde of speache: ‘Were not I of all men moste blame worthie, and of greatest follie to be reproued, so long time to be acquainted with a Lady so faire and curteous as you be, and not to offre my seruice, life and goodes to be disposed as shall like you best? I speake not this Madame, for any euil and sinister iudgement that I [...] of you, for that I praise and estéeme you aboue any Gentlewomā that euer I knew til this day, but rather for that I am so wonderfully attached with your loue, as wrong I shold do vnto your honestie and my loyal seruice towards you, if I continued [...], and did conceyle that which incessantly would consume my heart with infinite numbre of ardent desires, and wast mine intrailes for the extreme [...] burning loue I beare you. I do require you to put no credite in me, if I doe not all that which it shal please you to commaund me. Wherfore Madame, I humbly beséeche you to accepte me for your owne, and to fauor me as such one, which with all fidelitie hopeth to passe his time in your companie.’ The Countesse although she knew well inough that the fire was not so liuely kindeled in the stomacke of the Coūte as he went about to make hir beleue, and that his wordes were too eloquent, and countenance, [Page] too ioyfull for so earnest a louer as hée séemed to be: yet for that he was a valiant Gentleman, yong, lusty, and strongly made, minded to retaine him, and for a time to stay hir stomake by appeasing hir gluttonous appetite in matters of loue, wt a morsell so dainty, as was this mynion and lusty yong Lord: and whē the corage of him began to coole, another should enter the listes. And therfore she sayd vnto him: ‘Although I (knowing the vse and maners of men, and with what baits they hooke for Ladies, if they take not héede, hauing proued their malice and little loue,) determined neuer to loue other thā mine affection, ne yet to fauor man, except it be by shewing some familiar maner to heare their talk, and for pastime to hearken the braue requests of those which say they burne for loue, in the mids of some brooke of delites. And albeit I think you no better thā other be, ne more faithful, more affectionate, or otherwise moued than the rest, yet I am contēt for respect of your honor, somewhat to beleue you, and to accept you for mine owne, sith your discretion is such (I trust) as so Noble a Gentleman as you be, will himself declare in those affairs, and whē I sée the effect of my hope, I can not be so vnkinde, but with all honesty shall assay to satisfie yt your loue.’ The Counte seing hir alone, and receiuing the Ladies language for his aduauntage, and that hir countenance by alteration of hir minde did adde a certaine beautie to hir face, and perceiuing a desire in hir that hée shold not vse delay, or be too squeimish, she demaūding naught else but execution, tooke the present offred time, forgetting all ceremonies and reuerence, he embraced hir and kissed hir a hundred thousand times. And albeit she made a certain simple and prouoking resistance, yet the louer séeing thē to be but preparatiues for the sport of loue, [Page] he strayed from the bounds of honestie, and threw hir vpon a fielde bed within the Chambre, where he solaced himselfe with his long desired sute. And finding hir worthy to be beloued, and she him a curteous gentleman, consulted together for continuance of their amitie, in such wise as the Lord Ardizzino spake no more but by ye mouth of Bianca Maria, and did nothing but what she commaunded, being so bewrapped with the heauie mantell of beastly Loue, as hée still above night and day in the house of his beloued: whereby the brute was noised throughout the Citie, and the songs of their Loue more common in eche Citizens mouthe, than the Stanze or Sonnets of Petrarch, played and sained vpon the Gittorne, Lute or Harpe of these of Noble house, more fine & wittie than those vnsauery [...] that be tuned and chaunted in the mouthes of the foolish common sort. Behold an Earle well serued and dressed by enioying so false a woman, which had already falsified the faith betrouthed to hir husbād, who was more honest, milde and vertuous, than she deserued. Beholde ye Noble Gentlemen, the simplicitie of this good Earle, how it was deceiued by a false and filthy strumpet, whose stincking life and common vse of body woulde haue withdrawen each simple creature from mixture of their owne with such a Carrion. A lesson to learne all youth to refraine the whoorishe lookes and light conditioned Dames, a number (the more to be pitied) shewing forthe them selues to the portsale of euery cheapener, that list demaunde the price, the grosenesse whereof before considered, were worthy to be defied and loathed. This Ladie séeing hir Louer noussed in hir lust, dandled him with a thousande trumperies, and made hym holde the Mule, [Page] while other enioyed the secrete sporte which earst hée vsed himself. This acquaintance was so daungerous to the Counte, as she hir self was shamelesse to the Counte of Celant. For the one bare the armes of Cornwall, and became a second Acteon, and the other wickedly led his life, & lost the chiefest of that he loked for in the seruice of great princes, by the treason of an arrant common [...].

Whiles this Loue continued in all pleasure and like contentation of either parts: Fortune that was ready to mounte the stage, and shew in sight that hir mobilitie was no more stable than a womans will: (For vnder such habite and sere Painters and Poets describe hir) made Ardizzino suspecte what desire she had of chaunge: and within a while after, sawe himself so farre misliked of his Ladie, as though he had neuer bene acquainted. The cause of that recoile was, for that the Countesse was not contented with one kinde of fare, and whose eyes were more gredie than hir stomake able to digest, and aboue all desired chaunge, not séeking meanes to finde him that was worthy to be beloued and intertained of so great a Ladie, as she estéemed hir selfe to be, and as such women of their owne opinion thinke themselues, who counterfaicte more grauitie and reputation than they doe, whome nature and vertue for their maiestie and holinesse of life make Noble and praise worthie. That desire deceiued hir nothing at all: for a certaine time after that Ardizzino possessed the forte of this faire Countesse, there came to Pauia, one Roberto Sanseuerino Earle of Gaiazzo, a yong faire and valiant Gentleman, whose Countrey lieth on this side the Mountaines, and very familiar with the Earle of Massino.

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This vnfaithful Alcina and cruell Medea had no sonet cast hir eye vpon Signor di Gaiazzo, but was pierced with his loue in such wise, as if forthwith shée had not attained hir desires, she would haue run mad, bicause that Gentleman bare a certaine stately representation in his face, & promised such dexteritie in his déedes, as sodainly she thought him to be yt man that was able to staunch hir filthy thirst. And therfore so gentlely as she could, gaue ouer hir Ardizzino, with whome she vtterly refused to speake, and shunned his cōpanie when she saw him, and by shutting the gates against him, the Noble man was not able to forbeare from throwing forth some words of choler, wherby she tooke occasion both to expell him, and also to beare him such displeasure, as then she cōspired his death, as afterwards you shall perceiue. This great hatred was the cause that she being fallen in Loue as you haue heard with the Counte of Gaiazzo, shewed vnto him all signe of amitie: and séeing that hée made no great sute vnto hir, she wrote vnto him in this manner.

The Letter of Bianca Maria to the Counte of Gaiazzo.

SIr

I doubt not by knowing the state of my degrée, but that ye be abashed to sée the violēce of my mind, when passing the limites of modestie, which ought to guard such a Ladie as I am, I am forced (uncertain of the cause) to doe you vnderstand the griefe that doeth torment me, which is of such constraint, as if of curtesie ye doe not vouchsafe to visite me, you shall commit two faultes, the one leauing the thing worthy for you to loue and regard, and which deserueth not to be cast [Page] off, the other in causing the death of hir, that for Loue of you, is bereft of rest. And so loue hath very little in me to sease vpon either of heart or libertie, but yt ease of grief procéedeth from your only grace, which is able to vanquishe hir, whose victorious hap hath conquered all other, and who attēding your resolut answer, shall rest vnder ye mercifull refuge of hope, which deceiuing hir, shall sée by that very meanes the wretched end of hir that is all your owne.

Bianca Maria Countesse of Celant.

The yong Lorde much maruelled at this message, were it for that already hée was in loue with hir, and yt for loue of his friend Ardizzino, wold not be known thereof, or for that he feared she would be straught of wits, if she were despised, he determined to goe vnto hir, yet stayed & thought it not to be ye part of a faithfull companion to deceiue his friend. But in end pleasure surmounting reason, and the beautie ioyned with the good grace of the Lady hauing blinded him, and bewitched his wits so wel as Ardizzino, he toke his way towards hir house who waited for him with good deuotion, whither being arriued, hée failed not to vse like spéeche that Valperga did, either of them (after certain reuerences and other fewe words) minding and desiring one kinde of intertainment. This practize dured certaine months, and the Countesse was so farre rapt with hir newe louer, as she only employed hir selfe to please him, and he shewed himselfe so affected as she thought to bridle him in all things: whereof she was afterwards deceiued, as you shall vnderstād the maner. Ardizzino seing himself wholly abandoned ye presence and loue of his Ladie, knowing ye she railed vpon him in all places where she came, departed Pauia halfe out [Page] out of his wits for anger, and so strayed from [...] order by reason of his rage, as hée displayed the Countesse thrée times more liuely in hir colours, than she could be painted, and reproued hir with yt termes of the vilest and most [...] strumpet that [...] ran at rouers, or shot at randon. Bianca Maria vnderstoode hereof, and was aduertised of the good reporte that Ardizzino spread of hir throughout [...], which chafed hir in suche wise as she fared like the Bedlem furie, ceasing night nor day to plaine the vnkindnesse and follie of hir reietted Louer: Sometimes saying, that she had iust cause so to doe, then flattering hir selfe, alledged, that men were made of purpose to suffer such follies as were wrought by hir, and that where they termed themselues to be womens seruauntes, they ought at their mistresse hands to endure what pleased them. In the end, not able any longer to restrain hir choler, ne vanquish the appetite of reuenge, purposed at all aduēture to prouide for the death of hir aūcient enimy, and that by meanes of him whome she had now tangled in hir nettes. Sée the vnshamefastnesse of this mastife bitche, and the rage of that female Tiger, how shée goeth about to arme one friend against an other, and was not content onely to abuse the Counte Gaiazzo, but deuised to make him yt manqueller. And as one night they were in the midst of their embracements, she began pitifully to wéepe and sigh, in such wise as a man wold haue thought (by the vexation of hir heart) that the soule and body wold haue parted. The yonge Lord louingly enquired the cause of hir heauinesse: and sayd vnto hir, that if any had done vnto hir displeasure, hée would reuenge hir cause to hir contentation. She hearing him say so, (then in studie vpon the deuice of hir enimies death,) [Page] spake to the Counte in this manner: ‘You know sir, that the thing which moste [...] the Gentle heart and minde that can abide no wrong, is defamation of honoure and infamous reporte. Thus much I say, by reason the Lord of Massino, (who to say the trouth, hath bene fauored of me in like sort as you be now) hathe not vene ashamed to publishe open [...] against me, as thoughe I were the arrantest whoore that euer had giuen hir selfe ouer to the Galley slaues alongs the shore of Sicile. If he had vaunted the fauoure which I haue done him but to certaine of his friendes, I had incurred no whit of slaunder, much lesse any little suspition, but hearing the common reports, the wrongfull woords and wicked brute that he hath raised on me: I beséeche you syr, to doe me reason that he may féele his offence, and the smart for his committed fault against hir that is all youres.’ The Lord Sanseuerino hearing this discourse, promised hir to doe his best, and to teache Valperga to talke more soberly of hir, whome he was not worthy for to [...], but in thought. Notwithstanding he sayde more, than he ment to do, for he knew Ardizzino to be so honest, sage, and curteous a personage, as hée would neyther doe nor say any thing without good cause, and that Ardizzino had [...] quarell against him, by taking that from him which he loued (althoughe it was [...] [...] discontinuance from that place, and vpon the only request of hir.) Thus he cōcluded in mind stil to remain the friend of Ardizzino, and yet to spend [...] [...] with the Countesse, which he did, and vsed certaine months without quarrelling with Valperga, that [...] [...] to [...], with whom he [...] [...], & liued [...], & [...] commonly vsed one table & bed togither. [Page] Bianca Maria séeing that the Lord of Gaiazzo cared not much for hir, but onely for his pleasure, determined to vse like practise against him, as she did to hir former louer, and to banish him from hir house. So that when he came to sée hir, either she was sicke, or hir affairs were such, as she could not kéepe him company: or else hir gate was shut vpon him. In the end (playing double or quit) she prayed the sayd Lord to shewe hir such pleasure and friendship, as to come no more vnto hir, bicause she was in termes to goe home to hir husband the Counte of Celant, who had sent for hir, and feared least his seruaunts should finde hir house ful of suters, alleaging that she had liued long inough in yt most sinfull life, the lightest faultes whereof were to [...] for dames of hir port & calling, concluding that so long as she liued, she would beare him good affection for the honest companie and cōuersation had betwene them, and for his curtesie vsed towards hir. The yong Erle, were it that he gaue credit vnto hir tale or not, made as though he did beleue the same, and without longer discourse, forbare approche vnto hir house, and droue out of his heade all the amorous affection which he caried to yt Piedmont Circes. And to yt end hée might haue no cause to thinke vpon hir, or that his presence [...] make him slaue againe to hir that first pursued him, he [...] in good time to Millan: by which retire hée auoided that mishap, wherwith at length this [...] woman wold haue cut him ouer the shinnes, euen [...] his mind was least thereon. Such was the malice and mischief of [...] heart, who ceasing to play the whort, applied hir whole [...] to murder. Gaiazzo being departed from Pauie, this Venus once againe assayed the [...] of hir Ardizzino, and knew not well how to recouer him againe, bicause she feared that the [Page] other had discouered yt enterprise of his murder. But what dare not she attempt, whose minde is slaue to sinne? The first assaies be hard, & the [...] in doubt, and conscience gnawing vpon the repentance worme, but the same once nousled in vice, & roted in the heart, is more pleasant and gladsome for the wicked to [...], than vertue familiar to those that folow hir: So that shame separate from before the eyes of youth, riper age noursed in [...], their sight is so daseled, as they can see nothing that either shame or feare can make them blush, which was the cause that this Ladie continuing still in hir mischiefe, so much pradised the friends of him, whom she desired to kil, and made such fit excuse by hir ambassades, as he was cōtent to speak to hir, and to heare hir iustifications, which were easy inough to doe, the iudge being not very faultie. She promised and swore that if the fault were proued not to be in him, neuer man should sée Bianca Maria, (so lōg as she liued) to be other than a friend and slaue to the Lord Ardizzino, wholly submitting hir self vnto his will and pleasure. See how peace was capitulated betwene the two reconciled louers, and what were the articles of the same, the Lord of [...] entring possession againe of the Fort that was reuolted, and was long time in the power of another. But when hée was seased againe, the Ladie saw full wel, that hir recouered friend was not so hard to please, as the other was, and that with him she liued at greater libertie. Continuing then their amorous daunce, and Ardizzino hauing no more care but to reioyse himselfe nor his Ladie, but to cherish and make much of hir friend, behold eftsones the desire of bloud and wil of murder, newly reuiued in that new Megera who incited (I know not with what rage,) [...] to haue him flain, which refused [Page] to kill him, whome at this present, she loued as hir self. And he that had inquired the cause therof, I think none other reason could be rendred, but that a brainelesse head and reasonlesse mind, thought most notable murders & mischief were easy to be brought to passe, and so strangely to procede in disordred lusts, which in fine caused miserable shame & ruine, with the death of hir self & him, whom she had stirred to yt fact, boldening him by persuasion, to make him beleue vice to be vertue, & gloriously cōmēded him in his follies, which you shal hear by reading at lēgth yt discourse of this history.

Bianca Maria séeing hir self in ful possession of hir Ardizzino, purposed to make him the chief executioner of the murder by hir intended, vpon Gaiazzo, for yt doing wherof one night holding him betwene hir armes, after she had long time dalied with him, like a cunning mistresse of hir Art, in the end weauing & training hir treasō at large, she said thus vnto him: ‘Syr of lōg time I haue bene desirous to require a good turne at your hands, but fearing to trouble you, & therupon to be denied, I thought not to be importunat: & albeit yt mater toucheth you, yet did I rather hold my peace thē to here refusall of a thing, which your self ought to profer, the same cōcerning you. Madame said hir louer, you know yt matter néede to be hainous & of great importance, yt I shold denie you, specially if it cōcerne the blemish of your honor. But you say the same doth touch me somewhat néerely, & therefore if abilitie be in me, spare not to vtter it, & I will assay your satisfaction to the vttermost of my power. Syr said she, is the Counte of Gaiazzo one of your very frends? I think (answered Valperga) that he is one of yt surest friends I haue, and in respect of whose friendship, I will hazarde my self for him no lesse than for my brother, being certaine yt if I [Page] haue néede of him, he will not faile to do yt like for me. But wherfore do you aske me yt questiō? I wil tel you said yt traitresse (kissing him so swetely as euer he felt yt like of any woman,) for somuch as you be so deceiued of your opinion, and frustrate of your thought, as he is wicked in dissēbling that, which maliciously lieth hiddē in his heart. And briefly to say yt effect. Assure your self he is ye greatest & most mortall enimy yt you haue in yt world. And yt you do not thinke this to be some forged tale, or light inuention, or yt I hard the report therof of some not worthy of credit, I wil say nothing else but yt which himself did tell me, whē in your absence he vsed my cōpany. He sware vnto me without declaratiō of yt cause, yt he could neuer be mery or his mind in rest, before he saw you cut in pieces, & shortly would giue you such assault, as all yt dayes of your life, you shold neuer haue lust or mind on ladies loue. And albeit thē, I was in choler against you, and that you had ministred some cause & reason of hatred, yet our first loue had takē such force in my heart, as I besought him not to do yt enterprise, so lōg as I was in place, wher you did remain, bicause I cānot abide (wtout death) to sée your finger ake, much lesse your life beriued frō you. [...] which tale his eare was deaf, swering stil & protesting yt either he wold be slain himself, or else dispatch yt Counte Ardizzino. I [...] not (quod she) ne wel could as thē aduertise you therof, for ye smal accesse yt my scruāts had vnto your lodging, but now I pray you to take good héede to your self, & to preuēt his diuelish purpose: for better it were for you to take his life, than he to kil and murder you, or otherwise work you mischief, & you shal be estemed ye wiser man, & he pronoūced a traitor to seke yt death of him, yt bare him such good will. Do thē according to mine abuise, & before he begin, do you kil him, [Page] whereby you shall saue your self, and doe the part of a valiant Knight bisides yt satisfying of the minde of hir that aboue al pleasures of the world doth chiefly desire the same. Experience now will let me proue whether you loue me or not, and what you will doe for hir that loueth you so dearly, who openeth this [...] murder, aswell for your safetie, as for lengthening of the life of hir, which without yours cannot endure. [...] this my sute (O friend most deare) and suffer me not in sorowful plight to be despoiled of thy presence. And wilt thou suffer that I shold die, and that yōder [...] traiterous and vnfaithfull varlet should liue to laugh me to [...]?’ If the Ladie had not added those last woords to hir foolish sermon, perchance she might haue prouoked Ardizzino to folow hir Counsell: but [...] hir so obstinately bent in hir request, and to prosecute the same with such violence, concluding vpon hir own quarel, his conscience throbbed, and his mind measured the malice of that woman, with ye honestie of him, against whome yt tale was tolde, who knew his friend to be so sound and trustie, as willingly he wold not do the thing that should offend him, & therefore wold giue no credit to false report without good & apparāt proofe. For which cause he was persuaded that it was a malicious tale made to please his Ladie, & deuised by some that went about to sowe debate betwéene those two friendly Earles. Notwithstanding vpō further pause, & not to make hir chafe, or force hir into rage, he promised the execution of hir cursed will, thanking hir for hir aduertisement, and that he would prouide for his defense & surety. And to the intent yt she might thinke he went about to performe his promise, he tooke his leaue of hir to goe to Milan, which he did, not to folow the abhominable will of that rauenous mastife, [Page] but to [...] the matter to his companion, and direct the same as it deserued. Being arriued at Milan, the [...] Citie of Lombardie, he imparted to Gaiazzo from point to point the discourse of the Countesse, and the [...] she made vnto him, whē she had done hir tale. ‘O God (sayd the Lord Sanseuerino,) who can beware ye traps of such whoores, if by thy grace our hands be not forbidden, and our hearts and thoughts guided by thy goodnesse? Is it possible that the earth can bréede a mō ster more pernicious than this most Pestilent beast? This is truely the grift of hir fathers vsurie, and the stench of all hir predecessors villanies. It is impossible of a Bite to make a good Sparhauk, or Tercel gentle. This [...] no doubt is the daughter of a vilain, sprōg of the basest race amongs the common people, whose mother was more fine than chaste, more subtile than sober. This mynion hath forsaken hir husband, to erect bloudy skaffoldes of murder amid the Nobles of Italy. And were it not for the dishonor which I should get to soile my [...] in the bloud of a beast so corrupt, I wold feare hir with my téethe in a hundreth thousand pieces. How many times hath she entreated me before: in how many sundrie sorts with ioyned hāds hath she besought me to kill the Lord Ardizzino? Ah my companion and right well beloued friend, shold you think me to be so traiterous and cowarde a knaue, as that I dare not tel to thē to whom I beare displeasure, what lieth in my heart? By the faith of a Gentleman (sayd Ardizzino,) I would be sory my minde should [...] on such a follie, but I am come to you, yt the song might sound no more wtin mine eares. It behoueth vs then, sith God hath kept vs hitherto, to auoid the air of that infection, that our braines be not putrified, and from henceforth to flie those bloudsuckers, the schollers of [Page] Venus, for the goodnesse, profit and honor that youth [...] of them. And truely great honor wold [...] to vs to kill one an other for the only pastime and sottish fansie of that mynion. I haue repented me an hundred times when she first moued me of the deuise to kill you, that I did not giue hir a hundred Poignaladoes with my dagger, to stop the way by that example for al other to attempt such but cheries. For I am wel assured that the malice which she beareth you, procedeth but of the delay you made for satisfaction of hir murderous desire, wherof I thank you, and yeld my self in al causes to imploy my life, and that I haue, to do you pleasure. Leaue we of that talke (sayd Gaiazzo) for I haue done but my duety, and that which eache Noble heart ought to euery wight doing wrong to none, but proue to helpe and doe good to all. Which is the true marke and badge of Nobilitie. Touching that malignant strumpet, hir own life shal reuenge the wrongs which she hath gone about to [...] on vs. In meane while let vs reioyce, and thinke the goods and richesse she hath gotten of vs, will not cause hir bagges much to strout and swell. To be shorte, she hath nothing whereby she may greatly laughe vs to scorne, except our good entertainment of hir both night and day [...] peouoke hir. Let other coine the pens henceforth to fill the coafers, for of vs so farre as I see she is deceyued.’ Thus the two Lordes passed for the their time, and in all companies where they came, the greatest part of their talke and communication was of the disordered life of the Countesse of Celant: the whole [...] rang of the sleights and meanes she vsed to trappe the Noble men, and of hir pollicies to be rid of them whē hir thirst was stanched, or diet grew lothsome for wāt of chaunge. And that which griued hir most, an Italian [Page] [...] blased forth hir prowesse to hir great dishonor whereof, the copy I cannot get, and some say that Ardizzino was the author. For it was composed, whē he was dispossessed of pacience. And if she coulde haue wreaked hir will on the Knights, I beleue in hir rage she would haue made an [...] of their bones. Of which hir two enimies Ardizzino was the worsie, against whom hir displeasure was the greater, for that he was the first with whome she entred skirmish. Nothing was more frequent in Pauie, than villanous [...] and playes vpon the filthy behauior of the Countesse, which made hir ashamed to [...] out of hir gates. In the end she purposed to chaunge the aire and place, hoping by that alteration to stay the infamous brute & slaunder. So she came to Milan, wher first she was [...] with state of honor, in honest fame of chast life so long as [...] Hermes liued, and then was not pursued to staunche the thirst of those that did ordinarily draw at hir fountaine.

About the time yt she departed frō Pauie, Dom Pietro de Cardone a Scicilian the bastard brother of yt Coūte of Colisano, whose lieutenant he was, & their father slaine at yt battail of Bicocca with a band of [...] arriued at Milan. This Scicilian was about the age of one or two & twenty yeres, somwhat black of face, but well made and sterne of countenāce. Whiles the Coūtesse soiorned at Milan, this gentleman fell in loue with hir, and searched al means he could to make hir his friend, & to enioy hir. Who perceiuing him to be yong, & a nouice in skirmishes of loue, like a Pigeon of the first coate, determined to lure him, and to serue hir turne in that which she purposed to doe on those against whome she was outragiously [...]. Now yt better to entice this yong Lord vnto hir fātasy, and to catch him wt hir bait, [Page] if he passed through the streat, and saluted hir & sighed after the maner of the [...] roming before his Ladie, she she wed him an indifferent mery countenance, and sodainly restrained that cheere, to make him [...] the pleasure mingled [...] the soure of one desire, which he could not tel how to accomplish. And the more faint was his hardinesse, for that hee was neuer practised in daltance and seruice of Ladie of so great house or calling, who thinking that Gētlewoman to be one of the principall of Milan, was strangely vered & tormented for hir loue, in such wise as in yt night he could not rest for fantasing and thinking vpon hir, and in yt day pased vp & downe before the doore of hir lodging. One euening for his disport he went forth to walk in [...] of another gentleman, which wel could play vpon the Lute, & desired him to giue awake vnto his Ladie, that then for iealousie was harkening at hir window, both the sound of the instrument, and the words of hir amorous Knight, wher the gētleman soong this song:

THe death with trenchāt dart, doth brede in brest such il,

As I cannot forget the smart, that therby riseth stil.

Yet ne erthelesse I am the ill it self in dede,

That death with daily dolours depe, within my breast doth brede.

I am my mistresse thrall, and yet I doe not kno,

If she beare me good will at all, or if she loue or no.

My wound is made so large, with bitter wo in brest,

That still my heart prepares a place to lodge a careful guest.

O Dame that bath my life and death at thy desire.

Come [...] my mind, wher facies flames doth burn like Ethna fire,

For wanting thee my life is death and [...] [...],

And finding fauor in thy sight, my dayes are happy heere.

[Page]

Then he began to sighe so terribly, as if already she had gyuen sentence and definitiue Judgement of his farewel, & disputed with his felow in such sort, & with opinion so assured of his contempt, as if hée had bene in loue with some one of the infants of Sp [...]. [...] which cause he begā again very pitifully to sing these verses

THat God that made my soule, & knowes what I haue felt,

Who causeth sighes and sorowes oft, the sely soule to swelt.

Doth see my torments now, and what I suffer still,

And vnderstands I tast mo griefs, than I can shew by skill.

He doth consent I wot, to my ill hap and woe.

And hath accorded with the dame that is my pleasant foe,

To make my boyling brest abound in bitter blisse,

And so bereue me of my rest, when heart his hope shall misse.

O what are not the songs, and sighs that louers haue.

When night and day with swete desires, they draw vnto their graue,

[...] grief by friendship growes, where ruth nor [...] raines,

And so like snow against the sunne, thei melt away with pains.

My dayes must finish so, my destnie hath it set,

And as the candle out I goe, before hir grace I get.

Before my sute be heard, my seruice throughly knowne,

I shalbe laid in tombe full lowe, so colde as Marble stone.

To thee faire Dame I cry, that makes my senses arre,

And plātest peace [...], my brest & then makes sodain war.

Yet at thy pleasure still, thou must my sowre make sweete,

In graunting me the fauor due, for faithfull louers meete.

Which fauor giue me now, and to thy Noble minde,

I doe [...] Galley slaue, as thou by proofe shall finde.

[Page]

And so thou shalt release my heart from cruell bandes,

And haue his fredome at thy wil that yelds into thy handes.

So rendring all to thee, the Gods may ioyne vs both

Within one lawe and league of loue, through force of constant troth.

Then shalt thou mistresse be, of life, of limme and all,

My goodes, my golde and honour loe, shall so be at thy call.

This gentle order of loue greately pleased the Lady, and therefore opened hir gate to let in the [...] Lorde, who séeyng himself fauoured (beyond all hope) of his Ladie, and cherefully intertained and welcommed wyth greate curtesie, stoode so stil astonnied, as if he had bene fallen from the cloudes. But shée whyche coulde teache hym good maner, to make him the minister of hir mischiefe, takyng him by the hande, made him sitte downe vpon a gréene bedde besydes hir, and séeing that he was not yet imboldened, for all he was a souldier, she she wed hir selfe more hardie than he, and first assayled him wyth talke, saying: ‘Syr, I praye you thinke it not strange, if at this houre of the night, I am bolde to cause you enter my house, béeyng of no greate acquaintaunce with you, but by hearyng your curteous salutations: And we of this countrey be somwhat more at libertie than they in those partes from whence you come. Besides it liketh me well (as I am able) to honor strange gentlemen, and to retaine them with right good willing heart, sith it pleaseth them to honor me with repaire vnto my house: so shall you be welcome stil when you please to knocke at my gate, which at all times I will to be opened for you, wyth no lesse good will than if ye were my natural brother, the same with all the thinges therein it maye please you to dispose as if they were your owne.’ Dom Pictro [Page] of Cardonne well satisfied and contented with this vnlooked for kyndnesse, thanked hir very curteously, humbly praying hir besides to dayne it in good parte, if he were so bolde to make request of loue, and that it was the onely thyng, which hée aboue all other, desyred moste, so that if shée woulde receyue hym for hir friende and seruaunt, shée shoulde vnderstand him to be a Gentleman, whiche lyghtly woulde promise nothing, excepte the accomplishment did followe: she that sawe a greater onset than shée looked for answered hym smilyng with a very good grace: ‘Syr I haue knowne very many that haue vouched slipperie promyses, and proffered lordly seruices vnto Ladies, the effecte wherof if I myght once sée, I would not thinke that they coulde vanishe so soone, and consume lyke smoake. Madame (sayde the Scicilian) yf I fayle in any thyng whichs you commaunde mée, I praye to God neuer to receyue any fauour or grace of those Curtesies whyche I craue. If then (quod shée) you wyll promyse to employe youre selfe aboute a businesse that I haue to doe when I make requeste, I wyll also to accepte you for a friende, and graunt such secrecie as a faythfull louer can desyre of hys Ladye.’ Dom Pietro whyche woulde haue offered hym selfe in Sacrifice for hir, not knowyng hir demaunde, toke an othe, and promysed hir so lightly as madly afterwardes he did put the same in proofe. Beholde the preparatiues of the obsequies of their first loue, & the guages of a bloodie bedde: the one was prodigal of hir honoure, the other the tormenter of his reputation, and neglected the duetie and honor of his state, which the [...] wherof he came, commaunded hym to kepe.

Thus all the night he remained with Bianca Maria, who made him so wel to like [...] good entertainement [Page] and imbracementes, as he neuer was out of hir companie. And the warie Circes fained hir selfe so farre in loue with him, and vsed so many toyes & gametricks of hir filthie science, as he not onely esteemed him selfe the happiest Gentleman of Scicilia, but the most fortunate wight of al the world, and by biubing of hir wine was so straungely charmed with the pleasures of his faire mistresse, as for hir sake he wold haue taken vpon him the whole ouerthrow of Milan, so well as [...] of Cumes to set the Citie of Rome on fire, if Tyberius Gracchus the sedicious, woulde haue gyuen hir leaue. Such is the maner of wilde and foolish youth, as which suffreth it self to be caried beyond the boundes of reason. The same in time past did ouerthrow many realmes, and caused the chaunge of diuers Monarchies. And truely vnséemely it is for a man to be subdued to the will of a common strumpet. And as it is vncomly to submit him selfe to suche one, so not requisite to an honest & vertuous dame, his maried wife. Which vnmanly déedes, be [...] that diuers foolishe women commit such filthy factes, with their inspekable trumperies begiling the simple mā, and perchance through to much losing the bridle raines to the laufull wife, the poore man is straungely deceiued by some adulterous varlet, which at the wiues cōmaundement, when she séeth oportunitie, wil not shrinke to hazarde the honor of them bothe, in such wise as they serue for an exāple vpon a cōmon [...] to a whole generation & [...]. I will not séeke farre of for examples, being satisfied with the follie of the Bastarde of Cardonne, to please the crueltie and malice of that infernall furie the Countesse, who hauing lulled, flatered and be witched with hir louetricks (and peraduenture with some charmed drinke) hir new pigeon, séeing it time to solicite [Page] his promise, to be [...] of those, which thought no more of hir conspiracies and traitrous deuises, and, also when yt time was com for punishing of hir whoredome, and chastising of the breach of faith made to hir husbande, and of hir intended murders, and some of them put in execution, shée I saye, desirous to see the ende of that, which in thought shee had deuised, vpon a day tooke Dom Pietro aside, and secretly began this oration: ‘I take God to wytnesse (sir) that the requeste which I pretende presently to make, procedeth of desire rather that the worlde should knowe how iustly I séeke meanes to maintaine myne bonour, than for desire of reuenge, knowing very well, that there is nothing so precious and deare vnto a woman, as the preseruation of that inestimable iewel, specially in a Ladie of that honorable degrée which I maintain among the best. And to the intent I seeme not tedious with prolixitie of wordes, or vse other than direct circumstances before him that hath offred iust reuenge for the wrongs I haue receiued: Know you sir, that for a certain time I continued at Pauie, keping a house and traine so honest, as the best lords were cōtented with myne ordinarie: It chaunced that two honest gentlemen of noble house haūted my palace in like sort, and with the same intertainment, which as you sée, I doe receiue eche Gentleman, who beyng well intreated and honoured of me, in the ende forgat themselues so farre, as without respect of my state and calling, without regard of the race and familie wherof they come, haue attempted the slaunder of my good name, and vtter subuersion of my renoune: and sufficient it was not for them thus to deale with me poore Gentlewoman, without desert (excepte it were for admittyng them to haue accesse vnto my house) but also to continue [Page] their blasphemies, to mine extreme reproche [...] shame:’ and how true the same is, they that know me can well declare, by reason wherof, the vulgar people [...] and readie to wicked reportes, haue [...] such opinion of me, as for that they sée me braue and fine in apparel, and specially through the slaunderous speache of those gallantes, doe déene and repute me for a common whoore, wherof I craue none other witnesse than your selfe and my conscience. And I swear vnto you, that sithe I came to Milan, it is you alone that hath vanquished, and made the triumphe of my chastitie. And if you were absent from this Citie, I assure you on my faith that I wold not tarie here. [...] houres. These infamous ruffians I say, these persecuters and termagants of my good name, haue chased me out of all good Cities, and made me to be abhorred of all honest companie, that wearie I am of my life, and lothe to liue any longer, except spedie redresse be [...] for reuengement of this wrong. Wherefore excepte I finde some noble Champion and valiant [...] to requite these villains for their spitefull speach blased on me in euery corner of towne and countrey, and to paye them theyr rewarde and hire that I may liue at libertie and quiet, sorow will either consume me or myne owne hands shal hasten spedy death. And in [...] those wordes, she beganne to wéepe with such abundance of teares streaming downe hir cheekes and necke of Alabaster hewe, as the Scicilian which almost had none other God but the Countesse, sayd vnto hir: ‘And what is he, that dare molest and slaunder hir that hath in hir puissaunce so many Souldiers and men of warre. I make a vowe to God, that yf I knowe the names of those two arrant vilaynes, the which haue so defamed my Mystresse name, the whole [Page] [...] shall not saue their lyues, whose carrion bodies I wyll hewe into so many gobbetts, as they haue membres vpon the same. Wherefore Madame (sayd he, imbracing hir) I praye you to grieue youre selfe no more, committe your wronges to mée, onely tell me the names of those Gallauntes, and afterwardes you shall vnderstande what dyfference I make of woorde and déede, and if I doe not trymme and dresse them so fynely, as hereafter they shall haue no néede of Barber, neuer truste me any more.’ Shée, as reuiued from death to lyfe, kyssed and embraced hym a thousande tymes, thankyng hym for hys good will, and offeryng hym all that shée hadde. In the ende shée tolde hym that hir enimies were the Counties of Massino and [...], which but by theyr deaths alone were not able to amende and repaire hir honoure. ‘Care not you (sayde hée) for before that the Sunne shall spreade hys Beames twice. xxiiii. houres vpon the earthe, you shall heare newes, and knowe what I am able to doe for the chastisement of those deuyls. As he promysed, hée fayled not to doe’: For within a whyle after, as Ardizzino was goyng to supper into the Citie, he was espyed by hym, that had in companie attendaunt vpon hym fyue and twentie men of Armes, which wayted for Ardizzino, in a lane on the lefte hande of the streate called Merauegli, leadyng towards the church of Sainct Iames, through which the Counte must néedes passe. Who as he was goyng very pleasantly disposed with his brother and v: or. vi. of his men, was unmediatly assailed on euery side, and not knowing what it meant, woulde haue fledde, but the wayes and passages were stopped rounde aboute: to defende hym selfe it auayled not, [Page] hauing but their single swords, and amidde the troupe of such a bande that were throughly armed, which in a moment had murdred and cut in pieces all that companie. And although it was late, yet the Counte Ardizzino many times named Dom Pietro, which caused him to be taken, and imprisoned by the Duke of Bourbon, that was fled out of Fraunce, and then was lieutenaunt for the Emperour Charles the fifth in Milan. Whosoeuer was astonned and amazed with that imprisonmēt, it is to be thought that the [...] was not greatly at his ease and quiet, who neded no torments to force him confesse, the fact, for of his owne accorde [...] he disclosed the same but he sayde he was prouoked thervnto by the persuasion of Bianca Maria, telling the whole discourse as you haue heard before. She had already intelligence of this chaunce, & might [...] fled and saued hir selfe before the fact (by the confession of Dom Pietro) had bene discouered, and attended in some secrete place til that stromie time had ben calmed & appeased. But God which is a rightful iudge would not suffer hir wickednesse extend any further, fith she hauing founde out such a nimble & wilfull executioner the Coūte of [...] could not long haue [...] aliue, who then in good time and happie houre was absent out of the Citie. So soone as Dom [...] had accused the Countesse the Lorde of [...] sente hir to prison, and being examined, confessed the whole matter, trusting that hir infinite numbre of crownes would haue corrupted the Duke, or those that represented his person. But hir crownes and hir life passed all one way. For the day after hir imprisonment she was condemned to lose hir heade: And in the meane time Dom Pictro was saued, by the diligence and sute of the captaines, & was employed in other warres, to [Page] whome the Duke gaue him, for that hée was [...] to lose so notable a souldier, and the aide of his brother the Counte of Colisano. The Coūtesse hauing sentence pronoūced vpon hir, but trusting for pardon, she wold not prepare hir self to die, ne yet by any means craue forgiuenesse of hir faults at the handes of God, vntill she was conueyed out of the Castell, and ledde to the common place of execution, where a scaffold was prepared for hir to play the last acte of hir tragedie. Then the miserable Ladie began to know hir self, and to cō fesse hir faultes before the people, deuoutely praying God, not to haue regarde to hir demerites, ne yet to determine his wrath against hir, or enter with hir in iudgement, for so much as if the same were decréed according to hir iniquitie, no saluation was to bée looked for. She besought the people to praye for hir, and the Counte of Gaiazzo that was absent, to pardon hir malice and treason which she had deuised against him.

Thus miserably and repentantly dyed the Countesse, which in hir life refused not to imbrace and folow any wickednesse, no mischiefe she accompted euill done, so the same were imployed for hir pleasure and pastime. A goodly example truely for the youth of oure present time, sith the most part indifferētly do launch into the gulfe of disordred life, suffring them selues to be plunged in the puddles of their owne vain conceipts, without consideration of the mischieues that may ensue. If the Lord of Cardonne had not ben beloued of his generall, into what calamitie had he fallen for yelding him selfe a praie to that bloodie woman who had more regarde to the light and wilfull fansie of hir, whome he serued like a slaue, than to his duetie and estimation? And truely those be voide of their right wittess, which thinke them selues beloued of a whoore. For their amitie [Page] endureth no longer, than they sucke from their pursses and bodies any profit or pleasure. And bicause almost euery day semblable examples be séene, I will leaue of this discourse, to take mée to a matter, not farre more pleasant than this, although founded vpon better grounde, and stablished vpon loue, the first onset of lawfull mariage, the successe wherof, chaunced to murderous end, and yet the same intended by neyther of the beloued: As you shall be iudge by the continuance of reding of the historie ensuing. Beare with me good Ladies (for of you alone I craue this pardon) for introducing the whoorish life of this Countesse, and hir bloodie enterprise: bicause I know right well, that recitall of murders and bloodie facts werieth the mindes of those that loue to liue at rest, and wish for faire weather after the troublesome stormes of ragyng seas, no lesse than the pilote and wise Mariner, hauing long time endured and cut the perillous straicts of the Ocean sea. And albeit the corruption of our nature be so great, as folies delite vs more than ernest matters full of reason and wisedome, yet I thinke not that our mindes be so peruerted and diuided from frouthe, but sometimes we care and séeke to speake more grauely than the countrey Hynde, or more sobrely than they, whose liues do beare the marke of infamie, and be to euery wight notorious for the only name of their vocation. Suffiseth vs that an historie, bée it neuer so full of sporte and pleasure, do bring with it instruction of our lyfe, and amendement of our maners. And wée ought not to be so curious or scrupulous, to reiect merrie and pleasaunt deuises that be voide of harmefull talke, or without such glée as may hinder the education of youth procliue and redie to choose that is naught and corrupte. The very bookes of holy Scriptures do [Page] describe vnto vs persons that be vicious & so detestable as nothyng more, whose factes vnto the symple may séeme vnséemely, vpon the leaste recitall of the same. And shal we therfore reiect the reading, and eschue those holy bookes? God forbid, but with diligence to beware, that we do not resemble those that be remembred there for example, for somuch as spéedily after sinne, ensueth grieuous and as sodaine punishement. For which cause I haue selected these histories, of purpose to aduertise youth, howe those that folowe the way of damnable iniquitie, faile not shortely after their greate offenses, and execution of their outragious vices, to féele the iuste and mightie hande of God, who guerdoneth the good for their good workes and déedes, and rewardeth the euill for their wickednesse and mischese. Nowe turne we then to the Historie of two the rarest louers that euer were, the performaunce and [...] whereof, had it ben so prosperous as the begynnyng, had ioyed [...] the fruictes of their intente, and two noble houses of one Citie reconciled to perpetuall friendship.

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Rhomeo and Julietta
The. xxv. Nouel.

¶ The goodly Historie of the true and constant Loue betwene RHOMEO and IVLIETTA, the one of whom died of poison, and the other of sorow and [...]: wherin be comprised many aduentures of loue, and other deuises touching the same.

I Am sure, that they whiche measure the greatenesse of Gods works, according to the capacitie of their rude & simple vnderstanding, wyll not lightly adhibite credite vnto this historie, so wel for the va rietie of strange accidēts which be therin described, as for yt noueltie & straungenesse of so rare and perfect amitie. But they that haue redde Plinie, Valerius Maximus, Plutarche, and diuers other writers, doe finde, that in olde tyme a greate numbre of men and women haue died, some of excessiue ioye, some of ouermuch sorrowe, and some of other passions: and amongs the same, Loue is not the least, which when it seaseth vpon any kynde & gentle subiect, & findeth no resistance to serue for a rāpart to [Page] [...] the [...] of his course, by litle & litle vndermineth melteth & [...] yt vertues of natural powers in such wise as the sprite yelding to the burden, abandoneth yt place of life: which is verified by the pitifull and infortunate death of two louers that surrendred their last breath in one [...] at [...] a Citie of Italy, wherin repose yet to this day (with great maruel) the bones and remnantes of their late louing bodies: An history no lesse [...] than true. If then perticular affection which of good right euery man ought to beare to the place where he was borne, doe not deceiue those that trauaile, I thinke they will confesse with me, that few Cities in Italie, can surpasse the said Citie of Verona, aswell for the Nauigable riuer called [...], which passeth almost through the midst of the same, and therby a great trafique into Almaine, as also for the prospect towards the fertile Mountains and plesant valeis which do enuiron yt same, with a great numbre of very clere and liuely fountains that serue for the ease and commodity of the place. Omitting (bisides many other singularities) foure bridges, and an infinite numbre of other honorable antiquities, daily apparant vnto those, that be to curious to view & loke vpon them. Which places I haue somewhat touched, bicause this most true Historie which I purpose hereafter to recite, depēdeth therupon, the memory wherof to this day is so well knowne at Verona, as vnneths their blubbred eyes, be yet dry that sawe and behelde that lamentable sight.

When the Senior Escala was Lord of Verona; there were two families in the Citie, of farre greater fame than the rest, aswell for riches as [...]: the one called the Montesches, and the other the Capellets: but like as most commonly there is discord amongs them [Page] which be of semblable degrée in honor, euen so [...] hapned a certaine [...] betwene them: and for so much as the beginning therof was vnlawful, and of [...] foundation, so likewise in processe of time it kindled to such flame, as by diuers and sundry deuises practised on both sides, many lost their liues. The Lord Bartholomeu of Escala, (of whome we haue already spoken) being Lord of Verona, and seing such disorder in his cō mon weale, assayed diuers and sundry wayes to recō cile those two houses, but all in vaine: for their hatred, had taken such roote, as yt same could not be [...] by any wise councell or good aduise: betwene whome no other thing could be accorded, but giuing ouer [...] and weapon for the time, attending some other season more cōuenient, and with better leisure to appease the rest. In the time yt these things wer adoing, one of the familie of Montesches called Rhōmeo, of the age of. xx. or. xxi. yeres, the fairest and best conditioned Gentleman that was amongs the Veronian youth, [...] in loue with a yong Gentlewoman of Verona, & in few dayes was so attached with hir comely & good behauiour, as he abandoned all other affaires and businesse [...] serue & honor hir. And after many letters, [...] and presents, he determined in the end to speake vnto hir, & to disclose his passions, which he did without any other practise. But she which was vertuously brought vp, knew how to make him so good answer to cutte of his [...] affectiōs: as he had no lust after that time to return any more, and shewed hir self so austere [...] sharpe of speach, as she vouchsafed not with one loke to beholde him. But the more yt yong Gentleman [...] hir whist and silent, the more he was inflamed: and [...] hée had [...] certaine months in that seruice [Page] without remedy of his griefe, he determined in the end to depart Verona, for proofe if by change of yt place he might alter his affection, and sayd to himself. ‘What doe I meane to loue one that is so vnkinde, and thus doeth disdaine me, I am all hir owne, and yet she flieth from me. I can no longer liue, except hir presence I doe enioy. And she hath no contented minde, but when she is furthest from me. I wil then from henceforth [...] my selfe from hir, for it may so come to passe by not beholding hir, that thys fire in me which taketh increase and nourishment by hir faire eyes, by little and little may die and quench.’ But minding to put in proofe what hée thought, at one instant hée was reduced to the contrarie, who not knowing whereuppon to resolue, passed dayes and nights in maruellous plaintes and Lamentacions. For Loue [...] him so neare, and had so well fixed the Gentlewomans beautie within the Bowels of his heart and minde, as not able to resist, he fainted with [...] charge, and consumed by little and little as the Snow against the Sunne. Whereof his parents and kinred did maruell greatly, bewayling his misfortune, but aboue all other one of his companions of riper age and counsell than he, began sharply to rebuke him. For the loue that he bare him was so great as hée felt his Martirdome, and was partaker of his passion which caused him by ofte viewing hys friends disquietnesse in amorous pangs, to say thus vnto him: ‘Rhomeo, I maruel much that thou spendest the best time of thine age, in [...] of a thing, from which thou [...] thy self despised and [...], without respect either to thy prodigall dispense, to thine honor, to thy teares, or to thy miserable life, which be able [Page] to moue the most constant to pitie. Wherefore I pray thée for the Loue of our ancient amitie, and for thine health sake, that thou wilt learn to be thine owne [...], and not to [...] thy liberty to any so ingrate as she is: for so farre as I can coniecture by things that are passed betwene you, either she is in loue with some other, or else determined neuer to loue any. Thou arte yong, rich in goods and fortune, and more excellent in beautie than any Gentleman in this Citie: thou art well learned, and the only sonne of the house [...] thou cōmest. What grief wold it [...] to thy pore old father & other thy parents, to sée thée so drowned in this dongeon of vice, specially at that age wherein thou oughtest rather to put them in some hope of thy vertue? Begin then frō henceforth to acknowledge thine error, wherein thou hast hitherto liued, doe away that amorous vaile or couerture which blindeth thine eyes and letteth thée to folow the right path, wherein thine ancestors haue walked: or else if thou do [...] thy [...] so subiect to thine owne will, yelde thy heart to [...] other place, and choose [...] Mistresse according to thy worthinesse, and henceforth doe not sow thy paines in a soile so [...] whereof thou receiuest no frute: the time approcheth when all the dames of the Citie shall assemble, where thou maist beholde such one as shall make thée [...] thy former griefs. This yong Gentleman attentiuely hearing all the persuading [...] of his frend, began somewhat to moderate that heat, & [...] acknowledge all ye exhortations which he had made to be [...] to [...] purpose.’ And then determined to put them in proofe, and to be present [...] at all the feasts and assemblies of the citie, without bearing affection more to one woman than to another. And continued in this manner of life. [...]. or. [...]. months, [Page] [...] by that meanes to quench the sparks of auncient [...]. It chanced then within [...] dayes after, about the feast of Christmasse, when feasts & bankets most commonly be vsed, and maskes according to the custome frequented: And bicause that Anthome Capellet was the chief of that familie, and one of the most principal Lords of the Citie, he made a banket, and for the better solempnization of the same, inuited all the noble mē and dames, at what time ther was the most partof yt youth of Verona. The family of the Capellets (as we haue declared in yt beginning of this History) was at variance with the [...], which was the cause that none of that family repaired to that banket, but onely the yong Gentleman Rhomeo, who came in a [...] after supper with certain other yong Gentlemen. And after they had remained a certaine space with their visards on, at length they did put of ye same, and Rhomeo very shamefast, withdrew himself into a corner of the Hall: but by reason of the light of the torches which burned very bright, he was by & by known and loked vpon of the whole company, but specially of the Ladies: for bisides his natiue beautie wherewith nature had adorned him, they maruelled at his audacitie how he durst presume to enter so secretly into yt house of those which had litle cause to do him any good. Notwithstanding, the Capellets [...] their malice, either for the honor of the company, or else for respect of his age, did not misuse him either in word or déede. By meanes whereof with frée liberty he behelde and viewed the ladies at his pleasure, which he did so wel, and with grace so good, as there was [...] but did very well like the presence of his person. And after hée had particularly giuen iudgement vpon the excellency of each one, according to his affection, he saw one gentlewoman [Page] amongs the rest of surpassing beautie, who (although he had neuer séene hir tofore) pleased him aboue the rest, & attributed vnto hir in heart the [...] place for all perfection in beautie. And feastyng hir incessantly with piteous lookes, the loue which he bare to his first Gentlewoman, was ouercomen with this new fire, which tooke such norishement and vigor in his heart, as he was able neuer to quench the same but by death onely: as you may vnderstande by one of the strangest discourses, that euer any mortal man deuised. The yong Rhomeo then féelyng himselfe thus tossed with this new tempest, could not tel what coū tenaunce to vse, but was so surprised and chaunged with these last flames, as he had almost forgotten him selfe, in suche wise as he had not audacitie to enquire what shée was, [...] [...] bent hym selfe to féede his eyes wyth hir [...], wherewyth he moystened the swéete amorous venom, which dyd so empoyson him, as hée ended his dayes: with a kynde of moste cruell death. The Gentlewoman that dydde put Rhomeo [...] suche payne, was called Iulietta, and was the daughter of Capellet, the maister of the house where that assemblie was, who as hir eyes dydde roll and wander too and fro, by chaunce espied Rhomeo, whiche vnto hir séemed to be the goodliest Gentleman that euer shée sawe. And Loue which lay in wayte neuer vntyl that tyme, assailing the tender heart of that yong Gentlewoman, touched hir so at the quicke, as for any resistance she coulde make, was not able to defende hys forces. and then began to set at naught the royalties of the feast, and felt no pleasure in hir hart, but when she had a glimpse by throwing or receiuing some sight or looke of Rhomeo. And after they had cōtented eche others troubled hart with millions of amorous lokes [Page] whiche oftentymes interchangeably encountred and met together, the burning beames gaue sufficient testimonie of loues priuie onsettes. Loue hauing made the heartes breach of those two louers, as they two sought meanes to speake together, Fortune offered them a very [...] and apt occasion. A certaine lorde of that troupe and company tooke Iulietta by the hande to daunce, wherein shée behaued hir selfe so well, and with so excellent grace, as shée wanne that daye the price of honour from all the maidens of Verona. Rhomeo, hauyng foreséene the place wherevnto she minded to retire, approched the same, and so discretely vsed the matter, as he found the meanes at hir returne to sit beside hir. Iulietta when the daunce was finished, returned to the very place where she was set before, and was placed betwene Rhomeo & [...] other Gentlemā called Mercutio, which was a [...] [...] gentlemā, very wel beloued of all men, and by [...] of his plesāt & curteous behauior was in al [...] wel intertained. Mercutio yt was of audacitie amōg maidēs, as a lion is among lābes, seased inçōtinently vpon ye hande of Iulietta, whose hands wontedly wer so cold bothe in winter & sommer as ye mountain yee, although ye fires heat did warme ye same. Rhomeo which sat vpon ye left side of Iulietta, seing that Mercutio held hir by the right hand, toke hir by the other, that he might not be deceiued of his purpose, & straining the same a litle, he felt himself so prest with that newe fauor, as he remained mute, not able to answer: But she perceiuing by his change of color, yt the fault proceded of very vehemēt loue, desiring to speake vnto him, turned hir selfe towards him, & with [...] voice ioyned with virginal shamfastnesse, intermedled wt a certaine bashfulnesse, sayd to him: Blessid [...] ye hour of your nere aproche: but [Page] minding to procéede in further talke, loue had so closed vp hir mouth, as she was not able to end hir tale. Wherunto the yong gentleman all rauished with ioy and contentation, sighing, asked hir what was ye cause of that right fortunate blessing. Iulietta somwhat more emboldned with pitiful loke and smiling countenance said vnto him: ‘Syr, do not maruell if I do blesse your comming hither, bicause sir Mercutio a good time with frosty hand hath wholly frosen mine, and you of your curtesie haue warmed the same again. Wherunto immediatly Rhomeo replied: Madame if the heauēs haue bene so fauorable to employ [...] to do you some agreable seruice being repaired [...] by chaunce amongs other Gentlemen, I estéeme the same well bestowed, crauing no greater benefite for satisfaction of all my contentations receiued in this worlde, than to serue, obey and honor you so long as my life doth last, as experience shall yeld more ample proofe when it shall please you to giue further assay. Moreouer, if you haue receiued any heat by touche of my hand, you may be well assured that those flames be dead in respect of the liuely sparks and violent fire which sorteth from your faire eyes, which fire hath so fiercely inflamed all the most sensible parts of my body, as if I be not succored by the fauoure of your diuine graces, I doe attend the time to be consumed to dust.’ Scarse had he made an end of those last words, but the daunce of the Torche was at an end. Whereby Iulietta which wholly burnt with loue, straightly clasping hir hand with his, had no leisure to make other answere, but softly thus to say: ‘My deare friend, I know not what other assured witnesse you desire of Loue, but that I let you vnderstand that you be no more your owne, than I am yours, being ready and disposed to obey you so farre as honoure [Page] shall permit, beséeching you for the present time to content your selfe with this answere, vntill some other season méeter to Communicate more secretely of our affaires.’ Rhomeo séeing himself pressed to part with the companie, and for that hée knewe not by what meanes hée might sée hir againe that was his life and death, demaunded of one of his friends what she was, who made answer that she was the daughter of Capellet, the Lord of the house, and maister of that dayes feast (who wroth beyond measure that fortune had sent him to so daungerous a place, thought it impossible to bring to end his enterprise begon.) Iulietta couetous on the other [...], to know what yong Gentleman hée was which had so courteously intertaigned hir that night, and of whome she felt the new wounde in hir heart, called an olde Gentlewoman of honor which had nurssed hir and brought hir vp, vnto whome she sayd, leaning vpon hir shoulder: ‘Mother, what two yong Gentlemen be they which first goe forth with the two torches before them. Unto whome the olde Gentlewoman tolde the name of the houses whereof they came. Then she asked hir againe, what yong Gentleman is that which holdeth the visarde in his hande, with the Damaske cloke about him. It is (quod she) Rhomeo Montesche, the sonne of your Fathers capitall enimy and deadly [...] to all your kinne.’ But the maiden at the only name of Montesche was altogither amazed, dispairing for euer to attaine to husband hir great affectioned friend Rhomeo, for the auncient hatreds betwene those two families. Neuerthelesse she knew so wel [...] to dissemble hir grief and discontented minde, as the olde Gentlewoman perceiued nothing, who then began to persuade hir to retire into hir chamber: whome she obeyed: and being [Page] in hir bed, thinking to take hir wonted rest, a great [...] of diuers thoughts began to enuiron & trouble hir minde, in such wise as she was not able to close hir eyes, but turning here & there, fātasied diuerse things in hir thought, sometimes purposed to cut of the whole attempt of that amorous practise, sometimes to continue the same. Thus was the poore pucell [...] with two contraries, the one comforted hir to pursue hir intent, the other proposed the imminent perill whervnto vndiscretely she headlong threw hir self. And after she had wandred of long time in this amorous Laberinth, she knew not wherupon to resolue, but wept incessantly, and accused hir self, saying: ‘Ah Caitife and miserable creature, from whence doe rise these vnaccustomed trauailes which I [...] in minde, prouoking me to loose my rest: but infortunate wretch, what doe I know if that yong Gentleman doe loue me as hée sayeth. It may be vnder the vaile of sugred woords hée goeth about to steale away mine honoure, to be reuenged of my Parents which haue offended his, and by that meanes to my euerlasting reproche to make me the fable of the Verona people. Afterwards sodainly as she condempned that which she suspected in the beginning, sayd: Is it possible that vnder such beautie and rare comelinesse, disloyaltie and Treason may haue their siedge and lodging? If it be true that the face is the faithfull messanger of the mindes conceit, I may be assured that hee doeth loue me: for I marked so many chaunged coloures in his face in time of his talke with me, and sawe him so transported and bisides himself, as I cannot wishe any other more certaine lucke of loue, wherin I will persist immutable to the [...] gaspe of life, to the intent [Page] I may haue him to be my husband. For it may so come to passe, as this newe alliance shall [...] a perpetuall peace and amitie betwene his house and mine.’ Aresting then vpon this determination still, as she saw Rhomeo passing before hir Fathers gate, she shewed hir self with mery countenance, and [...] him so with looke of eye, vntill she had lost his sight. And continuing this manner of life for certain dayes, Rhomeo not able to content himself with lookes, daily did beholde and marke the situation of the house, and one day amongs others hée espied Iulietta at hir chamber window, bounding vpon a narow lane, right ouer against which Chamber he had a gardeine, which was the cause that Rhomeo fearing discouery of their loue, began then in the day time to passe no more before the gate, but so soone as the night with his browne mantell had couered the earth, he walked alone vp and downe that little streat. And after he had bene there many times, missing the chiefest cause of his comming, Iulietta impacient of hir euill, one night repaired to hir [...], and perceiued through the brightnesse of the Moone hir friend Rhomeo hard vnder hir window, no lesse attended for, than he himself was waighting. Then she secretely with teares in hir eyes, and with voyce interrupted by sighes, sayd: ‘Signior Rhomeo, me thinke that you hazarde your persone too much, and commit the same into great danger at this time of the night, to protrude your self to the mercy of thē which meane you little good. Who if they had taken you, would haue cut you in pieces, and mine honor (which I estéeme dearer than my life,) hindred & suspected for euer. Madame answered Rhomeo, my life is in the hād of God, who only cā dispose the same: [Page] [...] if any man had sought meanes to berieue me of life, I should (in the presence of you) haue made him known what mine abilitie had [...] to defend yt [...]. Notwithstanding life is not so deare, and of [...] [...] ̄ vnto me, but that I could [...] to [...] the same for your sake: and although my [...] [...] ben so great, as to be dispatched in that place, yet [...] I no cause to be sory therefore, excepte it had bene by loosing of meanes, the same to forgoe, the way how to make you vnderstand the good will and duety which I beare you: desiring not to conserue the same for any commoditie yt I hope to haue therby, nor for any other respect, but only to loue, serue, and honor you, so [...] as breath shal remaine in [...]. So soone as he had made an end of his talke, loue and pitie began to sease vpon the heart of Iulictta, and leaning hir head vpon hir [...], hauing hir face all besprent with teares, she said [...] Rhomeo: Syr Rhomeo, I pray you not to renue those things againe: for the only memory of such [...], maketh me to coūterpoise betwene death & life, my heart being so vnited with [...], as you cānot receiue the least iniury in this world, wherin I shal not be so great a partaker as your self: beséeching you for conclusion, that if you desire your owne health & [...], to declare vnto me in fewe wordes, what your determination is to attaine: for if you couet any other secrete thing at my handes, more than myne honour can well allow, you are maruelously deceiued: but if your desire be godly, and that the friendship which you [...] [...] to beare me, be founded vppon vertue, and to be concluded by mariage, receiuyng me for your wyfe & lawful spouse, you shall haue such part in me, as [...] any regarde to the obedience & reuerence that I owe to my parentes, or to the auncient enimitie of our familie, [Page] [...] will make you the onely Lord & maister ouer me, and of all things that I possesse, beyng prest and readie in all points to folowe your commaundement. But if your intent be otherwise, and thinke to reape the frute of my virginitie, vnder pretense of wanton [...], you be greatly deceiued, and doe praye you to auoide and suffer me from henceforth to liue in rest amongs mine equals. Rhomeo which loked for none other thing holding vp his handes to the heauens, with incredible ioy and contentation, answered: Madame for somuch as it hath pleased you to do me that honour to accept me for such a one, I accorde and consente to your request, and do offer vnto you the best part of my heart, which shall remaine with you for guage & sure testimonie of my saying, vntill such time as God shall giue me leaue to make you the entier owner and possessor of the same. And to yt intent I may begyn mine enterprise, to morow I wil to Frier Laurence for [...] the same, who bisides that he is my ghostly Father, is accustomed to giue me instruction in all my other secrete affaires, and fayle not (if you please) to méete me againe in this place at this very hour, to the intent I may giue you to vnderstande the deuise betwene him and me, which she liked very wel, & ended their talk for that time. Rhomeo receiuing none other fauor at hir hands for that night, but only words.’ This frier Laurence of whom hereafter we shal make more ample mention, was an aūcient Doctor of Diuinitie, of the order of the friers Minors, who bisides the happy profession which hée had made in studie of holie writ, was very skilful in Philosophy, and a great searcher of nature secrets, & excéeding famous in Magike knowledge, and other hiddē and secret sciences, which nothing diminished his reputation, bicause he did not [Page] abuse the same. And this Frier through his vertue and pietic, had so wel won the citizens hearts of [...], [...] he was almost the confessor to them all, and of al men generally reuerenced and beloued: and many tymes for his great prudence was called by the lordes of the Citie, to the weightie affaires of the same. And amonges other he was greatly fauored by the lord of [...], that time the principal gouernor of Verona, and of al yt familie of [...], and of the Capellets, and of many other. The yong Rhomeo (as we haue alredy declared) frō his tēder age, bare a certein particle amitie to frier Laurēce, & departed to him his secrets, by means wherof so soone as he was gone from [...], [...] straight to ye Friers Frāciscans, wher frō point to point he discoursed ye successe of his loue to yt good father, & the cōclusion of the mariage betwene him & [...], adding vpon the end of talk, yt he wold rather choose shameful death, [...] to faile hir of his promise. To whō the good [...] after he had debated diuers matters, & proposed [...] the inconueniences of that secrete mariage, exhorted hym to more mature deliberation of the same: notwithstanding, all the alleged persuasiōs wer not able to reuoke his promise. Wherfore the Frier vanquished with his stubbornesse, and also forecasting in his minde that the mariage might be some [...] of recōciliatiō of those two houses, in the ende agréed to his request, [...] him, that he might haue one delayed day for [...] to [...] what was beste to be done. But if Rhomeo for his part was carefull to prouide for his affaires, Iulietta like wise did hir [...]. For seing yt [...] had none about hir to discouer hir passions, she deuised to impart the whole to hir nurse which laye in hir [...], apointed to [...] vpon hir, to whome she committed the intier secrets of ye loue betwene Rhomeo & hir. [Page] And although yt old womā in the beginning resisted Iu hetta hir intent, yet in yt ende she knewe so wel how to persuade and win hir, that she promised in all that she was able to do, to be at hir cōmandement. And then she sent hir with al diligence to speake to Rhomeo, and to know of him by what meanes they might be maried, & yt he would [...] hir to vnderstand the determination betwene frier Laurence & him. Whō [...] answered, how ye [...] day wherin he had informed frier Laurence of ye matter, ye said frier deferred answer vntil the next, which was the very same, and that it was not past one houre [...] he returned with final resolution, & that Frier Laurence & he had deuised, that she the Saterday folowing, should desire leaue of hir mother to go to cō fession, & to repaire to the church of saint Francis, where in a certain chapel secretly they shold be maried, praying hir in any wise not to fail to be there. Which thing she brought to passe with such discretion, as hir mother agréed to hir [...]: and accompanied onely with hir gouernesse, and a yong mayden, she repaired thither at the determined day & time. And so soone as she was entred yt church, called for the good [...] frier Laurence, vnto whō answere was made yt he was in the shriuing chapel, & [...] aduertisement was giuē him of hir cō ming. So soon as frier Laurence was certified of Iulietta, he went into the body of the Church, & willed the old woman and yong [...] to go heare seruice, and that when he had hearde the confession of Iulietta, he would sende for them again to waite vpon hir. Iulietta being entred a litle Cell with Frier Laurence, he [...] [...] the doore as he was wont to do, where Rhomeo and he had bene together fast shut in, the space of one whole houre before. Then Frier Laurence after that hée had [...] them, sayde to Iulietta: ‘Daughter, as Rhomeo [Page] here present hath certified me, you be agréed and contented to take him to husband, and he like wise you [...] his espouse and wife. Do you now still persist and continue in that minde? The Louers answered that they desired none other thing.’ The Frier séeyng their conformed and agreable willes, after he had discoursed somwhat vpon the [...] of mariage dignitie, pronounced the vsuall wordes of the Church, and [...] hauing receiued the ryng from Rhomeo, they rose [...] before the Frier, who sayd vnto them: ‘If you haue any other thing to conferre together, do the same with spede: for I purpose that Rhomeo shall go from hence so secretely as he can.’ Rhomeo sorie to go from Iulietta sayd secretly vnto hir, that she should send vnto him after diner the olde woman, and that he [...] [...] to be made a corded ladder the same euening, thereby to climbe vp to hir chamber window, where at more leysure they woulde deuise of their affaires. Things determined betwene them, either of them retired to their house with incredible contentation, attendyng the happie houre for consummation of their mariage. When Rhomeo was come home to his house, he declared wholly what had passed betwene him and Iulietta, vnto a seruant of his called Pietro, whose [...] hée had so greatly tried, as he durst haue trusted him with his life, and commaunded him with expedition to prouide a ladder of cordes with. [...]. strong hookes of iron fastned to both ends, which he easily did, bicause they were much vsed in Italie. Iulietta did not forget in the euening about fiue of the clocke, to sende the old woman to Rhomeo, who hauing prepared all things necessarie, caused the ladder to be deliuered vnto hir, and prayed hir to require Iulietta ye same euening not faile to be at the accustomed place. But if this iorney [...] [Page] long to these two passioned louers, let other iudge that haue at other times assayed the like: for euery minute of an houre séemed to them a thousand yeares, so that if they had had power to commaunde the heauens (as [...] did the [...]) the earth had incontinently bene shadowed with darkest cloudes. The appointed houre come, Rhomeo put on the moste sumptuous apparell he had, and conducted by good fortune néere to the place where his heart toke life, was so fully determined of his purpose, as easily hée [...] vp the garden wall. Being arriued hard to the window, he perceiued Iulietta, who had already so wel fastned the corded ladder to draw him vp, as without any daunger at all he entred hir chambre, which was so clere as ye day, by reson of the tapers of virgin [...], which Iulietta had caused to be lighted, yt she myght the better behold hir Rhomeo. [...] for hir part, was but in hir night kerchief: who so soon as she perceiued him, colled him about the neck, and after she had kissed & rekissed hym a million of times, began to imbrace hym betwéene hir armes, hauing no power to speke vnto him, but by sighes onely, holding hir mouth close against his, and being in this traunce beheld him with pitiful eye, wiche made him to liue and die together. And afterwardes somewhat come to hir selfe, she sayd with sighes depely fetched from the bottom of hir heart: ‘Ah Rhomeo, the exampler of all vertue and gentlenesse, you be most hartily welcome to this place, wherin for your lacke and absence, and for feare of your persone, I haue gushed forth so many teares, as the spryng is almost dry: but nowe that I holde you betwéene my armes, let death and fortune doe what they [...], for I count my selfe more than satisfied of all my sorrowes [...], by the fauour alone of your presence: whom Rhomeo with weping [Page] eye, giuing ouer silēce answered: Madame [...] as I neuer receiued so much of fortunes grace, as to make you féele by liuely experience what power you had ouer me, & the torment euery minute of yt day sustained for your occasion, I do assure you ye least [...] yt vexeth me for your absence, is a thousād times more painful than death, which long time or this had cut of yt thréede of my life, if the hope of this happy [...] had not bene, which paying me now the iust tribute of [...] wepings past, maketh me better content & more glad, than if the whole world were at my [...], beséeching you (without further memory of anciēt grief) to take aduise in time to come how we may contēt our passionate hearts, & to sort our affaires with such wisedome and discretion as our enimies without aduātage may let vs continue the remnant of our dayes in rest & quiet. And as Iulietta was about to make answer, the olde woman came in the meane time, and sayd vnto them: He that wasteth time in talke, receuereth the same to late. But for so much as either of you hath endured such mutuall paines, behold (quod she) a campe which I haue made ready,’ (shewing them the field [...] which she had prepared and furnished,) wherunto they [...] agréed, and being thē betwene the shéetes in priny bed, after they had gladded and cherished thēselues with all kinde of delicate [...] which loue was able to deuise, Rhomeo vnloosing the holy lines of virginity, tooke possession of the place, which was not yet besieged with such ioy and contentation as they cā iudge which haue assayed like delites. Their marriage thus [...], [...] perceiuing the morning make too hastie approach, tooke his leaue, making promise that he would not faile within a day or two to resort againe to the place by like meanes and semblable [Page] time, vntill Fortune had prouided sure occasion vnfearfully to manifest their mariage to yt whole world. And thus a month or twaine, they continued their ioyfull mindes to their incredible satisfaction, vntill Lady fortune enuious of their [...], [...] hir [...] to tumble them into such a bottōlesse pit, as they payed hir vsury for their plesures past, by a certain most [...] and pitiful death, as you shall vnderstand héereafter by ye discourse that foloweth. Now as we haue before declared, the Capellets & the Montesches were not so wel reconciled by the Lord of Verona, but that there rested in them such sparkes of ancient displeasures, as either partes waited but for some light occasion to draw togithers, which they did in the Easter holy dayes, (as bloudy men commōly be most willingly disposed after a good time to commit some nefarious déede) bisides the gate of Boursarie leading to the olde castell of Verona, [...] troupe of the [...] rencountred with certain of the Montesches, and without other woordes began to set vpon them. And the Capellets had for chief of their glorious [...] one called Thibault cosin Germaine to Iulietta, a yong man strongly made, and of good experience in armes, who exhorted his Companions with stout stomakes to represse the boldnesse of the [...], that there should from that time forth no memorie of them be left at all. And the rumoure of this fray was increased throughoute all the corners of Verona, that succoure should come from all partes of the Citie to departe the same. Whereof Rhomeo aduertized, who walked alonges the Citie with certaine of his companions, hasted him spedily to the place where the slaughter of his Parents and alies were committed: and after he had well aduised & beholden many wounded & hurt on both sides, he sayd [Page] to his companions: ‘My friends let vs part thē, for they be so flesht one vpon an other, as they wil all be [...] to pieces before the game be done. And saying so, [...] thrust himself amids the troupe, and did no more but part the blowes on either side, crying vpō them aloud. My friends, no more it is time henceforth yt our quarel cease. For bisides the prouocation of Gods iust wrath, our two families be slaunderous to the whole world, and cause this common wealth to grow vnto disorder.’ But they were so egre and furious one against the other, as they gaue no audience to Rhomeo his councel, and bent themselues to kill, dismēber, and teare eche other in pieces. And the fight was so cruell and outragious betwene them, as they which looked on, were amased to sée them endure those blowes, for the ground was al couered with armes, legges, thighs, and bloud, wherein no signe of cowardnesse appeared, and maintained their fight so long, that none was able to iudge who had the better, vntill that Thibault cousin to Iulietta inflamed with ire and rage, turned towards Rhomeo, thinking with a foine to run him through. But he was so well armed and defended with a priuie coate which he wore ordinarily for the doubt hée had of the Capellets, as the pricke rebounded: vnto whom Rhomeo made answer: ‘Thibault thou maist know by the pacience which I haue had vntill this present time, that I came not hither to fight with thée or thine, but to [...] peace and attonemēt betwene vs, and if thou thinkest that for default of corage I haue failed mine endeuor, thou doest great wrong to my reputation. And impute this my suffrance to some other perticular respect, rather than to wāt of stomake. Wherfore abuse me not, but be content with this great effusion of bloud, and murders already committed, and prouoke me not I [Page] beséeche thée to passe the bounds of my good wil & mind. Ah Traitor, sayde Thibault, thou thinkest to saue thy self by the plot of thy pleasant tong, but sée that thou defend thy selfe, else presently I will make thée féele that thy tong shall not garde thy corpse, nor yet be the buckler to defend the same from present death.’ And saying so, he gaue him a blowe with such furie, as had not other warded the same, he had cut of his head from his shoulders. And the one was no readier to lend, but the other incontinently was able to pay againe, for he being not only wroth with the blow that he had receiued, but offended with the iniurie which the other had done, began to pursue his enimie with such courage and viuacitie, as at the third blow with his sweard, he caused him to fall backewarde starke deade vpon the grounde, with a pricke vehemently thrust into his throte, which he followed till his swearde appeared through the hinder parte of the same, by reason whereof the conflict ceased. For bisides that Thibault was the chief of his companie, he was also borne of one of the Noblest houses within the Citie, which caused the potestate to assemble his Soldiers with diligence for the apprehension and imprisonment of Rhomeo, who séeing yl fortune at hand, in secrete wise conueyed him self to Frier Laurence, at the Friers Franciscanes. And the Frier vnderstanding of his facte[?], kept him in a certaine secrete place of his Couent, vntil Fortune did otherwise prouide for his safe going abrode. The brute spred throughout the Citie, of this chaunce done vpon the Lord Thibault, the Capellets in mourning wéedes caused the dead body to be caried before the signory of Verona, so well to moue them to pitie, as to demaund iustice for the murder: before whome came also the Montesches, declaring the innocencie of Rhomeo, and [Page] the wilful assault of the other. The Counsel assembled & witnesses heard on both parts, a straight cōmaundement was giuen by the Lord of the Citie to giue ouer their weapons, and touching the offense of Rhomeo bicause he had killed the other in his owne [...], he was banished Verona for [...]. This cōmon misfortune published throughout the Citie, was generally sorowed and lamented. Some complained the death of the Lord Thibault, so well for his dexteritie in armes, as for the hope of his great good seruice in time to come, if he had not bene preuented by such cruell death. Other bewailed (specially the Ladies and Gentlewomen) the ouerthrow of yong Rhomeo,) who bisides his beautie & good grace wherwith he was enriched, had a certaine naturall allurement, by vertue whereof he drew vnto him the hearts of eche man, like as the stony Adamant doth the cancred iron, in such wise as the whole nation and people of Verona lamented his mischance: but aboue al, infortunate Iulietta, who aduertised both of the death of hir cosin Thibault, and of the banishment of hir husbande, made the aire sound with infinite numbre of mornefull plaints and miserable lamentations. Then féeling hir selfe too much outraged with extreme passion, she went into hir chamber, and ouercome with sorow threw hir self vpon hir bed, where she began to reinforce hir dolor after so strange fashion, as the most constant would haue bene moued to pitie. Then like one oute of hir wittes, she gazed héere and there, and by Fortune beholding the window whereat Rhomeo was wont to enter into hir chamber, cried out: ‘Oh vnhappy windowe, Oh entry most vnlucky, wherein were wouen the bitter toyle of my former missehaps, if by thy meanes I haue receiued at other times some [Page] [...] pleasure or transitorie contentation, thou now makest me pay a tribute so rigorous and painefull, as my tender body not able any longer to support yt same, shall henceforth open the gate to that life where the ghost discharged from this mortall burden, shall séeke in some place else more assured rest. Ah Rhomeo, Rhomeo, when acquaintance first began betwéene vs, and I reclined mine eares vnto thy suborned promisses, confirmed with so many othes, I wold neuer haue beleued that in place of our continued amitie, and in appeasing of the hatred of our houses, thou [...] dest haue sought occasion to breake the same by an acte so vituperious and shamefull, whereby thy fame shall be spotted for euer, and I miserable wretch desolate of spouse and companion. But if thou haddest bene so greadie after the Capellets bloud, wherefore didst thou spare the deare bloud of mine owne heart when so many times, and in such secrete place the same was at the mercie of thy cruell handes? The victorie which thou shouldest haue gotten ouer me, had it not bene glorious inough for thine ambitious mind, but for more triumphant solempnitie to be crowned with the [...] of my dearest kinsman? Now get thée hence therefore into sonte other place to deceiue some other, so vnhappy as my selfe. Neuer come againe in place where I am, for no excuse shall héereafter take holde to asswage mine offended minde. In the meane time I shall lament the rest of my heauie life, with such store of teares, as my body dried vp from all humiditie, shall shortly search reliefe in earth.’ And hauing made an ende of those hir woords, hir heart was so grieuously strained, as she could neither wéepe nor speake, and stoode so [...], as if she had bene [Page] in a traunce. Then being somewhat come againe vnto hir self, with [...] voyce she sayde: ‘Ah [...] tong of other mennes [...], howe [...] thou so [...] to speake of him whome his very enimies doe commend and praise? How presumest thou to impute the blame vpon Rhomeo, whose vngiltinesse and innocent déede euery man alloweth? Where from henceforth shal be his refuge? sith she whiche ought to be the only bulwarke, and assured rāpire of his distresse, doth pursue & defame him? Receiue, receiue then Rhomeo, the satisfactiō of mine ingratitude by yt sacrifice which I shall make of my proper life, and so the fault which I haue committed against thy loyaltie, shalbe made open to the world, thou being reuenged & my self punished.’ And thinking to vse some furder talke, all the powers of hir body failed hir with signes of present death. But the good olde woman which could not imagine yt cause of Iulietta hir long absence, doubted very much that she suffred some passion, and sought hir vp and downe in euery place within hir fathers palace, vntill at length she found hir lying a long vpon hir bed, al the outward parts of hir body so colde as Marble. But the good olde woman which thought hir to be dead, began to cry like one out of hir wittes, saying: ‘Ah deare daughter and [...], how much doeth thy deathe now grieue me at the very heart? And as she was séeling all the partes of hir body, she perceiued some sparke of life to be yet within the same, which caused hir to call hir many times by hir name, till at length she brought hir out of hir sounde. Then she sayd vnto hir: Why Iulietta myne own deare dareling, what meane you by this turmoiling of your self? I can not tel from whēce this your behauior & that immoderate heauinesse doe procede, but wel I wote that within this houre I thought [Page] to haue accompanied you to the graue. Alas good mother (aunswered wofull Iulietta) doe you not most euidently perceiue and sée what iuste cause I haue to sorrow and complaine, losing at one instant two persons of the worlde which were vnto me moste deare? Me thinke answered the good woman, that it is not semely for a Gentlewoman of your degrée to fall into such extremitie. For in time of tribulation [...] shoulde most preuaile. And if the Lord Thibault be dead, do you thinke to get hym againe by teares? What is he that doth not accuse his ouermuch presumption? would you that Rhomeo had done that wrong to him, & his house, to suffer himselfe outraged & assailed by one, to whome in manhode and prowesse he is not inferiour? Suffiseth you that Rhomeo is aliue, and his affaires in such estate, who in time may be called home again from banishment, for he is a great lorde, and as you know wel allied and fauored of all men: wherfore arme your self from henceforth with pacience. For albeit that Fortune doth [...] him from you for a time, yet sure I am, that hereafter shée will restore him vnto you againe with greater ioy and contentation than before. And to the end that we be better assured in what state he is, if you will promise me to giue ouer your heauinesse, I will to day knowe of Frier Laurence whether he is gone.’ To whiche request Iulietta agréed, and then the good woman repaired to S. Frauncis, where she foūd Frier Laurence, who told hir that the same night Rhomeo would not faile at his accustomed houre to visite Iulietta, and there to do hir to vnderstand what he purposed to doe in time to come. This iorney then fared like the voyages of mariners, who after they haue ben tost by great & troublous tempest, séeing some Sunne [...] pierce the heauens to lighten the land, assure [Page] them selues agayne, and thynkyng to haue auoyded shipwracke, and sodainly the seas begin to swell, the waues do roare, with such vehemence and noyse, as if they were fallen againe into greater daunger than before. The assigned houre come, Rhomeo fayled not according to his promise to bée in his Garden, where he found his furniture prest to mount the chamber of Iulietta, who with displayed armes, began so straightly to imbrace hym, as it séemed that the soule woulde haue abandoned hir body. And they two more than a large quarter of an houre were in such agonie, as they were not able to pronounce one worde, and wettyng eache others face faste closed together, the teares trickeled downe in suche abundaunce, as they séemed to bée thoroughlye bathed therein. Whiche Rhomeo perceyuing, and thynkyng to staye those immoderate teares, sayde vnto hir: ‘Myne owne dearest friende Iulietta, I am not nowe determined to recite the particulars of the straunge happes of frayle and inconstaunte Fortune, who in a [...] hoystethe a man vp to the hyghest degrée of hir whéele, and by and by, in lesse space than in the twynckelyng of an eye, shée throweth hym downe agayne so lowe, as more miserie is prepared for him in one day, than fauour in one hundred yeares: whyche I nowe proue, and hauc experience in my selfe, whiche haue bene nourished delicately amonges my friendes, and mainteyned in suche prosperous state, as you doe little knowe, (hopyng for the full perfection of my felicitie) by meanes of oure maryage to haue reconciled oure parentes and friends; and to conducte the residue of my lyfe, accordyng to the scope and lotte determined by Almyghty GOD: and neuerthelesse [Page] all myne enterprises bée put backe, and my purposes tourned cleane contrarye, in suche wyse as from henceforthe I muste wander lyke a vagabonde thorough dyuerse [...], and sequestrate my selfe from my friendes, withoute assured place of myne abode, whiche I desyre to lette you wete, to the intente you maye be exhorted, in tyme to come, pacientely to beare so well myne absence, as that which it shall please God to appointe.’ But Iulietta, all affrighted with teares and mortall agonies, woulds not suffer hym to passe any further, but interruptyng hys purpose, sayde vnto hym: ‘Rhomeo, howe canst thou bée so harde hearted and voyde of all pitie, to leaue mée héere alone, besieged with so many deadly myseries? There is neyther houre nor Minute, wherein Death dothe not appeare a thousande tymes before mée: and yet my missehappe is suche, as I can not dye, and therefore doe manyfestelye perceyue, that the same Deathe preserueth my lyfe, of purpose to delyghte in my griefes, and triumphe ouer my euyls. And thou lyke the mynister and tyrant of hir crueltie, doest make no conscience (for oughte that I can sée) hauynge atchieued the summe of thy desyres and pleasures on me, to abandon and forsake me. Whereby I well perceyue, that all the lawes of Amitie are deade and vtterly extinguished, for so muche as hée, in whome I hadde greatest hope and confidence, and for whose sake I am become an enimie to my self, doth disdaine and contemne me. No no Rhomeo, thou must fully resolue thy selfe vpon one of these. [...]. points, either to sée me incontinently throwen down hedlong from this high window after thée: or else to suffer me to accōpanie thée into that coūtrey [Page] or place whither Fortune shal guide thée: for my heart is so muche transformed into thine, that so soone as I shall vnderstande of thy departure, presently my lyfe will depart this wofull body: the continuance wherof I doe not desire for any other purpose, but only to delight my selfe in thy presence, and to bée partaker of thy missefortunes. And therefore if euer there lodged any pitie in the hearte of Gentleman, I beséeche [...] Rhomeo with al humilitie, that it may now fynd place in thée, and that thou wilt vouchsafe to receiue me [...]; thy seruant, and the faithful cōpanion of thy [...]. And if thou thinke that thou canst not cōueniently receiue me in the estate and habite of a wife, who shall let me to chaunge myne apparell? Shall I be the first that haue vsed like shiftes, to escape the tirannie of parentes? Dost thou doubt that my seruice will not bée so good vnto thée as that of Petre thy seruaunt? Will my loyaltie and fidelitie be lesse than his? My beautie whiche at other tymes thou hast so greately commended, is it not estéemed of thée? My teares, my loue, and the auncient pleasures and delights that you haue taken in me, shall they be in obliuion? Rhomeo séeing [...] in these alteratiōs, fearing that worsse inconuenience would chaunce, tooke hir againe betwéene his armes, and kissyng hir amorously, sayd: Iulietta, the onely mistresse of my heart, I pray thée in the name of God, and for the feruent loue which thou bearest vnto me, to [...] & do away those vaine cogitations, except [...] meane to séeke & hazard the destruction of vs both: for if thou perseuer in this determination, there is no remedie but we must both perish: for so soon as thine [...] shal be knowne, thy father wil make such ernest pursute after vs, that we can not choose but be descried & taken, and in the ende cruelly punished. I as a [...] [Page] and stealer of thée, and thou as a disobedient daughter to hir father: and so in stead of pleasant and quiet life, our dayes shalbe abridged by most shameful death. But if thou wilt recline thy self to reason, (the right rule of humane life,) and for the time abandon our mutual delights, I will take such order in the time of my banishment, as within. [...]. or. [...]. months without any delay, I shalbe reuoked home againe. But if it fall out otherwise (as I trust not,) how so euer it happē, I wil come againe vnto thée, and with the helpe of my friends wil fetch thée from Verona by strong hand, not in counterfeit apparell as a stranger, but like my spouse and perpetuall companion. In the meane time quiet your self, and be sure that nothing else but death shal deuide and put vs asunder. The reasons of Rhomeo so much preuailed with Iulietta, as she made him this answer: My deare friend I will doe nothing contrary to your will and pleasure. And to what place so euer you repair, my heart shall be your owne, in like sorte as you haue giuen yours to be mine. In the meane while I pray you not to faile oftentimes to aduertise me by Frier Laurence, in what state your affairs be, and specially of the place of your abode.’ Thus these two pore louers passed the night togither, vntill the day began to appeare, which did separate them, to their extreame sorow and grief. Rhomeo hauing taken leaue of Iulietta, went to S. Fraunces, and after he hadde aduertised Frier Laurence of his affaires, departed from Verona in the habit of a Marchaunt straunger, and vsed such expedition, as without hurt hée arriued at Mantona, (accompanied only with Petre his seruaunt, whome hée hastely sent backe againe to Verona, to serue his Father) where he tooke a house: and liuing in honorable company, assayed certaine months to put away the griefe which so tormented [Page] him. But during the time of his absence, miserable Iulietta could not so cloke hir sorow, but that through the euill coloure of hir face, hir inwarde passion was discried. By reason whereof hir mother, who heard hir oftentymes sighing, and incessantly complaining, coulde not forbeare to say vnto hir: ‘Daughter if you continue long after this sorte, you will hasten the death of your good Father and me, who loue you so dearely as our owne liues: wherefore henceforth moderate your heauinesse, and endeuor your self to be mery: thinke no more vpon the death of your cosin Thibault, whome (sith it pleasēd God to call away) do you thinke to reuoke with teares, and to withstand his almighty will? But the pore Gentlewoman not able to dissemble hir grief, sayd vnto hir: Madame long time it is sithens the last teares for Thibault wer poured forth, and I beleue that the fountaine is so well soked and dried vp, as no more will spring in that place. The mother which coulde not tell to what effect those woords were spoken held hir peace, for feare she should trouble hir daughter’: and certaine dayes after séeing hir to continue in heauinesse and continuall griefs, assayed by all meanes possible to know, aswell of hir, as of other the housholde seruaunts, the occasion of hir sorow, but al in vaine: wherwith the pore mother [...] beyonde measure, purposed to let the Lorde Antonio hir husband to vnderstand the case of hir daughter. And vpon a day séeing [...] at conuenient leisure, she sayd vnto him: My Lord, if you haue marked the countenāce of our daughter, and hir kinde of behauior sithens the death of the Lord Thibault hir cosin, you shall perceiue so straunge mutation in hir, as it will make you to maruel: ‘for she is not only contēted to forgoe meat, drinke and sléepe, but she spendeth hir time in nothing [Page] else but in wéeping & lamentation, delighting to kepe hir self solitarie within hir chamber, where she tormē teth hir self so out ragiously, as if we take not héede, hir life is to be doubted, and not able to know the original of hir paine, the more difficult shall be the remedy: for albeit that I haue sought meanes by all extremitie, yet cannot I learne the cause of hir sicknesse. And where I thought in the beginning, that it procéeded vpon the death of hir cosin, now I doe manifestly perceiue yt contrary, specially when she hir self did assure me that she had already wept and shed the last teares for him, that shée was minded to doe. And vncertaine wherupon to resolue, I do thinke verily that she mourneth for some despite, to sée the most part of hir companions maried, & she yet vnprouided, persuading with hir self (it may be) that we hir parents doe not care for hir. Wherefore deare husband, I heartely beséeche you for our rest and hir quiet, that hereafter ye be carefull to prouide for hir some mariage worthy of our state: whereunto the Lord Antonio willingly agréed, saying vnto hir: Wife, I haue many times thought vpon that whereof you speake, notwithstāding sith as yet she is not attained to the age of. [...]. yeares, I thought to prouide a husbād at leisure. Neuerthelesse things being come to these termes, & knowing yt virgins chastitie is a dāgerous treasure, I wil be mindful of yt same to your contentation, and she matched in such wise, as she shall thinke the time hitherto well delayed. In the meane while mark diligently whither she be in loue with any to the end yt we haue not so gret regard to goodes, or to yt nobilitie of yt house wherin we meane to [...] hir, as to yt life & helth of our daughter, who is to me so dere as I [...] rather [...] a begger wtout lands or goods, than to bestow hir vpon one which shal vse & intreat hir yll.’ [Page] Certain dayes after that the Lord Antonio had bruted the mariage of his Daughter, many Gentlemen were suters, so wel for yt excellencie of hir beautie, as for hir great richesse & reuenue. But aboue all others the aliance of a yong Earle named Paris, the Counte of Lodronne liked the Lord Antonio: vnto whome liberally he gaue his cōsent, & told his wife the party vpō whom he did mean to bestow his daughter. The mother very ioyful yt they had found so honest a Gentlemā for their daughter: caused hir secretly to be called before hir, doing hir to vnderstand what things had passed betwene hir father & the Counte Paris, discoursing vnto hir the beauty & good grace of that yong Counte, yt vertues for which he was commended of al men, ioyning therunto for conclusion yt great richesse & fauor which he had in ye goods of fortune, by means wherof she & hir friēds shold liue in eternall honor. But Iulietta which had rather to haue bene torne in pieces than to agrée to yt mariage, answered hir mother wt a more thā accustomed stoutnesse: ‘Madame, I much maruel, & therwithal am astō ned yt you being a Lady discréete & honorable, wil be so liberal ouer your daughter as to cōmit hir to yt plesure & wil of an other before, you do know how hir minde is bent: you may do as it pleaseth you, but of one thing I do wel assure you, that if you bring it to passe, it shal be against my will. And touching the regarde and estimation of Counte Paris, I shall first loose my life before he shall haue power to touch any part of my body: which being done, it is you that shall be coūted the murderer, by deliuering me into the hands of him, whome I neither can, wil, or know which way to loue. Wherfore I pray you to suffer me henceforth thus to liue, wythout taking any further care of me, for so muche as my cruell fortune hath otherwise disposed of me.’

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The dolorous mother whiche knewe not what iudgement to fire vpon hir daughters aunswere, like a woman confused & bisides hir self went to seke the Lorde Antonio, vnto whome without conceyling any part of hir daughters talke, she did him vnderstand the whole. The good olde man offended beyonde measure, cōmanded hir incontinētly by force to be brought before him, if of hir own good wil she wold not come. So soon as she came before hir father, hir eyes ful of teares, fel downe at his féet, which she bathed with the luke warm drops that distilled from hir eyes in great abundance, & thinking to open hir mouth to crie him mercie, the sobbes and sighes many times stopt hir speach, that she remained dumbe not able to frame a worde. But the old mā nothing moued with his daughters teares, sayde vnto hir in great rage: ‘Come hither thou vnkynde and disobedient daughter, hast thou already forgotten howe many times thou hast heard spoken at the table, of the puissance and authoritie our auncient Romane fathers had ouer their children? vnto whome it was not onely lawfull to sell, guage, and otherwise dispose them (in [...] necessitie) at their pleasure, but also whiche is more, they had absolute power ouer their death & lyfe? With what yrons, with what tormēts, wt what racks wold those good fathers chasten and correct thée if they were aliue againe, to sée that ingratitude, misbehauor and disobedience which thou vsest towards thy father, who with many prayers and requestes hath prouided one of the greatest lords of this prouince to be thy husbande, a gentleman of best renoume, and indued with all kinde of vertues, of whome thou and I be vnworthie, bothe for the notable masse of goodes and substance wherwith he is enriched, as also for the honour and generositie of the house whereof hée is discended, [Page] and yet thou playest the parte of an obstinate and rebellious childe against thy fathers wil, I take the omnipotencie of that almightie God to witnesse, whiche hath [...] to bryng thée forth into this worlde, that if vpon Tuesday nexte thou failest to prepare thy selfe to be at my castel of [...], where the Coūte Paris purposeth to mete vs, and there giue thy consent to that which thy mother & I haue agréed vpon, I will not onely depriue thée of my worldly goodes, but also will make thée espouse and marie a prison so strayght and sharpe, as a thousande times thou shalt curse the day and tyme wherin thou wast borne. Wherfore frō hence forth take aduisement what thou dost, for except the promise be kept which I haue made to the Counte Paris, I will make thée féele how great the iust choler of an offended father is against a childe vnkinde. And without staying for other answer of his daughter,’ the olde man departed the chamber, and [...] hir vpon hir knées. Iulietta knowing the furie of hir father, fearing to incurre his indignation, or to [...] his further wrath, retired for that day into hir chamber, and contriued the whole night more in wéeping than sléeping. And the next morning faining to goe heare seruice, she went forth with the woman of hir chamber to the friers, where she caused father Laurence to be called vnto hir, and prayed him to heare hir confession. And when she was vpon hir knées before him, shée began hir confession with teares, tellyng him the great mischief that was prepared for hir, by ye mariage accorded betwéene hir father, and the Counte Paris. And for conclusion said vnto him: ‘Sir, for so much as you know that I can not by Gods law be maried twice, and that I haue but one God, one husbande, and one faith, I am determined (when I am from [...]) with these two hands which [Page] you sée ioyned before you, this day to end my sorowful life, that my soule may beare witnesse in the heauens, and my bloode vpon the earth of my faith and loyaltie preserued.’ Then hauyng ended hir talke, she looked aboute hir, and séemed by hir wilde countenaunce, as though she had deuised some [...] purpose. Wherefore Frier Laurence, astonned beyond mesure, fearing lest she wold haue executed that which she was determined, sayd vnto hir: ‘Mistresse Iulietta, I pray you in the name of God by litle and little to moderate youre conceyued griefe, and to content your self whilest you be here, vntill I haue prouided what is best for you to do, for before you part from hence, I wil giue you such consolation and remedie for your afflictiōs, as you shall remaine satisfied and contented.’ And resolued vppon this good minde, he spéedily wente out of the Churche vnto his chamber, where he began to consider of many things, his conscience beyng moued to hinder the mariage betwene the Coūte Paris and hir, knowing that by his meanes she had espoused an other, and callyng to remembrance what a dangerous enterprise he had begonne, by committyng hymselfe to the mercie of a symple damosell, and that if shée failed to bée wyse and secrete, all their doings should be discried, he defamed, and Rhomeo hir spouse punished. Hée then after he had well debated vpon an infinite numbre of deuises, was in the ende ouercome wyth pitie, and determined rather to hazarde his honour, than to suffer the adulterie of Counte Paris with Iulietta. And [...] determined herevpon, opened his closet, and takyng a vyoll in hys hande, retourned agayne to Iulietta, whome hée founde lyke one that was in a traunce, waytynge for newes, eyther of lyfe, or deathe.

‘Of whome the good olde father demaunded vppon [Page] what day hir mariage was appointed. The first day of that appointment (quod she) is vpon wednesday, which is the day ordeined for my [...] of mariage accorded betwene my father and Counte Paris, but the nuptiall solemnitie is not before the. x. day of September. Wel then (quod the religious father) be of good chéere daughter, for our Lord God hath opened a way vnto me both to deliuer you & Rhomeo from the prepared thraldom. I haue knowne your husband from his cradle, and hée hath dayly committed vnto me the greatest secretes of his conscience, and I haue so dearely loued him again, as if he had ben mine own sonne. Wherfore my heart can not abide that any man shold do him wrong in that specially wherin my counsell may stande him in stede. And for somuch as you are his wife, I ought likewyse to loue you, & seke meanes to deliuer you frō the martyrdome and anguish wherwith I sée your heart besieged. Understande then (good daughter) of a secrete which I purpose to manifest vnto you, and take héede aboue all things, that you declare it to no liuing creature, for therein consisteth your life and death. Ye be not ignorant by the common report of the citizens of this Citie, and by the same published of me, that I haue trauailed thorough all the Prouinces of the habitable earth, wherby during the continuall time of. xx. yeres, I haue sought no rest for my wearied body, [...] rather haue mani times protruded ye same to ye mercy of brute beasts in ye wildernesse, & many times also to the mercylesse waues of the seas, and to the pitie of cōmon pirates together with a thousande other daungers and shipwracks vpon sea and lande. So it is good daughter that all my wandryng voyages haue not bene altogethers vnprofitable. For besides the incredible contentation receiued ordinarily in mynde, I haue gathered [Page] some particular fruit, whereof by the grace of God you shall shortly féele some experience. I haue proued the secrete properties of stones, of plants, metals, & other things hidden within the bowels of the earth, wherewith I am able to helpe my selfe against the common law of men, when necessitie doth serue: specially in things wherein I know mine eternall God to be least offended. For as thou knowest I being approched as it were, euen to the brimme of my grane, & that the time draweth neare for yelding of mine accompt before the auditor of all auditors, I ought therefore to haue some déepe knowledge and apprehēsion of Gods iudgement more than I had when yt heat of inconsidered youth did boyle within my lusty body. Know you therefore good daughter, that with those graces and fauors which the heauens prodigally haue bestowed vpon me, I haue learned and proued of long time the composition of a certaine paaste, which I make of diuers soporiferous simples, which beaten afterwards to poudre, & dronke with a quātitie of water, within a quarter of an houre after, bringeth the receiuer into such a sléepe, and burieth so déepely the senses and other sprites of life, that the cunningest Phisitian wil iudge the party dead: and besides that it hath a more maruellous effect, for the person which vseth the same feeleth no kinde of grief, and according to the quantitie of the dough, the [...] remaineth in a swéete slepe, but when the operation is perfect & done, hée returneth into his first estate. Now then Iulietta receiue mine instruction, and put of all feminine affection by taking vpon you a manly stomake, for by the only courage of your minde consisteth ye [...] or mishap of your affaires. Beholde héere I giue you a viole which you shal kéepe as your owne propre heart, and the night before your mariage, or in the morning [Page] before day, you shal fil the same vp with water, & drink so much as is contained therin. And then you shall féele a certain kinde of pleasant sléepe, which incroching by litle & litle all the parts of your body, wil constrain thē in such wise, as [...] they shal remaine: and by not doing their accustomed dueties, shall loose their natural féelings, and you abide in such extasie the space of xl. houres at the least without any beating of poulse or other perceptible motion, which shall so astōne them yt come to sée you, as they will iudge you to be dead, & according to the custome of our Citie, you shall be caried to the churchyard hard by our Church, where you shall be intombed in the common monument of the [...] your ancestors, & in the meane time we wil send word to the Lord Rhomeo by a speciall messanger of the effect of our deuise, who now abideth at Mantua. And the night folowing I am sure he will not faile to be héere, then he and I togither will open the graue, and lift vp your body, and after the operatiō of the pouder is past, he shall conuey you secretely to Mantua, vnknowen to all your Parents and friends. Afterwards (it may be) Time the mother of truthe shall cause concord betwene the offended Citie of Verona and Rhomeo. At which time your common cause may be made open to the generall contentation of all your friendes.’ The woords of the good Father ended, new ioy surprised the heart of Iulietta, who was so attentiue to his talke as she forgate no one poynt of hir [...]. ‘Then she sayde vnto him: Father, doubt not at all that my heart shall faile in performance of your commaundement: for were it the strongest poyson or moste [...] venome, rather would I thrust it into my body, than to consent to fall in the hands of him, whome I vtterly [...]: with a right strong reason then may I for [...] [Page] my self, and offer my body to any kinde of mortal danger to approche and draw neare to him, vpon whome wholly dependeth my life & al the contentation I haue in this world. Go your wayes then my daughter (quod the Frier) the mighty hand of God keepe you, and his surpassing power defend you, and confirme that will and good mind of yours, for the accomplishment of this worke.’ Iulietta departed from Frier Laurence, and returned home to hir fathers palace about. xi. of the clock, where she founde hir mother at the gate attending for hir: and in good deuotion demaūded if she continued stil in hir former follies? But Iulietta with more gladsome chéere than she was wont to vse, not suffering hir mother to aske againe, sayde vnto hir: ‘Madame I come from S. Frauncis Church, where I haue taried longer peraduenture than my duetie requireth: how be it not without frute and great rest to my afflicted conscience, by reason of the godly persuasions of our ghostly father Frier Laurence, vnto whome I haue made a large declaration of my life. And chiefly haue communicated vnto him in confession, that which hath past betwene my Lord my father and you, vpon the mariage of Counte Paris and me. But the good man hath reconciled me by his holy woords and commendable exhortations, that where I had minde neuer to mary, now I am well disposed to obey your pleasure and commaundement. Wherefore [...] I be séeche you to recouer the fauor & good will of my father, aske pardon in my behalfe, and say vnto him (if it please you) that by obeying his Fatherly request, I am ready to méete the Counte Paris at Villafranco, and there in your presence to accept him for my Lord and husband: in assurance wherof, by your pacience, I meane to repair into my closet, to make choise of my most pretious iewels, [Page] that I being richly adorned and decked, may [...] before him more agréeable to his minde and pleasure.’ The good mother rapte with excéeding great ioy, was not able to answer a word, but rather made spéede to séeke out hir husband the Lord Antonio, vnto whome she reported the good will of hir daughter, and how by meanes of Frier Laurence hir minde was chaunged. Wherof the good olde man maruellous ioyfull, praised God in heart, saying: ‘wife this is not yt first good turne which we haue receiued of that holy man, vnto whom euery Citizen of this Common wealth is dearly [...]. I wold to God that I had redemed. xx. of his yeres [...] the third parte of my goods, so grieuous is to me his extreme olde age.’ The self same houre the Lord Antonio went to séeke the Counte Paris, whome he thought to persuade to goe to Villafranco. But the Counte tolde him againe, that the charge would be to great, and that better it were to reserue that cost to the mariage day, for the better celebration of the same. Notwithstāding if it were his pleasure, he would himself goe visite Iulietta: and so they went together. The mother aduertised of his comming, caused hir Daughter to make hir self ready, and to spare no costly iewels for adorning of hir beautie against the Countes cōming, which she bestowed so wel for garnishing of hir personage, that before the Counte parted frō the house, she had so stolne away his heart, as he liued not frō that time forth, but vpon meditation of hir beautie, and slacked no time for acceleration [...] yt mariage day ceasing not to be importunate vpon father and mother for the ende and consummation thereof: And thus with ioy inoughe passed forth this day and many others vntill ye day before the mariage, against which time the mother of Iulietta did so well prouide, that there wanted nothing to set forth [Page] the magnificence and nobilitie of their house. Villafranco wherof we haue made mention, was a place of pleasure, where the lorde Antonio was wont many times to recreate him self a mile or two from Veronna, there the dynner was prepared, for so muche as the ordinarie solemnitie of necessitie muste be done at Veronna. Iulietta perceiuing hir time to approach, dissembled the matter so well as shée coulde: and when time forced hir to retire to hir chambre, hir woman wold haue waited vpon hir, and haue lyen in hir chambre, as hir custome was: But Iulietta sayde vnto hir: ‘Good and faithfull mother, you know that to morow is my mariage day, and for that I would spende the most parte of the night in prayer, I pray you for this time to let me alone, and to morow in the morning about. [...]. of the clocke come to me againe to helpe me make me redie.’ The good olde woman willing to folow hir mind, suffred hir alone, and doubted nothing of that whiche she did meane to do. Iulietta being within hir chambre hauing an eawer ful of water standing vpon the table filled the viole which the Frier gaue hir: and after she had made the mixture, she set it by hir bed side, & went to bed. And being layde, new thoughts began to assaile hir, with a conceipt of grieuous death, which broughte hir into such case as she coulde not tell what to doe, but playning incessantly sayd: ‘Am not I the most vnhappie and desperat creature, that euer was borne o [...] woman? for me there is nothyng lefte in this wretched worlde but mishap, miserie, and mortall woe, my distresse hath brought me to such extremitie, as to saue mine honor and consciēce, I am forced to deuoure the drinke wherof I know not the vertue: but what know I (sayd she) whether the operation of this pouder will be to soone or to late, or not correspondent to the due [Page] time, and that my faulte being discouered, I shall remayne a iesting stocke and fable to the people? what know I moreouer, if the serpents and other venomous and crauling wormes, which commonly frequent the graues and pittes of the earth will hurt me, thinkyng that I am dead? But how shal I indure the stinche of so many carions and bones of myne auncestors which rest in the graue, if by fortune I do awake before Rhomeo & Frier Laurence doe come to help me?’ And as she was thus plunged in the déepe contēplation of things, she thought that she sawe a certaine vision or fansie of hir cousin Thibault, in the very same sort as she sawe him wounded and imbrued with blood, and musyng howe that she must be buried quicke amongs so many dead carcases and deadly naked bones, hir tender and delicate body began to shake and tremble, and hir yelowe lockes to stare for feare, in suche wise as frighted with terrour, a colde sweate beganne to pierce hir heart, and bedew the rest of all hir membres, in suche wise as she thought that an hundred thousand deathes did stande about hir, haling hir on euery side, and plucking hir in pieces, & féelyng that hir forces diminyshed by litle and litle, fearing that through to great debilitie she was not able to do hir enterprise, like a furious and insensate womā, without further care, gulped vp the water within the viol, then crossing hir armes vpon hir stomacke, she lost at that instant al the powers of hir body, and remained in a traunce. And when the mornyng light began to thrust his head out of his Orient, hir chamber woman which had lockte hir in with the key, did open the doore, and thinking to awake hir, called hir many times, and sayde vnto hir: Mistresse, you sléepe to long, the Counte Paris will come to raise you. The poore olde woman spake vnto the wall, and [Page] [...] a song vnto the deafe. For if all the horrible and tempestuous soundes of the worlde had bene canoned forth oute of the greatest bombardes, and sounded through hir delicate eares, hir spirits of lyfe were so fast bounde and stopt, as she by no meanes coulde awake, wherewith the poore olde woman amazed, beganne [...] shake hir by the armes and handes, which she founde so colde as marble stone. Then puttyng hande vnto hir mouthe, sodainely perceyued that she was deade, for she perceyued no breath in hir. Wherfore lyke a woman out of hir wyttes, shée ranne to tell hir mother, who so madde as Tigre, bereft of hir faons, hyed hir selfe into hir daughters chaumber, and in that pitifull state beholdyng hir daughter, thinking hir to be deade, cried out: ‘Ah cruell death, which hast ended all my ioye and blisse, vse thy laste scourge of thy wrathfull ire against me, least by suffering me to lyue the rest of my woful dayes, my tormente do increase:’ then she began to fetchsuch straining sighes as hir heart dyd séeme to cleaue in pieces. And as hir cries beganne to encrease, beholde the father, the Counte Paris, and a greate troupe of Gentlemen and Ladies, which were come to honour the feast, hearing no soner tell of that which chaunced, were stroke into such sorowfull dumpes as he whiche had behelde their faces wold easily haue iudged yt the same had bē a day of ire & pitie, specially the lord Antonio, whose heart was frapped with such surpassing wo, as neither teare nor word could issue forth, & knowing not what to doe, streight way sēt to seke yt most expert phisitians of the towne, who after they had inquired of the life past of Iulietta, déemed by common reporte, that melancolie was the cause of that sodaine death, & then their sorowes began to renue a [...]. And if euer day was lamentable, piteous [Page] vnhappie and fatall, truely it was that wherin Iulietta hir death was published in Verona: for shée was so bewailed of great & small, that by the cōmon plaintes the common wealth séemed to be in daunger, & not without cause. For besides hir natural beautie accompanied with many vertues wherewith nature had enriched hir) she was else so humble, wise and debonaire, as for that humilitie and curtesie she had stollen away the heartes of euery wight, and there was none but did lamente hir misfortune. And whilest these things were in this lamented state, Frier Laurence with diligence dispatched a Frier of his Couent, named Frier Anselme, whome he trusted as himselfe, and deliuered him a letter written with his owne hande, commaunding him expressely not to gyue the same to any other but to Rhomeo, wherein was conteyned the chaunce which had passed betwene him and Iulietta, specially yt vertue of the pouder, and commaunded him the nexte ensuing night to spéede him self to Verona, for that the operation of the pouder that time would take ende, & that he should cary with him back again to Mantua his [...] Iulietta, in dissembled apparell, vntill Fortune bad otherwise prouided for them. The frier made such hast as (too late) he ariued at Mantua, within a while after. And bicause the maner of Italie is, that the Frier trauailing abroade oughte to take a companion of his couent to doe his affaires within the Citie, the Frier went into his couent, but bicause he was entred in, it was not lawfull for him to come out againe that day, for that certain dayes before, one religious of that couent as it was sayd, did die of the plague. Wherefore the magistrates appointed for the healthe and visitation of the sicke, commaunded the warden of the house that no Friers shold wander abrode the Citie, or talke [Page] with any citizen, vntill they were licenced by the officers in that behalfe appointed, which was the cause of the great mishap, which you shal heare hereafter. The Frier being in this perplexitie, not able to goe forth, and not knowing what was cōtained in the letter, deferred his iorney for that day. Whilest things were in this plight, preparation was made at Veronna, to doe the obsequies of Iulietta. There is a custome also (which is common in Italie,) to place all the beste of one lignage and familie in one Tombe, wherby Iulietta was layde in the ordinarie graue of the [...], in a Churcheyarde, harde by the Churche of the Friers, where also the Lorde Thibault was interred. And hir obsequies honourably done, euery man returned: whereunto Pietro, the seruant of Rhomeo, gaue hys assistance. For as we haue before declared, his master sente him backe againe from Mantua to Verona, to do his father seruice, and to aduertise hym of that whiche shoulde chaunce in his absence there: who séeing the body of Iulietta, inclosed in tombe, thinkyng with the rest that she had bene dead in déede, incontinently toke poste horse, and with diligence rode to Mantua, where he founde his maister in his wonted house, to whome he sayde, with his eyes full of teares: ‘Syr, there is chaunced vnto you so straunge a matter, as if so bée you do not arme your selfe with constancie, I am afrayde that I shal be the cruell minister of your death. Bée it knowne vnto you syr, yt yesterday morning my mistresse Iulietta left hir lyfe in this world to seke rest in an other: and wyth these eyes I saw hir buried in the Churchyarde of S. Frauncis. At the sounde of which heauie message, Rhomeo began wofully to [...], as though his spirites grieued with the [...] of his passion at that instant woulde haue abandoned his [Page] bodie.’ But strong Loue whiche woulde not permitte hym to faint vntill the extremitie, framed a thoughte in his fantasie, that if it were possible for hym to dye besides hir, his death shoulde be more glorious, and [...] (as he thought) better contented. By reason whereof, after [...] had washed his face for [...] to discouer hys sorrow, he went out of hys chamber, and commaunded hys man to [...] behynde hym, that hée might walke thorough oute all the corners of the Citie, to fynde propre remedie (if it were possyble) for hys griefe. And [...] others, beholdyng an Apoticaries shoppe of lytle furniture and lesse store of boxes and other thynges requisite for that science, thought that the verie pouertie of the mayster Apothecarye woulde make hym wyllyngly yelde to that whych he pretended to demaunde. And after hée hadde taken hym aside, secretely he sayd vnto hym: ‘Syr, if you bée the mayster of the house, as I thynke you be, beholde here Fiftie Ducates, whych I gyue you, to the intent you delyuer me some strong and [...] poyson that within a quarter of an houre is able to procure death vnto hym that shall vse it.’ The couetous Apothecarie entised by gayne, agréed to hys request, and saynyng to gyue hym some other medicine before the peoples face, he spéedily made ready a strong and cruel poyson, afterwardes hée sayd vnto hym softely: ‘Syr, I [...] you more than is needefull, for the one halfe in an houres space is able to destroye the strongest manne of the worlde:’ who after he hadde receyued the poyson, retourned home, where he commaunded his man to depart with diligence to Veronna, and that he should make prouision of candels, 'a tynder boxe, and other instrumentes méete for the openynge of the graue of Iulietta, and that aboue all things he shoulde not faile [Page] to attende hys commyng besides the Churchyarde of S. Frauncis, and vpon paine of life to kéepe his intente in scilence. Which Pietro obeyed in order as his master had commaunded hym, and made therin such expedition, as he arriued in good tyme to Verona, taking order for all thinges that were commaunded him. [...] in the meane whyle beyng solicited wyth mortall thoughtes, caused incke and paper to be broughte vnto hym, and in fewe wordes put in writing all the [...] of his loue, the mariage of hym and Iulietta the meane obserued for consummation of the same, the helpe that he hadde of Frier Laurence, the buying of his poyson, and last of all his death. Afterwardes, hauing finished his heauie tragedie, hée closed the letters, and sealed the same with his seale, and directed the Superscription thereof to hys father: and puttyng the letters into his pursse, he mounted on horsebacke, and vsed suche diligence, that he arriued vppon darke night at the Citie of Veronna, before the gates were shut, where he found his seruant tarying for him there, with a Lanterne and instruments beforesayd, méete for the openyng of the graue, vnto whome hée sayde: Pietro, helpe mée to open this Tombe, and so soone as it is open, I commaunde thée vpon payne of thy lyfe, not to come néere me, nor to stay me from the thyng I purpose to doe. Beholde, there is a letter which thou shalt present to morow in the morning to my father at hys vprisyng, which peraduenture shall please him better than thou thynkest. Pietro, not able to imagine what was his maisters intent, stode somewhat aloofe to beholde his maisters gestes and [...]. And when [...] hadde opened the vaulte, Rhomeo descended downe two [...], holdyng the [Page] candell in his hande, and beganne to beholde wyth pitifull eye, the body of hir, which was the organ of his lyfe, and washt the same with the teares of his eyes, and kyst it tenderly, holding it harde betwene his armes, and not able to satisfie him selfe wyth hir [...], put his fearefull handes vpon the colde stomacke of Iulietta. And after he had touched hir in manye places, and not able to féele any certaine [...] of lyfe, he drewe the poyson out of his boxe, and swalowyng downe a greate quantitie of the same, cried out: ‘O Iulietta, of whome the worlde was vnworthie, what death is it possible my heart coulde choose out more agreable than that whiche it suffereth hard by thée? What graue more glorious, than to bée buried in thy tombe? What more woorthie or excellente Epitaph can bée vowed for memorie, than the mutuall and pitifull sacrifice of our lyues? And thinking to renue his sorowe,’ his hearte began to frette thorough the violence of the poyson, which by litle and little assayled the same, and lookyng aboute hym, espyed the bodie of the Lorde Thibault, lying nexte vnto Iulietta, whyche as yet was not altogether putrified, and speakyng to the bodye, as though it hadde bene alyue, sayde: ‘In what place so euer thou arte (O cousyn Thibault) I moste heartily doe crye thée mercy for the offense whyche I haue done by depriuyng of thy lyfe: and if thy ghost [...] wyshe and crye oute for vengeaunce vpon mée, what greater or more cruell satisfaction canste thou desyre to haue, or henceforth hope for, than to sée hym which murdered thée, to bée empoysoned wyth hys owne handes, and buryed by thy syde? Then endyng hys talk, feling by litle and litle that his life began to faile falling prostrate vpon his knées, with féeble voice hée [Page] softly said: O my Lord God, which to redéeme me didst [...] from the bosome of thy father, & tokest humane flesh in the wombe of the virgine, I acknowledge and cōfesse, that this body of mine is nothing else but earth and dust.’ Then seased vpon with desperate sorow, he fell downe vpon the body of Iulietta with such vehemēce, as the heart faint and attenuated with too great torment, not able to beare so hard a violence, was abā doned of all his sense and naturall powers, in such fort as the siege of his soule failed him at that instant, and his membres stretched forth, remained stiffe and colde. Frier Laurence which knew the certaine time of the pouders operation, maruelled that he had no answere of the letter which he sent to Rhomeo by his fellow Frier Anselme, departed from S. Frauncis, and with instruments for the purpose, determined to open the graue to let in air to Iulietta, which was redy to wake: and approching yt place, he espied a light within, which made him afraid, vntill that Pietro which was hard by, had certified him that Rhomeo was within, & had not ceased there to lament and complaine the space of half an houre. And then they two were entred the graue, & finding Rhomeo without life, made such sorow as they can well conceiue which loue their deare friend with like perfection. And as they were making their complaints, Iulietta rising out of hir traunce, and beholding light within the tombe, vncertaine whether it were a dreame or fantasie that appeared before hir eyes, comming againe to hir selfe, knew Frier Laurence, vnto whom she sayd: ‘Father I pray thée in the name of God [...] perfourme thy promise, for I am almost deade.’ And then Frier Laurence concealing nothing from hir, (bicause he feared to be taken through his too long abode in that place) faithfully rehearsed vnto hir, how he had [Page] sent Frier Anselme to Rhomeo at Mantua, frō whome as yet he had receiued no answer. Notwithstanding he foūd Rhomeo dead in the graue, whose body he pointed vnto, lying hard by hir, praying hir sith it was so, paciently to beare that sodaine misfortune, & that if it pleased hir, he wold conuey hir into some monastery of women where she might in time moderate hir sorow, and giue rest vnto hir minde. Iulietta had no sooner cast eye vpon the dead corpse of Rhomeo, but began to breake the fountaine pipes of gushing teares, which ran forth in such aboundance, as not able to support the furor of hir grief, she breathed without ceasing vpō his mouth, and then throwing hir self vpon his body, & [...] it very hard, séemed that by force of sighs and sobs, she wold haue reuiued, and brought him againe to life, and after she had kissed and rekissed him a million of times, she cried out: ‘Ah the swete rest of my cares, & the only porte of all my pleasures and pastymes, hadst thou [...] sure a heart to choose thy Churchyarde in this place betwene the armes of thy perfect louer, and to ende the course of thy life for my sake in the floure of thy youth whē life to thée shold haue bene most dear & delectable? how had this tender body power to resist ye furious cō bat of death, very death it self being here present? How could thy fēder & delicate youth willingly permit that thou shouldest approch into this filthy & infected place, where frō henceforth thou shalt be ye pasture of worms vnworthy of thée? Alas, alas, by what meanes shall I now renew my plaints, which time and long pacience ought to haue buried and clearly quenched? Ah I miserable and caitife wretch, thinking to finde remedie for my griefs, I haue sharpned the knife that hath [...] me this cruel blow, whereof I receiue the cause of mortall wound. Ah happy and fortunate graue which shalt [Page] serue in world to come for witnesse of the most perfect aliāce that euer was betwene two most fortunate louers, receiue now the last sobbing sighes, & intertainment of the most cruel of all the cruell subiects of ire & death.’ And as she thought to cōtinue hir cōplaints, Pietro aduertised Frier Laurence ye he heard a noise bisides the citadel, wherwith being afraid, they [...] departed, fearing to be taken. And then Iulietta seing hir self alone, & in full libertie, toke againe Rhomeo betwene hir armes, kissing him with such affection, as she semed to be more attainted with loue thā death, and drawing out ye dagger which Rhomeo ware by his side, she pricked hir self with many blowes against the hart, saying with feble & pitiful voyce: ‘Ah death ye end of sorow, and beginning of felicity, thou art most heartily welcome: feare not at this time to sharpen thy dart: giue no longer delay of life, for fear that my sprite trauaile not to finde Rhomeos ghost amonges such numbre of carion corpses. And thou my deare Lord and loyall husbande Rhomeo, if there rest in thée any knowledge, receiue hir whome thou hast so faithfully loued, the only cause of thy violent death, which frankely offreth vp hir soule that none but thou shalt ioy the loue wherof thou hast made so lawfull conquest. And that our soules passing from this light, may eternally liue together in the place of euerlasting ioy: and when she had ended those words she yelded vp hir gost. While these things thus were done, the garde & watch of the Citie by chāce passed by, & séeing light wtin the graue, suspected straight ye they were Necromācers which had opened ye [...] to abuse the dead bodies for aide of their arte: & desirous to know what it mēt, wēt downe into ye vaut, where they [...] Rhomeo & Iulietta, wt their armes imbracing [...] others neck, as though there had ben some tokē of life.’ [Page] And after they had well viewed them at leisure, they knew in what case they were. And thē all amazed they sought for the theues which (as they thought) had done the murder, and in the end found the good father Frier Laurence and Pietro ye seruaunt of dead Rhomeo (which had hid themselues vnder a stall) whome they caried to prison, and aduertised the Lord of Escala, and the Magistrates of Verona of that horrible murder, which by and by was published throughout the Citie. Then flocked together all the Citezens, women & children, leauing their houses, to looke vpon that pitifull sight, and to the ende that in presence of the whole Citie, ye murder should be knowne, the Magistrates ordained that the two deade bodies should be erected vpon a stage to the view and sight of the whole world, in such sort and maner as they were found within the graue, and that Pietro and Frier Laurence should publikely be examined, that afterwardes there might be no murmure or other pretended cause of ignorance. And this good olde Frier being vpon the scaffold, hauing a white beard all wet & bathed wt teares, the iudges cōmaūded to declare vnto them who were the authors of that murder, sith at vntimely houre he was apprehended with certaine irons bisides the graue. Frier Laurence a rounde and franke man of talke, nothing moued with that accusation, sayd vnto them with stoute and bolde voyce: ‘My masters, there is none of you all (if you haue respect vnto my forepassed life, and to my aged yeres, and therewithall haue cōsideration of this heauy spectacle, whervnto vnhappy fortune hath presently brought me) but doeth greatly maruell of so sodaine mutation & change vnlooked for, for so much as these thrée score and ten or twelue yeares sithens I came into this world, and began to proue the vanities thereof, I was neuer suspected, [Page] touched, or found gilty of any crime which was able to make me blush, or hide my face, although (before God) I doe confesse my self to be the greatest and most abhominable sinner of al the redéemed flock of Christ. So it is notwithstanding, that sith I am prest & ready to render mine accompt, and that death, the graue and wormes do daily summō this wretched corps of mine [...] appeare before the iustice seate of God, still waighting and [...] to be caried to my hoped graue, this is the houre I say, as you likewise may thinke wherin I am fallen to the greatest damage & preiudice of my life and honest port, and that which hath ingēdred this sinister opinion of me, may peraduēture be these great teares which in abundance trickle downe my face, as though the holy scriptures do not witnesse, that Iesus Christ moued with humane pitie and compassion, did wepe and pour forth teares, & that many times teares be the faithfull messengers of a mans innocency. Or else the most likely euidence and presumption, is the suspected houre, which (as the magistrate doth say) doe make me culpable of the murder, as though all houres were not indifferently made equall by God their creattor, who in his owne person declareth vnto vs ye there be twelue houres in the day, shewing therby that there is no exception of houres nor of minutes, but that one may doe either good or yll at all times indifferently, as the partie is guided or forsaken by the sprite of God: touching the yrons which were found about me, néedefull it is not now to let you vnderstand for what vse Iron was first made, and that of it self it is not able to increase in man either good or euill, if not by the mischeuous minde of him which doth abuse it. Thus much I haue thought good to tell you, to the intent that neyther teares, nor iron, ne yet suspected houre, are able [Page] to make me guiltie of the murder, or make me otherwise than I am, but onely the witnesse of mine owne conscience, which alone if I were guilty should be the accuser, the witnesse, and the hangman, which (by reason of mine age and the reputation I haue had amongs you, and the litle time that I haue to liue in this world should more torment me within, than all the mortall paines that could be deuised. But (thankes be to mine eternall God) I féele no worme that gnaweth, nor any remorse that pricketh me touching that fact, for which I sée you all troubled & amazed. And to set your hearts at rest, and to remoue the doubts which hereafter may torment your consciences, I sweare vnto you by al the heauenly parts wherein I hope to be, that forth with I will disclose frō first to last the entire discourse of this pitifull tragedie, which peraduenture shall driue you into no lesse wondre and amaze, than those two pore passionate louers were strong and pacient, to expone themselues to the mercy of death, for the feruent and indissoluble loue betwene them. Then the Fatherly Frier began to repeate the beginning of the loue betwene Iuhetta and Rhomeo, which by certaine space of time confirmed, was prosecuted by woordes at the first, then by mutuall promise of mariage, vnknowne to the world. And as wythin fewe dayes after, the two louers féeling themselues sharpned and incited with stronger onset, repaired vnto him vnder colour of confession, protesting by othe that they were both maried, and that if he would not solempnize that mariage in the face of the Church, they should be constrained to offend God to liue in disordred lust. In consideration whereof, and specially seeing their alliance to be good and conformable in dignitie, richesse and Nobilitie on both sides, hoping by that meanes perchance to reconcile [Page] the Montesches and Capcllets, and that by doing such an acceptable worke to God, he gaue them the Churches blessing in a certaine Chappell of the Friers Church, whereof the night following, they did consummate the mariage fruites in the Palace of the Capellets. For testimony of which copulation, the woman of Iuliettaes chamber was able to depose: Adding moreouer, the murder of Thibault, which was cosin to Iulietta: by reason whereof the banishment of Rhomeo did [...], and how in the absence of the said Rhomeo, the mariage being kept secrete betwene them, a new Matrimonie was intreated wyth the Counte Paris, which misliked by Iulietta, she fell downe prostrate at his féete in a Chappell of S. Frauncis Church, with full determination to haue killed hir selfe with hir owne hands, if he gaue hir not councel how she should auoide the mariage agréed betwene hir father and the Counte Paris. For conclusion, he sayd, that although he was resolued by reason of his age and nearenesse of death to [...] all secrete Sciences, wherein in his yonger yeares hée had delight, notwithstanding, pressed with importunitie, and moued with pitie, fearing least Iulietta should doe some crueltie against hir self, he stained his conscience, and chose rather with some little fault to grieue his minde, than to suffer the yong Gentlewoman to destroy hir body, and hazarde the daunger of hir soule. And therefore he opened some part of his auncient cunning, and gaue hir a certaine pouder to make hir sléepe, by meanes wherof she was thought to be [...]. Then he tolde them how he had sent Frier Anselme to cary letters to Rhomeo of their enterprise, whereof hitherto he had no answere. Then briefly he concluded how hée founde Rhomeo deade within the graue, who as it is most likely did impoison himselfe, [Page] or was otherwise smothered or suffocated with [...] by finding Iulietta in that state, thinking she had bene dead. Then he tolde them how Iulietta did kill hir selfe with the dagger of Rhomeo, to beare him company after his death, and howe it was impossible for them to saue hir for the noise of the watche which forced them to flée from thence. And for more ample approbation of his saying, he humbly besought the Lord of [...] and the Magistrates to send to Mantua for Frier Anselme to know the cause of his [...] returne, that the content of the letter sent to Rhomeo might be séene. To examine the woman of the chamber of Iulietta, and and Pietro the seruaunt of Rhomeo, who not attending for [...] request, sayd vnto them: My Lordes when Rhomeo entred the graue, he gaue me this [...], written as I suppose with his owne hand, who gaue me expresse commaundemēt to deliuer them to his father.’ The pacquet opened, they found the whole [...] of this story, specially the Apothecaries name, which solde him the poyson, the price, and the cause wherfore he vsed it, and all appeared to be so cleare and euident, as there rested nothing for further verification of the same, but their presence at the doing of the particulers therof, for the whole was so wel declared in order, as they were out of doubt that the same was true. And then the Lord Bartholomew of [...], after he had debated with yt Magistrates of these euents, decréed yt the woman of Iulietta hir chamber should be [...], bicause she did conceyle that priuie mariage from the father of Rhomeo, which if it hadde bene knowne in time, had bred to the whole Citie an vniuersal benefit. Pietro bicause he obeyed his masters commaundemēt, and kept close his lawful secrets, according to the wel [...] nature of a trusty [...], was set at liberty. [Page] The Poticarie taken, rackt, and founde guiltie, was hanged. The good olde man Frier Laurence (as well for respect of his auncient seruice which he had done to the common wealth of Veronna, as also for his [...] lyfe (for the which he was specially recōmended) was let goe in peace, withoute any note of infamie. Notwithstandyng by reason of his age, he voluntarily gaue ouer the worlde, and closed him selfe in a hermitage, two miles from Veronna, where he liued. v. or. vj. yeares, and spente his tyme in cōtinuall prayer, vntil he was called out of this transitorie worlde, into the blisfull state of euerlasting ioy. And for the compassion of so straunge an infortune, the Montesches and Capellettes poured forth such abundance of teares, as with the same they did euacuate their auncient grudge and choler, whereby they were then reconciled. And they which coulde not bée broughte to attonement by any wisedome or humane councell, were in the ende vanquished and made friendes by pitie. And to immortalizate the memorie of so intier and perfect amitie, the lorde of Veronna ordeined, that the two bodies of those miraculous louers shold be [...] intombed in the graue where they ended their [...], where was erected a high marble [...], honoured with an infinite numbre of excellent [...], which [...] this day be apparant, with such noble memorie, as amongs all the rare excellencies, wherewith the Citie is furnished, there is none more famous than the monument of Rhomeo & Iulietta.

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Two Gentlewomen of Venice.
The. xxvj. Nouel.

¶ Two Gentlemen of VENICE were honourably deceiued of their wiues, whose notable practises, and secrete cō ference for archieuing their desire, occasioned diuers accidentes, and ingendred double benefite: wherin also is recited an eloquent oration, made by one of them, pronounced before the Duke and state of that Citie: with other chaunces and actes concerning the same.

HEre haue I thoughte good to summon. y. gentlewomen of Venice to apeare in place, and to mount on stage amonges other Italian dames to shewe cause of their bold incountrie against the follie of their two husbandes, that vncharitably against order of neighbourhode, wente about to assayle the honestie of eythers wife, and wéening they had enioyed others felicitie, by the womens prudence, foresyghte and ware gouernement, were bothe deceiued, and yet attayned the chiefest benefite that mariage state doth looke for: so that yf searche bée made amonges antiquities, it is to be doubted whether greater chastitie, and better policie coulde bée founde for [...] of an intended purpose. Many dedes haue bene [Page] done by women for sauegarde of their husbands liues, as that of Minyae, a sorte of women whose husbands wer imprisoned at Lacedaemon, & for treason cōdemned who to saue their husbāds, entred into prison the night before they shold die, & by exchange of apparell, deliuered them, and remained there to suffre for them. Hipsicratea also ye Quene & wife of [...] king of Pontus, spared not hir noble beautie and golden lockes to manure hir self in the vse of armes to kéepe hir husbād company in perils and daungers: and being ouercome by Pompeius, and flying away, neuer left him vnaccō panied, ne forsoke such trauel as he him self sustained. The like also of Aemilia, Turia, [...], Portia, & other Romane dames. But that such haue preuēted their husbands follie, seldome we reade, sauing of Quéene Marie, ye wife of Don Pietro king of Arragon, who marking the folie of hir husband, and sorie for his disordred life, honest iealousie opening hir cōtinēt eyes, forced hir to seke meanes to remoue his wanton acts, or at lestwise by policie & wise foresight to make him husband & culture his own soile, that for want of seasonable tillage was barren & voide of fruite. Wherefore consulting with the lorde Chamberlain, who of custome brought whom the King liked best, was in place of his woman, bestowed in his bed, and of hir that night begate the yong Prince Giacomo, that afterwardes proued a valiaunt and wise King. These passyng good policies of women many times abolish the frantik lecherous fits of husbands giuen to superfluous lustes, when first by their chast behauior & womāly pacience they [...] that, whiche they bée lothe to sée or heare of, and then demaunding counsell of sobrietie and wisedome, excogitate sleightes to shunne follie, and expell discurtesie, by husbandes carelesse vse. Suche practyses [Page] and deuises, these two Gentlewomen whome I now bring forth, disclose in this discourse ensuing.

In the Citie of Venice, (whiche for riches and faire women excelleth al other within the region of Italie) in the time that Francesco Foscari, a very wise Prince, did gouerne the state, there were two yong gentlemē, the one called Girolamo Bembo, and the other Anselmo Barbadico, betwene whome as many times chaunceth amongs other, grew such great hatred and cruel hostilitie, as eche of them by secrete and al possible means deuised to do other shame and displeasure, which kindled to such out rage, as it was thought impossible to be pacified. It chaunced that at one time both of them did marie two noble yong Gentlewomen, excellēt & faire, both brought vp vnder one nurse, and loued eche other like two sisters, and as though they had ben both born of one bodie. The wyse of Anselmo, called Isotta, was the daughter of Messer [...] Gradenigo, a mā of great estimation in that citie, one of the procuratours of San Marco, whereof there were not so greate numbre in those dayes as there be now, bicause the wisest men & best approued of life were chosen to that great and noble dignitie, none allotted therevnto by bribe or ambition. The wife of Girolamo Bembo was called Lucia, yt daughter of Messer Gian Francesco Valerio Caualiere, a Gentleman very well learned, and many times sent by the State, ambassador into diuers countreyes, and after he had bene Drator with the Pope, for his wisedome in the execution of the same was in great estima tion with the whole citie. The two Gentlewomen after they were maried, & heard of the hatred betwene their husbandes, were very sorowfull and pensiue, bicause they thought the friendshyppe and loue betwene them twaine, continued from their tender yeres, could [Page] not be, but with great difficulty kept, or else altogither dissolued & broken. Not withstāding being discrete and wise, for auoiding occasion of their husbands offēce, determined to cease their accustomed conuersation & louing familiaritie, & not to frequent eche others cōpany, but at places & times conuenient. To whome Fortune was so fauorable, as not only their houses were néere together but also ioyning, in the backsides wherof their gardens also cōfined, seperated only with a litle hedge, yt euery day they might sée one another, & many times talke togither: Moreouer the seruāts & people of either houses were friendly & familiar, which did greatly cō tent the two louing Gētlewomen, bicause they also in the absence of their husbāds, might at pleasure in their gardens disport thēselues. And continuing this order yt space of. iij. yeres neither of thē both were with childe. In which space Anselmo many times vicwing and casting his eyes vpō Madonna Lucia, fel earnestly in loue with hir, & was not that day wel at ease, wherin he had not beholden hir excellēt beautie: [...] that was of sprite and wit subtil, marked the lokes & maner of Anselmo, who neither for [...], ne other cause did render like lokes on him, but to sée to what end his louing chéere & countenāce wold [...]. Not [...] she séemed rather [...] to behold him, thā elswher to imploy hir lokes. On the other side the good [...], the wise order and pleasant beautie of Madonna Isotta was so excellent & plausible in the sight of master Girolamo, as no louer in the world was better pleased with his Ladie than [...] with hir: who not able to liue without the swete sight of Isotta (yt was a crafty & wily wēch) was [...] hir quickly perceiued. She being right honest & wise, and louing hir husband very dearly, did beare that [...] to Girolamo, that she generally did to any of the [...], or [Page] to other stranger yt she neuer saw before. But hir [...] more & more inflamed, hauing lost yt liberty of him self, wounded & pierced with the amorous arowes of Loue, could not conuert his minde to any other [...] to mistresse Lucia. These two womē wonted to heare seruice euery day ordinarily at the church of [...], bicause they lay lōg a bed in the mornings, & commonly seruice in yt church was said somwhat late: their pewes also somwhat distant one frō an other. Whether their y. amorous husbāds cōtinually vsed to folow thē [...] off, & to place themselues wher either of thē might [...] view his beloued: by which custome they seemed to the cōmon people to be iealous ouer their wiues. But they prosecuted yt matter in such wise, as either of thē weout shipping, sought to send other into Cornouale. It came to passe then, yt these. [...]. beloued gētlewomē one knowing nothing of another, determined to cōsider better of this loue, bicause ye great good wil lōg time borne, shold not be interrupted, Upō a certain day when their [...] were abrode, resorting together to talk at their garden hedge according to their wōted maner, they [...] to be [...] & mery: ‘and after louing salutations, mistresse Lucia spake these words vnto hir companion. Isotta my dear beloued sister, I haue a tale to tel you of your husband, yt perchanuce wil seme stranger thā any newes that euer you heard. And I (answered mistresse Isotta) haue a story to tel you, yt will make you no lesse to wō der thā I at yt which you haue to say, and it may be wil put you into some choler & chafe.’ What is that quod yt one and other. In the end either of thē told what [...] & loue their husbands wēt about. Wherat although they were in great rage with their husbands, yet for yt time they laughed out the matter, and thought yt they were sufficient (as in very déede they were, a thing not [Page] to be doubted) and able to satisfie their husbands hūger and therwithal began to blame them, and to say yt they deserued to learn to play of the Cornets, if they had no greater feare of God, and care of honesty thā their husbands had. Then after much talke of this matter, concluded that they shold do well to expect what their husbands would demaunde. Hauing taken order as they thought méete, they agréed daily to espie what shoulde chaunce, and purposed first with swéete and pleasant lookes to baite and lure eche other féere, to put them in hope there [...] that they should satisfie their desires, which done for that time they departed. And when at the Church of Sanfantino or other place in Venice, they [...] to méete their louers, they shewed vnto them chearefull and mery countenaunce: which the louers well noting, were the gladdest men of the worlde: and séeing that it was impossible in speache to vtter their mindes, they purposed by letters to signify the same. And hauing founde Purciuaunts to goe betwene parties, (whereof this Citie was wont to be full) either of them wrote an amorous letter to his beloued, the content whereof was, that they were very desirous secretely to talke with them, thereby to expresse the burning affectiōs that inwardly they bare them, which without declaration and vtterance by mouthe in their owne presence, woulde bréede them torments more bitter than deathe. And within fewe dayes after ( [...] great difference of time betwéene,) they wrote their letters. But Girolamo Bembo hauing a pregnant wit, who coulde wel endite both in prose and [...], wrote an excellent song in the praise of his darling in Italian Meter, and with his letter sent the same vnto hir, the effect wherof both folow.

[Page]

ALiuely face and pearcing beautie bright

Hath linkt in loue my sely sences all:

A comely porte, a goodly shaped wight

Hath made me slide that neuer thought to fall:

Hir eyes, hir grace, hir dedes and maners milde,

So straines my heart, that loue hath wit begilde.

But not one darte of Cupide did me wounde,

A hundred shafts lights all on me at ones:

As though dame kinde some new deuise had founde,

To teare my flesh, and crash a two my bones:

And yet I feele such ioy in these my woes

That as I die, my sprite to pleasure goes.

These new found fits, such change in me doe breede,

I hate the day, and draw to darknesse lo:

Yet by the lampe of beautie doe I feede

In dimmest dayes and darkest nights also,

Thus altring state and changing diet still,

I feele and know the force of Venus will.

The best I finde, is that I doe confesse,

I loue you dame, whose beautie doth excell:

But yet a toy doth brede me some distresse,

For that I dread you will not loue me well,

That loue ye wot shall rest in me alone:

And fleshly brest, shall beare a heart of slone.

O Goddesse mine, yet heare my voyce of ruthe,

And pitie him, that heart presents to thee:

And if thou want a witnesse for my truthe

Let sighs and teares my iudge and record be,

Vnto the end a day may come in hast,

To make me thinke I spend no time in wast.

[Page]

For nonght preuailes in loue to serue and sue

If full effect ioyne not with words at nede,

What is desyre or any fansies newe

More than the winde? that spreades abrode in [...]

My words and works, shall bothe in one agree

To pleasure hir, whose seruant would I bee.

The subtill dames receiuing those amorous letters and song disdainfully, at the first [...] to take them at the bringers hands, as they had determined, yet afterwardes they shewed better countenaunce. These letters were tossed one from an other, whereat they made great pastime, and thought that the same would come to very good successe, either of them keping styll their husbandes letter, and agréeing withoute iniurie done one to an other trunly to deceiue their husbands. The maner how, you shal perceiue anone. They deuised to sende worde to their louers, that they were readie at all times to satisfie their sutes, if the same might be secretely done, and safely might make repaire vnto their houses, when their husbands were absent, which in any wise they sayde, muste be done in the night, for feare least in the day time they were discried. Againe these prouident and subtill women had taken order with their maydes, whome they made priuie to theyr practise, that through their gardens they should enter into others house, and be shut in their chambers without light, there to tarie for their husbands, and by any meanes not to be séene or knowne. This order prescribed and giuen, Mistresse Lucia first did hir louer to vnderstand, that the night insuing at. iiij. of the clock at the posterne dore, which should be left open, he shoulde come vnto hir house, where hir maide should be redy to bring him vp into the chaumbre, bicause hir husbande [Page] maister Girolamo woulde that night imbarke himselfe to goe to Padoua. The like mistresse Isotta did to maister Girolamo, appointing him at. v. of the clock which she sayd was a very conuenient time, bicause maister Anselmo that night would sup and lie with certaine of his friendes at Murano, a place besides Venice. Upon these ne wes, the two louers thought them selues the most valiant and fortunate of the world, no enterprise now there was but séemed easie for them to bryng to passe, yea if it wer to expel the Saracēs out of [...], or to depriue the great Turke of his kingdome of Constantinople. Their ioy was such, as they coulde not tell where they were, thinking euery houre a whole day before night came. At length the tyme was come so long desired, and the husbandes accordingly gaue diligent attendance, and let their wiues to vnderstand, (or at lest wise beleued they had) that they coulde not come home that night for matters of great importāce. The women that were very wise, séeing their shippe saile with so prosperous winde, fained them selues to credite all that they offered. These yong men toke either of them his Gondola (or as we term it their barge) to disport themselues, & hauing supped abrode, rowed in the Canali, which is yt water that passeth through diuers stretes of the citie, expecting their apointed hour. The womē redy at. iij. of the clocke, repaired into their gardens, & after they had talked & laughed together a pretie while, wēt one into an others house, & wer by yt maids brought vp to yt chābres. There either of them yt candle being light, began diligently to view yt order & situation of the place, & by litle & litle marked the chiefest things they loked for, cōmitting yt same to memorie. Afterwards they put out yt candle, & both in trembling maner expected ye cōming of their husbands. And [Page] [...] at. iiij. of yt clock ye maiden of Madōna Lucia stode at the dore to wait for yt cōming of master Anselmo, who win a while after came, & gladly was let in by yt maid, & by hir cōducted vp to ye chāber euē to the bed side. The place there was so dark as hell, & impossible for hym to know his wife. The. ij. wiues wer so like of bignesse & spech, as by dark without great difficultie they coulde, be knowne. When Anselmo had put of his clothes, he was of his wife amorously intertained, thynking the wife of [...] had receiued him betwene hir armes, who aboue [...]. M. times kissed hir very swetely, and she for hir parte swéetely rendred againe to hym so many. What folowed it wer folie to describe. Girolamo lykewise at. v. of the clock appered, and was by the mayde conueyd vp to the chambre, where he lay with his own wife, to their great contentations. Now these. [...]. husbands thinking they had bē imbraced by their beloued ladies, to séeme braue and valiant men of warre, made greater proofe of their manhod, than they wer wont to do. At what time their wiues (as it pleased God to manifest by their deliuerie) wer begoten with child of. [...]. faire [...], & they ye best contented women of yt worlde. This practise cōtinued betwene thē many times, fewe wekes passing but in this sort they lay together. Neyther of them for al this, perceiued themselues to be deluded, or cōceiued any suspitiō of collusion by reason yt chāber was stil without light, & in the day ye womē cō monly failed not to be togither. The time was not lōg but their bellies began to swel, wherat their husbands were exceding ioiful, beleuing verily that one of them had fixed hornes vpon an others head. Nowbeit ye pore mē for al their false belief had bestowed their labor vp on their own soil, watred only wt ye course of their propre foūtain. These. [...]. ioly wēches seing thēselfs by this [Page] amorous practise to be with childe, beganne to deuise how they might breake of the same, doubting lest some slaunder and ill talke shoulde rise: and thereby the hatrede and malice betwene their husbandes increase to greater furie. And as they wer about this deuise, an occasion chaunced, vtterly to dissolue their [...] méetings but not in that sort as they wold haue had it. For the women determined as merily they had begon so iocundly to ende: but Fortune the guide of humane life disposeth all enterprises after hir owne pleasure, who like a puissant Ladie carieth with hir the successe of eche attempt. The beginnyng she offereth fréely to him that list, the end she calleth for, as a ransom or tribute payable vnto hir. In ye same streate, or as they cal it Rio, & Canale, not farre from their houses, there dwelled a yong woman very faire and comely, not fully xx. yeares of age, which then was a widow, and a little before the wife of M. Niccolo Delphino, and the daughter of M. Giouanni Moro, called Gismonda. She besides hir fathers dowrie (which was more thā a thousand [...]) had left hir by hir husband, a greate porcion of money, iewels, plate, and houshold furnitures. With hir fell in loue Aloisio Foscari, the nephew of the Duke, who making great sute to haue hir to wyfe, consumed the time in beholding his Ladie, and at length had brought the matter to so good passe, as one nighte she was contented at one of the windowes of hir house directly ouer againste a little lane to heare him speake. Aloisio maruellous glad of those desired newes [...] appointed night about v. or. vj. of the clock with a ladder made of roapes (bicause the window was very high, wente thither alone. Beyng at the place making a signe concluded vpon betwene them, attended when the gentle woman should throwe downe a litle corde to draw vp [Page] the ladder accordingly as was appointed, which not long after was done. Gismonda when she had receiued the ende of the ladder, tied it fast to the iawme of the window, and gaue a token to hir louer to mount, he by force of loue being very venturous, liuely and lustely scaled the window. And when he was vpon the top of the same, desirous to cast himself in, to embrace his Ladie, and she not ready to receiue him, or else vpon other occasion, he fel downe backward, thinking as he fell to haue saued himself twice or thrice by catching hold vpō the ladder, but it wold not be. Notwithstāding, as God wold haue it, the poise of his body fel not vpō the pauement of the streate fully, but was stayed by some lets in the fal, which had it not bene so, no doubt he had ben slaine out of hand, but yet his bones were sore brused, and his head déepely wounded. The infortunate Louer séeing himself sore hurt with that pitifull fall, albeit he thought that he had receiued his deaths woūde, and impossible to liue any longer, yet the loue that he bare to the widow, did so far surmoūt the paine by him sustained and the grief of his body sore crushed and broken, that so well as he could, he raised himself vp, and with his hands stayed the bloud that ranne from his head, to the intent it might not raise some slaunder vpon the widow that he loued so wel: and [...] alongs the streat towarde the houses of Girolamo and Anselmo aforsaid. Being come thither with great difficultie, not able to goe any further for very paine and griefe, he fainted and fell downe as deade, where the bloud issued in such aboundance, as the ground therewith was greatly imbrued and arayed, and euery one that saw him thought him to be void of life. Mistresse Gismonda excéeding sorowful for this mischaunce, doubted that he had broken his necke, but when she saw him depart, she comforted [Page] him so wel as she could, and drew vp the ladder into hir chāber. Such chaunces happen to earnest louers, who when they think they haue scaled ye top of their felicity sodainly tōble down into the pit of shame or reproche, that better it had bene for them leisurely to expect the grace of their Ladies at conuenient place and hour, thā hardily without prouidēce to aduenture like desperate soldiers to clim the top of the vamure, without measuring the height of the wals, or viewing the substāce of their ladders, do receiue in the end cruel repulse, & fall downe hedlong either by presēt death or mortal woūd, to receiue euerlasting reproche and shame. But turne we againe now to this disgraced Louer, who lay gasping betwéene life and death. And as he was in this sorowful state, one of the captaines, a Noble man apointed to sée orders obserued in the night, with his bande (which they call Zaffi) came thither. And finding him lying vpon the grounde, knew that it was Aloisio Foscari, & causing him to be taken vp from the place where he lay, thinking he had bene dead, commaunded that he should be conueyed into the Church harde adioyning, which immediately was done. And when he had well considered the place where he was founde, he doubted that either Girolamo Bembo or Anselmo Barbadico, before whose dores he thought the murder cōmitted, had killed him, which afterwards he beleued to be true, bicause he heard a certaine noise of mennes féete at one of their doores. Wherfore he deuided his company, placing some on the one side of their houses, and some on the other besieging the same so wel as he could. And as fortune wold, he found by negligence of the maids, the dores of the. ij. houses open. It chaunced also that night that the two louers one in others house were gone to lie with their Ladies, who hearing the hurly burly, & [Page] stur made in the house by ye sergeants sodainly the women lept out of their beds, & bearing their apparel vpō their shoulders, wēt home to their houses throughtheir gardeins vnséene of any, and in fearful wise did attēd what should be the end of ye same. Girolamo & Anselmo not knowing what rumor & noise that was, although they made hast in ye darke to cloth themselues, were by the officers wtout any field fought, apprehended in eche others chamber, & remained prisoners at their mercy: wherat the captaine and his band did greatly maruell, knowing the hatred betwene them. But when Torches and lights were brought, and the two Gentlemen caried out of doores, the wonder was the greater for that they perceiued them almost naked, and prisoners taken in eche others house. And besides this admiration, such murmur and slaunder was raised, as the qualitie of euery vulgar head could secretely deuise or imagine, but specially of the innocent women, who how faultlesse they were, euery man by what is sayd before may conceiue, and yet the cancred stomakes of that troupe conceiued such malice against them, as they [...] and brawled against them like curres at straunge Dogges whome they neuer saw before. The Gentlemen immediately were caried to prison, ignorant vpon what occasion. Afterwards vnderstāding that they were committed for the murder of Aloisio Foscari, and imprisoned like theues, albeit they knew themselues guiltlesse of murder or Theft, yet their griefe and serowe was very great, being certaine that all Venice shoulde vnderstand howe they betwéene whome had bene mortall hatred, were nowe become copartners of that which none but the true professours ought to [...]. And although they coulde not abide to speake [Page] together, like those that deadly did hate one another, yet both their mindes were fixed vpon one thought. In ye end, cōceiuing fury & despite against their wiues, the place being so dark yt no light or sunne could pierce into the same, whereby without shame or disdaine one of them began to speake to another, and with terrible othes they gaue their faith to disclose ye trothe in what sort either of them was taken in others chamber, and frākly tolde the way and meane how eche of them enioyed his pleasure of others wife: wherupon the whole mater (according to their knowledge) was altogether by little & little manifest and knowne. Then they accōpted their wiues to be the most arrant strūpets wtin the whole Citie, by dispraising of whome their olde rā cor began to be forgotten, & they agréed together like two friends, who thought yt for shame they shold neuer be able to looke mē in the face, ne yet to shew thēselues openly within the City, for sorow wherof they déemed death the greatest good turne and benefit yt could chāce vnto them of any thing in yt world. To be short, séeing no meanes or occasion to cōfort & relieue their pensiue and heauy states, they fell into extréeme dispaire, who ashamed to liue any longer, deuised way to rid themselues of life, concluding to make themselues guilty of the murder of Aloiso Foscari. And after much talke vttred betwene them of that cruell determination, still approuing the same to be their best refuge, they expected nothing else, but when they should be examined before the Magistrates.

Foscari as is before declared was layd into yt Church for dead, and yt Priest straitly charged wt the keping of the same, who caused him to be cōueyed into ye mids of the church, setting. [...]. torches a light, yt one at his head, & the other at his féete, & when the cōpany was gon, he [Page] determined to goe to bed the remnant of the night to take his rest. But before he went, séeing yt the Torches were but short, and could not last past. ij. or. iij. houres, he lighted two other, and set them in the others place, for that it shoulde séeme to his friends, if any chaunced to come, what care and worship he bestowed vpō him. The priest readie to depart, perceiued the bodie somewhat to moue, with that looking vpon his face, espied his eyes a litle to begin to open. Wherewithal somewhat afraid, he crying out, ran away: Notwithstāding his courage began to come to him again, and laying his hand vpon his breast, perceiued his heart to beate, and then was out of doubt that he was not dead, although by reason of losse of his blood, he thought litle life to remain in him. Wherfore he with one of his felow priestes which was a bed, and the clerke of the parishe, caried maister Foscari so tenderly as they coulde into the priests chamber, which adioined next the church. Then he sent for a surgeon that dwelt hard by, and required him diligently to search the wounde, who so wel as he coulde, purged the same from the corrupte blood, and perceiuing it not to be mortall, so dressed it with oiles and other precious oyntments, as Aloisio came again to himselfe. And when he had anointed that recouered bodie with certaine precious and comfortable oyles, he suffred him to take his rest. The priest also wente to bed and slepte till it was daye, who so soone as he was vp, went to séeke the Captaine to tell him of the good newes that maister Aloisio Foscari was recouered againe, who by the [...] Captaine was committed to him in charge. The Captain at that time was gone to the pallace at San Marco, to gyue the Duke aduertisement of this chaunce, after whome the priest went, & was let in to the dukes chamber, to whom he declared [Page] what he had done to maister Aloisio. The Duke verie glad to heare tell of his nephewes life, although then verie pensiue for the newes broughte vnto him by the Captaine, intreated one of the Signor de notte, to take with him two of the best surgions, and to call him that had alreadie dressed his nephew, to go visite the wounded Gentleman, that he might be certified of the truth of that chaunce. All whiche together repaired to the priestes chamber, where finding hym not a sléepe, and the wounde faire ynough to heale, dyd thervnto what their cunning thoughte méete and conuenient. And then they began to inquire of hym, that was not yet full recouered to perfecte speache, howe that chaunce happended, tellyng him that he myght frankly confesse vnto them the trouthe. The more diligent they were in thys demauude, bicause the Surgeon that dressed hym fyrst, alleaged, that the wounde was not made wyth sworde, but receyued by some great fal or blow with mace or clubbe, or rather séemed to come of some high fall from a wyndowe, by reason his head was so grieuously brused. Aloisio hearyng the Surgeons sodaine demaunde, presentely aunswered, that he fell downe from a window, and named also the house. And he had no sooner spoken those wordes, but he was very angry with hym selfe and sorie: And therewithal hys dismayde spirites began to reuiue in such wyse, as sodainly he chose rather to die than to speake any thyng to the dishonour of mistresse Gismonda. Then the Signior di notte, asked him what he dyd there aboute that time of the night, and wherfore he did climbe vp to the windowe, béeing of so great a height: which he could not kéepe secrete, by reason of the authoritie of the Magistrate that demaunded the question, [...] hée thought that if his tongue [...] runne at large, and [Page] committed a [...] by rashe speaking, his body should therfore suffer the smart. Wherfore before he wold in any wyse spot the name of [...], whom he loued better than his owne life, determined to hazarde his lyfe and honour, to the mercie of Iustice, and sayd: ‘I declared euen now, whyche I can not denye, that I fell downe from the windowe of mistresse Gisinonda Mora. The cause thereof (beyng nowe at state, wherein I know not whether I shall lyue or die) I wyll truly disclose. Mistresse Gismonda being a widow, & a yong woman, without any man in hir house, bycause by reporte she is verie rych of iewels and money, I purposed to robbe and dispoyle. Wherfore I deuised a ladder to climbe vp to hir wyndowe, wyth mynde full bent to kyll all those that shoulde resiste me. But my [...] was suche, as the ladder beyng not well fastened fell, and I my selfe therwithall, and thinking to recouer home to my lodgyng with my ladder made of corde, my [...] beganne to faile, and fell downe I wotte not where.’ The Signor de notte, whose name was Domenico Mariperto, hearyng him say so, maruelled greatly, and was very sorie, that all they in the chamber, which were a great number, as (at such chaunces commonly be) dyd heare those wordes: and bycause they were spoken so openly, he was forced to saye vnto hym: ‘Aloisio I am very sorie that thou hast committed suche follie, but for so muche as sorrow now wil not serue to remedie the trespasse, I must nedes she we myself both faithful to my countrey, & also carefull of mine honor, without respect of persōs. Wherfore thou shalt remain here in such safe custody as I shal apoint, & when thou art better amēded thou must according [...] desert be referred to yt gaole.’ Leauing him then there vnder sure keping, he wēt to the counsell of the Dieci, [Page] (which magistrates in that citie be of [...] authoritie) and finding the lordes in counsell, he opened the whole matter vnto them. The presidents of the Counsell which had hearde a great numbre of complaintes of many thefts done in the night within the Citie, toke order that one of the captains that were appointed to the diligent watche and kéeping of Aloisio, remaining in the priests house, should cause him to be examined, & with tormentes forced to tell the truthe, for that they did verily beleue that he had cōmitted many robberies besides, or at lest wise was priuieand accessarie to the same, and knew where the theues wer become. Afterwardes the sayd Counsell did sitte vpon the matter of Girolamo Bembo and Anselmo Barbadico, found at midnight naked in eche others chambre, and committed to prison as is before remembred. And bicause they [...] many matters besides of greater importaunce, to intreate vpon, amongs which the warres betwene them aud Philippo Maria Vesconte, duke of Milane, the aforsaid causes were deferred till an other time, notwithstanding in the mean while they were examined. The Duke himselfe that time being in counsell, spake most seuerely againste his nephew. Neuerthelesse he didde hardly beleue that his nephew being very rich, and indewed with great honestie, woulde abase him selfe to a vice so vile and abhominable as theft is, wherevpon he began to consider of many thinges, and in the ende talked with hys nephewe secretely alone, and by that meanes lerned the trouth of the whole matter. In like maner Anselmo and Girolamo were examined by commissioners appointed by the state, what one of them did in an others chamber, at that houre of the nighte, who confessed that many tymes they had séene Aloisio Foscari, to passe vp & down before their houses at times [Page] inconuenient, & that night by chaunce one of them not knowing of another, espied Aloisio, thinking yt he lingered about their houses, to abuse one of their wiues, for which cause they went out, and so soone as they [...] taken him, they killed him. Which confession they opē ly declared accordingly, as wherupō before they were agréed. Afterwardes with further circumstance being examined vpon the Article of being one in anothers [...], it appeared yt their first tale was vtterly vntrue. Of al which contradictions the Duke was aduertised, and was driuē into extréeme admiration, for that the truth of those disorders could not be vnderstanded and knowne. Whereupon the Dieci, and the assistants were againe assembled in coūcell according to the maner, at what time after all things throughly were debated and ended, the Duke being a very graue man, of excellent wit, aduaunced to the Dukedome by the cō sent of the whole state, as euery of thē were about to rise vp, sayd vnto them: ‘My Lordes there resteth one thing yet to be moued, which peraduenture hitherto hath not bene thought vpon. There are before vs two complaints, the effect whereof in my iudgement is not throughly cōceiued in the opinions of diuers. Anselmo Barbadico and Girolamo Bembo, betwene whome there hath bene euer continuall hatred, left vnto them as a man may say euen by fathers enheritance, both of thē in either of their chambers, were apprehēded in a maner naked by our Sergeants, and without torments, or for feare to be racked vpon the onely interrogatories of our ministers, they haue voluntarily confessed that before their houses they killed Aloisio our Nephew. And albeit that our sayd Nephew yet liueth, & was not striken by them or any other as shold apeare, yet they [...] themselues guiltie of the murder. [Page] What shall be sayd thē to the matter, doth it not séeme doubtfull? Our Nephew againe hath declared, that in going about to robbe the house of Mistresse Gismonda Mora, whome he ment to haue slaine, he fell downe to the ground from the toppe of a window, wherefore by reason so many robberies haue bene discouered within the Citie, it may be presumed that he was the [...] and malefactor, who ought to be put to the torments, that the truthe may be knowne, and being found guiltie, to féele the seuere punishment that he hath deserued. Moreouer when he was founde lying vpon the ground, he had neither ladder nor weapon, whereupon may be thought that the fact was otherwise done, than hitherto is confessed. And bicause amongs morall vertues, temperāce is the chiefest and worthy of greatest commendation, and that iustice not righteously exercised, is iniustice & wrong, it is méete and conuenient for vs in these strange accidents, rather to vse temperāce than the rigor of iustice. And that it may appere that I do not speake these words without good ground, mark what I shal say vnto you. These two most mortal enimies do cōfesse that which is impossible to be true, for that our Nephew (as is before declared) is a liue, and his wounde was not made by sworde, as hée himself hath confessed. Nowe who can tell or say the contrary, but that shame for being taken in their seuerall Chambers, and the dishonesty of bothe their wiues, hathe caused them to despise life, and to desire death? We shall finde if the matter be diligently inquired and searched, that it will fall out otherwise than is already supposed by common opinion. For the contrariety of examinations, vnlikelihoode of circumstances, and the impossibility of the cause, rendreth the [Page] matter doubtful. Wherfore it is very néedful diligētly to examine these attempts, and thereof to vse more aduised consideration. On the other side, our Nephew accuseth himself to be a [...], and which is more, that he ment to kill mistresse Mora when he brake into hir house. Under this grasse my Lords as I suppose, some other Serpent lieth hidden, that is not yet thought of. The Gentleman ye know before this time was neuer defamed of such outrage, ne suspected of the least offēse that may be obiected. Besides that, all ye doe knowe, (thanks therefore be giuen to almightie God) that he is a man of great richesse and possessions, and hath no néede to robbe. For what necessitie should driue him to robbe a widowe, that hath of his owne liberally to bestow vpon the succour of widowes? Were there none else of substance in the Citie for him to giue attempt, but to a widowe a comfortlesse creature, contented with quiet life to liue amongs hir family within the boundes of hir owne house? What if hir richesse, Iewels and plate be great, hath not Aloisio of his owne to redouble the same? But truely this Robberie was done after some other manner than he hath confesfessed. To vs then my Lords it appertaineth, if it so stande with your pleasures, to make further inquirie of the same, promising vnto you vppon oure Faith, that we shal imploy our whole diligence in the true examination of this matter, and hope to bring the same to such good ende, as none shall haue cause to blame vs, the finall sentence whereof shall be reserued to your iudgement.’ This graue request and wise talke of the Duke pleased greatly the Lords of the Councel, who referred not only the examination, but also the finall sentence vnto him.

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Wherupon the wise Prince being fully enformed of yt chaunce happened to his Nephewe, attended only to make search, if he could vnderstand the occasion why Bembo and Barbadico so folishly had accused thēselues of that which they neuer did. And so after much counsaile & sundry deuises examined and made, his nephew then was wel recouered, and able to goe abrode, being set at libertie. After sundry examinations I say, he also had learned the trothe of the case touching the other two prisoners which he cōmunicated to the Lords of the aforesaid councel called Dieci. Then he caused with great discretion, proclamation to be made throughout Venice, that Anselmo and Girolamo should be beheaded betwene the two Pillers, and Aloisio hanged, wherby he thought to know what sute the women wold make, either with or against their husbands, & what euidence mistresse Gisinonda would giue against Aloisio. The brute hereof dispersed throughe Venice, diuers talke therupon was raised, & no communication of any thing else in open streats and priuate houses, but of the putting to death of those men And bicause all thrée were of honorable houses, their kinsmē & friends made sute by all possible meanes for their pardon. But their confessions published, yt rumor was made worse, (as it daily chaūceth in like cases) than the mater was in déede, & the same was noised how Foscari had confessed so many theftes done by him at diuers times, as none of his friends or kin durst speake for him. Mistresse Gismonda which bitterly lamented ye mischaunce of hir louer, after she vnderstode the confession hée had made, and euidently knew that bicause he would not blemish hir honor, he had rather willingly forgo his own, and therwithall his life, felt hir self so inflamed wt feruent loue toward him, as she was ready presently to surrēder hir [Page] ghost. Wherfore [...] sent him word yt he shold comfort himselfe, bicause she was determined to manifest the very trouth of the matter, and hoped vpon hir declaration of true euidence, sentence shoulde be reuoked, for testimonie wherof, she had his louing letters yet to [...], written to hir with his owne hands, and would bring forth in the iudgement place, the corded ladder, which she had kept still in hir chamber, Aloisio hearing these louing newes, and of the euidēce which his Ladie would giue for his defense, was the gladdest man of the world, and caused infinite thanks to be rendred vnto hir, with promise that if he mighte be rid and discharged out of prison, he woulde take hir for his louing spouse and wife. Wherof the Gentlewoman conceyued singular contentation, louing hir dere friend with more entier affection than hir owne soule. Mistresse Lucia and mistresse Isotta, hearing the dispercled voice of the death of their husbands, and vnderstanding the case of mistresse Gismonda by an other woman, layde their heades together likewise to deuise meanes for sauing their husbandes liues: and entring into theyr barge or Gondola, wente to séeke mistresse Gismonda, and when they had debated vpon the trouthe of these chaunces, concluded with one assente to prouide for the sauegarde and deliuerie of their husbands, wherin they shewed them self both wise and honest. For what state is more honorable and of greater comforte than the maried life, if in déede they that haue yoaked themselues therin be conformable to those delights, and cō tentation which the same conduceth? Wealth and riches maketh the true vnited couple to reioyce in the [...] of Fortune, graunted by the sender of the same, either of them prouiding for disposing thereof, against the decrepite time of olde age, and for the bestowing [Page] of the same vpon the fruite accriued of their bodies. Pouerty in any wise doth not offend them, both of them glad to labor and trauaile like one body, to sustaine their pore and néedy life, either of them comfortably doth minister comfort in the cruel time of aduersitie, reudring humble thanks to God for his sharp rod and punishment enflicted vpon thē for their manifolde sinnes committed against his maiestie, trauailing by night & day by sweating browes to get browne bread, & drink ful thin to cease the cries and pitifull crauings of their tēder babes, wrapt in cradle & instant on their mother to fill their hungry mouthes. Aduerse fortune maketh not one to forsake the other. The louing [...] ceaseth not by painful sute to trot and go by night and day in heat & calde to relieue the misery of hir husband. He likewise spareth not his paine to get and gaine the liuing of them both. He abrode and at home according to his called state, she at home to saue the lucre of that labor, and to do such necessary trauaile incident to the maried kinde. He carefull for to get, she héedefull for to saue. He by [...] and Arte, she by diligence and housholde toile. O the happy state of maried folke: O surpassing delites of mariage bed: which maketh these. [...]. pore gentlewomen, that by honorable policie saued the honor of themselues and honestly of their husbands, to make hūble sute for their preseruation, who were like to be berieued of their greatest comforts.

But come we againe to declare the last acte of this Tragedie. These maried women, after this chaūce befell, vpon their husbands imprisonmēt, began to be abhorred of their friends and parents, for that they were suspected to be dishonest, by reason wherof dolefully lamenting their misfortune, not withstāding, their owne conscience voide of fault, did bid thē to be of good chéere [Page] and comfort. And when the day of execution came they did their friends and parents to vnderstand that their conceiued opinion was vntrue, & prayed them to forbeare their disdaine and malice, till the truth should be throughly manifested, assuring thē that in ye end their owne innocencie and the guiltlesse crime of their husbands should openly be reuealed to the worlde. In the meane time they made request vnto their friends, that one of the Lordes called Auogadori might be admitted to vnderstand their case, the rest to be referred to thē selues, wherein they had no néede either of Proctor or Aduocate. This request séemed very straunge to their friends, déeming their case to be shameful and abhominable. Neuerthelesse diligētly they accomplished their request, & vnderstanding that the Councel of the Dieci had cōmitted the mater wholy to the Duke, they inade a supplication vnto him in yt name of yt. iij. Gentlewomen, wherin they craued nothing else but their mater might be herd. The Duke [...] his aduise like to take effect, assigned a day when yt same shold be heard, commaunding them at yt time before him & the Lords of the Councel & all the college of the state to appeare. The day being come, all yt Lords assembled, desirous to sée to what issue this matter would grow. On the morning the thrée Gentlewomen honestly accompanied wt other Dames, went to the palace, and going along the strete of San Marco, diuerse people [...] to vtter many railing words against thē. Some cried out (as we sée by vnstable order the vulgare people in like cases vse to do) and doing a certaine curtesie by way of disdaine and mockery: ‘Beholde yt honest women, yt without sending their husbāds out of Venice, haue placed thē in ye castell of Cornetto, and yet the arrant whores be not ashamed to shewe them selues abrode, as thoughe they had done [Page] a thing that were honest and prayse woorthie.’ Other shot forth their boltes, and with their prouerbes proceding from their malicious mouthes, thwited the poore women at their pleasure. Other also seyng mistresse Gismonda in their companie, thought that she went to declame againste maister Aloisio Foscari, and none of them all hapned on the trouth. Arriued at the pallace, ascending the marble staires or steps of the same, they were brought into the great hall, where the Duke appointed the matter to bée heard. Thither repaired the friendes and those of nerest kinne to the three Gentlewomen; and before the matter did begin, the duke caused also the thrée prisoners to be brought thither. Thither also came many other Gentlemen, with great desire to sée the end of those euents. Silence being made, the duke turning his face to ye womē, said vnto them: ‘Ye Gentlewomen haue made request by supplication to graunt you publike audiēce according to iustice, for that you do alleage that lawe and order doth so require, and that euery wel ordred common wealth [...] deumeth no subiecte without due answere by order of lawe. Beholde therfore, that we desirous to do iustice, be readie in place to heare what ye can say.’ The two husbands were very angrie and wrathful against their wiues, & the more their stomackes did [...] with choler and disdaine to sée their impudent and shamelesse wiues with [...] audacitie to appeare before the maiestie of a counsell so honorable and dreadfull, as though they had ben the most honest and [...] women of the worlde. The. [...]. honest wiues perceiued the anger and displesure of their husbands, and for all that were not afrayde ne yet dismayde, but smiling to thē selues and somewhat mouing their heads in decent wise, séemed vnto them as though they had mocked them. Anselmo [Page] more angry and impacient than Girolamo, brake out into such furie, as had it not ben for the maiestie of the place, and the companie of people to haue stayed him, would haue killed them: and seyng he was not able to hurt them, he began to vtter the vilest wordes, that he possibly coulde deuise against them. Mistresse Isotta hearing hir husband so spitefully to spit forth his poison in the presence of that honourable assemblie, cō ceiued courage, and crauing licence of the Duke to speake, with mery countenance and good vttrance began thus to say hir minde:

‘Most excellent Prince, and ye right honorable lordes, perceiuing how my deare husband vncomely and very dishonestly doth vse himselfe against mée in this noble companie, I do thinke maister Girolamo Bembo to be affected with like rage & minde against this gentlewoman mistresse Lucie his wife, although more tē perate in wordes, he do not expresse the same. Against whom if no replie be made, it may séeme that he hath spoken the trouthe, and that we by silence should séeme to condemne our selues to be those moste wicked women whom he alleageth vs to be. Wherfore by youre gracious pardon and licence (moste honourable) in the behalfe of mistresse Lucie and my selfe, for our defense I purpose to declare the effect of my mind although my purpose be cleane altered from that I had thought to say, beyng now iustly prouoked by the vnkinde behauiour of him, whome I doe loue better than my selfe, which had he bene silent and not so rashly runne to the ouerthrow of me and my good name, I wold haue conceiled and onely touched that, which shoulde haue concerned the purgation and sauegard of them both, which was the onely intent & meaning of vs, by making our, hūble supplication to your maiesties. Neuerthelesse, so [Page] so farre as my féeble force shall stretch, I will assay to do both the one and the other, although it be not appropriate to our kinde in publike place to declame, or yet to open such bold attempts, but that necessitie of matter and oportunitie of time and place, dothe bolden vs to enter into these termes, wherof we craue a thousād pardons for our vnkindely dealings, and rēder double thanks to your honors, for admitting vs to speake. Be it knowne therfore vnto you, yt our husbandes against duetie of loue, lawes of mariage, and against all reason, do make their heauie complaints, which by & by I wil make plaine and euident. I am right well assured, that their extreme rage & bitter heartes sorow do procéede of. y. occasions: The one, of ye murder wherof they haue falsly accused thē selues: ye other of iealosy, which grieuously doth gnawe their hearts, thinking vs to be vile & abhominable womē, bicause they were surprised in eche others chāber. Concerning the murder, if they haue soiled their hāds therin, it appertaineth vnto you my lords to rēder their desert. But how can ye same be layd to our charge, for somuch as they (if it wer done by thē) cōmited ye same without our knowlege, our help & coūsel? And truly I sée no cause why any of vs ought to be burdened with yt outrage, and much lesse cause haue they to lay the same to our charge. For méete it is yt he that doth any vnlawful act, or is accessarie to the same, shold suffer yt due penaltie & seuere chastisement accordingly as the sacred lawes do prescribe, as an example for other to abstein from wicked facts. But herof what néede I to dispute, wherin the blind may sée to be none offense, bicause (thanks be to God) Maister Aloisio liueth, which declareth the fond cōfession of our vngitle husbands, to be cōtrary to trouth? And if so be our husbāds in dede had done such an abhominable enterprise, [Page] reason and duetie had moued vs to sorowe and lament them, bicause they be borne of noble blood, and be gentlemen of this noble citie, which like a pure virgin inuiolably doth cōserue hir laws & customs. Great cause I say, had we to lamēt them, if like homicides & murderers they had spotted their noble blood with such fowle [...], therby deseruing death, to leaue vs yong womē widowes in woful plight. Now it behoueth mée to speake of the iealoufis they haue conceiued of vs, for that they were in ech others chāber, which truly is the doubtful knot & scruple that forceth al their disdaine & griefe. This I knowe well is the naile that pierceth their heart: other cause of offense they haue not: who like men not well aduised, without examination of vs and oure demeanour, bée fallen into despaire, and like men desperate, [...] wrongfully accused themselues. But bicause I may not consume words in vain, to stay you by my long discourse from matters of greater importāce, I humbly beséech you (right excellent prince) to cōmaunde them to tel what thing it is, which so bitterly doth tormēt them. Then the Duke caused one of the noble men assistant there, to demaund of them the question: who answered, yt the chiefest occasion was, bicause they knew their wiues to be harlots, whō they supposed to be very honest: & for somuch as they knew them to be such, they conceiued sorow and grief, which with suche extremitie did gripe thē at yt heart, as not able to sustain yt great infamy, ashamed to be sene of mē wer induced through desire of deth to cōfesse yt they neuer did. Mistresse Isotta hering thē say so, begā to speke againe, turning hir self vnto them: Were you offended then at a thing which ye thought incōueniēt & not mete to be done? We then haue greatest cause to cō plaine. Why then [...] husbande went you to the [Page] chamber of mistresse Lucie at that time of the night? What had you to do there? what thyng thought you to finde there more than was in your own house? And you master Girolamo, what cōstrained you to forsake your wiues bed to come to my husbands, wher no man euer had, or at this present hath to do but him self? were not yt shetes of the one so white, so fine, neat & swéet as the other? I am (moste noble Prince) sorie to declare my husbands folie, and ashamed that he should forsake my bed to go to an other, that did accompt my selfe so wel worthy to entertaine hym in myne owne, as the best wife in Venice, and now through his abuse, I abstaine to shewe my selfe amongs the beautiful and noble dames of this Citie. The like misliking of hir selfe is in mistresse Lucie, who (as you sée) may bée numbred amongs the fairest, Either of you ought to haue ben cō tented with your wiues, & not (as wickedly you haue done) to forsake them, to séeke for better bread than is made of wheate, or for purer golde than whereof the Angel is made: O worthy dede of yours, that haue the face to leaue your owne wiués, that be comely faire & honest, to séeke after strange carrion. O beastly order of men that can not content their lust within the boū des of their owne house, but must go hunt after other women as beasts do after the next of their kinde that they chaunce vpon. What vile affection possessed your harts to lust after others wife? You make complainte of vs, but wée with you haue right good cause to bée offended, you ought to be grieued with youre owne disorder, and not with others offense, and this youre affliction paciently to beare, bycause you wente about to beguile one an others loue, like them that be weary and glutted with their owne fare, séeking after other dainties more delicate if they were to bée founde.’

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‘But praised be God and our prouident discretion, if any hurt or shame hath chaunced, the same doth light on you. Moreouer I know no cause why men should haue more libertie to doe euil than we women haue: albeit through the weakenesse and cowardise of our sexe, ye men will doe what ye lift. But ye be now no Lordes, nor we seruaunts, and husbands we do you cal, bicause the holy lawes of Matrimony (which was the first Sacrament giuen by God to men after the creation of the world) doe require equall faith, and so well is the husband bound to the wife as she vnto him. Goe to then & make your complaint: the next Asse or beast ye méete, take hir to be your wife. Why doe ye not know that the balance of Iustice is equall, and wayeth downe no more of one side than of other? But let vs nowe leaue of to reason of this matter, and come to yt for which we be come hither. Two things (most righteous Prince) haue moued vs to come before your maiestie, & all this honorable assembly, which had they not bene, we wold haue bene ashamed to shew our faces, & lesse presumed to speake or once to open our lippes in this Noble audience, which is a place only méete for them yt be most expert and eloquent orators, and not for vs, to whom the néedle & distaffe be more requisite. The first cause that forced vs to come forth of our owne house, was to let you vnderstand yt our husbāds be no murderers, as is supposed, neither of this Gentleman present master Aloisio, ne yet of any man else: and therof we haue sufficient and worthy testimonie. But héerein we néede not to trauaile much, or to vse many woords: for neither maister Aloisio is slaine, ne any other murdred, yt is knowne or manifest hitherto. One thing resteth, which is that Madonna Lucia and I do humbly beséeche your excellent Maiestie, that your grace and the authoritie [Page] of the right honourable Lords here present, [...] vouchsafe to reconcile vs to our husbāds, that we may obtaine pardon and fauor at their handes, bicause [...] haue so manifestly made their actes to appeare, and for that we be the offense, and they the offenders, and yet by their owne occasions, we haue committed the error (if it may be so termed.) And now to come to the conclusion, I doe remember [...] I was a childe, that I haue heard the Gentlewoman my mother saye (whose soule God pardon) many times vnto me, and other my sisters, & to mistresse Lucia, that was brought vp with vs, being by hir instructed in diuers good and vertuous lessons, that all the honor a womā can do vnto hir husband, whereby shée beautifieth him and his whole race and familie, consisteth in hir honest, chast, and vertuous life, without which, she oughte rather to die than liue. And that a Gentlemans wife when she hath giuen hir bodie to the vse of an other man, is the cōmon marke for euery man to point at in the streate where she goth, hir husband therby incurring reproch & shame which no doubt is the greatest iniuric and scorne that an honest Gentleman can receiue, and the most shamefull reproche that can blemish his house. Which lesson we so wel remembring, desirous not to suffer the carelesse and vnbrideled appetites of our [...] to [...] vnrained, and runne at large to some dishonest ende, by a faithfull and commendable policie, did prouide for the mischiefe that myghte ensue. I néede not héere reherse the enimitie and debate that many yeares did raigne betwéene our husbandes fathers, bycause it is knowne and manifest vnto the whole Citie. We two therfore here present, the wiues of those noble Gentle men, brought vp together from our Cradle, perceiuing the malice betwene our husbandes, made a vertue of [Page] necessitie, déemyng it better for vs to lose our swete & anncient conuersation, than to minister occasiō of disquietnesse. But the nerenesse of our houses would not that naturall hatred shoulde defrande and take awaye [...] ingrafted amitie. Wherefore many tymes when our husbands were gone forth, we met together, & talked in our gardens, betwene which there is but a thin hedge beset with primme and roses, which commoditie in their absēce we did discretely vse. And as somtimes for pleasure we walked with oure husbandes there, ye (she turning vnto them) did cast your eyes vpon eche others wife, and were straighte waye in loue, or else perchance you fained your selues to be, which espied by vs, many tymes betwene our selues dyd cōmen of the same, and red your amorous letters and song sent vnto vs. For which dissoyaltie & treson towards vs your wiues, we sought no dishonour to your persones, wée wer content to suffer you to be abused with your fond loue, we blabbed it not abrode to our gossips, as many leude and fantasticall women be wont to doe, therby to raise slaunder to our husbandes, and to sturre vp ill reporte vpon them, whose infirmities it becommeth vs to conceile and hide. Wée deuised meanes by some other way to let you vnderstande your fault, and dyd cast vpon you many times right louing lookes. Which although it were against our own desire, yet the cause and full conclusion of the same, was to practise, if it were possible, to make you friends. But consideryng that thys loue and allurementes of either parts, could not tend to other end, as we coniectured, but to increse displeasure, and to put the swords into your hands, we therfore consulted betwene our selues, & vniformly in one mind did agrée for [...] [...] & satisfaction of all partes, at suche nightes as ye fained to go into diuers [Page] places about earnest affaires as ye alleaged, Mistresse Lucie with the helpe of Cassandra my maid, through the Gardeine came into my chambre, and I by meanes of Iane hir maide by like way repaired vnto hirs. And yt poore mē guided by our maids were brought vnto your chambers where ye lay with your owne wiues, and so by tilthe of others land in strange soile (as ye beleued) ye lost no labour. And bicause your embracemēts then, were like to those atchieued by amorous Gentlemen, vsing vs with more earnest desire than you were wōt to doe, both we were begotten with child: which ought to be very gladsome and gratefull vnto you, if ye were so faine to haue childrē as ye shewed your selues to be. If then none other offense doth grieue you, if remorse of conscience for other cause doth not offēd you, if none other sorow doth displease you: Giue ouer your griefe. Remit your displeasure. Be glad and ioyfull. Thanke vs for our policie, and pleasant disport yt we made you. If hitherto ye haue bene enimies, hēceforth be friends, put of that auncient malice so long cōtinued, mitigate your hatefull moode, and liue ye from henceforthe like friendly Gentlemen, yelde vp your rancor into the lap of your Countrey, yt she may put him in exile for euer, who like a pitifull and louing mother would gladly sée all hir children of one accorde and minde. Which if ye doe, ye shall do singulare pleasure to your friendes, ye shal do great discōfort to your foes, ye shal do singular good to the cōmon wealth, ye shal do greatest benefit to your selues, ye shal make vs humble wiues, ye shal encrease your posterity, ye shall be praised of all men, [...] finally shall depart the best contented men yt euer the world brought forth. And now bicause ye shall not thinke that we haue piked out this tale at our fingers ends, thereby to séeke your sauegard and our fame and [Page] praise, beholde the letters which you sent vs, beholde your owne hands subscribed to the same, beholde your seales assigned therunto, which shall rendre true testimonie of that which vnfainedly we haue affirmed.’ Then both deliuered their letters, which viewed and séene, were wel known to be their own husbāds hāds, and the same so wel approued hir tale, as their husbāds were the gladdest men of the world, and the Duke and seignorie maruelously satisfied & contēted. In so much as the whole assēbly with one voice, cried out for their husbands deliueraunce. And so with the consent of the Duke & the whole seignorie they were clerely discharged. The parents, cosins and friends of the husbands & wiues were wonderfully amazed to here this long historie, and greatly praised the maner of their deliuery, accompting the women to be very wise, and mistresse Isotta to be an eloquent gentlewoman, for that she had so well defended the cause of their husbands & of themselues. Anselmo and Girolamo openly in the presence of all the people embraced and kissed their wiues with great [...]. And then the husbandes shaked one an other by the hands; betwene whome began a brotherly accorde, and from that time forth liued in perfect amitie and friendship, exchaunging the wanton loue that either of thē bare to others wife into brotherly friendship, to the great cōtentation of the whole Citie. Whē the multitude assembled to heare this matter throughly was satisfied, the Duke with chéereful countenance loking towarde Gismonda, sayd thus vnto hir: And you faire Gentlewoman, what haue you to say? ‘Be bolde to vtter your minde, and we will gladly heare you. Mistresse Gismonda bashful to speake, began wonderfully to blush, into whose chekes entred an orient rud, intermixed with an Alablaster white, which made hir countenaunce [Page] more [...] thā it was wont to be.’ After she had stode still a while [...] hir eyes declined towards the ground, in comly wise lifting thē vp again wt shamfast audacitie she begā to say: ‘If I most noble prince, in opē audiēce shold attēpt to speake of loue, wherof I neuer had experience, or knew what thing it was, I should be doubtful what to say therof, and peraduēture durst not open mouth. But hering my father (of worthy memorie) many times to tel yt your maiestie in ye time of your youth disdained not to opē your hert to receiue ye amorous flames of loue, & being assured yt ther is none but that doth loue litle or much, I do not doubt but for the words which I shal speake, to obtain both pitie and pardon. To come then to ye matter: God I thank him of his goodnesse, hath not permitted me to be one of yt sort of women, yt like hipocrites do mumble their Pater nosters to saincts, appering outwardly to be deuout & holy and in fruite do bring forth deuils, and all kindes of vices, specially ingratitude, whiche is a vice that dothe suck & drie vp the foūtain of godly pietie. Life is deare to me (as naturally it is to all) next which I estéeme mine honor, that peraduēture is to be preferred before life, bicause without honor life is of no reputatiō. And where mā & woman do liue in shame notorious to the world, ye same may be termed a liuing death rather thā a life. But ye loue yt I beare to mine onely beloued master Aloisio here present, I do esteme aboue al yt iewels & treasures of the world, whose personage I do regard more thā mine owne life. The reson yt moueth me ther to is very great, for before yt I loued him, or euer mēt to fire my minde yt way, he derely regarded me, continually deuising which way he might win & obtain my loue, sparing no trauell by night & day to seeke ye same. For which tender affectiō shold I shew my self vnkind [Page] and froward? God forbid. And to be plaine with your honors, he is more deare & acceptable vnto me, than yt balles of mine owne eyes, being the derest things that appertaine to yt furniture of the body of man, without which no earthly thing can be gladsom and ioyfull to ye sense and féeling. Last of all, his amorous and affectionate demonstration of his loue towards me, by declaring him self to be careful of mine honor, rather more willing to bestow his owne, than to suffer the same to be touched with the left suspicion of dishonestie, I can not choose, but so faithfully imbrace, as I am readie to guage my life for his sake, rather than his finger shold ake for yt offense. And where hath there ben euer foūd such liberalitie in any louer? What is he that hath ben euer so prodigall, to employ his life, the moste speciall pledge in this worlde, rather than he would suffer his beloued to incurre dishonoure? Many histories haue I red, and Chronicles of our time, and yet I haue founde fewe or none comparable vnto thys Gentleman, the like of whom be so rare and seldome as white crowes or swannes of color blacke. O singular liberalitie, neuer heard of before. O fact that can neuer be sufficiently praised. O true loue most vnfained. Maister Aloisio rather thā he wold haue my fame any one iote to be impaired, or suffer any shadow of suspition to blemish the same, frankly hath confessed himself to be a théefe, regarding me & mine honor more than himselfe & life. And albeit that he might a thousand wayes haue saued himself without the imprisonment & aduersitie which he hath sustained: neuerthelesse after he had said, being then past remēbrāce through the fal, that he fel downe frō my window, & perceiued how much that confession would preiudice and hurt my good name, and spotte the known honestie of the same, of his good wil chose to die rather than to speake any words that might bréede yll [Page] opinion of me, or the least thing of the worlde yt might ingendre infamie & slaunder. And therefore not able to cal back the words he had spoken of the fal, nor by any meanes could coloure ye same, he thought to saue yt good name of another by his own hurt. If he then thus redily & liberally hath protruded his life to manifest dāger for my benefit & sauegard, preferring min honor aboue the care of himself, shall not I abandon all that I haue, yea & therwithall hazard mine honor for his saluation? But what? Shal I disdaine bountifully to imploy my self & al the endeuor of my friends for his deliuery? No no (my Lords) if I had a thousand liues, & so many honors at my commaundement, I wold giue them al for his relief and comfort, yea if it were possible for me to recouer a fresh. x. C. M. liues, I wold so frankly bestow them all, as euer I desired to liue, that I might enioy mine own Aloisio. But I am sory, and euer shalbe sory, for that it is not lawful for me to do more for him, thā yt which my smal power and possibilitie is able. For if he shold die, truly my life could not endure: if he were depriued of life, what plesure should I haue to liue in this world after him? wherby (most honorable & righteous iudge,) I beleue before the honest, not to lose any one iote of mine honor, bicause I being (as you may sée) & yong woman & a widow desirous to mary againe, it is lawful for me to loue and to be beloued for none other intent (whereof God is the only iudge) but to attaine a husband according to my degrée. But if I should lose my reputation and honor, why should not I aduenture the same for him, that hath not spared his owne for my sake? Nowe to come to the effect of the matter, I doe say with all duetifull reuerence, that it is an accusation altogither false and vntrue, that euer master Aloisio came to my house as a Théefe against my will. [Page] For what nede he to be a thefe, or what would he doe with my goodes, that is a lorde and owner of. xx. times so muche as I haue? Alas good Gentleman, I dare depose and guage my life, that he neuer thoughte, much lesse dyd any robberie or thing vnlawfull, wherewith iustly he may be charged. But he repaired to my house with my consent, as a louing and affectionate louer, the circumstance whereof, if it be duely marked, must aduouch the same to be of trouthe infallible. For if I had not giuen him licence to come, how was it possible for him to conuey his ladder so high, that was made but of ropes, and to fasten the same to the iaume of the window, if none within did helpe hym. Againe, how could the window of the chamber be open at that time of the night, which is still kept shut, if it had not bene by my consent. But I with the helpe of my mayde threwe downe to him a litle rope, whervnto he tied his ladder and drew the same vp, and making it so fast, as it could not vndo, and then made a signe for maister Aloisio to come vp. But as bothe our ill fortune wold haue it, before I could catch any hold of him, to mine inestimable grief and hearts sorrowe he fell downe to the ground. Wherfore (my lordes) I beséeche your honours to reuoke the confession wherein he hath made him selfe to be a thefe. And you maister Aloisio declare the trouth as it was, sith I am not ashamed in this honorable assemblie to tel the same. Behold the letters (my lords) whiche so many times he wrote vnto me, wherein hée made sute to come to my speach, and continually in the same doth call me wife. Behold the ladder, which till nowe, did still remaine in my chamber. Beholde my maide, which in all mine affaires, is as it were myne owne hande and helper.’ Master Aloisio being here vppon demaunded of the Lords of the articles, which she [Page] in hir tale had recited, cōfessed them all to be true: who at the same instant was discharged. The Duke greatly commended them both, hir for hir stoute audacitie, in defense of an innocent Gentleman, and him for his honor and modestie, séeking to preserue the fame and good reporte of the Gentlewoman. Whiche done, the Counsell disassembled and brake vp. And the friendes of bothe the parties accompanied them home to the house of mistresse Gismonda, where to the greate reioyce and pleasure of al men, they were solemnely maried in sumptuous and honorable wise, and maister Aloisio with his wyfe liued in greate prosperitie long time after. Mistresse Lucia and mistresse Isotta, at the expired time were deliuered of two goodly sonnes, in whome the fathers toke great ioy and delight. Who with their wiues after that tyme lyued very quietly and well, one louing an other like naturall brethren, many times sporting among them selues discretely at the deceipts of their wiues. The wisedom of the Duke also was wonderfully extolled and cō mended of all men, the fame whereof was increased and bruted throughout the region of Italy, And not without cause. For by hys prudence and aduise, the dominion of the state and Common wealth was amplified and dilated. And yet in the ende béeing olde and impotent, they vnkindely deposed hym from his Dukedome.

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The Lorde of Virle
The. xxvij. Nouel.

¶ The Lorde of VIRLE, by the commaundement of a a faire yong widow called ZILIA, and for his promyse made, the better to attaine hir loue, was contented to remaine dumbe the space of three yeares, and by what meanes he was reuenged, and obtained his sute.

THey that haue passed the most parte of their youth in humain folies, and haue rather followed the vanities of fooles & insensate louers, in matters of loue, and that the contemplation of heauenly things, or else of those that here on erth may giue some entrie for man to attayne glorie and honor of his name, they I say, shall serue me for witnesses, to confirme the opinion of long time rooted in the fansies of men: which is, that the beautie and comely fauor of a woman, is the very true & naturall Adamant that can be found, sith the same stone (for a certain attractiue power and agreable qualitie therin inclosed) doth not better draw the iron, than ye woman doth, by a certain hiddē force, which resting vnder ye alluremēt of hir eye, draweth vnto it yt hearts & affectiōs of men, which hath made many beléene, that the same onely essence [Page] was sent to vs below, to serue both for mens torment and ioy together. But yet there is an other thyng of greater wonder it is not to heare tel that Paris for sooke Troy, to go visite Helena in Grece, that Hercules had giuen ouer his mace, to handle the [...] at the cōmandement of a woman, or that Salomon was sotted in his wisedom to dalie with those that made hym a volū tarie slaue. But that a woman of whom a man had receiued no fauour and curtesie at all, had forgotten hir owne duetie to hir seruant, if it séeme not straunge, I can not tell what to call wonderfull or maruellous: if defense of speach for loue, is not déemed such, wherby man is different from brute beastes: (for reason is altogether refused by louers, and notwithstanding oure fathers haue séene the example of that vertue no long time past in the person of a Gentleman, very wise and well trained vp in other things. A case so straunge as declaring the singular force of nature in that matter, wherin the séemeth to haue giuen ye prefermēnt aboue all things in earth. Examples hereof, is the effemination of Hercules, the depriuation of Samsons strength, the losse of sense, and the idolatrie of the famous and wise king Salomon, and the simplicitie of a warelesse and vncircumspect Gentleman, of whom ye shal reade the Historie.

Thurin (as is well knowne to them that haue trauelled Piedmont) is the ornament & bulwarke of al the countrey, so well for the naturall site of the place, as for the artificial and industrious worke of mans hand, which hath instaured and furnished with great magnificence, that which nature had indifferently enriched, for the rudenesse and litle knowledge of the time past. Now besides this stately & strong citie, there standeth a litle town named Montcall, a place no lesse strong, [Page] and of good defense, than well plāted in a faire and rich soyle. In this towne there dwelt a Gentlewoman a widowe called Zilia, beautifull amongs the most excellent faire Gentlewomen of the countrey, which countrey (besides the other happie & heuenly influences) semeth to be specially fauoured, for hauing the most fairest and curteous Gentlewomē, aboue any other within the compasse of Europa. Notwithstanding this faire Zilia, degenerating frō the nature of hir climate, was so haggarde and cruell, as it might haue ben thoughte. she had bene rather nourished and brought vp amidde the most desert mountains of Sauoy, than in the pleasant and rich champayn countrey, watered and moistned with Eridanus, the father of riuers, at this day called the Pau, the largenesse whereof doth make men to maruel, and the fertilitie allureth euery man to be desirous to inhabite vpon the same. This faire rebellious widow, albeit that she was not aboue. xxiiij. or. xxv. yeres of age, yet protested neuer more to be subiecte to man, by mariage, or otherwise, thinking hir self wel able to liue in single life: A minde truly very holy and cōmendable, if the pricks of yt flesh do obey the first motions and adhortations of the spirite, but where youth, pleasure, and multitude of suters do addresse their endeuour against that chastitie (lightly enterprised) the Apostles counsell ought to be followed, who willeth yong widowes to marie in Christ, to auoide the temptations of the flesh, and to flée offensiue slaunder and dishonor before men. Now mistresse Zilia (hir husbād being dead) only bent hir selfe to enrich hir house, and to amplifie the possession of a litle infant which she had by hir late departed husbande. After whose death she became so couetous, as hauing remoued, and almoste cut off quite the wonted port she vsed in hir husbandes [Page] dayes, imployed hir maids in houshold affairs, thinking nothing to be well done yt passed not through hir owne handes. A thing truely more praise worthy, than to sée a sorte of effeminate, fine, and daintie fingred dames, which thinke their honor diminished if they holde but their nose ouer their housholde matters, where theyr hande and diligence were more requisite, for so much as the mistresse of the house is not placed the chiefe to heare only the reasons of them that labor, but therunto to put hir hands, for hir present eye séemeth to giue a certaine perfection to the worke which the seruauntes do by hir commaundement. Which caused the historians in times past, to describe vnto the posterity a gentlewoman called Lucretia, not babbling amongs yong folish girles, or running to feastes and Maigames, or Masking in the night, without any regard of the honor and dignitie of hir race and house, but in hir Chamber sowing, spinning, and carding, amids the troupe of hir maiden seruants: wherin our mistresse Zilia passed the most parte of hir time, spending no minute of the day, without some honest exercise, which she did for that she liked not to be séen at feasts and bankets, or to be gadding vp and downe the streats, wandring to gardeins or places of pleasure, although to suche places youth sometimes may haue honest repaire to refreshe their wearied bodies with some vertuous recreation, & therby to reioyce the heauinesse of the minde. But this Gētlewoman was so seuere in following the rigorous and constrained maners of our auncients, that impossible it was, to sée hir abrode, except it were when she went to Mattens or other deuine seruice. This Gentlewoman séemed to haue studied the diuinitie of the Egiptians, which paint Venus holding a key before hir mouth, & setting hir foote vpon a Tortus, signifying vnto [Page] vs therby, yt duety of a chast woman, whose tong ought to be locked, that she speake not but in time and place, and hir féete not straying or wādering, but to kéepe hir self within the limits of hir owne house, except it be to serue God, and sometimes to render our bounden duty to them which haue brought vs into light. Moreouer Zilia was so religious (I wil not say superstitious) and rigorous to obserue customs, as she made it very squeimish and straunge to kisse Gentlemen that met hir, a ciuilitie which of long time hath bene obserued, and yet remaineth in the most part of the world, that Gentlewomen doe welcome straungers and guestes into their houses with an honest and chaste kisse. Notwithding the institution and profession of this widow had wiped away and deferred this poynt of hir youthe: whither it were for that she estéemed hir self so faire, as all men were vnworthy to touche the vtter partes of so rare and precious a vessell, or that hir great and inimitable chastitie made hir so strange, to refuse that which hir duetie and honor would haue permitted hir to graunt. There chaunced about this time that a gentleman of the Countrey called Sir Philiberto of Virle, estéemed to be one of the most valiant Gentlemen in those partes, repaired vpon an holy day to Montcall, (whose house was not very farre off the Towne) and being at diuine seruice, in place of occupying his sense and minde in heauenly things, and attending the holy woords of a Preacher, which that day declared the woorde of God vnto the people, hée gaue himselfe to contemplate the excellent beautie of Zilia, who hadde put off for a while hir mourning vaile, that she might the better beholde the good father that preached, and receiue a little aire, bicause the day was extreame hotte. The Gentleman at the first blushe, when hée sawe [Page] that swéete temptation before his eyes, thought hym selfe rapt aboue the third heauen, and not able to withdraw his looke, he fed hymselfe with the venome which by litle and litle, so seased vpon the soundest partes of his minde, as afterwards béeing liuely rooted in heart, the Gentleman was in daunger still to remaine there for a guage, without any hope of ease or comforte, as more amply this folowyng discourse, shall giue you to vnderstande. Thus all the mornyng hée behelde the Gentlewoman, who made no more accompt of them, that with great admiration did beholde hir, than they themselues did of their life, by committing the same to the hands of a woman so cruell. This Gentleman being come home to his lodging, enquired what faire widow that was, of what calling, and of what behauior, but he heard tell of more truely, than he would of good will haue knowne or desired to haue ben in hir, whom he did presently choose to be the onely mistresse of his moste secrete thoughts. Now vnderstanding wel the stubburne nature and vnciuile maner of that widow, hée coulde not tell what parte to take, nor to what Sainct to vow his deuotion, to make sute vnto hir he thought it time lost, to be hir seruant, it was not in his power, hauing already inguaged his libertie into the handes of hir, which once holdyng captiue the hearts of men, will not infraunchise them so soone as thoughte and will desire. Wherefore bayting hymselfe wyth hope, and tickled with loue, hée determined what soeuer chaūced, to loue hir, and to assay if by long seruice he coulde lenifie that harde hearte, and make tender that unpliant will, to haue pitie vpon the paine which she saw him to endure, & to recompense his laborsome trauels, which he thought were vertuously imployed for gayning of hir good grace. And vpon this settled deliberation, [Page] he retired againe to Virle (so was his house named) where disposing his things in order, he retorned again to Montcall to make his long resiance there, to put in readinesse his furniture, and to welde his artillerie with suche industrie, as in the ende he mighte make a reasonable breach to force and take the place: For surprisyng whereof, he hazarded great dangers, the rather, that he hym selfe might first be taken. And where hys assaultes and pollicies could not preuaile, he mynded to content him selfe with the pleasure and passetyme that hée myght receiue in the contemplation of a thyng so fayre, and the ordinarie sight of an image so excellent. The memorie of whome rather increased hys paine than yelded comfort, dyd rather minister corrosiue poyson, than gyue remedie of ease, a cause more of cruel and sodaine death, than of prolonged life. Philiberto then being become a citizen of Mōtcall, vsed to frequent the Churche more than hée was wont to doe, or his deuotion serued hym, and that bycause he was not able elsewhere to enioy the presence of his Sainct, but in places and temples of deuotion: whiche no doubt was a very holie and woorthie disposition, but yet not méete or requisite to obserue suche holy places for those intentes, whiche oughte not to be prophaned in thyngs so fonde and foolishe, and actes so contrary to the institution and mynde of those, which in tymes paste were the fyrst founders and erectours of temples. Signior Philiberto then moued with that religious superstition, made no conscience at all to speake vnto hir within the Churche. And true it is, when she wente out of the same, he (moued with a certaine familiar curtesie, naturall to eche Gentleman of good bryngyng vp) many tymes conducted hir home to hir owne house, not able for all that (what so [Page] [...] he sayd) to winne the thing that was able to ingender any litle contentation, which grieued him very much: For the cruell woman fained as though [...] vnderstode nothing of that he sayde, and turnyng the wayne against the oxen, by contrary talke she began to tell him a tale of a tubbe, of matters of hir householde, whervnto he gaue so good héede, as she did to the hearing of hys complaintes. Thus these two, of dyuers affections, and moued with contrary thoughtes, spake [...] to an other, without apt answere to eithers talk. Wherby ye Gentleman cōceiued an assured argument of his ruine, which voide of al hope & meanes, he sawe to be ineuitable, and therfore practised with [...] dames of the Citie, that had familiar resort vnto hir house, and vsed frequent conuersation with [...] rebellious lady Zilia. To one of them then he determined to communicate his secrets, and to do hir to vnderstande in dede the only cause that made him to [...] at Montcall, and the griefe which he sustained, for that he was not able to discouer his torment to hir, that had giuen him the wounde. This Gentleman therfore, repaired to one of his neighbors, a woman of good corage, which at other [...] had experimented what meates they fede on, which [...] at Venus table, and what bitternesse is intermingled, amid those drinkes that Cupido quaffeth vnto his guestes. [...] whom (hauing before coniured hir to kepe secret that which he wold declare) he disclosed the secrets of his minde, expressing his loue without naming of his lady before he herd the answer of his neighbor, who vnderstanding almoste to what purpose the affections of the pacient were directed, said vnto him: ‘Sir, nedefull it is not to vse long orations, the loue that I bear you for the honest qualities which hitherto I haue knowne to be in you, shall make me [Page] to kéepe silent, that wherof as yet I do not knowe the matter, and the assurance you haue, not to be abused by me, constraineth me to warrant you, that I will not spare to do you all the pleasure & honest seruice I can. Ah mistresse (answered sir Philiberto) so lōg as I lyue, I will not faile to acknowledge the liberalitie of your [...], by offering your selfe pacientely to heare, and secretely to kepe the wordes I speake, accorduigly as they deserue: and that (which is more than I require) you doe assure me that I shall finde suche one of you, as will not spare to giue your ayde. Alas, I resemble the good and wyse Captaine, who to take a [...] doth not onely ayde himselfe with the forwardenesse and valiance of his souldiers, but to spare them, and to auoyde slaughter for makyng of way, planteth his cannon, and battereth the wall of the fort, whiche he woulde assayle, to the intent that both the souldier and the ordinaunce maye perfourme and suffise the perfection of the platte, whyche hée hath framed and deuised within his politike heade. I haue already encouraged my souldiers, and haue lost the better part truly in the skirmish which hath deliuered vnto me my swéete cruell enimie. Now I am driuen to make redy the fire, which resteth in the kindled match of your cō ceipts, to batter yt fort hitherto [...], for any assault which I can make. I vnderstand not (sayde she smiling) these Labyrinthes of your complaints, except you speake more plain. I neuer haunted the warres, [...] knewe [...] thing it is to handle weapons, improper and not séemely for myne estate and kynde.’ ‘The warre (quod he) whereof I speake, is so naturall and common, as I doubt not, but you haue somtymes [...], with what [...] and camisados men vse to [Page] take their enimies, how they plant their [...], [...] what meanes bothe the assaylant and [...] ought to vse. So far as I sée (sayd she) there [...] nothing for vs, but the assurance of the fielde, sith we be ready to enter in combat: and do thinke that the fort shal not be hard to winne, by reason of the walles, dikes, rampars, bulwarks, platformes, counterforts, curtines, vamewres & engins which you haue prepared, besides a numbre of false brayes and flanks, placed in good order, and the whole defended from the thundryng cannons and bombardes, which doe amaze the wandring enimie in the field. But I pray you leauing these warlike tumults, to speake more boldly without these extrauagantes and digressions, for I take pitie to sée you thus troubled, and ready to excede the boundes of your modestie and wonted wisedom. Do not maruell at all mistresse (quod he) sith according to newe occurrents and alterations, bothe the purpose, talke, and counsell ordinarily do change. I am become the seruant of one which maketh me altogether lyke vnto those that [...] madde, and bounde in chains, not able to speake or say any thing, but what the spirites which be in them, doe force them to vtter. For I neither wil, thinke, or [...] any thing, but that which the enchaunter Loue dothe commaunde and suffer to expresse, who, so rigorously doth [...] my heart, that in place where boldenesse is most requisite, he depriueth me of force, and leaueth me without any countenance. And being alone, God [...] how frankly I doe wander in the place, where myne enimie may commaunde, and with what [...] I do inuade hir prouince. Alas, is it not pitie then to sée these diuersities in one self matter, and vpon one very thing? Truely I woulde endure willyngly all these trauailes, if I [...] in the end my seruice might [Page] be accepted, and hoped that my [...] shold finde relief: but liuing in this [...], I must néedes norish the [...] and the solace of the vnhappy, which are wishes and vaine hope, trusting that some God, will [...] me a faithfull friend that will assaye to rid me from the hell wherinto I am throwne, or else to shortē this miserable life, which is a [...] times more painful than death.’ In saying so, he began to sigh so strangely as a man would haue thought that two smithes [...] working at the [...], had giuen two blows at his stomake, so vehement was the inclosed winde within his heart, that made him to fetche forth those terrible [...], the eyes not forgetting to yelde forth a riuer of teares, which gushing forth at the centre of his heart, mounted into his braines, at length to issue forth, through the spout proper to the chanell of such a fountaine. Which the gentlewoman seing, moued with cō passion, could not contain to kepe him company in [...], and therewithall sayd vnto him. ‘Although mine estate and reputatiō, which to this day I haue kept vnspotted, defend the vse of my good will in things yt may [...] mine honor, yet sir by séeing the extremitie which you suffer, to be [...], I wil somwhat [...] my conscience, & assay to succor you with so good heart, as [...] you trust me wt the secretes of your thought. There resteth only for me to know, the thing that you will haue me to doe, and towardes what woman your deuotions be inclined: for sure I am to giue hir suche [...] of that which I haue séene and known of your good wil & seruice towards the mistresse of your heart, that [...] shalbe altogether out of tast, and voide of appetite, [...] she do not accept that affectionate offred wil, the like wherof shall neuer be profered againe. And truly such a womā may iudge hir self right happy to haue a Gentleman, [Page] so [...], [...] and faithfull, for [...] and louer, which honoring and seruing hir beautie [...] good [...], is the [...] and ornament of the [...] of his Ladie. [...] the earth [...] [...] forth in these dayes like [...], men being growne to [...] disloyaltie, as in the ende it will defraude the vertue of Fidelitie from them, and wholly plant the same, in the soyle of womens heartes: and they not able to departe the force and [...] thereof, will [...] vpon them conditions that be cruell, to punish the [...] [...] of [...] [...], who disguised with the visard of fained friendship, and painted with coloured amitie, languishing in sighes and sorowes, [...] to deceiue them that prodigally employ [...] [...] into the handes of those cruell, inconstante [...] foolish suters. Ah Mistresse answered the Gentleman: how may I be able to recompense that onely [...] which you [...] promise me now? But be sure that you sée [...] a Souldier and Gentleman which shall no lesse be prodigall of his life to doe you [...], [...] you be liberall of your reputation to ease his paines. Now sith it pleaseth you to shew such fauoure to [...] me your helpe and support in that which paineth me, I require no more at your hands, but to beare a Letter which I shall wryte to Mistresse Zilia, with whome I [...] [...] [...] in loue, as if I doe receiue no solace of my [...], I know not howe I shall auoide the cutting of my thréede, which the spinning sisters [...] twisted to prolong my life, that henceforth can receiue no succor, if [...] your meanes I [...] not atchieue the thing that holdeth me in such bondage. The Gentlewoman was [...] sorowfull, when she vnderstoode that [...] [...] had [...] his Loue vpon such one, as would not [...] to that request, and much lesse would [...] [Page] any rest vnto his miseries, and therefore [...] hir selfe to moue that [...] fantasie out of his [...].’ But he was already resolued in his misehappe, which perceiuing in the ende she sayd: ‘To the [...] Sir that you doe not thinke that I doe meane to excuse the [...] of my promise, make your letters, and of my Faith I will deliuer them.’ And albeit I know [...] well what be the honoures and glory of that Pilgrime, yet I will render to you againe the true answere of hir [...] which she shall vse to me, whereby you maye consider the gaine you are lyke to make by pursuing of a woman (although faire) of so small deserte. The Gentleman failed not to giue hir [...] thankes, praying hir to [...] vntill [...] had wrytten his letters: whereunto she most willingly obeyed. He then gone into his Chamber, [...] to [...] a hundred hundred matters to write vnto his Ladie, and after he had fixed them in minde, [...] incke and paper wryting as foloweth.

The Letters of Seignior Philiberto of Virle, to Mistresse Zilia of Montcall.

THe passion [...] whiche I endure (Madame) through [...] loue of you, is such, as [...] that I am assured of the little loue you beare me, in [...] of the incredible seruitude which mine [...] and desire is [...] to employe, I haue no will to [...] my force, ne yet to ridde my selfe from [...] [...] [...] [...] will to [...] [...] [Page] beautie, although euen from the beginning I felt the [...] of the mortall [...] which now [...] [...] [...]. Alas I [...] not know [...] what [...] I am borne, nor what fate doeth [...] my yeares, [...] I doe [...] that heauen and loue, and hir whome I [...] doe conforme themselues with one assent to [...] mine ouerthrowe, who thinke my self of [...] born and sustained in my first yong age, to be the [...] man and [...] seruaunt of you my [...] deare, [...] whome alone, I yelde my heart [...] as it is, and the ioy of [...] thoughts [...] in my [...], by the contemplation and remembraunce of your excellent and perfect grace, wherof if I be not fauored, I [...] for death, from which euen presently I [...]: [...] [...] feare of that which she can doe, or of the vgly [...] which I conceiue to be in hir, but rather to confirme my life, this body, for instrument to exercise the [...] [...] for doing of your commaundements, where I shall proue that vnworthy cruelty, both of your gentle [...], and of the body fraught ful of that, which dame Nature can departe of hir aboundant graces. [...] sure madame that you shall shortly sée the end of him, which attendeth yet to beare so much as in him [...] lie, the vehement loue into an other world, which maketh me to pray you to haue pitie on him, who (attending the rest and final sentence of his death or life) doth humbly kisse your white and delicate hands, [...] god to giue to you like [...] as his is, who [...] to be,

Wholy yours, or not to be at all. Philiberto of Virle.

The letter written, closed and sealed, [...] [...] to [...] neighbour, who promised him againe to [...] him [...] at night. Thus thys [...] went [Page] hir way, leauing this poore languishing Gentleman hoping against his hope, and faining by and by some ioy and pleasure, wherin he [...] himself with great contented minde. Then sodainly he called againe vnto remembrance, the crueltie & [...] of Zilia, which shewed before his eyes so many kindes of deathe, as times he thought vpon the same, thinking that he saw the choler wherewith his little courteous mistresse furiously did intertaine the messanger, who found Zilia comming forth of a gardein adioyning to hir house, and hauing saluted hir, and receiued like courteous salutation, she would haue framed hir talke, for honest excuse in that [...] charge & message: for hir also vnto whome she was sent, and for some ease to the pore getleman which aproched nearer death than life. But Zilia brake of hir talke saying: ‘I maruell much gentle neighbor to sée you héere at this time of the day, knowing your honest custome is to let passe no minute of the time, except it be employed in some vertuous exercise. Mistresse answered the messanger, I thank you for the good opinion you haue of me, and doe pray you to [...] the same. For I do assure you that nothing vaine & of little effect hath made me slacke my businesse at this time, which me think I do not [...], when I inforce my self to take pitie and mercy vpon the afflicted sort: and the cause therof I would disclose, if I feared not to offend you, and breake the loue which of long time betwene vs two hath bene frequented. I know not (sayd Zilia) wherunto your words do tēd, although my heart doth throbbe, and minde doth moue to make me thinke your purposed talke to be of none other effecte, than to say a [...] which may redoūd to the preiudice of mine [...]. Wherfore I pray you, doe not open any thing yt [...] be contrary, be it neuer so little to the duetie of [Page] Dames of our degrée. Mistresse sayd the neighboure, I suppose that the little likelihoode which is in you with the thing for the helpe whereof I come to speake, hath made you féele the passion, contrary to the griefe of him that indures so much for your sake. Unto whome not thinking therof I gaue my faith in pledge to beare this Letter. In saying so, she drew the same out of hir bosome, and presenting them to cruell [...], she sayde: I beseeche you to thinke that I am not ignoraunt of the [...] wherewith the Lorde of [...] is affected, who wrote these letters. I promised him the duetie of a messanger towardes you: and so constrained by promise I could doe no lesse, than to deliuer you that which he doeth send, with seruice such as shall [...] for euer, or if it shall please you to accept him for such a one as he desireth. For my parte I pray you to reade the contents, and accordingly to giue me answere: for my faith is no further bound, but faithfully to reporte to him the thing whereupon you shall be resolued.’ Zilia which was not wont to receiue very ofte such embassades, at the first was in minde to breake the letters, and to returne the messanger to hir shame. But in the end taking heart, and chaunging hir affection, she red the letters not without shewing some very great alteration outwardely, which declared the meaning of hir thought that diuersly did striue within hir minde: for sodainely the chaunged hir coloure twice or thrice, now waring pale like the increasing [...], Eclipsed by the Sunne, when the féeleth a certaine darkening of hir borowed light, then the Uermilion and coloured tainte came into hir face againe, with no lesse hewe than the blomed Rose newly budded forth, which encreased halfe so much againe, the excellencie of that wherewith Nature [...] indued hir. And [...] [Page] [...] paused a while. Notwithstanding, after that shée had redde, and redde againe hir louers letter, not able to dissemble hir foolishe anger which vered hir hearte, she sayd vnto the mistresse messanger: ‘I wold not haue thought that you, being suche as eche man knoweth, would (by abusing your duetie,) haue bene the ambassador of a thing so vncomely for your estate, and the house whereof you come, and towardes me which neuer was such one (ne yet pretend to be,) to whome sute should be made for doing of such follies. And trust to it that it is the loue I beare you, which shall make me dissemble that I thinke, and holde my peace, reseruing in silence, that which (had it come from an other than you) I would haue published to the great dishonoure of hir which had made so little accompte of my chastitie. Let it suffise therfore in time to come for you to thinke and beleue, that I am chaste and honest: and to aduertise the Lord of [...] to procéede no further in his sute: for rather will I die, than agrée to the least point of that which he desires of me. And that he may knowe the same, be well assured that he shall take his leaue of that priuate talke which sometimes I vsed with him to my great dishonor, as farre as I can sée. Get you home therefore, and if you loue your honoure so much, as you sée me curious of my chastitie, I beséeche you vse no further talke of him, whome I hate so much, as his [...] is excessiue, by louing hir which careth not for those amorous toyes and sained passions, whereunto such louing fooles do suffer them selues to be caried headlong.’ The messanger ashamed, to heare hir selfe thus pinched to the quicke, answered hir very quietly without mouing of hir pacience: ‘I pray to God (mistresse) that he may remedy the different disease almost incurable in either of you twaine, [Page] the same béeing so vehement, as altered into a [...], maketh you in this wise, incapable of reasō.’ Finishing these words she toke hir leaue of Zilia, and arriued to the louers house, she founde him lying vpon his bedde, rather dead than aliue: who séeing his neighbor returned backe againe, with face so sadde, not tarying for the answer which she was about to make, he began to say: ‘Ah infortunate Gentleman, thou payest well the vsurie of thy pleasures past, when thou diddest liue at libertie, frée from those trauails which now do put thée to death, with out suffring thée to die. Oh happie, and more than right happie had I bene, if inconstant Fortune had not deuised this treason, wherein I am surprised and caught, and yet no raunsom can redeme me from prison, but the most miserable deth that euer poore louer suffred. Ah mistresse, I know well that Zilia estemeth not my letters, ne yet regardeth my loue, I confesse that I haue done you wrong by thus abusing your honest amitie, for the solace of my pain. Ah fickle loue, what foole is he which doth commit himself to the rage and furie of the waues of thy foming and tempestuous seas? Alas I am entred in, with great gladsom chéere, through the glistering shew before mine eyes of the faint sunne beames, wherunto so soone as I made saile, the same denied me light to thrust me forth into a thousande windes, tempests, and raging stormes of raine. By meanes wherof I sée no meane at all to hope for end of my mishaps: and much lesse the shipwracke which sodainely may rid me from this daunger more intollerable, than if I were ouerwhelmed wythin the bottomlesse depth of the maine Ocean. Ah deceiuer, & wily souldier, why hast thou made me enterprise the voyage farre of from thy solitudes and wildernesse, to giue me ouer in the middest of my necessitie? Is this [Page] thy maner towardes them, which franckly follow thée by trace, and pleasantly subdue themselues to thy traiterous folies? At lest wise if I saw some hope of helth I would indure without complaint therof: yea, and it were a more daungerous tempest. But O good God, what is he of whom I speake? Of whom do I attende for solace and reliefe? of him truely which is borne for the ouerthrow of men? Of whom hope I for healthe? Of the moste noysom poyson that euer was myngled with the most subtile druggs that euer were. Whome shall I take to be my defender? He which is in ambush traitrously to catch me, that he may martir me worsse than [...] hath done before. Ah cruell wenche, that thou shouldest measure so euill the good will of him that neuer purposed to trespasse the least of thy commaundementes. Ah, that thy beautie should finde a subiecte so stubborn in thée, to torment them that loue and praise thée. O maigre and vnkinde recompense, to expel good seruantes that: be affectionate to a seruice so iust and good. Ah Basiliske, coloured ouer with pleasure and swéetenesse, howe hath thy sighte dispersed his poyson throughout mine heart? At least wise if I hadde some drugge to repell thy force, I should liue at ease, & that without this sute and trouble. But I féele and proue that this sentence is more than true:’

No physike herbes the griefe of loue can cure,

Ne yet no drugge that paine can well assure.

‘Alas, the seare clothe will not serue, to tense the wounde the time shall be but loste, to cut the same is but increase of paine, to salue the same bredeth matter to cause mine ouerthrow. To be short, any dressing can not auaile, except the hand of hir alone which gaue the wounde. I would to God the sawe the bottome of my heart, and viewed the closet of any minde, yt she might [Page] iudge my firme saith and know the wrong she doth me by hir rigor and froward wil. But O vnhappie man, I féele that she is so resolued in obstinate mynde, as hir rest semeth only to depend vpon my paine, hir ease vpon my grief, and hir ioy vpon my sadnesse.’ And saying so, began strangely to wepe, and sighing betwene, lamented, in so much as, yt mistresse messanger not able to abide the grief and painful trauaile wherin she saw the pore gentleman wrapped, went home to hir house: not withstanding she told afterward the whole successe of his loue to a Gentleman, the friende of Philiberto. Nowe this Gentleman was a companion in armes to the lorde of Virle; and a very familiar friend of his, for which cause he went about by all meanes to put away those foolish and frantike conceits out of his fansie, but he profited as much by his endeuour, as the passionate gained by his heuinesse: who determining to die, yelded so much to care and grief, as he fel into a greuous sicknesse, which both hindred him from slepe, and also of his appetite to eate and drinke, giuing himself to muse vpon his folies and fansied dreames, without hearing or admitting any man to speake vnto him. And if he dyd heare them, his words tended to the complainte of the crueltie of one, whom he named not, and sounded of desire he had to end his life vpon that cōplaynt. The physitians round about wer sought for, who could giue no iudgement of that disease (neither for al the signes thei saw, or any inspection of the vrine, or touching of the pulse) but saide that it was a melancholie humor distilling from the braine, which caused the alteration of his sense: howbeit their arte and knowledge were void of skil to euacuate the grosse blood that was congeled of [...] melancholie. And therfore dispairing of his helth, with handes full of money they gaue him ouer. Whiche his [Page] friend and companion perceiuing, maruellous sory for the affliction of his friend, ceased not to practise al that [...] could by letters, gifts, promises and complaintes to procure Zilia to visite the pacient. For he was assured that the only presence of hir was able to recouer hys friend. But the cruell woman excused hir self through hir widdowhed, that it should be vnséemely for one of hir degrée (of intent) to visite a Gentleman, whose parentage and aliance she knew not. The soliciter of the Lord of Virle his health, séeing how litle his prayers auailed with his implacable furie, knewe no longer to what [...] he might vow himself for counsell, in the ende resolued to sollicite hir which hadde done the first message, that she might deuise some meanes to bring them to speake together. And fyndyng hir for his purpose, thus he sayd vnto hir: ‘Mistresse, I maruel much that you make so litle accompt of the pore lord of Virle who lieth in his bedde attending for death. Alas, if euer pitie hadde place in womans hearte, I beséech you to gyue your ayde to helpe hym, the meane whereof in whome it lyeth, is not ignorant vnto you. God is my witnesse (quod she) what trauaile I could take, to help him: but in thyngs impossible, it is not in man to determin, or rest assured in iudgemēt. I wil go vnto him and comfort him so well as I can, that peraduenture my promises maye [...] some parte of his payne: and afterward we wil at leisure better consider vpon that which we shall promise.’ Herevppon they went together to sée the pacient, that beganne to looke vp more [...] than he was wonted: ‘who séeyng the Gentlewoman, sayde vnto hir: Ah mystresse, I woulde to God I had neuer proued youre fidelitie, to féele the passing cruell hearte of hir, that rather dothe estéeme hir honour, to practyse regour and tyrannie vpon me, [Page] than with gentlenesse to maintaine the life of a poore féeble knight. Sir (sayde she) I can not tell what you meane thus to tormēt your self: for I trust to cure you betwene this and to morow, and wil do mine endeuor to cause you speake with hir, vpon whom wrongfully perchaunce you doe complaine, and who dareth not to come vnto you, lest some occasion be giuen of suspition to [...] speakers, which wil make the report more slanderous, when they know the cause of your disease. Ah (sayd the pacient) howe ioyfull and pleasant is youre talke? I sée wel that you desire my helth, and for that purpose, would haue me drinke of those liquors, which superficially do appeare to be swéete, afterwardes to make my life a hundred times more fainte and féeble than now it is. Be you there sayde she? And I sweare vnto you by my faith not to faile to kéepe my promise, to cause you speke alone with mistresse Zilia. Alas mystresse sayd the louer, I aske no more at your handes, that I may heare with myne owne eares the last sentence [...] or defiance. Well put your trust in me, sayd she, and take you no thought but for your health. For I am assured ere it be long, to cause hir to come vnto you, and then you shall sée whether I am diligent in those matters I toke in hande, and to what effecte myne attemptes do proue. Me think already (quod he) that my sicknesse is not able to stay me from going [...] hir that is the cause of my debilitie, when it shal [...] hir to commaunde me, where soeuer it be, sith hir only remēbrance will be of no lesse force in me, than [...] clerenesse of the sun beames is to euaporate the thicknesse of the morning mistes. Euen so is she (if such be hir chéere to me) the [...] wherein my day shall take increase, or the night whiche eclipseth and obscureth the brādishing brightnesse of my first sunbeames.’ [Page] With that the Gentlewoman tooke hir leaue of him, (who without let of his companion (immediately rose vp) and she went home attending oportunitie to speke to Zilia, whome two or thrée dayes after shée mette at Church, and they two beyng alone together in a Chapell, sayd vnto hir with fained teares, forced from hir eyes, and sending forth a cloude of sighes: ‘Madame, I nothing doubt at al, but yt last letters which I brought you, made you conceiue some yll opinion of me, which I do gesse by the frownyng face that euer sithens you haue borne me. But when you shall knowe the hurte which it hath done, I think you will not be so harde, and voyde of pitie, but with pacience to hearken that which I will say, and moued to pitie the state of a pore Gentleman, who by your meanes is in the pangs of death.’ Zilia, whiche til then neuer regarded the payne and sicknesse of the pacient, began to sorow, with such passion, not to graunt him further fauour than he had alreadie receiued, but to finde some means to ease him of his griefe, and then to giue him ouer for euer. And therfore she said vnto hir neighbor: ‘Mistresse I thought that all these sutes had bene forgotten, vntil the other day, a Gentlemā prayed me to go sée the Lord of Virle, who told me as you do now, that he was in great danger. But séeing that he wareth worsse and worsse, I will be ruled by you, beyng well assured of your honestie and vertue, and that you wil not aduise me to that which shall be hurtfull to myne honour. And when you shall do what you can, you shall winne so much as nothing, & yet shall ease him nothing at all, which wrongfully plaineth of my crueltie. For I do not purpose to do any priuate facte with him, but that which shall be mete for an honest Gentlewoman, and such as a faithfull tutor of hir chastitie, may graunt to an honest and [Page] vertuous gentleman. His desire is none other (said the gentle woman) for he intreateth but your presence, to let you wit by word, yt he is redy to do the thing which you shall cōmand him. Alas, said [...], I know not how I shal be able to do the same: for it is impossible to go to him without suspition, which the common people wyl lightly conceiue of such light & familiar behauiour. And rather wold I die than aduēture mine honor, hitherto conserued with great seueritie & diligēce. And sith you say, yt he is in extremes of deth, for your sake I wil not stick to go vnto him, yt hereafter he may haue no cause to cōplaine of my rudenesse. I thank you (said the messanger for the good wil you beare me, & for the help you promise vnto the poore passionate gentleman, whome these newes wil bring on foote againe, & wil do you reuerence for that good turne. Sith it is so (saide Zilia) to morow at noone let him come vnto my house, where in a low chamber, he shall haue leisure to saye to me hys minde. But I purpose by Gods helpe, to suffer him no further than that whiche I haue graunted. As it shall please you (sayd hir neighbour) for I craue no more of you but that only fauour, which as a messanger of good newes, I goe to shew him, recommending my selfe in the meane time to your cōmaunde.’ And then she went vnto the pacient, whom she found walking vp & downe the chamber, indifferently lusty of his persone, and of colour metely freshe for the tyme he lefte his [...].

Now when sir Philiberto sawe the messanger, he sayd vnto hir: ‘And howe nowe mystresse, what newes? Is Zilia so stubborne as [...] was wonte to be? [...] may sée hir (sayde she) if to morrowe at noone you haue the hearte and dare goe vnto hir house. Is it possible (sayde hée imbracynge hir) that you haue procured for me that good tourne, to delyuer mée from the [Page] [...], wherein I haue so long tyme bene [...]? [...] trustie and assured friende, all the dayes of my life I will remember that pleasure and benefite, and by acknowledgyng of the same, shall be readie to render lyke, when you please to commaunde, or else let me be counted the moste vnkynde and vncurteous Gentleman that euer made profession of loue: I wyll goe by Gods helpe to sée mystresse Zilia, with intent to endure all trouble that Fortune shall send vnto me, protesting to vere my self no more, although I sée my [...] happe otherwise to ende than my desert required and that good lucke hath cause to worke againste me. But yet against Fortune to contend, is to war against my self, wherof the victorie can be but [...].’ Thus he passed al the day, which séemed to last a thousand yeres to him, that thought to receiue some good intertainmēt of his lady, in whose bonds he was catched before he thought that womās malice could so farre excede, or display hir venomous sting. And truly that mā is void of sense, whych suffreth him selfe so fondly to be charmed, [...] the peril of the abused ought to serue him for example. They be to the masculine kinde a great confusion, and vnwares for want of due forsight, the same [...] suffer it self to be bound & taken captiue by ye very thing which hath no being to worke effecte, but by his own fréewil. But this inchantmēt which riseth of womens beautie, being to men a pleasant displeasure, I thinke to be decked with that drawing vertue and allurement, to punish and torment the faults of men, for they once fed and baited with a fading fauor & poisoned swetenesse, forget their owne perfection, and nousled in their foolishe fansies, séeking felicitie and soueraigne gyfte, in the matter wherein dothe lie the summe of their vnhappes. In like maner the vertuous and shamfast dames, haue not their eyes of mynd so blindfolde, [Page] but that they sée whervnto those franke seruices, [...] [...] faithes and vices coloured and stuffed with, exterior vertue do tende: and doubt not but those louers do imitate the Scorpion, whose venome lyeth in hys taile, the ende of such loue, beyng the ruine of good renoume, and the decay of former vertues. For whych cause the heauens, the friende of their sexe, haue gyuen them a prouidence, which those gentle, vnfauoured louers terme to be rigor, that by those meanes they may proue the desert of a suter, both for their great contentation and praise, and for the rest of them that do them seruice. This iuste right and modeste prouidence, that cruell Gentlewoman vsed not to the good and faithfull louer, the Lord of Virle, who was so humble a seruant of his vnkinde mistresse, as his goodnesse redounded to his great [...] and folie, as manifestly may appere by that which foloweth.

Sir Philiberto then thinkyng to haue gained muche by hauing made promise, liberally to speake to [...] Ladie, went vnto hir at the appointed time, so wel a contented man truely of that grace, as al the vnkindnesse past was quite forgot. Nowe being come to the lodging of mistresse Zilia, he found hir in the deuised place with one of hir maides wayting vpon hir. When shée saw him after a litle colde entertainement, she began to say vnto hym with fained ioy, that neuer moued hir within, these wordes: ‘Nowe syr, I sée that youre late [...] was not so straunge as I was giuen to vnder stande, for the good state wherin I sée you presently to be, which from henceforth shall make me beleue, that the passions of men endure so long as the cause of their affections continue within their fansies, much like vnto looking glasses, which albeit they make the equalitie or [...] of things represented to apere, yet when the [Page] thing séene doth passe & vanish away, the formes also do voide out of remembraunce, like the wind which lightly whorleth too & fro through the plain of some depe valey. Ah madame answered he, how easie a matter it is for the [...] person to counterfait both ioy & dissimulatiō in one very thing, which not only may forget yt conceit that moueth his affections, but the obiect must [...] remaine in him, as painted and [...] in his mind. Which truly as you say is a loking glasse, not such one for all that, as the counterfaited apparance of represented formes hath like vigor in it, yt the first and true [...] & shapes can so soone vanish without leauing the trace of most perfect impression of such formes wtin the mind of him, which liueth vpon their only remembrance. In this mirror then (which by reason of ye hiddē force I may wel say to be ardent & burning) haue I loked so wel as I can, thereby to forme ye sustentation of my good [...]. But ye imagined shape not able to support suche perfection, hath made the rest of the body to faile (weakned through ye minds passions) in such wise as if yt hope to recouer this better part half lost, had not cured both, ye whole decay of the one had folowed, by thinking to giue some accōplishmēt in the other. And if you sée me Madame, attain to some good state, impute not ye same I beséeche you, but to the good will & fauor which I receiue by seing you in a priuate place, wherin I cō ceiue greater ioy than euer I did, to say vnto you the thing which you would not beleue, by woords at other times procéeding from my mouth, ne yet by aduertisemēt signified in my [...] letters. Notwithstāding I think yt my Martyrdome is known to be such as euery man may perceiue yt the summe of my desire is only to serue and obey you, for so muche as I can receiue no greater comfort, thā to be cōmaunded to make repaire [Page] to you, to let you know that I am hole (although [...] ouer by [...]) whē you vouchsafed to employ [...] in your seruice, and thinke my self raised vp againe [...] one [...] thousande deathes at once, when it shall please you to haue pitie vpon the grief & passion, which I [...]. Alas what causeth my [...] to sée yt [...] beautie of yours to make the proofe of a crueltie so great? [...] you determined Madame thus to [...] the [...] gentleman that is ready to sacrifice himself in your [...], whē you shal depart to him some fauor of your [...]? Do you thinke that my passions be [...] or [...]? Alacke, alacke, the teares which I haue shed, the losse of [...] to eate and drinke, the weary passed nights, the long contriued sléepelesse time, the restlesse turmoile of my self, may well assure that my [...] heart is of better merite than you estéeme.’ Then séeing hir to fire hir eyes vpon the groūd, and thinking that he had already wonne hir, he reinforced his faire talke, & sighing at [...] betwéene, not sparing the [...] which trickled [...] alongs his face, he prosecuted his talke, saying: ‘Ah faire amongs the fairest, would you blot that diuine beautie with a cruelty so furious, as to cause the death of him which loueth you better thā him selfe? Ah mine eyes, which hitherto haue bene [...] with two liuely springs to expresse the hidden griefes within my heart, if your vnhappe be such, that the only dame of your contemplatiōs, and cause of your teares, doe cause the humor to encrease, which hitherto in such wise hath emptied my braine, that there is no more in me to moisten your drouthe, I am content to endure the same, vntill my hearte shall féele the laste pangue, [...] thēe of nourishment, and me of mine [...]. The Gentlewoman, whether she was weary of that [...], or rather doubted that in the end hir chastitis [Page] should receiue some assault through the dismesured passiō which she saw to endure, sayd vnto him with rigorous words:’ ‘You haue talked and written inough, you haue [...] well sollicited hir, which is throughly resolued by former minde, to kepe hir honor in yt worthy reputacion of degrée, wherin she maintaineth the same amongs the best. I haue hitherto suffred you to abuse my pacience, and haue vsed that familiaritie which they deserue not that goe aboute [...] to assaile the chastitie of those women that paciently giue them [...], for the opinion they haue conceiued of some shadowing vertue of such foolish suters. I now doe sée yt all your woords doe tend to beguile me, and to depriue me of that you cannot giue me: which shall be a warning for me henceforth, more wisely to looke about my businesse and more warely to take hede of the charmes of suche as you be, to the ende that I by bending mine open [...], [...] not both surprised and ouercome with your enchauntments. I pray you then for conclusion, and the last sentence of my will, that I heare no more these woords, neither from you, nor yet from the Ambassadour that commeth from you. For I neither will, ne yet pretend to [...] to you any other fauoure than that which I haue enlarged for your comfort: but rather do protest, that so long as you abide in this Countrey, that I will neither goe forth in streate, nor suffer any Gentleman to haue accesse into this place except he be my neare kinsman. Thus for your importune sute. I wil [...] my self, for [...] vnto you in those requests which duety & womanhode ought not to haue [...]. And if you do procéede in your folly, I wil séeke redresse according to your desert which [...] now I haue deferred, thinking yt time would haue put out the [...] heat of your folly and wanton youth.’

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The infortunate Lord of Virle, hearing this [...] sentence, remained long time without speach, so astonned as if he had bene falne from the clouds. In the end for all his despaire he sayd to Zilia [...] countenaunce indifferent mery: ‘Sith it is so madame, that you take from me all hope to be your perpetual seruaunt, & that without other comfort or contentation I must [...] depart your presence, neuer (perchaunce) hereafter to speake vnto you again, yet be not so squeimish of your beautie, and cruell towards your languishing louer, as to deny him a kisse for a pledge of his last farewell. I demaund nothing here in secrete, but that [...] you may performe opēly. It is all that alone which I craue at your hands in recompēse of all the trauails, paines, & afflictions suffred for your sake. The malitious dame full of rancor and spitefull rage sayd vnto him: I shall sée by and by sir, if that loue which you [...] to beare me, be so vehement as you séeme to make. Ah Madame (sayd the vnaduised louer) commaūd only, and you shal sée with what deuotion I wil performe your wil, were it that it should cost me the price of my proper life. You shall haue (quod she) the kisse which you require of me if you will make promise, and sweare by the sayth of a Gentleman, to doe the thing which I shall commaund, without fraud, couin, or other delay. Madame (sayd the ouer wilfull louer) I take God to witnesse that of the thing which you shall commaund I will not leaue one iote [...], but shall be executed to the vttermost of your request and will. She hearing him sweare with so good affection, sayd vnto him smiling: Now then vpon your othe which I beleue, and assured of your vertue and Noble nature, I wil also perfourme and kepe my promise:’ And saying so, she embraced him & kissed him very louingly. The pore gentleman not knowing [Page] howe [...] he had brought that dissauorable fauour, and bitter swéetenesse, helde hir a whyle betwéene his armes, doublyng kisse vpon kysse, with such pleasure, as his soule thought to flie vp to the heauens with that impoisoned baulme which he sucked in the swéete and sugred breath of his cruel mistresse: who vndoyng hir selfe out of hir louers armes, sayde vnto hym: ‘Sith that I haue made the first disclosure bothe of the promise and the effect therof, it behoueth that you perform that whiche resteth, for the full accomplishment of the same. Come on hardily (saith he) & God knoweth how spedily you shal be obeyd. I wil then (quod she) & commaund you vpon your promised faith, yt frō this presēt time, vntil yt space of thrée yeres be expired, you speake to no liuing person for any thing that shal happen vnto you, nor yet expresse by tongue, by sounde of worde, or speach, the thyng you want or desyre, otherwise if you shall doe, I will neuer trust liuing man for youre sake, but will publishe your same to be villanous, and your person periured, and a promise breaker.’ I leaue for you to thinke whether this vnhappie louer were amazed or not, to heare such a straunge request and cō maundement so vniust, and therwithall the difficultie in the performance. Notwithstanding he was so stout of heart, and so religious an obseruer of his [...], that at that very time he began to do the part which she had commaunded, playing [...], and vsing other signes, that he would do his duetie, accordynge to hir demaund. Thus after his right humble reuerence vnto hir, he went home, wher fayning that he had lost his speach by means of a Catarre or reume which distilled from his braine, he determined to forsake his countrey vntil the time of his penance was expired. Wherfore settyng staye in his affaires, and prouidyng for [Page] his traine, he made hym redie to depart. Notwithstanding, he wrote a Letter vnto Zilia, before hée toke hys iourney, whych was towards the countrey of France, that in olde tyme hathe beue the solace and refuge of the miserable, as well for the pleasantnesse and temperature of the ayre, the greate wealthe and the abundaunce of all thyngs, as for the curtesie, gentlenesse, and familiaritie of the people: whyche maye compare with any other Nation vppon the earth.

Nowe the Letter of Philiberto, fell into the handes of Ladie Zilia, by meanes of hys Page instructed for that purpose: who aduertised hir of the departure of his mayster, and of the despaire wherein hée was. Whereof shée was somewhat sorye, and offended: but yet puttyng on hir aunciente seueritie, tooke the Letters, and breakyng the seale, found that which foloweth.

THE very euill that causeth mine anoy

The matter is that bredes to me my ioy,

Which doth my wofull heart full sore displease,

And yet my hap and hard yll lucke doth ease.

I hope one day when I am franke and free,

To make hir do the thing that pleaseth me,

Whereby gaine I shall, some pleasaunt gladnesse,

To supply mine vndeserued sadnesse,

The like whereof no mortall Dame can giue

To louing man that here on earth doth liue.

This great good turne which I on hir pretende,

Of my conceites the full desired ende,

Proceedes from thee (O cruell mystres mine)

Whose froward heart hath made me to resigne

The full effect of all my libertie

(To please and ease thy fonde fickle fansie)

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My vse of speach, in silence to remaine:

To euery wight a double hellish paine.

Whose faith hadst thou not wickedly abusde

No stresse of paine for thee had bene refusde,

Who was to thee a trustie seruaunt sure,

And for thy sake all daungers would endure.

For which thou hast defaced thy good name,

And there vnto procurde eternall shame.

I That roaring tempest huge which thou hast made me felt,

The raging stormes whereof, well nere my heart hath swelt

By painefull pangs: whose waltering waues by troubled skies

And thousand blastes of winde that in those seas do rise

Do promise shipwracke sure of that thy sayling Barke

When after weather cleare doth rise some tempest darke.

For eyther I or thou which art of Tygres kinde,

In that great raging gulfe some daunger sure shalt finde,

Of that thy nature rude the dest'nies en'mies be,

And thy great ouerthrow full well they do foresee.

The heauens vnto my estate no doubt great friendship shoe

And do seeke wayes to ende, and finish all my woe.

This penance which I beare by yelding to thy hest

Great store of ioyes shall heape, and bring my minde to rest.

And when I am at ease amids my pleasaunt happes,

Then shall I see thee fall, and suarlde in Fortunes trapes.

Then shall I see thee banne and cursse the wicked time

Wherin thou madest me gulpe such draught of poysoned wine.

By which thy mortall cuppe, I am the offred wight,

A vowed sacrifice, to that thy cruell spight.

Wherefore my hoping heart, doth hope to see the daie,

That thou for silence nowe, to me shalt be the praie.

I O blessed God most iust, whose worthy laude and praise

With vttered speach in Skies aloft I dare not once to raise,

And may not wel pronoūce & speak what suffrance I sustain,

Ne yet what death I do indure, whiles I in life remaine.

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Take vengeance on that traitresse rude, afflict hir corps with woe,

Thy holy arme redresse hir fault, that she no more do soe.

My reason hath not so farre strayed, but I may hope and trust

To see hir for hir wickednesse, be whipt with plague most iust:

In the meane while, great hauinesse my sense and soule doth bite,

And shaking feuer vexe my corps for grief of hir despite.

My mynde now set at libertie, from thee (O cruell dame)

Doth giue defiance to thy wrath, and to thy cursed name,

Proclamyng mortall warre on thee, vntill my tongue vntide

Shall ioy to speake to Zilia fast wepyng by my side.

The heuēs forbid, that causelesse wrōg abrode shold make his vaūt,

Or that an vndeserued death, forget full tombe shoulde haunt:

But that in written boke and verse their names should euer liue,

And eke their wicked dedes should die, and vertues still reuine.

So shall the pride and glorie both, of hir be punisht right,

By length of yeares, and tract of time. And I by vertues might

Full recompense therby shall haue, and stande still in good fame,

And she like caitife wretche shall liue, to hir long lasting shame.

Whose fond regarde of beauties grace, contemned hath the force

Of my true loue full fixt in hir: hir heart voide of remorse,

Esteemed it selfe right foolishely, and me abused still,

Vsurping my good honest faith and credite at hir will.

Whose loyall faith doth rest in soule, and therin still shall bide,

Vntill in filthie stincking graue, the earth my corps shall hide.

Then shal that soule fraught with that faith, to heuēs make his [...].

And rest amōg the heuenly rout, bedeckt with sacred aire. (paire,

And thou for thy great crueltie, as God aboue doth know,

With rufull voice shalt weepe and waile for thy great ouerthrow,

And when thou wouldest fain purge thy self for that thy wretched

No kindnesse shal to thee be done, extreme shal be thy mede (dede

And where my tongue doth want his will, thy mischief to display

My hande and penne supplies the place, and shall do so alway.

For so thou hast constrainde the same by force of thy behest:

In silence still my tong to kepe, t'accomplishe thy request.

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Adieu, farewell my tormenter, thy friend that is full mute,

Doth bid thee farewell once againe, and so he ends his sute.

He that liueth only, to be reuenged of thy cruelty, Philiberto of Virle.

Zilia like a disdainfull woman made but a iest at the letters and complaints of the infortunat louer, saying that she was very well content with his seruice. And that when he should performe the time of his probatiou, she should sée if he were worthy to be admitted into the felowship of them which had made sufficient proofe of the order and rule of loue. In the meane time Philiberto rode by great iourneys (as we haue sayd before) towards the goodly and pleasant Countrey of Fraunce. wherein Charles the seuenth that time did raigne, who miraculously (but giue the French man leaue to flatter & speake vvel of his ovvne Countrey, according to the flattering and vaunting nature of that Nation) chased ye English men out of his lands and auncient Patrimonie in the yeare of our Lord. 1451. This king had his campe then warfaring in Gascoine, whose lucke was so fortunate as he expeld his enimies, and left no place for thē to fortifie in the sayd Countrey, which incouraged the king to folow that good occasion, and by prosecuting his victorious fortune, to profligat out of Normandie, & to dispatch himself of that enimy, into whose handes and seruitude the Coūtrey of Guiene was rightly deliuered and victoriously wonne and gottē by the Englishmen. The king then being in his Campe in Normandie, the Piedmont Gentleman the Lord of Virle aforesayd, repaired thereunto to serue him in his person, where hée was well knowne of some Captaines which had séene him at other times, and in place where worthy Gentlemen are wont to frequent, and in the Duke of Sauoyes [Page] court, which the Frenchmen did very much [...], bicause the Earle of Piedmont that then was Duke of Sauoy had maried Iolanta the second daughter of Charles the seuenth. These Gentlemen of Fraunce were very much sory for the misfortune of the Lord of Virle, and knowing him to be one of the brauest and lustiest men of armes that was in his time within the Country of Piedmont, presented him before the King, commending vnto his grace the vertue, gentlenesse, and valianee of the man of warre: Who after he had done his [...] according to his duetie, which he knew ful well to doe, declared vnto him by signs that he was come for none other intent, but in those warres to serue his maiesty: whom the king heard and thākfully receiued, assuring himself and promising very much of the [...] Gitlemā for respect of his personage which was comely and wel proportioned, and therfore represented some force and great dexteritie: and that which made the king the better to fantasie yt gentlemā, was ye report of so many worthy mē which extolled euen to yt heanēs ye prowesse of yt Piedmont knight. Wherof he gaue assured testimony in yt assault which yt king made to deliuer [...] the chief Citie & defense of all [...] in ye yeare of our Lord. 1451. wher Philiberto behaued himself so [...] as he was yt first yt moūted vpon yt wals, & by his dexteritie & inuincible force, made way to the soldiers in the breche, wherby a litle while after they entred & sacked ye enimies, driuing thē out of yt Citie, & wherin not long before, yt is to say. 1430. yt Duke of Somerset caused loane yt Pucelle to be burnt. The King aduertised of yt seruice of the dūbe Gentleman, wold recōpense him according to his desert, and bicause he knewe him to be of a good house, he made him a Gentlemā of his chābre, and gaue him a good pension, promising him moreouer to cōtinue his liberality, whē he shold sée him prosecute in time to [Page] come, yt towardnesse of seruice which he had so haply begon. The dūbe Gentleman thanking the king very hū bly, both for yt present princely reward, & for promise in time to come, lifted vp his hād to heauē, as taking God to witnesse of the faith, which inuiolable he promised to kepe vnto his Prince: which he did so earnestly, as hardely he had promised, as well appered in a skirmish betwene yt French, & their auncient enimies the English men, on whose side was ye valiāt & hardy Captain the Lord Talbot, who hath eternized his memory in ye victories obtained vpon yt people, which sometimes made Europa & Asia to trēble, & appalled ye monstrous & warlike Countrey of Affrica. In this conflict the Piedmont knight ioyned wt the lord Talbot, against whō he had so happy successe, as vpō yt shock & [...], he ouerthrew both man & horse, which caused ye discōfiture of yt English mē: who after they had horssed again their captain, [...] amain, leauing the [...] bespred wt dead bodies and bludshed of their cōpaniōs. This victory recouered such [...] & boldnesse to yt Frēch, as from yt time forth the English mē began wt their places and forts to lose also their hearts to defēd themselues. The king excedingly wel cōtented with the prowesse & valiāce of the dumbe gentlemā, gaue him for seruice past the charge of v. C. men of armes, & indued him with some possessions, attending better fortune to make him vnderstand howe much ye vertue of valiance ought to be rewarded & cherished by Princes that be aided in their necessitie with the diligence of such a vertuous & Noble Gentleman. In like manner when a Prince hath something good in himself, he can do no lesse but cherish yt which [...] himself by Princely conditions, sith yt vertue in what so euer place it taketh roote, can not choose but produce good frute, yt vse wherof far surmounts them all which aproche yt place, where these first séedes were thrown. [Page] Certaine dayes after, the king desirous to reioyee his Knights and Captaines that were in his train, and desirous to extinguish quite the wofull time which so [...] space helde Fraunce in fearful silence, caused [...] triumph of Turney to be proclaimed within the City of Roane, wherin the Lord of Virle was déemed and estemed one of the best, which further did increase in him the good wil of ye king, in such wise as he determined to procure his health, and to make him haue his speache againe. For he was very sory that a gentleman so valiāt was not able to expresse his minde, which if it might be had, in councel would serue the state of common wealth, so well as the force and valor of his body had til then serued for defense and recouery of his places. And for that purpose he made Proclamation by sound of Trumpet throughout the Coūtreis aswel within his owne kingdome, as the regions adioyning vpon the same, yt who so euer could heale that dumbe Gentleman, shold haue ten thousande Frankes for recompense. A man might haue then séene thousandes of Physitians assembled in field, not to skirmish with the English mē, but to combate for reward in recouery of the Pacients speache, & begon to make such warre against those ten thousand Franks, as the King was afraide that the cure of that disease could take no effect: and for that cause ordained furthermore, that who so euer would take in hande to heale the dumbe, and would not kepe promise within a certaine prefixed time, shold pay the sayd summe, or for default thereof should pledge his head in gage. A man might then haue séene those Physicke maisters, aswell beyond yt Mountaines, as in Fraunce it self, retire home againe, bléeding at the nose, cursing with great impiety their Patrones, Galen, Hypocrates and Auicen, and blamed with more than reprochful words, the Arte wherwith [Page] they fished for honor and richesse. This brute was spred so far, and babbling Fame had already by mouth of Trumpe published ye same throughout the most part of the Prouinces, Townes, and Cities neare and far off to Fraunce, in such wise as a man wold haue thought that the two yong men (which once in the time of the Macedonian warres broughte tidings to Vatinius that the King of [...] was taken by the Consull Paulus Emilius) had bene vagant and wādering abrode to cary newes of the Kings edicte for the healing of the Lord of Virle. Which caused that not only the brute of the Proclamation, but also the credite and reputation wherin the sayd Lord was with the French King, came euen to Montcall, and passed from mouth to mouth, til at length Zilia the principall cause thereof vnderstoode the newes, which reioysed hir very much, séeing ye firme amitie of the dumbe Lord, and the sincere faith of him in a promise vnworthy to be kept, for so much as, wher [...] and feare beare swinge in hearts of men, religion of promise, specially the place of the giuen fayth, giueth ouer his force and reuolteth, and is no more boūd but to that which by good will he would obserue. Now thought she, thought? nay rather she assured hir selfe, that the Gentleman for all his wrytten letter was so surprised with hir loue, and kindled with hir fire in so ample wise, as when he was at [...]: and therfore determined to goe to Paris, not for desire she had to see hir pacient and penetenciarie, but rather for couetise of the ten thousand Frāks, wherof already she thought hir selfe assured, making good accompt that the dumbe Gentleman séeing himself discharged by hir of his promise, for gratifying of hir, wold make no stay to speak, to the intent she might beare away both the [...] and money which all others had [...] till that time. Thus [Page] you sée that she whome honest amitie and long seruice could little induce to cōpassion and desire to giue some ease vnto hir most earnest louer, yelded hir selfe to couetous gain and gredinesse for to encrease hir richesse. O curssed hunger of Money, how long wilt thou thus blinde the reason and sprites of men? Ah perillous gulfe how many hast thou ouerwhelmed within thy bottōlesse throte, whose glory, had it not bene for thee, had surpassed ye clouds, and bene equal with the brightnesse of the Sunne, where now they be obscured with the thicknesse of thy fogges and palpable darknesse. Alas the fruites which thou bringest forth for all thine outwarde apparance, conduce no felicitie to them that be thy possessors, for the dropsey that is hidden in their mind, which maketh them so much the more thirsty, as they drinke oft in that thirsty Fountaine, is cause of their alteration: and most miserable is that insaciable desire the Couetous haue to glut their appetite, which can receiue no contentation. This only [...] somtimes procured the death of the great and rich Romane Crassus, who through Gods punishment fell into the hands [...] the Persians, for violating and sacking the Temple of God that was in Hierusalem. Sextimuleus burning with Couetousnesse and gredinesse of money, did once cut of the head of his patron and defender Caius [...] the Tribune of the people, incited by the Tyrant, which tormenteth the hearts of the couctous. I will not speake of a good number of other examples in people of all kindes, and diuers nations, to come againe to Zilia. Who forgetting hir vertue, the first ornament and shining quality of hir honest behauior, feared not the wearinesse and trauaile of way, to commit hir self to the danger of losse of [...], and to yeld to the mercy of one, vnto whom she had done so great iniury, [Page] as hir conscience (if she hadde not lost hir right sense) ought to haue made hir thinke that hee was not without desire to reuenge yt wrōg [...] done vnto him, & specially being in place where she was not knowne, and he greatly honoured and esteemed, for whose loue that Proclamation and searche of Physicke was made and ordained. Ziha then hauing put in order hir affairs at home, departed from Montcall, and passing the Mountes, arriued at Paris, at such time as greatest dispaire was had of the dumbe Knights recouery. When she was arriued there, within fewe dayes after she inquired for them that had the charge to entertaine such as came, and would take vpon them the cure of the sayd pacient. ‘For (sayd she) if there be any man in the world, through whome the Knight may get his health, I hope in God that I am she which shal haue the praise.’ Héereof the Commissaries deputed hereunto, were aduertised, who caused the faire Physician to come before them, and asked hir if it were she, that wold take vpon hir to cure this dumbe Gentleman. ‘To whome she answeared, my masters it hath pleased God to reueale vnto me a certain secrete very proper and meete for the cure of his malady, wherewithall if the pacient will, I hope to make him speake so well, as he did these two yeres past & more. I suppose sayd one of the Commissaries, that you be not ignorant of the [...] of the Kings Proclamation. I know ful (quod she) the effect therof, & therfore do say vnto you, that I wil loose my life if I doe not accomplish that which I doe promise, vpon condition that I may haue licence to tary with him alone, bicause it is of no lesse importance than his health. It is no maruell sayde the Commissary, considering your beauty, which is sufficiēt to frame a new tong in the most [...] person, yt is vnder the [Page] heauens. And therefore do your indeuor, assuring you, that you shall doe a great pleasure vnto the King, and besides the prayse which you shall acquire, gette the good wil of the dumbe gentleman which is the most excellent man of the world, and therefore shall be so wel recompensed, as you shal haue good cause to be routented with the Kings liberalitie. But (to the intent you be not deceiued) the meaning of the Proclamation is, that within. xv. dayes after you begin ye cure, you must make him hole, or else to satisfie the paines ordained in the same.’ Wherunto she submitted hir self, blinded by Auarice and presumptiō, thinking that she had like power ouer the Lord of Virle, as when she gaue him that sharpe and cruel penance. These conditions promised, the Commissaries went to aduertise the Knight, how a Gentlewoman of Piedmont was of purpose come into Fraunce to helpe him: whereof he was maruellously astonned. Now he would neuer haue thought that Zilia had borne him so great good wil, as by abasing the pride of hir corage, would haue come so farre to ease ye grief of him, whome by such great torments she had so wonderfully persecuted. He thought againe that it was the Gentlewoman his neighboure which sometimes had done hir endeuor to helpe him, and had prouoked Zilia to absolue him of his faithe, and acquite him of his promise. Musing vpon the diuersitie of these things, & not knowing wherupon to settle his iudgement, the deputies commaunded that the woman Physitian shold be brought to speake with the patient. Which was done: and brought in place, the Commissaries presently with drew themselues. The Lord of Virle seeing his enimie come before him, whom sometimes he loued very [...], iudged by and by the cause wherefore she came, that onely auarice and gredy desire of gaine [...] rather procured [Page] hir to passe the mountains trauail, than due and honest amitie, wherwith she was double boūd through his perseuerance and humble seruice, wherby hée was estraunged of himselfe, as he fared like a shadowe and image of a dead man. Wherfore callyng to mynd the rigour of his Ladie, hir inciuilitie and fonde commandement, so long time to forbidde his speache, the loue which once he bare hir, with a vehement desire to obey hir, sodainly was so cooled and qualified, that loue was turned into hatred, and will to serue hir, into an appetite of reuenge: whervpon he determined to vse that present fortune, and to playe his parte with hir, vpon whom he had so foolishly doted, and to pay hir with that mōney wherwith she made hint féele the fruites of vnspeakable crueltie, to giue example to fonde and presumptuous dames, how they did abuse Gentlemen of such degrée whereof the Knyght was, and that by hauing regarde to the merite of such personages, they be not so prodigall of themselues, as to set their honoure in sale for vile rewarde and filthy mucke: which was so constantly conserued and defended by this Gentlewoman, against the assaultes of the good grace, beautie, calour, and gentlenesse, of that vertuous and honest suter. And notwithstanding, in these dayes we sée some to resist the amitie of those that loue, for an opinion of a certaine vertue, which they thinke to be hidden within the corps of excellent beautie, who afterwards do set them selues to sale to him yt giueth most, and offreth greatest reward. Such do not deserue to be placed in ranke of chast Gentlewomen, of whom they haue no smack at all, but amongs the throng of strumpets kynde, that haue some sparke and outward shew of loue: for she which loueth money [...] hunteth after gaine, will make no bones, by treasons trap to betray [Page] that vnhappie man, which shall yelde himselfe to hir: hir loue tending to vnsensible things, and such in dede, as make the wysest sorte to falsifie their faithe, and sell the righte and equitie of their Judgemente. The Lorde of Virle, séeing Zilia then in his companie, and almost at his commaundement, fayned as though hée knew hir not, by reason of his small regarde and lesse intertainment shewed vnto hir at hir first comming: Which gretly made the poore Gentlewoman to muse. Neuerthelesse she making a vertue of necessitie, and séeing hir selfe to bée in that place, from whence [...] coulde not departe, without the losse of hir honor and lyfe, purposed to proue Fortune, and to committe hir selfe vnto his mercie, for all the mobiltie whiche the auncient attribute vnto Fortune. Wherfore shutting fast the doore, shée went vnto the Knight, to whom she spake these words: ‘And what is the matter (sir knight) that now you make so litle accompte of your owne Zilia, who in tymes past you sayde, had greater power and authoritie ouer you? What is the cause that moueth you herevnto? Haue you so soone forgotten hir? Behold me better, and you shal sée hir before you, that is able to acquite you of youre promise, and therefore prayeth you to pardon hir committed faultes done in tymes past by abusing so cruelly the honest and [...] loue which you bare hir. I am she, which through follie and temeritie did stoppe your mouth, and tied vp your tong. Gyue me leaue I beséeche you, to open the same agayne, and to breake the lyne, which letteth the libertie of your speache.’ She séeyng that the dumbe Gentleman woulde make no aunswere at all, but Mumme, and shewed by signes, that hée was not able to vndoe his tong, wéepyng began to kysse hym, [Page] imbrace hym, & make much of him, in such wyse, as he whiche once studied to make eloquent orations before his Ladie, to induce hir to pitie, forgat then those ceremonies, and spared his talke, to shewe hymselfe to bée suche one as shée had made at hir commaundement, mused and deuysed altogether vpon the execution of that, whiche sometyme hée hadde so paynefully pursued, both by words and continuall seruice, and coulde profite nothyng. Thus waked agayne by hir, whiche once had mortified hys mynde, assayed to renue in hir that, whyche long tyme before, séemed to bée a sléepe. She more for feare of losse of lyfe, or the price of the rewarde, than for any true or earnest loue, suffered hym to receyue that of hir, which the long suter desireth to obtaine of his mistresse. They lyued in this ioy and pleasure the space of. xv. dayes ordayned for the assigned terme of hir cure, wherein the poore Gentlewoman was not able to conuert hir offended frend, to speake, although she humbly prayed hym to shewe so muche fauour, as at least she might go frée, from eyther losse: tellyng hym howe litle regarde shée hadde to hir honour, to come so farre to doe hym pleasure, and to discharge hym of his promise. Muche other gay and lowlye talke shée hadde to moue the Knyghte to take no regarde of that she sayde, for he determined to bryng hir in suche feare, as he had bene heaped full of heauinesse, whiche came to passe at the expired time. For the cōmissaries seing that their pacient spake not at all, summoned the gentlewomā to pay the penaltie pronounced in the edict, or else to lose hir lyfe. Alas, howe bytter séemed this drinke to thys poore Gentlewoman, who not able to dissemble the grief that prest hir on euery side, beganne to say: ‘Ah I wretched and [Page] Caitife woman, by thinkyng to deceiue an other, haue sharpened the sworde to finishe mine owne life. [...] it not enough for me to vse such crueltie towardes this myne enimie, which moste cruelly in double wise taketh reuenge, but must I come to be thus tangled in his snares, and in the hands of him, who inioying the spoiles of mine honour, will with my life, depriue me of my fame, by making me a common fable, to all posteritie in time to come? O what hap had I that I was not rather deuoured by some furious and cruell beast, when I passed the mountains, or else that I brake not my neck, down some stéepe & headlong hil, of those high and hideous mountaines, rather than to be set here in stage, a pageant to the whole citie to gaze vpon, for enterprising a thing so fondely, done of purpose by hym, whome I haue offended. Ah Signior Philiberto, what [...] rewardest thou for pleasures receiued, and fauors felt in hir, whom thou didst loue somuch, as to make hir die such shamefull and dreadfull death. But O God, I know that it is for worthie guerdon of my foolishe and wicked life. Ah disloyaltie and fickle trust, is it possible that thou be harbored in the hearte of hym, whiche hadde the brute to bée the moste loyall and curteous Gentleman of his countrey? Alas, I sée well nowe that I must die through mine only simplicitie, and that I muste sacrifice myne honoure to the rigour of hym, which with two aduantages, taketh ouer cruel reuēge of the litle wrong, wherwith my chastitie touched him before.’ As she thus had finished hir complaint, one came for hir to cary hir to prison, whether willingly she wēt for that she was already resolued in desire, to liue no longer in that miserie. The gentlemā contented with that payne, and not able for to dissemble the griefe, whyche hée conceyued for the passion which he sawe [Page] his welbeloued to endure, the enioying of whome renued the heate of the flames forepast, repaired to the kyng, vnto whom to the great plesure of the standers by, and exceding reioyse of his maiestie (to heare him speake) he tolde the whole historie of the loue betwene him and cruell Zilia, the cause of the losse of his spech, and the summe of his reuenge. ‘By the faith of a Gentleman (sayd the King) but here is so straunge an historie as euer I heard: and verily your faith and loyaltie is no lesse to be praised and cōmended than the crueltic and couetousnesse of the woman woorthye of reproch and blame, which truly deserueth some greuous and notable iustice, if so be she were not able to render some apparant cause for the couerture and hidyng of hir follie. Alas sir (sayde the Gentleman) pleaseth your maiestie to deliuer hir (although she be worthy of punishment) and discharge the reste that be in prison for not recouerie of my speache, sith my onely helpe did rest, either at hir comandement which had bounde me to that wrong, or else in the expired time, for which I had pledged my faith.’ To whiche request, the Kyng very willingly agréed, greatly praisyng the wisedome, curtesie, and aboue all the fidelitie of the lord of Virle, who causing his penitenciarie to be sette at libertie, kept hir companie certaine dayes, as well to feast and banket hir, in those landes and possessions whiche the kings maiestie had liberally bestowed vpon him, as to saciate his appetite with the frutes whereof he had sauoured the tast when he was voluntarily dumbe. Zilia founde that fauour so pleasaunt, that in a maner shée counted hir imprisonment happie, and hir trauel rest, by reason that distresse made hir then féele more liuely the force and pleasure of libertie, whiche she had not founde to be so pleasant, had she not receiued the experience [Page] and pain therof. Marke here how fortune [...] with them whiche trusting in their force, despise (in respect of that which they do them selues) the litle porciō that they iudged to be in others. If the vainglorie and arrogant presumption of a chastitie impregnable had not deceiued this Gentlewoman, if the sacred hunger of golde had not blinded hir, it coulde not [...] bene knowne, wherin hir incontinencie consisted, not in the minion delightes and alluring toyes of a passionate louer, but in yt couetous desire of filling hir purse, and hypocritical glorie of praise among men. And notwithstanding, ye sée the gaine which she made, to [...] hir turne nothing at all, but to the perpetuall reproch of hir name, and raised a slaunder, such as yll speakers and enimies of womenkind, do burden that sexe withall. But the fault of one which by hir owne presumption deceiued hir selfe, ought not to obscure the glorie of so many vertuous, faire and honest dames, who by their chastitie, liberalitie and curtesie, be able to deface the blot of folie, couetousnesse, and crueltie of this gentlewoman here, and of all other that do resemble hir. Who taking leaue of hir louer, went home agayne to Piedmont, not withoute an ordinarie griefe of hearte, which serued hir for a spurre to hir cōscience, and continually forced hir to thinke, that the force of man is lesse thā nothing, where god worketh not by his grace, which failyng in vs, oure workes can sauor but of the [...] & corruption of our nature, wherin it tumbleth and tosseth like the Sow that waloweth in the puddle full of filth and dirte. And bicause ye shall not thinke in general termes of womans chastitie and discretion, that I am not able to vouche some particular exāple of later yeares, I meane to tel you of one, that is not only to be praysed for hir chastitie in the absence of hir [Page] husband, but also of hir corage and policie in chastizing [...] vaunting natures of two Hungarian lords that made their braggs they would winne hir to their willes, and not onely hir, but also al other, what soeuer they were of womankinde.

A Lady of Boeme
The. xxviij. Nouel.

¶ Two Barons of [...] assuring them selues to obtaine their sute made to a faire Ladie of [...], [...] of hir a straunge and maruellous repulse, to their great shame and infamie, curssyng the time that euer they aduentured an enterprise so foolish.

P Enelope, the wofull wife of absent Vlisses, in hir tedious lōging for the home returne of that hir aduèturous knight, assailed wyth carefull hearte amidde the troupe of amorous suters, and within the bowels of hir royal palace, deserued no greter fame for hir valiāt encountries & stoute defense of the inuincible and Adamante forte of hir chastitie, than thys Boeme Ladie [Page] [...] by resisting two mighty barons, that canoned the walles and well mured rampart of hir pudicitie. For being threatned in his Princes courte, whether all the well trained crew of eche science and profession, dydde make repaire, beyng menaced by Venus bande, whiche not onely summoned hir forte, and gaue hir a camisado by thick AP Armes, but also forced the place by fierce assaulte, she like a couragious and politike captaine, gaue those braue and lustie souldiers, a fowle repulse, [...] in ende taking them captines, vrged them for their victuals to fall to womans toyle, more shamefull than shamelesse Sardanapalus amidde his amorous troupe.

I néede not aggrauate by length of preamble, the fame of this, Boeme Lady, nor yet [...] recoūt the triumph hir victorie: vayne it were also by glorious hymnes to chaunt the wisedome of hir beleuyng Make, who not carelesse of hir lyfe, employed hys care to serue hys Prince, and by seruice at chieued the cause that draue him to a souldiers state. But yet for trustlesse faith in the prime conference of his future porte, he consulted with Pollaco, for a compounded drugge, to ease his suspect minde, whiche medicine so eased his maladie, as it not onely preserued him from the infected humour, but also made him happie for euer. Such fall the euentes of valiant mindes, though many times mother iealosie yt [...] wytch steppeth in hir foote to anoy the wel disposed heart. For had he ioyned to his valiaunce credite of his louing wife, without the blinde aduise of such as professe that blacke and lying science, double glorie hée had gained: once for endeuoring by seruice to séeke honour: the seconde, for absolute truste in hir, that neuer ment to beguile him, as by hir firste aunswere to his first motion appeareth. But what is to be obiected against the Barons? Let them answere for their fault, [Page] in this discourse ensuing: whiche so lessoneth all noble myndes, as warely they oughte to beware howe they aduenture vppon the honoure of Ladies, who bée not altogether of one selfe and yeldyng trampe, but well [...] and steeled in the shamefast shoppe of loyaltie, which armure defendeth them against the fonde skirmishes and vnconsidred conflicts of Venus wanton band. The maiesties also of ye King and Quéene, are to be aduaunced aboue the starrs for their wise dissuasion of those noble men from their hot & hedlesse enterprise and then their iustice for due execution of their forfait, the particularitie of which discourse in this wyse doth begynne.

Mathie Coruine sometime kyng of Hungaric, aboute the yeare of oure Lorde. 1458. was a valiant man of warre, and of goodly personage. He was the first that was famous, or feared of the Turks, of any prince that gouerned that kingdome. And amongs other his [...] so well in armes and letters, as in liberality and curtesie he excelled all that raigned in his time. He had to wife Quéene Beatrice of Arragon, the daughter of olde [...], kyng of Naples, and sister to the mother of Alphonsus, Duke of Ferrara, who in learnyng, good conditions, and al other vertues generally dispersed in hir, was a surpassing Princesse, & she wed hirself not onely a curteous & liberall Gentlewoman to king Mathie hir husband, but to al other, that for vertue séemed worthy of honour and reward: in such wise as to the court of these two noble princes, repaired the most notable men of al nations that wer giuen to any kind of good exercise, and euery of them according to theyr desert and degrée were welcomed and entertained. It chaunced in this time, that a knight of [...], the vassall of King Mathie, for that he was likewise king of [Page] that countrey, borne of a noble house, very valiant and well exercised in armes, fel in loue with a passing faire Gentlewoman of like nobilitie, and reputed to be the [...] of all the countrey, and had a brother that was but a poore Gentleman, not luckie to the goods of fortune. This Boemian knight was also not very rich, hauing onely a castle, with certaine reuenues [...], which wer [...] able to yeld vnto him any gret maintenance of liuing. Fallyng in loue then with this faire Gentlewoman, he demaūded hir in mariage of hir brother, & with hir had but a very litle dowrie. And thys knight not wel forseeing his poore estate, broughte his wife home to his house, & there, at more leisure cōsidering yt same, begā to fele his lack & penurie, & how hardly & scant his reuenues wer able to maintein his port. He was a very honest & gentle person, & one that delited not by any meanes to burden & fine his tenants, cō tenting himself with ye reuenue whiche his auncesters left him, the same amounting to no great yerely rent. Whē this gentlemā perceiued yt he stode in nede of extraordinarie reliefe, after many & diuers cōsiderations with himself, he purposed to folow the court, & to serue king Mathie his souerain lord & master, there by his diligence & experience, to seke meanes for abilitie to sustain his wife & him self. But so great & feruent was yt loue that he bare vnto his lady, as he thought it impossible for him to liue one houre [...] hir, & yet iudged it not best to haue hir with him to ye court, for auoiding of further charges [...] to courting ladies, whose delite [...] plesure resteth in the toys & tricks of ye same, yt cānot he wel auoided in poore gētlemē, without their names in the Mercers or Drapers Iornals, a heauy thing for them to consider if for their disport they like to walk yt stretes. The daily thinking thervpon, brought yt poore [Page] Gentlemā to great sorow & heauinesse. The lady that was yong, wise & discrete, marking ye maner of hir husband, feared yt he had some [...] of hir. Wherfore vpon a day she thus said vnto him: ‘Dere husband, willingly wold I wish & desire a good turne at your hand, if I wist I should not displease you. Demaund what you will (said the knight) if I can I wil gladly performe it, bicause I doe estéeme your satisfaction, as I doe mine owne lyfe.’ Then the Ladie very sobrely prayde hym, that he wold open vnto hir the cause of that discontenment, whiche he shewed outwardly to haue, for that hys mynde and behauiour séemed to be contrary to ordinarie custome, & contriued day and night in fighes, auoidyng the companie of them that were wont specially to delight him. The Knight hearing his ladies request, paused a while, and then sayd vnto hir: ‘My welbeloued wyfe, for so much as you desire to vnderstand my thoughte and mynde, and whereof it commeth that I am so sad and pensife, I will tell you: All the heauynesse wherwith you sée me to be affected, dothe tend to this ende. Fayne would I deuise that you and I, may in honour lyue together, according to our calling. For in respect of our parentage, our liuelode is very poore, the occasion whereof were our parentes, who morgaged their lands, & consumed a great part of their goods that our auncesters left them. I daily thinkyng herevpon, and conceiuing in my head diuers imaginations, can deuise no meanes but one, yt in my [...] séemeth best, which is, yt I go to the Court of our souerain lord Mathie, who at this present is inferring warrs vpon ye Turk, at whose hāds I do not mistrust to receiue good [...], being a most liberal prince, and one that estemeth al such as be valiant and actiue. And I for my parte will so gouerne my selfe (by Gods grace) that [Page] by deserte I will procure suche lyuyng and [...], as hereafter we may liue in our olde dayes a quiet life to our great stay and comfort: For although Fortune hitherto hath not fauored that state of parētage, wherof we be, I doubt not with noble courage to win that in despite of Fortunes teeth, whiche obstinately hytherto shée hath denied. And the more assured am I of thys determination, bycause at other tymes, I haue serued vnder the Lorde Vaiuoda in Transsyluania, against the Turk, where many times I haue bene required to serue also in the Courte, by that honorable Gentleman, the Counte of Cilia. But when I dyd consider the beloued companie of you (dere wife) the swéetest companion that euer wyght didde [...], I thought it vnpossible for mée to forbeare your presence, whych if I should do, I were worthy to sustayne that dishonour, which a great number of carelesse Gentlemen doe, who followyng their priuate gayne and will, abandon their yong and faire wyues, neglecting the fyre whyche Nature hath instilled to the delicate bodyes of suche tender creatures. Fearing therwithall, that so soone as I shoulde depart, the lustie yong Barons and Gentlemen of the countrey woulde pursue the gayne of that loue, the price wherof I doe esteme aboue the crowne of the greatest emperour in all the worlde, and woulde not forgoe for all the riches and precious Iewels in the fertile soilt of Arabie, who no doubte woulde [...] together in greater heapes than euer dydde the wowers of Penelope, wythin the famouse graunge of Ithaca, the house of wanderynge Vlisses. Whyche pursuite yf they dydde attayne, I shoulde for euer hereafter bée ashamed to shew my face before those that be of valour and regarde. And this is the whole effect of the scruple [Page] ( [...] wife) that hindreth me, to séeke for our better estate and fortune.’ When he had spoken those woords, [...] held his peace. The Gentlewoman which was wise and stout, perceiuing the great loue that hir husbande bare hir, when he had stayed himselfe from talke, with good and mery countenaunce answered hym in thys wise: ‘Sir Vlrico (which was the name of the Gentleman) I in like manner as you haue done, haue deuised and thought vpon the Nobilitie and birth of our auncestors, from whose state and port (and that without our fault and crime) we be farre wide and deuided. Notwithstanding I determined to set a good face vpon the matter, and to make so much of our painted sheath as I could. In déede I confesse my self to be a woman, and you men do say that womens hearts be faint I féeble: but to be plaine with you, the contrary is in me, my heart is so stoute and ambitious, as paraduenture not méete and consonāt to power and abilitie, although we women will finde no lacke if our hearts haue pith and strength inough to beare it out. And faine wold I support the state wherin my mother maintained me. Now be it for mine owne part (to God I yeld the thanks) I can so moderate and stay my little great heart, that cō tented and satisfied I can be, with that which your abilitie can beare, and pleasure commaund. But to come to the point, I say that debating with my selfe of our state as you ful wisely do, I doe verily thinke that you being a yong Gentleman, lusty and valiant, no better remedy or deuise can be found, than for you to aspire & séeke the Kings fauor and seruice. And it must néedes rise and redounde to your gaine and preferment, for that I heare you say the Kings maiestie doeth alreadye knowe you. Wherefore I doe suppose that his grace (a skilfull Gentleman to way and estéeme the [Page] vertue & valor of eche man) cannot choose but [...] & recompense the wel doer to his singular cōtentation & comfort. Of this mine opinion I durst not before this time vtter word or signe for feare of your displeasure. But now sith your self hath opened ye way & meanes, I haue presumed to discouer ye same, do what shal séeme best vnto your good pleasure. And I for my parte, although yt I am a womā (accordingly as I said euē now) tha thy nature am desirous of honor, & to shew my self abrode more rich and sumptuous than other, yet in respect of our fortune, I shal be cōtented so long as I liue to continue with you in this our Castle, where by the grace of God I will not faile to serue, loue, and obey you, and to kéepe your house in that moderate sorte, as the reuenues shall be able to maintaine the same. And no doubt but that poore liuing we haue orderly vsed, shal be sufficient to finde vs two, and. v. or. [...]. seruants with a couple of horsse, and so to liue a quiet and mery life. If God doe send vs any children, til they come to lawfull age, we will with our poore liuing bring them vp so well as we can, and then to prefer them to some Noble mennes seruices, with whome by Gods grace they may acquire honoure and liuing, to kéepe them in their aged dayes. And I doe trust that we two shall vse such mutuall loue, and reioyce, that so long as our life doeth last in wealth and woe, our contented mindes shal rest satisfied. But I waying the stoutnesse of your minde, doe know that you estéeme more an ounce of honor, than all the golde that is in the world. For as your birth is Noble, so is your heart and stomacke. And therefore many times séeing your great heauinesse, and manifolde muses and studies, I haue wondred with my selfe whereof they should procéede, and amongs other my conceits, I thought that either my [Page] behauior and order of dealing, or my personage did not like you: or else that your wonted gentle minde and disposition had bene altered and transformed into some other Nature: many times also I was content to thinke that the cause of your disquiet minde, did rise vpon the disuse of armes wherein you were wont daily to accustome your self amongs the troups of the honourable, a company in déede moste worthy of your presence. [...] many times these and such like cogitations, I haue sought meanes by such louing allurements as I could deuise, to ease and mitigate your troubled minde, and to withdrawe the great impietie and care where with I saw you to be affected. Bicause I doe estéeme you aboue all the world, déeming your onely griefe to be my double paine, your aking finger, a [...] feuerfit, and the least woe you can sustaine most bitter death to me, that loueth you more dearely than my selfe. And for that I doe perceiue you are determined to serue our Noble King, the sorowe which without doubt will assaile me by reason of your absence, I will swéeten and lenifie with contentation, to sée your commendable desire appeased and quiet. And the pleasant memorie of your valiant factes shall beguile my penfife thoughts, hoping our next méeting shal be more ioyful thā this our disiunction & departure heauy. And where you doubt of yt confluence & repair of the dishonest which shal attempt the winning & subduing of mine heart & vnspotted body hitherto inuiolably kept from yt touch of any person, cast from you yt feare, expel frō your minde that fonde conceit: for death shall sooner close these mortall eyes, than my chastitie shall be defiled. For pledge wherof. I haue none other thing to giue, but my true and simple faith, which if you dare trust, it shall héereafter appeare so firme & inuiolable, [Page] as no sparke of suspition shall enter your carefull minde, which I may well terme to be carefull, bicause some care before hand doth rise of my behauior in your absence. The triall whereof shall yelde sure euidence and testimony, by passing my careful life which I may with better cause so terme, in your absence that God knoweth wil be right [...] and carefull vnto me, who ioyeth in nothing else but in your welfare. Neuerthelesse all meanes and wayes shall be agreable vnto my minde for your assurance, and shal breede in me a wonderfull contentation, which lusteth after nothing but your satisfaction. And if you list to close me vp in one of the Castell towers till your returne, right glad I am there to cōtinue an Ankresse life: so that the same may ease your desired minde.’

The Knight with great delite gaue eare to the answer of his wife, and when she had ended hir talke, he began to say vnto hir: ‘My welbeloued, I doe like wel and greatly commende the stoutnesse of your heart, it pleaseth me greatly to sée ye same agreable vnto mine. You haue lightened the same frō inestimable woe, by vnderstāding your conceiued purpose and determination to garde & preserue your honor, praying you therin to perseuere still remembring that when a woman hath lost hir honor, she hath forgone the chiefest iewell she hath in this life, and deserueth no lōger to be called woman. And touching my talke proposed vnto you, although it be of great importaunce, yet I meane not to depart so soone. But if it doe come to effect I assure thée wife, I will leaue thée Lady and mistresse of all that I haue. In the meane time I will consider better of my businesse, and consult with my friends and kinsmen, and thē determine what is best to be done. Till which time let vs liue & spend our time so merely as we can.’ [Page] To be short, there was nothing that so much molested the Knight, as the doubt he had of his wife, for that she was a very fine and faire yong Gentlewoman: And therefore he still deuised and imagined what assurance be might finde of hir behauior in his absence. And resting in this imagination, not long after it came to passe that the Knight being in company of diuers Gentlemen, and talking of sundry matters, a tale was told what chaunced to a gentleman of the Countrey which had obtained the fauoure and good will of a woman, by meanes of an olde man called Pollacco, which had the name to be a famous enchaunter and Physitian, dwelling at Cutiano a Citie of Boeme, where plenty of siluer Mines and other mettals is. The knight whose Castle was not farre from Cutiano, had occasion to repaire vnto that Citie, and according to his desire found out Pollacco, which was a very olde mā, and talking with him of diuers things, perceiued him to be of great skill. In end he entreated him, that for so much as he had done pleasure to many for [...] of their loue, he wold also instruct him, how he might be assured that his wife did kéepe hir self honest all the time of his absence, and that by certaine signes he might haue sure knowledge whether she brake hir faith, by sending his honesly into Cornwall. Such vain trust this Knight reposed in the lying Science of Sorcery, which although to many other is found deceitfull, yet to him serued for sure euidence of his wiues sidelitie. This Pollacco which was a very cunning enchaunter as you haue hard, sayd vnto him: ‘Sir you demaund a very straūge matter, such as where with neuer hitherto I haue bene acquainted, ne yet searched the depthe of those hidden secretes, a thing not commonly sued for, ne yet practised by me. For who is able to make assurance of a womans chastitie, [Page] or tel by signes except he were at the déede doing, that she hath done amisse? Or who can gaine by proctors wryt, to summon or sue a sprituall Court, peremptorily to affirme by neuer so good euidence or testimony, yt a woman hath hazarded hir honesty, except he sweare Rem to be in Re, which the greatest [...] that euer Padua bred, neuer sawe by processe duely tried? Shall I then warrant you the honesty of such [...] cattell prone and ready to lust, easy to be vanquished by the suites of earnest pursuers? But blame worthy surely I am, thus generally to speake: for some I know, although not many, for whose pore honesties I dare aduenture mine owne. And yet that number howe small so euer it be, is worthy all due reuerence and honoure. Notwithstanding. (bicause you séeme to be an honest Gentleman) of that knowledge which I haue, I will not be greatly [...]. A certaine secrete experiment in déede I haue, wherwith perchaūce I may satisfie your demaunde. And this is it. I can by mine Arte in small time, by certaine compositions, frame a womans Image, which you continually in a little boxe may carry about you, and so ofte as you list beholde the same. If the wife doe not breake hir mariage faith, you shall still sée the same so faire and wel coloured as it was at the first making, & séeme as though it newly came from the painters shop, but if perchaūce she meane to abuse hir honesty, the same wil waxe pale, and in déede committing that filthy facte, sodainely the colour wil be black, as arayed with cole or other [...], the smel wherof wil not be very plesāt: but at al times when she is attempted or pursued, the colour wil be so yealow as gold.’ This maruellous secrete deuise greatly pleased the Knight, verely beleuing the same to be true, specially much moued & assured by ye fame bruted abrode of his science, wherof ye Citizens of [...] told [Page] very strange & incredible things. When the price was paid of this precious iewel, he receiued ye Image, & ioyfully returned home to his castle, wher tarying certain dayes, he determined to repair to yt Court of the glorious king Mathie, making his wife priuy to his intent. Afterwards whē he had disposed his houshold matters in order, he cōmitted yt gouernment therof to his wife, & hauing prepared all necessaries for his voyage, to the great sorow & griefe of his beloued, he departed & arriued at Alba Regale, where that time the King lay with Quéene Beatrix his wife: of whom he was ioyfully receiued & entertained. He had not long continued in the Court, but he had obtained & won the fauor & good will of all men. The King (which knew him full well) very honorably placed him in his court, & by him accōplished diuers and many waighty affaires, which very wisely and trustely he brought to passe according to the kings mind & pleasure. Afterwards he was made Colonel of a certaine nūber of footemen sent by ye king against the Turks to defend a holde which the enimies of God begā to assaile vnder ye conduct of Mustapha Basca, which cō duct he so wel directed, & therin stoutly behaued himself, as he chased al ye Infidels out of those coastes, winning therby yt name of a most valiant soldier & prudent captain. Whereby he meruellously gained ye fauor & grace of the king, who (ouer and besides his daily intertainement) gaue vnto him a Castle, and the Reuenue in fée farme for euer. Such rewards deserue all valiāt men, which for the honor of their Prince & countrey do willingly imploy their seruice, worthy no dout of great regard & cherishing, vpō their home returne, bicause they hate idlenesse to win glory, deuising rather to spēd hole dayes in field, than houres in Courte, which this worthy Knight deserued, who not able to sustaine his pore estate, by politik wisdō & prowesse of armes endeuored [Page] to serue his Lord and countrey, wherin surely he made a very good choise. Then he deuoutly serued and praised God, for that he put into his minde such a Noble enterprise, trusting daily to atchieue greater fame and glory: but the greater was his ioy and contentation, bicause the image of his wife inclosed within a boxe, which still he caried about him in his pursie, continued freshe of coloure without any alteration. It was noysed in the Court, that this valiant Knight Vlrico, had in Boeme the fairest and goodliest Lady to his wife that liued either in Boeme or Hungarie. It chaūced as a certaine company of yong Gentlemen in the Court were together, (amongs whome was this Knighte) that a [...] Earon sayd vnto him: ‘How is it possible syr [...], being a yeare and a half since you departed out of Boeme, that you haue no minde to returne to sée your wife, who as the common fame reporteth, is one of the goodliest women of all the Countrey: truely it séemeth to me, that you care not for hir, which were great pitie if hir beautic be correspondent to hir fame. Syr (quod Vlrico) what hir beautie is I referre vnto the worlde, but how so euer you estéeme me to care of hir, you shall vnderstande that I doe loue hir, and will doe so during my life. And the cause why I haue not visited hir of lōg time, is no little proofe of the great assurance I haue of hir vertue and honest life. The argument of hir vertue I proue, for that she is contented that I shold serue my Lord and king, and sufficient it is for me to giue hir intelligence of my state and welfare, which many times by letters at opportunitie I faile not to doe: the proofe of my Faith is euident by reason of my bounden duety to our soueraigne Lord of whome I haue receiued so great and ample benefits, and the warfare which I vse in his graces seruice in the frontiers of his Realme against [Page] the enimies of Christ, whereunto I beare more good wil than I doe to wedlocke loue, preferring duety to Prince before mariage, albeit my wiues faythe and constācy is such, as fréely I may spend my life without care of hir deuoir, being assured that besides hir beauty she is wise, vertuous and honest, and loueth me aboue all worldly things, tendring me so dearely as she doth the balles of hir owne eyes. You haue stoutly sayd (answered the Barone) in defense of your wiues chastity, whereof she can make vnto hir self no greate warrantise, bicause a woman sometimes will be in minde not to be moued at the requests and gifts offred by ye greatest Prince of the world, who afterwards within a day vpon the only sight and view of some lusty yong man, at one simple word vttered with a few tears and shorter sute, yeldeth to his request. And what is she then yt can conceiue such assurance in hir self? What is he that knoweth the secretes of hearts which be impenetrable? Surely none as I suppose, except God him selfe. A woman of hir owne nature is moueable and plyant, & is the most ambitious creature of the world. And (by God) no woman do I know but that she lusteth and desireth to be beloued, required, sued vn̄to, honored & cherished? And oftentimes it commeth to passe yt the most crafty dames which thinke with fained lookes to féede their diuers louers, be the first that thrust their heades into the amorous nets, and like little birdes in harde [...] of weather be caught in louers [...] wigges. Wherby sir Vlrico I doe not sée that your wife (aboue all other women compacte of flesh and bone) hath such priuilege from God, but that she may be soone entised and corrupted. Well sir (sayd the [...] Knight) I am persuaded of that which I haue spoken, and verely doe beleue the effect of my beliefe moste true.’ Euery man [Page] knoweth his owne affaires, & the foole knoweth better what he hath, than his neighbors doe, be they neuer so wise. Beleue you what you think good, for I meane not to digresse frō that which I conceiue. And suffer me (I pray you) to beleue what I list, sith belief cannot hurt me, nor yet your discredite can hinder my belief, being frée for eche man in semblable chaunces to think & belieue what his minde lusteth and liketh. There were many other Lords and Gentlemen of the court [...] at that talke, and as we commonly sée (at such like metings) [...] man vttereth his minde: wherupon many and sundry opinions were produced touching that question. And bicause diuers mē be of diuers natures, and many presume vpon the pregnancie of their wise heads, there rose some stur about yt talk, eche mā obstinate in his alleaged reason, more froward [...] than reason did require: the cōmunication grew so hot, and talk brake forth so loud, as the same was reported to the [...]. The good Lady sory to heare tel of such strife within hir Court, abhorring naturally all cōtrouersie and contention, sent for the parties, & required them from point to point to make recital of the beginning and circumstāce of their reasons and arguments. And when she vnderstode the effect of al their talke, she sayd, that euery man at his owne pleasure might beleue what he list, affirming it to be presumptuous and extreme follie, to iudge all women to be of one disposition, in like sort as it were a great error to say that al men be of one qualitie and condition: the contrarie by daily experience manifestly appearing. For both in mé and women, there is so great difference and variety of natures, as there be heads and wits. And how it is cō monly séene that two brothers and sisters, born at one birth, be yet of contrary natures and [...], of [Page] manners and conditions so diuers, as the thing which shall please the one, is altogether displesant to ye other. Wherupon the [...] concluded, yt the [...] Knight had good reason to continue that good & honest credit of his wife, as hauing proued hir fidelitie of long time, wherein she shewed hir self to be very wise & discrete. Now bicause (as many times we sée) the natures and appetites of diuers men to be insaciable, and one man to be sometimes more foolish hardy than another, euen so (to say the [...],) were those two Hungarian Barons, who seeming wise in their owne conceits, one of them sayd to the [...] in this maner: ‘Madame your grace doth wel maintaine the sere of womankinde, bicause you be a woman. For by nature it is giuē to that kinde, stoutly to stand in [...] of themselues, bicause their imbecillitie and weakenesse otherwise would bewray them: and although good reasons might be alleaged to open the causes of their [...], and why they be not able to attaine the hault excellencie of man, yet for this time I doe not meane to be tedious vnto your grace, least the little heart of woman would rise and display that conceit which is wrapt within that little molde. But to retourne to this chaste Lady, throughe whome our talke began, if we might craue licence of your maiesty, and safe [...] of this Gentleman to know hir dwelling place, and haue [...] to speake to hir, we doubt not but to breake with our battering talke, the Adamant walles of hir [...] that is so famous, and cary away that spoile which [...] we shal [...]. I know not answered the [...] Knight, what ye can or will [...], but sure I am, that hitherto I am not [...].’ Many things were spoken there, and sundry opinions of [...] partes alleaged. In end the two Hungarian. [...] persuaded them selues, [Page] and made their vaunts that they wer able to clime the skies, and both wold attempt and also bring to passeny[?] enterprise were it neuer so great, affirming their former offer by oth, and would gage all the landes and goods they had, that within the space of. v. months they would either of them obtaine the Gentlewomans good will to do what they list so that the Knight were [...], neither to returne home, ne yet to aduertise hir of yt their determination. The Quéene and all the standers by laughed heartily at this their offer, mocking and iesting at their foolish and youthly conceites. Which the Barons perceiuing, sayd: ‘You thinke Madame that we speake triflingly, and be not able to accomplish this our proposed enterprise, but Madame, may it please you to giue vs leaue, we meane by earnest attempt to giue proofe therof.’ And as they were thus in reasoning and debating the matter, the king (hearing tell of this large offer made by the Barons) came into the place where the Quéene was, at such time as she was about to dissuade them from their frātike deuise. Before whō he being entred the chamber, the two Barōs fel downe vpon their knées, and humbly besought his grace, that the compacte made betwene sir Vlrico and them might procéede, disclosing vnto him in few words the effect of all their talke, which frankly was graunted by ye king. But the Barons added a Prouiso, that when they hadde wonne their wager, the Knight by no meanes should hurt his wife, and from that time forth shold giue ouer his false opinion, that women were not naturally giuen to the sutes and requests of amorous persones. The Boeme Knighte, who was assured of his wiues great honesty and loyall fayth, beleued so true as the Gospell, the proportion and qualitie of the image, who in all the time that he was far off, neuer[?] perceiued the [Page] same to be either pale or blacke, but at that tyme lookyng vpon the image, he perceiued a certaińe yealow colour to rise, as he thought his wife was by some loue pursued, but yet sodainly it returned againe to his naturall hewe, which boldned him to say these wordes to the Hungarian barons: ‘Ye be a couple of pleasant and vnbeleuing Gentlemen, and haue conceyued so [...] opinion, as euer men of your callyng did: but sith you procede in your obstinate follie, and wil nedes guage all the lands and goodes you haue, that you bée able to vanquishe my wiues honest and chast hearte, I am contented, for the singular credite which I repose in hir, to ioyne with you, and will pledge the poorelyuing I haue for proofe of mine opinion, and shal accomplish all other your requests made here, before the maiesties of the King and Quéene. And therefore [...] it [...] youre highnesse, sith this fonde deuise can not be beaten [...] of their heads, to giue licence vnto those noble men, the lords Vdislao, and Alberto, (so wer they called) to put in proofe the merie conceipt of their disposed mindes (wherof they do so greatly bragge) and I [...] your good grace and fauoure, am content to agrée to their demaundes: and we answered the Hungarians doe once againe affirme the same whiche we haue spoken.’ The Kyng wylling to haue them gyue ouer that strife, was intreated to the contrary by the Barons: whervpon the King perceiuing their follies, caused a decrée of the bargaine to be put in writing, either parties interchaungeably subscribing the same. Whiche done, they tooke their leaues. Afterwardes, the two Hungarians beganne to put their enterprise in order, and agréed betwene themselues, Alberto to be the first that shoulde aduenture vpon the Lady. And that within [...] wéekes after, vpon his retourne, the Lorde [Page] Vladislao should procéede. These things concluded, [...] all furnitures for their seuerall iorneys disposed, the Lorde Alberto departed in good order, with two [...] directly trauailyng to yt castle of the Boeme knight, where béeing arriued, hée lyghted at an Inne of the towne adioyning to the castle, and demaunding of the hoste, the conditions of the Ladie, hée vnderstode that she was a very faire woman, and that hir honestie and loue towardes hir husbande farre excelled hir [...]. Which wordes nothing [...] the amorous [...], but when he hadde pulled of his bootes, and richely [...] hymselfe, he repaired to the Castle, and [...] at the Gates, gaue the Ladie to vnderstande that he was come to sée hir. Shée whiche was a curteous Gentlewoman, caused him to be brought in, and [...] gaue hym honourable intertainement. The [...] greatly mused vpon the beautie and goodlinesse of the Ladye, singularly commendyng hir honest order and behauiour. And beyng sette downe, the yong Gentleman sayde vnto hir: ‘Madame, moued with the [...] of your surpassing beautie, which now I sée to be more excellent than Fame with hir swiftest wyngs is able to carie, I am come from the Court to view and sée if that were true, or whether lying brutes had [...] their vulgar talke in vaine: but fyndyng the same [...] more fine and pure than erst I dyd expect, I craue licence of your Ladyshyp, to conceiue none [...] of this my [...] and rude attempte:’ and herewithall he began to ioyne many trifling and vaine words, which daliyng suters by heate of lustie blood be wont to shote forth, to declare thē selues not to be spechlesse or tongtied. Whiche the Lady well espying, spéedily imagined into what port his [...] barke would arriue: [...] [Page] in the ende when she sawe his shippe at roade, began to enter in pretie louyng talke, by litle and litle to incourage his fonde attempt. The Baron thinkyng he had caught the Eele by the taile, not well practised in Cicero his schoole, ceased not [...] to contriue the [...], by makyng hir beléeue, that hée was farre in loue. The Ladie wearie (God wote) of his fonde [...] and amorous reasons, and yet not to séeme scornefull. made hym good countenance, in such wise as the Hungarian two or thrée dayes dydde nothing else but procéede in vayne pursute: Shée perceyuing hym to bée but a [...] of the fyrste coate, deuysed to recompense hys Follies wyth suche enterteynemente, as duryng all hys lyfe, hée shoulde kéepe the same in good remembraunce. Wherefore not long after, faynyng as thoughe hys greate wysedome, vttered by cloquente talke, hadde [...] hir, shée sayde thus vnto hym: ‘My [...], the reasons you produce, and youre pleasaunt gesture in my house, haue so inchaunted me, that impossible it is, but I must [...] agrée vnto youre wyll: for where I neuer thoughte duryng lyfe, to stayne the puritie of mariage bedde, and determined continually to preserue my selfe inuiolablye for my husbande, [...] Noble grace and curteous behauioure, haue (I saye) so bewitched mée, that readie I am to bée at youre commaundement, humbly [...] youre honor to beware, that knowledge hereof maye not come vnto mine husbands eares, who is so [...] and cruell, and loueth me so dearely, as no doubt he will without further triall either him self kil me, or otherwise procure my [...]: & to the intent none of my house may suspect our doings, I shal desire you to morow in the morning [Page] about nine of the clocke, which is the [...] time of your repaire hither, to come vnto my castle, wherin when you bée entred, spéedily to mount vp to the chamber of the highest [...], ouer the dore wherof, ye shall fynde the armes of my husbande, entailed in marble: and when you be entred in, to shut the [...] fast after you, and in the meane tyme I wil waite and and prouide, that none shall molest and trouble vs, and then shall bestowe our selues for accomplishement of that which your loue desireth. Now in very déede this chamber was a very strong prison ordeined in auncient time by the progenitours of that territorie, to imprison and punish the bassals and tenants of the same, for offenses and crimes committed.’ The Baron hearyng thys liberall offer of the Ladie, thinking that he had obteyned the summe of all his ioye, so gladde as if he had conquerēd a whole kingdome, the best contented man aliue, thankyng the Ladie for hir curteous answere, departed, and retourned to his Inne. [...] knoweth vpon howe mery a pinne the hearte of thys yong Baron was sette, and after he had liberally banketted his hoste and hostesse, pleasantly disposing him selfe to myrth and recreation, he went to bed, where ioy so lightned his merrie head, as no sléepe at all could close his eyes: suche be the sauage pangs of those that aspire to like delights, as the best reclaimer of the wildest hauke coulde neuer take more payne or deuise [...] shiftes to man the same for the better atchieuing of hir praie, than dyd this braue Baron sustaine for bryngyng his enterprise to effecte. The nexte day early in the morning he rose, dressyng hymselfe with the swetest parfumes, and putting on hys finest sute of [...], at the appointed houre he went to the castell, and so secretly as he could, according to the Ladies instruction, [Page] he conueyd himselfe vp into the chamber [...] he founde open, and when he was entred, he shutte the same. The maner of the dore was such, as none within coulde open it without a [...], and besides the strong locke, it had both barre and [...] on the outside, with such fastening, as the diuel him self being locked within, coulde not breake forth. The Ladie which wayted harde by for his [...], so soone as she perceiued that the dore was shutte, stepte vnto the same, and bothe double locked the dore, and also without she barred and fast bolte the same, carying the [...] away with hir. This chamber was in the hyghest tower of the house (as is before sayde) wherein was placed a bedde with good furniture, the wyndow wherof was so high, that none could loke out without a ladder. The other parts therof were in good and cōuenient order, apt and mete for an honest prison. When the Lorde Alberto was within, hée satte downe, wayting (as the Jewes doe for Messias) when the Ladie according to hir appointement should come. And as he was in this expectation, building castles in the ayre, and deuising a thousande Chimeras in his braine, beholde he hearde one to open a little wicket that was in the dore of that chamber, which was so straight and litle, as scarcely able to receyue a loafe of bread, or cruse of wine, vsed to be sent to the prisoners. He thinkyng that it had bene the Ladie, rose [...], and hearde the noyse of a little girle, who loking in at the hole, thus sayd vnto him: ‘My Lord Alberto, the Ladie Barbara my mistresse (for that was hir name) hath sent me thus to say vnto you: That for so much as you be come into this place, by countenaunce of Loue, to dispoyle hir of hir honour, she hath imprisoned you like a théefe, according to your deserte, and purposeth to make you suffer penance according to the [Page] measure of your offense. Wherfore so long as you shal remaine in this place, she mindeth to force you to gain your bread and drinke with the art of spinning, as pore women do for sustentation of their liuyng, meanyng thereby to coole the heate of your lustie youth, and to make you tast the sowre sause mete for them to assay, that go about to robbe Ladies of their honour: she bad me lykewise to tell you, that the more yarne you spin, the greater shal be the abundance and delicacie of your fare: the greater paine you take to gaine your foode, the more liberall she will bée in distributing of the same: otherwise (she sayth) that you shall fast wyth breade and water. Which determinate sentence she hath decréed, not to be infringed & broken for any kinde of sute or intreatie that you be able to make.’ When the maiden had spoken these wordes, she shut the portall dore, and returneo to hir Ladie. The Baron which thought that he had ben comen to a mariage, did eate nothing al the mornyng before, bicause he thought to be enterteined with better & daintier store of viandes, who nowe at those newes fared like one oute of his wittes, and stoode still so amazed, as though his leggs woulde haue failed him, and in one moment his [...] [...] to vanish, and his force and breath forsoke him, and fel down vpon the chamber [...], in such wise as he that had behelde him, wold haue thought him rather dead than liuing. In this state he was a greate time, & after wards somwhat cōming to him selfe, he could not tel whether he dreamed, or else that the words wer true, which the maiden had sayd vnto him: In the end séeing, and being verily assured, that he was in a prison so sure as birde in Cage, through [...] and rage was like to die, or else to lose his wittes, faryng with hym selfe of long time lyke a madde man, and not knowing what to do, [Page] passed the rest of the day in walkyng vp and down the chamber, rauing, stamying, staring, cursing, and vsing words of greatest villanie, lamenting and bewailyng the time and day, that so like a beast and [...] man, he gaue the attempt to dispoile the honestie of an other mans wife. Then came to his [...] the losse of al his landes and goodes, which by the [...], authoritie were put in comprimise, then the shame, the scorne, and rebuke whyehe hée shoulde receyue at other mens handes, beyonde measure vexed hym: and reportē bruted in the Court (for that it was impossible but the whole worlde should know it) so grieued hym, as his [...] séemed to be strained with two sharpe and bityng nailes, the paines whereof, forced hym to lose his wittes and vnder standyng. In the middes of which pangs furiously vauting vp and down the chamber, he espied by chaunce in a corner, a [...] furnished with good [...] of flare, and a spindle hangyng therevppon: and [...] with choler and rage, hée was aboute to spoyle and breake the same in pieces: but remembring what a harde weapon Necessitie is, hée stayed hys wysdom, and albeit hée hadde rather to haue contriued hys leysure in noble and Gentlemanlyke passetyme, yet rather than he woulde be idle, hée thoughte to reserue that Instrument to auoyde the tedious lacke of honest and familiar companie. When supper time was come, the mayden returned agayn, who opening the Portall dore, saluted the Baron, and sayde: ‘My Lord, my mistresse hath sente mée to visite your good Lordshyp, and to receyue at youre good handes the effecte of youre laboure, who hopeth that you haue spoonne some substanciall webbe of thréede for earning of your supper, which béeing done, shall be readily brought vnto you.’ The Baron full of rage, furie, and felonious moode, if [Page] before he were fallen into choler, now by protestation of these wordes, he séemed to transgresse the bounds of reason, and began to raile at the poore wench, scolding and chiding hir like a strumpet of the stewes, faring as though he would haue beaten hir, or done hir some [...] ther mischiefe: but his moode was stayed from doyng any hurt: The poore [...] [...] by hir [...], in laughing wise sayd vnto him: Why (my lorde) do you chafe & rage against me? ‘Me thinks you do me wrong to vse such reprochful words, which am but a seruant, and bounde to the commaundement of my mistresse: Why sir, do you not know that a [...] or messanger suffreth no paine or blame? The greatest Kyng or Emperour of the worlde, receiuing [...] from a meaner Prince, neuer vseth his ambassador with scolding wordes, ne yet by villanie or rebuke abuseth his person. Is it wisdom then [...] you, being a present prisoner, at the mercy of your kepers, in this [...] sorte to reuile me with [...] talke? But [...], leaue of your rages, and quiet your selfe for this present time, for my mistresse maruelleth much why you durst come (for all your noble state) to giue [...] to violate hir good name, whiche message shée required me to tell you, ouēr and bisides a desire shée hathe to know, whether by the science of Spinning, you haue gained your foode: for you séeme to kicke against the wind, & beat water in a morter, if you think from hēce to go before you haue earned a recompense of the meat which shalbe giuen you. Wherfore it is your lot paciently to suffer the [...] of your fondattempt, which I pray you gently to sustaine, and think no scorn therof hardely: for desperate men & hard aduenturers must néedes suffer the daungers thervnto belonging. This is the determinate sentence of my mistresse mynde, [Page] who fourdeth you no better fare than breade and water, if you can not shewe some pretie spindle full of yarne for signe of your good will at this present pinche of your distresse.’ The mayden séeing that hée was not disposed to shewe some part of willyng minde to gaine his liuing by that [...] science, shut the portal dore, and went hir way. The vnhappie Baron (ariued thether in very yll time) that nyght had neither bread nor broth, and therfore he fared according to theprouerbe: He that goth to bed supperlesse, lieth in his bed restlesse. For during the whole night, no sléepe couldfasten his eyes. Now as this baron was closed in prison fast, so the La die tooke order, that secretely with great cher ehis seruants should be interteined, and his horsse with swete haye and good prouender well mainteined, all his furnitures, sumpture horsse and cariages conueyed within the Castle, where wanted nothyng for the state of such a personage but onely libertie, making the hoste of the Inne beleue (where the Lorde harbored before) that he was returned into Hungarie.

But now turne we to the Boeme Knight, who knowing that one of the two Hungarian Competitors, were departed the Court, and ridden into Boeme, dyd stil beholde the qualitie of the inchaunted image, wherein by the space of thrée or foure dayes, in which time, the baron made his greatest sute to his Ladie, he marked a certaine alteration of coloure in the same: but afterwards returned to his natiue forme: and seing no greter transformation, he was wel assured, that the Hungarian Baron was repulsed, and imployed his labor in vain. Wherof the Boeme Knight was excedingly pleased and contented, bicause he was well assured, that his wife had kept hir selfe right pure and honest. Notwithstandyng his mynde was not well settled, ne yet [Page] his hearte at rest, doubtyng that the Lorde Vladislao, which as yet was not departed the Courte, would obtaine the thing, and acquite the faulte, which his companion had committed. The imprisoned Baron which all this time had neither [...] nor dronken, nor in the night coulde sléepe, in the mornyng, after he had considered hys mysaduenture, and well perceyued no remedie for him to go forth, except he obeyed the Ladies hest, made of necessitie a vertue, and applied himselfe to learne to Spynne by force, whiche fréedome and honour coulde neuer haue made hym to doe. Whervpon hée tooke the distaffe, and beganne to spynne. And albeit that he neuer spoonne in all hys lyfe before, yet [...] by Necessitie, so well as he could, he drewe out his thréede, nowe small and then greate, and manye times of the meanest sort, but very often broade, yll fauoured, yll closed, and worsse twisted, all cut of fourme and fashion, that sundrie times very heartyly he laughed to him selfe, to see his cunning, but woulde haue made a cunnyng woman spinner brust into ten thousande laughters, if shée hadde [...] there. Thus all the mornyng he spent in spynnyng, and when dinner came, his accustomed messanger, the mayden, repaired vnto hym agayne, and openyng the wyndowe demaunded of the Baron how his woorke went forewarde, and whether he were disposed to manifest the [...] of hys comming into Boeme? Hée well beaten in the Schoole of shame, vttered vnto the mayde the whole compacte and bargayne made betwéene hym and hys companion, and the Boeme Knight hir master, & afterwards shewed vnto hir hys spindle ful of threde. ‘The yong Wench smylyng at his worke, sayde: By Sainct Marie thys is well done, you are worthy of victuall for your hire: for nowe I right well perceyue [Page] that Hunger forceth the Woulfe oute of hir denne. I conne you thancke, that lyke a Lorde you can so puissantly gayne youre liuyng. Wherefore procéedyng in that whiche you haue begonne, I doubt not but shortely you wyll proue suche a woorkeman, as my mistresse shall not néede to put out hir [...] to spinne (to hir great charge and coste) for makyng of hir smockes, but that the same maye well bée done wythin hir owne house, yea although the same doe serue but for Kitchen cloathes, for dresser boordes, or cleanyng of hir vessell before they [...] serued forth. And as youre good desertes doe merite thanckes for this your arte, nowe well begoonne, euen so youre newe tolde tale of commyng hyther, requireth no lesse, for that you haue disclosed the trouthe.’ When she had sayde these wordes, she reached hym some store of meates for hys dynner, and badde hym well to fare. When she was returned vnto hir Lady, shée shewed vnto hir the Spindle full of thréede, and told hir therwithall the whole storie of the compact betwene the Knight Vlrico, and the two Hungarian Barons. Whereof the Ladie sore astoonned, for the snares layd to [...] hir, was notwithstanding well [...], for that shée had so well for séene the same: but moste of all reioysed, that hir husband had so good opinion of hir honest lyfe. And before she wold aduertise hym of these euentes, she purposed to attend the comming of the Lord Vladislao, to whom she meant to do like penance for his carelesse bargaine and dishonest opinion, accordingly as he deserued, maruelling very much that both the Barons, wer so rash & presumptuous, daungerously (not knowing what kinde of woman she was) to put their landes and goodes in hazard. But consideryng the nature of diuers brainsicke mē, which passe not how carelesly they aduenture their [Page] gained goodes, and inherited landes, so they maye [...] the praie, after which they vainely hunt, for the preiudice & hurt of other, she made no accompt of these attempt, s sith honest matrones force not vpon the sutes, or vaine consumed time of lighte brained cockscombs, that care not what fonde coste or yll imployed houres they waste to anoy the good renoume and honest brutes of women.

But not to discourse frō point to point the particulers of this intended iorney, this poore deceiued Baron in short time proued a very good Spinner, by exercise wherof, he felt such solace, as not onely the same was a comfortable sporte for his captiue tyme, but also for wante of better recreation, it séemed so ioyfull, as yf he had bene pluming and [...] his Hauke, or doing other sportes belongyng to the honourable state of a Lorde. Whiche his well arriued labour, the maiden recompensed with abundance of good and delicate meates. And although the Ladie was many tymes required to visite the Baron, yet she woulde neuer to that request consent. In whiche time the Knight Vlrico ceased not continually to viewe and reuewe the state of his image, which appeared still to bée of one well coloured sorte. And although thys vse of his was diuers times marked and séene of many, yet being earnestly demaunded the cause thereof, hée would neuer disclose the same. Many coniectures thereof [...] made, but none coulde attaine the trouthe. And who would haue thought that a Knight so wise and prudent had worne within his pursse any inchanted thing? And albeit the King and Quéene hadde intelligence of thys frequent practise of the Knight, yet they thoughte not mete for any priuate and secret mysterie, to demaund the cause. One Moneth and a halfe was passed nowe, [Page] that the Lord Alberto was departed the Court, and become a castle knight and cunning spinster: which made the Lord Vladislao to muse, for that the promise made betwene them was brokē, and heard neither by letter or messanger what successe he had receiued. After diuers thoughts imagined in his mind, he conceiued that his companion had happily enioyed the end of his desired ioy, and had gathered the wished frutes of the Lady, and drowned in yt maine sea of his owne pleasures, was ouerwhelmed in the bottome of obliuion: wherefore he determined to set forwarde on his iourney to giue onset of his desired fortune: who without long delay for execution of his purpose, prepared all necessaries for that voyage, and mounted on horsebacke with two of his men, he iourneyed towards Boeme, & within few dayes after arriued at the Castle of the faire and most honest Lady. And when he was entred the Inne where the Lord Alberto was first lodged, he diligently enquired of him, and hard tell that he was returned into Hungarie many dayes before, wherof much maruelling, could not tel what to say or thinke. In yt end purposing to put in proofe the cause wherefore he was departed out of Hungarie, after diligent inquirie of the maners of the Lady, he vnderstoode the general voyce, that she was without comparisō the most honest, wise, gentle and comely Ladie within the whole Countrey of Boeme. Incontinently the Ladie was aduertised of ye arriuall of this Baron, and knowing the cause of his cōming, she determined to pay him also with that money which she had already coyned for the other. The next day the Baron went vnto the Castle, & knocking at the gate, sent in woord how that he was come from the Court of King Mathie, to visite and salute the Lady of that Castle: and as she did entertain the first Baron [Page] in curteous [...], and with louing countenaunce, euen so she did the seconde, who thought thereby that he had attained by that pleasant entertainment, the game after which he hunted. And discoursing vpon diuers matters, the Lady shewed hir self a pleasant and familiar Gentlewoman, which made the Baron to thinke that in short time he shold win the price for which he came. Notwithstanding, at the first brunt he would not by any meanes descend to any particularitie of his purpose, but his words ran general, which were, that hearing tel of the fame of hir beautie, good grace and come, linesse, by hauing occasion to repaire into Boeme to doe certaine his affaires, he thought it labor well spent to ride some portion of his iourney, though it were besides the way, to digresse to doe reuerence vnto hir, whome fame aduaunced aboue the skies: and thus passing his first visitation, he returned againe to his lodging. The Ladie when the Baron was gone from hir Castle, was rapte into a rage, greatly offended that those two Hungarian Lordes so presumptuously had bended them selues like common Théeues to wander and roue the Countreys, not onely to robbe and spoile hir of hir honoure, but also to bring hir in displeasure of hir husbande, and thereby into the daunger and perill of deathe. By reason of which rage (not without cause conceiued) she caused an other Chamber to be made ready, next wal to the other Baron that was become suche a Notable spinster. And vpon the next returne of the Lord Vladislao, she receiued him with no lesse good entertainment than before, and when night came, caused him to be lodged in hir owne house in the Chamber prepared as before, where hée slept not very soundly all that night, through the continuall remembraunee of his Ladies beautie. Next morning [Page] hée perceiued himselfe to be locked fast in a Prison. And when hée had made him ready, thinking to descend to bidde the Ladie good morrow, séeking meanes to vnlocke the doore, and perceiuing that he could not, he stoode still in a dumpe. And as hée was thus standing, maruelling the cause of his shutting in so faste, the Maiden repaired to the hole of the dore, giuing his honor an [...] salutation, which was, that hir Mistresse commaunded hir to giue him to vnderstand, that if he had any lust or appetite to his breakefast, or minded from thence for the to ease his hunger or conteine life, that he should giue him selfe to learne to réele yarne. And for that purpose she willed him to looke in such a corner of the Chamber, and he shoulde finde certaine spindles of thréede, and an instrument to winde his yarne vpon. Wherefore (quod she) apply your self thereunto, and lose no time. He that had that time beholden the Baron in the face, woulde haue thought that hée hadde séene rather a Marble stone, than the figure of a man. But conuerting hys colde conceiued moode, into madde anger, he fell into tenne times more displeasure wyth himselfe, than is before described by the other Baron. But séeing that hys madde béhauioure and beastly vsage was bestowed in vaine, the next day he began to réele. The Ladie afterwardes when she hadde intelligence of the good and gainefull spinning of the Lorde Alberto, and the well disposed and towardly réeling of the Lorde Vladislao, greately reioyced for making of suche two Notable woorkemen, whose woorkemanship excéeded the laboures of them that hadde béene apprentyzes to the occupation seuen yeares together. Suche be the apte and ready wittes of the Souldioures of loue: [Page] Where in I would wishe all Cupides dearlings to be nousled and applied in their youthly time: thē no doubt their passions would appease, and rages assuage, and would giue ouer their ouer bolde attemptes, for which they haue no thank of the chast and honest. And to this goodly sight the Ladie brought the seruauntes of these Noble men, willing them to marke and beholde the diligence of their maisters, and to imitate the industry of their goodly exercise, who neuer attained meat before by laboure they had gained the same. Which done, she made thē take their horse & furnitures of their Lords, and to depart: otherwise if by violence they resisted, she wold cause their choler to be calmed with such like seruice as they sawe done before their eyes. The seruaunts séeing no remedy, but must néedes depart, toke their leaue. Afterwards she sent one of hir seruauntes in poste to the Court, to aduertise hir husbād of all that which chaunced. The Boeme Knight receiuing this good newes declared the same vnto the King and Quéene, and recited the whole story of the two Hungarian Barons, accordingly as the tenor of his wiues letters did purporte. The Princes stoode stil in great admiration, and highly commended the wisdome of the Lady, [...] hir for a very sage and politike woman. Afterwardes the Knight Vlrico humbly besought the King for execution of his decrée and performance of the bargaine. Wherupon the King assembled his counsell, and required euery of them to say their mind. Upon the deliberation whereof, the Lord Chauncelor of the kingdome, with two Counsellers, were sent to the Castle of the Boeme Knight, to enquire and learne the processe and doings of the two Lords, who diligently accomplished the Kings commaundemēt. And hauing examined the Lady and hir maiden with other of the house, & the [Page] Barons also, whome a little before the arriual of these Cōmissioners, the Lady had caused to be put together, yt by spinning & réeling they might cōfort one an other. Whē the Lord Chaūcelor had framed & digested in order the whole discours of this history, retourned to the court where the King & Quene with the Pieres & Noble men of his kingdom caused the actes of the same to be diuulged & bruted abrode, and after much talke and discourse of the performance of this cōpact, pro & cōtra, the Quéene taking the Ladies parte, and fauoring the Knight, the King gaue sentēce yt sir Vlrico shold wholy possesse the lands and goods of the two Barons to him, and to his heirs for euer, and that the Barons shold be banished out of the kingdoms of Hungarie & Boeme, neuer to returne vpon paine of death. This sentēce was put in execution, & the vnfortunat Barōs exiled, which specially to those that wer of their consanguinitie and bloud, séemed too seuere & rigorous. Neuerthelesse the couenaunt being most plaine & euident to most men, ye same séemed to be pronounced with great Iustice and equitie, for example in time to come, to lessō rash wits how they iudge & déeme so indifferētly of womēs behauiors amōgs whom no doubt ther be both good & bad, as there be of men. Afterwardes the. y. Princes sent for ye Lady to yt Court, who there was courteously intertained, & for this hir wise & politike fact had in great admiration. The Quéene then appointed hir to be one of hir womē of honor, & estemed hir very déerely. The knight also daily grew to great promotion, well beloued and fauored of the King, who with his Lady lōg time liued in great ioy & felicitie, not forgetting the cunning mā Pollacco, that made him the image and likenesse of his wife: whose frendship and labor he rewarded with money, and other benefites very liberally.

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Dom Diego and Gineura
The. xxix. Nouel.

¶ DOM DIEGO a Gentleman of Spaine [...] in loue with faire GINEVRA, and she with him: their loue by meanes of one that enuied DOM DIEGO his happie choise, was by default of light credite on hir part interrupted. He constant of minde, fell into despair, and abandoning all his [...] and liuing, repaired to the Pyrene Mountains, where he led a sauage life for certain mōths, and afterwardes knowne by one of his friendes, was (by maruellous circumstaunce) reconciled to hys [...] [...], and maried.

MEnnes mischaunces occurring on the bruntes of diuers Tragicall fortunes, albeit vpon their first taste of bitternesse, they sauor of a certaine kinde of lothsome relish, yet vnder the Kinde of that vnsauerouse sappe, doeth lurke a swéeter honie, than swéetenesse it selfe, for the fruite that the posterity may gather and learne by others hurtes, howe they may [...] and [Page] shunne the like. But bicause all things haue their seasons, and euery thing is not conuenient for all times and places, I purpose now to shewe a Notable example of a vaine and superstitious Louer, that abandoned his liuing and friendes, to become a Sauage desert man. Which Historie resembleth in a manner a Tragical comedie, comprehending the very same mater and argument, wherewith the greatest part of the [...] sortearme them selues to couer and defende their follies. It is red and séene too often by common custome, and therfore [...] héere to display what rage doeth gouerne, and headlong hale fonde and licentious youthe conducted by the pangue of loue, if the same be not moderated by reason, and cooled with sacred lessons euen from the Cradle to more mature and riper age. For the Tiranny of loue amongs all the deadly foes that [...] and [...] our mindes, glorieth of his force, vaunting himselfe able to chaunge the proper nature of things, be they neuer so sounde and perfect: who to make them like his lustes, [...] himself into a substance qualified diuersly, the better to intrap such as be giuen to his vanities. But hauing auouched so many examples before, I am content for this present to tel the discourse of two persons, chaunced not long sithens in Catheloigne. Of a Gentleman that for his constancy declared two extremities in him selfe of loue and follie. And of a Gentlewoman so fickle and inconstant, as loue and they which waited on him, be disordered, for the trustlesse ground wherupon such foundation of seruice is layed, which ye shall easely conceiue by well viewing the difference of these twaine: [...] I meane to [...] to the listes, by the blast of this [...] trumpe. And thus the same beginneth.

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Not long after yt the victorious & Noble prince, yong [...], the sonne of Alphonsus King of Aragon was dead, Levves the twelfth, that time being Frenche King, vpon the Marches of Catheloigne, betwene Barcelona and the Mountaines, there was a good Lady then a widow, which had bene the wife of an excellent and Noble knight of the Countrey, by whome she had left one only daughter, which was so carefully brought [...] by the mother, as nothing was to deare or heard to be brought to passe for hir desire, thinking that a creature so Noble and perfecte, could not be trained vp too delicately. Now bisides hir incōparable furniture of beautie, this yong Gentlewoman was adorned with haire so faire, curle, and yealow, as the new fined gold was not matchable to the shining lockes of this tender infant, who therefore commonly was called Gineura la Blonde. Halfe a dayes iorney from the house of this widow, lay the lands of an other Lady a widow also, that was very rich, and so wel allied as any in all the land. This Lady had a sonne, whom she caused to be trained vp so wel in Armes and good letters, as in other honest exercises proper and méete for a Gentleman and great Lord, for which respect she had sent him to Barcelona the chiefe Citie of all the Countrey of [...]. Senior Dom Diego, (for so was ye sonne of that widow called) [...] so well in all things, that when he was. [...]. yeares of age, there was no Gentleman of his degrée, that did excell him, ne yet was able to approche vnto his perfections and commēdable behauior. A thing that did so wel content yt good Lady his mother, as she could not tell what countenaunce to kéepe to couer hir ioy. A vice very commen to fonde and folish mothers, who flater them selues with a shadowed hope of the future goodnesse of their childrē, which many times doth more [Page] hurt to that wanton and wilfull age, than profit or aduauncement. The persuasion also of such towardnesse, full oft doth blinde yt sprites of youth, as yt faults which folow the same be far more vile thā before they were: wherby the first Table (made in his first coloures) of yt imagined vertue, cā take no force or perfection, and so by incurring sundry mishaps, the parent & childe commonly eskape not without equall blame. To come againe therefore to our discourse: it chaunced in yt time that (the Catholike king deceased) Philippe of Austrich which succéeded him as heire passing through Fraunce, came into Spaine to be inuested and take possession of al his seigniories and kingdomes: which knowen to the Citizens of Barcelona, they determined to receiue him with such pompe, magnificence and honor, as duely appertaineth to the greatnesse and maiestie of so great a Prince, as is the sonne of the Romane Emperour. And amongs other things they prepared a triumphe at the Tilt, where none was suffred to enter the listes, but yong Gētlemen, such as neuer yet had folowed armes. Amongs whome Dom Diego as yt Noblest person was chosen chiefe of one part. The Archduke then come to Barcelona after the receiued honors and Ceremonies, accustomed for such entertainment, to gratifie his subiects, and to sée the brauery of the yong Spanish Nobilitie in armes, would place himself vpon the skaffolde to iudge the courses and valiance of the runners. In that magnifique and Princely conflict, all mens eyes were bent vpon Dom Diego, who course by course made his aduersaries to féele the force of his armes, his manhode and dexteritie on horsebacke, and caused them to muse vpon his towarde [...] in time to come, whose noble gests then acquired the victory of the campe on his side. Which moued King Philip to say, that in al his life [Page] he neuer saw triūph better handled, and yt the same séemed rather a battell of strong & hardy men, than an excercise of yong Gentlemen neuer wōted to support the dedes of armes & trauaile of warfare. For which cause calling Dom Diego before him he sayd. ‘God graūt (yōg Gentleman) yt your ende agrée with your goodly beginnings & hardy shock of [...] done this day. In memory wherof I wil this night yt ye do your watch, for I mean to morow (by Gods assistance) to dub you knight.’ The yong gentlemā blushing for shame, vpō his knees kissed the Princes hāds, thanking him most hūbly of ye honor and fauor which it pleased his maiestie to do him, vowing & promising to do so wel in time to come, as no mā shold be deceiued of their conceiued opinion, nor ye king frustrate of his seruice, which was one of his most obedient vassals & subiectes. So the next day he was made Knight, & receiued the coller of ye order at the handes of King Phillip, who after ye departure of his prince which toke his iourney into Castille, retired to his owne [...] & house, more to sée his mother, whōe long time before he had not séene, than for desire of pleasure yt be in fieldes, which notwithstāding he exercised so well as in end [...] perceiued [...] in townes & cities, to be an imprisō ment [...] respect of that he felt in Countrey. As ye Poets whilom fained loue to shote his arrows amid yt [...], forrests, fertile fields, sea coasts, shores of great riuers and fountaine brinkes, and also vpon the tops of huge and high Mountaines at the pursute of the sundry sorted Nymphes and [...] dimigods, déeming the same to be a meane of libertie to folow loues tract without suspition, voide of company and lothsome cries of Cities, where [...], enuy, false report, and ill opinion of all things, haue pitched their camp and raised their tents. [...] contrariwise frākly and without dissimulation in [Page] the fieldes, the friend discouering his passion to his Mistresse, they enioy the pleasure of hunting, the naturall musike of birds, and somtimes in pleasant herbers [...] with the murmur of some running brookes, they communicate their thoughts, beautifie the accorde and vnitie of louers, and make the place famous for yt first witnesse of their amorous acquaintance. In like manner thrice & foure times blest [...] they there, who leaning the vnquiet toile that ordinarily doeth chaunce to them that abide in Cities, do rendre [...] y of their studies to the Muses whereunto they be most minded. [...] Dom Diego at his owne house loued & cherished of his mother, reuerenced and obeyed of his subiects after he had imployed some time at his study, had none other ordinary pleasure but in rousing the Déere, hunting the wilde Bore, run the Hare, somtimes to flie at the Heron or fearfull Partrich alongs the fields, Forrestes, pondes and stepe Mountaines. It came to passe one day, as hée Hunted the wilde Mountaine Goate, which he had dislodged vpon the Hill toppe, he espied an olde Harte that his dogges had found, who so ioyfull as was possible of that good lucke, followed the course of that swift and fearefull beast. But (suche was his Fortune) the dogges lost the foote of that pray, and he his men: for being horssed of purpose, vpon a fair Iennet, could not be followed, and in ende loosing the sight of the Déere, was so farre seuered from companie, as hée was vtterly ignoraunt which way to take. And that which grieued him most was his horse out of breth skarse able to ride a false galloppe. For which cause he putte his horne to his mouthe, and blewe so loude as he could. But his men were so farre off, as they could not heare him. The yonge Gentleman being in this distresse, could not tel what to doe, but to returne backe, [Page] wherin he was more deceiued than before, for thinking to take the way home to his Castle, wandred still further off from the same. And trotting thus a long time, he spied a Castle situated vpon a little Hill, wherby he knew himself far from his owne house. Neuerthelesse hearing a certaine noyse of hunters, thinking they had bene his people, resorted to the same, who in déede wer the seruaunts of the mother of Gineura with the goldē locks, which in company of their mistresse had hunted the Hare, Dom Diego, when he drue nere to the crie of the Hounds, sawe right well that he was deceiued. At what time night approched, & the shadowes darkening the earth, by reason of the sunnes departure, began to clothe the heauens with a browne and mistie mantell. When the mother of Gineura sawe the Knight which rode a soft pace, for that his horsse was tired, and could trauaile no longer, and knowing by his outward apperaunce that he was some great Lord, and ridden out of his way, sent one of hir mē to know what he was, who returned againe with such answer as she desired. The Ladie ioyfull to entertaine a Gentleman so excellent and famous, one of hir next neighbors, went forwarde to bid him welcome, which she did with so great curtesie as the Knight sayd vnto hir: ‘Madame I thinke that fortune hath done me this [...], by setting me out of the way, to proue your curtesie and gentle entertainment, and to receiue this ioy by visiting your house, wherof I trust in time to come to be so perfect a [...], as my predecessors héeretofore haue bene. Syr sayd the Ladie, if happinesse may be attributed to them, yt most doe gain, I thinke my self better fauored than you, for that it is my chaunce to lodge and entertaine him, that is the worthiest persone and best beloued in all Catheloigne.’ The Gentleman blushing at that praise, said nothing [Page] else, but that affection forced men so to speake of his vertues, notwithstanding such as he was, he vowed from thence for the his seruice to hir and all hir houshold. Gineura desirous not to be [...] in curtesie, sayd yt he should not so do, except she were partaker of some part of that, which the Knight so liberally had offred to the whole family of hir mother. The Gentlemā which till that time tooke no héede to the diuine beautie of the Gentlewoman, beholding hir at his pleasure, was so [...], as he could not tell what to answer, his eyes were so fixed vpon hir, spending his lookes in [...] of that freshe hew, stained with a red Uermilion, vpon the Alabaster and fair colour of hir cleare and beautifull face. And for the imbelishing of that natural perfection, the attire vpon hir head was so couenable & proper, as it séemed the same day she had looked for the comming of him, that afterwards indured so much for hir sake. For hir head was adorned with a Garlande of Floures, interlaced with hir golden and enameled haire, which gorgeously couered some part of hir shoulders, [...] and hanging downe, sometime ouer hir passing faire forhead, somewhiles vpon hir ruddie chekes, as the swete and pleasant windie breath did moue them to and fro: ye should haue sene hir wauering and crisped tresses disposed with so good grace and comelynesse, as a man would haue thought that Loue, and the thrée Graces coulde not tell elsewhere, to harbor themselues, but in that riche and delectable place of plesure, in gorgeous wise laced and [...]. Upon hir eares did hang two sumptuous and rich orientall perles, which to the artificial order of hir haire added a certain splendent brightnesse. And he yt had beholden the shining and large forhead of that Nimph, which galantly was beset with a diamonde of inestimable price and value, [Page] chased with a tresse of golde, made in fourme of [...] starres, woulde haue thought that he had seene a ranke of the twinckelyng Planettes, fixed in the [...] in the hottest tyme of Sommer, when that faire season discouereth the order of hys glitteryng cloudes. In like maner the sparkling eyes of the fayre Gentlewoman, adorned with that goodly vaulte with two arches, equally by euen spaces distincte and diuided, dyed with the [...] Indian trée, dydde so well sette forth theyr brightnesse, as the eyes of them that stayed their lookes at noone dayes directly vpon the Sunne, coulde no more be dazeled and offended, than those were, that dyd contemplate those two flamyng starres, whyche were in force able throughly to pierce euen the bottom of the inwarde partes. The nose well formed, iustely placed in the amiable valey of the visage, by equal conformitie distinguished the two cheekes, stained with a pure carnation, resemblyng two litle Apples that wer ariued to the due time of their maturitie and [...]. And then hir Coralline mouthe, through whiche breathing, issued out a breath more soot & sauorous than Ambre, Muske, or other aromatical parfume, that euer the [...] soile of [...] brought forth. She somtime vnclosing the dore of hir lips, discouered two rancke of perles, so finely blanched, as the purest Orient would blushe, if it were compared with the beautie of [...] incomparable whitenesse. But hée that will take vpon hym to speake of al hir inspeakable beautie, may make his vaunte that [...] hathe séene all the greatest perfections that euer dame Nature wrought. Now to come a little lower, on this freshe Diana appeared a necke, that surmounted the blaunche colour of mylke, were it neuer so excellent white, and hir stomacke somwhat mounting by the two pomels and firme teates of hir [Page] breastes, separated in equall distaunce, was couered with a vaile, so lose and [...], as those two litle pretie mountains might easily be séene, to moue and remoue, according to the affection that rose in the centre of that modest and sober pucelles mynde: who ouer and besides all this, hath suche a pleasaunt countenaunce and ioyefull chéere, as hir beautie more than wonderfull, rendred hir not so woorthie to be serued and loued, as hir naturall goodnesse and disposed curtesie appearyng in hir face, and hir excellent entertainment and comly grace to all indifferently. This was not to imitate the maner of the moste parte of our faire Ladies and [...], who (moued with what opinion I know not) be so disdaynfull, as almoste theyr name causeth discontentment, and bréedeth in them greate imperfection, who by thinking to appeare more braue & fine, by too much squeymishe dealyng, doe offuscate and darken with Follie their exterior beautie, blotting and defacing that which beautie maketh amiable and worthy of honour. I leaue you now to consider whether Dom Diego had occasion to forgo his speache, & to be berest of [...], being liuely assailed with one so wel armed as Gineura was with hir graces & honestie: who no lesse abashed with the port, countenāce, swete talk, and stately behauior of the knight, which she vewed to be in him by stealing lokes, felt a motiō (not wōted or accustomed) in hir tender hart, ye made hir to change color, & by like occasion spechlesse: an ordinarie custom in thē yt be surprised with ye maladie of loue to lose yt vse of spech wher the same is most necessarie to giue the intier charge in the heart, which not able to support and beare the burden of so many passions, departeth some porcion to the eyes, as to the faithfull messangers of the myndes secrete conceipts, which tormented beyond measure, and [Page] burning with affection, causeth somtimes the humor to gushe out in that parte that discouered the first assault, and bredde the cause of that feuer, which frighted the hearts of those two yong persons, not knowing well what the same mighte be. When they were come to the Castle, and dismounted from their horsse, many welcomes and gratulations were made to the knight, which yelded more wood to the fire, and liuely touched the yong Gentleman, who was so outraged with loue, as almost he had no minde of himself, and rapt by litle and litle, was so intoxicated with amorous passion, as all other thoughts were lothsome, and ioy displeasant in respect of the fauourable martirdome which he suffered by thinking of his faire and gentle Gineura. Thus the knight which in the morning disposed him selfe to pursue the harte, was in heart so attached, as at euening he was become a seruant, yea and such a slaue, as yt voluntarie seruitude wholy dispossessed him from hys former fréedome. These be the frutes also of follie, inuegling the eyes of men, that launch themselues with eyes shut into the gulfe of despaire, which in end doth cause the ruin and ouerthrow of him, that yeldeth thervnto. Loue procedeth neuer but of opinion: so likewise the yll order of those that be afflicted with that passion, riseth not elsewhere, but by the fond persuasion which they conceiue, to be blamed, despised and deceiued of the thing beloued: where if they measured that passion according to his valor, they wold make no more accompt of that which doth torment them, than they do of their health, honor and life, who for their seruice and labour delude them, and recompense an other with that which the foolish louer shall employ, that doth haste despair to hym, and ende more than desperate, by séeing an other come to enioy that, for which he hath beate the bushes. [Page] During the time that supper was preparing, the Lady sent hir men to séeke the huntesmen of Dom Diego, to giue them knowledge where he was become, and therof to certifie his mother, who when she hearde tell that he lay there, was very glad, beyng a righte good friende and very familiar neighbor with the Lady, the hostesse of hir [...]. The Gentleman supping after he had tasted the feruent heate that broiled in his minde, coulde eate litle meate, rather satisfied with the féeding diete of his amorous eyes, which without any maner of iealousie, distributed their nourishment to the heart, and [...] very soberly, priuily throwing his secrete prickes, with louely and wanton looke, to the heart of the faire Ladie, which for hir part spared not to render vsurie of rollyng lookes, wherof he was so sparing, as almost he durst not lift vp his eyes for dazelyng of the same. After supper, the Knight bidding the mother and daughter good night, went to bedde, where in steede of sléepe, he fell to sighing and imagening a thousande diuers [...] [...] like numbre of follies, such as they doe whose braines be fraught with loue. ‘Alas (sayd he) what meaneth it, that always I haue liued in so great libertie, and now doe féele my selfe attached with such bondage as I can not expresse, whose effects neuerthelesse be fastned in me? Haue I hunted to be takē? Came I from my house in libertie, to be shut vp in prison, and do not know whether I shall be receiued, or beyng receiued, haue interteinement, according to my desert? Ah Gineura, I would to God, that thy beautie did prick mée no worsse, than the trée whereof thou takest thy name, is sharp in touching, and bitter to them that [...] the same. Truely I estéeme my comming hither happy (for all the passion that I indure) sith the purchase of a griefe so luckie dothe qualifie the ioy, that made me to [Page] wander thus ouer [...]. [...] fair amongs the fairest, truly the fearful beast which with the bloody hareboundes was torne in pieces, is not more martired, than my hart deuided in opinions vpon thine affection. And what do I know if thou louest an other more worthy to be fa uored of thée thā thy poore Dom Diego. But it is impossible yt any can approch ye sinceritie ye I féele in my hart, determining rather to indure death, thā to serue other but fair & goldē Gineura: therfore my loyaltie receiuing no cōparison cānot be matched in man sufficiēt (for respect of ye same) to be called seruāt of thine [...]. Now come what shal, by means of this, I am assured yt so long as Dom Diego liueth, his hart shal receiue none other impression or desire, but yt whiche inciteth him to loue, serue, & honor ye fairest creature at this day within the cōpasse of Spaine.’ [...] herevpō, sweating, laboring & trauelling vpon ye framing of his loue, he founde nothing more expediēt thā to tel hir his passion, & let hir vnderstād ye good wil yt he had to do hir seruice, & to pray hir to accept him for such, as from that time forth wold perpetrate nothing but vnder yt title of hir good name. On ye other side Gineura could not close hir eies, & knew not yt cause almost yt so [...] hir of sléepe, wherfore now tossing on ye one side, & thē turning to ye other inhir rich & goodly bed, fātasied no fewer deuises thā passionated Dom Diego did. In ye end she cōcluded, yt if yt knight shewed hir any euidēt sign, or opened by word of mouth of loue and seruice, she wold not refuse to do the like to him. Thus passed ye night in thoughts sighs & wishes betwene these. [...]. apprentises of the thing, whereof they yt be lerners, shal sone attain ye experience, & they yt folow the occupation throughly, in short time be their [...] masters. The next day yt knight would depart so soone as he was vp: but ye good widow, imbracing yt personage & good order of ye knight in hir heart, more thā any other [Page] that she had séen of long time, intreated [...] so earnestly to tarie as he which loued better to obey hir request thā to depart, although fained ye contrary, in yt end appered to be vanquished vpō ye great importunitie of the lady. Al that morning yt mother & the daughter passed the time with Dom Diego in great talk of cōmon matters. But he was then more astoonned & inamored than the night before, in such wise as many times he [...] so vnaptly to their demaūds, as it was easily perceiued that his minde was much disquieted with some thing, yt only did possesse ye force & vehemēce of yt same: not withstāding ye lady imputed yt to ye [...] of yt gentlemā, & to his simplicity, which had not greatly frequēted yt cōpanie of Ladies. When diner time was come, they were serued with such great fare & sundry delicates, accordingly as wt hir hart she wished to intertain ye yong lord, to ye intent frō that time forth, he might more willingly make repaire to hir house. After diner he rēdred thāks to his hostesse for his good cheere & intertainment that he had receiued, assuring hir, yt all ye dayes of his life he wold imploy himself to recompense hir curtesie, and withal dutie & indeuor to acknowledge that fauor. And hauing taken his leaue of the mother, he went to ye damosell, to hir I say, that had so sore wounded his heart, who alredy was so depely grauē in his mind, as ye mark remained there for euer, taking leaue of hir, kissed hir hāds, & thinking verily to expresse yt whervpō he imagined al ye night, his tong & wits wer so tied & rapt, as the gētlewoman perfectly perceiued this alteratiō, wherat she was no whit discōtented and therfore all blushyng, saide vnto him: ‘I praye to God sir, to ease and comfort your griefe, as you leaue vs desirous and glad, long to enioy your companie. Truly Gentlewoman (aunswered the Knight,) I thinke my selfe more than happie, to heare that wysh procéede from such a one as you bée, [Page] and specially for the desire whiche you say you haue of my presence, which shall be euer redie to do that which it shall please you to [...].’ The Gentlewoman bashful for that offer, thāked him very hartily, praying him with swete and smiling countenance, not to forget the waye to come to visite them, béeyng well assured, that hir mother wold be very glad therof. ‘And for mine owne parte (quod she) I shall thinke my selfe happy to be partaker of the pleasure and great amitie that is betwene our two houses.’ After greate reuerence & leaue taken betwéene them, Dom Diego retourned home, where he tolde his mother of the good interteynement made him, and of the great honestie of the Lady his hostesse: ‘wherfore Madame (quod he to his mother) I am desirous (if it be your pleasure) to let them know how much their bountiful hospitalitie hath tied me to them, and what desire I haue to recompense the same. I am therfore willing to bidde them hyther, and to make thē so good chéere, as with al their heart they made me whē I was with them.’ The Ladie whiche was the assured friende of the mother of Gineura, liked well the aduise of hir sonne, and told him that they should be welcome, for the aunciente amitie of long time betwéene them, who was wont many times to visit one an other. Dom Diego vpon his mothers words, sent to intreat the Ladie and faire Gineura, that it woulde please them to doe him the honour to come vnto his house: To whiche request she so willingly yelded, as he was desirous to bid them. At the appointed day Dom Diego sought al meanes possible honourably to intertaine them: In meates wherof there was no want, in instrumentes of all sortes, Mummeries, Morescoes, and a thousand other passetimes, wherby he declared his good bryngyng vp, the gentlenesse of his spirite, and the desire that he had [Page] appeare such one as he was, before hir, which hadde alreadie the full possession of his libertie. And bicause hée would not faile to accomplishe the perfection of his intent, he inuited all the Gentlemen and Gentlewomen that were his neighbours. I will not here describe the least part of the prouision for that feast, nor the diuersitie of meates, or the delicate kyndes of wines. It shall suffise mée to tell that after dinner they daunced, where the knight toke his mistresse by the hand, so glad to sée hir selfe so aduaunced, as he was content to be so néere hir, that was the swéete torment and vnspeakable passion of his minde, which he began to discouer vnto hir in this wyse: ‘Mistresse Gineura, I haue bene always of this minde, that Musike hath a certain secrete hidden vertue (which well can not be expressed) to reuiue the thoughts and cogitations of man, bée they neuer so mornful and pensiue, forcing them to vtter some outward reioyse: I speake it by my self, for that I liue in extreme anguish & paine, that al the ioy of the world séemeth vnto me displeasaunt, care, and disquietnesse: and neuerthelesse my passion, agréeing with the plaintife voyce of the instrument, doth reioyse and conceiue comforte, as well to perceyue insensible thinges [...] to my desires, as also to sée my selfe so néere vnto hir, that hath the salue to ease my payne, to discharge my disease, and to depriue my minde from all griefs. In like maner-reason it is, that she hir selfe doe remedy my disease, of whom I receiued the pricke, and which is the first foundation of all mine euil. I can not tell (sayde the Gentlewoman) what disease it is you speake of, for I should be very vnkinde to giue him occasion of griefe, that dothe make vs this greate chéere. Ah Ladie mine (sayd the Knight) fetching a sighe from the bottome of his hearte, the intertainement that I [Page] receyue by the continuall contemplation of [...] beauties, and the vnspeakeable [...] [...] those two beames, whyche twynckle in youre [...], bée they that happily doe vere me, and make me drinke thys cuppe of bitternesse, wherein not wythstanding I fynde suche swéetenesse as all the heauenly drinke called Ambrosia, fayned by the Poetes, is but gall in respecte of that which I taste in mynde, féelyng my deuotion so bente to doe you seruice, as onely Death shall vntye the knotte wherewith voluntarilye I knytte my selfe to bée youre seruaunt for euer, and yf it so please you, youre faythfull and loyall friend and husbande.’ The yonge Damoselle not woonted for to heare suche Songs, did chaunge hir coloure at least thrée or foure tymes, and neuerthelesse [...] a little angre of that whych dydde contente hir moste: and yet not so sharpe, but that the Gentleman perceyued well enough, that shée was touched at the quycke, and also that hée was accepted into hir good grace and fauoure. And therefore hée continued styll hys talke, all that tyme after dynner, and the mayden sayde vnto hym: ‘Syr, I will nowe confesse that griefe may couer alteration of affections procéedyng from Loue. For although I hadde determined to dissemble that whiche I thynke, yet there is a thyng in my mynde (whyche I maye not name) that gouerneth me so strongly, and draweth me farre from my propre deuises and conceiptes, in such wise as I am constrained to doe that which this second inspiration doeth leade mée vnto, and dothe force my mynde to receyue an Impression, that what will bée the ende thereof, as yet I knowe not. Not withstandyng, reposyng me in youre vertue and honestie, and [Page] acknowledgyng your merite, I thinke my selfe happie to haue suche [...] for friende, that is so faire and comely a Knight, and for suche I doe accepte you vntill you haue obtained of my Ladie my mother, the seconde poynte, whych accomplisheth that whyche is moste desired of them, that for vertues sake do loue. For but onely for that, you shall be none otherwyse fauoured of me, than hytherto you haue bene. Till nowe haue I attended for this right happie daye of ioye and blisse (sayde the [...]) in token whereof, I doe kisse your white and delicate handes, and for acknowledgyng the fauour that presently I doe receiue, whereby I maye make my vaunt to [...] the seruaunte of hir, that is the fairest, moste curteous, and honest Gentlewoman on thys syde the Mountaynes.’ As hée hadde ended those woordes, they came to couer for supper, where they were serued so honourably, as if they hadde bene in the Court of the Monarch of Spayne. After supper, they wente to walke abroade alongs the [...] syde, besette with wyllowe trées, where bothe the beautie of the tyme, the runnyng [...], the charme of the naturall musicke of byrdes, and the pleasaunt murmure of the tremblyng leaues, at the whistelyng of the swéete Westerne wynde, moued them agayne to renew theyr passetyme after dynner. For some dydde gyue them selues to talke, and to deuise of [...] matter: some framed nosegayes, garlandes, and other pretie poesyes for theyr friendes: Other some dyd leape, runne, and throwe the barre. In the end a great lord, neighbor to Dom Diego, whose name was Dom Roderico, knowing by his frends coū tenance to what saint he was vowed, & perceiuing for whose loue [...] feast was celebrate, toke by [...] hand a gentlewoman [Page] that sate nexte to faire Gineura, and [...] hir to daunce after a song, whervnto she béeing pleasaunt and wyse, made no great refusall. Dom Diego failed not to ioyne with hys mystresse, after whom folowed the reste of that noble traine, euery of them as they thought best. Now the Gentlewoman, that beganne to daunce, song thys song so apte for the purpose, as if shée hadde entred the hearte of the enimie and mystresse of Dom Diego, or of purpose hadde made the same in the name of hir, whome the matter touched aboue the rest.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

The yong and tender feblenesse

Of mine vnskilfull age,

Wherof also the tendernesse

Doth feeble heart assuage:

Whome beauties force hath made to frame

Vnto a louers hest.

So soone as first the kindled flame

Of louing toyes increst.

Who may better sing and daunce, amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

I haue assayed out to put

The fier thus begoonne,

And haue attempted of to cut

The threede which loue hath spoonne:

And new alliance faine would flee

Of him whome I loue best,

But that the Gods haue willed mee

To yelde to his request.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage [...]

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So amiable is his grace,

Not like among vs all:

So passing faire is his face,

Whose hue doth staine vs all:

And as the shining sunny day

Doth eu'ry man delight,

So he alone doth beare the sway,

Amongs eche louing wight.

Who may [...] sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

Why should not then, the fairest dame,

Apply hir gentle minde,

And honor giue vnto his name,

With humble heart and kinde?

Sith he is full of curtesie,

Indewd with noble grace,

And brest replete with honestie,

Well knowne in eu'ry place.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

If I should loue, and serue him than,

May it be counted vice?

If I retaine that worthy man,

Shall I be demde vnwise?

I will be gentle to him sure,

And render him mine aide:

And loue that wight with heart full pure,

That neuer loue assaide.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall?

Thus the most sacred vnitie,

That doth our hearts combine:

Is voide of wicked flattery,

The same for to [...].

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No hardned rigor is our guide,

Nor follie doth vs leade:

No Fortune can vs twaine deuide,

Vntill we both be deade.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage [...]?

And thus assured certainly,

That this our loue shall dure,

And with good lucke hope verely,

The same to put in vre.

The sowen sedes of amitie,

Begon betwixt vs twaine,

Shall in most perfite vnitie,

For euermore remaine.

Who may better sing and daunce amongs vs Ladies all,

Than she that doth hir louers heart possesse in bondage thrall!

This song delited the minds of many in yt company, and principally Dom Diego & Gineura, who felt themselues tickled without laughing: notwithstanding, the maiden reioysed to hear hir self so greatly praised in so noble a company, & specially in yt presence of hir friend who had no lesse pleasure by hearing the praises of his beloued, than if he had bene made Lord of all Aragon. She for all hir dissembled countenaunce vsed openly, could not hide the alteration of hir minde, without sending forth a sodain chaunge of colour, yt increased yt fair & goodly taint of hir face. Dom Diego seing yt mutation, was so ioyful as was possible, for thereby he knew and iudged himself assured of the good grace of his mistresse & therfore wringing hir finely by the hands, sayd vnto hir very soberly [...]. What greater pleasure my louing wench can there happen vnto your seruaunt, than to sée the accomplishmēt of this Prophetical [...]? [Page] I assure you yt in al my life I neuer heard musike, yt delited me so much as this, & therby do vnderstand yt good wil of the Gentlewoman, which so curteously hath discouered yours towards me, & the faithful seruice wher of you shall sée me from hence forth so liberall, as neither goods nor life shal be spared for your sake. Gineūra who loued him with al hir heart, thanked him very hū bly, and prayed him to beleue that the song was not vn truly soong, and yt without any fail, she had therby manifested al the secrets of hir minde. The daunce ended, they sate them downe round about a cleare fountaine, which by silent discourse, issued from an high and moisty rock, enuirōned with an infinite numbre of Mapletrées, Poplers & Ashes. To which place a page brought a lute to Dom Diego, wherupō he could play very wel, & made it more pleasātly to sound for that he accorded his fayning voice to the instrument, singing this song that foloweth.

That I should loue and serue also, good reason doth require,

What though I suffre lothsome grief, my life in woe to wrappe?

The same be thonely instruments, of my good lucke and happe,

The foode and pray for hungry corps, of rest th'assured hire.

By thought wherof (O heauy man) gush forth of teares great store

And by & by reioyst againe, my driery teares do cease:

Which guerdon shal mine honor sure, in that triumphāt peace,

The summe whereof I offer now, were it of price much more.

Which I doe make withall my heart, vnto that blessed wight,

My proper Goddesse here on earth, and only mistresse dere:

My goods and life, my brething gost within this carcase here,

I vow vnto that maiestie, that heauenly starre most bright.

Now sith my willing vow is made, I humbly pray hir grace,

To end th'accord betwene vs pight, no longer time to tracte:

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Which if it be by sured band, so haply brought to passe,

I must my self thrice happy coūt, for that most heauenly fact.

This song made the company to muse, who commided the trim inuention of the Knight, and aboue al Gineura praised him more than before, & could not so well refraine hir lokes from him, & he with countre change rendring like againe, but that the two widowes their mothers conceiued great héede therof, reioysing greatly to sée the same, desirous in time to couple them together. For at that present they deferred the same, in cō sideration they were both very yong. Notwithstāding it had bene better that the same coniunction had bene made, before fortune had turned the whéele of hir vnstablenesse. And truely delay and prolongation of time sometimes bringeth such and so great missehaps, that one hundred times men cursse their fortune, and little aduise in foresight of their infortunate chaunces that commonly do come to passe. As it chaūced to these widowes, one of them thinking to loose hir sonne by the vaine behauior of the others daughter, who without yt helpe of God, or care vnto his will, disparaged hir honor, and prepared a poyson so daungerous for hir mothers age, that the foode therof prepared the way to the good Ladies graue. Nowe whiles this loue in this maner increased, and that desire of these two Louers, flamed forth ordinarily in fire and flames more violent, Dom Diego all chaunged and transformed into a newe man, receiued no delite, but in the sight of his Gineura. And she thought that there could be no greater felicitie, or more to be wished for, than to haue a friend so perfect, and so wel accomplished with all things requisite for the ornament and full furniture of a Gentleman. This was the occasion that the yong Knight let [Page] no wéeke to passe without visiting his mistresse twice or thrice at the least, and she did vnto him the greatest curtesie and best entertainment, that vertue could suffer a maiden to doe, who is the diligent treasurer and carefull tutor of hir honor. And this she did by consēt of hir mother. In like manne, rhonestie doth not permit yt chaste maidens should vse long talke, or immoderate spéeche, with the first that be suters vnto them: & much lesse séemely it is for them to be ouer squeimishe nice, with that man which séeketh (by way of marriage) to winne power and title of the body, which in very dede, is or ought to be the moitie of their soule. Such was yt desires of these two Louers, which notwithstanding was impéeched by meanes, as hereafter you shal heare. For during the rebounding ioy of these faire couple of loyall louers, it chaunced that the daughter of a noble man of the Countrey, named Ferrando de la Serre, which was faire, comely, wise, and of very good behauior, by kéeping daily company with Gineura, fel extréemely in loue with Dom Diego, and assayed by all meanes to do him to vnderstand what the puissance was of hir loue, which willingly she meant to bestowe vpon him, if it wold please him to honor hir so much, as to loue hir wt like [...]. But the Knight which was no more his own man, [...] rather possessed of another, had lost with his libertie his wits, and minde to marke the affection of this Gentlewoman of whome he made no accompt. The Maiden neuerthelesse ceased not to loue him, and to [...] al possible wayes to make him hir owne. And knowing how much Dom Diego loued Hawking, she bought a [...] the best in all the Countrey, and sent the same to Dom Diego, who with all his heart receiued the same, and effectuously gaue hir thanks for that desired gift, praying the messanger to recommend him [Page] to the good grace of his Mistresse, and to assure hir selfe of his faithfull seruice, and that for hir sake he would kepe the hauk so tenderly as ye balles of his eyes. This Hauk was the cause of the ill fortune that afterwards chaunced to this pore louer. For going many times to sée Gineura with the Hauke on his fist, & bearing with him the tokens of the goodnesse of his Hauke, it escaped his mouthe to say, that the same was one of the things that in all the world he loued best. Truely this worde was taken at the first bound contrary to his meaning, wherwith the matter so fell out, as afterwards by despaire he was like to lose his life. Certaine dayes after, as in the absence of the Knight, talke rose of his vertue and honest conditions, one prainsing his prowesse & valiaunce, another his great beautie and curtesy, another passing further, extolling the sincere [...] and constācy which appeared in him touching matters of loue, one enuious person named Gracian spake his minde thē in this wise: ‘I wil not deny but that Dom Diego is one of the most excellent, honest and brauest Knightes of Catheloigne, but in matters of Loue he séemeth to me so waltering and inconstant, as in euery place where he commeth, by and by he falleth in loue, and maketh as though he were sick, and wold die for the same. Gineura maruelliing at those woords, sayd vnto him: I pray you my friende to vse better talke of the Lorde Dom Diego. For I do thinke the loue which the Knight doth beare to a Gentlewoman of this Countrey, is so firme and assured, that none other can remoue the same out of the siege of his minde: Lo how you be deceiued gentlewoman (quod Gracian,) for vnder coloure of [...] seruice, he and such as he is doe abuse the simplicitie of yong Gentlewomen.’ And to proue my saying [Page] true, I am assured that he is extremely enamored with the daughter of Dom Ferrando de la Serre, of whome he receiued an Hauke, yt he loueth aboue all other things. Gineura remembring the words which certaine dayes before Dom Diego spake touching his Hauke, began to suspect and beleue that which master Gracian alleaged, and not able to support the choler, which colde iealosie bred in hir stomake, went into hir Chamber full of so great grief and heauinesse, as she was many times like to kill hir self. In the end, hoping to be reuenged of the wrong which she beleued to receiue of Dom Diego, determined to endure hir fortune paciently. In ye meane time she conceiued in hir minde a despite and hatred so great and extreame against the pore. Gentleman that thought little héereof, as the former loue was nothing in respect of the reuenge by death, which she then desired vpon him. Who the next day after his wonted maner came to sée hir, hauing (to his great damage) the Hauke on his fiste, which was the cause of all that iealosse. Nowe as the Knight was in talke with the mother, séeing that his beloued came not at all (according to hir custome) to salute him and bid him welcome, inquired how she did. One that loued him more than the rest, sayd vnto him: ‘Syr, so soone as she knewe of your comming, immediately she withdrew hir selfe into hir Chamber.’ He that was wise and well trained vp, dissembled what he thought, imagining that it was for some little fantasie, whereunto women willingly be subiecte. And therefore when he thought time to departe, he tooke leaue of the widowe, and as hée was going downe the staires of the great Chamber, he met one of the maides of Gineura, whome he prayed to commend him to hir mistresse.

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Gineura during all this time toke no rest, deuising how she might cutte of cleane hir loue entertained in Dom Diego, after she knew that he caried the Hawke on his fist: which was the only cause that did put hir into that frensie. And therefore thinking hir selfe both despised and mocked of hir Knight, & that he had done it in despite of hir, she entred into so great rage and choler, as she was like to fall mad. She being then in this trouble of minde, behold hir Gentlewoman came vnto hir, and did the Knights message. Who hearing the simple name of hir supposed enimy, begā to sigh so strangely, as a man wold haue thought hir soule presently wold haue departed hir body. Afterwards when she had vanquished hir raging fit which stayed hir speach, she gan very tenderly to wéepe, saying: ‘Ah traitor & vnfaithful louer, is this the recompense of the honest and firme amitie which I haue borne thée, so wickedly to deceiue me vnder the colour of so faint and detestable a friendship? Ah rashe and arrant Théese, is it I vpon whome thou oughtest to vende thy wicked trumperies? Doste thou thinke that I am no better worthe, but that thou prodigally shouldest wast mine honor to bear yt spoiles thereof to hir, that is in nothing comparable vnto me? Wherin haue I deserued this discurtesie, if not by louing thée more than thy beautie & fained loue deserue? Diddest thou dare to aduenture vpon me, hauing thy conscience wounded with suche an abhominable and deadly treason? Durst thou to offer thy mouth to kisse my hand, by the mouth of another, to whome thou haddest before dedicated thy lying lips in thine owne proper person? I praise God that it pleased him to let me sée before any other worse chaunce hath happened, the poyson by thée prepared for the ruine of my life and honor. Ha foole, hope not to take me in thy trap, nor yet [Page] to deceiue me through thy sugred and deceitful words. For I sweare by the almighty God, that so long as I shall liue, I wil accompt thée none other, but as ye most cruel and mortal enimy that I haue in this world.’

Then to accomplish the rest of hir careful minde, she wrote a letter to giue hir farewell to hir olde friend Dom Diego. And for that purpose instructed hir Page with this lesson, that when the Knight should come, he should be ready before hir lodging and say vnto him in the behalfe of hir, that before he passed any further, he should reade the letter, and not to faile to doe the contents. The Page which was malicious, and ill affectioned to Dom Diego, knowing the appointed day of his comming, waited for him a quarter of a mile from the Castle, where he had not long taried, but beholde the innocent louer came, against whome the Page went, bearing about him more hurtfull & noisome weapons, than all the Théeues and robbers had in all the Countrey of Catheloigne. In this manner presenting his mistresse letters, he sayde vnto him: ‘My Lord, Madame Gineura my mistresse hath sent me vnto you, & bicause she knoweth how fearfull you be to displease hir, prayeth you not faile to reade this letter before you passe any further, and there withall accomplishe the effecte of the same. The Knight abashed with that sodaine message, answered the Page: God forbid my friend (quod be) that I shold disobey hir by any meanes, vnto whom I haue giuen a full authoritie and puissance ouer mine affections.’ So receiuing the letters, he kissed them thre or foure times, and opening them, found that he hoped not for, and red that which he thought not off. The cō tents wherof were these.

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The Letters of faire Gineura, to the Knight Dom Diego.

THere shall passe no day of my life, from making complaintes of thée disloyall and periured Louer, who being more estemed and better beloued than [...] diddest deserue, hast made so small accompte of me, whereof I will be reuenged vpon my selfe, for that I haue thus lightly beleued thy wordes so full of crafte and guile. I am in [...] that thou from hence for the shalt flye, to buzze and beate the bushes, where [...] suspectest to catche the pray: for héere thou art like to be deceiued. Goe varlet, (goe I say,) to [...] hir which holdeth thée in hir nets and snares, and whose Presentes (althoughe of small value) haue [...] thée more than the Honest, vertuous, and [...] Loue, that vertue hir selfe began to knitte betwéene vs. And sith a carrion Kite hath made thée [...] further off, than the winde of the aire was able to beare thée, God defend that Gineura should goe aboute to hinder thy follies, and much lesse to-suffer hir selfe to be beguiled through thine excuses. [...] rather God defend (except thou desirest to sée me die) that thou shouldest euer be in place where I am, assuring [...] of this my minde, neuer to be chaunged so long as my soule shall rest wythin my body: which giuing breth vnto my panting breast, shall neuer be other, but a mortall enimie to Dom Diego: and such one as euen to the Death will not faile to prosecute the [...] of the most traiterous and vnfaithfull Knighte, that euer was girte with girdle, or armed with sword. [Page] [...] beholde the last fauour that thou canst, or oughtest to hope of me, who liueth not but onely to martir and [...] thée, and neuer shall be other but

The greatest enimie that euer thou hast, or shalt haue, Gineura the faire.

The miserable louer had no sooner red the contents of the letter, but lifting vp his [...] to the [...], he sayd: ‘Alas, my God thou knowest well if euer I haue [...], that I ought to be banished from the place, where my contentation is chiefly fixed, & from whence my heart shall neuer departe, chaunce what missehappe and fortune so euer. Then tourning himself towardes the Page, he sayd: Sir Page my friend, say vnto my Ladie, most humbly commending me vnto hir, that for this present I will not sée hir, but heareafter she shall heare some newes from me. The Page well lessoned for the purpose, made him aunswere, saying: Sir she hath willed me to say thus much by mouthe, that ye cannot do hir greater pleasure, than neuer to come in place where she is: for so much as the Daughter of Dom Ferrando de la Serre hath so [...] you in hir nettes, that loth she is your faithfull heart should hang in ballance, and expect the vncertaine loue of two Ladies at once.’

Dom Diego hearing the truth of his missehap, & the occasion of the same, made light of the matter for that time, till at length the choler of his mistresse shold begin to coole, that therby she might know vpō how brittle grounde she hadde planted a suspition of hir most faithfull and louing seruaunt, and so retiring towards his house, altogether vexed and ill contented, he went into his Chamber, where with his dagger he paunched [Page] the gorge of the pore Birde, the cause of his Ladies [...], saying: ‘Ha vile carraine Kite, I sweare by the bloud of him, that thou shalt neuer be the cause againe, to make hir fret for such a trifling thing as thou art: I beleue that what so euer furie is hidden within the body of this curssed Kite, to engender a Plague, the same now is seased on me, but I hope to doe my mistresse to vnderstande what Sacrifice I haue made of the thing which was sent me, ready to do the like vpō mine own flesh, where it shal please hir to commaund.’ So taking inke & paper, he made answer to Gineura as foloweth.

The letters of Dom Diego to Gineura the faire.

BUt who would euer haue thought (my Lady deare) that a light opinion could so soone haue diuided and disparkled your good iudgement, to condempne your Knight before you had heard what he was able to say, for himselfe? truely I thought no more to offend you, than the man which you neuer knewe, although you haue bene deceiued by colored words, vttered by those that be enuious of my happe, and enimies of your ioy, who haue filled your minde ful of false report. I swear vnto you (by God, my good Lady) that neuer thing entred into my fantasie more, than a desire to serue you alone, and to auoide the acquaintaunce of all other, to preserue for you a pure and entire heart. Wherof long agone I made you an offer. In witnesse wherof I humbly [...] you to beleue, that so soone as you sée this Birde (the cause of your anger and occasion of my mishap) torne and pluckte in pieces, that my heart féeleth no lesse alteration or torment: for so long as I shal vnderstand [Page] your displeasure to endure against me, assure your selfe my life shall abide in no lesse paine than my ioy was great, when I frankly possessed your presence. Be it sufficient (madame) for you to knowe, that I neuer thought to offende you. Be contēted I besech you, with this sacrifice whiche I send you, if not, that I doe the [...] vpon mine own body, which without your good wil and grace can not longer liue. For my lyfe depending vpon that onely benefite, you ought not to bee astoonned if the same [...] his nourishmente dothe perishe, as frustrate of that foode, propre and apte for his appetite: and by like meanes my sayd life shall reuiue, if it may please you to spreade your beames ouer mine obscure and base personage, and to receiue this [...] for a fault not cōmitted. And so waiting a gentle answere from your great [...], I humbly kisse your white [...] delicate handes with all humilitie, praying God swéete ladie, to let you se how much I suffer without desert, and what puissaunce you haue ouer him that [...] all your

Faithfull and euer seruant most obedient Dom Diego.

The letter closed and sealed, he deliuered to one of his faithfull and secrete seruantes, to beare (with the deade Hauke) vnto Gineura, chargyng him diligentely to take héede to hir countenaunce, and aboue all, that faithfully he should beare away that which she dyd saye vnto him for aunswere. His man fayled not to spéede himself with diligence: and being come before Gineura, he presented that which his master had sent hir. She ful of wrath and indignation, woulde not once [...] to reade the letter, and much lesse to accept the present whiche was a witnesse of the contrary of that she dyd [...], and tournyng vnto the Messanger, she sayde: [Page] ‘My friende, thou mayest goe gette thée backe agayne, wyth the selfe same charge whiche thou hast brought, and say vnto thy maister, that I haue nothyng to doe with his Letters, his excuses, or any other things that commeth from hys handes, as one hauyng good expeperience of hys sleightes and deceipts. Tell hym also, that I prayse God, in good tyme I haue taken héede to the little fayth and truste that is in him for a countergarde in tyme to come, lightly neuer to bée deceyued.’ The seruyng man woulde fayne haue framed an Oration to purge his master, but the fierce Gentlewoman brake of his talke, saying vnto hym, that she was well resolued vpon hir intente, which was, that Dom Diego shoulde neuer recouer place in hir minde, and that shée hated hym as much at that tyme as euer shée loued him before. Upon which aunswere the Messanger returned, so sorowfull for the misfortune of his master (knowing him to be very innocent) as he knew full well into what despaire his master wold [...], when he vnderstode those pitiful and heauie newes: not with standing nedes he must know them, and therfore when he was come before Dom Diego, hée recited vnto hym from poynt to poynt his ambassage, and deliuered him againe his letters. Whereof the infortunate Gentleman was so sore assooned, as he was like to haue fallen downe dead at that instant. ‘Alas (sayde he) what yll lucke is this, that when I thought to enioye the benefite of my attempte, Fortune hath reuolted to bryng me to the extremitie of the moste desperate man that euer lyued? Is it possible that my good seruice shoulde bée the cause of my approached ouerthrowe? Alas, what may true and faithfull louers henceforthe hope for, if not the losse of their time, when after long deuoire [Page] and duetie, an Enuious foole shall come to depriue them of their ioy and gladnesse, and they féeling the bitternesse of theyr abandoned farewell, one that loueth lesse shall beare away the [...] [...] of suche hope, and shall possesse without deserte the glorie due to a good and faithfull [...]. Ah fayre Gineura, that thou séest not the griefe whych I doe [...], and the affection wherewith I serue thée, and howe muche I woulde suffer to gayne and recouer thy good grace and fauor. Ha vayne hope, whyche vntyll nowe haste fylled me, wyth myrthe and gladnesse, altogether spente and powdred in the gaulle of operation of thy bytter sauoure, and the taste of thy corrupted lycour: better it hadde bene for mée at the begynnyng to haue refused thée, than afterwardes receyued, cherished, and sincerely beloued, to be banished for so lyght occasion, as I am full sore ashamed to conceyue the same wythin remembraunce: but Fortune shall not haue hir wyll ouer me: for so long as I shall lyue, I wyll continue the seruaunt of Gineura, and my lyfe I will preserue, to lette hir vnderstande the force of Loue: By continuance whereof, I will not sticke to sette my selfe on fyre with the liuely flames of my passion, and then withdrawe the [...] of my ioye, by the rigour and frowardnesse that shall procéede from hir.’ When he had finished his talke, he began to sigh and lament so straungely, as his man was about to goe to call the ladie the mother of the Knighte his master: In whome dydde appeare suche signes, as yf Death hadde [...] at hande, or else that he hadde ben attached with the Spirite of phrenesie. But when he sawe hym aboute to come agayne to hymselfe, he sayd thus vnto hym: ‘How now syr, wil you cast your selfe away for the foolishe [Page] toy of an vndiscrete girle, yl manered and taught, and who perchaunce doth all this, to proue how constāt you would be? No no sir, you must turne ouer an other leafe, and sith you be determined to loue hir, you must perseuere in your pursute. For at lengthe it is impossible, but that this diamont hardnesse, must néedes bée mollified, if she be not a diuel incarnate, more furious than the wildest beastes, whych haunte the desertes of Lybia.’ Dom Diego was comforted with that admonition, and purposed to persist in hys affection, and therefore sent many messages, giftes, letters, and excuses to his angred mistresse Gineura: But she made yet [...] accompt of them than of the firste, chargyng the messangers not to trouble them selues about those [...], for she had rather die than to sée hym, or to receyue any thing from him, whom she hated aboue all things of the worlde. When newes hereof came to the knight, he was altogether impacient, and séeyng the smal profite whiche he dyd gaine by pursuing his foolish opinion, and not able to bestowe his loue elsewhere, he determined to die: and yet vnwilling to imbrue his handes with his owne blood, he purposed to wander as a varabunde into some deserte, to perfourme the course of his vnhappie and sorowfull dayes, hoping by that meanes to quenche the heate of [...] amorous rage, either by length of time, or by [...], the last refuge of the miserable. For whiche purpose then, he caused to bée made two pilgrims wéedes, ye one for himself, & the other for his man, and prepared all their necessaries for his voyage. Then wryting a Letter to his Gineura, hée called one of his men, to whome he sayde: ‘I am going about certaine of mine affaires, wherof I will haue no man to know, and therfore when I am gone, thou shalt tell my Lady mother what I saye to thée, and that within [Page] twentie dayes (God wyllyng) I meane to retourne. Moreouer I require thée, that foure dayes after my departure, & not before, to beare these letters to mistresse Gineura, and if so be she refuse to receiue them, faile not to deliuer them vnto hir mother: take héede therefore if thou loue me, to doe all that which I haue giuen thée in charge.’ Afterwards he called his seruaunt vnto hym, which had done the first message vnto Gineura, whiche was a wise and gentle fellow, in whome the Knyghte reposed great affiance, to hym he declared al his enterprise, and the ende whervnto his fierce determination did extende. The good seruant which loued his master, hearyng his intent so vnreasonable, sayde vnto hym: Is it not enough for you sir to yeld your selfe a praie to the most fierce and cruell woman that liueth, but thus to augment hir glorie, by séeing hir selfe so victorious ouer you? Are you ignorant what the malice of womē is, and howe muche they triumphe in tormentyng the poore blynded soules that become their seruantes, and what prayse they attribute vnto [...], if by some misfortune they driue them to dispaire? Was it without cause that the Sage in tymes paste did so greately hate that sexe and kinde, as the common ruine & ouerthrow of men? What moued the Greke Poete to syng these verses, against all sortes of women?

A common woe though silly woman be to man,

Yet double ioy againe she doth vnto him bring:

The wedding night is one, as wedded folke tell can,

The other when the knell for hir poore soule doth ring.

If not for that he knew the happinesse of man consisted more in auoiding the acquaintaunce of that furie, than by imbracing and cherishyng of the same, sith hir nature is altogether like vnto Aesops serpēt, which being deliuered from perill and daunger of death by the shephierd, [Page] for recompense thereof, [...] his whole house with his venomous [...] and rammish breath. O how happie is he that can master his owne affections, & [...] a frée man from that passion, can reioice in libertie, [...] from the swéete euyll whiche (as I well [...]) is the cause of your despaire. But sir, your wisedome ought to vanquish those light conceiptes, by settyng so light of that your rebellious Gentle woman as shee is vnworthie to be fauoured by so great a Lord as you be, who deserueth a better personage than hirs is, and a frendlier entertainemen than a farewell so foolishly [...]. Dom Diego, althoughe that he tooke pleasure to heare those discourses of hys faithfull seruaunt, yet he shewed so sowre a countenaunce vnto him, as the other with thys litle worde helde his peace. ‘Sith then it is so syr, that you be resolued in your missehappe, it may please you to accept me to wait vpon you, whither you are determined to go: for I meane not to lyue at [...] ease, and suffer my master, in payne and in griefe. I will be partaker of that whiche Fortune shal prepare, vntill the heauens doe mitigate theyr rage vppon you, and your predestinate mishappe.’ Dom Diego, who [...] no better companie, imbraced hym very louingly, thanking him for the good will that hée bare hym, and sayde: ‘This present night about midnight, wée wyll take our [...], euen that way whether our lotte and also Fortune shall guide vs, attending either the ende of my passiō, or the whole ouerthrow of my selfe.’ Their intent they did put in proofe: For at midnight yt Moone being cléere when all things were at rest, and the crickets chirping through the creauises of the earth, they toke their way vnséene of any. And so soone as Aurora began to garnish hir mantle with the colors of red and white, and the mornyng starre of the Goddesse of stealing [Page] loue, appeared, Dom Diego began to sigh, saying: ‘Ah ye freshe and dewy mornings, that my happe is far from the contentation of others, who after they haue rested vpon the cogitation of theyr ease and ioy, doe awake by the pleasaunt chirpyng of the birdes, to perfourme by effect that whiche the shadowe and fantasie of theyr mynde, dyd present by dreaming in the night, where I am constrained to separate by greate distance excéeding vehement continuation of my tormentes, to folowe wylde beasts, wandring from thence where the greatest number of men do quietly slepe and take their rest. Ah Venus, whose starre now cōduceth me, & whose beames long agoe didde glowe and kyndle my louing heart, howe [...] it that I am not intreated according to the desert of my constant mind and mening most sincere? Alas, I loke not to expect any thing certē from thée, sith thou hast thy course amongs the wādring starres. Must the influence of one starre yt ruleth ouer me, deface that which yt [...] wold to be accōplished, & that my cruel mistresse, deluding my languors & griefs triumpheth ouer mina infirmitie, & ouerwhelmeth me with care and sorow, that I liue pining away, amongs the sauage beasts in yt wildernesse? for somuche as [...] yt grace of my lady, all cōpany shall be so tedious & lothsom vnto me, yt the [...] thought of a tru [...] wt hir, yt hath the [...] of me, shal serue for yt comfort & true remedie of all my troubles.’ Whiles he had with these pāgs forgotten himself, he saw yt the day began to waxe clere, the Sun alredy spreading his goldē beanies vpon the earth, and therfore began hastily to set forthwards, vsing byways, and far from cōmon vsed trades, so nere as he could, yt he might not by any meanes be knowne. Thus they rode forth euen vntill noone: but seing their [...] to be weary and faynt, they lyghted at a village, [Page] sarre from the high waye: where they refreshed themselfes, and baited their horsse vntill it was late. In this sort by the space of thrée dayes they trauersed the [...], vntill they [...] to the foote of a mountain, not frequented almoste but by wilde and sauage beastes. The countrey rounde about was very faire, pleasaunt, and fit for the solitarinesse of the knight: for if shadow pleased him, he might be delighted with the couerte of an infinite numbre of fruitful trées, where with onely nature had furnished those hideous and sauage deserts. Next to the high and well timbred forrests, there were groues and bushes for exercise of hunting. A man could desire no kinde of veneson, but it was to be had in that wildernesse: there might be séene also a certain sharpe and rude situation of craggy and [...] rockes, which notwithstanding yelded some plesure to yt eyes, to sée them tapissed with a pale moasure gréene, whiche disposed into a frizeled guise, made the place pleasaunt and the rocke soft, according to the fashion of [...]. There was also a very fair and wide caue, which liked him well, cōpassed round aboute with firre [...], Cedre trées, pine apples, Cipres, and trées distillyng a certaine rosen or gumme, towardes the bottom wherof, in the way downe to the valley, a man might haue [...] a passing companie of Ewe trées, Poplers of al sortes; and Maple trées; the leaues whereof felt into a lake or ponde, which came by certain small gutters into a fresh & very cléere fountain right against that [...]. The knight séeing the auncientie and [...] of the place, deliberated by and by to plant there the siege of his abode, for performing of his penance and life. And therfore sayd vnto his seruant: My friende, I am [...] that this place shall be yt monasterie, to make yt [...] profession of our religion, and where we wyll [Page] accomplish the voyage of our [...]. ‘Thou [...] both the beautie and solitarinesse, which do rather commaūd vs here to rest, than any other place nere at band.’ The seruaunt yelded to the pleasure of his master, and so lighting from their horsse, they dissurnished thē of their saddles and bridles, giuing to them the libertie of the fields, of whome afterwardes they neuer heard more newes. The saddles they placed within the caue, & leauing their ordinary apparell, they clothed thēselues in Pilgrimes wéedes, fortifying the mouth of the caue, yt wild beasts shold not hurt thē when they were a slepe. There the seruaunt began to play the [...], and to make. y. [...] beds of mosse, whose spindle and whéele were of woode, so wel poollished & trimmed, as if he had bene a carpenter wel expert in yt occupation. They [...] of nothing else but of yt frutes of those wilde trées, sometimes of the fruits of herbs, vntil they had deuised to make a crosbow of wood, wherwith they killed now & then a Hare, a Cony, Kid, & many times some stronger beast remained with thē for gage: whose blood they pressed out betwéene. [...]. pieces of wood, & rosted them against the Sunne, seruing the same in, as if it had bene a right good dishe for the first course of their sobre & vndelicate table, wherat the pure water of the fountaine, next vnto their holow and déepe house, serued in [...] of the good wines and delicious drinkes that abounded in yt house of Dom Diego. Who liuing in yt pore estate, ceased night nor day to complaine of his harde fortune and curssed plight, going many times through the deserts all alone, yt better to muse and study therupon, or (peraduenture) desirous that some hungry Bear shold descend from the Mountaine, to finish his life & painful griefs. But the good seruaunt knowing his masters sorow & mishap, would neuer goe out of his sight, but rather [Page] exhorted him to retourne home to his goodes and possessiōs, and to forget that order of life, vnworthy for such a personage as he was, and vncomely for him that ought to be indued with good reason & iudgement. But the desperate Gentleman wilful in his former deliberation, wold not heare him sprake of such [...]. [...] yt if it escaped the seruaūt to be earnest & sharpe against ye rudenesse & sottish cruelty of Gineura, it was a [...] to sée Dom Diego mount in choler against him, saying: ‘Art yu so hardy to speake ill of the gentlewoman, which is the most vertuous & honest personage vnder ye coape of heauen? Thou maist thāk the loue I bear thée, otherwise I wold make thée féele how much the slaūder toucheth me at the heart yt thou vttrest against hir, which hath right to punish me thus for mine [...], and yt it is I that cōmit the wrong in cōplaining of hir seuerity. Now sir said the seruant, I do in déede perceiue what maner of thing the contagion of loue is. For they which once do féele the corruption of that aire, thinke nothing good or sauory, but the filthy smell of yt [...] meat. Wherfore I hūbly beseche you a litle to set apart, & remoue frō minde, that [...] & presumptuous dame Gineura, and by forgetting hir beauty, to measure hir desert & your grief, you shall know then (being guided by reasōs lore) yt you are the simplest and weakest man in the world, to tormēt your self in this wise, and that she is the fondest girle, wholly straught of wits, so to abuse a Noble man yt meriteth ye good grace & swete embraeemēt of one more faire, wise & modest, than she [...] hir self to be to you. The Knight hearing this, thought to abādon pacience, & therfore said vnto him: I sweare vnto thée by God, yt if euer thou haue any suche talke againe, either I will die, or thou shalt depart out of my cōpany, for I cānot abide by any means to suffre [Page] one to despise hir whom I do loue and honor, & shall so [...] during life.’ The seruaunt loth to offend his master, held his peace, heauy for all that in heart, to remember how the pore Gentleman was resolued to finish there, (in the desert vnknowen to his friends) all the remnāt of his life. And who aswell for the euill order, and not [...] nouriture, as for assiduall plaints and wé [...], was become so pale & leane, as he better resembled a dry chippe, than a man hauing féeling or life. His eyes were soonke into his head, his beard [...], his hair staring, his skin ful of filth, altogither more like a wilde and sauage creature (such one as is depainted in brutall forme) than faire Dom Diego, so much commē ded and estéemed through out the kingdome of Spaine. Nowe leaue we this amorous Hermite to passionate & plaine his misfortune, to sée to what ende the Letters came that he wrote to his cruell Mistresse. The day [...] for deliuerie of his Letters, his seruaunt did his charge, and being come to the house of Gineura, found hir in the Hall with hir mother, where kissing his maisters letters, he presēted them with very great reuerence to the Gentlewoman. Who so soone as she knewe that they came from Dom Diego, all chaunged into raging coloure and foolishe choler, threw them incontinently vpon the ground, saying: ‘Sufficeth it not thy maister, that already twice I haue done him to vnderstand, that I haue nothing to do with his letters nor Ambassades, and yet goeth he about by such assaultes to encrease my displeasure and agonie, by the only remembraunce of his follie? The mother séeing that vnciuile order, although she vnderstoode the cause,’ and knew that there was some discorde betwéene the two Louers, yet thought it to be but light, sith the Comike Poet doeth say:

[Page]

The louers often falling out,

And prety wrangling rage:

Of pleasant loue it is no dout,

The sure renewing gage.

‘She went vnto hir Daughter, saying: What great rage is this? Let me sée that letter that I may read it: For I haue no feare yt Dom Diego can deceiue me with the swéetenesse of his hony words. And truly daughter you néede not feare to touch them, for if there were any poison in them, it proceaded from your beautie that hath bitten and stong the Knight, whereof if he assay to make you a partaker, I sée no cause why he ought to be thus rigorously reiected, deseruing by his honestie a better entertainement at your handes.’ In the meane time one of the Seruing men tooke vp the letters, and gaue them to the Lady, who reading them, found written as foloweth.

The letters of Dom Diego to Mistresse Gineura.

MY dearest and most wellbeloued Ladie, sith that mine innocency can finde no resting place within your tendre corpse, what honest excuse or true reasō so euer I do alleage, and sith your heart declareth it selfe to be implacable, and not pleased with him yt neuer offēded you, except it were for ouermuch loue, which for guerdon of yt rare and incomparable amitie, I perceiue my self to be hated deadly of you and in such wise contemned, as the only record of my name, causeth in you an insupportable griefe and displeasure vnspeakeable. To auoid I say your indignation, and by my mishap to render vnto you some [...] and contentment, I haue [Page] meant to dislodge my selfe so far from this Countrey, as neither you nor any other, shal euer hear by fame or true report, the place of my abode, nor the graue wherin my bones shall rest. And although it be an [...] hearts sorow and torment, which by way of pen can not be declared, to be thus misprised of you, whom alone I do loue and shal, so long as mine afflicted soule shall hang vpon the féeble and brittle thréede of life: yet for all that, this griefe falling vpon me, is not so [...], as the punishment is grieuous, by imagining the passion of youre minde, when it is [...] with [...] and wrathe againste me, who liueth not, but to wander vpon the thoughtes of youre perfections. And forsomuch as I doe féele for the debilitie that is in me, that I am not able any longer to beare the sowre shockes of my bitter torments and martyrdome that I presently doe suffer, yet before my life do faile, and death doe sease vpon my senses, I haue writen vnto you this present letter for a testimoniall of your rigour, which is the marke that iustifieth my vngyltinesse. And although I doe complain of mine vnhappie fortune, yet I meane not to accuse you, only contented that eche man doe know, that firme affection and eternall thraldome do deserue other recompense than a farewell so cruell. And I am well assured, that when I am dead, you will pitie our torment, knowing then, although to late, that my loyaltie was so sincere, as the report of those was false, that made you beléeue, that I was very farre in loue with the daughter of Dom Ferrande de la Serre. Alas, shall a noble Gentleman that hath bene wel trained vp, be fordidden to receiue the gifts that come from a vertuous Gentlewoman? Ought you to be so incapable and voide of humanitie, that the sacrifice whiche I haue made of the poore birde, the cause of your disdaine, [Page] my repentance, my lawfull excuses, are not able to let you sée the contrary of you persuation? Ah, ah, I sée that the darke and obscure vaile of vniust disdaine & [...] anger, hath so blindfold your eyes, and [...] your minde, as you can not iudge the truth of my cause and the vnrighteousnesse of your quarel. I will render vnto you none other certificat of mine innocencie, but my languishing heart, whiche you clepe betwene your hands, feling such rude intertainment there, of whome he loked for reioyse of his trauels. But for somuch then as you do hate me, what resteth for me to do, but to pro cure destruction to my selfe? And sith your pleasure cō sisteth in mine ouerthrowe, reason willeth that I obey you, and by death to sacrifice my life in like maner as by life you wer the only mistresse of my heart. [...] only thing chereth vp my heart, & maketh my death more miserable, which is, that in dying so innocent as I am, you shal remaine faultie, the onely cause of my ruine. My life will depart like a puffe, & soule shal vanish like a swéete sōmers blast: wherby you shal be euer déemed for a cruell womā and bloodie murderer of your deuout and faithful seruants. I pray to God mine owne swete Ladie, to giue you such contentation, ioy, pleasure, and gladnesse, as you do cause through your rigor, discōtentation, grief & displeasure to the poore lan guishing creature, and who for euermore shall be

Your most obedient and affected seruant Dom Diego.

The good Ladie hauyng redde the Letter, was so astoonned, as hir woordes for a long space stayed within hir mouth, hir heart panted, and spirite was full of confusion, hir minde was filled with sorow, to consider the anguishes of the poore vagabund and foster hermit. [Page] In the ende before the houshold dissembling hir passion which moued hir sense, she toke hir daughter aside, whō very sharply she rebuked, for that she was the cause of the losse of so notable and perfecte a Knyght as Dom Diego was. Then she redde the Letter vnto hir, and as all hir cloquence was not able to moue that cruel damsell, more venomous than a serpent against the knight who (as she thought) had not indured the one halfe of that which his inconstancie and lightnesse & well deserued, whose obstinate mind the mother perceiuing, said vnto hir: ‘I pray to God (deare daughter) that for youre [...], you be not blinded in your beautie, & for the refusal of so great a benefit as is the alliāce of Dom Diego, you be not abused with such a one as shal dimme the light of your renoume & glory, whiche hitherto you haue gained amongs the sobrest and modest maidens.’ Hauing said so, the wise and sage widow, went toward the seruant of Dom Diego, of whō she demaūded what [...] his master departed, which she knowing, & not igno rant of the occasion, was more wroth than before: notwithstānding she dissembled what she thought, & sending back his seruant, she required him to do hir hartie commendations to the lady his mistresse, which he did. The good lady was ioyful therof, for not knowing yt cōtents of hir sonnes letters, she loked yt he had sent word vnto his lady of the iust houre of his returne. But when she saw that in. xx. dayes, nor yet within a moneth he came not, she could not tell what to thinke, so dolorous was she for the absence of hir son. The time passing without hering any newes frō him she began to tormēt hir self, and be so pensiue, as if she had heard certaine newes of his death. ‘Alas (quod she) and wherfore haue the heuēs giuē me the possession of such an exquisite fruite, to depriue me thereof before I doe partake the goodnesse [Page] and swéetenesse therof, and enioy the grifts proceding from so goodly a stocke. Ah God, I feare that my immoderate loue is the occasion of the losse of my [...], and the whole ruine of the mother, with the demolition and wast of all our goodes. And I woulde that it had pleased God (my sonne) that hunters game had neuer ben so dere, for thinkyng to catche the praie thou thy selfe was taken, and thou wandring for thy better disport, missing the right way, so strangely didst [...], that hard it is to reduce thée into the right track again. At least wise if I knew the place, whervnto thou arte repaired to fynde againe thy losse, I woulde trauaile thither to beare [...] companie, rather than to lyne here voide of a husbande, betrayed by them whome I best trusted, and [...] from the presence of thée my sonne, the staffe and onely comforte of myne olde age, and the certaine hope of al our house and familie.’ Now if the mother vered hir selfe, the sonne was eased with no great reioyse, being now a frée citizen with the beastes & foules of the forestes, dennes and caues, leauing not the profunditie of the wooddes, the craggednesse of the rocks, or beautie of the valey, without some signe or token of his grief. Sometime with a puncheon well sharpned, seruing him in stéede of a penknife, he graued the successe of his loue vpon on hard stone. Other times the soft barke of some tender and new growen spraye serued him in place of paper or parchement. For there he carued in [...] proprely combined with a knotte (not easily to be knowne) the name of his Ladie, interlaced so proprely with his owne, that the finest [...] might be deceiued, to disciphre the right interpretatiō. Upon a day then, as he passed his time (according to his custome) to muse vpon his myssehaps, and to frame his successe of loue in the ayre, he ingraued these verses [Page] on a stone by a fountaine side, adioyning to his sauage and rusticall house.

If any forrest Pan, doth haunt here in this place,

Or Wandring Nymphe, hath heard my wofull plaint:

The one may well behold, and view what drop of grace,

I haue deseru'de, and eke what griefes my heart doth taint,

The other lend to me some broke or shoure of raine,

To moist mine heart and eyes, the gutters of my braine.

Somewhat further of many times at the rising of the Sunne, he mounted the toppe of an highe and gréene Mountaine to solace himselfe vpon the freshe and gréene grasse where four pillers were erected, (either naturally done by dame Nature hir self, or wrought by the industry of mā,) which bore a stone in forme foure square, wel hewed, made and trimmed in maner of an Altare, vpon which Altare he dedicated these verses to the posteritie.

Vpon this holy squared stone, which Altare men doe call,

To some one of the Gods aboue, that consecrated is,

This dolefull verse I consecrate, in token of my thrall,

And deadly griefes that do my silly hearte oppresse.

And vexe with endlesse paines, which neuer quiet is.

This wofull verse (I say) as surest gage of my distresse,

I graue on Altare stone for euer to remaine,

To shew the heart of truest wight, that euer liued in paine.

And vpon the brims of yt table, he carued these words:

This Mason worke erected here, shall not so long abide,

As shall the common name of two, that now vncoupled be,

Who after froward fortune past, knit eche in one degre,

Shall render for right earnest loue, reward on either side.

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And before his lodging in that wilde and stony [...] vpon the barke of a goodly & lofty Béeche trée, féeling in himself an vnaccustomed lustinesse, thus he wrote:

Th' increasing beautie of thy shape, extending far thy name,

By like increase I hope to see, so stretched forth my fame.

His man séeing him to begin to be merily disposed, one day said vnto him: ‘And wherfore sir serueth yt lute, which I brought amongs our males, if you do not assay therby to recreate your self, & sing thereupon yt praises of hir whome you loue so well: yea and if I may so say, by worshipping hir, you doe commit Idolatry in your mind. Is it not your pleasure that I fetch the same vnto you, that by imitation of Orpheus, you may moue the trées, rockes, and wilde beasts to bewaile your misfortune, and witnesse the penaūce that you do for hir sake, without cause of so heinous punishmēt: I sée wel ( [...] the Knight) yt thou woldest I should be mery, but mirth is so far from me, as I am estraunged frō hir yt holdeth me in this misery. Notwithstāding I wil perform thy request, and will awake that instrument in this desert place, wherwith sometime I witnessed yt greatest part of my passions.’ Then the Knight receiuing the Lute, sounded therupon this song ensuing.

The waues and troubled [...], that moues the seas aloft,

Which runs & roares against the rocks, & threatneth dāgers oft,

Resembleth loe the fits of loue,

That daily doe my fansie moue.

My heart it is the ship, that driues on salt sea [...],

And reason sailes with senselesse wit, and neuer loketh home,

For loue is guide, and leades the daunce,

That brings good hap, or bredes mischaunce.

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The furious flames of loue, that neuer ceaseth sure,

Are loc the busie sailes and oares, that would my rest procure,

And as in Skies, great windes do blo,

My swift desires runnes, fleting so.

As swete Zephyrus breth, in spring time fedes the floures,

My mistresse voice wold ioy my wits, by hir most heauenly powers,

And wold exchaūge my state I say,

As Sommer chaungeth Winters day.

She is the Artique starre, the gracious Goddesse to,

She hath the might to make and marre, to helpe or else vnde,

Both death and life, she hath at call,

My warre, my peace, my ruine and all.

She makes me liue in woe, and guids my sighs and lokes,

She holdes my fredome by a lace, as fish is held with hokes,

Thus by despaire, in this concaite,

I swallow vp both hoke and baite.

And in the deserts loe I liue, among the sauage kinde,

And spend my time in woful sighs, raisde vp by care of minde,

All hopelesse to, in paines I pine,

And ioyes for euer doe resine.

I dread but Charons boat, if she no mercy giue,

In darknesse then my soule shal dwell, in Plutos raigne to liue,

But I beleue, she hath no care,

On him that caught is in hir snare.

If she release my woe, a thousand thankes therefore,

I shall hir giue, and make the world to honor hir the more,

The Gods in Skies will praise the same,

And [...] beare of hir good name.

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O happy is that life, that after torment [...],

And earthly sorowes on this mould, for better life shal [...],

And liue amongs the Gods on high,

Where loue and louers neuer die.

O life that here I leade, I freely giue thee now,

Vnto the faire where ere she rests, and loke thou shew hir [...]

I linger forth my yeares and dayes,

To winne of hir a crowne of praise.

And thou my pleasant lute, cease not my songs to sound,

And shew the tormēts of my mind, that I through loue [...] found,

And alwayes tell my Mistresse still,

Hir worthy vertues rules my will.

The Foster Louer.

The Foster louer singing this song, sighing [...] times betwene, the trickling teares ranne downe his face: who therby was so disfigured, as searse could they haue knowen him, which had all the dayes of their life frequented his companie. Such was the state of this miserable yong gentleman, who dronk with his owne wine, balanced himself down to despair rather than [...] the hope of that which he durst not loke for. Howbeit like as the mischiefs of men be not alwayes durable, & that all things haue their proper season, euē so fortune repenting hir euil intreatie, which wrongfully she had caused this pore penetenciarie of Gineura to endure, prepared a meanes to readuaunce him aloft vpon hir wheele, euen when he thought least of it. And certes, herein appeared the mercy of God, who causeth things difficult & almost impossible to be so easie, as those that ordinarily be brought to passe. How may it héereby be perceiued, that they which were plūged in the bottom [Page] [...] defiance, déeming their life vtterly forlorne, be sone exalted euen to the top of all glory and felicitie? Hath not our age séene that man which was by authoritie of his enimie iudged to die, ready to be caried forth to the scaffold miraculously deliuered from that daunger, and (wherin the works of God are to be maruelled) yt same man to be called to the dignitie of a prince, and preferred aboue all the rest of the people. Nowe Dom Diego attending his fieldish Philosophy in the solitary valeis of the rich Mountaine Pyrene, was holpen with helpe vnloked for, as you shall heare.

You haue hard how he had a neighbor & singuler frēd, [...] Noble gentleman named Dom Roderico. This gētleman amongs al his faithful cōpanions, did most lamēt the hard fortune of Dom Diego. It came to passe. [...], months after yt the pore wilde penitēt person was gon on his pilgrimage, yt Dom [...] toke his iorney into Gascoine for diuerse his vrgēt affairs, which after he had dispatched, were it yt he was gon out of his way, or that God (as it is most likely) did driue him thither, he approched toward yt coast of the Pyrene mountains, wher yt time his good frend Dom Diego did inhabite, who daily grew so weake & féeble, as if God had not sēt him sodain succor, he had gained yt he most desired, which was death yt shold haue ben the end of his trauails & afflictions. The traine of Dom Roderico being thē a bow shot off frō the sauage caben of Dom Diego, they espied the tracts of mens féete newly [...], and begā to maruel what he shold be yt dwelled there, cōsidering ye solitude & [...] of the place, & also that ye same was far of [...] or house. And as they deuised hereupon, they saw a man going into a Caue, which was Dom Diego, comming frō making his cōplaints vpō the rock [...] [...] before. From which hauing [...] his face towarde [Page] that part of the world where he thought ye lodging was of that saint, wherunto he addressed his deuotiōs, Dom Diego hearing the noise of the horsse, was retired bicause he wold not be sene. The knight which rode that way, seing that, & knowing how far he was out of the way, cōmaunded one of his men to gallop towards the Rocke, to learne what people they were yt dwelled [...], & to demaund how they might coast to the high way yt led to Barcelone. The seruaunt approching neare the caue, perceiued the same so well empaled & fortified [...] beastres skins before, fearing also yt they were theues & robbers yt dwelled there, durst not approche, & lesse enquire the way, & therfore returned towards his master to whom he told what he saw. The Knight of another maner of metal & hardinesse than yt rascall and coward seruaunt, like a stout, couragious & valiant mā, [...] to the caue, & demaunding who was within, he sawe a man come forth so disfigured, horrible to loke vpō, pale with staring hair vpright, that pitifull it was to behold him, which was the seruaunt of the foster hermite. Of him Roderico demaunded what he was, & which was yt way to Barcelone. ‘ [...] answered yt disguised person: I know not how to answer your demaund, & much lesse I know the countrey wher we now presently be. But sir said he sighing, true it is yt we be two pore cōpaniōs whome fortune hath sent hither, by what il aduēture I know not, to do penance for our trespasses & offenses.’ Roderico hearing him say so, begā to cal to his remembrāce his friend Dom Diego, although he neuer besore yt time suspected the place of his above. He lighted then frō his horsse, desirous to see the singularities of yt [...], and the magnificence of yt cauish lodging, where be entred and saw him whome he sought for, and yet for all that did not know him: he cōmoned wt him a long time [Page] of the pleasure of yt solitary life in respect of them that liued intangled wt the cōbresome follies of this world. ‘Forsomuch quod he as yt sprite distracted & withdrawn frō worldly troubles is eleuable to the contēplation of heauenly things, & soner attendeth to the knowledge & reuerēce of his God, than those yt be conuersāt amongs mē, and to conclude, the cōplaints, yt delites, ambitions, couetousnesse, vanities & superfluities yt aboūd in ye cō fused maze of worldly troup, do cause a misknowledge of our selues, a forgetfulnesse of our creator, and many times a negligence of pietie and purenesse of religion.’

Whiles ye vnknowne Hermit & the Knight Roderico talked of these things, the seruaunts of Ro. visiting all the corners of the depe and stony cel of those penitēts, by fortune espied two saddles, one of thē richly wrought & armed with plates of stéele, yt had bene méete for some goodly Ienet. And vpon the plate well wrought, grauen & enameled, the golde for all the rust cankring the plate, did yet appear. For which purpose one of thē said to yt seruaūt of Dom Diego. ‘Good father hitherto I see neither Mule nor horsse, for whome these saddles cā serue, I pray [...] to sel them vnto vs, for they will doe vs more pleasure, than presently they do you. Maisters (quod the Hermit,) if they like you, they be at your cō maundement. In the meane time Roderico hauing ended his talk with the other Hermite, without knowing of any thing that he desired, said vnto his mē. Now sirs to horsse, & leaue we these pore people to rest in peace, & let vs goe seeke for the right way which we so wel as they haue lost. Sir (quod one of his mē,) there be. y. saddles, & one of them is so exceding faire, so wel garnished & wrought as euer you saw.’ The knight feling in himself an vnaccustomed motion, caused thē to be brought before him, & as he viewed & marked the rich harnesse [Page] and trappings of the same, he stayeth to loke vpon the hinder part minonly wrought, & in the mids of the engrauing he red this deuise in the Spanish tong.

Que brantare la fe, es causa muy fea. That is to say. To violate or breake faith, is a thing detestable.

That only inscription made him to pause a litle more. For it was the Poesie yt Dom Diego bore ordinarily about his armes, which moued him to think yt without doubt one of those Pilgrimes was the very same man to whome yt saddle did appertain. And therfore he bent himself very attentiuely afterwards to behold first the one, & then the other of those desert Citizens. But they were so altered, as he was not able to know thē again. Dom Diego seing his friend so neare him, & the desire yt he had to know him, chafed very much in [...] mind and the more his rage begā to ware, when he saw Roderico approche neare vnto hym more aduisedly to looke vpon him, for he had not his owne affections so much at commaundement, but his bloud moued his entrailes, and mounting into the euident place, caused outwardly the alteration which he endured, to appear. Roderico seing him to chaūge colour, was assured of that which before he durst not suspect: & that which made him yt [...] beleue yt he was not deceiued, was a little tuft of haire, so yelow as golde, which Dom Diego had vpon his necke, wherof Dont Roderico taking heede, gaue ouer al suspition, & was well assured of yt he doubted. And therefore displaying himself we his armes opened vpon the [...] of his friend, & imbracing him very louingly, bedewing his face wt teares, sayd vnto him: ‘Alas my Lord [...] Diego, what euil luck frō heauen hath departed you [...] yt good cōpany of thē which die for sorow, to see thēselues be reued of yt beuty, light & ornamēt of their felowship: [Page] What be they that haue giuen you occasion thus to eclipse the brightnesse of your name, when it ought most clerely to shine, both for your present pleasure, & for the honour of your age? Is it from me sir, that you oughte thus to hide your selfe? Doe you thinke howe I am so blinde, that I know not right wel, you to be that Dom Diego, that is so renoumed for vertue and prowesse? I woulde not haue taried here so long, but to beare away a power to reioyse two persons, you being the one, by withdrawing you from this heauie and vnséemely wildernesse, and my selfe the other, by enioying your companie, and by bearing newes to your frendes, who sith your departure, do bewaile and lament the same.’ Dom Diego seing that he was not able to conceyle the truthe of that which was euidently séene, and féeling the louing imbracements of his best friende, began to féele a certaine tendernesse of heart like vnto that which the mother conceiueth, when she hath recouered hir sonne that was long absent, or the chast wife, the presence of hir deare husbande, when she clepeth him betwene hir armes, and frankely culleth and cherisheth him at hir pleasure. For which cause not able to refrain any longer for ioy and sorow together, weping and sighing began to imbrace hym with so good and heartie affection, as with good wil the other had sought for his knowledge And being come againe to him self, he sayd to his faithfull and most louing friend: ‘Oh God, howe vneasie and difficult be thy iudgements to cōprehend? I had thought to lyue here miserably, vnknown to all the world, & beholde, I am here discouered, when I thought lest of it: I am [...] dede (quod he to Roderico) that wretched & vnfortuante Dom Diego, euen that your very great & louing friende, who werie of his life, afflicted with his vnhap, and tormēted by fortune, is retired into these deserts, [Page] to accomplishe the ouerplus of the rest of his yll lucke. Now sith that I haue satisfied you herein, I besech you that being content with my sight, ye wil get you hence and leaue me here to performe that litle remnāt which I haue to liue, without telling to any person that I am aliue, or yet to manifest [...] place of my abode. What is that you say sir (sayd Roderico) are you so farre straught out of your right wits, to haue a minde to continue this brutal life, to depriue al your frends from the ioy which they receiue by inioying your cōpanie? Thinke I pray you, that God hath caused vs to be borne noble men, & hauing power and authoritie not to liue in corners, and buryed amid the slaue rie of the popular fort, or remain idle within great palaces or priuie places, but rather to illustrat and giue light with the example of our vertue to them which applie themselues to our maner of good behauior, & do liue as depending vpon our [...] & commaūdements: I appele to your faith, what good shal succede to your subiects, who haue both heard & also known the benefit bestowed vpō them by god, for that he gaue them a lord so modest and vertuous, & before they haue experimented the goodnesse and vertue, be depriued of him, that is adorned and garnished with suche perfections? What comfort, contentation and [...] shall my ladie your mother receiue, seeing the losse of you to bée so sodain, after your good & delicate bringing vp, instructed with such great diligēce to be vtterly bereued of yt frute of that educatiō? It is you sir, yt may cōmaund obediēce to parēts, succor yt afflicted, & do iustice to thē that craue it: Alas, they be your poore subiects yt make cōplaints, euen of you, for denying thē your due presence. It is you of whō my good madame doth cōplaine, as of him yt hath broken & violated his faith, for not cōming at yt promised day.’ Now as he was about to to continué his oration, Dom Diego vnwilling to heare him, brake his talk [Page] saying: Ah sir, & my great friend: It is an easie matter for you to iudge of mine affaires, & to blame mine absence, not knowing peraduēture ye occasion ye same. But I esteme you a mā of so good iudgement, & so gret a frēd of things honest, & of the same [...], as by vnderstā ding my hard luck when you be aduertised of yt cause of my withdrawing into this solitarieplace, you wil right ly confesse, & plainly sée that the wisest & most constant haue cōmitted more vain folies than these done by me, forced with like spirite yt now moueth & tormēteth my minde. Hauing sayd, he toke aside Roderico, wher he did tel vnto him the whole discourse both of his loue & also of the rigor of his Lady, not without wéeping, in such abundāce & with such frequēt sighes & [...], as interrupted his spech, that Roderico was cōstrained to kepe him cōpany, by remēbring yt obstinacie of hir yt was the mistresse of his heart, & thinking yt alredie he had séene the effect of like missehap to fal vpon his own head, or nere vnto yt like, or greater distresse thā that which he sawe his dere & perfect friend to indure. Notwithstāding he assayed to remoue him from that desperate mind & opinion of continuāce in yt desert. But the froward penitēt swore vnto him, that so long as he liued (without place recouered in the good graces of his Gineura, he wold not returne home to his house, but rather change his being, to seke more sauage abode, & lesse frequēted thā yt was. ‘For (said he) to what purpose shall my retourne serue, where cōtinuing mine affection, I shal fele like crueltie yt I did in time past, which wil be more painful & [...] for me to suffer than voluntarie exile & banishement, or bring me to that ende wherein presently I am. Content your selfe, I beséeche you, and suffer me to be but one vnhappie, and doe not persuade mée to proue a seconde affliction, woorsse than the [...] [...].’

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Roderico hearing his reasons so liuely and wel applied, woulde not replie, onely content that he would make him promise to [...] there two monethes, and in that time should attempte to [...] him selfe. And for [...] owne parte, he swore vnto him, that he wold be a meanes to reconcile Gineura, and bring them to talke together. Moreouer, he gaue him assurance by othe, that he should not be discouered by him, nor by any in his companie. Wherwith the Knight somewhat recomforted, thanked him very affectuously. And so leuing with him a fielde bed, two seruauntes, and money for his [...], Roderico toke his leaue, telling him that shortely he woulde visite him againe, to his so great contentation, as euer he was left and forsaken with griefe and sorow, himselfe making great mone for the vnséemely state, and miserable plighte of Dom Diego. And God knoweth whether by the way, he [...] the [...] of pitilesse Gineura, blaspheming a million of times the whole sexe of womankind, peraduenture not without iust cause. For there lyeth hidden (I knowe not what) in the breasts of women, which at times like the wane and increase of the Moone, doth chaunge and alter a [...] can not tell on what foote to stande to conceiue the [...] of the same: whiche fickle fragillitie of theirs (I dare not say mobilitie) is suche, as the subtillest [...] of them al, best skilled in Turners Art, can not (I say not deface) so much as hide or colour that naturall imperfection.

Roderico arriued at his house, frequented many tymes the lodging of Gineura, to espie hir fashions, and to sée if any other had conquered that place, that was so wel assailed and besieged by Dom Diego. And this wise and sage knight vsed the matter so well, that he fell in acquaintance with one of the Gentlewomans pages, [Page] in whome she had so great trust, as she conceyled from him very fewe of hir greatest secretes, not well obseruing the precept of the wise man, who counselleth vs not to tell the secretes of the minde to those, whose iudgement is but weake, and [...] tong very franke of speach. The knight [...] familiar with this page, dandled him so with faire wordes, as by litle and litle hée wrong the wormes out of his nose, & vnderstode that when Gineura began once to take pepper in snuffe, agoinst Dom Diego, she fel in loue with a Gentleman of Biskaye, very poore, but beautifull, yong, and lustie, which was the steward of the house: and the page added further, that he was not then there, but would returne within thrée dayes, as he had sente worde to hys mistresse, and that two other Gentlemen would accompanie him to carie away Gineura into Biskaye, for that was their last conclusion: ‘and I hope (quod he) that she wil take me with hir, bicause I am made priuie to their whole intent.’ Roderico hering the treason of this flight and departure of the vnfaithfull daughter, was at the first brunt astoonned, but desirous that the page should not marke his alteration, sayd vnto him: ‘In very dede mete it is, that the Gentlewoman shold make hir own choise of husbande, sith hir mother so litle careth to pronide one for hir. And albeit that the Gentleman be not so riche and noble, as hir estate deserueth, hir affection in that behalfe ought to [...], and the honestie of hys person: for the rest Gineura hath (thankes be to God) wherwith to intertaine the state of them bothe.’ These wordes he spake, farre from the thought of his hearte. For being by himself, thus he sayd: O blessed God, how blinde is that loue, which is vnruled, and out of order: and what dispaire to recline to them, whiche (voide of reason) [...] féede so foolishly of vaine thoughts and fond [Page] ‘desires, that two cōmodities, presented vnto them, by what ill lucke I know not, they forsake the beste, and make choise of the worst. Ah Gineura, the fairest Ladie in all this countrey, and the most vnfaithfull woman of our time, where be thine eies and iudgement? whither is thy minde strayed and wandred, to acquite thy selfe from a great lord, faire, rich, noble, and vertuous, to be giuen to one that is poore, whose parentes be vnknowne, his prowesse obscure, and birth of no aparant reputation. Behold, what maketh me beleue, that [...] (so well as Fortune) is not onely blynde, but also dazeleth the syghte of them that hée imbraceth and captiuateth vnder hys power and bondage. But I make [...] vowe (false woman) that it shall neuer come to passe, and that thys maister Biskaye shall neuer enioye the spoyles whiche iustely bée due vnto the trauaple and faythfull seruice of the valyaunt and vertuous [...] Dom Diego. It shall be hée, or else I will dye for it, whyche shall haue the recompense of his troubles, and shal féele the caulme of that tempest, whych presently holdeth hym at anker, amydde the moste daungerous rockes that euer were.’

By thys meanes Roderico knewe the way howe to kéepe promyse wyth hys friende, whyche lyued in expectation of the same. The two dayes paste, whereof the Page hadde spoken, the beloued of Gineura, sayled not to come, and wyth hym two Gallauntes of Biskaye, valyaunt Gentlemen, and well exercised in armes. That nyghte Roderico wente to sée the olde wydowe Ladye, the mother of the mayden, and syndyng oportunitie to speake to the Page, he sayde vnto hym: ‘I sée my friende, accordingly as you told mée, that you [...] vpon departing, the Steward of the house [Page] béeing nowe returned. I praye thée tell mée, yf thou haue néede of mée, or of anye thyng that I am able doe for thée, assuryng thée, that thou shalte obtayne and haue what so euer thou requirest. And therewithall I haue thought good to tell thée, and gyue thée warnyng (for thyne owne sake specially) that thou kéepe all thyngs close and secrete, that no [...] or [...] doe followe, to blotte and deface the fame and prayse of thy Mistresse. And for my selfe I hadde rather dye, than once to open my mouthe, to discouer the least intente of this enterpryse. But tell mée, I praye thée, when do you depart? Syr (quod the page) As my mystresse sayth, to morow about ten or eleuen of the clocke in the euenyng, when the Ladye hir mother shall bée in the sounde of hir fyrst sléepe.’ The knyght hearyng that, and desirous of no better time, tooke hys leaue of the Page, and wente home, where hée caused to bée sente for tenne or twelue Gentlemen, hys neyghboures and tenauntes, whom he made priuie of his secretes, and partakers of that he wente about, to delyuer out of captiuitie and miscrie, the chiefest of all hys friendes. The nyghte of those twoo louers departure, beyng come, Dom Roderico, which knewe the waye where they shoulde passe, be stowed hym selfe and hys companye in Ambushe, in a little groue, almoste thrée myles off the lodgyng of this fugitiue Gentlewoman: where they hadde not long taried but they hearde the trampling of horsse, and a certaine whispring noyse of people rydyng before them. Nowe the nyghte was somewhat cléere, whych was the cause, that the Knyght amongs the throng, knewe the Gentlewoman, besides whome rode the miserable wretche that hadde [...] hir away. Whome so soone [Page] as Roderico perceyued, full of despite, moued with extreme passion, welding his launce into his rest, brake in the nerest way vpon the infortunat louer, with [...] vehemencie, as neither coate of maile or placard was able to saue his lyfe, or warraunt him to kéepe companie with that troupe which banded vnder loues Enseigne, was miserably slaine, by the guide of a blynde, naked, and thieuish litle boye. And when he saw he had done that he came for, he sayd to the rest of the companie: My friends, this man was carelesse to make inuasion vpon other mens ground. These poore Biskayes surprised vpon the sodaine, and séeyng the ambushment to multiplie, put spurres to their horsse to the best aduantage they coulde for expedition, leauing their [...] or gaping for breth, & gyuing a signe that he was dead. Whiles the other were making them selues readie to runne away, two of Roderico his men, couered wyth skarfes, armed, and vnknowne, came to sease vpon sorowfull Gineura, who beholding hir friend deade, began to wepe and crie so straungely, as it was maruell that hir breath fayled not. ‘Ah traiterous théenes (sayd she) and bloodie murderers, why do ye not addresse your selues to execute crueltie vpon the rest, [...] you haue done to death him, that is of greater value than you all? [...] my dere friend, what crooked and greuous fortune haue I, to sée thée groueling dead on the grounde, and I abyding in life, to be the praie of murderous theues, & thou so cowardly bereued of life?’ Roderico with his face couered, drewe nere vnto hir, and sayde: I beséeche you gentlewoman, to forget these strange fashions of complaint, sith by them ye be not able to reuiue the deade, ne yet make your ende of griefs. The maidē knowing the voice of him that had bereued hir freinde, began to crie out more fiercely than before. For which cause one [Page] of the Gentlemen a companion of Roderico, hauyng a blacke counterfait bearde with two lunets, in maner of spectacles, very large and greate, that couered the most part of his face, approched nere the basheful mayden, and with bigge voice and terrible talke, holdyng his dagger vpon hir white and delicate breast, said vnto hir: I sweare by the Almightie God, if I heare thée speak one word more, I wil sacrifice thée vnto the gost of that varlet, for whome thou makest thy mone, who deserued to ende his dayes vpon a gallowe trée, rather than by the hands of a gentleman. Hold thy peace therfore thou foolish girle, for greater honour and more ample benefite is meant to thée, than thou [...] deserued. Ingratitude onely hath so ouerwhelmed thy good nature, that thou art not able to iudge who be thy friends. The Gentlewoman fearing deth, which as she thought was present, held hir peace, downe alongs whose eies a riuer of teares dydde runne, and the passion of whose heart, appeared by [...] sighes, and neuer ceassing sobbes, whiche in ende so qualified hir chéere, that the exteriour sadnesse was wholly inclosed in the mynde and thought of the afflicted Gentlewoman. Then Roderico caused the body of the dead to be buried in a little Countrey chappell, not farre oute of their way. Thus they trauailed two dayes before Gineura knew any of them, that had taken hir away from hir louer: euen so they permitted none to speake vnto hir, nor to any of hir companie, whiche was none else but a waytyng mayde, and the page that hadde discouered all the secretes to Dom Roderico.

A notable example surely for stolne and secrete mariages, whereby the honour of the contraded partes, is moste commonly blemyshed, the commaundement of God violated, who enioyneth obedience to our parents [Page] in all rightfull causes, who [...] for any light [...], they haue power to take from vs the [...] which otherwise naturall lawe woulde giue vs, [...] ought they of duetie to doe, where rebellious [...] abusing their goodnesse, do consume without feare of [...] bertie, the thyng whiche is in the hande and wyll [...] their fathers. In like manner dyuers vndiscréete [...] foolyshe mothers are to be accused, which suffer their daughters of tender and chyldishe age, to bée [...] red of theyr seruantes, not remembryng [...] [...] the fleshe is, howe prone and redy men be to doe euill, and how the seducing spirite waiting still vpon vs, is procliue and prone to surprise and catche vs within his snares, to thintent he may reioyse in the ruin of soules washed and redéemed with the blood of the son of God. This troupe drawyng nere to the caue of Dom Diego, Roderico sent one of his men to [...] hym of their commyng, who in the absence of hys friende, [...] and [...] wyth hope, shortely to sée the onely Ladie of hys hearte, accompanyed wyth a merie [...] ioyfull traine, so soone as he had somewhat [...] hys wylde maner of lyfe, he also by litle and litle [...] a good parte of his lustie and freshe colour, and almoste hadde recouered that beautie, whiche he hadde when he first became a Citizen of those desertes. Now hauing vnderstanded the message sent vnto him by Roderico, God knoweth yf wyth that [...] tydyngs he felte a motion of bloode, such as made all hys membres to leape and daunce, whyche rendred hys mynde astoonned, for the onely memorie of the thyng, that poysed hys mynde vp and downe, not able to stande wyth equall balaunce, whyche rather hée ought to haue made reioyse than complaine, being assured to sée hir, of whome hée demaunded onely [Page] grace and pardon, but for recouerie thereof, he durst not repose any certaine Iudgement. In the ende hoystyng vp his head like one rysen from a long and sonnd sléepe, hée sayde: ‘Praise be to God, who yet before I dye, hath done me that pleasure, to suffer me to haue a sight of hir, that by causing my martirdome, continueth thys disordered lyfe, which shall procure in like sort mine vtter ruine and decay: Upō the approch wher of, I shall goe more ioyful, charged with incomparable loue, to visite the ghostes beneath dead, in the presence of that cruel swete, and who tormenting me with ticklish tentation, hath made me taste honie sugred with [...] gall, more dangerouse than the sucke of poison, and vnder the vermilion rudde of a new sprouted rose [...] blowen forthe, hath hidden secrete thornes, the prickes whereof hath me so liuely touched, as my wounde can not well be cured, with any baulme that maye be therevnto applied, without enioying of that mine owne happie missehap, or without that remedie, which almost I féele the same only resting in death, that so long and oftenymes I haue desired, as the true remedie of my paines and griefe.’ In the meane whyle Dom Roderico, whiche tyll that tyme was not known vnto Gineura, drewe néere vnto hir by the way as he rode, and talked with hir in thys sorte: ‘I doubte not (Gentlewoman) but that you thynke youre selfe not well contented to sée me in this place, in such company, and for occasion so vnséemely for my degrée and state: and moreouer knowing what iniurie I séeme to do vnto you, that euer was, and am so affectionate and frendly to yt whole stock of your race & linage, & am not ignorant that vpon yt first brūt you may iudge my cause vniust to cary you away from the handes of your friende,’ [Page] to bring you into these [...], wylde, and solitarie places. But yf ye considered the force of that true amitie, whiche by vertue sheweth the common bondes of hearts and mindes of men, & shall measure to what ende this acte is done, without to muche staying [...] the light apprehension of choler, for a beginnyng somwhat troublesom, I am assured then (that yf you be not wholly depriued of reason) I shall not bee altogether blamed, nor you quite of faulte. ‘And bycanse [...] drawe néere vnto the place, whether (by the helpe of God) I meane to conduct you, I beseeche you to consyder, that the true seruaunt whiche by all seruice and duetie studieth to execute the comaundementes of him that hath [...] ouer hym, dothe not deserue to bée beaten or driuen away from the house of his master, but to be fauoured and cherished, and ought to receyue equall recompense for his seruice. I speake not this for my selfe, my deuotion being [...] elsewhere, and not to you, sauing for that honest affection which I ought to beare to all vertuous and chaste persons. The [...] whereof I will not denie vnto you in tyme and place, where I shal vse such [...] towards you, as is mete for a maiden of your age and state. For the gretnesse of noble men & puisant, doth most appeare & shew forthit self, when they vse mildenesse & gentlenesse vnto those, to whō by reson of their authoritie they might do [...] tie & malice. Now to yt end yt I do not make you doutful long. Al yt which I haue done & yet do mean to do, is for none other purpose, but to ease the greuous paines of yt most faithful louer that liueth at this day vnder yt circle of the Moone. It is for the good Knight Dom Diego, yt loueth you so derely & stil worshippeth your noble fame who bicause he wil not! shew him self disobedic̄t, liueth miserably amōg brute beasts, amid ye craggy rocks [Page] and mountaines and in the déepe solitudes of comfortlesse dales & valleis. It is to him I say that I doe bring you, protesting vnto you by othe (Gentlewoman) that yt misery wherin I saw him, little more than. vj. wekes past, toucheth me so neare the heart, as if the Sacrifice of my life sufficed alone, (& without letting you to féele this painefull voyage) for the solace of his [...] I wold spare it no more, than I do mine owne endeuor and honor, besides the hazarding of yt losse of your good grace and fauoure. And albeit I wel perceiue, that I do grieue you, by causing you to enter this painfull iourney, yet I beseche you that yt whole displeasure of this [...] may be imputed vnto my charge, and that it wold please you louingly to deale with him, who for your sake vseth such cruell misdemeanor against himselfe.’ Gineura as a woman halfe in despaire for the death of hir friend, behaued hir self like a mad woman voide of wit and sense, and the simple remembraunce of Dom Diego his name so astonned hir, (which name she hated far more than the pāgs of death) that she staide a long time, hir mouth not able to shape one word to speake. In the end vanquished with impacience, burning with choler, and trembling for sorow, loked vpon Dom Roderico with an eye no lesse furious, than a Tigresse caught within the net, and séeth before hir face hir yong Fawnes murdered, wringing hir handes, and beating hir delicate brest, she vsed these or such like words: ‘Ah bloudy traitor and no more Knight, is it of thée that I ought to looke for so detestable a villanie and treason? [...] darest thou be so hardie to entreate me for an o ther that hast in mine own presence killed him, whose death I wil pursue vpon thée, so long as I shal haue life within this body? Is it to thée false théefe and murderer, that I ought to render accompte of that which I [Page] meant to do? who hath appointed thée to be arbitrator, or who gaue thée commission to capitulate the articles of my mariage? Is it by force then, that thou woldest I shold loue that vnfaithful Knight, for whome thou hast committed & done this acte, that so long as thou liuest shall blot and blemish thy renoume, and shall be so wel fixed in my minde, and the wounds shal cleaue so neare my heart, vntill at my pleasure I be reuenged of this wrong? No, no, I assure thée that any force done vnto me, shal neuer make me otherwise disposed, thā a mortall enimy both to thée which art a Théefe & rauisher of an other mans wife, & also to thy desperate friend Dom Diego, which is the cause of this my losse: And now not satisfied with the former wrong done vnto me, thou goest about to deceiue me vnder the colour of good and pure amitie. But sith wicked Fortune hath made me thy prisoner, doe with me what thou wilt, and yet before I suffer and endure that that traytor Dom Diego doe enioy my virginitie, I will offer vp my life to the shadowes and ghosts of my faithful frend and husband, whom thou hast so traiterously murdred. And therfore (if honestly I may or ought entreate mine enimie,) I pray thée yt by doing thy duetie, thou suffer vs in peace, and giue licence to me, this Page, and my two pore maidens, to departe whether we list. God [...] (quod Roderico) that I should doe a trespasse so shamefull, as to depriue my dearest friend of his ioy and contentation, and by falsifiing my faith be an occasiō of his death, and of your losse, by leauing you without companie, wādring amids this wildernesse.’ And he cōtinued thus his former discourse and talke, to reclaime this cruell Damsell to haue pitie vpon hir pore penitent, but he gained as much by his talke, as if he had gone about to [Page] number the sandes alongs the sea coastes of the maine Ocean. Thus deuising from one talke to an other, they arriued neare the Caue, which was the stately house of Dom Diego: where Gineura lighted, and saw the pore amorous Knight, humbly falling downe at hir féete, all forworne, pale, and disfigured, wéeping with warme teares, he sayde vnto hir: ‘Alas my deare Ladie, the alone and only mistresse of my heart, do you not thinke that my penaunce is long inoughe for the sinne which ignorauntly I haue committed, if euer I haue done any fault at all? Beholde I beséeche you (good Ladie deare) what ioy I haue conceiued in your absence, what pleasures haue nursed mine hope, and what consolation hath entertained my life: which truely had it not bene for the continuall remembraunce of your diuine beautie, I had of long time abreuiated to shorten the paines which doe renewe in me so many times the pangs of death: as oftentimes I thinke vpon the vnkindenesse shewed vnto me by making so little accompte of my fealtie: which can, nor shall receiue the same in good parte, were it so perfect as any assuraunce were able to make it.’ Gineura swelling with sorow, and full of feminine rage, blushing with fury, hir eyes sparckling forth hir cholerike conceiptes, vouchsafed not so much as to giue him one woord for answere, and bicause she would not looke vpon him, she turned hir face on the other side. The pore and afflicted louer, séeing the great crueltie of his felonious mistresse still knéeling vpon his knées, redoubling his armes, fetching his sighes with a voyce, that semed to be drawne by force from the bottome of his heart, sayd vnto hir: ‘Sith the sinceritie of [...] faith, & my long seruice [...] Gineura, cannot persuade you that I haue bene a [Page] most obedient, faithful, & very loyal seruaunt towards you, as [...] any man that hath serued Ladie or [...], and that without your fauour & grace it is [...] possible for me any longer to liue, yet I doe very hūbly beséeche you, for that all other comfort is denied me, if there be any gētlenesse and curtesie in you, that I may receiue this onely grace at your hands for the last that euer I hope to craue: which is, that you being thus greuously offended with me, would doe iustice to that vnfortunate man, which vpon his knées doeth instantly craue the same. Graunt (cruell mistresse) this my request, doe vengeance at your pleasure vpon him, which willingly yeldeth him self to death with the effusion of his pore innocent bloud to satisfie you, and verily farre more expedient it is for him thus to die, by appeasing your wil, than to rest on liue to your discontentment or anoyance. Alas, shall I be so vnfortunate, that both life and death should be denied me by one person of the world, whom I hope to content and please by any sort or meanes what so euer resting in mine humble obedience? Alas Gentlewoman rid me from this torment, and dispatch your selfe from the griefe which you haue to sée this vnhappy Knight, who would say and estéeme himself to be happy (his life being lothsome vnto you) if he may content you, by death done by your owne hands, sith other fauor he cannot expect or hope for.’ The maiden hardned in hir opinion, stoode stil immoueable, much like vnto a rocke in the midst of the sea, [...] with a tēpest of billowes and fomie [...], in such wise as one word could not be procured frō hir mouth. Which vnlucky Dom Diego perceiuing, attached with the feare of present death, and failing his natural force fell downe to the ground, and fainting sayd: ‘Ah, what a recompense doe I receiue for this so faithfull Loue? [Page] Roderico beholding that hideous [...], whilest the others wēt about to [...] Dom Diego, repaired to Gineura, and full of heauinesse mingled with [...], sayde vnto hir: By God (false [...] woman) if so be that I do change my minde, I will make thée féele the smarte, no lesse than thou shewest thy selfe dishonourable to them that doe thée honour: Arte thou so carelesse of so great a Lorde as this is, that humbleth hymselfe so low to such a strumpet as thou art? who without regard either to his renoume, or the honour of his house, is content to be abandoned from his noble state, to become a fugitiue and straunger? What crueltie is this for thée to misprise the greatest humilitie that mā can imagin? What greater amendes [...] thou wish to haue although the [...] which thou presupposest had ben true? Now (if thou be wise) change this opinion, except thou wouldest haue mée doe into so many pieces, thy cruell [...] and vnfaithfull heart, as once this poore knight did in parts the vnhappie hauke, which through thy follie did bréede vnto him this distresse, and to thy selfe the name of the most cruell and disloyall woman that euer liued. But what greater benefite can happen vnto thée, than to sée this Gentleman vtterly to forget the fault, to conceiue no sinister suspicion of thy running away, crauing thyne acquaintaunce, and is contented to sacrifice him self vnto thyne anger to appease and mitigate thy rage? Nowe to speake no more hereof, but to procede in that which I began to say, I offer vnto thée then bothe death and loue, choose whether thou liste. For I sweare againe by hym that séeth and heareth al things, that if thou play the foole, thou shalt féele and proue me to be the cruellest enimie that euer thou hadst: and such a one as shall not feare to imbrue [...] handes with the bloode of hir that is the deathe of the chiefest of all my [Page] friendes.’ Gineura hearing that resolute answere, [...] hir selfe to be nothing afraide, nor declared any token of feare, but rather [...] to haue encouraged Roderico, in braue and mannish sort, farre diuers from the simplicitie of a yong and tender maidē, as a man wold say, such a one as had neuer felt the assault es and troubles of aduerse fortune. Wherfore frouncing hir browes, and grinning hir téeth with closed [...], and [...] very bolde, she made hym aunswere: ‘Ah thou knight, which once gauest assault to cōmit a villanie & treason, thinkest thou now without remorse of conseience to cōtinue thy mischief? I speake it to thée villain, which [...] shed the blood of an honester mā thā thou art, fearest not nowe to make mée a companion of his death. Which thing spare not hardily to [...], to the intent that I liuing, may not be such a one as thou falsly iudgest me to be: for neuer man hitherto [...], and neuer shall, that he hathe hadde the spoyle of my virginitie: from the frute whereof, lyke an arrant thiefe, thou hast depriued my loyall spouse. Nowe doe what thou list: for I am farre better content to suffer death, be it as cruel as thou art mischeuous, & borne for the [...] & vexation of honest maidēs: not withstanding I humbly beséech almightie God, to gyue [...] so muche pleasure, contentation and ioy in thy loue, [...] thou hast done to me, by hastening the death of my dere husbande. O God, if thou be a iust God, suche a one, as from whome wée thy poore creatures do beleue, all [...] to procéede, thou I say, which art the rampire and refuge of all iustice, poure downe thy vengeance and plague vpon these pestiferous thieues and murderers, which haue prepared a worldely plague vpon me thine innocent damsell. Ah wicked Roderico, thinke not that death can be so fearefull vnto mée, but that wyth good [Page] heart, I am able to accept the same, trusting verily that one daye it shall be the cause of thy ruine, and ouerthrowe of hym, for whom thou takest all these pains.’ Dom Roderico maruellously rapte in sense, imagined the woman to be fully bent against hym, who then had puissaunce (as he thought,) ouer hir owne hearte: and thynkyng, that he sawe hir moued with like rage against hym, as she was against Dom Diego, stode still so perplered and voyde of righte minde, that hée was constrained to sitte downe, so feeble he felt him self for the onely remembrance of hir euill demeanor. And whilest this was a doing, the handemayde of Gineura, and hir Page, inforced to persuade their mystresse to haue compassion vpon the knight that hadde suffered so muche for hir sake, and that she would consente to the honest requestes and good counsell of Roderico. But she which was stubbornly bente in hir foolishe persuasions, sayd vnto them: ‘What fooles? are you so much be witched, either with yt fained teares of this disloyal knight, which colorably thus doth torment himself, or els ar ye inchāted with the venomous honie & tirānical brauerie of the thief which murdered my husband and your master? Ah vnhappie caytife maiden, is it my chaunce to endure the [...] of suche Fortune, when I thoughte to liue at my beste case, and thus cruelly to tomble into the handes of hym, whome I hate so much as he fayneth loue vnto me? And morcouer my vnluckie fate is not herewith content, but redoubleth my sorrowe, euen by those that be of my frayn, who ought rather to incourage me to die, than consente to so vureasonable requests. Ah loue, loue, how euil be they recompenced which faithfully do homage vnto thée? & why should not I forget al [...], neuer hereafter to haue mind on mā [Page] to proue beginning of a pleasure, which tasted and [...] bringeth more displeasure than euer ioy engendred [...]. Alas, I neuer knewe what was the frute of that which so straungely did attache me, and thou O [...] and thieuishe Loue, haste ordeined a banket [...] with such bitter dishes, as forced I am perforce to taste of their egre swéetes: Auaunt swéete foly, auant, I doe henceforth for euer let thée [...], to imbrace the death, wherein I hope to finde my greatest reste, for in thée I fynde noughte else but heapes of straynyng [...]. Auoyde from me all my myssehap, [...] from me ye furious ghostes and [...] most vnkynde, whose gaudes and toyes dame loue hath wrought to kéepe occupied my louing minde, and suffer me to take ende in thée, that I may lyue in an other life without thée, being now charged with cup of grief, which I shal [...] in venomous drink soaked in the soppes of [...]. Sharpen thou thy selfe, (O death vnkinde) prepare thy darte, to strike the corpse of hir, that she may voyd the quarels shot against hir by hir aduersarie. Ah pore hart strip thy self from hope, and qualifie thy desires. Cease henceforth to wishe thy lyfe, séeing and féeling the appointed fight of loue and life, combattyng within my minde, elsewhere to séeke my peace in an other world, with him to ioy, which for my sake was sacrificed to the treason of varlets hands, who for the persite [...] of his desires, nought else didde séeke but to soile his [...] [...] with the purest bloode of my loyall friend. And I this abundance of teares do sheade to saciate his felonous moode, which shall be the iuste shortenyng of my doleful dayes.’ When she had thus complained, she began horribly to torment hir selfe, and in furious guise, that the cruellest of the companie were moued wyth compassion, séeing hir thus strangely straught of wits: [Page] [...] they did not discontinue by duetie to sollicite hir to haue regarde to that whiche poore fayntyng Dom Diego dyd endure. Who so sone as with fresh [...] water hée was reuiued, [...] stil the heauinesse of his Ladie, and hir incresed disdain and choler against him, vanished in diuers soundings: which moued Roderico frō studie [...] wherin he was to ryse, wherevnto yt rage of Gineura had cast him down, bicause forgetting all imaginarie affection of his Ladie, and proposing his dutie before his eyes, which eche Gentleman oweth to gentle damsels and women kind, stil beholdyng with honourable respect the griefe of the martyred wyldernesse Knight, sighyng yet by reason of former thought, he sayde vnto Gincura. ‘Alas, is it possible, that in the heart of so yong and delicate a maiden, there maye bée harbored so straunge furie and vnreasonable rage? O God, the effecte of the crueltie resting in this woman,’ paintyng it selfe in the imaginatiue force of my minde, hath made me feare the like missehappe to come to the cruell state of this disauenturous gentlemā: Notwithstanding (O thou cruell beast) thinke not that thys thy furie shall stay me from doyng thée to death, to ryd thée from follie and disdaine, & this vnfortunate louer from dispaire and trouble, verily beleuing, that in time it shall be knowne what profite the worlde shal gaine by purging the same of such an infected plague as is an vnkinde and arrogant heart: and it shall féele what vtilitie ryseth by thyne, ouerthrow. And I do hope besydes that, in time to come, men shal praise this dede of mins, who for preseruing the honour of one house, haue chosen rather to doe to death two offenders, than to leaue one of them aliue, to obscure the glorie and brightnesse of the other. And therefore (sayd he) tourning his face to those of his traine) Cut the throte of this [...] [Page] and froward beast, & doe the like to them that be come with hir, shewe no more fauor vnto them all, than that curssed strumpet doeth mercy to the life of that miserable Gentleman, who dieth there for loue of hir.

The maiden hearing the cruel sentence of hir death, cried out so loude as she could, thinking reskue would haue come, but the pore wenche was deceiued: for the desert knewe none other, but those that were abiding in that troupe. The Page and the woman seruaunt exclamed vpon Roderico for mercie, but he made as though he heard them not, and rather made signe to his men to do what he commaunded. When Gineura sawe that their deathe was purposed in déede, confirmed in opinion rather to die, thā to obey, she said vnto the executioners: ‘My friends, I beséeche you let not these innocentes abide the penaunce of that which they neuer committed. And you Dom Roderico, be [...] on me, by whome the fault, (if a womans faith to hir husband may be termed a faulte) is done. And let these [...] depart, yt be God knoweth, innocent of any crime. And thou my frend, which liuest amongs the shadowes of faithfull louers, if yu haue any féeling, as in déede thou prouest being in another world, beholde yt purenesse of mine heart & sidelitie of my loue: who to kepe the same inuiolable, doe offer my self voluntarily to the death, which this cruell tyrant prepareth for me. And yu hangman the executioner of my ioyes, and murderer of the immortall pleasures of my loue (sayd she to Roderico) glut thy gluttonous desire of bloud, make dronke thy minde with murder, & [...] of thy little triūphe, which for all thy threats or persuasible words, thou [...] not get frō the heart of a simple maiden, ne cary away the victory for all ye battred breach made into the rāpare of hir honoure.’ When she had so sayd, a man would haue [Page] thought that the memory of death had cooled hir heate, but yt same serued hir as an assured solace of hir paines. Dom Diego come to himself seeing the discourse of that tragedie, being now addressed to the last [...] & end of yt life and stage of faire & golden locked Gincura, making a vertue of necessitie, recouered a little corage to saue, (if it were possible) the life of hir, that had put his owne in hazard miserably to end. Hauing stayed them that held the maidē, he repaired to Dom Roderico, to whom he spake in this wise: ‘I sée wel my good Lord and great friend, that the good will you beare me, causeth you to vse this honest order for my behalf, wherof I doubt if I should liue a whole hundred yeares, I shall not be able to satisfie the least of the bondes wherein I am bound, the same surpassing all mine abilitie and power. Yet for all that (deare friend) sith you [...] the fault of this missehap to arise of my predestinate ill lucke, and that man cannot auoide things once ordained, I beseech you do me yet this good pleasure (for all the benefits yt euer I haue receiued) to send back again this gentlewoman wt hir traine, to the place frō whence you toke hir, with like assuraūce & [...], as if she were your sister. For I am pleased with your endeuor, & cōtented wt my misfortune, assuring you sir besides, yt the trouble which she endureth, doth far more grieue my hart than al yt paine which for hir sake I suffer. That hir sorowe then may decrease, and mine may renue again, yt she may line in peace, and I in warre for hir cruel beautie sake, I will wait vpon Clotho, the spinner of the threden life of mā vntill shée breake the twisted lace that holdeth the fatal course of my doleful yeares. And you Gentlewomā liue in rest, as your pore suppliāt, wretched Dom Diego shalbe citizen of these wild places, & vaunt you [...] that you were yt best beloued maiden yt euer liued.’ [Page] Maruellous truely bée the forces of Loue, when they discouer their perfection: for by their meanes things otherwise impossible be reduced to such facilitie, as a mā woulde iudge that they had neuer bene so harde to obtaine, and so painefull to pursue. As appeared by thys damsell, in whome the wrathe of fortune, the pinche of iealosie, the intollerable rage of hir friendes losse, [...] ingendred a contempt of Dom Diego, an extreme desire to be reuenged on Dom Roderico, and a [...] of longer life. And now putting of the [...] of blinde appetite, for the esclarishyng of hir vnderstanding eyes, and breaking the Adamant rock planted in the middes of hir breast, she beheld in open [...] the stedfastnesse, pacience and perseueration of hir greate friende. For that supplication of the Knight had greater force in Gineura, than all his former seruices. And full well [...] shewed the same, when throwing hir selfe vpon yt neck of the desperate Gentleman, and imbracing hym very louingly she sayd vnto him: ‘Ah syr, that youre felicitie is the beginning of my great ioy of minde, which [...] now of swéetenesse in the very same, in whome I imagined to be the welspring of bitternesse. The diminution of one griefe is, and shall bée the increase of [...] bonde, such as for euer I wil cal my self the most humble slaue of your worshyp, lowly beséeching you neuerthelesse to pardon my follies, wherewith full fondely I haue abused your pacience. Consider a while sir, I beseech you, the nature and secrecie of loue. For those that be blinded in that passion, thinke them selues to be perfecte séers, and yet be the first that commit most [...] faultes. I doe not denie any committed wrong & trespasse, and doe not refuse therfore the honest and gentle correction that you shall appointe mée, for expiation of mine offense. Ah my noble Ladie (aunswered ye knight) [Page] all rapt with pleasure, and half way out of his wits for ioy, I humbly beséeche you inflicte vpon my pore wretched body no further pangs of death by remēbring the glory of my thought sith the recitall bringeth with it a tast of the trauails which you haue suffred for my ioy & contentation. It is therfore (quod she) that I think my self happy: for by that meanes I haue knowne the perfect qualities that be in you, & haue proued two extremities of vertue. One consisteth in your cōstancie and loyaltie wherby you may vaunt your self aboue him yt sacrificed his life vpō the bloudy body of his Lady, who for dying so, finished his trauails. Where you haue chosen a life worse than death, no lesse painfull a hundred times a day, than very death it self. The other cōsisteth in the clemency wherwith you calme and appease the rage of your greatest aduersaries. As my self which before hated you to death, vanquished by your curtesie do confesse that I am double bound vnto you, both for my life and honor: and hearty thankes doe I render to the Lord Roderico for yt violence he did vnto me, by which meanes I was induced to acknowledge my wrong, & the right which you had to complaine of my folish resistance. All is wel, sayd Roderico, sith without perill of honor we may returne home to our houses: I intend therefore (sayd he) to send woord before to my Ladies your mothers of your returne, for I know how so wel to couer and excuse this our enterprise and secrete iorneis, as by Gods assistāce no blame or displeasure shal ensue therof. And like as (sayd he smiling) I haue builded the fortresse which shot into your campe, and made you flie, euen so I hope (Gentlewoman) that I shall be the occasion of your victory, when you combat in close cāpe, with your swéete cruel enimy.’ Thus they passed the iorney in pleasant talke, recompēsing the. [...]. louers [Page] with al honest & vertuous intertainmēt for their [...] and troubles past. In the meane while they sent one [...] their seruants to the two widow ladies, which were [...] great care for their childrē, to aduertise them yt Gineura was gone to visite Dom Diego, then being in one of the castles of Roderico, where they were determined if it were their good pleasure, to consūmate their mariage, hauing giuen faith & affiance one to the other. The mother of Gineura, could not here tel of more pleasant newes: for she had vnderstāded of the folish flight & escape of hir daughter, with yt steward of hir house, wherof she was very sorowful, & for grief was like to die, but assured & recōforted with those news, she [...] not to mete the mother of Dom Diego, at ye apointed place whither the y. louers were arriued two days before. There the mariage of that fair couple (so long desired) was [...] with such magnificence as was requisite for the state of those two noble houses. Thus the torment [...], made the ioy to sauour of some other taste than they do feele, which without pain in yt exercise of loues pursute, attain the top of their desires: And truly their pleasure was altogether like to him that nourished in superfluous delicacie of meates can not aptely so well iudge of pleasure, as he which sometimes lacketh that abundance. And verily Loue without bitternesse, is almost a cause without effectes: for he that shall take away griefs and troubled fansies from louers, depriueth them of the praise of their stedfastnesse, and maketh baine the glorie of their perseuerance: for he is vnworthie to beare away the price and garlande of triumph in the conflict, that behaueth himself like a coward, and doth not obserue the lawes of armes and manlike dueties in the combat. This historie then is a mirrour for loyall louers, and chaste suters, and maketh them detest [Page] the vnshamefastnesse of those, which vpon the first view do folowe with might and maine, the Gentlewoman or Ladie that giueth them good face or countenāce wherof any gentle heart or mind, noursed in the scholehouse of vertuous education, will not bée squeymish to those that shal by chast salutation or other incountrie, doe their curteous reuerence. This historie also yeldeth contempt of them, which in their affection forget them selues, abasting the generositie of their courages, to be reputed of fooles, the true champions of Loue, whose like they be that desire such regarde. For the perfection of true Loue consisteth not in passions, in sorowes, griefes, martirdomes, or cares, and much lesse arriueth he to his desire, by sighes, exclamations, wepings, and childish playnts: for so much as vertue ought to be the bande of that indissoluble amitie, which maketh the vnion of the two seuered bodies of that woman man, which Plato describeth, & causeth man to trauell for his whole accomplishment in yt true pursute of chast loueIn which labor truly fondly walked Dom Diego, thinkyng to finde the same by his dispaire amidde the sharp solitarie deserts of those Pyrene mountains. And truly the duetie of his perfect friende, did more liuely disclose the same (what fault so euer he dyd) than all his countenances, eloquent letters or amorous messages. In like maner a man dothe not know what a treasure a true friend is, vntil he hath proued his excellencie, specially where necessitie maketh him to tast ye swetnesse of such delicate meate. For a friend being a second himself, agréeth by a certaine natural [...] & attonement to the affections of him whō he loueth, both to participate his ioyes and pleasures, and to sorrowe his aduersitie, where Fortune shall vse by some misaduentures, to shewe hir accustomed moblitie.

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Salimbene and Angelica
The. xxx. Nouel.

¶ A Gentleman of SISNA, called ANSELMO SALIMBENE, curteously and gently deliuereth his [...] from death. The condemned partie seing the kinde parte of SALIMBENE, rendreth into his hands his sister ANGELICA, with whome he was in loue, which gratitude and curtesie, SALIMBENE well marking, moued in conscience, woulde not abuse hir, but for recompense toke hir to his wife.

WE do not mean here to discouer the sumptuositie & magnificence of Palaces, stately & won derfull to the viewe of mē, ne yet to reduce to memorie yt maruellous effects of mās industry to build and lay foúdations in the déepest chanel of the maine sea, ne to describe their ingenious industrie, in breking the craggy mountaines, and hardest rocks, to ease the crooked passages of wearie wayes, for armies to marche through inaccessible places. Onely now do we pretende to shewe the effects of loue, whiche surmount all opinion of cōmon things, and appere so miraculous as the founding and erecting of the Collisaei, Colossaei, [Page]Theatres, Amphitheatres, Pyramides, and other workes wonderful to the world, for that the hard indured path of hatred and displeasure long time begoon, and obstinately pursued with straunge crueltie, was conuerted into loue, by theffect of loue and concorde, suche as I know none, but is so much astoonned, as he may haue good cause to wonder, consideryng the stately foundations, vpon which kings and great monarches haue employed the chiefest reuenues of their prouinces. Nowe like as Ingratitude is a vice of greatest blame and discōmendation amongs men, euen so gentlenesse & kindnesse ought to bear yt title of a most cōmēdable vertue. And as ye Thebans were accused of that crime, for their great captaines Epaminondas & Pelopidas. The Plateens (contrarywise) were praised for their solemn obseruation of the Grekes benefits, which deliuered them out of the Persians bondage. And the Sicyonians beare away the price of eternal praise, for acknowledging the good turnes receiued of Aratus, that deliuered them frā the crueltie of the tyrants. And if Philippo Maria, duke of Milan, deserued eternall reproch for his ingratitude to his wife Beatrix, for the secrete killing of hir, he being enriched with hir goodes and treasures: a barbarous turke borne in Arabia, shall carie the praise from him, who being vanquished in Arabia by Baldouine, king of Hierusalem, and he and his wife taken prisoners, and hys treasures fallen into the handes of that good king, issued of the Loraine blood. Neuerthelesse seing that the Christian had deliuered him, and restored againe hys wyfe, woulde not be vanquished in magnificence and [...], & much lesse beare the name of an vnkinde prince, but rather when Baldouine was ouercome of yt infidels, and being retired within a certain citie, that Admirall of Arabie, came to him in the night, and telling him the [Page] deuise of his cōpanions, conueyed him out of the [...], & was his guide vntil he saw him frée peril. I [...] alleaged yt premisses, bicause ye history which I purpose to recite, aduoucheth two examples not vulgare or cō mon, the one of very great loue, & the other of such [...] ceptaciō and knowledging therof, as I thought it pitie the same should lurke from the acquaintaunce of [...] Englishe men. And that they alone should haue the [...] thereof which vnderstande the Italian tongue, supposing that it shall bring some frute and commoditie to this our English soil, that eche wight may frame their life on those which in straunge Countreys farre from vs, haue liued vertuously without reproche that might soile or spot their name.

In Siena then (an auncient and very noble Citie of Toscane, which no long time past was gouerned by hir Magistrates, and liued in hir own lawes and liberties, as the Lucquois, Pisans, and Florentines doe) were two families very rich, noble, and the chiefe of the Citie called the Salimbenes and Montanines, of the race & stocke whereof, excellent men in their common wealth haue descended, very good and experte souldiers for [...] of armies. Those two houses in the beginning were so great friends, and frequented such loue and [...], as it séemed they had bene but one house & [...], daily vsing eche others companie, and banketting one another. But Italy in all times being as it were a store house of troubles and a very marte of sedition, bandes and parcialities, specially of ciuill warres in euery Citie, it could not be that Siena should alone enioy hir libertie in peace, and accorde of Citizens, and vaunt hir self to be frée frō knowledge of particular debate. For of warres she had good experience against ye Florentines, who by long remembrance haue done what they could [Page] to make hir subiect vnto them. Nowe the cause of that discorde rose euen by them which kept the Citizens in vnity and concord and was occasioned by those. y. houses the noblest & most puissant of their cōmon wealth. It is not vnknowne to any man, that antiquitie ordained it to be peculiar for nobilitie, to traine vp the children of noble houses in hunting, aswell to bolden & nosel them in daūgers, as to make them strong and accustomed in trauail, & to force them shun the delicate life and great idlenesse which accōpany honorable houses, and those of gentle bloud, for somuch as by the pursute of beasts, sleights of war be obserued: the hounds be the square battell, the greihoundes be the flanquarts and wings to folow the enimy, the horsman serueth to giue the chace when the game spéedeth to couert, the hornes be the trumpets to sound the chase and retire, & for incouragement of the dogges that run. To be short, it séemeth a very campe in battail, ordeined for the pleasure and passetyme of noble youth. Neuerthelesse, by huntyng diuers missefortunes doe arise, and sundry daungers haue happened by the same. Meleager lost his life for the [...] of the wylde bore of Callydonia. Cephalus lost his life for killyng his deare beloued Procris, and Acastus was accursed for murderyng the Kings sonne of whome hée was the Tutour. William Rufus, one of our Englyshe Kyngs, the sonne of the Conqueroure, was slaine with an arrowe in the Newe forrest by a French gentleman called Walter Tyrel, as he was pursuing the harte. Other histories reporte dyuers perils chanced in hunting, but yet the same worthie to be cherished, frequented and vsed by good aduise and moderate passetyme. So the hunting of the wylde Bore defiled the Citie of Siena, with the bloode of hir owne Citizens, when the Salimbenes and Montanines vpon a daye [Page] in an assembled companie, incountring vpon a greate and fierce bore, toke hym by force of men and beastes, When they had done, as they were banketting and [...] of the nimblenesse of their dogs, eche mā praising his owne, as hauing done best, there rose great [...] amongs them vpon that matter, and procéeded so farre, as foudly they began to reuile one another with words, and from taunting termes to earnest blowes, wherewith diuers in that skirmish were hurt on both sides. In the end the Salimbenes had the worsse, and one of the principall [...] in the place, which appalled the rest, not that they were discoraged, but attending time and season of reuenge. This hatred so strangly kindled betwene both parts, that by little and little, after many combates and ouerthrowes of either side, the losse lighted vpō the Montanines, who with their welth and richesse were almost brought to nothing, and thereby the rigour and choler of the Salimbenes appeased, none being able to resist them, and in space of time forgot al iniuries. The Montanines also that remained at Siena, liued in quiet, without chalenge or quarell of their [...] uersaries, howbeit [...] talke and haunt of others company vtterly surceased. And to say the truth, there were almost none to quarell withall, for the whole bloud and name of the Montanines rested in one alone, called Charles the sonne of Thomas Montanine, a yong inā so honest and wet brought vp, as any then in Siena, who had a sister, that for beautie, grace, curtesy and honestie, was comparable with the best in all Thoscame. This pore yong Gentleman had no great reuenue, for that the patrimonie of his predecessors was wasted in charges for entertainment of souldiers in the time of the hurly burly and debates aforesaid. A good parte also was confiseate to the chamber of Siena for trespasses & [Page] forfaitures committed: with the remayne he sustained his familie, and indisserently maintained his porte soberly within his own house, keping his sister in vecent and moderate order. The maiden was called Angēlica, a name of trouth, without offense to other, due to hir. For in very déede in hir were harbored the vertue of curtesy and gentlenesse, and was so wel instructed and nobly brought vp, as they which loued not the name or race of hir, could not forbeare to commend hir, and wish that their daughter were hir like. In suche wise as one of hir chiefest foes was so sharpely beset with hir vertue and beautie, as he lost his quiet sléepe, & lust to eate & drinke. His name was Anselmo Salimbene, who wold willingly haue made sute to marry hir, but the discord past, quite mortified his desire, so sone as he had deuised the plot within his braine and fansie. Notwithstāding it was impossible that the loue so liuely grauen and [...] in his minde, could easily be defaced. For if once in a day he had not séene hir, his heart did fele the tormēts of tosting flames, and wished that the Hunting of the Bore, had neuer decayed a familie so excellent, to the intent he might haue matched himself with hir, whome none other coulde displace out of his remembraunce, which was one of the richest Gentlemen, and of greatest power in Siena. Now for that he ourst not discouer his amorous grief to any person, was the chiefest cause that martired most his heart, & for the auncient festred malice of those two families, he despaired for euer, to gather either floure or fruit of that affection, presupposing that Angelica would neuer fire hir loue on him, for that his Parents were the cause of the defaite & ouerthrow of the Montanine house. But what? There is nothing durable vnder the heauens. Both good and euill [...] their reuolution in the gouernement of humane [Page] affaires. The amities and hatreds of Kings and Princes, be they so hardned, as commonly in a moment he is not [...] to be a hearty friend, that lately was a [...] foe, and spired naught else but the ruine of his aduer farie? We sée the varietie of humane chaunces, and then [...] iudge at eye what great simplicitie it is to stay & settle certain and infallible iudgemit vpon [...] vnstayed doings. He that erst gouerned a king, & made all things to tremble at his word, is sodainly throwne downe, & dieth a shamefull death. In like sort, another which loketh for his owne vndoing, séeth himselfe aduaunced to his estate againe, and vengeaunce taken of his enimies. Calir Bassa gouerned whilom yt great Mahomet, that wan the Empire of Constantinople, who attempted nothing without the aduise of that Bassa. But vpon the sodain he saw himself reiected, & the next day strangled by commaundement of him, which so greatly honored him, & without iust cause did him to a death so cruell. Contrariwise Argon the T artarian, entring armes against his vncle Tangodor Caui, when he was vpon the point to lose his life for his rebellion, and was conueyed into. Armenia to be executed there, was rescued by certain T artarians the houshold seruaūtes of his dead vncle, and afterwards proclaimed king of T artarie about the yere. 1285. The example of the Empresse Adaleda is of no lesse credit than the former, who being fallen into the hands of Beranger the vsurper of yt Empire, escaped his fury and cruelty by flight, & in the end maried to Otho the first, saw hir wrong reuenged vpō Beranger and al his race by hir sonne Otho the second. I aduouch these histories to proue ye mobility of fortune, & the chaunge of worldly chaunces, to the end you may sée that the very same miserie which followed Charles Montanine, hoisted him aloft again, & when he loked for least succor, he saw deliueraunce at hād. Now to prosecute [Page] our history, know ye yt while Salimbenc by little & litle pined for loue of Angelica, wherof she was ignorāt & carelesse, and albeit she curteously rendred health to him, when somtime in his amorous fit he beheld hir at a window, yet for al yt she neuer gessed the thoughts of hir louing enimy. During these haps it chaūced yt a rich citizen of Siena, hauing a ferme adioyning to the lāds of Montanine, desirous to encrease his patrimonie, & annere the same vnto his owne, and knowing yt the yong gentleman wanted many things, moued him to sel his inheritaunce, offring him for it in redy mony, a M. Ducates, Charles which of all the wealth & substaunce left him by his auncester, had no more remaining but that countrey ferme, & a Palace in the Citie (so ye rich Italians of eche city, terme their houses,) and with yt litle liued honestly, & maintained his sister so wel as he could, refused flatly to dispossesse himselfe of yt porcion, which renewed vnto him yt happy memory of those yt had ben the chief of al the cōmon wealth. The couetous wretch seing himself frustrate of his pray, conceiued such rancor against Montanine, as he purposed by right or wrōg to make him not only to for fait ye same, but also to lose his life, following ye wicked desire of tirannous Iesabel, that made Naboth to be stoned to death, to extorte and wrongfully get his vineyarde. About that time for the quarels & cōmon discordes raigning throughout Italy, yt nobilitie were not assured of safety in their countreis, but rather the cōmon sort, & rascall nūber, were yt chief rulers and gouerners of the cōmon wealth, whereby ye greatest part of the nobilitie or those of best authoritie being banished, the villanous band, and grosest kind of common people made a law (like to the Athenians in ye time of Solon) that all persons of what degrée & cōditiō so euer they were, which practized by himselfe or other [Page] meanes the restablishing or reuocation of such as wer banished out of their Citie, shold lose & forfaite the sum of M. Florens, and hauing not wherewith to pay the condempnation, their heade should remaine for gage. A law no dout very iust and righteous, scenting rather of the barbarous cruelty of the Gothes and [...], thā of true christians, stopping the retire of innocents exiled for particular quarels of Citizens incited one against another, and rigorously rewarding mercy and curtesie, with execution of cruelty incomparable.

This citizen then purposed to accuse Montanine for offending against the lawe, bicause otherwise he could not purchase his entent, and the same was easy inough for him to compasse, by reason of his authority and estimation in the Citie: for the enditement and plea was no sooner red and giuen, but a number of post knightes appeared to depose against ye pore gentleman, to beare witnesse that he had trespassed the lawes of the Countrey, and had sought meanes to introduce the banished, with intent to kill the gouerners, and to place in state those [...], that were the cause of the Italian troubles. The miserable gentleman knew not what to do, ne how to defend himself. There were against him the Moone & the. vy. starres, the state of the Citie the Proctor and Iudge of the court, the witnesses that gaue euidence, and the law which condemned him. He was sent to prison, sentence was pronounced against him with such expedition, as he had no leisure to consider his affaires. There was no man, for feare to incurre the displeasures of the Magistrates, that durst opē his mouth to speake or make sute for his deliueraunce. Like as yt most part of friends in these dayes resembling yt crow, that flieth not but after carrion to gorge his rauenous [...], and such friends doe visite the house of the friend [Page] but for profit, reuerencing him so long as he is in prosperitie, according to the Poets complaint.

Like as the purest golde in fiery flame is tried,

Euen so is faith of friends in hard estate descried

If hard mischap doth thee affray,

Eche of thy friends do flee away,

And he which erst full friendly semde to thee,

A friend no more to thy pore state is hee.

And simple wights ought not to be afraid, and think amisse if friends doe flée away, sith Princes and great Lords incurre such hap and fortune. The great leader of the Romaine armies, Pompeius, the honor of the people and senate of Rome, what companion had he to flée with him? Which of his auncient friends toke paine to rescue and deliuer him from his enimies handes which did pursue him? A king of Egipt which had knowne and found this good Romane Prince a kinde & gentle frend, was he that killed him, and sent his head to his [...] and vnsatiable gredie gutte Iulius Caesar, falsifying his promised faith, and forgetting his receiued pleasures. Amongs all the comfortes which this pore Siena Gentleman found, although but a curssed traitor, was this vnfaithfull and pestiferous Camaeleon, who came and offred him all the pleasure and kindenesse he was able to do. But ye varlet attended conuenient time to make him taste his poison, and to let him sée by [...], how daūgerous a thing it is to be ill neighbored, hoping after the condempnation of Montanine, he should at pleasure purchase the Lordship, after which with so open mouth he gaped. Ouer whome he had his will: for two or [...] dayes after the recitall of the enditement, and giuing of the euidence, Charles was condempned, & his fine sessed at M. Florins to be paid within. xv. dayes, vntil which [...] to remaine in prison. And for default [Page] of suche paiment to lose his head, bicause he had infringed the lawes, and broken the statutes of the Senate. This sentence was very difficult for pore Montanine to digest, who saw all his goods like to be despoiled and confiscate, cōplaining specially the fortune of fair Angelica his sister, which all the time of the imprisonment of hir deare brother, neuer went out of ye house, ne ceased to wepe & lament the hard fortune wherinto their family was like to fal by yt new mischaūce: ‘Alas (said yt fair curteous damsel) wil ye heauens neuer be appeased but continually extēd their wrath vpon yt deplored family, & shal our missehaps neuer cease? Had it not bene more tollerable for our cōsumed bloud, yt the dissentiōs past, had ben tried by dent of sword, than to sée yt presēt innocency of ye yong gentleman my brother in daūger to be guiltlesly accused & put to death, through yt vniustice of those, which bear mortal malice to noble bloud, & glory in depriuation of the whole remēbraūce of the same? O dampnable state yt must hale the guiltlesse to the gibet & irreuocable iugemēt of those iudges remaining in a city, which men cal frée, albeit a cōsused multitude hath ye vpper hād, & may so be, yt nature hath produced them to tread vnder fote noble wights for their offenses. Ah deare brother, I sée wel what is ye cause, if thou hadst not that little Lordship in the Countrey, & stately house in the city, no mā wold haue enuied thine estate, or could haue charged thée wt any crime, which I wold to God, thou hadst not only enterprised, but also brought to passe, to the intent thou mightst haue bene reuenged of ye wrong, which these cankred carles ordinarily doe vnto thy Noble bloud. But what reason is it that marchants & artificers, or the sonnes of villains shuld rule a cōmon wealth? O happy Countreis where kings giue lawes, & Princes sée by proued sight, those persons which resemble them, & in their places bear ye [Page] sway. And O vnhappy we, yt be ye slaues of a waiwarde state, peruerted by corruption. Why did our predecessors mind to stablish any liberty at al, to thrust ye same into the confused gouernement of the commons of our countrey? We haue stil the Frenchmen at our taile, or yt people of our highest bishop, or else those crafty Florentines, we be the cōmon pray of al those yt list to folow the haunt, and that which is our extremest misery, we make our selues ye very [...] of them, yt of right ought to be reputed yt [...] amongs vs all. Ah dere brother, yt thy wretched time is come, the only hope of our decaied family. Thou hadst neuer bene cōmitted to warde, had not thy false assured foes bene sure of witnesse to condempne thee. Ah yt my life might raunsome thine, & redeme again thine estate & succor, thou shouldest be sure yt forthwith Angelica wold prepare hirself to be ye praie of those hungry rauening wolues, which bleat and bellow after thy lands & life.’ While this faire damsell of Siena in this sort did torment hir self, pore Montanine séeing yt he was brought to the last extremitie of his desired hope, as eche man naturally doth seeke meanes to prolong his life, knowing yt all other help failed for his deliueraunce, except he sold his land, aswel to satisfy ye fine, as to preuaile in the rest of his affaires, sent one of the gailers to yt worshipful vsurer the cause of his calamitie, to offer him his land for yt price and sum of a M. Ducates. The pernicious & [...] villain seeing yt Montanine was at his mercy, & stode in the water vp to the very throte, and knew no more what to do, as if already he had triumphed of his life and lande so greatly coueted, answeared him in this manner: My friend, thou shalt say to Charles Montanine, that not long agoe I would willingly haue giuen him a good sum of money for his ferme, but sithens that time I haue imployed my money to some better profit: and albeit I was [Page] in minde to buy it, I wold be loth to giue aboue. [...]. [...]. Florins, being assured yt it can not be [...] [...], as my money is able to bring yerely gain into my [...].

See how Auarice is the pickpurse of secrete and [...] gaine, & the very whirlepoole of honestie & [...], coueting nought else but by vnrighteous pray [...] other mennes goods, to accumulate and heap togither. The aboundance wherof bringeth no greater good [...] vnto the gluttonous owner, but rather the minde [...] such is more miserable, and carieth there withall more decrease of quiet, than increase of filthy muck. The couetous mā beareth no loue but to his treasure, nor exerciseth charitie but vpon his coafers, who thā he wold be dispossessed thereof, had rather sell the life of his natural father. This detestable villain hauing somtimes offred M. Ducates to Charles for his enheritaunce, will now do so no more, aspiring the totall ruine of ye Montanine familie. Charles aduertised of his minde, and amazed for the Counsels decrée, wel saw that all things contraried his hope and expectation, and that he must néedes die to satisfie the excessiue and couetous lust of that Cormerant, whose malice he knew to be so vehement, as none durst offer him money, by reason of the vnhappy desire of this neuer cōtented varlet: for which consideration throughly resolued to die, rather than to leaue his pore sister helplesse, and without relief, and rather than he would agrée to the bargaine tending to his so great losse and disaduauntage, and to the tirannous dealing of the wicked tormentor of his life, seing also that all meanes to purge and auerre his innocencie, was taken from him, the [...] decrée of the iudges being alre ady passed, he began to dispose himself to repentaunce and saluation of his soule, making cōplaint of his missehapsin this maner.

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TO what hath not the heauens hatefull bin,

Since for the ease of man they weaue such woe?

By diuers toiles they lap our corsses in

With cares and griefs, wheron our mischiefs groe:

The bloudy hands and sword of mortall foe,

Doe search mine euill, and would destroy me quite,

Through heinous hate, and hatefull heaped spite.

Wherefore come not the fatall sisters three,

That drawe the line of life and death by right?

Come [...] all, and make an end of me,

For from the world, my sprite would take his flight.

Why comes not nowe fowle Gorgon full in sight,

And Typhons head, that depe in hell remaines?

For to torment the silly soules in paines?

It better were for me to feele your force,

Than this missehap of murdring enuies rage,

By curssed meanes and fall vpon my corse,

And worke my [...] amid my flouring age:

For if I were dispatchde in this desire,

The feare were gone, of blacke infernall fire.

O Gods of seas, and cause of blustring winde,

Thou Aeolus and Neptune to I say,

Why did you let my Barke such fortune finde

That safe to shore I came by any way?

Why brake ye not, against some rocke or bay,

The kele, the sterne, or else blew downe the mast,

By whose large sailes, through surging seas I past?

Had those things hapt, I had not sene this houre,

The house of dole, where wofull sprites complaine,

Nor vserers on me had vsde such power,

[Page]

Nor I had sene depainted in disdayne,

The God of care, with whom dead Ghosts remayne,

Who howles and skrekes in holow trees and holes,

Where Charon raignes, among condemned soules.

Ah, ah, since happe wil worke my wretched end,

And that my ruine by iudgement is decreed:

Why doth not happe such happy fortune send,

That I may lead with me the man in dede,

That staind his faith, and faild me at my need,

For gaine of golde, as vsurers do God knowes,

Who cannot spare the dropping of their nose?

I should haue slaine the slaue that seru'd me so,

Oh God forbid, my hands were brued in blood.

Should I desire the harme of friend or foe?

Nay better were to wish mine en'my good:

For if my death I throughly vnderstood,

I should make short the course I haue to run,

Since rest is got, when worldly toile is done.

Alas, alas, my chiefest way is this,

Aguiltlesse death to susfer as I can,

So shall my soule be sure of heauens blisse,

And good renoume shall rest behinde me than,

And body shall take end where it began,

And fame shall flie before me, ere I flit

Vnto the Gods, where Ioue in throne doth sit.

O God conuert, from vice to vertue now,

The heart of him that falseth faith with me,

And chaunge his minde, and mend his maners throw,

That he his fault and fowle offense may see,

For death shall make my fame immortall bee:

[Page]

And whiles the Sunne which in the heauens doth shine,

The shame is his, and honor shall be mine.

Alas I mourne not for my selfe alone,

Nor for the same of my forefuthers olde,

Tys Angelike, that carseth me to mone,

Tys she that filles my brest with sansies colde,

Tys she more worth, than was the slice of golde,

That moues my minde, and bredes such passions straunge,

As in my self I feele a wondrous chaknge.

Haue pitie Lord of hir and me this day,

Since destny thus hath sundred vs in [...],

O suffer not [...] vertues to decay,

But let hir take in friendship such delite,

That from hir brest all vice be banisht quite.

And let hir like, as did hir noble race

When I pore man [...] dead, and out of place.

Alas my hand would wryte these wofull lines,

That feble sprite denies for want of might,

Wherfore my heart in brest consumes and pines,

With depe desires, that far is from mannes sight,

But God he sees mine innocencie and right,

And knowes the cause of mine accuser still,

Who sekes my bloud to haue on me his will.

Whē Charles thus cōplained himself, and throughly was determined to die, great pitie it was to sée howe fair Angelica did rent hir face, & teare hir golden locks, when she saw howe impossible it was to saue hir obstinate brother from the cruel sentence pronounced vpon him, for whom she had imployed all hir wits and faire speach, to persuade the néerest of hir kin to make sute. Thus rested she alone ful of such heauinesse & veration as they cā think which sée thēselues depriued of things [Page] yt they esteme most dear. But of one thing I cā wel assure you, yt if ill fortune had permitted yt Charles should haue ben put to death, the gentle damsell also had breathed forth the finall gaspe of hir sorowfull life, yelding therwithal the last end of the Montanine race & family. What booteth it to holde processe of long discourse? Beholde the last day is come deferred by the iudges, whervpon he must either satisfie the fine, or die the next day after like a rebel and traitor against the state, without any of his kin making sute or mean for his deliuerāce: albeit they visited the faire maiden, and cōforted hir in that hir wretched state, instructing hir howe she should gouerne hir self paciently to suffer things remedilesse. Angelica accōpanied with hir kin, & the maidens dwelling by that were hir companiōs, made the aire to soūd with outcries & waimētings, and she hir self exclamed like a womā destraught of wits, whose plaints ye multitude assisted with like eiulations & outcries, wailing the fortune of the yong gentleman, & sorowfull to sée ye maiden in daunger to fall into some missehap. As these things were thus bewailed, it chaunced about. ix. of the clocke at night, that Anselmo Salimbene, he whome we haue sayd to be surprised with the loue of Angelica, returning out of the Countrey, where he had remained for a certaine time, and passing before the house of his Ladie, according to his custome, heard the voice of women & maidens which mourned for Montanine, & therwithal stayd: the chiefest cause of his stay was, for that he saw go forth out of the palace of his Angelica, diuers women making mone & lamentation: wherfore he demaūded of yt neighbors what noise that was, & whether any in those quarters were dead or no. To whom they declared at length, all that which ye haue heard before. Salimbene hearing this story, went home to his house, & [Page] being secretly entred into his chāber, begā to discourse with himself vpon that accident, and [...] a thousand things in his head, in the ende thought that Charles shold not so be cast away, wer he iustly or innocently condemned, and for the only respect of his sister, that she might not be left destitute of all the goodes and inheritance. Thus discoursing diuers things, at length he sayd: ‘I were a very simple person now to rest in dout, sith Fortune is more curious of my felicitie than I could wish, and séeketh the effecte of my desires, when lest of all I thought vpon them. For behold, Montanine alone is left of al ye mortal enimies of our house, which to morow openly shall lose his head like a rebell & seditious person, vpon whose auncesters in him shall I bée reuenged, and the quarell betwene our two families, shall take ende, hauing no more cause to feare renuing of discorde, by any that can descend from him. And who shall let me then from inioying hir, whom I do loue, hir [...] being dead, and his goodes confiscate to the segniorie and she without all maintenance and relief, except the aide of hir onely beautie and curtesie? What maintenance shall she haue, if not by the loue of some honest Gentleman, that for his pleasure may support hir, and haue pitie vpon the losse of so excellent beautie? Ah Salimbene, what hast thou sayd? Hast thou alreadie forgotten that a Gentleman for that only cause is estemed aboue all other, whose glorious factes oughte to shine before the brightnesse of those that force themselues to folow vertue? Art not thou a Gentleman borne and bredde in noble house, ssued from the loines of gentle and noble parents? Is it ignorant vnto thée, that it pertaineth vnto a noble and gentle hearte, to reuenge receiued iniuries himself, without séeking aide of other, or else to pardon them by vsing clemencie and princely [Page] curtesie, burying all desire of vengeaunce vnder the tombe of eternall obliuion? And what greater glorie can man acquire, than by vanquishing himself, and chastising his affections and rage, to bynde him whiche neuer thought to receiue pleasure or benefite at his hand? It is a thing which excedeth the cōmon order of nature, and so it is mete and requisite, that the most excellent do make the effects of their excellencie appeare, and séeke means for the immortalitie of their remembrāce. The great Dictator Caesar was more praised for pardoning his [...], and for shewing him selfe curteous and easie to be spoken to, than for subduing the braue and valiant Galles and Britons, or vanquishing the mightie Pompee. Dom Roderico Viuario, the Spaniard, although he might haue ben reuenged vpon Dom Pietro, king of Aragon, for his infidelitie, bicause he went about to hinder his voyange against the Saracens at Grenado, yet wold not punishe or raunsom him, but taking him prisoner in the warres, suffered him to go without any tribute, or any exaction of him and his [...]. The more I folowe the example of mightie personages in things that be good, the more notorious and wonderful shal I make my self in their rare and noble déedes. And not willing to forget a wrong done vnto me, whereof may I cōplain of Montanine? what thing hath hée euer done against me or mine? And albeit his predecessors were enimies to our familie, they haue therfore borne the penance, more hard than the sin deserued. And truly I shold be afrayd, that God wold suffer me to [...] into some mishap, if séeing one afflicted, I shold reioyse in his affliction, & take by his decay an argument of ioy & plesure. No no, Salimbene is not of minde, that such fond imagination should bereue good will to make himselfe a friend, & to gaine by liberalitie & curtesie hir, which for [Page] hir only vertue deserueth a greater lord than I. Being asiured, that there is no man (except he were [...] of al good nature & humanitie) specially bering the loue to Angelica, that I do, but he woulde be sory to see hir in such heauinesse and dispaire, & wold attempt to deliuer hir from such dolorous grief. For if I loue hir as I do in dede, must not I likewise loue al that which she earnest ly loueth, as him that is now in daunger of death for a simple fine of a thousand Florens. That my heart doe make appere what the loue is, which maketh me tributarie and subiect to faire Angelica, & that eche man may know, that furious loue hath vanquisht kings & greate monarches, it behoueth not me to be abashed, if I which am a man & subiect tapassiōs, so wel as other, do submit my self to the seruice of hir, who I am assured is so vertuous as euē very necessitie cannot force hir to forget ye house, wherof she toke hir original. Uaunt thy self then [...] Angclica to haue forced a heart of it selfe impregnable, & giuen him a wound which the stoutest lads, might sooner haue depriued of life, than put him out of ye way of his gentle kind: And [...] Montanine, thinke, that if thou wilte thy selfe, thou wynnest to day so heartie a friende, as onely death shall separate the vnion of vs twaine, and of all our posteritie. It is I, nay it is I my selfe, that shall excell thée in duetie, poynting the way for the wysest, to get honor, and violently compell the moued myndes of those that be oure aduersaries, desiring rather vainly to forgo mine own life, than to giue ouer the vertuous conceipts, whiche be alreadie grifted in my minde.’ After this long discourse séeing that the tyme required diligence, he tooke a thousande Ducates, and went to the Treasurer of the fines, deputed by the state, whom he fonnd in his office, and said vnto him: ‘I haue brought you sir, the Thousand Ducates, [Page] which Charles Montanine is bounde to pay for his deliuerance. Tell them, and giue hym an acquittance that presently he may come forth.’ The Treasorer woulde haue giuen him the rest, that excéeded the summe of a Thousand Florens: but Salimbene refused the same, and receiuing a letter for his discharge, he sent one of his seruants therwithall to the chiefe Gailer, who séeing that the summe of his condemnation was payd, immediatly deliuered Montanine out of the prison where he was fast shutte, and fettred with great and weighty giues. Charles thinkyng that some Frier had ben come to confesse hym, and that they had shewed hym [...] mercy to do him to death in prison, that abrode in open shame of the world he might not deface the noble house wherof he came, was at the first sight astoonned, but hauing prepared himself to die, praysed God, and besought him to vouchsafe not to forget hym in yt sorowfull passage, wherin the stoutest and coragious many times be faint & inconstant. He recōmended his soule, he prayed forgiuenesse of his sinnes: and aboue all, he humbly besought the goodnesse of God, that it woulde please him to haue pitie vpon his sister, and to deliuer hir from all infamie and dishonor. When he was caried out of the Gayle, and brought before the chiefe Gailer, sodainely his giues were discharged from his legs, & euery of the standers by looked merily vpon hym, without speaking any worde that might asfray him. That Curtesie [...] for, made hym attende some better thing, and [...] him of that which before by any means he durst not thinke. And his expectation was not deceiued. For the Gailer sayd vnto him: ‘Be of good chéere sir, for beholde the letters of your discharge, wherfore you may go at libertie whether you list.’ In saying so, he opened the pri son, and licensed Montanine to depart, praying him not [Page] to take in yl part his intreatie and hard imprisonment, for that he durst doe none other, the State of the Citie hauing so enioyned him. May not eche wight now beholde how that the euents of loue be diuers from other passions of minde? How coulde Salimbene haue so charitably deliuered Montanine, the hatred beyng so long time rooted betwéene the two houses, if some greate occasiō which hath no name in Loue, had not altred his nature, and extinguished his affection? It is meritorious to succour them whome we neuer saw before, sith nature moueth vs to doe well to them that be like our selues. But faith surmounteth there, where the very naturall inclination féeleth it selfe constrained, and seeth that to be broken, which obstinately was purposed to be kept in minde. The graces, gentlenesse, beautie, mild behauior and allurement of Angelica, had greater force ouer Salimbene, than the humilitie of hir brother, although hée had knéeled a hundred times before hym. But what heart is so brute, but may be made tractable and mylde, by the contemplation of a thing so rare, as the excellent beautie of that Siena maiden, and woulde not humble it selse to acquire the good graces of so perfect a damsel? I wil neuer accuse man for being in loue with a faire and vertuous woman, nor estéeme hym a slaue, which painefully serueth a sobre maiden, whose heart is fraught with honest affections, and mind with desire tending to good ende. Well worthie of blame is he to be demed which is in loue with the outward hew, and praiseth the trée onely laden with floures, without regard to the fruict, which maketh it worthy of cōmenbation. The yong maiden muste néedes resemble the floure of the Spring time, vntill by hir constancie, modestie, and chastitie, she hath vanquished the concupiscence of the slesh, and brought forth the hoped fruite of [Page] a vertue and chastitie not common. Otherwyse, [...] shall be like the inrolled souldier, whose valiance his only minde doth witnesse, & the offer which he maketh to him that dothe register his name in yt muster bokes. But whē the efsect of [...] is ioyned with his [...], and proofe belieth not his promise, then the [...] imbraceth him, and aduanceth him, as a glasse for his affaires frō that time forth. The like of dames hauing passed the assaults and resisted the attempts of their assaylants which be honest, not by force being not required, but inclined by their owne nature, and the diligence of their chast and inuincible heart. But returne we again vnto our purpose, Montanine, when he was deliuered, forthwith went home to his house, to comfort hir, whō he was more than sure to be in great distresse and heauinesse for his sake, and which had so much néede of cō fort as he had, to take his rest. He came to yt gate of his pallace (where béeing knowne that it was Montanine) his sister by any meanes coulde not be made to beleue the same: so impossible séeme things vnto vs, which we most desire. They were all in doubte like as we reade that they were, when S. Peter escaped Herods prison by the Angels meanes.

When Angelica was assured that it was hir brother, sobbes were layde aside, sighes were cast away, and heuie wéepings conuerted into teares of ioy, she went to imbrace and kisse hir brother, praising God for his deliuerance, and making accompt that he had ben raised frō death to life, considering his stoutnesse of mind, rather bent to die than to forgo his lande, for so small a price. The dames that wer kin vnto him, and taried there in companie of the maiden half in dispaire, lest by dispaire and furie she might fall into outrage, therby to put hir life in peril, with al expedition aduertised their husbāds [Page] of Montanines libertie, not looked for, who repaired thither, as wel to reioyce with him in his ioy and good fortune, as to make their excuse, for that they had not trauailed to ryd him from that miserie. Charles which cared nothing at all for those mouth blessings, dissembled what he thought, thanking them neuerthelesse for their visitation and good remēbrance they had of him, for visiting & cōforting his sister, which honor he estemed no lesse than if they had imployed the same vpon his owne person. Their friends & kinsfolk being departed, & assured yt none of them had payde his ransom, he was wonderfully astoonned, & the greater was his grief for that he coulde not tel what he was, which without request, had made so gentle a proofe of his liberalitie: if he knew nothing, farre more ignorant was his sister, forsomuch as she did thinke, that he had chaunged his minde, & that the horrour of death had made him sell his countrey inheritance, to him which made the first offer to buie the same: but either of them deceiued of their thought went to bed. Montanine rested not all the night, hauing still before his eyes, the vnknowne image of him that had deliuered him. His bed serued his turne to none other purpose, but as a large fielde or some long alley within a woodde, for walkes to make discourse of his myndes conceipts, sometymes remembring one, somtimes another, without hitting the blanke and namyng of hym that was his deliuerer, vnto whome he confessed him selfe to owe hys seruice and duetie so long as hée lyued. And bycause hée saw the day beginne to appeare, and that the mornyng, the Uauntcurrour of the day, summoned Appollo to harnesse hys horsse to begynne his course in our Hemisphere, he rose and wente to the Chamberlain or treasurer, such as was deputed for receit, of the Fines, sessed by the State, whom he saluted, [Page] and receiuing lyke salutation, he prayed him to shewe him so much pleasure, as to tell him the parties name, that was so liberall to satisfie his fine due in the [...] of the State. ‘To whom the other answered: None other hath caused thy deliuerance (O Montanine) but a certaine person of the worlde, whose name thou mayst easily gesse, to whome I gaue an acquittance of thyne imprisonment, but not of the iuste summe, bicause hée gaue me a thousand Ducates for a thousande Florens, and woulde not receiue the ouerplus of the debt, which I am readie to deliuer thée with thine acquittaunce. I haue not to doc with the money (sayd Charles) onely I pray you to tel me the name of him yt hath done me this great curtesie, that hereafter I may acknowledge hym to be my friende. It is sayd the Chamberlain) Anselmo Salimbene, who is to be commended and praised aboue all thy parents and kinne, and came hither very late to bring the money, the surplusage wherof, behold here it is. God forbid (said Montanine) that I should take away that, which so happily was brought hither to rid me out of pain:’ and so wēt away with his acquittāce, his mind charged with a nūbre of fansies for the fact done by Salimbene. Being at home at his house, he was long time stayed in a déepe consideration, desirous to knowe the cause of that gentle parte, procéeding from him whose whose parentes and auncesters were the capitall enimies of his race. In the end like one risyng from a soūd sléepe, he called to minde, that very many times he had séene Anselmo with attentiue eye and fired looke to beholde Angelica, and in eying hir very louingly, he passed euery day (before their gate) not shewing other countenaunce, but of good will, and with friendely gessure, rather than enimies face, saluting Angelica at all tymes when he met hir. Wherfore Montanine was assured, [Page] that the onely loue of Salimbene towards his sister had caused that deliueraunce, concluding that when the passion doth procéede of good loue, seazed in gentle heart and of noble enterprise, it is impossible but it muste bring forth the maruellous effectes of vertues gallantise, of honestie and curtesie, and that the spirite well borue, can not so muche hide his gentle nourture, but the fire must flame abrode, and that which séemeth difficult to be brought to passe, is facilitie, and made possible by the conceipts and indeuors so wel imployed, and not common to a minde that is not seuered from villanie: wherfore in the ende not to be surmounted in honestie, ne yet to beare the marke of one, that vnthankfully accepted good turnes, he determined to vse a great prodigalitie vpon him, that vnder the name of foe, had shewed himselfe a more faithful friend, than those that bare good face, and at néede were furthest off from afflic ted Montanine, who not knowing what presēt to make to Salimbene, but of himselfe aud his sister, purposed to [...] his minde to Angelica, and then vpon knowledge of hir will to performe his intent. For which cause vnderstāding that his gracious enimie was gone into the coūtrey, he thought wel to consider of his determination, and to breake with hir in his absence, the better to execute the same vpon his next returne to the citie. No called Angelica aside, and beyng bothe alone together, he vsed these or such like wordes: ‘You know deare sister, that the higher is the fall, the more daungerous it is, and greater griefe he féeleth that doth fall from high than he that tumbleth downe from place more low and of lesser stéepenesse. I speake this, bicause I cal to mind the condition, nobilite, and excellēcie of our ancesters, the glorie of our race, and riches of all our house, which constraineth me many times to sigh, & sheade a streame [Page] of teares, when I sée the sumptuous palaces that were the homes and resting places of our fathers, and grand fathers, when I sée on al parts of this Citie, the Armes, and scutcheons painted and imbossed, bearing the mark of the antiquitie of our house, and when I beholde the stately marble tombes and brasen monumentes, in diuers our temples erected for perpetual memory of many knights and generalls of warres, that sorted forth the Montanine race: & chiefly I neuer enter this great palace, the remnant of our inheritāce and patrimonie, but the remembrance of our auncesters, so glaunceth ouer mine heart, as an hundred hundred times, I [...] for death, to thinke that I am the post alone of the miserie and decay fallen vpon the name and famous familie of the Montanines, which maketh me thinke our life to be vnhappie, being downe fallen from such felicitie, to féele a miserie moste extreme. But one thing alone ought to cōtent vs, that amid so great pouertie, yl luck, ruine & abasement, none is able to lay vnto our charge any thing vnworthie of the nobilitie & the house, wherof we be descēded, our life being conformable to the generositie of our predecessors, wherby it chaunceth, yt although our poore estate be generally knowne, yet none can affirme, that we haue forligned yt vertue of them, which vertuously haue liued in oure race. If so bée [...] haue receiued plesure or benefit of any man, neuer disdained I with al duetie to acknowlege a good turne, stil shunning ye vice of ingratitude, to soile the reputation, wherin hitherto I haue passed my life. Is ther any blot which more spotteth the renoume of man, than not cō fessing receiued benefites and pleasures perfourmed in oure necessitie? You knowe in what perill of death I was, these fewe dayes past, through their false surmise which neuer [...] me, and home almost miraculously I [Page] was redemed out of the hangmās hāds, & the cruel sentence of ye vnrighteous magistrate, not one of our kyn offring thēselues in dede or word for my defense, which forceth me to saye, yt I haue felt[?] of my kin, which I neuer thought, & haue tasted, such cōmoditie at his hāds, of whō I neuer durst expect or hope for plesure, relief, aide or any cōfort. I attēded my deliuerāce by sute of those, whō I counted for kin & friends, but ye same so soone vanished, as the necessitie & perill wer present. So pressed with wo, and forsaken of frēds, I was affrayde that our aduersaries (to remoue all feare and suspition in tyme to come) would haue purchased my totall ruine, & procured the ouerthrowe of the Montanines name, by my death, and approched end. But good God, from the place wherof I feared the dāger, the calme arose, which hath brought my bark to ye hauē of helth, & at his hāds where I attended ruine, I haue tasted affiāce & sustentation of mine honor & life. And plainly to procede, it is Anselmo Salimbene, the son of our ancient & capital enimes, that hath shewed himself the very loyal & faithfull friende of our familie, and hath deliuered your brother by paimēt to ye State, the summe not of a thousand Florēs, but of a thousand ducats to raūsom ye life of him, who thought him to be his most cruel aduersarie. O Gētlemās heart in dede, & gentle minde, whose rare vertues do surpasse all humaine vnderstanding. Friendes vnited together in band of amitie, amaze the world by yt effects not vulgar in things whiche they do one for an other. But this surmounteth all, a mortall enimy, not reconciled or required, without demaūd of assurāce for yt plesure, which he doth, payeth the debts of his aduersarie: which facte excedeth al consideration to them, that discouer the factes of men. I can not tell what name to attribute to the déede of Salimbene, and what I ought to call that [Page] his curtesie, but this must I néedes protest, that the example of his honestie and gentlenesse is of suche force, and so much hath vanquished me, as whether I shal die in paine, or liue at case, neuer am I able to exceede his liberalitie. Now my life beyng ingaged for that which he hath done to me, and hée hauyng deliuered the same from infamous death, it is in your handes (deare sister) to do the deuise imagined in my minde, to the intente that I may be onely bounde to you for satisfiyng the liberalitie of Salimbene, by meanes whereof, you whiche wept the death and wailed the lost libertie of your brother, doe sée me frée, and in safetie, hauyng none other care but to be acquited of hym, to whom both you and I be derely bound.’ Angelica hearing hir brother speake those words, and knowing that Salimbene was he, that had surpassed all their kinne in amitie and comforte of their familie, answered hir brother, saying: ‘I wold neuer haue thought (good brother) that your deliuerannce had come to passe by hym whose name euen nowe you folde, and that our enimies breaking all remembrance of auncient quarels, had care of the health and conseruation of the Montanines. Wherefore if it were in my power I would satisfie the curtesie and gentlenesse of Ansehno, but I know not whiche way to begin ye same, I being a mayde that knoweth not how to recompense a good turne, but by acknowledging the same in heart: and to go to render thanks, it is neither lawful or comly for me, and much lesse to offer him any thing, for the little accesse I haue to his house, and the small familiaritie I haue with the Gentlewomen of his kinne. Notwithstanding brother, consider you wherin my power resteth to aide and help you, and be assured (mine honor saued) I will spare nothing for your contentation. Sister (sayd Montanine) I haue of long time debated with [Page] my self what is to be [...], and deuised what might be the occasion that moued this yong Gentleman to vse so great kindnesse towarde me, and hauing diligently pondred and wayed what I haue seene and knowne, at length I found yt it was the onely force of loue, which constrained his affection, and altered the auncient hatred that he bare vs, into new loue, that by no meanes can be quenched. It is the couert fier which loue hath kindled in his intrailes, it is loue which hath raised the true effects of gentlenesse, and hath consumed the conceites of displeased minde. O the great force of that amorous alteration, which vpon the sodaine exchaunge, séemeth impossible to receiue any more chaūge or mutacion. The onely beautie and good grace of you sister, hath induced our gracious enimy, the seruaunt of your perfections, to deliuer the pore Gentleman forlorne of all good fortune. It is the honest life and commendable behauioure of Angelica Montanine, which haue incited Anselmo to doe an acte so praise worthy, and a déede so kinde, to procure the deliueraunce of one, which loked not for a chaunce of so great consequence. Ah Gentle yong Gentleman, Ah Princely minde, and heart noble and magnanunous. Alas how shall it be possible that euer I can approche the honest liberalitie wherewith thou haste bound me for euer? My life is thine, mine honoure dependeth of thée, my goodes be tied to thée. What resteth then? if not that you (sister) voide of crueltie do vse no vnkindnesse to him that loueth you and who for loue of you hath prodigally offred his owne goods to rid me from pain and dishonor? If so be, my life and [...] haue bene acceptable vnto thee, and the sight of me discharged from prisō was ioyful vnto thée, if thou gauest thy willing consent that I should sel my [...], graunt presently that I may with a great, [Page] rare, & precious present, requite the goodnesse, pleasure & curtesie that Salimbene hath done for your sake: And sith I am not able with goodes of fortune to satisfie his bountie, it is your person which may supply yt default, to the intent that you and I may be quitted of the [...], wherin we stand boūd vnto him. It behoueth that for the offer and rewarde of money which he hath imployed, we make present of your beauty, not selling the price of your chastitie, but deliuering the same in exchaunge of curtesie, being assured for his gentlenesse & good nouriture sake, he will vse you none otherwise, or vsurpe any greater authoritie ouer you, than vertus permitteth in eche gētle and noble heart. I haue none other meane of fatisfaction, ne larger raunsom to render frée my head frō the tribute which Salimbene hath giuen for my life and libertie. Thinke (deare sister) what determinate answer you wil make me, and consider if my request be méete to be denyed. It is in your choise and pleasure to deny or consent to my demaund. If so be that I be refused and lose the meanes by your refuse to be acquited of my defender, I had rather forsake my Citie and Countrey, than to liue héere with ye name of ingratitude, for not acknowledging so great a pleasure. But alas, with what eye shall I dare behold the Nobilitie of Siena, if by great vnkindenesse I passe vnder silence the rarest friendship that euer was deuised? What heartes sorow shall I conceiue to be pointed at with the finger, like one that hath forgotten in acknowledging by effecte, the receiued pleasure of my deliueraunce? No (sister) either you must be the quiet of my minde, and the acquittaunce of vs [...], or else must I die, or wander like a vagabonde into straunge Countreys, and neuer put foote againe into Italy.’ At [Page] those woords Angelica stoode so astonned and confused, and so besides hir selfe, like as we sée one distraught of sense that féeleth himself attached with some amaze of the Palsey. In the end recouering hir sprites, and beblubbered all with teares, hir stomake panting like the Bellowes of a forge, she answeared hir brother in this manner: ‘I know not louing brother by reason of my troubled minde howe to answere your demaunde, which séemeth to be both right and wrong, right [...] respect of the [...], not so, in consideration of the request. But how I proue the same, and what reason I can alleage and discouer for that proofe, hearken me so paciently, as I haue reason to complaine and dispute vpon this chaunce more hard and difficult to auoide, than by replie able to be defended, sith that life and the hazarding thereof is nothing, in regarde of that which you will haue [...] to present with too excéeding prodigall liberalitie, and I would to God that life might satisfie the same, then be sure it should so soone be imployed, as the promise made thereof. Alas good God, I thought that when I [...] my brother out of prison, the neare distresse of death, wherunto vniustly he was throwne, I thought (I say) and firmely did beleue, that fortune the enimy of our ioy, had vomited al hir poison, and being despoiled of hir fury and crabbed nature had brokē the bloudy and venemous arowes, wherewith so long time she hath plaged our family, and that by resting of hir self: she had giuen some rest to the Montanine house of al their troubles & misaduētures. But I (O miserable wight) do see & féele how far I am deuided from my hope, and deceiued of mine opinion, sith yt furious stepdame, appereth before me wt a face more fierce & thretning, then euer she did, sharpening hir selfe against my youth in other sorte, than euer against any of our race. [Page] If euer she persecuted our auncesters, if she brought them to ruine and decay, she now doth purpose wholly to subuert the same, and throw vs headlong into yt bottomlesse pit of all miserie, exterminating for all togither, the remnaunt of our consumed house. Be it either by losse of thée (good brother,) or the violent death of me which cannot hazard my chastitie for the price of mine vnhappie life: Ah good God, into what anguishe is my minde exponed, & how doe I féele the force and violence of frowarde fortune? But what speake I of fortune? How doth hard lucke insue, that is predestinated by the heauens vpon our race? Must I at so tender yeres, and of so féeble kinde make choise of a thing, which woulde put the wisest vpon earth vnto their shifts? My heart doth faile me, reason wanteth and iudgement hangeth in ballaunce by continuall agitations, to sée how I am driuen to the extremitie of two daungerous straits, & enuironned with fearefull ieoperdies, forcibly compelled either to be deuided and separated frō thee (my brother,) whome I loue aboue mine owne life, & in whom next after God I haue sixed and put my hope and trust, hauing none other solace, comfort and helpe, but thée, or else by keping thée, am forced to giue vnto another, & know not howe, yt precious treasure which being once lost, cānot be recouered by any meanes, & for the garde and conseruation wherof, euery woman of good iudgement that loueth vertue, ought a thousand times to offer hir self to death (if so many wayes she could) rather than to blot or soile that inestimable iewell of chastitie, wherewith our life is a true life: contrariwise she which fondly suffreth hir self to be disseazed and spoiled of the same, & looseth it without honest title, albeit she be a liue, yet is she buried in the most obscure caue of death, hauing lost the honoure which maketh Maidens [Page] marche with head vpright. But what goodnesse hath a Ladie, gentlewoman, maiden or wife, wherein she can glory, hir honor being in doubt, and reputation darkened with infamie? Wherto serued the imperiall house of Augustus, in those Ladies that were intituled with the Emperours daughters, when for their vilany, their were vnworthy of the title of chaste and vertuous? What profited Faustina the Emperiall crowne vpon hir head, hir chastitie through hir abhominable life, being rapt and despoiled? What wrong hath bene done to many simple women, for being buried in the tombe of darke obliuion, which for their vertue and pudique life, merited eternall praise? Ah Charles my brother deare, where hast thou bestowed the eye of thy fore séeing minde, that without foresight and care of the fame due to the honest dames, and chast damosels of our family, hauing lost the goods & fathers inheritaunce, wilt haue me in like sort sorgoe my chastitie, which hitherto I haue kept with héedeful diligence. Wilt thou dear brother by the price of my virginity, that Anselmo shal haue greater victorie ouer vs, than he hathe gotten by fight of sword vpon the allied remnaunt of our house? Art thou ignorant that the wounds and diseases of the minde, be more vehement than those which afflicte the body? Ah I vnhappy maiden and what yll lucke is reserued for me, what destiny hath kept me till this day to be presented for Venus Sacrifice, to satissie a yong mannes lust, which coueteth (peraduenture) but the spoile of my virginitie? O happy the Romane maid, slain by the proper hands of hir wofull father Virginius, that she might not be soiled with infamie, by the lecherous embracements of rauenous Appius, which desired hir acquaintaunce. Alas that my brother doe not so, rather I would to God of his owne accord he be the [...] [Page] minister of my life, ready to be violated, if God by [...] grace take not my cause in hand? Alas death, why [...] thou not throwe against my heart thy most pearcing darte, that I may goe waite vpon the shadowes of my thrice happy parents, who knowing this my grief, wil not be void of passion to help me waile my woful state. O God why was not I choaked and strangled, so sone as I was taken forth the secrete imbracements of my mothers wombe, rather thā to arriue into this mishap, that either must I lose the thing I déeme most deare, or die with the violence of my proper hands? Come death, come, and cut the vnhappy thréede of my wofull life, stoppe the pace of teares with thy trenchant darte that streame outragiously downe my face, and close the brething wind of sighs, which hinder thée from doing thine office vpon my heart, by suffocation of my life and it.’ When she had ended those words, hir spéeche did faile, and waxing pale and faint, (sitting vpon bir stoole) she fared as though that very death had sitten in hir place. Charles thinking that his sister had bene deade, [...] with sorow, and desirous to liue no longer after hir, seing he was the cause of that sowning, fell downe dead vpon the ground, mouing neither hand nor foote, as though the soule had bene departed from the bodie. At the noise which Montanine made by reason of his fall, Angelica reuiued out of hir sown, and seing hir brother in so pitifull plight, and supposing he had bene dead for care of his request, for being berieued of hir brother, was so moued, as a little thing wold haue made hir do, as [...] did, when she viewed Pyramus to be slaine. But conceiuing hope, she threw hir selfe vpon hir brother, cursing hir fortune, banning the starres of cruelty, and hir lauash spéeche, and hir self for hir litle loue to hir brother, who made no refusal to die to saue his land [Page] for relief of hir: wher she denyed to yeld hir self to him yt loued hir with so goodaffection. In the end she applied so many remedies vnto hir brother, sometimes casting cold water vpon his face, sometimes pinching and rubbing the temples and pulses of his armes, & his mouth with vineger, that she made him to come again: and seing that his eyes were open, beholding hir intentiuely with yt countenaunce of a man half in despaire, she said vnto him: ‘For so much brother as I sée fortune to be so froward, that by no meanes thou canst auoid the cruell lot, which laūcheth me into the bottome of mortall misery, and that I must aduenture to folow the indeuors of thy minde, and obey thy will, which is more gentle & noble, than fraught with reason, I am content to satisfy the same, and the loue which hitherto thou hast born me. Be of good chéere, and doe with me & my body what thou list, giue and presēt the same to whome thou pleasest. Wel be thou sure, that so soone as I shall be out of thy hands and power, I wil be called or estéemed thine no more, and thou shalt haue lesse authoritie to stay me from doing the deuises of my fantasie, swearing & protesting by the almighty God, that neuer mā shall touch Angelica, except it be in mariage, and that if he assay to passe any further, I haue a heart that shall incorage my hāds to sacrifice my life to the chastitie of noble dames which had rather die than liue in [...] of dishonesty. I will die a body without [...], and the minde voide of consent, shall receiue no shame or filth that can soile or spot ye same.’ In saying so, she began againe to wéepe in suche aboundance, as the humor of hir braine ranne downe by the issue of bothe hir eyes. Montanine albeit sorowfull beyōd measure to sée his gentle & chast sister in such vexation & heauinesse, reioysed yet in his mind, [Page] that she had agréed to his [...], which presaged the good lucke that afterwardes chaunced vnto him, for his liberall offer. ‘Wherfore sayd he to Angelica, I was neuer in my life so desirous to liue, but yt I rather choose to die, than procure a thing that shold turne thée to displeasure and grief, or to hazarde thine honor and reputation in daunger or perill of damage, which thou hast euer known, and shouldest haue stil perceiued by effect, or more properly to speake, touched with thy finger, if that incomparable and rare curtesie and liberalitie of Salimbene had not prouoked me to require that, which honestly thou canst not giue, nor I demaunde without wrong to thée, and preiudice to mine owne estimation and honoure. But what? the seare I haue to be déemed ingrate, hath [...] me forget thée, and the great honesty of Anselmo maketh me hope, yea and stedfastly beleue, that thou shalt receiue none other displeasure, but to be presented vnto him, whom at other times we haue thought to be our mortall enimy. And I thinke it impossible that he will vse any villany to hir, whom he so feruently loueth, for whose sake he feareth not the hatred of his [...], & disdained not to saue him whom he hated, and on whome he might haue bene reuenged. And for so much sister, as the face commonly she weth the signe and token of the hearts affections, I pray [...] by any meanes declare no sad countenaunce in the presence of Salimbene, but rather chéere [...] thy face. dry vp the aboundance of thy teares, that he by séeing thée ioyfull and mery, may be moued to [...] his curtesie and vse thée honestly, being satisfied with thy liberalitie, and the offer which I will make of our seruice.’

Here may be séene the [...] of two diuers things, duety combating with shame, reason being in contention with himself. Angelica knew and confessed [Page] that hir brother did but his duetie, and that she was boūd by yt same very bond. On the other side, hir estate and virginal chastitie, brake the endeuors of hir duety, and denyed to doe that which she estéemed right. Neuerthelesse she prepared hir self to folow bothe the one and the other: and by acquiling the duetie to hir brother, she ordained the meane, to discharge him of that, which he was bound to his benefactor, determining neuerthelesse rather to die, than shamefully to suffer hir selfe to be abused, or to make hir lose the floure, which made hir glister amongs ye maidens of the citie, & to deface hir good faute by an acte so villanous. But that speciall rare vertue was more singular in hir, than was ye continencie of Cyrus the Persian King, who fearing to be forced by the allurements of the excellent beauty of chast Panthea, would not suffer hir to be brought into his presence, for feare that he being surmounted wt folish lustes, should force hir, that by other meanes could not be persuaded to breake the holy lawes of mariage, and promised Faith to hir husband. For Salimbene hauing in his presence, and at his commaundement hir, whome aboue all things he loued, would by no meanes abuse his power, but declared his Gentle nature to be of other force and effect, than that of the afore said king, by reading ye successe of this historie you shall perceiue.

After that Montanine and his sister had vttered many other words vpon their determination, and that ye faire maiden was appeased of hir sorow, attending the issue of that which they went about to begin: Anselmo was come home out of the Countrey, whereof Charles hauing intelligence, about the second houre of ye night, be caused his sister to make hir ready, and in companie of one of their seruaunts that caried light before them, they came to the lodging of Salimbene, whose seruaunt [Page] séeing Montanine so accompanied to knock at the gate, if he did maruel I leaue for you to think, by reason of yt displeasure & hatred which he knew to be betwene the two families, not knowing that which had already passed for ye beginning of a finall peace of so many controuersies: for which cause so astonned as he was, he went to tel his master that Montanine was at the gate, desirous secretely to talke vnto him. [...] knowing what cōpany Charles had with him, was not vnwilling to go downe, & [...] two torches to be lighted, came to his gate to entertaine them, & to welcome ye brother and the sister, with so great curtesie & friendship as he was surprised with loue, séeing before his eyes ye sight of hir, that burned his heart incessātly, not discouering as yet the secretes of his thought, by making hir to vnderstād the good will he bare hir, and how much he was hir seruaunt. He could not tel wel whether he was incharmed, or his eyes daselled, or not well wakened frō [...] when he sawe Angelica, so amazed was he with the straungenesse of the fact, and arriuall of the maiden to his house. Charles séeing him so confused, and knowing that the great affectiō he bare vnto his sister, made him so perplexed & besides himselfe, said vnto him: ‘Sir we would gladly speake with you in one of your chambers, yt there might be none other witnesse of our discourse, but we. [...]. together. Salimbene which was [...] with ioy, was able to make none other answere, but, Go we whether you please. So taking his Angelica by the hand, they went into yt hall, & from thence into his chāber, which was furnished according to yt state & riches of a Lord, he being one of the welthiest & chiefe of the citie of Siena. When they were set downe, & all the [...] gone [...], Charles began to say to Salimbene, these wordes: You may not thinke it straunge (sir Salimbene) [Page] if against the lawes & customes of our commō wealth, I presently do call you, for knowing the band wherwith I am boūd vnto you, I must for euer cōfesse & count my self to be your slaue & bōdman, you hauing done a thing in my behalf yt deserueth ye name of Lord & master. But what vngrateful man is he yt wil forget so great a benefit, as that which I haue receiued of you, holding of you, life, goods, honor, & this mine own sister yt enioyeth by your meanes the presence of hir brother & hir rest of mind, not losing our noble reputation by ye losse prepared for me through vnrighteous iudgement, you hauing staid the ruine both of hir & me, and the rest of our house & kin. I am right glad sir, yt this my duetie & seruice is boūden to so vertuous a gentleman as you be, but excéeding sory, yt fortune is so froward & contrary vnto me, that I am not able to accomplishe my good will, and if ingratitude may lodge in mind of a néedie Gentleman, who hath no helpe but of himself, and in ye will of his chast sister, and minde vnited in two persōs onely saued by you, duetie doeth require to present the rest, and to submit al that is left, to be disposed at your good pleasure. And bicause that I am well assured, that it is Angelica alone which hath kindled ye fire of desire, and hath caused you to loue that which your predecessours haue deadly hated, yt same sparke of knowledge, which our misery could not quenche with all his force, hath made the way, and shewed the path whereby we, shall auoide the name of ingrate & forgetfull persons, & that same which hath made you liberal towards me, shalbe bountifully bestowed vpō you. It is Angelica sir which you sée present héere, who to discharge my band, hathe willingly rendred to be your owne, submitting hir selfe to your good will, for euer to be youres. And I which am hir brother, and haue receiued that great [Page] good wil of hir, as in my power to haue hir wil, do present the same, & leaue hir in your handes, to vse as you would your owne, praying you to accept the same, & to consider whose is the gift, and from wheuce it cometh, and how it ought to be regarded. When he had sayd so, Montanine rose vp, and without further talke, went home vnto his house. If Anselmo were abashed at the Montanines arriuall, and [...] at the Oration of Charles, his sodaine departure was more to be maruelled at, and therwithall to sée the effect of a thing which he neuer hoped, nor thought vpon. He was excéeding glad & ioyful to sée himself in the cōpany of hir, whome he desired aboue all things of the world, but sory to sée hir heauy & sorowfull for such chaunce. He supposed hir being there, to procéede rather of the yong mans good & gentle nature, than of the maidens will & liking. For which cause taking hir by ye hād, & holding hir betwene his armes, he vsed these or such like words: ‘Gentlewomā, if euer I had felt & knowne with what wing yt varietie & lightnesse of worldly things do flie, & the gains of incōstant fortune, at this present I haue séene one of yt most manifest profes which semeth to me so [...], as almost I dare not beleue that, which I sée before mine eyes. I knowe well that it is for you, and for the seruice that I beare you, yt I haue broken the effect of yt hatred, which by inheritaunce I haue receiued against your house, and for yt deuotion haue deliuered your brother. But I sée that fortune will not let me to haue the vpper hand, to be the conquerer of hir sodaine pangs. But you your self shal sée, & euery mā shall know, yt my heart is none other thā noble, & my deuises tend, but to the exploit of all vertue & gentlenesse: wherfore I pray you (said he kissing hir louingly) be not sad, & doubt not that your seruaunt is any other now, hauing you in his [Page] power, than he was whē he durst not discouer the ardēt loue that vexed him, & held him in féeble state, ful of [...] and thought, you also may bée sure, that he hath not had the better hand ouer me, ne yet for his curtesie hath obteined victorie, nor you for obeying him. For sith that you be mine, and for such yelded and giuen to me, I wil kéepe you, as hir whom I loue & esteme aboue al things of the worlde, making you my companion, and the only mistresse of my goodes, hearte, and will. Thinke not that I am the friende of Fortune, and practise pleasure alone without vertue. It is modestie which commaundeth me, and honestie is the guide of my conceites. Assure you then, & repose your comfort on me: for none other thā Angelica Montanine, shall be the wife of Anselmo Salimbene: and during my life, I will bée the friende, the defender and supporter of your house.’ At those good newes, the drousie and wandering spirite of the faire Siena mayde awaked, who ending hir teares, and appeasing hir sorow, rose vp, and made a very lowe reuerence vnto hir curteous friende, thanking him for his greate and incomparable liberalitie, promising all seruice, duetie, and amitie, that a Gentlewoman ought to bear vnto him, whō God had reserued for hir spouse and husbande. After an infinite numbre of honest imbracements and pleasant kisses giuen and receiued on both parts, Anselmo called vnto him one of his Auntes that dwelled within him, to whome hée deliuered hys newe conquest to kéepe, and spedily without delaye hée sent for the next of his kinne and dearest friends: and being come, he intreated them to kéepe him companie, in a very vrgent and weightie businesse he had to do, wherin if they shewed them selues diligent in hys request, doubtfull it is not, but he addressed spéede for accomplishmēt of his enterprise. Then causing his Aunt [Page] and welbeloued Angelica to come forth, he caried them (not without their great admiration) to the pallace of Montanine, whither being arriued, he and his companie were wel intertained of the sayde Montanine, the brother of faire Angelica. When they were in the hall, Salimbene sayd to his brother in law that shold be: Senior Montanine, it is not long sithens, that you in companie of my faire Gentlewoman here, came home to speake with me, desirous to haue no man priuie to the effect of your cōference. But I am come to you with this troupe to disclose my mind before you al, & to manifest what I purpose to do, to the intent the whole world may know your good & honest nature, and vnderstād how I can be requited on them, which indeuor to gratifie me in any thing. Hauing sayd so, and euery man being set down, he turned his talke to the reste of the companie in this wise: I doubt not my [...] & noble dames, but that ye much muse and maruell to sée me in this house so late, and in your companie, and am sure, that a great desire moueth your minds to know for what purpose, yt cause, and why I haue gathered this assemblie in a time vnlooked for, and in place where none of oure race and kynne of long time dyd enter, and lesse dyd meane to make hyther their repaire. But when you doe consider what vertue and goodnesse resteth in the heartes of those men, that shunne and auoyde the [...] of mynde, to followe the reasonable parte, and which proprely is called spirituall, you shall therby perceiue, that when gentle kynde and noble heart, by the great mistresse [...] Nature, be grifted in the myndes of men, they cease not to make appere the effect of their doings, sometyme producyng one vertue, sometimes another, whiche cease not to cause the fruict of suche [Page] industrie bothe to blowe and beare: In suche wyse, as the more those vertuous actes and commendable workes, do appeare abroade, the greater dyligence is imployed to searche the matter wherein she [...] cause to appeare the force of vertue and excellencie, conceiuyng singular delighte in that hir good and holie delyuerie, whych bringeth forth a fruict worthie of such a stocke. And that force of minde and generositie of noble hearte is so firme and sure in operation, as althoughe humane things be vnstable and subiecte to chaunge, yet they can not be seuered or disparcled. And albeit it bée the butte and white, whereat Fortune dischargeth all hir dartes and shaftes, threatning shooting and assailing the same rounde, yet it continueth stable and firme like a rocke and cliffe beaten with the violent furie of waues rising by winde or tempest. Wherby it chanceth, that riches and dignitie can no more aduaunce the hart of a slaue and villain, than pouertie make vile & abase the greatnesse of courage in them that be procreated of other stuffe than of common sorte, which dayely kéepe the maiestie of their originall, and lyue after the instincte of good and noble bloode, wherewith their auncesters were made noble, and sucked that same vertue oute of the teates of Noursses breastes, who in the myddes of troublesome [...] of Fortune that doe assayle them, and depresse theyr modestie, theyr face and countenaunce, and theyr factes full well declare their condition, and doe to vnderstande, that vnder suche a miserie, a mynde is hydde, whiche deserueth greater guerdon than the eigre taste of calamitie. In that dydde glowe and shyne the youth of the Persian and Median Monarch, being nurssed amongs the stalles and stables of his grandfather, & the gentle [Page] kynde of the founder of stately Rome, suckeled in the shepecoates of Princes shephierds. Thus much haue I sayd, my good lordes and dames, in consideration of the noble courage and gentle mynde of Charles Montanine, and of his sister, who without preiudice to any other, I dare to say, is the paragon and mirrour of all chast and curteous maidens, well trained vp, amongs the whole troupe of those that liue this daye in Siena, who beeyng brought to the ende and last point of their ruin, as euery of you doth know, and their race so sore decayed, as there remaineth but the onely name of Montanine: notwithstanding they neuer lost the hearte, desire, ne yet the effect of the curtesie, and naturall bountie, whiche euer doth accompanie the minde of those that be [...] in déede, Which is the cause that I am constrayned to accuse oure auncesters, of to muche crueltie, and of the litle respect which for a controuersie occurred by chāce, haue pursued them with such mortal reuenge, as without ceassing, with all their force, they haue assayed to ruinate, abolishe, and for euer [...] that a righte noble and illustre race of the Montanines, amongs whō if neuer any goodnesse appeared to the worlde, but the honestie, gentlenesse, curtesie and vertuous maners of these twaine here present, the brother and sister, yet they ought to be accompted amongs the ranke of the noblest and chiefest of our Citie, to the intent in tyme to come it may not be reported, that we haue estéemed and cherished riches and drossie mucke, more than vertue and modestie. But imitating those excellent gouerners of Italie, which helde the Romane Empire, lette vs rather reuerēce the vertuous poore, than praise or prise the riche, gyuen to vice and wickednesse. And for so much as I do sée you all to be desirous to knowe yt cause and argument, which maketh me to vse this talke, and [Page] forceth mée to prayse the [...] and goodnesse of the Montanines, pleaseth you to stay a litle with pacience, and not think the time tedious, I meane to declare the same. Plainely to confesse vnto you (for that it is no crime of death, or heinous offense) the gifts of nature, the beautie and comelinesse of faire Angelica here present, haue so captiuate my mind, and depriued my hart of libertie, as night and day trauailing how I mighte discouer vnto hir my martirdom, I did consume in such wise, as losing lust of sléepe and meate, I feared ere lōg to be either dead of sorrow, or [...] of my right wittes, seing no meanes how I might auoyd the same, bicause our two houses and families were at continuall debate: and albeit [...] were ceased, and quarelles forgotten, yet there rested (as I thought) a certaine desire bothe in the one and the other of offense when time and occasion did serue. And yet mine affection for al that was not decreased, but rather more tormented, and my griefe increased, hopelesse of helpe, which nowe is chaunced to me as you shall heare. You doe knowe, and so do all men, howe within these fewe dayes past, the Lorde Montanine here present, was accused before the Seniorie, for trespasses against the statutes and Edicts of the same, and being prisoner, hauing not wherwith to satisfie the condemnation, ye law affirmed that his life shold recompense and supplie default of money. I not able to suffer the want of hym, which is the brother of the dearest thing I estéeme in the worlde, and hauyng not hir in possession, nor lyke without him to attaine hir, payed that summe, and deliuered hym. He, by what meanes I know not, or how he coniectured the beneuolence of my déede, thinkyng that it procéeded of the honest [...] and affection which I bare to gracious and amiable Angelica, well consideryng [Page] of my curteste, hath ouercome me in prodigalitle he this nyghte came vnto me, wyth his sister my mystresse, yeldyng hir my slaue and bondwoman, leauing hir with me, to doe with hir as I wold with any thing I had. Beholde my good Lordes, and ye noble Ladies and cousins, and consider how I may recompense thys benefite, and be able to satisfie a present so precious, & of such value and regarde, as both of them be, such, as a right puissant prince and lord, may be contented with a duetie so liberall and iewell in estimable of two offered things.’ The assistants that were there, coulde not tell what to say, the discourse hadde so muche drawne their myndes into dyuers fantasies and contrary opinions, seing that the same required by deliberation to be considered, before lightly they vttred their mindes. But they knew not the intent of him, which had called them thither, more to testifie his fact, than to iudge of the thyng he went about, or able to hynder and let the same. True it is, that the Ladies viewyng and marking the amiable countenance of the [...] [...], woulde haue iudged for hir, if they feared not to bée refused of hym, whome the thyng didde touche moste néere. Who withoute longer staye, opened to them all, what he was purposed to do, saying: ‘Sith ye do spende time so long vpon a matter alreadie meant and determined, I wil ye to know, that hauing [...] of mine honour, and desirous to satisfie the honestie of the brother and sister I minde to take Angelica to my wife and lawful spouse, vniting that which so lōg time hath bene diuided, and making in two bodies, whilom not wel accorded & agréed, one like and vniforme wil, praying you eche one, ioyfully to ioy with me, and your selues to reioyse in that alliaunce, whyche séemeth rather a woorke from heauen, than a déede concluded by [Page] the counsell and industrie of men. So lykewyse all wedded féeres in holie Wedlocke (by reason of the effecte and the Author of the same, euen G O D him selfe, whiche did ordaine it first) bée written in the infallible Booke of hys owne prescience, to the intente that nothyng may decay, which is sustained wyth the myghtie hand of that Almightie God, the God of wonders, which verily hée hath displayed ouer thée (deare brother) by makyng thée to fall into distresse and danger of death, that myne Angelica, béeing the meane of thy dyliueraunce, myght also bée cause of the attonement whiche I do hope henceforth shall bée, betwéene so noble houses as ours be.’ Thys finall decrée reueled in open audience, as it was, agaynst their expectation, and the ende that the kynred of Anselmo looked for, so was the same no lesse straunge and bathful, as ioyfull and pleasaunt, féelyng a sodaine ioy, not accustomed in their mynde, for that vnion and alliaunce. And albeit that their ryches was vnequall, and the Dowrie of Angelica nothyng néere the greate wealth of Salimbene, yet all men dyd déeme hym happie, that hée hadde chaunced vpon so vertuous a mayden, the onely modestie and integritie of whome, deserued to bée coupled wyth the moste honourable. For when a man hathe respecte onely to the beautie or riches of hir, whome he meaneth to take to wyse, he moste commonly dothe incurre the mischiefe, that the spirite of dissention intermeddleth amydde theyr householde, whereby pleasure vanishing with age, maketh the riueled face (beset with a thousand wrinkeled furrowes) to growe pale and drie. The wife likewyse when she séeth hir goodes to surmoūt, the substāce of hir wedded husband, she aduaunceth hir heart, she swelleth [Page] to make himselfe a conquerour by mariage, but she diminyshing no iote of hir noble minde, he must seke else where his price of victorie. To hir a desire to kyll hir selfe (if things succéeded contrary to hir minde) myght haue stopped the way to hir great glorie, had she not regarded hir virginitie, more than hir owne life. The seconde seemeth to go halfe constrained, and by maner of acquitall, and had his affection bene to render himselfe [...] to his foe, his patron and preseruer, it would haue diminished his praise.

But sithens inough wée haue hereof discoursed, and ben large in treatie of Tragicomicall matters, intermixed and suaged (in some parte) with the enteruiews of dolor, modestie, and indifferent good hap, and in some wholy imparted the dreadfull endes like to terrible beginnings, I meane for a reliefe, and after suche sowre swéete bankettes, to interlarde a licorous refection for sweeting the mouthes of the delicate: And doe purpose in this Nouell insuing, to manifest a pleasant disporte betwéene a Widowe and a Scholer, a passyng practise of a craftie dame, not well schooled in the discipline of Academicall rules, a surmountyng science to trade the nouices of that forme, by ware foresight, to incountre those that by laborsome trauaile and nightly watch, haue studied the rare knowledge of Mathematicalls, and other hydden and secrete Artes.

Wishing them so well to beware, as I am desirous to let them know by this [...], the successe of suche attemptes.

[Page]

Mistresse Helena of Florence
The. xxxi. Nouel.

¶ A Widowe called Mistresse HELENA, with whome a Scholer was in loue, (she louyng an other) [...] the same Scholer to stande a whole [...] nyghte in the Snowe to wayte for hir, who afterwardes by a [...] and pollicie, caused hir in Iuly, to stande vpon a Tower starke [...], amongs Flyes and Gnattes, and in the [...].

DIuerte we nowe a litle from these sundrie happes, to solace our selues with a [...] deuise, and pleasaunt circumstance of a Scholers loue, and of the wily guily [...] of an amorous Widow of Florence. A Scholer returned from Paris to [...] his knowlege at home in hys owne Countreye, learneth a more cunnyng lecture of Mystresse Helena, than he didde of the subtillest Sorbone Doctor, or other Mathematicall from whenee hée came. The Scholler as plainly hée had applied his booke, and earnestly herkned his readings, so he simply meant to be a faithfull louer and deuoute requirant to this ioily dame, yt had vowed [Page] hir deuotion & promised pilgrimage to an other saint. The scholer vpon the first view of the widowes wandring lookes, forgetting Ouides lessons of loues guiles, pursued his conceipt to the vttermost. The scholer neuer remembred how many valiaunt, wise and learned men, wanton womē had seduced and deceiued. He had forgot howe Catullus was beguiled by Lesbia, Tibullus by Delia, Propertius by Cynthia, Naso by Corinna, Demetrius by Lamia, Timotheus by Phryne, Philippe by a Greeke mayden, Alexander by Thais, Hannibal by Campania, Caesar by Cleopatra, Pompeius by Flora, Pericles by Aspa ga, Psammiticus the king of Aegipt by Rhodope, and diuers other very famous by women of that stampe. He had not ben well trained in holy writ, or heard of Samsons Dalida, or of Salamons concubines, but like a plaine dealing man, beleued what she promised, folowed what she bad him, wayted whiles she mocked him, attended till she laughed him to scorne. And yet for all these ioily pastimes inuented by this widowe, to deceiue the poore Scholer, the scaped not frée from his Logike rules, nor safe from his philosophie. He was forced to turne ouer Aristotle; to reuolue his Porphyrie, and to gather hys wittes about him, to requite this louing peate, that had so charitably delt with him. He willingly serched ouer Ptolome, perused Albumazar, made haste to Haly, yea & for a shift besturred him in Erra Pater, for matching of two contrary elements. For colde in Christmasse holy dayes, and frost at Twelftide, shewed no more force in this poore lerned scholer, thā the Suns heat in the Feries of Iuly; gnats, flies, & waspes, at noone dayes in Sōmer vpon the naked tender corpse of this fair Widow. The Scholer stode belowe in a Court, benoommed for cold, the widowe preached a lofte in the top of a Tower, and [...] woulde haue had water to coole hir extreme heat. [Page] The scholler in his shirt bedecked with his demissaries. The widow so naked as hir graundmother Eue, without vesture to shroud hir. The widow by magike Arte what so euer it cost, wold faine haue recouered hir lost louer. The Scholler well espying his aduaūtage when he was asked councel, so incharmed hir with his Sillogismes, as he made hir to mount a tower, to cursse the time that euer she knew him or hir louer. So yt widow not well beatē in causes of schole, was whipt with the rod, wherwith she scourged other. Alas good woman, had she knowne that olde malice had not bene forgotten, she would not haue trusted, & lesse committed hir self to the circle of his enchauntments. If women wist what dealings are wt men of great reading, they wold amongs one hundred other, not deale with one of the meanest of those that be bookish. One Girolamo Ruscelli alearned Italian making pretie notes for yt better elucidation of the Italian Decamerone of Boccaccio, iudgeth Boccaccio himself to be this scholler, whom by another name he termeth to be Rinieri. But whatsoeuer that Scholler was, he was truly too extréeme in reuenge, & therein could vse no meane. For he neuer left the pore féeble soule, for all hir curteous woords and gentle supplication, vntil the skin of hir flesh was parched with ye scalding sunne beames. And not contented with that, delt his almose also to hir maide, by sending hir to help hir mistresse, where also she brake hir legge. Yet Philenio was more pitifull ouer the thrée Nimphes & faire Goddesses of Bologna, whose History you may read in the xlix. Nouell of my former Tome. He fared not so roughly with those, as Rinieri did with this, that sought but to gain what she had lost. Wel, how so euer it was, and what differencie betwene either of them, this Hystorie ensuing, more amply shall giue to vnderstand.

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Not long sithens, there was in Florence, a yong gentlewoman of worshipfull parentage, faire and comely of personage, of courage stout, and abounding in goods of fortune (called Helena,) who being a Widow, determined not to mary again, bicause she was in loue with a yong man that was not voide of natures goodly gifts, whom for hir owne toothe, aboue other she had specially chosen. In whome (setting aside all other care) many times (by meanes of one of hir maids which she trusted best) she had great pleasure and delite. It chaūced about the same time that a yong Gentleman of that Citie called Rinieri, hauing a great time studied at Paris, retourned to Florence, not to sell his Science by retaile, as many doe, but to know the reasons of things, and the causes of the same, which is a maruellous good exercise for a Gentleman. And being there honoured & greatly estemed of all men, aswell for his curteous behauioure, as also for his knowledge, he liued like a good Citizen. But as it is commonly séene, they which haue best vnderstanding and knowledge in things, are soonest tangled in Loue: euen so it happened to this Rinieri, who repairing one day for his passetime to a feast, this Madame Helena clothed all in blacke, (after the manner of widowes) was there also, and séemed in his eyes so beautiful and wel fauored, as any woman that euer he sawe; and thought that he might be accompted happy, to whome God did she we so much fauoure, as to suffer him to be cleped betwene hir armes: & beholding hir diuers times, and knowing that the greatest and dearest things can not be gotten without laboure, he determined to vse all his endeuoure and care in pleasing of hir, that thereby he might obtaine hir loue, and so enioy hir. The yong Gentlewoman not very bashfull, conceiuing greater opinion of hir selfe, than was [Page] néedefull, not casting hir eyes towards the ground, but rolling them artificially on euery side, and by and by perceiuing much gazing to be vpon hir, espied Rinieri earnestly beholding hir, and sayd smiling to hir selfe: ‘I thinke that I haue not this day lost my time in comming hither, for if I be not deceiued, I shall catch a Pigeon by the nose.’ And beginning certaine times stedfastly to loke vpon him, she forced hir selfe so much as she could, to séeme effectuously to beholde him: and on the other parte thinking, that the more pleasant and amorous she shewed hir self to be, the more hir beautie should be estéemed, chiefly of him whome specially she was disposed to loue. The wise Scholler giuing ouer his Philosophie, bent all his endeuor hereunto, & thinking to be hir seruaunt, learned where she dwelt, and began to passe before hir house vnder pretense of some other occasion: wherat the Gentlewoman reioysed for the causes beforesaide, faining an earnest desire to beholde him. Wherfore the Scholler hauing found a certaine meane to be acquainted with hir maide, discouered his loue: praying hir to deale so wt hir mistresse, as he might haue hir fauor. The maide promised him very willingly, and incontinently reported the same to hir mistresse, who with the greatest scoffes in the world, gaue eare therunto & sayd: ‘Séest thou not frō whence this goodfellow is come, to lose al his knowledge & doctrine yt he hath brought vs from Paris. Now let vs deuise therefore how he may be handled for going about to séeke that, which he is not like to obtain. Thou shalt say vnto him, when he speaketh to thée againe, yt I loue him better than he loueth me, but that it behoueth me to saue mine honoure, and to kéepe my good name and estimation amongs other women. Which thing, if he be so wise (as he séemeth) he ought to esteme & regarde.’ [Page] Ah poore Wench, she knoweth not well, what it is to mingle huswiuery with learning, or to intermeddle distaues with bokes. Now the maid when she had found the Scholler, told him as hir mistresse had commaūded: wherof ye Scholler was so glad, as he with greater endeuor procéeded in his enterprise, and began to write letters to the Gentlewoman, which were not refused, although he could receiue no answeres yt pleased him, but such as were done opēly. And in this sort the Gentle woman long time fed him with delayes. In the end she discouered all this newe loue vnto hir friend, who was attached with such an aking disease in his head, as the same was fraught with the reume of ialosie: wherfore she to she we hir selfe to be suspected without cause (very careful for the Scholler) sēt hir maid to tel him, that she had no conuenient time to doe the thing that shold please him, sithēs he was first assured of hir loue, but hoped the next Christmasse hollydayes to be at his commaundement: wherefore if he would vouchsafe to rome the night following the first holyday, into ye court of hir house, she wold wait there for his comming. The Scholler the best contēted mā in the world, failed not at the time appointed, to goe to the Gentlewomans house: where being placed by the maid in a base court, and shut fast within the [...], he attended for hir comming, who supping with hir friend that night, very pleasantly recited vnto him al that she had determined then to do, saying: ‘Thou maist see what loue I do bear vnto him, of whome thou hast foolishely conceiued this iealousie.’ To which wordes hir friend gaue [...] with great delectation, desiring to see the effect of that, wherof she gaue him to vnderstand by woordes. New as it chaunced the day before, the snowe fel downe so thicke from aboue, as it couered all yt earth, by which meanes [Page] [...] Scholler within a very litle space after his arriual, began to be very colde, howbeit hoping to receiue recompense, he suffred it paciently. The Gentlewoman a little while after, sayd vnto hir friend: ‘I pray thee let vs goe into my chamber, where at a little window we may loke out, and see what he doth that maketh thee so iealous, and hearken what answer he will make to my maide, whome of purpose I wil send to speake vnto him.’ When she had so sayd, they went to yt window, where they séeing the Scholler (they not seene of him,) [...] the maide speake these woordes: ‘Rinieri, my mistresse is the angriest woman in the world, for that as yet she can not come vnto thée. But the cause is, yt one of hir brethren is come to visite hir this Euening, and hath made a long discourse of talke vnto hir, and afterwardes bad himself to supper, and as yet is not departed, but I thinke he wil not tary long, and then immediately she will come. In the meane time she prayeth thée to take a litle paine. The scholler beléeuing this to be true, sayd vnto hir: Require your Mistresse to take no care for me till hir leasure may serue: howbeit entreat hir to make so much hast as she can.’ The maid retourned and wēt to bed, and the dame of the house sayd then vnto hir frend? Now sir, what say you to this: ‘Do you thinke that if I loued him as you mistrust, that I would suffer him to tarry beneath in the colde to coole himselfe?’ And hauing sayd so, she went to bed with hir friend, who then was partly satisfied, and all the night they continued in great pleasure and solace, laughing & mocking the miserable Scholler that walked vp and downe the court to chafe himself, not knowing where to sit, or which way to auoide the colde, and curssed the long tarying of his mistresse brother, hoping at euery noise he heard, that she had come to open the dore to let [Page] him in, but his hope was in vain. Now she hauing sported hir selfe almost till midnight, sayd vnto hir friend: ‘How think you (sir) by our Scholer, whether iudge you is greater, his wisdome, or the loue that I beare [...] him? The cold that I make him to suffer, wil extinguish the heat of suspition which ye conceiued of my woordes the other day. Ye say true (sayd hir friend,) and I [...] assure you, that like as you are my delite, my rest, my comfort and all my hope, euen so I am youres during life.’ For the cōfirmation of which renewed amity, they spared no delites which the louing Goddesse doeth vse to serue and imploy vpon hir seruaūts and suters. And after they had talked a certain time, she said vnto him: ‘For Gods sake (sir) let vs rise a litle, to sée if ye glowing fier which this my new louer bath daily written vnto me, to burn in him, be quēched or not.’ And rising out of their beds, they wēt to a little window, & loking down into the courte, they sawe the Scholer daunsing vpon the snow, whereunto his [...] téeth were so good instrumentes, as he séemed the [...] dauncer that euer trode a Cinquepace after such Musike, being forced therunto through the great colde which be suffred. ‘And then she sayde vnto him: what say you to this my friend, doe you not sée how cunning I am to make men daunce without Laber or Pipe? Yes in déede (said hir louer) ye be an excellent musitian. Then (quod she) let vs go downe to the dore, and I will speake vnto him, but in any wise speake you nothing, and we shal heare what reasons and [...] he wil frame to moue me to compassion, and perchaunce shall haue no little pastime to behold him:’ wherupon they went downe softly to the dore, and there without open ing the same, she with a soft voice out at a little bole, called the Scholer vnto hir. Which he hearing, began to praise God and [Page] thanke him a thousande times, beleuing verily that he shold then be let in, and approching the dore, said: ‘I am héere mine (owne swéete heart) open the dore for Gods sake, for I am like to dic for colde. Whome in mocking wise she answered: can you make me beleue (M. Scholer) that you are so tender, or that the colde is so great as you affirme, for a little Snow that lieth without? There be at Paris farre greater snowes than these be: but to tel you the trothe, you cā not come in yet, for my brother (the diuell take him) came yesternight to supper, and is not yet departed, but by & by he wil be gon, and then you shal obtaine the effect of your desire, assuring you, that with much adoe I haue stoln away from him, to come hither for your comfort, praying you not to thinke it long. Madame said the Scholer, I beséeche you for Gods sake to open the dore, that I may stand in couert from ye snow, which within this hour hath fallen in great aboundaunce, and doth yet continue: & there I will attend your pleasure. Alas swéete friend (said she) the dore maketh such a noise when it is opened, that it wil easily be heard of my brother, but I will pray him to depart, that I may quickely returne againe to open the same. Go your way then (said the Scholer) & I pray you cause a great fire to be made, that I may warme me when I come in, for I can scarse féele my selfe for colde. Why, it is not possible (sayd the woman) if it be true that you wholly burne in loue for me, as by your sundry letters written, it appeareth, but nowe I perceiue that you mocke me, and therefore tary there still on Gods name.’ Hir friend which heard all this, & tooke pleasure in those words, wēt againe to bed with hir, into whose eyes no slepe yt night could enter for the pleasure & sport they had with the pore Scholer. The vnhappy wretched Scholer whose téeth clacked for colde, [Page] saring like a Storke in cold nights, perceiuing himself to be mocked, assayed to open the doore, or if he might goe out by some other way: and seeing it [...], stalking vp and downe like a Lion, curssed the nature of the time, the wickednesse of the woman, the length of the night, and the folly and simplicitie of himself: and conceiuing great rage and despite against hir, turned sodainly the long and feruent loue that he bare hir, into despite and cruell hatred, deuising many and diuers meanes to be reuenged, which he then farre more desired, thā he did in yt beginning to lye with his Widow. After the prolixitie and length of the night, day approched, and the dawning therof began to appeare: wherefore the maide instructed by hir mistresse, went downe into yt Court, and séeming to haue pitie vpon ye Scholler, sayd vnto him: ‘The Diuell take him that euer he came hither this night, for he hath bothe let vs of sleepe, and hath made you to be frosen for colde, but take it paciently for this time, some other night must be appointed. For I know well yt neuer thing could chaunce more displeasantly to my mistresse than this.’ But the Scholler ful of disdaine, like a wise man which knewe wel that threats and menacing words, were weapons without hands to yt threatned, retained in his stomake that which intemporate will, wold haue broken forth, and with so quiet words as he could, not shewing himself to be angry, sayd: ‘In décde I haue suffred yt worste night that euer I did, but I knowe the same was not through your mistresse fault, bicause she hauing pitie vpon me, came downe to ercuse hir self and to comfort me, and as you say, that which cannot be to night, may be done another time, commend me then vnto hir, and fare wel.’ And thus the pore Scholler stiffe for colde, so well as he could, retourned home to his house, where [Page] for extreme colde and lacke of [...] being almost dead, be threw himselfe vpon his bed, and when he awaked, his armes and legges were benoommed. Wherfore he sent for physitions and tolde them of the colde which he had taken, who incontinently prouided for his health: and yet for al their best and spedie remedies, they could scarce recouer his sinewes, wherin they did what they could: and had it not ben that he was yong, & the Sommer approching, it had ben to much for him to haue endured. But after he had recouered health, and grewe to be lustie, secrete malice still resting in his breast, he thought vpon reuenge. And it chaunced in a litle time after, that Fortune prepared a newe accident to the Scholer to satisfie hys desire, bycause the yong man which was beloued of the Gentlewoman, not caryng my longer for hir, fell in loue with an other, and gaue ouer the solace and pleasure he was wont to do to mystresse Helena, for which she consumed in wéepings and [...]. But hir maide hauing pitie vpon hir sorowes, knowing no meanes to remoue the melancolie which she conceiued for the losse of hir friend, and seing the Scholer dayly passe by acording to his common custome, conceiued a foolish beliefe that hir mistresse frēd might be brought to loue hir againe, and wholly recouered, by some charme or other sleight of Necromancie, to be wrought and broughte to passe by the Scholer. Which deuise the told vnto hir mistresse, and she vndiscretely (and without the due consideration, that if the Scholer had any knowledge in that science, he woulde helpe himselfe) gaue credite to the words of hir maide, and by and by sayd vnto hir, that she was able to bring it to passe, if he woulde take it in hande, and therwithall promised assuredly, that for recompense he shoulde vse hir at his pleasure. The maide diligently tolde the [Page] Scholer hereof, who very ioyfull for those newes, sayd vnto him self: ‘O God, praised be thy name, for now the time is come, that by thy helpe I shall requite the iniuries done vnto me by this vngracious woman, and bée recompensed of the great loue that I bare vnto hir: and sayd to the maid: Go tel thy mistresse that for this matter she néede to take no care, for if hir friende were in India, I could presentely force him to come [...], and ask hir forgiuenesse of ye thing he hath cōmitted against hir will. And the maner and way how to vse hir self in this behalfe, I will giue hir to vnderstand when it shal please hir to appoint me: and faile not to tell hir what I say, comforting hir in my behalf.’ The maide caried yt answer, & it was concluded, that they should talk more hereof at the church of S. Lucie, whither being come, & resoning together alone, not remembring that she had brought the Scholer almost to the point of death, she re ueled vnto him all the whole matter, & the thing which he desired, praying him instantly to helpe hir, to whom the Scholer sayd: ‘True it is Lady, that amongs other thyngs whiche I learned at Paris, the Arte of [...], (whereof I haue very great skill,) is one: but bycause it is much displeasant to God, I haue made an othe neuer to vse it, eyther for my selfe, or for any other: howebeit the loue which I beare you, is of such force, as I can not denie you any request, yea and if I shoulde be damned amongs all the deuils in hell, I am readie to perform your pleasure. But I tel you before, that it is a harder matter to be doue, than peraduēture you beleue, and specally when a woman shall prouoke a man to loue, and a man the woman, bycause it can not be done but by the propre person, whome it dothe touche, and therefore it is méete, what so euer is done, in any wyse not to bée afrayde, for that the coniuration [Page] must bée made in the night, and in a solitarie place without companie: Which thing I know not how you shall bée disposed to doe. To whome the woman more amorous than wise, aunswered: Loue pricketh mée in such wise, as there is nothing but I dare attēpt, to haue him againe, that causelesse hath forsaken me. But if it be your pleasure, tel me wherein it behoueth that I bée so bold and hardie. The Scholer (subtil ynough) said: I must of necessitie make an image of brasse, in the name of him that you desire to haue, which being sente vnto you, you must when the Moone is at hir full force, bath your self alone stark naked in a running riuer at ye first hour of sléepe. [...]. times with the same image: and afterwards being still naked, you must go vp into some trée or house vnhabited, and turnyng youre selfe towardes the northside thereof with the image in your hand, you shall say. [...]. times certain words, that I will giue you in writing, which when you haue done, two damsells shall come vnto you, the fairest that euor you saw, and they shall salute you, humbly demaunding what youre pleasure is to commaundé them: to whome you shall willingly declare in good order what you desire: & take hede aboue all things, that you name not one for an other: and when they be gone, you may descend down to the place where you left your apparell, and aray your selfe agayne, and afterwardes [...] home vnto youre house, and assure your self, that before the midde of the next nyght folowing, your friend shall come vnto you wéeping, and crying mercie and forgiuenesse at youre handes. And knowe ye, that from that tyme forth. hée will neuer forsake you for any other.’

The Gentlewoman hearyng those woords, gaue great credite [...]: and thoughte that already she helde hir friend betwéene hir armes, and very ioyfull sayde: [Page] Doubt not but I will accomplishe all that whiche you haue tolde me: ‘and I haue the méetest place in yt world to do it: for toward the valley of Arno, very néere the riuer side, I haue a manor house, secretly to worke [...] attempt that I list: and now it is the moneth of [...], in which tyme bathing is most pleasant. And also I remembre that not farre from the riuer, there is a little Toure vnhabited, into whiche one can scarce get vp, but by a certain ladder made of chesnut trée, whiche is alreadie there, whervpon the shephierds do sometyme ascende to the turrasse of the same Toure, to looke for their cattel when they be gone astray: and the place is very solitarie and out of the way. Into that Toure wil I goe vp, and trust to do al that you haue required me. The Scholer which knew very well bothe the village whereof she spake, and also the Toure, right glad for that he was assured of his purpose, sayde: Madame, I was neuer there, and do neither know the village, nor the Toure, but if it be as you say, it is not possible to finde any better place in the worlde: wherefore when the time is come, I will sende you the image, and the prayer. But I heartily beséech you, when you haue obtained your desire, and do perceiue that I haue wel serued your turne, to haue me in remembrance, & to kepe your promise: which the Gentlewoman assured him to doe without faile, and taking hir leaue of him, she retired home to hir house.’ The Scholer ioyfull for that his deuise should in déede come to passe, caused an image to be made with certaine Characters, and wrote a tale of a tubbe in stede of the prayer. And when he saw tyme he sent them to the Gentlewoman, aduertising hir that the night folowing, she muste doe the thing he had appointed hir. Then to procede in his enterprise, he and his man went secretly to one of his friends houses that [Page] dwelte harde by the towne. The woman on the other side, and hir maide repaired to hir place: where when it was night, making as though she would go [...], she sent hir maid to bed: afterwards about ten of the clock she went very softely out of hir lodgyng, and repaired néere to the towne vpon the riuer of Arno, and looking aboute hir, not seing or perceyuyng any man, she vnclothed hir selfe, and hidde hir apparell vnder a bushe of thornes, and then bathed hir selfe. vy. tymes with the image, and afterwards starke naked holding the same in hir hand, she went towards the Toure. The Scholer at the beginning of the night beyng hidden with his seruant [...] the willowes and other trées nere the Toure, saw all the aforesayd things, and hir also passing naked by him, (the whitenesse of whose bodie surpassed as he thought, the darknesse of the night, so farre as blacke excedeth white) who afterwardes behelde hir stomack, and the other partes of hir body, which semed vnto him to be very beautiful. And remembring what would shortly come to passe, [...] had some pitie vpon hir. And on the other side, the temptation of the fleshe sodainly assailed him, prouoking him to issue forth of the secrete corner, to surprise hir, and take his plesure vpon hir, and within a while after was vanquished bothe with the one and the other. But calling to his remembrance what she was, and what great wrong he hadde sustained, his malice began to kindle again, and did remoue from him his compassion, and lust, continuing stil [...] in his determination, and so did lette hir passe. The Widow so being vpon the Toure, and turnyng hir face towards the North, began to saye the [...] which the Scholer had giuen hir. Within a while after the Scholer entred in very softly, and toke away the ladder whervpon she got vp, & stode still to heare what [Page] would say and doe. Who hauing. vy. times recited hir prayer, attended the comming of the two damsels: for whome she waited so long in vaine, as she began to be extreemely colde, and perceiued the dawning of ye day appeare. Wherefore taking great displeasure that it came not to passe as the Scholer had tolde hir, she sayd to hir self: ‘I doubt much least this Scholer wil reward me with such another night, as wherein once I made him to wait: but if he haue done it for that occasion, he is not well reuenged, for ye nights now want the third part of the length of those then, besides, the cold that he indured, which was of greater extremity.’ And that the day might not discouer hir, she would haue gon downe out of the Toure, but she found the ladder to be taken away. Then as though the worlde had molten vnder hir féete, hir heart began to faile, & fainting, fell downe vpon the tarrasse of the Toure, and when hir force began to come againe, she began pitifully to wéepe and complaine. And knowing well that the Scholer hadde done that déede, she grew to be angry with hir selfe, for that she has offended another, and too much trusted him whome she ought (by good reason) to haue accompted hir [...]. And after she had remained a great while in this plight, then loking if there were any way for hir to [...] downe, and perceiuing none, she renued hir wéeping, whose minde great care and sorow did pierce saying to hir self: ‘O vnhappy wretch what wil thy brethren say, thy parents, thy neighbors, and generally al they of [...], when they shall vnderstande that thou hast ben found here starke naked? Thy honesty which hitherto hath bene neuer stained, shall nowe be attached with the blot of shame, yea and if thou were able to finde (for remedy hereof) any matter of excuse (such as might be found) the wicked Scholer (who knoweth [Page] all thy doings) will not suffer thée to lie: Ah miserable wretch, yt in one houres space, hast lost both thy frend & thine honor. What shall become of thée: who is able to couer thy shame?’ When she had thus cōplained hirself, she was wrapt in suche sorowe, as she was like to cast hir self headlong downe from the Toure: but the sunne being already risen, she approched neare one of the corners of the wall, espying if she could see any boy keping of Cattell, that she might send him for hir maide. And it chaunced that the Scholer which had slept a while vnder a bush, awaked, & one espied the other, to whom the Scoler sayd: ‘Good morow Lady, be the damsels yet come?’ The woman séeing and hearing him, begā again bitterly to wéepe, and prayed him to come vp to the Toure, that she might speake with hym. The Scholer was therunto very agreable, and she lying on hir belly vpō the terrasse of the Toure, discouering nothing but hir head ouer yt side of the same, said vnto him wéeping: ‘Rinieri, truly if euer I caused thée to endure an il night, thou art now well reuenged on me: for although it be the moneth of [...], I thought (because I was naked) yt I shold haue frosen to death this night for cold, besides my great and continual teares for the offense which I haue done thée, and of my folly for beleuing thée, yt maruel it is mine eyes do remaine [...] my head: & therfore I pray thee, not for the loue of me, whom thou oughtest not to loue, but for thine own [...] which art a gentleman, yt the shame & paine which I haue sustained, may satisfy ye offense & wrong I haue cōmitted against [...]: & cause mine aparel to [...] brought vnto me, yt I may go towne frō hēce, & take not yt frō me, which [...] yu art not able to restore, which is, mine honor: for if I haue depriued thée of being with me yt night, I cā at all times when it shall please thée, render many for yt [...]. [Page] Let [...] suffise thée then with this, and like an honest mā content thy self by being a little reuēged on me, in making me to know what it is to hurt another. Do not, I pray thée, practise thy power against a woman: for the Egle hath no fame for conquering of the Doue. Then for the loue of God, and for thine honor sake, haue pitie and remorse vpon me.’ The Scholer with a cruel heart remembring the iniury that he had receiued, and seing hir so to weepe and pray, conceiued at one instant both pleasure & griefe in his minde: pleasure of the reuenge which he aboue all things desired, and grief moued his manhode to haue compassion vpon the miserable woman. ‘Notwithstanding, pitie not able to ouercome the fury of his desire, he answered: Mistresse Helena, if my prayers (which in [...] I could not moisten [...] teares, ne yet swéeten them with sugred woordes, as you doe yours now) might haue obtained that night wherein I thought I should haue died for colde in the Court ful of snowe, to haue bene conueyed by you into some couert place, an easie matter it had bene for me at this instant to heare your sute. But if now more than in times past your honor doe ware warme, and be so greuous for you to stande starke naked, make your prayers to him, betwene whose armes it grieued you not at all to be naked that night, wherein you heard me trot vp & downe the court, my téeth chattering for colde, and marching vpon the snow: and at his hands séeke reliefe, and pray him to bring your clothes. and fetche a ladder that you may come downe: force your self to set your honoures care on him, for whome bothe then, and nowe besides many other times, you haue not feared to put the same in perill: why doe you not cal for him to come and help you? and to whome doth your helpe better appertaine than vnto him? You are his owne, & what things will [Page] he not prouide in this distresse of yours? or else what person will hée séeke to succour, if not to helpe and succour you? Cal him (foolish woman) and proue if the loue which thou [...] him, and thy wit together with his, be able to deliuer thée from my folie, wherat (whē both you were togethers) you toke your pleasure. And now thou hast experiēce whether my folly or the loue which thou diddest beare vnto him, is the greatest. And be not now so liberall and curteous of that which I go not about to séeke. [...] thy good nightes to thy [...] friend, if thou chaunce to escape from hence aliue: for from my selfe I cléerely discharge you both. And truely I haue had to much of one: and sufficient it is for me to be mocked once. Moreouer by thy craftie talke vttered by subtill speache, and by [...] [...] praise, thou thinkest to force the getting of my good will, and thou callest me Gentleman, valiant man, thinking thereby to withdrawe my valiant minde from punishing of thy wretched body: but thy flateries shal not yet blear mine vnderstanding eyes, as once with thy vnfaithfull promises thou diddest beguile my ouerwening wit. I now too well do know, and thereof [...] thée well assure, that all the time I was a scholer in Paris, I neuer learned so much, as thou in one night diddest me to vnderstande. But put the case that I wer a valiāt man, yet thou art none of them vpon whom valiance ought to shewe his effectes: for the ende of repentance in such cruel beasts as thou art, and the like reuenge, oughte to be death alone: where amongs men thy pitifull plaintes whiche so lamētably thou speakest, ought to suffise. But yet as I am no Eagle, & [...] no Doue, but a most venomous serpent, I intende so well as I am able, so persecute thée mine auncient enimie, with the greatest malice I can deuise, which I can not so proprely call reuenge, as [Page] I may terme it correction: for that the reuēge of a matter ought to surmount the offense, & yet I wil bestow no reuenge on thée: for if I wer disposed to applie my mynde thervnto, for respect of thy displeasure done to me, thy life shoulde not suffise, nor one hundred more like vnto thine: which if I tooke away, I shold but rid a vile, mischeuous & wicked woman out of the world. And to say the [...], what other deuill art thou (to [...] passe a litle beautie [...] thy face, which within few yeares will be so riueled as the oldest cribbe of the world) but the most vnhappie and wicked woman, the dame of the diuell himselfe: for thou tookest no care to kill and destroy an honest man (as thou euen now diddst terme me) whose life, may in time to come bée more profitable to the worlde, than an hundred thousande suche as thyne, so long as the worlde indureth. I wil teach thée then by the pain thou suffrest, what it is to mock such men as be of skil, and what maner of thyng it is to delude and scorne poore Scholers, giuyng thée warning hereby, that thou neuer fall into such like follie, if thou escapest thys. But if thou haue so great a wil to come downe as thou sayest thou haste, why doest thou not leape and throwe downe thy selfe, that by breaking of thy necke (if it so please God) at one instant thou ridde thy selfe of the payne, wherin thou sayest thou art, and make me the beste contented man of the worlde. For this time I will saye no more to thée, but that I haue done inough for thée, by making thée to mount so high. Lerne then now so wel how thou mayst get downe, as thou didst know how to mock & deceiue me. While the Scholer had preached vnto hir these words, yt wretched womā wept continually, & the time stil did passe away, the sunne rising more and more: but when she perceyued that he held his peace, she answered: O cruel man, [Page] if the [...] night was grieuous vnto thée, & my fault appeared great, can not my youth and beautie, my teares and humble prayers be able to mitigate thy wrath and to moue thée to pitie: do at least that thou [...] be moued & thy cruel minde appeased for that only act, let me once again be trusted of thée, and sith I haue manifested al my desire, pardon me, for this time, thou haste sufficiently made me féele the penāce of my sinue. For, if I had not reposed my trust in thée, thou hadst not now reuenged thy self on me, which with ardent desire, thou [...] ful wel declare. Giue ouer then thine anger, & pardon me hēceforth: for I am determinod if thou wilt forgiue me, & cause me to come downe out of this place, to forsake for euer yt vnfaithful louer, & to receiue thée for my only friend & lord. Moreouer wher thou gretly blamest my beautie, esteming it to be short, & of small accompt, such as it is, & the like of other women I know, not to be regarded for other cause: but for pastime & plesure of youthly mē, & therfore not to be contēned: & thou thy self truly art not very old: & albeit that cruelly I am intreated of thée, yet therfore I cānot beleue that thou woldest haue me so miserably to die, as to cast my selfe down hedlong, like one desperate, before thy eies, whō (except thou wer a lier as thou art now becom) in time past I did wel please & like. Haue pitie then vpon me, for Gods sake, for yt Sun begins to grow exceding hot, & as the extreme & bitter cold did hurt me the last night euen so yt heat beginneth to molest me. Whervnto the Scholer which kept hir there for the nonce, and for his plesure, answered: Mistresse you did not now cōmit your faith to me for loue you bare me, but to haue yt againe, which you had lost, wherfore yt deserueth no good turne, but greter pain: And fondly yu thinkest this to be ye only means, wherby I am able to take desired reuenge. For [Page] I haue a thousand other wayes, and a thousand trapps haue I layde to tangle thy féete, in making thée beléeue that I dyd loue thée, in such wise as thou shoulde [...] haue gone no where at any time, if this had not chaunced, but thou sholdest haue fallen into one of them: & surely thou couldest haue chaunced into neither of them, but would haue bred thée more annoyaunce and shame than this (which I chose not for thine ease, but for my greater pleasure.) And wher all these meanes had fayled me, the penne should not, wherwith I would haue displayed thée in such colours, as when it had come to thy knowledge, thou wouldest haue desired a thousand times a day, that thou hadst neuer ben borne. For the forces of the pen be farre more vehement, than they can estéeme that haue not proued them by experience. I sweare vnto thée by God, that I do reioise, and so wil to the end, for this reuenge I take of thée, and so haue I done from the beginning: but if I had with pen painted thy maners to the worlde, thou shouldest not haue bene so much ashamed of other, as of thy selfe, that rather than thou wouldest haue looked mée in the face againe, thou wouldest haue plucked thyne eyes oute of thy head: and therfore reproue no more the sea, for being incresed with a litle brooke. For thy loue, or yt thou be mine own, I care not, as I haue already tolde thée, & loue him againe if thou canst, so much as thou wilte, to whome for the hatred that I haue borne him, I presently doe beare so much good will againe, and, for the benefite which he hath done thée now. You bée inamored and desire the loue of yong mē, bicause you sée their [...] somewhat freshe, their beard more blacke, their bodies well shaped to daunce and runne at tilt & ryng, but all these qualities haue they had, that be growne to elder yeares, and they by good experience knowe what [Page] other are yet to learne. Moreouer you déeme them the better horssmen, bicause they can iorney more miles a day than those that be of farther yeares. Truly I confesse, that with great force they please suche [...] Gentlewomen as you be, who do not perceiue (like sauage beastes) what heapes of euill do lurke vnder the forme of faire apparance. Yong men be not contente with one louer, but so many as they beholde, they doe desire, and of so many they thinke themselues worthy: wherfore their loue can not be stable. And that this is true, thou mayst now beare true witnesse thy self. And they thinkyng them selues worthie to be honoured and cherished of their paramors, haue none other glory but to vaunt of those whom they haue enioyed: which fault maketh many to yelde themselues to those that be discrete and wise, and to suche as be no blabbes or Teltales. And where thou sayest that thy loue is knowne to none, but to thy mayde and me, thou art deceyued, and worsse beleuest, if thou beleue the same: for al the inhabitants of the stréete wherin thy louer dwelleth, & the stréete also wherin thy house doth stand, talk of nothing more than of your loue. But many times in such cases, the partie whom such brute doth touch, is the last that knoweth the same. Moreouer, yong men do robbe thée, where they of elder yeres do gyue thée. Thou then (which hast made such choise) remaine to him whome thou hast chosen, & me (whom thou sloutest) giue leaue to applie to an other: for I haue founde a woman to be my friende, whiche is of an other discretion than thou art, and knoweth me better than thou dost. And [...] thou mayst in an other world be more certain of mine eyes desire, than thou hitherto art, Throwe thy selfe downe so soone as thou canst, that thy soule alreadie (as I suppose) receiued betwene the armes of the diuel him [Page] self may se, if mine eies be troubled or not, to view thée breake thy neck. But bicause I think thou wilt not do me that good turne, I say if yt Sun begin to warm thée, remember the cold which thou madest me suffer, which if thou cāst mingle with that heat, no doubt thou shalt féele the same more temperate.’ The comfortlesse woman séeing that the Scholers words tended but to cruell end, began to wéepe & said: ‘Now then, sith nothing can moue thée to take pitie for my sake, at lest wise for the loue of hir, whom thou sayest to be of better discretion than I, take some compassion: For hir sake (I say) whom thou callest thy frend, pardon me & bring hither my clothes yt I may put them on, & cause me if it please thée to come downe from hence.’ Then the Scholer began to laugh, & seing yt it was a good while past. [...]. of the clock, he answered: ‘Well go to, for yt womans sake I cānot wel say nay, or refuse thy request, tell me where thy garments be, and I wil go seke them, & cause thée to come down:’ She beleuing that, was somwhat comforted, and told him the place where she had bestowed thē. And the Scholer went out of the Toure, & cōmaunded his seruant to tarie there, & to take hede that none wēt in vntil he came againe. Then he wente to one of hys friends houses, where he wel refreshed himselfe, and afterwards when he thought time, he laide him downe to sléepe. Al that space mistresse Helena which was stil vpon the Toure, and recōforted with a litle foolish hope, sorowfull beyond measure, began to sit downe, séeking some shadowed place to bestow hir self, and with bitter thoughts & heuy chere in good deuotiō, waited for his cō ming, now musing, now weping, thē hoping, & sodainly dispairing yt Scholers returne wt hir clothes: & chāging frō one thought to an other, like one that was werie of trauel, & had takē no rest al the night, she fel into a litle [...]. But yt sun which was passing hot, being about [Page] [...], glaūced his burning beames vpon hir [...] body & bare head, with such force, as not only it singed yt flesh in sight, but also did chip & parch the same, with such rosting heat, as she which soundly slepte, was constrained to wake: & féeling that raging warmth, desirous somewhat to remoue hir self, she thought in turning yt al hir rosted skin had opened and broken, like vnto a skyn of parchment holden against the fire: besides which payne extreme, hir heade began to ake, with such vehemence, as it séeme to be knocked in peces: And no maruel, for the pament of the Toure was so passing hotte, as neyther vpon hir féete, or by other remedie, she could fynde place of reste. Wherefore without power to abide in one place, she stil remoued weping bitterly. And moreouer, for that no winde did blow, the Toure was filled with such a swarme of Flies and Gnats, as they lighting vpon hir parched flesh, did so cruelly bite and sting hir, that euery of them semed worsse than the pricke of a néedle, which made hir to bestirre hir hāds, incessantly to beate them off, cursing still hir selfe, hir life, hir frend and Scholer. And being thus and with such pain bittē and afflicted with the vehement heat of the Sun, with the flies and gnats, hungrie, & much more thirsty, assailed with a thousād greuous thoughts, she arose vp, & began to loke about hir, if she could hear or sée any per son, purposing whatsoeuer came of it to call for helpe. But hir yll fortune had taken away al this hoped meanes of hir reliefe: for the husbandmen and other laborers wer all gone out of the fields to shrowde thēselues from heate, sparing their trauail abrode, to thresh their corne, and do other things at home, by reason whereof, she neither saw or heard any thing, except Butterflies, humble bées, crickets, & the ryuer of Arno, which making hir lust to drink of ye water, quenched hir thirst nothing [Page] at all, but rather did augment the same. She saw be sides in many places, woodes, shadowes and houses, which likewise did bréede hir double griefe, for desire she had vnto the same. But what shall we speake any more of this vnhappy woman? The Sunne aboue, and the hot Toure paiment below, with the bitings of the flies and gnats, had on euery part so dressed hir tender corps, that where before the whitenesse of hir body did passe the darkenesse of the night, the same was become red, all arayed and spotted with gore bloud, that to the beholder and viewer of hir state, she semed the most ill fauored thing of the world: & remaining in this plight, without hope or councel, she loked rather for death thā other comfort. The Scholer after the clocke had sounded thrée in the after noone, awaked, and remembring his Ladie, went to the Toure to sée what was become of hir, & sent his man to dinner, that had eaten nothing all that day. The Gentlewoman hearing the Scholer, repaired so féeble and tormented as she was, vnto the trap doore, and sitting vpon the same, pitifully wéeping began to say: ‘Rinieri, thou art beyond measure reuenged on me, for if I made thée fréese all night in mine open court, thou hast tosted me to day vpō this Toure, nay rather burnt, and with heat consumed me: and besides that, to die & sterne for hunger and thirst. Wherfore I pray thée for Gods sake to come vp, and sith my heart is faint to kill my self, I pray thée heartely to doe the same. For aboue all things I desire to die, so great and bitter is the torment which I endure. And if thou wilt not shew me that fauor, yet cause a glasse of water to be brought vnto me, yt I may moisten my mouth, sith my teares be not able to coole the same so great is the drouth & heat I haue within.’ Wel knew the Scholer by hir voice, hir weake estate, and sawe besides the [Page] most part of hir body all tosted with the Sunne: by the viewe whereof, and humble sute of hir, he conceiued a little pitie. Notwithstanding he answered hir in this wise: ‘Wicked woman thou shalt not die with my hands, but of thine owne, if thou desire the same, and so much water shalt thou haue of me, for cooling of thine [...], as dampned Diues had in hell at Lazarus handes, when he lifted vp his cry to Abraham, holding that saued wight within his blessed bosome, or as I had fire of thée for easing of my colde. The greater is my griefe that the vehemence of my colde must be cured with the heat of such a stincking carion beast, and thy heat healed with the coldnesse of most soote and sauerous water distilled frō the orient Rose. And where I was in daū ger to lose my limmes and life, thou wilt renewe thy beautie like the Serpent when he casteth of his skin. Oh I miserable wretche (sayd the woman) God giue him such beautie gotten in suche wise, that wisheth me such euill. But (thou more cruel than any other beast) what heart hast thou, thus like a Tyrant to deale with me? What more grieuous paine could I endure of thée, or of any other, than I doe, if I had killed and done to death thy parents, or whole race of thy stocke and kin with most cruell torments. Truely I know not what greater cruelty could be vsed against a Trayter which had sacked or put a whole Citie to the sword, than that thou hast done to me, to make my flesh to be the foode & rost meat of the Sunne, and the bait for licorous flies, not [...] to reache hither a simple glasse of water, which would haue bene graunted to the [...] théefe and manqueller, when they be haled forth to hanging, yea wine most commōly, if they [...] yt same. Now for that I sée thée stil remaine in [...] mind, [...] that my passion can nothing moue thée, I will prepare [Page] paciently to [...] my death, that God may haue mercy on my soule, whome I humbly do beséeche with his righteous eyes to beholde that cruell facte of thine.’ And with those woords, she approched with pain to the middle of ye terrasse, despairing to escape that burning heat, and not only once, but a thousand times, (besides hir other sorowes) she thought to sowne for thirst, and bitterly wept without ceasing, complaining hir missehappe.

But being almost night, the Scholer thought he had done inough, wherfore he toke hir clothes, & wrapping the same within his seruants cloke, he went home to the Gentlewomans house, where he founde before the gate, hir maide sitting all sad and heauie, of whome he asked where hir mistresse was. ‘Syr (sayd she) I cannot tell, I thought this morning to finde hir a bed, where I left hir yester night, but I cannot finde hir there, nor in any other place, ne yet can tel whether to goe seke hir, which maketh my heart to throbbe some misfortune chaunced vnto hir. But (sir quod she) can not you tell where she is? The Scholler answered: I would thou haddest bene with hir in the place where I lefte hir, that I might haue bene reuenged on thée so well, as I am of hir. But beleue assuredly, that thou shalt not escape my handes vntill I pay thée thy deserte, to the intent hereafter in mocking other, thou maist haue cause to remember me.’ When he had sayd so, he willed his man to giue the maide hir mistresse clothes, and then did bidde hir to séeke hir out if she would. The seruaunt did his maisters commaundement, and the maide hauing receiued them, knewe them by and by, and marking. well the Scholers woordes, she doubted least he had slaine hir mistresse, and much [...] she had to refraine from crying out. And the Scholer being gone, [Page] [...] tooke hir mistresse garmentes and ranne vnto the Toure.

That day by happe, one of the Gentlewomans labouring men, hadde two of his Hogges runne a stray, and as he went to séeke them (a little while after the Scholers departure) he approched neare the Toure, looking round about if he might sée them. In the busie searche of whome he heard the miserable plaint that the vnhappie woman made, wherefore so loude as he coulde, he cried out: ‘Who weepeth there aboue? the woman knewe the voice of hir man, and calling him by his name, she sayd vnto him: Goe home I pray thée to call my maide, and cause hir to come vp hither vnto me. The fellowe knowing his mistresse voice, sayd vnto hir: what Dame, who hathe borne you vp so [...]? your maide hath sought you all this day, and who would haue thought to finde you there?’ He then taking the staues of the ladder, did set it vp against the Toure as it ought to be, and bounde the steppes that were wanting, with fastenings of Willowe twigges, and suche like pliant stuffe as hée coulde finde. And at that instant the maide came thither, who so soone as she was entred the Toure, not able to forbeare hir voice, beating hir handes, she began to cry: ‘Alas swéete mistresse where be you? she hearing the voice of hir maide answered so well as she coulde: Ah (swéete wenche) I am héere aboue, crie no more, but bring me hither my clothes.’

When the maide heard hir speake, by and by for ioy, in haste she mounted vp the Ladder, which the labourer had made ready, and with his helpe gate vp to the ferrasse of the Toure, and séeing hir Mistresse resembling not a humane body, but rather a wedden faggot halfe consumed with fire, all weary and withered, [Page] lying a long starke naked vpon the ground, she began with hir nailes to wreke the [...] vpon hir face, and wept ouer hir with such [...] as [...] she had bene dead. But hir Dame prayed hir for Gods sake to holde hir peace, and to help hir to make hir ready: and vnderstanding by hir that no man knewe where she was become, except they which caried home hir clothes, & the laborer that was present there, she was some what recomforted, and prayed them for Gods sake to say nothing of that chaunce to any person. The laborer after much talk & request to his mistres, to be of good chéere, when she was risen vp, caried hir down vpon his neck, for that she was not able to goe so farre, as out of the Toure. The poore maide which came behinde, in going downe the ladder without taking héede, hir foote failed hir, & falling downe to the ground, she brake hir thigh, for griefe whereof she began to rore and cry out like a Lion. Wherefore the labourer hauing placed his dame vpon a gréene bank, went to see what the maid did aile, and perceiuing that she had broken hir thigh, he caried hir likewise vnto that banke, and placed hir be sides hir mistresse, who séeing one mischiefe vpon another to chaunce, and that she of whome she hoped for greater helpe, than of any other, had broken hir thigh sorowful beyonde measure, renewed hir cry so miserably, as not only the labourer was not able to comforte hir, but he himselfe began to wéepe for company. The Sunne hauing trauailed into his Westerne course, and taking his farewell by settling himself to rest, was at yt point of going downe. And the pore desolate woman vnwilling to be benighted, went home to the laborers house, where taking two of his brothers and his wife, returned to fetch the maide and caried hir home in a chaire. Then chéering vp his dame with a little fresh water, & [Page] many faire [...], [...] caried hir vp vpon his necke into a chāber, afterwards his wife made hir warme drinks and meates, & putting of hir clothes, laid hir in hir bed, and toke order that the mistresse and maide that night were caried to Florence, where the mistresse full of lies deuised a tale all out of order of that which chaunced to hir and hir maide, making hir brethren, hir sisters, and other hir neighboures beleue, that by flush of lightning and euill sprites, hir face and body were blistered, and the maiden stroken vnder the arse bone with a Thunderbolt. Then Physitians were [...] for, who not without great griefe and paine to the woman (which many times left hir skin sticking to the shéetes) cured hir cruell feuer, and other hir diseases, and likewise the maid of hir thigh: which caused the Gentlewoman to forget hir louer, and from that time forth wisely did beware and take héede whom she did mocke, and where she did bestow hir loue. And the Scholer knowing yt the maid had broken hir thigh, thought himself sufficiently [...], ioyfully passing by them bothe many times in silence. Beholde the reward of a foolish wanton widowe for hir morkes and flouts, thinking that no great care or more prouident héede ought to be taken in iesting wt a Scholer, than with any other cōmon person, nor wel remembring how they [...] know (not all, I say, but the greatest part) where the Diuell holdeth his taile: and therfore take héede good wiues and widowes, how you giue your selues to mockes and daliaunce specially of Scholers. But now turne we to another widowe that was no amorous dame, but a sober matrone a motherly gentlewoman, yt by pitie and money redemed & raū somed a Kings sonne out of miserable captiuity, being vtterly abandoned of all his friendes. The maner and meanes how, the Nouel ensuing shall she we.

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Camiola and Rolande.
The. xxxij. Nouel.

¶ A Gentlewoman [...] widowe called CAMIOLA, of hir owne minde raunsomed ROLANDE, the kings sonne of Sicilia, of purpose to haue him to hir husband, who when he was redemed, vnkindely denied hir, against whome very [...] she inueyed, and although the [...] proued him to be hir husband, yet for his vnkindenesle, she vtterly refused him.

BVsa a Gentlewoman of Apulia, maintained ten thousand Romaine souldiers within the walles of Cannas, that were the remnaunt of the armie after yt ouerthrow ther: and yet hir state of richesse was safe and nothing deminished, and lefte thereby a worthy testimonie of liberalitie as Valerius Maximus affirmeth. If this worthy woman Busa for liberalitie is commended by auncient authors: if she deserue a monument amonges famous writers for that splendent vertue which so brightly blasoneth the Heroicall natures of Noble dames, then may I be so bolde amongs these Nouels to bring in (as it were by the hand) a widow of Messina, that was a gentlewoman borne, adorned with passing beautie and vertues. Amongs yt rank [Page] of which hir comely qualities, the vertue of liberalitie glistered like the morning starre after the night hath cast of his darke and cloudie mantell. This gentlewoman remaining in widowes state, and hearing tell that one of the sonnes of Federick, and brother to Peter that was then king of the sayd Ilande called Rolande, was caried prisoner to Naples, and there kept in miserable captiuitie, and not like to be redéemed by his brother for a displeasure conceiued, nor by any other, pitying the state of the yong Gentleman, and moued by hir gentle and couragious disposition, and specially with the vertue of liberalitie, raunsomed the sayd Rolande, and [...] no interest or vsury for the same, but him to husbād, that ought vpon his knées to haue made sute to be hir slaue and seruaunt for respect of his miserable state of imprisonment. An affiaunce betwéene them was concluded, and he redéemed, and [...] he was returned, he falsed his former faith, and cared not for hir. For which vnkinde part, she before his friends inueyeth against that ingratitude, and vtterly for saketh him, when (sore ashamed) he would very faine haue recouered hir good will. But she like a wise Gentlewoman well waying his inconstant minde before mariage, lusted not to tast, or put in proofe the fruites & successe thereof. The intire discourse of whome you shall briefly and presently vnderstand.

Camiola a widow of the Citie of Siena, yt daughter of a gentle Knight called Signor Lorenzo [...], was a woman of great renoume & fame, for hir beautie, liberalitie & shame fastnesse, and led a life in Messina, (an auncient Citie of [...]) no lesse commendable than famous, in the cōpany of hir parents contenting hir self with one only husband, while she liued, which was in the time when Federick the third was king of that [...]: [Page] and after their death she was an heire of very great wealth and richesse, which were alwayes by hir cōserued and kept in maruellous honest sort. Now it chaunced that after the death of Federick, Peter succeding, by his commaundement a great armie by sea was equipped from [...], vnder the conduct of Iohn Countie of Chiaramonte, (the most renewmed in those dayes in feats of warre,) for to aide the people of Lippari, which were so strongly and earnestly besieged, as they were almost all dead and cōsumed for hunger. In this army, ouer and besides those that were in pay, many Barons and Gentlemen willingly went vpon their owne proper costes and charges, as wel by sea as land, onely for fame, and to be renowmed in armes. This Castell of Lippari was assaulted by Godefrey of Squilatio a valiant man, and at that time Admiral to Robert [...] of Ierusalem and Sicile: which Godefrey by long siege & assault had so [...] [...] people within, as daily he hoped they would surrender. But hauing aduertisement (by certain Brigandens which he had sent abrode to scour the seas) that the enimies armie (which was farre greater than his) was at hand, after that he had assembled al his nauie togither in one sure place, he expected the euent of fortune. The enimies so soone as they were seased & possessed of the place, without any resistaunce of [...] places abandoned by Godefrey, caried into the city at their pleasure all their victualles, which they brought with them for which good hap and chaunce the saide Counte Iohn being very much encouraged and puffed vp with pride, offred battell to Godefrey. Wherefore he not refusing the same, being a man of great corage, in [...] night time fortified his army with boordes, timber, and other rampiers, and hauing put his nauie in good order, he encoraged his men to fight, and to doe valiantly the next [Page] day, which done, he caused the Ankers to be wayed, and giuing the signe, tourned the prowesse of [...] shippes against [...] [...] armie, but Counte Iohn who thought that Godefrey would not fight, and durst not once loke vpon [...] great army of the Sicilians, did not put his fléete in order of fight, but rather in readinesse to pursue the ennimies. But séeing the courage and the approche of them that came against him, began to feare, his heart almost failing him, and [...] him that he had required his enimie to that which he thought neuer to haue obtained. In such wise as mistrusting the battel, with troubled minde, chaunging the order giuen, and notwithstanding not to séeme altogither fearefull, incontinently caused his ships to be put into order after the best maner he could for so little time, himselfe giuing the signe of battell. In the meane while their enimies being approched néere vnto them, and making a very great noise with cries and shoutes furiously entred with the prowesse of the shippes amongs the Sicilians, which came slowly forthe, & hauing first throwne their [...] and grapples to stay them, they began the fight with Dartes, Crossebowes and other shot, in such sort as the Sicilians being amazed for the sodaine mutacion of Councell, and all enuironned with feare, and the souldiers of Godefrey perceiuing [...] same, entred their enimies ships, and comming to blowes, euen in a moment all was filled with bloud, by reason whereof the Sicilians then despairing of them selues, and they that feared turning the [...], fled away: but neuerthelesse the victorie reclining towardes Godefrey, many of their shippes were drowned, many taken, and diuers Pinnasses by force of their [...] escaped. In that fight died fewe people, but many were hurt, and Iohn the captaine general taken prisoner, and with him almost [Page] all the Barons, which of their owne accordes repaired to those warres, and besides a great number of souldiers, many Ensignes aswel of the field, as of the galleis, and specially the maine standerd was taken. And in ye end, the Castell being rendred after long voyages, and great fortunes by Sea, they were al chained, caried to Naples and there imprisoned. Amonges those prisonners, there was a certaine Gentleman called Roland, the naturall Sonne of king Federick deceased, a yong Prince very comely and valiant. Who not being redéemed, taried alone in prison very sorowfull to sée all others discharged after they had paid their raunsome, and himselfe not to haue wherewith to furnishe the same. For King Pietro (to whome the care of him appertained by reason he was his brother) for that his warres hadde no better successe, and done contrary to his commaundement, conceiued displeasure so well against him, as all others which were at that battell. Nowe he then being prisoner without hope of any libertie, by meanes of the dampishe prison, and his féete clogged with yrons, grewe to be sicke and féeble. It chaunced by fortune, that Camiola remembred him, and séeing him forsaken of his brethren, had compassion vpon his missehappe, in such wise, as she purposed (if honestly she might doe the same) to set him at libertie. For the accomplishment whereof without preiudice of hir honoure, she sawe none other wayes but to take him to husbande. Wherefore she sent diuers vnto him secretely, to conferre if he wold come forth vpon that condition, whereunto he willingly agréed. And performing eche due ceremonie, vnder promised faith, vpon the gift of a ring willingly by a deputie he espoused Camiola, who with so much diligence as she could, payed two thousand Crownes for his raunsome, and [Page] by that meanes he was deliuered.

When he was returned to Messina, he repaired not to his wife, but fared as though there had neuer bene any suche talke betwéene them, whereof at the beginning Camiola very much maruelled, and afterwardes knowing his vnkindenesse, was greately offended in hir heart against him. Notwithstanding, to the entent she might not séeme to be grieued [...] reason, before she proceded any further, caused him louingly to be talked withal, and to be exhorted by folowing his promise to consummate the mariage. And séeing that he denyed euer any such contract to be made, she caused him to be summoned before [...] [...] iudge, by whom sentence was giuen that he was hir husband by [...] of his owne letters, & by witnesse of certain other personages of good reputation, which afterwards he himself cōfessed, his face blushing for shame, for that he had forgotten such a manifest benefit and good turne. When [...] kinde parte of Camiola done vnto him, was throughly known, he was by his brethren reproued & checked for his villany: [...] by their instigation & the persuasion of his friends, he was cōtented by hūble request to desire Camiola to performe the [...]. But the gentle [...] which was of great corage, in the presence of diuers [...] were with him, when he required hir therunto answered him in this manner: ‘Roland I haue great cause to render thankes to almighty God, for [...] it pleased him to declare vnto me the proofe of [...] vnfaithfulnesse, before thou [...] by any meanes contaminate (vnder the coloure of mariage) the puritie of my body, and that through his [...], by whose most holy name thou [...] about to abuse me by false and periured othe, I haue foreséene thy [...] and deceite, wherin I beleue that I haue gained more, than I [...] [Page] haue done by thée in mariage. I suppose that whē thou were in prison, thou diddest meane no lesse, than nowe by effect thou she west, and diddest thinke that I, forgetting of what house I was, presumptuously desired a husband of the royall bloud, and therfore wholly inflamed with thy loue, diddest purpose to begile me by denying the trothe, when thou haddest recouered libertie through my money, and thereby to reserue thy [...] for some other of more famous alliance, being restored to thy former degrée. And hereby thou hast giuen proofe of thy will, and what minde thou haddest so to do if thine abilitie had bene correspondent. But God, who frō the lofty skies doth behold the humble & low, and who forsaketh none that hopeth in him, knowing the sinceritie of my conscience, hath giuen me the grace by litle trauaile, to breake the bandes of thy deceiptes, to discouer thine ingratitude, and make manifest thine infidelitie, which I haue not done only to display ye wrōg towards me, but yt thy brethren & other thy friends might from hēceforth know what thou art, what affiāce they ought to repose in thy faith, & thereby what thy friends ought to loke for, & what thine enimies ought to feare. I haue lost my money, thou thy good name. I haue lost ye hope which I had of thée, thou the fauor of ye king and of thy brethren: I the expectation of my mariage, thou a true & constant wife: I the fruits of charitie, thou ye gaine of amity: I an vnfaithful husbād, thou a most pure & loyal wife. Now the Gētlewomen of Sicilia do maruel at my magnificence and beautie, and by praises aduaunce the same vp into the heauēs: and contrariwise euery of thē do mock thée, & déeme thée to be infamous. The renoumed wryters of eche coūtrey will place me amōgs the ranke of ye noblest dames, wher thou shalt be depressed & throwne down amongs the heapes of ye most vnkind. [Page] True it is, that I am somwhat deceiued by deliuering out of prison, a yong man of royall and noble race, in stede of whome I haue redéemed a rascall, a lier, a [...] of his faith, and a cruell beast: and take héede hardily how thou do greatly [...] thy selfe, & I wish thée not to think that I was moued to draw thee out of prison, and take thée to husband for the good qualities that were in thée, but for the memorie of auncient benefits which my father receiued of thine (if Federike, a king of most sacred remembraunce were thy father, for I can scarsly beleue, that a sonne so dishonest should procede from so noble a gentlemā as was that famous prince.) I knowe well thou thinkest that it was an vnworthie thing, that a Widow not being of the royal blood, shold haue to husband, the sonne of a [...], so strong and of so goodly personage, which I willyngly confesse: but I would haue thée a litle to make me answer (at lest wise if thou canst by reason) when I paide so great a summe of money to deliuer thée from bondage and captiuitie, where was then the nobilitie of thy royal race? where was thy force of youth? and where thy beautie? if not that they were closed vp in a terrible prison, where thou wast deteined in bitter grief and sorow, and there with those naturall qualities, couered also in obscure darknesse, that compassed thée rounde about. The yl fauored noise and ianglyng of thy chaines, the deformitie of thy face forced for lack of light, and the stench of the infected prison that prouoked sicknesse, and the forsaking of thy friends, had quite debased all these perfections wherwith now thou séemest to be so lustie. Thou thoughtest me then to be worthie, not only of a yong man of a royall blood, but of a God, if it were possible to haue him, & so soone as (thou contrary to al hope) didst once [...] thy naturall countrey, like a most pestilent [Page] person without any difficultie, haste chaunged thy minde, neuer since thou wast deliuered, [...] dyd call into thy remembraunce how I was that [...], that I was she (alone) that dyd remembre thée: that I was (she alone) that had compassion on thy missehap, and that I was onely shée, who for thy health dyd imploye all the goodes she hadde. I am, I am (I say) that Camiola, who by hir money raunsomed thée out of the handes of the Capitall enimies of thyne auncesters, from fetters, from prison: & finally deliuered thée from miserie extreme, before thou wer altogether settled in dispaire. I reduced thée againe to hope, I haue reuoked thée into thy coūtrey, I haue brought thée into ye royall palace, and restored thee into thy former estate, and of a prisoner weake, and ylfauored, haue made thée a yong Prince, strong, and of fayre aspecte. But wherefore haue I remembred these thyngs, wherof thou oughtest to be verie mindefull thy selfe, and whyche thou art not able to denie? Sith that for so great benefites thou hast rendred me such thankes, as being my husbande in déede, thou haddest the face to denie me mariage, alreadie contracted by the deposition of honest witnesses, and approued by letters signed with thine owne hande. Wherefore diddest thou despise me that hath deliuered thée? Yea and if thou couldest haue stained the name of hir with infamie, that was thine only refuge and defender, yea and wouldest gladly haue giuen cause to the common people, to thinke lesse than honestie of hir. Art thou ashamed (thou man of little iudgement) to haue to wyfe a wydow, the daughter of a knight? [...] how far better had it bene for thée to haue ben ashamed to breake thy promised faith, to haue despised the holy and dreadfull name of God, and to haue declared by thy curssed vnkindnesse, howe full fraught [Page] thou art with vice. I do confesse in dede that I am not of the royall bloode: not withstanding from the cradle, being trained and brought vp in the companie of kings wiues and daughters, no great maruell it is, if I haue indued and put on a royall heart and manners, that is able to get and purchase royal nobilitie. But wherfore do I multiplie so many words? No no I wil be very facile and easie in that wherin thou hast ben to me so difficult and harde by resisting the same with all thy power. Thou hast refused heretofore to be mine, and hauing vanquished thée, to be such, frankly of mine owne accorde, I doe graunt that thou art not. Abide (on Gods name) with thy royall nobilitie, neuerthelesse [...] with the spot of infidelitie. Make much of thy youthly lustinesse, & of thy transitorie beautie, and I shal be cō tented with my widow apparell, and shall leaue the riches which god hath giuē me to heires more honest thā those yt might haue come of thée. Auaunt thou wycked yong man, & sith thou art cōpted to be vnworthy of me, lerne with thine own expence, by what subtiltie & guiles thou mayest betray other dames, suffiseth it for me to be once deceiued. And I for my part fully determine neuer to tary lōger with thée, but rather chastly to liue without husband, which life I deme far more excellent than with thy match cōtinually to be coupled.’

After shée had spoken these wordes, shée departed from him, and from that time forth, it was impossible either by prayers, or admonitions to cause hir chaunge hir holie intent. But Rolande all confused, repenting himself to late of his ingratitude, blamed of [...] man, his eyes fired vpon the grounde, [...] not onely the presence of his brethren but of all [...] of people, dayely ledde from that tyme forth, a moste miserable life, and neuer durst by reason to demaunde hir againe [Page] to wife, whome he had by disloyaltie refused. The king and the other barons, maruelling of the noble heart of the Ladie, singularly commended hir, and exalted hir praises vp into ye skies, vncertaine neuerthelesse wherin she was most worthie of praise, either for that (contrarie to the couetous nature of women) she had raunsomed a yong man with so great a summe of money, or else after she had deliuered him, and sentence giuē that he was hir husband, she so couragiously refused him, as an vnkinde man, vnworthie of hir company.

But leaue we for a time, to talke of widowes, and let vs sée what the Captaine and Lieutenant of Nocera can alledge vpon the discourse of his cruelties, whiche although an ouer cruell historie, yet depainteth the successe of those that applie their mindes to the sportes of Loue, such Loue I meane, as is wantonly placed, and directed to no good purpose, but for glutting of the bodies delight, which bothe corrupteth nature, maketh féeble the body, lewdely spendeth the time, and specially offendeth hym whō maketh proclamation, that whooremongers and adulterers shall neuer inherite his kingdom.

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The Lordes of Nocera
The. xxxiij. Nouel.

¶ Great cruelties chaunced to the Lords of NOCERA, for adultry by one of them committed with the Captaines wife of the forte of that Citie, with an enterprise moued by the Captaine to the Citizens of the same for rebellion, and the good and duetiful answer of them: with other pitiful [...] rising of that notable and outragious vice of whoredome.

THE furious rage of a husband offēded for the chastitie violated in his wife, surpasseth all other, & ingendreth malice againste the doer whatsoeuer he be. For if a Gentleman, or one of good nature, cannot abyde an other to doe him any kinde of displeasure, & much lesse to hurt him in his body. how is he able to endure to haue his honoure touched, specially in that part which is so néere vnto him as his owne soule? Man and [...] being as it were one body and one will, wherein men of good iudgement cannot well like the opinion of those good fellowes which say [Page] that the honoure of one that is lusty and coragious, dependeth not vpon the fault of a foolishe woman. For if that were true which they so lightly vaunt, I wold demaunde wherfore they be so animated & angry against them which adorne their head with braunched hornes, the Ensignes of a Cuckolde. And truely nature hath so well prouided in that behalfe, as the very sauage beastes doe fight, and suffer death for suche honest iealosie. Yet will I not praise, but rather accuse aboue all faultie men, those that be so fondly iealous, as eche thing troubleth their minde, and be afraide of the flies very shadowe that buzze about their faces. For by paining & molesting themselues with a thing that so little doeth please and content them, vntill manifest and euident proofe appeare, they display the folly of their minds imperfection, and the weake stedfastnesse of their fantasy. But where the fault is knowne, & the vice discouered, where the husband séeth himselfe to receiue damage in the soundest part of his moueable goodes, reason it is yt he therein be aduised by timely deliberation and sage foresight, rather than with headlōg fury & raging rashnesse to hazard the losse of his honor, and the ruin of his life and goodes. And like as the faith and sidelitie of the vndefiled bed hath in all times worthily bene cōmended: euen so he that polluteth it by infamie, beareth the penaunce of the same. Portia the daughter of Cato, and wife of Brutus shall be praised for euer, for the honest & inuiolable loue which she bare vnto hir beloued husband, almost like to lose hir life when she heard tell of his certaine death. The pudicitie of Paulina the wife of Seneca appeared also, when she assayed to die by ye same kinde of death wherewith hir husband violently was tormented by the vniust commaundement of the most [Page] cruell and horrible Emperoure Nero. But whores and harlottes hauing honest husbandes, and well allied in kinne and ligneage, by abandoning their bodies, doe prodigally consume their good renowme: If they escape the Magistrates, or auoide the wrath of offended husbandes for the wrong done vnto them, yet they leaue an immortall slaunder of their wicked life, and youth thereby may take example aswell to shun suche shamelesse women, as to followe those Dames that be chaste and vertuous. Now of this contempt which the wife beareth to hir husband, doe rise very many times notorious slaunders, and suche as are accompanyed with passing cruelties: wherein the husband ought to moderate his heat and calme his choler, and soberly to chastise the fault, for so muche as excessiue wrath and anger, doe Eclipse in man the light of reason, and suche rages doe make them to be semblable vnto brute and reasonlesse beastes: Méete it is to be angrie for things done cōtrary to right & equitie, but tēperance and modestie is necessary in all occurrentes, be they with vs, or against vs. But if to resist anger in those matters, it be harde and difficulte, it is also to be thought that the greater impossibilitie there is in the operation and effecte of any good thing, the greater is the glory that banquisheth the affection and mastereth the first motion of the minde which is not so impossible to gouerne, and subdue to reason, as many doe estéeme.

A wise man then cannot so farre forget his duetie, as to exceede the boundes and limites of reason, and to suffer his minde to wander from the siege of Temperaunce, which if he doe after he hath well mingled Water in his Wine, hée may chaunce to finde cause of repentaunce, and by desire to repaire his offense, [Page] augment his fault, sinne being so prompt and ready in man, as ye crime which might be couered with certain iustice, and coloured by some lawe or righteous cause, maketh him many times to fall into detestable [...] and sinne, so contrary to mildnesse and modesty, as the very tyraunts themselues wold abhorre such wickednesse. And to the end that I do not trouble you with allegation of infinite numbres of examples, seruing to this purpose, ne render occasion of tediousnesse for you to reuolue so many bokes, I am cōtented for this present, to bring in place an History so ouer cruell, as the cause was reasonable, if duety in the one had bene cō sidered, and rage in the other bridled and forseene, who madly murdred and offended those that were nothing guiltie of the facte, which touched him so neare. And although that these be matters of loue, yet ye reader ought not to be grieued nor take in euill part, yt we haue still that argument in hand. For we doe not hereby go about to erect a scholehouse of loue, or to teache youth the wanton toyes of the same: but rather bring for the these examples to withdraw that pliant and tēder age of this our time, from the pursute of like follies, which may (were they not in this sort warned) ingender like effects that these our Histories doe recompt, and wherof you shall be partakers by reading the discourse that followeth.

Ye must then vnderstand, that in the time yt Braccio Montane, and Sforza Attendulo flourished in Italie, and were the chiefest of yt Italian men of warre, there were thrée Lordes and brethren, which helde vnder their authoritie and puissance Fcligno, Nocera, and Treuio, parcell of the Dukedome of Spoleto, who gouerned so louingly their landes togither, as without diuision, they mainteined themselues in their estate, & liued in brotherly [Page] concorde. The name of the eldest of these thrée Lordes, was Nicholas, the second Caesar, and the yongest Conrade, gētle personages, wise and welbeloued so wel of the Noble men their neighbors, as also of the Citezens that were vnder their obeysaunce, who in the end shewed greater loyaltie towards them, than those that had sworne their faith, and had giuen pledges for confirmation thereof, as ye shall perceiue by reading that which foloweth. It chaūced that the eldest oftentimes repairing from Foligno to Nocera, and lodging still in ye Castell, behelde with a little too much wanton eye, the wife of his lieuetenaunt which was placed there with a good number of dead payes, to guard the forte, & kepe vnder the Citizens, if by chaunce (as it happeneth vpon the newe erection of estates) they attempted some newe enterprise against their soueraigne Lords. Now this Gentlewoman was faire, and of better grace singularly delighting to be loked vpon: which occasioned the Lord Nicholas, by perceiuing the wantonnesse and good will of the mistresse of the Castell, not to refuse so good occasion, determining to prosecute the enioying of hir, that was ye bird after which he hunted, whose beautie and good grace had déepely woūded his mind: wherin if he forgotte his duetie, I leaue for all men of good iudgement to consider. For me thinke that this yong Lord ought rather singularly to loue and cherishe his Lieuetenaunt that faithfully and trustily had kept his Castell and Forte, than to prepare against him so traiterous an attempt and ambushe. And if so be his sayde Lieuetenaunt had bene accused of felony, misprision, or Treason (yet to speake the trouth) he might haue deliuered the charge of his Castel vnto an other, rather thā to suborne his wife to follie. And ought likewise to haue considered that the Lieuetenaunt by putting his [Page] trust in him, had iust cause to complaine for rauishing his honoure from him in the person of his wife, whome be ought to haue loued without any affection to infrindge the holy lawe of amitie, the breaking whereof dissolueth the duetie of eche seruaunt towardes his soueraigne Lord and maister. To be short, this blinded louer yelding no resistance to loue, and the foolish conceit which altereth the iudgementes of the wisest, suffred his fansie to roue so farre vnto his appetites, as on a day when the Lieuetenaunt was walked abrode into the Castell, to viewe the Souldioures and deade payes (to pleasure him that sought the meanes of his displeasure) he spake to the Gentlewoman his wife in this manner: ‘Gentlewoman, you being wise and curtuous as eche man knoweth, needefull it is not to vse long or Rethorical Orations, for so much as you without further supply of talke doe clearely perceiue by my lookes, sighes and earnest viewes, the loue that I bear you, which without comparison nippeth my heart so neare as none can féele the parching paines, that the same poore portion of me doeth suffer. Wherefore hauing no great leisure to let you further vnderstand my minde, it may please you to shewe me so much fauoure as I may be receiued for him, who hauing the better right of your good grace, may there withall enioy that secrete acquaintaunce, which suche a one as I am deserueth: of whome ye shall haue better experience if you please to accept him for your owne.’ This mistresse Lieuetenaunt which compted hir selfe happie to be beloued of hir Lord, and who tooke great pleasure in that aduenture, albeit that she desired to lette him know the good will that she bare vnto him, yet dissembled the matter a little, by answearing him in this [Page] wise: ‘Your disease sir is sodaine, if in fo little time you haue felt suche excesse of maladie: but perchaunce it is your heart that being ouer tender, hath lightly receiued the pricke, which no doubt will so soone vanishe, as it hath made so ready entrie. I am very glad (Sir) that your heart is so merily disposed to daliaunce, and can finde some matter to contriue the superfluitie of time, the same altering the diuersitie of mannes complexion, accordingly as the condition of the hourely planet guideth the nature of euery wight. It is altogither otherwise (answered hée) for being [...] hither as a [...] and Lord, I am become a seruaunt and slaue: And briefly to speake my minde, if you haue not pitie vpon me, the disease which you call sodaine, not onely will take increase, but procure the death and finall ruine of my heart. Ah sir (sayde the Gentlewoman) your griefe is not so déepely rooted, and death so present to succéede, as you affirme, ne yet so ready to giue ouer the place, as you protest, but I sée what is the matter, you desire to laugh me to scorn, and your heart craueth something to solace it selfe which cannot be idle, but must imploy the vacant time vpon some pleasant toyes. You haue touched the prick (answeared the Louer) for it is you in déede whereupon my heart doeth ioy, and you are the cause of my laughter and passetime, for otherwise all my delights were displeasures, and you also by denying me to be your seruaunt, shall abbreuiate and shorten my liuing dayes, who only reioyseth for choise of such a mistresse. And how (replied she) can I be assured of that you say? the disloyaltie and infidelitie of man being in these dayes so faste vnited, and following one another, as the shadowe doeth the bodie, wheresoeuer it goeth. [Page] Only experience (sayd he) shall make you know what I am, and shal teach you whether my heart is any thing different from my woordes: and I dare be bolde to say, that if you vouchsafe to doe me the pleasure to [...] me for your owne, you may make your vaunt to haue a Gentleman so faithfull for your friend, as I estéeme you to be discrete, and as I desire to [...] you [...] the effect of mine affection, by such some honest order as may be deuised. Sir (sayd she) it is wel and [...] spoken of you, but yet I thinke it straunge for such a Gentleman as you be, to debase your honor to so pore a Gentlewoman, and to goe about bothe to dishonor me, and to put my life in perill. God forbid (answered the Lord Nicholas) that I be cause of any slaūder, and rather had I die my selfe than minister one simple occasion wherby your fame should be brought in question. Only I do pray you to haue pitie vpon me, and by vsing your curtesie, to satisfie that which my seruice & faithful friendship dothe constraine, and binde you for the comfort of him that loueth you better than himself. We will talk more thereof hereafter (answered the Lieuetenaunts wife) and then will I tell you mine aduise, and what resolution shall follow the summe of your demaunde. How now Gentlewoman (sayd he) haue you the heart to leaue me voide of hope, to make me languish for the prorogation of a thing so doubtfull, as the delayes [...] which loue deferreth? I humbly pray you to tell me wherunto I shall trust: to the intent that by punishing my heart for proofe of this enterprise, I may [...] also mine eyes by reuing frō them the meanes for euer more to sée that which contenteth me best, and wherin [...] my solace, leauing my minde ful of desires, and my heart without finall stay, vpon yt greatest pleasure that euer man [...] choose.’ The Gentlewoman would [Page] not loose a Noble man so good & [...]: whose presence already pleased hir aboue all other things, and who voluntarily had agréed to his request, by the only signe of hir gests and lokes, sayd vnto him smiling with a very good grace: ‘Doe not accuse my heart of lightnesse, nor my minde of [...] and treason, if to please & obey you, I forget my duetie, & abuse ye promise made vnto my husband, for I swear vnto you (sir) by God, yt I haue more forced my thought, & of long time haue constrained mine appetites in dissembling the loue that I bear you, thā I haue receiued pleasure, by knowing my self to be beloued by one agreable to mine affection. For which cause you shall finde me (being but a pore Gentlewoman) more ready to do your plesure, and to be at your commaundemēt, than any other yt liueth be she of greater port and regard than I am. And who to satisfie your request, shall one day sacrifice that fidelitie to the iealous fury of hir husband. God defend (sayd the yong Lord) for we shall be so discrete in our doings, & so [...] shal communicate & talke togither, as impossible it is for any mā to [...] the same. But if missehap wil haue it so, and that some ill lucke doe discouer our dealings, I haue shift of wayes to colour the same, & power to stoppe the mouthes of them that dare presume to clatter and haue to doe with our priuate conference. All yt I know well inough sir (sayd she) but it is great simplicitie in such things for a man to trust to his authoritie, the forced inhibition whereof shall prouoke more babble, than rumor is able to spred for al his tattling talke of our secrete follies. Moreouer I would [...] very glad to doe what pleaseth you, so the same may be without slaunder. For I hadde rather die, than any should take vs in our priuities and familier pastimes: let vs be contented with the pleasure that the [...] of [Page] our ioy may graunt, and not with suche contentation as shall offend vs, by blotting the clerenesse of our [...] names.’ Concluding then yt time of their new acquaintaunce, which was the next day at noone, when yt Lieutenant did walke into the Citie, they ceased their talk for feare of his enteruiew. Who (vpon his returne) doing reuerence vnto his Lord, tolde him that he knewe where a wilde Boare did haunt, if it pleased him to sée the passetime. Whereunto the Lord Nicholas fayned louingly to giue eare (although against his will) for so much as he thought the same hunting should be a delay for certaine dayes to the enioying, (pretended and assured) of his beloued. But she that was so muche or more esprised with the raging and intollerable fire of loue, spedily found meanes to satisfie hir louers sute, but not in such manner as was desired of either parts, wherefore they were constrained to defer the rest vntill an other time. This pleasaunt beginning so allured the Lord of Nocera, as vnder the pretence of hunting, there was no wéeke that passed, but he came to [...] the warrener of his Lieuetenaunt. And this order continuing without [...] one little suspition of their loue, they gouerned themselues wisely in the pursute thereof. And the Lord Nicholas vsed the game and sport of Hunting, and an infinite number of other exercises, as the running of the King and Tennis, not so muche thereby to finde meanes to enioy his Ladie, as to auoide occasion of iealosie in hir husband, being a very familiar vice in all Italians, the cloke wherof is very heauie to beare, and the disease troublesome to sustaine. But what? Like as it is hard to beguile an [...] in the accoumpt of his money, for his continual watch ouer the same, and slumbering slepes vpon the bokes of his reckenings and accompts, so difficult [Page] it is to deceiue the heart of a iealous man, and specially when he is assured of the griefe which his heade hath conceiued. Argus was neuer so cléere eyed for all his hundred eyes ouer Iupiters lemman, as those louers be, whose opinions be yll affected ouer the chastitie of their wiues. Moreouer what foole or Asse is he, who séeing suche vndiscrete familiaritie of two louers, the priuie gestures, and demeanors without witnesse, their stolne walkes at vntimely houres, & sometimes their embracemēts to straight and common before seruaunts, that wold not doubt of that which most secretely did passe? True it is that in England (where libertie is so honestly obserued as being alone or secrete conuersation giueth no cause of suspition) yt same might haue [...] borne withall. But in Italie, where the parents themselues be for the most part suspected, (if there had ben no fact in déede cōmitted) that familiaritie of the Lord Nicholas, with his Lieutenantes wife was not suffrable, but exceded the bounds of reason, for so much as the cōmoditie which they had chosen for pos sessing of their loue, (albeit the same not suspitious) animated them afterwards to frequent their familiarity & disport to frākly, & without discretiō: which was yt cause yt fortune (who neuer leaueth yt ioyes of mē without giuing therunto some great alarm,) being enuious of ye mutual delights of those. [...]. louers, made yt husbād to doubt of that which he wold haue dissēbled, if honor could so easily be lost wtout reproch, as bloud is shed wt out peril of life. But yt mater being so cleare, as ye fault was euidēt, specially in the party which touched him so neare as himself, yt Lieuetenaūt before he wold enterprise any thing, and declare what he thought, [...] throughly to be resolued of yt which he sawe as it were [...] in a cloude, and by reason of his conceiued opinion [Page] he dealt so warely and wisely in those affaires, & was so subtill an espiall, as one day when the louers were at their game, and in their most straite and secrete embracements, he viewed them coupled with other leash, than he would haue wished, and colled with straighter bands than reason or honesty did permit. He saw without being séene, wherin he felt a certaine ease and contentment, for being assured of that he doubted, & purposed to ordeine a sowre refection after their delightsome banket, the simple louers ignoraunt by signe or [...], that their enterprises were discouered. And truely it had bene more tollerable and lesse hurtful for the Lieuetenaunt, if euen then he had perpetrated his vengeaunce, and punished them for their wickednesse, than to vse the crueltie wherwith afterwards he blotted his renoume, and foiled his hands by Bedlem rage in the innocent bloud of those that were not priuie to the folie, and lesse guiltie of the wrong done vnto him. Now the captaine of the Castell for all his dissimulation in couering of his griefe, and his fellony and treason intended against his soueraigne Lord, which he desired not yet manifestly to appeare, was not able any more from that time forthe to speake so louingly vnto him, nor with suche respecte and reuerence as he did before, which caused his wife thus to say vnto hir louer: ‘My Lord I doubt very much least my husbād doth perceiue these our cōmon practizes, & secrete familiar dealings, & that he hath some hāmer working in his head, by reason of the countenaunce, & vnchéereful entertainment which he sheweth to your Lordship, wherfore mine aduise is, yt you retire for a certain time to Foligno. In the meane space I wil marke & [...] if yt his alteration be conceiued for any matter against vs, and wherfore his wōted lokes haue put on this new alteration & chaūge. [Page] All which when I haue (by my espial and secrete practise sounded) I will spéedily aduertise you, to the ende that you may prouide for the safegarde of youre faithfull and louyng seruaunt.’ The yong Lorde, who loued the Gentlewoman with all hys hearte, was attached with so greate griefe, and dryuen into such rage, by hearing those wicked newes, as euen presentely he woulde haue knowen of his Lieuetenaunt, the cause of his diswonted chéere. But weyghing the good aduise which his woman had gyuen hym, paused vpon the same, & [...] hir to doe what she thought best. By reason wherof, giuing warning to his seruantes for his departure, he caused the Lieutenaunt to be called before him, vnto whom he sayd: ‘Captain, I had thought for certaine dayes to sport and passe my time, but hearing tel that the Duke of Camerino commeth to Foligno, to debate with vs of matters of importance, I am constrained to departe, and do pray you in yt meane time to haue good regarde vnto our affaires, and if any newes [...] chaunce, to aduertise the same: with all expedition. Sir (sayd the Captain) I am sorie that nowe when our passetime of hunting might yelde some good recreation vnto your honour, that you doe thus forsake vs, notwithstanding sith it is your good plesure, we wil cease the chase of the wilde Bore till your returne. In the meane time, I will make readie the coardes and [...] [...] the takyng of the same, that vpon youre comming, nothing want for the furniture of our sport.’ The Lord Nicholas, seing his Lieutenant so pleasantly disposed, and so litle bent to choler, or iealous fantasie, was persuaded, that some other toy had rather occupied his minde, than any suspition betwene his wife and him. But the subtill husbande searched other meanes to be [...], than by killyng him alone, of whom he [Page] receyued that dishonour, and was more craftie to enterprise, and more hardie to execute, than the louers were wyse or well aduised to preuente and wythstande his sleightes and pollicies. And albeit that the wyfe (after the departure of hir friende) assayed to drawe from hym the cause of his altered chéere, yet coulde shée neuer learne, that hir husbande hadde any yll opinion of their loue. For so many times as talke was moued of the Lord Nicholas, he exalted his praise vp into the heauens, and commended him aboue all his [...]. All whiche he didde, to beguile the pollicies of hir, whome he sawe to blushe, and manye tymes change colour, when she heard him spoken of, to whom she bare better affection than to hir husband, vnto whō (in very dede) she dyd owe the fayth and integritie of hir bodie. Thys was the very toyle which he had laide to intrappe those amorous persons, and purposed to ridde the worlde of them by that meanes, to remoue from before his eyes, the shame of a [...] title, and to reuenge the iniurie done to hys reputation. The Mistresse of the Castell seing that hir husbande (as shée thought) by no meanes did vnderstande hir [...], desired to continue the pleasure, whiche either [...] them desired, and which made the thirde to die of phrenesie, wrote to the Lorde Nicholas, the letter that foloweth.

My Lorde, the feare I had, that my husband should perceyue our loue, caused me to intreate you certaine dayes past, to discontinue for a time, the frequentatiō of your owne house, wherby I am not a litle grieued, that contrary to my will, I am defrauded of your presence, which is farre more pleasant vnto me, than my husbandes [...], who ceaseth not continually to talke of the honest behauiour, and commendable qualities [Page] that be in you, and is sorie for youre departure, bicause he feareth that you mislyke youre entertainement, which should be (sayth he) so grieuous and noysome vnto him, as death it selfe. Wherfore I pray you [...], if it be possible, and that your affaires do suffer you to come hither, to the ende I may inioy youre [...] presence, and vse the libertie that our good happe hath prepared, through the litle iealosie of my husband your Lieutenant: who I suppose before it be long will [...] you, so great is his desire to make you passetime [...] hunting within your owne lande and territorie.

Fayle not then to come, I beséech you, and we will so well consider the gouernement of our affaires, as the best sighted shall not once discrie ye least suspicion therof, recommending my selfe most humbly (after the best maner I can) to your good lordship.

This Letter was deliuered to a lackey to beare to the Lorde Nicholas, and not so priuily done, but yt Lieutenant immediatly espied the deceipt, which the sooner was disciphred, for so much as he dayely lay in waite to finde the meanes to reuēge the wrong done vnto him, of purpose to beate the iron so long as it was hotte, & to execute his purpose before his wife toke hede, and felte the indeuor of his enterprise. And bicause that shée had assayed by diuers ways to sound his hart, and fele whether he had conceiued displeasure against the Lorde hir louer, the daye after wherein she had written to hir friende, hée sente one of hys men in poste to the thrée Lordes, to require them to come the nexte daye to sée the passetyme of the [...] and greatest Wylde Bore, that long tyme was bredde in the Forrestes adioynyng vnto Nocera, Albeit that the Countreye was fayre for [...], and that diuers times many fayre Bores [...] bene encountred there.

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But it was not for this, that he had framed his errand, but to trap in one toyle and snare the thrée brethren, whome he determined to sacrifice to the aultar of hys vengeaunce, for the expiation of their elder brothers trespasse, and for soiling the nuptiall bed of his seruāt. He was the wylde Bore whom he meant to strike, hée was the praie of his vnsaciable and cruell appetite. If the fault had ben generall of all thrée togethers, he had had some reason to make them passe the bracke of one equall fortune, and to tangle them within one net, both to preuent therby (as he thought) his further hurt, and to chastise their leude behauiour. For many times (as lamentable experience teacheth) Noble men for the only respect of their nobilitie, make no conscence to doe wrong to the honor of them, whose reputation and honestie they oughte so well to regarde as their owne. Herein offended the good prince of the Iewes Dauid, whē to vse his Bersabe without suspicion, he caused innocent Vrias to be slaine, in lieu of recompense for hys good seruice, and diligent execution of his behests. The children of the proude Romane King Tarquinius, did herein greatly abuse them selues, when they violated that noble Gentlewoman Lucrece, whome all histories doe so muche remembre, and whose chastitie, all famous writers doe commende. Upon such as they be, vengeance oughte to be doue, and not to defile the handes in the bloode of innocentes, as the parents and kinsemen of dead Lucrece did at Rome, and this Lieutenant at Nocera, vpon the brethren of him that hadde sent him into Cornewall, without passing ouer the seas. But what? Anger procéeding of such wrong, surmounteth al phrenesie, and excedeth all the bounds of reason, and mans so deuoide of wits, by seing the blot of defamation, to light vpon him, as he séeketh al [...] to hurt and displease [Page] him that polluteth his renoume. All the race of the Tarquines for like fact were banished Rome, for the onely brute whereof, the husband of the faire rauished wife, was constrained to auoide the place of his natiuitie. Paris alone violated the body of Menelaus the Lacedemouian King, but for reuenge of the rauished Greeke, not onely the glorie and richesse of stately Troy, but also the most part of Asia and Europa, was ouerturned and defaced, if credit may be giuen to the records of the auncient. So in this fact of the Lieutenant, the Lorde Nicholas alone, had polluted his bed, but the reuenge of the cruell man extended further, and his furie raged so farre, as the guiltlesse were in great daunger to beare the penance, which shall be well perceiued by the discourse that foloweth. The Captaine then hauing sente his message, and being sure of his intent (no lesse than if he already had the brethren within his hold, vpon the point to couple them together with hys wife, to sende them all in pilgrimage to visite the faithfull sorte, that blason their loues in an other worlde, with Dido, Phyllis, and suche like, that more for dispaire than loue, bée passed the straictes of death) caused to be called before him in a secrete place, all the souldiers of the Fort, and such as with whome he was sure to preuaile, to whom not without sheading forth some teares, and she wyng heauie countenance, he spake in this maner:

‘My Companions & friends, I doubt not but ye be abashed to sée me wrapt in so heauie plight, and appeare in this forme before you (that is to say) bewept, heuy, panting with sighes, and al contrary to my custome, in other state and maner, than my courage and degrée require. But when ye shall vnderstande the cause, I am assured that the case which séemeth strange to you, shall be thought iust and right, and so wil performe the thing [Page] wherein I shall employe you. Ye knowe that the first point that a Gentleman ought to regarde, consisteth not onely in repelling the [...] done vnto the bodie, but rather it behoueth that the fight begyn for the defense of his honor, which is a thing that procedeth from the mind, and resorteth to the bodie, as the instrument to worke that which the spirite appointeth. Now it is honour, for conseruation whereof, an honest man and one of good courage feareth not to put himself in al perill and daunger of death, and losse of goodes, referryng himselfe also to the guarde of that which toucheth as it were oure owne reputation. In suche wyse as if a good Captaine doe suffer hys souldier to be a wicked man, a robber, a murderer, and [...] exacter, he beareth the note of dishonor albeit in all his doings he gouerneth hys estate after the rule of honestie, & dothe nothing that is vnworthy his vocatiō. But what? he being a head vnited to such mēbres, if the partes of that vnited thing be corrupt and naught, the head must needes beare yt blot of the faulte before referred to the whole bodie. [...] (sayd he sighing) what parte is more nere, and dearer to man, than that which is giuen vnto him for a pledge and comfort during his life, and which is conioyned to be bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh, to breath forth one minde, and thinke with one heart and equall will. It is of the Wife that I speake, who being the moytie of hir husbande, ye ought not to muse if I say, that the honour of the one is the rest of the other, and the one infamous and wicked, the other féeleth the troubles of such mischief, and the wife being carelesse of hir honor, the husbands reputation is defiled, and is not worthie of praise, if he suffer such shame vnreuenged: I must (Companions & good friends) here discouer that which my heart would faine kepe secrete, if it were possible, [Page] and must reherse a thing vnto you, which so sone as my mouth woulde faine kepe close, the minde assayeth to force the ouerture. And loth I am to do it, were it not that I make so good accompt of you, as ye being [...] to me with an vnseparable amitie, will yeld me your cō fort and aide against him that hath done me this villanie, such as if I be not reuenged vpon him, nedes must I be the executioner of that vengeance vpon my self, that am loth to liue in this dishonor, which all the days of my life (without due vltion) like a worme wil torment and gnaw my conscience. Wherfore before I go any further, I would knowe whether I might so well trust your aide and succour in this my businesse, as in all others I am assured you wold not leaue me, so long as any breath of life remained in you. For without such assurance, I do not purpose to let you know yt pricking naile that pierceth my hearte, nor the griefe that greueth me so nere, as by vttering it without hope of help I shall open the gate to death, and dye withont reliefe of my desire, by punishyng him, of whome I haue receyued an iniurie more bloodie than any man can doe.’ The Souldiers whyche loued the Captaine as theyr owne lyfe, were sorie to sée him in suche estate, and greater was their dolour to heare woordes that tended to nothyng else but to furie, vengeance, and murder of himselfe. Wherefore all with one accorde promised their healpe and maine force towardes and agaynst all men for the bringyng to passe of that which he dyd meane to require. The Lieutenant assured of his men, conceyued hearte and courage, and continuing hys Oration and purpose, determined the slaughter and ouerthrowe of the thrée Trinicien brethren, (for that was the surname of the Lordes of Foligno,) who pursued hys Oration in this manner: [Page] ‘Know ye then (my companions and good frendes) that it is my wife, by whom I haue indured the hurt & losse of mine honour, and she is the partie touched, and I am he that am moste offended. And to the ende that I doe not holde you longer in suspence, and the partie be concealed from you, which hath done me this outrage: Ye shal vnderstande that Nicholas Trinicio, the elder of the thrée lordes of Foligno and Nocera, is he, that against al right and equitie hath suborned the wife of his Lieutenant, and soiled the bed of him, wherof he ought to haue ben the defēder & the very bulwarke of his reputation. It is of him my good frendes, and of his that I meane to take suche vengeaunce, as eternall memorie shall displaye the same to all posteritie: and neuer lords shall dare to doe a like wrong to myne, withoute remembrance what his duetie is, which shall teache him how to abuse the honest seruice of a Gentleman that is one of hys owne traine. It resteth in you bothe to holde vp your hande, and kéepe your promise, to the end that the Lorde Nicholas, deceiuyng and mockyng me, may not trust & put affiance in your force, vnto which I heartily do recommende my self.’ The Souldiers moued and incited with the wickednesse of their Lord, and with the wrong done to him, of whome they receyued wages, swore againe to serue his turne in any exploit he went about, and required him to be assured, that the Trinicien brethren shoulde be ouerthrowne, and suffer deserued penance, if they might lay hands vpon them, and therfore willed him to séeke means to allure them thither, that they might be dispatched. The Lieutenāt at these words renuing a chéerefull countenaunce, and she wing himselfe very ioyful for such successe, after he had thanked his souldiers, and very louingly imbraced the chiefest of them, reuealed his deuised pollicie, & hoped [Page] shortly to haue them at his comaundement within the Fort, alleaging that he had dispatched two messangers vnto them, and that his wife also priuily had sente hir page: vnto whom he purposed to giue so good a recō pense, as neuer more she shold plant his hornes so high, vnder a colour of gētle entertainment of hir ribauld & friend. They wer scarse resolued vpon this intent, but newes were brought him, that the next day mornyng, the thrée lords accompanied with other nobilitie would come to Nocera, to hunt that huge wilde Bore, wherof the Lieutenant had made so great auant. These news did not gretly please the Captain, forsomuch as he feared, that his purpose could not (cōueniently) be brought to passe, if the companie were so great. But when he considered that the Lords alone, should lodge withinthe Fort, he was of good chéere againe, and stayed vpon his first intent. The Triniciens the next day after came very late, bicause the Lorde Berardo of Varano Duke of Camerino, desired to be one, and also the two brethren taried for Conrade, who was at a mariage, & coulde not assist the tragedie that was playd at Nocera, to his gret hap and profit. To this troupe came to Nocera late, and hauing supped in the Citie, the Lord Nicholas and the Duke of Camerino wente to bed in the Fort, Caesar the brother of Trinicio tarying behind with the traine, to lodge in the citie. Stay here a while (ye gentlemen) ye I say, that pursue the secrete stelths of loue, neuer put any great trust in Fortune, whiche seldome kepeth hir promise with you. Ye had néede therefore to take good hede, lest ye be surprised in the place, where priuily you giue the assault, and in the act wherin ye desire the assistance of none. Sée the barbarous crueltie of a Lieutenant, which loued rather to kil his corriuall, in his cold blood, than otherwise to be reuenged, when he saw him [Page] a bedde with his wife, purposely that the erāple of his furie might be the better knowne, and the secret selander more euident, from the roote whereof did [...] an infinite numbre of murders and mischiefs. About midnight, then when al things were at rest vnder the dark silence of the night, the Lieutenant came to the chamber of the Lorde Nicholas, accompanied with the most parte of the watche, and hauyng stopte vp the yeoman of his chamber, hée so dressed the companion of hys bedde, as for the first proofe of hys curtesie, he caused hys membres and priuie partes to be cut of, saying vnto hym wyth cruell disdayne: ‘Thou shalte not henceforth (wycked wretche) welde thys launce into the rest, thereby to batter the honoure of an honester man than thy self.’ Then laūching his stomake with a piercing blade, he tare the hart out of his belie, saying: ‘Is this the traiterous hearte that hath framed the plot and deuised the enterprise of my shame, to make thys infamous villaine without life, & his renoume without praise?’ And not [...] with this crueltie, he wreakt yt like vpon ye remnant of his body, yt somtimes the runagate Medea did vpon hir innocēt brother, to saue yt lyfe of hir selfe, and of hir friend Iason. For she cut him into an hundred thousand pieces, gyuyng to euery membre of the poore murdred soule hir word of mockerie & contempt. Was it not sufficient for a tirannous husbande to be reuēged of his shame, and to kill the partie which had defamed him, withoute vsing so furious Anatomie vpon a dead body, and wherin there was no longer féeling? But what? Ire being without measure, & anger without bridle or reson, it is not to be wondred, if in al his actes the Captaine ouerpassed the iuste measure of bengeance. Many would thinke the cōmitted murder vpon Nicholas, to bée good and iust: but the Iustice of an [Page] offense, ought not so long time be conceyled, but rather to make him féele the smart at the verie time the déede is done, to the ende that the nipping griefe of pestilent treason wrought against the betrayed partie, be not obscured aud hidden by sodaine rage and lacke of reason, rising in the mindes first motions, and therby also the fauite of the guiltie, by his indiscretion couered: otherwise there is nothing that can colour such vice. For the lawe indifferently doth punish euery [...], that without the Magistrates order taketh authoritie to [...] hys owne wrong. But come wée againe vnto our purpose. The Captaine all imbrued [...] [...], entred the chamber of the Duke of [...], whome with all she rest of the straungers that [...] [...] [...] [...], hée lodged (without speakyng any woorde) in a déepe and obscure pryson. [...], what reste they tooke that nyght, whyche were come to hunt [...] Wylde [...]. For without trauayling [...], [...] [...] [...] in the [...] [...] [...] [...] of the [...] [...], who when [...] [...] [...] [...] hir vermilion cléere, beganne to thewe hir selfe, when all the Hunters didde putte them selues in a readynesse, and coupled vppe theyr Dogges to marche into the Fielde, beholde, one of the Captaines cruell ministers wente into the Citie, to cause the Lorde [...] to come and speake with his brother Nicholas, and intreated him not to tarie, for that he and the Duke were disposed to shewe him some disport. Caesar which neuer suspected the least of these chanced murders, desired not to be prayed agayne, but made haste to the butcherie lyke a Lambe, & in the companie of the Wolues them selues that were in readinesse to kill hym. He was no sooner in the court of the Castle, but seuen or eight varlets apprehended him and his men, and caried hym into [Page] the chamber (bound like a théefe) wherin the membres of his miserable brother were cut of, & dispersed, whose corps was pitifully gored and arayed in blood. If Caesar were abashed to sée himselfe bound and taken prisoner, he was more astoonned when he perceiued a body so dismembred, and which as yet he knewe not. ‘Alas (sayde he) what sight is this? Is this the Bore. which thou hast caused vs to come hither to hūt within our very Fort:’ The Captaine rising vp, al imbrued with blood, whose face & voice promised nothing but murder to the miserable yong gētleman said: ‘Sée Caesar, the bodie of thine adulterous brother Nicholas, that infamous whoore mō ger, and marke if this be not his head:’ I would to God that Conrade were here also; that ye might all thrée be placed at this sumptuous banket, which I haue prepared for you. I sweare vnto thée then, that this shold be the last day of all the Trinicien race, and the end of your. tirannies and wicked life: But sith I cā not get the effect of that which my heart desireth, my minde shal take repast in the triumph which Fortune [...] ordeined.

Curssed be the mariage & wedding at Treuio, that hath hindred me of an occasion so apte, and of the meanes to dispatche a matter of such importance, as is the ouerthrow of so many tirants. Caesar at this sentence stode so still, as whilom did the wife of Loth, by seing the Citie on fire, and consume into ashes: by the sight wherof she was cōuerted into a stone of salt. For when he saw that bloodie pageant, and knew that it was his brother Nicholas, pitie & feare so stopt ye pipes of his spech, as wt out cōplaining himself or framing one word, he suffred his throte to be cut by ye barbarous captain, who threw him half dead vpō yt corps of his brother, [...] yt bloud of either of thē might cry vp to yt heuēs for so loud vēgeāce, [...] yt of Abel did, being slain by ye treson of his nerest bro [Page] ther. Beholde yt dreadful beginnings of a heart rapt in fury, and of yt minde of him that not resisting his fonde affections, executed the terrible practizes of his owne braine, and preferring his fantasle aboue reason, deuised suche ruine and decay, as by these examples the posteritie shall haue good cause to wonder. The like cruelty vsed Tiphon towardes his brother Osyris by chopping his body in. xxvi. gobbets, whereby ensued the [...] of him and his, by Orus whome some doe surname Appollo. And troweth yt captaine to looke for lesse mercy of the brother of ye other twain that were murdred, and of the Dukes kindred whome he kept prisoner? But he was so blinded with fury, and it may be, led by ambition and desire to be made Lord of Nocera, that he was not contēted to venge his shame on him which had offended, but assayed to murder and extinguish all the Trinicien bloud: the enheritance only remaining in them. And to come to the end of his enterprise, this Italian Nero, not content with these so many slaughters, but thereunto adioyned a new treason, assaying to win the Citizens of Nocera to moue rebellion against their Lord, causing them to assemble before the Forte, vnto whome vpon the walles he vsed this or like Dration. ‘I haue hitherto (my masters) [...] the litle pleasure that my heart hath felt to [...] so many true & faithful Citizens, subiect vnder the will & vnbrideled lustes of two or three [...]: who haue gotten power and authoritie ouer vs, more through our owne folly & cowardise, than by valiance, vertue and iustice, either in them or those which haue dispoyled this Countrey of their auncient libertie. I will not deny but principalities of long [...] and [...] deriued by succession of inheritaunce, haue had some spice and kinde of equitie, and that Lords of good life and conuersation [Page] ought to be obeyed, defended and honored. But where inuasion and seasure is against right, where the people is spoiled, and lawes violated, it is no cōscience to disobey and abolish such monsters of nature. The Romanes in their prime age of their common wealth ful wel declared the same, whē they banished out of their Citie ye proud race of the Tirant Tarquine, and when they [...] about to exterminate al the rootes of crueltie and Tyrannicall power. Our neighbours the [...] once did the like vnder the conduct of Dion, against the disruled fury and wilfull crueltie of Denis the Tirant of Syracusa, and the Athenuns against the children of Pisistratus. And ye that be sorted from the stocke of those Samnites, which in times past so long held vp their heads against the Romane force, will ye be so very cowardes & weake hearted for respect of the title of your seigniorie as ye dare not with me to attempt a valiant enterprise for reducing your selues into libertie, and to [...] that vermine broode of Tyrauntes which swarme through out the whole Region of Italie. Will ye be so mated and dumped, as the shadowe alone of a fonde and inconstant yong man, shall holde your nose to the grindstone, and drawe you at his lust like an Ore into the stall? I feare that if ye saw your wiues and daughters haled to the passetime and pleasure of these Tirauntes, to glutte the whoredome of those stincking Goate bucks, more lecherous and filthy than the senselesse sparowes: I feare (I say) that ye durst not make one signe for demonstration of your wrathe and displeasure. No, no (my masters of Nicera,) it is highe time to cutte of the Hydra his heades, and to strangle him within his caue. The time is come (I say) wherein it behoueth you to shewe your selues like men, and no longer to dissemble the case that toucheth you so [Page] néere. Consider whither it be good to follow mine aduise, to reposside againe the thing which is your owne, (that is to wit,) the fréedome wherin your auncesters gloried so muche, and for which they feared not to hazarde their goodes and liues. It will come good cheape, if you be ruled by me, it will redound to your treble fame, if like men ye follow mine aduise, which I hope to let you shortly sée without any great perill or losse of your Citizens bloud. I haue felt the effect of the Trinicien Tiranny, and the rigor of their vnrighteous gouernement, which hauing begonne in me, they will not faile, if they be not chastised in time, to extend on you also, whome they déeme to be their slaues. In like manner I haue first begon to represse their boldnesse, and to withstand their l [...]ud behauioure: yea and if you minde to vnderstand right from wrong, an easie matter it will be to perfourme the rest, the tune being so commodious, and the discouery of the thing whereof I haue made you priuy, so cōuenient. And know ye, that for the exploit of mine intent, and to bring you againe altogither in libertie, I haue taken the two Lords Nicholas and Caesar prisonners, attending till fortune doe bring to me the third, to pay him with like money and equall guerdon, that not onely you may be frée and settled in your auncient priuiledge, but my heart also satisfied of yt wrong which I haue receiued by their iniustice. Beleue (masters) yt the thing which I haue done, was not wtout great cause, nor wtout open iniury receued, as by keping it close I burst, & by telling yt same I am ashamed. I wil kepe it secrete not wtstāding, & shall pray you to take héede vnto your selues, yt by vniuersal consent, the mischiefe may be preuented. Deuise what answer you wil make me, to yt intent yt I by folowing your aduise, may also be resolued vpon yt I haue to do, [Page] without preiudice but to them to whome the case doth chiefly appertaine.’ During all this [...], the wicked captaine kept close the murder which he had committed, to draw the worme out of the Nocerines [...], & to see of what minde they were, that vpon the intelligence thereof, he might worke and follow the time accordingly, He that had seene the Citizens of [...] after that seditious Dration, would haue thought that he had heard a murmure of Bees, when issuing forth their hiues, they light amidst a pleasaunt Herber, adorned & beautified with diuers coloured floures. For the people flocked and assembled togithers, and began to murmur vpon the imprisonment of their Lord, and the treason cōmitted by the Lieuetenaūt, thinking it very straūge that he which was a houshold seruaunt durst be so bold to sease on those to whome he did owe all honoure and reuerence. And do assure you that if he had [...] below, as he was vpon the rampire of the walles, they hadde torne him into so many pieces, as he had made gobbets of the Lord Nicholas bodie. But séeing that they could not take him, they went about to séeke the deliueraūce of them, whome they thought to be yet aliue: and one of the chiefe of the Citie in the name of them all shortly & briefly, answered him thus. ‘If malice did not well discouer it self in the sugred and traiterous composition of thy woordes (O Captaine) it were easie inough for an inconstant people (bent to chaūge, and desirous of innouations,) to heare and do that, which such a traitor and flatterer as thou art doest propose: but we hauing [...] time indured nothing of the [...] that sauoreth of tiranny, cruelty, or excesse, we were no lesse to be accused of felonie, than thou art guiltie of rebels crime, by seasing vpon the persones of thy Lords, if we should yelde credit to thy serpents hissing, or lend aide [Page] to thy traiterous practise, thou gost about against them who by innobling thée, are traiterously bereued of that which concerned their reputation and greatnesse. We [...] an honest people and faithfull [...]. We will not be bothe wicked and vnhappy at once, & without cause expel our heads out of our common wealth, when they shall perpetrate the mischiefs which thou hast alleaged for example. Upon suche [...] and straunge facts we shall take newe aduise and Councell. To be short, thou shalt pleasure vs to set our Lords at libertie, and thou like a wise man shalt doe thy duetie, and satisfie a people which easily can not indure that a subiecte doe wrong to those to whom he oweth [...]. And feare not to receiue any euill of them nor yet to feele anoyaunce, for we will take vpon vs by honest meanes to craue pardone for thy fault how hainous so euer it be. But if thou continue thine [...], be sure yt the Lord Conrade shall be aduertised, and with al our power we shall succour him, by force to let thée féele the nature of treason, and what reward is incident to the practizers of the same.’ The Captaine [...] he was abashed with that answere, and saw that it would not be well with him, if he did not prouide speady [...] and order for his affaires, aswell for the comming of the Lord Conrade, as of the brother of the Duke [...], tolde the Citizens that within thrée or [...] dayes he wold giue them a resolute answer, and so it might be, [...] vnto their willes, and dcliuer them whome he had in holde. This gentle answer did nothing stay the Citizens for the accomplishment of that which they thought [...] to doe, knowing also that the gallant had not commenced that comedie, but for other toyes which his [...] head had framed for a further intended mischiefe, for which cause they assembled their Councel, and concluded [Page] that one should ride in poste to the Lord Conrade, (the third and remnaūt of the brethren,) that he might come to take order for the deliuerance of Nicholas and Caesar whom they thought he had reserued stil a liue in captiuitie. The Nocerines shewed this curtesie (not but yt they wold gladly haue bene at liberty, if the way had bene better troden,) aswell for the little trust they reposed in the Captaine, who they thought would be no more gentle and faithful, than he shewed himself to be loyall to his masters, as for that Conrade was wel beloued of the Lordes his neighbors, and specially of the imprisonned Duke and his brother Braccio Montone, who had the Italian men of warre at his pleasure, & that the Noble men would assist him with all their power. Wherfore they cōsidered that their fairest & best way, for auoiding of factiōs, was to kepe themselues trustie & true, and by not hearkening to a traitor, to bind their soueraigne Lord with such duety and obedience, as the vnkindest man of the world wold cōfesse and acknowledge for the consequēce of a mater of such importāce. The seditious captaine on the other side voide of hope, and in greater rage thā [...] was before, persisted in his follie, not without foreséeing howe he might saue himselfe, which he had pollitikely brought to passe, if God had not shortned his way, by paiment of vsurye for his wickednesse, and by the very diligence of them in [...] he reposed his trust, the manner and how, immediately [...] follow.

So soone as he had giuen ouer the Councell of the Citizens, and a little bethought him what he had to do, he called before him two yong men, whome aboue all others he trusted best. To these yong men he deliuered all his Golde, Siluer and Jewels, that they might conuey the same out of the iurisdiction of his Lords, to [Page] the intent that when he sawe himselfe in daunger, he might retire to the place where those gallants had before caried his furniture, and moūting them vpon two good stéedes, he let them forthe at the posterne gate, praying them so soone as they could to returne aduertisement of their aboode, and that spedely he wold send after them his children and the rest of his [...], telling them that he specially committed his life and goodes into their handes, and that in time and place he would acknowledge the benefite done vnto him in that distresse. The two that were thus put in trust for sauegarde of his things, promised vnto him Golden hilles and miracles: but so soone as they hadde lost the sight of their master, they deuised another complette, and determined to breake faith to him which was forsworne, and who made no conscience not onely to reuolt, but also [...] to kill his soueraigne Lordes. They thought it better to ride to [...], to tell yt Lord Conrade the pitifull ende of his brethren, and the imprisonment of the Duke of Camerino, than to seke rest for him, whome God permitted not to be saued, sor his heinous sinne already committed, and for that which he meant to do vpon his wife. For all the diligence that the Nocerines had made, yet were the Lieuetenauntes men at Treuio before them, and hauing filled the [...] of Conrade with those heauy newes, and his eyes with teares, his mind with sorow, & sprite with desire to be reuenged & as Conrade was about to mount on horseback with the traine he had, the Citizens were arriued to disclose the imprisonmēt of his brethren. To whom Conrade made answere: ‘I wold to God (my friends) that the tirant had bene contented with ye litle cruelty wherof you speake, for then I wold find the meanes to agrée the parties vpon yt knowledge of their variance. [Page] But (alas) his malice hath passed further, & hath beastly slaine my brethren: but I sweare by the almightie God, that if he giue me life, I wil take such, and so cruell vengeaunce on him, as he shall be a glasse to all his like, to sée the punishmēt of a fault so horrible. Depart my friends, depart & get you home, dispose your watch and garde about the Castell, that the traiter do not escape: and assure your selues that this your loue shal neuer be forgotten, & you shall haue of me not a tyrant as he [...] hath protested, but rather suche a Lord, and better also, than hitherto ye haue me proued.’ If Conrade had not bene pressed with heauinesse, he hadde [...] goodly songs against the treason of the Lieuetenaunt, and would haue accused his brother of indiscretion, for trusting him, whose wife he had abused, and well did know that he espied the same. But what? The businesse required other things than words: & extreme follie it is to nippe the dead with taunts, or with vaine woords to abuse the absent, specially where vltion and reuenge is easie, and the meanes manifest to chastise the temeritie of suche, and to be acquited of the wrong done vnto him that cannot doe it himself. Conrade then toke his way towardes Tuderto, where then remained the Lord Braccio, and therof was Lord and gouernour, and had also vnder his gouernment Perugia, and many other Cities of the [...] Churche, and who with the dignitie of the great Constable of Naples, was also Prince of Capua, to him ye Trinicien brother all be [...] with teares and transported with choler & grief, came to demaund succor for reuenge of the Lieuetenauntes trespasse, saying: ‘For what assuraunce (my Lord) can Princes and great Lords hope henceforth, when their very seruaunts shall rise, and by cōstraining their masters, make assay to vsurpe their seigniories wherein [Page] they haue no title or interest? Is this a reuēge of wrōg, in steede of one to kill twaine, and yet to wishe for the third to dispatch the world of our race? Is this to pursue his ennimy, to séeke to catche him in trappe, which knoweth nothing of the quarell, & to make him to suffer the paine? My two brethren be dead, our cosin germaine the Duke is in prison, I am héere comfortlesse, all sad & pensife before you, whome likewise this matter toucheth, although not so néere as it doeth me, but yet with like dishonor. Let vs goe (my Lord) let vs goe I beséeche you to visite our good hoste that so rudely intreateth his gests which come to visite him, and let vs beare him a reward, that he may tast of our comming, let vs goe before he saue himself, yt with little trauaile & lesse harme to an other, the ribauld may be punished, who by his example if he longer liue, may encrease corage bothe in seruaūts to disobey, and in subiects to rebel, without conscience, against their heads and gouerners? It is a case of very great importance, and which ought to be folowed with all rigor and cruelty. And he ought neuer to be supported, cōforted or fauored, which shal by any meanes attempt to reuolt or arme himself against his Prince, or shall constraine him or hir that is his soueraigne Lord or mistresse. Is not a Prince constituted of God to be obeyed, loued and cherished of his subiects? Is it not in him to make & ordaine lawes, such as shal be thought néedeful and necessary for common welth? Ought not he then to be obeyed of his subiects and vassals? Ought they then to teach the head, & commaund the chiefest member of their body? I do remember a tale (my Lord) recited by Menenius Agrippa that wise and Notable [...], who going about to reconcile the commons with the Senate, alleaged a fit and conuenable example. In time past (quod he) when the [Page] parts of mankinde were at variance, and euery member would be a Lord, generally conspiring, grudging & alleaging, how by their great trauail, paines, and carefull ministery, they prouided all furniture and maintenaunce for the belly, and that he like a sluggishe beast stode stil, & enioyed such pleasures as were giuen him, in this murmure and mutine, all they agréed that the hands should not minister, the mouth should not féede, the tée the shold not make it seruiceable, the feete shold not trauaile, nor head deuise to get the same: and whilest euery of them did forsake their seruice and obedience, the belly grew so thin, and the [...] so weake and feeble, as the whole body was brought to extreme decay & ruine, wherby (said Agrippa) it appeareth yt the seruice due vnto the belly (as the chief porcion of man) by the other members is most necessary, the obeying & nurssing of whome doth instill force and vigor into the other parts through which we do liue and be refreshed, and the same disgested & dispearsed into the vaines and vitall powers ingendreth mature and fine bloud, and maintaineth yt whole state of the body, in comely form and order. By which trim comparison applied to [...] warre is deflected & mollified the stout corage & [...] of the multitude. Euen so agréeing with Agrippa, if the members grudge & disobey against their chief, the state must grow to ruine. To be short, in certain haps a traiter may be cherished, and he that hath falsified his first faith: but treason and periury euermore be detested as vices execrable. In this déede neither the thing, nor yet the doer hath any colour of excuse, the trespasse & cause for which it is done being considered. Suffiseth it sir, for so muche as there is neither time nor cause of further discourse, what néede we to decide the matter, which of it selfe is euident? Beholde me here a pore [Page] Trinicien brother without brethren, ioylesse without a fort at Nocera. On the other part consider the Duke of Camerino in great distresse and daūger, to passe yt strait of death my brethren did. Let vs goe (I pray you) to deliuer the captiue, and by reuenging these offenses and murders to settle my Citie in former state & fredome, which yt villaine goeth about to take frō me, by encoraging my subiects to reuolt & to enter armes, therby to expell our house from the title of the same.’ As Conrade spake these words, & with great grauity & [...] pronoūcing sundry tokēs of sorow, yt Constable of Naples wroth beyond measure for these vnplesāt newes, & ful of grief & choler against yt traiterous lieuetenāt, swore in the hearing of them al, yt he wold neuer rest one good sléepe vntil that quarell were auēged, and had quited yt outrage done to the Lord Conrade, and yt wrong which he felt in him for the imprisonmēt of the Duke of Camerino. So he concluded, and the souldiers were assembled through out all the parts of the constables lands, vpon the end of the wéeke to march against the fort of Nocera, the Citizens whereof had layd diligēt [...] and watch for the escape of the captain, who without bashfulnesse determined with his men to defend yt same, & to [...] fortune, making himself beleue that his quarel was good, and cause iust to withstand them yt should haue the heart to come to assaile him. The Constable in the meane time sent a Trumpet to Nocera, to sommon the Captaine to surrender, and to tell the cause of his reuolt, and at whose prouocation he had committed so detestable a Treason.

The Captaine well assured and boldned in his wickednesse, answered that he was not so well fortified to make a surrender so good cheape, & for so smal a price to forgoe his honor & reputation: and furthermore, yt his [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] wit was not so slēder, but he durst deuise and attempt such a matter without the councel of any other, & that all the déedes and deuises passed till that time, were of his owne inuention. And to be euen with the wrong done to his honor by the Lord Nicholas Trinicio, for the violation of his wiues chastity, he had cōmitted ye murders (told to Braccio) being angry, that all the tirānous race was not in his hand to spil, to the end he might deliuer his countrey, and put the Citizens in libertie, albeit that fōdly they had refused the same, as vn worthy of suche a benefite, and well deserued that the tyrants should [...] them at their pleasure, and make them also their common slaues and drudges. The trumpet warned him also to rēder to him the Duke, bicause he was guiltlesse of the facte, which the Captaine regarded so little as he did the first demaundes, which was. yt cause (the company being arriued at Nocera, and the Constable vnderstanding the little accompt the Castell gentleman made of his summones) that the battry the very day of their arriuall was layd and shotte against the place with suche thunder and dreadful thumpes of Canon shot, as the hardiest of the mortpayes within, began to faint. But the corage & litle feare of their chief, retired their hearts into their bellies. The breache being made againe, the Constable who feared to lose the Duke in the Captaines furie, caused the Trumpet to summone them within to fall to composition, yt bloudshed might not stirre their souldioures to further crueltie. But so much gained this seconde warning as the first, for which cause the next day after the assault was giuen, wher if the assailed was valiaunt, the resistance was no lesse than bolde and venturous. But what can thirtie or fortie men doe against the force of a whole countrey, and where the general was one of the most [Page] valiant and wisest Captains of his time, and who was accompanied with the floure of the Neapolitane footmē. The assault continued. iiij. or. v. houres, but in the ende the Dead payes not able to sustaine the force of the assailants, forsooke the breache, and assaying to saue them selues, the Lieutenant retired to the Ripe of the Fort, where his wife continued prisoner, from the time that the two brethren were slaine. Whiles they withoute, ruffled in together in heapes amongs the defendaunts, the Duke of Camerino, with his men, founde meanes to escape out of prison, and ther with all began furiously to chastise the ministers of the disloyall Captain, whiche in litle time were cut al to peices. Conrade being within, founde the Captains father, vpon whom he was reuenged, and killed him with his own handes. And not content with that, caried into further rage and furie, he flashed him into gobbets, and threwe them to the dogs. Truly a strange maner of reuenge, if the Captens crueltie had not attempted like inhumanitie. To be short, horrible it is to repeate the murders done in that stirre and hurly burly. For they that were of the Captaines part, and taken, receiued all the straungest and cruellest punishment that man coulde deuise. And were it not that I haue a desire in nothing to belie the author, and lesse will to leaue that which he hath written vpon the miserable end of those that were the ministers and seruants to the barbarous tirannie of the Captaine, I would passe no further, but conceyle that which dothe not deserue remembrance, except to auoide the example, which is not straunge, the crueltie of reuenging hearte in the nature of man, in all times growyng to such audacitie, as the torments which séeme incredible, be liable to credite as well for those we reade in auncient histories, as those we heare tel of by heare say, and [Page] chauncing in our time. He that had the vpper hande of his [...], not content to kill, but to eate with his ranenous téeth the hart disentrailde from his aduersarie, was he lesse furious than Conrade by making an Anatomie of the bodie of the Captains father? And he that [...] Galleazze Fogase into the mouth of a Canon, tying his head vnto his knées, and causing him to be caried by the violent force of gunpouder into the citie from whence he came, to bribe and corrupte certaine of his enimies army, did he shew himself to be more curteous than one of these? Leaue we a part those that be past, to touche the miserable ende wherewith Conrade caused yt last tribute of the Captains souldiers to be payd. Now amongs these, some wer tied to yt tailes of wilde horses, & trained ouer hedges & bushes, & downe ye stiepnesse of high rocks, some were haled in pieces, & afterwards burnt [...] great martyrdom, some wer diuided & parted aliue in four quarters, other sowed naked within an oxe hide, & so buried in earth vp to ye chin, by which torments they finished their liues with fearful groninges. Wil ye say that the Bull of Perillus, or Diomedes Horsses, wer afflictions more cruel than these: I know not what ye cal crueltie, if these acts may beare ye title of modestie. But all this proceded of wrath & disdaine of either parts. The one disdained that the seruāt shold be his head, & the other was offended, yt his soueraigne lord should assay to take yt from him, which his dutie cō maunded him to kepe. Conrade toke in yll part the treson of the Captain, who beyond measure was angrie yt the lord Nicholas had made him a brother of Vulcans order, & had registred him in the boke of husbands, which know that, they dare not speake. In sūme, the one had right, & the other was not without some reason, & notwithstanding both surmounted ye bounds of mans mild nature. The one ought to contente himselfe (as I haue [Page] said) for being [...] on him yt had offended him, & the other of ye murder done, during ye assault without shewing so bloody tokens of his crueltie, & so apparāt [...] of [...], vpon yt ministers of yt brutal & bloody capten who seing his father put to death wt such martyrdom, & his men so strangely tormented, was vanquished with choler, dispaire & impaciēce. And albeit yt he had no gret desire to hurt his [...], yet was he surmounted wt suche rage, as aprehēding hir, & binding hir hāds & feet, she stil crying him mercy, & crauing pardon for hir faultes at ye hāds of god & him, he threw hir down frō ye hiest Toure of ye kipe vpō yt [...] of the castle court, not without tears & abashmēt of al which saw yt mōstrous & dredful sight: which ye souldiers viewing, they fired ye Toure, & with fire & smoke forced yt capten to com forth, & by like means made him, his brother & childrē to tread yt dāce yt his wife before had done. Cōrade by & by caused those bodies to be thrown forth for fode to ye wolues, & other rauening beasts & birds liuing vpon yt pray of carriō, causing also his brethrē & yt gētlewomā honorably to be bu ried, which gentlewomā had born yt penāce worthy for hir fault. Such was yt end of yt most miserable, & yll gouerned loue, yt I thinke mā hath euer red in writing, & which doth clerely witnesse, yt ther is no plesure so gret but Fortune by changing & turning hir whéele maketh a hūdred times more bitter thā desire of such ioy dothe yeld delite. And far better it wer (besides ye offēse done to god) neuer to cast eye on womā, thā to bord or proue them to raise such sclanders & facts which cannot be recoūted but wt the horror of the herers, nor written but to ye great grief of those ye muse & studie vpō yt same: not withstāding for instructiō of our life, both good & bad examples be introduced & offred to the view of ech degrée and state. To the end that whoordom may be auoided, & [Page] bodily pleasure eschewed, as moste mortall and pernicious plagues that doe infect as wel the body and reputation of man, as the integritie of the minde. Besides that eche man ought to possesse his owne vessel, and not to couete that is none of his, vnséemely also it is to solicite the neighbors wife, to procure therby the disiunction and defaite of the whole bonde of mariage, which is a treasure so deare and precious, and carieth so great griefe to him that séeth it defaced, as our Lorde (to declare the grauitie of the fact) maketh a comparison of his wrathe against them which runne after straunge Gods, and applieth the honour due vnto hym to others that do not deserue the same, with the iust disdain and rightfull choler of a iealous husband, fraught wyth despite to sée himselfe dispoiled of the seasure and possession onely giuen to him, and not subiecte to any other, what soeuer he be. Lerne here also (O ye husbands) not to flie with so nimble wing, as by your own authoritie to séeke reuenge without fearing the folies & sclanders that may insue. Your sorow is iust, but it behoueth that reason doe guide your fantasies, and bridle your ouer sodaine passions, to the intent that ye come not after to sing the dolefull song of repentance, like vnto this foolish man, who hauing done more than he ought, and not able to retire without his ouerthrowe, threw him self into the bottomlesse gulfe of perdition. And let vs all fixe fast in memorie, that neuer vnruled rage, and wilful choler, brought other benefite than the ruine of him that suffered him selfe to runne hedlong into the same, and who thinketh that all that which is natural in vs, is also reasonable, as though Nature were so perfect a worke woman, as in mans corruption she could make vs Angels or halfe gods. Nature folowing the instincte of that which is naturall in vs, doth not greatly straye [Page] from perfection, but that is gyuen to few, and those whome God dothe loue and choose. And Uertue is so seldome founde, as it is almoste impossible to imitate that perfection. And briefly to say, I wil conclude with the Author of this present Historie:

Angre is a [...] short,

To him that can the same excell:

But it is no laughing sport

In whome [...] senselesse rage doth dwell.

That pang confoundeth eche mans wittes

And shameth him with open shame,

His honour fades in frantike fittes,

And blemisheth his good name.

[Page]

The King of Marocco.
The. xxxiiij. Nouel.

¶ The great Curtesie of the Kyng of MAROCCO, (a Citie in BARBARIE) [...] a poore Fisherman, one of hys subiects, that had lodged the Kyng, beyng strayed from his companie in hunting.

FOr so much as the more than beastly crueltie recounted in the former Historie, doth yeld some sowre tast to the minds of those that bée curteous, gentle and wel conditioned by nature, and as the stomacke of hym yt dayly vseth one kinde of meate, be it neuer so delicate & daintie, dothe at length lothe and disdaine the same, and vtterly refuseth it. I now chaunge the diet, leauing for a certain time the murders, slaughters, despaires, and tragicall accidents, chaunced either in the loue, or in the ielosie of a louer, or of a husband, & turn my stile to a more plesant thing, that may so wel serue for instruction of the noble to folowe vertue, as that which I haue alreadie written, maye rise to their profite, warely to take héede they fall not into such deformed and [...] faults, as the name and praise of mā, be defaced and his reputation decayed: if then the contraries be knowne by that which is of diuers natures, [Page] the villanie of great crueltie shall be couuerted into the gentlenesse of great curtesie, and rigor shal be condemned, when with swetenesse and generositie, the noble shall assay to wynne the heart, seruice, and affected deuotion of the basest sort: so the greatnesse and nobilitie of man placed in dignitie, and who hath puissance ouer other, consisteth not to shew himselfe hard and terrible, for that is the maner of tyrants, bicause he that is feared, is consequently hated, euill beloued, and in the ende forsaken of the whole world, which hath bene the cause that in times past Princes aspiryng to great [...], haue made their way, more easie by gentlenesse and Curtesie, than by furie of armes, stablishing the foundations of their dominions more firme & durable by those means, than they which by rigor and crueltie haue sacked townes, ouerthrowne Cities, depopulated prouinces, and [...] landes with the bodies of those, whose liues they haue depriued by dent of sword, [...] the gouernement and authoritie ouer other, carieth greater subiection than puissance. Wherefore Antigonus, one of the successoures of greate Alexander (that made all the earth to tremble vpon the recitall of his name) seing that his sonne behaued himself to arrogātly, and without modestie to one of his subiectes, reproued and checked him, and amongs many wordes of [...] and admonition, sayde vnto him: ‘Knowest thou not my sonne, that the estate of a Kyng, is a noble and honorable seruitude? Royall words (in dede) and méete for a Kyng:’ For albeit that eche man dothe him reuerence, and that he be honoured and obeyed of all, yet is hée for all that, the seruaunt and publike minister, who ought no lesse to defende hys subiecte, than hée that is the subiecte to doe hym honoure and homage. And the more the Prince doth humble himself, [Page] the greater increase hath his glorie, and the more wonderful he is to euery wight. What aduanced the glory of that Iulius Caesar, who firste depressed the Senatorie state of gouernement at Rome? Were his victories atchieued ouer the Galles and Britons, and afterwardes ouer Rome it selfe, when he had vanquished Pompee? Al those serued his tourne, but his greatest fame rose of his clemencie and curtesie: In such wise as he shewed hym selfe to be gentle, and fauourable euen to them, whome he knewe not to loue him, otherwise than if he had bene their mortal enimie. His successors as Augustus, Vespasianus, Titus, Marcus Aurelius, & Flauius were worthily noted for clemencie: Notwithstandyng I sée not one drawe néere to great courage and gentlenesse, ioyned with the singular curtesie of Dom Roderigo Viuario the Spaniarde surnamed Cid towarde Kyng Pietro of Aragon that hyndred his expedition againste the Mores at Grenadoe: For hauyng vanquished the [...] King, and taken hym in battell, not only remitted the reuenge of his wrong, but also suffered hym to goe without raunsome, and toke not from him so much as one forte, estéeming it to be a better exploite to winne such a king with curtesie, than beare the name of cruell, in putting hym to death, or seazing vpon his lande. But bicause acknowledging of the poore, and enriching the small, is more cōmendable in a Prince, than when he sheweth himselfe gentle to his like, I haue collected thys discourse and facte of Kyng Mansor of Marocco, whose children (by subtile and fained religion) Cherif succéeded, the sonne of whome at this day inioyeth the kingdoms of Su, Marocco, and the most part of the [...] confinyng vpon Aethiopia. This historie was told by an Italian called Nicholoso Baciadonne, who vpon this accident was in Affrica, and in trafike of marchandise [Page] in the land of Oran, situated vpon the coast of yt South seas, and where the Geneuois and Spaniards vse great entercourse, bicause the countrey is faire, wel peopled, and where the inhabitaunts (although the soile be barbarous) lyue indifferent ciuilly, vsing greate curtesie to straungers, and largely departyng their goodes to the poore, towards whome they be so earnestly bente, and louing, as for their liberalitie and pitifull alinesse, they shame vs Christians. They mainteyne a greate numbre of Hospitalls, to receyue and intertaine the poore and néedie, which they doe more charitably than they that be bounde by the lawe of Iesus Christe, to vse charitie towardes their brethren, wyth that curtesie and humaine myldnesse. These Oraniens delight also to recorde in writing the successe of things that chaunce in their tyme, and carefully reserue the same in memorie, whiche was the cause that hauyng registred in theyr Chronicles, (which be in the Arabie letters, as the moste parte of the Countreys do vse) thys present historie, they imparted the same to the Geneuois marchauntes, of whome the Italian Author confesseth [...] haue receyued the Copie. The cause why that Geneuois marchaunt was so diligent to make that enquirie, was by reason of a citie of that prouince, built through the chaunce of this Historie, and which was called in theyr tongue, Caesar Elcabir, so much to say, as A great Palace. And bycause I am assured, that curteous mynds will delight in déedes of curtesie. I haue amongs other the Nouells of Bandello, chosen by Francois de Belleforest, and my selfe discoursed thys, albeit the matter be not of great importance, and greater thyngs and more notorious curtesies haue bene done by our owne kings and Princes. As of Henry the eyght a Prince of notable memorie in his progresse in to the Northe the [Page] xxxiij. yeare of his raigne, when he disdained not a pore Millers house, being stragled from his traine, busily pursuing the Hart, and there vnknown of the Miller, was welcomed with homely chere, as his mealy house was able for the time to minister, and afterwards for acknowledging his willing minde, recompenced him with dainties of the Courte, and a Princely rewarde. Of Edward the thirde, whose Royall nature was not displeased pleasauntly to vse a [...] Tanner, when deuided from his company, he mette him by the way not farre from Tomworth in Staffordshire, and by cheapening of his welfare stéede (for stedinesse, sure and able to cary him so farre as the stable dore) grewe to a price, and for exchaunge the Tanner craued [...] shillings to boote betwene the Kings and his. And whē the King satisfied with disport, desired to shew himself by sounding his warning blast, assembled al his train, And to the great amaze of the pore Tanner, (when he was guarded with that [...]) he well guerdoned his good pastime and familiare dealing with the order of [...] and reasonable reuenue for the maintenaunce of the same. The like examples our Chronicles, memory, and report plentifully doe auouche and witnesse. But what? this History is the more rare and worthy of noting, for respect of the people and Countrey, where seldome or neuer curtesie haunteth or findeth harboroughe, and where Nature doth bring forth greater store of monsters, than things worthy of praise.

This great King Mansor then was not onely the temporall Lord of the Countrey of Oran and Moracco, but also (as is saide of Prete Iean,) Bishop of his law and the Mahomet priest, as he is at this day that [...] in Feze, Sus, and Marocco. Now this Prince aboue [Page] all other pleasure, [...] the game of Hunting. And he so muche delighted in that passetime, as sometime he would cause his Tentes in the midde of the desertes to be erected, to lie there all night, to the ende, that the next day he might renewe his game, and [...] his men of idlenesse, and the wilde beastes of rest. And this manner of life he vsed still, after he had done iustice and hearkened the complaintes for which his subiectes came to disclose thereby their griefes. Wherin also he toke so great pleasure, as some of our Magistrates doe seke their profite, whereof they be so squeymishe, as they be desirous to satisfie the place whereunto they be called, and render all men their right due vnto them. For with their bribery and sacred golden hunger, Kings and Princes in these dayes be yll serued, the people wronged, and the wicked out of feare. There is none offense almost how villanous so euer it be, but is washed in the water of bribery, and clensed in the holly drop, wherewith the Poetes faine Iupiter to corrupt the daughter of Acrisius faste closed within the brasen Toure. And who is able to resist that, which hath subdued the highest powers?

Now returne we from our wanderings: This great King Mansor on a day [...] his people to hunt in ye not marish & fenny Countrey, which in elder age was farre off from the Citie of Asela, which the Portugalles holde at this present, to make the way more frée into the Isles of Molncca, of the most parte whereof their King is Lord.

As he was attentife in folowing a Bear, & his passetime at the best, the Elementes began to darke, and a great tempest rose, & such as with the storme & violent wind, scattred the train far of from the King, who not [Page] knowing what way to take, nor into what [...] [...] [...] retire, to auiode the tempest, ye greatest ye he felt in all his life, would wyth a good wyl haue ben accōpanied as the Troiane [...] was, when being in like pastyme and feare, hée was constrayned to enter into a caue wyth his Quéene Dido, where he perfourmed the ioyes of hys vnhappie mariage. But Mansor béeyng withoute companie, and withoute any Caue at hande, wandered alongs the Champayne so carefull of his life, for feare of wylde beastes, which flocke together in those desertes, as the Curtiers were [...], for that they knewe not whether their Prince was gone. And that which chiefly grieued Mansor, was hys being alone without a guide: And for all he was well mounted, he durste passe no further for feare of drownyng, and to be destroyed amiddes those Marshes, whereof all the countrey was very full. On the one side he was frighted with thunderclaps, which rumbled in the aire very thicke & terrible. On the other side the lightning cōtinually flashed on his face, the roring of the beastes appalled him, the ignorāce of the way so astoonned him, as he was afraid to fal into the running brookes, which ye outragious raines had caused to swel & rise. It is not to be doubted, that orisons and prayers vnto his great prophet Mahomet were forgotten, & whether he were more deuout than when he went on pilgrimage to the Idolatrous Temple of Mosqua. Hée complayned of yll lucke, accusyng Fortune, but chiefly hys owne follie, for giuing himselfe so much to hunting, for the desire whereof, he was thus straggled into vnknowen Countreyes. Sometimes he raued and vomyted his gall agaynst his gentlemen and houshold seruants, and threatned death vnto his garde. But afterwardes, when reason ouershadowed his sense, he sawe that the [Page] time, and not their negligence or litle care caused that disgrace. He thought yt his Prophet had poured downe that tempest for some Notable sinne, and had brought him into suche & so daūgerous extremity for his faults. For which cause he lifted vp his eyes, and made a thousand Mahomet mowes, and Apish mocks (according to their manner.) And as he fixed his eyes a lost vp to the heauens, a flashe of lightning glaunced on his face so violently, as it made him to holde downe his head, like a little childe reproued by his master. But he was further daunted and amazed, when he sawe the night approche, which with the darknesse of his cloudy mantel, stayed his pace from going any further, & brought him into such perplexitie, as willingly he wold haue forsaken bothe his hunting and company of his seruauntes to be quitte of that daunger. But God carefull of good minds (with what law so euer they be trained vp.) and who maketh the sunne to shine vpon ye iust and vniust, prepared a meanes for his sauegarde, as ye shall heare. The Africane King being in this traunce, and naked of all hope, necessity (which is the clearest thing of sight that is) made him diligently to loke about, whether he could sée any persone by whom he might attaine some securitie. And as he thus bent himselfe to discry all the partes of the Countrey, he saw not farre of from him, the glimpse of a light which glimmered out at a little window, whereunto he addressed himself, & perceiued yt it was a simple cabane situate in the middest of the sennes, to which he approched for his succor & defense in ye time of that [...]. He reioysed as you may think, and whither his heart lept for ioy, I leaue for them to iudge which haue assayed like daungers, how be it I dare beleue, that the sailers on the seas féele no greater ioy whē they ariue to harborough, thā the king of Marocco [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] did: or when after a Tempest, or other perill, they disery vpon the prowe of their shippe, the brightnesse of some cliffe, or other land. And this king hauing felt the tempest of winde, raine, haile, lightening, and Thunder claps, compassed round about with Marshes and violent streames of little rieurs that ran along his way thought, he had found a Paradise by chauncing vpon that rusticall lodge. Now yt Cotage was the refuge place of a pore Fisher man, who liued and susteined his wife and children with Eeles which he toke alongs the diches of those déepe and huge Marshes. Mansor when he was arriued to the dore of that great palace, couered and thacked with Réede, called to them within, who at the first would make no answer to the Prince that taried their cōming at the gate. Then he knocked again, and with louder voice than before, which caused this fisher man, thinking that he had bene some Rippier (to whom he was wont to sel his ware, or else some straū ger strayed out of his way,) spedily wēt out, and séeing the King wel mounted and richly clothed, and albeit he toke him not to be his soueraigne Lord yet he thought he was some one of his Courtly Gentlemen. Wherefore he sayd: ‘what fortune hathe driuen yeu (sir) into these so desert and solitary places, and such as I maruel that you were not drowned a hundred times, in these streames and bottomes whereof this Marrish and [...] Countrey are full? It is the great God (answered Mansor) which hath had some care of me, and will not suffer me to perish without doing greater good turnes & better déedes than hitherto I haue done.’ The kings cō ming thither, séemed to Prognosticate that which after chaunced, and that God had poured downe the tempest for the wealth of the Fisher man, and commodity of the Countrey. And the straying of the King was a thing [Page] appoynted to make voyde those Marshes, and to purge and clense the Countrey. Semblable chaunces haue happened to other Princes, as to Constantine yt great, besides his Citie called New Rome, whē he caused certaine Marshes and Diches to be filled vp and dryed, to build a faire and sumptuous Temple, in the honor and memory of yt blessed Uirgin that brought forth the Sauior of the world. ‘But tel me good mā (replied Mansor) cāst thou not shew me the way to the Court, and whether the King is gone? for gladly (if it were possible) would I ride thither. Uerely (sayd the Fisher man) it will be almost day before ye can come there, the same being. x. leagues from hēce. Forsamuch as thou knowest the way (answered Mansor) doe me so great pleasure to bring me thither, & be assured that besides the yt good turne, for which I shall be bound vnto thée, I wil curteously content thée for thy paines. Syr (sayde the pore man) you séeme to be an honest gentleman, wherfore I pray you to light, and to tary héere this night, for that it is so late, and the way to the Citie is very euill and combersome for you to passe. No no (said the King) if it be possible, I must repaire to the place whither the King is gone, wherefore doe so muche for me as to be my guide, and thou shalt sée whether I be vnthankefull to them that imploy their paines for me. If King Mansor (sayd the Fisher man) were héere himselfe in person, and made the like request, I would not be so very a foole, nor so presumptuous, (at this time of the night) to take vpon me without daunger to bring him to his Palace. Wherfore (said the King)? Wherefore (quod you)? bicause the Marshes be so daungerous, as in the day time, if one knowe not well the way, the [...], (be he neuer so strong and lusty,) may chaunce to [Page] sticke fast, & tary [...] for gage. And I wold be sory if the King were héere, that he shold fall into my perill, or sufler anoyance, & therwithal wold deme my self vnhappy if I did let him to incur such euil or incōbrance. Mansor that delighted in the cōmunication of this good mā, and desirous to know the cause that moued him to speake with such affection, sayd vnto him: And why carest thou for ye life, health, or preseruation of our king? What hast to do with him that art so sory for his state, and carefull of his safety. Ho, ho, sayd the goodman, doe you say that I am careful for my prince? Uerily I loue him a hundred times better than I do my self, my wife or children which God hath sent me: and what sir, doe not you loue our Prince? Yes that I doe (replied the King,) for I haue better cause than thou, for that I am many times in his company, and liue vpon his charge, and am entertained with his wages. But what [...] thou to care for him? Thou knowest him not, he neuer did thée any good turne or pleasure: nor yet thou nedest not hope henceforth to haue any pleasure at his hands. What? (sayd the fisher man) must a Prince be loued for gaine and good turnes, rather than for his iustice & curtesie? I sée wel that amongs you master Courtiers, the benefits of kings be more regarded, and their gifts better liked than their vertue and nobility, which maketh them wonderful vnto vs: and ye do more esteeme the gold, honor and estates that they bestow vpon you, than their health and sauegarde, which are the more to be considered, for that the King is our head, and God hath made him suche one to kepe vs in peace, and to be careful of our states. Pardon me if I speak so boldly in your presence. The King (which toke singulare delite in this Coūtrey Philosopher,) answered him: I am not offended bicause thy woords aproche so neare the troth: [Page] but tel me what benefit hast thou receiued of that king Mansor, of whome thou makest suche accompte and [...] so wel? For I cannot thinke that euer he did thée good, or shewed thee pleasure, by reason of thy pouerty, and the little furniture within thy house in respecte of that which they possesse whom he loueth and fauoreth, and vnto whome he she weth so great familiaritie and benefite. Doe [...] me sir (replied the good man) for so much as you so greatly regard the fauoures which subiectes receiue at their Princes handes, as in déede they ought to doe. What greater goodnesse, [...], or benefite ought I to hope for, or can receiue of my King (being suche one as I am,) but the profit and vtilitie that all we which be his vassalles doe apprehend from day to day in the iustice that he rendreth to euery wight, by not suffering the puissant and riche to suppresse and [...] the feeble and weake, and him that is [...] of fortunes goodes, that indifferency be maintained by the officers to whome he committeth the gouernment of his prouinces, and the care which he hathe that his people be not deuoured by exactions, and intollerable tributes. I do esteme more his goodnesse, clemency and loue, that he beareth to his subiects, than I doe all your delicates and ease in following the court, I most humbly honor and reuerēce my king in that he being farre from vs, doeth neuerthelesse so vse his gouernment, as we féele his presence like the Image of God, for the peace and vnion, wherein we through him doe liue and enioy without [...] that little which God and fortune haue giuen vs. Who (if not the King) is he that doeth preserue vs, and defend vs from the [...] and pillages of those Theues and Pirates of Arabie, which make warre and inuade their neighbors? and there is no frend they haue but they wold displease [Page] if the King wisely did not forbio & preuent their villanies. That great Lord which kepeth his Court at Constantinople and maketh himselfe to be adored of his people like a God, brideleth not so muche the Arabians, as our King doeth, vnder the Protection and sauegarde of whome, I that am a pore Fisher man, do ioy my pouertie in peace, and without [...] of théeues do norish my little familie, applying my selfe to the fishing of Eeles that be in these diches and fenny places, which I cary to the market townes, and sell for the sustenaunce and féeding of my wife and children, and [...] my selfe right happy, that returning to my cabane and homely lodge at my pleasure, in what so euer place I do abide, bicause (albeit farre of from neighboures,) by the bene [...] and diligence of my Prince, none staye my iourney, or offendeth me by any meanes, which is the cause (sayd he lifting vp his hāds and eyes aloft,) that I pray vnto God and his great Prophet Mahomet, that it may please them to preserue our King in health, and to giue him so great happe and contentation, as he is vertuous and debonaire, and that ouer his ennimies (flying before him,) [...] may euermore be victorious, for norishing his people in peace, and his children in ioy and Nobilitie.’ The King séeing that deuout [...] of the [...], and knowing it to be without guile or [...], would gladly haue discouered himself, but yet willing to reserue the same for better oportunitie, he sayd vnto him. ‘For somuch as thou [...] st yt king so wel, it is not impossible but those of his house be welcome vnto thee, and that for thy Mansors sake, thou wilt helpe and doe seruice to his Gentlemen. Let it [...] you (replied he) that my heart is more inclined to the King, than to the willes of those that serue him, [...] hope of preferment. [Page] Now being so affectionate to the King as I am, thinke whither his housholde seruaunts haue power to commaund me, and whither my willing minde be prest to doe them good or not. But me thinke ye néede not to stay héere at the gate in talke, being so wet as you be: wherefore vouchsafe to come into my house, which is your own, to take such simple lodging as I haue, wher I wil entreat you, (not according to your merite) but with the litle that God and his Prophet haue departed to my pouertie: And to morow morning I wil conduct you to the Citie, euen to yt royal Palace of my Prince. Truely (answered the King) albeit necessitie did not prouoke me, yet [...] honestie deserueth wel other reputation than a simple Countrey man, and I do thinke that I haue profited more in hearing thée speake, than by hearkening to the flattering and [...] tales of Courting triflers, which daily imploy thēselues to corrupt the eares of Princes. What [...] (said the paisant,) thinke you that this pore coate and simple lodging be not able to apprehend the preceptes of vertue? I haue sometimes heard tell, that the wise auoiding Cities & troupes of men, haue withdrawne themselues into the deserts, for leisure to contemplat heauenly things. Your skill is great replied Mansor: Goe we then, [...] you please to doe me that curtesie as this night to be mine hoste.’ So the King went in to the rusticall lodge, where in stéede of Tapistery and Turkey hangings, he saw the house stately hanged with fisher nettes and cordes, and in place of riche séeling of Noble mens houses, he beheld Canes and Redes which serued bothe for the séeling and couering. The fishermanaes wife continued in ye kitchen, whilest Mansor himselfe both walked and [...] his owne horse, to which horse the fisher [Page] man durst not once come neare for his corage & stately trappour, with one thing he was abundātly refreshed, and that the most néedeful thing which was fire, wherof there was no spare, no more then there was of fishe. But the King which had bene daintely sed, and did not well tast and like that kinde of meat, demaunded if his hunger could not be supplied with a little flesh, for that his stomake was anoyed with the only sauoure of the Eeles. The pore man, (as ye haue somwhat perceiued by the former discourse,) was a plesaunt fellowe, and delighted rather to prouoke laughter, than to prepare more dainty meat, said vnto the King: ‘It is no maruel though our Kings doe furnishe themselues with countrey men, to serue them in their warres, for the delicate bringing vp and litle force in fine courtiers. We, albeit the raine doth fal vpon our heads, and the winde assaile euery part of our bodies all durtie and wet, doe not care either for fire or bed, we fede vpon any kinde of meat that is set before vs, without séeking sause for increasing of our appetite: and we (behold) are númble, healthy, lusty, and neuer sicke, nor our mouth out of taste, where ye doe féele suche distemperaunce of stomake, as pitie it is to sée, & more adoe there is to bring the same into his right order and taste, than to ordaine and dresse a supper for a whole armie.’ The King who laughed (with displayed throte,) hearing his hoste so merily disposed, could haue bene contented to haue heard him still, had not his appetite prouoked him and the time of the night very late. ‘Wherfore he said vnto him. I doe agrée to what you alleage, but performe I pray thée my request, & then we will satisfie our selues with further talke. Well sir (replied the Kings hoste,) I sée well that a hungry belly hathe no lust to heare a mery song, whereof were you not so egre and sharpe [Page] set, I could sing a hundred. But I haue a little Kidde which as yet is not weaned, the same wil I cause to be made ready, for I thinke it cannot be better bestowed.’ The supper by reason of the hostes curtesie, was passed forth in a thousande pleasant passetimes, which the Fisherman of purpose vttered to recreate his guest, bycause he sawe him to delight in those deuises. And vpon the ende of supper, he sayd vnto the King: Now sir, how like you this banket? ‘It is not so sumptuous as those be that be ordinarily made at our Princes court, yet I thinke that you shall sléepe with no lesse appetite than you haue eaten with a good stomacke, as appereth by the few words you haue vttered in the time of your repast. But whervnto booteth it to employ time, or deined for eating, in expense of talke, which serueth not but to passe the time, and to shorten the day? And meates ought rather to be taken for sustentation of nature than for prouocation or motion of this féeble and transitorie fleshe? Uerily (sayde the Kyng) youre reason is good, and I doe meane to ryse from the table, to passe the remnant of the night in rest, therwith to [...] my selfe so well as I haue with eatyng, and do thanke you hartily for your good aduertisement. So the King went to bedde, and it was not long ere he fell a sléepe, and continued [...] the mornyng.’ And when the Sunne dyd [...], the Fisherman came to wake hym, tellyng hym that it was time to rise, and that he was readie to bring him to the Court. All this while the Gentlemen of the Kings traine were searching rounde aboute the countrey to finde his maiestie, making cries and hues, that he mighte heare them. The Kyng knowyng their voices, and the noyse they made, went forth to méete them: and if his people were gladde when they found him, ye Fisherman was no lesse, amazed to séethe honor [Page] which the courtiers did vnto his guest. Which the curteous King perceiuing said vnto him: ‘My friend, thou [...] here, that Mansor, of whome [...] thou madest so great accompt, and whom thou saydst, that thou didst loue so well. Be [...], that for the [...] thou hast done him, before it be long, the same shal be so well acquited, as for euer thou shalte haue good cause to remembre it.’ The good man was alreadie vpon his marybones beséeching the King that it would please him to pardon his rude entertainment, and his ouermuch familiaritie whiche he had vsed vnto him. But Mansor causing him to rise vp, willed him to depart, and said yt within few days after he shoulde heare further newes. Now in these fennes and marrish groundes, the Kyng had alreadie builded diuers Castles and lodges for the pleasure and solace of hunting. Wherefore he purposed there to erect a goodly Citie, causing the waters to be voided with great expeditiō, which citie he caused to be builded immediatly, and compassing the circuite of the appointed place, with strong walles and déepe dyches, he gaue many immunities & priuiledges to those, that wold repaire to people the same, by meanes wherof, in litle time, the same was reduced to the state of a beautiful & welthie Citie, which is the very same, that before we sayd to be Caesar Elcabir, as much to say, The great Palace. This goodly worke being thus performed, Mansor sent for his host, to whom he sayd: ‘To the end from henceforth thou mayest more honourably entertayne Kyngs into thy house, and mayest intreate them with greater sumptuositie, for the better solacyng of them wyth thy Curtesie and pleasaunt talke, beholde the Citie that I haue buylded, whyche I doe [...] vnto thée and thyne for euer, reseruing nothyng but an acknowledgemente of good wyll, to the ende thou [Page] mayest knowe, that a Gentlemans mynde nousled in villanie, is discouered, when forgetting a good turne, he incurreth the vice of Ingratitude.’ The good man seing so goodly an offer, [...] present woorthie of suche a King, fell down vpon his [...], and kissyng his foote with all humilitie, sayd vnto hym: ‘ [...] if youre liberalitie dyd not supplie the imperfection of my merite, and [...] [...] what wanted in me, to attaine so [...] state, I would excuse my selfe of the charge whiche it pleaseth you to giue me, and wherevnto for lacke of trainyng vp, and vse of suche a dignitie, I am altogether vnfitte. But [...] that the graces of God, and the [...] of Kyngs oughte neuer to be reiected, by acceptyng this benefite wyth humble thankes for the clemencie of your royall maiestie, I reste the seruant and slaue of you and yours.’ The Kyng hearyng him speake so wisely, toke him vp, and imbraced him, saying: ‘Would to God and his greate Prophete, that all they whiche rule Cities, and gouerne Prouinces, hadde so good a nature as thine, then I durste be bolde to say, that the people shoulde lyue better at theyr ease, and Monarches without greate charge of conscience, for the yll behauiours of theyr officers. Lyue good man, lyue at thine [...], maynteyne thy people, obserue our lawes, & increase the beautie of the Citie, wherof from this time forth we do [...] thée possesser.’

And truely the present was not to bée contemned, for that the same at this day is one of the fairest that is in Affrica, and is the lande of the black people, suche as the Spaniards call Negroes. It is very full of gardeins, furnished with aboundaunce of Spices brought from the Molucces, bicause of the martes and [...] ordeined there. To be short, Mansor shewed by this gift what is the force of a gentle heart, which can not abide to be [Page] vanquished in curtesie, and lesse suffer that vnder forgetfulnesse yt memorie of a receiued good turne be lost. King Darius whilome, for a litle garment, receiued in gift by Silofon, the Samien, recompenced him, wyth the gaiue and royall dignitie of that citie, and made him soueraine Lord therof, and of the Isle of Samos. And what greater vertue [...] illustrate the name of a noble man, than to acknowledge and preferre them, which for naturall shame and [...], dare not behold the maiestie of their greatnesse? God sometimes with a more curteous eye doth loke vpon the presents of a poore mā, than the fat and rich offerings of him that is great and wealthie. Euen so a benefite, from what hande soeuer it procedeth, cannot choose to bring forthe the frutes of his liberalitie that giueth the same, who by vsing largesse, feleth also the like in him, to whome it is imployed. That magnificēce no long time past vsed the Seigniorie of Venice, to Francesco Dandulo, who after he had dured the great displeasures of the Pope, in the name of the whole Citie, vpon his returne to Venice, for acknowledgement of his pacience, and for abolishmente of that shame, was with happie and vniforme acclamation of the whole state elected, and made Prince and Duke of that Common welth. Worthie of praise truly is he, that by some pleasure [...] an other to his curtesie: but when a noble man, acknowleageth for a [...], that which a subiect is bound to giue him by dutie and seruice, there the proofe of prayse caryeth no fame at all. For which cause I determined to displaye the historie of the barbarous king Mansor, to the intent that our Gentlemen, norished and trained vp in great [...], may assay by their mildenesse and good education, to surmount the curtesie of that Prince, of whom for this time we purpose to take our Farewell.

The Conclusion, with an Aduertisement to the Reader.

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[...] thou hast gained for thy better instruction, or what conceiued for recreation by reading these. [...]. Nouells, I am no iudge, althoughe (by deeming) in reading and perusing, thou mayst (at thy pleasure) gather both. But how soeuer profite or delight, can satisfie mine appointment, wherfore they were preferred into thy hands, contented [...] I that thou doe vouchsafe them. Good lessons howe to shunne the darts and prickes of insolencie, thou findest in the same. The vertuous noble may sauor the frutes and taste the licour that stilleth from the gummes or buds of Uertue. The contrary may sée the blossoms fal, that blome from the shrubs of disloyaltie and degenerat kind. Yong Gētlemen & Ladies do view a plot founded on sured ground, and what the foundation is, planted in shattring [...], with a fashion of attire to garnish their inward parts, so well as (sparelesse) they imploy vpon the vanishing pompe. Euery sort and [...] that warfare in the fielde of humaine life, may sent here the sauourous frute (to outward liking) that fanished the sensuall tast of Adams wife. They sée also what griftes such fading frutes produce vnto [...]: what likewise the lustie growth and spring of vertues plant, and what delicates it brauncheth, to those that carefully kéepe the slips therof, within the orchard of their mindes. Diuerse Tragicall she [...] by the pennes description haue bene disclosed in greatest number of these histories, the same also I haue [...] and swéetened with the course of pleasant matters, of purpose not to [...] the deyntie [Page] mindes of those that shrinke and feare at suche rehersall. And bicause sodainly (contrary to [...]) this volume is risen to greter heape of leaues, I do omit for this present time sundry Nouels of merie deuise, reseruing the same to be ioyned with the rest of an other part, wherein shall succéede the remnant of Bandello, specially suche (suffrable) as the learned Frenche man François de Belleforrest hath selected, and the [...] done in the Italian. [...] also out of Erizzo, Ser Giouani Fiorentino, Parabosco, Cynthio, Straparole, Sansouino, and the best liked oute of the Quéene of [...], and other Authors. [...] these in so good parte with those that haue and shall come [...], as I do offre them with good will, curteously [...] such faults and errors, as shall present themselues, either burying [...] in the [...] of [...], or prefermitting them with the beck of Curtesie. The which in déede, or the most part, had not offended thée, if time had not ben spent before the Printer could [...] to an ende hereof.

FINIS.

§

§

Imprinted at London by Henry Bynneman for Nicholas Englande. ANNO. M. D. LXVIL. Nouembris. 8.

Diuers Faultes escaped in Printyng.

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Faultes. | Correction.
In the Summarie of the Nouels. Tarquinus | Tarquinius
Fol. 5. line. 12. bicause | for that
Fol. 39. page. 2. line. 19. On | Or
Fol. 41. line. 22. conciacion | Conciliacion
Fol. 47. line. 33. and | to
Fol. 53. page. 2. line. 26. these | the
Fol. 76. page. 2. xiij. Nouel. | xij. Nouel.
Fol. 87. line. 7. xiiij. Nouel. | xiij. Nouel.
[...]. Fol. line. 22. the | these
Fol. 92. line. 15. page. 2. she | a word [...]
Fol. 94. line. 2. [...] | Sestertios
Eodem. line. 28. [...] | [...]
Eodem. page. 2. line. 8. must be | was
Fol. 95. line. 5. Nouel. xv. | Nouel. xiiij.
Eodem. Zenobia Quene of. &c. who although she was a gentle Quéene, yet a Christian Princesse. &c. | Zenobia Quéene of. &c who although she was a Gentile Quéene, yet a Princesse so worthy of. &c.
Fol. 102. line. 31. [...] | susteined
Fol. 105. line. 12. committing | to commit
Fol. 135. line. 25. Dicilia | Sicilia
Fol. 141. line. 27. Paolina | Paola
Eodem. line. 3. In | a word [...]
Fol. 154. page. 2. Tinnagoras | Timagoras
Fol. 161. line. 26. fawcons | [...]
Fol. 163. line. 8. grislie | [...]
Fol. 167. pag. 2. line. [...]. insūmate | insinuate
Fo. 178. line. 2. page. 2. qualitied | qualified
Fol. 185. line. 8. page. 2. Romida | Romilda
Fol. 214. line. 22. To | a word [...]
Fol. 242. line. 22. then | when
Fol. 249. line. 6. pa. 2. Sansantino | San Fantino
Fol. 292. page. 2. line. 3. his | hir
Fol. 306. page. 2. line. 17. arriued | approued
Fol. 359. line. 30. ssued | issued
Fol. 404. page. 2. line. 32. mans | man is
Fol. 407. line. 22. To | So

Le buone parole onzeno, Le cattiue ponzeno.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

The second tome of the Palace of pleasure conteyning store of goodly histories, tragicall matters, and other morall argument, very requisite for delighte and profit. Chosen and selected out of diuers good and commendable authors: by William Painter, clerke of the ordinance and armarie. Anno. 1567.Palace of pleasure. Vol. 2

Painter, William, 1540?-1594.

Edition statement

1567

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A08840

ID [STC]

STC 19124

ID [STC]

ESTC S110236

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99845826

ID [PROQUEST]

99845826

ID [VID]

10750

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A08840)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 10750)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 259:07)

Source

— The second tome of the Palace of pleasure conteyning store of goodly histories, tragicall matters, and other morall argument, very requisite for delighte and profit. Chosen and selected out of diuers good and commendable authors: by William Painter, clerke of the ordinance and armarie. Anno. 1567., Palace of pleasure. Vol. 2, Painter, William, 1540?-1594..

Extent

[10], 76, [1], 77-426, [2] leaves

In Pater Noster Rowe, by Henry Bynneman, for Nicholas England,. Imprinted at London :: [1567]. (Variant: outer forme of first quire in a different setting; title page line 11 has "Clarke".) (T4 is cancelled by bifolium T4.5 in all known copies.) (With a final errata leaf.) (Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.)

Creation

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