ADMIRABLE EVENTS: SE …

ADMIRABLE EVENTS: SELECTED OVT OF FOVRE BOOKES, Written in French by the Right Reverend, John Peter Camus, Bishop of BELLEY.

Together with morall Relations, written by the same Author.

And translated into English by S. Du VERGER.

LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper for William Brooks, and are to be sold at his shop in Holborn in Turnstile Lane. 1639.

TO THE MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTY OF HENRIETTA MARIA, Queene of Great Britaine.

THE ancient and moderne custome which all Authors have, and doe yet hold, in dedicating their workes to the hand of eminency and greatnesse, is grounded ei­their upon desire to see them powerfully pro­tected, or by them to proclaim some testimo­ny of devoted affection, or to appeare grate­full for benefits received, if I shall call to this support of my thrice humble dedication to [Page] your Highnesse, the aforesaid motives either severall or joyned together, I doubt not but their weight will begge pardon for my pre­sumption, and incline your Grace to its fa­vour, since whether I make my addresse in the humble supplication of the first, or in a revering sence of the second: or lastly, in the generall obligation of the third respect. I pro­fesse no more then what the least and mea­nest in the ranke of subjects is owing to the source of Majesty, whose influence quicke­neth, gives motion and being to all civill in­dustries, sending their lives to equall center.

In point of subject, since nothing from mine own conceptions was fit to adventure upon so high a theater. I assign my part to the onely choise and conveyance of an Authour, with language intelligible to the English shore, who in the variety and multitude of his writings, both Theologicall, morall, and hi­storicall, hath as with a Cristall streame wa­tered a continent of the greatest extent in Eu­rope: and although in himselfe like good wine he needeth no bush to recommend him to the readers gust, yet in this presentment to your [Page] gratious Majesty. I will serve him in by the hand of a curious taster. Rare Ca [...]ssin, who in a noble translation of the Holy Court, towards the end of the second part, hath these words, as well of proper gratitude to his person, as of a full Elogie of the graces and beauties of his minde.

I may well say (saith he) that I were stupid and ungratefull, if I shonld not confesse to have been much excited to prosecute this labour by the ho­nourable invitations which my Lord Bishop of Belley hath used towards me in his works, I can­not set too high a price upon his recommendation in such a subject, for hee is verily one of the most able and flourishing wits that ever handled penne: to see the number of his Books, one might say, he began to write, so soone as to live, and to consider their worth, it is a wonder how so many graces and beauties which others attaine not but with much labour, increased in him, as in a soyle natu­rall for eloquence.

This Character flowing from so learned a pen, may of it self be a fair invitation to your Highnesse, to peruse the work which I have here drawne up to a translation: it is an ex­tract [Page] of severall Histories culled out of two Treatises intituled Singular Events, and Mo­rall Relations, an argument not improper for a vertuous minde, whether profit or pleasure be aymed at, for Histories are the store-hou­ses, where vertues are faithfully conserved to posterities veneration, and vices detestation: it is an armory where armour of proofe for all degrees is fitted to the hand; it is a glasse wherein to behold, adorne, and fashion out the life to what is worthy imitation, and to have in hortour and avoydance what is de­formed in the beginning, or foule in the end: in fine, they are the only monuments of truth, which they purely deliver, no way flattering or concealing any thing

Give leave then, most gracious Princesse, where I began, there to determine my thrice humble Dedication, with homage and bin­ding oblation of these first fruits of my small industry to your all-atracting goodnesse, which let it deigne to assume unto favoura­ble acceptance, herein imitating the precious amber, that commands the ascent of small, and worthlesse substances, not for their me­rits [Page] sake, but for the honour of its force, and vertue to attract. Thus my presumption I hope, may be excused, your Highnesse all commanding vertue being graciously incli­ned

To the humblest and lowest of all your Majesties most devoted servants, S. Du VER [...]ER.

The Authors Epistle to the READER.

THe enterprise which I have taken in hand, is to wra­stle, or rather to encounter with thosefrivolous books, which may all be compri­zed under the name of Romants, which would require the hands which fables attribute unto Briarius, or the strength which Po­ets give unto Hercules: the hands of that Gy­ant to handle so many pens, and the vigour of that Heros to undergoe so painefull a la­bour: but what cannot a courage do, anima­ted by a zeale of pleasuring his neighbour, and provoked by desire to advance the light of vertue, and to lessen vice. O why hath not my pen the vertue to cure the wounds that these wicked books cause in this world! or at [Page] least, why cannot it devoure those monsters, which the writers of those aforesaid workes, meere inchanters of mindes cause to appeare in the formes of bookes? or like as an Eagles feather devours all other feathers, so might my pen devour all those other pens. When shall the light of vertue, & verity dissipate the shadowes of vice and vanity? will the false Dagons never fall before the Arke of serious, true, and beneficiall entertainments of the minde? at least if these my labours could cure those who are miserably infected with often viewing these Pamphlets: If the losse of so much time may be called imployment, I should not thinke my labour spent in vaine, nor my pen unprofitable. But when I see this mischievous tree, which I strive to cut down, casting forth so many branches, as I lop off, and doing like the Vine, which never sprouts so well, as when it is cut, it makes me feare a labour like unto that of Danaides, or of Sisy­phus. Who would not wish for as many hands as Briarius, for to oppose so many stiles, which are used in that so vaine, and so wan­ton a kinde of writing? And who would not [Page] wish for the arme of Hercules, to overcome this Hydra, whereof I can no sooner strike off one head, but up springs another? You would thinke the fable of Cadmus a truth in this subject; and that of the ancient Serpents teeth, there growes up armed men to fight in defence of lyes: that if Hercules (according to the proverb) could doe nothing against two, what may we think to doe against these legions?

Now to overthrow so many fabulous Bookes, I undertake not my combat direct­ly, as if I were confuting heresies, for it is not needfull that I should trouble my self to prove the obscurity of darknesse, nor to shew the falshood of these Romants, Adventures, Chivalries, and other such trash, which con­fesse themselves fabulous in their Prefaces, and whose reading full of fantasticall con­ceits of faynings, of impossibilities, of absur­dities, of inchantments, of extravagancies, and such like trumpery, sufficiently sheweth their impertinency, which were (as the A­postle saith) to combat against the aire, and to tunne without end, or at the most to imitate [Page] that idle Emperour, who made warre onely against flyes By what manner doe I then la­bour to overcome my adversaries? it is by di­version, setting relations true and beneficiall, in the place of those that are prophane, fabu­lous, and not onely unprofitable, but for the most part pernicious, to the end that those whose great leisure causeth to seeke where­with to imploy their time, may finde where­withall to entertaine their desires.

Even as truth is constant, so falshood is wavering and differing, & is capable of more different formes, then the materia prima, or the Proteus of Poets, which is the cause that these Authors, who love vanity, and follow after lyes, set forth their works in as many fashions, as they please. This variety being no small attractive unto those that passionate­ly affect such kinde of reading: and it is no small advantage, that fantasticall relations have over those that are true, for those are made at pleasure, like leaden rules, or images of waxe wherewith you may doe what you will, filling them with monstrous incounters, surmounting both probability and imagina­tion, [Page] things which delight and wonderfully suspend the minde: in briefe, they stuffe them with so many baits, that the licourishnesse of the sawce makes them loose the taste of the meat, which of it selfe is without savour or relish, and most commonly hurtfull: whereas narrations of things, which have truely hap­pened, are tyed to more subjection, for al­though a man may order them handsomely, and slip in some convenient dressings, never­thelesse conscience obliges to keep faithfully to the ground and body of the History: and yet in the particularities which are added, ei­ther for connexion, or imbellishment of the recitall: the Author is strictly tyed to the bounds of probability, out of which he may not swerve a nailes beadth, without discredi­ting the whole worke. For although fables, parables, and poeticall fictions, do sometimes hide in them good precepts, and many seri­ous examples, yet the instructions loose much of their credit when they are mixed amongst vaine inventions: and when they doe not leane to the solid foundation of truth, even as the Manna of Calabria looseth much of its [Page] vertue, when it is gathered of flowers which grow in places that are too moist.

Now amongst the multitude of these wri­tings, which like unto Reeds, have nothing but a pleasing verdure, and a faire shew of stately words, hollow and empty without any solid substance, there are one kinde, which may be called an Ants nest, a seed-plot or nur­sery of these wanton inventions, and that is it which beares the titles of tales and novels: amongst Italians, those of Boccace for the pu­rity of language, are much esteemed, but they are [...]o full of impurities, impieties, fopperies, and absurdities, that I have sometimes won­dered, how such a wit, capable of so many good things, hath wasted time in tales (setting aside their filthinesse) more befitting an old wife that would bring a childe to sleepe, then a person professing learning: they doe also make account of those of Baudell, which I have never seene, they esteem them because of the stile, but as I have heard by those that have read them, they containe such beastli­nesse and abhominations, that they have not onely beene supprest by authority of the Ma­gistrate, [Page] as pernitious to good manners, but also by publike detestation: true it is that there was amongst the rest, some sad events which had beene gathered and translated into our tongue by Bell Forest, whereof he hath fra­med his tragicall histories, yet some of them would deserve correction, being full of flesh and bloud. They have also those of Giraldy, of Sausonin, of Straparolle, full of so much li­centiousnesse and dishonesty, that it is pitty to see these Bookes in the hands of youth, who sucke this Heraclian honey (sweet but vene­mous) through the sight, and which by its reading, teacheth such corruptions and filthi­nesse, as but by the practise of most dissolute persons would never be taught them.

Moreover, in all these stories (for the most part) invented at will, there is su [...]h manifest fopperies, and such great want of judgement in the Authors, and of likelihood in the nar­rations, that it is a strange thing, that reasona­ble spirits can be payd with such counterfeit and uncurrant coyne. Truely, wee are not men, but by reason, and when this light of our soule is out of its Eclipticke line, and [Page] strayed from its way, we fall into bottomlesse pits of absurdities: but what shall we doe to cure those that delight in their follies?

Amongst the Spaniards, above all writers of Romants, and great tellers of tales, novel­ties, and stories, those of Ceroantes are much esteemed: and truely having red them, I have found his wit to be very great in those small things. A man of the world, a great gyber and scoffer, and who handsomely, and to the uttermost, sets out his wares. Deigo Agra­da hath followed these, adding unto his the surname of morall, because of the morals which he drawes at the end of those occur­rences, which he recites. This man in my minde is more judicious, and lesse insolent, although he takes licence to flye out some­times a little. Among our French, a fine wit, in truth, and who hath a fine stile, hath recre­ated himselfe in writing French tales or no­velties, which farre surpasse the Italian, and are no whit behinde the Spanish: he is mode­rate in his imaginations, and modest in his words, hee hath not deigned to set his name to this worke, wherein he seemes but to [Page] have onely tryed his penne, which he desti­nateth to some higher and more serious la­bour. Another hath given us a taste of histo­ricall diversities, but this booke is so little, that it is but a shew, which breeds a wish for an ampler piece. Vnto this may be annexed the tragicall Histories of Bell Forrest, and those made by Rosset, bearing the same title.

These are the writings of that sort, which have fallen under my view, not that I have taken patience to reade them distinctly, but I have runne over some pieces of them, only as to feele their pulse, and informe my selfe of their language and Country. But for to say in generall what mine opinion is of these and all such like confused heapes of frivolous re­lations, I cannot better compare them then to dainty garden knots & borders which have Serpents hidden under their flowers, or unto fine fields: pleasing unto the eye, but full of Hemlocke and Aconitum, or unto Sallets, wherein are poysonous hearbs, or unto those fine Gold-Smiths workes, wherein are inserted base mettals, [Page] and counterfeit stones, or unto those liquo­rish Spanish dishes of meat, called pot porride, delicious in taste, but prejudiciall to health; or unto the horse of Troy, out of which came ar­med souldiers, by whom that beautifull City was turned into ashes. I say not this so much to disgrace my adversaries, as to give testimo­ny to truth.

Now (my deare Reader) it is this kinde of bookes which I strive to supplant by these singular Events, which I heare offer unto thy view, thou shalt not see therein those pain­tings of Eloquence, nor those industrious or­naments wherewith those Antagonists a­dorne their ridiculous tales, to make them glyde the sweether into the mindes of them that spend time abouttheir Chymera's. But thou shalt here finde naturall beauties with­out art; I meane, examples which borrow all their grace and worth from the force of truth which upholds them, and whose testimonies are seene in the times, places, and persons.

All these Events, which I call singular, as well for being rare and notable, as for having no connexion the one with the other, each [Page] one making its body, hath as it were underta­ken, either to cry downe a vice, or to extoll a vertue. The eng [...]ayme at, as being (as it is also the end of all good history) to withdraw from evill, and to excite unto good, to breed a holy horrour of bad actions, and a just de­sire of actions that are good, ever (as occasi­on serves) adding a few words, short, but pres­sing, like to so many spurres, which pricke forward to well doing, and so many Bits which hold backe from the doing of evill, sometimes shewing the recompnce of good­nesse, and sometimes the punishment of vice, to the end that love and feare may support the good, and retaine the bad in their endea­vours. This is the mark at which this worke wholly levels, whose intention at least can­blamed.

As for the manner I am to advertise thee, that I study as much as I can for brevity, and thereupon abridge it of all the trimmings with which I extend my other Histories, where giving my minde scope, as in a full sea, I hoyse up sayles, and run at large, as the course of my penne carries me: here I cut my [Page] Vine, and nip of its buds, yea I clip my wings to keep me from soaring: I keep close to the matter, & give little liberty unto my thoughts, to spread into digressions, if they be not ne­cessary, and as it were bred in the subject, by reason whereof I have weaned my self from the sweet milke of poesie, and have abstained from putting any verses in these Events. I have also taken away the other graces, as A­postrophes, dialogismes, cōplaints, speeches, conferences, letters, orations; in briefe, all that might enlarge or embellish, so that in compa­rison of our other relations, these are but a­bridgements of histories, and as it were Ske­letons, nothing remaining but the bones of each Event, stript of the ornaments which might have set forth their bodies in a far fai­rer hew. In the art of painting, little pieces have their graces, as well as great pictures, which have all their dimensions: so have abridgements in their kindes, as well as lar­ger and ampler discourses: and as stronger blowes are given by a short weapon, then by a long; a wound with a Dagger being no lesse dangerous, then that with a sword: even so it [Page] happens that the mind draws more profit frō an example restrained within the bounds of its subject, then from another whose super­fluous relations may either distract the atten­tion, or leave it languishing: many times smal streames are more delectable then great ri­vers, and the least springs more pleasing then torrents, and meats cut in small bits, are swallowed with most ease. There be mindes which foyle in reading a history of great length, humane patience being not of any great extent: but when Events are set downe in such a manner, as the end is not farre from the beginning, this is it which incourageth the reader, and both giveth him a desire of seeing further, and also eases him in reading, besides variety is alwaies more delectable, and gives better content, then uniformity, & pleasure is a bait to a reader, which those that write, should in no wise contemne.

This booke of Events is a Garland made of many flowers, a honey composed of ma­ny hearbs, whose juyces are different, a treacle made of divers ingredients, and wherein the Serpent of vice is seasoned with so many [Page] antidotes, that in liew of hurting, it will doe good. It is a worke of inlaying, where each piece making its body, hath a severall colour and vertue, and all together make a prospe­ctive, which will not be unpleasant, except it be unto those muddy unsettled spirits, who can like nothing of anothers doing, being burthensome unto themselves, and trouble­some unto all the world.

If I did write these Histories rather to please men, then to benefit my neighbour, it may bee I should be faine to feare their censures, and seeke to conjure or appease their bad humours. But should I entertaine such a thought, as to purchase reputation in this world, then would I set my selfe in an­other posture, and would give unto my pen a subject more flashing, and ranging, but being too weake to soare into high matters, I am content that it shall keepe so low, even to touch the ground: and that bringing more profit to my neighbour, it should yeeld little or no fame unto the Author.

Examples of good and evill have a like vertue, (provided) they meet with a disposi­tion [Page] according in the soules of them that see them. For many reade books for curiosity, others for variety, or to passe time, and for want of other imployment, another with envy, few with sincerity, few with a desire to profit, and to put in practise the good in­structions they finde therein; from whence proceeds the ill usage of so many Authors, with so much ingratitude and cruelty; that who so sets forth a Booke, exposes himselfe unto the mercy of mockers and detracters: drones which do but hu [...]me about flowers, without gathering any honey from them; and as Spiders, who make venome of all that they reade.

But let them say on, some good soules (ne­verthelesse) whose dispositions are inclined to vertue, will be glad to finde profitable ad­monitions set do [...]ne, and sweetly mingled with varieties of pleasures fitting their hu­mour. And therefore I have strov [...] by the helpe of my pen to publish examples worthy to be noted, to the end that wee may grow wise by the good or evill hap of others. This is the marke aymed at by all these Events, [Page] which I have gathered in the great field of the world. It is your part, deare Reader, to extract honey out of the hardest stone, oyle out of the flint, studying a reformation of manners in this schoole of humane actions; Remembring alwaies that the secret (and if I may so say) the great worke of prudence and justice, is to avoyd evill, and to imbrace good.

A Table of the Events contained in the first part of this Booke.

  • THe generous Poverty, page 1
  • The prudent Mother, 27
  • The discreet children, 38
  • The curried Persons, 49
  • The waking mans dreame, 59
  • The old man passionate in love, 68
  • The good fortune of honesty, 80
  • The generous Friend, 96
  • The evill counsell punished, 107
  • The long vengeance, 119
  • The unlucky word, 125
  • The iustification of crime, 132

The Morall Relations: The second Booke containing these.

  • THe honourable Infidelilty, 143
  • The frustrate intentions, 182
  • The happy Stay, 192
  • The foolish Boast, 205
  • The treacherous brother in law, 215
  • [Page]The fortunate Misfortune, 224
  • The impudent Attempt, 243
  • The unlucky Faining, or Counterseiting, 251
  • The double Fratricide, 258
  • The double Rape, 276
  • The iust recompence, 289
  • The weake Coniecture, 298
  • The vanquished mans Trophy, 307
  • The Idea, 318
  • The unconstant ambitious woman, 322
  • The Amazon, 330
  • The happy Almes-deed, 351

THE GENEROVS POVERTIE.
The First Event.

NOthing elevateth the mind so much as riches, whose ordina­ry effect is to puffe them up with pride, that possesse them, which makes the Psalmist King to blame those that put their trust in their owne power, and boast in the multitude of their treasures; And on the contrary, nothing so much abuseth or dejecteth a spirit, as poverty.

This hath given ground for the Embleme, which represents a man cast downe to the earth by the weight of necessity, in despight of the wings of ge­nerosity, which endeavour all they may to ra [...]e him up againe; For as there is a river in Elide, which passeth through the sea, and gives the waters no [Page 2] touch of it's bitternesse; so there are some soules so well framed, that in despight of the meannesse of birth or breeding, yet they carry both generous, and lofty spirits; it is like to a fire hid in mud, even as that fire which was found at Ierusalem in the bot­tome of a well, at the returne from the captivity of Babylon, we shall see it verified in this Event which I learned of a German Gentleman being at Padua.

In Breslau a chiefe City of Slesia, a Province of Germany, neere neighbouring to Bohemia, there li­ved two Citizens of meane quality, who loved each other entirely; Teudas the one was a Tradesman, and Venon, who was the other used a kind of traf­ficke in mercery. This Venon being gone into Vi­enna in Austria to buy some commodities, stayed three moneths in his voyage: and at his returne found himselfe welcomed with two disasters, wher­of hee quickly grew extreame sensible; to wit of the losse of his wife, whom he dearly loved, and by whom he had some children: the other was the mis­fortune of his friend, who was cast into prison, and past the hope of ever getting out, yet was it not for any disorder in him, but rather it was his goodnesse which had brought him into this deplorable estate; for that he having beene bound in a great summe of money for one of his friends, whom misfortune had made unable to satisfie, hee was condemned to the payment of it himselfe: whereupon all that he was worth (which consisted chiefly in houshold stuffe) he sold, and for the remainder his body was attached, and clapt up in the Goale as aforesaid.

In this place, which may very well be called the [Page 3] center of misery, and the tombe of the living; Ve­non came to visit Teudas, who grievously complain­ing of Fortune, accused her of injustiee, in that she reduced him into that so miserable estate for well doing: but hee grieved not so much for the losse of his liberty, and goods, or for his owne mis­fortune, but for that hee had lost the meanes to marry an onely daughter hee had, whose age made her marriageable, fearing necessity should bring her into some vaine, and l [...]wd course of life.

Venon stood not to comfort him with many words, but comming to promises, which hee soone confirmed by effects, he told him, that his misery was a marke of his vertue, against whom Fortune hath a sworne and professed enmity, but he ought to animate himselfe against this Fort, and to imitate wrastlers, who stretch themselves up on their feet, so much the stronglier and more couragiously, by how much their adversary (with whom they are to encounter) is tall, and lusty: and as for the good which he had done, whereby this evill had hapned to him, he must never the more, repent it, because whatsoever he sowed in teares, he should reape in joy, provided that he could but possesse his soule with patience; for seeing friendship had cast h [...] into prison, now friendship should fetch him forth, for he had meanes sufficient to red [...]eme him out of this his misery, and relieve him in this extreame necessity, and that having hands hee might [...]our for his living, as before he did, as for his [...] whatsoever he had should be as common to hi [...], [Page 4] as it was to himselfe, the law of perfect friendship requiring it should be so, and that he would have him feele his good fortune, as sensibly, as he felt his bad: the union, and connexion of friends, being no lesse then the union, and connexion of the limmes in a mans body, which administer to each other, as occasion serves. At least (saith he) I shall receive this contentment from the evill which hath hap­ned unto you, that thereby I have the meanes offe­red to shew you a testimony of my sincere affecti­on, in this your necessity, and that I am truly your friend. All that I have is yours, make use thereof according to your severall occasions: if you there­by attaine to a better fortune, I am sure you will ac­knowledge it: but as for me I will have no other reward for my service, but onely the continuation of our love; and as for your daughter let not that trouble you, seeing that I have lost my wife, I am contented to take her for my second, if you will, but if her mind be setled else where, or that you have a desire to match her otherwise, I have wherewithall to give her a good portion.

What unexpected consolation was this to the heart of Teudas, to heare these speeches from his friend whose words he knew to be as true, as they were free, he had beene very unwise, if he had re­fused his proffered assistance in so pressing an acci­dent, he would have used some complements, but the greatnesse of the benefit going beyond his thought, words, and thankes, vanished in his mouth.

No saies Venon (who judged of the interiour [Page 5] thoughts by the exteriour alteration of his face) we need not give thanks for making use of that which is our owne; if I am yours, much more are all my goods yours. And either you had no need of them, or else it was your owne fault that you disposed not of them at your pleasure heretofore.

Without any longer discourse, he goes present­ly home to his house, takes all the money, that hee had gotten by his wares, and delivers his friend, by paying the summe, for which he was detained.

What say you of this generosity in a man of mean ranke, who had scarce meanes enough to free him­selfe from necessity, if he should adde thereto much industry and paines.

Well, not long after hee married Ermige the daughter of Teudas, who although farre from his age, yet considering the good he had done unto her Father, she took him not only for her husband, but also for a second Father, and esteemed her selfe ve­ry happy that she might serve as a recompence to him, who had so liberally drawne her Father out of prison, she served him with all reverence, and en­tire affection, that Venon thought himselfe much bound to him, whom he had obliged. Who finds a vertuous woman (saith the wise man) findeth a price inestimable, the heart of her husband relyes only upon her, and she waiteth on him diligently, and faithfully: you cannot imagine with what [...]ffe­ction this young woman loved this old man, and how passionately this old man affected this his young wife.

Of so amorous an union of these two hearts, and [Page 6] bodyes, issued Rosana, as a creature destined to love honourably, and generously, shee was but two moneths old when her Grandfather Teudas over­come with sorrow, and griefe for the losse of his goods, left this life to enjoy a better.

Her Father Venon (who had much weakned his estate in drawing his deare friend out of prison) daily felt necessity approaching, but God who guardeth the just, and seeth no good deed passe un­rewarded, provides for him beyond all hope or ex­pectation, for those that seeke him can never want any thing, Venons greatest griefe was much like that which Teudas felt in prison, because that seeing himselfe old he feared, that he should not leave his wife wherewithall honestly to maintaine her selfe, and to bring up, and match this daughter.

Comfort thy selfe O Venon with good Tobias, and bee assured that although poverty overtake thee, yet thou shalt have meanes sufficient, provi­ded that thou feare God, hope with Iob that all shall be restored to thee againe double.

Scarce had Rosana beene a yeer at her Mothers brest, but she was pluckt from thence by an appa­rance of good fortune.

There are two powerfull houses in Slesia, whose owners are reckoned in the ranke of Princes. The Duke of Lignits and the Duke of Swednes. The wife of one of these great men of which my Au­thor could not assure me, being ready to cry out, a nurse was sought out for her to give sucke to the child, which she expected. Ermige was chosen for one of the best, that could be found in all Breslaw: [Page 7] this came in good time to keepe this poore family from necessity, which daily (as I have shewed be­fore) encreased.

The Dutches was delivered of a sonne, whom we will name Sapor, he was delivered up to Ermige to nurse, and Rosana was put to another. And now Ermige and her husband are made part of the Dukes houshold▪ and are wholly imployed in bringing up the young Prince Sapor; when time came that Ro­sana was weaned, and of some stature, she was put to rocke the Prince, and finde him sport, as the manner of children is▪ Thus growes Rosana gently, like a Vine by [...]'s E [...]me tree.

When the P [...]ince came to age and understan­ding, he love [...] Rojana as his foster sister, with the ordinary fondnesse of children towards them that make much of them, and find them sport to passe a­way the time, and Rosana serves, and waites upon him, as her Lord and Master.

Sapor was not above three or foure yeeres old when Venon paid nature the tribute, which all hu­mane creatures owe, leaving both his wife, and daughter to the Dutchesse, who looked for no o­ther fortune, then what proceeded from her boun­ty. The little Prince affected his nurse, and foster sister in such a manner, that although he was now weaned, yet they both tended him, and waited on him.

But here we must observe, that as fire elevates the matters, whereinto it takes although they are of themselves heavie, so likewise love raiseth the hearts wherein it takes an impression, and stirres [Page 8] them up to motives, and actions farre surmounting, both the age, and condition of the parties. This I say in respect of the love, and affection which Ro­sana bore to Sapor, of whom, even in her infancy, she was so taken, that this flame increasing with her yeeres, arrived at last to perfection.

None will deny but that it is an errour condem­nable to say that parents beget the soules as well as the bodies, knowing that their beginning comes immediately from God, but since the disposition of temperature, and of the organs through which the spirit exerciseth it's functions, hath great effect in regard of the firme union of the soule, and the body. It is no great wonder if that Rosana being sprung from parents, whose inclinations were wholly to friendship, that her bloud and heart should be addicted to this passion, otherwise might she have beene rather thought a monster in nature, if she should not have partaked of the qualities of those that begat her, let us neither spare the rehear­sing, nor let passe the praise due unto her faithfull affection, since that both honesty, and generosity have beene the wings wherewith it hath mounted thus high. Things that are ashamed of sight most commonly seeke darknesse, wherin to shroud them­selves, but those that are vertuous, walke in the light of the day; why should we blush for being in love? there is nothing so much commendable as that which is guided by purity. The law of Chri­stians is wholly grounded upon love; we are not ashamed to shew our love to a picture, to a horse, or a hound: we thinke nothing to good for them: why [Page 9] then should we bee ashamed to cherish a reasonable creature? a person well descended, well bred, who respects nought save honour, and vertue, which are the most amiablest qualities. For beauty is but the weake wind thereof, and a thing which ought to be taken but as the badge of goodnes, even as the blossomes on a tree are onely praised for the fruits, which shall come of them. Verily the Elements which give us our being, and life are not more ne­cessary then mutuall love, and friendship. But whi­ther doth this thought carry me against the pro­mise I have made, not to let my penne flye out too far, nor insist too long upon any particular? but the reason is, that I have in hand a vertue so heroicall, that the singularity thereof hath drawne from me those few words in it's commendation.

Rosana (as you have heard) loved Sapor in her infancy, with such an extraordinary fervour, that assoone as she lost the sight of him, she did nothing but weepe and complaine, for this Prince was the Adamant of her heart, and she was the Marigold, whereof he was the Sunne, never was there seene in so tender yeeres so strong a passion, all the world wondred at it; and the Duke and Dutches tooke therein an incomparable pleasure: they often pas­sed time in vexing this little creature, by threatning to put her away from the Prince, to which she would reply in such a manner as could not be ex­pected from so small an age, or so little strength, and like an Amazon sought to fight with all those, who sought to take her joy from her.

Alas, we see many love dogs more for their tru­stinesse [Page 10] then for any handsomnesse in them, only because they are loving to them, and if beaten a­way, yet they will come, and creepe at their feet; love is not repa [...]ed, nor satisfied but with love. It was a thing impossible but that Sapor should love this little creature, who so much affected him, for to love is the powerfullest charme wherby to make our selves beloved of others, he could not be with­out her, and if at any time she chanced to be away, there was nothing could make him merry.

Love equalls lovers, these were equall, whether it were that love abased him so low as her conditi­on, or elevated her unto his quality, love breeds a resemblance, because it's property is to transforme the lover into the thing beloved, This effect appea­red in Rosana who framed her selfe unto all the hu­mours of the Prince, that she seemed rather to be wha [...] she was not, she imitated him in all, and forsa­king him no more then her shadow, she did the same things she saw him doe.

The Dutches (seeing this humour) caused her (onely for recreation) to be cloathed like a little page, a habit which pleased her so well that she ne­ve [...] put it of but with teares.

In their first infancy, which unites the tongue, they without ceremony called brother and sister, and every one wondred at the courage, and boldnesse of this little girle, when she grew bigger, she called the Prince her Master, and he called her his Page.

All the exercises which the Master learned the Page did learne, and which is the more to be ad­mired, [Page 11] she learned them with such a grace, that she seemed afterwards for a mirrour or example to her little Master, As Physicke is given to the nurse that so through the milke the child may be cured, so was it with Sapor, for when they were to give him any lesson, either of dancing, study, or any thing else, they first taught it to his Page, she learned the faster to please him, and he tooke the greater care that he might not be outstript by a girle, an emula­tion of vertue without envie. You would not chuse but thinke that nature by a pure instinct taught these children the most grave Philosophy that Plato hath discoursed, of the effects of honest love.

They being now growne up from the innocency of their first age, they entred into the limits of civi­lity, and the ceremonies of the world; and they be­gan to attaine to the knowledge of themselves, what shame soever they sought to breed in Rosanna, who now was growne pretty tall, to draw her from the Princes conversation, shee would never give eare thereunto, for her conversation being unsp [...]tted she feared no reproach, she was so much affected to bodily exercises as dancing, leaping, vaulting, ri­ding, fencing, shooting with bowe, and piece, run­ning, playing at tennis, at pell mell, and hunting, that they had marvellous much adoe to draw her from it, and not wholly, for it was impossible, the Prince incessantly calling for her, not onely, when he was at any exercise, but at all other times when she was absent.

At last, her age permitting her no longer with­out decency, or modesty so freely to frequent with [Page 12] Sapor, The Dutchesse placed her among the other Gentlewomen, and unto some small exercises, whereunto she applyed her selfe, but not without much contradiction, except it were in such works, which might yeeld some service, or pleasure to the Prince, for unto those she setled her selfe with so much diligence, that it sufficiently witnessed the ar­dour of her affection.

It hapned sometimes that the other Gentlewo­men would blam her for this her extream affection, which she shewed towards the Prince, seeing the difference of their estates, and the modesty which she owed to her sexe, but thereunto she answered, that she loved him, as a sister ought to love a bro­ther, and with the same reverence, that a slave beares to his Lord.

The Prince on his part bore with no lesse impa­tience the privation of his Pages conversation, and it was his greatest contentment, when he could slip in amongst the Gentlewomen, thereby to entertain her at will, who possessed his thoughts.

Lewd desires being entred into his spirits with knowledge, changed his love intosensuality, which could not be just, being that marriage was not his ayme, notwithstanding, as he long since knew the honesty of this creature, who for a kingdome would not have blemished her integrity; he dissembled a long time his pretention, but being not able any longer to beare the impetuosity of his appetites, he would on a time have passed unto some unseemely, and unbefitting action, which this generous Ama­zon would by no meanes endure, but told him, [Page 13] that she would desire their loves might continue as vertuous, as ever they had beene, for (said she) if you spoyle the foundation, the edifice cannot but fall to ruine, if vertue be wanting, then farewell friendship, These words comming from the mouth of a servant, as from a Princesse; bridled for a time the furious appetite of Sapor so much majesty hath vertue in it selfe.

But not long after temptations gave him new alarums, so that being unable any longer to oppose their violence, he resolved to speake, rather then perish in silence.

Vnto his lewd suite, so little expected by this wise maid he received answer as followeth. Remember O Prince that poore as I am, and destitute of for­tunes favours, I am rich in honesty. I love Sapor as my life, but as I love mine honour more then my life, so I love it also more than Sapor. If you truly love me, as you have given me many pretious te­stimonies therof, then love me honourably, other­wise I freely renounce your friendship, and all the advantages, that I may hope for from you thereby, I say not this to the intent to breed more love in you, nor to draw you to desire me for your wife; such a vaine presumption never yet flattered my spirit: I know the basenesse of my descent, and that so great an elevation would soone cast me into a most horrible precipice. I love you without inte­rest, without pretence, and without any other de­sire, then to see you great, and glorious in the world, and in the armes of a Princesse, worthy to be the spouse of so great a Prince, And both you, [Page 14] and she will I waite upon with all the humility, and affection of a faithfull slave, who will seeke no other reward, but the only glory of serving you, and of loving you next after God, and mine honour, a­bove all that is in the world: and if fortune so frown that you dye in deeds of armes, I will perish at your feet, that on my tombe may be mixt the Lil­lies of my chastity, with the palmes of my valour, and mirtles of my incomparable loue to my so deer­ly esteemed Master, whom I conjure to banish from his spirit all bad, and unjust intentions, and to be [...]ther the protector, then the destroyer of the mo­desty, and purity of a creature, who (saving that) is entirely his. For helpe herein consider that I am your sister, if not by birth, yet by fostering, love me then, and preserve me as a brother, and I will honour you as my Lord, my Prince, and the only light of mine eyes.

Whosoever hath seene a strong North wind sweeping away in short time all the clouds which obscured the face of heaven, hath seene the effects that these generous words uttered forth with such a grace, and sincere feeling, wrought in Sapor.

If it happen sometimes that a multitude having begun a mutinie, excite a furious sedition, that fire, and sword march in the field, and Cities, that stones flie, and rage makes a weapon of any thing that comes next. And in the middest of all this hurlibur­ly, a grave man of authority presents himselfe unto this so many headed beast for to appease it's vio­lence, and bring it gently back unto it's duty, you shall on a sudden, see what effect this will worke in [Page 15] their eares, and what attention they will yeeld unto his words, wherewith he can so well winne their hearts, that weapons fall from their hands, fury, vengeance disperse themselves, & in place of so furi­ous a tempest succeeds a joyfull calme, In the soule of Sapor was risen a tumult of passions revolting a­gainst reason, and this torrent bore him away into a precipice of dishonesty, but being become wise, by the generous remonstrance of the Amazon, peace returned to his soule; with a glorions resolution to vanquish himselfe, wherein certainly he deserved more praise then if he had overcome a whole Ar­my. For this is the highest degree, whereunto ver­tue can raise a courage, seeing that many overcome others, who else would never have subdued them­selves.

After that time the Prince purifying his affecti­ons, and for ever banifhing uncleane intentions from his thoughts, never after importuned Rosana with any thing, which might in any wayes offend her chastity. And so farre was he from being cured of this ardent feaver by despight, or contempt, that contrariwise his love founded on the estimation of this virgins invincible vertue, did much increase, if what was arrived at it's extremity could receive an increase, true love only aimeth at the good of the object beloved, even as Rosana delighted only in the honour and glory of her Prince, and to see him daily increase in vertue, and reputation, which are the true earthly riches, that cannot perish, so Sap [...] had nothing that he so much desired, as to raise her whom he truly loved, as if she had beene his natu­rall [Page 16] sister, the flame of his love having then no more but a moderate heate, without blacknesse or smoake.

The Duke his Father being dead, and he the el­dest, and next lineall successor in that house, being entred into the honours, and the ranke whereunto his birth had called him, amongst many Gentle­men his followers, he had an inclination to favour Numerian a younger brother well descended, and of a good house, a younger brother, which is as much to say, as one seeking his fortune in his courage.

Friendship is not idle where it settles, it present­ly falls to worke; that it may make it selfe more knowne by effects, then by words. Sapor desirous to advance this young Gentleman thought he could not more befriend him, then in giving him for his wife, her whom he affected as his sister: And her whom hee could well have wished for him­selfe, if the glory of his birth had not obliged him, by reason of state; to seeke a match conformable to his quality.

Numerian held for a great favour the motion, which the new Duke made him of this marriage; considering with himselfe that it was the onely meanes to establish his fortune in this great house. The Prince himselfe also moved it to Rosana, who answered him with her accustomed generosity, as followeth: Master (said she) will it not be a trea­son, to give this body to a man who shall not pos­sesse the heart, being so filled with the honest love it beares you; that there is no place voyde for any other subject: permit me (my deare Prince) to die [Page 17] a virgin, and with the glory of a vestall, who hath not let her fire goe out; The permission which I have had to love you, I hold for so great an honour; and the happineffe of your reciprocall friendship, is so precious in my memory, that I should think my selfe a bastard Eagle, that having fastned mine eyes on so great a light, should now remove them on some lesser starre; permit me to be an Heliotropean (the hearb Turnesole) and that I may close up the leaves of my affections to all other lights, but only to that which gives me day. It is not that I pretend any other thing in my love, but the contentment I finde in honouring you; and you know that I have often protested that the happinesse to waite upon you, sufficiently payes the reward of all my servi­ces. For all the recompence which I looke for from you, is to be, and so to dye, yours; Neither doe I disdaine Numerian being a brave, and vertu­ous Gentleman; and of whose merit, although I had no other proofes save your estimation, it would be sufficient, to make me respect him. For your judgement is my law, and your will my rule. No, unto what degree soever your goodnesse shall raise me, yet I shall never forget the meanenesse of my condition. But I am of that opinion, that I should love that faire image, which love for you hath gra­ven in my heart, if I should lodge another therein, which hath made me desire to live, and dye as I am.

Sister (said the Prince ravished in admiration at the courage of this female) if I thought the marri­age which I propound unto you, should never so [Page 18] little diminish the affection you beare me, I would never consent thereunto, nothing being so pretious to me, as to see my self beloved, and so fervently by a subject so amiable, but because the love that you shall beare to him as your husband, shall not bee contrary to that which you beare to me, as being your brother, I did verily believe that this marri­age would bring neither to me, to him, or to you any manner of prejudice. Love is like honour, which varies it selfe according to the qualities of the persons, or like unto the Pourcontrell, or Peake fish, who becomes of the same colour the things are, whereon it fastens, so that a man may love di­vers persons with all his heart, according to divers respects, a father, as a father, a mother, as a mo­ther, a husband, as a husband, and a brother, as a brother: This flame of love extends it self like unto the flame of a torch, which lights many others without wasting it selfe; and it is thus that I intend to give you unto Numerian, you know I love him, but with a far inferiour affection to that I bare you, my desire is to advance him, and likewise you, so that when you are joyned together I shall have a double cause to do you good, and to gratifie you in what I may.

By these reasons which were as plausible, as true, Rosana (who saw but through the eyes of Sa­por) suffered her selfe to be drawne to this match, whereof none was more joyfull then Numerian, in so much that it is hard to expresse the contentment he tooke, being as it were, in extasie, or transporta­tion of his spirit.

The first time, that the Prince made them talke together, Rosana with that manly, and generous gesture, which was both usuall, and naturall in her, spake to this Gentleman as followeth, Sir here is your Master, and mine, who hath a desire to joyne us together in the lawes of Hymen: But before I embrace his proffer, and before I will be made sub­ject to your power, I must propound two conditi­ons, without the which I cannot, nor will not be perswaded to take you for my husband, my body shall be thine, and so entirely thine, that never any but thy selfe shall have part therein. I shall come a Virgin to thy bed, and if it be so that I must loose the flower of that integrity, which I did intend to preserve all my life time, yet it shall perish at least with honour in lawfull wedlocke; first then thou shalt not need to watch over my fidelity, because I shall be more jealous thereof, then thou canst, and if I should chance to offend therein (although I ra­ther wish all the thunders of heaven to fall on my head, yea the earth to open and swallow me up) my hand should prevent thine in the revenge of so great a wrong, and if death permits me to survive thee, be sure, that even to thine ashes I will keep a body pure, and a troth inviolable. I will love thee as my husband with all my heart, but for to prevent jealousies, know thou this, that I will love Sapor as my Prince, and deere Master, but imagine not him to have any part thereby in any thing which shall appertaine to thee, nor to be arrivall or sh [...]rer in thy bed, he hath no such thought, and if he had, he should finde his expectation frustrate; and if thou [Page 20] dost [...], that this friendship, which is so pure, honest, just, [...] lawfull, should be contrary to the loyalty, I owe to thee, and that it may be a meanes to d [...]vide my heart, Then even at this present I renounce thy love, and alliance, for I am resolved to carry to my grave this first, and glorious flame, wherewith my heart hath beene fed, and my spirit pleased, even from my cradle hitherto, and if you thinke these things agreeable with the duties, I shall owe to thee, heere I am ready to obey him, whose desires are lawes to me. The other condition is, that thou take me not as a house Dove, to imploy my selfe in spinning, sowing, and keeping the chim­ney corner, thou knowest that I have beene bred in another manner, and according to that, I desire that thou permit me to exercise my selfe in armes, and hunting, and such like recreations, and if thy cou­rage doe call thee at any time forth to warre, either of thy owne accord, or with our Master, that thou then make me partaker of thy labours, and thy ha­zards, and also of thy laurells, and palmes. On these conditions I am ready to obey, and to follow thee in life or death.

Numerian no lesse ravished at the spirit, and cou­rage of this maide, then with her beauty, which in­deed though meane, yet embellished with extraor­dinary graces, agreed unto all she desired, joying much in having met with a mate, with whom hee might reape as many laurells, as myrtles.

The young Duke honoured this marriage with such pompe, and magnificence, that he could not have expended more liberally at the marriage of [Page 21] his owne sister, he gave also large gifts to the mar­ried couple, which were but in earnest, for grea­ter things, that he intended to effect for their ad­vancement.

Numerian remained still with the Prince, and in greater authority in the house, and Rosana with the Dutches Dowager, who was very glad of this marriage, which freed her from the feares she had, that her son passionately affecting this maid should have a desire to marry her.

Not long after Sapor wedded a young Princesse of Bohemia, and at this wedding, did Rosana (among the joyes she had to see her Prince so highly match­ed) make her grace and ability appeare, in the Maskes, Turnaments, and other things, which Knights did, to honour this feast, she bore away many prizes, which wonne her great praise, yea without envy of her competitors, who admired the good carriage, and dexterity of this Amazon: But the richest Iewell that she then wonne was the heart of the young Princesse, who tooke such an affection unto her, that she seemed to dispute the preheminence thereof with her husband, thus doth vertue purchase estimation wheresoever it comes, and in this manner doth it draw hearts un­to it.

She with Numerian had such credit, and autho­rity in the Princes house, that all passed through their hands, and nothing was well thought on but what came from them.

Thus they passed some yeers, rich in wealth, and children, when the warres of Hungary, a kingdome [Page 22] neighbouring unto Slesia, came to disturbe this calme. The Prince Sapor being call'd by the Em­perour, had great command in the Army, where­unto he went, with a traine befitting his greatnesse; Numerian, who was alwaies at his side, intended not to forsake him in this voyage, whereunto his owne courage was a sufficient sollicitor, beside the loyal­ty, and love he bore to his Master.

He intended to leave his wife to waite upon the young Dutchesse, but she unwilling replied unto him as followeth. Numerian (said she) thou dost ill, remember our contract of marriage, thou wrongest our love in desiring alone to runne the hazard of warre, heaven having made me thy partner, and I shall continue so as well in things that tend to pro­fit, and also in those that tend to the hazard of your person, neither is it thy part to hinder me from entring into the least part of the honour thou art going to purchase, I can despise life, and defie death, chiefly if I see my noble Master, and thy selfe wit­nesses of my valour, and fidelity.

Never had I (said Numerian) the least distrust ei­ther of thy faith, or thy courage, neither is it that which makes me desire thee to abide with the Prin­cesse, but only to be a comfort, and an associate in the absence of the Prince, besides the events of war are uncertaine: and I wish that thou maist survive me to bring up our children, and to preserve my memory.

No, no, replied Rosana, I am d [...]stinated to some other matter, then to governe a family, others shall have that charge; the love I beare to my Master, [Page 23] and to thee, permits me not to forsake you, if you die, I will die also; if you live, I will live, whether you go I will follow, separation cannot have place in our union.

Be it than as thou wilt (said Numerian) I will not envie the glory, which thou mayst purchase, it shall be common to us both, let us goe, and hazard our lives in the service of our benefactor.

Shee than puts on mans apparell, and following her Master, and husband they arrive at the Army.

Every day Sapor gave wonderfull proofes of his valour, and Numerian, with the faire she warriour never lost siight of him. For to have acknowledged their victories with Crowns, a Forrest of Laurell, would scarce have sufficed.

Vpon a day a toy took them to give the enemy an assault in one of his quarters, but the sentinell having given the watch word, they found them­selves encompassed in such sort, as the Prince was in great danger, either of loosing of his life in the place, or of being taken by the Turkes. Then did love whose fire worketh no lesse effects, then the fire of thunder, cause Rosana to take such paines as cannot be exprest, now thought she, or never, is it time to make proofes, and show of my true affecti­on unto him whom I love more then my selfe, with which thought shee immediately cast her selfe, where the danger was most eminent, even like a fu­rious Tigres, who runnes her selfe amongst the weapons of the hunters, by seeking to free her young ones, she layes at the first she meets, and o­verturnes him, strikes another, makes a third runne [Page 24] away, and gives no stroake, but it lights home, and is sorely felt, she playes her part so well, that open­ing the thickest of the prease she makes way for the Prince to escape.

Numerian seeing this, stooped downe his head, and runnes himselfe into the middest of them, and labours to doe some good office for that deare halfe of himselfe, who had done so much for Sa­por, and as one more carefull of hers then of his owne life, he conjured her affectionately to retire, under the safeguard which he yeelded thereto by his resistance.

What said shee (in a kind of anger) would you counsell me to forsake the honour, wherein I am, to purchase shame by flight, if you will oblige me, then I pray retire your selfe, I have yet both an arme, and a heart strong enough to uphold your retreate, it were pitty that you should cast your selfe away, being able enough to pleasure our Master in an occasion of more importance, on­ly remember our love, and tell him, that I die his slave.

I refuse thy warrant said Numerian, for I will ra­ther dye, then see thee perish, I conjure thee by the obedience thou owest me, that thou get thee from hence, age, and reason, yea and sexe will, that I pre­cede thee, goe serve my Master and cherish my me­mory, as thou hast promised.

Whilest they thus contested, Sapor was in safety, and these two lovers found themselves inwrapped by a multitude, who furiously summoned them to lay downe their armes, whereunto these great cou­rages [Page 25] replied boldly, that they were never accusto­med to make such dishonourable compositions, we will, said they, die with our weapons in our hands, to which words they joyned blowes, turning, and laying about them on all sides, that they made the very stoutest give backe, but as they were about to make a glorious retreat, and had almost given way to their own souldiers, even then a multitude over­comming them again, Numerian was thrown to the ground, and run through in divers places, having but so much time as to say farewell my dearest Ro­sana, thy courage hath undone us.

These words moved with pitty the very hearts of those barbarous people, who invited the valiant she warriour to yeeld, desiring her to be willing to live, and to comply with the desire they had to save her, but this admonition was in vaine, for this gene­rous loving woman answering onely with her sword, so kindled the wrath of those she hit, that one of the wounded desirous to revenge his hurt, thrust his sword quite through her body, and sent her soule to accompany Numerians.

The skirmish ended she was found among the dead, with her husband, and after they knew that she was a woman, they that had felt her stroakes, did more admire her valour.

Now the sorrow, and griefe of Sapor cannot be exprest, which he took in this losse, he sent for the two bodies, that he might yeeld to their ashes (which he watered with his teares) some testimony of his friendship, he caused them to be carried to Sle­sia, where he spared no cost to make their funeralls [Page 26] and caused a most stately tombe to be erected over them, for preserving their memory unto posterity as long as marbles can last.

In this Event all men may plainely see, that ver­tues strive to enter in ranke into the Elegie of this generous Amazon, purity, magnanimity, constan­cy, valour, courtesie, resolution, courage, but above all that makes it most illustrious who can but ad­mire to see love, and honour, with honesty to bee so straightly conjoyned in her spirits.

O soule truly heroicall, and who mightest have deserved a more eminent birth, and higher fortune, but what need had she of birth, or fortune? shewing us in her generous poverty, that vertue is not tied in the degree or bloud of persons, and that it rai­seth those that possesse it even above all humane condition.

THE PRVDENT MOTHER.
The Second Event.

WHen Widdowes are left with children grown to mans estate, they commonly are much trou­bled in governing them, for they are like horses, as we may say, having slipt the collar, soon forgetting the respect, which they owe unto those that have begotten them and they thinke themselves too wise to be ruled by a womans counsell, yea they scorne to submit them­selves to a sexe which seemes to be borne for to live in subjection, Fathers as being stronger keepe the authority over them better, but what they re­straine in them by power, and feare, mothers should doe by prudence, and love, following his maxime of the mother which I shall represent unto you in [Page 28] this Chapter, who turned backe her sonne from a foolish designe, preserved the honour, and quiet of her house, and was after all, most dutifully thanked of her child, who confessed to have had from her both his being and raising.

Shee was of that part of Gaule which is com­monly held to be the country, wherein wisedome doth inhabit, where the North wind doth subtilize the aire, and causeth it to passe through the spirits of the inhabitants, who thereby become, wonder­full crafty, circumspect, and discreet in their affaires, you may suppose that I speake of Neustria, but I know not whether it were in the higher, or the low­er, that this happened which I am about to relate, notwithstanding there are some that conjecture it to have beene in the lower patt, and in a City joy­ning to the sea coast, as it will appeare in the sequell of this Event.

A widdow Lady, whom we will call by the name of Fronesse because of her prudence, kept her house in a Castle, whereof her husband, now deceased, was Lord, who left her divers children, whose breeding, and bringing up was all her care.

It is well knowne that in Normandy the eldest sonne carries away all the meanes and estate, the youngest he leaves to inherit misery, so that this mother being not able to bestow on them any thing, save breeding, to the end, that they might advance themselves in the world, by the vertues, and good parts which she intended to conferre up­on them, she spared no cost to procure them the [Page 29] learning of exercises, fitting for them. The eldest, to whom we will give the name of Thierry, finding himselfe to have a good estate, tooke little care in any thing, but only in hunting, and in visiting his neighbours, which are the imployments of Gen­try, and Nobility in that countrey; and in this man­ner of idlenesse, it is no wonder but the fire which lyes commonly in young bloud, should kindle in the veines. Objects (saith the old maxime) doe moove the powers, and he having no other but such as were base, and inferiour, a m [...]ne subject, and inferiour inthralled him: A husband man, who was tennant to one of his Farmes, had a daughter whose beauty was above a countrey beauty, and whose wit, and person had not any thing clownish, nor unbefitting, but her apparell.

Nature who breeds pearles so cleare, and smooth in shells so rugged, and who createth the precious Diamonds, and Rubies, in the craggiest rockes, takes delight sometimes to shew that she is no lesse industrious in the country, then in citties, and that there she can produce a field full of flowers, which oftentimes may contend for beauty, and sente with those that are carefully nursed up in walled Gar­dens, and in the best ordered grounds, and to say the truth, I finde that guile is so rooted in Cities, that honesty, and beauty are there for the most part artificiall, and sophisticated, whereas in the sim­plicity of the Countrey, there is as little arte in manners, as painting on faces, and in conclusion, beauty is there for the most part more chaste, and chastity more faire.

This young Gentleman feeling himselfe infla­med with the love of this Driade whose name was Enemond, imagined that she being not only his subject, but as were his domesticall, he should ea­sily tame her, and bring her to the fist, as a bird of lure, but he flattered himselfe with that he only de­sired, for he found himselfe farre wide from his ac­count, meeting in this chaste creature such an un­tractable humour, which serves for a rampier unto honesty, that he at first thought this haggardlinesse to proceed from the rudenesse of her breeding, and that being not accustomed unto the honours, and blandishments he used towards her, she was there­with affrighted, but who so considers that she is a Norman, who with the very milke hath suckt in craft, and circumspection, shall soone know that she rather fained her selfe affrighted, only of pur­pose to avoid the importunities of this comple­menter, in vaine did he looke, winke, court, sing, prattle, make such postures, and gestures, as youth is wont to use to expresse their passion, because she had neither, eyes, tongue, gesture, countenance, nor signes to correspond with so many fooleries, but closed her eares against the tunes of this inchanter, seeing him come she would turne another way, or draw neere unto her mother, or imploy her selfe a­bout some huswifery, in briefe she avoided the ap­proach of this Gallant with such studied flights, and shifts, that all the subtilties, which he invented to intrap her, were as so many vented mines, with­out any effect. In fine seeing that she could no lon­ger avoyd the importunities of this droane who was [Page 31] continually buzzing about her eares, as a wise, and well advised maid, she acquainted her mother ther­with, to the end that she might make it knowne un­to Fronesse the mother of this Gentleman. This Lady (extreamely exact in what concerned her honour, and one who was ever watchfull to pre­serve the good name of those, that served her) had no sooner knowne the passion of her sonne, but she gave him such sharpe, but discreet instructions, that had he beene capable of reason, it would have made him become wise, what did not she say? to admonish him of his folly, with what did she not threaten him? if he abstained not from so base a designe, but this passion had cast such a veile over his eyes, and so shut up his eares, that he little regarded the profitable admonitions of Fronesse.

He persists obstinately in persuite of Emenond, and the more to entice her, he promises her marri­age, but she although a Country wench yet prefer­red her honesty before all the wealth in the world, she was also held fast by another tye, being long before ingaged in her affection unto a youth of her owne quality, whom she loved as deerly, as she did her life: so on the one side the loyalty she had vowed to keepe to him, that loved her for a good end, and one the other fide feare of being deceived, or forced by Thiery made her marveilous circum­spect, and wary, she well knew the great difference of these two parties, and as she saw likelyhood to hope for the one, so she thought it but a folly to de­sire the other; for what shew soever this young Gal­lant made, or what oathes soever he did sweare, she [Page 32] knew his intent was but only to get his will of her, and then to leave her, but the Bird was craftier then the crafty fowler, and what nets, or snares soever he set, either by his sighes, his Crocodile teares, his presents, or his promises, he could never get foot­ing, in the good opinion of this discreet maid, who endeavoured with more cunning to defend her selfe, then he did to assaile her.

In meane time the vehemency of his passion did grow so unmeasurably, that it brought him to the gates of fury, and despaire, if at the first he jested, when he spake of marrying this country wench, at last seeing there was no other way to attaine to the top of his desires, he requires in good earnest to have her in marriage. The more Fronesse laughs at this his proposition, the more he growes obstinate, and having gotten the knowledge that Finall was beloved of this maid, he sweares that he will rid the world of him, and in effect this poore country fellow avoyded as much as possible he could the presence of this madman.

The parents of Enemond by the command of Fronesse lockt up their daughter, insomuch that she was not seene by the rayes of the Sunne, Thierry seeing himselfe hindred by so many obstacles, en­ters into such a frenzy, that he seemes like a man without either sense, or reason, his bloud being mo­ved by sorrow, and anger, a strong Feaver seased on him, and that so surely, that the Doctors judged him a dead man, still he cryes out of Enemo [...]d, so deep was the thought of her rooted in his [...]a­gination.

The prudent mother sustained all this while an incomparable sorrow for the losse of this child, who being her eldest she counted him for the pillar of her family, she knew very well the ground of his disease, and fearing least contradiction should make him worse, she intends to deale with him, as with those melancholly Hypochondriachs, unto whose fan­tasies, how extravagant soever they be, they must never be opposed, so that by degrees sweetning the bitternesse of his spirit, and promising him sa­tisfaction, and that if he could recover Enemond, he should have her for his wife, by these two li [...] ­ments the extremity of his fury was tempered, and somewhat asswaged, and his feaver became more moderate, so that this her faire speech worked the same operation in him, as musicke doth unto those in Calabria that are stung by the venemous Spider Tarantula, he began shortly to amend and shew signes of his recovery, but very often would he urge his mother to reiterate her promise that he should have Enemond; when he began to grow dull, for the greater furtherance of his health, they caused this maid to come to him, which had almost cast him into a relapse, for hearing her speak, as she was by them instructed, he was on a sudden so o­verjoyed, that he redoubled his Feaver, which was farre more dangerous then at the first; at last Fro­nesse thinking with her selfe, that when he recove­red his health he would constrain her to keep these promises, (which were made but as lures to bring him forwards) devised a stratageme which tooke happy effect. Now began Thierry to walke a­bout [Page 34] his chamber, and to aske for Enemond.

To whom answer was made that she with the griefe that she tooke for his sicknesse was her selfe fallen into so violent a Feaver, that she was thought to be in great danger; this soone assaulted the heart of Thierry, who would not so soone have appeased himselfe, but that he imagined this newes to be fai­ned, he hath a great desire to goe visite this sicke maide, and continually entreates that he may be led to her, but Fronesse ordered the businesse in ano­ther manner; and to cut up the roote of all these fooleries in her sonne, she presently caused Finall to be married to Enemond, and gave three hun­dred French Crownes in portion to this maide, up­on condition that she, and her husband should goe into Picardy, and there live for a yeere or two. Now said she wee must make Thierry beleeve that Ene­mond is dead, and because that he will scarce be­leeve his owne eyes for the verity thereof, we will give her a sleepy potion, that shall so soundly be­nume her senses, for three or foure houres, that she shall seeme as dead indeed, then shall he see her in this state, yea wee will cause her obsequies to be prepared, and a fantasme, or species to be put into the grave, so that generally she shall be said to be dead, Finall, Enemond, and her parents all agreed unto Fronesse her will, Enemond counterfeits her selfe sicke and takes the sleepy potion, the newes of her death is spred about the towne, and brought to Thierry, he sees her in this case, and beleeves she is dead, a buriall is fained, whilest she and her hus­band are going in a voluntary exile to the furthest [Page 35] part of Picardy, Thierry abandons himselfe, and spends his time only in sorrow, and teares, tear­ming himselfe the unfortunatest of all lovers, some­times he seeks to end his dayes by hunger, another time by poison, againe by some steeled weapon, whereupon some grave religious men are brought to him, who prevailed over his passion so farre by their good exhortations, that they quite rooted up these unnaturall, and desperate resolutions of his minde.

The prudent mother (who now knowes the a­morous inclination of her sonne, and that if his love remaine without an object (such a melancholly may seaze on him that he may thereby fall into a con­sumption) seekes on all sides for a match fitting for him; ‘Wives are as easie to be found for rich el­der brothers, as difficult to be found for poore younger brothers,’ but Thierry must be cured by a remedy proportionable to his disease, beauty hath wounded him, beauty must therefore be the anti­dote, that must cure him, Fronesse not much respe­cting wealth, makes choice of a very faire, and ver­tuous Gentlewoman named Gaudence, who was the wonder of all eyes, that beheld her, she delayes no time, but presently communicates her mind, and desire to the maids parents, they considering how advantagious, and profitable this alliance might in time grow to be, held themselves much honoured in granting her request, but said Fronesse you must adde your helping hand, for we must deale in this matter, as with a sicke mind, therefore I hold it not convenient to speake to him of suppressing his old [Page 36] flames by new affections, as yet, for you know, that the want of appetite, or relish in sicke persons, cau­ses them to dislike the best meates: we must be in­dustrious, and so worke the matter, that he may be snared of his owne accord, without perceiving any thing at all of the businesse. There was no more comparison to be made betweene this Gaudence, and and the other country maid with whom he was so farre taken, then betweene the day, and the night, but as those, that have beene a long time in dark­nesse, must of necessity have sometime to use them­selves to light, and to know its worth; so it is need­full for this poore man almost out of his sences to returne to reason by little, and little, and to ac­knowledge by degrees, rhe difference betweene a faire noble, and well bred Gentlewoman; and a rude country wench: be pleased therefore (said she) speaking to the mother of Gaudence, to visit me as as a neighbour, and to give you the more cause to come the oftner, we will fain some businesse, which you desire to be decided betweene us, and bringing your daughter with you, I am sure her presence will do more of it selfe, then I should be able to doe by all my authority, or instructions.

This discreete plot was approved on by the pa­rents, and succeeded so happily, that without in­larging my selfe any further on the particularity of this new love, I will say in a few words, that Thier­ry became so amorously taken with the beauty of Gaudence, that hardly any memory of his first do­ting affection remained in him: crafty Fronesse see­ing him tyed in affection to this faire face, and in­gaged [Page 37] by desires to this object, tooke no small de­light in seeing her bird so intangled, and the more to augment these desires, she proposed difficulties, by reason of the unequality of the match, and see­med backward in giving consent to that, which she desired no lesse then Thierry.

Not long after this match was consummated with such content to this Gentleman, that his joy cannot be exprest but by the words of such, who have beene in the like manner ravished, and trans­ported as he was: about two or three yeeres after, his mother seeing him still more and more posses­sed with the love of his spouse, and jesting with him at the passion he was in for Enemonde, she dis­covers the whole stratageme whereof she had made use, by that meanes to draw him from the match, whose inequality would have beene an everlasting reproach unto his posterity; now this was the time wherein Thierry acknowledged the good his mo­ther had done for him, and presently yeelded her infinite thankes.

Finall, and Enemond were recalled from their exile, and the honour, and peace of this family was attributed to the wise government of this prudent mother.

THE DISCREETE CHILDREN.
The Third Event.

THE former Event hath shewed you in a prudent mother the care that parents have of their children, and in this Event you shall see the reverence, and o­bedience due unto parents, by the story, which I shall relate unto you, which will shew you the great wisedome, and discretion of children that endeavour to hide, and beare with the infirmities of her, who had brought them into the world.

On that great and famous River of Rhine, which heretofore served as a bound unto our Gaule, there are divers Earles, which in the language of that Country are called Rhinegraves. It is well knowne that of all nations there is none that so jealously [Page 39] preserve their Nobility, as the German, nor more feare to undermatch themselves, so that an Earle will never give his daughter to a Baron, nor a Mar­quesse will not marry with the daughter of an Earle, and in this manner are families carefully preserved in their state, and dignity, thus much I say because the knowledge thereof serves for a ground to our story.

An Earles daughter whom we will call Crisolite having also married an Earle of the Rhine or a Rhin­grave, had by him many children, whereof foure, to wit, two sonnes, and two daughters were living when as he dyed, and left her a widdow at the age of forty yeeres, and by reason that she had beene married very young, her children were then of good yeeres, so that the eldest was in the two or three and twentieth yeere of his age; This Lady for a time managed their estate, with all the dili­gence, and care of a mother, who truly, and entire­ly loves those, that are blood of her blood, and flesh of her flesh; In the cold time of her widdowhood there kindled in her such ardours, as could not ho­nestly be quenched but in a second marriage.

This good Dutch woman, who went plainly to worke in this her intent, casts her eyes divers waies to find out a match equall to her birth, for Noble men of that quality are farre more scarce there then in France, and Italy; and besides among those, that she could either have wished, or intended to have had, there was none found that was willing to match with a widdow of her age, and charged with children, so that all hope being taken from her [Page 40] that way, her lookes which did but seeke to find a Rocke worthy her shipwracke went no great voy­age ere they found it; a young Gentleman one of her subjects, who was ordinarily among the fol­lowers of her children, was the marke whereat she aimed: This faire image slipping through her eyes into her heart, ingraved it selfe so deeply there▪ that it was wholly past her power to raze it out: truly there lye hid great incommodities in greatnesse, amongst many this is one, to be alwayes in view, and yet to have no liberty to act what we would, and this is it that kils Crisolite, who agitated by her new flames, can neither quench them, nor manifest them, d [...]ring neither by word, nor by signe, to evaporate the least sparkle thereof, with what con­tradictions, is she tormented, on the one side repre­senting unto her selfe the perfections of her new beloved, which her imagination augmented after the manner of those that love; on the other side the glory, and quality of her birth, which she ble­mished in so much abasing her affections towards a subject, so farre disproportioned.

The German Nation free as the French, is not ca­pable of long concealment: after Crisolite had in vaine imployed her whole endeavours to drive from her mind this delectable Idae [...], which so wil­lingly persecuted her, she resolved to discover her flame (whose pretentions were just being they aim­ed at marriage) unto whose conficient person, she therefore first reveales it to one of her Gentlewo­men, one of a stayed age, and whose fidelity she had tryed before in weighty matters, but this wo­man [Page 41] well knowing the custome of the country, did so mislike that her Mistris should so unequally be­stow her selfe, that in stead of moderating the pas­sion of this gentle Lady by milde words, she more augmented it by her contradictions, so farre reje­cting what Crisolite had said unto her, that shee would scarce have patience to heare her.

The Countesse repulsed on this side, gave her woman charge to keepe all secret, and promised her (though farre from her intent) to thinke no more of Fleuriall (so will we call this Gentleman) but she soone addressed her selfe to one of her do­mesticalls, from whom she hoped to have fewer re­plyes, and more service, wherein she was no whit deceived, for great persons find too many favourers, and furtherers of their passions, how unjust, and unreasonable soever they be: this mans name was Leuffroy, unto whom his Lady having committed her secret in trust, he promised to execute faithfully all that she should command him: nothing else I desire, said she, of thee, but that thou faithfully make knowne unto Fleuriall his good fortune, in the greatnesse, and purity of my affections.

Leuffroy failed not so to doe, and having made this Gentleman understand the passions that the Countesse suffered for him, which tended only to marriage, Fleuriall stood more amazed at this dis­course then if he had beene stricken with a thunder­clap: he was not so simple but that he knew to what height of wealth, and greatnesse this love called him; but he considered withall, that the highest ai­cents, make the deepest precipes, and that the so­rest [Page 42] falls follow extraordinary raisings, he suppo­sed, that if he should correspond with Crisolites de­sires, he should arrive unto such wealth, as he durst never have so much as hoped for, on the other side he feared the wrath of her children, who comming to know this practise, would terare him in a thou­sand pieces, as he very well knew the humour of fortune, who deceitfull as she is, deales with men as the Eagle with the Tortois raising them very high, for to shatter them in pieces, by casting them downe, and that rubbing the glasse on the top with hony she makes the drinker taste the Wormewood in the bottome, he would not trust too much there­in, nor be taken like a silly bird, by the glistering of this faire glasse, feare overcame his ambition at first, and made him sleight Leuffroyes recitall, giving no other answer, but that speaking without letters of credence, he could not perswade himselfe other­wise but that he intended thereby to mock his good meaning.

If that be all replyed Leuffroy, I shall soone cer­tefie you that I speake not of mine owne accord, but well authorized by her who gave me this charge, not long after he brought him letters from the Countesse, whose hand he knew very well, which caused him not to doubt of Leuffroyes com­mission; notwithstanding whether it were, that he continued in his feares, or that he meant to cast oyle on the fire of this Ladies inflamed heart, he said unto the Messenger, that he feared a surprisall, and that this hand being easie to be counterfeited, it was perhaps a lure to call, and a snare to intrap, and undoe him.

Leuffroy was at the point of being angry at this mistrust, which seemed to taxe him with treachery, but considering with himselfe the just cause, that Fleuriall had to suspect, and besides that his Ladyes intent was not to vexe him, he moderated his chol­ler, and turning it into a merriment, he said verily faire sir you marvellously feare your skinne, and you seeme very nice in an occasion, for which a thousand knights would hazard the losse of a thou­sand lives a piece; it is, said Fleuriall, neither my life, nor my skinne that I seeke to put in safety, be­ing ready to expose both the one, and the other unto all manner of paines, and death for the ser­vice of so noble a Lady, but I feare that her ho­nour, which is dearer to me then all that concernes my selfe, should become interessed, or wronged, and then if her children should never so little per­ceive this businesse, what corner of the earth were able to shelter me from their wrath, or what pow­er could make me escape the cruelty of their ven­geance.

Discreet Leuffroy having by this discourse under­stood the motions of this Gentlemans soule, who was held backe from seconding the intentions of the Countesse, onely by feare of her children. made it all knowne unto her, whereupon Crisolite resolved not to waste her selfe away in that manner, by concealment of her affection from her children, being to her as unprofitable, as it was troublesome, but before them to declare her passi­ons and intentions.

Having then on a morning caused them all foure [Page 44] to come into her chamber, two wit, the two sonnes, Maximillian, and Septimus, and the two daughters, Anicete, and Catherine: She said thus unto them, my good children, for the cares I have had in your bringing up, and for the endeavours of a good mo­ther, which I have ever yeelded unto you, I be­leeve none of you but will confesse how tenderly, and heartily I have loved you, during the time that heaven permitted me to live with your now decea­sed father. I have behaved my selfe toward him with all the submission, modesty, and fidelity, which a wife owes unto her husband, but in fine cruell death hath taken him from me, and parted us, and he hath left me in an age not yet so great, that it should freeze the blood in my veines, nor in­terdict me to thinke of a second marriage; I have done all that I can to put this idle fantasie out of my head, but my nature is so repugnant unto this holy vertue of continency, which heaven doth not grant to every one, that I beleeve I ought rather to mar­ry then to burne; and that is the thing I am deter­mined to doe: but because I am not of a common condition, matches conformable to my birth and quality, are not easily found; therefore I have cast mine eyes, and fixed my heart on a Gentleman, with whom I hope to have more contentment then if he were of greater degree; and whose alliance will be lesse prejudiciall unto you, then if I tooke another of higher birth: I know the lawes of the Nobility of this Countrey very well, but I know also, that the lawes of nature are more ancient, and those of love more strong, you know what great [Page 45] revenewes I have brought to this house, which if it were transsported into the hands of another hus­band, your inheritance would be much diminished, I have found a way with which I shall rest well contented, our honour shall be sheltered, and your meanes shall not be lessened, nor impoverished: I will secretly marry this Gentleman, whom I shall name unto you, he shall dwell in my house as a do­mesticall servant, none shall know that I have mis­matcht my selfe; and if any children shall issue from him, and me, they shall be brought up secret­ly, and they may be provided for with indifferent meanes. In this manner without any prejudice to you, I shall be satisfied. I speake freely, and round­ly to you, as to my children, from whom I hope for as much love, respect, and consent, as the good­nesse of your nature doth promise me: another, it may be, more haughty and more imperious would have done whatsoever her passion had dictated un­to her, without your counsell, and it may be also that another having lesse feare of God, and lesse re­spect to honour, would have remedied her incon­tinency by meanes, as dishonourable, as unlawfull: but I had rather dye a thousand deaths, then to set such a spot on my blood, and posterity, knowing this that a woman without honesty, of what qua­lity soever she be, is but as it were a laistall; finally I doe intreate you not to speake any thing to dis­swade me from this my resolution, being I have de­clared unto you, that it is absolutely necessary for my contentment, only judge whether the way by me proposed be not reasonable, and fitting, as well [Page 46] to set my conscience at rest, and my honour at shel­ter, as to preserve the meanes which I brought in­to your Fathers house.

If these foure children were not amazed at this proposition, is not a question to be asked, but at last seeing they must make use not of consultation, but of resolution, in a businesse determine, they make a vertue of that necessity, which is not subject to any lawes, and imbracing obedience, and discreti­on, inclined themselves to the will of their mother, whom they saw to be as carefull of their good, as of her owne contentment; whereupon the eldest speaking for all the rest, answered her with all du­tifull respect, and modesty: that although their common desires could (it may be) more wish to see her in a glorious widdowhood, then in a disadvan­tagious marriage, neverthelesse, they were so many wayes obliged to her, both for their lives, and for the meanes which they held of her, and also for the great paines shee had taken in their education, that they had rather renounce themselves, and their owne judgements then to contradict her, in any one point: that she was their Mother, their Lady, and their Mistresse, that she might dispose of their bodyes, their lives, their meanes, and their wills ac­cording to her good pleasure, it belonging not un­to them to resi [...] any of her intentions, and that the only glory of obeying her, as their mother was the fairest lot in their heritage, and seeing that they had hitherto beene ruled, and governed by her with­out any contradiction, in what concerned them­selves, they could not with reason disapprove what [Page 47] she should doe for her selfe, that they would ho­nour, and respect him, that she should chuse for her husband, after what manner soever shee would command, and that she might be onely pleased to appoint, and she should find in them a perfect obedience.

Chrisolite saw that these were not so much words of complement, as of sincere verity, weeping with joy, and tendernesse, and blessing the wit, and dis­cretion of her children, thanked them with great signes of acknowledgement, and having discovered unto them her affection to Fleuriall, and that it was hee that she intended to have, not long after shee made him the Steward of her house, and having privately married him, none being present but on­ly her children, Leuffroy, and some of her Gentle­women; this young Gentleman in stead of being puffed up with pride by his match, behaved him­selfe with so much humility, and moderation, as well towards the Countesse, as towards her chil­dren, that both the one, and the other strove who should love him most.

There were two daughters borne in this second marriage, who were brought up secretly; the first wherof, and eldest was named Margarite, the other named Lucide, who some few yeeres after the death of Chrisolite was honourably married, she inherited the wealth, wherewith the Countesse and her for­mer children honoured the fidelity of Fleuriall, who even after the death of Chrisolite remained with Maximilian the Rhinegrave governing all his house.

Thus was the mother contented, the children counted discreet, and all things passed quietly with­out rumour, and to say the truth for to hinder a wid­dow from marriage who is resolved to marry, is as much as to oppose bankes unto a great torrent of waters, besides it is not the part of dutifull children to controle the will of their parents; yea I dare say although it were somewhat unreasonable. These children did deserve much praise, who by their sub­mission, and consent avoyded the tumult, and broyles, which opposition, and resistance breeds, and by their secresie and silence, preserved the ho­nour of continency, and by their prudence and discretion retained the great meanes, which came to them by their mother: but truly the moderation of Fleuriall deserveth a particular praise, having beene able to containe within the bounds of re­spects, notwithstanding this elevation, it being a thing ordinary enough to spirits lesse judicious, for to passe from use to abuse, and from riches to inso­lence, which hath caused the proverbe, that honors change manners, a proverbe crossed by the tem­perance of this Gentleman.

THE CVRRIED PERSONS.
The Fourth Event.

WHen a sinner is arrived to that degree of impudency, as with­out shame to cōmit his iniquity in the face of heaven, and earth, and to that height of insolence, as to despise the justice of God and men, then doth the wrath of God kindle as a fire, as a devouring fire, which brings a total consummation, for patience too much provoked becomes fury; and although God bee patient, long suffering, very mercifull, and endu­reth the malice of perverse persons, yet when the measure is full, then doth hee cast his vengeance abundantly upon the proud, and presumptuous: there are some kind of natures so bad, that not con­tent to doe all the evill, and wickednesse they can [Page 50] devise thinke themselves not fully satisfied, if they make not knowne unto others the pleasure, which they take in acting their sin, yea they glory in their malice, if I have done evill (saith the impudent in the Scripture) what punishment hath happened to me for it. There are others, who being reprehen­ded, and admonished, threaten to do worse, & who like unto resty horses made more wayward by the spurre, the more their scandals, and reproaches are borne with, the worse, and more malitious they be­come: it is for those that the milstones of Gods wrath grinde late, but when they come, they grinde very small, and the grievousnesse of the torment is augmented by the foreshewing of the punishment, in the example which I heere propose unto you, behold all these verities, as in a mirrour.

In a citty of our part of France the name where­of I will not now declare, although I know it very well, A gentleman of the new impression, whom wee will call Opile, had made him notable, by get­ing some small victories in the warres, with a com­pany of Carabines which he commanbed, and with which he did 1000. robberies, and outrages in the country. This man during the time of peace seeing his sword hang by the wall, and the most part of his company cashiered, betooke himselfe to spend foo­lishly what he had so uniustly gotten together, and this was in frequenting gaming houses, and lewd places, where he wallowed himselfe in all manner of naughtinesse: At last being fallen in love with a Marchants wife, whom we will disguise under the name of Anaclete, he never ceased, untill by his im­portunities [Page 51] and devises he had brought this misera­ble woman to condiscend unto his will, and not content thus to defile his neighbours bed by infa­mous adultery, as if one part of his licentiousnesse had consisted, in the shew of it, he boasted thereof in a most abominable, and impudent manner, and in liew of hiding his filthinesse, he laboured by all manner of wayes to manifest it. Imagining that he should be counted for a brave fellow, thus un­der a husbands nose to seduce his wife, and defile his bed.

The good Marchant more attentive in the care of his affaires then the demeanure of his disloyall wife, either did not see, or at least would not seeme to see these disorders. As among vertues, conti­nency beareth the name of honourable, so amongst vices licentiousnesse beareth the title of dishonou­rable and infamous, nothing in the world more di­minishing the reputation. The small sensibility that Anaclete shewed in such an assent, exposed him not only unto the laughter of his neighbours, but more­over unto the detraction of his ill willers, who ac­cused him of connivency, as if he had beene confe­derate with his wives lewdnesse.

This calumnie being come to his eare, stung him so to the quicke, that he resolved to take away this infamy from his house, and to wash the staine ther­of in blood, but remembring himselfe, and conside­ring that the honour of a wise man depends not on the frailty of a sex so subject to infirmity, & besides fearing the ruine of his fortune by murthering him, that had dishonoured him, he kept back his anger, [Page 52] and setled his minde to sufferance, and conceale­ment, but the bravadoes of the Captaine, and the audaciousnesse of his wife growne insolent by his timidity, the hooting of his neighbours, and the re­proaches of his kindred were unto his heart such pressing stings, that drawing strength out of his weaknesse, and courage out of his naturall pusillani­mity, he protested to avenge himselfe solemnely, if his wife abstained not from her evill courses, and returned to her former duty, and respect which she owed to him, not daring any more to meddle with the Captaine, whose very name stopped his mouth, being reported to be extreame hasty, and cruell, he instructed his wife with the best admonitions hee could frame, but seeing her in liew of profiting thereby, to mocke him for his paines, he was con­strained to change accent, and taking a harsher tone to come unto threates, whereat this female creature being netled began to reply with bawling, and in­jurious termes, threatning that she would have him cripled if he were so bold as once to strike hir: Ana­clete moved with choller lifts up his hand, and makes so faire an impression therewith on her cheeke that the mark of his fingers remained there a good while printed by reason of the bloud which thereby mounted up to her face, adding moreover with a solemne protestation soundly to curry both her, and her minion if ever he found them talking together.

Eudoxe (let us call this woman) full of despight by such an affront resolved with her selfe, to take deepe vengeance therof, neither wanted she means [Page 53] so to doe, having the sword of Opile at her com­mand, but because this Captaine intended not to marry her, shee desired not that he should goe so farre, as to kill her husband, but only that by threats, and some blowes he should keepe him in awe, having then made hir complants unto him, and told him how Anaclete had said, that if he found them together he would currie them both, Opile who was not wont to be used in such a manner, promised to teach her husband to speake in another fashion, and so severely to revenge the blow which she had received, that shee should have cause to be satisfied therewith.

Meeting on a time with this poore man he be­ganne to vent, and utter his bravadoes against him, and to sweare that if he continued in his fantasticall humours, he would hack, and hew him in so many peices that the skilfullest anatomatist should hardly set him together againe. Anaclete answered him coldly, that if he were of his profession, and had bin bred up in armes, he would answer him in the same tearmes, but that the condition of a souldiour, and that of a merchant are not used to ioyne toge­ther, the ell and the sword being weapons farre different, that the law of marriage gave him full au­thority over his wife, whom he had forbidden to come in his company, to the end that the evill re­ports might be wiped away which were spread a­broad, to the disadvantage of her honour; and that he beleeved, that there passed no dishonest act in their conversation, but that an honest woman ought to be exempt, both from the crime, and the [Page 54] suspition, and that if his wife abusing him with her tongue, he had made use of his hand to hold her peace, it was not for Opile to thinke himselfe offen­ded therewith, [...]xcept he would shew to have some share in her, who no way, that he knew to be law­full, appertained to him.

From this answer, that might have satisfied any man that knew reason, Opile tooke occasion to en­crease his choller, and passion, which made him like a tun filled with new wine the which foules it selfe with its owne foame, because that the rashnesse of the discourse made him utter many words, not only outragious against the person of Anaclete, but which plainely discovered, that he sought to have more part in her, whose cause he defended, then ei­ther law, or honesty could permit, which so hard­ly oppressed good Anaclete, that he was constrained to reply, that if ever he saw him approach his wife, he would do his endeavour to resist force by force, and to drive disgrace from his house.

Whereunto angry Opile replyed like a souldier, if I were said he asleepe in thine owne bed, thou wouldest not dare to awake me, yet thou hast said that thou wouldest currie both thy wife, and her minion (speaking of me) if thou didst finde us to­gether; but be thou sure that I will speake to her when it shall please me in despight of thy threats, and foretidings, and since thou hast spoken of curry­ing me, as if I were a horse, assure thy selfe that it shall not be before I have well rubbed thee to my mind; and thereupon he lifts up a great staffe, wher­with he would have accompanied his words, but [Page 55] the legs of Anaclet [...] by a quicke flight, saved him at that time from a basting.

The proud souldier boasted of this discomsiture, as if he had wonne the field, but he sung the tri­umph before the victory, he continues his filthy action with this wicked woman, more openly, and impudently then ever, but it will not be without punishment. Lead is long ere it be hot, but then it melts on a sudden; the Diamond is difficult to bee broken, but when it doth breake, it goes all to pow­der; so is it with slow, heavy, and timorous humors, they must have time to increase their choller, and when it is at the height they are as red hot iron, which long retaines it's heat, Anaclete wronged be­yond all measure, resolved to end his dishonour, or his life, he makes his complaint to his kindred, and friends, who all taking part in his misfortune, and hating the insolence of Opile, promised to assist him in this revenge, being just, and authorized by the lawes.

Accompanied then with three or foure good fel­lowes, resolved to surprize the adulterers, and to punish them as they deserved, it was an easie mat­ter to find them together: some few dayes before Anaclete intended to put in practise his designe, he fained a certaine kind of reconcilement with his dis­loyall wife, he makes extraordinary much of her, as if his former affections had renewed, but they were Apes [...]uggings, which smother with their im­bracings, this woman growne expert in deceits re­turnes him the like, he faines a voyage whereunto he said that his commerce obliged him, for to make [Page 56] provision of some certaine wares at a Faire, his wife counterfeits a sadnesse at his departure, where un­to she added a few Crocadiles teares; hardly was he gone, but Opile came to possesse his place, and that in a manner so openly that all the neighbour­hood was scandalized thereat, two dayes after Anaclete returnes, who accompanied by foure or five of his trusty friends all armed, as was fitting enters with false keyes even unto his owne cham­ber, wherein they were no sooner entered, but the adulterers, whom they found in bed together awakened, Opiles sword was seased on, as also his poyniard, and pistoll, he sees himselfe naked, and unable to defend himselfe, among five or sixe men well armed, and every one his pistoll in hand rea­dy charged, and cockt presenting them to his head, now stands our braggard well amazed, and of a Ly­on that he had beene, is now become as gentle as a Sheepe, and dares not bleate, they sease on him, and he is forthwith bound hand and foot, and in this manner laid on the bed againe, the woman on a sudden awaking sees this spectacle, and presently her conscience expects nothing but death, for her punishment, she cryes, she weepes, she craves mer­cy for her selfe, and Opile, in briefe she playes the woman, a creature insolent in prosperity, and faint hearted in misfortune. Opile askes Anaclete for­givenesse with the fairest protestations in the world, but Anaclete is wounded in his honour, a wound that is not healed with words, and seeing his ene­my now in his power, caused one of his armes to be untyed, and putting a wispe of straw into his [Page 57] hand, such as they use to rub horses withall; Opile (said he) thou hast threatned to rubbe me before I should curry thee, I will have thee to be as good as thy word, therefore take this wispe, and rub me at thy pleasure.

Opile refusing so to doe, Anaclete and those that accompanyed him setting poyniards and pistolls to his throat forced him to take the wispe, and passe it over the back of Anaclete, which he did very gent­ly, then they asked him if he were contented there­with, and if he had rubd him well to his mind, you have constrained me to it. (said he) And I will also constraine thee (replyed Anaclete) to let me curry thee at my will for it is now my turne.

Then they fastned this poore naked body to the foure posts of the bed, as one extended upon the wheele, and Anaclete taking an iron curry combe, which he had caused to be made with long teeth, began to curry this gallant, so furiously, that hee flaid him alive, tearing away his nose, eyes, and all that made him a man, in briefe leaving no parcell of his skinne untoucht, he stretches his good wife on the same racke, and curryed her in the same manner, casting their miserable bodyes on the floore, which had neither face, nor skinne, and left them there panting, and wallowing in their blood, this exploit of cruell vengeance thus acted, he reti­red himselfe into a place of safety.

Day being come the Magistrates enter the house where they behold this horrible spectacle. These unfortunate creatures lived a while after to confesse their faults, and aske God forgivenesse for them. [Page 58] Opile dyed before night, the woman lived untill the next day, both in torments, which can hardly be imagined. The lawes forgave Anaclete this mur­der, but because of the cruelty of the action, he was constrained wholly to forsake the City, and to change his dwelling, ever since it hath remained, as a proverbe in that place when they see any one courting another mans wife, they bid him take heed of the curry-combe.

Certainly they are quite voyde of humanity, who detest not the cruelty of this revenge, more worthy to be abhorred then imitated, and besides those lawes, which permits husbands to kill the adulterers when they surprize them, are contrary unto the lawes divine; neverthelesse they were stoned to death in the ancient law, providing that it were done in the way of publicke justice, and by the ordinary course.

But who doth not see in this history the just judgement of God on the insolence of this souldi­er, and this dishonest woman. The punishment of a fault seemes the greater, yea redoubled, when as it is either shamefull, or ridiculous. And amongst delinquents whom justice sends to execution, there are many that grieve more to suffer by the hands of the hangman, and to serve for a spectacle to the people, then for the losse of their life. If those, who defile themselves by adultery, had such curriers be­fore their eyes, they would not neigh (for to speak with the Scripture) as Stalions after their neigh­bours wives.

THE VVAKING Mans dreame.
The Fifth Event.

THE Greek proverbe saith, that a man is but the dreame of a shaddow, or the shaddow of a dreame; is there then any thing more vaine then a shadow? which is nothing in it selfe, be­ing but a privation of light fra­med by the opposition of a thicke body unto a lu­minous: is there any thing more frivolous then a dreame? which hath no subsistence but in the hol­lownesse of a sleeping braine, and which to speake properly is nothing but a meere gathering together of Chimericall Images: and this is it which makes an ancient say, that we are but dust and shadow; our life is compared unto those, who sleeping dreame that they eate, and waking find themselves [Page 60] empty, and hungry? and who is he that doth not find this experimented in himselfe; as often as he revolves in his memory the time which is past: who can in these passages of this world distinguish the things which have beene done, from those that have beene dreamed? vanities, delights, riches, pleasures, and all are past, and gone, are they not dreames? what hath our pride, and pompe avai­led us? say those poore miserable soules shut up in the infernall prisons, where is our bravery become, and the glorious shew of our magnificence? all these things are passed like a flying shadow, or as a post who hastens to his journeyes end. This is it which caused the ancient Comicke Poet to say that the world was nothing but an universall Comedy, be­cause all the passages thereof serves but to make th [...] wisest laugh, and according to the opinion of De­mocritus all that is acted on this great Theater of the whole world when it is ended differs in no­thing from what hath bin acted on a Players stage; the mirrour which I will heere set before your eyes will so lively expresse all these verities, and so tru­ly shew the vanities of the greatnesse; and opulen­cies of the earth. That although in these Events I gather not either examples not farre distant from our times, or that have beene published by any o­ther writer, yet I beleeve that the serious pleasant­nesse of this one will supply it's want of novelty, and that it's repetition will neither bee unfruitfull nor unpleasing.

In the time that Phillip Duke of Burgundy (who by the gentlenesse, and curteousnesse of his carri­age [Page 61] purchaste the name of good) guided the reines of the country of Flanders. This Prince who was of an humour pleasing, and full of judicious good­nesse, rather then silly simplicity used pastimes, which for their singularity are commonly called the pleasures of Princes: after this manner he no lesse shewed the quaintnsse of his wit, then his pru­dence.

Being in Bruxelles with all his Court, and having at his table discoursed amply enough of the vani­ties, and greatnesse of this world, he let each one say his pleasure on this subject, whereon was al­leadged grave sentences, and rare examples; walk­ing towards the evening in the Towne, his head full of divers thoughts, he found a Tradesman ly­ing in a corner sleeping very soundly, the fumes of Bacchus having surcharged his braine. I describe this mans drunkennesse in as good manner as I can to the credit of the party. This vice is so common in both the superiour and inferiour Germany, that divers making glory, and vaunting of their dexte­rity in this art, encrease their praise thereby, and hold it for a brave act. The good Duke to give his followers an example of the vanity of all the mag­nificence with which he was invironed, devised a meanes farre lesse dangerous, then that which Dio­nysius, the Tyrant used towards Democles, and which in pleasantnesse beares a marve [...]lous utility. He caused his men to carry away this sleeper, with whom as with a blocke they might doe what they would, without awaking him, he caused them to carry him into one of the sumptuosest parts of his [Page 62] Pallace, into a chamber most state-like furnished, and makes them lay him in a rich bed. They pre­sently strip him of his bad cloathes, and put him on a very fine, and cleane shirt, in stead of his own, which was foule and filthy, they let him sleepe in that place at his ease, and whilest hee settles his drinke, the Duke prepares the pleasantest pastime that can be imagined.

In the morning this drunkard being awake, drawes the curtaines of this brave rich bed, sees himselfe in a chamber adorned like a Paradice, he considers the rich furnitvre with an amazement such as you may imagine, he beleeves not his eyes but layes his fingers on them, and feeling them open, yet perswades himselfe they are shut by sleep, and that all that he sees is but a pure dreame.

Assoone as he was knowne to be awake, in comes the officers of the Dukes house, who were instru­cted by the Duke what they should do, there were pages bravely apparelled Gentlemen of the cham­ber, Gentleman waiters, and the High Chamber­laine, who all in faire order, and without laughing bring cloathing for this new guest, they honour him with the same great reverences, as if hee were a Soveraigne Prince, they serve him bare-headed, and aske him what suite hee will please to weare that day.

This fellow affrighted at the first, beleeving these things to be inchantment, or dreames, reclai­med by these submissions, tooke heart, and grew bold, and setting a good face on the matter, chu­sed amongst all the apparell that they presented un­to [Page 63] him, that which he liked best, and which hee thought to be fittest for him, he is accommodated like a King, and served with such ceremonies, as he had never seene before, and yet beheld them with­out saying any thing, and with an assured counte­nance. This done, the greatest Nobleman in the Dukes Court enters the chamber with the same re­verenee, and honour to him, as if he had been their Soveraigne Prince; (Phillip with Princely delight beholds this play from a private place) divers of purpose petitioning him for pardons, which hee grants with such a countenance, and gravity, as if he had had a Crowne on his head all his life time.

Being risen late, and dinner time approaching, they asked him if he were pleased to have the ta­bles covered, he likes that very well; the table is furnished, where he is set alone, and under a rich Canopie he eates with the same ceremony, which was observed at the Dukes meales, he made good cheere, and chawed with all his teeth, but only drank with more moderation, then he could have wisht, but the Majesty which he represented made him refraine.

All taken away, he was entertained with new, and pleasant things, they led him to walke about the great Chambers, Galleries, and Gardens of the Pallace (for all this merriment was played within the gates they being shut only for recrea­tion to the Duke, and the principall of his Court) they shewed him all the richest, and most pleasan­test things therein, and talked to him thereof, as if [Page 64] they had all beene his, which he heard with an at­tention, and contentment beyond measure, not saying one word of his base condition, or decla­ring that they tooke him for another: They made him passe the afternoone in all kind of sports, mu­sicke, dancing, and a Comedy spent some part of the time. They talked to him of some State mat­ters, whereunto he answered according to his skill, and like a right Twelfetide King.

Super time approaching they aske this new cre­ated Prince, if he would please to have the Lords, and Ladies of his Court to sup, and feast with him, whereat he seemed something unwilling, as if hee would not abase his dignity unto such familiarity; neverthelesse counterfeiting humanity, and affabi­lity, he made signes, that he condiscended there­unto: he then towards night was led with sound of Trumpets and Hoboyes into a faire hall, where long Tables were set, which were presently cove­red with divers sorts of dainty meates, the Tor­ches shined there in every corner, and made a day in the midst of a night: the Gentlemen, and Gen­tlewomen were set in fine order, and the Prince at the upper end in a higher seat: the service was magnificent; the musicke of voyces and instru­ments fed the eare whilest mouthes found their food in the dishes, never was the imaginary Duke at such a feast; carousses begin after the manner of the Country; the Prince is assaulted on all sides, as the Owle is assaulted by all the Birdes, when he begins to soare: not to seeme uncivill he would doe the like to his good, and faithfull sub­jects; [Page 65] they serve him with very strong wine, good Hipocras which hee swallowed downe in great draughts, and frequently redoubled, so that char­ged with so many extraordinaryes, he yeelded to deaths cousin german sleep, which closed his eyes, stopt his eares, and made him loose the use of rea­son, and all his other sences.

Then the right Duke, who had put himselfe among the throng of his Officers, to have the pleasure of this mummery, commanded that this sleeping man should bee stript out of his brave cloathes, and cloathed againe in his old ragges, and so sleeping carried, and layd in the same place, where he was taken vp the night before, this was presently done, and there did he snort all the night long, not taking any hurt either by the hardnesse of the stones, or the night ayre, so well was his stomacke filled with good preser­vatives.

Being awakened in the morning by some pas­senger, or it may bee by some, that the good Duke Philip had thereto appointed: ha, said he, my friends, what have you done? you have rob'd mee of a Kingdome, and have taken mee out of the sweetest, and happiest dreame, that ever man could have fallen into, then very well remem­bring all the particulars of what had passed the day before, hee related unto them from point to point, all that had happened unto him, still thinking it assuredly to bee a dreame, being re­turned home to his house, hee entertaines his wife, neighbours, and friends with this his [Page 66] dreame, as hee thought, the truth whereof be­ing at last published by the mouthes of those Courtiers, who had beene present at this plea­sant recreation, the good man could not beleeve it, thinking that for sport they had framed this history, upon his dreame: but when Duke Phil­lip who would have the full contentment of this pleasant tricke, had shewed him the bed, where­in hee lay, the cloathes, which he had worne; the persons, who had served him; the Hall, wherein hee had eaten; the Gardens, and Gal­leries, wherein hee had walked; hardly could hee be induced to beleeve what hee saw, imagi­ning that all this was meere inchantment, and illu­sion.

The Duke used some liberality towards him for to helpe him in the poverty of his family, and taking an occasion thereon to make an Ora­tion unto his Courtiers concerning the vanity of this worlds honours, hee told them, that all, that ambitious persons seeke with so much industry, is but smoake, and a meere dreame, and that they are strucken with that pleasant folly of the Athenian who imagined all the riches, that arrived by shipping in the haven of Athens to be his, and that all the Marchants were but his Factors: his friends getting him cured by a skilfull Physitian of the debility of his brain, in liew of giving them thanks for this good office, he reviled them, saying that whereas he was rich in conceit, they had by this cure made him poore, and miserable in effect.

Harpaste a foole that Seneca [...]s wife kept, and [Page 67] whose pleasant imagination this grave Phyloso­pher doth largely relate, being growne blind could not perswade her selfe that she was so, but continu­ally complained, that the house wherein she dwelt was dark, that they would not open the windowes, and that they hindred her from setting light, to make her beleeve she could see nothing, hereupon this great Stoick makes this fine consideration, that every vitious man is like unto this foole, who al­though he be blind in his passion, yet thinks not himselfe to be so, casting all his defect on false sur­mises, whereby he seeks not only to have his sinne worthy of excuse, and pardon, but even of praise, the same say the covetous, ambitious, and voluptu­ous persons in defence of their imperfections, but in fine (as the Psalmist saith) all that must passe away, and the images thereof come to nothing, as the dreame of him that awaketh from sleepe.

If a bucket of water be as truly water, as all the sea, the difference only remaining in the quantity, not in the quality, why shall we not say, that our poore Brabander was a Soveraigne Prince, for the space of foure and [...]enty houres; being that he received all the honours, and commodities th [...]reof, how many Kings, and [...] have not lasted lon­ger, but have dyed [...] [...]very day of their Electi­ons or Coronations? A [...] for those other pompes, which have lasted longer, what are they else, but longer dreames? This vanity of worldly things is a great sting to a well composed soule to helpe it forward towards the heavenly kin [...]dome.

THE OLD MAN passionate in Love.
The Sixth Event.

IT is a thing seldome seene for old men to goe to warre, much lesse to become amorous. Mars, and Venus (two deityes spoken of by the Poets) are irreconcileably angry with old men, because they are dismis­sed, as it were, from their service, I grant there are many couragious old men, but when strength failes, wherto serves courage? As there are white Swannes which draw the Chariot of the Goddesse of Cyprus, so there are likewise old men, who en­ter into passions scarce pardonable in those that are young: but if in deeds of armes these men com­mit many faults; what follies doe they not com­mit, when this abortive called love makes them [Page 69] grow childish againe; how many dangerous foole­ries this frenzie was cause of in the person of an old man, you may behold in the sequell of this History.

In a City of one part of France, one of these which are seated on the river of Rosne (I will not otherwise specifie it) a man of threescore (whose yeares ere then might have read him a good, & au­thenticall lesson of coldnesse, and temperance) ten­derly, & quietly brought vp his children, which he had had by his wife deceased some yeers past, they were two sons reasonable big, and two daughters more then marriageable, his family, and household affaires went forward in good manner, when this little hobgoblin to whom Poets attribute a bowe, quiver, wings, and torches, came, and cast into his bones an artificiall fire which laid hold on his Ice, and shewed that there may be some few sparkes of fire among the ashes, and the flame is never so quick, as in drie-wood; there were not far from him certaine children, that were orphants, but children (at least the males) able enough to go­verne their estate, they were two young brothers whom necessity kept united together, because if they should part their stocke, either of them could scarce live on his part, they had one sister of reaso­nable age, and sufficient to performe their huswife­ry▪ they lived thus in good fashion, partly by their industry▪ partly by their meanes. That wee may speake more cleerely, and to avoide confusion we will name the old man Sostene, the two brothers T [...]bere, and Willerme, and their sister Eufronie. This [Page 70] maide having been well instructed by her deceased mother in all manner of needle workes, was be­come very expert therein, and taught them unto o­ther maides and children with great dexterity; So­stene having daughters, who desired to perfect themselves in these occupations so beseeming their sexe, very often called Eufrony unto them, who taught them most part of her skill, with a great deale of grace, and sincerity: she was faire, but ne­ver the lesse vertuous, and this vertue was accom­panied with such a quicknesse of wit, that her con­versation was well thought on by every one. The good old man Sostene never thought of the treason wrought against him, by that little aforesaid spirit, who lay in ambuscado in th [...] eyes of Eufronie.

During the long winters nights, shee spent the best part of the evening with the three daughters of Sostene, which, with two sonnes he had by his for­mer wife, the good old man sitting in the chim­ney corner in his furred gowne, tooke great plea­sure in hearing the tales that these wenches told, whilest they were at their worke, and the songs which they sung, and other such pleasantnesse, yet all within the limits of honesty, and vertue, but in all these things, as well, as in the workes Eufronie excelled, and was as Diana amongst her nimphs. By degrees (for fire requires time to melt ice, and then to make the water boyle which comes of it) the actions, the countenance, the speeches of Eufronie delighted him, the features likewise of her face, her smiles, her lookes, and her other graces imprinted themselves on his heart, so that hee desired shee [Page 71] might alwayes accompany his daughters, and he amongst them▪ a faire, not golden, but silver lockt Apollo amidst the Muses, he became very impatient within himselfe when Eufronie came not: and when the care of her house or the service of her brothers retained her from thence, he was so sad, and so fro­ward that nothing could content him; to imagine the cause of this his humour was a hard matter, for it might better have been attributed to his age, then any passion.

In fine (not to insist too long on this old mans do­tage) after some few dayes, himselfe having hand­led his wound, and found the shaft entred so deepe into his heart, that he could not possibly get it out, he resolves with him selfe to seeke the remedy in the subject of his smart, and attempt this Danaes Tower by Iupiters golden shower: had his thought aimed at mariage, although Hymen were out of season for him, yet had there beene cause where­with to justifie his designe, and perhaps so many disorders might not have happened thereby, but God Almighty by his just judgement permitted him to fall into the snares, which he prepared to intrap the honestie of Eufronie. To tell you in what manner he declared to her the torment he suffered for her sake, and the repugnancies he endured in revealing unto her his shamefull pretentions, are things which I know not, and if I did know them, yet I should be loath to foule my paper with such filthy proceedings. But at length Eufronie percei­ving this old fire brand meant to consume her cha­stity, rather then to consummate a lawfull marri­age, [Page 72] she carried the matter very wisely, and warily, advertising her brothers of the passion that this old man had discovered unto her, intreating them to invent some speciall pretence thereby to keepe her any more from going to that house, where her pre­sence did but only cast oyle into a fire which could not be quenched but with her absence.

Tibere, and Willerme tooke another way all that their sister had said, and subtile, and crafty as they were thought this a good occasion well to advance their sister, and their owne affaires. They therefore first commended her for imparting unto them what had passed, and withall told her that they were not willing, that she should absent her selfe therby to quench this fire, but rather to augment it by her presence, and change it into a lawfull desire of marriage, a thing as they shewed her might easily be done, if she could guide this her designe with dis­cretion.

She who totally relyed on her brothers, whom she knew wished nothing so much as her good, and besides (a naturall thing) being desirous of her own advancement, and giving credence unto their per­swasions, behaved her selfe so discreetly towards Sostene, that she reduced his flame to such a period, as it could not long endure without possessing her: nothing causes so much love as honesty, wherby she wholly conquered him, letting him know, that shee made more account of her honour, then of all the large proffers, that he made her, yea or of all the wealth in the world, and that the only meanes to win her was to marry her, where unto she was con­tent [Page 73] (notwithstanding the great disparity of their ages) if her brothers would like thereof.

The old man, in whom love on the one side, and shame on the other, wrought an unspeakable trou­ble, desired all, yet feared all, he desired to marry her, that he might possesse her more at ease, but he feared the speeches of the world, and more the dis­content of his children, and trouble of his family: yet of two evills he endeavours to chuse the least, and that it is better to marry then consume in that manner, his pleasures seeme dearer, and stick closer to him, then the speech of people, but then comming again to himselfe, and considering, how this would be the next way to cast him into his grave, an [...] to make a ridiculous upshot of his life, he recalled him­self; poor reed, poor beaten bark tossed by contrary winds, he seeks many remedies in these extremities, but finds none, he at last beleeves, that a clandestine, a secret marriage may satisfie his appetite, and yet preserve his credit, he proposed it unto Eufrony, and she unto her brothers, who caring not which way this Boare might run into their toyles, counselled her to take of the old man a promise of marriage. Sostene gave it her presently, thinking this writing would suffice to get him possession of this maid, but she, who would not permit him to have accesse unto her but through the Church gate, declared freely that she would never be his but by marriage.

Then did he in the house of Eufrony in the pre­sence of her brothers, and some others of their kindred take her for his wife, and received the nup­tiall blessing, which put him in possession of that he had so much desired, to his no small joy, but when [Page 74] this was done he found it impossible to conceale his fire that now had rather augmented by injoy­ing her, then beene quenched, he must have Eufro­ny alwayes in his house, and cannot endure to bee one minute from her, but at length hee behaved himselfe so with her, that the dullest in all the house might perceive therein so extraordinary a passion in the old man, that it must needs be, that she is ei­ther his wife, or worse. Eufrony upon this grew something jealous of her honour, so that she could not brooke these bad censures, and therefore ur­ged her husband incessantly to declare their marri­age, and as a woman she sometimes cast out words whereby Sostenes children might perceive that ei­ther she was their mother in law already, or at least intended to be, which put a f [...]ea into their eares. Eufrony takes upon her such authority in the house of Sosten [...], and is there so frequently, that this old man having no more shift to veile what he had hitherto endeavoured to conceale, declared unto his children that she was his wife, and that hee intended they should honour her as their mother in law.

This made them as melancholy, and discontent, as the brothers of Eufrony were glad in seeing their counsell take so good, and happy effect, whereby they were become brothers in law in the house of Sostene, from whence they drew great helpes in their necessities, which the more augmented the en­vie, and jealousie of his children, and bred in them a desperate rage. Taddee, and Androgeo sonnes of Sostene, being of opinion that these persons tooke, [Page 75] as it were, the very bread out of their mouthes, and that their sister was likely to swallow up a great part of their inheritance, consulted which way they might seeke to be revenged. In the end they saw plainly how Eufrony in her dealings (which they counted for no other but a meere cheat) had fol­lowed the counsell of her brothers, who had so subtilly advised her in the weaving her web, wher­in the old man had beene caught, whereupon pre­sently enters their minds thoughts of vengeance, and as they thought themselves to be over-reacht by subtilty, so they resolved to murther treache­rously, both the two brothers, and also the Step­mother; an enterprise both execrable, and disho­nourable.

Hereupon having associated themselves with some of their acquaintance, as bad minded, as themselves, they furiously assaulted the two bre­thren unawares, as they were returning from Soste­nes house to their owne, which (as you have heard) was not farre from thence. The two brothers little amazed at this storme stood close together, and get­ting to a wall stood in their defence crying out help, and murther, this noise stirred all the neigh­bourhood, who found them hurt in divers pla­ces, and defending themselves couragiously, for what they received they repayed the assaylants manfully, for two were hurt, and Taddee wounded mortally.

The assaylants seeing much people come to help, fearing to be surprised in so manifest an assault, and riot, betook themselues to flight, excepting Taddee, [Page 76] who lay on the ground, and one more hurt in the thigh, who could not escape, hardly was this mise­rable Taddee brought to his fathers house, but that having confessed his fault, and asked pardon of God, and of his father, he dyed within two houres after; Tibere, and Willerme, are discharged by Taddees confession, and held for innocent, being that only in their owne defence, and without any other designe they had committed this murther.

Androgeo absented himselfe for a time, but by change of aire he changed not his evill manners, nor the malice he conceived against the two bro­thers of his Step-mother, but on the contrary be­ing doubly animated by the death of his brother, and thinking it a dishonour, if he revenged it not, he resolved to dispatch them, to take them both to­gether he had at his owne cost experienced how dangerous it was, therefore he determined with his complices to take them asunder, and rid them one after the other.

Returning backe secretly into the City, and ha­ving divers times watched his adversaries, hee at length met with Willerme going alone in the street, thinking on nothing lesse then on the misfortune which happened unto him, for he lost his life, ha­ving not so much time as to lay hand on his sword, it was by a pistoll shot, wherewith Androgeo hit him in the head, and dasht his braines about the pave­ment, an infamous act▪ unworthy not onely of a Christian bu [...] of any man that hath never so little honour before his eyes; upon this he betakes him­selfe to flight, therby to save himselfe; for had he fallen [Page 77] thereby to save himselfe; for had he fallen into the hands of justice, nothing could have prevailed to­wards the saving of his life, pardons being never granted for such deeds, notwithstanding it was presently knowne, that he was the man that had done this filthy action, whereof Sostene was no lesse sorrowfull than his new wife for the losse of her brother.

The other brother which was Tibere sweares by all the Starres that Heaven containes, hee will bee righted either by way of justice or by force, the bloud of his brother calling on him daily to seeke revenge: but time the Physitian of all the wounds of the mind moderated a little his fury, so that hee slackned the pursuite of justice.

Sostene deprived of his eldest sonne by death, and his other sonne by exile, sees now, though too late, that his indiscreete passion, and unseasonable love were the grounds of all these mischiefes, yet will he not cast the helve after the hatchet, nor let that sparke of his race goe out which only remai­ned in Androgeo, and to conjure this tempest hee makes use of his wifes wit, who moderated the boyling anger of her brother, and in fine, for his better satisfaction Sostene gave him his eldest daugh­ter in marriage, with such a competent portion that Tibere had no reason to thinke ill of any thing that had past, all matters where hereupon accommo­dated, and mercy taking the place of justice, Andro­geo by an abolishment of his former malice reen­ters into his estate.

But what agreement soever was made, it was [Page 78] never possible to reunite the devided hartes of these two brothers in law, nether the alliance by their two sisters, nor the thought of the misery past, ne­ther the entreaties of freinds, nor the teares of the poore old man, could ever recall the fury of Andro­geo, he lookes awry, sowrely, and doggedly at Wil­lerme, who seeing this could not but do as much, for being no lesse haughty minded than he, by the like despisalls hee mockt his arrogancy, from these lightnings of looks proceeded thunders of threats, and from the thunder of wordes, tempests of­deeds.

For behold in mid-day, meeting in open street, they quarrell, draw, and Willerme receiving a hurt in the shoulder, repaid Androgeo with two others, the second whereof laid him dead on the ground, although this was done by incounter, in combat [...], and in heate of bloud, yet Willerme got away, chu­sing rather to justifie himselfe a farre off, then neer. Imagine now the poore old mans sorrowes, when he beheld his last sonne lye wallowing in bloud, and dead before his eyes, and moreover kild by him that was his brother in law, and son in law.

Let us leave his teares, and despaires, as a dis­ease contagious, because perhaps his griefe may passe into those, who have the reading of these lines more for recreation, then to procure pensivenes, he now sees himselfe without heires male, and his in­heritance like to passe into the hands of strangers, yea even of those who are imbrued in the bloud of his children! O what a heart breaking was this; too late did the scales fall from his eyes, whereby [Page 79] he saw, and felt that his foolish love had beene the spring, and originall of all these deplorable Events, at length being cast downe with languor, and over­whelmed in sorrow, and discontent, a sicknesse sea­sed on him, which in few dayes layd him in his grave, whereunto this griefe accompanied him, to see all his house turned topsie turvie (as we may say) his estate disordered, his second wife taking what she could get, his two younger daughters un­provided, his sonnes killd, and his eldest daughter married unto a fugitive.

O old men learne hereby to overcome, and mo­derate your doting passions, and endeavour to be­come so prudent, and wary, as to avoyd any occa­sion which may induce such fooleries, both disho­nouring you, shortning your life, and hastning your body into the grave, trust not too much unto the Snow of your head, the Ice of your blood, nor the coldnesse of your stomacke. The flesh is a do­mesticall enemy, which ceaseth not to molest us untill death. The flesh is that enemy who lyeth in ambush for the heele (that is to say) to the extremi­ties of our life, so long as one breath is in our lips, so long there is a spark of that fire still in our bones▪ moreover it is a very ridiculous thing, and no waies pardonable to see an old man foolishly passionate, and who thinketh of a marriage bed, when he had more need thinke on his grave.

THE GOOD FORTVNE. OF HONESTIE.
The Seventh Event.

THE Romans in times past built two Temples, the one they consecrated to Honour, the other to Vertue. These were so joyned, and contrived to­gether, that none could enter the former, but they must goe through the latter, this served as an Embleme to shew that there can be no progresse to honour but by vertue. And that glory is a perfume fit to smoake no where but before the Altar of vertue, and indeed doe but marke what cleere lustre, and bright sparkling you see in a Diamond, or what light comes from a great fire, the same is honour in vertuous actions, which are of themselves so re­splendent, that they produce rayes of esteeme, and [Page 81] praise, to reflect on those, out of whom they issue. The Psalmist goes further, and will not only have glory to accompany the just man, but also riches to enter into his house, and to remaine there, from age, to age in his posterity; so that if the ancients had had any knowledge of this doctrin, they would surely have added a third Temple unto the two former, which they would have dedicated unto good hap, or good fortune, which should have beene entred through that of honour, for there is no doubt to be made but that felicity doth necessa­rily, as a shaddow, follow the solide body of ver­tue, and honesty; since that to be vertuous, and ho­nourable is the highest point of felicity, whereun­to an honest man can aspire: and although vertue be unto it selfe a more then sufficient recompence, he being unworthy thereof that seeks rewards for it, any where but in it selfe, for the greatest price of vertuous actions is to have done them; yet so it is that accessarily, sooner, or later, either in this world, or in the next, the acknowledgement ther­of cannot faile, for Gods goodnesse, and justice is such, that he will render every man according to his workes. It is true that ordinarily fortune seems an enemy to vertue, prodigally bestowing her fa­vours not only upon the unworthy, but most com­monly upon vitious persons, so that recompence flying from desert, it seemes that by vertues con­trary one may arrive soonest to prosperity. But let us consult with the said Scriptures, and wee shall find that these felicities of the wicked passe soone away, as the wind and smoake, or as the leafe of a [Page 82] tree. And that he, who was yesterday exalted as high as the Cedars of Lebanon, to day is no more then, yea not so much as a low shrub of the field, not the least image of his greatnesse appeares to them that seeke after him, whereas the vertuous man is happy even in the greatest mishap, his ver­tues growing more, and more perfect in adversity, and in fine drawing profit out of his harmes, and l [...]ss [...]s, he constraines fortune to doe him homage, and to become tributary unto his merit. And to say the truth amongst the humane Events, which I care­fully observe, I alwayes have a speciall attention, and a particular regard unto those, wherein I see vertue triumphant over fortune. Neither are there any pictures, which more delight me, nor about which I more willingly apply my pensill in the de­lineation then those which represent fortune at the feet of vertue. It is most certaine and assured by holy writ, as I have before shewed you, that either in this life or in the next no vertuous action shall passe unrewarded, since an account is kept thereof, even to a glasse of cold water, like as vitious acts shall be punished, even to idle words. And wheras here I set the good fortune of honour, or honesty which will appeare in this history which I am pre­paring for your view, wherein I study to accommo­date my selfe to the cleere seeing eyes of the vul­gar, who esteeme felicity, as pieces of Gold, which weighes most (that is to say) when they are most materiall, and sensible, not making any account of the spirituall so much the more worthy estimation, as the soule is more worthy then the body, and [Page 83] the body then the cloathing: and moreover, to say the truth, it is in this our age a singular thing, and worthy admiration to see vertue accompanied with good fortune, yea a remarkeable rariety, and as it were a kind of monster; I have extended my selfe more then I intended, but the merit of the subject hath driven me thereunto, and I will confirme it in this History, which I shall make so much the shorter, that I may not passe the limits of brevity, in which I study to contain my selfe in all these my Events.

The vanity of Spaniards is so great, that all their grandes thinke themselves Princes, by reason wherof they call their landes and Lordships their states, as if they were Soueraignes, from thence growes the proverbe among them, that grandes in Spaine are little Kinges in in their demaines, and indeed divers of them have some reason three fore being descended from those royall houses of Arra­gon, of Valence, of Leon, of Navarre, as much, as what we call Provinces in France, are kingdomes in Spaine, whereunto may be added their Dukes and others to whom they attribute great titles who have some image of Soveraignty in their jurisdicti­ons, because in criminall causes, there is no appeale from the judgement of their Courts, and as for civill matters they may judge without appeale, also to a certain period limited them. This I speak therby to shew the absolute power they have over their subjects, with which they beare great authori­ty amongst those people that are under their ju­risdictions; and this power will serve as a ground, [Page 84] and foundation unto what I shall represent.

In Arragon one of those whom they call titled (I am not certaine whether he were of the number of the grandes, or no) lived in his Marquisate with the aforesaid power, and authority, no lesse feared by his vassalls for his humour both Arragonian and arrogant, then beloved for his magnificence and li­berality; which pierced the eyes of the people and made him commendable. And because his daily care was, that the poore should be assisted, and hel­ped with his meanes, which was exceeding much, whether it were to the end to maintaine his credit, and reputation, or through charity, which I had rather beleeve, it cannot be expressed in what good esteeme he lived. He had beene married, but his wife dyed in childbed having lived with him but three, or foure yeeres, and had left him but one sonne for a pledge of their love: living in this his widdowhood as a man that aspired to other nupti­alls, and who would not spend the rest of his daies in melancholy, no wonder if he were assaulted by those soft temptations: whilest he expected for­tune to offer him a second match, like unto that which death had taken from him, and conforma­ble to his estate and birth. In this ease and idlenesse of life gorged with wealth, he was hit (as the Ele­phant of Antiochus) in that part of him which was weakest.

Those that call incontinency the sinne of great persons, do ground themselves upon the proverbe which sayes, sine Cerere & Baecho friget Venus, Ce­res, and Bacchus are harbingers to the goddesse Ve­nus. [Page 85] Amidst the honours and pleasures wherein he lived, it had bin a wonder if voluptuousnesse should not have presented it selfe unto him, and filled his mind with illusions, and his soule with sundry de­sires. Seeking then a subject to appease his con­cupiscence he casts his eye on a maid, that was one of his subjects, she was poore in worldly wealth, but so rich in honesty, and honour, that her chasti­ty triumphed over bad fortune, and left her good hap even unto her posterity: her poverty made the Marquesse imagine the conquest to be easie, ac­cording to the words of that ancient, who saith, that some courages are driven unto dishonourable acts through necessity, who otherwise would never stoope thereunto; yet he found in this creature an exception unto that maxime of Alexander the greats Father, who boasted to make a Mule loaden with gold, enter into any Fortresse whatsoever. Ctesiphon (so will we call this Lord) wanted not some to se­cond him in his bad designe, great persons find but too many furtherers of their pleasures, and unruly passions, but all his Engineers lost their labour, with all their subtilties, and skill, and shame­fully returning acknowledged all their stra­tagems to be vaine, against a Fortresse so impreg­nable.

These difficulties were so far from sl [...]ckning or abating the ardor of Ctesiphon, that contrariwise it animated it the more, imagining that nothing was impossible unto him in those places, where he had authority, and that all was lawfull that pleased his humour. Heraclee wis [...], and vertuous, shutting [Page 86] her eares unto their infamous Embassadors, her eyes unto the letters which Ctesiphon writ her, and her hands unto those great presents wherewith he thought to dazle her, did what in like occasions honest maids ought to do, she advertised her mo­ther thereof, who glorying in her poverty, highly commended her daugher for practising so well the instructions of vertue, which she had given her, further incouraging her rather to dye with honour on her brow, then to live with infamy; no doubt but she had made som stirre in this businesse, had not the authority, and power of the Marquesse stopt her mouth, who was Lord of the place where she dwelt, but when Ctesiphons wicked sollicitors saw their labour lost with Heraclee, they then ad­dressed themselves to the mother, who poore wo­man, what did she say unto them? or rather what did she not say unto them?

Yet would they not be repulsed, imagining that this old woman intended to raise the price of her ware, so that how lowd soever she spak moved with anger, they spake yet lowder, promising her moun­taines of gold; they told her that it would be the way richly to match her daughter, for whose por­tion, in the name of Ctesiphon they promised, and proffered foure thousand French Crownes, but full ill did they know the heart of Anastacie, who for all the Indian fleet would not have committed so base a sale.

Seeing their battery could not prevaile against these two Fortresses, they turne it to another side; and addressed themselves unto a kinswoman of A­nastaces, [Page 87] whom they found more tractable to their will, they blinded her with the powder of gold, which they blew into her eyes, and plotted with her a notorious piece of villanie.

Meane time Ctesiphon not able to hide his fire, tooke walkes, night and day about the place where the prey was which he desired, seeking to feed his eyes with the sight of this faire image, which swim­med in his fantasie, the City soon talked of this bu­sinesse, and every one spake thereof according to their opinions, some excused his youth, others accused his want of judgement, and those that had daughters marriageable, cryed out on him for ty­ranny; mothers hid their daughters, as hennes, do their chickens, who gather them under their wings, when they see the Kite, yet so it is that Ctesiphon, lost many a stay to small purpose, exposing his re­putation to the pillage of every mans tongue; on the contrary Heraclee was commended beyond all measure, when it was knowne, that she, and her mo­ther opposed themselves so generously against the filthy lust of the Marquesse, who (being not able ro purchase what he laboured for, but by deceit) had recourse unto the foresaid treacherous kinswo­man, to whose house Heraclee did sometimes goe, to worke with the daughters of her, who so basely endeavoured to betray her, this wicked woman promised Ctesiphon to put him where he should bee alone with this maid, leaving the rest unto himselfe to treate. As she promised, so sh [...] p [...]rformed, for on a day as Heraclee was at her worke with her sel­lowes, this filthy woman having called them away [Page 88] one after the other, in comes the Marquesse with the countenance of a lover, who feeles himselfe neere his conquest, at this sight Heraclee became colder then marble, and all her blood being retired to her heart, Roses left their places unto Lillies, and her face became pale, and wanne, like as it were dead. The Marquesse begins to flatter her, and as he that would as well enjoy the will of the heart, as the pleasures of the body, knowing how distastfull those enjoyings are, which be forced, and how execrable are ravishings, protests unto her that he is not come to force, constraine, or use any vio­lence towards her, but only to speak his mind free­ly, and make her understand what she should not heare by those whom he had sent unto her, nor read in the letters he had written her, and being a crafty Courtler he so sugred his speeches, and displayed all the Rhetorick which his passion suggested unto him, for to perswade Heraclee, that what he sought of her would turne to her advancement, and no way to the prejudice of her honour, I need not fill this paper with his deceitfull discour­ses.

Heraclee, who well saw that the divell spake by the mouth of this man, and that it was not fit shee should delay him with faire wordes, holding a paire of sheeres hidden in her hand, said vnto him with an assured voyce, which testified her courage. ‘my Lord, I do not beleeve that a man of your birth, and quality would commit an act so base as to ravish a poore maid, but if passion should blind you so far, I know the way to prevent this [Page 89] violence by my death, and for as much as I am sure it is some features that you have observed in my face, which leads you to desire my ruine, I am willing before you to sacrifice them to mine ho­nour, and to the health of my soule.’

And at the same instant, as she was speaking these words, she thrust the points of her sheeres into two or three places of her face, which she would have quite disfigured, if Ctesiphon laying quicke hold of her arme, had not stayed the stroke presently the bloud that came forth with the horridnesse of the wounds maide her so hideous, that the Marquesse, who needed no other Antidote for his love, cried out, help, help, this generous maid thinking he cal­led his men to ayde him for to ravish her, had al­ready laid hold ou a knife which hung at her side, and was even striking it into her hearte, if she had not seen her kinswoman, and her daughters enter the roome, who found her in the aforesaid pittifull case as you have heard.

The Marquesse to get out of the confusion, and to avoyd the tumult (after he had left one of his men to take order for the curing of this maid) reti­red to his Castle with the rest of his followers, the woundes were found to be such, that the Surgeons promised so to heale them, as the markes should scarce appeare, but God knowes what cause of talk this heroycall act gave vnto all the country farre and neere.

Ctesiphon for to justifie himselfe of the reports, that went, how he would have ravished Heraclee, caused a declaration to be published, wherin confes­sing [Page 90] his passion he shewed himselfe to be free from that designe of violence, and whether it were to amend his fault or to repaire the breach which ca­lumny had made in his reputation, or whether tou­ched with a defire to acknowledge so great a ver­tue, he sent unto Heraclee the double of that porti­on which he had before caused to be proffered un­to her, when he laboured to winne her to his will, but here behold another great act of this maides vertuous mind, she refused this money, for feare lest it should be thought to be the shamefull price of her integrity. At length the Marquesse caused her to be married unto one of his officers, who recei­ved this portion from the hand of his Lord, and also a maide who with a little blemish, but a glori­ous blemish of her former beauty, brought him ver­tues far more worthy estimation.

This is yet but the first Trophe of Heraclees vi­ctory over fortune, there is another farre beyond this, which you shall see in the sequell of this hi­story. Not long after the Marquesse entred againe into wedlocke, marrying a Catalonian Gentlewo­men of a great, and illustrious house, she being come into the house of Ctesiphon, could not long be ignorant of the history of chaste Heraclee, whose husband, as officer to the Marquesse, was common­ly with his Lord, his wife also was often there to doe her duty to her Lady, this face whose honou­rable markes made themselves as remarkable as her beauty which made her commendable, became suspected by the Marchionesse, who seeing her selfe not so well advantaged by nature, as this faire [Page 91] subject, feared lest the former flames of Ctesiphon should rekindle at the presence of this object; i [...] fine (not to extend my selfe in this relation) she be­came jealous, and gave such evident signes thereof, that it was perceived by the Marquesse, who knowing himselfe cleare from any such thought, was willing to augment these thoughts in his wifes head, taking a delight to see her in this pleasant hu­mour, and would alwaies seeme more merry, and jocond neere Heraclee then he was wont, by this his behaviour, increasing the suspitions of Ana­stacy (so was the Marchionesse called) he brought upon her such a melancholy, that he had much a­doe to disswade her from the thought of what he was not; she proceeded so farre, one day, that she endeavoured to drive Heraclee out of her Castle, and to forbid her the entrance thereof, with bitter threats, and injurious words, as farre wide from truth, as she was full of passion. Heraclee suffered all this with an incredible patience, and modesty, knowing that in remitting vengance to the power, & will of Almighty God, he would at lenght, repay it, in more exemplary manner then she her selfe was able; during this her disgrace she made her husband the father of divers fine children, amongst the rest of one daughter unto whom heaven had rendred with interest the beauty which Heraclee had sacrificed to the preservation of her chasti­ty. The Marchionesse had children also, but she could never bring up any of them save one daughter.

At last her suspitions dispersed themselves, and [Page 92] she knew that shee had done Heraclee wrong, in con­ceiving so many bad thoughts of honesty, and in signe of the pacifying of her wrath, she tooke unto her the eldest daughter of Heraclee, which was but a child, for to keepe company with her in those sports, and playes, which are ordinarie amongst children. This little child, whose name was Pata­cule, had so many springing graces appearing in her face, that she promised ere long to be a Paragon of beauty, whereunto if you adde her fine wit, and wonderfull modesty, you shall find her full perfe­ction; I have already shewed you that Ctesiphon had a sonne of his first marriage, named Sabinian who was but three or foure yeeres elder then Patacule, being then brought up together, this young Mar­quisin addicted himselfe so extreamely by delight unto the humours of Patacule, that he loved her by sympathy, ere he knew what love was; wonderful­ly was the love of these two children talked of, for Patacule had no lesse inclination to him, then he to her, and Ctesiphon calling to mind his former passi­ons tooke an extreame delight to consider the reci­procall motions of these two innocent minds.

Their love increased with ther age, untill such time as malice opening their eyes, they became more reserved in their entertainments, at last know­ledge being growne in them, they must be severed, according to the rigorous lawes of the Country. Sabinian was by his Father sent unto the Court, as well to learne Court fashions, as also to make him­selfe known, and Patacule remained in the service of the Marchionesse. Hee was bred up as Page un­to [Page 93] Philip the second whose death is so uncertainly spoken of, and in short time he purchast many friends, and great credit there, and among other great favours he obtained a Crosse of Calatrane, which afterward got him a command of much re­venue: He came often to Arragon to see his fa­ther, who loving him as his only sonne, and heire, rejoyced infinitely to see him grow so well in ver­tue, and reputation.

The first impression in the heart is a great mat­ter: so many faire faces, so many licentious com­panies, which are at Madrid could not blot out of his imagination the Idea of his Patacule, he still per­severed in good will to her, but this was guided with so much discretion, and dissimulation, that the father could not observe therein, any more then a common, and well-beseeming curtesie.

Going, and comming thus from his fathers house to the Court, and being at Madrid he received the unwelcome newes of his fathers extreame sicke­nesse, whereupon he presently takes post, but he could not get home soone enough to see him alive, he was not then above two or three and twenty yeeres old when he lost his father, after which he passed some yeers in his house, being their retained by the care of his domesticall affaires, in the ma­naging whereof he shewed himselfe as frugall a husband, as his father had beene a great spender, yet not prodigall, every one wished him a wife fit­ting his estate, and quality, for his perfect establish­ment: but the love of Patacule had rooted it selfe so de [...]pe in his heart, and his soule was so filled [Page 94] with this object, that there was no place voyde for any other, he loved her, sought her in marriage, and what resistance soever both she, and her mo­ther Heraclee made unto this match, seeing the ex­treame unequality thereof, what oppositions soe­ver his kindred shewed, what counsell soever his friends gave him, to divert him from it, how terri­bly soever the Marchionesse his mother in law stor­med, being not able to yeeld that she who had bin her servant, should be her fellow, and that she, who had served her daughter should be wife unto her sonne in law, and heire of all, yet never would he give over this his intent, but more, and more, re­garding the vertues of Patacule then riches, and no­bility, he married her, and set her at his side.

The Dowager Anastacy being not able to endure this, intended to retire her selfe into Catalognia to her friends there, which Sabinian was willing unto, except shee would rather make choice of some o­ther of the lands, which appertained unto him, and thither retire her selfe, and live on her dowry, this proffer she accepted, and taking her daughter, whom she meant to bring up with her, away shee went. Then Saebinian tooke the husband of Hera­clee into his house, who from his fathers officer was become his father in law, and put in his custody all his affaires, he gave also unto Heraclee his mother in law, the guide, and conduct of all his house reser­ving no other care unto himselfe but to passe his time in hunting, and other pleasures with his faire, and vertuous wife. Thus did Heraclee see her goe forth of the Castle, that had formerly driven her [Page 95] forth thereat, and she entred the place of govern­ment, and managing of all the young Marquesses estate. He advanced his father in law, and all the children of Heraclee. Patacule brought him five children, which were the survivers of his name, and possessors of his estate: O how faire and illu­strious is the race of chast and honourable persons, the memory whereof shall last for ever.

Thus you may see how great a good it is, to be enrolled under the Standard, or Ensigne of vertue, for on that side the victory cannot be doubted of. Behold unto what height of good fortune she hath elevated the honesty and constancy of Heraclee, and then cry out with the Psalmist, O Lord thou wilt not deprive them of any good, that walke be­fore thee in innocency, and righteousnesse, but on the contrary thou wilt heape blessings on them a­boundantly. O God of vertues how happy is that soule that placeth all it's hope, and confidence in thee alone.

THE GENEROVS FRIEND.
The Eight Event.

IF that a man spend all that hee have, that is to say all the goods that fortune hath lent him, in expressing his love to his friend, he will esteeme it as nothing, providing that his friendship be true, but when he comes so farre as to expose himselfe to an assured death for a friend, this is the highest point where­unto friendship can reach, well do we see dayly the rage of Duells, which diminisheth the fairest, and noblest bloud of France, where friends expose their lives to the hazard of combate in maintaining the quarrells of those they love, the hope also to re­maine victorious, and have a share in the honour of armes, makes them the bolder in these enterprises; [Page 97] but in cold bloud to present himselfe to an undoubt­ed death for a friend, is a thing so rarely seene, that antiquity furnisheth us with no example thereof, but that of Pillades, and Orestes, and Poets tell with admiratiō Castor his sharing of immortality with his brother Pollux. And yet one of our French Histo­rians in his description of Polonia relates the me­morable example of a generous friendship which preserved the life of both the friends, who eager­ly contended to die each for other. The singularity of this Event hath made me place it here, with few ornaments, or addition of fine words, the splendor of the action setting it selfe out sufficiently with it's owne beauty.

Octavian, and Leobell, two young Gentlemen of Lithuania, in their tendrest youth had such an incli­nation each to other, that by these beginnings it was judged, that if their friendship encreased with their age it would attaine vnto such a degree of per­fection, which would dimme the lustre of those▪ that ancient historians doe highly commend unto vs. Their parents were good friends, and neigh­bours, dwelling in the same City of Vilne the prin­cipall of Lithuania, but their friendship was com­mon and vulgar in comparison of that of their chil­dren whereof they rejoyced, leaving them at their owne liberty to improve it by their familiar con­versation; this ordinary frequentation bred in their minds such a mutuall correspondency that their wills seemed to be one, and that both h [...]d but one soule parted into two bodies, they had not any the least thought from each other, and no sooner had [Page 98] the one any designe just, and reasonable, but the o­ther would profer him his assistance therein, and if he thought it not lawfull he laboured to turne him from it, which the other would not refuse to doe, as well for the love of vertue, (which was the ce­ment, or gluten of their friendship) as for feare of grieving his friend who thus brought him back un­to what was honest, and convenient.

They learned together in the Academy, all the excercises befitting their birth, and condition, wherein by a praise worthy emulation they sur­passed all theire fellowes, the passions which most agitate youth are quarrells, and love, in both these stormes they vpheld each other with so inviolable fidelity, that the interest of the one was the others, without suffering the least sprig of jealousy to cast it's thorny rootes of suspition into their hearts. At length it hapned that Octavian set his affection on a subject so full of honour, that it could not be attai­ned vnto but by the Rites of holy church, I meane that he could not without impudency intend any thing thereto but by way of marriage.

Love is naturally blind, and although it be first taken by the eyes yet are they hood-winkt vnto many circumstances which would hinder it's birth, and growth, if they were iudiciously foreseene; it was the faire face of Pauline one of the complea­test Gentlewomen of the City, which stole away his heart, besides her beauty she was a match very con­siderable for estate, so that this his determination was not with out difficulty to be followed, and that which made it yet lesse accessible, was that Gelase [Page 99] sonne to one of the principall citizens of Vilne, was a suitor to this maide, and had obtained the good will, both of his, and her parents, to proceed in his suite, so that he was in a good forwardnes on both those sides, though not on Paulines, who by a natu­rall Antipathy had a secret aversion from his hu­mour which she could not by any meanes endure, he was proud, and haughty, arrogant both in ge­sture, and words, and in liew of winning love by submission, he made himselfe odious to Pauline, by his vanities, and bravadoes, and to say thus much by the way, it must be granted that vanity is a thing so odious, that as Amber will draw unto it any manner of strawes except of the hearb Basill, so the heart of a humane creature can apply it selfe to love all sorts of people how miserable soever, except they be vaine, and proud, contrariwise humility, mildnesse, and modesty, are such charming quali­ties that there is no soule so churlish but will in the end be wonne by them, and this was the way, by which Octavian insinuated himselfe into the affecti­on of Pauline, besides the other gifts of nature, which made him commendable, a Marchant di­stasted in selling by his first chapman, is halfe a­greed with the second: the paine Pauline suffered to endure the approach and conversation of Gelase made her to be presently taken with the Gentle­nesse, and submission of Octavian, who with so much grace, wrought himselfe into her good will, that the offer of his service was no sooner presen­ted, but received. And although he had no permis­sion from her parents to become a suitor unto her, [Page 100] never thinking on this leave, which is so necessary to make a love lawfull, which tends to marriage, she applyed her selfe to love him with so much af­fection, that being not able to dissemble her fire, her actions burst out into flame, and made it known unto proud Gelase, who jealous of his owne shadow, was so wroth to see he had a rivall, that he concei­ved no other thought, but to rid him by any means whatsoever, yet ere he thundred by deeds he flasht out lightning by threates.

But although Octavian was not so rich, nor of so ancient nobility, yet was he a Gentleman, and had a heart so well seated, that his humour could not suffer bravadoes. Gelase having said unto him scoffingly, that he tooke it ill he should encroach upon his bargaine in the suite to Pauline, and that if he abstained not from it, he should find himselfe to be but a bad Marchant, Octavian answered, that he never knew but marriage affections were free, but that whensoever he should purchase this maid that way, hee then should strive to put her out of his mind, but till then he was not resolved to forbeare, being his courage was as great as his love, these words seconded by sundry replyes, would haue urged them to have fallen presently to deeds, if their friends that were present had not endeavou­red to hinder this contention.

Gelase told Octavian that hee would make him pay interest for his temeriry, whereunto the o­ther answered, that since hee barked so much, hee would bite but little, and that hee would alwayes make himselfe halfe the feare, if he durst [Page 101] set upon him like an honest man, without trea­chery.

Meane time Gelase who possessed the parents of Pauline as much as Octavian the heart of the maid, caused them, that had all power over her, to forbid her the company of Octavian, unto whom they in­terdicted the entry into their house, endeavouring therein to please Gelase, whose alliance they wi­shed by reason of his meanes, and of his noble pa­rentage.

This so incensed the maides minde against him, that as shee shunned his encounter, and a­voyded all occasions of his approach, so shee sought carefully, and subtilly all manner of meanes to speake to Octavian, or at least to write unto him, who by secret practises advanced him­selfe as farre into the affection of Pauline, as he [...] drove out his competitor, who being not able any longer to beare the rigorous contempts of this maid, and being desperately jealous of Octavian, whom he knew possessed that part in her affection, that he sued for, with so much desire, he resolved to put all in a venture, and set an end to this busi­nesse by the death of Octavian, whereupon he cau­ses him to be watched night and day, and at length he learnes that his usuall walk was by night up and downe before the house of Pauline after the man­ner of passionate men, then Gelase like to a jealous person that seekes nothing more eagerly, then that which they are least willing to find, went in the evening, and hid himselfe neere that house with a friend of his, whom we will name Megatime, and [Page 102] one of his men a lusty tall fellow, and one, whose courage, and fidelity he much trusted, long had they not lien in their ambuscado, Octavian but coms accompanyed with his friend Leobell to walke his accustomed round (it being the property of those that are possessed with any passion to walke circu­larly) and at certaine signes, which he made, Pauline appeared at a window, with whom he entred into those discourses, which are ordinary betweene lo­vers; whilest Leobell being a little wide from them, gave them time, and liberty to talke.

What furies of jealousie did then invade the minde of impatient Gelase? then was the time that the appetite of vengeance seased him, and that hee intended to cut this rivall in pieces, who to his dis­advantage was thus favoured: he commands his man to goe set upon Leobell, and to hold him tacke, whilest Megatmie, and he would chastice the inso­lence of Octavian, at this command they all three start out of their hole at once, and parting runne with their swords drawne to assayle their adversa­ries, Leobell in two or three stroakes gives the Ser­vingman two wounds, whereof one laid him on the ground, as if hee had beene dead, from thence he runnes to helpe his friend, that calles him, Octa­vian had set his backe to a wall, and by the helpe of a shop warded, and put by the blowes, and thrusts, which his enemies made at him. Leobell came furi­ously, and the first he met at his swordes point was Gelase, whom surprising behind, as he was eagerly thrusting at Octavian, he ranne his sword into his backe, up to the hilt, and with this only thrust he [Page 103] drave the soule out of his body, and laid him on the ground. Then Octavian entering upon Megatime gave him a slight wound in the arme, and had like­wise beene his death, had he not sought his safety by flight, which he could not looke for from the hands of the other by defence. Leobell was without any hurt, but so was not Octavian who had two wounds in the body, whereof the one was such, that had he not beene speedily drest, he had beene in danger to have lost his life, by reason of the a­bundance of bloud, which flowed from them.

The people runne forth of their houses at the noise of this combat, and finde Gelase starke dead on the stones, and his man some few steps from thence yeelding up the ghost. Leobell holding up his friend whose heart fainted by the losse of so much bloud, and prayed the lookers on to helpe to carry him to a Chirurgion, where he swounded in such manner, that he was for a while thought to be dead, yet by force of remedies they brought him to himselfe againe, and after the first dressing they laid him in bed.

Meane time, while all this passed, Megatime adver­tised Gelases parents of this sad newes, and of the untimely death of their son, and relating the matter best to his own advantage told them that they both had bin assaulted in a treacherous manner by Leobell and Octavian, this first tale takes such impression that it is beleeved for an Oracle, whereupon recourse is had to justice, who ordaines that Octavian, & Leobell shal be cast into prison, on this decree Octaviā is sea­sed, & sick, & weak, as he was, drawn into the goale.

Leobell gets away in hope to prove his owne in­nocency and his freinds, by shewing that they had done nothing but in their owne defence, and that the fortune of armes had fallen on them who had vnjustly assaulted himselfe, and his freind by trea­son, and advantage, but the case went quite other­wise then he expected, because that Gelase had pa­rents, and kindred so powerfull, and authorised in in the Citty of Vilne, that in few dayes Octavians arraignement was at hand, and upon the only de­position of Megatime, who was, both a party, and witnesse (for as much as Gelases man died presently after his master) this poor gentleman was condem­ned to loose his head.

Wherevpon execution day being come hee was brought upon the scaffold, and although he prote­sted publikely not to be the author of this murther, having contrariwise bin miserably assaulted by Me­gatime, and Gelase, yet the executioner was prepa­ring to cut of his head, when as behold here comes Leobell thrusting through the throng, and with an admirable courage crying out to the executioner to let loose the innocent, and to turne his sword on him, who was not only guilty, but true author of the murther of Gelase, and his man, then with a cleere, and distinct voice, and a countenance which out braved death, he declared unto the Magistrate, who was there present to see the execution, how all had passed, in the same manner as we have related, concluding, that if a man shall dye for defending his owne life, he was there ready to yeeld his head unto the stroake upon condition that his friend might be set at liberty.

All the company was struck with admiration to se this generous act, and the people beginning to grow to a mutiny cryed out pardon, pardon, resol­ving to kill all rather then suffer this execution to passe on any further. This tumult became so great, that nether Octauian who would faine have spoke, nor the magistrate could be heard, only the iustice commanded that all should be ended, and that Leo­bell yeilding himselfe prisoner, the case should be heard againe, and iudged according to equity, they had much adoe to leade the two freinds into pri­son, because the people being in an vprore would have broken their bands, and by maine force have delivered them.

The Palatine of Vilne (for Lithuania is ruled by Palatinats or governements as Polonia is) having heard of this incomparable generosity of Leobell, went himselfe in person to the prison for to visit the two freinds, who both contested before him, each to dye for his fellow, he heard the history of the two lovers Octavian, and Pauline, the threats, and act of Gelase to hinder his affection, Megatime was ex­amined face to face, and confronted, who by the death of the man, & the master was constrained by the force of truth to acknowledge the ambuscado, that they were three aganst two, and that Leobell alone did kill Gelase, and his man.

Wherevpon Leobell taking occasion to speake, pleaded the cause of his owne death, declaring to the Palatine, that he only ought to loose his head, since he only had killd, if for killing in his own de­ffence, and to saue his freind from violence were a a cause deserving punishment: nay rather glory, [Page 106] and recompence, (said the Palatine) and thereupon presently tooke them both out of prison, and gave them pardon according to the power of Palatines, who are as it were Pettie Soveraignes in their Pala­tinates, as well in Lithuania, as in Polonia. Megatime like a base, and treacherous man was put in their place, and had on a skaffold beene a spectacle unto the people, if his parents, and friends by their cre­dit, and intreaties had not gotten his punishment by death to be changed into a banishment only for some yeeres.

The Palatine not content only to have saved the lives of these two friends, would yet that Octavian should be satisfied in his love, causing him to bee married unto Pauline, and further he procured a wife for Leobell, a Gentlewoman who was neere allyed unto himselfe, intreating these two friends to receive him as a third in their incomparable friendship, which being come to the eares of the King, in favour of the Palatine they had brave im­ployments, and were both honourably advanced according to their condition.

A rare example of freenesse, of friendship, and of generosity, which made Leobell so freely expose his life, unto the death, yea unto a shamefull death to save his friend, but his renowne arose out of the in­famy, wherunto he was hastning, & his name ador­ned with honour, his life being saved by the same gate, through which he was running to death, here­upon we may conclude that it is good to follow ver­tue, seeing whosoever imbraces her, she ever ho­nours with Crownes of glory.

EVILL COVNSELL PVNISHED.
The Ninth Event.

BAd counsell (saith the ancient proverbe) is oft times per­nitions to him, that gives it, yea sometimes worse, then to him, that takes it. And to say the truth, if effects are the children of their causes, as the tree drawes it's blossomes, leaves, and fruits from it's root, the malignity of an action ought to be attributed to the counsell that bred it: and it is commonly seene that there is more malice in those, who counsell to doe naughtinesse, then in those that put it in execution. So the Scripture seemes more to blame the malice of Achitophell, then the levity of Absalon, because the one failed deliberately, the other rashly. O how happy is the [Page 108] man (sath the Psalmist) who hath not followed the counesls of the wicked, because the counsell of such shall perish, and shall cause the ruine of the au­thors therof, and of those, that shall follow it; all these verityes will appeare in this Event, which I am preparing to recite, where you shall see that the wickednesse of a malefactor remaining unpunished, the chastisement thereof lighted on the head of him which had counselled it.

It is no new thing to say that the counsels of wo­men (especially of those that are bad) are dange­rous. In the first creation of the world the first of all men failed by the counsell of his wife, and we who are his children daily pay the interest of this bad counsell, by the which we may say that sinne first came into the world. He that is truly wise will neither trust his secrets with this sexe so curious, and so tatling, nor beleeve it's counsell. If Palinure had kept this maxime he had not fallen in­to the dangers, wherein we shall see him, and from which he owes his deliverance to his good fortune, or to the pitty that was taken on the inconsideracies of his youth, rather then of his innocency.

In a City of Sicilia which is not named in the Italian relation, a Gentlewoman, whom wee will call Demetry was in her tender yeeres given in mar­riage to an old man, whose jealousie, weaknesse, and craftinesse, deprived her of all manner of plea­sure in wedlocke, wherein she accounted the dayes as yeeres of captivity.

After much sufferance death cut this band other­wise indissoluble, and drawing her from this yoake, [Page 109] set her (being yet young) in the liberty of widow­hood. The difference of these two states appeared unto her, as extreame, as the day seemes bright un­to him that hath a long time beene closed up in a dark dungeon, but what she held to be the greatest happines of her life (to wit her freedome, & liberty) proved the heaping up of her disgrace, and misery, because inebriating her selfe with her own conceit, she betooke her selfe so greedily to liberty that she changed it's use into abuse, and of an honourable prisoner, became an infamous libertine, not con­tent to shew by her habit, & actions exteriour, that she was a widow, who wanted a match, she against the custome of the country, kept as it were open gates for those, that under pretence of being sui­tors, passed their time at her house, in gaming, dan­cing, musick, and such like pleasant delights which serve as imployments for idle youth. At the be­ginning (for none become wicked on a sudden) her designe was to breed love in many, to the end she might purchase one for her husband, that might be according to her owne heart: besides her beau­ty which was rare, she had a great dowry, as well of her paternall inheritance, as of what her hus­band had left her, and these two things caused her to be desired of a great number, this multitude of lovers was her ruine, for inopem ipsam copia fecit, she proved poore by this abundance, she in this multi­tude knew not which to chuse, and whether it were, that shee feared to be deceived in her choice, or whether divers pleased her eye I know not, but this she resolved to live merrily, and not marry at all, [Page 110] but to remaine Mistresse of her selfe in the free­dome of her widowhood: if the love of inconti­nency had suggested his designe unto her, she had then deserved praise, but that was the least in her thought, desirous contrariwise to make use of this pretious gift of liberty, to serve the unrulinesse of her appetite, she betooke her selfe unto a life so ma­nifestly dishonest, that in few dayes she became the fable of the world, and the subject of publicke de­traction, neverthelesse for to preserve still some vaine shaddow of reputation unto her selfe, shee ever kept some of her suitors in hope of marrying her, and towards those shee behaved her selfe as sharpely, and coyly, as shee was facile, tra­ctable, and pleasing towards them that shee plea­sed her selfe withall, so that the possessors laughing at the simplicity of the pretenders admired the tricks, and charmes of this Circe, who made that inaccessible to some, which she gave in prey, and pillage to others. This wanton unchast woman was the common rocke for the youth of the City to make shipwracke at, her house was a schoole of la­sciviousnesse, an Academy of licentiousnesse, and a right temple of Cyprus where the sacrifices were on­ly dishonesties.

These foolish loves are seldome seene to bee without jealousie, for as rottennesse takes sooner in apples, which are bruised, then in those that bee sound, and whole, so jealousie, which is nothing but a corruption of judgement, takes farre more ea­sily in giddy, and unjust passions, then in lawfull affections; and this was the cause that among [...] [Page 111] these young men, who had no pretentions, but of flesh, and bloud, sundry quarrells arose; these or­dinary quarrels seconded by execrable slaughters, made Demetrie, so infamous that she was accoun­ted as a stone of scandall which ought to bee cast forth of the City, because being in it, it rather ser­ved to ruine then edifie, if some just order had been taken against these unjust disorders in time, that which we are about to re [...]te had never hapned, but as it is the part of wise persons to foresee the evills to come, so the impudent, whose eyes are only in their heads see but these, which are at hand.

Amongst those that hunted after this glorious, but devouring Panther, one was a Lord of note, whose quality, and meanes, as well as his person, pierced her eyes, and althovgh she led a very licen­tious, and shamefull life, yet beleeving every one to be as blind as her selfe, she imagined that her bad demeanors were not perceived, which made her so presumptuous as to thinke shee should bee sought vnto for marriage, as much as though she were very honest, and chast indeed, knowing then that Fusbert was now fallen into her nets, and that nothing augments love so much as modest behavi­our, be it fained, or true, she imployed all her art, and skill to breed an opinion in him that she was a woman farre more honest then she was counted to be; wherein she found such good successe, that whatsoever the friends of Fusbert told him concer­ning the life of this Lais, he tooke all those verities to be but spoken in malice, and to be meere calum­nies, [Page 112] and beleeving that she was as froward, and peevish to others, as she was harsh, and untractable to him, he belyed the common report as if it had beene a slander. The folly of his passion led him into such furies, that he could no longer live if hee found not meanes to satisfie his desire, and Demetry granting to him no accesse but by way of marriage, he resolved to leape that stile, and take her to his wife. This was a match so great and so rich, that the eyes of Demetry were dazeled therewith, and it made her forget that liberty which was the Ele­ment of her pleasures, and seeing him so besotted on her, she was of opinion that being his wife, she should have such power over him, and so rule him that she would cast a mist before his eyes, and so continue in her fooleries.

Ambition then led her to give eare to this marri­age, as it was foolish love that led Fusbert thereun­to, but the worst was that this pigeon being not of full age, could not contract it without the consent of his mother, who was yet living, and his guar­dian during his nonage: now should he speake to her of this, it were but labour lost, but more like­ly to overthrow all the businesse, you shall then here what this crafty woman devised, who yeelded her selfe to others on a far easier composition. Af­ter that she had a long time consulted this matter with her suitor, she made this agreement, for to content her selfe only with a promise of marriage upon condition to performe the solemnities there­of, as soone as hee should come to the age suffi­cient, whereof he yet wanted two or three yeeres, [Page 113] during the which she intended to keep this bird in cage, and to live still according to her former li­berties.

Fusbert, who to arrive at the haven he so much desired, could have signed his owne death, would needs write this promise with his owne bloud, so much did passion transport him, now after he had signed this assurance, hee thought he had enough, and as much as he desired, and that the consumma­tion preceded this imaginary marriage; yet no sooner was he caught in this trap, but the scales fell from his eyes, after he had eaten of the forbidden fruit▪ the troope of wooers are not yet discarded, Demetries gates are still open unto companies, shee is no whit the more retired, she welcomes the one, receives the other, and entertaines them with as much liberty, as before, which pleases not our jea­lous Sicilian, if he reprove her for it, she presently accuses him of jealousie, then she protests of her honesty, and innocency, and can so well deale with him, that he is constrained to crave pardon for his suspitions, and to cry her mercy, for the wrong which she her selfe does to him.

Whilest she continues in this manner of licenti­ous living after she had (as he thought) purchast Fusbert for her husband, she caught into her nets, a new prey with whose good p [...]rts she was extream­ly taken, and this was a yong Gentleman, who was a younger brother, and had little else but his sword, indeed for beauty, and v [...]lour he was inferiour to few, bearing the heart of Mars with the face of A­donis, hardly had hee attained two the age of two [Page 114] and twenty yeeres, but that he had both by sea, and land manifested his valour, so that he gave hopes of proving a very compleat knight. This Circe having by her charmes made him her captive, was not her selfe neverthelesse exempt from slavery, because she became as it were, an Idolater of his perfections, insomuch that being as desirous of him. as he could be of her, she needed not much intrea­ting to yeeld unto his will. ‘These unlucky wo­men have this property to breed more passion in men after they have possessed them, then whi­lest they woe them, by reason of the cunning allurements wherewith they season familiarity.’ Richard (so will we call this young Gallant) be­came so inamoured on this Thais, that as she could not live without him, no more could he live with­out her, blindnesse a quality inseparable in love drave them unto a commerce so evident, that it was perceived even by the dullest sighted, much more by Fusbert whose jealousie made him now see the very atomes, the smallest things, who be­fore let slip much greater; presently rage, and ven­geance enter his spirit, sometimes he was minded to kill this rivall, and this wicked woman, then re­calling that, he determined to forsake this wicked creature, and to breake his word with her who fal­sified her faith with him.

Having by the ordinary motions of jealousie spi­ed out all their actions, and found that his suspiti­ons were undoubted truths, he resolved to breake the bonds, in which he was obliged to this disloy­all person, and endeavouring by all meanes possible [Page 115] to learne particularly what reputation shee had, he found in all companies, that she was counted for a very lascivious woman, whereupon he intended to turne bankerupt in the promise he had made her, and to leave her infamous as shee was farre more worthy of his anger, and revenge then of his love.

Having remained some few daies from seeing her, during which time he endeauoured to cure those wounds by absence, which his heart had receaved by the presence of this deceitfull beauty. Demetrie who would faine hold him still in leash, mistrusting his inconstancy writ letters to recall him, but he re­turned her answeres so full of reproaches, and spit­full termes, accompanied with protestations so con­trary vnto the promise he had formerly made her, that shee presently thought that this horse had slip­ped his brdle, and would scape away.

After shee long time to no purpose imployed her whole arte, and skill, to reconquer his minde, which contrariwise became more froward by her submission, and grew sharper by her entreaties, shee fell to threats of constraint, protesting to sue him on his promise, thereby to make him acknowledg [...] it, and to performe the contents thereof: This put Fusbert into such a rage, that not content to scoffe at her menaces, and at the writing which she had, he compiled a legend of her life so full of the most fil­thy, and shamefull things accompanied with such beastly, and dishonest truths. That Demetrie ani­mated by a furious despaire, vowed to revenge her selfe thereof or to dye in the attempt, but finding [Page 116] her selfe over weake to performe so notable a deed, and being not able to recall this fugitive, and so to worke him some mischiefe, she bethought her self, that she could not better bring her bloudy designe to passe, then by Richard her new favourite, who being desperately intangled in her love would ha­zard his life in all dangers whatsoever to content her.

The shamefull reproaches that Fusbert cast forth in all companies, of this wicked woman, were spread so farre that every one spake thereof, and besides he nominated Richard more then any other, who being descended of noble bloud, and being of a brave couragious mind was not able to indure these invectives, which so meerely touched his ho­nour, together with the reputation of that woman, to whom he was so much devoted, and therefore might the more easier bee induced to take the re­venge thereof, whereunto Demetry imploying her charming teares, he vowed by her eyes which hee called his light (and which were indeed his soules deadly torches) that he would not sleep untill such time, as he had presented her with the heart, and tongue of Fusbert. And in fine after he had often watcht him accompanied with some bravadoes as the manner of Italy is, he tooke him at such an ad­vantage, that Fusbert being pierced through in di­vers places remained dead in the place.

The kindred of this murdered man, being the greatest and most eminent of the city, caused such a search to be made after Richard, that not long af­ter he was found, and taken by the Magistrate who [Page 117] cast him into prison, and in these obscure dungeons did his eyes open, whereby he came to know his fault, whereof he could hope for no pardon, in that he had such powerfull adversaries, assuring him­selfe therefore of death, he declared the truth of all, he confessed, and acknowledged, that the only counsell, and perswasions of Demetry had urged him unto an act so detestable, wherof he repented himselfe from the very bottome of his heart.

Hereupon Demetry is attached and put in hold, where she denyed nothing of what Richard had said, but confirmed it, beleeving verily that she had reason to avenge her selfe on him, whom she had found a traitor perfidious, and a violater of her cha­stity; this her malice being knowne, all the Iudges were of opinion that she deserved death: only the youth of Richard suborned by this accursed wo­man, bred compassion in them, whereunto adding the glory of his birth, and moreover the merit of his valour, there were none but lamented his mis­fortune, seeing that by the rigour of justice he was condemned to dye in the prime of his yeeres: but his parents, and kindred, who feared that this execution would be an everlasting reproach unto their generation, and not knowing by what meanes to avoyde it, they with money corrupted a turne-key of the prison, who gave him the meanes of escap­ing away: within few dayes sentence was given against the evill counsellour, who was condemned to loose her head on a scaffold, which was done ac­cordingly, and Richard should also have borne her company if he had not beene gone.

After this, meanes were made to appease the friends of Fusbert: and Richards valour, which made it selfe famous of in Flanders, added unto the consideration of his kindred, obtained a pardon and abolition of his fault, and license to returne in­to his country, where he verified, what is common­ly reported, that punishments light not alwayes on the guilty, but sometimes on the unfortunate; and if we shall reflect on that, which led him into the mishap of this murther, there is no doubt to be made, but Demetry was more criminall then he, since he but lent his arme to the execution of that vengeance, which she had inspired him withall.

Youth may here learn to avoyde evill counsells, as rocks stained with thousands of shipwracks, and to withdraw themselves from the unfortunate ac­quaintance, and familiarity of these shamelesse wo­men, who not contented to fill those with scandall, who are spectators of their disordered lives, led those that follow them unto brutish, and inhumane actions, not only of the flesh, but also of blood, whereof antiquity furnisheth us with a thousand examples, amongst which the judicious reader may see if this that I have now related may not be pla­ced.

THE LONG Vengeance.
The Tenth Event.

AS the least follyes are the most commendable, so is the least continuance of anger. Those revenges which are executed in the heate of choller, when the bloud is boyling, although not excuseable (forasmuch as we ought neither to excuse a vice, nor flatter a pas­sion, which should be subdued by reason) yet are they lesse to be blamed then those, which are taken in cold blood, and whose continuance shewes a black, and diabolicall malice; the French are sub­ject to violent passions, whose suddenesse, and fury proves very dangerous: but those people that live beyond the mountaines, are possessed with heredi­tary hatred, and as if vengeance were one of the [Page 120] sweetest things belonging to life, they lengthen and continue it, as much as they can, when they have once gotten their adversaries in their power, making them endure many torments, whose pro­longation is worse then a thousand deaths, which made that cruell Emperour Domitian say, that hee would cause those, whom he tormented, to feele themselves dye, and being petitioned by one of them, that he might be quickly dispatcht by death; since when (answered he) is this man entred into favour againe with me. Although death be the last of all worldly paines, yet some deaths are farre worse, then others, and which by their lingring length multiplye deaths: and therein doth consist the tyranny of those vengeances which preserve life, but only to lengthen paine.

Ceraste a Gentleman of Millaine continued a suite for many yeers with Trophime a Lord of great note, and also bearing the title of Earle, because the said Ceraste would not acknowledge to owe him fealty: at length by the decree of the Senate of Millaine, he was acquitted from this homage, and his land de­clared free, it was but little, and lying within the County and Earledome of Trophime, whose great courage could not there suffer a fellow, wherefore what he could not obtaine by law (which was to make Ceraste his vassall he thought fit by violence to take revenge thereof. Now this Ceraste was growne something ancient and either by the intem­perancy of his youth, or by issuing from a gowty generation (for this disease is said to be hereditary) he was so afflicted with the gowt, that he could [Page 121] hardly goe, besides hee was so indebted, that if the gowt decayed his body, creditors did no lesse to his purse, whether it were that ill husbādry had cau­sed it, or else along continued quarrel which he had had with a neighbouring Gentleman whose name was Procore, so it is that he felt himselfe extreamely diminished in his estate, but he was delivered out of all these miseries by an extraordinary meanes as you shall here in the sequell:

Vpon a day being mounted on a little mule, as he was taking the aire about his groūds, Trophime who watched for him, as a vulture for his prey, came well accompained, and suddainly surprised him. Ceraste who thought no other, but that his throat should presently be cut, for to move Trophime to compassion, cried him mercy and begged for life. Thou shalt have life (answered Trophime) because thou doest begge it, but thou shalt not have death when thou wouldest, this being said he caused him to be led vnto his house, and cast into a darke prison where he made him endure paines lesse sufferable then death. Cerastes mule was found grasing in the feild, but as for tidings of him none could be heard, his wife, and two children, caused all the enquiry, and search to be made that possibly they could, but never were able to discouer what was become of him, upon the quarrell that he had had with Procore, many conjectured that he had killd him.

On these weake surmises the Iustice seases on Pro­core and a lusty fellow who ordinarily waighted on him armed with sword, and dagger, for want of witnesses they are both put upon the wracke, where [Page 122] the vehemency of torments made them confesse, what they never did, accusing themselves to have murdered Ceraste, wherevpon Precore was behead­ed, and his man hanged; not long after this Trophime caused miserable Ceraste to be led by night vnto a strong castle, which he had on the bankes of the lake Maior, and therto be locked vp in the bottome of a tower, where he sawe no other light, but through a little hole, at the top, and was fedde by the house keeper with nothing save bread, and water, the ground being his bed, and the roofe for his couerled: in these obscurityes and miseryes he often desires them to put him to death, but he that tooke delight in his paine would not grant him this cruell favor: he remanied there vntill the death of Trophime which was about thirteene or foureteene yeares after his taking, who left this hatred, and vengeance for an inheritance unto his sonne Casta­lio, who succeeding his father in cruelty prolonged the imprisonment, and bad vsage of Ceraste.

During this time Cerastes wife dyed, and his two sonnes hauing devided the estate, made away the best parte thereof to pay his dets, thinking them­selves to have lost their Father also: when behold the power of heaven whose eies are ever waking on miserable creatures, and who suffers not the rod of the wicked to continue on the heads of innocent persons, by an vnexpected meanes opened a way unto the liberty of Ceraste.

Castalio being in mind to repaire some ruines a­bout the castle wherein Ceraste was rather buried [Page 123] alive then imprisoned, it hapned that the Masons working thereat digged so deep about the founda­tions of the tower, that they made a little trench therein, through the which they perceived this miserable man, who at the first affrighted them, but at last hee moved so much pitty in them, that having heard the History of his disaster, they made him a passage for to escape away: this hapned after nineteene yeeres imprison­ment.

Presently he repaires to his owne house, mea­ger, pale, and in the worst case that can be imagi­ned, where no body at the first knew him, at last he was knowne by his children, unto whom he rela­ted the time, aad manner of his taking, and his long continuance in that miserable prison, where­upon a great suite is framed against Castalio, who for such a barbarisme begun by his father, and con­tinued by him, was condemned to pay all the debts of Ceraste, who by this meanes re-entred into all the lands, which his sonnes had sold, and became master of that Castle wherein hee had so long been a captive, and where by the benefit of hunger, andA good remedy against the gowt. misery hee became cured of the paines of the gowte.

Hee lived some few yeers after his deliverance, free from creditors, and without Physitians: An admirable spectacle whereby to behold the om­nipotency of the divine providence which doth not only help in calamity, but also drawes profit out of tribulation. An Italian Bishop in his pleasant, [Page 124] and curious discourses, whereunto he hath added the title of Caniculary dayes relates this Event, which he assures to be true as having learned it from the owne mouth of Ceraste, who was then delivered from his so long impri­sonment, and from debts no lesse troublesome then the gowt was painefull.

THE VNLVCKY WORD.
The Eleventh Event.

LIfe, and death, are in the power of the tongue, the mouth which tells a lye killeth the soule, much more when it blaspemeth or speaketh rash words, out of a desperate hasti­nesse, from which the Prophet prayed God that hee would preserve him. This makes St. Iames compare the tongue unto fire, whose least sparke being scattered by carelesnesse causeth great burning and consuming, he calls it likewise an universall iniquity, as being a thing that defiles the whole body and soule, like a tunne full of must or new unrefined wine, which foules it selfe with it's owne foame; he addes moreover that it is harder to be tamed then the fiercest beasts, [Page 126] yea worse then Serpents, Tygers, or Lyons, an un­quiet evill full of deadly poyson, and the place from whence proceed cursings, and blessings; in­deed as there is nothing so light, and slippery, so there is no faculty in us whereunto we ought to take more heed, seeing the greatest part of sinnes come from thence: for very often doth it happen, that men utter so many, and inconsiderate spee­ches, that they are taken at their word, and they remaine punished for the same, before they can have so much time, as to crave repentance there­fore. The history I am about to relate will shew you, that the predictions of the wicked do often turne to their owne ruine.

In a City of Swisse which the relation nameth not, a Surgeon as expert in healing of bodyes, as he was ignorant in curing his owne soule of the wounds of vice, although he had a faire and very honest wife, not content to quench his concupis­cence with her alone, had still some giddy passion or other in his soule, which stole away his heart from her, who only had the lawfull right to pos­sesse both it, and his body, he led a most dissolute and deboist life, which abandoned his health bring­ing it unto shamefull maladies, and his reputation for a prey unto tongues, his wife perceiving his evill courses, laboured at first, by all the gentlest, and most convenient meanes she could devise, to withdraw him from those bottomlesse pits where­in he was sinking, both soule, body, and estate, yet his untractable mind amended not by all these re­medies, but on the contrary, as sweet things (ac­cording [Page 127] to the Aphorisme) be most easily conver­ted into choller, and as oyle feeds the fire which is quenched by other liquors, so her sweet admoniti­ons made him more chollerick, and the gentler he was handled, the worse did he sting. Patience lea­uing this woman, whose head was troubled with a just jealousie, she fell to reproaches, and threates, which more vexed her froward husband, who re­plyed with sharpe words seconded with such heavy blowes, that the poore woman was halfe brained thereby. This harsh usage made her complaine to her parents, who made their moane unto the Ma­gistrate, he finding himselfe obliged to redresse this disorder, caused the Chirurgion to be cited before him, and ratled him with so good a lesson, and with­all caused him to pay such a fine, that he amended him, if not in effect, yet at least in shew, and com­manded him on paine of imprisonment to leave of his accustomed haunting of such suspitious houses, where if ever hee were knowne, to goe againe, hee would cause him to bee punished as an adul­terer.

Here now becomes the sinner humbled, and he who rejoyced in his evill, and gloryed in his fault, endeavoured to hide his dissolutenesse, to avoyde scandall, murmur, and the punishment wherewith the Iudge threatned him; yet could he not long abstaine, for since the wicked hath cast downe his eyes from beholding heaven, and is fallen to the very bottome of the Abyssus, he despiseth all hu­mane advertisements, having played bankrout with his salvation, but now he finds other tricks, he makes [Page 128] his journeyes by night, and by stealth. And to his jealous wife, who had over him as many eyes as Argus, he finds out thousands of lyes. And like another Mercury pipes her asleep, with a flattering tongue, and counterfeit kindnesses; neverthelesse she still mistrusts him, knowing that as the Ethiopi­an cannot leave his blacknesse, nor a Leopard the spots of his skin, howsoever they are washed, so it is likewise hard for him that hath taken a habit of evill to leave of his vitious customes.

Hereupon she sets divers spies, but the malicious man multiplies his deceits, and findes more inventi­ons to cast himselfe away, then his good carefull wife hath to saue him, yea he so jndustriously doth hide his naughtines, that although he minded no­thing else, yet his neighbours thinke him to be refor­med, and if his wife complaine, they mocke her su­spitions, and accuse her of causl [...]sse jealousie.

At length having gathered together his affections & rather having setled his infections on a lost creature whose only frequentation had beene sufficient to defame those that resorted unto her, being one, that made an infamous trafficke of her selfe, he made his hearte, and his body one with this woman. This stinking fire could not be kept so secret, but that it shewed it self by it's smoke, and blacknes, his wife had already gotten some small knowledge of this matter, and already did the neighbours about the place, where he haunted begin to perceiue it, and what veiles soever he invented to couer himselfe withall were meerly as spiders webs which disco­vered him in covering him.

One of his most probable excuses was to frame some journeyes out of towne, whereupon get­ting upon a Mule which he kept he would ride forth of the City, & come late in the night unto the adul­teresse whom he frequented, this craft being disco­vered, by continuance, his wife reproved him for it, and threatned to certifie the Iudge that he still con­tinued his lewd courses, to the end that feare of punishment might cause him to refraine, but he be­ing altogether obstinate in his vice, and as it were fallen into a reprobate sense, jested at her admoni­tions, and with blasphemous oathes, and horrible imprecations laboured to cover his fault, as if adul­tery (saith that ancient Lawyer) could be purged by oath: but heaven doth not alwayes laugh at the perjuries of those, that are blinded with the foolish passion which they call love, but when the measure of a sinners iniquities is come to it's full heape, the arme of the most high turnes downe on his shoul­ders, and makes him feele the weight thereof, by punishments no lesse strange then terrible.

This man being arrived at the full period of his abhominations, and his fault drawing along with it it's inseparable shadow punishment, got on evening upon his Mule, saying, as he had often before done, that he was riding forth of towne about a very im­portant cure, his wife who misdoubted the strata­geme, asked him where it was that he was going, thy jealously (said he) that puts a thousand ham­mering suspitions into thy head, makes thee ima­gine that I am now going to some lewd place; but thinke whatsoever thou wilt, I will be my owne [Page 130] master, and free as I list, neither will I give any bo­dy account of mine actions.

His wife knew by these speeches that he was go­ing to the place wherunto his unjust concupiscence drew him, for even as ulcerated bodies will not en­dure to be touched to the quicke, so likewise will guilty minds be netled, and moved unto anger be­ing reprehended for their faults: well she proceeds in her exclamations, railes, & threatens him, he who had hardned himselfe in malice, disputing with this furious woman, rendred her word for word, threat forthreat, & at last said unto her, if thy curiosity must needs be satisfied: know then, that in despight of thee, and of thy railing I am going to a bawdy house.

With these words he leapes upon his Mule, and spurring him hard to get from the bawling wo­man, who began to raise a rumour about her gate by the complaints which she made unto her neigh­bours. This Mule being something untoward fee­ling himselfe extraordinarily prest by the spurre, began to kicke, fling, and leape, with such violence that he cast his master from his backe, whose foote hanging in one of his stirrups, and the Mule setting himselfe to run with all his force drag'd this adul­terer in such a manner on the stones, that his head shattered into many pieces, and his braines lay in the streets, this humorous beast stayed not till shee came before the doore of that infamous house, whereunto he had so unluckily said he was going, and where his accustomed haunt was, there did the Mule stay with his unfortunate master who starke [Page 131] dead, and much broken remained there a long on the ground. Thus through divine permission by the death of this miserable man was discovered the commerce, which when he was living, he had kept so secret, and thus was preached on the house tops what he had committed in a close chamber, so was verified what the holy Scripture teacheth us, that all creatures which breath on the face of the earth fight for Gods justice against those sencelesse persons, that violate his law, and stray from his wayes.

Presently this was bruited all over that part, where this horrid spectacle was, and so farre were any from bewayling this disaster, that contrariwise every one adored and praised the Almighties ju­stice in his chasticement, according to that of the Prophet, that he will make abundant retribution unto the proud, and that good people rejoycing to see his vengeance, shall wash their hands in the bloud of the sinner.

THE IVSTIFICATION by Crime.
The Twelfeth Event.

POliticians hold that sometimes a particular Iustice takes best effect, where a publicke Iustice ought to have bin executed: & that the rigour, and severity of the Law, which many are made to feele, brings paine to some, feare to many, and keeps all persons in their due obedience, and allegeance. There are ulcers which are incurable, if the extreame remedies of fire and steele be not applyed thereunto; and there are also crimes which cannot bee expiated but by extraordinary chastisements, yet oftentimes cun­ning must be used, where force cannot availe, and the Foxes skinne supply the shortnesse of the Ly­ons. It is true that according to the Maxime of the [Page 133] Casuists, Evill must not be done that good may fol­low thereof, yet it may so happen that justice au­thoriseth some particular actions, which cannot be justifiable but by the good they bring to the weale publicke. All this will verifie it selfe by the following History, where you shall perceive a man to be [...]eclared innocent, and his crimes par­donable, by an increasing of one fault on the head of another.

When as Pope Sixtus the fift sate in the chaire of Rome, Italy was found so full of theeves, and rob­bers, which there they call Bandits, that com­merce was much hindred thereby, because none might travell safely, nor scarce be in the country without danger, for those villaines assembling in troopes, kept the high wayes, robbing the passen­gers, and without mercy killing those that made any resistance. This torrent of villanies did so o­verflow, that nothing could oppose it's fury, the Provostes nor archers durst not resist them, and al­ready were they growne to such a head, as they sought not to hide themselves in woods, moun­taines, nor caves, but held Villages, Castles, and Hamlets, this danger almost menacing Cities, no remedy could be found to be applyed unto this ex­treame evill, and all human wisedome was too weak to find out meanes for the extirpation of this accur­sed crue. The Princes who saw the dissolution of their States to approach very neere, if some spee­dy remedy were not found, began to consult to­gether for the taking of these people; at length they resolved to put armes into the Commons [Page 134] hands, and give them free liberty to fall upon those monsters, who like vipers gnawed the bowells of their country, but this popular violence having made them more furious by despaire, seeing them­selves pursued with extreamity like wilde beasts, they set fire on all places where they came, and made such havocke and such slaughters as cannot bee read in history without horror.

Hereupon a grave and wise politician gave this counsell, which at first was thought something strange, but experience shewed it to be profitable: and this was to set a price upon the heads of these cut-throates, and to promise impunity and generall pardon to those, that should bring them either a­live or dead before the Princes: this put such a di­vision, and mistrust among those rascalls, that they were in continuall suspition each of other, which brake that intelligence, wherein consisted their greatest strength: And as God in times past for to destroy the Madianites made use only of their own hands, for these villaines daily kild one another, some to get their repeale from banishment, others to have the reward proposed unto those that should bring the head of a Bandite: now amongst the most resolutest, and boldest trickes, which are related therof here is one execrable indeed in it's execution, yet with a remarkable stratagem, wherin the hand of God is seen to accompany the wicked. There were three of these theeves, which held al­waies together, and made their enterprises, and preyes common amongest themselves, they roved up and downe about the Appenine mountaines [Page 135] where they committed wonderful villanies; a mar­chant falling amongst them was robd in whose male they found about a thousand crownes, now one of these three not corresponding in courage unto the other, was neverthelesse as eager after the booty, as any of the rest, who exposed themselves unto all dangers, which bred in them such an indig­nation against him, that they resolved to be ridd of him, this they kept secret untill this notable robery of this marchant, in parting whereof this coward (who had served but as a sentinell whilest the others did the deed) became very obstinate to have his third parte, one of the others said privatly to him, that had assisted him, what shall we do with this base fellow? he shunnes blowes, and will not hazard himselfe, yet requires as much as wee who hazard our lives, the best way will be to ridde our hands of him, and to parte the spoyle betwixt us, besides thou hast an extreame desire to returne into thy country th [...]u maist carry his head, and so pro­cure thy pardon, and moreover a hundred crownes which thou maist send me for aiding thee in this ex­ecution: there be some soules so corrupt, and so a­bandoned unto all vice, that shew them a vice, and they will flye thereunto like fire to sulphur: this proposition pleased the second theife well, because he saw therein two notable advantages, they then agree betwixt themselves to murther the third and to execute this wicked designe in going along, the second promised to begin, and the first promised to make an end of him, in case that he kild him not with the first blow, as they ridde thus along upon [Page 136] good horses, and contesting in the sharing of this Marchants money, he that had promised to begin shooting of his pistoll hit the coward in the head, and made his braines flye about, he that had given this counsell shooting of his in pretence of dispatch­ing him, discharged of purpose in the head of this murderer, and struck him stark dead on the ground: in this manner he remained sole master of the boo­ty, and besides possessor of his two fellowes heads, whereof he gave the one to a Bandite of his ac­quaintance, which got him his pardon, reserving to himselfe the hundred crownes, promised over and above for the said head, the other head he carried himselfe, for which he had together with another hundred crownes a generall pardon for all his crimes. And thus was he, as it were, made inno­cent by heaping many horrible faults one upon another. Who doth not see, in this example, an evident testimony of the weaknesse of humane ju­stice, constrained to use such strange meanes to de­stroy the race of the wicked? but the justice of God goes in another manner, because that all is in his hand, and there is no place where the guilty can seeke shelter from his wrath. For not long after as this bloudy author of so many murders proud of his impunity walked, not at all repenting, but boast­ing of his wickednes, and making a glory of his confusion, the Marchant who knew him againe grieving for his losse, seconded by some friend, set upon him so fiercely, that after hee had received some wounds, he was forced to seeke his safety by flight, and by the just judgement of God, by his [Page 137] flight he met with his death, for having gotten in­to a house whereinto he was followed close by his adversaries, thinking to leape downe from a galle­ry, and thereby escape, he shattered himselfe in pieces, dying in rages, torments, and de­spaires most dreadfull, so he that had es­caped the judgements of men fell into the hands of God, be­fore whom crimes doe not justifie.

FINIS.
CERTAIN MORAL RELATI …

CERTAIN MORAL RELA­TIONS SELECTED out of the two Books written therof in French, BY The right Reverend Father Iohn Peter Camous Bishop of BELLEY, Anno Domini 1628.

Faithfully Translated into English.

LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper for William Brooks, and are to be sold at his shop in Holborn in Turnstile Lane. 1639.

The Authour to the Reader.

DEare Reader, take these mo­rall relations as a continu­ance of my singular Events, it is the same stile, the same manner of writing, and to the same intent & purpose, nothing differs but the Title, and the matters different in shew, not in effect, my chiefe intention being by all these examples, which I gather here, and there in the things that passe in the world, to correct vicious man­ners, and incourage to vertuous courses. If I fall short of this my purpose, my weaknesse must be excused & my good wil not blamed.

The Translator to the Reader.

TO the end that I might avoyde reiterations, out of all the Au­thours large Preface unto this Booke of morrall relations, which would only have beene tedious, not pleasant to the Reader, I have only given you a little taste of the latter part, the reason chiefly is, that because I ioyne these singular Events, and Morrall relati­ons, in one volume, you have an Epistle at the beginning which at large informes you of his in­tents, reasons, and motives, which I think ma [...] suffice; my intents, and wishes shall ever equall, and accompany the Authours, in these his wor­thy, and my poore labours,

Farewell.

T. [...].

THE HONORABLE INFIDELITY.
The First Relation.

AT one side of that ancient City of the Gaules, where the old Druides dedicated a Temple unto her, who being a Virgin, brought forth a Child, a Coun­trey lyeth bearing the name of Perche, this Province as shady, as the Beausse her neighbour is uncovered, sheweth how great the advantage is which nature giveth un­to those Countreys where wood groweth in abun­dance, since it serves for a remedy against the scor­ching heates of Summer, by the pleasantnesse of it's shade, and against the sharpe coldnesse of Winter in feeding fire, which is one halfe of life during that rigorous season: amidst the groves which serve as [Page 144] a necessary ornament unto the Region whereof I speake, there standeth a Castle bearing such ranke as few are before it, but divers hehind it in magni­ficence. This Castle giveth name unto a Family sufficiently knowne, and the which wee will veile under that of Fleuranval; the Lord of this place was one who governed his Family with no lesse pru­dence then authority, which made him to be drea­ded not only in his owne Lands, but also in the neighbouring places, for if either of these two qualities separated bee sufficient to imprint respect, and feare in those that consider them in any person, what may they doe being both conjoyned toge­ther in one? Every one seekes to keepe in favour with the wiseman, and soone growes distastfull of the prudent, because that he cannot be surprized; and if it be so that the subtilitie of his wit passe un­to craft, he is able both to surprize and harme; and as for the valiant, it is his property to strike terror even into the mindes of the most-esteemed, since that if they will not yeild to reason, he maketh them stoope thereunto by force. The Lord of Fleuranval had made himselfe famous both in the one and the other of these, and knew how to make himselfe be feared by those, who would not love his austere vertues.

But if the bodies of children do never so perfect­ly resemble those that begot them, but that there may be found some notable differences, there are muchmore diversities in the minds which draw not their originall from earthly Fathers; This was it that made Zotique, eldest sonne to this Lord, so far [Page 145] frō the humour of his father, the good man extrem­ly hating deboysenesse, and principaly that kinde wherein are used deceipt and cheating. Zotique was extreamely given to gaming, which exercise much displeased his Father, not onely because hee knew that a wise man never submits his meanes to ha­zard, but also that he was assured gaming to be the widest gate for a Family to passe to it's ruine; & he that is infected with this disease, much resembling that of wirters, to wit; the itch of the fingers ends, shall find in the end, though having woon, yet hee hath lost much, since the losse of time is such, that it can never be recovered: It is true that Zotique ex­cused himselfe, saying; that being as he was, his Father yet living, he could loose but little, and might winne much: but he might have been an­swered with the words of an antient Philosopher, who reprehending a youth for gaming, and he say­ing, that his play was but for a small matter, reply­ed; My Sonne, Custome is not a thing of small conse­quence. Zotique had yet another excuse far more unreasonable then the former, and which ministred occasion to think ill of his dealing, for he complai­ned of his Fathers severity (so did he disguise the name of avarice) which hee thought would be too outragious, & said, he allowed him not means suffi­cient; yet wanted he nothing that was needfull, but would have reached unto superfluity, which was a thing that the Lord of Fleuranval intended not, knowing that to fill a bottomelesse pit, and to satis­fie the disordinate desires of unruly youth is all one.

Zotique then made traficke of his play, and gay­ned more thereby then if he had had much money in banke, but by what art, that must bee imagined; for if Vsurers use so maine craftie devises to veile their unjust practices, you may believe that Cheaters, feare nothing more then to bee called by their names, nor are there any injurious speeches that they will take so much exceptions at, nor any thing so terrible as to be surprized in their sleights. Zotique was reported to use this infamous trade; in­famous indeede in all persons, but chiefely in a Gentleman; who together with honour, ought to have loyaltie and sinceritie in high esteeme: but how many be there in great Cities, who under the name of Academicks, live only by these manuall sophistications, losing the bodie of true honour, whilst they follow the shaddow of false; for, to maintaine themselves honorable, say they, they pull pigeons in gaming houses, will not I affirme for certaine, that Zotique practised this odious com­merce, for who can Iudge of these deedes of dark­nes so closely concealed? but I may say with the common voice, that he had the name so to doe, and it was this ignominious reputation, that grieved his father, and made him use sharpe and threatning re­proofes, but to as much purpose, as the washing of a Blackmoore, to seeke for to roote out of him that habit, which by little and little was converted into nature; and besides, wherein he found profit, a mor­ [...]ell so daintie, and so delicate a baite, that all fish will bite a [...] it; and a rock which few persons seeke to avoide▪

As the Father manteyned his house with luster by Iust and right wayes of good husbandrie, so the sonne by crooked pathes appeared Gallant, in at­tendants, in apparrell, in feasts, in horses and in all, with such magnificence and great splendor, that either he must sinke himselfe into debts, or by bad yet subtile wayes, ruine those with whom he played. Now, the first of these appearing not, to wit; that he ran into debt, the second was believed to the great decay of his birthes glory, and the pre­judice of his reputation: Idlenes as all men know, is the nurserie of all vices; play is the occupation of idle persons, and as the spring from whence are drawen divers bad channells: money is the nerves and sinewes of wickednes as well as of war; now as Venus is cold without Ceres & Bacchus, so without the helpe of Pluto, who is the God of that mettall, which the avarice of mortalls hath pluckt out of the Earths bowells, riot cannot last; but what veine of gold would not be drained dry by prodigalitie, since it is a bottomlesse gulfe: truly unto those that be very fortunate in play, gameing serves as a spring, to uphold their great expences. But where are these children of good fortune, who feele not somtimes her turnings and crossings and by experi­ence in playing, finde not that cardes and dice are more uncertaine, then Armes? I believe truly, and my beliefe is not without ground, that the most fortunate gamesters doe in the end loose all, if a wise retreate prevent not their ruine. As for Cog­gers and Cheaters, if they hold out a little longer in this exercise, it is because they dexterously hide [Page 148] their tricks, but being once, though not found out, yet but only suspected, they are avoided as Ser­pents hidden under flowers, and people shunne their company as persons infected with some con­tagious disease, like unto an excellent Master of defence, with whom no man will fight, not so much for the esteeme of his valour, as for feare of his dex­terity.

If play led Zotique into divers disorders, thinke you that love the child of play, of past-time and of the purse, had no accesse in his minde? Truly this passion, unto which is attributed bored handes, made no small havock, in his minde; and if he cheated men with Cards and Dice to draw from them gold and silver, think you that with these mettals which pierce the strongest Towers, and by which thousands of places are not impregnable, he could not cunningly cheate, or overcome the mo­desty of the most resolute? How many Dana's did he surprize with this shower? how many staines did this unluckie raine make in the honour of divers inconsiderate Women? But in fine, this mettall is not a Loade-stone unto all hearts; there are some so noble, that what others highly esteeme, they couragiously despise. Those former who adore these mettals, shew themselves to have earthly and muddy minds, and very weake eyes to be dasled by their glittering; but it is these other brave spirits that never buckle to any dishonourable thing, what necessity soever presse them, and whom ambition or desire of gaine never turne from the old path of vertue; you sh [...]ll see this verity lively painted out, [Page 149] with divers colours in the sequ [...]l [...] of this Rela­tion.

True it is, that Zotique burning only with a light sensuall fire which soone quenched after enjoy­ing, had like a furious wild Boare made a prodigi­ous spoyle in the vine of many womens honesty, whereof some he had inveagled with promises and faire speeches, but most of them by gifts, whose ef­fects are much more pressing and powerfull then words, dvers had laid hold of his baits, and yeelded to his allurements, his conversation having in it strong charmes to move affection, principally in the Countrey, where Women are not so crafty as in Cities, and therefore more subject to be decei­ved and surprized, for as poverty raigns there more imperiously, so is the gate easier to be opened unto corruption, chiefly when gold darts it's rayes into these Countrey soules; besides, Nobity and Gen­trey in the Countrey doe often passe from authori­ty to violence, not content to bee Lords, if they stretch not, as it were, from Royalty to tyranny. I alleage all this upon the subject which I am going to treate of, to wit; the intemperance of Zotique; he was informed that in a Village neare neighbou­ring unto his Fathers Castle, there was a Maide, who under a Countrey habit made shew of a won­derfull beauty, all those that had seene her reported of her, but with admiration, which made blind de­sires breede in this Gentlemans minde, whereof the passage seemed too full of sulphur so susc [...]pti­ble it was of this secret fire. hee who sailed on the Sea of sensuality, seeking but faire Rocks whereon [Page 150] to make notable Shipwracks, failed not to transport his eyes fraught with curiosity on this rare object, which in a moment fils him with a thousand flames, and that which flattereth his designe is the facility of conquering her, who was reputed to be no lesse chast then faire; but he was of opinion, that if he could not charme her minde by fained words, yet the powder of gold would make her sensible of his torment, and bring her to his wil.

He settles himselfe then on this pursuit, tending to no other end, but to content his bruitest appe­tite at the cost & charge of the honor of this Maid, whom for her invincible and glorious chastitie we will name Castule. But as all the deceipts where­with evill spirits entertaine Sorcerers, doe vanish a­way at the appearing of the day, so before this Starre of beauty and honesty all Zotiques illusions were as Candles in the presence of the Sunne: She shut her eares like an Aspe to the voyce of this In­chanter, it was not so much through dulnesse of wit, as through subtile prudence that she avoyded this Mans encounter as much as in her lay, knowing that the talke of the wicked doth breede gnawing Vlcers in the soules of those that give eare unto them: Notwithstanding, Zotique whose fire was in­creased through difficulties, judged by the small meanes he found to speake unto her, that it was not through want of wit, nor Countrey stupidity, that she answered not his discourses, for by her short re­plies, she shewed her dexterity and wisedom, which surpassed the ordinary, both of her age and condi­tion: In fine, hauing used the words, gestures, and [Page 151] other artificiall trickes of a seducer, to as little pur­pose as if he had cast his discourses into the winde, he would then imploy the great engine for battery, gold and presents, but he met with a courage resem­bling the sea, who vomiteth up unto her borders all the wealth that shipwracks have left floating on her waves.

If he be esteemed happy in holy scripture, who hath preserved himselfe cleane from all spots, who hath not runne after gold, nor setled his hopes on treasures: what glory shall we give unto this maid, who in an estate rather abject than meane, and in the frailty of a weak sex, could trample under foot that gold wherewith the greatest monarchs make their Crownes. Truely shee is a strong woman, whose price ought to bee sought for unto the farthest and extremest parts of the earth, if there be any price worthy of a chast soule, which the Wiseman setteth above all esteeme. Zotique no lesse stung by the ver­tues, than by the beauty of this Castule, after he had felt the rages that evill love is wont to breed in the soules which it possesseth, in fine changed this im­pure flame into one more holy, but not lesse vehe­ment: the dishonest illusions that had troubled his imagination, separated themselves from his minde, and seeing that hee could have no accesse unto the possession of Castule, but by way of matrimony, he resolved to preferre vertue before nobility and ri­ches, seeing that Nobility is but a ray or beame, or rather a reward of vertue, and riches are her Ser­vants. Whilest he hatches his designes in his heart, he covers them as close as possible he could, know­ing [Page 152] that once vented they would find invincible ob­stacles; hee declares them notwithstanding to his deare adversary, in whose credence he found so lit­tle place, that although he spake very sincerely, and from the very bottome of his soule, yet hee could never perswade her that which he desired shee should hold for an oracle: hee had beaten her eares with false oathes and vaine protestations, wherwith he used to guild over his former deceits, hee had tempted her courage by promises, by offers, by presents, in briefe, he had so many wayes testified his intent and desire of her undoing, that when hee began a lawfull and honourable suit, his discourses were taken for traps, and his oathes for snares, or to be as the little pipe wherewith foulers call or intice silly birds to their destruction. This is it which de­ceivers and liers gaine, to cast all persons into mi­strust of their faith, and not to be beleeved when they speake truth.

Now is Zotiqu [...] in a perplexity, which may better be imagined than described, and little wanted he of despaire, seeing all passages shut, both lawfull and unlawful, to arive unto the end of his pretensions. Having thus lost all credence with froward Castule, she shunned him no lesse when he spake freely, ho­nestly, and with good intent, than when he cogg'd, flattered, lied, and intended ill. Hee then resolved to speake unto her by the mouth of another, unto whom she might give some manner of credit: hee found none fitter in his conceit, than a servant of his named Anastasius, and sonne of a farmer, who was tenant unto his father: the wit, the courage, and the [Page 153] fidelity of this yong man were so well known unto him by experience, that hee could have no reason to doubt thereof. To him he uttered his mind, and set out his passion unto such a point of extremity, as it seemed the possession of Castule was to be the begin­ning of his life, or the privation of her to be the end thereof; conjuring him, that if he loved the preser­vation of that life, he should assist him in that enter­prise. He further declares freely the intent he once had to undoe her; the art, promises, and presents which to that end he had employed, and how all had done as arrowes shot against a rocke, turned back their points, and that since he hath had mode­ster and juster thoughts, to desire to marry her, but that his savage minde had started backe from this proposition, which notwithstanding might be so ad­vantagious unto her, that therefore hee had need of his helpe to perswade this maid not to ruin her own good fortune, but to receive more graciously the occasion which with a smiling countenance pre­sents it selfe unto her. Hitherto Zotique was heard with patience; but as it is a hard matter to keep con­stantly in one sort of language, when there is dissi­mulation in the minde, which makes liers often cut themselves in their speeches; at last blacknesse and smoke appeared in the fire, which this Lover had said to be so cleare, when as he sought to induce A­nastasius to helpe him in his unjust pretence, assuring hi [...] that if he could not conquer Castule that way, he would then betake himselfe to that of marriage; Anastasius amased at this vari [...]tion, protested that his life and all that little meanes he had, was at his [Page 154] service, but for his honour he would share it with no man. And who attempts unto your honour, saith Zotique? What Sir, replied Anastasius, are you blin­ded even unto this point, as not to see what kinde of practise you desire I should employ my selfe in? the respect I owe unto your quality retaines mee from speaking otherwise, and stifles the words in my mouth: if I had thought you would have conceived so bad an opinion of my fidelity, you should never have been my Master.

Then dissembling Zotique, who could alter and change himselfe like the Pourcountrell or Preke­fish, as if he had awakened from a sound sleep, said, My deare Anastasius, pardon my passion, thou know­est that this tyrant over reason leaves not a mans judgement free; it is true that I have loved Castule otherwise than honesty would permit, but I have since purified my desires, my flame is now irrepre­hensible, since it's fuell is the pretence of a lawfull marriage, and herein doe I pray thee to assist me; it is an emploiment so glorious, that the greatest lords doe hold it an honour to beare the message therof, seeing it is honourable in all those that contract it, and those that treat it. Sir, said Anastasius, I esteeme nothing base but what is unjust and shamefull; there is nothing so abject but I will embrace to doe you service, I will follow you on foot, I will dresse your horses, I will dresse your meat, I will til your land, my birth is not such, but that I may hold it an ho­nour to be borne your subject, but acts contrary to honesty will I never doe, and should it cost me my life, for I had rather die with honour on my brow, [Page 155] than to live with ignominy: but seeing you doe me the favour as to discover your thoughts truely unto me, I am not so void of sence as not to distinguish betweene the actions that proceed from passion, and those that proceed from reason; and as the former deserve compassion, being diseases of the minde, the later shall be followed by my obedience; and if you will permit me to represent unto you that which is conformable to reason, I beleeve I shall do nothing contrary to your service. Trust me Sir, I will say nothing against the vertue of the beauty, nor against the beauty of the vertue of this wise maid, for that were the way wilfully to offend truth, and wrong your judgment, which would not have made choice of that mistresse to settle your affection upon, if you had not found qualities fitting. I wil not speak of the condition of her birth, her want of meanes, and the inequality betwixt you, for although all this be, yet love hath hoodwinkt you so as you perceive it not; and beside, it is the property of this passion, to unite equalls, and to equall the unequall: if you were free and independant of any but your selfe, it were easie for you to passe over all these considerations, and to that as fittest that were most pleasing, but if you thinke on this, that you depend on another, & that you are in the subjection of your father, whose will ought to be to you an inviolable law, and that his consent will never accommodate it selfe to your desire in this match, I am sure you will cast water on your fire, and that the boyling heate of your love will be, if not quite cooled, yet at least something slackt: Then thinke thereon, good Sir, if there [Page 156] remaine any sparke of light in your understanding, and by an inconsiderate ardour, which passion will presently quench, do not overrhrow your fortunes, which depend on a better match, and on the advan­tages which you may hope for from the goodnesse of your father. Moreover, you may judge with what successe both for you and me, I may deale in an obscure negotiation, I will not say unlawfull, for that would I not doe for any thing, but I mean that will be hidden from your parents, and that cannot appeare without putting you into disgrace with them, or losse of life, you know the severe humour of my Lord Fleuranval, that whether this matter come to perfection or no, if he know that I have medled therein in the manner that you desire, and not acquainted him therewith, nothing wil stay him from cutting me in pieces, since that power and au­thority make a thunder-bolt which reduceth into ashes all that it touches: but for my part the matter is not great, beeing that an escape away may shelter me from this tempest, and that I may by a volunta­rie exile buy a service which may be acceptable un­to you, your interest toucheth me more than my owne; if you passe forward secretly into this mar­riage, your father hath power enough to force you to a divorce, then will an honourable maid bee un­done and defamed by my procurement: if you ac­complish it openly, and against his wil, hee wil sure­ly dis-inherit you. You know his austere humour, which will become inflexible, beeing backt by hu­mane law, that permits parents in this sort to punish their disobedient children, then are you one of the [Page 157] poorest and unfortunatest gentlemen of this Pro­vince, whereas remaining dutifull you may be one of the richest: My friend, said Zotique, I am not re­solved to contend with thee in this, I have the Sun flat in my face, defending as thou dost the cause of reason, whose force I cannot resist: thou resemblest those who from battlements of a wall need doe no more but let stones fall on them that are below, all the advantage is on thy side, I have none on myne but passion, whose weakenesse is apparant: use mee therefore like a sicke man, and not like one that is in health, beare with my infirmity and condemne mee not till thou art as well stung to the quicke as I am; this is all that I can reply to thy allegations, if I had a quarrell thou mightst be my second, without sear­ching so exactly whether right were on my side or no, for so it is that one friend should helpe another, and not spend time in reasons, which under outward appearances do witnesse a hidden refusal and decay of friendship: let me see then if thou wilt helpe mee in the state wherein I am, without standing upon so many circumstances, which kill me in stead of con­vincing me, and raise up my spirits, rather than a­bate them. Master, replied Anastasius, Cookes are bound to dresse their meats according to the taste of those whom they serve, provided that it be not wholly depraved; for to present them dishes of meats corrupted and spoiled, that were not to serve with fidelity, but to undoe, under shew of obsequi­ousnesse. Neverthelesse they must sometime re­fraine from presenting unto licorish palates meats hurtfull unto health, in hope that their [Page 158] strength and appetite will reduce all to good nutri­ment: it shall be to please you, rather than to serve, that I will goe about this employment, whereunto your absolute comm & doth thrust me; & I entreat you that your repentance, which I foresee, may not cause my disgrace with you, since following therein your will, and not my owne, I shall not so much be author as partner of your misery. This is all that I can desire of thee, my deare Anastasius, said Zotique, goe then, put the irons into the fire of thy perswasi­ons, and make me no replies, but remember that as thou servest me in this, I will at my death procure unto thee that which shall be for thy advancement. Anastasius who knew with whom hee had to doe, went forward with this commerce with so much prudence and discretion, that he purchased all the credence that he could desire in the minde of Ca­stule, as there was more likenesse in their states and conditions, so this maid, who though chaste, was neither insensible froward, nor disdainfull, avoyded not his approch with so much art as she did that of Zotique, for the shepheardesse who gathering a gar­land in a field, meeteth with a serpent lying among the floures, starteth not backe with more feare and sadnesse, than shee did when this gentleman under his flowred words hid the aspe of his bad designes: yet she began to take another opinion upon the faith of An [...]stasius, who spake with so much inge­nuity of the honourable passions of his master, that flattered by his naturall inclination (which each one hath to advance their fortune as high as they can) her lookes were no more so harsh towards [Page 159] Zotique, already mildnesse had tempered her coun­tenance and courage, when Zotique seeing a calme appeare after the tempest past, did as Marriners (returne to their old insolent customes) after the storme which had drawne from their mouths so many prayers and vowes, and so hard a thing it is to loose or hide an evill nature that he returned to his vomit, I meane to his bad pretences wherein he imitated the Lizard or Newt which raceth out with her tayle, the markes which with her hands she printed in the sand: as long as honesty, respect, and Iustice were in his words, Anastasius served him with as much loyalty as he could expect of a faith­ful servant, & Castule heard him with an eare as chast as his discourses were honourable, but when the stinke of the smoake had discovered his bad fire, he had no greater adversary then Anastasius, nor no­thing more contrary then Castule, for this young man quite turning his stile when his Master had strayed from the right way of vertue, beganne to cry out against his inconstancy in the eares of this Maid, and to give her counsell as a Man no lesse jealous of her chastity, then hee had formerly showne himselfe desirous of her honourable ad­vancement.

Castule who had still kept the Bridle in her owne hands as a wise maide ought to doe and who by a prudent mistrust had still held as suspitious the protestations of Zotique seeing that Anastasius changed his note said unto him. I beleeve Ana­stasius that you have no part in the treachery of Zo­tique, since you detest it so openly, with directions [Page 160] to give vent unto his mind, which tended to the o­verthrow of ny Reputation. And truly as my ob­ligation unto you is great, for foreseeing to procure my good so long as you thought he desired me for his lawfull Wife, so that which I owe you for gi­ving me notice of his intended surprizes can be no lesse, being he who preserveth honour, doth more than he that preserveth life; this favour shall never dy in my memory where I will carefully feede the remembrance of your Vertue which doth abhorre all that tend to a dishonest end: Anastasius no lesse admiring the good with then the faire face of this beautifull creature, besids the eye of respect where­with he had ever beheld her, when he treated with her of the just affections of Zotique hee opened that of love, but of a love intirely pure, and borne twinnes with a holy jealousie of the protection of her integrity.

Anastasius not content then to have discovered unto her the treacherous designes of Zotique, who would have seduced her under the promise of Ma­riage, or by a secret one which he would have dis­avowed or denyed, with the same impudency as he excused himselfe in play whensoever hee was sur­prized in his tricks, discovered likewise unto her the new inclinations of his owne soule, which were kept back by the pretenions of Zotique all the while he thought them to be Iust: In the same sort as the presence of a Dyamond doth suspend the effect of the Load-stone upon Iron. Whether it be that Ma­riages are written in heaven before they be made on earth, or that a naturall sympathy met in these two [Page 161] soules they found themselves vnited before they perceived the bonds of their vnion, for Castule without respecting scornefully the offers of good wil which Anastasius made her with so much ingen­uity, acknowledged them with a mutuall corespon­dency, much more esteeming the affection of a ver­tuous poore man, then of a vicious Gentleman, wherein she shewed no lesse her worthy courage, by despising riches in vice, then by esteeming Ver­tue in poverty, even then did they knit betwixt them a perfect knot of affection; And Anastasius being assured of the reciprocall love that Castule bore him, became not more insolent by this good incounter, but made it serve him as a spurre to be­come more compleat, that hee might preserve by merit, that which good hap had purchased him. And as she promised to love him honourably and solely, so he swore unto her afidelity and protesta­tion inviolable, protesting as he would never envy her a better fortune, if it presented it selfe unto her beauty, so hee would imploy as freely his bloud and life, to keepe her from the violence, and de­ceipt of those, that by bad wayes would attempt unto her honour.

As their paine increased dayly by their Commu­nication so the impure fire of Zotique increasing unmeasurably became insufferable, he enters into a desperat rage, and doubting that he was betrayd by Anastasius, this suspiton alters his countenance to­wards him, the faithfull servant se [...]i [...]g that his Ma­ster looked on him with an eye, far diff [...]rent frō the former look, took occasion one day to say unto him [Page 162] as followeth. Sir they deserve not to be well coun­selled, who would have those that give them good counsell, to warrant them the events thereof, for loyalty and prudence are those that frame good friends, but the successe depends on Fortune, who to authorize her selfe at the costs of vertue which she hateth, delights in overturning that which shee undertakes: if you see not your designes succeed ac­cording to your desires, it is not the defect of my diligence, nor of my loyalty; you have seene that when you spake honourably, you were heard fa­vourably, why do you find it strange, to bee reje­cted since you have changed your stile and your humor? as long as your thoughts were chaste, I have served you with integrity, and you have tasted some fruite of my industry in the favourable enter­tainment received from Castule: but when she sees that you turne into your old track, if she shun you, and shew you no good countenance, if she repulse you, what doth she therein but as a discreet maid (who hath her honour in estimation) ought to doe? and truly as I have counselled her to heare you, when I beleeved you beheld her with the eie of a husband, and you treated with her in honourable termes, if I were now of her counsell I would per­swade her to abhor your proceedings which tend to her ruine; but she is prudent enough and jealous enough of her renoune to let you have noe hold on her as long as you deale with her at fire and sword; I meane as with a creature whom you would un­doe, I doe not beleeve that of so bad a seede you can reape better then repulses: what said Zotique, in [Page 163] a chafe, I see then it is by your advice, that shee armes her eyes with disdaine, and her courage with rigour.

Sir replyed Anastasius, it not my advice which leades her to that, but the force of vertue which is well-ankored in her soule, and as she is farre wiser then I, so I beleive she will use you more rigor­ously then if I counselled her, shee avoyds your company for feare you should alter the purity of her mind, by some impressions contrary to honesty, and that your frequentation, although exempt from evill should wither her reputation; and this you call rigour, and disdaine, because you are pleased to name her actions according to the conceite of your passion, and not according to the Motions which produce them in her: it is a naturall thing to fly from evill, and shunne those that seeke to de­prive us of goods, honour, or life, that if this flight be guilty, the guilt is in nature, which printed these inclinations in all minds; as for me I promised to be faithfull, so long as you should have honour before your eyes, but if you play banckrupt with it, the infidelity will be honourable that shall crosse you in your designes, I will be loyall unto my Master, but where there is wrong done to honour, there must be no more talke of service, although Zotique had no just cause to be offended with so bold a re­monstrance, neverthelesse▪ he did like those barba­rous people, who shot Arrowes against the Sunne, when the rayes thereof being too hot scorch their backs, he entered highly into choler against Ana­stasius, outragiously abusing him with injurious [Page 164] words, and threats, (and as he was surly and apt to strike) little wanted of blowes, among other things in this fit he told him, he was very presumptuous to use such discourse to his Master; not remembe­ring that hee is truly a slave who lets himselfe bee mastered by his passions, and he rightly free who hath reason for his Mistresse; he added further that he tooke him to serve him, but not as a Schole-ma­ster, and that he was willing to have him speake un­to him as a servant, but not as a Corrector: O poor young man whose soule is full of wounds, and yet flies the hand that dresses them, and hates the salves of his cure, even so doe many Masters take upon them, not considering that Servants are humble friends, who may very well put those they serve in minde of their duty, otherwise Kings should ne­ver receive instructions from their subjects, nor great persons be so admonished by the lesser, at least servants may be put in the (ranke of neigh­bours. Truly of all sorts of Maladies those are most deplorable which fly their remedies, and scoffe at the Physitions directions, for what can a man doe unto those that thinke themselves in health, and wil not be healed? Is it not true that of all Fooles he is most fool, that thinks himself wise? such a one may Zotique be said to be, since that being carried away by the folly of his passion, he yet thinks hee hath reason to reprehend him, that seekes to acquit him of his frenzy; altoough it were only choler that blind and inconsiderate motion, which spake through the mouth of Zotique, yet to end this insolent sally suffered with incredible patience by [Page 165] Anastasius hee must bee put away, in reward of his service and for speaking the trueth, with no lesse sincerity then modesty. Truely they are unwor­thy ever to meete with good servants, which so ill acknowledge their fidelity, advancing none but such as serve or flatter them in their vices, like un­to those Figge-trees that grow in the top of a dan­gerous steepe cliffe whose fruit is eaten by filthy birdes, but never by reasonable creatures.

Anastasius was very glad to be rid of serving a bad matter, but when he went to take his leave of Zotiques Father for to retire himselfe home unto his owne, the Lord of Fleuranval who had put him to his sonne and knew his deserts, retained him to waite on himselfe in his Chamber: this Father had already smelt somthing of his sonnes passion for Castule, which much troubled his braine, intending not that by any meanes his blood should be mixt with the blood of a Contrey Wench such as Ca­stule was esteemed to be, and therefore was he very glad to retaine Anastasius to penetrate further into the matter by his instructions, but he behaved him­selfe reservedly and with so much Prudence, that no whit exasperating the Father aginst the sonne, he satisfied the curiosity of the one without preju­dice to the other: meane time he continues his honest intelligence with Castule, and advertising her of the enterprises of his Masters sonne he gave her meanes to avoide them? Zotique whose fire was come to the last degree of it's violence, strives by extreme meanes to attaine unto his pretentions, he who daily cheated in gaming, made no greate [Page 166] conscience prodigally to spend oathes, thereby to gaine entrance for his perswasions into the cre­dence of Castule, but she had so much precaution a­gainst these allurements that her heart was inpreg­nable to these attempts, feare and distrust served as a fortresse and buckler against Zotiques letters, which were as many promises of marriages to dazle her by this faire hope, she opposed therunto the antidotes which were suggested into her by the councell of Anastasius; In fine, the excesse of Zoti­ques love grew to that passe, that it made him beare himselfe openly a servant unto Castule, and he said plainely, that he would either have her for his wife, or never marry. Here now is the father more troubled than ever, and resolved to hinder the match by all manner of wayes: what naturall seve­ritie soever be in a father, it is alwayes indulgent for his child, he hath ever a secret advocate in the heart of his father, who pleads there his cause, and obtains him sentence of absolution. Although all the fault be in Zotique, whose passion raises reason from his bounds, and cannot be excused but by the excesse of his love; neverthelesse his father casts it all I know not how upon Castule, who indeed is the cause, but innocently, in the same manner as the Rock is cause of the ships splitting, but the tempest or smal skil of the Pilot are causes of the wracke. We alwayes ex­cuse the faults of those that appertaine unto us, and whatsoever they doe we beleeve it with reason, or that they hav [...] bin surprised.

If the Lord of Fleuranval had taken time to see Castule, or to talke with her, I assure my selfe hee [Page 167] might haue seene even innocency in her face, and through the modesty of her words, her prudence would have shined; but seeing her only by the eies of others, and not knowing her but by false reports, he takes her for a tatling subtil huswife, who makes a trophy of his sonnes affection, and by her allure­ments and charmes keepes him in his dotage. And although Anastasius assure the contrary, yet his mind pre-occupated by a good forecast, since it is not the part of a wise man to say I had not thought, he deals with the Magistrates, and drawes them to forbid Castule to pretend any thing in the marriage of Zo­tique, nor to suffer his suit unto her. No sooner comes this sentence to the knowledge of this maid, but she protests to wish for nothing of Zotique, but to be delivered from his importunate pursuits, en­treaing that this act of justice may be signified unto him, to the end hee might refraine his insolent [...]lli­citings. For the reverence due to the Magistrate, she renounceth, viva voce, and by writing, all claim or pretence to this marriage, whereof through hu­mility she declares her selfe unworthy. Although that if vertue were esteemed according to its worth, she deserved a better match. Zotique hath likewise his share in this sentence, whereat hee scoffes, accor­ding to the ordinary custom of youth and nobility; chiefely of great ones, who laugh at the formalities of justice, knowing that lawes are but spider-webs, which stay but the smallest flies, and are rent by the big ones. Contrariwise, as there is nothing that stin­geth the minde like contradiction, nor that provo­keth desire so much as forbidding, this sentence was [Page 168] as oyle on the fire, and glorying in his shame, I mean his rebellion to the magistrate, and disobedience to his father, he leaves no meanes unattempted, to at­taine to the end of his pretensions, and still talkes of mariage, as being a fair and lawful gate to passe tho­row unto his designe.

The father seeing this madnesse possesse the soul of his sonne, casts the cause thereof on the charmes of Castule, publishing that she hath inchanted him; and indeed if he had taken beauty and vertue for in­chantments, hee had had the more reason to thinke so, seeing there is nothing which so much charmeth soules: but hee takes it in an ill way, and sayes that she deales in magick, so little doth he know the sin­cerity and simplicity of this maid. Meane time, as there is no wound so slight but serveth for exercise unto surgeons, so there is no pretext so weake, but may yeeld great imployment to magistrates and officers. The Lord Fleurenvall by right of neigh­bourhood was very familiarly acquainted with the Lord of the place where Castule made her aboad, he makes him become susceptible of his opinion, and partaker in his cause: Castule is taken, and without being heard, or any other manner of proceeding, is cast into prison. Thus must innocency groan under setters, whilest the guilty goe free through the world: since the providence of heaven doth so or­daine it, we ought to adore his government, and not murmure there [...]. But here is a slippery step, If one consider that Zotique commits faults, and Castule beares the punishment thereof, the wife is shut up, and the mad is left in the liberty of his desires, the [Page 169] sentence pardons ravens, and layes hold on doves, how then may it be said that innocency is a wall of brasse, and a strong buckler against all the malices of this world, since you see the poore afflicted, whilest the wicked holds up his head gloriously. But iron is never cleaner than when it comes out of the fur­nace, nor brighter than when it hath been under the sharp teeth of the file, the sun never shines clearer, than when it comes from under a cloud, the coale that hath beene covered with ashes is thereby hotter and quicker: Although innocency be shaded in the obscurity of prisons, yet neverthelesse she comes out in triumph, radiating with glory. All the fault of Castule was in the false opinion of the Lord of Fleu­renval: notwithstanding her imprisonment is di­versly censured by the judgements of the world, e­very one hath liberty to speake his minde thereof, but it touched Zotique and Anastasius to the quicke, yet very differently, and truely the difference must be drawne out of the varietie or rather contrarietie of their affection, and the more that of Anastasius was sincere and honest, the more smarting ought to be his paine; neverthelesse hee represses it in his heart, and veiles it with a modest silence, which makes it the sharper, in the same manner as fire re­doubles its heate, beeing restrained within a fur­nace. Whereas Zotique thunders flashes, threatens, makes a great stirre, but in fine he imitates the sea, which after much storme and tempest leaves but a little froth in its borders. Anastasius makes lesse noise, but more fruit, for privatly visiting the judge who had caused her to be apprehended, he remon [Page 170] strates unto him the injustice of his proceedings, ha­ving begun [...] cause, by the execution only to follow the passion of an erroneous opinion, rather than e­quity, hee casts feares into his conscience, which made him repent himselfe of his decree, and seeke [...]eanes to blot out his fault, without dis-obliging those that had made him commit it.

It is good reason to disswade those that feare the face of great men, and that are subject to be touched with favour, not to take upon them any office of judicature, lest they should commit scandalous and unjust actions through weakenesse, rather than ma­lice. Who hath ever seene a weake vessell tossed at one time on the sea by two contrary stormes, loo­king still to be overwhelmed and swallowed up un­der the waves, he hath seene this judge betwixt the commands of his lord and the Lord Fleuranval, and the threats of Zotique, the least whereof are to cut him in pieces, and to make his hounds and hawkes eat him. As it is easier to commit an injustice, than to maintaine it, so it is easier to commit a fault in the administration of justice, than to amend it; and pri­sons are like ships, not so easie to get out of, as to en­ter into. It is not without reason, that the sacred Scripture threatens the mighty to bee mightily tor­mented, because that here on earth they have com­mitted great tyrannies: in the countries far from the Princes soveraigne justice, thousands of violences passe, which would be rigorously punished, if they came unto the knowledge of the dreadful tribunals, little ones sob under the oppression of the great, and although overwhelmed with wrongs, they dare not [Page 171] so much as complaine in their sufferings; but the Eternall saith hee will rise up because of the mi­sery of the poore, [...]and the groanes of the oppres­sed. Whilest Anastasius covertly sollicites the deli­very of Castule, and that the judge who had so high­ly decreed her imprisonment, findes no witnesse in the information, which accuse her so much as of the shadow of this blacke diabolicall crime of magick, whereof she is accused by the author of her impri­sonment, he sayes openly he will set her at libertie, and in effect preferring the discharge of his consci­ence, before the favour of his Lord, hee signes her inlargement: but the bird is taken, and the keyes of the cage being in the hands of the master of the ma­nor, she is retained by force. Whereunto Zotique is resolved to oppose his strength, since it is permitted by all lawes, to repulse one violence by another. Whilest he prepares himselfe to this project, Ana­stasius, whose eye was every where, watches so nar­rowly, that he discovers an evill plot by a stinking match; Zotique under the cloake of justice wil com­mit an execrable act, he resolves to draw this maid out of prison, with the assistance of the Provost mar­shal, and works so wel with some of his archers, that they promise to put her into his power, as soone as they had gotten her out. You may imagine, if in that heate which consumed him, he would not have gathered by faire meanes or foule, that which he so impatiently desired.

Anastasius seeing that this stroke tended to the ruine of her whom hee held so deare, and being not able to oppose it by force, sought by prudence to [Page 172] put it backe, hee goes straight to the Provost Mar­shall, who had no part in this pernicious project, and having prayed him to contribute his power to the deliverance of this innocent prisoner, hee fur­ther conjures him not to take her out of one misery and leave her in a greater, and desires him to bee as much protector of her honesty, as of her innocen­cy: which the Provost promised him on his honor, and effected it as an officer should doe that acquits himself worthy of his charge. Neverthelesse it was not without difficulty, because that the Lord who retained Castule in the prison of his castle, would not suffer the visit of a Provost therein: yet on the other side he feared to become guilty by so mani­fest a rebellion against justice, to avoid the one and the other, he resolved to deliver her up willingly at the gate of his house, but it was there where the Provost had something to doe, for to combat the disloyalty of his owne followers, who had promi­sed to deliver this prey into the hands of Zotique, from whom they had received gifts: but the prote­ctor of innocence and purity sent his helpe in tribu­lation, because that the number of the Catchpoles which were free from this combination, were found to be greater than those that were corrupted, they could not performe their wicked promise.

The Provost put this maid safe into the hands of her father, who was a husbandman: but the poore man fearing the plots and violence of Zotique, had by the counsell of Anastasius entreated a great Lady therabouts to take his daughter into her protection. This was the sacred sanctuary where this Virgine [Page 173] sheltred her self, experiencing the truth of this, that he who hopes in the helpe of our Lord shall finde an assured protection, and a city of refuge, hee will deliver him from the hunters snares, and will hide him under the shadow of his wings; his truth shall cover him as a buckler, and plagues shal not approch his dwelling.

Now doth Zotiques fury turne into madnesse, be­cause that having no more accesse unto Castule, nor hope to see her, much lesse to get her into his pow­er, he knowes not what remedies to apply unto his smarting burnes: We must confesse, that when pas­sion begins to lose hope, it causes strong convulsi­ons in the minde; This man forgets the respect hee ought to beare unto that honourable Lady in whose house Castule had sheltred her self, and threatens to put her house and all to fire and sword, if he be not permitted to see and converse with this maid. The Lady complaines to the Lord of Fleurenval, of his sonnes insolencie. The father, whose severity was sufficiently knowne, promises her to take such order with him, as she should have cause to be contented, and to rest free from feare. He arrests Zotique and imprisons him in one of the chambers of his Castle: It was there where this fond young man had time to digest his liquor, as the saying is, and to take upon him other exercises than of play, women, and feasts; he found his father to be rough, a gamester that his cheating trickes auailed nothing against him; in lieu of his conversation amongst companies to champe on the bridle in a solitary place, and in lieu of good cheare he hath but the water of teares, [Page 174] & the bread of sorrow: what repentance soever he shewed, the fathe rrelinquisht nothing of his austeri­ty, prudently judging that he sung this song only to get out of the cage, and that he wouId soon change his note, if he could recover the liberty of the ayre. During this imprisonment, which lasted three or foure months, there hapned unto Castule a fortune, by so much the more admirable, as it was wholly unhoped for.

There died in Touraine a certaine gentlewoman whom we will call Martiniane: she was something an antient maid, and in full possession of all her e­state, she made her will, and thereby declared, how in her fathers life time she had contracted a secret or clandestine marriage with a young man of Britany, who though a yonger brother & poore, yet a very compleat gentleman; how by him she had Castule, whom by a very trusty person she had caused to be conveyed out of the countrey, and brought up by a husbandman of Pearch; how that her said husband died in Britany: she sayes also, how that since the death of her father shame had retained her from declaring this truth: and withall, rehearses all the circumstances necessary for the finding out and knowing this daughter, and declares her her heire; and in default of her leaves all to an hospitall. She made executor of this her will a certaine Clergy­man of her owne kindred, a man of good life and great authority, who tooke a journey expresly into Perch, that there with his own, and not with others eyes he might seeke out this maid, by the signes and tokens given him hee came into the house of this [Page 175] good husbandman, who had thitherto beene taken for the father of Castule, he acknowledged that at such a time such a manner of man had delivered un­to him a little girle of such an age, cloathed in such a manner, and such markes: and further shewed bracelets of gold, with certaine cyphers or chara­cters on them, and said how he had received a good summe of money for the bringing of her up, with promise of a greater if hee did preserve her careful­ly. All this was found conformable to that which Martiniane had said on her death bed, and had also declared in her will. From thence he went unto the castle where then Castule made her residence, and found on her face so many features of resemblance unto those of the deceased gentle woman, that hee doubted no more of that truth which strooke into his eyes, he receives her then as his pupill, and ha­ving largely rewarded the husbandman who had kept her so long, he prepares to leade her into Tou­rain, there to take possession of the faire inheritance that was befallen, which was held to amount unto the worth of 20000 French crowns. This wonder being divulged, and come to the knowledge of Zo­tique and of his father, it made even then the filme to fall from their eyes, and the one wish to have Ca­stule for his daughter in law, and the other to desire her for his wife.

But whether it were that this new fortune had puft up the courage of this generous maid, or whe­ther it were that shee had a just indignation against the father, who had caused her to be imprisoned as a sorceresse, and against the son who had sollicited [Page 176] her with so much insolency, and attempted so often and so impudently against her honour, shee would never give eare to this match. Then did Zotique re­concile himselfe to Anastasius, conjuring him to use his best meanes, and employ his credit towards Castule to get her to like of his suit. And truly this faithfull servant failed no whit in his duty, being as desirous of Castules advancement, as of Zotiques good, hee laboured to perswade her to give eare thereunto, alledging the antient nobilitie and great estate of the house of Fleurenval, and besides all that, the extreame affection of Zotique towards her, whereof, said he, she should expect no lesse than all manner of good usage: but he was so far from fur­thering any thing therein, that Castule had nothing so frequent in her mouth, as the detestation of chea­ting, and other defects which defamed the reputati­of Zotique. And as Anastasius found not that as he sought, he unawares met with that which was not in his thought to seeke. For wealth was so far from altering the heart of Castule, or from making her forget the promise which shee had made, to love him inviolably, that contrariwise her colour rising, and likewise her voice, even to a tone which wit­nessed the true thought of her soule, shee said unto him, How now Anastasius, what finde you in mee unworthy or unpleasing since fortune smiles on me, hath wealth chang'd my face or my maners? do you take the words of a maid for the wagging of a leaf? and will you who have so often blamed the false oathes of Zotique, make me guilty of the like sinne? are those which I have made unto you of an invio­lable [Page 177] love vanished out of your memory? why pit­tilesse of your selfe do you forget your owne cause, to embrace that of a traitor, who hath caused mee a 1000. harmes? what have I done so displeasing to your eies, that Ishuld now be nothing unto you? tru­ly as far as I see, unconstancy is a blame not unwor­thily layd upon the humour of men, since it is their nature so to be. And will you Anastasius, whose faith I esteemed as a rocke, be in the number of the rest? as for my part, I am still the same for you as I was, the change of my state hath not changed my will, I have so deepely ingraven in my soule the re­membrance of so many notable obligations where­of I stand indebted to you, that I behold you, not meerely as a man, but as a tutelary Angell since you have beene both my liberator and guardian of my integrity, preserving me from the Ambushes and violencies of barbarous Zotique.

She would have proceeded further when Ana­stasius kneeling downe and taking her by the hand, which he watered with teares, and said with a trem­bling voyce, interrupted by feares and sobs, from whencesoever this discourse proceeds it is able to kill me suddenly with griefe or joy, with the one if it be fained, with the other if it bee true; if it bee the first the tryall is very violent, if the second, I confesse as weake braines cannot beare much wine, so my heart is not strong enough to beare so great felicity, the change of your fortune had made loose my hope of attaining unto your affection, but had not taken from me the inviolable desire of your [Page 178] good, therfore seeing some equality betwixt you and Zotique, I wished you Mistresse of that house, to spend my daies in the ranke of your domesticall servants: no further did the bounds of my ambiti­on reach, but since you raise it up even unto your selfe, by a bounty beyond example, I were unwor­thy to be lighted by the brightnesse of your eyes, if the mists of my births obscurity, cleered not under so favourable aspects, and though I were but a weake vapour if I raised not my selfe up as high, as it pleaseth the raies of your favours to elevate mee.

But is it possible that so much constancy should bee found in you, and that in so great a change of estate you have not affected a change, and that wealth hath not altered the integrity of your affections? O soul farre above ordinary, you shew unto the world how all that which is called greatnesse, is farre be­low your thoughts, he had followed that point lon­ger if excesse of joy had not made him loose breath, and from thence borne him into a swoone, and in­deed as great sorrowes are mute, so likewise are ex­cessive joyes, onely meane ones permit the use of senses, or speech because they may be felt and ex­pressed, whereas others doe astonish the mind, and dull or benum the feeling, when Castule it may bee by bathing his face in the water of her teares, had fetched him from his trance, shee confirmed unto him that which she had said before, and made him new protestations of love: but of a love tending to Marriage: if Anastasius had not beene very prudent doubtlesse letting himselfe goe on the wings of the [Page 179] wind, his heart had soared up into some vanity which would have wrought destruction, as well as that of Icarus, but he imitated wise Pilots who strik halfe their Sayles, when the winde is to strong for feare lest the Ship should overturne, this love must by all meanes be kept close from the care of the new Guardian, till such time as Castule had beene in Touraine and taken possession of what was befaine her by the will of her Mother, which done, and she stablished therein, shee promised to send for Ana­stasius to give him the possession of her estate and person a reward of her fidelity, and honesty, and it was so done; noe sooner did the new star appeare on the Horizon of Touraine, but her rayes strooke into the eyes of divers Astrologers, I meane of divers Sutors, who would gladly have had her for the ascendant of their fortunes nativity, but the horoscop destinated her for Anastasius, to whom under hand she conveyed meanes to fitt himselfe of all things like a Gentleman, & so to become a su­tor as the rest, and having wrought the mind of her guardian to this point, that of all those that sought her good will, he would leave her at liberty to take her own choise, since nothing ought to be more free from compulsion than marriage, she gave her voyce to Anastasius, who thus saw himselfe preferd be­fore many Tourengeaux who beheld not without enuy the good fortune of this stranger.

When the Guardian understood how infinitely his Pupill was obliged unto Anastasius, in lieu of growing angry at the unequality of the party, hee [Page 180] praysed the prudence and Iustice of this maid, who though she could not more worthily reward him, that had preserved heramidst so many hazards then in giving herselfe to him: now with what eare Zotique heard the tidings of this marriage I leave unto the consideration of him, who will represent unto himselfe, the rage of his love converted into that of wr [...]th. Notwithstanding time the Sove­raigne Physitian of the soules diseases, will moder­ate all his paines, and his Father having married him else where he lost in this new match the remē ­berance of his old flames; meane time Anastasius who of a fathfull servant was become a Master, might rightly terme himselfe a good Artist, who had wrought his owne good fortune, and that only by the meanes of vertue, whereof he was become so constant a partaker, and to say trueth it is good to hold with vertue, for although her way bee in­closed with thornes, yet it ends in Roses, and early or late, Fortune is constrained to stoope her en­sign before her, and acknowledge her selfe vanqui­shed, the Sunne may be obscured by clouds, but ne­ver extinguished, disasters may crosse or rather give an exercise to vertue, but never stifle it, it resem­bles the Vine which profits by it's cutting, and the more it is beaten the lesse it is hurt, in my opinion the principall thing remarkable in this History, is the honourable Infidelity of Anastasius, who was really and truly for Zotique, as long as his pretenses were honest, but revolted as soone as he perceived that malice had overturn'd the heart of this Gentle­man, [Page 163] and that his projects were unlawfull; for if they be blame worthy, who are faithfull in evill en­terprises, and make themselves guilty of anothers fault, this Infidelity or disloyalty must needes bee honourable, which playeth Bankrupt to evill de­signes.

THE FRVSTRATED INTENTIONS.
The Second Relation.

IT shall here suffice mee to name the Province of Champagne, and to say that in one of his chiefest Cities, there was a widdow Lady, who having foure Chil­dren, two Sonnes, and two daughters, labored to bring thē [...]p in the feare of God and good manners, and al­though she was left yong enough with a Husband, even at such an age as would have permitted her to m [...]rry, yet she would persevere in her widowhood, and remaine [...]uly a Widow, that is to say, flying [...]light and occasions of being wooed or sought [...]ter for marriage: but as it is the common desire of [...] to advance their Families, and tor [...]ise their [Page 183] Children unto honour, she having not power to do any thing for hers, but preserve that whith they had, and by sparing make them feele the fruites of her Wardship, be-thought herselfe by a human prudence frequent enough in families, to destinate two of them to the Church, thereby to make the other two, richer and greater, and more advanc [...]d in the world; but even as the ende which is last [...] in the execution, is first in the intention, so the in­tention which is first in the thought is last in the ef­fect, and betweene thinking and doing is a great di­stance, the divine disposings agree not alwayes with human purposes, forasmuch as the East is not farther distant from the West, then the wayes of God are from the wayes of men, this good woman Priscilla was led herein by the advice of her kin­dred, and chiefly by a man of justice, and authority, who was substituted to the Guardianship of her children, such are the disignes of a subject, whose ballances have a waight, but waight and ballances deceiptfull and without equality, because they make the elevation and riches of the one, by the a­basement and poverty of the other; the meanes of these younger children was remarkable, for each one of their parts amounted to twenty thousand French crownes, besides the right of the eldest (I speake as knowing the perticulars thereof) well then the youngest brother, is d [...]stinated to bee a Ward, a Knight of Malta, and they stay but only untill he be of age, to give him eyther the Co [...]vle or the Crosse, the younger D [...]ughter is pu [...] into a Monastery, there to be brought up among other lit­tle [Page 184] girles, with intent to make her a Nunne, hoping that she will not contradict the will of her Parents therein, as for the eldest Daughter a great portion is promised with her, whereby she soone becomes the object of desire unto many Suiters, as there is no beauty so great whereunto painting may not adde something to prove it; so ho [...] noble, faire, & vertuous a M [...]id be, yet the rich Dowry doth ever augment the desire of possessing her; among divers Matches profered for this eldest, one was very ad­vantagious, and forasmuch as the two youngest, destinated to the monestary were yet farr from the age not only of profession but of vesture, the freinds durst not give in marriage with this more then twenty thousand French Crownes which was her assured part, and her Suitor tooke her with that upon the infallible hope they gave him that hee should get another like sonne, from the succession of those two creatures which were to be sacrificed for the greatnes of the two eldest: they must put the yonger brother into a Monastery but his humor [...]uteth not thereunto, the Cowle is too troublesome, he had rather have a sword, the Crosse of Malta doth not so much dislike him but he knoweth not well yet what to chuse; whilst he takes time to think and deliberate thereon his Parents must take pati­ence. Let us now come to the yongest daughter who is the principall subj [...]ct of this relation; she makes not so much resistance but what judgment hath a Girle of some tenne or eleven yeares of age; she is put into a Monastery where a great Lady of Picardie is Abbesse there she is brought up with in­tent [Page 185] to make her a Nunne, tenn thousand franks are promised with her parte at her vesture, the rest at her profession, this Abbesse was often visited by one of her Brothers a comely younge Gentleman, but yet a yonger Brother which is as much to say as ready to catch, and who had nothing but only valour; indeed wee must grant the case of yonger Brothers of qualitie to be deplorable, in that they have as much courage as the eldest, as be­ing borne of the same bloud and brought up with the same care and greatnes, but the foundations fayle them, and they have not wherewithall to up­hold that generosity, which is naturall unto them; therefore we commonly see, that to attaine unto ri­ches there are noe manner of hazards whereunto they precipitate not themselves, nor any maner of meanes which they attempt not for gaine; this yong Gentleman cast his eie upon this Girle which was put into this Monastery, who although she were lowly enough yet twenty thousand French crownes portion, raysed as well the fea­tures of her face as his courage, he projects on this match and acquaints his sister therewith. She ap­proves thereof and becomes his confederate there­in, he sees this yong Gentlewoman when he will by his sisters permission: In fine, the Brother and sister spend two or three years time on hammering of this young Maid to worke it into their fashion, and frame it unto their will, but all this while whether through naturall Antipathy or for feare of offend­ing her parents, this Girle whom we will call by the name Marcionille, could never firmely setle her [Page 186] affections on Salve Brother to the Abbesse, shee knowes that she is destinated unto the Cloyster, and so hard a matter it is to take from a vessell the taste of the first liquor that was put into it, that she could not blot out of her minde the first impressions that were put therein, yet shee sees her selfe betwixt the anvill and the hammer: all the letters that her mo­ther writes her, are so many exhortations to dispose her selfe to receive the veile. Meane time the Ab­besse reads her a lesson of the felicity of marriage, and pleasures of the world, representing to her the contentment she shall have with her brother, a pro­per compleat gentleman, who would honor & love her infinitely: alasse what could this young minde have done, tossed betwixt such different blasts?

This Abbesse made her write letters conforma­ble unto her will, wherby she gave her mother Pris­cilla to understand, that she felt her selfe no way in­clining to a Cloisteral life, and that she would not take upon her a yoke which she thought her self not able to beare with honour and perseverance: That a particular vocation was requisite thereunto, which she felt not in her selfe, and that shee had rather not vow, than afterwards not to keepe promise. These letters, which the Abbesse had dictated, she accom­panied with letters of her owne, counselling Priscil­la to take her daughter into the world again, because she was no way fit for any Order whatsoever, but it were better for her to enter into the state of marri­age. That the life could not bee embraced by all persons, and none must be constrained thereunto a­gainst their will; and many other fine reasons, as [Page 187] faire in shew as in effect far from truth. Mean while the time of taking the Novices Veile approaches, Priscilla requires her daughters finall resolution; the Abbesse answers for her, or if she answers for her­selfe, it is by the organ or direction of the Abbesse.

In fine one day Marcionille far from affection to Salve, pressed by her first desire, and imagining with her selfe, that if she remained in that monasterie, the Abbesse whose intentions shee frustrated would ne­ver use her well; on the other side foreseeing, that if she returned into her mothers house she should there be ill handled, resolved to write at large to Priscilla, and to discover unto her filially as unto her good mother, the true feeling of her soule, and all the turnings and windings of her minde, intreating that if she loved her rest, she would be pleased to put her to be in some other monastery, disavowing all the letters which the Abbesse had made her write, for to attaine unto the end which she had plotted, which was to make her marry Salve. By this letter Priscilla discovered that there was contra­diction in the city, and knew clearly the art that had been used to win the mind of her daughter, and to lead her into a designe far wide from her intention; she conferres thereof with Isidorus her subrogated Gardian, who advisedly as a man of affaires made a countermine against that of the Abbesse and Salve, to reduce their projects into smoake; but in the end both his counsell and Priscilla's, and also the inten­tions of the Abbesse and Salve shall be turned top­side-turvy. Priscilla goes to fetch her daughter out of the monastery: Isidore advised her to say that she [Page 188] would leade her home to her owne house, to settle her in the world by some good match. But as wo­men cannot keepe a secret, much lesse forbear spea­king what is forbidden them to say, she could not conceale that they had stifled in her daughter the desire of a single life, but that she could make it re­vive againe, by putting her into another monastery. Hereupon from word to word the Abbesse and she began to enter into contestation, and at last Pris­cilla revealed all the mysterie of Salve, and cast it in the teeth of the Abbes, adding thereunto sharp & stinging words, where with my pen will not blacke this paper. There is now all the cabal discovered, & poore Marcionille in the greatest confusion that can be imagined, seeing her selfe as it were the butte or mark of the contradiction both of her mothers and the Abbesses tongues; this glowing iron of choller is beaten on her back, her griefe may better be ima­gined than described.

Salve being without, and hearing of this jangling, was in extream agonies, seeing his plot discovered, that he despaired of ever being able to upholdit: he bethinks himselfe, that if the maid once get out of his sisters hands, he shall no more approach her nor conquer her mind, much lesse get the good will of her friends, who would looke on him rather as a se­ducer than a lover, and for his part hee had nothing but his sword, and Priscilla nor Isidore are not per­sons that will give the one her daughter, the other his pupill, to a yonger brother, whose part amounts unto nothing but hope, he findes meanes to speake with his sister, and perswades her to retaine Marcio­nille [Page 189] by faire meanes or by force. The Abbesse be­leeved his counsell, and how loud soever Priscilla gaped, yet she was faine for that time to goe backe without her daughter. Presently she complained to the justice, and presents her petition, shewing the violence which is done her. The Abbesse answers, That contrariwise she seeks but to hinder violence, that the will of this gentlewoman be not forced, who hath no will to be a Nunne, but only to please her mother, or for fear of being ill used by her: That if she will be so, shee is ready to receive her accor­ding to the agreement made therof; in briefe, not to make here the draught of a law-suit, in lieu of tracing an history, this maid caunot be gottē out of this con­vent but by the authority of justice, who gave order that she should be put neither into the hands of her mother, nor into any other house, but sequestred in the house of Isidore, who was both her kinsman, and subrogated guardian, to the end that with al liberty and freedome she might there declare what manner of life she would chuse to leade. Being there bred with much tendernesse and suavity among the chil­dren of Isidore, there often resorted a yong man, son of a great friend of Isidore, who in regard of his fa­ther and his own proper merit, was there very wel­come: by I know not what encounter of humours, which Philosophers call sympathie, there was wrought such a correspondence betweene him and Marcionille, that in short time their love was growne to such a point, as nothing could be added to its per­fection, but onely consummation of the marriage.

As they went on simply in their proceedings, this [Page 190] affection was soone perceived by Priscilla, who la­boured to divert Marcionille from it: but it had ta­ken such root in her mind, that all former thoughts of a Cloyster were quite banished from thence. Isi­dore advertised hereof, and glad to oblige his friend by this match, perswades Priscilla that it is both a­gainst nature and reason, thus to presse some Chil­dren to cast themselves into monasteries, thereby to enrich the rest, that she should do far better to hear­ken unto this marriage, than violently to force the will of her daughter. This mother yeelded there­unto, and in few dayes, notwithstanding the violent passions, subtill devises, and oppositions of Salve, Marcionille came into the possession of Eugenian, in whose armes she now leads a happy and contented life. Her former desires of being veiled, were ra­ther weake motions, than absolute wils, inclinations which the perswasions of others and the weaknesse of her age had bred, rather than designes framed by a mature and setled judgement. Thus the Abbesse saw her selfe frustrated of a good bit, Salve of a bet­ter, the first project of her mother wholly annihila­ted, which was to make this child a Nunne; the first counsell of Isidore was changed, and he who first gave it to veile her, gave it likewise to marry her. Eugenian grew so pleasing to the eldest brother of Marcionille, that he became better contented to have him for his brother in law, than to enjoy the inheri­tance of his sister. The younger brother seeing his sister out of the Cloyster, would not himselfe enter therein, neither would he take upon him the Order of Ma [...]ta; saying, My elder brother hath enough to [Page 191] himselfe withall, I need not strip my selfe to give him my apparell. There was none but only he that had married the eldest sister, who grieved and mur­mured a little at this: but he may learne hencefor­ward, not to depend upon anothers dish when hee desires to dine; so here are many intentions frustra­ted, there is none but Marcionille whose feet are now out of the snares which were set for her.

THE HAPPIE STAY.
The Third Relation.

BAsse or Low-Brittaine, is a corner of the earth which gets farre into the Ocean, and makes al­most an Iland, the Inhabitants whereof speake a particular lan­guage, so strange or if I durst say it, so barbarous, that it is un­derstood but only by those, who are borne there, it having nothing common with that which is spo­ken in France, the manners follow the language, & are there so rude & savage, that if the low Brittaines travell not forth of their owne native soyle, they resemble a people of another world, a Gentle­man of that Countrey named Rogat, whom Fortune had favoured with a good estate, loath to see his Sonne spend his youth in his owne Chimney cor­ner, sent him to be polished at Paris the spring of all vertue, and Mother of all gentlenesse; for this lit­tle [Page 193] world is not only the center of the State, where all the lives of the whole circumference doe meete, but moreover the language is there most pure, the Court is there in its lustre, and there are the Acada­mies where young Nobility is taught, and trained up in exercises befitting their state, and quality, they are no whit behind these of Italy, if they sur­passe them not, Maximian being sent thither, with a pretty wit and well shaped body, soone stript of his old skinne, and put on a French aspect, with ge­sture so pleasing, that one could never have imagi­ned him to be borne under so harsh a climat as that of low or Basse Armorica.

Whilst he growes compleat in those exercises which fit and prepare young Gentlemen to the trade of Mars, Venus who accords well with the God of warre would needs possesse a part of his minde; but it was not that adulterous Venus sur­prised by Vulcan & made a fable among the Gods, it was a Venus wholy honest and chast breathing nought but honour, and tending to noe other end but Hymen; the eies of Hermile were the lights which guided him safely into the port out of that tempestuous sea of love wherein so many perish; his consideration was no lesse stayed by her vertue, then his sences charmed by her beauty, her birth and faculties were but meane, she was daughter to a Merchant whose greatest riches was his honesty, neverthelesse he contented himselfe in his low e­state without raising his ambition higher then his traffick, he affected nothing so much as the feare of God and a good reputation in the world, he taught nothing els unto his childrē, but to take heed of of­fending, [Page 194] assuring them that they should never want so long as they were firme in this Maxime; this veri­ty, and this blessing of God upon the head of the Iust, shall appeare in this following discourse: The beginning whereof is the love which Maximian beareth to Hermile; it is saide that the differences of apparitions betweene good Angells and bad, are known by this, that the good give a terrour in ap­peering and leave a comfort or consolation in the vanishing, the bad doe the contrary, and transfor­ming themselves from darknesse into light, have a sweete arivall, but their end is bitter as wormwood; the good propose nothing but what is vertuous, and tending to salvation, the bad doe but invite to un­lawfull passions which darw unto eternall ruine; there is the distinction betwixt the Hiblean and the Heraclian hony, that the first is good and wholsome being gathered upon Thyme a bitter hearbe, it is a little unpleasing in taste, but good for the stomack, whereas the second being gathered upon the sweet but venemous hearbe aconitum, hath increase of sweetnesse which is mortall, for it provoketh swimmings in the head, & strange convulsions, and in fine death if it be not speedily vomited up; even so it is with good and evill love, the first free and plaine, but the pure hath I knowe not what in it rough and simple, but it troubles not the soule nor overturnes not the Oeconomie of its health, which consisteth in the right use of reason and of all its fa­culties, whereas bad love is sugered full of quaint wantonesses, faire smooth speeches sweet but dan­gerous mortall unto reputation, pernitious unto sal­vation, [Page 195] and quite contrary to reason, which she puts out of order, to establish in its place the tyrannie of an unruly passion.

Now as it is the end which giveth the beginning unto a thing, the means being justified by the inten­tion, I generally call that bad and unjust love, which hath not marriage for its end, and which by wanton wooings, letters, presents, and other such arts, tends unto the entire ruin of honesty. I call that love good which is lawfull and honourable, and hath the eyes of a Dove, yea of a Dove washed in the milk of pu­rity, whose teeth are of Ivory, the symbole of its integrity, whose lips are bound with a red riband in signe of pudicity and modesty of speech, whose cheekes are like the opening of a pomegranat, it wit­nesse of modest shame, whose feet are seated upon bases of gold for a foundation of cleannesse; In briefe, whose thoughts, words, countenance, actions and intentions, are all pure, upright, and sincere, all cleane and honest. It there were ever any of this sort, we may be sure that the love of Maximian to Hermile had all these qualities. At the beginning of their frequentation the father of Hermile was trou­bled in mind, & Hermile her self had a good share in that trouble, because that considering the extream disproportion which was betweene the qu [...]l [...]ty of the one and the other of the parties, they could not imagine in what manner heaven could tye them to­gether. But nothing is impossible to him that hath made heaven and earth, and hath set such a tye a­mongst the elements, whose qualities are not onely different, but contrary each to other, depending [Page 196] them on divine providence, who hath wrought greater miracles. After a thousand protestations of purity, of intention and honest pretention. Hermile was permitted by her father to hearken unto Maxi­mian, and not to reject after a froward manner the vowes of his love and service. Vnder the aspect of this starre of fatherly permission shee imbarqued herselfe in this affection with so much staydnesse, and discretion, that she proved the Proverb a lyer, which saith that Wisedome and Love never go to­gether. The eyes of her mother were alwayes spe­ctators of her carriage, although her ears could not alwayes understand the words wherewith Maximi­an entertained her: which although ful of modesty, might have lost their point, if they had had lesse li­berty: in conclusion, their love went on so far, that nothing wanted but marriage to put it in its apoge­on: but forasmuch as the publique laws forbid chil­dren to contract it without the consent of their pa­rents, the consent of Rogat was absolutely necessary, that of Hermiles father being sure enough. Maximi­an, in whom love and desire bred great unquietnes and impatience, writ unto his father, that beeing in­gaged in an affection which hee could not cast off but with his life, he humbly intreated him to give thereto his consent and blessing, whereby he might make him the happiest gentleman in all Brittain. Ro­gat, who went not so fast on in a matter which can­not be too much thought upon, having inquired of the qualities and condition of the maid, I meane of those which the world chiefely regards in marria­ges, to wit bloud, which is the riches of birth, and [Page 197] wealth, which is the bloud of life, and having lear­ned how extreame the inequality was between his sonne and this party, like a prudent man as hee was, he would not wholly cut off his sonnes hopes ther­of, for feare of raising his spirits to drive him unto some great extreamitie: but he imitated Physitians, who turne backe a rheume which by their remedies they cannot wholly dry up, he cunningly takes time to thinke upon it, and in that time seemes desirous to see his sonne, to conferre with him viva v [...]ce on this matter. Lovers easily beleeve what they de­sire; for what doe they not hope that love? This deceitfull language seemed unto Maximian to bee a kinde of consent, and he concludeth with himselfe so dexterously to husband the minde of Rogat, that he will worke him to condescend unto his desires. The father sends him word, that for his own part he is now in an age which dispenseth him from great voyages, but that Paris is not too far a journey from Brittaine for a young Academicke. Love of the Countrey, desire to see it, and paternall invitation, sets on the backe of Maximian such wings as are at­tributed to the god of Love: he promiseth an invio­lable loyaltie to Hermile, in presence of her father and mother, and takes leave of her, but onely to goe and take leave of Rogat, to be wholly hers. He de­pends thereon as on a thing already done, yet rec­koning without his host he may reckon twice. Her­mile accompanies his departure with sighs and tears, sweet and chast witnesses of her affection, exhorting him to constancie, and to take heed that winde and absence beare not away his faith and promise. It [Page 198] [...] to tel you the vows and protestations which this Britton made of an immutable stability; yet so it is as effects have showne, that he spake even from the bottome of his heart, and that his speeches were oracles. Being then arived in Brittaine he found not in the minde of his father that condescendence which he imagined: Contrariwise he met with re­proofes which he expected not, and whereunto his soule was not prepared; he resembled them in war, who thinking to retyre among those of their owne party, see themselves ingaged in the hands of their adversaries; in vain did he alledge the beauties and vertues of Hermile. Rogat sees them not so far off, and besides he thought there were beauties and ver­tues in Britaine, as well as in France. Moreover, that which he desired in a match were beauties of silver and vertues of gold, which Hermile wanted. Then did Maximian judge that his minde would never yeeld, and that those gentle letters which hee had written were but onely lures to call him backe into his countrey, from the object of his passion, and cause him by absence to forget her, and indeed this was the intent of Rogat. Contrariwise Maximian re­newes the vowes of loyaltie in his soule, and also in writing: for not content to write letters unto Her­mile by every ordinary messenger, hee over and a­bove sent her a promise or contract of marriage, thereby to tye himselfe vnto her with such bonds as he should not be able to breake, without losing the quality of a man of faith and of his word. The fa­ther keepes him at home, and labours by all meanes to divert him from his love: but as the sonne cannot [Page 199] winne the Father, much lesse can the Father alter the will of the Sonne, the one remaines stedfast in the negative; the other destinated in the affirma­tive. Rogat judgeth that hee shall not be able to draw out this nayle but with another, and that the way to roote this affection out of the heart of Maximian is to marry him, matches are not wan­ting in his neighbour-hood; Daughters are plants which grow but in too great a number, but al­though they have greater portions, yet have they not in Maximians opinion such graces, neyther in body nor soule as Hermile, Hermile alone hath first possest his affections, and Hermile only and last­ly shall possesse them even unto the grave: the wind puts out small fires, but great ones augment there­by, absence and contradiction extinguish common slight flames, but strong and excellent ones take vi­gor by time and opposition. Maximian refused all the matches, which were offered him, being re­solved never to marry, or to have her whom hee desired.

Some Physitians say, that there is a certaine dis­ease called Exotique, otherwise Melancholy of love, which ought to bee dealt withall after the manner of the Hyppocondriacks by condescending in some sort unto the fantasies of these craized braines, Rogat made use of this industry to heale the sicke mind of Maximian hee found out a young man that could artificially counterfeit all manner of hand writing, then caused he a report to be spread, that he was upon marrying his son Maxi­mian, that all was agreed upon, that the wedding [Page 200] day approached, and made this report fly unto Her­mile; and her Father by a suborned passion, and such subtile meanes with so much likelihood, that it pas­sed in their credence for a trueth; then wholy to accomplish this deceipt he made the fore said yong man dexterously to counterfeit the hand of Maxi­mian, and in his name write letters to the Father and daughter, whereby he excused the breach of his word, and promise upon the constraint used by his Father, who forced him to a match against his will, and inclination; and after many protestations com­plaints, and exclamations against this violence, wit­nessing much sorrow for the breach of this band of love, so often knit by oathes: He leaves Hermile at liberty to take her fortune, protesting that being he could not by any meanes have her for his wife, he would eternally love her as his sister; these letters fell so patly into the hands of Hermile and her Fa­ther, whose mindes were preocupated with the newes of Maximians marriage, that they made no more doubt of this change, which they attributed to the difficulties and oppositions, and with all too inconstancy so naturall in men. The Suitors which Hermile had refused, for to keep her word with Maximian, hearing of this rupture renewed their sutes amongst the rest an ancient Captaine, who had been caught by the eies with the face of Her­mile, shewed himselfe most earnest and above all made her the most advantageous proffers, this wise maid who saw but through the eies of her Fa­ther let him choose for her, & guide the Articles of this Marriage at his pleasure, being resolved to [Page 201] yoak her desires, and never to have any particular inclination seeing she had lost the hope of posses­ing Maximian; in few dayes all was agreed upon and concluded and ready to passe on a publike be­trothing, when as Hermile received by the post of Brittaine a letter from Maximian, the stile whereof was so farre wide from the precedent, that she could not imagine how the selfe same caracter could be capable of so different imaginations; true love never goes without suspition no more then without feare, the last letter wholy conformable to so many former, continues his affection with a con­stancy which abhorreth nothing more then change, the date is latter then of the other, therefore there must needs lie hereunder some falsity and deceipt, which time father of trueth may draw forth of De­mocritus well.

The betrothing is deferred untill they heare a­gaine from Maximian but under other pretences, and how earnestly soever Captaine Severin prest the Master, he was still put off with delaies; both Father and Daughter writ at large to Maximian, and dispatch away a man expresly, who lets him see his counterfeit letter, hee cries out on the falsity, and without any more words, reporting that hee intended to ride a hunting, steales from his Fathers house, and making no other answere to his letters, takes post to Paris, where as soone as hee ariveth without any other counsell, but what hee takes of his anger, hee challenges Severin, who meetes him at the place appointed, Hermile having notice thereof without any regard eyther to her sex or [Page 202] condition repaires thither to part them, where a flash of her beauty so much honoured by these two great courages, hinders them from passing further on; so much they feared her indignation more then death, whose affrightfull grimme face scared them not.

They returne home, each of them leading her under an arme, you would have taken her for a Venus taming Lions, and fastning them to the Cha­riot of her triumph, being come to her Fathers house, there matters were scand, Rogats shuffling laid open, and his deceipt discovered, and declared, the Captain acknowledges that without open inju­stice he cannot pretend any thing in Hermile thus ty­ed to Maximian, and Maximian to her by so many promises and vowes; meane while Rogat missing his Sonne, doubts not but that this Iron is fled to its Loadstone, he would faine recall him, but hee is not a bird of Lure; hee leaves him without meanes, but the young man places himselfe with the Governer of Brittaine, a Prince who can be no other then a Caesar, since he is born of the bloud of Great Henry, this Prince entertaines him and al­lowes him meanes, so is he now at Court, and neere the object that gives life to his affections, hee re­mained there some yeares, expecting eyther the death or consent of his Father: Meane while age grew on Hermile, but her vertues which de­cayed not by yeares, made her still more accepta­ble unto Maximian, at last Rogat fell sicke, and Max­imian made hast unto him to yeeld him the devoires of a Sonne.

The father feeling his end approach, conjured his sonne as much as he could, to cast off this affection, and to take a match more fitting and advantageous. But Maximian who made more account of his word than of all the wealth of the world, would never re­nounce his love. Rogat in despight thereof made his will, and instituted the younger son his heire, in case that Maximian should ever happen to marry Hermile. Hereupon he dies, and Maximian as eldest takes possession of the inheritance: the yonger bro­ther makes protestations conformable to the will, which being examined by the judges was declared void or nullified in that respect, as made in the ha­tred of a marriage, the soule whereof was freedom, seeing that Rogat thereby would extend his pater­nall power unto a time wherein he should no more bee. Then Maximian beeing master both of his meanes and person, went to the Court with a brave traine, where at the age of three and thirty yeares he married Hermile, who was two and twenty. All the world extolled his constancy and loyalty, and he was held for a rare patterne of love and faithful­nesse. To tell you with how many joyes these crosses were recompenced, and what felicities fol­lowed this long attendance, would require the lif­ting vp of Hymens veile, which were not seemely: those unto whom these thoughts are not forbidden, may stay thereon; whilest I shall observe that Her­mile hath lost nothing by her staying, since that from a meane condition shee sees her selfe raised to the degree of a Lady, beloved and cherished by a husband who adores her, and in a wealth far above [Page 204] her hopes: but in truth there are not Maximians to be found by dozens, few young men keep their first flames so constantly. Yet on the other side the con­servation thereof may bee attributed to the honesty of Hermile, who like a Vestall could so carefully keepe the fire of true love by purity, that it is no wonder if the successe thereof hath bin happy, For­tune being at last forced to fall downe at the feet of Vertue, whose partakers are ever crowned with ho­nor and glory.

THE FOOLISH BOAST.
The fourth Relation.

OF all vanities, Boasting is the i­dlest, and discovers most the weakenesse of minde and debi­lity of braine; it is so ridiculous among judicious persons, that as soone as a man brags, he is taken to be impertinent: but above all, when he deckes himselfe with borrowed­feathers, and things which he hath done, and in fine, of all brags the foolishest is, that which sets upon the reputation of a weake sex, who have no other wea­pon but tears to oppose the detraction of evil tongues. I am sorry that Berard a Noble man of our Nation, hath fallen into this basenesse of spirit (I had almost said unmanlinesse) which at last caused the losse both of his reputation, and life together: he was naturally [Page 206] faire, and so curious in husbanding by Art what beau­ty nature had given him, that he equalled therein the care and curiosity of women, he consumed so much time in the mornings in tr [...]cking and trimming his head, ordering his haire, setting his ruffe, and cloaths, that ere he were quite polisht, the day was halfe past: I hold it superfluous to say that this new Paris halfe man was given to court women, since these above­said employments shew plaine enough; wooing be­longs unto Paris. It is thy right trade, said that anci­ent Poet, speaking of the faire sonne of Priam, that unlucky and fatall torch or destruction of his fathers City and Kingdome: our Berard had so great an incli­nation to this passion, that he seemed to be a Mary­gold, whose sunne was beauty; for wheresoever hee met with any ray therof, he burned after such a man­ner, that what Poets fabulously write of Clitie, was in him a true History: this so generall an inclination, made him unconstant, and in this case hee could not keep from change, one might as soon have fixt quick­silver, as stayed his vowes long upon one object; his heart was like a looking-glasse, which presently re­ceives the image of what is represented before it, and as soone looses it.

The first that for a time stayed his pretensions, was Stratonice, a Gentlewoman much esteemed for her beauty, in one of the principall Cities of the ancient Kingdome of Arles, where all happened that I shall speake of in this Relation, she was the common desire of many wooers, but because her meanes was not correspondent unto her beauty and comely grace which amounted unto a high point, some could have [Page 207] wished her for a Mistresse, who would have shun'd her for a wi [...]e, for few will buy a fraile pleasure with a long and troublesome necessity: Berard raising his head as farre above his rivals, as doth the Moone in her plenitude above the smallest starres, which the ob­scurity of night causeth to glimmer in the skye, was likewise looked on with a more particular attention▪ the care which Stratonice had to conquer him, as well to establish her fortunes by marrying him, as for any inclination she had to his person, put so much vanity into the head of our spruce younker, as he imagined that not onely Stratonice, but all other Maids lookt on him with an eye of desire: after he had prattled a­way some time with Stratonice, and taken pleasure in scattering and dispersing of his competitors, although in all the time of his accesse unto her, shee never per­mitted him but onely common and well-beseeming favours, which honesty forbids not: this vaine man raising his head into the sky, imagined greater ones should be permitted him, he called rigour and disdain what the holy law of Chastity did forbid him to sue for, which law this wise Gentlewoman alledged and used, as a buckler against his pursuits: upon these con­testations, he takes snuffe, and as his wilde affection held but on a small threed, he broke it off easily, and growing cold, left wooing there; yet thus farre is there nothing much blameable: for people should know before they love, and therefore are honest conversati­ons permitted, but to breake with violence, or rather to teare and rent what moderation counselleth to un­sow, is a thing which cannot be excused without ap­proving of injustice; this man not content to rep [...]y [Page 208] with contempt the courteous entertainement which he had received of this honest Gentlewoman, betakes himselfe to scoffing and detraction, knowing that the honour of a Maid is tender as a flower, as soone wi­thered as toucht, it resembles a looking-glasse which dimmes even with ones breath: the detractors tongue is a sharpe two-edged sword, the venome of the Aspe is under his lips, and the world hath this evill quality to take the grossest detractions for undoubted truths, and true prayses are taken for flatteries.

Our unconstant man glorying in the evill which he had not done, boasted of certaine private favours which the wisedome of Stratonice, never had so much as a thought to permit him, and although the wisest persons made but a mocking-stocke of his vanity, yet the weakest spirits remaine doubtfull of the honesty of the Gentlewoman: O faire flowers of reputation are you thus exposed unto the hurtfull haile of evill tongues? although that this for a while dispersed those that had an inclination of love to Stratonice; yet time father of truth, consumed those mists, and brought backe unto light the face of her innocence, and shee was served as aforetime, for as tempests purifie the sea, so did these stormes justifie her reputation. Berard whose naturall inclination was to love, sailed not long ere he found a new rocke, wheron he made shipwrack of his liberty: it was at the feet of Ginnesinde that he yeelded himselfe, and although his fickle and detra­cting humour made women doubtfull of him, yet his quality and meanes bore such a lustre, that they hid these defects unto those, who hoped to make a fortune by him, and besides it was thought that he might be [Page 209] cured of these imperfections, and that if he could once be fastened with the indissoluble bond of marriage, he would be constrained by the law of Hymen, to be con­stant, and likewise to be m [...]re reserved in speeches, for feare least others might speake ill of his wife, as he hath spoken ill of others: and indeed it must be gran­ted that Hymen is a soveraigne remedy to stay a fickle man, and to stop his mouth, it is time for him then to be wise or never: on this perswasion, and by the like permission of Parents, Gunnesinde no lesse vertu­ous then faire, received the proffers of his service, and gained such great advantages on his spirit, that it see­med this chaine could never be undone, but who can hold the winde in his hand, or stay a minde wherein lightnesse is not so much accident as substance? Gun­nesinde had neither more merit, nor more charms than Stratonice, and therefore no wonder if she had lesse power to retaine this man under her lawes; pride like unto smoake is alwaies mounting, the more this man sees himselfe made of, the better opinion he takes of himselfe, and this presumption leading him forth of the bounds of duty, bore him unto such insolencies, as a well-bred Mayd could not suffer without anger and indignation; presently he enters into a chafe, and as the prick of bloud-letting cureth the heat of a Fea­ver, so the heat of this mans love was alayed by the sting of despight; and whereas contrariety sharpeneth the desire in others, this mans was extinct by opposi­tion; proud imperious spirit, who would have all stoop to him, and under the name of servant, would take the authority, not onely of a husband, but of a Master and a tyrant. [Page 210] Gunnesinde whose noble bloud was accompanied with a great spirit, seeing her selfe affected among di­vers other by one Servulle a yong Gentleman, whose humours pleased her well, and who honoured her with submissions, approaching even unto idolatry, could not suffer the haughty humour of Berard who would raigne alone and absolutely, as if he should give a law unto her from whom he ought to receive it, often did he complaine unto her of the jealousie which Servulles presence bred in his head, and would have her not onely to shunne him, but to drive him from her, by a kinde of affront, whereunto Gunne­sinde would never condescend, unwilling so unwor­thily to reward the manifold respects, and honoura­ble services which she received of this yong man. Be­rard unable to beare this jealousie, and seeking but on­ly some faire pretext to passe from the love of Gunne­sinde, unto that of Macrine, whom he had already chosen for the object of his humour, made use of this occasion to breake the bands, and forsake Gunnesinde; from a tongue like to his, accustomed to sharpenesse and gaule, nothing could be expected but scoffes or murmurings, true it is, they were but as arrowes shot against a rock, for Gunnesinde by a severe manner of proceeding, had established such a foundation unto her reputation, that all Berards brags were as so ma­ny spittings vomited up against heaven, which to his shame, fell backe upon his owne face, notwithstan­ding Servulle, who had a farre more sensible feeling of these words darted against her whō so fervently he loved, then she her selfe had retorted backe in so ma­ny places such biting replyes unto Berard, that had [Page 211] he had but as much care of his credit, as of his haire hee▪ would have sought to redresse it with an iron.

Servulle seeing he had to doe with a man who ei­ther understood him not, or seemed not to understand him, was on the point many times to give him the lye to his teeth, or to challenge him, but hee was kept backe by Gunnesinde, who strictly forbad him, wisely knowing that calumnies despised, vanish away, wher­as vexing at them, seemes to acknowledge them▪ now is our Berard in the third quarter of the wayne of his liberty, which if he easily lose, he gets againe with as much facility, Macrine grown wise at the others cost, often twits him with his former ficklenesse, thereby to keep him from stumbling at the same stone, and the more she wils him to return back to his former suits, the stronger hee fastens his affection on her. This Mayd was under the power of a brother, who watch­ed her like a Dragon, and would willingly have seene her settled on Berard, because in effect the match was very advantagious, but to have her exposed to the tatling of tongues, was a thing he feared like death: this brothers name was Accurse, a man very valiant of his hands, but hot brained, he had had many quar­rels, and had issued out of them advantagiously; his sword was to be feared; Berard before this had beene a Paris before Achilles, it may be heaven reserved him to prevent the brags and detractions of Berard, who at first stood in more awe of the sisters eye, then of the brothers hands, but in the end the chance will turne, & the sword of Accurse shall be more hurtfull to him, then the looks of Macryne. To take away the black­nesse of a Moore, and the spots of a Leopards skin, [Page 212] are two things noted for impossible, to take from an evill tongue and unconstant man his evill custome, is in my opinion the like: it seemed unto Berard, that having to deale with a Mayd who was not under the subjection of a father nor mother, he should have more freedome and power: but he found his insolency abated as well by the honesty of Macrine, who was not of an humour fit to indure fooleries, as by the se­verity of Accurse, who loved honour more than life: to speake of marriage to an unconstant man, is as much as to threaten a vagabond with imprisonment: Accurse one day said roundly and dryly to Berard, that if he intended to marry his sister, he should make haste and end it, if not, he might goe elsewhere to divert his fantasie. These raw words were of a hard di­gestion to so weake a minde as Berards, that made him presently change countenance, for there is nothing so stings a proud heart, as a repulse; the roughnesse of the brother, made the conversation of the sister lesse sweet unto him.

Macrine, who made the will of her brother to be a law unto her selfe, being commanded by Accurse to let this man know that she would not be made the fable of the world, nor become the subject of detra­ction, she prayed him if he loved her, it might be with the honour and respect due unto one of her birth, o­therwise that he should seek elsewhere subjects wher­on to exercise his vanities and tyrannies. Here is now our beauteous Medor stung to the quicke, and begins to whet his tongue like a Serpent, to transpierce ther­with the reputation of this honest Gentlewoman, but he shall fall into the pit that he is going to digge, and [Page 213] shall be caught in the snare which he sets: all that hee had formerly said of Stratonice and Gunnesinde, were but flowers in comparison of the thornes wherewith he meanes to pricke and teare the reputation of Ma­crine, he boasts of things that never were, and which ruine intirely the honour of this Mayd: a poore and foolish revenge for a man, yet what else can be expe­cted from an effeminate man. Accurse lets not these discourses fall to the ground, but resolves to punish him memorably for them, and to strike divers strokes with one stone; he talkes with the sutors of Stratoni­ce and Gunnesinde, Servulle and Eufrace, and having disposed them to revenge with him the outrages they had received by the detraction of Berard toward the persons of their Mistresses, they plot together to send him a challenge, and to invite him to take two se­conds, that all those three might be seene at one and the selfe same time with their swords in hand, for one and the selfe same quarrell: Accurse made the chal­lenge, whereunto Berard would faine have answered otherwise then with the sword (for commonly those dogs that barke most, bite not best) but seeing himself defamed if he accepted not this proffer, hee resolves thereunto, and drawing strength from his weaknesse, shewed more courage at his end then was expected from him: he chose for seconds two stout fellowes, or at least such as were reported so to be, but it fares with Lovers as with Gamesters, whom chance (some time) more then play, makes to winne. Being all sixe met, Servulle in three bouts laid his man on the ground, then came to helpe Eufrace to disa [...]me his, there remained none but Berard, who was very ill led [Page 214] by Accurse, and seeing three men upon his hands, what could he doe being so ill handled by one alone? for he had already received two or three hurts, and bid him yeeld up his weapons, and retract his slanders of the three honest Gentlewomen; this he might have done without prejudice to his honour, since hee had done all that a man can do for his defence, but whe­ther he held himselfe for dead by the wounds which he had already received, he would never yeeld up his sword, much lesse retract his words, but falling de­sperately on Accurse, he gave him a great thrust in the arme, and was ready to have stabbed him, when as the other two strooke him in divers places, and made him let goe his hold, they forced his weapon out of his hands, and might have killed him if they would, yet they had rather have him retract, then end, but his obstinacy was such, that he would never aske of them his life, nor revoke any of his words; they thus left him in that place, spewing out his soule with his bloud. In this story you may behold the just punish­ment of detraction.

THE TREACHEROVS BROTHER IN LAVV.
The fifth Relation.

WHereunto dost thou not beare the heart of men, thou accursed thirst of gold, cryes out one of the Ancients? O metall, worse then iron, thou breedest warre in all places, by reason of thee there is no safety in the world; the sonne in law undertakes against the father in law, and the brothers are at division. I will shew you in this relation of the treacherous brother in law, that there are men whose alliance or friendship is like unto that of the Ivie, which fastens upon a wall, but to eate and ruine it. A Gentleman of Aquitai [...]e, whom for his cruelty we call Tygris, having a company of men in one of the old Regiments which France alwayes maintaines, be it peaceor wa [...]re, and being in garison [Page 216] in one of the Cities of the Lyonnise Gaule, betooke himselfe unto the imployment of idle persons, which is wooing. This yonger brother a childe of fortune, had no other revenue but his place whereunto he had attained as well by the favour of his friends, as by his valour: this was a hazardous estate, and weakely esta­blished, for besides the hazard of armes which makes those that follow the trade thereof to be reckoned a­mong accidentall things. He had no certaine place of abiding, living after the manner of the old Nomades, sometimes here, sometimes there, and to be every where, was no where; he cast his eye on a Gentlewo­man, who with one onely brother lived yet under the governement of her mother, a very vertuous Lady, who lived in a Country house she had neere neigh­bouring unto the towne where this Captaine lay in a Garrison, he used such meanes that he introduced himselfe into this Castle, and by meanes of hunting, wherein he was exceeding perfect, grew to such in­ward familiarity with Nilamon, brother unto faire Crispine, that this young Gentleman could not be without him: they daily made new matches, where­in Tigris was still so fortunate, and taught so many secrets of this fervent exercise unto Nilamon, that he made he made him one of the expertest Huntsmen of all the Country. Crispine also by little and little, growes to affect the sport both of Hawks & Hounds, and learnes so well to shoot with a Piece, that those who beheld her, admired to see so much dexterity in her sexe: these beginnings were happy unto the de­signes of Tigris, who by this bait perfectly gained these two harts, but it is nothing if he conquer not the [Page 217] mind of old Eutrope their mother, unto whom these two children are dearer than her eyes. Nilamon, who on the one side desired nothing more than to see his sister well married, and on the other side is so taken with the conversation of Tygris, that hee desired nothing more than to have him for his bro­ther in law, he is a comely proper gentleman, can use his sword well, hath a good charge, is well knowne in Court, and well willed by great Ones, a man of courage and fortune, though as a younger brother he have no land, yet it may be that mariage bringing him to good husbandry, hee may ga­ther wherwithall to purchase in the province where he shall take a wife.

These are the reasons which invite Nilamon to this match for Crispine, whose will is none other but the will of her friends, yet if her inclinations were weighed they would goe downe on Tygris side, be­cause he was a master in the wood, Diana's exerci­ses, whereunto she is affected: the mother only dis­likes this match, or it may be seems to withstand it, to have occasion thereby to be entreated, holding therein the nature of women, who wil have their authority and power to bee courted, when their beauty and age puts their persons out of season to be wooed. But Tygris over and above his ordinary submissions, set so strong an engine on worke that in the end hee got the place which hee had so long besieged; it was by the mediation of his master De Campe, a Nobleman of note, and the Kings Lieute­nant in a neighbouring province. Vnder this great mans word the Net was cast, the Fish taken, and [Page 218] Crispine came into the possession of Tygris by the gate of marriage, in lieu of portion mony he tooke a piece of Nilamons inheritance, so that he is now become both his neighbour and brother in law, but even as the sicke of the dropsie augment their thirst in drinking, he not content with his part, cast his eie, but an eye of conquest and rapine on the rest of the estate of Nilamon, who had brave land, and very lordly; and because he could not get them by any lawfull meanes, began to thinke on unlawfull ones: the children which made him a father, and which Crispine brought him almost every yeare, put into his head the evill designe which hee conceives in paine, nourishes in deceit, and brings forth in ini­quity. Vnhappy man, who knowes not that bloudy and deceitfull men are threatned with short life and eternall ruin, and that their seed shall perish.?

He is in E [...]tropes castle as in his owne house, his children are there brought up, his wife there kept, he there as a sonne in law, or second sonne, in fine, hee is what hee will, and yet not at ease, if he be not all and have all: but those that thinke iniquity shall be confounded, he knowes, that seeking to make a­way Nilamon by poyson, or by sword openly, were the way to lose himselfe, and to trouble his owne feast. As the just man walkes by straight wayes, the unjust walkes by those that are crooked: So is the Sonne unto that subtile Serpent who was a cruell murtherer from the beginning of the world; and every one seeth how that Animal still goes by­asing, and advanceth forward but by cranklings and windings in and out. Tygris treads these paths, see­king [Page 219] means indirectly to make away Nilamon, hee knowes that a neighbour thereby, a gentleman of no lesse quality than his brother in law, goes a woo­ing, and he counsels Nilamon to incroach upon his bargaine, that is, to be a suitor to the same party, a thing that cannot be suffered by a lover, or a man that hath never so little courage. It was but onely to expose his brother in law to the hazard of a duel, to gaine his inheritance if he were sl [...]ine, or the con­fiscation, if by killing he were constrained to flie. It hapned as he had projected, Maxime challenges Ni­lamon, taking it ill that hee should come to interrupt him in his suit. But the fortune of armes was favo­rable to Nilamon, and Maxime was slain in the field. Nilamon is forced to fly to Italy, into a voluntary ex­ile: for to avoyd the rigor of Edicts lately renewed against Duels.

The friends of dead Maxim [...] prosecuted the mat­ter so hard, that they obtaine a decree of death a­gainst Nilamon, and cause him to be executed in effi­gie, [that is, if an offendor whose fault deserves hanging escape, yet is he by the custome of France adjudged to the gallowes, and his picture hanged thereon, a signe that whensoever he is taken, he shal be trussed up in person] Tygris according to his de­sire obtaines the confiscation of his brother in lawes estate: but in fine time having mollified minds, and slackned much of the rigour of the edict, Nilamon makes such meanes that he obtaines his pardon: but to re-enter into his estate, he was faine to let go ano­ther good piece thereof to Tygris: who seeing that this artificial plot succeeded some what to his mind, [Page 220] meditates on another, and how to set a snare for Ni­lamon, who thinking by a good match to repair the breach those broyls had made in his affairs, intends to be a suitor, where Tygris seeming to assist him uses means that he hinders the concluding thereof. He represents the affaires of Nilamon to be in far worse case than they are; To be briefe, he useth the mat­ter so, that all Nilamons indeavours to marry, are as so many mynes without effect, for Tygris feared no stroke so much as this, knowing full well that all the children which Nilamon should have by a lawfull marriage, would be so many heires to frustrate his pretentions.

During this troublesome businesse of Maximes death and Nilamons long absence, hee had made some debts▪ and amongst his most pressing and im­portunate Creditors, he that tormented him most was one Appolinaire a gentleman of that province, whose purse by report was better than his sword, and could use counters better than weapons. This man sets a seisure on Nilamons lands, to be payd oft what was due unto him. This put Nilamon into an extreame passion of anger; the Nobility and Gen­try of the country are so accustomed to right them­selves by the sword, that they cannot suffer the for­malities of the pen. Nilamon presently challengeth Appolinaire, Tygris blowes to kindle this fire, it is all he seekes, to see his brother in law at hazard to lose his life. Appollinaire being challenged, answers that he will be payd before he fight, and that it is the part of a Ninney to hazard the losse of his life and money both at one time, and that hee will not [Page 221] convert a suit or cause civill into a criminall, nor re­paire with his bloud the pleasure hee hath done to Nilamon in lending him money in his necessity, that is an ungratefull acknowledgement of a courtesie, to send a challenge in lieu of a payment. Nilamon in a greater fume than he was before, vowes to kill him wheresoever he findes him. Tygris by his perswa­sions increaseth this will in him, and promises faith­fully to gard and assist him in this enterprise. Meane time he under-hand advertises Appollinaire to go al­ways well accompanied, and in fine desiring but the death of his brother in law, he plots with Appolli­naire as it is thought to leade him to the slaughter. They go a hunting, and as Nilamon and Tygris were together, they were told, that Appolinaire was pas­sing a pretty way off them thence: he had eight or ten horsemen with him. Nilamon, in whom anger boyled, goes like a mad man to set upon him, having none with him but Tygris and one servant who ac­companied him on hunting. Tygris sweares and as­sures that they three are able to hacke these rascalls in pieces. Nilamon fals on, thinking to be seconded, but Tygris playing at false company saved the mold of his doublet, and left his brother ingaged in a fray, which being rashly entred, he was in a moment so pierced through with bullets and swords, that hee died presently. Now is Tygris at the end of his pretensions, who by the right of his wife enters into the full possession of Nilamons inheritance, the good woman Eutrope beeing dead before this accident happened. But God▪ who never leaves a wickednes unpunished, and who rewards in their season the [Page 222] secret of hearts and things hidden in darke esse brought to light, and to the confusion of Tygris all that he had plotted against Nilamon: for this man being now growne insolent by reason the sayles of his desires were swelled with the winde of good fortune, began to use his wife ill, not considering that all the wealth wherein hee gloried proceeded from her, and that although he were now a Lord, but for her he should be but a simple Captain. And as arrogance is never without impudence, hee had been so unwise as to declare unto his wife the stra­tagems whereof he had made use to cause Nilamon to perish in the snares he had set for him. This wo­man provoked by the il usage of her husband, could not hold her tongue, but one day being overcome with griefe, she upbraided him with all his treache­ries, laying them evidently open. And as a mis­chance never goes alone, it happened that one of those who had assisted Appolinaire in the murther of Nilamon, being taken for another crime, before his execution confessed likewise this, which hee did de­clare to have been done by a plot betweene Tygris and Appolinaire. The words of Crispine and of this man joyned to the conscience of Tygris, which was to him as a thousand witnesses, cast such a terror in­to his soule, that like another Caine he went his way wandring through the world, imagining that the bloud of his brother in law cried still to heaven for vengeance against him. His place was given to an­other, and he thus voluntarily banishing himselfe from the sweet aire of France, and the conversation of his wife and children, fled into Germany, where at [Page 223] warres he dyed, in an incounter, this was the mise­rable successe of his wretched designes; and how God would not permit him to enjoy that wealth, which to purchase had made him violate the lawes both divine, and humane, and prophane, the most Sacred bonds that are in nature; he that by just la­bours, and lawfull industries, gathers up any thing shall see his goods prosper like a tree planted neere the current of waters, which brings forth fruite in its season, but it shall not bee so with him, that wrongfully heapes up riches; for he shalbe set like dust in the face of the wind, and all that he hath ga­thered shall bee scattered and consumed, this pro­verbe proving ever true, that ill gotten goods goe away in the same manner.

THE FORTVNATE Misfortune.
The Sixt Relation.

MArcel, a gentleman of Touraine comming from Saumur was re­turning to his house, not farre distant from the River of In­dre, it was in the long dayes of Summer, when the greatest heates make the shades to bee more affected, his man who caried his male, and his two footmen being more thirsty then their Master, were stayed at a Tave [...]e to drinke, and refresh themselves, mean while Marcel went on dreaming, and arived alone at the River side, and as he staid there for his men to passe over with him, there came a young man reasonable well clothed, with a comely face, who proffers to take the bridle off his [Page 225] horse; this faire presence stroke into his eies, and takeing pitty on his youthes fortune who had as good a countenane as ever he beheld, questioned with him what he was? the young man with a voice able to inchaunt the Rockes; said, Sir I am an Or­phant having neyther Father nor Mother, and of the Countrey of Boulonnis, forsaken by all there, am going to Chasteleraud to find out an Vnckle of mine, Brother to my Mother, and see if he will take pitty on me, or find me out some place, where by serving I my get my living; youth said Marcel it is easie to bee seene, that you have not beene brought up to serve, at least wise in painefull offi­ces, it is true said he if it had pleased God to have spared me my Father, who was an honest Mar­chant, I should not be reduced to this misery, but Merchants are not knowne till they die, his shop was faire and his credit great, but as soone as he di­ed all fayled, and his debts were found to bee farre greater then all that he had, so that being destitute of any meanes, I must make a vertue of necessity, and seeke to eate my bread by the sweat of my brow, Marcels heart was mollified at this youths disaster, and resolued to retaine him in his service, imagining that hee had on his forehead a certaine ray of freenesse and fidelity, weary with staying for his men, he goes into the boate with this youth who named himselfe Geronce, hee had a little Sat­chell on his backe, long Flaxen haire waving on his shoulders, a Suite reasonable good, but a ravi­shing grace, hee held the Horse raines after such a manner as it was easie to be seene, his only courage upheld his weaknesse, Marcels Castle was from [Page 226] thence some two little leagues, wherein Geronce found himself but a bad footman, yet on the way he entertai­ned his new Master with such good discourses, that the time seemed not long.

Being arrived home, and saluting his wife, he said unto her, Madam, I bring you a new guest, whose good countenance serves for letters of credence. I have destinated him to wait on our sonne, (this was a childe of some nine or ten yeares of age) I beleeve he will keep him neat and cleane, and if this little boy take after him, he shall neither want comelinesse nor good behaviour: this Lady looking on Geronce, found him to be perfectly acceptable, and praysed her husbands judgement for applying him so worthily as to wait on their sonne: Sulpice (for that was the childes name) was in a short time so taken with the conversation of Geronce, & Geronce be took himself with so much care & diligence to tend & serve him, that father, Mother, and Sonne were equally satisfied therewith: all the Bees run to the hony-comb; Geronce was one, and both Master, Mistresse, and Servants, strove who should love him most; there was nothing so modest, so gentle, nor so beautifull as this young mans quali­ties, which charme the savagest spirits.

But alas, beauty that acceptable gift of heaven, is a dangerous thing, this pleasing illusion of the sence, this snare of the soule, this short tyranny extendeth his power even over the heart of Fursee, for so will we call the wife of Marcel. Good God, with what con­vulsions was it tormented, this poore thing tossed be­tween love and honour, at one and the selfe same time, the one of them striking it with cold feare, and [Page 227] the other with burning desire: doe you not pitty the violence of this feaver? what indeavours did she not use for the combat, the safety of this illusion? but they were vaine, for she had rooted this poyson so deep into her heart, that she was forced to yeeld: how unequall is the wra [...]ling between reason and passion in a weake spirit, and what stedfastnesse soever is imagined to be in the weaker sex, it is but of glasse, and breakes at the first stroke. I will not stand to de­scribe by particulars the confusions, the troubles, the shames, and the contradictions of this troubled mind, nor to represent by what meanes she made Geronce know, that which shee had so often tryed to stifle by silence; the brevity which I prescribed to my selfe in these relations, permits me not to extend my selfe un­to these particularities, I will onely say that which I cannot omit, without blotting out the principall fea­tures of this picture; to wit, that having need of a con­fident person to guide this businesse unto the end she desired, she made choyce of one of her maids named Leobard, and having with such shamefacednesse as cannot well be represented, made known to her with what disease she was infected, and how she was forced to seeke remedy from the Serpent that had bit her; she hapned so unluckily, that even as the Bird who ma­keth the Lyme which fowlers use afterwards to catch him withall: for this Maid was struck with the same dart; then may you imagine, if to trust her rivall with her secret, were not in a manner as to thrust a knife in­to her owne bosome. Leobarde to weave her treason with more facility, promiseth all manner of assistance unto Fursee, although her thought were quite contra­ry [Page 228] to what her mouth uttered, and thinking to have found out a meanes so to oblige Geronce, that he should no longer continue the disdaine wherewith he had hitherto repayed her love, she declared unto him the passion and affection of Fursee towards him. Ge­ronce who had divers times shewen unto Leobarde, that those discourses were horrid unto him, rejected this also. Leobarde seeing then that she could not ob­taine credence in his minde, counselled her Mistresse to speake her selfe if she would be understood, this froward youth having no eares for her perswasions; what griefe felt Fursee to see that she had in vain de­clared her selfe unto this Maid, whose answer was a sad presage of the small hopes she might have to bend Geronce to her desire; what new paines took she to pul this thorn out of her soule; but at the first sight of this faire object, all these indeavours vanish into smoake, and new fires took possession of her heart: It is not without re [...]son, that those who write of the cure of maladies of the minde, say that not to avoyd the occasions, is to be still in the disease; for so he that is not in the City, is in the suburbs; and to present a person that loves with the object that sets him on fire, is as to approach the fl [...]me unto a smoaking Torch; this youth was one of Fursees domesticals; alas, how could she have healed up a wound that opened again, as often times as she opened her eyes: there is nothing so much inflames the hurts of the body, as to apply honey thereunto, nor those that any affectionate pas­sion makes in the heart, as honeyed words O you Lovers, flye both the sight and speech of your belo­ved, if you will recover your former health! ah Fursees [Page 229] what doe you, the ranckling of your wounds will in­crease by the remedies which you apply: she talkes to Geronce, and with troubles and stuttering like unto those of a guilty person before a Iudge, she labours to make him susceptible of her torment. Leobard had brought them together, and to give her Mistresse scope, retired her selfe into another chamber, which almost amazed faire Geronce, to see himself alone with­out any witnesse, by a woman which uttered unto him such language as he could not heare without ex­treame perplexity, the different changes of his colour sufficiently witnessed by his face, the alterations of his minde, his eyes bending to the ground, his silence and his immoveable countenance gave unto Fursee an an­swer which was not favourable. Her presents were spread, her promises large, her intreaties unseemely, her sighes vehement, her teares in abundance, but these windes, and these waters, were as stormes against a rocke; Geronce appeared insensible, like the statue Pigmalion fell in love withall; the heat of love pierced by a bloudy contempt, commonly turnes into a furi­ous wrath. Fursee was upon the point of this change, when Geronce to conjure his tempest, and cut out the root of this disease at its first breeding, resolves to un­maske the counterfeit, and cause pitty of himselfe, in her who craved it of him. Madame, said he, unbutto­ning his doublet, behold these Breasts, and aske no answer, except you will see me dye at your feet with shame: men are not better known by the Beard, then women by their Breasts: this sight left no manner of doubt in the soule of Fursee, but that Geronce was a woman, and as it is said that thunder falling upon a [Page 230] Serpent, in lieu of taking away life, doth but take a­way his venome, so this sudden clap rooting out of this womans heart all the poyson of her bad desires, tooke not away her love to Geronce, but left it there with pitty, and this pitty bred a desire to know the fortune of this man Mayd, that she might seeke to yeeld her some assistance in her disaster, and with this intent said; seeing heaven hath made me fortunate by this knowledge, and changed the rocke whereon I would have made shipwracke into a Haven of safety for mine honour, I doe promise you for your freenesse towards me, to conceale your sexe as long as you please; and if you desire any helpe, you may as freely discover the cause of your being in this state, assuring you that you shall finde in me all the assistance which you can expect from a woman desirous of the preser­vation both of your honour and your person.

Madame, replyed Geronce, mischiefes are so conta­gious, that the very recitall of them doth ever breed some alteration, even in the calmest spirits: Let mee therfore grone under the burthen of my misfortunes, and suffer not your felicity to be troubled by the hea­ring of them, rest contented to take pitty on a poore Mayd, who puts her honour and her life into your protection: this evasion did but whet in Fursee that curiosity so naturall in women, and gave her occasion to reply thus, as Physitians heale no diseases, but those they know, so likewise cannot I assist you in your misfortunes, if you discover not unto me the cause thereof, to the end that knowing who you are, and in what manner you came to be in this disguise, I may behave my selfe towards you, as I ought, and [Page 231] fince there is a remedy for all things but death, strive to re-establish your selfe in the degree from whence it seemes fortune hath made you fall, for you have a ray of Nobility on your brow sh [...]nes through the clouds of your present condition, and makes it appear even to the weakest understanding, that you have not been bred after a common manner: Madame replyed Geronce, my woes are past recovery, since they pro­ceed from a death, and therefore being my miseries ought to be put among incurable maladies, let me in­treat you to cast away that needlesse care which you take to cure me, and let me passe away under your protection my small remainder of life, as well I feele that sorrow and grie [...]e for my fault doe undermine it by degrees, and will not let me long survive him, with­out whom the fairest dayes are to me as darkest, and like a lingring death, in saying this, Geronce let fall from his eyes, teares resembling those drops of raine which the ardent heat of the Sunne doth squeeze out in the fairest dayes of summer; but so farre was Fur­sees curious desire from being quenched, that this wa­ter resembled that which Smiths put on their cinders, whereby the fire is increased, and not put out, there­fore extraordinarily pressing Geronce to disclose unto her his adventures, he was constrained to content her, but not without extreme striving, and having dryed up his eyes, and obtained a truce from his sighs, be­gan in this manner. I am of Austrasi [...], daughter to a Gentleman, one of those who are called of the anci­ent knighthood, his name is Gaudence, he hath divers children, and I am the second of his daughters, and the cause of this dishonour and trouble of his house; [Page 232] Baptisme named me Saturnine, which was the name of my mother, who died when I was but sixe yeares of age: it must be granted that daughters lose all when they lose their mothers; in such tender years they are ships without North-starre, Rudder, or an­c [...]or, and what diligence soever widowed fathers use to finde out good governants, they never finde a [...] whose eyes be so vigilant over their daughters as their mothers, and besides, their power is so weak that the contempt of their commands is the gate of liberty, through which at last maids go astray. My sisters and I shooke off the yoake of ours, to fol­low the desires of our own hearts, and walke after our owne giddy humours: Love assailed us and took us, yet there was none but I surprised, after the manner that you shall understand.

My eldest sister loved a yong gentleman whom she wedded not, but to obey the will of our father she wedded an old gentleman whom she never affe­cted: she made me such strange complaints of be­ing tyed to a man whom she loved not, that it see­med she endured the torment which that tyrant in­flicted, who fastned dead bodies to the living, till they died in this cruell languishing manner. I mis­take, for she described unto me her torment to bee equall unto that which is suffered in hell. And in­deed such may one call a marriage wherein the par­ties doe neither agree in the wills of the heart, nor the delights of the body, this misery which I consi­dered in her, made me resolve to avoid the like, how deare soever it cost me. But alas, to shunne one gulfe I cast my selfe into another, and I may say, if my sisters marriage were a hell, the [...]uries caried the [Page 233] torches at myne, and conducted mee to a dis [...]ster worse than hell.

Volusian a young Gentleman, but a younger bro­ther of our neighbourhood, had my first, and shall have my last affection: we lived some yeares in so perfect a correspondency, that if my father would have matched us together, the Elysian fields could never have equalled our felicity. But that unlucky temporal respect that cut-throat of so many pure af­fections, was the hangman unto ours. For because this young man was not rich enough, my father would never yeeld his consent unto our union: but I fearing a lot like unto my sisters, would needs spin my destinies with my own hands, and so have I fa­shioned the cord which hath drag'd me to the mis­fortune wherein I am. Volusian ever behaved him­selfe towards me with an incomparable modesty, so that it was not so much by his solicitation, as by my owne proper inclination, that wee made reciprocall promises of marriage, accompanied with so many solemne oathes, and such horrible execrations a­gainst the party that should violate the same, that if I had had but the least thought of breaking, I should not have beleeved heaven sufficiently furnished with thunders to strike me according to desert. We must confesse that oathes, writings, promises, fre­quentation, liberty, and facilitie, are strange baits to lead blinded youth to its ruine, to lay coles to the fire with a will not to have them kindle, is to desire impossibility, the body beeing but the accessarie of the heart, and in marriage the sensible union beeing but a sollower of the will, you may im [...]gine if I ea­sily [Page 234] yeelded unto the desires of him who possest all myne, and if I could thinke my selfe to be lost by casting my selfe into my beloveds armes. We then consummated our Clandestine marriage, and resol­ved whensoever I should finde my selfe loaden with the fruits of Lucina, to take flight with my husband, rather than to undergo the thunder of Gaudences an­ger. This happened not, but a more terrible tem­pest overtooke us, which brought me to the wrack wherein you see me. Minard a Gentleman of Au­stria, who had beene in marriage but three years, and was not above thirty five years of age, found I know not what in my face that liked him. He was a match so advantagious, that to see me, to desire me, to ask me of Gaudence, and obtaine me, were all such sud­den blowes, that I had neither time to foresee them, nor to shield my selfe from them. My father with­out consulting my will, told me he had given me to Minard, and that I must dispose my selfe to receive him for my husband within few dayes. If a thun­der-bolt had fallen at my heeles I should not have been more astonished: I made no answer to my fa­ther, for what could I have said that would have pleased him, and oppose cold excuses to his resolu­tions, had been as to make bullets of snow against the Sunne beames, I resolved suddenly to make ef­fects speake, and that was all that I could in so pres­sing a necessity. Gaudence tooke my silence for a consent.

Next day my amorous Widower came to see me, and after the complements of a first interview, he would have offered me his service, under the al­lowance [Page 235] (sayd he) of my father. My father (said I) hath not willed me to receive your service, but your commands obliging me to behold you as a Master, this proceeding is to be admired, thus to give away free persons without their owne consent. I am borne his daughter, and not his slave: howsoever, I declare unto you that I belong to a greater master, having made a vow to him that hath made heaven & earth, never to be any bodies but his. If it had plea­sed you to have seene me before you had spoken to my father, I had saved you the labour of asking a thing which you cannot lawfully get, nor possesse without sacriledge. Never was any man more ama­zed than Minard, when by this free declaration hee saw his hopes undermined to the very foundation. He feared God, and therefore I could not oppose any thing of more force to stay his desires. For an­swer I had none other, but that he was sorry to have beene troublesome to my designes, yet he beleeved a dispensation might remedy al this, if I would give eare thereunto. I told him that a dispensation pre­supposed some reasonable cause, and that I saw no necessity to revoke a vow which I had made with­out necessity. He sees my father and communicates my answer unto him: who instantly falls into an­ger, and from thence into injurious words & threats. He had once gotten knowledge of my affection to Volusian, and had interdicted mee the commerce therof, and now presently beleeves that in despight of that I had made this vow, and (such is the tyran­nie of paternall authoritie) he imagined that I could not vow without his consent: hee falls to consulta­tion [Page 236] with a Civilian, who gave him to understand, that nothing was more easie then to get a dispensa­tion of his vow, he who was no les desirous to have Minard for his sonne in law, then Minard to have me for his wife, takes this counsell and dispatches presently to Rome, for this dispensasion which be­ing come, and all the preparations made for our publicke betroathing, and the articles signed be­tweene Minard and my Father, what should I have done? declare my Clandestine marriage consume­ [...]ed with Volusian, no, I had not brasse enough in my face to undergo so much shame, beside I should have exposed my husbands life to manifest danger; the counsell which we tooke was to retire disguised from Austria into some part of France, hee had for­merly borne Armes under a Prince of the house of Austria, who was Governour of Bittaine and dyed in Huugaria, drowned with many victories, gotten on the Turke, hee had made some acquaintance in that Province and though we might liue there at shelter, & in case of pursuite that from thence we might sayle into Ireland or Scotland, and hide our selves from the fury of Gaudence in those extreami­ties of Europe, he cloathed me in mans apparrell as you see, and in this manner wee leave Austria, and p [...]ssing through Champagne and Burgundy. Enter in Burbonnois to get unto the River of Loire there to imbarke our selves for to land in Brittaine.

But Fortune my capitall enemy to end on mee the last stroake of his vengeance, permitted that as wee crost a Forrest wee were set upon by foure Theeves, who had given Volusian two wounds be­fore [Page 237] he could set himselfe in defence, as soone as he had drawne his sword he ran him through, who had first stroak him, the others to revenge the death of their fellow made an end of him presently, af­frighted as I was and dazled with the glittering of so many swords, I fled into the thicke of the wood, where I remained till midnight with dolours of feares, which cannot be exprest at last under the Moones pale light I beganne to seeke what I feared to meete with; alas, I found Volusian naked (for these theeves had taken away his very Shirt, and pierced through in so many places, that it is to be thought their rage had extended to give him many thrusts after his death) at his feet lay also their fel­low stretcht along naked, whose face they had man­gled that he might not bee knowne; I was so over­come with sorrow that had it not beene for a secret feare of eternall damnation which seased my soule, I had a thousand times stroke a knife into my heart, I past the rest of the night in griefes, which cannot be imagined, and in troubles unconceiveable; for me to return to my friēds after so grosse a fault, was a thing wherunto I could not resolve nor on which side to turne, in an unknowne Country I knew not; at last I resolved to give my self over unto divine providence, & to tēd towards those in Britany wher­of my husband had so much told me; and after I had wet him with teares I fled from this in famous wood for feare of being apprehended as guilty and so to be discovered; having passed the River of Lo­ire, I hapned I know not how to be at the river of [...]u­dre, when my Master arrived there to passe, I helpt [Page 238] him downe from his horse, and afterwards to get up againe when we were on the other side he asked me whe? I was I made him beleive what I would to cover my true disgrace, under a fayned history, he had taken me to serue your sonne, a place proporti­nable to my strength, and wherein I intended to ex­pect with patience how God would dispose of me, but you would needs through pitty take some parte in my paine; I Madam all the pittie I humbly intreate you to take thereof, is to keepe close that secret which you have commanded me to discover unto you, and to have care of preserving that small remainder of honour in this miserable creature whom excessive, but lawfull love of a husband hath borne into the extreamities, whereunto you see her reduced; Geronce ended in this manner, the recitall of her Fortune falling downe on her knees before Fursee, who in compassion mingled her teares with the teares of this disconsolate woman, and kissing and embracing her, promised never to forsake her, and to have the same care of her, as if she were her owne daughter after that time: Reason tooke place in the affection of Fursee; from whence it had bin drawne by passion, her actions were better ordered, her flame sweeter, and more moderate, it was not so with Leobardes which augmented daily by the shunings, refusals, and contempts of Geronce, which this foolish Wench attributed unto the pride which she thought he took in the enjoying of his Mistresse, and although that Fursee without discovering the secret of Geronce assured her that her love was con­verted into friendship, and Geronce was the most [Page 239] chast and most vertuous youth in the world, this Maid heated by another fire, imagined that Fur­see held this discourse, but to cover her game whilst she possessed her Adonis, and to say true Leo­bardes suspitions were not without some shew or likelihood of ground; for Fursee now beholding Geronce but as a woman used so much freedome with him, made him come into her chamber, at such suspitious houres that the least credulous, would have beene tempted to take it ill; and this was that put Leobard into a desperate jealousie, which peevish humour, made her doe a base and treacherous act that caused a tragicall event, & a misfortune which gave birth unto a prosperity; and thus it was: After she saw that all her sollicitings of faire Geronce were lost labours, imagining that the refusals were dis­daines, and stung with anger at these imaginary contempts, she resolved being she could not con­tent her love, to satisfie her revenge, and undoe her rivall Mistresse together with him that would not corespond unto her affections; it was by a morrall advertisment given unto her Master, of the bad dea­lings of Fursee and Geronce, whereof shee shewed such apparant colours that Marcel nothing doubted, but that he was dishonoured by his wife.

Immediatly then how to reveng it at full he makes shew of lying forth and by the helpe of Leobarde hides himselfe in a closet neere the chamber of [...]ur­see, this woman who tooke great delight in conver­sing with Geronce, and in makeing him him relate perticularities of his house and Country, of his love, and fortune, fayled not to make him come at [Page 240] night for to put him into his discourse and to fall a sleepe thereon, but whilst she is in bed and Geronce sitting at her beds head talking to her, Marcel is pre­paring fire and sword to reveng the injurie, which he belieues to be but too apparant, he starts forth of his ambuscado and comes with his pistoll in hand crying with full mouth, ha accurfed woman now is the time that thou shalt wash my spoted honour in thy blood, and that thou and thy adulterer shall both of you pay interest for the wrongs you have done me, and without hearing any answere, shoots off his Pistoll thinking to pash out Fursees braines, but she turning her head a little, the shot went into the feathers without any other effect, but onely that it burned the cheeke of this poore La­dy, who in this trouble, misdoubted the cause of her husbands wrath, had no more leasure but to cry out, O Sir Geronce is a woman whereat Marcel whose sword was already drawne to end therewith what the fire had spared, as if a flash of lightning had dasled his eies stood in suspence at these words when Geronce more dead then alive cast her selfe at his feet, and with the discovering of her breasts as­sured him that Fursees words were but too true; & presently to cleere his understanding, of so many confusions wherewith his soule was troubled, Ge­ronce though trembling related unto him the whole history, as you have heard of her miffortune, and pittifull adventure which drew teares from the eies of Marcel, and made him infinitely repent what he had done; meane time remedies were applyed to the burne on Fursees face, which besides the paine [Page 241] threatned her with a great deformity, but whether it were the inflamation that redoubled, or through the extreame terror which she had felt in hearing a Pistoll thunder in her eare, and see her selfe nere loosing her life, she fell into a strong fever, which in three daies laid her in the grave, Marcel lamen­ted much for her, both because he truely loved her, and for that he saw himselfe to be the cause of her death, he had almost discharged the burthen of his wrath on Leobarde and sacrificed her, to the Manes of her Mistris, but when hee knew that shee her selfe had been first deceived and that the conjectures of the evill had been so strong, he was contented only to drive her away from his house.

Meane time Geronce hauing changed her habit and being become Saturnine, appeared so faire in the eies of Marcel, that loue being entred into his soule by the two gates of beauty and pitty, he re­solved to marry her as being a Gentlewoman of a good descent, and the widdow of a Gentleman. Sa­turnine seeing her fortune to bee desperate, if shee with open armes received not this occasion laide hold on her foretop, and consented to Marcels will by a solemne marriage, and since Gaudence Fa­ther to Saturnine being dead: Marcel had that part of the inheritance that fell to her thereby, which amounted to as good a portion as hee could have had with a wife, chosen out of his owne Countrey; thus in the secular or civill life, the harme of the one is the profit of the other, as in the naturall the corruption of one body is the ingendering of ano­ther; so the misfortune of inconsiderate Saturnine was by divine providence changed into a good for­tune, [Page 242] and that moment of time intended for her death, was to her a beginning of a happier life; it may be that the patience which she shewed in that extreame ad­versity of the losse of Volusian, and her wise carriage and behaviour in the governement of Marcels sonne, brought her to this felicity, not without great won­der to little Sulpice, who saw his tutor in a short time changed his mother in law.

THE IMPVDENT ATTEMPT.
The seventh Relation.

NOt pride onely, but also temerity ever mounts, there be men who cannot play foolish prancks, but they must extend them to the uttermost poynt of impertinen­cy, impudence elevating them so much the higher, by how much the lower she meanes to cast them downe; doing by them as the Eagle by the Tortoise, which she car­ries up into the ayre, but onely to let her fall on the point of some rocke to breake her in pieces, and then devoure her: Speusippe a Gentleman of the Province of Aquitaine, will shew us here the image of an impu­dent traytor, whose attempt unworthy of a man of honour, was punished by heavens permission, when he had thought to take his prey in his hand, and to [Page 244] triumph insolently in the honour of another. This man in the warres had entred in friendship with ano­ther Gentleman of the same Province, named Liberat; and this friendship was grown so great, that they cal­led brothers, and the one had nothing but what was the others. Peace being returned to France by the vi­ctorious hand of great Henry, sent every man backe under his owne figge-tree, and under his owne Vine, and changed swords into Sythes, and head-pieces in­to hives: these two friends with drew themselves to their houses, which were not so far asunder, but that they saw each other often enough, living with a free­dome and familiarity wholly fraternall; Liberat took a desire to marry, and wedded a faire and vertuous Gentlewoman, whom we will call by the name of Me­la, for the honeyed sweetnesse of her disposition, her conversation being wholly without bitternsse: it was a Dove without gall, but a chast Dove having no eyes but for her mate: Speusippe failed not to expresse at this wedding how much it joyed him to see his bro­ther of alliance so well matched, he called Mela sister, and this young Lady who saw but through the eyes of her husband, knowing how much he esteemed Speusippe, could do no lesse then hold him in estimati­on, as the best friend Liberat had in the world, shee called him likewise brother, and cherished him in the same manner, as if she had indeed been his sister.

It is to be beleeved that the first moneths of this marriage passed with much innocence on Speusippes part, and that he thought onely to honour Mela, as his sister of alliance, but trayterous love who blindeth all, and surpriseth even the most wary, and is so good [Page 245] an Archer, that he hits none but hearts, setting himself in ambuscado in Melas eyes, hit the heart of Speu­sippe with a mortall str [...]ke. Now though all that Li­berat had were in his power, excepting his wife, yet he desired what was prohibited, and despised what was permitted: this stinking flame burned not long ere he made the blacknesse and smoake thereof appeare to Mela, who being as full of mildnesse, as discretion, laboured to quench it by the most prudent and most reasonable remedies she could devise, unwitting that prudence and reason cure not a folly which is not ca­pable thereof; this mildnesse was oyle in Speusippes fire, his hopes which would have been extinct by a rougher usage, were inflamed by the swavity of this humour, so naturall in fayre Mela, he passed unto im­portunity and insolencies, whereupon Mela shewed him the wrong he did unto his friend, so impudently to undertake against the honour of his wife, he reply­ed that the advantages of love were so farre above friendship, that albeit he cherished Liberat as a bro­ther, yet she had beauties which constrained him to be perfidious, for to satisfie his passion; behold how this blinded man would be victorious by what hee confessed himselfe vanquished, and make his triumph of his perfidiousnesse: Mela being her selfe reduced unto great extremities by the pressing fooleries of this impudent man, threatned him to tell her husband thereof. Madame, said he, you may worke meanes to make me dye, but not to leave loving you: your hus­band may take life from me, but not love, and yet will I give him halfe the feare too, if he set upon mee like a man: it lyes in you to avoyd this mischiefe by [Page 246] yeelding unto reason; (so did this bruitish man call his foule desire) at length Mela who fearing to bring a bloudy quarrell on her husbands hands, having try­ed by her patience, by her mildnesse, by her perswa­sions, by her intreaties, and by all manner of honest meanes to put this incurable spirit into his right sen­ses againe, constrained by the persecutions of this fu­rious creature, whose rage passed into actions so inso­lent, that they were insufferable to an honest woman, disclosed unto Liberat, Speusippes impudent attempt against the reverence of his marriage, and the honour of his bed, although Liberat had cause to seeke by armes the revenge of so great a wrong, yet giving un­to his eminent friendship, and the violence of love, a pardon which could not have beene wrested from his anger, he was contented onely to forbid Speusippe the entrance of his house, till absence had put water on his fire, and time had made him wiser, although this presumptuous man bore this forbidding without much impatience, as if he had been banished for ever from his Country: neverthelesse he dissembled his dis­content, resolving to attaine unto the end of his en­terpriseat what perill soever; his flame must needs have been great, being it lasted without having the sight of its object to feed it; passing away his sad dayes in obscurities and incomparable disquiets. After he had tryed in vaine all manner of meanes to approach Mela, he be thought himselfe of an industry wherein the Foxes skinne should precede the Lyons, roaming night and day about Liberats house, he learned that this Gentleman was on a point to take a journey from home for some dayes: he tooke occasion on this ab­sence [Page 247] to play his stratagem, which was this, he cau­sed his beard to be cut after another fashion than he used to weare it, and having blackt himselfe with a certaine compound, he had quite changed the coun­tenance and complexion of his face. Then disgui­sed like one of those that carry bone lace in boxes about the Country to sel, he came to Liberats house: Mela having occasion to buy of this ware, caused him to come in. He unfolds his laces of divers sorts and at cheape rates, which invites this Lady to buy a good quantity. Speusippe seeing himselfe in the chamber, steps to the dore, lockes it, and discovering himselfe, begins againe to presse her according to his former importunities, to take pitty on his lan­guishing torment. Mela seeing her selfe surprised, sought by her accustomed sweet perswasions to ap­pease his mind: but this Tyger growing more fierce by this harmony, and intending to hazard all, draws out a poignard, which hee sets to her throat, threat­ning to kill her if she yeelded not. Mela affrighted cries out. This cry was heard by a maid that was in a Wardrobe neere: she comes to the noyse, and sees her mistresse calling for helpe, and defending her selfe couragiously against this impudent man, the maid runnes against the chamber door, gets it open, and set all the house in an uprore: the servants flock thither, incompasse Speusippe on all sides, & hinder him from ravishing Mela. He lays hold on the collar of one, and in a desperate rage stabs him through di­vers times with the poignard he had in his hand, and so kills him. Meane time Mela got away, leaving Speusippe bestirring himselfe among these servants, [Page 248] like a wilde Boare among a kennell of hounds, hee hurt more of them, and was hurt himselfe, and in the end taken and put into a chamber which served him for a prison untill the returne of Liberat: who to do good unto this perfidious man, in stead either of punishing him according to his deserts, or causing him to be punished by justice, he got him healed of some sleight wounds which hee had received, and lest the Magistrates should lay hold on him for the murther of the man, and the attempted rape, he gave him meanes to escape, only admonishing him to be more stayd thenceforward, and pardoned him his folly, which he attributed to the rage of an exces­sive love. Wherein this good man resembled the Goat in the fable, who suckled the young Wolfe, which beeing growne great did afterwards devour her.

This furious and impudent attempt so friendly forgiven, could not yet mollifie the wickednesse of his heart: but seeing all passages shut, and no way left him to approach Mela, who shuns him as the sheep doth the wolfe, hee sends a challenge to Liberat, whereby he lets him understand, that his extreame love making him more worthy than he to possesse faire Mela. Hee calls him to combat, to see unto whom the fortune of armes will give the conquest. Ah Foole, who knew not that by the Law a woman cannot marry the murtherer of her husband, but she must make her selfe accessary and guilty of his death. Liberat pressed as well by this foolish and false rule of honour, which passeth for a maxime a­mong the Nobility and Gentry of France, as by the [Page 249] desire of punishing at once so many wrongs which he had received by this insolent man, goes to the place assigned, where after hee had upbraided Speu­sippe with his perfidiousnesse, they began a terrible combat: for if Speusippe, set on by love and despair, two inraged passions, bestirres himselfe with might and maine, as a man that will overcome or die; Li­berat pressed by the representment of so many in­dignities, which he had received from this impu­dent creature, was no lesse eager to make him feele the point of his sword. Already they had hurt each other in divers places, and their bloud served to ani­mate them more on; when fortune, which is not al­wayes on the right side, permitted Liberats sword to breake in the middle against the hilt of Speusiippes dagger. Speusippe then seeing the life of Liberat at his mercy, began to tell him that he must yeeld him his wife, or else he would presently kill him. Thou mayst take away my life, replied Liberat, but never myne honour, I wil die with that on my brow, and thou shalt live with the greatest infamy wherewith a gentleman can be covered. You dispute the case too long, said Speusippe, I must by the losse of thy life break the knot which is betwixt thee and Mela, the onely obstacle to my desires, that I may possesse her alone. Saying so he presses Liberat, who did but ward, and at last seeing himselfe out of combat, he seekes his safety in his legs, and betakes himselfe to flight. Speusippe followed him, and as he went to thrust his sword into his backe, it happened that Li­berat fell, and Speusippe stumbled over him, and hit his nose so hard against the ground, that he lay quite [Page 250] stund with the fall. Liberat losing neither time nor judgement, gets upon him, stabs his poignard three or foure times in his belly, and made him yeeld up that unlucky soule, which after so many perfidious impudencies and desperate furies went into its place. Such was the execrable end of this frantick mans attempts, an end which makes us see a just judgement of God upon his head, worthy indeed of a more cruell and of a more ignominious punish­ment. For what shameful execution did not he de­serve, who with such an inraged presumption viola­ted the lawes of friendship, of honour, of pudicity, and of piety, and did so many actions contrary to reason and equity? for my part, I expose him to the view of the world, as a man worthy of publique ha­tred, and whose memory ought to be detested by all those that professe an honorable friendship.

THE VNLVCKY FAINING: OR, Counterfeiting.
The Eight Relation.

WE must never faine, because fai­nings ever end with complay­nings, and although that some­times one faines in sport and merriment, these laughters as are commonly followed by teares, and dissimulations, is ac­companied with true chastisement. Not long since in a City of Celticke-gaule a Gentleman, named Basian, having undergon all the harshest things that love causes any to suffer in a lawfull wooing, at last obtained in marriage, a Maid whom wee will call [Page 252] Ephese the beginning of this aliance was so happye, that nothing could equalize the felicity of these two conjoyned persons, for Basian resembling those that find honey farre more sweeter, after the tast of wormewood, likewise after so many difficulties of getting, what he so greatly desired, hee enjoyed it with a contentment surpassing expression, but even as divers reject those meates being in health, which they extreamely desired being sicke; so the facility of conjugall society slackned, at last the ardent pas­sion which Basian had felt from Ephese before hee possessed her; it is true, that Ephese was partly the cause of this disgrace, by taking into her service a Gentlewoman whose name shalbe Leonille, and whose admirable beauty could not bee considered without an interiour alarum, this object appeared before the eyes of Basian when the fervency of his first affections were entering into the wane. Ephese thought shee held him fast by her former charmes and believed shee had conquered his heart that no­thing could bee able to alter his affection towards her, and upon this she heeded not how in takeing this Gentlewoman into her house, shee received therein the horse of Troy which should be the ruine and distruction thereof, and indeed this young beauty of Leonille accompanied with graces and be­haviours able to breed many illusions, presently strooke the sences of Basian, and turned his hearte from the right way to leade it after adulterous im­aginations, hee so long desembled his passion, and hid it from his wife with so much circumspection, that she perceived it not untill remedyes were out [Page 253] of season, adde moreover that Leonille charmed by Basians presents and by the hopes of his faire pro­mises lent him so favourable an eare, that he hoped in short time, to win this fort which began to come to a Parly, the bargaine is halfe made with a se­cond Merchant when the first is distastful unto one, it was impossible for Basian to hide his fire so well, but that some sparkes thereof appeared, and what means may bee used to hide what is, from the sharpe sight of a jealous woman, who often sees what is not; when this Lady using the authority of of a Mistris would haue put away from her house this arrogant Agar, growen haughty by the favour of her Mistresse shee then knew by Basians resisting it, that there was betwixt them some secret intelli­gence which could not but be prejudiciall unto her, with what eye did shee since behold this rivall ser­vant I leave it to your consideration; Basians two eyes were not enough to behold this rising sunne whose bright shining dazeled him so, that he had no lookes left for Ephese, but such as were languish­ing, and weake, contrariwise this woman through jealousie became capritious and clamorous, and brawling, and filling her house with unquietnesse put Basian into so bad an humour that hee began to storme about her, and to use her very harshly, alas one sprig of wormwood is enough to alter the sweetnesse of a great quantity of honey, and one cobweb enough to in tangle the whole* Oecono­my of a Hive, the house wherein jealousie takes footing goes quite backward, and very unfortunate is that family, where this plague breeds, it is a worme which gnawes the fairest fruites, it is a wind [Page 254] which raiseth nothing but tempest, and those tem­pests lead unto assured wrackes, indeed Basian did ill to give Ephese so much cause, but Ephese was not well advised in thinking to drive unlawfull love from the heart of her husband by her harshnesse, & reproachfull speeches; if one naile drives out ano­ther, shee should have laboured to make her selfe more lovely, to be the better beloved; but despight suggested unto her a malitious invention revealed by flesh and bloud, and which had the evill successe that you shall understand; she had taken the Sonne of a poore Gentleman to serve her in her Cham­ber, to waite on her abroad, and to carry her Cu­shion to Church and such like, and had cloathed him in Pages apparell, this child could not be above ten or eleven yeares of age, and was very beautifull, she affected him for his pretienesse, hee Sung well and and she tooke care to make him learne many honest exercises; she was of opinion, that by cherising & making much of this Boy, before her husbands face, she might recall him to her again by the ham­mer of jealousie, or at least give him a part of that torment, which she left by reason of Leonille; shee then behaved her selfe in such a manner, and did such immoderate actions with this innocent, whose age & strength was not capable of any evill, that it was ill taken of Basian, who dissembled not unto her his dislike thereof, and she who thought then to have attained the end of her intentions, redoubled her blandishments with so much unseeme­linesse, that no patience was able any longer to suf­fer them; But when Basian perceived that shee did [Page 255] play these pranks more to spight him, then for any evill she committed with this Child, hee resolved to punish her by a Faining or Counterfeiting like­wise, and to scare her so, that she should loose the custome of seeing these things which passed not without some kind of scandall.

Hee buyes one of these Poyniards which Play­ers use to comit fained murthers in their tragedies, and to deceive the eyes of the beholders, the blade hides it selfe in the handle, when the point leanes against the stomacke, so that the spectators thinke that it enters into the body, he put a little bladder of bloud at the end of the haft, and one night as his wife beganne more licenciously then ever to hug, kisse, and make much of her Adonis, hee comes to her with his Dagger in his hand, as if he had beene transported with anger, strikes this page three or foure blowes therewith, and made the blood of the bladder spurt on his wifes sace, then throwing by the child, comes to her and giues her so many stabs on the brest and on the head that this pore woman believing herselfe to be runne through on all sides (though she were not at all) conceaved such feare that without any manner of wound or hurt she fell starke dead at his feete: presently the report fled all over the Cittie that Basian had stabd his wife ha­ving taken her in adultery with her faire Page; if Basian were amazed to see his faining bring so un­fortunate a conclusion, you may judge; the Magi­strates came to enquire of the fact; and he declares the trueth according as I have related it, he shewes the poignard and the bloud which he had put to it, [Page 256] Ephese is visited, and found without any manner of wound and so is the child likewise who being not capable of so much feare, had no harme at all, not­withstanding the first impression that ranne about the world of this murther was so strong that it was impossible to blot it out; every one held Ephese for an infamous adulteresse, neither considering the age of the child uncapable of comitting it, nor re­ceving the trueth as Basian declared it, diuers being of opinion that it was so saide for to save the honor of the children and kindred; the world being full of malignity ever takes actions in the worst part, and if it gives a bad interpretation to the best, what will it give to those that have in them some shew of evill; meane time the matter stayed not there; for although the Magistrates grounding their judge­ments upon very probable conjectures left Basian without punishment, the Physitians attributing the cause of Epheses death to the force of imagination which had given her the stroke of it, whereof they alleadged divers examples, Euloge brother unto this Lady a Gentleman of greate courage and who through some secret hatred had formerly opposed this marriage when Basian was a Suiter, being not a­ble to suffer that his dead sister should be defamed by detracting tongues, nor that Basians Faining should remaine without a true chastisment he chal­lenges him.

And not withstanding that Basian made shew un­to him of much sorrowe and affliction for the death of Ephese and that he published her to have beene an honest woman worthy of honour and prayse [Page 257] yet nothing would satisfie Euloge but Basians blood which he drew out of his body together with his soule, cooling in this manner the immoderate heate of his affection to Leonille whom it was thought he should marry; it may be these adulterate affections drew on him the hand of God by Euloges sword; which verifies this that the unjust deceiptfull man shallbe overtaken by an unluckie end.

THE DOVBLE FRATRICIDE.
The ninth Relation.

IT is not thirty yeares since one of the most famous Cities of France was the stage whereon the tragicall accident which I am going to relate was acted. If the love of wealth could arm bloud against bloud, as we have seene in the relation of the treacherous Brother in law, that if sensualitie breeds here a reciprocall fra­tricide; the scandall whereof I will hide under bor­rowed names, without losing the utility of the ex­ample.

Widowes who in the use of mariage have lear­ned wayes to allure men, doe doubtlesse cast forth more dangerous attractions than doth the simplicity of maids. These neat mourning weeds wherewith [Page 259] they curiously adorne themselves, are nothing be­hind the finest ornaments wherewith those do deck themselves that either have or desire to have hus­bands. Contrariwise even as the Sunne comming from under a cloud casts forth its raies the more ar­dent, and as the coles are quicker and brighter that come from under the ashes, so likewise those lookes or rather darts that are cast from under the Cypres or veiles wherewith Widowes cover themselves, with more desire to see and be seene, than to hide themselves, doe make in mens hearts impressions that are not slight. I advance all this in regard of Permene a young Widow, who having bin but three yeares under the yoke of marriage, and having not yet attained but unto the twentieth of her age, bred more desire of her new conquest in those who con­sidered her beauty under so many blacke attyres, than pitty of her widowhood, and to say truth, her sparkling eyes, her ruddy cheeks, her studdied coun­tenance, her pleasing speeches, and her ordinary conversing among companies, sufficiently witnessed that she was not of those right widowes separated from men both in body and heart, but that her fre­quentation was not so much a diverting from so [...] ­row, as a desire to find a rock whereon in the bands of Hymen to make a second wracke of her libertie. It is true, that as soone as she was a widow, going into a monastery, to receive some consolation from a kinsman she had therein, shee received there as it were a kinde of prediction that she should no more bee married: A thing which she scoffed at in her heart, when shee had resolved the quite contrary, [Page 260] as she testified since by her demeanours.

This Widow being the North starre of many, who in respect of her imbarked themselves on the tempestuous sea of love, yet was by none adored with so much submission, nor more loved than by Prelidian, who was a gentleman of thirty yeares of age, having neither father nor mother, and beeing in full possession of his estate, had both matcht his sister according to her quality, and discharged the part of Babilas his younger brother, who was in the six and twentieth yeare of his age, and according to his boyling courage, was gon to seeke occasions to make himselfe knowne in the Armies of Flanders, the Theatre of warre for the space of these three­score years. Whilst Babilas is in the rough exerci­ses of Mars, Prelidian is amongst the tents, or rather amongst the attends of Love: For this little Ar­cher hath his Souldiers, his Champions, and his Armies, as well as the brother of furious Bellona. And truely Prelidian had no small battels to fight, to purchase the first ranke amongst those that sought the conquest of the faire Widow, because that each one of these suitors putting themselves to expences, strove which should appeare bravest, and which should yeeld her most dutifull and acceptable service. This woman was well resol­ved to marry againe, but not so soone: shee would a little taste of liberty first, and be some­time her owne woman, before shee would put herselfe again under the power of any other.

In her first marriage she had followed the will of [...] Parents, rather then her owne choyce. In this se­cond [Page 261] which she meditates, she wil fully use her owne free-will, and follow the motions of her own minde, and her owne election; true it is that the multitude o­vercomes her, and the plenty of matches puts her to the same trouble, as would a scarcity, shee can belong but to one, and it is this one that she is troubled to finde out in the plurality; meane while she feeds her vanity with the delight she takes to see her selfe cour­ted, adored, and so well served and attended. She does with her suitors as with Counters, for she makes their value to be according as she respects, or advances them in her honest favours, and often times the most ad­vanced were the least beloved: she had of all sorts of them, some high in Nobility, others elevated in ho­nours and greatnesse, others eminent in riches, others whose comely grace, beauty, dexterity, and valour, supplied the want of wealth and birth; and according to the sundry motions of her minde, she was some­times borne towards the one, sometimes towards the other: and as it is said the Sea changes colour accor­ding to the windes that sway on its surface: so accor­ding to the regard Parmene had to wealth, to honours, or to pleasure; she tooke sundry counsels, but coun­sels so insolent, that what she would have in the mor­ning, disliked her in the evening, her head having no fewer quarters then the Planet that governes the night: with what knots could this Protegus be held? womens mindes doe commonly tend to extreames: they will have men extreamely noble, or extreame rich, or extreame pleasing and compleat, and all these extreames are seldome found together; for all things are not given to all persons; neverthelesse Prelidian in­sinuateth [Page 262] himselfe into Parmenes favour by a medio­crity representing unto her how great births call on great expences, and that from thence proceeds the ruine of many houses, and a shamefull nec [...]ssity in age, which hath most need of assistance, that great riches without honour, satisfies not generons hearts, and that beauty without meanes and birth, is a flower which suddenly sadeth as a Rose, and leaveth nothing behind it but thornes of repentance. Prelidian afterwards re­ducing all these to a mediocrity to his owne advan­tage, shewed her how he had nobility, sufficient to honour the birth of a Gentleman, that he had meanes sufficient honestly to maintaine the lustre of his nobi­lity, and for the rest both of his qualities and person, Parmenes eyes were to be Iudges thereof. In fine, so well pleaded he his cause before the tribunall of this imperious Mistresse, that he deserved not onely to be heard, but also to take a place in her favour, not as one of the least, whilst he feeds himselfe with these faire hopes (which is the perfume of Lovers) and beleeves that perseverance and loyalty will crowne his preten­sions with a happy end. His yonger brother Babilas returnes from warre loaden with lawrels, and with a [...]eputation quite other then his brothers. All his friends highly applauded him at his returne, and as if be had triumphed, there were none but gave great prayses unto his valour; and besides, his souldiers countenance which he had brought from among the Armies, bad I know not what in it that was stately, together with his flourishing age, advantaged by a beauty that was not common; as soone as he heard where his brother was a suitor, he failed not to se [...] [Page 263] Parmene, whom he entertained with Prelidians me­rits, promising her a perfect felicity if she confented unto this match. This widdow, whose changing hu­mour was disposed to novelty, met with so many charmes in the comely grace and converfation of Ba­bilas, who among other qualities babled well, that presently all the thoughts she had had for Prelidian, and for many others of her suitors vanished from her minde as shadowes vanish with the Sunne: she had nothing in her head but Babilas, his onely Idea swims in her braine, and fils her imagination: she thinks no more on honours, nor on riches, the onely counte­nance os this younger brother beares away her heart; she labours to get this Bird into her net, and to make him susceptible of the same flame for her, as she suf­fers for him, but he resembles the shadow which flyes from those that follow it: whether he understood not, or whether he seemed not to understand the dumb language of Parmenes eyes and countenance, which spake very advantageousty for him; he would never answer thereunto, wherefore this woman was forced to expresse her selfe more plainely, which she did one day when Babilas prest her to give an end unto his brothers suit; that shall be, said she, when you give a beginning unto yours: how a beginning unto mine, Madame, replyed Babilas, who hath already told you newes of my invisible Mistresse? in troth I am so in love with liberty, that I never yet had any minde to marry: I cannot tell said Parmene, if your Mistresse be invisible, but I know a very visible Gentlewoman, who is very much your servant: in fine, not to spend time about relating the particulars of these discourses, [Page 264] she made him understand that she loved him, and that she would preferre him not onely before his brother, but before all the rest of her suitors, if he would mar­ry her: whether it were that Babilas had not then any inclination to marriage, or whether he held it an enormeous disloyalty to incroach upon his brothers bargaine, he turned these discourses into merriment, saying unto Parmene, it was to make a tryall of his constancy, that she had put forth this proposition: but at last this woman having assured him by oathes, and by all the perswasions which can purchase beliefe, that she spake but truth: Babilas entreated her to excuse him, and to beleeve that if it were not in regard of his brother, whose interest therein was but too visi­ble, he would esteem her affection for a great honour and happinesse, seeing she offered him together with the possession of an eminent beauty, a fortune more worthy an elder brother than a yonger. Parmene re­presents unto him how the care of his owne prefer­ment should be dearer to him, then his brothers, and how therein he exprest his fraternall affection by a blame-worthy excesse, and that for her part seeing it was so, she would content them both by receiving nei­ther the one nor the other; not the elder because she would not have him, nor the yonger, because he re­jected her in that manner.

Madam, replyed Babilas, Iustice requires that the first entred into service, should be the first rewarded: all the world would blame me if I should play so trea­cherous a part by my brother, as to incroach upon his designe: there is no treachery in that said Parme­ne, being you have no intent to supplant him: if there [Page 265] be any fault, I shall draw it all on me, since it is I that make choyce of you, being free to chuse whom I please, and if it were so, I should preferre my suitors by the order of their comming, your brother should take place among the last, for many were before him; but I see you would colour your coldnesse with a false veise, and colour your contempt with a kinde of Iu­stice; if it be a contempt, that which drawes me from your service (replyed Babilas) I desire that heaven may never forgive me that offence: I have eyes to see your beauty, and to see it and to love it would be but one & the same thing, were it not the obstacle which I haue proposed unto you. I have judgement enough to know your wealth, and the merits of your person, but to drive my brother into despaire, is a thing which I cannot doe without horrour; use means that he may give over his suit, and I am yours. These last words cast forth of Babilas mouth without wel weigh­ing, caused much mischiefe, for Parmene to purchase him, betook her self to use Prelidian so cruelly and dis­dainefully, that if his love had not been stronger then all these outragious abuses, he would have cured him­selfe by a just despight, but as windes increase flames, his increased by this rough usage, and the more shee strove to drive him from her, the more hee laboured to approach and to please her; in the end, the cruelty of this woman wearied the patience of Prelidian, who loosing all hope of conquering, he resolvcs to turne Capuchin, and he kept the designe so secret, that even his brother had not so much as a mistrust thereof, so that they sooner knew of his vesture, then of any in­tent he had to enter into that order.

Parmene hearing of the resolution of Prelidian, be­leeves her selfe to be arrived unto the end of her pretensions for Babilas, and the first time shee saw him sayd to him, Wel, do you now remember your promise? What promise Madam? (sayes he) To be myne (replies Parmene) as soone as your brother should give over his suit. Madam (sayth Babilas) he is indeed entred into the Capuchins, yet is hee not there after such a manner but that hee may come forth againe, beeing as yet but in the beginning of his Noviceship. His inheritance lookes not on me, untill such time as a solemne profession hath made him renounce all that he possesses on earth; til then I can say nothing, for if I should be a suitor to you before that time, would it not give him occasion to conjecture that I have beene the cause of all your ill using of him, and consequently of the dispair which hath driven him to this flight? whereof would en­sue a reason to deprive me of the inheritance which now I may expect, if he sees my fidelity. Parmene seeing him drive time out to such a length, accused him of little affection towards her, and thinkes him to be ingaged in the love and pursuit of some other: Neverthelesse she keepcs her hold with the impati­ence of a woman, more accustomed to be intreated than to intreat, & to commād than to request. Mean time Babilas continues his visits at her house, and although shee beleeves it to bee but in the way of complement, yet so it is, that insensibly he ingages himselfe to love this Lady, whose passion he sees to be so great for him, and building his fortunes on his brothers spoyles and on his great match, he already [Page 267] swimmes, in hope of being one day well at ease. Meane while he makes warre with the eye, and not discovering his game hee hath too much prudence for a Lover: he will have the one, and not lose the other, but his fate will give him neither the one nor the other of his pretensions. Whilest he goes slow­ly on, Parmene is so disquieted in mind that she ca [...] ­not be at any rest, the more shee presses him to re­solve, the more hee deferres his resolution. At last (sayd she) Let me heare some favourable answer: I can make no other, sayd Babilas, than that which I have already made, I cannot speake before my bro­ther be profest. But shal I have no other assurance, replied Parmene? I sell not the skinne of a Hare that's running, sayd he. Whereat mistrustfull Par­mene imagined that without doubt hee was ingaged elsewhere, seeing there was no meanes to heate his ice, and that after the profession of Prelidian, it would be an easie matter for him to forge some other excuse, and so she should remaine mockt and frustrate of both. Whereupon despight seizing on her heart, to see her selfe despised, shee cast off her affection from Babilas, when as the young Gentle­man found himselfe farre ingaged in love, and was resolved to declare unto her, that he cou [...]d have no affection for any other but she. Not without rea­son did that antient Philosopher say, Concord and Discord to be the beginning of the universal world, being we see it is all composed of interchanges, when the one goes another comes, he that is borne thrusts another into the grave, the birth of one affe­ction is the overthrow of another: The world is of [Page 268] a round forme, whose end joynes to its beginning, when as Babilas resolves to be a suiter to Parmene, making account that shame would bee as strong to retaine his brother in the Capuchins, as despair had beene powerfull to drive him thither, and behaving himselfe already as a master in Prelidians inheri­t [...]nce; Parmene being sorry to have payd with dis­daine the fruitfull and violent love of the elder, and to have so much esteemed the ingratitude of the younger, beginnes to change battery to what shee had desired, and to desire what she had fled from. It is an easie matter to plucke up a tree that is new set, and to beat downe a wall that is new made. A little Letter overthrew all the intents of Prelidian, and this sparke ayded by the winde of temptation, made him repent the enterprise that he had begun: in lieu of stopping his eares against this faire inchan­tresse, this Syren that would call him backe, to cast him away by a lamentable wracke, the Idea of this beloved face gave him so many alarums in his Cel, that his resolution yeelded unto the flattering vio­lence of its assaults; and notwithstanding all the re­monstrances or admonitions made unto him by the Master of the Novices, he resolved to returne.

Now is Prelidian out of the Monastery, and Ba­bilas frustrate of his double expectation, of the inhe­ritance whereon he had fastned his affection, and of the beauty which had wounded his heart: as for the land he must yeeld it up because the law is stronger than hee; and although hee bee very sorry in his heart for his brothers returne, yet neverthelesse hee colours his face with a feigned joy, and congratu­lates [Page 269] his comming backe, a dissimulation common enough in this age: but as for his love, which had already taken root in his heart, that was a thing that he could not so easily cast off as his coat, but contra­riwise stickes firmer to it, by reason of the double interest of pleasure and profit. Foreseeing himself weaned from the succession of his brother, he makes account by the possession of Parmene to recompense that losse, and thinkes that the establishment of his fortune depends thereon: he now betakes himselfe to visit this woman carefully, and blames himselfe towards her, with extraordinary respects and sub­missions. Parmene imagins all this to bee as at the beginning of their frequentation, and that he courts her for his brother: but falling into this discourse she heares him sing another note, and sees that hee speakes for himselfe. This much perplexes the spi­rit of Parmene, and indeed it was able to perplexe a stronger than hers, for recalling to her minde the sweet thoughts she had formerly framed on the fine qualities of Babilas, she presently falls into a relapse of her first feaver, and the heat of love driving out the coldnesse of despight of the loyalty of Prelidian, seemed to her but a fantasme. How mutable a thing is a woman? even so variable, that they may bee sayd to build on quicke-sands, who lay the founda­tion of their hopes on the faith of this sexe. Now were her eyes in few dayes changed towards Preli­dian, they are but disdainfull and ominous Comets for this elder brother, but for Babilas they are luc­ky and favourable planets. Yet if shee had sought out some pretext to excuse her sicklenesse, and co­lour [Page 270] her change, or if shee had discreetly dissembled her designe that Prelidian might not so suddenly have felt the effects thereof, it may bee that this stroke foreseene might have given him leasure to prepare himselfe for to suffer it; but to see himselfe suddenly fallen from those gratious favours wher­in he gloried, and at the same instant to behold his brother so cherished, so much made off, and in pos­session of that which he thinks to bee due only unto his imcomparable fidelity, is a thing hee can ney­ther digest nor comprehend.

Parmene so armes her selfe against him with dis­daines that she will neyther heare him nor see him, and contrariwise she cannot live but in the conver­sation of Babilas, whom shee openly cals her ser­vant, and makes of him her Idoll, which breakes Prelidians heart, a strong jealousie takes possession of his braine, and presently drawes thither furies, wraths, rages, and vengeances, so that neyther bloud, nor the long respect which Babilas had born him, nor any other consideration able to satis­fie his mind, from whence reason was banished; the rage of passion turmoiles his judgement, hee walkes by no other light but the furies Torches, who like unlucky night-going fires lead him to pre­cipitations, yet did nature play its last part violent­ly obtayning a truce in his spirit, to accoast his bro­ther in a temperate manner, but as soone as he was entred into discourse with him, the trouble of his soule arising, made him vomit out a thousand out­ragious speaches against the perfidie, treason and treachery of Babilas who had so supplanted him in the affection of Parmene, this cloud of words burst [Page 271] out into a thunder of threats, that if hee did not ab­staine from seeing her, reason requiring that hee should yeeld him place, and forbidding him to in­croach upon his Suite; Babilas like a winning gam­ster, whose minde is ever more stayed than the o­thers, who looseth both money and wit, answeres him in a temperate manner, that even before he cast himselfe among the Capuchins, he had as much ac­cesse in the favour of Parmene as he could have wi­shed for to thrust himselfe into his place, but that his respect to him had held him backe.

That the first affection in Parmene had caused the disdaine which had driven him into a Cloyster, that even when he was yet under the Monastique habit, he had refused this good fortune, only in conside­ration of him, which refusall hadbeen the cause of his repeale, that if this be disloyalty he knowes not what loyalty is, that if since his returne whether it were that he illhusbanded the mind of Parmene, or whether this woman changed it, he found himselfe to be more in her favour then before, he wonders to see him attribute unto perfidie the love which this Lady shewes unto him, as if it were in his pow­er to dispose of this womans Will according to his mind, that he takes a wrong course in seeking to force love from this widdow, whose inclinations are free, and whose election cannot be forced, that if shee will not have him, hee looses his time in see­king to get her, and that i [...] this case he was doubly to blame to interdict him the Suite, first because that he too much expresses his envy, in forbidding him to purchase a good, which himself cannot have, secondly undertaking to command him as if hee [Page 272] were his Father or his Master, being that majority putting him in possession of his right made him free f [...]om all subjection, and set him at liberty to take his good fortune wheresoever he could find it, that he is very willing to respect him as his elder, but he will not suffer his eldership to transforme it selfe in to a tyrany which is insupportable, that for his part he should be very glad Parmene would turne her af­fections and should no way envy his brother this good match, if it befel him, and therefore ought he reciprocally not to envy him this good fortune, if she made choice of his person, and would have him for her husband; certainly if there had remayned any sparke of reason in the minde of Prelidian he had lent a more favourable eare unto the speach of Babilas, but when once a soule is possest with fury and jealousie noething is capable to satisfie it but vengeance; resist a bacchant when shee is in her frantick fit (saith that ancient poet) and you will make her but more inraged and furious, oppose banks unto a great torrent of waters and you will make it to swell and bee more terrible, so this an­swer in lieu of appeasing the boyling wrath of Pre­lidian made him beleeve that he was supplanted by treachery, and that his brother by a secret mine had blowne up all his hopes, he once more commands him to retyre from Parmene, and to goe to Mars, or otherwise if he find him neare her, hee threatens to make him feele what an elder brother can doe to a disobedient younger. These tearmes could not the Souldier-like humour of Babilas endure, he can­not frame himselfe to beleeve that the right of el­dership [Page 273] extends it selfe unto soveraignty, and hee who like that King of Athens, thought none greater then himselfe so long as he had a sword by his side, answered his brother with such haughty wordes, that he gave him to understand he was no whit a­fraide of his threates, and that whensoever it should come to deedes, he would make him partaker of halfe the feare.

Hereupon they part and Babilas forsaking his brothers house, where he was wont to make his a bode, went and lodged at afriends house in the Ci­ty: his love linkt to the advancement of his fortune, makes him follow on, and keepe his course to wards the fortunate Ilands of Parmenes favour, hee conti­nues his visits, with daily frequentatiō, which won­derfully increased their flames and ventred so farre as to promise each other Marriage, and that nought but death should separate them, so Babilas is pre­fered before all his competitors, and Prilidian quite cast off, hereupon he wonderfully stomacks this re­pulse, so that he can no longer hold, but the impo­stume must burst, hee had also bin lesse sensible of this affront had it beene done by any but his bro­ther, in fine, he was so rejected by Parmene, that shee had forbade him entrance into her house, yet ceased not he to walk up & down before it, feeding his eies with the sight of the walles, wherein this disdain­full woman was enclosed, and by this meanes hee sees Babilas goe in and out at all houres, with such reverences and congees, as by words cannot bee exprest.

Babilas lookes downe from the top of fortunes [Page 274] wheele, and smiles to see Prelidian stand Sentinell, and watch, whilst he is in Corpes de garde: their lookes which passe from each other, were very sterne, as ligh­tenings presaging some great thunderclap: these were indeed too true presages and fore-runners of a thing so horrible, that I cannot write it without trembling. On a night as Babilas was comming triumphant from the conversation of Parmene, with all the verball assu­rances that he could wish to have of this womans saith (whose ficklenesse being staid, had no more vowes but onely for him) he was met by Prelidian, (who like an angry Lyon watehed at Parmenes gate) and inflamed with despight and jealousie, presently drawes his sword, and comes to runne it through Ba­bilas, who immediately drawes to defend himself, and although he cryed out unto him, brother, what doe ye? and that the other replyed, I will take away the life of a traytor that seekes to rob me, whether it were that Prelidian was blinded with his owne passion, or with the shadow of the night, I know not, but he ran his sword quite through the body of Babilas, and that with such force, that he ranne his owne belly upon the sword of Babilas, and so fell downe starke dead, Babilas likewise fell on the ground in a swoone, with his brothers sword remaining in his body. At the noise of this encounter, people came running forth, and finde this horrible spectacle of the two brothers swimming in their own bloud, the one quite dead, the other having but a small remainder of life: afterwards the sword being drawn out of Babilas his body, he li­ved untill the next morning, but so seeble, and langui­shing, that he could no further come to himselfe a­gaine. [Page 275] A tragicall event caused by the fury of blinde love, which is nothing else but jealousie. It is not mine intent to relate the sundry judgements which passed on this subject; every one construing this action ac­cording to their owne mindes, and laying the fault on which fide they pleased. Now Parmene sees her selfe a widdow of her second marriage ere she had scarce contracted it, and every one casting the blame of this double fratricide on her inconstancy, whereupon she conceived so much horrour thereof in her minde, that she remained as one dismaied and distracted.

THE DOVBLE RAPE.
The tenth Relation.

NOw let a double rape follow a double fratricide, wherein wee shall discover divers chances as delectable and remarkable as can be wished. And out of this mixture of humane actions, by distilling them through the Limbecke of understanding, we shall extract this healthfull water of wisedome, whereof they do drink, who make profit of all occurrences. In one of the Pro­vinces of Gaule, which borders upon the inferiour Germany, Metell, a poor Gentleman, but one of the valiantest of his age, borne on the wings of his cou­rage, rather then upheld by the wealth of his fortune, raised his affections unto Aldegond, daughter to a Lord of note in the same Province: unto this house he [Page 277] had successe because of his valour, and was there held in the same good opinion which he had purchast un­to himselfe over all the Country: besides, he had ay­ded Philapian, father of Aldegonde, both in publicke warre, and in private quarrels, where he ever made it appeare, that his couragious minde was worthy of a farre better fortune. Well, he insinuated himselfe into the favour of this Gentle woman, by such waies as do commonly breed good will; humility in his carriage, modesty in his actions, respect in his speeches, sighes, fannes of his flame testified his ardour, and his teares the torments which he felt betwixt the violent moti­ons of his desires, and the smalnesse of his meanes. O what paine endure they, whose pouerty sur mounteth their magnanimity? neverthelesse his heart being so well seated, as to dare aspire unto a match whereto he could not attaine by all likelihood of humane capaci­ty, but fortune was so favourable to him, that Alde­gonde rather casting her eyes on a man wanting riches, then on riches wanting a man, setled them on Metell, a person so compleat, that it seemed all valiantnesse to be gathered together onely in his heart, and all the graces on his face, besides, he had so fine a wit, and so charming a conversation, principally among women, that he seemed to be born but onely to shake the con­stancy of the most stayed. He whose thoughts were onely upon the meanes to become pleasing to Alde­gonde, fonnd them so well, that there was no place in the heart of this Maid, but was filled with the Idea of his perfections, in this mutuall correspondency, they fed themselves with desires, and their words passed e­ven unto promises, but when they began to reflect [Page 278] upon the invincible obstacles of the contradiction of Philapian, and others of the kindred who would ne­ver consent unto this match: they endured unspeake­able sorrowes which cannot be conceived but by those who are in the like anguish: those hurts are most sensible, that happen unto the tendrest parts of the body, and those wounds, that is to say, those paines that be in the tenderest faculties of the soule, which are the affections, are not they the sharpest? whilst these lovers seed on sorrow and teares, (an oyle which maintaines their fire) and the more they endure, the more are they constrained to hide their torment. Ima­gine what havocke this close kept secret flame made in their breasts, being it is most certain that silent sor­row, even as an enclosed ardour, doth continually augment and encrease. If Philapian had but never so little perceived that Metell had been so foole-hardy, as to have raised his thoughts towards his daughter, or if he had had the least suspition that Aldegond had bowed downe her minde so low as this Gentleman: doubtlesse hee would soone have made an end of the businesse: a banishment for ever must have deprived Metell of a sight dearer to him then the day, and for which alone he preserved his affections, and yet to dye through a hidden languishment, without hope of re­medy, was a thing whereunto these yong spirits could hardly frame themselves, for who can hide quicke coales in his bosome, and not be forced to dis­cover them, but as they are in this state like a ship at sea wanting wi [...]de, and so becalmed, that it cannot goe either backward or forward, they finde no better remedy then pa [...]ience, and by a sweet and gentle con­versation, [Page 279] they moderate the violence of their wishes, but the world is a Sea which remaines not long quiet, and here comes a boysterous blast that will trouble that little calme which they have. Epolon an old Lord os the same Province, whose warlike humour could not long be at rost, had beene to seek the theater of Mars amongst the rebels of the Belgicke Provinces, and weary of this exercise, some what ill befitting his age, which then required nought save good cheere, and tranquility, he came backe unto his owne house, where he was in great ease and magnificence, by rea­son of his large possessions. This man had been some few yeares a widdower, and had children which might seeme to oblige him not to enter any more into marriage, but single life agreed not with his inclinati­on, which was no lesse amorous then martiall, where­of here is a sufficient testimony. Some little time be­fore his voyage into Holland, he was ensnared by the beauty of Barsim [...]e a yong widdow, who flattered by the ambitious desire of being a great Lady, had given eare unto this old mans suit, which began three mo­neths after the death of her husband, even when shee was yet in her great mourning. Epolon pressed by the heat of his affection, like dry straw, which is as soon consumed as kindled, desired to have this marriage forth with solemnized, but Barsimee retained by a cer­taine shamefastnesse, and by the consideration of pub­licke decency, would by no meanes yeeld to marry before the yeare of her mourning was expired; but the old man could not suffer so long delay, and Barsimee was also unwilling to loose so good a fortune, at length her foolish imagination dictated unto her a meanes to [Page 280] accord these contrarieties, which was to permit unto Epolon what he desired upon a promise which hee made unto her to marry her as soone as the yeare of mourning was consumed. Truely in this occasion she shewed but little discretion, in not foreseeing that this restlesse heat of the old man would presently be quen­ched by enjoying, and that being powerfull as he was, It would be very difficult for her to constraine him to hold his bargaine, the souldierly humour being com­monly bruitish and capricious. The good mans appe­ [...]ite was soone satisfied, and his warlike fantasie retur­ning, he went into Holland, as well to content his minde in warre, as to rid himselfe of this widdow, whose facility and ambition caused her since to be de­spised and mocked: a faire looking-glasse for foolish i [...]considerate women, who venture their honour (which should be dearer to them then their life, since life without honour is a living death) upon the vaine promise or oath of a lover. Well, Epolon returns from his military affaires, but no more remembring Barsi­mee then the sinnes of his youth, and no sooner saw he Aldegond in a company wherein hee also was, but he felt himselfe taken with her beauty, and so stung to the quicke, that his life seemed to depend in that object, but he was not alone wounded by that dart, for Tharsis a Gentleman of that neighbour-hood, fa­voured by a wealthy fortune, advantageous enough to aspire unto the conquest of Aldegond, had wholly set his affections on this M [...]id: he was also an inti­mate friend of Victor, brother to this Gentlewoman, who passionately desired to have him for his brother in law, and had wrought the matter, that he had cau­sed [Page 281] Philapian to like thereof, but as the greater light dimmes the lesser, so as soone as Epolon appeared in the lists, whose quality and wealth farre surpassed those of Tharsis: and the golden rule by which all things are measured, made Philapian prefer him before yong Tharsis, whereupon the [...]ment is soone made between Epolon and the [...] of Aldegond, because this amorous old man yeel [...]ed to all conditi­ons whatsoever he propounded. Philapian hereupon speakes to his daughter of this businesse, who assures him that Tharsis and Epolon are alike indifferent to her, and when her father would have excused the age of Epolon, thereby to make her swallow the bitternesse os this pill, by guilding it over with the considerati­on of so great wealth. Sir, said Aldegond, the youth of Tharsis doth not tempt me, nor the age of Epolon distast me, I will let you treat according to your plea­sure, with either of them both which you shall best like. The father taking this for a perfect obedience in his daughter, praised her much for shewing her selfe so tractable, but he found afterwards how this sexe can so well faine, that what is in their lips, is com­monly very farre from their heart. Now Tharsis see­ing himselfe cast off by Philapian, went presently unto his deare friend Victor, who being vext that his fa­ther should breake his word, and that an old man charged with children, should enjoy his sister, yeelded unto the desire of Tharsis, which was to steale her a­way, making no question but he should be able to make his peace when the action was done, and could not be irrevocated, being it was grounded on a com­mission given him by Philapian, to be a sutor to Alde­gond, [Page 282] but whilst they prepare themselves for this de­signe, let ut look backe to another Mine that is in dig­ging. The widow Barsimee having intelligence of the marriage that was intended to be betweene her perfi­deous Epolon, and faire Aldegond, went on a day to this Gentlewoman, and having first obtained liberty of telling her some matters of consequence in private, she freely declared unto her under the protestations of secrecy, all that had passed betwixt Epolon and her selfe, upon the promise of marriage which she likewise shewed her. Aldegond (who desired nothing so much as to meet with some lawfull occasion whereby to breake off the propositions of marriage, as well of Epolon, as of Tharsis, by reason of her deare Metell, to whom she intended to prove constant) counselled Bar­simee to make an opposition by vertue of Epolons pro­mise: but this widdow who feared the formalities of justice, and the credit of Epolon, could not resolve with her selfe to doe that, but she requested Aldegond to assist her in the execution of a deceit both good and laudable, for it should tend to justice, and end in mar­riage. It is reported said she, that Epolon desires to marry you privately by night, without any shew or preparation. I doe therefore intreat you to put me in your place, and let me goe to Church in stead of you, and there in presence of all the assistants, I will shew him his promise, and oblige him to marry me. This was in the winter season, when the nights are at the longest; and the Church wherin this marriage should be celebrated, was reasonable farre from Philapians Castle. Aldegond consents very willingly to Barsimee, whom she promises to receive into her closet some [Page 283] dayes before the time, and hereupon she frames an other designe, which she puts in execution with her deare Metel. Mean while Victor and Tharsis (whose braines were not idle) make an enterprise no lesse couragious, and that was to steale Aldegond on the way, as she should be led from the Castle to the Church: which thing they hoped with ease to ac­complish, assisted by the darknesse of the night, and assuring themselves to dispose all things to their own advantage.

This night (so much desired by Epolon) beeing come, Aldegond entreats Epolon and her father to go before and stay for her at the Church, whilest she would make her selfe ready and presently take Coach after them with her mother. Hereupon shee goes into her closet, and having dressed Barsimee in her cloathes, this Widow masked and covered with a great scarfe because of the night ayre, went onwards to the Church with Philapians wife, who tooke her to be her daughter. Meane while Alde­gond losing no time, gets up on horses which Metel had caused to be in readinesse at the garden gate, and thus rid away with her beloved, who soone set her on the territories of Flanders, at the same in­stant, and which is to be admired at, without ha­ving any intelligence. Tharsis was in ambuscado in the way betweene the castle and the Church, who comes presently with his men and incompasses the Coach, and takes Barsimee, thinking it had been Al­degond. Meane time Victor playing the good sonne and the loving brother, was at the Church with E­polon and Philapian, whom he held in discourse, and [Page 284] seemed to be amazed, when his mother entred in crying like a mad woman, that her daughter was carried away from her by force. What should they doe? or whether should they goe in the darke? At last they returned backe to the Castle, and there spent away the rest of the night in meditating on all these confusions.

Day being come, whilst Epolon and Philapian like mad men know not what order to give to this disor­der, nor which way to turne them in the finding out of their lost childe, let us a little see the amazement of Tharsis; who beeing arrived some three long leagues from the place where hee committed this rape, and entred into a Castle belonging to one of his friends, which he had chosen as fittest for his re­treat, found Barsimee in his hands in stead of Alde­gond.

This woman no lesse affrighted than hee, and be­ing not able to imagine from whence this blast of whirle-winde should come, which had borne her away from the Port whereunto she tended, in fine having gathered her spirits together, and under­stood a part of the stratagem by Tharsis, shee freely discovered unto him her designe, and in what man­ner she happened into his power; and without dis­closing any thing of the private matters that had past betwixt Epolon and her selfe, shee shewed him the promise of marriage which he had made her, and the which she intended to have shewne in the face of the Church, if she had arrived there as her purpose was. Tharsis accounted himselfe fortunate in his mis-fortune, having at least wise met with so [Page 285] just a cause to hinder the marriage of Epolon and Aldegond: and enquiring where Philapians daughter was, Barsimee answered, When she had drest me in her apparell shee lockt her selfe up in her Closet, where I beleeve shee attends the issue of my action. Tharsis knowing that the right remedy for the sting of a Scorpion, is presently to crush him in pieces up­on the wound he hath made, resolves to returne in­stantly with Barsimee to Epolon; so he puts her in a Coach, and having promised her all the assistance that a Knight owes unto an afflicted Lady, they ar­rive at Philapians Castle, which they finde full of trouble and discontent. Barsimee having Aldegonds cloathes on, and her face maskt, was presently taken for the daughter of the house; but as soone as shee came into the presence of Philapian, and Epolon ta­king off her maske, her face made her knowne not to bee Aldegond; the amazement was so generall, that all present, beleeved themselves to be in an inchanted Castle, and that what they saw was only illusions. Then Barsimee, growne bold by the extre­mity whereunto she saw her selfe reduced, holding Epolons promise of marriage in her hand, related from poynt to poynt the stratagem which shee had devised with Aldegond, yet shame retained her from declaring what Epolon had enjoyed. Tharsis on his side to justifie his action, excused himself by the ex­cessive love he bare to Aldegond, and on the permis­sion which was given him to be a suiter unto her before Epolon ever saw her. Further protesting that he brought backe Barsimee as entire as he had taken her away, and that he held her to bee a very honest [Page 286] and worthy gentlewoman. At these words Epolon began to laugh, and intending to mocke both him and poore Barsimee, said, It was a thing hard to bee beleeved, that he should have so faire a gentlewo­man in his power al night, without giving her some proofes of his valour, and that for his part were shee his wife, he would not deliver her into the keeping of such a gentleman as Tharsis was without very strong security.

Tharsis (who swore seriously and truly) grew an­gry at the old mans flouts, and redoubling his pro­testations, yet more solemnly than at the first, that Barsimee had been no otherwise used by him, than with all manner of honesty and respect, and that she was too wise to suffer her selfe to be surpri­sed. The conquest of her (replied the scoffer Epo­lon) were more difficult for young men than for old, and shee had been lesse favourable to you than to mee, who have not found her so untractable. These words highly offended Tharsis, who finding himselfe obliged to defend the honour of this lady, gave him this reply, Sir you spit upon your owne face, and this Lady being your owne true wife, ac­cording to the promise which you have made her thereof; you dishonour your selfe in touching her credit. She is not my wife, sayd Epolon, neither is her honour mine, yet if she had been wise, it may be I might have kept my promise, but I wil have none of your leavings; if you like her take her, I grutch you not my part. These outragious speeches con­strained Tharsis to reply in this manner; She is nei­therthy leavings nor mine, but deserves a better [Page 286] then thou art, and if thou wert wise thou wouldst keepe thy word; never any honest man broke it, nor never any man of honour wronged a gentlewoman so cruelly. The protection which I owe her as a Knight, and the just pretention I have to Aldegond, makes me wish to see thee and I together with our swords in hand, that I might wash the honour off the one in thy bloud, and make thee with the losse of thy life lose the hope of the other, and it shall be when and where thou wilt that we shall meet. Fu­rious Epolon could not heare out the end of this dis­course, without laying hand on his weapon. Tharsis failed not to reply in the same accent, and before Philapian and Victor could separate them, Tharsis had runne the old man into the body: presently they were parted but it was too late, for Epolon had re­ceived a wound which left him but one dayes life. Victor being an intimate friend to Tharsis, helpt him away; who knowing he could never get his pardon, fled into Germany, where he died in the Emperours Army.

Epolon lived untill the next day, Heaven having lent him so much time as to call him to account, and to make satisfaction for the wrong he had don. Bar­simee, to repaire her honour he gave her his land in signe of marriage, but such a marriage whereof death soone unloosed the bond.

The same day it was assuredly known that Alde­gond rather followed Metel, than that he had stollen her; and that if it were a Rape, it was done by her consent. Philapian overcome with so many disor­ders, whether of griefe or of an apoplexy (which [Page 288] as was thought seized on him) dyed suddenly. Not long after Metel having married Aldegond in Germa­ny, brought all to a good passe again, and wrought his peace with the mother, who tenderly loved her daughter, and disswaded her sonne Victor from at­tempting to right these affronts by the force of Armes.

Here the folly of Barsimee and the disloyaltie of Epolon, serve to elevate or to make the loyalty and constancy of Metel and Aldegond shew the fairer. In briefe, the variety of accidents which happened in this rape, doe shew unto a good judgement the sun­dry lusters of good and evill, even as the necke of a Dove being exposed before the beams of the Sun, doth shew in its feathers sundry transparences.

THE IVST RECOM­PENCE.
The eleventh Relation.

ALthough the Maxime of this wicked world be contrary, yet such is the beleefe and opinion of the wisest men, that it is the nature and property of a base abject courage, not to be able to suffer a wrong without some evident revenge. The same wise men also teach us, that the greatest courages are the most prone unto acknowledgement; and that it is as difficult for them to endure a good turne without requitall, as for a base minde to put up a wrong without reven­ging it to the uttermost. Which made the Tuscane Poet say, That love doth never dispense with not loving the person that loveth. From thence comes [Page 290] the common saying, love that thou mayst be belo­ved, but with a stronger tone: when a man hath gi­ven all his goods, and all his substance for love, hee still thinks he hath not done so much as hee ought so precious a thing is love, you shall see the effects of this verity in the relation, that I am about to des­cribe.

In Ascoly a city of Poville a Province of the King­dome of Naples, an honest Marchants sonne, whom wee will call Metran, fell in love with a Citizens daughter named Valeria, who bore away the palme of beauty frō al the Maids of that city, now as there was much equality in wealth betweene the parents of both parties, so there hapned yet to be a greater concordance of humours & dispositions, so that the match seemed to bee framed in Heaven, even from their births, but as many accidents happen betwixt the cup and the lip, so these two lovers were like unto those ships which lying at Ankor in the roade, and staying but only for the tide to bring them into the desired haven, see themselves unawares by a wind from the land driven farre into the sea, and in short space at a great distance each from other. The Father of Valeria was much obliged to an Earle that dwelt in the City, whom wee will con­ceale under the name of Armentaire, this Citizen was under the particular Protection of this Noble­man, who on divers occasions had shewed him much assistance, which was the cause that amongst those that the Father of Valeria invited at the be­troathing of his Daughter, he entreated the Earle as his good Lord and Patron to be there, whereun­to [Page 291] Armentaire condescended as willing to honor this Citizen whom he entirely loved, the assembly was come together with much pompe and magnifi­cence, and there Metran promised unto Valeria, and Valeria unto Metrau to take each other in the face of the Church, on the day that it should bee agreed upon betwixt their parents: now wanted nothing but only to proceed upon the solemnities and con­summation of this Marriage, the tearme of few dayes was prescribed to prepare and end it, the content of these parties had exceeded, had not the adjourning of the day (wherein they should have beene united) put water into their wine, and mo­derated their joy by ensuing troubles, for here comes an unexpected tempest to crosse their quiet navigation, whether it were that Valeria had added unto her natural beauty the art of ornaments, which made her exceed all the company, or whether the Earles eyes were more open that day then they were formerly, so it fell out that the flash of this faire face dazled him so that hee lost both judge­ment and knowledge of himselfe, he was very anci­ent, and beside extreamely troubled with the Gout, whether it were that he had it as inheritance, or that it proceeded from his former intemperancies, all this ought to have dispensed him from inrouling himselfe under the Standards of Cupid, where the old and gouty are scarce welcome, old fooles are reckoned amongst things unfit for use▪ of which Ar­mentaire shewes himselfe to bee one by the foolish part hee playes. After hee had made a weake resi­stance unto the assault, made by this innocent beau­ty, [Page 292] he yeelds, resolving to cure himselfe of this im­portunate desire by Marriage, hereupon hee goes forthwith to Bonit the Father of this faire conque­resse, and weeping like a chlid represents his griefe unto him, in such a manner that this good Citizen his ancient freind tooke pitty thereof, & counted it a great honour and grace that hee should request to have his daughter in marriage, but my Lord (said he) you know shee is betrothed to another, and this promise cannot bee broke but by the consent of both parties. I shall (replyed the Earle) deale so bountifully with Metran that in obliging mee hee shallbe the better all the dayes of his life, and I will so well provide for your daughter that both she and you, yea and all yours shall bee glad thereof. This newes was carried by Bonit to Metran who poore young man receaved it as the sentence of his death, and indeed to rende so strong a love from his heart was no lesse then to teare his soule from his body, hee cannot answer but with teares like to the Stag when hee stands at a bay, (Bonit pressing him to an answer) hee fell presently in a swoune shewing thereby that hee could not grant so hard a request but by death, here pitty gave new assaults to the soule of his Father, and truly hee had beene very barbarous if hee had not beene touched with com­passion seeing his daughter so extremly beloved of him whom he had chosen to be his son in law, then goes he to his daughter to try her mind, who had no other answer but sighs and sobs; at last amongst many interruptions hee learned that her will was in the hands of Metran, and that having given herselfe [Page 293] unto him shee could noe more dispose of herselfe, her Father having left her shee opened the [...]dgat [...] of her teares, tore her haire, & had almost spoyled that faire complexion which nature had set on her face; so much did she hate that beauty which seemed pleasing to any other then Metran [...] eies▪ then Bonit returns to this yong man who having with incredi­ble convulsions of mind digested the bitter thought of the ruine of his love which he saw to be evident▪ tooke at last a couragious resolution, and such an one as taken contrary to the true intent may seeme blame-worthy, but understood aright shall appeare excellent. Philosophers distinguish betweene loues & say that that which is perfect hath no other end but the good of the person beloved, and that which is imperfect tends to thee utility of the person that loveth. Metran would shew the perfectiō of his love to his deare Valeria, and seeing the Marriage so evi­dently advantageous for her, freely tooke the bit out of his owne mouth to put it into Armentaires, this was the sum of the answere he made to Bonit, who tenderly imbraced him and mixing their teares to­gether hee promised ever to account him as much the raiser of his house as the Earle, being that here­in Armentaire sought nothing but his owne con­tent, and on the contrary, Metran deprived himselfe of his, only in consideration of Valerias good▪ this newes was presently carried by Bonit to his daughter who incredulous desires to here it from her beloveds owne mouth, whereupon Metran be­ing come into the presence of Valeria could hardly endure her lookes which seemed to up [...]raid [...] him with disloyalty so to forsake her and to give [...] [Page 294] over unto another; and before they could speake, both of them fainting, fell to the ground, palenesse seizing on their faces, their lips were forsaken by their naturall colour, and they were thought to be yeelding up their lives, but at length being a little recovered and come to themselves, Metran made it well and sufficiently appeare unto Valeria, that she deceived her selfe in accounting that for basenesse of heart and disloyalty, which was the greatest act of magnanimi­ty that his heart could shew, to renounce its owne proper interests and pleasure in favour of the thing beloved.

Valeria could not at first conceive this subtilty, her soule being united unto the soule of Metran, that shee beleeved death it selfe could not divide them: what, (said she) hath caused thee so easily to forsake me, and so willingly to give mee unto another? Ah Metran, Metran, call you that loving, and perfectly loving? as for my part, I should not onely have preferred you before an Earle, but before a King also, for I esteeme not men for their wealth, and their greatnesse, but for their own proper merits. Deare Valeria (replyed Me­tran) the affection I beare you, being as strong at death, workes now in mee the same effect, since it se­perates me from you: my vehement desire of your greatnesse, makes mee deprive my selfe of the greatest contentment that I could have wished, and without which my life hence forward shall be but a death: live then great, honoured, happy, rich, most deare Vale­ria, and by marrying with Armentaire, become the glory of your kindred, whilst I goe miserable, poore, unhappy, and forlorne Metran spinning out the re­mainder [Page 295] of my sad dayes amongst the lovers of soli­tude: much adoe they had to plucke these lovers from each others presence: a heart as hard as Adamant, could not but have relented at so hard a separation.

The words of betrothing being rendred backe, the very next morrow, Valeria is promised to Armentaire, who in few dayes makes her a Countesse, and withall becomes so idolatrous of her, that both his eyes were not enough for him to view her withall; meane while Metran, who could rather have dyed, then indured to see his Mistresse in the armes of another, went his way wandring through Italy for the space of some few yeares, often changing place, but never heart nor af­fection. Armentarie had but one sonne, and hee was married, but had no childe, and that was partly the cause why the Earle did marry againe to get issue, but age and the gowt opposed themselves to his desire.

Moreover, it was generally reported that hee was so charmed by the love of a Courtezan, that he dis­dained his lawfull wife: but as the kinde of bad wo­men resemble the materia prima, which is never satis­fied with formes, what expence soever Hilaire was at for to stay the covetousnesse of this creature, she still flew out, and daily bred new distractions in his brain, so that on a time being throughly vexed at her, he u­sed her like a woman of her trade, and marked her face with the slash of a sharpe Rasor, which they there call Coustillade. This lewd creature seeing her selfe de­prived of that little beauty which made her to be e­steemed, grew so desperate, that she caused Halaire to be murthered by another of her lovers, with whom she imbarked, and got into the Venetian Territories, [Page 296] a receptacle for such sort of wares. This his sonnes death unmeasurably afflicted the Earle, seeing himself deprived of heires, and out of all hope of having any children; yet the love he bare to his young wife, was a charme to all his griefes. But indeed this praise must onely be attributed to the vertuous discretion and carriage of Valeria, that shee could so well frame her­selfe to his humours, and so win his heart, that he had been insensible if hee had not acknowledged her re­spects: the gowt by little and little wasting the Earles naturall vigour, brought him to the threshold of his [...]om be, and what could he then doe better in the ac­knowledgement of the service received from his pru­dent mate, then to make her his heir? (as he did by his solemne will and testament) and after that he went the way of all flesh, which is the way to the grave: so long as he lived, Valeria strove all that shee might a­gainst the Ideas of her first love which she had borne to Metran: but when death had broken her bands, and set her at liberty to make her owne choyce, even then resumed she her first flames, and resolved to shew Metran an example of her constancy and loyalty: hereupon she sends to the father of this young man, and prayes him to acquaint his sonne with the death of the Earle, and to cause him to returne home again, with assurance, that she would communicate some­thing unto him that should give him content.

Metran was then at Genues, labouring to divert his melancholy amongst so many stately Palaces and de­lights wherewith this beautifull coast of Liguria doth so abound; but neither the sweetnesse of this ayre where Spring lasts all the yeare, nor so much wealth [Page 297] and magnificence, wherein this opulent City tri­umphs, were not charmes strong enough to sweeten his sorrow, he continually catries the shaft about him that hurtes him, but this newes of the Earles death was a forcible dittany to drive this arrow out of the wound, and hee beganne to hope well of his fortune, this obstacle being taken away, forthwith he returnes to Ascoli, where hee was so courteously welcommed by Valeria, that he well perceived ho­nours had not changed manners in this woman, and that her love had beene true, seeing it was so con­stant, she then tells Metran, that because he so gene­rously yeelded her to another, whereby shee be­came a rich Countesse, she would therefore render him the like, by a mutuall & reciprocall friendship which was to make him partaker of her fortune, hereupon shee promises to marry him, after the yeare of mourning should bee expired because shee would not infringe the lawes and customes of civill decency; at the end of which tearme, shee perfor­med her promise, and as Metron by going away had made Valeria a Countesse, so she by recalling him had made him an Earle, preferring him by a just re­compence before so many suitors, who profered to augment her riches and honours.

THE VVEAKE CONIECTVRE.
The Twelfth Relation.

FOolish is the Gamster that on aweake Card, venters all hee is worth, and more foolish hee who on a weake conjecture, blindly hazardeth his life, as we shall see in this Relation, but what if love be strong as death, jealousie is a rage as horrid as hell, and incessantly and without hope torments those that are in its flames, so jealousie drives into furie and despaire those whom it over takes with violence at foote of those high mountaines which take their names from the faire Pyrenea and which serve as abarrica­do to France against the arrogance of Spaniards, a-Gentleman one whom we will conceale under the name of Fabian, had a daughter that was one of the fairest of the countrey, she was the cause of envy in many of her sex, and of desire in many Suitors, and [Page 299] also of a jealousie which will give occasion unto the murthers, wherewith this tragicall relation shall be bloudied: of all those that loved her and sought to have her, Iule, Audifax, and Adiute, were struc­ken most to the quicke, at least wise if by the effects we will penetrate unto the force of the cause, Iu­les fortune was inferiour unto Eleusipes, but yet was the best beloved, Adiute was a party equall and su­table unto her, but Audifax as much exceeded these two in birth and meanes, as a cipres tree exceeds lit­tle bushes in height; Fabian who according to the common desire of parents hath nothing so much in heart as to see his daughter richly and honourably provided for, wishes nothing more then to see her great by matching with Audifax; the very humour of that Nation being neare enough neighbouring to the Spaniard participats in the vanity which raig­neth universally beyond the Pyreneans, it had been good, and had not raised so many troubles, if these three competitors hoping to come all at one time, this Father had made choise of the greatest to be­stow his daughter on: but the diversitie of times making diversitie of pretenders, each of them had his particuler reasons, not to yeeld his suit unto any, Iule the first in date had so possessed the affections of Eleusipe that there was no place left therein to re­ceive neyther the merits of Adiute, nor yet the greatnes of Audifax, and this love was not growne without the approbation of parrents, for Fabian had beene willing that Iule should bee sutor to his daughter, & his wife was so content therewith that shee favored him above all others, which was no [Page 300] small prop unto Iule's cause: Adiute came since to wooe, borne thereunto by his owne proper merit, and besides by a great man who had great power over Fabian.

Audifax, the first in greatnesse and the last in ime, came with such asplendour, as Fabians eyes [...]were so dazeled thereby, that he forgot all the per­missions which he had given, and all the promises which he had made unto others. These breaches of word were bad examples in a gentleman, and from thence came the original of all debates: for Audifax of a lofty and jealous humour, beeing not able to suffer that the others should approch her whom he wooed, caused Fabian to dismisse them. But he not able to get his daughter to doe the like, by reason of the affection she bore to Iule, forged some cold excuses, wherewith as with false coyn he sought to pay these two gentlemen.

The love they bore to the daughter, and the qua­lity of the father of their common mistresse, which they respected in Fabian, stayed them from quarrel­ling with him, & each retyred without any stir, in­tending not to give over their designe, but to thwar [...] the desires of Audifax as much as possible they could.

Iule, as wee have already sayd, had taken such possession of Fabricies good liking, that shee gave him permission and also opportunity sometimes to see her daughter, whose inclination shee knew to [...]end wholly towards this gentleman. Adde there­unto that the arrogancie of Audifax displeased her extreamely, for already under the name of servant, [Page 301] he usurped the authority of a master, and tooke a command in the house of Fabian as if he had beene in his owne. Besides, he was so jealous of Eleusipe, that he glossed on all her words, on her lookes, on her countenance, and on the smallest of her actions, a torture unsufferable unto this young gentlewo­man, who complained thereof unto her mother, and the mother tooke pitty of her. It was in the depth of Winter, and in that season which covers all the mountaines with snow, and which invites the No­bility of the Countrey to take up their abode in ci­ties. Fabian with his wife and daughter went to passe their Shrovety de in a city neer the princi­pality of Bearn, the three lovers were the helio­trophes or turne-soles whose sun was Eleusipe. Au­difax onely accompanied her openly thither, but the other two arrived in the town by several waies. The time invited to feasts, to good cheere, to con­versations, to dancing, maskings and mummings, every day some assemblie was made, where E­leusipe with her brightnesse dimmed the lustre of those beauties which were in the City. Iule and Ad­iute left no occasion of seeing her, which much vex­ed Audifax, but he could not remedy it, because they saw her not in Fabians house, but in such pla­cesas where hee could not forbid them to come. Some affaires forced Adiute to an absence for some few dayes: during which time Iule invented a mask in favour of Eleusipe, and caused her to be invited to a friends house of his, where being masked hee might entertaine her at will. Among those whom he entreated to be maskers with him, was one Flu­riel [Page 302] young man, who danced exceeding well, and had formerly beene page to Adiute; the Masque goes on, it is not for me to relate the invention, it sufficeth for my history to say that it was don with the admiration of all the spectators, although they were ignorant both who was the principall author, and for whom it was made: so secret had Iule been in his enterprise. Audifax was there present, being come in that company where he knew Eleusipe was to be. In masques the liberty of Masquers is very great by reason of their disguise, they may as long as they please entertain with discourse those whom they chuse out, and it were a grosse incivility to in­terrupt them in their conversation, they beeing not bound so much as to answer any one that speaks to them, except they please, that so they may not bee knowne by their speech. The masque being ended, Iule made use of the priviledge, and having taken E­leusipe aside, talked with her in secret so long, till jealous Audifax was offended thereat. Hee had stil kept both his eies upon the actions of this Masquer, who was talking to Eleusipe with the countenance of a passionate man; which put Audifax into a fume, and for to breake off their discourse he bethinkes himself to pray Eleusipe to dance: she excuseth her­selfe, in that she cannot without the Masquers per­mission, who seemed to be unwilling. This provo­ked Audifax, and was the cause that thrusting the Masquer, and calling him importunate man, would have taken Eleusipe from him, the masquer counter­feiting his speech▪ sayd that hee made use of the maskes lawes without any importunity, but that he [Page 303] for his part did violate them with as much indiscre­tion as incivility.

Audifax stung with these words, and more yet by his jealousie, presently layd hand on his sword; but Iule was not without defence, for he made a Pi­stol ring in his eare, which had shot him through the head, had he not stopped it. The other Mas­quers bestirred themselves likewise, so that there was an horrible confusion. Iule was in the house of his friend, who helpt him at need: Audifax was slightly hurt, but evill fortune would, that as the Masquers were retyring, poore Fleurid got a thrust with a sword in the backe, whereby he fell dead on the staires. Being unmaskt and knowne, Audifax made no doubt but that this maske had been made by Adiute, in consideration of Eleusipe: The reason of this conjecture was, that Fluriel had beene his Page, and that commonly he had made use of him when he would make any masque. The absence of Adiute since some dayes shewed the contrary, but the jealousie of Audifax made him beleeve that it was but feigned, and that it was so given out, the better to cover the mumming. Thereupon Audifax resolved to challenge Adiute, who beeing returned to towne, saw himselfe saluted by a letter of defi­ance, which marked him out the houre and the place where he should come with a second to make satisfaction for the affront which Audifax pretended to have received from him. Adiute, who would wil­lingly have payd deare for a good cause of quarrel against Audifax, receiveth this challenge with a free courage, asking no better than to decide by combat [Page 304] which of them should have Eleusipe. Further, being netled by the death of his Page, he resolves to fight both for his Love and for his revenge, two strong spurres to animate a spirit. Hee goes into the field with a second, where before they went to it he pro­tests by great oathes unto Audifax, that hee had not made the masque, but that he was two dayes jour­ney from thence when it was made: that he knew not what satisfaction Audifax would draw from a wrong that was not done by him: that he had cou­rage enough to accoast Eleusipe openly without hi­ding himselfe under a masque. This (replied Au­difax) is the language of a coward, who to avoyd strokes frames frivolous excuses: wee are not come hither to stand and doe nothing, I am but too cer­taine that it was thee who didst make the Masque, & entertain my mistres, notwithstanding that thou wert forbidden so to do: the death of thy page hath been the beginning, and thine shall bee the end of my revenge, trifle not out time thus, wee must fight.

The wrong thou even now didst mee (replied Adiute) in giving me the name of coward, which belongeth not unto me, would make me lose a thou­sand lives rather than want the washing of its spot in thy bloud: the bloud of my page killed treache­rously askes this vengeance, the love of my mistres commands me to punish thy temerity, and my own honour obliges me to make thee lie. This said, they went to it, and it appeared in three bouts, that the great [...]st talkers are not the greatest fencers, because that Adiute extraordinarily provoked, pressed Audi­fax [Page 305] so lively and strongly, that he never made thrust but hit, so that without having the least hurt him­selfe, he layd him on the ground at the third, ma­king his soule passe out at a large wound, and pre­sently goes to helpe his second, who had reduced his man to bad tearmes. They made him yeeld up his weapons, and so left him in the field, from whence being brought backe he died the next day; Adiutes Second having but a flight wound in the arme.

Audifax was of so great parentage, that after this it behooved Adiute to take flight towards the Pyre­nean mountaines, and to seeke shelter in the territo­ries of Spaine, from the justice of France, although he went unto this duell being challenged, and had been provoked against reason, and unmeasurably wronged in the field, and that his act was rather a defence of his honour and his life, than an assault: yet the power of Audifax parents, made him feele the rigor of the edicts, which oft times falls rather on the least fortunate, than on the most culpable: he was be headed in efsigie, his goods were confiscate, and he was constrained to change his native country for a strange land.

Thus is Iule rid of both his Rivals, and might have sayd as the Raven in the Fable, who seeing the wolfe and the dog fight, on which side soever the victory fals, the profit shall be myne: hee had a new permission to be a suiter to Eleusipe, whome hee had much a doe to comfort on the losse of Audifax and Adjute, and beeing favoured by the mother of this gentlewoman, who without intermission pres­sed [Page 306] Fabian to conclude this marriage: it was in fine resolved, and ended, to the contents of the parties. Iule gathering the harvest of what the others had sowne in their bloud. Thus rowles the event of hu­mane things, and thus the harme of some is the pro­fit of others, meane time we will principally observe in this relation, the folly and blindnesse of Audifax, who on a weake conjecture, on a thought ill cleared, put his life to the hazard of a duell, his extravagancy not to admit the just satisfaction, which the true ex­cuse of Adiute presented him, his rashnesse and his ar­rogancy having bin the two wings of waxe, which melting, hastned him unto the grave: certainly this Oracle cannot lye, which saies, who loves danger, shall perish therein.

THE VANQVISHED Mans Trophy.
The thirteenth Relation.

LEt us continue this matter of Du­els, whose extravagancy is so great, both in form and in cause, that I cannot better compare it, then to the Labyrinth of Crete, and to its Mynotaure: it is a La­byrinth where mens spirits twirle about and stray into acts so unreasonable, that they end in folly; it is a minotaure, for there are none but men beasts who uphold this bruitishnesse: for to doe their selves justice, to make themselves Iudges in their owne cause, is a maxime which strikes at all the rules of equity, and yet is it the fundamentall faith of all Duels, therefore how just soever the cause appear, it may be called unjust justice, and we shall in this re­lation see this unjust justice chastised by a just inju­stice, [Page 308] it being so permitted to punish the pride of an insolent man, and make the vanquished beare away for a Trophey, the cause of the combat, and the fruit of the victory, you may well thinke it is not many parts of France are so unfortunately fertill in these sin­gle combats, that we will goe to seeke this history; Champagne was the theater thereof, by the occasion which I am going to relate.

An old Knight named Proiect, who had in his time made faire proofes of his valour, but having fol­lowed a side which was not so much for his credit as it might have beene, his services were but ill acknow­ledged, hee then withdrew himselfe into his owne house, where all he could doe, was to make the Ser­pents head joyne to the tayle, I meane, make the first day of the yeare touch the last without borrowing, then could he not hoord up much, neither could hee forgoe any part of his land without much inconve­niency, a weake body being very sensible of the least shocke. His sonnes went to warres, thereby to aug­ment their fortunes, and the fortunes of three daugh­ters which he had; two of them were put into Mona­steries, the eldest and the yongest, the middlemost cal­led Callinice, which was likeliest to be put off, remai­ned in the world to expect when her beauty, rather then her fathers money would purchase her a hus­band: she was perfectly faire, and besides, so vertu­ous and modest, that if deserving were having a good match, she had been the best provided; but how beautifull soever a Maid be, some would have her for a Mistresse, that would feare to take her for his wife, if she brings not wherewithall to make the pot boyle. [Page 309] She had many complementors and admirers, few su­tors; thus passed she her time in long attendance, sup­ported by small hope; I say passed her time, beeause already the age of twenty and two yeares, put her in the number of tall, if not of ancient Maids, although she were in the prime of a beauty, mature, and com­pleat, which appeared with a great brightnesse; this iustre hit into the eyes of Thyrse, a Gentleman of for­ty, or it may be more yeares of age, who had done well in the Armies where he had beene a Comman­der, and had had good issue in many good occasions: he was of these discreet men, who feare the yoke of marriage, and whose reflecting spirits finde fault in all things. Atlast, the gracefull carriage of Callinice surprised his prudence, he was touched with the ver­tue of her beauty, and with the beauty of her vertue, the age, stature, discretion, conversation, and all, liked him in this Maid; and if he be to make shipwracke of his liberty, it must be at this faire rocke. He was ac­commodated with a sufficient forrune, without expe­cting much from a wise, and this goes well for Calli­nice, who hath so little, that this little is as nothing, at least wise our wary Thyrse shall not sell away his power or mastery, being he shall not haue a great por­tion, nor can his wife cast much in his teeth, seeing she brings him not much wealth. Vpon this resoluti­on he imbarks himselfe in this sute, where he was re­ceived with open armes. Dry ground doth not so much desire raine or dew, as Proiect wished to see his daughter provided for; but to see so advantageous a match for her as Thyrse, that is it which transports him with joy, because it surpassed his desire and his [Page 310] hope, and besides, he beleeves this sonne in law may helpe him in his need; all these interests joyned toge­ther, with the age of his daughter, and his own which prest him, cause the conclusion to be soone made, and the agreements soone past: before our prudent lover imbarked himselfe, he had taken leisure to know the humour of the minde, and had found it so to his li­king, that he knew not which hee loved most in her, either the minde or the body, and indeed Callinice, who betweene the wisedome and the vertue of Thyrse saw her fortune evident in this match, so discreetly mannaged her behaviour, that she charmed him quite, but it was by the good and right charmes of me [...]ke­nesse and honesty: never was the like correspondency, and Thyrse had reason to beleeve that he had met with a match, whereof he might hope for a marriage without thornes: but here comes some that will prick him to the bloud, & will shew him that in this world, Roses are not gathered without hurt: the agreements being made up, there chanced to come into that Country, a yong Gentleman of a good house, but a yonger brother, whom we will call Vincent, he new­ly returned from Holland, with his head so full of winde, that in regard hee had been in some sieges and encounters, he thought he had part in all the victories of Grave Maurice; he told many faire tales, he had bin in all places, and by his owne talke he was able to leade an Army, and he had fought so many duels, he ha [...] kild, he had given life; and thus did he giddy e­very ones head with his bravadoes, like unto those stu­dents, who returning from the Vniversities, spit out at their mouth, the superfluities of their memory; and to [Page 311] shew they have studied much, it appeares they have no judgement, and that their learning is rather heaped up, or gathered together confusedly, then well orde­red.

Yet true it is, that this yong Gentleman had cou­rage, but his valour was as yet like unto a green and tart fruit, which time might both have ripened and seasoned: he was a good horse man, and very good at fencing. As soone as he came, hee begun to rowle up and down from house to house, and to visit the neigh­bourhood as the manner is among Gentlemen in the Country: he came to Proiects house without any o­ther designe, then to salute this old Knight, and to render him the devoirs which youth oweth to the auncient, he was there welcommed; and as yong folk delight not much to be among old, because they are too serious and too grave for them: Vincent past on presently to the yong Gentlewoman, where he meets with this beauty of Callinice, which gave him a check, and soone mute-strucken with this lustre, as with a thunder-clap, he remained quite astonished, and hee whose tongue before giddied all companies, became now mute as a fish: all the faculties of his soule being as it were gathered together in his eyes, the more am­ply to contemplate so many wonders, being now in the number of the vanquished, he ceaseth to sing his owne victories: in briefe, being yong and full of ardor, he in an instant becomes a passionate lover, having not the judgement nor the discretion to moderate the flame, and to hide his designe, he made it knowne to Callinice, who so farre rejected him, that he was ther­at wholly amazed, and in truth, this Gentlewoman [Page 312] had bin very ill advised, if being not onely promised, but also ingaged in affection to Thyrse, shee had never so little [...]ent eare to the new complements of this gid­dy bra [...], but he looseth not courage for this repulse, but continues his pursuit, at last, learnes that Thyrses woing having preceded his, had preocupated the minde of Callinice, and that she could not have incli­nation to him, as long as Thyrse was on foot. Iudge a little on the violent humour of this youth, who would have all yeeld to him, faith to be broken, Thyr­se to leave him the place, and all to make way for his desires, who like a furious torrent, cannot suffer banks, yet let us see if he have wherewithall to counter-bal­lance the meanes of Thyrse: no such matter, for a yon­ger brother, and poore withall, are too inseparable qualities. Hee hath nothing but his sword and his hope, which is Alexanders part, and herewith hee would passe for a brave fellow; and because he makes himselfe skilfull, and understanding, hee would have every one thinke hee hath much merit, Proiect had been ill advised if he had given his daughter to this Gallant for to put two poverties together, had not that beene a marriage to have begotten necessity, therefore they make him understand that he looses his labour, that the place is taken, and that he is come too late, and that he shall doe well to retire. Hee that be­leeves that Maids are to be disputed for like the towns of Holland at the sword point, turnes this unjust co­lour against Thyrse, begins to talke ill of him, taxeth his coldnesse with unablenesse, his moderation with pusillanimity, his prudence with cowardize, and be­cause he had some gray hayres on his head, hee cals [Page 313] him old man, a name hard to be borne by one that aspireth to marriage.

Notwithstanding that all these insolencies come to the eares of wise Thyrse, hee dissembles them with prudence, and receives these nips as comming from the hand of a childe, holding himselfe no whit hurt thereby; and casting all the fault thereof on the weak­nesse of age, and force of love, hee sends this tendrell to schoole againe; in fine, this furious youth seeing them prepare for publieke betroathing, and that the marriage was going on, resolves to venture his rest, and without any other cause then for the possession of Callinice, he challenges Thyrse to decyde by the losse of his life, or of his rivals, unto whom the faire Maid should remaine, hee sends him a letter of defi­ance, so outragious, that even snow would have been heat thereby: Thyrse goes unto the place assigned to chasti [...]e the insolency of this novice, and make him feele the strokes of a Master, but outragious fortune, enemy to vertue, is not commonly on the best side. This yong Gallant was so nimble, and could so well handle his weapons, that hee hits Thyrse where hee list, and uses him like a Quintaine-bagge, flowting him as he lards him, sometimes in the armes, some­times in the thighes, at last, weary with paying him in jest, he begins to fall on in earnest, and with such fierce assaults, that Thyrse having two thrusts in the body, fell on the ground, weakened by the losse of his bloud, and was faine to yeeld up his armes, and beg life of this yonker: who for an addition of victory, made him sweare to seeke no more after Callinice, and yeeld up all his pretentions to him. Thyrse having a [Page 314] ponyard held at his throat, was forced also to passe through this extreamity. Hereupon proud Vincent retires, bearing away the bloud, the armes, and the faith of his rivall; could hee have desired a more am­ple victory? Thyrse being carryed home, a Surgeon dressed his wounds, which were not found [...]o be mor­tall, but the griefe and shame to have been subdued by a childe, to have begged life, to have yeelded up his armes, to have renounced the possession of his faire Mistresse, did so torture him, that if hee had not drea­ded eternall torments, he had like another Cato, torne his wounds, and received death by his owne hands; how many times did hee wish that hee had suffered himselfe to be kild in the field, rather then so shame­fully to owe his life unto his adversary? whose inso­lent triumph representing it selfe before his eyes, hee resolved to flye to the furthest part of the world, ra­ther then to endure the sight of it; and in effect, as soone as he could get out of his bed, having gotten up a good summe of money, hee stole away from the Castle, whereunto he had caused himselfe to be carri­ed, and in the obscurity of the night, hee tooke the first way that he met with: it was not likely that any should know where he was gone, for hee knew not himselfe whether he was going: at last, being come to knowledge of himselfe, he went into Germany, and from thence through Bavaria, hee came and descen­ded into the state of the Venetians, and being at Ve­nice, he imbarked himselfe in the first ship that set up sayle for Constantinople: let us leave him sayling in full sea, to come and see what Vincent is doing; he wheels about like a Peacocke, but hee shall soone be forced [Page 315] to close up his tayle, and hide his beautifull fea­thers.

Thyrse appearing no more, and Vincent boasting that he had vanquished him in a duell, that he had had his bloud and his armes, that he had made him beg life, and renounce his pretentions of Callinice, in stead of applauding this boaster, it was presently thought that he had murthered him treacherously, and that having cast his body into some secret place, his vanity thus triumphed on his reputation. The conjecture is strong, he had Thyrsis weapons which he shewed, and his owne stained in his bloud, as hee sayd, if he be not dead, where is he then? that hee should be gone to hide himselfe for shame, there is small likelyhood of that: for the law of duels is such, that armes beeing hazardous and uncertaine, the honour of the vanquished is washed in his own bloud, whether he dye or dye not. Vincent who be­leeves that praises are perfumes, which should bee burnt but onely upon the altar of his merit, goes all about holding up his head as conqueror of Thyrse. Meane time the brothers and sisters of this absent man, thinke him to be dead, and divide among them his inheritance, whereof they would have thought themselves unworthy, if by way of justice they should not seeke to avenge his bloud. Vincent who knew that he had not killed Thyrse, hides not him­selfe, but shewes himselfe in companies, yea and he appeares even before Callinice, who respects him and abhorres him as the murtherer of her lover, at last in a faire morning he saw himselfe seised up­on in his bed by the Provost, who was set on by the heirs of Thyrsis.

Now is he in prison, where he yet continues his bravadoes and boastings: his parents labour to get him forth, but he gets not so easily out of the hands of justice, the formalities goe on, hee answeres the Iudges with assurance that hee hath fought with Thyrse, and gotten from him what advantages he desired, he shewes his weapons, denies to have kil­led him, but that hee made him beg life, and re­nounce his right to Callinice, the cause of their combat: he acknowledges to have wounded him in divers places, and knowes not whether he bee dead of those hurts or no. Thyrse is so farre off that he is not like to appeare, the suit goes on and is brought to a hearing, the Iudges declare Vincent criminall, for that he had challenged, fought, hurt, and proba­bly killed Thyrse, and they condemned him as ha­ving violated the Edicts, to lose his head. This sen­tence pronounced in the morning, was executed ere night, and our triumphant Yonker saw himselfe led in a cart, accompanied by the hangman unto the place of execution, where his head ful of wine made as many rebounds as a Baboon; there was the tri­umph of his vanitie and of his folly.

Thyrse stayed two years in his voyage of Levant, and in the end time having moderated his displea­sures, and beginning to wax weary of his aboad a­mong Infidels, hee resolved to returne backe into Christendome, hee arrived in Sicilia, and thence he came to Rome, from whence he made knowne unto his brother and sisters▪ that he was not yet dead, en­treating them to have a care of his meanes, and to send him a certaine summe of money. This newes [Page 317] was reported to Proiect and Callinice, who thereby resuscitated their hopes. Thyrse soon received what he had sent for, together with relation what had past in the punishment of Vincent: he also had Let­ters from Callinice, which made him know the con­stancie and fidelity of this maid, and wherein she re­called him from his long exile, and conjured himto come and end their marriage. Thyrse beeing retur­ned to his better sences, and judging that hee had done in his combat as much as a valiant man could have done, flattered a new by the Idea of Callinices beauty, and by that so naturall love of the country, which cannot die but with us, tooke his way againe towards France by Lorette, and from thence by Bo­logne, Millaine, Swisse, and Lorraine: he came into Campagne, where he was received by his friends, as a man risen from death. Short time after he married Callinice with unspeakable contentments. So the Vanquished bore away the cause of the combat for a trophy, and shame and death remained for the conqueror.

THE IDEA.
The fourteenth Relation.

ALL the Idea's which passe tho­row our mindes are not alwaies so frivolous as some thinke. I will beleeve that the imaginati­on, which is a very light faculty of the soule, and as it were the ship of a thousand Chimera's, doth forge a quantity of vaine and shallow ones, and which have subsistence but onely in the vast, or rather in the voyd roome of extravagancie: as blind men shooting may hit the marke without seeing it, even so dreames which are but species and images altered by the shadowes of the night, often serve us as presages.

I here propose unto you an Idea, which you will [Page 319] finde very strange, and which some will attribute unto some consultation of a Soothsayer, or to some invention. But it happened unto so honest a man of my acquaintance, and I will say more, mine allye, that on his word I feare not to set it downe as a certain truth; for I know he is a person who hates falsitie as death, and whose piety and purity are ca­pable of greater revelations. Salviat (let us cal him so) being left an Orphan very young, remained un­till his full majority under the power of his tutors: beeing come unto the time which by the law put him into government of his owne meanes, he tooke it in hand, and for to be assisted therein by the fide­litie of a person interessed, he tooke into his house one of his sisters a maid of government and judge­ment, the confidence he had in his wisedome as much as in her bloud, was the cause hee concealed none of his affaires from her, and that he left her the free mannaging of all that belonged unto him: a desire tooke him to see Italy, in an age ripe enough to make profit there of the good qualities of Itali­ans, and to keepe himselfe from the contagions of the bad ones, as he was in the Court of Rome estee­med to be a very wise and discreet man. He had left his sister in one of the principall Cities of France, in the house that had been their fathers, and in the mannaging of all his revenues. Moreover, hee had had by inheritance exceeding faire houshold stuffe, and especially plate▪ which amounted unto a great summe. In great cities the great robberies are com­mitted, as in great rivers the greatest fishes are ta­ken, some prying fellowes having espied that there [Page 320] was store of faire goods and plate in the house, which was inhabited onely by maids and some lit­tle lacqui [...]s, beleeved that if they could enter by night they might get a great booty: hereof they failed not, and having before under colour of shew­ing some mercery wares to sell, spied out and mar­ked the wayes and places of the house, they got in by night, and besmooted their faces that they might not be knowne, and seised on this gentlewo­man and her dismayed maids, which were easie to be terrified: they locked them up in a chamber, threatning to cut their throats if they cried never so little; meane while they open all, chuse out the fairest and best, make up their packes, and go their way at pleasure. The next day these maids which were thus lockt up, durst not yet cry, thinking still to have the knife at their throat: at last being farre on in the day, hearing no manner of noyse in the house, they call out for helpe, they are delivered, & it was found that the best things were stollen and carried away. Never could they discover either winde, smoke, tracke or marke of this robbery. Oderife, let us thus call this gentlewoman, shee writ there of unto her brother, who the same night that it was done (which they verified by the date of a letter) had dreamt it in his sleepe, and which is ad­mirable, the very features of the faces, and maner of the theeves apparell were perfectly presented unto him, and remained so ingraven in his imagination, that during so long time as passed between the deed and the tydings he had therof by letters, they could not be blotted out. He writ at length unto his sister▪ [Page 321] that she should make enquiry thereabouts, if there were not such manner of men, clothed in such man­ner and fashion: the search was made, the theeves were growne so bold beleeving to have so well co­vered their mumming, that they have not removed from their ordinary dwelling, presently they are taken upon so weake a conjecture, but before they saw the prison gate, they confessed more then was required of them, they related the whole cir­cumstance of their theft, whereof they had wasted a very small matter, notwithstanding their restituti­on they were executed. We will observe in this Idea an evident marke of divine justice upon the wicked, whose chastisement it can further by admirable means, by reason whereof God watches over those that doe evill, for to blot their memory out of the earth: had I not beene well certified by the selfe same person unto whom this kinde of revelation didhappen, I would not have givē it place amongst these relations, but the certainety, which I have thereof hath made mee set it downe as an event worthy of consideration.

THE VNCONSTANT ambitious Woman.
The Fifteenth Relation.

THose who sayle one the sea of this world, which the wind of ambition commonly make wo­full shipwrack, if Arduine passi­onately loving, over extremely beloved of Leopert, had beene contented with the mediocrity of her fortune, wherein she enjoyed a repose and a felicity, which are not found in the most eminent estates, we should not now have cause for this tragi­call relation, wherein her example will shew us how those that will soare up into the ayre of fame by evill meanes, often find themselves precipitated into a bottomelesse pit of shame, Westphalia saw the the birth of this Maid, and even in her tender years she shewed forth rayes of beauty, which made ma­ny judge this Sunne-rise would produce a noone-tide [Page 323] of perfection, wherewith Leopert a Gentleman of the same countrie was the first touched, and having not sowen his affection in ungratefull ground, they bred reciprocal love in Arduine, as he aspired but unto her so she respired but to him, and this wooing was carried with so much judgement on both sides, that although the parents found some difficulties in this match, yet were they over­come by the constancie of these lovers, the agree­ments then were made, and in short time they were betrothed staying for to accomplish this marriage, but onely till such time as the preparations, which were to be sumptuous should bee made, but as betwixt the roade and the port ships sometimes run great hazard, so this match so long pursued so ardently desired, so constantly expected, had like to have bin thwarted by a tempestuous blast, Ade­lard a Lord of great quality and whose lustre dim­med all the merits, which Leopert could have found in himself was so fiercely overtaken by the graces of Arduine, that he resolved to have her for his wife, and to attempt all meanes possible for to breake off the promise betwixt Arduine and Leopert, yea and for to make his minde plaine hee addresses himselfe to the parents knowing that on the maides side preoccupated by affection, thee place was impreg­nable and out of butterie, these who had but unwill­ingly consented to the alliance of Leopert having in their eyes the bright sunne of Adelards greatnesse were easely perswaded to uphold his designe and to seeke meanes to hinder Leopert from marrying Arduine, but they found not therein so much faci­litie [Page 324] as they expected for Leopert besids the love wherewith he was inflamed, had so great a courage that hee would never yeald to Adelard how great soever he were above him, and Arduine in this oc­casion shewed that amaides constancie is not al­wayes a leafe which turnes with the least winde, for as her betrothed became inflexible to breake his word, so shee would never break hers, so that not­withstanding all the perswasions of parents and all Adelards labouring the marriage was consummated withall the solemnties necessarie thereunto:

These contrarities did but redouble the coutent­ment of the two lovers who saw themselves by these indissoluble bonds arrived at the top of their desires, but it fell out with Arduine as with those blades of steele which breake not with the greatest blows, and yet snapp in peeces sometimes, when they are bended, as if they were of glasse, those mar­riages which have a great order of love for founda­tion, are not alwaies them that last longest in vigor; they must in this wise bargaine, beled by more ju­dici [...]ll reasons that will have it to succeed well, Ad­elard was greatly discontented to see himselfe frus­trate of his pretentions, and if Leopert only had been an obstacle in his way, hee had sought way by vi­olence to have beene rid of him, but seeing that the minde of Arduine was so farre from him, that made him lesse desirous to make away his rivall, imag­ining that it would rather purchase him the hatred then the love of Arduine not knowing how wholly to extinguish the flame which hee had conceaved for this Gentlewoman, he continues to testifie unto [Page 325] her that his affection was not dead and to seeke in­directly that which hee could not pretend by law­full wayes. Arduine satisfied it may bee with the pleasures which she promised unto herselfe in the possession of Leopert, began to turne her eyes to­wards the mountaines of ambition, without consi­dering that high places are subject to tempests & ac­companied with downfals in short time this thought which was but a flie, became an elephant and repre­senting unto her selfe how shee had refused to bee great by matching with Adelard, sorrow & repen­tance seised her and presently made her thinke on meanes to recover what shee had lost. I might (said she in her heart) have had the same delights which I have with Leopert I had been adored by Adelard, who loves mee with an extreme affection, and be­sides I have gone beyond many of my fellowes, which I behold now aboue me; how unadvised was I, not to prefer such great wealth and such eminent state before simple delights which passe away so lightly? truely there is nothing like unto being in honour and eminencie.

Charmed by these illusions she begins to witnes by evident signes unto Adelard that if hee suffered for her shee indured not lesse for him, she lends an eare unto his complements and makes him affected answers, shee inflames him by attractiue lookes and favorable entertainements, in briefe, shee attributes to her side all that Adelard could have wished for to undo her▪ unto this new affection for Adelard succeeded a cooling of good will for Leopert, a hu­mane heart is too little to lodge two vehement passi­ons [Page 326] at one time, Adelard helped much thereunto, for judging that hee could never make himselfe Master of her will, if he brought her not to despise her hus­band, he neglected not to put this contempt into her soule, and moreover to breed therein a hatred, and such a hatred as arrived unto this last point, to desire his death, ungrateful womā whofor so much love as this man had shewed her, recompences him with such an aversion; she notwithstanding mannaged the passages of Adelard in such manner that without giving him any advantage on her pudicitie she re­tained him in the desire of marrying her, giving him no hope of injoying her but through that gate, som would counsell Adelard in the crime of poysoning Leopert, which this furie (for what other name can I give to this cruell woman) did with so much cun­ing that the ground covered her fault before the justice of men could discover her treacherie. Leopert being dead (some moneths after) for she stayed not the revolution of the yeare of mourning, shee mar­ried Adelard, and by this meanes mounted up to the top of that greatnesse which she had so much desi­red, but if the delights which shee had tasted with Leopert, had seemed light unto her, these honours seemed unto her but as smoke, and shee learned by experience the truth of this sacred sentence, that all that is here beneath is but vanitie and affliction of spirit: some time after Adelard considering that hee slept by a serpent who might one day as cuningly give him his death as she had done to Leopert began to enter into distrust of this woman, and not to hold himselfe in assurance neere her.

Arduine finding some coldnesse in the love of Adelard, labours by divers blandishments and wan­ton tricks to rekindle his fire, and to melt his Ice, but this increaseth the suspition of Adelard, who knowes that dangerous Women cover their trea­cheries with their imbraces by litle & little, this sus­pition changed into belief, this belief into indignati­ō, this indignatiō burst out into reproches & threats, in fine, they were constrained to come unto a sepe­ration of bodies, Adelard being not able to live in quiet neare this creature, of whom hee stood in feare as of a fury, hee sends her into one of his houses in the country, where Arduine seeing her selfe in a profound solitude, had no other compa­ny but her griefes which made her detest the blind­nesse of ambition that had borne her to make away so good a husband as was Leopert, for to marry with this second, who contemnes her, among so many & sundry sorts of thoughts wherwith her spirit was tossed, she gave way to this one which hath lost ma­ny imprudent Women, and that was to breed jea­lousie in Adelard, for to recall him to her againe, among the gentlemen of that neighbour-hood, shee chose out one capable to make a hammering in A­delards braine, she invites him to see her often which Melin holds for a great favour, and not knowing the design of this traiteresse, this poore bird follow­ing the call of her pratlings, runnes into the net of a violent love, attracted by the bait of hope, hee be­leeves that this Lady ill used by her husband; seeks in him revenge, which hee desires, but Arduine who wol [...]make use of him but as of a lure to bring [Page 328] backe Adelard to her fist, held his beake to water, and obliging him but with common and apparant favours, fed him with smoake, and vaine expecta­tion, meane time shee was so farre from hiding her kind usage of him, that it being done only to ap­peare, she made a shew farre worse then the deed, resembling those that having Lions, Elephants, and other strange beasts to be seene, hang out pictures farre more extravagant then the beasts themselves, to allure in those that behold them, Adelard having notice of what passed betwixt Melin and his wife, presently beleeved that shee was false to him, and that shee that could commit a murder would make no conscience of adultery, hee sought many times to catch both together, this true amorist and this counterfeiting Woman, but the evill being not arrived unto the effect, he was not likely to find out the occasion thereof, meane time he feared that this perfidious Woman should by some subtile poyson send him to keepe company with Leopert, for to in­joy her new Medor at will, having then in his opi­nion, gathered witnesses sufficient to convince her of adultery, he puts her in suit to have her condem­ned, he causeth Melin to be seised on, who is put in­to one prison, and Arduine into another, not to lay abroad the proceedings of a suite, I will only say that it was easie for Arduine and Melin to cleare themselves of a crime, which they had not commit­ted, but the divine justice which leaveth nothing unpunished permitted the tongue of Arduine to bee converted into a sword, which cut her owne throat, for making her plaints in the prison, against the [Page 329] malice and ingratitude of Adelard, shee hapned to say that hee had perswaded her to poyson her first husband, and that for to bury that wickednesse in oblivion, he wished to see her dead, such like words fall not to the ground in prisons, there are Echoes which say them over againe, and which bring them to the eares of the Iudges, whereof God makes use for to execute his vengeance against those that have provoked his wrath, she is examined hereup­on, & varies in first her answer, being pressed further she acknowledgeth it in her second; in fine, truth ma­nifested it selfe through her mouth against her will ther being a witnes that Adelard had perswaded her, hee easily purged himselfe thereof, casting all the crime on Arduine alone, an moreover that the greatnesse of Adelard gave him so much credit both at Court, and before the Magistrates, that it was ea­sie for him to over turne all the misery on the head of his accusatrix, which made her loose her life by sentence, not as an adulteresse. For Melin was cleared, but as the murderesse of her first husband, leaving a memorable example unto posterity, that punishment as a shadow followes in all places the body of this crime, and that early or late he cannot faile of chastisement, who hath committed such an offence, behold whereunto ambition elevated this Woman, and see the precipice wherein she cast her­selfe, a lesson for ambitious persons not to mount up unto honours by crimes, if they will not descend by shame.

THE AMAZON.
The sixteenth Relation.

IT was in the time of Alexander Farnese Prince of Parma, that the Marquesse de Varambon Knight of the golden Fleece, one of the greatest Noblemen of the County of Burgoigne, and who for his courage and expe­rience, had at that time faire imployments in the ar­mies, received commandement to besiege Bliem­berg, a very strong little town, and neer Rhinberg. This brave Captain made his approches, and with­out making here a long description of this siege, which I leave unto these that have at large written the history of the troubles of the Low-Countries, it sufficeth me to say, that well assaulted and wel de­fended, [Page 331] the place was battered, the breach being reasonable, a general assault was given so furiously, that the assailants repulsed divers times, at last laun­ched themselves with so much violence through the blows the bodies of the dead and of the hurt, that they forced downe the defendants and entred into the towne, which taken in this sort, suffered all the insolencies and outrages which victors were wont to practise upon the vanquished, who have bin subdued with their weapons in hand. Let us adde moreover, that the place had so obstinatly held out, that those within would never hearken unto any composition, but resolved to dye rather than to yeeld unto the Spaniard, it sufficeth to say that it was entirely sackt, and that they pardoned neither age nor sexe, nor honour, nor riches, all was deso­late, when the Marquesse made himselfe absolute master thereof, and that order was given to bury the dead, for feare that the infection should corrupt the aire, and overthrow health, two souldiers were found on the breach so streightly embraced, that even in this state which hath no more strength it was hard to part them. The vanquishers ardent after prey and booty, for to have the spoils of these two who were reasonably well cloathed, stripped them quite naked: one of them as white as snow, and of a wonderfull beauty, was found to be a wo­man. Presently amazement ranne through all the troupes, and curiosity laboured to know the suc­cesse of this memorable adventure: it came unto the eares of the Marquis, and as a man that made much account of valour and of love, hearing talke of the [Page 332] death of this armed Venus, who had beene found fastned with her Mars. Hee passionately desired to know who were these two lovers, for to honour the memory of their courage and of their fidelitie. A souldier who had made proofes of an incomparable generosity, and who being wounded in divers pla­ces, had yeelded himselfe under the faith of a Bur­guignon Captaine, who in favour of his vertue took care to have him drest, sayd that he was alone in the City, and it may be in the Countrey, that could sa­tisfie the curiositie of the Marquisse, and of so many others who had an extreame desire to know the truth of this amorous and warlike history.

This hurt prisoner beeing not able to stirre, the Surgeons having but an ill opinion of his wounds, the Marquisse went to see him, accompanied by di­vers Captaines, for to learne from his mouth the particulars of this event. The sicke man resuming an extraordinary vigour, made the discourse therof in this manner in his naturall tongue, which was high Dutch, and which the Marquesse and most of those that were about him, understood very well: My Lord (sayd he) I render thankes unto heaven, that hath given me but so much life as I wish for, to yeeld in so honourable a company the glorious te­stimony which I owe to my love, and to my friend­ship, which done, thinke it not strange if I die, for the causes that made me live being no more, it were a cruelty, and not humanity, for to dresse my wounds, and the way to prolong my death, rather to preserve my life, I can no more live without friendship, than enjoy the light of dayes without [Page 333] eyes, and without sunne▪ even from my birth, I have had an inclination to love, but an inclination so strong, that I remember not to have ever lived without some particular affections, but I had never any stronger than for these two lovers, my friend, and my mistresse, which have been found dead and embraced on the breach: O happy couple! why must the order of warie have separated our affecti­ons, and make me fight in another place? how free­ly for to save you from death, would I have suffered my selfe to have beene hewed in a thousand pieces! or at leastwise I had beene your companion insepa­rable in death, as I have beene in life, but you have out-stript me of a small time: Stay for mee deare soules, and I shall soone be at you. Alas the desire to see you, rather than to preserve my life, made me yeeld my armes unto this young man, in whom my courage hath bred pitty, but being you are no more in the number of the living, I will bee blotted out from thence, and remaine there no longer time than needs must, for to consigne unto mens remem­brance the memory of our friendship. Hee made this fine speech with so many sighes, sobbes, and teares, and with so great a voyce, that falling sud­denly into faintnesse, they thought he was expiring his last. This was attributed unto the paines of the wounds of his body, but it may be those of his heart were rather the cause thereof. Yet so it is, that the Marquisse for feare this disturbance should kil him, retyred into another chamber, resolving to put off this matter untill he might be stronger, but when he was come to himselfe againe, and that hee [Page 334] saw no more this faire troupe which had appeared about his bed, hee entred into such sorrowes and plaints, for that he could not dis-burthen his minde, as moved so much compassion, that the Marquesse being pierced therewith, came backe to see him: who after he had with opportunity craved favor to be heard, proceeded in a more stayd manner, and with a grave and hardy countenance sayd thus; My name is Aleran, my birth noble, my country is the Lantgraviat of Hessen, the place that saw my en­trance into the world is Melsignam neer unto Cassel, the seat of my Prince being in his Court. I bound my selfe in so straight a friendship with Incmar a gentleman Native of Rottenburgh who had beene bred up as page unto the Lantgrave, that wee were commonly called the Inseparable: those impatien­ces which lovers feel when they are from their mi­stresse, we felt when we lost sight one of another: being together dayes were unto us houres, and houres were moneths when we were asunder, a mo­ment was unto us an age, even in sleeping, sleepe which is a benumming of the powers, was unto us tedious if we were severed, by reason whereof wee commonly made but one bed, we had but one purse and one table, one and the same house, the same ser­vants, the same Livories, the same retinue, and when any of our servants were asked unto whom they did belong, they answered, Vnto the two friends, if those that are but one may be called two: Wee went sometimes to Rotemberg, sometimes to Mel­singnam, to see our common parents, he was at our house as at his owne, and I at his as at myne, [Page 335] in briefe, wee lived in an incomparable union.

It happened once as we were at Melsingnam, that my friend saw in a company a faire maid named Yoland, whose graces so woon his heart, that hee did nothing but thinke on her, and talked to me thereof out of the abundance of his thoughts. Presently I judged him to be stung with her love, and hee ac­knowledged so much unto me at my first asking, for hee concealed nothing from mee. Truly, sayd I to him, I am very glad that your affections have ad­dressed thēselves in a place where I may yeeld you assistance; for besides that it is in my native Coun­trey, I am somthing allyed unto this gentlewoman, and although it be a farre off, yet this affinity gives me a more particular accesse unto her, and by mee you may with more facility, and more commodi­ously introduce your selfe into her company, and from this frequentation passe into her favour: you have so much merit, that to see you, know you, and love you goe together. Then Incmar with tears in his eyes (but they were teares of joy) sayd, Deare friend, thou thinkest that every one considers me as thou dost, and that thy passion communicates its contagion unto others; I have not so much pre­sumption as to thinke to breed affection in this ver­tuous minde, but it shall suffice mee that shee suffer me to honour her, and that the torments that I endure for her being acceptable, may bee a testi­monie of the sacrifice which I make unto her of my heart.

Thou art already replied I: in those tearmes of Idolatrie which grow in the mouthes of lovers, and [Page 336] which (as I thinke) proceed but from the top of the lippes, otherwise these complements would offend heaven and would bee so many blasphemies: for they speake but of altars, of sacrifices, of adorations, of flames, of victimes, of godesses, of temples, of vowes, of praises, of perfumes, and other such idle thinges wherewith they entertaine their craized im­aginations, thus replied Incmar, doe those that are in health laugh at the actions of them that be sicke of hot diseases, in stead of having compassion on them: but if thou hast any compassion on mine, for every lover is wounded, I pray thee to lend me thy helpe, and to beleeve that the greatest proofes that thou canst give mee of thy incomparable friendship, shalbe thy assistance in this occasion, my love being to me no lesse precious nor considera­ble then my life: then did I promise to yeeld him all sorts of good offices, and because I feared that the issue of this designe would not succeed accor­ding to his desires, after that I have laboured in vain to diswade him this enterprize wherein I be­leeved he should unprofitably loose his time, seeing that the obstacles which I represented unto him augmented his ardor, and that the difficulties ani­mated him the more unto the pursuit, I swore unto him to passe over all considerations for his con­tentment; being nothing was so deare unto mee in the world as to please him. I then found meanes divers times to make my faire kinswoman be seene by my freind who having declared unto her his affection and discovered that this maide had an in­clination to acknowledge it, entred into great hops [Page 337] the element of lovers, to see his pretentions arrive unto the port which he desired.

I was every day at Yolandes eares relating unto her the commendable qualities of Inemar, and my owne affection making me eloquent, it was ea­sie for me to perswade her what I my selfe belee­ved, for it is requisit that the Orator be moved, who will move others: to inspire love, one must have a feeling of its sweet flame, this young bird by little and little suffered her selfe to bee brought on by my pipe, and to bee taken by the inevitable baites of Incmars conversations: now was he wholy in Yolands favour, but yet although the heart were wonne for to arrive unto the possession of this faire body one of the ornaments of nature, these were obstacles which appeared invincible, but what is there difficult what is there? impossible unto those that will, and that love? Graciana step Mother un­to Yoland had married Raoul Father to this Maid, on condition that a sonne that shee had by her first husband should marry this gentlewoman; when as age had made her capable of marriage, Raoul with­out any consideration but of gold, whose dust da­sleth the eyes of the clearest sighted, obliged him­selfe unto this promise, not regarding that so to force the will is rather the part of a tyrant than of a Father, and then what obedience could have ob­liged, faire Yoland to give herselfe unto a monster, and to love him, who had all the causes which can give horror, he had a back higher then his head, ca­pable to ease Atlas of his burthen as well as Hercu­les, if he had beene tall enough and strong enough, [Page 338] but hee was so little as one would almost have thought that since the day of his birth, hee had not grown in any part but his haire, besides that he was so swollen and so round, that one might have taken him for a great hand worme, or a middle sizd Bowle, his complexion a little whiter then an E­thiopians, approached unto the coulour of a sicke Spaniard, his lips big, his cheekes flat, his eyes sunk in, and a nose, enemy unto all other noses, to avoid it, one should have had a buckler or rather a rampi­er of perfumes, for though it had no smelling, it was to be smelt, his stature such as I have described it, upheld by two legges, so small that the eares of corne which totter in the field, with the least breath of wind, have firmer foundations: those were the columnes of this Hercules which forbid mee to passe on further in his description: with all these remedies of love, what could he breed in the spirit of Yoland but hatred, I beleeve that this aversion helped not a little to lodge Incmar in her affection, because that comming to compare so many defor­mities, with so many graces wherewith my friend was rightly stored, she found him as worthy of her love as the other to be deprived of it, whilst these things passe in this manner, and that lovely Incmar possesses the affections of Yoland, in the same sort as she possessed his: Hugolin that is the name of the beautifull fellow, which I have painted you out, adding unto all these deformities that of jealousie, perceived this correspondency, and well judging that this new love made a shadow on his perswa­sions, he advertised Raoul thereof, who to keep his [Page 339] word, and to see his daughter richly mat [...]ht unto this only, but singularly ill favoured sonne, promi­sed him to discard this brave Courtier, he meant Inc­mar, that thus put crickets into his head, and in ef­fect hee forbad his daughter to see him any more, but seeing this forbidding was to no purpose, be­cause that Yoland replyed that she could not hinder this gentleman from comming into those companies where she chanced to be.

Raoul talked to Incmar himselfe and advised him to frame no designe on Yoland, because shee was promised unto Hugolin, and that this ware was no more for sale which was already agreed for, and retained. This discourse very much angered Incmar who had vomited up his gall against Hugolin, and had spoken more harshlie to Raoul if the love of the daughter had not kept him back, in respect to him whom he intended should be his Father in law, and it had been the way wholy to ruinate his project if hee had vexed this man who was naturally subject to choller and apt to strike, he therefore stroke saile as gently as he could yet without obliging himselfe neither to see nor love Yoland, not to deprive saide he his eyes & his heart of the fairest object and the loveliest in the world, but because hee came to know that continuing to see her according as it fell out it caused her to be ill used by her Father and stormed at by her step Mother, which was a dom­esticall fastened unto her coller, stirred up thereunto by jealous Hugolin, who already tooke upon him the power of a husband over her that was but pro­mised unto him, he abstained from seeing her by [Page 340] going to Cassell, where the pleasing objects that the court could furnish his eyes with all seemed unto him but as the small starres which night layes out in the sky in absence of the light which makes the day meane while, I kept his p [...]ace at Melsingnam neere Yoland, who knowing the straight freindship that tied us, discovered the feelings of her spirits as sin­cerely to me as shee would have done to Incmar himselfe, I informed him day by day of the invari­able fidelitie of this maide, in whom since absence nor contradictions changed not affection, but as it is hard to be long in the sunne without being tanned, and in a perfumers shoppe without drawing from thence good odors it happened unexpected that the conversation of my kinswoman, but kinswoman in such a degree as I might have married her without offending the lawes, framed I know not what incli­nation in my soul which became love, ere I percei­ved it, I felt not my selfe, and her attractions and charmes struck so deepe into my heart, that I was a long time in ballance, tottering betwixt love and friendship, not knowing unto which party to yeeld, at last after strange combates, friendshippe had the victory, honour bearing it away over sense, and reason over passion, the perfect friendship which I had long before contracted with Incmar repre­sented unto me that if I fastened on Yoland I should commit the most notorious trecherie that can be i­magined, & that I should beheld for aright Chelme which was the cause that making an effort within my selfe I cast of these flatering thoughts, where­with the beauty of Yoland tickled my imagination [Page 341] for to be fathfull to my freind, contenting my selfe to love her as a sister whom I wished to see wife to him that I loved as a brother, and verely I may well put among the proffes of the greatnesse of my freindship to Incmar this victorie over my selfe, and this continuall warre which I made against my selfe being neere Yoland, unto whom I did speake of my freind with the same presentment which I had for my selfe.

Yet did jealous Hugolin penetrate into our pro­ceedings and as none were ignorant, that Incmar & I were but one, he had reason to beleive that I spake for my freind, and that under the vaile of kindred I entertained my kinswoman with another alliance then his. Now doth he make unto Raoul the same complaints of me as of Incmar, the stepmother beholdes me with crosse lookes when I am neer her daughter in law, and if Hugoline had had as much courage as Iealousie he might have done me an ill turn: what indeavours soever he used, he could never cause Yoland to be prohibited seeing me, nor make Raoul forbid me to see my kinswoman. Blood hath I know not what which ties persons with a straine so strong that it is hard to breake it, true it is that Raoul in a more moderate manner then his hu­mor did beare one time represented to me the mar­riage determined to be betwixt his daughter and Hugolin entreating me not to speake to her of Inc­mar for feare least the merits of this knight one of the gallantest of the court should make her see clee­rer then need was into Hugolins imperfections which were but too apparent and that therein I [Page 342] should doe him a pleasure and the duty of a good kinsman, the duty of a good kinsman (replied I) is to bring backe his kinsman unto reason, when hee straies from it, now it seemes to me signeur Raoul that you goe from it a little, in going about to make a marriage and destroying the foundations thereof, which consists in the union of two wills, and if you constraine the will of your daughter this constraint being diametrally opposed unto fredom, you make the marriage vicious: knowing then that shee hath great aversions from this little mishapen creature (not to say any thing more cruel against Hugolin thē what our eies teach us) I cannot thē without breach of the duty of a good kinsman faile to advertise you thereof, that as a good Father you may seeke to make your daughter lesse rich and more con­tented.

I know said hee how farre paternall power doth extend, and my daughter is not ignorant of what o­bedience she owes me, it doth not belong to Maids to meddle in the choyce of their husbands, they ought therein to rely on their parents, and to have no other will, then the will of those that command them, and for that matter it is resolved on, my word is past, the state of mine affaires & good of my house requires it, whether she will or not it must be so, & she must not put any other affection into her head, but of Hugolin, whose mother I should never have had, if I had not promised her to make this other marriage of my daughter with her sonne: seeing that this man was so setled in this his resolution, and that it would bee but labour lost to seeke to remove [Page 343] it out of his mind. I left him with good words and complements which satisfied him, meane time the beauty of Yoland daily purchast her beholders, ad­mirers, and new servants which gave many ala­rums unto Hugolin, who seeing himselfe surpassed by all, in all manner of things excepting riches, fea­red infinitely to see before his marriage, so many enemies on his hands as rivals, & after his marriage more friends then hee would have: at last to make himselfe of a doubtful possessor an absolute Maister, and intending to take such order with Yoland that hee should breed him no more suspitions hee re­solved to consummate his marriage, although hee had not attained unto the twentieth yeare of his age, and that his stature being lesse then little, & his per­son weake, made him seeme like a child, Raoul who desired no better then to continue the mannaging of his estate by his alliance, easily consented therunto: the fatall day is appointed for this wedding, I enfor­med Incmar thereof, who presently came posting to meete Siguen to put by the blow with his best endeavours, he sees Yoland secretly, and in my pre­sence they renew their vowes of fidelity, I for my part promised all my assistance to their desires, and vowed to sacrifice my selfe in the service of their common flames, in the meane time Incmar left no means unattempted to turne away the storme which menaced the hopes of his love with shipwracks, he demands Yoland in marriage of her Father, but hee is flatly denyed, then he pickes a quarrell with Hu­golin, but this little dwarfe would not fight with this man, who by him appeared a Giant. Incmar seeing [Page 344] he would not come to it, threatens to beat him into powder: whereupon his refuge is to justice for shel­ter from this tempest, and Raoul who was much e­steemed by the Lantgrave, goes to Cassel, to com­plaine of the violence of Incmar, who thus came to trouble the marriage of his daughter. Hereupon the Prince calls Incmar, and after a harsh reprehension full of sharpe words, he forbad him to passe on any further in seeking to get Yoland, yea hee ordained that shee should marry Hugolin, according to the promise which Raoul had made thereof when hee wedded Gracian. This decree from a Soveraignes mouth was without appeale, there was Incmar out of Court, and out of plea, and moreover menaced with the indignation of the Prince his soveraigne Lord and master, if he troubled the match.

It availed not, though hee represented unto him the violence of his love, the maids affection to him, and the horror she had of Hugolin, whom hee de­scribes to be like a monster, fitter to be smothered betwixt two beds, as a reproach of nature, than to lie in the armes of Yoland: These were words cast into the winde, and which in lieu of nullifying, the Prince put him into such a chafe, that he commaun­ded him to bee put in prison, for to teach him to speak more discreetly; but in fine, some of Incmars friends which were present obtained his pardon of the Lantgrave, who consented to his inlargement, upon condition that he should be wiser. Incmar as­sured the Prince, that hee would rather voluntarily banish himselfe from his presence and country, than to commit any thing therein that might be displea­sing [Page 345] to him: but he humbly entreated his Highnes to dispense him from swearing that hee should no more love Yoland, because he could not so easily cast off this affection as his doublet, referring unto the benefit of time the blotting of this Idea out of his memory.

The Prince contented himselfe herewith, attri­buting all these discourses which he called extrava­gant, unto fooleries, which excesse of love puts in­to those heads which are possessed therewith. Ra­oul returnes to Melsingnam, for to end with speed the marriage of his daughter with Hugolin. Behold now whereunto despaire carries the soules possest with its turbulent passions! there was no more than three dayes to the day appointed for the unluckie wedding. Yoland was resolved to die, rather than pronounce this sad I, which should have tied her to a monster with an indissolveable knot; and Incmar resolved to lose his life, rather than to leave his An­dromede in these bonds: thereupon it was easie to perswade Yoland unto a flight, being it was the one­ly gate to get forth of a mis-fortune: so inforcing themselves without mee, nothing could bee done. Iudge now the force of my friendship, it hood­wink'd my eyes from all considerations, for to serve my friend against the honour of my owne bloud, I in an instant renounced my countrey, all my means, the favour of my prince, and all hopes of Fortune, for to follow the blinde desire of these lovers, both which I loved with incredible passions. It was I that in the obscuritie of the night, which favoured our enterprise, drew Yoland forth of her fathers [Page 346] house through a window, and having cloath [...]d her in one of my suits, led her to Incmar, who stayd for us in the fields. With good horses we rid till day with a good speed, and did so well, that we got out of the Lantgraves territories ere any justice could lay hold on us; and because we knew that the hands of Princes are long, finding no safety in high Ger­many, where our Prince is of that account, as every one knowes, we came downe disguised into this in­feriour Germany, where we remained not long, ere that little was consumed which the sudden haste of our departure had permitted us to bring from our countrey. Wee could not hope for succour from thence, being wee durst not let any there have ty­dings from us, for feare the Lantgraves wrath should yet come and persecute us by his Agent, in these united Provinces, necessity constrayned us then to inrolle our selves under the States Colours. Be­hold now unto what degree of courage Love doth e­levate a soule which is inflamed with it! Yoland who had taken mans apparell to follow her Lover, found her selfe so well in that habit, and tooke such delight in all the exercises of armes, that she became an Ama­zon; she learned in short time to shoot with a piece, to fence, to ride a horse, in briefe, shee had a dexteritie in all this farre above my reports, and there were none but tooke her to bee the compleatest gentleman that was in the troups: she makes her selfe Incmars come­rade, and under the name of Roland a brave ancient Palidin, and neere approaching unto that of Yoland, she made her selfe famous in many encounters. Inc­mar and I were as we had alwayes beene, inseparable, [Page 347] Roland being joyned unto us, it was an invincible Ge­ri [...]n, who medled with one of us, had us all three on his hands. To tell you that Incmar married Yoland in my presence I thinke it not needfull, being that you may imagin it, and that gave them a priviledge which is neither honest nor permitted, but unto those that are bound with this band. When I saw them in the possession of their desires, it was then that I did disco­ver unto them those which I had had, and with how much labour and pain I had overcome their violence, in consideration of the friendship I bore to Incmar: They admired this victory which I had gotten over my self, and Incmar swore he loved me the better for it (if any thing could be added to what was infinite) since I had suffocated my love in favour of his friend­ship; and Yoland judging the force of her charmes which had toucht my spirit, beheld me as one of her slaves, and protested to me, that saving her honor, af­ter the love due to Incmar, she lov'd no man better thā my selfe; I swore unto her the love of a brother, & she swore to me the love of a sister, and out of noblenesse of humour both she and Incmar gave me leave to call her my mistresse, and she called mee her servant, and there was all the favors that ever I had of her, besides that of sometimes kissing her no lesse valiant than fair hand.

She had a beauty of face annexed unto such a ma­jesty, that if the one inflamed me with love, the other freezed me with feare, and I may say, that the friend­ship of my friend, and the love of this chast mistresse, reigned in my heart with such an equall counterpoise, that to die I would not have done any thing to the [Page 348] prejudice of either. And that was it that did sweepe away from my spirit all the unjust thoughts that since might have there encreased, in revolting it self against reason. To tell you something of what passed in our Countrey after our flight, wee heard by some secret friends unto our parents, that the prince unmeasura­bly incensed against us, ordained that the law should proceed as against ravishers, we were condemned to lose our heads, but it was in effigie, our goods were confiscate, in briefe, we were there used with all rigor, so that having no hope on that side, we setled it all on our owne valour, and committed our fortune to the hazard of armes. Incmar and I had done therein up­on occasions all that souldiers can doe which venture all; and brave Roland hath in all places shewen, that love which gave her courage, [...]aised her strength be­yond the vigour not only of her sex, but of men. After many encounters we shut our selves up in Bliemberg, resolving to shew in this siege the proofes of a coura­gious valour in extream events, where there hath hap­pened what you have seene; military command ha­ving separated me from them, they have been killed on the breach; & as it may be thought, Incmar being first dead, Yoland being not willing to survive him, hath been killed on his body, and expiring embracing him. As for me I would have died in the forefront of the combat, if the brave but too pittiful Captain, who would not suffer me to be made an end of, had not caused me to be brought where I am, the losse of my bloud having layed mee among the dead. Now that I have satisfied both your curiositie and my desire, I will no longer live bereaved of the light of myne eyes, [Page 349] those twinne starres, my Freind and my Mistresse. Aleran thus ended his discourse, and had like the same time to have ended his life, so extremely did greife oppresse his heart, but the Marquesse pitying his great courage, gave order unto his doctor and his Chyrurgeon to labour in this cure with all the industrie which their science could dict [...]te unto them, yet was art and cure overcome, for whether through the extremitie of his sorrow, or of his wounds, poor Aleran died within two dayes after, and was by command of the Marquesse interred with honour by Incmar and his wife, under a Tombe bearing this inscription, the three Lovers inseperable in life and death. Many remarkable morrals may bee drawne from this history; first, how ill Fathers doe in destinating their daughters unto young men which they abhorre, next where­unto despaire carries amorous and unhappy soules, then, whereupon love raiseth the courage of the weakest sex, its fire being no lesse admirable in its effects then that of thunder. In Aleran is seene the image of a faithfull friend, and of a lover imparalel­led who makes known the victory of friendship over love: this tragicall end discovers an admirable valour, and the generositie of the Marquesse hono­ring of the memory of these whom hee had van­quished, serves for a ground which graceth or set­teth out the glosse of all the other colours of this picture.

THE HAPPIE Almes-deed.
The Seventeenth Relation.

STudying the law in the Vniver­sitie of Orleans, I learned of a Tourengean scholler this fol­lowing history, which he had from the mouth of the selfe same person unto whom this event had happened. A young man of Poictou called Cyran the sonne of a Marchant was by his Father sent to Tours, about some nego­tiation, which concerned his commerce, this young man by nature pittifull, and from his youth prone to give Almes without distinction of persons, it is true that the honour of the King of glory, which is advanced by good workes ought to bee tryed by judgment, for discretiō is the golden rule of human actions, and it is not enough to do good, but it must [Page 351] be done fitly, Almes being one of the most illustri­ous acts which can bee done by those unto whom God hath given meanes, it must be done also with a judicious distribution. Otherwise it were rather a dissipation thē a distribution, & unto such might & do many give almes, who do as it were put a sword into a mad mans hand, and give him meanes to commit excesse: it is true that vertues are in a mid­dle, equally distant from vicious extreamities, and as to give blindly is rather a profuse wasting, then a liberality, so to take heed unto so many circum­stances when one gives an Almes is rather nig­gardlines then judgement, wee must not search so narrowly into the quality of those persons unto whom we bestow our charity, so we must not who­ly shut our eyes theron, and among these uncertain­ties, wee must raise up the intention and not looke what the right hand doth give, nor unto whom we give, but unto God alone, for whom we give, and who hath said whatsoever you shall doe unto the least of the poore, I will keepe a just ac­compt thereof, even unto a glasse of cold water. There be hearts so hard and so close fisted, that they find some fault with most part of the poore mise­rable persons which aske Almes of them, this one is strong and able to get his living, that other is a shifting fellow, the other is not so old, the other is vicious, the other is a rascall, all in their opinion are unworthy of an Almes, and it is only to save their purses that mettle, whereof they make their Idoll without purchasing the blame of avarice, there are others whole hands are bored, and more for [Page 352] honour then through pity, or more for pity then with judgment give indifferently unto all commers, without considering that it is the way to maintaine the idlenesse of many beggers who have more needs of a spirituall almes, by a good reprehension, then of a temporall, which they abuse in dissolute courses & strange deboisnes, but who can have this spirit of so just decerning, since there is nothing in he world so deceitfull as appearances? as for example, about the streets in Cities, and up and downe the Countries there goes so many vagabonds, who un­der the name of poore souldiers returning from warres into their owne Countrie, aske somthing to carrie them home, and somtimes they are theeues who in begging seeke but occasion to commit theft, murders, and rogueries, those people have God in their mouthes, and the divell in their harts, and yet out of the middest of this kind of bandiliers may somtimes issue a good theefe who may deserve an almes as you shall heare.

Cyran going through the streets in the City of Tours, which appeares a flower in the midst of the garden of France, met with a poore souldier, who being but in bad array, had notwithstanding a good aspect, & begged an almes of him with such a grace that he felt himselfe moved to give, but extraordi­narily moved, he put his hand into his pocket, and thinking to draw out a Sol, which is little more then an English penny, and gave it him with a good wil, and with words of honour and consolation, wished him a happy returne into his owne Country, and a better trade then warre, where most com­monly [Page 353] is nothing to be gotten but blowes and lice, the souldier in a modest and civill manner answe­red him, Sir God make mee able to do you some good service, and confirme me in the desire I have so to do, you bestow a liberality on me in my pres­sing necessitie, which shall never die in my memo­ry; you do little lesse then if you gave me life, af­ter these words of complement they parted, and a while after Cyran having ended his affaires at Tours tooke leave of his friend, and returned to­wards his owne Countrey, as hee was crossing a Wood there steps forth of a Coppice three theeves, whereof one layes hold on the bridle of his Horse, and the other holding his sword at his throat commands him to alight and follow them into the thicket of the Forrest, when they were farr enough in, they search him and take from him all the mony that he had, which was about a hundred French crownes with his cloake and best thinges, after this they begin to deliberate whether they should kill him or no? let us kill him saide one, I know by his tongue that he is of this Countrie, and may discover us or cause us to be pursued, you say right saide another, if such had killd him whom they robd, they should not now hang on gibbets making mouthes at passengers, the third which was he unto whom Cyran some dayes before had given the almes of sixpence in Tours, said fellowes what good will his life do us, his blood will crie vengeance against us lowder then his voice, thou playest the preacher said one of the other two, those that use our trade shut their eies unto such [Page 354] considerations which are good onely for old wives and children. The dead bite not nor speake not, the voyce of bloud hath no sound, hee will bee quite rot [...]en before hee bee found in this place.

My friends, replied the good theef, I beg his life of you, and will rather give you my part of what hath bin taken from him: he is a gallant man, pray let us not kill him, I will teach you a good way both to save his life, and to provide for our safety: Let us binde him to some tree and leave him to the pro­tection of God, lest we should be spotted with his bloud.

This counsell was followed, Cyran was bound to a tree with the bridle of his horse and his garters, and the theeves tooke his horse and his things and left him there. The good theefe as he was binding of him sayd in his eare, Friend take courage, this night will I come and unbinde thee, I have not for­gotten thy almes deed. Cyran remained in this case all the rest of the day, hoping still in the mercy of God, and in the promise of the good Theefe. But towards night hee entered into terrours of death, when as it began to be darke, and hee heard the Wolves howling in the Forrest, whereof hee saw two passe close by him, and were a good while loo­king on his countenance. For besides the cruelty of this beast, he is likewise so extreame crafty and distrustfull, that even when a traine is layd for him, yet is he hard to be taken, and is afraid of all things: hee shunnes snares, hee lookes, hee hear­kens, he considers, he watches. Already they be­gan [Page 355] to approach nearer, for to smell him, and that they might set on him in a troup and eate him up, they called their fellowes together by howling, wherewithall the forrest did ring, and the ecchoes multiplying their voyces, made Cyrans eares be­leeve that there was a legion of Wolves comming to devoure him. Surely if the good theeves helpe had stayd a little longer, it is likely that it had come too late, and out of season, and had found poore Cyran torne to pieces by Wolves. But God who helpes in tribulation, and whose assistance comes in fit time, made him arrive at the very instant, which was needfull to deliver Cyran not onely from the feare of death, but from the death of feare, for ter­rour had almost borne away his soule. I leave to your consideration, with what words he thanked the good theefe, who had twice in one day saved his life, first in drawing him forth out of the jawes of Lions, which were the other two theeves, and then of Wolves, which are Theeves that live but by rapine; he profered the Souldier to use him as his brother, and to give him such part of his meanes as hee should therewith bee content, if hee would go with him, and leave this wicked course of life, which could not leade him but to a shamefull end. To give ouer this theeving life, said the soul­dier, that is a thing that I am resolved to do, having long since conceived such a horror thereof, that it seemeth to me a hell. My intent is to be a religious man, to repent for so many evils which I have done in this unlucky trade: it is true that I did never kill, [Page 356] but I have beene present at many murthers; I be­gan to robbe, pressed by necessitie, but I have conti­nued by a certaine malignant delight that therein is to be taken, seeing it serves to maintaine wickednes, finding not safety enough in France, where I should ever thinke justice to be at my heeles, I doe entreat you to pray to God for me, that he may continue in me his good inspiration, and may give me grace to put this good designe in execution; there is the part which I have had of the hundred crowns that were taken from you, I restore it you with a good will, & in so saying he would have put a hundred Franks into his hands. Yet Cyran would never take them backe againe, but gave them him in almes to helpe him in his pilgrimage, offering to give him yet more, if hee would goe with him to the next City. The penitent souldier (for I should make a consci­ence to call him theefe after such a change) thanked him, and having mutually embraced each other, and mixt their teares together, Cyran tooke his journey one way, and the souldier the other; whom hee ne­ver saw since, but the other two he did, for about some three moneths after being discovered by the Cloake and horse of Cyran, and accused of some o­ther thefts, they fell into the hands of the Provost Marshal, who did them good and speedy justice, and so they were fastened unto an unlucky tree called a gybbet, from whence they came down by hang­ham.

The good fortune of Almesdeeds shines in this relation with such splendour, that although there were [Page 357] were no other motive to use liberality towards mi­serable persons, this were argument sufficient to draw it forth of the hands even of Avarice it selfe.

FINIS.

Errata.

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