FIve Leagues off from the City of Sivill, there is a Towne called Castilblanco, and into one, of those many Innes which it hath, about the shutting in of the day when night was drawing on, entred a Travaylour, a stranger to that place, mounted upon a very handsome Nag, he had no servant attending on him, and without staying that any should hould his Stirrup, with great nimblenes he dismounted himselfe. The Hoste of the house made all the haste he could unto him, (who was a diligent man and carefull to give his Guests content) but for all the speed he made he came not in soone enough; in so much that this Travaylour was already lighted from his horse, and had sate him down upon a bench which was in the court, where falling a pace to the unbuttoning of his doublet [Page 2] his armes fell presently one one way, and another another giving a manifest signe and token of fainting, and swou­ning. The Hostesse who was a charitable woman, ranne forth unto him, and sprinkling his face with cold water made him come againe to himselfe; and he making show that it did much trouble him that they had seene him in this taking, returned to the buttoning up of his doubtlet, intreating that they would presently bring him to a lodg­ing whither he might with draw himselfe, and that if it were possible hee might be all alone. His Hostesse told him that shee had no more but one emptie in all the house, and that that too had two beds in it, and that shee must be constrayned if any other Guests should come thither that night, to accommodate him in the one of those two beds▪ Whereunto this our Travaylour replyed, that hee would pay her for both the beds, whether any guest came or not; and putting his hand into his Pocket, and taking out a Crowne in gold, he gave it unto his Hostesse, but with this condition, that she should not let any one lye in the spare bed. His Hostesse was no whit displeased with her pay, but rather willingly offered her selfe to doe that which hee desired: yea, though the Deane himselfe of Sevill should come that night to her house. Then did shee aske him, whether he would suppe or no? he told her no; onely hee entreated her that there might be an especiall care taken of his Nag▪ He called for the key of the cham­ber, and carrying up with him his Portmanteau, he en­tred thereinto, and shutting the doore after him, hee tur­ned the key and lockt it. And to make the surer worke (by that which afterwards appeared) hee had set two Chayers against it. He had scarce shut himselfe up in his Chamber, but that mine Hoste and Hostesse, and the Ostler and two other of their neighbours which were there by chance, layd their heads together (as if they had beene so many grave Counsellours) and began to talke and dis­course of the great beauty and sprightfull disposition of this [Page 3] their new guest, all of them concluding that they had ne­ver in all their lives seene a fayrer or more beautifull Crea­ture. Then fell they to the reckoning up of his age, and their resolution was, that it was about 16. or 17. yeares or much thereabouts. Much prattle they had about it, too and fro, off and on, and more particularly, what might be the cause of that his fainting and swouning? But because that was beyond their reach, they rested contented being rapt with admiration and wonder of his rare proportion, and comlinesse of person. The neighbours went away to their owne house, the Hoste to take care of the Nag, and the hostesse to make ready something for supper for such other guests as might happily come. And it was not long before another entred, somewhat but not much elder then the former, and of no lesse metall and spirit, and the ho­stesse had even scarce seene him, when shee brake out into this exclamation; God blesse me, what a strange thing is this? Are Angels come this night to lodge in my house? Why say you so sayd this new come gentleman to the ho­stesse? Sir sayd shee, I do [...] not say that for naught; onely I say unto you, that you will be pleased to spare your selfe the labour of a lighting, because I have never a bed for you; for those two which I had, a gentleman that lodgeth in that Chamber there, hath taken them up, and hath payd mee for both, though hee hath neede but of one, be­cause he will have none to be with him in his Chamber. And it seemeth hee loveth solitarinesse and shunneth company, but why and wherefore I know not: for he hath such a face and disposition as ought not to be hidden, but that all the world should both see and prayse it. Is he such and so handsome (mine hostesse) as you speake him to be? (replyed the gentleman) such? (quoth mine hostesse) yes much more then such, since onely he is such. There­upon the gentleman replyed, though I sleepe all night on the bare floore, I am resolved to see this curious peece by you so highly commended, and calling to his man, who [Page 4] came along with him, willing him to holde his [...]tirrup hee allighted, and gave order to have his supper made ready as soone as possibly they could, which was done in a trice: And whilst hee was sitting at supper, comes me in an Al­quazil of the Towne, (as ordinarily they use to doe in little Villages,) and sate him downe by this gentleman to con­verse with him, and keepe him company till he had made an end of his supper, and betweene whiles hee did not (for all his discoursing) forbeare to trill downe three good gob­lets of Wine, and tire upon the braines and cradle of a Partridge which the gentleman gave him, which kind­nesse the Alquazil thought he had requited to the full by asking him, what newes at Court? how the warres went on in Flanders? and whether the Turk were not making great preparation for his comming downe into Christendome? not forgetting to question him touching Transilvania, how things stood there, &c. The gentleman had by this time supt, and was silent all the while, because hee was unaquainted with those passages, and therefore could not satisfie him in those his demands. Now likewise by this time had mine hoste ended the provendring of the Nag, and came and sate himselfe downe to make a third in this their conversation, and to fall a tasting of his owne wine, gulping downe no lesse then the Alquazil, and after every cup that hee tooke he would wry his head; and lay­ing it on his left shouder, and highly commending the wine, sayd that it carried him into the Clouds, though hee durst not stay any long time in them, least hee should have too much water in his wine. And ever and anon he fell a reiterating the prayses of his guest that had shut up himselfe, telling them of his swouning, and that he would have nothing to his supper, exaggerating all things in an excessive kinde of manner. Hereunto hee added what Portmanteu hee had, and the goodnesse of his Nag, and what a daintie riding sute; all which did require that hee should not travaile thus without a man to waite upon [Page 5] him. All these exaggerations did stirre up a new desire in the other to have a sight of him, and intreated his hoste that he would by one meanes or other so bring the busi­nesse about, that he might get into the chamber and lye in that other bed, and that he would give him a Crowne in Gold for his paines. And although the greedinesse of gaine had already wrought the effect even upon mine Hosts will, yet he found it was not seasonable by reason that hee had shut in himselfe, neither durst he awaken him out of his sleepe, having likewise considered with himselfe, that he had payd well for both the beds; all which rubs the Alquazil did remove, making the way very facile and easie: Telling them that which may, and is to be done, is this, I will knock at the doore, saying that I am the Iustice, & that by the command of my master the Alcalde I was willed to bring this gentleman to lodge in this Inne, and that there being no other bed for him, his will and pleasure was that hee should have that; whereupon mine Hoste must re­ply, aggravating the great wrong and injury that is done him, being that he had rented the chamber and bed of him, and that there was no reason in the world why hee should not freely enjoy that which hee was possest of, and had payd so well for it; so by this meanes mine hoste shall be blamelesse, and your worship shall obtaine your purpose. This plot of the Alquazil was very well liked and approved by all of them. And the gentleman who had a longing desire to see this rare Iewell, inclosed as it were in a case, gave the Alquazil foure Royalls in Requitall of his readinesse to doe him this desired service. Whereupon he presently puts his plot in execution, and in conclusion the first guest shewing great risentment, removing the chayres and unlocking the doore, opened it to the Iustice: And the second guest craving pardon of the wrong which hee might conceive hee had done him, went and layd him downe in the leere bed. But the other returned him not so much as one word in answer thereunto, much lesse [Page 6] would he suffer him to see his face, for he had scarce ope­ned the doore, but he hy'de himselfe with all the haste hee could to his bed, and turning his face to the wall, that hee might not answer him, made as though hee were asleepe: the other also betooke him to his rest, hoping in the mor­ning when they were to get up to accomplish his desire; The nights were of those long and large ones of December, and the coldnesse of the weather and the wearinesse of their journey, might inforce Travailours to procure to them passe over with sweete repose. But because the first guest knew not what ease or rest was, anon after midnight he began to sigh so grievously, that with every sigh he see­med to send his soule from out his body, and so deepely were they fetcht from the heart roote, that though the second guest were fast asleepe, he could not chuse but be wakened with the pitifull sound of the complainant. And wondring at the sobs and throbs, wherewith hee accompanied those his sighs, he attentively set himselfe to listen unto that, which to his seeming hee whispered and muttered to himselfe. The roome was darke, and the beds in a good distance the one from the other, yet notwith­standing all this, he came to heare amongst other his dis­coursings, these insuing, which with a weake and feeble voyce were uttered by the first afflicted guest.

Ah me! of all other I most unfortunate! Whither doth the unresistable force of my destiny carry me? what course is this which I runne? or what hope have I to part out of this intricate Laberinth wherein I finde my selfe? O my few and ill expired yeares, incapable of all good conside­ration, and counsell. What end will this my unknowne perigrination have? O my contemned and despised ho­nour, how lightly have I set by thee? O my ill requited love! O how have I troden under foote the respects that I owed to my noble Parents and kinsfolke! And ah mee, a thousand and a thousand times that I have with so loose a reyne suffered my selfe to be carryed away by my desires! [Page 7] O yee feigned words, which did sotruly and really obleige me, that by my workes and deeds I should correspond with you! But alas poore miserable perplexed wretch that I am, of whom doe I complaine? To whom doe I make my moane? Am not I the person that was so willing to deceive my selfe? Am not I the partie that tooke the knife with mine owne hands, wherewith I did cut off my cre­dit and throw it on the ground, and together therewith the reputation and worth of my ancient parents? O faith­lesse Marco Antonio, how is it possible that in those sweete words which thou uttredst unto me, the gall should bee mingled of thy discourtesies and disdaines? O thou un­gratefull where art thou? whither forgetfull of me, art thou gone? Answere me, for I speake unto thee; uphold me, for I am ready to fall, pay me that which thou owest me; re­lieve me in my distresse since I have so many wayes ob­leiged thee unto me. Having sayd this shee was silent; ma­nifesting by her sighes and groanes that her eyes did not cease to shower downe teares in aboundance. All which this second guest lay listning unto with a still and quiet si­lence; collecting by those discourses which he had heard, that without doubt it was a woman that did thus com­plaine and be wayle her wretched condition; which served as a coale to kindle the more the desire he had of knowing her; and he had often resolved with himselfe to goe on to her bed, being fully perswaded shee was a woman. And doubtlesse he had done it, if in that very instant he had not heard him rise, and opening the chamber doore call to the Hoste of the house to saddle his Nagge, because he would presently bee gone. To whom mine Hoste, after suffering himselfe a good while to bee called upon, made answere, that hee should goe sleepe and take his rest, for it was not yet midnight, or but a little paste, and that it was so ex­ceeding dark that it were great rashnes and indiscretion to put himselfe upon his journey. With this hee rested qui­et, and returning to shut the doore, hee did not lay, but [Page 8] throw himself all at once down upon the bed, sending forth withall a strong sigh. It seemed unto him that heard him not amisse to speakeunto him, & to offer himselfe to procure his remedy, as far forth as on his part he was able to performe; to the end he might obleige him thereby to discover him­selfe, and to recount unto him the lamentable history of his misfortune: And therefore sayd unto him; Certainly (noble Sir) if the sighs which you have vented, and the words which you have uttered had not moved mee to a fellow­feeling and condoling of that evill, whereof you com­plaine, I should thinke with my selfe that I wanted na­turall compassion, or that my soule were of stone, and my brest of hard brasse. And if this compassion vvhich I have of you, and if the purpose vvhich I have put on to hazard my life for your remedy, (in case your maladie requireth it) may merit any courtesie in recompence thereof, I be­seech you that you vvill use it vvith mee, by declaring unto mee vvithout covering or concealig any thing from me, the cause of your sorrovv. If my sorrovv had not bereft me of my sense (ansvvered hee that complained) I might very vvell have bethought my selfe that I was not all alone in this lodging, and therefore should have put a bridle to my tongue, and made a longer truce with my sighs: But in punishment of my memories fayling mee, and in such a place, where it so much imported mee to have lookt better unto it, I will doe that which you desire mee; because by renewing the sad story of my misfortunes, it may be that a new sense, and fresh feeling of them will make an end of me. But if you will that I doe that which you desire mee, you shall promise mee by that faith which you have profest unto mee in that offerture which you have made mee, and that as you are a Gentleman, and by that inbred goodnesse which is in you, (for by that which your words expresse you, you promise much) that for the things which you heare from me, and which I shall tell you, you move not out of your bed, nor come unto [Page 9] mine, nor aske more of me, then what I shall bee willing to tell you; for if you shall doe contrary thereunto, in that very instant that I heare you stirre or move, with a Sword which I have at my beds head, I will runne my selfe through the body. The other (who would not stick to promise a thousand impossibilities, for to know that which he so much desired) made answer, that he would not in any the least Title differ from that which he desired, confirming the same with a thousand oathes. Vpon this securitie the first guest sayd unto him, I will now doe that which hitherto I never did to any, to wit, to give you an account of my life, and therefore hearken unto it.

Sir, I must give you to understand that I who entred in­to this lodging (as no doubt but they have told you) in mans attire, am an unfortunate Damsell, at least one that was so, not full eight dayes agoe, but have now lost that noble name by mine unadvisednesse and foolishnesse, and by giving credit to the well composed, but counterfeit words of faithlesse men. My name is Theodosia, my coun­trey one of the chiefest and prime places of all Andaluzia, whose name I silence (because it doth not so much import you to know it, as it doth me to conceale it) My parents are noble, and more then meanely rich, who had betweene them one sonne and one daughter; he, for to be a staffe to rest themselves on in their old age, and an honour to their house, and shee, the cleane contrary. They sent him to Sala­manca to study, and me they kept at home, where they bred mee up with such warinesse and circumspection as best became their vertue and noblenesse, and I without any repining or grudging was alwayes obedient unto them, conforming my will unto theirs without erring therefro in any least point, till that my happinesse being in the Wane, or my misfortune growing towards the Full, a sonne of one of our neighbours, more rich then my parents and no lesse noble then they, presented himselfe to mine eyes. The first time that I saw him, I was not sensible of any [Page 10] thing else, save onely a complacencie and kinde of pleasing­nes in having seene him, neither was it much that I should be somewhat taken therewith, because his bravery, gentle carriage, face, and fashion were of the most, praise-worthy and best esteemed in those parts, receiving some further ad­dition by his rare discretion and courtesie. But what does it avayle me to prayse mine enemy, or to goe, by way of dis­course, in larging his my unfortunate succes, or (to say better) the beginning of my folly? In conclusion, I say, that he saw me not once but often from a window that was right over against mine. From thence (as it seemed then unto me) he sent his soule unto me by his eyes, and mine, with another kind of content then at first, tooke pleasure and delight in beholding him and did even enforce me to beleeve that they were pure truths which I read in his face and behaviour▪ His eyes, were the intercessours and procurers of speech, his speech, the Inter­preter of his desire, his desire, the inflamer of mine, and of gi­ving faith and beleefe unto his. To these he added promises, oathes, teares, sighs and all that which to my seeming a firme and constant lover could possibly doe, for to expresse the integretie of his loving affection, and the stedfastnesse and sinceritie of his heart and minde And in me (poore soule) who had never seene my selfe in the like occasions, and dan­gerous adventures heretofore, every word, was a Canon shot which did batter down a part of the Forte of mine ho­nour; every scalding teare, was a flaming fire wherein my honesty was scorched and burnt; every sigh, a furious wind which did in such sort augment the flame, that it came to consume that vertue which untill then had beene never touched; and lastly, having plighted his faith and truth to me to bee my husband in despight of his parents (who had provided another wife for him) I did set all my reti­rednes at six and seavens, not caring which way the world went: and, without knowing how my selfe, I delivered o­ver my self into his power (my parents being unacquainted therewith) without having any other witnesse of my [Page 11] folly, and inconsiderate rashnesse, then Marco Antonio his Page, (for this is the name of the disturber of my rest and quietude) and scarse had he taken of me the possession of that which hee so much desired, but that within two dayes after he disappeared and was gone, neither his pa­rents; nor any other person being able to tell or imagine which way he tooke, or what was become of him. In what a woefull case I was, let him speake that is able to speake it, for I know not, nor ever knew more, save onely to be­wayle and lament it▪ I did chastise my hayres as if they had beene in fault, and guilty of my errours; I did marry­rise my face, because I conceived that it had given the oc­casion of all my mishap. I cursed my fate, accused my too quick determination, I did shed many and infinite teares, I saw my selfe even almost choaked betwixt them and those sighes which vented themselves from forth my grie­ved soule: I silently complayned on heaven, I reasoned and discoursed with mine imagination, to see if I could discover any way or part that might leade to my remedy. And that which I found was, to put my selfe into mans apparrell, and in that disguised habit to absent my selfe from the house of my parents, and to goe seeke out this se­cond Imposter Aeneas, and this cruell and faithlesse Viveno, this defrauder of my good thoughts, and of my lawfull & well grounded hopes, and so without sounding to the bottome, or diving any deeper into my discoursings, oc­casion offering me a riding suite of my Brothers, and a Nag of my Fathers, which I sadled in an exceeding darke night, I got me packing, with purpose to goe to Salamanca where (as it was afterwards told me) it was thought Marco An­tonio might hap to be; for he likewise is Student there (as before I told you) and my brothers chamber-fellow. Nor did I omit to take good store of Crownes with me, against all chances that might befall me in this my unthought on journey. But that which doth most trouble me, is, least that my parents should follow after me, and finde me out [Page 12] by my cloathes, and by the Nag which I have brought a­long with me. But put case I did not feare this, yet am I afrayd of my brother, who is in Salamanca, by whom if I come to be knowne, the perill is easie to bee apprehended, whereunto my life is put for though he may heare my ex­cuses in my discharge, yet the least point of his honour will weigh downe the ballance, and oversway all the satisfa­ction that I shall bee able to give him. Notwithstanding all this, my principall determination is (though I loose my life in the pursuite) to seeke out this false hearted man my Husband, for hee cannot deny himselfe so to be, unlesse he will give the lye to those pledges which hee left in my power, which are a Ring of Diamonds, and the Poesie ther­in, speaking thus▪ Marco Antonio, is Theoaosia's Husband If▪ meet with him, I will put him to the question vvhat it vvas that moved him so quickly to leave me? And in conclusi­on I am fully resolved that hee shall comply vvith his pro­mised vvord and faith made unto me, vvhich if he refuse to doe, I will kill him; shevving my selfe as ready to take revenge, as I was facile in suffering him to wrong me. For that noblenesse of blood which my parents have given me, goes rovvsing up my spirits, and puts such metall in­to them, that they already promise me eyther a remedy of my received vvrong, or a full revenge of my offered af­front. This (noble Sir is the true and unfortunate History vvhich you so much desired to knovv, vvhich may sufficiently pleade the excuse of those sighs and vvords which did avvake you out of your sleepe. That vvhich I novv beg and intreate of you, is, that since you cannot give me any remedy, yet at least you will give mee your best counsell and advise, whereby I may be able to avoyd those dangers which may oppose themselves, and stand in my way, and to qualifie and moderate the feare which I have of being found out, and to facilitate the means which I am to use for the obtayning of that, which I so much de­sire and stand in neede of.

[Page 13]Hee who had attentively hearkned to the History of in­amored Theodosia, continued a great while without retur­ning her so much as one word, & so long that she thought he was asleepe, and that hee had heard nothing of all that shee had sayd. And for to certifie her selfe of that which shee suspected, shee sayd unto him; Sleepe you Sir? Indeede it is not amisse, that you should sleepe, because the grieved and afflicted person, who recounteth his miseries and mis­fortunes to him that is not sensible of them, it is meete that they should cause in him that heareth them rather sleepe then pitty.

I sleepe not replyd the Gentleman, but rather am so broad awake, and so sensible of your disadventure, that I doe not know, whether it may bee sayd that it grieveth mee in the selfe same degree as it doth you; and therefore the counsell which you crave of me shall not only end in advising you, but in helping you as far forth as my abilitie and strength shall inable mee. But seeing that in the manner which you have held in recounting unto me your successe, you have manifested the rare understanding wherewith you are in­dowed, me thinkes, that answerable thereunto, your owne rendred up wil should not have so mightily mis-led you▪ so that it seemeth your own inclination and willingnesse did more deceive you, then Marco Antonio his perswasions. Yet notwithstanding I am content to take in excuse of your er­rour, those your few and tender yeares which for want of experience cannot come to discerne the manifold de­ceits of men. Gentlewoman patient your selfe, goe, take your rest, and sleepe if you can, during this small remnant of night, and when the day shall come on, wee two will lay our heads together, and see what course is best to bee taken for to give you remedy. Theodosia in the best lan­guage she could deliver, acknowledged her thankfulnesse, and setled herselfe to rest a while, that shee might give way to the Gentleman to sleepe. But it was not possible for him to take any rest, but hee rather began to tosse and [Page 14] tumble too and fro in the bed, and to sigh in such sort that Theodosia was inforced to aske him, what he ayled? And that if it were some passion whereunto shee might apply any remedy, shee would doe it with the same willing­nesse as hee had offered unto her. Hereunto the gentle­man answered, suppose (Gentlewoman) that you are she which causeth that disquietnesse which you have percei­ved in mee, yet you are not shee that are able to re­medy it: For could you bee shee I should not feele any paine at all. Theodosia could not well understand whether those confused reasons tended, yet notwithstanding shee suspected that some amourous passion did trouble him: And thought with her selfe that she was the cause, and she might with some reason suspect and thinke so, since that the commoditie of the lodging, the solitude and darkenes of the roome, and shee being now knowne to bee a wo­man, it had beene no such great wonder that it should awaken and stirre up in him some evill motions. And therefore being fearefull thereof, she made her selfe ready in great haste, and with much silence and stillnesse, and tooke to her her sword and dagger, and being thus armed sitting downe upon her bed, shee continued in that po­sture expecting day, which within a little while after gave tokens of his comming by that light which entred in by many chinkes and crevices, which commonly all your lodgings in Innes are seldome without. And what Theodosia did, the same did the Gentleman, for he no sooner saw the lodging starrifyed with the day light peeping through those many little holes, but hee forth with rose from his bed, saying, Arise Mistris Theodosia, for I will accompany you in this your journey, and will never let you goe from my side, untill that you have Marco Antonio to be your law­full husband, or that eyther hee or I will loose our lives, And by this shall you know the obligation and willing­nesse, whereinto your misfortune hath put mee. And ha­ving sayd this, he opened the windowes and doores of [Page 15] the Chamber. Theodosia was well pleased therewith, longing to see by the clearenesse of that light, what manner of man he was with whom shee had held discourse all that night. But when shee had viewed him and knew him, shee then wished that it had never beene day, but that there her eyes had beene closed and shut up in perpetuall night. For the Gentleman had scarce turned his eyes towards her to behold her, (for he like wise did desire to see her) but shee presently perceived, that it was her brother of whom shee was so much afraid. With whose sight shee had almost lost that of her owne eyes, and remayned suspensive and speechlesse, and without any colour in her cheekes. But drawing from feare courage, and from danger discretion, pulling out her Dagger, shee tooke it into her hand by the point, and humbling her selfe on her knees before her bro­ther, shee spake unto him with a troubled and timerous voyce, saying; Take this (my beloved brother) and worke on me with this sharpe pointed Iron the chastisment of that folly which I have committed, satisfying therewith thy displeasure, sithence that for so great a crime as mine, it is not fit that any mercy should bee extended towards me. I confesse my offence, acknowledge my sinne, but would not that my repentance should serue to excuse my fault. Onely I beseech you that the punishment may be such, as may take away my life, but not mine honour; for although I have put it into manifest perill, by absenting my selfe from my fathers house, yet notwithstanding it can­not escape opinion, if the chastisement which you give shall not be secret.

Her brother looked steadily on her, and thought the loosenesse of her audaciousnesse did in [...]ite him to revenge, yet those her so tender and effectuall words, wherewith she manifested her faulte, did in such sort mollifie his bowels, and worke such compassion in him, that with a plea­sing countenance and chearefull semblance, hee raysed her up from the ground, and comforted her the best he either [Page 16] could or knew; telling her (amongst other speeches which he used unto her) that because he could not finde out a punishment answerable to her folly, he would suspend it for the present, and that therefore as well in respect of that, as also for that it seemed unto him, that Fortune had not as yet wholly shut the doores against giving her remedy, he rather made choyse to procure it her by all possible meanes, then to take revenge of that wrong, and affront, which by her overmuch lightnesse and credulitie reflected upon him. With these kinde words Theodosia began to re­cover her lost spirits, her colour returned to her face, and her almost dead hopes were quickned and revived. Don Rafael (for so was her brother called) was not thence forward willing to treate any more with her touching her disaster, knowing how harsh that note would sound in her eares, onely he advised her that she would change that her name of Theodosia into Theodoro, and that they would both of them goe forthwith to Salamanca to looke out Marco Antonio, albeit he imagined that he was not there; because being his chamber▪fellow he would have acquain­ted him with his going thither, though it might be that the wrong which he had done him in his sister did not onely make him conceale it, but to have no desire at all to see him. This our new Theodoro referred her selfe wholly to that which stood with her brothers pleasure. And now (for a Parenthesis) comes in mine Hoste, whom they ap­pointed, that he should make ready their breakfast, for they would presently bee gone. In the Interim that their beasts were sadling, and breakfast come in, there entred into the Inne a Gentleman a Travaylour, who was instantly knowne by Don Rafael. Theodoro likewise knew him, but durst not come out of the lodging for feare of being seene. These two lovingly imbraced each other, and Don Rafael asked this new commer, what newes there was in those parts from whence he came. To whom hee made answer, that he came from the port of Santa Maria, [Page 17] where he left foure Gallies that were bound for Naples, and that in them he saw imbarked Marco Antomo Adorno, the son of Don Leonardo Adorno, with which newes Don Rafael was wonderfull well pleased; conceiving, that since so without any further trouble, hee came to have knowledge of that which did so much concerne him, it was a signe that the businesse he had in hand would have a good end. He en­treated his friend that hee would exchange his Mule with him for his fathers Nag, telling him that hee was to goe to Salamanca, and was loath to carry along with him so good a Nag so long a journey. The other who was a well bred man, and his friend was content to exchange with him, and tooke it to his charge to deliver the Nag to his father. They two brake fast together, and Theodoro alone by himselfe, and the time of parting being come, they tooke their leave each of other, and Don Rafaels friend tooke the way that led to Cazalla, where he had a goodly Lordship, Don Rafael did not goe cut with him, and that hee might the better give him the slip, he told him that he must needs returne that day to Sevill. And therefore as soone as he was gone, their beasts being brought forth, having made their reckoning, & payd their host, saying Adieu, they rode forth of the Inne, leaving as many as remayned therein, wondring at his great beauty & gentle carriage; who for a man had no lesse gracefulnes, metall and sweetnes of behaviour then his sister. They were no sooner gone thence, but Don Rafael told her the newes which he had received concerning Marco Antonio, and that he thought it fit that with all possible diligence they should make for Barcelona, where ordinarily the Gallies which ey­ther passe into Italy or come for Spaine, stay a day or two; and in case they were not as yet come they might stay & expect their arrivall, & that there without doubt they should finde Marco Antonio. His sister said unto him that he should doe what liked him best, for her will was his Don Rafael then cal­ling to the Muletere, whom he brought along with him told him that he must have patience, for it stood him upon to goe to Barcelona, assuring him that he would give him good [Page 18] content and pay him well for the time he should continue with him. The Muletere, who was a good fellow, & as blithe a lad as any of his function, and one who knew that Don Rafael was a liberall gentleman, made answer that he would goe with him to the end of the world, and do him the best service he could. Hereupon Don Rafael demanded of his si­ster what moneys she had brought along with her? she re­plyed that she had not told them, & that she knew no more concerning them, save that they had put her hand into her fathers Cabinet seven or eight times, and tooke it out full of Pistolets, & according to that quantity, Don Rafael imagined that it might bee a matter of some 500▪ Crownes, which with other two hunded which hee had, and a chayne of Gold which he wore about his necke, he thought him selfe very well provided: And the better, for that he verily per­swaded himselfe that he should meet with Marco Antonio in Barcelona; with this perswasion they slacked no time, they made all the haste they could, without loosing one dayes journey, and so without any let or impediment befalling them, they came within two leagues of towne, w^ch is nine from Barcelona, named Yqualada. They had notice upon the way, how that a gentleman of quality, who was to go Em­bassadour to Rome, stayd in Barcelona expecting the Gallies which were not as yet come thither; newes w^ch liked him well, & gave him much content with this good tidings, they jogged merily on, till they were upon entring into a little wood, out of which they saw a man come running, & look­ing behind him, as one that had bin shrewly affrighted. Don Rafael put himselfe before him, saying unto him, my honest friend, why dost thou fly away so fast? or what is it hath be­fallen thee, that with manifestation of such great feare, hath put wings to thy feete, and made thee make so much hast; will you not that I runne with haste (answered this affrigh­ted man) since that I have miraculously escaped from a company of out-lawes, and high-way robbers, that keepe this wood to pray upon passengers? This is not well (sayd the Muletere) it is not well I tell you; robbers at this [Page 19] time of day? wee are like to smart for it, they will make novices of us. Brother be not dismayd, doe not vex or grieve your selfe at it, for they have done their businesse▪ and are gone by this time, having left bound to the Trees of this wood above 30. passengers, stripping them even to their very shirts. Onely they left one man at libertie, that he might unbind the rest, after that they had recovered a little mountaine, from whence they would give him a signall to set them free. If this be so (sayd Calvete) for so was the Muletere called, wee may safely passe, because that place where these robbers make their pray, doe not for a pretty whiles after returne thither againe. And this I am able to assure you of, as one that hath fallen twise into their hands, and am well acquainted with their trickes and fashions; it is true that hee tells you, sayd the man. Which being heard by Don Rafael, he resolved to passe forward, and they had not gone farre, when loe they lighted on those that were bound, being above 40▪ persons, whom hee that they had left loose, fell to unbinding of them as fast as he could; it was a strange spectacle, to see some starke naked, o­thers clad with the robbers tattered rags; some weeping to see themselves robd and stript of all that they had, others laughing to see the strange formes and fashions of their fellowes, and how odly they look't when their feathers were pluckt from them, and outed of their gay cloathes. This man reckoned up to a farthing what they had taken from him; that other, that a Box with an Agnus Dei in it, which he brought from Rome did more grieve and trou­ble him then all the rest of the things, though of great va­lew, which they tooke from him. In conclusion, all that passed there were nothing else but teares, and the loud lamentations of those miserable dispoyled passengers. All which not without a great deale of sorrow, the two bro­thers beheld, rendring thankes to heaven that it had freed them from so great and imminent a danger. But that which hath wrought more upon their compassion, and [Page 20] stirred up most pitty in them, especially in Theodoro, was to see fast bound to the trunke of an oake, a young youth of the age (to seeming) of 16. yeares, with a shirt onely to his backe, and a paire of linnen breeches, but of so faire and beautifull a countenance, that he moved and in­forced all that beheld him to take pitty of him. Theodoro a­lighted to unbinde him, and he returned very courteousand thankefull language for the received benefit. And to make it the greater, he intreated Calvete their Mu [...]tere to lend him his cloake, till that they should (which they would do the first towne they came at) buy another for this pretty gen­tile youth. Calvete gave it him, and Theodoro covered there­with the youth, asking him whence he was, whence hee came and whither he would. At all this Don Rafael was present, and the youth answered, that hee was of Andalu­zia, and of such a place, which in naming of it, made them to know it was but two leagues distant from their owne habitation; hee told them that hee came from Sevill, and that his designe was to goe for Italy, to try his fortune in the exercise of Armes, and to be trayned up in the schoole of honour, as many other Spaniards daily used to doe. But that his chance was unfortunate by that his ill incounter, with those Out-lawes and Robbers, who tooke a good quantity of money from him and such cloathes that hee could not buy the like for 300. Crownes, yet notwith­standing all this, he was resolved to prosecute his course because hee came of such a race, that the first evill successe that befell him, should not coole the heate of his fervent desire. The good discourse and language of the youth, to­gether with their having heard that hee was so neare a neighbour unto them, and more especially for that Letter of recommendation which was writ in his forehead, wrought a loving affection in both the brothers to fa­vour him in all they were able. And so sharing amongst those which to their seeming had most need, some monies; more particularly amongst the Fryers and Churchmen, [Page 21] which were to the number of eight. They made the youth to get up upon Calvetes Mule, and without further stay, in short space they arrived at Yqualada, where they came to learne that the Galleyes had put into Barcelona the day before, and that within those two dayes they were to be gone, if foule weather did not hinder them. This newes made them to rise early in the morning before the Sunne was up, though all that night they slept but broken sleepe; The occasion of this suddaine passion and inquietude in the two brothers, grew upon this occasion; they sitting at board, and with the youth whom they had unbound, Theodoro fixed his eyes very wishly on his face, and behol­ding somewhat curiously with a prying looke, hee percei­ved that hee had holes boared through the tippes of his eares, and as well by this, and by that mayden blush, and modest countenance which hee showed, his minde gave him that shee must needes bee a woman and sate upon thornes all supper time, wishing that it were ended, that taking him aside he might the better certifie himselfe of this his suspition And whilst they were at supper, Don Rafael de­manded of him whose sonne hee was, because hee knew all the principall persons thereabouts, and if he had named the place aright, he could not chuse but know his condi­tion and qualitie. Whereunto the youth answered, that he was the sonne of Don Henrique de Cardenas, a Gentleman well knowne to all; hereunto Don Rafael replyed, that hee very well knew Don Henrique de Cardenas, but withall knew and was well assured of it, that he had no sonne at all, but con­ceived that he told him so, because hee was loath to disco­ver his parents; and because it did not import him to know whether it were so or no, he would not presse that point any further, nor had any purpose to question him any more of it, it is true (answered the youth) that Don Henrique hath no sonnes, but a brother of his called, Don Sancho. Nay (quoth Don Rafael) that is not so, he hath no sonnes neither, but one onely daughter, and it is sayd of her, that shee is the [Page 22] fairest Damsell that is in all Andaluzia; but this I know no otherwise then by the fames and generall report that goes of her. For though I have beene often there where shee lives, yet it was never my good happe to see her. All that you say (Sir) is true, (replyed the youth) for Don Sancho in­deede hath no more but one daughter, but not so fayre as fame reports her. And if I told you that I was sonne to Don Henrique, I spoke it (Gentlemen) onely to this end, that you might holde me in the better esteeme, but ingeniously to confesse the truth, I am not the sonne of Don Henrique, but of the Steward to Don Sancho, who hath served him these many yeares, and I was borne in his house, and upon a certaine distaste which I had given my father, having ta­ken good store of money with mee, I was willing as I told you to make for Italy, and to follow the wars, by which course I have seene many of meane birth and obscure pa­rents come to be noble, and rise to the highest places of ho­nour and command. All these reasons, and the manner of delivering them. Theodoro attentively noted, and still went more and more confirming the suspition hee had entertay­ned. Now by this time supper was ended, and all taken a­way, and while Don Rafael was making himselfe unready, Theodoro having told him the conceived suspition he had of the youth, with his good leave and liking he tooke the youth aside to a broad bay window, which looked out to­wards the streete, and they two standing both close brest to brest, Theodoro began to breake the Ice, and to speake to the youth in this insuing manner.

I could wish (Sennor Francisco) for so did he stile himselfe) that it had beene in my power to have done you so many good offices, that they might have obliged you, not to deny me any thing whatsoever, that I eyther could or would aske of you, but that little time which hath brought you to my knowledge hath not given way thereunto, it may be that in that which is to come, you shall come to know that which my desire deserveth from you. And if [Page 23] to that which I now have at this present, you shall not be pleased to give satisfaction; yet for all this shall I not cease to be your servant, as I now profes my self truly to be. And be­fore that I discover my conception unto you, I would have you to know, that although my yeares be as few as yours, yet have I had more experience of the things of this world, then they promise. And thereby have I come to suspect, that you are not a man as your habit showes you to be, but a woman, and likewise so borne as your beauty publish­eth you to bee, and peradventure so unfortunate as this changing of your apparell presents it to our understanding, since that such kinde of disguizing as these are never good for the party that put them on; if that which I suspect be true, deale plainely with mee, for I sweare and vow unto you by the faith of a gentleman, that I will assist and serve you in all that I am able. Now, that you are not a woman, you cannot possibly deny it, for by those windowes in your eares, the truth is clearely to bee seene, and I must tell you, you have beene a little too negligent and carelesse in the shutting and stopping of these holes, with some wax of the same colour with your eare, which might so artifici­ally have beene done, that another so curious as my selfe though not so honest, should hardly have discerned that which you have not so well knowne to cover. I tell you therefore that you neede not bee scrupulous, or caste any doubts in declaring unto me who you are, for I offer you my assistance and service, and assure you that I will bee as secret as you your selfe would have me to be.

With great attention did this [...]youth stand, hearkning to that which Theodoro sayd unto him; and continuing a while silent before that she made him any answer, she tooke hold on both his hands, and bringing them up to his mouth, by playne force hee kist them, and likewise bathed them with great store of teares, which trickled downe his faire eyes, which strange sorrow caused the like in Theodoro, in so much that shee could not forbeare to accompany him in [Page 24] them, it being the proper and naturall condition of wo­men of qualitie to grow tender and sensible of other folkes griefes and afflictions. But after that with some difficultie he had withdrawne her hand from the youths mouth, hee stood very attentive to see what answer hee would give him; who sending forth a grievous groane, accompanied with many sighes sayd, Sir, I neither will, nor can deny that your suspition hath not beene true, I am a woman, and of all women the most unfortunate, that ever was brought forth into the world▪ And since that the good deeds which you have done me, and the faire offers which you have made me, oblige me to obey you in all that you shall command me; listen now unto mee, for I shall now tell you who I am, if it may not be troublesome and tedious unto you, to heare anothers misfortunes. Let me live for ever in them, (replyed Theodoro) if I shall not take as great pleasure in knowing them, as I shall the paine they will give mee, in that they are yours. For I already begin to bee a sensi­ble of them as if they were mine owne. And so returning to imbrace him, and to make him new and true offers, the youth being somewhat better quieted, began to speake in this wise.

Touching my countrey I told you the truth, but touch­ing my parents, not. For Don Henrique is not my father, but mine uncle, but his brother Don Sancho is. And I am that unfortunate daughter which Don Sancho hath; who for her beauty (as your brother saith) is so much praysed and commended, the falsehood whereof is easily to be seene in that little or none at all that I have. My name is Leocadia; the occasion of changing my attire, I shall now deliver unto you. Two leagues from that place where I liv'd, there is another, one of the richest & noblest in all Andaluzia, where in there liveth a principall gentleman, who fetch­eth his pedegree from the noble and ancient Adorno of Ge­noa. This gentleman hath a sonne, who (if fame doe not overlash herselfe in his prayses, (as shee hath done in mine) [Page 25] is in the ranke of those Gentlemen, which diserve no mean commendation, being every way as compleate as can bee wished or desired in one of his qualitie. This Gentleman then, as well for the vicinitie of both these places, as also that hee was well affectioned to the exercise and sport of hunting, as my father likewise was, came now and then to our house, and stayd there five or six dayes together. All which dayes, yea and even part also of the nights hee and my father passed abroad in the fields From this occasion eyther Fortune or Love or my little heedfulnesse, took that which was sufficient to throw me downe headlong from the height of my good thoughts, to the bottome of that low estate and condition wherein I now am. For having behelde some what more then was lawfull for a wary and discreete Damsell, the gentilenesse and discretion of Marco Antonio, and having considered the qualitie of his Li­nage, and the great store of goods, bearing the name of those of Fortune) which his father had, it seemed unto me, that if I could get him to be my husband, it was all the happinesse that could come within the compasse of my desire. With this thought I began to eye him with more care, when as indeede it ought to have bin done with more carelesnesse, since that he thereby came to take notice of my love by my lookes. Nor did this Traytour eyther desire or neede any other entrance for to enter himselfe into the secret of my bosome, and to robbe me of the best pledges of my soule. But I know not (Sir) to what pur­pose I should put my selfe to recount unto you point by point those lesser matters in the prosecution of our love, because they make little to the substance of that businesse I am to treate of, but to tell you at once, that, which he with so many solicitations obtayned of me, which was that having given mee his faith and word, under great and (to my seeming firme and Christian oaths) to be my husband, I offered my selfe unto him to doe whatsoever he would with me. But yet for all this, being not well satisfied with [Page 26] his oathes, and words, to the end that the winde might not carry them away, I wrought with him that hee should write them downe in a Schedule firmed with his name, strengthned with so many circumstances, that there with I rested satisfied. Having received this Schedule & note under his hand, I plotted and divised how that on such a night, he should come from his owne house to mine, and enter by clambring over the garden wall, into my lodging, where without any disturbance he might reape that friuit, which for him onely was reserved and destinated, at last came that night which by me was so much desired.

Till she came to this point, Theodoro had the patience to con­tinue silent, having her soule hanging on the words of Leo­caaia, w^ch with every one of them as with so many swords did passe through her very soule▪ especially, when she heard the name of Marco Antonio, & saw the rare beauty of Leocadia, and considered the greatnesse of her worth, interwoven with that her singular discretion, which she had well ma­nifestd in the manner of recounting this her story. But when she came to say; at last came that night which by me was so much desired, she was ready to loose the stirrops of her patience, and not being able to hold and containe herself any longer, shee brake out interrupting her discourse, into these ensuing words. Very well▪ and when this most happy and desired night was come, what did he then? Had▪ hee the good happe to enter? Did he injoy you? did he a new con­firme the Schedule? Did he rest well pleased in having gotten that of you w^ch you say was only his? did your father know of it? or in what ended these honest and wise beginnings.

They did end (replyed Leocadia) in putting me into this case wherein you now see me, for I did neither enjoy him, nor he me, nor came to any certaine conclusion and finall agreement.

With these words Theodosia began to recover a little breath, and gathered up againe those her spirits unto her, which by little and little went leaving her vitall parts, incited and [Page 27] egged on by that raging pestilence of jealousie, which spreading and defusing it selfe, went entring her very bones and marrow, for to take intire possession of her patience. But for all this did not free her so fully therefro, but that with some qualmes and heart-passions, shee returned to hearken againe unto that which Leocadia prosecuted, saying; he did not onely not come unto me, but some eight dayes after I was certainly informed that hee had absen­ted himselfe from his owne home, and carryed away with him▪ stealing her out of her fathers house, a Damsell of the same place where hee lived, the daughter of a no­ble Gentleman, named Theodosia, a Damsell of extraordinary beautie, and rare discretion. And for that shee was descen­ded of such noble Parents, this stealth was spead abroad in our Towne, and presently brought to my eares, and with it that colde and fearefull Lance of jealousie which pierced my heart, and did set my soule on such a flaming fire, that thereby my honour was turned into ashes, my credit consumed, my patience parched, and my wisedome wasted to nothing Ah me, most unfortunate! for I then presently began to figure in my imagination Theodosia to be fayrer then the Sunne, and more discreete then discretion it selfe, and above all, farre more happy then I miserable. I reade over and over the words of the Schedule againe and againe, I looked on the signing and confirming of our ma­riage by assurance, having set downe his name thereunto in writing with his owne hand, and that they could not pos­sibly fayle in that faith which they published: and although unto them, as to a Sanctuary, my hopes fled for shelter▪ but when I fell into the reckoning of that justly to bee sus­pected company w^ch Marco Antonio carried along with him, my cake was dow, & all those my hopes fell to the ground▪ I did ill intreate my face, I did teare my hayres and cursed my misfortune. And that w^ch did most of all grieve me was that I could not offer up these sacrifices by reason of the inforced presence of my father. In conclusion that I might make [Page 28] an end of my wayling, and mourne to the full without any let or hinderance to stop the current of my sorrows, I resolved with my selfe to leave my fathers house; and for to put in execution an evill thought, it seemeth that opportunity is never wanting, and that occasion doth fa­cilitate, and remove out of the way all inconveniences, without fearing any thing that might befall mee, I stole from one of my fathers Pages a suite of cloathes, and from my father good store of coyne; and in a night that had put on his blacke cloake, I left the house, and walked some League a foote, till I came to a Towne called Osuna. And accommodating my self there with a Wagon, from thence, within two dayes after I arrived in Sevill, which was an entring into the securest place that possibly could be for not being found out, though they should seeke after mee. There I bought me other cloathes, and a Mule, and with certaine Gentlemen that were speedily to goe to Barcelona, that they might not loose the opportunitie of the Galleyes, which were to goe for Italy, I travailed till yesterday a long with them, when that befell mee which you know already, falling into the hand of Out-lawes▪ and Robbers, who tooke all that I had from mee, and amongst other things, that Iewell which did keepe me alive, preserve my health, and lighten the burthen of my afflictions, to wit, the Schedule I had from Marco Antonio, thinking therewith to passe into Italy, and finding Marco Antonio to present the same unto him, as a witnesse of his small faith, and a testi­mony of my great constancy, and to worke so with him that hee should performe and make good his promise unto mee. But together with this, I have weighed and consi­dered with my selfe that hee will easily deny the words that are written in a peece of paper, who denyeth those obligations, which ought to bee engraven in the soule. Besides it is cleare and apparant, that if he hath in his com­pany the unparalled Theodosia, hee will not vouchsafe to looke upon wretched Leocadia. Howbeit notwithstanding [Page 29] all this, I am resolved eyther to dye or to put my selfe in the presence of them both, that my sight may disturbe their quiet. And let not that enemy to my rest thinke that shee shall enjoy at so cheape a rate that which is mine. I will seeke after her, I will finde her out, and I will if I can, take away her life.

But what fault can you finde with Theodosia (sayd Theo­doro) or wherein is shee to bee blamed, if happily shee were likewise deceived by Marco Antonio, as well as you (Lady Leo­cadia) have beene? It may be so (replyed Leocadia:) But if he hath taken her along with him, and they who love each other so well, living together, what deceit can there bee in this? Certainely none at all; they live contented since they live together. But I could wish (as wee usually say) that they were in the remote and scorching desarts of Li­bia, or the furthermost part of frozen S [...]ithia; she question­lesse injoyes him, be it where ever it be, and she onely shall pay the cost of my sorrowes, if it bee my good happe to meete with her; it may bee (sayd Theodoro) that you are much mistaken, and your jealousie hath misguided you, and blinded the eyes of your understanding. For, I know her very well, whom you call your enemy, and I am so pri­vie to her condition, and retirednesse, that she will never adventure to foregoe her fathers house, nor to yeelde unto the will of Marco Antonio. But admit shee should, yet shee neither knowing you, nor witting any thing of that which hath passed betwixt him and you, shee hath not done you any wrong at all, and where there is no wrong offered, no revenge ought to be taken. Of her retirednesse (sayd Leo­cadia) you may say what you list for any great reckoning that I make of it. For I am sure that I was as retired & as ho­nest as any Damsell in the world, and yet notwithstan­ding he got within me, and did as you have heard. Now that he carryed her away with him, it is not to bee doub­ted▪ And whereas you urge that shee did not doe mee any wrong, should I looke thereon without passion, I must [Page 30] confesse shee did not, but the paine whereunto my jealou­sie puts me, doth represent both her and it to my remem­brance, & I shall hardly ever get it out of my memory. This is that sword which is sheathed in my bowels, and if I bee not to be blamed, that as an instrument which gives mee so much paine and torment, I labour and indeavour to pluk out the weapon that wounds me, and to breake it in peeces, how much more prudence and wisedome is it, to put those things far from us, which doe us hurt, since that it is naturall unto us to hate and abhorre those things which worke our harme, and to remove those from us that hin­der our good. Since you will have it so, bee it as you say Lady Leocadia, answered Theodosia. For I perceive that the passion which at this present possesseth you, will not per­mit you to judge of things aright; nor are you for ought I see in case at this time to receive any holesome counsell. For mine owne part I shall say that which I have already sayd unto you, that I will bee ready to favour and further you as farre forth as I am able, in all that shall bee just and meete. And I promise you the like from my brother, for his naturall condition and noblenesse, will not suffer him to doe otherwise. Our course is shaped for Italy, if you please to goe along with us you may guesse at your usage by that little (though kinde entertainement) which you have found in our company. Onely I shall request one thing at your hands, which is; That you will give mee leave, that I may acquaint my brother with this your busi­nesse, that hee may carry himselfe with that manerlinesse and respect towards you as is due unto you, and that hee may be thereby obliged to have a care of you, as it is meete he should. Besides, I would not have you to change that habit you now weare, for I hold it (as the case now stands) neither fitting nor safe for you. And if in this Towne we can get any good cloathes, to morrow morning I will buy you the best that are to be had for money, and which shall bee most convenient for you, and as for the rest of [Page 31] your pretensions leave the care thereof unto time, which is a great master for the giving and finding out of remedies in cases that [...]e most desperate. Leocadia thanked Theodosia, whom she [...] tooke to be Theodoro, and most kindly accepted of these her many courteous offers, and gave her leave to ac­q [...] her brother with what she thought fit, beseeching her, that she would take her into her protection, since that she [...] saw to what dangers shee was exposed if shee should be knowne to be a woman. With this they tooke leave each of other and repayred to their severall lodgings to take their rest. Theodosia to that of her brother, and Leoca­dia to another that adjoyned thereunto. Don Rafael was not as yet fallen asleepe, expecting the comming of his sister, that hee might know what passed with him, whom shee thought to be a woman. And shee entring before that he had [...]etled himselfe to take his rest, hee demanded of her whether it were so or no? Who point by point, recounted all that Leocadia had sayd unto her. As, whose daughter she was, her being in love, the Schedule of Marco Antonio, and her intended purpose. Don Rafael wondred at it, and sayd unto his sister▪ if shee be the same shee speaketh herselfe to be, I must tell you (sister) shee is of that place wherein she lives the most principall, and one of the noblest gentle­women in all Audaluzia. Her father is very well knowne to ours, and that report which hath gone of her beauty, doth answer very well unto that which wee now see in her countenance, and my opinion in this particular is; that we must be very wary and circumspect, that she doe not get the starte of us, and speake first with Marco Antonio. For that Schedule which she saith he made, though we should suppose it to be lost, yet will it behoove us to looke about us, and will (I feare me) cost us some care. But be of good cheere (sister) get you to bed and take your rest, for wee shall seeke out a remedy to prevent this mischiefe, and to mee [...]e with all inconveniences that shall occurre. Theodo­sia did that which her brother commanded her concer­ning [Page 32] her going to bed▪ but in that of taking her rest, that lay not in her hand to doe it; for that raging plague of jea­lousie had taken possession of her soule. O how much greater then it was in it selfe represented it se [...]e unto her imagination, the beautie of Leocadia, and the disloyatie of Marco Antonio! Oh! how often did shee reade, or [...]eigned to reade the Schedule which he had given her! Oh! what reasons and words did shee adde thereunto to make it the more effectuall and authenticall! How often would shee not beleeve that shee had lost it! And how often imagine that without it, Marco Antonio would not faile to comply with his promise, without so much as once thinking on that, which hee had made unto her, and the obligation wherein he stood bound unto her▪ In these and the like passages passed the greater part of that night, without sleep­ing one winke. And as little rest tooke her brother Don Rafael. For as soone as hee heard tell who Leocadia was, his heart was as hotly inflamed with love as if he had long be­fore for the same end held communication and conversa­tion with her. For such force hath beauty that in an instant, in a moment of time it carries after it the desire of him that beholds & knowes it, & when he doth discover or promise to himselfe some meanes how to obtaine and injoy it, the soule of him that contemplates it, is set on fire with a pow­erfull vehemencie, just after the same manner and easinesse as dry and well conditioned powder quickly takes fire with the least sparke that toucheth it. Hee did now no more imagine her to be [...]yed and bound to a tree, no [...] clad with the tattred cloathes of a man, but in her womans ap­parell, and in the house of her rich parents, and of that principall ranke and qualitie as they were. He did not nei­ther was willing to detaine his thoughts in a cause of that consequence, as this of bringing her to his knowledge, and therefore desired that day were come that he might pro­secute his journey, and finde out Marco Antonio, not so much for to make him his brother in law, as for to divert him [Page] from marrying of Leocadia. And now love and jealousie had taken such strong hold on him, that hee would have h [...]ld it for a good opinion rather to see his sister without that remedy, which hee promised to procure for her, and Marco Antonio without life, and fairely buried, then to see him­selfe hopelesse of obtayning Leocadia. Which hopes went on, promising him a happy successe in his desire, either by the way of force or by faire meanes, since that for the effecting of his purpose, time and occasion offered themselves for ey­ther: With this which he promised to himself, he was some­what quieted, and within a little while after the day began to appeare, and then they began to leave their beds And Don Rafael calling for the hoste of the house, demanded of him whether that their towne would afford a suit of cloaths for a Page who had bin stipt naked by out-lawes and robbers? Mine hoste replyed, that he himselfe had a reasonable hand­some suite to [...]ell▪ He brought it, and it fitted Leocadia as well as if it had beene made for her. Don Rafael payd him for it, and shee did put it on, and girded her sword and dagger un­to her with such a grace and spirit, that in that very ga [...]e & habit of hers▪ shee did suspend the senses of Don Rafael, and multiply jealousies in Theodosia. Calvete had sadled his Mules and about eight in the morning they departed from their Inne, and set onward on their journey for Barcelona, omit­ting for the present to visit the famous Monastery of Mon­ [...]errat▪ I want words to expresse to the life the thoughts which the two brothers entertained and with what diffe­rent mindes both of them went looking on Leocadia; Theodosia desiring her death, and Don Rafael, her life, both of them being jealous and passionate. Theodosia seeking to finde out some faults in her that shee might not despaire of her hopes; And Don Rafael finding out perfecti­ons in her, that did the more obliege him to love her; yet for all this they were not carelesse in making all the hast they could, so that they came to Barcelona before Sun­set. They did wonder at the beautifull situation of that [Page 34] Citie, and held it to bee the flower of the fayrest Cities of the world, the honour of Spaine, the terrour of their bordering and remote enemies, the pleasure and delight of its inhabitants, the Protectresse of strangers, the schoole of Chevalry, the patterne of loyaltie, and the satisfaction of all that which a discreete and curious desire can expect or wish from a great, famous, ritch and well founded Citie. In their entring thereinto they heard an exceeding great noyse and clamour, and they might see a great com­pany of people runne in a tumultuous kinde of man­ner; and asking the cause of that noyse and hurrey, they made them answer, that they of the Gallies that were at the sea side, were together by the eares with those of the Citie. Which Don Rafael hearing, would needs goe see what passed amongst them, though Calvete told him that hee should by no meanes doe it; for there was no wise­dome or discretion in so doing, and that thereby hee would put himselfe into manifest perill, for hee knew well enough by experience how ill they came off, who did thrust themselves into such kinde of differences, and confused garboyles, which were ordinary in that Citie, when the Gallies came thither: but this good counsell of Calvete could not prevaile so farre forth with Don Rafael as to hinder his going, and so they all followed him. And in comming to the Sea shoare they might see many swords drawne, and many people slashing each other without any pitty or mercy. Notwithstanding all this, with­out alighting they came so neare unto them, that they might distinctly see the faces of those that fought, for the Sun was not as yet downe. Infinite was the people which came from the Citie, and great likewise the number which disim­barked themselves from the gallies; howbeit he that had the charge of the gallies, who was a knight of Valencia, called Don Pedro Vique, from the Poope of the Captain galley threat­ned those who had imbarked themselves in the Cockboate to go & relieve their fellows; but seeing his perswasions nor [Page 35] nings could prevayle with them, hee caused the prowe of the Gallies to be turned towards the Citie, and a peece of Ordnance to be discharged without a bullet, being a signall unto them, that if they did not depart and get them gone the next should not be shot off without it. Don Rafael was very attentive in beholding this cruell brangling and scuffling amongst them, and had noted and observed that amongst other brave fellowes that tooke part with the Gallies, there was a young man that layd about him lusti­ly, being about the age of two and twenty, little more or lesse, clad in greene, with a hat of the same colour, adorned with a rich Hatband of Diamonds, the nimblenesse and dextrousnesse wherewith this young gallant fought, and the bravery of his cloathes caused all those that beheld the fight to turne their eyes towards him, and in such steadfast manner those of Theodosia, and Leocadia, that both of them at one and the same instant cryed out, God blesse me, eyther I have no eyes, or he in the greene is Marco Antonio. And no sooner had they sayd this, but with great nimblenesse they dismounted from their Mules, and drawing out their swords and daggers without any feare in the world, they made way through the midst of all the company, and placed themselves one on the one side, and the other on the other of Marco Antonio, (for he was that young man in greene wee formerly spoke of.) Feare you nothing, Marco Antonio, (so sayd Leocadia, as soone as shee came in unto him) for you have one at your side, who with the losse of his owne life, will be a shield for to save yours▪ who doubts it (replyed Theodosia) I being here? Don Rafael, who saw and heard, what had passed, hee likewise follow­ed them, and tooke part with him. Marco Antonio be­ing busied in offending others, and defending him­selfe, did not take any notice of those words these two then sayd, but rather being very hot and ear­nest in fight, did things (to seeming) beyond be­leefe. But in regard that the multitude of people [Page 36] came continually flocking from the Citie, they of the Galleyes were enforced to retreate, wading through the water to get into their Boates; Marco Antonio retired like­wise though sore against his will; And (sayling by the same compasse) went retiring on eyther side of him those two valiant and new Bradamante, and Marfisa, or Hippolita and Penthesilea. Now while they were in this hurly burly came thither a Knight of Catalunia, of the famous family of the Cardonas upon a strong sturdy steede, and putting him­selfe in the midst of eyther partie, he made those of the City to retire; such was the respect, which they bare unto him. But some that were further off threw stones at those which were making to the water, & as ill luck would have it, one hit Marco Antonio full on the bosome, with such force & fury, that he fell there with in the water being already up therein to the knees. But Leocadia had scarce seene him fall, but she presently tooke hold of him and upheld him in her armes, and the like did Theodosia. Don Rafael was a little further off from them, defending himfelfe from those showers of stones, which rayned downe about his eares. And being desirous to approach to his soules remedy, and to hasten to the helping and relieving of his sister and brother in Law, this Catalunian Knight puts himselfe before him, and sayd unto him; Sir, I command you to bee quiet by that duty which you owe to the profession of a good souldier, and doe me the favour to goe along with me by my side, and I will free you from the insolencie and excesse of this unruly route. Good Sir (answered Don Rafael) I beseech you suffer mee to passe on, for I see those things in great danger, which in this life I love most. The Knight per­mitted him to passe, but he came somewhat to late, for the boate belonging to the Captaine Gally had before hee came taken in Marco Antonio, and Leocadia, who would never let him goe out of her armes; And Theodosia desiring to im­barke her selfe with them, whether it were that shee were weary, or whether shee were overcome with griefe to [Page 37] see Marco Antonio wounded, or whether inraged with jea­lousie to see her great enemy to goe along with him, shee had neither power nor strength for to get into the boate, and doubtlesse had fallen downe in a swoune into the wa­ter if her brother had not come in time to succour her; who felt no lesse paine and torment then his sister had felt, in seeing that Leocadia went away with Marco Antonio (for he likewise had taken notice of him, and knew him to be Mar­co Antonio.) The Catalunian Knight, being much affected and taken with the gentle presence of Don Rafael, and his bro­ther (whom he tooke to be a man) called unto them from the Sea shore, intreating them that they would goe along with him, and they being inforced by necessitie, and being afrayd least the people, which were not pacified, might doe them some wrong, they were willing to accept of the friendly offer he had made them. The Knight lighted off from his horse and taking them by his side, he passed with his naked sword through the midst of that tumultuous route, intreating them to retyre and so they did. Don Ra­fael looked round about on every side to see whether hee could espy Calvete with their Mules but could not, for as soone as they had alighted hee tooke hold on the Mules, and driving them before him went unto an Inne, where he had often heretofore lodged. The Knight came home to his owne house, which was one of the chiefest in all the Citie, and demanding of Don Rafael in which of the Gallies he came, made answer, in none of them: But that he was newly come into the Citie in that very instant that this difference began, and for that he knew in that conflict the Gentleman whom they caried away hurt with a stone into the boate, hee had put himselfe into that perill, and did therefore earnestly intreate him that he would be plea­sed to give order for the bringing of him on shoare that was wounded, for thereon depended both his content­ment and life. This shall I doe with a very good will (re­plyed the Knight) and I know the that Generall will not [Page 38] deny me this courtesie, but securely trust mee with him: for he is a Gentleman of good ranke and qualitie, and my neare kinsman. And without further delaying the busi­nesse, he returned back to the Gally where he found them very busie in curing Marco Antonio, and the wound hee had received was very dangerous, because it was on the left side neare the heart, and for that the Chirurgion sayd it was dangerous, he prevayled so farre forth with the Gene­rall, that he gave him leave to take him along with him to cure him on land, and so putting him with great care and tendernesse into the boate, they brought him thence, Leo­cadia as one that was loath to leave him, imbarking her­selfe with him, and following him, as the North-starre of her hope. Being now landed on the shoare, the Knight caused a hand-chaire to be brought from his house, where­in to carry him with the more ease. In the interim whilst this was in doing, Don Rafael had sent to seeke out (alvete who was safe in his Inne, though very sad, and with a great deale of care, to know what was become of his Masters, and when he knew that they were well, he was exceeding glad, and came thither where Don Rafael was. Anon after came the Master of the house, Marco Antonio, and Leocadia, who all lodged therein, and were entertayned with much love, and magnificence. And there was present or­der taken that a very famous Chirurgion of that Citie should bee sent for to take a new upon him the curing of Marco Antonio, He came, but would not meddle with him, till the day following, saying, That the Chirurgions be­longing to Armies and Fleets, were evermore well expe­rienced men, by reason of the many hurt and wounded persons, which every foot they had under their hands, and therefore held it not convenient to enter upon the cure till the next day. That which hee gave present order for was; that they should place him in a very warme lodging where they should let him take his rest. At that very in­stant came thither the Chirurgion of the gally, and gave an [Page 39] account to that other of the Citie of the nature and quality of the hurt, and what he applyed for the curing of it, and in what danger (to his seeming) his life was in, with which information he rested fully satisfied of that which hee de­sired to know. And he himselfe (according to that relati­on which hee had received) did exaggerate the danger wherein Marco Antonio was Leocadia and Theodosia heard this; with that griefe and sorrow of heart: as if they had heard the sentence of their owne deaths, but that they might no [...] make show thereof, they did represse and silence it all they could for that time, yet had Leocadia resolved with her selfe to doe that, which shee thought fitting for the satisfaction of her honour. And this it was, as soone as ever the Chirurgions were gone, shee comes me into Mar­co Antonio's lodging, and before the Master of the house Don Rafael, Theodosia and divers other persons shee made up to the beds head of this wounded gentleman, and taking him fast by the hand, shee spake thus unto him, It is now no fit time (Senior Marco Antonio Adorno) being in that state wherein you now are, to spend many words with you, and therefore I shall onely intreate you that you will lend your eare to those few which convene, if not to the health of your bodie, yet to that of your soule▪ And that I may speake them the more freely, it is needefull that you give me your good leave, and licence, and that you will ob­serve what I shall say unto you if you have a minde to heare mee. For it should bee contrary to all reason, that I having indeavoured from the very instant that I knew you, not to give you any distaste, but did all to your con­tent and liking, that now at this present, for my last fare­well, I should bee the cause of giving you any the least griefe or sorrow. At these words Marco Antonio opened his eyes and steadily fixed them on Leocadias face, and having recollected himselfe, and taken her in a manner into his knowledge more by the Organe of her voyce then by her countenance, with a weake and feeble voyce, as one that [Page 40] was full of paine, hee sayd unto her, say on Sir what you please for I am not yet so neare my end, that I cannot listen unto you, neither is this voyce of yours so harsh and un­pleasing unto me, that it should cause any fastidiousnesse or loathing in me to heare it.

To all this Dialogue Theodosia was most attentive, and every word that Leocadia uttered was a sharpe Arrow that went athwart her heart, and wounded likewise the very soule of Don Rafael, who also heard her. And Leocadia pro­secuting what shee had begunne, went on thus; if some blow on your head, or to speake more properly, if one greater hath not lighted on my soule, it could not (Semor Marco Antonio) beate out of your memory, the image of her, who not long since, you were wont to say was your glory, and your Heaven, you may very well call to your remembrance, who Leocadia was, and what was the word that you gave her signed in a Schedule with your owne hand, nor can you bee forgetfull of the worth of her pa­rents, the integritie of her retyrednesse and honestie, and of the obligation wherein you stand bound unto her, for having applyed her selfe to your gust and liking in all whatsoever you desired. If you have not forgotten this, howbeit you see me in this so different a habit, you may easily know that I am Leocadia, who being fearefull least new accidents and new occasions should quit me of that which is so justly mine, as soone as I knew that you were gone out of the countrey, treading under foote and sleighting all whatsoever (though never so infinite inconveniences,) I resolved with my selfe to follow after you in this habit, with intention to seeke you out in all parts of the earth, till I had found you out, whereat you ought not to mar­vaile, if your selfe hath at any time felt the force of true Love, and the rage of a deceived woman. Some troubles I have passed in this my demande, all which I account well bestowed with that discount which they have brought with them, in making me so happy as to see you. [Page 41] And considering the case wherein you are, if that it shall please God to take you from this to a better life, by your doing that which you ought (as worthie your selfe) be­fore your departure out of this life, I shall thinke my selfe the happiest woman in the world: promising you to be­take my selfe to such a course of life after your death, that but little time shall be spent therein, before I follow you in this your last and inforced journey. And therefore first of all I beseech you for the love you beare unto God, to whom my desires and intentions goe directed; next, for your owne sake, who oweth much to your qualitie, and therefore ought to bee the same you are. And lastly, for my sake, to whom you owe more then to any other per­son in the world, that now presently you will receive me for your lawfull spouse, not permitting that justice should inforce you to that, which with such and so many reall obligations, reason ought to perswade you unto. And here Leocadia stopt the current of her speach, and sayd not a word more; and all they that were in the roome were in a won­derfell still silence all the while that shee talked with him, and with the same stilnesse and silenee they expected what answer Marco Antonio would make her, which was this.

I cannot (Leocadia) deny my knowing of you, for your voyce and countenance will not give me leave so to doe. Neither can I deny how much I am bound unto you, nor the great worth of your noble parents, togeather with your owne incomparable honestie, and retirednesse, neither doe I nor will I esteeme you in lesse for that which you have done, in comming to seeke me out in a habit so diffe­rent from your owne, but for this I do & shall ever esteeme of you in the highest degree that may be imagined. But since that my time (you say) is now come, and that I likewise beleeve that this may be the last day of my life, and since that such kinde of trances as these are the Chrysolls of truth, purifying the Gold from the drosse, truth from falsehood; I will tell you a truth, which if it shall not [Page 42] bee now pleasing unto you, it may bee that hereafter it may turne to your good. I confesse (faire Leocadia) that I lov'd you well, and so did you mee; and likewise I con­fesse that the schedule which I made you, was more to comply with your desire, then mine owne▪ For many dayes before that I had signed it and set my hand thereunto, I had delivered up my will and my soule to a Damsell of the same place, where I live, whom you very well know. Her name is Theodosia, the daughter (bee it spoken without disparagement) of as noble parents as yours are. And if I gave you a schedule firmed with my hand, I gave her my firmed hand, and accredited with such workes and witnesses, that I remaine impossibilited to give my libertie to any other person in the world. That which passed betwixt my selfe and Theodosia, was the obtai­ning of that fruit, which shee could give mee, and which I was willing shee should give me, plighting my faith unto her that I would be (as truly I am) her husband And if at one and the same time I left both her and you, you sus­pensefull and deceived and shee fearefull, and (as shee thought) robbed of her honour, I did therein unadvisedly and undescreetly, and (as a young man as I am) without a­ny discourse or judgement. Thinking with my selfe that all those things of this nature, were but tricks of youth, and of little or no importance, and that I might doe them with­out any scruple at all: Accompanied with other the like thoughts, which came then in my head, which did solicite me to doe that which I did, which was to goe for Italy, and to imploy therein some few of my youthfull yeares, and af­terwards to returne home, to see what was become of you and of my true Spouse. But heaven (as it should seeme) being offended, and having complayned of mee to the highest power there, I verily beleeve that God hath per­mitted & given way to put me into that condition, wherein you see me, to the end that by confessing these truths, arising from my many sins, I may pay in this life that which I owe, [Page 43] and you remaine dis-deceived and free being at your owne liberty to doe that which shall seeme best in your eyes. And if at any time Theodosia shall come to have notice of my death; shee shall know both by your selfe and by these that are here present, how that at my death I com­plyed with that promise which I made her in my life▪ And if in that little time of life (sweete Leocadia) which remai­neth unto me, I may serve you in any thing, tell it mee, I beseech you, and be it what it will be, I shall most willing­ly doe it, so as it be not to take you to wife, for that I cannot doe; no other thing shall I refuse for to give you content, that comes within my possibilitie to performe. Whilst that Marco Antonio went thus discoursing as you have heard, hee rested his head all that while on his elbow, and having made an end of speaking hee let his arme fall, giving some signes that he was ready to swoune. Don Rafael hastned pre­sently unto him, and streightly imbracing him, sayd unto him; Sir, come againe to your selfe, bee of good cheere, and imbrace this your friend and your brother, since that it is your pleasure to have it so. Looke up, and see if you know your companion and Chamber-fellow Don Rafael, who will bee a true witnesse of your good will and af­fection, and of the grace and favour which you are wil­ling to doe his sister in admitting her to be yours. Marco Antonio came againe to himselfe, and instantly knew Don Ra­fael, and imbracing him in his armes, and kissing him on the cheeke, sayd unto him; The great joy (deare brother) which I have received in seeing you can bring no lesse re­batement with it, then exceeding great sorrow. For as it is in the proverbe, after joy comes sorrow. But I shall give it for well imployed whatsoever shall befall mee, in ex­change of that great content which I have received in see­ing you▪ Nay then (replyed Don Rafael,) I will make it more compleate, by presenting you with this jewell which is your beloved spouse. And looking out Theodosia hee found her behind all the company, weeping, suspensive, and asto­nished, [Page 44] betweene griefe and joy, as well for that which shee saw as for that which shee heard. Her brother tooke her by the hand, and shee without making resistance, suffe­red herselfe to bee carryed whither hee would leade her; which was to bring her to Marco Antonio, who knew her, and lovingly imbraced her, both of them guttering downe their cheekes tender and amorous teares. All that were in the roome were strucken with admiration, in seeing so strange an accident. They looked one upon another with­out speaking one word, expecting what would bee the issue of these things. But Leocadia, having lost her hopes, though found out the errour, when shee saw that with her owne eyes, which Marco Antonio did, and saw her whom shee tooke to be Don Rafaels brother in his armes, whom shee held to be her Husband, and together with this, see­ing her desires mock't and her hopes lost, shee stole out of all their sights, their eyes being earnestly bent in be­holding that which the sick man did with the Page, whom hee hugged so close in his armes. And being gone out of the roome, shee instantly made into the street, with intention to goe, driven by despaire, wandring through the world, or at least where none might see her. But scarce had she got into the street but Don Rafael began to misse her, and as if he had lost his soule hee inquired after her; but no body could tell him which way shee was gone. And so without any longer tarrying, like one that was de­sperate hee went out to seeke her, and hyed him with all the haste he could thither, where he was told that Calvete lodged, least shee might happily have gone thither to pro­cure a Mule to ride away; and not finding her there, hee went like a mad man through the streets, searching after her, one while here, and another while there; and imagi­ning that shee might peradventure returne backe to the galley, he came to the Sea side, and a little before he came thither, he might heare one call aloud from the shoare for the boate of the Captaine galley, and he knew that the voyce [Page 45] that called for it, was that of Leocadia, who being jealous of some ill intention towards her, hearing one comming be­hinde at her heeles, shee layd her hand upon her Sword, and stood upon her guard untill that Don Rafael drew nea­rer unto her, whom shee presently knew, and it grieved her to the very heart that he had found her, and more par­ticularly all alone in a place so farre from all company, for shee had perceived by more showes then one, which Don Rafael had made her, that hee did not wish her ill, but so well that shee would have taken it for a good recompence that Marco Antonio had loved her but halfe so well. With what words shall I now be able to expresse those, which Don Rafael uttered to Leocadia, opening his soule unto her? which were such & so many that I dare not take upon me to set them downe, deserving a better pen then mine to give them their true life and luster. But since necessitie, and the nature of the subject now in hand, inforceth mee to say something, the words, which amongst many other he delivered, were in effect these. If together with for­tune which sayleth me, there should now (faire Leocadia) be wanting unto me the courage and boldnesse of discove­ring the secrets of my soule, there would lye buried in the bosome of perpetuall oblivion, the most inamoured and honestest affection that ever hath beene, or can be bred in a faithfull and loving breast. But that I may not wrong this my just desire, come what will come of it, I would have you to know (if your surprized thoughts will but give way to your judgement, and these your fits of passi­on, to your sounder discourse and reason) that in no one thing hath Marco Antonio any advantage of me, save onely in this that hee is your beloved. My linage is as good as his, and in those goods which they call of Fortune, I am little inferiour unto him; and for the gifts of nature it is not amisse that I should commend my selfe, and the rather if in your eyes they should not be esteemed. All this I pur­posely lay before you (my deare Lady and Mistris) to the [Page 46] end that laying aside your passion which blindes your un­derstanding, you might take that remedy and meanes which fortune now offereth unto you in the utmost extre­mitie, and height of your disgrace: You see already, that Marco Antonio cannot be yours, because heaven hath ordaind him for my sister, and the same heaven which this very day hath robd you of Marco Antonio, is willing to make you amends by me, who desireth no other happines in this life, then to rende [...] up my selfe unto you to bee your husband. Behold and consider, that good successe stands calling at the doores of that ill fortune, which hath hitherto follow­ed you. Neither doe you so much as once imagine, that the boldnesse and daringnesse which you have showed in seeking after Marco Antonio, shall any whit lessen the love I beare you, but I shall ever highly esteeme of you, accor­ding to your merits and deserts, and as if there had never any affection past betweene you. For, in that very houre wherein I desire and determine to equall my selfe with you, by making choise of you to be my perpetuall Lady and Mistris, in that very houre, I will forget all, nay already have forgotten all whatsoever in this particular I have either seene or knowne. For I well wot that those forces which have inforced mee to goe thus roundly to worke, and letting loose the reines to my desire, to dispose my selfe to the giving and delivering up of my selfe to bee wholly yours, the very same have brought you to that estate wher­in you are. And therefore you shall not neede to seeke out any excuse where there hath beene no fault committed. Leocadia continued silent all the while that Don Rafael spake unto her, save that now and then shee would fetch deepe sighes, which came from the very heart-roote of her. Don Rafael (taking his hint from this her heavinesse) grew so bold with her as to take her by the hand, and shee not ha­ving strength to resist it, kissing it againe and againe, re­peating over that lessen often; after a little pausing, he sayd unto her; Mistris of my soule, make an end of being wholly [Page 47] mine, let us here make up this match betweene us in the sight of this starry Canopie of heaven which covers us, and of this calme and quiet Sea, which listneth unto us, and of these bathed sands whereon wee tread. Give mee now your consent, sithence that without all doubt it conveneth as well for your honour, as it doth for my content. Take it once againe into your consideration, that (as you know very well) I am a gentleman and rich, [...]d one that truly loves you, which is that which you ought most to e­steeme; and that in stead of finding your selfe all alone, and in a habit which doth not sute so well with your ho­nour, farre from the house of your parents and kinsfolke, without any person to furnish you with that which should be needefull for you, and without all hope of obtayning that which you so earnestly desired, you may returne to your owne Countrey in your owne proper honest and true habit, accompanied with as good a husband, as that other whom you had formerly made choise of: you shall goe home rich, contented, esteemed, and served, and also praysed of all those, to whose knowledge shall come the various successe of this your History.

If this be so, as so it is, I know not what you should stick at, or what manner of doubt you can make to your selfe. Once more therefore I say unto you, make an end of the businesse, come I say, and rayse mee from the ground of my misery, to the heaven of my deserving you, for in so doing you shall finde a heaven for your selfe, and cumply with the lawes of courtesie, and of thankfulnesse, shew­ing your selfe at one and the same instant both gratefull and discreete. Goe to then (sayd doubtfull Leocadia) since that heaven hath so ordained it, and since that it is not in my hand, nor in that of any woman living, to oppose herselfe against that which it hath disposed and determined, let that (Sir) which it, and you will, be done. And heaven it selfe knowes, with what shamefastnesse I come to conde­scend unto your will; not because I doe not understand [Page 48] the great gaine I make in obeying you, but because I am afrayd that when you have had your will of me, [...]and in­joyed that which you now so much desire, you will look upon me with other eyes then peradventure you have hi­therto, and repenting you of your bargaine will complaine that they deceived you. But bee it as it may be, yet how­soever I am sure of this, that the name of being the law­full wife of Don Rafael ae Villavicencio can never bee lost, and with this Titl [...] [...]ly I will live contented. And if the car­riage and behaviour which you shall see in me, after that I am yours, shall be a meanes to make you holde mee in some esteeme, I will give thankes unto heaven that hath brought me at last by, many strange turnings and windings so and by so many miseries to come to the happinesse to be yours. Give me (Senior Don Rafael) that hand of yours to be mine, and loe here I give you mine to be yours. And let those serve for witnesses, which you so lately mentioned, the heavens, the Sea, the sands, and that still silence, onely in­terrupted by my sighs and your intreaties. Having sayd this shee suffered her selfe to bee imbraced, and gave him her hand, and Don Rafael in exchange gave her his, celebrating that nocturnall and new Nuptialls with onely the shed­ding of a few teares, which the joy and content thy tooke in despight of their forepassed sorrow, had drawen from their eyes.

This ceremony ended, they presently returned to the Knights house, who was very sory to see that they were missing, and no lesse were Marco Antonio, and Theodosia, who by the hand of a Priest were newly espoused, for at the earnest request and perswasion of Theodosia (to the end that some contrary accident might not trouble that good and happinesse which shee had found) the knight sent forth­with for one that should marrie them out of hand. So that when Don Rafael and Leocadia came in together, and that Don Rafael had recounted unto them what had betided him with Leocadia it did in such sort augment their joy, as [Page 49] if the knight and the rest that were there had beene of their nearest blood and kindred; for it is the naturall condition, and proper to the inbred noblenesse of the Cataluntans, to be­friend and favour such strangers as in their necessities have occasion to use them. The Priest that was there present gave order that Leocadia should change her habit, and put on such cloathes as suited with her sex, and the good Knight was not idle in putting thereunto his helping hand, apparrelling them with the richest cloathes that his owne wife had, who was a principall Lady of the linage of the Granolleques, a famous and ancient familie in that kingdome. The Chirurgion (who out of charitie had pittie of him that was hurt, tooke notice how that hee talked much and that they would not suffer him to be alone, that hee might take some rest,) gave expresse order that they should leave him in silence, and say nothing unto him. But God who had so ordayned it, using meanes and instruments for the accomplishing of his workes, when in our eyes hee will worke some wonder, ordayned that the excesse of joy, and the lit­tle silence which Marco Antonio had kept was a great cause of his amendment, so that the next day when they drest him they found that hee was out of danger, and with­in foureteene dayes after hee was so well and perfectly cured that without any feare hee might safely travaile, and undergoe his journey. For I must give you to un­derstand, that at that time as Marco Antonio kept his bed, hee resolved to goe on pilgrimage a foote to S. Iago of Ga, licia, in performance of which promise Don Rafael, Leo­cadia, and Theodosia, would accompany him, and so also Calvete their Muleter, a worke very seldome used by men of their profession. But the goodnesse and plainenesse which hee had found in Don Rafael oblieged him not to leave him till that hee were returned to his owne countrey. And seeing that they were to goe a foote like Pilgrims, hee sent his Mules to Salamanca [Page 50] together with that which was Don Rafaels, for he could not want some by whom to send them. And now was the day come of their departure, & having accomodated themselves with their Knapsacks and all other necessaries they tooke their leave of that liberall Knight, who had done them so many favours, & had given them such royall entertainment, whose name was Don Sancho de Cardona, most noble in his blood, and as famous for his person; all of them offered their service unto him, and promised not onely for themselves, but their decendents, to whom they would leave it in charge, perpetually to keepe in memory those such singular received favours, that they might at least make a thankfull acknowledgment, though they could not make him a suffi­cient and reall requitall. Don Sancho inbraced all of th [...]m one after another, telling them that it grew from his naturall condition, and was an imbred disposition that hee had, to doe those or other the like good offices, to those whom hee knew, or imagined to bee gentlemen of Castile. They did twise reiterate their imbracings, & with joy, intermingled with some sence of sorrow, they tooke their farewell. And walking on their way with such commoditie and conveni­encie, as the delicatenesse and tendernesse of those two new Pilgrims would permit, in three dayes they came to Monserra [...]e, and stayed there so many more; with the like leasure they went onward on their way, and without ha­ving any crosse accident, or any mischance at all, they arri­ved at Saint lago. And after that they had performed their vow, they would not unfrock themselves, nor leave off their Pilgrims weedes, till they should enter into their owne houses. To which they came by little and little, and though weary, yet well contented. But before that they came thither being in sight of Leocadias dwelling which (as wee formerly told you) was a league off from that of Theodosia, from the toppe of a high hill they might discerne both their houses. But as they discovered these, so could they not cover those teares, w^ch the contentment they [Page 51] tooke in seeing them, brought unto their eyes, at least to the two new brides, who with their sight renewed the remembrance of those sundry successes they had passed. They discovered likewise from that part of the hill where they stood, a large and spacious valley, which devided the two Lordships. Wherein they might see under the shade of an Olive tree, a tall lusty gentleman, mounted upon a square and strong limmed horse, with a white shield on his left arme, and a stiffe and long Lance well pointed, in his right. And beholding him with attention, they might likewise perceive, that from among the sayd Olive trees, came two other gentlemen with the same armes, and with the selfe same grace and posture; and anon after they perceived that all three of them met together, & having stayd a little while together they went apart each from other, and one of those which came in last did goe a pretty distance off from him, who stood first under the Olive tree, and putting Spurs to their horses, they incountred each other with manifest de­monstrations of being mortall enemies, beginning to charge each other very bravely and nimbly with their Launces; sometimes avoyding the stroaks by the shifting of their bo­dies, and sometimes by receiving them on their shields with such dexteritie that they gave good proofe that they were masters in that exercise. The third man stood still as a specta­tor looking on them without moving from his place. But Don Rafael being impatient of being so far off from them, be­holding so well a maintained combate, running with all the speede he could downe the hill, his sister and his Spouse following him, in a very little while hee drew neare unto the two combatants, even just then when as the two Gentletlemen were both of them (though but slightly) wounded; and one of their hats being fallen off, and together with it a burganet of steele that was under it, in the turning aside of his face Don Rafael knew that it was his father, and Marco Antonio likewise knew the other to bee his. Leocadia, who had earnestly eyed him, [Page 52] who did not fight, knew him to bee the father that begat her, with which sight all foure were much amazed and astonished, and almost beside themselves. But this their sudaine passion giving way to discourse, and reason, the two brother in lawes without any more adoe, presently made in, and putting themselves in the midst betweene those that fought, they cryed out aloud unto them, saying, No more (gentlemen) no more, it is enough if not too much already, and therefore hold your hands, for they who crave and beg this of you, are your owne sonnes. My Lord, and my father (sayd Marco Antonio) I am Marco Antonio; I am hee for whom (by that which I imagine) these your venerable gray hayres are put to this rigorous streight. Bridle your fury, and throw away that Lance, or turne it against some other enemy, for he whom you have before you from this day forward▪ is to bee your brother. To the like purpose spake Don Rafael to his father, whereupon these gentlemen forbore to offend each other any further. And they then began to looke more wissely on those that uttered these speeches, and turning their heads aside they perceived that Don Henrique the father of Leocadia, was alighted from his horse, and imbraced him, whom hee tooke to be a pilgrim. For no sooner had Leocadia come unto him, and made her­selfe knowne unto him, but shee besought him that hee would goe and make peace betweene those two that fought, recounting unto him in few words that Don Rafael was her husband, and that Marco Antonio was wedded to Theodosia. Her father hearing this, presently dismounted and imbraced her▪ as we told you before. But leaving her, hee hasted to attone the other two, though it needed not, being that already they had taken notice of their sonnes, and were alighted from their horses, and most lovingly imbra­ced them, all of them shedding teares, springing out of those two fountaines of Love and Ioy. They were all close com­bind, standing together as it were in a Ring, and began a new to looke on their sonnes, and knew not what to say. [Page 53] They did touch their bodies with their hands to try whe­ther they were fantastick bodies, and walking spirits. For their sodaine and unexpected comming upon them bred this, and other the like suspicions and jealousies; But being soone dis-deceived, and quickly put out of his errour, they returned afresh to their teares and imbracements. And whilest this was in doing, there appeared to their view in the sayd Valley a great number of armed men both on foot and horseback, which came to side with their severall Lords, and to abet and maintaine their quarrell. But when they came and saw them imbracing those Pilgrims, and teares standing in their eyes, they allighted and wondring what this should meane, they stood like men amazed, un­till such time as Don Henrique briefely delivered unto them that, which his daughter Lecc [...]dia had recounted to himselfe. Hereupon all of them went to imbrace these Pilgrims with such showes and tokens of content, as cannot bee enough endeared. Don Rafael hee likewise related unto them with that brevitie as the time required, all the whole successe of his love, and how he came to bee marryed to Leocadia, and his sister Theodosia to Marco Antonio; his father there offering to celebrate these their Nuptialls at his house. And this be­ing agreed upon they brake up and departed. And some of them that were there present, hasted away before to aske Albricias of the kinsfolke and friends of those married couples. Don Rafael and Marco Antonio in their way home­wards, as they went talking along, came to know the cause of this their strife and difference; which was as you shall heare. The fathers of Theodosia and Leocadia had chalenged Marco Antonio's father, charging him that he was consenting and privy to these deceits of his sonne. And both of them being come into the field, and finding him all alone, with­out any second, they would not fight with him upon that oddes and advantage but singly one to one, as became gentlemen to doe; which quarrell must have ended in the death of one or both, if they had not come in so luckily as [Page 54] they did. The foure Pilgrims rendred thankes unto God for this happy successe. And so the next day after their ar­rivall, with royall and splendide magnificence, and sumptu­ous expence, the father of Marco Antonio solemnized the Nuptialls of his sonne and Theodosia, and those of Don Rafael and Leocadia; who lived many and happy yeares in the company of their dearely beloved wives, leaving behinde them a noble stocke and descent from father to sonne, which continueth even to this day in those two places which are numbred amongst the best of Andaluzia. And if I doe not name them here unto you, it is for that I desire to keepe good decorum with those two Damsells, whom per­adventure tongues eyther wickedly malicious, or foolishly scrupulous might taxe of lightnesse in their desires, and that sodaine changing of their habits. Whom I shall in­treate that they will not goe about to blame such the like liberties and exercises, till they looke back into themselves and examine their owne hearts, whether they have not at one time or other beene touched with Cupids arrowes; for Love is in effect a force, (pardon the exorbitancy of the word) that is unresistable, so strong a warre is that, which the appetite wageth against reason. Calvete the Muletere re­sted well contented with the reward Don Rafael sent him home to Salamanca, and many other gifts bestowed on him by the rest of those that were newly marryed. And the Poets of those times tooke occasion for the imploying of their pens, in extolling the beauty and exaggera­ting the successe of those two adventurous, but most honest Damsells, being the principall subject of this strange story.

DOn Antonio de Ysunca, and Don Iuan de Gam­boa, principall Gentlemen, both of one age, very discreete and great friends, being students in Salamanca, resolved to leave their studies and to goe for Flan­ders, carryed thither by the heate of their youthfull blood, and by the de­sire, which they had (as we usually say) to see the world. And because it seemed unto them, that the exercise of Armes though it suteth well with all, yet it hath its principall seate and residence, and in much better sorteth with those that are well borne, and of noble blood.

They came then to Flanders, but at such a time, that things were in peace and quietnesse, or upon treatie and agree­ment of being quickly so setled. They received in Antwer [...]e Letters from their fathers, wherein they writ, and signified unto them the great displeasure and discontentment which they had received, for that they had left their studies with­out advising them thereof, to the end that they might [Page 56] have come so fitted and accommodated for Flanders, as their birth and qualitie required.

In conclusion they knowing how this course of theirs grieved their parents, determined to returne back againe to Spaine, since that they saw there was nothing for them to doe in Flanders. Yet before they would returne, they were very desirous to see all the famousest Cities of Italy, and having seene all of them, they [...]etled themselves in Bolonia, and admiring the studies of that famous Vniversitie, they were willing therein to prosecute theirs. They gave notice of their intention to their fathers, who were won­derfully glad of it, and they expressed how well they were pleased therewith by magnificently providing for them, and in such a noble manner that they might show in their fashion and carriage, who they were, and of what house they came. And from the very first day that they visited the schooles, all tooke notice of them, and acknowled­ged them to bee gallant, discreete, and well bred gentle­men.

Don Antonio might be about some twenty foure yeares of age, and Don Iuan not above twenty six, and they did adrone this good age of theirs, by being very brave Gen­tlemen, good Musitians, better Poets, and very active, and valiant parts that procured them much love, and made the best wishes of all those that conversed with them to waite upon them.

They had in a very short time wonne unto them many friends, as well Spanish students (there being very many of them commonly in that Vniversitie) as also of those of that Citie, and of strangers. They shewed themselves to­wards all liberall and bountifull, kinde, and loving, and farre from that pride and arrogancy (an ordinary faulte) whereof the Spaniards generally use to bee taxed. And for that they were young men and full of jollitie and jocunda­ [...]inesse, [...] [...]as not unpleasing unto them to take notice of the best beauties of that Citie; and albeit there were ma­ny [Page 57] Gentlewomen both maidens and married wives, that had a good report of being both faire and honest, yet above all, the Lady Cornelia Bentivogli bore the bell, being of the anci­ent and noble family of the Bentivogli's, who were some­times Lords of Bolonia.

Cornelia was extremely fayre and beautifull, and was un­der the guard and protection of Lorenzo Bentivogli her bro­ther a most honorable and valiant gentleman, being both fatherlesse and motherlesse. And although they left them thus all alone, yet did they leave them exceeding rich. And riches to Orphaneship, is a great ease and comfort, so great was Cornelia's retirednesse, and so great her brothers care and so­licitude in guarding her, that shee neither suffered herselfe to be seene, nor would her brother permit that any should see her.

This fame and report of her rare beauty made Don Iuan, and Don Antonio very desirous to have a sight of her. But the labour they tooke therein was lost and all in vaine, and their desire by reason of the impossibilitie of obtaining, had in such sort cut off all hope thereof, that it went by degrees decreasing and diminishing. And therefore being now wholly taken up with the love of their studies, and with the entertainment of some honest recreations of youth, they led an honest and merry life together; they seldome rambled abroad in the night▪ and when they did, they went both together well armed.

It afterwards so fell out, that being to goe forth one night Don Antonio told Don Iuan that hee would stay a while, but would have him to goe, promising that he would presently follow him. That shall not neede (replyed Don Iuan) for I will stay for you; and if we should not goe abroad this night the matter is not great. No, as you love mee (sayd Don Antonio) get you gone and take the ayre for I▪ will bee instantly with you, if you walke that round, which wee use to doe. Doe what you thinke good, (answered Don Iuan) fare you well, [Page 58] and if you shall walke [...]orth, I will goe the same stations this night as I did the last; Don Iuan went his way, and Don Antonio stayd behinde.

The night was somewhat darke and duskie, and the hower eleven, and having gone through two, or three streets, and seeing himselfe all alone, and that hee had no body with whom to talke and converse, he resolved with himselfe to returne home, and putting it in execution pas­sing through a streete, which had a walking place built up­on Pillars of marble, he might heare from a certaine doore that some did whiste unto him with a soft and low voyce. The darknesse of the night, which was made the more by meanes of that close walke, would not let him guesse and conjecture whence that whisting directly came. Whereup­on hee stood still a while, attentively listning whence it should come, and whilest he was thus busied, he might see a doore halfe way open it selfe; He drew neare thereunto, and might heare a low voyce which spake thus. Is it Fabio? Don Iuan answered, yes. Then take this (replyed they within) and have a care to have it safely kept, and returne hither pre­sently againe, for it much importeth us. Don Iuan puts forth his hand, and felt a bulke, he knew not what, and think­ing to take it with one of his hands, hee found that he had need to use both, and they had scarce put it into his hands, but they shut the doore upon him, and left him▪ And hee went his way & found himselfe in the street with his hands full, but knew not what burthen he bare. But within a lit­tle while after he heard a babe beginne to cry, which it should seeme had beene but newly borne. Whereat Don Iuan remayned amazed and suspensive, not knowing what he should doe, or what course to take in this strange case. For to returne back to the doore, and call there unto them, he considered with himselfe, that he might run some danger for the babes sake, having personated another man to whom it was intended, and in leaving it there at the doore, the babe might have its life hazarded. And to carry it [Page 59] home to his owne house hee had not any one there that could give it the teate, and those other helpes that were needefull, nor did hee know in all the Citie any body whi­ther he might carry it. But sithence that they had sayd unto him that he should see it safe and returne againe present­ly he determined to carry it to his owne house, and to leave it in the power and custody of a woman that served them, and to returne forthwith to see whether or no they had any further neede of his service, since that he plainely perceived that they had taken him for another, and that it was a meere mistake in giving the babe unto him.

In conclusion, without making any further discourses, he came home with it to his house, when as Don Antonio was not there. He entred into one of the roomes next at hand, and called his woman servant unto him, and caused her to unswathe the babe, and found it to bee one of the fay­rest creatures that ever they had seene. The cloathes where­in it was lapt, told that it came of rich and noble parents. When the woman had unswathed and opened it, they saw that it was a man childe. Then sayd Don Iuan to his woman, wee must needs get one to give this childe suck; but first of all I would have you take away these ritch Mantles, and lay them aside in some safe place, and to put and wrap it in others more meane and humble. And with­out making it knowne, that I brought it hither you shall carry it to the house of some one Midwife or other, for such kinde of women are never commonly unprovided of necessary remedy in such like necessities, you shall take mony along with you, wherewith shee may remaine sa­tisfied and contented, and you shall give it such parents, as you your selfe shall thinke fit, for the better covering of the truth of my bringing it hither. His woman made answere, all should be done as he had ordered it.

This businesse was no sooner put into so good a way, but that Don Iuan with all the haste hee could returned to see whether they would whiste once more unto him; [Page 60] but a little before that hee came to the sayd house where they had called unto him, he might heare a great clashing of swords, as if many had beene together by the eares slash­ing one another. He stood listning a while, but could not heare any one word passe betweene them. This hamme­ring of Iron was in the darke, save onely that by the light of those sparks which the stones wounded by their swords, raysed, he had a glimpse that there were many that had set upon one, and he was confirmed in this truth by hearing that one say; O traytours, though yee be many and I but a single man, yet shall not your overmatching me in num­ber make you prevaile in your purpose.

Which Don Iuan hearing and seeing▪ transported by his va­liant heart, at two leapes, he made into the side of him that was assaulted, and taking his sword in one hand, and his buckler which hee brought along with him in the o­ther, he sayd unto him that defended himselfe, in the Ita­lian tongue, that he might not bee knowne to be a Spaniard. Feare you nothing (Sir) for such succour is now come to you, as shall not fayle you till his life faile. Bestirre your selfe, and set your selfe roundly to them; for traytours though they be many, are able to doe but little. To these words replyed one of the adverse part; thou lyest in thy throate, for here is no traytour; but for the recovering of a mans lost ho­nour, it is lawfull to take this, or any other advantage what­soever.

There passed no more words betweene them, because the haste which they made to offend and wound their ene­mies, would not give them leave to talke, who were (to Don Iuans seeming) some six of them. They did presse so hard upon his companion, that at two home thrusts which they made at him at once full in his brest, they▪ layd him flat on the ground. Don Iuan thought that they had kild him, and with strange nimblenesse and valour hee bestird him, and set upon them all, whom hee made to give ground by the force of a shower which hee rayned [Page 61] downe upon them of blowes and thrusts.

But all his diligence had not beene able for to offend them, and defend himselfe, if good fortune had not offe­red him her ayde, by causing the neighbours thereabouts in that streete to open their windowes and come forth with lights, and to call out aloud to the Iustice. Which they of the contrary part perceiving, forsooke the street, and turning their backs, went their way.

Now by this time hee that was fallen had got up againe, for those Stoca [...]os and thrusts that were made at him, lighted on a privy coate which he had, that was as hard and im­penetrable as if it had beene a rock of Diamonds. Don Iuan in this fray had let fall his hat, and seeking for it, in stead of his owne, lighted by chance on another, which he clapt on his head without looking whether it were his owne or no.

His fellowe that was fallen, came unto him, and sayd, Sir whosoever you be▪ I confesse that I am indebted to you for my life, the which with all that my estate besides can reach unto, I will spend in your service. Let me intreate you to doe me the favour to tell mee who you are, and what is your name, to the end that I may know to whom I owe so much that I may manifest my thankeful­nesse.

Whereunto replyed Don Iuan, I will not (Sir) seeing my selfe now disinteressed, be discourteous with you. To cumply therefore with your desire, and to fulfill your plea­sure, I shall onely tell you that I am a gentleman, a Spaniard, and a student in this Vniversitie, if the knowing of my name may any whit import you, I shall tell it you. But if happily you shall bee pleased in any other thing to make use of my service, I would then (Sir) have you to know, that my name is Don Iuan de Gamboa▪

You have done mee a great favour herein replyed hee that was fallen. But I (Senior Don Iuan de Gamboa) will not tell you who I am, nor my name, because I am willing you [Page 62] should rather know it from another then my selfe, and I will take care, that both shall bee made knowne unto you.

Don Iuan had but a little before asked of him, whether or no he had not received some hurt, because hee saw that they had given him two great stocadas; whereunto he an­swered, that the goodnesse of his privy coate next under God had defended him. But that yet notwithstanding his enemies had made an end of him, if hee had not stuck so close unto him.

By this time there came towards them a company of people more in number then those they had before to doe withall; whereupon Don Iuan sayd, if these bee those our enemies, stand (Sir) upon your guard, and behave your selfe like your selfe. I beleeve (replyed the other) that they are not enemies but friends which make towards us. And it was so indeed. For they that came, were in all eight per­sons who compassed him round that was fallen, and whi­spered some few words in his eare but they were so soft and so secret, that Don Iuan could not heare them.

The partie defended turned presently aside from them to Don Iuan, and sayd unto him, had not these my friends come in unto me, I would by no meanes (Senior Don Iuan) have left you, till you had finished this your well begun worke by setting mee in some place of safetie. But now with all the indearingnesse that I can, I shall intreate you that you will leave me, for it much importeth mee, that you yeeld to my requeste. Having sayd this, hee put his hand to his head, and found that he was without a hat, and turning himselfe to those that came to him, he spake unto them to give him a hat, for his owne was in fighting falne from him. He had scarce spoke the word, but that Don Iuan put that which he had found upon his head. He that fell felt it with his hand, and returning it to Don Iuan sayd unto him▪ this hat is none of mine. As you love me, (Don Iuan) take it, and carry it away with you as a Trophee of this [Page 63] skirmish, and keepe it well, for I beleeve it is knowne. They gave him another hat, and Don Iuan for to comply with that which he had intreated of him, interchanging some other but shorte compliments, he left him, not knowing who he was, and came home to his owne house, without offering to goe to that doore, where they had given him the babe, because he perceived that all the whole street was up, being awakened out of their sleepe, and in a kinde of tumult and uproare by reason of this quarrell.

It so then happened that in his returning to his lodging he met in the mid way with Don Antonio de Ysunca his Com­rade, and knowing him, Don Antonio sayd, returne with me (Don Iuan) a little up this way, and as we walke along, I shall recount unto you a strange story which hath befallen mee; and I beleeve in all your life you never heard such passages as I shall now acquaint you with. Whereunto Don Iuan replyed, come let us goe whither you will, and tell me this your strange story. Don Antonio led the way and sayd.

You shall understand that little more then an houre af­ter that you were gone out of the house, I went forth to seeke you, and not 30. paces from this place I saw com­ming as it were to meete me, the black bulke of some person, which came in great haste, and the party approach­ing nearer unto me, I knew it was a woman clad in a long habit, who with a voyce interrupted with sighes and sobs, sayd unto me; are you (Sir) a stranger or one of the Citie? I replyd, a stranger and a Spaniard; Are you wounded (Lady) or doe you beare about you some evill presages of death? It may be (quoth shee) that the evill I bring with me, will be my death if I have not speedy remedy. By that courtesie which is alwayes wont to raigne in those of your Nation, I beseech you (noble Spaniard) that you will take mee out of these streets and bring mee to your lodging with the greatest speed you can, and there if it please you, you shall know the evill I beare about me, and who I am, though it bee to the cost of my credit.

[Page 64]Hearing her say so, it seeming unto me, that she had neede of that which she desired, without making any reply, I tooke her by the arme, and through by lanes, brought her to my lodging. Santistevan the Page opened mee the doore, I willed him to withdraw himselfe, and so without his seeing of her, I conducted her to my chamber. Whereinto shee was no sooner entred, but shee threw her selfe on my bed, and fell suddainely into a swoune; I drew neare unto her and uncovered her face which shee had covered with her mantle, and discovered therein the greatest beautie, that humane eyes had ever seene; shee might be to my see­ming about some eighteene yeares of age, rather under then over. I stood a while amazed at the beholding of such rare and singular beautie. But calling my selfe to remembrance I hastned to sprinkle a little water on her face, wherewith shee came to her selfe, tenderly sighing. And the first word that shee spake unto me was; Doe you know me Sir? No (quoth I) nor is it fitting that I should have had the hap­pinesse to have knowne so much beauty. O unhappy is that beautie (sayd shee) which heaven bestowes upon some for their greater misfortune. But this (gentle Sir) is no time to commend beautie but to remedy mischiefes, I shall therefore intreate you by that worth and noblenesse that is in you, that you will leave mee heere shut up, and suffer none to see me, and that you will presently returne to the same place where you met with me, and see if there be any maintaining a quarrell each with other: Side (I be­seech you) with neither part, nor favour any of those that you finde in this duell, but seeke to make peace betweene them, for whatsoever hurt shall light on eyther side, it will helpe to make mine the gaeater. I left her shut up, and am going to see if I can end this difference and make them friends.

Have you any more to say, Don Antonio? (sayd Don Iuan) Why doe not you thinke that I have sayd enough (replyed Don Antonio) since that I have told you, that I have under [Page 65] lock and key in my Chamber, the greatest beauty which humane eyes ever saw? Doubtlesse it is a strange case, (an­swered Don Iuan▪) but now I pray hearken what betided me. And presently he related unto him all the whole successe of his businesse, and how that the babe, which they had given him w [...]s at home in the house in the custody and keeping of his shee-servant, and the oder that he had left with her for the changing of those rich into poore Mantles, and to carry him to some Nurse that might breed him up, or at least to relieve this its present necessitie by giving it suck: and he signified further unto him, that the difference, which he came to inquire after was ended, & that all was well and quiet, & how that he himselfe was in that quarrell, and that all those (as hee did imagine) who were in that bickering were gentlemen of great both qualitie & valour. They both did blesse themselves, and did wonder and admire at each others fortune, & so made all the haste they could to returne home, for to see what the lockt up Lady had neede of.

In their way homeward Don Antonio tolde Don Iuan, that he had promised that gentlewoman that none should see her, nor come into that Chamber save onely himselfe, since that there was not any one thing, wherein he could doe her a greater courtesie. [...]ush that's nothing (sayd Don Iuan) I will not want some one devise or other for to have a sight of her, for already I long extreamely to see her▪ you having gi­ven such extraordinary commendation of her beautie.

Whilst they were thus discoursing on the businesse, and (by the light which one of those their Pages brought) Don Antonio by chance casting his eyes on the hat which Don Iu­an wore, he saw how it did gli [...]er & shine with diamonds. He took it off frō his head, & saw, that those sparkling lights beamed forth their rayes from their fellowes which were curiously ranked in an exceeding rich hat-band. They both of them looked againe and againe upon it, and having well viewd it, they concluded that if they were all fine and per­fect, as they appeared to be, they could not be lesse worth [Page 66] then twelve or thirteene thousand duckets. By this they certainly knew that they in this quarrell were persons of principall note and qualitie, especially he that was succou­red by Don Iuan who (as he well remembred) told him that he should take the hat with him and keepe it, because it was knowne.

They commanded their pages to withdraw, they did so; then Don Antonio opened the doore to his chamber, and found the Lady sitting on the bed, leaning her cheeke on her hand, trilling downe tender teares.

Don Iuan, out of the desire which he had to see her, made a shift to put his head halfe way within the doore, which he had no sooner done, but in that very instant the glitte­ring of the Diamonds shined on those eyes which rayned downe soft showers of teares, and lifting them up, shee said come in (my Lord Duke) come in, why will you give me with so sparing a hand the riches of your presence.

Hereunto (replyed Don Antonio) here Lady is no Duke that neede to excuse himselfe for his not seeing of you. How (sayd shee) no Duke? he that did peepe in at the doore even now is the Duke of Ferrara, whom the rich­nesse of his hat cannot conceale from me. Truly (Lady) I can assure you, that the hat which you saw, no Duke weares it, and if you are willing to be put out of your er­rour, give him leave that weares it to come in: With all my heart (sayd shee) let him come in, though if he should not prove to be the Duke, my sorrowes and misfortunes will be the greater. All these words Don Iuan heard, and seeing that hee had leave given him to enter, with his hat in his hand he came into the Chamber; and as soone as he had thus presented himselfe before her, shee presently knew that he who had this rich hat was not the person shee tooke him to be. And therefore with a troubled voyce, but with a quicke and nimble tongue shee sayd unto him.

O unhappy, O miserable that I am▪ Tell me (Sir) I be­seech you, and that instantly without holding me any lon­ger [Page 67] in suspence, whether or no you doe know the mast [...] and true owner of this hat? where you left him? and how▪ you came by it? is he happily alive? Or is this the newes which hee sends mee of his death? O my dearest good▪ what strange successes are these? Is it possible that I should see thy pledges here, and yet see my selfe without thee sh [...] up in a chamber, and in the power of I know not what Spanish gentlemen? O the feare of loosing my honestie, would it would quit mee of my life! Patient your selfe (Madam) sayd Don Iuan. For neither is the owner of this hat dead, neither are you in such hands that you shall re­ceive any the least wrong in the world, but shall be ready to serve you, as farre forth as their force and strength can reach, even to the laying downe of their lives for to de­fend and protect you. For it is not meete, that that faith of yours should prove vaine, which you have of the Spani­ards goodnesse. And since that wee are of that nation and principall men in our countrey, (for here and on this oc­casion, that may well now become me to say, which else­where might be accounted arrogancy) be confident (Lady) and rest you right well assured, that that decorum towards you shall bee kept and observed, which your noble and gracefull presence deserveth.

I beleeve (replyed shee) no lesse, but notwithstanding I pray Sir tell me, how this rich hat came into your possessi­on? Or where is its master who besides his other titles is Alfonso de Este, Duke of Ferrara?

Then Don Iuan, that he might not holde her further in su­spence, recounted unto her how that he found one in a quarrell, & that himselfe tooke part with a gentleman who in all likelihood, by that which he had gathered from her speeches, must be the Duke of Ferrara. And that in the fray he had lost his hat, as I likewise had mine, and by chance lighted on this in stead of mine owne; and that the sayd gentleman when I offered it unto him, hee wa [...]ing a hat (not knowing then whether it was his or mine owne▪ [Page 68] for it was darke) intreated me to keepe it, for it was a hat that was well knowne, and that the quarrell was ended without the gentlemans receiving any hurt or himselfe: And that after all was ended there came in some company which to his seeming were either the servants or friends of him, whom he imagined to be the Duke, who besought me that I would leave him, and so we parted, he showing himselfe very thankefull for the assistance which I had gi­ven him. So that (sweete Lady) this rich hat came into my power just in the same manner as I have delivered un­to you, and its owner (if it be the Duke as you speake him to be) it is not a full hower since I left him safe and sound. Let this truth suffice in part for your comfort (if hee be the man wee both pitch upon) that you know the Duke is well.

To the end (gentlemen) that yee likewise may know whether I have reason or good cause or no, for to inquire after him; be attentive, and listen unto mee, and you shall heare (I know not what other name I may give it) my sad and unfortunate History.

All the while that this passed, their shee servant entertai­ned her selfe in feeding the babe with honey and in chang­ing those his rich into poore mantles. And now that shee had quite made an end of dressing it, she was going to carry it to the house of some Midwife as Don Iuan willed her. And passing with the babe close by the Chamber where shee was, who was about to begin her promised History, the poore little thing cride, and so strongly that the Lady heard it, and starting upon her feet, she did attentively listen there­unto, and heard the cry more distinctly and sayd, Gentle­men, what creature is that which seemeth to be but new­ly borne? it is a childe (sayd Don Iuan) which this night was laid at our doore, and shee that lookes to our house, is going to seeke out one that may give it sucke. For Gods sake bring it hither to me (sayd the Lady) for I will doe this charitable office for other folkes children, since hea­ven [Page 69] will not let mee doe it to mine owne.

Don Iuan called in the woman, and tooke the childe from her, and to satisfie her desire, put the babe into her armes; saying withall, you see (Lady) the present that hath this night beene bestowed upon us. And this is no newes, for few moneths goe over our heads, but that wee finde at our doores such kinde of unlookt for commo­dities.

Shee tooke the babe into her armes, and shee looked wissely as well on his face, as on those poore, though cleane cloathes, wherein it was wrapt, and presently without be­ing able to refraine weeping, the tender teares trickling downe her cheekes, shee threw the vayle that covered her head over her brests, that shee might with the more mo­destie give the babe sucke, and applying it to her brest shee joyned her face to his, and did feede it with her milke, and bathe the face of it with her teares. And in this manner shee continued without lifting up hers so long as the childe did not leave the teate.

In the interim, all foure of them remayned silent. The child suckt indeede, but drew no milke, for they that are newly delivered, cannot presently give the brest. And so shee falling into the reckoning what little or no sustenance shee gave it, shee returned the babe to Don Iuan, saying, in vaine have I have I shew'd my selfe charitable, I seeme to be but a Novice in these cases. I pray (Sir) give order that this child have his palate moystned with a little honey, and by no meanes give way that it be carryed out in the open ayre at this time of night through the streets, let it be day first, and before that it be carryed hence, bring it once more againe unto me, for I take great comfort in looking upon it.

Don Iuan returned the babe to the woman, and gave or­der that she should entertaine the time with the child till it were day, and that dressing it up as neately and hand­somely as shee could, shee should put thereon those ric [...] [Page 70] Mantles, wherein he brought it thither, and that she should not bring the babe unto him, till he first called for it. This done, comming againe into the Chamber, and they three being all alone, this faire Lady sayd unto them.

Gentlemen, if you will have me to speake, give mee first something to eate, for I feele my selfe begin to faint, and not without cause, considering the manifold occasions of my griefe. Don Antonio ranne presently to his Cabinet, and tooke forth sundry sorts of Conserves, and other sweet­meates, whereof this fainting Lady did eate some, wherewith shee came to her selfe, having dranke a draught of cold water after them, and being now somewhat quieted and of better cheere and comfort, shee savd, sit downe (Gentlemen) and hearken unto me. They did so; And shee raysing her selfe up on the bed, sitting thereon upright and covering her feete well with the skirts of her cloathes, shee let fall on her shoulders a vayle which shee ware on her head, leaving her face bare and open, repre­senting the Moone in its clearenesse, or rather the Sunne when it shineth brightest. Liquid pearles did distill downe from her eyes, which shee wiped away with a most pure white Hand-kercher and with such hands, that betweene them and the linnen, he must have a good discerning judgement that could distinguish and difference their snowy whitenesse. In fine, after that shee had vented ma­ny sighes, and after that shee had procured the easing some­what of her breast, with somewhat a sorrowfull and trou­bled voyce, shee spake thus.

Gentlemen, I am shee whom doubdesse you have often heard named in this Citie, because there are very few [...]ongues which have not published the same of my beauty such as it is. In a word I am Cornelia Bentivogli, sister to Lorenzo Bentivogli, and in saying this, I shall happily have sayd two truths. The one of my noblenesse of birth, the other of my beautie. Being very young I was le [...]t fatherlesse and motherlesse, in the power of my brother, who from my [Page 71] childhood put upon me for my guard warinesse and cir­cumspection it selfe; though that hee did more rely upon my honest and honorable condition, then on that solici­tude and heedefulnesse, which hee had taken in guarding me. In conclusion, confined within walls and solitudes, accompanied with no other save my maide-servants, I went increasing in yeares and growth, and together with mee, went increasing the fame of my propernesse of per­son, beautie and comelinesse, proclaymed in publicke by some of my men servants, and by those who privately treated with me, and by a picture which my brother caused to be drawne by a famous Painter to the end, that, (as he sayd) the world should not remaine without mee, if heaven should take me here to a better life. But all this had beene but the least part of hastning my perdition, had not the Duke of Ferrara come to a Kinswomans wedding of mine, being invited to doe her the honour to give her in Church, whither my brother carried mee with a good in­tention, and for to grace this my kinswoman. There I saw and was seene; there I conceive I tooke hearts cap­tive, and made them doe vassalage and homage to my will; There I perceived that I was well pleased with their prayses, though they were given me by flattering tongues; there, lastly, I saw the Duke, and he saw me; from which interview I am now brought to see my selfe in that state, wherein you now see I am.

I will not (gentlemen) relate unto you (for that were but to make my discourse infinite) the devices, the plots, and the meanes, whereby the Duke and my selfe came at the end of two yeares, to obtaine those desires, which had their birth at the wedding. For neither guardings nor watchings, nor brotherly admonitions, nor any other hu­mane dilligences were sufficient for to hinder our secret meetings, and injoying each other. But before I would yeeld unto his pleasure, he gave me his faithfull word and promise for to marry me, and make me his wife, for with­out [Page 72] this plighting of his troth unto mee, it had beene im­possible for him to have made me render and yeelde up the forte of my virginitie upon dishonourable tearmes.

I spake unto him a thousand times and more, that hee would move my brother in publick for me, being that it was not possible, that he would deny him me, and that the Duke needed not to excuse himselfe to the vulgar, if they should chance to taxe him with the inequalitie and disparitie of the marriage, as somewhat to meane for him, since that the noblenesse of the Linage of the Bentivogli's, was no whit inferiour to that of the house of Este.

To this proposition of mine he answered me with ex­cuses, intreating me that I would approve of them, as suf­ficient, and necessary, and I giving credit unto them (having already rendred up my selfe unto him) I did as one that was in love, beleeve the best, and prest him no further; but submitted my will wholly unto his, at the intercession of a maide-servant of mine, who by the Dukes large gifts and promises, was as plyable as wax, not regarding (as she ought to have done) the truth and confidence which my brother had of her fidelitie.

In conclusion, within a few dayes after I found my selfe with childe, and before that my cloaths should manifest my liberties (that I may not give it any other name) I feig­ned my selfe sicke and melancholly, and wrought my bro­ther to bring mee to that my kinswomans house, whom the Duke gave in marriage.

There did I make known in what case I was, the danger that did threaten me, and the small assurance that I had of my life, because I was jealous that my brother suspected my loosenesse; it was agreed upon betweene the Duke & my selfe, that when I was upon my last moneth I should advise him of it, and that hee with other of his friends would come for mee, and carry mee with him to Ferrara, where in the time by him expected he would marry mee in publicke.

[Page 73]This very night was that concluded on for his com­ming, and this very night wayting and looking for him, I heard my brother passe by with many other men to my seeming armed by the clattering of their armes, by reason of which suddaine & unexpected feare, passion prevailed so far with me that my throwes came upon me, and instantly brought forth a faire son. That maid-servant of mine, who was privie to my actions, and the Dukes solicitresse, seeing her selfe now prevented by this sodaine chance wrapt the babe in other cloaths then those the child had, which was laid at your doore. And going to the doore that opened to the street shee gave it (as shee told mee) to a servant of the Dukes. I within a little while after accommodating my selfe the best I could, according to my present necessitie, got me out of the house, verily beleeving that the Duke was in the street, which indeed I ought not to have done til he had come to the doore. But the feare which that armed troope of my brother had put mee into, thinking that hee was now brandishing his sword over my neck, it did not give me leave to make any better discourse, and so unadvi­sedly and foolishly I went forth, where that has befallen me which you now see. And albeit I see my selfe without a son, & without a husband, and with feare of worse succes, yet doe I give thanks unto heaven for having brought me into your hands, from which I promise all that unto my selfe which Spanish courtesie can promise me, & more par­ticularly yours, w^ch for that you are so noble as you seeme to be, you know the better how, and where to extend it.

Having sayd this shee suffered her selfe to sinke downe from the toppe of the bed, and the two gentlemen draw­ing neare unto her, to see whether she were fainting and falling into a swound, they saw it was not so, but onely that she wept bitterly. Whereupon Don Iuan sayd unto her.

If hitherto (faire Lady) my selfe and Don Antonio my friend and companion, have had compassion of you, and pittied your case, as you were a woman, now that we know your [Page 74] quality, that pitty and compassion comes to bee a precise obligation, binding us to serve you. Be of good cheere, be not dismayd, and though you have not bin accustomed to such like chances; yet shall you by so much the more show who you are by how much the more patiently you shall beare your misfortunes. Beleeve me (Madam) I am of the minde that these such strange successes will have a happy end, for the heavens will never permit that so much beauty should be ill injoyed, and such honest thoughts so ill re­warded. Betake your selfe (Lady) to your rest, and have a care of your person, for it is no more then needeth, and here shall a woman servant of ours come in to serve you, and waite upon you, of whom you may be as confi­dent as you are of us, shee likewise knowes as well how to silence your misfortunes, as she doth to assist you in these your necessities. Such a one I take her to be, that I dare bee bold to say that shee will adventure to wade through all difficulties that you shall put her to.

Shee made answer, let her (Sir) since you will have it so, come in; for being tendred to mee by so good a hand as yours, I cannot but hold her to be very usefull in all that, wherein I shall have occasion to imploy her. But I beseech you (Sir) let none more then this good woman see me. On my word (replyed Don Antonio) there shall not.

And so leaving her alone, they went out▪ And Don Iuan went unto the woman, and willed her to goe in, and that shee should carry in along with her the babe in its rich cloathes, if she had put them on, the woman told him that she had, and that it was now drest just in the same manner as he brought it thither. The woman came in, being adver­tised before hand what shee should answer unto that, which touching that creature, the Lady which she should finde there within should aske her.

As soone as Cornelia saw her, she sayd unto her; welcome my friend; give mee I pray thee this pretty creature and bring hither this light, shee did so. And Cornelia taking [Page 75] the babe in her armes, shee was mightily troubled, and looked very wissely and steadily on it, and sayd to the wo­man; tell me truly, this childe and that which was brought me a little while since is it one and the same? yes (Madam) answered the woman; how then comes it to passe that the Mantles are thus changed? (replyed Cornelia.) Indeede (my friend) I conceive eyther that these are other Mantles, or that this is not the same creature. All this may very well be, sayd the woman. Very well be, (sayd Cornelia) how may that be? O good woman how my heart doth beate and is ready to breake through my brest, and will never leave beating till I know this change of cloathes. Tell me, I conjure thee (my friend) by all that which thou lovest best, by that which is nearest and dearest unto thee, tell me I say, whence hast thou these rich mantles? for I must let thee know that they are mine if my sight doe not de­ceive me, or my memory fayle me. With these very same, or with others like unto them, I delivered my maid the beloved pledge of my soule. Who tooke them away? (O wretched that I am!) and who brought them hither? Ay me most unfortunate!

Don Iuan and Don Antonio, who heard all these complaints were not willing that shee should proceede any further in them, neither would they permit that the errour and de­ceit of changing the Mantles, should hold her in further paine and suspence, and therefore they entred in, and Don Iuan sayd unto her.

These Mantles and this child (Lady Cornelia) are both yours. And presently pointby point, he recounted unto her that he was the man to whom the mayd had given the child; and how he brought him home to this his house, and gave the woman order for the changing of the Mantles, and the reason and occasion why he did it. Howbeit, after that shee had acquainted him with her delivery, he did certainly as­sure himselfe that it was her sonne, and that if hee had not told her so before, it was because that her sudaine [Page 76] passion of being in doubt of knowing him might bee re­compenced with the supervening joy of knowing him.

Thereupon, infinite were the teares of joy shed by Cor­nelia, infinite the kisses which shee gave her sonne, and in­finite the thankes, which shee rendred to these Spanish Gentlemen, who had done her these great favours, styling them the humane Angels of her guard, and giving them many other Titles which might give notorious manife­station of her thankefulnesse.

They left her with their woman, recommending her unto her care, charging her, that she should look well unto her, and as farre forth as was possible serve her diligently, advertising her in what case shee was, that she might have recourse for her remedy, since that shee in regard that shee was a woman, knew better what belonged thereunto then they did. And so that little that remained of night they went to take their rest, with intention not to enter into Cornelia's Chamber unlesse it were that eyther shee did call for them, or in case of precise necessitie. The day came and the woman brought one very secretly, and whilest it was yet darke, for to give the child sucke.

When the gentlemen were up, they inquired after Cornelia; the woman told them that shee was taking her rest: whereupon they went to the schooles and passed through that streete where the quarrell was, and by that house, from whence Cornelia came, for to see if her fault or her being mist were publique, or if there were any company gathered together thereabouts. But by no meanes could they perceive, or heare any thing neither of the fray, nor of Cornelia's absence.

This diligence done, having heard their Lectures they came home. Cornelia called for them, and sent their wo­man unto them, to whom they made answer, that they were resolved, not to put their feete within her Chamber, to the end that with the more decorum, that respect should be had, which was due to her modesty, and honesty. But [Page 77] shee replyed with teares and intreaties that they would come and see her, for that was the most convenient deco­rum, if not for her remedy, yet at least for her comfort. They did so, and shee received them with a cheerefull countenance, and a great deale of courtesie; intreating them that they would doe her the favour to goe into the Citie, and see if they could heare any newes of her bold attempt. They told her, that they had done this dilligence with all the curiositie they could devise, but not a word that was spoken of it.

Whilst they were talking of this businesse, one of their Pages (for they kept three) came to the Chamber doore, and from without, sayd; there is a gentleman at doore attended by two servants, who names himselfe Lorenzo Ben­tivogli, and would faine speake with my Master Don Iuan de Gamboa.

Vpon the hearing of this message, Cornelia clapt both her hands upon her mouth, from betweene which came forth a low and fearefull voyce, saying.

My brother (Gentlemen) my brother, it is hee, it is hee; doubtlesse hee hath had notice of my being here, and is come purposely hither to take away my life. Helpe mee (Gentlemen) good Gentlemen helpe mee, succour and protect a poore distressed Gentlewoman, and suffer her not to be murthered in your presence.

Quiet your selfe Lady, (sayd Don Antonio) content your selfe and bee still; for you are in such a place, and in the power of such a one, who will not suffer any the least wrong in the world to be done unto you. Goe you forth (Don Iuan) and see what this gentleman will have, and I will stay here to make good this place if neede shall re­quire, in the behalfe of Cornelia. Don Iuan without any alte­ration or change of countenance went downe; And Don Antonio caused presently a brace of pistolls that were ready charged, to be brought him, and commanded the Pages, that they should take unto them their swords, and be pre­pared [Page 78] to prevent any affront that should bee offred.

The woman perceiving these preventions, trembled; And Cornelia, fearefull of some ill successe, shaked and qui­vered much more. Onely Don Antonio and Don Iuan were themselves and very well appointed, and resolved on that which they were to doe.

At the doore that opened to the streete, Don Iuan found Don Lorenzo, who had no sooner seene Don Iuan, but hee sayd unto him; I beseech you (Sir) (for this is the fashion, and courtesie of Italy) that you will doe mee the favour to goe along with me to that Church, which is there right over against us; for I have a businesse to impart unto you, which imports no lesse, then my life and my honour▪ With a very good will replyed Don Iuan; Come (Sir) let us goe whether you please. Having sayd this, they walked hand in hand to the Church, and sitting downe on a forme, and in a place apart, where they might not bee heard, Lorenzo spake first and sayd.

I (noble Spaniard) am Lorenzo Bentivogli; if not one of the richest, yet one of the chiefest of this City. This truth being so notorious, may serve to excuse this my speaking in mine owne praise; I have some yeares since continued an Orphane, and there remayned in my power a sister of mine, my onely sister so fayre and so beautifull, that were shee not so neare unto me I should in such lively colours set it forth, that no indearing should be wanting; for to tell you truly there is not that beauty, take it altogether that can truly match it. Now for that I am honorably descended, and shee young and faire, it made mee to be very solicitous and carefull in the safe keeping of so rich a jewell. But the headstrong will of my sister Cornelia (for that is her name) hath defrauded all my preventions, and diligences. In a word, for to cut of that (not to weary you) which would be too long a story to tell, I shall shut up all in this.

That the Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso de Este, with Lynx his [Page 79] eyes overcame those of Argos, overthrew my vigilancie and triumphed over my industry by subduing my Sister, carry­ing her away by night, and taking her out of our kinswo­mans house, and (as they say) being but newly delivered, it was night ere I knew it, and this very night I went to seek him out, and I thinke that I met with him, and gave him something that hee cannot brag of; but he was succoured by some Angel who would not give way that I should wash out the staine of my dishonour with his blood. My kinswoman told mee (for I had all this from her) that the Duke had deceived my sister under the promise of taking her to be his wife. Which I believe not, by reason of the inequalitie in the match in regard of the goods of fortune, though there bee no disparitie in those of nature and of blood, since that the qualitie of the Bentivogli of Bologna is well knowne to the world. That, which I beleeve is, that the Duke (as all great and powerfull persons use to doe, who seeke to tread under their feete the honour of a ti­morous and wary Damsell) setting before her eyes the sweet name of husband, making her beleeve that for cer­taine respects hee could not with conveniencie presently marry her; lies carrying appearance of truths, but false, and ill intended. But be it what it will be, I am sure I see my selfe without a sister and without mine honour; though all this untill now I have lockt up in my bosome, under the key of silence, and was not willing to make any acquainted with this my wrong, till I could see whe­ther I could be able to remedy it, or in some sort receive satisfation. For it is better that infamies be presumed and suspected then that they should be certainly and distinctly knowne; for betwixt the yea and nay, the affirmation and negation of a doubt, every one may leane and incline to that part, which he best liketh, and every one shall have their abettors.

In conclusion I resolved to goe to Ferrara, and to require of the Duke himselfe satisfaction of my affront, and if hee [Page 80] shall deny it me to defie him, and challenge him the field upon the case now in hand, but this not to be performed by squadrons and troopes of men, for these, I can neither make nor maintaine, but man to man. In which businesse I would crave the assistance of your person, and that you would be pleased to accompany mee in this my journey, being confident of your sufficiencie and good perfor­mance in what you undertake, for that you are a Spaniard and a Gentleman as I have already beene informed. Nor am I willing to acquaint therewith any kinseman or friend of mine, from whom I expect nothing but counsailes and diswasions, and from you I may expect those that are good and honorable, though they breake through any dangers and difficulties whatsoever. You (Sir) I must intreate to doe me the favour to goe along with mee, for having a Spaniard by my side, and such a one, as you seeme unto me to be I shall make account that I carry with me in my defence the Armies of Xerxes. It is a great courtesie that I crave of you, but the debt of corresponding with that which fame proclaymeth of your nation obliegeth you to much more.

No more (Senior Lorenzo) at this time said Don Iuan (for hitherto without interrupting you, I have hearkned to every word of yours) no more I say; for henceforth I constitute my selfe your defender and adviser, and take to my charge either satisfaction or revenge of your wrong. And this not onely as I am a Spanyard, but as I am a gentle­man, and that you are so principall a person as you have voiced your selfe to be and as I my selfe and all the world knowes.

Now (Sir) it remaineth, that you resolve upon the time of our going hence. And as I conceive the sooner the better for the Iron is to bee wrought whilest it is hot, and the heate of choller doth increase courage, and an injury whilst it is fresh doth rouze and stirre up revenge.

Lorenzo rose up from the forme whereon hee sate, and [Page 81] with close imbracements claspt Don Iuan in his armes, and sayd▪ having so generous a brest as yours is (Senor Don Iuan) it is needlesse to move it, by setting before it any other inte­rest then that of that honour, which you shall gaine in this action, the which shall be wholly yours, in case we come off happily with this businesse. And for an addition, I offer unto you all whatsoever I have, hold or possesse, as farre as I am or can bee able. And if you like of it, I would wil­lingly that wee should take our journey to morrow mor­ning, for I shall be able to day to provide all things neces­sary for it.

I like very well of it (replyed Don Iuan;) But I pray give me leave (Senor Lorenzo) that I acquaint therewith a gentle­man, my companion and friend of whose valour and silence you may be bolder to build upon then on mine.

Since that you (Senior Don Iuan have (as you say) taken my honour to your charge, dispose thereof as you please and speak thereof what you will, and to whom you will; how much more to your companion and friend, who be he what he will bee, being of your choyce, cannot choose but be good.

This said, they imbraced each other, and tooke their leave, Signor Lorenzo telling him, that he would send one unto him the next morning to call him, and that they would take horse without the Citie, and goe on their pre­tended journey in some disguise, that there might no notice be taken of them Don Iuan came home, and gave an account to Don Antonio and Cornelia of that which had passed with Lorenzo, and the agreement made betweene them.

Lord blesse me (said Cornelia) great (Sir) is your courte­sie, and as great your confidence. How, and so suddain­ly have you put your selfe into a businesse so full of incon­veniences? And how do you know (Sir) whether my bro­ther will carry you to Ferrara, or some other place? But whither soever hee shall carry you, you may assure your selfe, that there goes along with you faithfulnesse [Page 82] it selfe, though my selfe (I confesse) as a wretched and un­fortunate woman, doe stumble at the motes of the Sunne, and am afrayd of every shadow; and can you blame mee for being afrayd, since that my life or my death dependeth on the Dukes answer? And what doe I know whether or no hee will answer so temperately that my brothers choller may containe it selfe within the bounds and limits of his discretion? And say it should breake out, doe you thinke that he is to deale with a weake enemy? And doe not you likewise thinke that all the while that you shall be absent I shall remaine hanging betwixt heaven and hell, fearefull and suspensefull, expecting the sweete or bitter newes of the successe of this businesse? Doe I love so little either the Duke or my brother, that I doe not dr [...]ad the disgrace and misfortunes of them both, and feele the an­guish of them in my very soule? You discourse much and feare more, (Lady Cornelia) said Don Iuan. But let me perswade you amongst so many feares to leave some place for hope. Put your trust in God, in my industrie and good desires & I doubt not, but you shall see yours fulfilled with a [...]l felic [...]tie and happinesse. Our going to Ferrara is not to be excused, & as little my desisting to assist your brother; as yet wee doe notknow the Dukes intention, & as little whether he know that you be missing. And all this we must know from his owne mouth, & no man can better put this question unto him then my selfe▪ And (Lady Cornelia) I would have you to know, that the welfare and content of your brother & the Duke, I have placed in the apples of mine eyes, and will be as carefull of them as I am of these. Heaven prosper you (Senior Don Iuan) replyed Cornelia, and give you the power to bring this businesse to a good issue, and me a thankfull ac­knowledgment for the good comfort I receive from you. In the midst of these my troubles (thanks to your goodnes) I hold my selfe very fortunate. Now however feare may afflict me in your absence, or hope hold me in suspence, me thinkes I would faine see you gone, and as faine see you quickly returne.

[Page 83] Don Antonio approved the determination of Don Iuan, and commended the good correspondence which Lorenzo Ben­tivogli's confidence had found in him. Moreover hee told him that hee would goe to accompanie them, in regard of that which might happen, not knowing whether things would bee fairey carried, and so for feare of the worst would be ready (if occasion served) to see how the game went, and to prevent all foule play.

O by no meanes (said Don Iuan) as well because it is not meete that the Lady Cornelia should be left alone, as also that Signor Lorenzo may not thinke that I would, (as if I wanted true valour,) underprop mine owne weakenesse, with the strength of others. What concernes you concernes mee (answered Don Antonio;) and therefore though unknowne, and keeping aloofe off, I meane to follow you, and I pre­sume my Lady Cornelia will bee well pleased therewith▪ Neither will shee remaine so all alone, that shee shall want one to serve, attend, and keepe her company.

Whereunto Cornelia answered, it will be a great comfort to me (gentlemen) that yee goe both together, or at least in such sort, that (if need should require) you may ayde and helpe each other; and since that (to my seeming) you goe upon a pe [...]ce of service which may be subject to much perill and danger, doe me the favour (Gentlemen) to carry these reliques along with you: and shee had no sooner said so, but shee tooke [...]rom out her bosome a Crosse of Dia­monds of inestimable valew, and an Agnus Dei▪ They looked both of them on these rich Iewells, and did [...]alew them in more then they had the hatband, But they returned them backe againe unto her, saying; That they did carrie reliques with them, though not so well set forth, and rich­ly adorned, yet at least as good in their qualitie. Cornelia w [...]s very sorry that they would not accept of them, but in fine shee must doe as they would have her.

The woman tooke great care and paines in tending and cheering up Cornelia, and knowing the departure of her [Page 84] masters, for they had acquainted her therewith, but not what they went about, nor whither they went, she tooke it to her charge to looke well unto the Lady, (whose name as yet shee did not know) so that they might not at their returne have any just cause to finde fault.

The next day betimes in the morning Lorenzo came to the doore, and found Don Iuan ready for his journey, in a handsome riding suite, his rich hat making somewhat the more gracefull show by reason of its intermingled blacke and yellow feathers, but the hatband hee covered it over with a blacke vaile. Hee tooke his leave of Cornelia, who imagining that her brother was now very neare her, was so afraid, that she had not the power to speake one word to these two gentlemen that tooke their leave of her.

Don Iuan went forth first, and with Lorenzo walked out of the Citie, and in a garden somewhat out of the rode­way, they found two very good Horses well fitted, and two Lackeyes holding of them. They mounted on them, the Lackeyes running before them, and by uncouth paths, and untrodden by-wayes they travailed towards Ferrara.

Don Antonio upon a good quat▪Nag of his owne, and in another different riding suite, disguising himselfe follow­ed after them, but it seemed unto him, that they had an eye upon him, especially Lorenzo, and therefore resolved to take the direct way to Ferrara, assuring himself that there he should meete with them.

They had scarce gone out of the Citie, but that Cornelia gave an account to the woman of all that had befallen her▪ and how that child was hers, begotten on her by the Duke of Ferrara, with all the points and passages which hitherto have beene related touching her storie, not con­cealing from her how that journey which her masters had undertaken was for Ferrara, accompanying her bro­ther▪ who went to bid defiance by way of challenge to the Duke Alfonso. Which the woman hearing, said unto her.

[Page 85]O sweete Lady, hath all this adoe beene about you, and doe you like one that sleepes without stretched leggs stay here thus carelesse in a businesse of such consequence? Either have you no soule, or have you it so benummed and so sencelesse that you have no feeling of the misera­ble estate and condition wherein you are? And I pray tell mee, doe you happily thinke that your brother goes to Ferrara? Deceive not your selfe, doe not thinke so, but ra­ther thinke and beleeve that hee hath taken my masters hence, and to get them farre from home, that hee may the safelier returne hither and take away your life; which he may as easily doe, as I take up this cup and drinke. Consi­der with your selfe under what guard and protection wee remaine. We have no more but three Pages in the house, and they have enough to doe to scratch their itching scabbes, whereof they are full; and say they should put themselves upon upon defence, what can they doe? This at least I can say of my selfe, that I (for my part) have not the heart to stay expecting the successe and ruine which threatens this house. Signior Lorenzo, an Italian and trust Spanyards? Hee crave their helpe and assistance? beleeve it he that list, for I doe not; Hee reckon of them? hee cares not a Figge for them. If you (daughter mine) will take my counsell, I will give you that that shall make you see a little better if you will not stand in your owne light.

Cornelia hearing the womans reasons which shee uttered with such earnestnesse and vehemencie, and with such showes and manifestations of feare, that all that shee said unto her seemed to bee truths, and that peradventure Don Iuan and Don Antonio might bee slaine, and that her brother might bee entring the doores of the house, and with his dagger never leave stabbing of her til he had killed her; and therefore being thus perplexed, shee said unto her; And what counsell will you give mee (friend) that might be wholesome, and that might prevent this storme that hangs over our heads?

[Page 86]What counsell will I give you? Marry such and so good that all the world (sayd the woman) cannot bettere [...]. I did once (Madám) serve an honest Curate of a countrie Village, which is some two miles off from Ferrara; hee is a good man and will doe any thing for mee that I can aske of him or is in his power to performe Hee loves me well, and is more oblieged unto mee, then to any other woman whatsoever. Let us goe thither and let mee alone to get some one or other that shall carry us thither. And as for her that gives the child suck, shee is a poore woman, and will goe along with us to the worlds end. And admit (Lady) that you should bee found out, it were better that you should be found in the house of a Priest, and that is an old and reverend man, then in the power of two young Students and those Spanyards, who are a kind of people (as I my selfe can well witnesse) that will flie at any game. If they cannot meete with a handsome peece of Timber they will content themselves with Chips, and if they can­not [...]ight upon a smooth polished stone, they will make use of rubbish. And though now (Lady) that you are ill at ease, they have borne you good respect, yet when you shall be well and in perfect health, then heaven have mer­cy upon you. There is no other helpe that I know. And that I may not lie unto you, if my repulses, disdaines and integritie had not guarded me, they had given check mate to my honestie; all is not gold (Lady) that glisters in them. They say one thing and thinke another, I have had tryall enough of them, yet they were not so cunning but I was as craftie. Every body knowes where his owne shooe wrings him most. I am Madam, (may I speake it without boasting) well borne; I come of the Cribelos of Milan; and for point of honour that I hold in so good a height, that I make account that it reacheth hence ten miles above the clouds. And yet notwithstanding all this, you may see the calamities and crosses (Madam) which I have past through, since that being descended as I am, I am come to [Page 87] be a servant and drudge to these Spanyards whom they call their woman. Though indeede I must confesse that I have no great cause to complaine of my masters, for they are ve­ry kinde and loving, so long as you doe not crosse and an­ger them▪ And herein they seeme to be Biskayners, as they report themselves to bee. But it may be that they are guil­tie to themselves, that they are Gallegos, which is another nation they say lesse punctuall, and somewhat more sub­till and wary then the Biskayners.

In conclusion, shee rendred such and such reasons, that poore Cornelia disposed her selfe to follow her advise; and so in lessethen foure houres, shee disposing the businesse and Cornelia consenting thereunto they had both of them got them into a Waggon, together with the childs nurse, and without being heard of the Pages they put themselves upon their way for that Village where the Curate dwelt. And all this was done by the perswasion of this foolish, fearefull woman, and with her moneys, for not long be­fore her master had paid her a whole yeares wages. And therefore there was no neede of pawning a jewell which Cornelia gave her for that purpose. And for that Cornelia had heard Don Iuan say that he and her brother would not goe the direct way to Ferrara, but by unused paths, they were willing to take the direct way going on very leysurely, that they might not meete with them; and the Waggoner did apply himselfe to their will, and paced on according to their minde, because they had contented and payd him according to his. But let us leave them jogging on their journey, with that (how e're it hap) their bold adven­ture.

And now let us see how it fared with Don Iuan de Gamboa, and [...]ignor Lorenzo di Bentivogli, of whom it is sayd, that being upon their way, they had notice that the Duke was not in Ferrara but in Bologna. And therefore leaving the wheeling and going about which they had fetcht, they came into the common high-way, considering with themselves that the [Page 88] Duke must passe that way in his returne from Bologna▪ And they had not long beene entred thereinto, when looking towards Bologna for to see if any came from thence, they might espie comming towards them a great troope of Horse; And then Don Iuan said to Lorenzo that hee should goe a little out of the way because if it should happen that the Duke should come in company with them, hee would have some speech there with him, before hee should enter into Ferrara, which was not farre off. Lorenzo did so, and approved Don Iuans opinion.

As soone as Lorenzo was gone aside, Don Iuan tooke off that case which covered his rich [...]hatband, and this he did not without difereete discourse, as he afterwards declared. By this time this travayling troope was come, and among them came a woman upon a pide Nagge in a faire riding suite, and her face covered with a Maske, either for the better keeping of her selfe from being knowne, or for to keepe her selfe from the Sunne and Ayre.

Don Iuan stood still with his horse in the middle of the way, and bare faced, wayting till this troope should come up to him. And in comming nearer up unto him, his fa­shion, his lively and spritefull looke, his pleasing counte­nance, the galantrie of his cloathes, and the proudnesse of his Horse, and the glittering luster and bright-shining beames of his Diamonds, drew after them the eyes of all those that past that way; and more especially those of the Duke of Ferrara, who was one of them; who as soone as he had placed his eyes on the hatband, he presently appre­hended that he who wore it, was Don Iuan de Gamboa, who had taken part with him, and brought him safe off in that his quarrell. And so truly did he apprehend this truth, that without making further discourse with himselfe, hee set Spurres to his Horse, and made up to Don Iuan, saying; No­ble Sir, If I call you Don Iuan de Gamboa, I perswade my selfe I shall not be therein deceived, for your brave and gen­tle disposition, and this hat you weare tells me as much.

[Page 89]It is true (answered Don Iuan) for I never yet knew nor am I willing to dissemble, or conceale my name, for I have not done ought that I need to be ashamed thereof. But I pray (Sir) tell me who you are, least I might otherwise of­fend in point of good manners, and so show my selfe dis­courteous.

That is impossible (replyed the Duke) for I conceive and assure you on my part, that you can in no case bee dis­courteous with me, yet notwithstanding I tell you Senior Don Iuan that I am the Duke of Ferrara, and he that is oblie­ged to serve you all the dayes of his life; for it is not foure nights since that you gave it me. The Duke had no sooner made an end of saying this, but Don Iuan with strange nim­blenesse alighted from his horse & went to kisse the Dukes foote. But for all the haste that he made, the Duke had got downe from his seate, and tooke Don Iuan and imbraced him in his armes▪ Signor Lorenzo who from afar beheld these ceremonies, not thinking that they were of courtesie but of choler put spurs to his horse as hard as hee could drive but in the midst of his speede, hee tooke him up gently by degrees, and made a stand, because he saw the Duke, and Don Iuan (who now knew the Duke) closely imbracing [...], and the Duke casting his eye over Don Iuans shoulder hee [...] [...]spied Lorenzo, and knew him, and was at the first sight, not dreaming of his being there so neare him, somewhat start [...]ed therewith, and therefore whilest they were as yet in their imbracements, the Duke demanded of Don Iuan whether Lorenzo Bentivogli, who stood thereby, came along with him or no? Whereunto Don Iuan replyed; Let us go [...] a little [...], and I shall acquain [...]: your Excellencie [...]ith great and strange mat­ters. The Duke did so, and then Don Iuan sayd unto him.

Signor Lorenzo Bentivogli, whom you see there, hath a complaint▪ and no small one against you; Hee saith, that it is now foure hights since that you tooke his Sister Cornelia out of his Kinswomans house, and that you [Page 90] have deceived and dishonoured her, and [...] know from you what satisfaction you mean [...] vol give him by way of reparation, which hee holds [...]to re­quire. Hee intreated mee that I would bee his second, or at least become an Vmpire, for the according of this businesse, upon honorable tearmes. I offered this my service and my best indeavours, because by these g [...]sses and suspitions which hee gave me of the quarrell, I knew that you (Sir) were the master and owner of this hat­band which out of your liberalitie and courtesie, you would that it should bee mine. And knowing like­wise that none could better undertake this taske then my selfe, nor more tender your good and safetie then I doe, I offered him my best furtherance and assistance. Now that (Sir) which I would intreate of you, is, that you would plainely tell mee what you know concer­ning this case, and whether that bee true which Lorenzo saith.

O my deare friend, (answered the Duke) it is such a truth that I dare not, though I would deny it: But I must tell you withall, that I have neither deceived, nor taken Cornelia away, though I know shee is gone out of the house where she was, but whither God knowes, for I doe not. I have not deceived her, because I hold her to bee my wife; nor have I taken her away because I know not what is become of her. And if I did not publiquely ce­lebrate my Nuptialls, it was because I did still looke that my mother (who is now upon her last) should passe from this to a better life; being very▪ desirous that I should mar­ry the Lady L [...]ia, daughter to the Duke of M [...]tua, as likewise for many other inconveniences, more per ad­venture effectuall then the former, and not now fit to bee spoken of. That which posseth (and take it for truth) is. That that very night, when you came in to sue­cour mee▪ I purposed to have carryed her away with mee to Ferrara. For shee was now in the moneth wherein [Page 91] shee was to bring forth to the light that pledge which heaven had ordained to be deposited in her. Now whe­ther it were by reason of that quarrell, or whether by my carelessenes, when I came to her house, I found comming out of it, the secretary of our compact and contract, and all other our meetings and agreements. I ask't for Cornelia, shee told mee that shee was newly gone out, and that shee had that very night beene delivered of a sonne, one of the fayrest creatures that ever eye saw, and that shee had given it to my servant Fabio. That is the damsell which comes there, Fabio is here with mee, but the babe and Cornelia are both missing. I have beene there two dayes in Bologna, expecting and inquiring if I could heare any newes of Cornelia, but have heard none.

So that (Sir) said Don Iuan, when Cornelia and your sonne shall appeare you will neither deny the one to bee your spouse, nor the other your sonne.

No certainly, (replyed the Duke) for though I prize my my selfe to be a gentleman, yet I prise my selfe more, to be a Christian. And the rather for that Cornelia is such a one▪ as deserveth to be mistresse of a kingdome, should shee ap­peare and live or my mother die, the world shall then know that if I knew to be a lover, I likewise knew how to keepe that faith in publicke, which I did plight in secret.

You shall doe well (Sir) said Don Iuan; that what you have said to me you will say the same to your brother Signor Lo­renzo. I am sorie (replyed the Duke) that he hath beene kept so long from knowing it.

Thereupon Don Iuan instantly made signes to Lorenzo that he should alight from his horse, and come unto them, w^ch he did, being far from thinking on that good newes which attended him. The Duke advanced himselfe, to receive him with open armes, & the first word he spake unto him was (Brother.) Lorenzo scarce knew on the sodaine how to returne answer to so loving a salutation and courteous a reception. [Page 92] And standing thus in suspence before hee could recollect himselfe to speake a word. Don Iuan said unto him.

The Duke (Signior Lorenzo) acknowledgeth the secret conversation which he hath had with your Sister, the Lady Cornelia. He likewise confesseth that she is his lawfull wife; and that as he avers it here, so will he avouch it in publicke when occasion shall be offered. He grants in like manner that hee went some foure nights since to fetch her away from her kinswomans house, for to carrie her with him to Ferrara, and to waite for a good conjuncture for the ce­lebrating of his Nuptials, which hee hath deferred upon very just causes, which he hath made knowne unto mee; hee tells mee also of the quarrell which he had with you; and that when he went for Cornelia, hee met with Sulpicia, her wayting gentlewoman, which is that woman whom you see there, of whom hee learned that it was not above an houre since that Cornelia was delivered, and that shee gave the babe to a servant of the Dukes, and that Cornelia forth with beleeving that the Duke was there, went full of feare out of the house, because shee imagined, that you Signor Lorenzo, had already notice of her proceedings. Sulpicia gave not the babe to the Dukes servant but to another in his stead. Cornelia appeares not, the Duke beares all the blame, and yet hee sayth; That whensoever and where­soever the Lady Cornelia shall appeare, he will take and re­ceive her as his true and lawfull wife. Now (Signior Lorenzo) what can hee say more, or what more by you, and us to bee desired or wished for, then the finding out of those two, as rich, as unfortunate pledges?

Hereunto answered Signor Lorenzo (throwing himselfe at the Dukes feete, who strove to take him up) Of your christianitie and greatnesse (most noble Sir) and my deare brother, neither could my Sister nor my selfe expect lesse good from you, then that which you have done to us both. To her in equalling her with your selfe, and to me in ranking me in the number of your friends and alliance. [Page 93] And with that the teares trickled downe from his eyes, and so likewise did they from the Dukes, both out of meere tendernesse of heart. The one for the losse of his spouse, and the other that he had found so good a brother in Law. But considering that it might seeme weakenesse in them to manifest their griefe by their teares, they did compresse them, and withdrew them from their eyes. But those of Don Iuan were very cheerefull, as if they had asked them Albricias, or some reward for the glad tidings of Cornelias and her sonnes being found, being that he left them well in his owne house.

In these tearmes things stood, when loe Don Antonio de Ysunca discovered himselfe, whom whiles hee was yet a good wayes of, Don Iuan knew by his Nagge, but when he drew neare he made a stand, and saw Don Iuans and Sig­nor Lorenzoes horses, and the Lackeyes that held them, and though they were a good way off, yet he knew Don Iuan and Lorenzo, but not the Duke. Hee knew not what to doe with himselfe, whether he should draw neare or no, where Don Iuan was: Comming therefore to one of the Dukes servants, he demanded of him whether hee knew that gentleman which was with the other two, pointing to the Duke? Hee told him that it was the Duke of Ferrara; wherewith he remained amazed, and knew lesse what to doe with himselfe now then hee did before. But Don Iuan did put him out of this his perplexitie by calling unto him by his name. Don Antonio alighted, seeing that they were all a foote, and came unto them. The Duke recei­ved him with a great deale of courtesie, because Don Iuan had told him that hee was his friend, and compa­nion.

In conclusion Don Iuan recounted unto Don Antonio all that which had betided him with the Duke, till hee came unto them. Don Antonio was therewith extreamely joyed, and said to Don Iuan; Why Senior Don Iuan doe not you make an end of putting the joy and contentment of these [Page 94] two gentlemen in their true point, giving a period thereun­to, by craving Albricias for the finding out of the Lady Cor­nelia, and her sonne? If you had not come (Senior Don Anto­nio) I would have begd Albricias, but now doe you begge them; for I assure you they will give them you with a ve­ry good will.

The Duke and Lorenzo hearing them treate of the fin­ding of Cornelia, and of Albricias, asked them what was that they talked of? What should it be (replyed Don Antonio) but that I am willing to make one in this Tragick-Comedie, and must bee hee that must begge Albricias of you for the finding of the Lady Cornelia, and of her sonne, for they are in my house. And so presently point by point hee recoun­ted unto them all that which heretofore hath beene said; where of the Duke and Signor Lorenzo received so great plea­sure and content, that Lorenzo imbraced Don Iuan, and the Duke Don Antonio. The Duke promised all his estate for bringing him this good newes, and Signor Lorenzo his goods, his life, and his soule. They called to the wayting gentle­woman that delivered the child to Don Iuan, who having taken notice of Lorenzo stood trembling and quaking for feare. They asked her if shee knew the man, to whom shee had delivered the child, shee answered no; but that shee asked him, if he were Fabio? And he replyed, yes, and that upon this good beliefe shee gave it him, you say true in­deede (said Don Iuan) and you (gentlewoman) anon after shut the doore and told me that I should have a care of it, and see it safe, and come quickly backe againe unto you: it is even so (Sir) as you say, answered the gentlewoman, shedding many a teare. But the Duke bid her bee quiet, and said; Now there are no neede here of teares, but Iubiles, and feastings. And since the case stands thus, I will not enter Ferrara, but forthwith returne backe to Bologna; for all these contentments are but as in shadow, till that the seeing of my Cornelia make them true. And without saying any more, by a joynt consent they presently turned about to make for Bologna. [Page 95] Don Antonio went before for to prepare for Cornelia, least that shee might be overtaken with some suddaine passion up­on the unexpected comming of the Duke, and her bro­ther. But when hee found her not, neither could the Pa­ges tell him any newes of her, he remained the most asha­med, and most sorrowfull man in the world. And when he saw that their woman too was wanting, he imagined that by her industry and perswasions Cornelia was missing. The Pages told him that the woman was wanting the same day that they were. And as for Cornelia, for whom he asked, they never saw her. Don Antonio was almost out of his wits with this unexpected chance, fearing happily that the Duke would hold them for lyars or impostors, or perhaps imagine other worser things, which might re­dound in prejudice of their honour, and Cornelia's cre­dit.

Whilst he was imagining and casting these doubts and scruples with himselfe, entred the Duke, Don Iuan, and Lo­renzo by unfrequented streets and backe lanes, having left the rest of their people with out the Citie. They came to Don Iuan house, and found Don Antonio sitting in a Chayre, with his hands on his cheekes, and with a colour as pale and wa [...]e as death. Don Iuan asked him, what are you not well? Where is Cornelia? Don Antonio replyed; How can I be well, since that Cornelia doth not appeare? who with the woman that we left with her for to keepe her com­pany▪ the same day that we were gone, she was gone. The Duke wanted little of growing desperate upon the hearing of this sad newes.

In a word, all of them were much troubled, suspensive, and imaginative, casting I know not what in their mindes. Whilst they were thus in their dumpes, there came a Page unto Don Antonio, and whispering him in the eare, told him; [...] Don Iuan Page, from that day that you went hence, hath kept a very handsome woman in his chamber and I beleeve that her name is Cornelia, for I heard him call [Page 96] her so. Antonio was now troubled [...] and would ra­ther that Cornelia had not appeared at all (for hee did verily beleeve that that was shee whom the Page had [...]id) then that they should finde her in such a place, yet notwith­standing he sayd nothing, but holding his peace hee stole to the Pages Chamber but found the doore lockt, and the Page from home. Hee came to the doore, and in a low voyce said; Lady Cornelia open the doore, come forth to receive your brother and the Duke your husband, who are come to seeke you. He heard one answer within▪ what doe you mocke me? I am not so ill favored▪ nor so unfor­tunate that Dukes and Earles may not seeke after mee. But this it is, to have to doe with Pages, I deserve no better payment. By which words Don Antonio understood that shee that answered him was not Cornelia.

Whilst this passed, came Santistevan the Page, and hyed him presently to his lodging, and finding Don Antonio there who willed him to bring him the Keyes of the house, for to try if any of them would open the doore; the Page fal­ling downe upon his knees, with the Key in his hand, said unto him▪ your absence and my [...]guery made me bring hi­ther this woman, who hath abode with me here, this three nights; I beseech you (Sir) as you are a gentleman, and may heare good newes from Spaine, that if my master Don Iuan de Gamboa hath not already heard of it, that he may not know of it▪ for I will instantly put her out of the house. And what is this womans name, sayd Don Antonio her name Sir (replyed the Page) is Cornelia.

The Page who discovered the Ambush (who bare no great good will to [...] ▪ nor is it knowne whether out of simplicitie, or malice▪) came down where the Duke, Don Iuan and Lorenzo were saying; that Page yonder hath kept up Cornelia close▪ like a Hawke in a Mew, and could, have wisht that his master had not come home so soone, that hee might have taken his pleasure of her three or foure▪ dayes longer, Lorenzo over heard this, and askt him what is [Page 97] that (my friend) you say? where is Cornelia? Above (an­swered the Page.) The Duke had no sooner heard this, but like lightning he got him up the stayres to see Cornelia, imagining that she had appeared, and lighted right on the chamber where Don Antonio was, and entring hee sayd; where art thou Cornelia? where is the life of my life? Here is Cornelia answered a woman, that lay wrapt up in a sheet of the bed with her face covered and prosecuted her speech, saying; This is no such great fault as you would make it, you need not make such a deale adoe about it, it is no such new or strange thing for a woman to lye with a Page, that you make such a wonder of it. Lorenzo, who was there present, raging with despight and chollor, tooke the sheet by one of the corners and pull'd it off, and discovered a young woman of no ill aspect, who out of shame clapt her hands before her face, and made haste to take her cloaths unto her which served her instead of a pillow, for the bed had none; and by these and other like signes they saw that shee was some common hackney which did set out her selfe to hyre: The Duke ask't her and willed her that shee should tell him truly whether her name were Cornelia or no? She made him answer that it was; and that shee had kinsfolke of very good account and credit in the City, and that none can say of themselves that they will not drinke of this water.

The Duke was so ashamed, that hee was almost ready to imagine that the Spanyards had put a tricke upon him▪ But to the end that hee might not give way to the entertai­ning of so ill a suspition, hee turned his backe, and with­out speaking one word Lorenzo following him, they got to their Horses and went their way, leaving Don Iuan, and Don Antonio more ashamed then they; and determined with themselues to use all possible, yea even all impossible dili­gences in seeking out Cornelia, and in satisfying the Duke of their truth and good desires. They put Santistevan out of their service for a bold impudent fellow, and turn'd that [Page 98] shamelesse Queane Cornelia out of doores; And in that very instant it came into their minde that they had forgotten to tell the Duke of those jewels, the Agnus dei, and the Crosse of Diamonds which Cornelia had offered them, be­ing that by these tokens he might have beene induced to be­lieve that Cornelia had beene in their power, and that if shee were now wanting, they could not doe withall they ha­sted forth to tell him this, but they found him not in Loren­zo's house where they thought hee had beene.

They met with Lorenzo, who told them, that without making any stay at all hee went directly to Ferrara, leaving order for the looking out of his Sister; They acquainted him with their errand, and with what they meant to have sayd to the Duke in their just excuse, but Lorenzo told them that the Duke was very well satisfied of their good procee­ding, and that both of them had layd the fault on Cornelia's too much feare, and that God would bee pleased that she should ere long appeare, since that they perswaded them­selves that the earth had not swallowed up the Child, the woman, and her selfe.

With this they did all comfort themselves, and were not willing to make inquiry after her by publicke proclamati­ons, but by secret diligences, because her being mist was knowne by none but her kinswoman; and amongst those who did not know the Dukes intention, his Sister might runne the hazzard of her reputation, if they should make a publicke proclayming of it, and that it would require a great deale of labour and trouble for to goe satisfying every one of those suspitions which a vehement presumption should infuse into them.

The Duke went forward on his journey, and it so hap­pened by good fortune, or rather divine Providence had so disposed it, that hee came to that Village of this Curate, where were already arrived Cornelia, the Child, the Nurse, and the Plotter and deviser of their going thither; And they had given him account of all the businesse, and be­sought [Page 99] his advise and counsell what they were best to doe.

The Curate was a great lover of the Duke, to whose house fitted and accommodated, like that of a rich and cu­rious Clergie-man; the Duke did use oftentimes to come from Ferrara, and from thence went a hunting. For hee tooke great pleasure and delight as well in the Curates cu­riositie, as in the wittinesse and gracefulnesse in all whatso­ever he either sayd or did. He was no whit moved or trou­bled to see the Duke in his house, (for as already hath been sayd) it was not the first time that hee had beene there. But it did grieve and discontent him to see him there so sad and melancholy; for hee did presently perceive that his minde was troubled and possessed with some passion.

Cornelia had overheard that the Duke of Ferrara was there, and was extreamely troubled thereat, because shee did not know with what intention hee came thither; She wrung her hands, and ranne up and downe from one place to a­nother, as if she had beene distracted and out of her wits▪ Cornelia would feigne have spoken with the Curate, but hee was entertaining the Duke, and had not the leisure to talke with her.

The Duke sayd unto him, Father, I am come hither I confesse very sad and heavie, and will not enter to day in­to Ferrara, but be your guest; I pray goe forth, and bid those that came with me, to goe backe againe to Ferrara, onely let Fabio stay here with me. The good Curate did so; and then presently went to give order for the entertaining and serving of the Duke. And so upon this occasion Cornelia might have the opportunitie to speake with him; who ta­king him by both the hands, held him fast, and sayd unto him. O Father, what is that the Duke would have? what is it hee comes about? for Gods sake (sir) give him some touch, touching my busines, and see if you can sound him, and by some signe or other, discover his intention. In con­clusion, so carry this businesse as shall seeme best unto you, and as your great discretion shall direct you.

[Page 100]Whereunto the Curate answered, that the Duke was ve­rie sad and pensive, but hath not as yet told mee the cause of this his griefe. That which is to bee done, is that you presently dresse this Child, and make it as neate and fine as possibly you can; adorning him withall your jewells▪ espe­cially those the Duke gave you, and leave the rest to mee. Cornelia embraced him and kissed his hands, and withdrew her selfe to dresse and tricke up the Child.

The Curate in the meane while went forth to entertaine the Duke untill dinner time; and talking and discoursing of divers things, the Curate askt the Duke whether hee might be so bold, as to learne from him the cause of his me­lancholy? because a man might plainely perceive a league of this his sadnesse.

Father (sayd the Duke) it is a cleere case, that the sor­rowes of the heart will breake out and show themselves in the countenance of man or woman; and in our eyes and looks is read the relation of that which is in our soules. And that which grieves mee most, is; that I cannot as yet communicate my sorrow to any. But truely (my Lord) replied the Curate, if you were but now in case, or would bee pleased to see things of pleasure and delight, I could shew you one which I keepe to my selfe, which would give you great contentment. Very silly and simple (answe­red the Duke) should that man be, who having a remedie offered him for his maladie would not take it. As you love me (Father) I pray shew it me; this which you now speak of, must be some of your curiosities, all which have hither­to given me singular content.

The Curate rose up from his seate, and went where Cornelia was, who had now made an end of dressing her sonne and had put on and about him those rich jewells of the Crosse, and of the Agnus dei, with other three most precious stones, all given by the Duke to Cornelia; and taking the Child in his armes, he went where the Duke was, desiring him that he would rise from his chaire, and that he would [Page 101] bee pleased to take the paines to come to the window, be­cause the light was there much clearer. Being come thi­ther, he tooke the Child out of his armes, and put it into those of the Duke; who when hee had lookt upon it and knew the jewells and saw that they were the same which hee had given to Cornelia; hee remained astonished and a­mazed: and looking wishly on the Child, it seemed unto him that hee saw his owne picture, And being full of ad­miration, he askt the Curate whose Child that was, which in its adorning and dressing seemed to bee the Childe of some Prince?

I know not (replyed the Curate) onely I know this, that some (I know not how many) moneths since, a gentle­man of Bologna brought him hither unto mee, and gave me in charge that I should looke well unto him, and breed him up; for that he was the sonne of a valiant and noble Father, and of a principall and most beautifull Mother. There came likewise with this gentleman, a woman for to nurse the Child; of whom I did demand if shee knew ought concerning the Parents of this Babe? but shee told mee she knew nothing touching that particular. And in­deed if the Mother bee so faire as is the Nurse, shee must needs be the fairest woman in all Italy. May we not see her sayd the Duke? yes certainely sayd the Curate. Come you (sir) with mee; for if the dressing and beauty of this pret­tie creature hath thus suspended you, and made you stand at a gaze, as I beleeve and perceive it hath, what will the sight of its Nurse doe? The Curate would have taken the Child from the Duke, but hee would not let him goe till that he had hugg'd him in his bosome, and bestowed ma­ny kisses upon him. The Curate in the interim got him a little before, and calling to Cornelia, wished her that shee should come forth without any perturbation at all, for to receive the Duke.

Cornelia did so; and being overtaken with a sodaine pas­sion, there arose such fresh colours in her face, as did beau­tifiē [Page 102] her beyond measure▪ The Duke was wonderfully strucken when he saw her, and she throwing her selfe at his feet would have kissed them. The Duke without speak­ing any one word▪ gave the Child to the Curate, and turning himselfe from them, he got him with great haste out of the house; Which Cornelia seeing, turning her selfe about to the Curate, sayd unto him;

Aye mee (good sir) have my lookes scared and affrigh­ted the Duke that he cannot endure the sight of mee? Am I growne odious in his eyes? am I so foule that hee doth loath and abhorre mee? Hath he forgot those obligations wherein he stands bound unto mee? what would he not vouchsafe to speake so much as one word unto mee? Was his Sonne so burthensome unto him? was hee so weary with holding of him, that he so quickly rather threw, then put him out of his armes? To all which her complaint the Curate replyed not a word, wondring at the sodaine flight of the Duke, for it seemed unto him to bee rather a flying, then any thing else.

But all this his haste was to no other end, save to go out to call Fabio, and to say unto him; Run (Fabio) and make all the haste you can to Bologna, and bid Lorenzo Bentivogli, and the two Spanish gentlemen, Don Iuan de Gamboa, and Don Antonio de Ysanca, that instantly laying all businesses and ex­cuses aside, they come instantly unto mee to this Village. See (Fabio) that you make all possible speed, loose no time, and by no meanes doe not you come without them, for it importeth mee no lesse then my life to see them.

Fabio was not slothfull, but presently put his Lords com­mand in execution. Hee being thus dispatcht and sent a­way, the Duke presently returned backe againe where Cornelia was; finding her distilling pearled drops of teares. The Duke tooke her into his armes, and adding teares to teares, a thousand times hee dranke in the breath of her mouth, taking great content in each other, though their tongues were bound to the peace. And so in an honest [Page 103] and amorous silence, these two happy lovers and true man and wife did enjoy themselves. The Childs Nurse and Cri­ [...]ela) at least as she her selfe sayd) who betweene the doors of another chamber stood observing what passed betwixt the Duke and Cornelia, were ready for joy to leape out of their skinns, and were so overtaken with this so pleasing a sight, that they seemed wilde and halfe out of their wits.

The Curate bestowed a thousand kisses on the prettie sweet babe which he had in his armes, and with his right hand which was disoccupied and at liberty, he was never satisfied with throwing Benedictions on those two em­braced lovers. The Curates Mayd who was not present at this great and strange chance, because she was busie in dres­sing and providing dinner; when all was ready to be ser­ved in, she came in to call them to sit downe to their meat which stayed on the table wayting for them. This brake off their strickt embracements, and the Duke disincumbred the Curate of the Child and tooke him into his owne armes, and there held him all the while that (that rather well sea­soned then sumptuous) dinner lasted. And being thus sitting and eating together, Cornelia gave him an account of all that which had happened till her comming to that house, by the advise and counsell of that shee servant of the two Spa­nish gentlemen, who had served, protected, and kept her with the honestest and most punctuall decorum that could be imagined. The Duke likewise recounted unto her all that which had be fallen him till this very instant.

There were present waiting on them, the two Nurses wet, and dry, who received from the Duke great offers, and large promises. In all of them was renewed the con­tent which they tooke in the happy end of this rare suc­cesse, and onely stayed expecting to make it fuller, and to put it into the best state that possibly could be desired, by the comming of Lorenzo, of Don Iuan, and Don Antonio: who some three dayes after comforting themselves with hope, and being very desirous to know whether the Duke had as [Page 104] yet any newes of Cornelia? For Fabio, who was purposely sent for them, could not informe them of her being found, because he knew nothing of it.

The Duke went forth to receive them in a large roome adjoyning neere unto that where Cornelia was; but with­out expressions of any contentment at all: whereupon these new-come guests were very heavie and sorrowfull, and looked sadly one upon another. The Duke caused them to sit downe, and he himselfe fate with them, and directing his speech to Lorenzo, he sayd unto him;

You wott well (Signor Lorenzo Bentivogli) that I did never deceive your Sister, as Heaven, and mine own Conscience can well witnesse for mee; you know likewise the dili­gence which I have used, and the desire which I have had to finde her out that I might marry her, and make her my Wife, according unto promise. She appeares not, and my word ought not to be eternall. I am a young man, and not so well grounded and experienced in the things of this World, that I should not suffer my selfe to bee carried a­way by those, which delight every foot offereth mee. The selfe same affection which made me promise my selfe to be Cornelias Husband, did likewise lead me, before I past my word unto her, to promise marriage to a Country wench, a husband mans Daughter of this Village▪ whom I did think to put off, and leave deluded, that I might applie my selfe to Cornelias worth; though not to that which my conscience did dictate unto mee, which was no small ma­nifestation of my great love. But since that no man mar­ries with a Wife which doth not appeare; and that it doth not stand with reason, that a man should seeke after a Wife that forsakes him, that she may not be found by him whom she abhorreth; I say this (Signor Lorenzo) that you may thereby see the satisfaction, which I am both willing, and able to give you, that I have not done you any the least wrong or affront, being that I never had any inten [...]ion or purpose to do it. And therefore I would have you to give [Page 105] me leave to comply with my first promise, and that I may marry this Country Mayd, who is now here in this house.

Whil'st that the Duke was making this speech, Lorenzo's countenance went, changing it selfe into a thousand co­lours, neither could he for his life sit still after one and the same manner; which were cleare signes and manifest tokens, that choller went taking possession of all his senses. In the like taking was Don Iuan, and Don Antonio, who did presently resolve that the Duke should not go on with his intention, although it cost them their lives.

The Duke then reading their minde in their faces, sayd; rest you quiet (Signior Lorenzo) for before that you shall re­turne mee any one word in answer to mine; I will, that the beauty that you shall see in her, whom I am desirous to make my Wife, may obliege you to give me leave to do that which I crave of you. For it is such, and so beyond all mortall manner, that it will bee able to plead excuse for far greater errours.

When the Duke was risen and went his way from them, Don Iuan stood up, and resting both his hands on the armes of the Chayre where Don Lorenzo sate, hee sayd unto him in a loud voice; By St. Iago of Galicia (Signior Lorenzo) and by the Faith of a Christian which I professe; I vow, that I will as soone suffer the Duke to proceed in this his purpose, as I intend to turne Moore. As I am a Gentleman, here, even here, and in these very hands of mine, he shall either leave his life, or performe his word and promise which hee made to your Sister the Lady Cornelia; or at least to give them time and respite for to seeke after her, till such time that they should certainely know that shee were dead; and in the meane while, not to permit him to Marrie. I am of the same opinion answered Lorenzo; and of the same likewise (replied Don Iuan) will my friend and com­panion Don Antonio bee.

While they were thus debating this businesse, from out a Roome just before them, came Cornelia in the middle, [Page 106] betwixt the Curate, and the Duke, who led her by the hand. After whom followed Sulpicia, Corneti [...] Gentle woman, (the Duke having sent for her to Ferrara) and the two Nurses to the Child, and the Woman belonging to the Spa­nish Gentlemen.

When Lorenzo saw his Sister, and had taken a full view of her, and knew that it was shee (for at first, the im­possibilitie, to his seeming of such a successe, did not suffer him to enter truely into the reckoning of it,) stum­bling out of haste, hee went to throw himselfe at the Dukes feete; hee tooke him up, and placed him in his Sisters armes, who embraced him with all possible demon­strations of joy.

Don Iuan, and Don Antonio, told the Duke that hee had put upon them the most discreet, and most savourie con­ceit in the World.

The Duke tooke the Childe which Sulpicia brought in her armes, and giving it to Lorenzo, sayd; Heere Brother, take your Nephew, and my Sonne, and see now, whe­ther or no you will give mee leave to marry with this Country Lasse, who is the first that ever I plighted my faith unto, that I would marry her.

It were an endlesse peece of worke, to recount that which Lorenzo replyed; that which Don Iuan asked him; that which Don Antonio thought, the rejoycing of the Curate, the joy of Suloicia, the content of the advisers, the admiration of Fabio, the Iubile of the Nurse; and in a word, the generall contentment of all.

The Curate forthwith married them, Don Iuan de Gam­boa being the Father that gave her. And amongst them all it was concluded and agreed upon, that those Nuptialls should bee secret, and concealed; till they should see how it fared with the Dutchesse his Mother, who was almost spent, by reason of her long sickenesse: and that in the meane-while, Cornelia should return with her brother to Bologna. All this was done.

[Page 107]The Dutchesse shortly after dyed, and Cornelia entred into Ferrara, cheering the World with her fayre presence: Mourning weeds, were turned into gay and rich cloathes, The Nurses were liberally rewarded. Sulpicia was married to Fabio. Don Antonio, and Don Iuan were wonderfull well contented, that it was there good fortune, that they had beene some way seruiceable to the Duke; who offered them two of his neare kinswomen to bee their Wives, with exceeding rich Dowries. But they told him, that the Gentlemen of Biscay, for the most part did marry in their owne Countrey: and that not out of any scorne, (for that was not possible) but for to comply with that commendable custome, and the will of their Parents, who had already provided Wives for them; they did not, nor could accept of this his most noble offer.

The Duke admitted of their excuse, and by honest and honourable meanes, and seeking after lawfull occasions, hee sent them many Presents to Bologna, and some so rich, and that in so good a season and conjuncture; that al­though they might not admit of them, least it might seeme that they received pay for their service, yet the time wher­in they came, did facilitate their kinde acceptance of them. Especially those which hee sent them at their go­ing for Spaine: and those which hee gave them when they went to Ferrara to take their leave of him, where they found Cornelia accompanied with other Ladies, amongst whom, her transcendent beauty, and incomparable ver­tues, made her shine with as much superiority, as a Starre of a greater magnitude exceeds in splendour the lesser Lu­manaries of its owne Spheare. The Duke being (according to all the grounds of reason and love) more enamoured of her then ever.

The Dutchesse gave her Crosse of Diamonds to Don Iuan, and her Agnus dei, to Don Antonio; who when they saw that all their mannerly refusalls would not serve their turn▪ they with an unwilling willingnesse received them.

[Page 108]They came to Spaine, into their owne Countrey, where they were married to rich, principall, and beautifull yong Women, continuing still their correspondencie with the Duke, and the Dutchesse; and with Sig­nior Lorenzo Bentivogli, to the great good liking on either part.

OH the lamentable Ruines of unhappie Nicosia! The bloud of thy valiant and unfortunate defenders being yet scarce drie. If (as thou art senslesse thereof) thou hadst any feeling at all in this desolate and woefull estate wherein now wee are, we might joyntly bewaile our misfortunes and that wretched estate and condition wherein wee are; And happily having a companion in them, it would help to ease mee in some sort of my torment, and make that burthen of my griefe the lighter; which I finde so heavie (I had almost sayd insupportable) for mee to beare. Yet there is some hope left unto thee, that these thy strong Towers dismantled and layd levell with the ground; thou mayst one day see them, (though not in so just a defence, as that wherein they were overthrowne) raised to their former height and strength.

But I, (of all unfortunate, the most unfortunate man,) what good can I hope for in that miserable straight wher­in [Page 110] I finde my selfe? yea, though I should returne to the same estate and condition wherein I was, before I fell into this; such is my misfortune, that when I was free and at liberty, I knew not what happinesse was; and now in my thraldome and captivitie, I neither have it, nor hope it.

These words did a Christian Captive utter, looking with a sad and heavie countenance from the rising of a hill on the ruined Walls of the late▪ lost Nicosia. And thus did he talke with them, and compared his miseries with theirs, as if they had beene able to understand him. (The com­mon and proper condition of afflicted persons, who being violently carried away with their owne feigned fancies, and imaginary conceptions; doe, and say things beyond all reason, and without any good discourse, and advise­ment)

Now whil'st hee was thus discoursing with himselfe from out a Pavilion, or one of those Tents pitched there in the field, not farre from him issued out a Turke, a handsome young man, of a good presence, an ingenious aspect, and accompanied with spirit and mettall answerable to his lookes; who drawing neere unto the Christian, without much ceremonie, yet in a fayre and civill way, sayd unto him; Sir, I durst lay a wager with you, that those your pensive thoughts which I read in your face have brought you hither. You read aright, answered Ricardo, (for this was the Captives name) they have brought mee hither in­deed: But what doth it avayle mee? since in no place whether so ever I go, I am so farre from procuring a peace; that I cannot obtaine a truce, or any the least cessation of them. Nay rather these Ruines which from hence dis­cover themselves unto mee, have rather increased my sorrowes. Those of Nicosia you meane? replied the Turke; What other should I meane (answered Ricardo) since there are no other which here offer themselves to my view. You have great cause (quoth the Turke) to weepe, if you [Page 111] entertaine your thoughts with these and the like contem­plations.

For they, who but some two yeares since had seene this famous and rich Island of Cyprus in its prosperitie, and peaceable estate; the [...]nhabitants thereof enjoying all that humane happines and felicitie, which the Heavens could grant unto men, or themselves desire, and now to see them banished out of it, or made miserable slaves in it; Who can bee so hard hearted, as to forbeare from bewai­ling its calamity and misfortune.

But let us leave talking of these things since they are re­medilesse, and let us come to your owne bosome sor­rowes, for I desire to see if they bee such, as you voyce them to bee. And therefore, I earnestly entreate and be­seech you, and conjure thee, by that which thou owest to those good offices I have done thee; the good will I beare thee, the love I have showne thee, and by that which ought to obliege thee thereunto; in that wee are both of one and the same Country, and bred up in our Child-hood together; that thou wilt deale freely with me, and lay o­pen unto me what is the cause which makes thee so excee­ding sad and melancholy? For how be it, Captivity alone of it selfe bee sufficient to grieve the stoutest heart in the World, and to checke its mirth; though otherwise natu­rally inclined thereunto, yet notwithstanding I imagine, that the current of your disasters hath a farther reach and deeper bottome.

For generous minds (such as thine is) do not use to yeeld and render up themselves to common & ordinary misfor­tunes, in such a measure, as to make shew of extraordinary sorrowes. And I am the rather induced to beleeve what I conceive, because I know that you are not so poore, but that you are well enough able to pay any reasonable Ran­some they shall require of you. Nor are you clapt up in the Towers of the blacke Sea, as a prisoner of note, or Cap­tive of consideration, who late, or never obtaines his de­sired [Page 112] liberty. And therfore yourill fortune not having taken from you the hope of seeing your selfe a free man; and yet notwithstanding all this, when I see thee so much over­charged with sorrowes, and making such miserable ma­nifestations of thy misfortunes; It is not much that I i­magine that the paine proceeds from some other cause then thy lost liberty, which I entreat thee to acquaint mee withall; offering thee all the assistance I am able to give thee▪ Perhaps, to the end that I may be serviceable un­to thee, Fortune in her wheeling hath brought this about, that I should bee clad in this habite which I so much hate and abhorre.

Thou knowest already (Ricardo) that my Master is (adi of this Citie (which is the same, as to be it's Bishop;) Thou likewise knowest the great sway which he beareth here, and how much I am able to do with him. Together with this, thou art not ignorant of the servent desire and infla­med zeale which I have, not to dye in this estate which I thus seeme to professe; but God knowes my heart, and if ever I should come to be put to my tryall, I am resolved o­penly to confesse, and in a loud voice to publish to the whole world, the Faith of Iesus Christ, from which my few yeares, and lesse understanding separated mee; though that I were sure that such a confession should cost mee my life; for that I may free my selfe from losing that of my soule, I should thinke the losing of that of my body very well employed.

Out of all this which hath beene sayd unto thee, I leave it to thy selfe to inferre the conclusion, and that thou wilt take it into thy deeper and better consideration; whether my proffered friendship may be proffitable and usefull un­to thee.

Now that I may know what remedies thy misfortune requires, and what medicines I may apply both for the easing and curing of it; it is requesite, that thou recount it unto mee; the relation thereof being as necessary for me, [Page 113] as that of the rich Patient to his Phisitian; assuring thee in the faith of a friend, that thou shalt deposite it in the dee­pest and darkest den of silence, never to come to light.

To all these words of his, Ricardo gave an attentive [...]are, though his tongue were silent▪ but seeing himselfe oblieged by them and his owne necessity, returned him thereunto this answer.

If as thou hast hit the right veine Oh my dear friend Ma­hamut (for so was this Turke called) touching that which thou imaginest of my misfortune, thou couldst hit as right upon its remedy; I should hold my selfe happy in my lost liberty, and would not change my unhappines, for the grea­test happines that may be imagined But I wott well, that it is such, that all the World may take notice of the cause whence it proceedeth; but that man cānot therin be found, which dare undertake not onely the finding out of any re­medy for it, but of giving it any the least ease. And to the end that thou mayst rest thy selfe throughly satisfied of the truth therof, I will relate the same unto thee, as briefly and compendiously as I can, shutting up much in a few words. But before I enter into this confused laborinth of my mi­series; I would first have thee to recount unto mee, what is the cause why Azam Bashawe my master hath pitched here in this field these Tents and Pavilions, before hee maketh his entry into Nicosia, being deputed (and to that purpose bring­ing his provision with him) to bee Viceroy there, or Bashawe, the useuall stile or title which the Turks give their Viceroy's.

I will (answered Mahamut) answer your demand in a few words; and therefore would have you to know, that it is a custome amongst the Turks, that they who come to be Vice­royes of some Province, do not instantly enter into the Citie where their Predecessor resideth, till he issueth out of it, and leave the residence freely to his Successors. Now when the new Bashawe hath made his entrance, the old one stayes without in the field, expecting what accusations shal come against him, and what misdem can ours (during his govern­ment) [Page 114] they shall lay to his charge; which being alleadged and proved, are recorded, and a note taken of them, all pos­sibility being taken away from him of enterviewing, either to help himself by suborning of witnesses, or by his friends, unles he have made his way before hand, for the clearing of himselfe. Now the other being setled in his Residence, there is given by him to him that leaves his Charge, a scroll of Parchment sealed up very close, and therewith he presents himselfe at the gate of the Grand-Signior; that is to say, in the Court before the Grand-Councell of the great Turke; which be­ing seene and perused by the Visir-Bashaw, and by those o­ther foure inferiour Bashawes; they either reward, or punish him, according to the relation that is made of his Residencie: In case that he come home faulty, with money he redeems and excuseth his punishment: but if faultlesse, and they do not reward him (as commonly it falleth out) with gifts and presents, he procureth that Charge which himselfe most af­fecteth. For places of command and offices are not given for merit, but for money, all is sold, and all bought. They who have the Provision, (or as we stile it, commission and authoritie for the conferring of charges and offices,) robbe those which are to have these offices and charges, and fleece them as neare as the sheeres can goe. And they again out of this their bought office, gather wealth and substance for to buy another, which promiseth much more gaine. All goes as I tell you, all this Empire is violent, a signe that it will not last long. For that reason then that I have ren­dred thee, thy master Azam Bashawe hath remained in this field foure dayes; and he of Nicosia, that he hath not as yet come forth as he ought to have done; the cause is, that he hath been very sicke, but is now upon the mending hand; and will without faile come forth either to day or to mor­row at the farthest; and is to lodge in certain Tents which are pitcht behind this rising hill, which as yet thou hast not seene; and thy master is forth with to enter into the Citie. And having made this already delivered, known unto thee, [Page 115] is all the satisfaction that I can give to your propounded demaund.

Listen then unto mee, replied Ricardo; but I know not whether I shall be as good as my word, in cumplying with that which I formerly promised; that I would in a few words recount unto you my misfortunes, they being so large, that to make up the full measure of them, I want words enough to do it; yet notwithstanding, I wil do here­in what may be, and as time and your patience will permit.

But let me first of all aske you, if you know in our town of Trapana, a Damosell to whom Fame hath given the name of the fairest woman in all Sicily; in whose praise all curi­ous tongues have spent themselves, and of whom the ra­rest judgements have ratified, that she was the perfectest peece of beauty that the past age had, the present hath, and that which is to come can hope to have; one of whom the Poets sang, that her haires were golden wyars, her eyes, two resplendent Suns; and her cheeks, pure damask-roses; her teeth, Pearles; her lips, Rubies; her necke, Alablaster; and that her parts with the whole frame, and the whole with her parts, made up a most pleasing harmony, and most harmonious concord. Nature spreading over the whole composure such a sweet delightfulnesse of colours, so naturall, and so perfect, that envie it selfe cannot take her in any one particular.

And is it possible (Mahamut) that all this while thou hast not told me yet who shee is, and by what name she is called? I undoubtedly beleeve, that either thou dost not heare mee, or that when thou wast in Trapana, thou didst want thy sences. Mahamut hereunto answered; that if shee whom thou hast set forth with such extreames of beauty bee not Leonisa, the Daughter of Rodolphus Florenc [...]us, I know not who shee is; for shee alone had that fame which you speake of.

This is she, oh Mahamut (replied Ricardo) this is she (oh my deare friend) who is the principall cause of all my felicity, [Page 116] and of all my misfortune. This is shee, and not my lost li­bertie, for whom mine eyes have, do, and shall shed teares not to bee numbered; This is shee, for whom my heart­burning sighes inflame the ayre farre and neere: And this is shee, for whom my words weary heaven, which heares them, and the eares of those which hearken unto them. This is shee, for whom thou tookest mee to be mad, or at least, for a man of small worth, and lesse courage. This Leonisa, to me a Lyonesse, and to another a meeke and gen­tle Lambe; is shee which holds mee in this wretched and miserable estate.

For I must give thee to understand, that from my ten­der yeares, o [...] at least, ever since I had the use of reason, I did not onely love, but adore her; and did serve her with such solicitude and devotion, as if neither on earth, nor in Heaven there were any other Deitie for mee to serve and adore, save her selfe.

Her kinsfolke and Parents knew my desires, conside­ring withall, that they were directed to an honest and ver­tuous end. And that therefore, many a time and oft (which escaped not my knowledg) they acquainted Leonisa with the fervent love and affection I bare unto her, for the better disposing of her will to accept mee for her Husband.

But shee, who had placed her eyes on Cornelio, the Sonne of Ascanio Rotulo, (whom you know very well) a young Gallant, neate and spruce, with white hands, and curled haires, having a melifluous voice, and amorous words at will; and in a word, being all made of Amber, Muske, and Civet, clad in Tissue, adorned with rich embroyderies,) would not vouchsafe to cast so much as one glaunce of her eye on my countenance, which was not so delicate as that of Cornelio, neither would entertaine (notwithstanding my best endeavours to please her) with thankefulnesse, my many and continuall services, requiting my good will with disdaine and hatred: And to such extreames did the excesse of my love bring mee, that I should have held my [Page 117] selfe happie, had her disdaines and unkindnesses kil'd me outright, that I might not have liv'd to have seene her conferre such open, though honest favours on Cornelio. Consider now, being anguished with disdaine and hatred, and almost mad with the cruell rage of jealousie, in what miserable case (you may imagine) my soule was, two such mortall plagues reigning therein. Leonisa's Parents dissem­bled those favours which she did to Cornelio; beleeving (as they had good reason to beleeve it,) that the young▪ man attracted by her most exquesite and incomparable beautie (which none could match, but her owne) would make choice of her for his Spouse, and so in him gaine a richer sonne in Law, then in me: and well (if he were so) might he be so. But I dare be bold to say, (without arrogacie be it spoken) that as good bloud runs in my veines, as his; my quality and condition nothing inferiour to his; and for his minde, it cannot bee more noble then mine, nor his valour goe beyond mine: But that indeed which did o­ver ballance mee, was Leonisia's favour, and her Parents furthering the businesse; and this onely made the scales uneven, by their enclining to Cornelio.

Now it so fell out, that persisting in the pursuite of my pretensions, it came to my knowledge, that one day in the moneth of May last past, which this very day makes up a yeare, three dayes, and five houres; Leonisia, her Parents, and Cornelio, and some friends of his, went to solace them­selves, accompanied with their kindred, and servants to Ascamo his Garden, neare adjoyning to the Sea-side, in the way that leads to the Salt-pits.

I know that place passing well (sayd Mahamut,) goe on Ricardo; I was more then foure dayes in one of them, I could have wisht I had beene there but foure minutes.

I knew that (replied Ricardo) and in that very instant that I knew it, my soule was possessed with such a fury, such a rage, and such a hell of jealousies, and with that ve­hemencie and rigour, that it bereaved mee of my senses, [Page 118] as thou shalt plainely, by that which I presently see did, which was this.

I hyed mee to the Garden where I was told they were, where I found most of the cōpany solasing themselves, and Cornelio & Leonisa sitting under a Walnut-tree somewhat out of the way from the rest. How my sight pleased them I doe not know, but know, to say so much of my selfe, that her sight wrought so upon mee, that I lost the sight of mine owne eyes; and stood stocke still like a Statuaa, with­out either voice, or motion. But I continued not long so, before that my anger awakened my choler, choler, heated my bloud; my bloud, inflamed rage; and rage gave mo­tion to my hands, and tongue. Howbeit my hands were bound by the respect which (me'thought) was due to that fayre face which I had before mee; But my tongue breaking silence, vented forth these words;

How canst thou finde in thy heart, how give thy selfe content (Oh thou mortall enemie of my rest) in having, (and therin taking so much pleasure) before thine eyes, the cause which must make mine to overflow with rivers of teares; and by my continuall weeping, become another Deluge? Come, come, (cruell as thou art) a little nearer, and wreathe thy twining Ivie, about this unprofitable truncke, which wooes thy embracings. Let him lay his head in thy lap, and let thy fingers learne to play with those breaded lockes of this thy new Ganimede; what thou wilt doe, doe quickly; Make an end at once of delivering up the possession of thy selfe, to the greene and ungoverned yeares of this your Minion; to the end, that I losing all hope of obtaining thee; may together with that end, this my life, so much by mee abhorred.

Thinkst thou peradventure (thou proud and ill advised Damosell) that this young Princoxe, presumptuous by rea­son of his riches; arrogant, by your gracing of him, unex­perienced, in that hee is too young; and insolent by his re­lying on his Linage, will love as he ought, and you deserve? [Page 119] No, hee cannot, no, hee knowes not how to love con­stantly; nor to esteeme that which is in estimable, nor come to have that understanding and knowledge, which accompanies ripe and experimented yeares. If you thinke so, doe not thinke it; for the World hath no other good thing, save the doing of its actions alwaies after one and the same manner. For none are deceived, but by their owne ignorance: In yong men there is much inconstan­cie; in rich, pride; vanitie in the arrogant; in the beauti­tifull, disdaine; and in those that have all these, foolish­nesse, which is the mother of all ill successe

And thou (oh young Gallant) art such a one, who thinkst to carry all before thee, and to goe cleare away with that reward, which is more due to my good desires, then thy idle protestations; Why dost thou not arise from that Carpet of flowers whereon thou lyest, and come to take this my soule from me, which so deadly hateth thine? Not because thou offendest me in that which thou doest, but because thou knowest not how to esteeme that good which fortune gives thee: and it is cleare and evident, that thou makst little reckoning of it, since thou wilt not rise up to defend it, that thou mayst not put thy selfe to the hazzard of discomposing that painted composure of thy gay cloathes. If Achilles had had thy reposed condition, or beene of thy cold temper; Vlysses might very well have beene assured, that he would not have gone through with that which hee undertooke. Go, get thee gone and sport thy selfe amongst thy Mothers mayds, and there have a care of kembing and curling thy lockes, and keeping thy hands cleane and white; thou art fitter to handle soft silks, then a hard hilted sword.

All these words could not move Cornelio to rise from the place where I found him, but sate him still looking u­pon mee as one agast, not once offering to stirre. But the voice wherewith I uttered these words which you have heard, occasioned the people which were walking in the [Page 120] garden to draw nearer, stood a little while listening▪ hea­ring many other disgracefull speeches which I gave him, and thereupon made in; who taking courage by their comming (for all or most of them were his kinsfolke, ser­vants, or friends) hee made show of rising; but before he was fully upon his feete, I layd hand on my sword, drew it, and did set not onely upon him, but on as many as were there. Leonisa no sooner saw my glittering sword, but shee fell into a deadly swound, which did put greater courage into mee, and stirre up greater despighte: and I cannot say, whether those so many which did set upon mee, sought onely to defend themselves, as we see men usually doe against a furious mad man; or whether it were my good fortune and diligence, or Heavens dispo­sing, to expose me to greater evills, and to reserve mee to farther miseries. In conclusion, I wounded seven or eight of them which came next to my hand; Cornelio betooke himselfe to his heeles, and by his swift flight escaped my hands.

Being in this so manifest a danger hemmed in by my e­nemies, who now (seeing their bloud runne from them, and inraged with the wrong which they had received) sought to revenge themselves upon mee: Loe Fortune pro­vided a remedie for this mischiefe, but such a one as was worse than the disease; for better had it beene for mee there to have left my life, then in restoring it mee by so strange and unexpected a meanes, to come to lose it every houre a thousand and a thousand times over and over. And this it was; That on the sodaine there rushed into the garden a great number of Turkes, Pirates of Viserta, who with two Gallies had put into a little Creeke of the Sea, be­tweene two rockes hard by the shoare, where they dis­imbarked themselves without being heard or seene by the Centinells of the Watch-Towers, nor discovered by those scouts, whose dayly office it was to scoure the Coasts, and see that all was cleare. When my adversaries had espied [Page 121] them, leaving me alone; they, with the rest in the garden; ranne their way as fast as their legs would carry them, and shifted so well for themselves, that they had got them­selves out of their danger, and put themselves in safetie. So that of all the whole companies, the Turkes tooke no more Captives, but three persons besides Leonisa, who lay there still in a swound. They tooke me after they had shrewdly wounded me in foure severall places, revenged before by me on foure Turkes whom I left dead in the place.

This assault ended, the Turks with their accustomed dili­gence, and not being very well pleased with the successe; made haste to embarke themselves, and presently put far­ther to sea, so that what with their sailes, and help of their Oares, in a short space they recovered Fabiana; where they mustered their men, and finding that the slaine were foure souldiers, Levant-men (as they call them,) being of the best and choisest, and of most esteem amongst them, they were the more willing and desirous to take their revenge of me. And therefore the Admirall of the Captaine-galley commanded them to hang me up on the mayn yard. All this while Leo­nisa stood looking on this speedy preparatiō for my death, (who was now come again to her selfe) and seeing me in the power of these Pirats, the teares trickled down in great abundance from her beauteous eyes, and wringing her soft and delicate hands, not speaking so much as one word; gave diligent eare, and was very attentive to hear if she could un­derstand what the Turkes said. But one of the Christian-slaves that was chained to the Oare, spake to her in Italian, giving her to understand how that the Captaine had given order to have that Christian hanged up (pointing unto me) because I had slaine in her defence, foure of the best souldiers be­longing to his Galleys. Which being heard and understood by Leonisa; (being the first time that ever shee shew'd her selfe pittifull towards me) she will'd the sayd slave that he should speake unto the Turkes to spare his life, and not to hang him; for in so doing they would lose a great ransome, [Page 122] and that he should advise them to tack about, and make a­gaine for Trapana, where his ransome would presently be brought aboord unto them. This I say was the first, and the last kindnesse which Leonisa used towards mee, and all this for my greater ill. The Turks hearing what their Captive told them, did easily beleeve him; and this their hope of profit, turned the course of their choller. The very next morning hanging out a flag of peace, they anchored before Trapana. That night thou maist better conceive then I utter, with what a deale of griefe I past it over; not so much for my wounds sake, though they were very sore and painfull, as to thinke on the perill wherein my cruell enemie was amongst these Barbarous people. Being come now as I told thee to the Citie, one of the Galleys entred the Haven, the other stood off. All the Citizens flocked to the sea-side, the Christians standing as thicke one by another, as the shoare would give them leave. And that Carpet-knight Cornelio stood afar off observing what passed in the Galley, whil'st my Steward was treating of my ransome; to whom I had given order that he should in no wise treate of my liberty, but of that of Leonisa: and that he should give for the free­ing of her, all whatsoever I was worth, either in lands, or goods. And I willed him moreover, that hee should goe a shoare and tell Leonisa's Parents, that they should leave it to him to treate of their Daughters liberty.

This being done, the chiefe Captain who was a Grecian, but a Renegado, his name Ysuph, demanded for Leonisa, 6000 Crownes, and for my selfe foure thousand, and that hee would not sell the one without the other; setting this so great a prise (as I was given afterwards to understand) be­cause he was enamoured of Leonisa, and was therefore un­willing she should be redeemed; purposing to give to the Captaine of the other Galley (with whom he was to share the one halfe of the prize) my selfe at the rate of 4000 Crownes in ready money, and 1000 more in other cōmo­dities, which made up 5000, prizing Leonisa at other 5000. [Page 123] And this was the reason why he rated us two in ten thou­sand Crownes. Leonisa's Parents offered him nothing on their part, relying on the promise which on my part my Steward had made them; neither did Cornelio so much as once open his lips to offer any thing towards her ransome. And so after many demaunds and answers, my Steward concluded the businesse, with giving for Leonisa 5000, and for mee 3000 Crownes. Ysuph accepted this offer, forced thereunto by the perswasions of his companion, and all the rest of their Souldiers. But because my Steward had not so much money in Cash, hee entreated onely three daies time to make up the full summe, with intention to sell my goods under hand, and at a cheape rate, till he had got so much together as would pay the ransome. Ysuph was glad of this, thinking with himselfe in the mean while to finde some occasion that the bargaine might not goe forward; and so returning backe againe to the Island of Fabiana, he sayd, that by that time the three dayes were ex­pired, he would not faile to be there with them, to receive the money according to the agreement.

But spitefull and ungratefull Fortune, not yet wearied out with ill entreating mee; had so ordained it, that a Gallies boy who sate on the top of the mast, as the Turkes Centinell discovered afarre off at Sea, sixe Italian Gallies, and did guesse (which was true) that they were either of Malta, or Sicily. Hee came running downe with all the haste hee could to give them newes thereof; and in a trice the Turkes embar­ked themselves, who were a shoare, some dressing their dinner, some washing their linnen; and weighing anchor in an instant, hoysing saile, and working hard with their Oares, turning their Prows towards Barbary; in lesse then two houres, they lost the sight of those Gallies, and so be­ing shadowed with the Island, and covered from kenne by the approaching night, they were secured from that feare which afrighted them.

Now I leave it to thy good consideration (my friend [Page 124] Mahamut) how much my minde was troubled in this voy­age, finding it to fall out so crosse and contrary to that which I expected: and much more, when the next day the two Gallies reaching the Island of Pa [...]tanalea on the South part, the Turks went a shoare to get them wood, and fresh victuals; but most of all, when I saw both the Cap­taines land, and fell to sharing between them in equall pro­portion all those prizes they had taken, each action of these, was to mee a delayed death. Comming then at last to the dividing of my selfe, and Leonisa; Ysuph gave to Fetala, (for so was that Captaine of the other Galley called) sixe Christians, foure for the Oare, and two very beautifull boyes, both naturalls of Corso, and my selfe likewise with them, that hee might have Leonisa for himselfe. Wherewith Fetala rested very well contented. And albeit I were pre­sent at all this, I could not understand what they sayd, though I knew what they did; neither had I known then the manner of their sharings, if Fetala had not come unto mee and told mee in Italian; Christian thou art now mine, and put into my hands (as my Captive) thou being rated at two thousand Crownes; if thou wilt have thy libertie, thou must give mee 4000, or resolve here to end thy daies▪ I then demanded of him, whether the Christian Damosell were his too, he told mee no, but that Ysuph▪ kept her fob himselfe, with intention to make her turne Moore, and then▪ marrie her. And therein he sayd true; for one of the Gal­ley slaves told mee, that sate chained on his bancke at his Oare, and understood very well the Turkish language, that hee over-heard Ysuph and Fetala treating therof. Whereupon I came to my master and told him, Sir; if you will bring [...] the businesse so about that the Christian Damosell may be­come your Captive, I will give you ten thousand Crownes in good gold for her ransome. He replied, it was not pos­sible; but I will acquaint Ysuph with this great summe which thou offerest for her freedome: and perhaps, weigh [...] ­ing the profit he shall reape thereby, hee will alter hiopur­pose, [Page 125] and accept of the ransome. Hee did so; and then presently commanded all those of his own Galley to em­barke themselves as soone as possibly they could, because he would goe for Tripoli in Barborie, whence he was. And Ysuph likewise determined to goe for Viserta; and so embar­ked with the selfe same haste as they use to doe when they kenne either Galleys which they feare, or Vessels which they minde to robbe. And that which moved them to make the more haste, was; that they saw the weather be­gan to change, with manifest signes of a storme.

Leonisa was on land, but not there where I might see her, save onely at the time of her embarking, where [...]ee both met at the sea-side. This her new lover led her by [...]e hand, and setting her foot upon the planke which reached from the land to the Galley; she turned backe her eyes [...]o looke upon mee, and mine, which never were off from [...]er, loo­ked wishly on her, but with such tendernesse; that with­out knowing how such a cloud was cast before them, that it took away my eye-sight; and being robb [...]d of it▪ and of my senses, I fell in a swound to the ground. The like they▪ afterwards told mee befell Leonisa; for they saw her fall from the planke into the Sea, and that Ysuph leapt in after her, and brought her out thence in his armes. This was told mee by those of my masters Galley whereinto they had put me, I not knowing how I came there.

But when I came againe to my selfe, and saw my selfe alone in that Galley, and the other steering a contrary course, and gone cleane out of sight from us, carryings a­way with them the one halfe of my soule, or (to say [...]) all of it; my heart was clouded anew, and I begun an [...] to curse my misfortune, and called out aloud for death. And such, and so great was the moane and lamentation▪ I made, that my masters eares being offended there [...] ▪ threatned with a great cudgell, that if I did not hold my peace, he would severely punish me▪ Whereupon I: [...] ­sed my teares, and smothered my fig [...]es, thinking [...] [Page 126] violent restraining of them, would breake out the more forceably in some one part or other, and open a doore to let my soule out, which I so earnestly desired, might re­linquish this my miserable body. But froward Fortune not contenting her selfe to have put mee into this so nar­row a streight, tooke a course to overthrow all, by taking from me all hope of remedie; for in an instant, the storme wee so much feared overtooke us, and the Wind which blew strongly from the South, blew full in the teeth of us; and began with such furie to re-inforce it selfe, that wee were forced to tacke about, putting the Prow in the Poopes p [...]ce, suffering our Galley to goe which way the winde [...]ould carry her.

Our [...]aptaines designe was, by fetching of boords, to have pu [...] into some part of the Island for shelter; and more particularly, on the North part thereof: but it fell not out answerably to his expectation, but rather quite contrary to what hee had designed; for the winde charged us with such impetuousnesse, that all that which we had sayled in two dayes, within little more then foureteene houres, we saw our selves within two Leagues or thereabout of the same Island from whence hee had put forth; And now there was no remedy for hindring our being driven upon it, and not to runne our selves upon some sandy-shoare, but amongst very high Rocks, which presented themselves to our view, threatning inevitable death to our lives.

Wee saw on the t'one side of us, that other our fellow Galley wherein was Leonisa, and all their Turkes, and Cap­tive-rowers labouring hard with their oares, to keep them­selves off as well as they could from running upon the Rockes. The like did wee in ours, but with better suc­cesse (it should seeme) and greater force and strength then the other; who being tyred out with their travaile, and overcome by the stiffenesse of the winde, and blustering storme; forsaking their Oares, and with them abando­ning themselves, they suffered themselves (wee looking [Page 127] upon them) to fall amongst the Rockes, against which the Galley dashing it selfe, was split in a thousand peeces.

Night was then drawing on, and so great was the cry of those that gave themselves for lost; and the fright of those who in our Vessell feared to bee lost, that not any one of those many things which our Captaine comman­ded, was either understood, or done by them; onely they did attend the not forgoing of their Oares, plying them still, holding it for their best remedie to turne the Prow to the Winde, and to cast two Anchors into the Sea to keep off death for a while, which they held to bee certaine. And although the feare of dying was generall in all of them, yet in mee was it quite contrary; for fed with the deceitfull hope of seeing her in that other World, who was so lately departed out of this; every minute that the Galley deferred its drowning, or splitting against the Rockes, was to mee an age of a more painefull death. The high swollen waves which past over the toppe of our weather beaten Vessell, and my head; made mee very watchfull to see whether or no, I could espie floating upon those crump shouldered billowes, the bodie of unfortunate Leonisa.

But I will not detaine my selfe now (O Mabamut) in recounting unto thee peece by peece, the passions, the feares, the anguishes, the thoughts, which in that tedious and terrible night I had, and passed; that I may not goe a­gainst that which before I propounded, and promised, in relating briefly unto thee my misfortune. Suffice it, that they were such and so great, that if death had come to me at that time, hee needed not to have taken any great paines in taking away my life.

Day appeared, but with appearance of a farre greater storme then the former; and wee found that our Vessell lay riding out at Sea, and a good waies off from the Rocks. And having descried a point of the Island, and perceiving that wee might easily double it, both Turkes, and Christians began to bee of good cheare, taking new hopes, and new [Page 128] hearts unto them, fell anew to their worke, in sixe houres we doubled the point, and found the Sea more calme and quiet; insomuch, that with a great deale more ease, they could handle and use their Oares; and comming under Lee of the Island, the Turkes leapt out to land, and went to see if there were any reliques remaining of the Galley which the night before fell on the Rockes. But even then too would not Fortune bee so favourable unto mee, as to give me that poore comfort which I hoped to have had of seeing Leonisa's bodie in these my armes; which though dead and broken, I would have beene glad to have seene it, for to breake that impossibilitie which my starre had put upon mee, of linking my selfe therewith, as my desires well deserved. And therefore entreated one of the Renega­does to dis-embarke himselfe to goe in search thereof, and to see if the rolling of the Sea had cast her on the shoare. But (as I told thee) all this did Heaven deny me; and just in that very instant the Winde began to rise, and the Sea grow rough, so that the shelter of that Island was not of any benefit at all unto us.

Fetala seeing this, would not strive against Fortune, who had so violently persecuted him; and therefore comman­ded them to right and fit the Galley to beare a little sayle, & to turn the Prow to the Sea-ward, and the Poope to the Wind-ward; and he himselfe taking charge of the Rudder, sate at the helme, suffering her to runne through the wide Sea; being well assured that no impediment would crosse its course: The Oares bare themselves very eeven, being seated very orderly on their bankes, and all the rest of the company got them into the Hold underneath the Hatches, so that there was not a man to bee seene on the Deck, save the Master; who for his more safety, caused himselfe to be bound fast to his seate, giving thence direction to the Rowers, for the better governing and guiding of the Ves­sell; which made its way with that swiftnesse, that in three dayes, and three nights, passing in sight of Trapana, [Page 129] of Melazo, and Palermo, she imboked by the Pharos of Me­cina, to the wonderfull feare of those that were in her, and of those likewise which behold them on the land.

In fine, not to bee tedious in recounting unto thee the terriblenesse of this tempest, which is beyond all expression, I say; that being weary, hungry, and tyred out with such a large compasse about, as was the rounding of almost all the whole Island of Sicily, wee arrived at Tripoli in Barbarie; where my master (before that he had reckoned with his Le­vant-men, shared out the spoiles, and given that unto them which was their due, and a fifth to the King, as the custome is;) fell sicke of a Pluresie, accompanied with a burning Fe­ver in that violent manner, that within three dayes it sent him packing to hell.

The King of Tripoli seazed presently upon all his goods; and the Alacade de los muertos, which is an Office of Inquirie concerning the dead, substituted by the great Turke; who as you know, is heire to those that are his naturall Sub­jects after their deaths. These two possessed themselves of all my Master Fetala's wealth, and I fell into the hands of him who was the Viceroy of Tripoli; and within fifteen daies after he received his Patent for Cyprus, with whom (you see) I am come hither, but without any intention at all to ran­some my selfe, though he hath often told me that I should if I would, and wondred why I did not do it all this while, being (as Fetala's Souldiers told him) a principall person, and a man of good meanes in his owne Countrey. But I was so far from entertaining that motion, that I told him, that they had mis informed him of my fortunes. And if thou wilt (Mabamut) that I acquaint thee truely with what I thinke; Know thou then, that I will never returne backe againe to that place, where I can no waies receive any comfort, and where Leonisa's death will in part, if not who­ly bee imputed unto mee. What pleasure then can I take, either there, or here▪ in this my thraldome, though I must confesse, that the remembrance of her losse is more grie­vous [Page 130] unto meethen a thousand Captivities. And if it bee true, that continuall sorrowes, must of force have an end, or end him who suffers them; mine cannot choose but doe it, for I am resolved to give them such a loose reine, that within a few dayes, they shall give an end to this my miserable life, which I hold so much against my will.

This (O my brother Mahamut) is my sad successe; This is the cause of these my sighes and teares; Behold now and consider, if this bee not sufficient for to hale the one from out the deepest bottome of my bowels, and to exhale the other from out my afflicted and tormented bo­some? Leonisa is dead, and with her my hope; and though that which I had (she living) hung but by a small and slender thread; yet, yet, and with this yet, his tongue clave so close to the roofe of his mouth, that he could not speake one word more, nor refraine from weeping, whose teares, drop after drop, one overtaking another, trickled downe his face in such abundance, that the ground was all wet whereon they fell. Mahamut, accompanied those with his teares.

But this Parosisme being over-past, caused by relating this sad story, and calling to minde his lost Leonisa; Mahamut was very willing, and withall went about to comfort him all that he could, with as good terms and perswasions as pos­sibly he could deuise. But Ricardo did cut him short of tel­ling him.

That which thou ar [...] (my deare friend) to do, is; that thou wil [...] advise me, what course I shall take forto fall into dis­grace with my master, and with all those with whom I shall converse, that being hated and abhorred by him, and by them▪ the one and the other might ill entreate me, and persecute me in such sort▪ that adding sorrow to sorrow, I may speedily obtain that which I so earnestly desire, which is to end my life.

Now I finde that to bee true (sayd Mahamut) which is commonly spoken▪ L [...] qu [...] sa [...]e senti [...], se sa [...] dezir. [Page 131] He that knowes his griefe, knows how to speak it▪ though sometimes it so happeneth that it maketh the tongue dumbe. But howsoever it bee, (whether thy sorrowes reach to thy words, or thy words out goe thy sorrowes) thou shalt ever (Ricardo) finde me thy true friend, either for assistance, or for counsaile. For albeit my few yeares, and the inconsideratnesse which I have committed, in putting my selfe into this habit, may cry out against mee that of neither of these two things which I offer thee, thou mayst have any confidence, or hope; yet will I endeavour to thē utmost of my power, that this suspition may not prove true, nor any such opinion be held for certaine. And albeit thou wilt not neither bee advised, nor assisted by me, yet wil I not leave off doing that which shall be fitting and convenient for thee; as good Phisitians use to deale with their sicke patients, who doe not give them that which they crave, but what they thinke convenient for them to have.

There is not any in all this Citie, that can doe, or pre­vaile more then the Cadi my Master; no, not even thine, (who comes to bee Viceroy thereof) is so powerfull as hee. This being so as it is, I dare be bold to say, that I am the man that can doe most in this Citie, because I can doe whatsoever I will with my Master. I speake this, because it may bee I shall so plot the businesse with him, and bring it so handsomely about, that thou mayst come to bee his; and being in my company, time will teach us that which we are to doe, as well for to comfort thee, if thou wilt or canst bee comforted; as likewise for my selfe to get out of this, to a better life; or at least, to some place where it may be more safe when I leave this. I kindly thanke you (Mahamut) replied Ricardo for your proffered friendshippe, though sure I am, that when thou hast done all thou canst do, thou canst not do any thing that can do me any good.

But let us now give over this discourse, and make to­wards the Tents; for if my eye-sight deceive me not, I see [Page 134] a great presse of people comming out of the Citie, and doubtlesse it is the old Viceroy, who comes forth into the field for to give place unto my Master, that hee may enter the Citie, to make his Residence. It is even so, sayd Mahamut, come along with mee Ricardo, and thou shalt [...]ee the Ce­remonies wherewith they receive him, for I know thou wilt take pleasure in seing them. With a very good will an­swered Ricardo; for peradventure I shall have need of thee; if happily the Guardian of my Masters Captives should hap­pen to meet with mee, who is a Renegado, and by birth of Corso, but of no very pittifull and tender bowels.

Here they left off any farther communication, and came to the Tents just at that very instant as the old Bashawe came thither; and the new one came forth to receive him at the doore of the Tent. Ali Bashaw, (for so was he called who left the government) came accompaied with all the Ianizaries, being the ordinary garrison Souldiers in Nicosia, ever since the Turkes were masters of it, being to the num­ber of five hundered. They came in two Wings or Files; the one with their Muskets, and the other with naked Simyters. They came to the Tent of the new Bashaw Hazan, rounding it from one side at the doore thereof, till they met at the other; where Ali Bashaw bowing his body, made a lowly reverence to Hazan; and he with a lesse enclining himselfe, re-saluted him.

This done Ali presently entred into Hazan's Pavillion, where the Turkes presently mounted him upon a proud Horse, with wondrous rich furniture; and conducting him round about the Tents, and a good part of the field, clamouring out with loud acclamations in their owne language; Long live Solyman Sultan, and Hazan Bashaw in his name: They repeated this very often, re-inforcing their voices and vociferations, and then presently returned back againe to the Tent, where Ali Bashaw remained; who with the Cadi and Hazan, shut themselves up close for the space of one houre all alone▪ Mahamut then told Ricardo, [Page 135] that they had thus retyred themselves, to treat of that which was fit to be done in the Citie, touching such businesses as were commenced, but not finished by Ali. Within a little while after the Cadi came forth to the doore of the Tent, and sayd with aloud voice in the Turkish, Arabick, and Greeke tongue; That all they who would enter to crave justice, or to [...]ay any other matter against Ali Bashaw, might have free entrance: for there was Hazan Bashaw, whom the Grand Signior hath sent for Viceroy of Cyprus, who would doe them all right and justice. This license being given, the Ia­nizaries left the doore of the Tent dis-occupied, and gave way to such as would enter in; Mahamut wrought Ricardo to goe in with him, who for that they were Hazans slaves, had without any hinderance free accesse thereunto.

There entred to crave justice, some Greeke-Christians, and some Turkes, but all of them charging him with such tri­fling things, and of so small moment; that the Cadi dispatch­ed most of them, without giving a Copie to the Defen­dant, without further examination, demaunds, and an­swers. For all causes, unlesse they be matrimoniall, are dis­patched in an instant, more dy the judgement of a good understanding man, then the quercks of Law. And a­mongst these Barbarians (if they be so in this particular) the Cadi is the competent Iudge of all Causes, who doth abbre­viate them, and determine them in the turning of a hand; and forthwith pronounceth sentence without any appea­ling there [...]ro, to any other Tribunall.

In this interim, entred in a Cha [...]z, which is as it were an Alquazil, and sayd; That there was a Iew at the Tent doore, who had brought to bee sold a most fayre and beautifull Christian; the Cadi commanded that they should bid him come in: The Cha [...]z went forth, and presently came in a­gaine, leading the way to a venerable [...]ew, who [...]ed by the hand a Woman in a Barbarie habite▪ so well made and set forth, that the richest Moore in Fez, or Morocco, was not a­ble to compare therewith; for in her whole dresse [Page 134] throughout, she surpassed all the Affrican women; yea, though even those of Argier's should have presented them­selves there with all their Pearles and rich embroyderies. She came in, having her face covered with a scarfe of Crim­son Taffata; about the smalls of her legges (which discove­red themselves) there appeared two golden chaines of pure burnisht gold; and on her armes, which likewise through a smocke of Cendall, or thinne Taffata-Sarcenet, were trans­parant, and shewed themselves to the searching curious eyes of the beholders; she ware two bracelets of gold, wherein were set scatteringly here and there, many fayre Pearles and precious Stones. In conclusion, the fashion of her cloathes, and all other habiliments about her were such, that she presented her selfe before them, most richly and gorgeously attyred.

The Cadi, and the other two Bashaw's upon the very first sight of her, being mightily taken; before any other thing was sayd or questioned by them, they willed the Iew, that hee should take the scarfe from off the Christians face; Hee did so, and withall did discover such a splendour, and such a beautifull countenance, as did dazle the eyes, and glad the hearts of all the standers by▪ As the Sunne scarfed with clouds, after much darknesse, offers it selfe to the eyes of those who long for its desired presence; such, and no o­therwise then such was the beautie of this Captived Chri­stian, in this her braverie and gallantry.

But he, on whom this wonderfull light which was dis­covered, wrought the greatest and deepest impression, was this our sorrowfull Ricardo, as one who better than any o­ther knew her, since that shee was his cruell and beloved Leonisa, who so often and with so many teares, had by him been reputed and deplored for dead. With the sodaine and unexpected sight of the singular beautie of this Christian, the heart of Ali was wounded and captivated▪ and in the same degree, and with the selfe same wound Hazan found himselfe toucht; the Cadi himselfe not being exempted [Page 135] from this amorous wound, who more perplexed than both the other, knew not how to remove his eyes from looking on those fayrer lights of Leonisa. And for to en­deare the great and powerfull force of Love; I would have thee to take notice, that at one and the same instant there was bred in the hearts of all these three, one and the same (as they flattered themselves) firme hope of obtaining and enjoying her. And therefore without questioning how, where, and when the Iew came by her, they onely asked him what hee would take for her? The covetous Iew an­swered, two thousand Crownes. But hee had scarce set the prise, but that Ali Bashaw sayd unto him, that he would give him so much for her; and that hee would goe to his Tent, and presently bring him his money.

But Haz [...]n Bashaw, who was minded that he should not have her, though therein he should hazzard his life; sayd, I likewise will give for her those two thousand Crownes which the Iew demaundeth; yet would I neither give so much, neither set my selfe to crosse Ali herein, or what he hath offered, did not that inforce me thereunto; which hee himselfe shall confesse is reason, and doth obliedge and force mee to doe as I doe, and this it is; That this gen­tile slave appertaineth not to either of us two▪ but onely to the Grand-Signior; and therefore I say, that in his name I buy her: Now let us see who dare bee so bold as to offer to take her from mee.

Marry that dare I, replied Ali; because for the selfe same end and purpose doe I buy her: and it appertaineth more especially unto mee, to tender this present to the Grand-Sig­nior, in regard of the conveniencie that I have to convey her forthwith to Constantinople; carrying her along with me, that thereby I may gaine the good will of the Grand-Signior. For I being now a man (as thou now Hazan seest) without any charge or command, I had need seek out some meanes to procure it, wherein thou art surely setled for three years, sinoe that this is the very first day in which thou beginnest [Page 136] to beare rule, and to governe this rich kingdome of Cyprus. And therefore, as well for these reasons, as that I was the first that offered the propounded prise for her; it stands with all reason (O Hazan) that thou leave her unto mee. Nay rather it is more fitting, and will bee better taken at my hands (replied Hazan) to procure her and send her to the Grand Signior; since that I doe it without being moved thereunto out of mine owne private interest, or expectan­cie of profit. And whereas you alleadge the commodious­nesse and conveniencie of carrying her along with you; I will set forth a Galley of mine owne well armed, putting thereinto men of mine owne, some servants, some slaves, which shall serve for her Convoy, and goe along with her. At these words Ali's bloud began to rise, and rising upon his feet, hee layd his hand on his Cimyter, saying; Hazan, my intentions being the same, for the presenting and carrying of this Christian to the Grand-Signior, and I having beene the first chapman that drave the bargaine; it is grounded upon all reason and justice, that thou leave her unto mee; and if thou shouldst but thinke to carry her from mee, this Ci­myter which I lay my hand on shall defend my right, and chastise thy presumption.

The Cadi, who was attentive to all that past betweene them, and burned no lesse in Loves flames then the other two, fearing least hee might goe without the Christian; bethought himselfe how hee might quench this great fire which was kindled betweene them; and withall, to get the Captive into his owne custody, without giving any the least suspicion of his damnable intention. And therefore rising up, he interposed himselfe betweene them, and said; Hazan, and Ali, let mee entreat you both to be quiet, and lay aside these your differences; and I doubt not but I shall bee able to compose them in such sort, that both of you may effect your intentions, and the Grand-Signior be (as you desire) well served by you.

To these words of the Cadi, they presently shewed them­selves [Page 137] obedient, and had hee commanded them a greater matter, they would have done it; (so great is the respect which those of that sect beare to his gray haires.) The Cadi then prosecuting what hee had begun in this manner.

Thou Ali sayest, that thou wouldst have this Christian for the Grand-Signior; and Hazan he sayes the like: Thou alleagest, that thou wast the first in offering the demaunded price for her, and therefore she ought to bee thine. Hazan contradicts thee in this; and though hee doth not put his argument so home to the pinching point; yet I finde it is the same as thine is; that is, the same intention, which without all doubt was hatched as so one as thine was, in his desire and willingnesse to buy the Slave for the same effect; onely thou gotst the start of him, in having first declared thy selfe, yet ought not this to bee a cause that hee should absolutely and wholy be defrauded and frustra­ted of his good desire. And therefore in my opinion, it shall not bee amisse to accord this businesse betweene you, in this forme and manner following; That both of you shall have equall interrest in this Slave, and since that the use of her is to bee at the will and pleasure of the Grand-Sig­nior, for whom she is bought, it belongeth unto him to dis­pose of her. In the meane while, you Hazan shall pay two thousand Crownes; and Ali shall lay downe the other two thousand, and the Captive shall remaine in my pow­er, to the end, that in both your names I may send her to Constantinople, that neither of you might remaine unrewar­ded; and can certifie (as being an eye witnesse) your for­wardnesse to gratifie the Grand-Signior; and therefore offer my selfe to send her thither at my cost and charge, with that authority and decencie which is due to him, to whom she is sent. Writing to the Grand-Signior, acquainting him with all that which passed here, and your readinesse to do him this service.

These two enamoured Turkes, neither knew, nor could, nor would contradict him; each of them forming and [Page 138] imagining in his minde a hope (though doubtfull) of pro­mising to themselves the attaining to the end of their infla­med desires. Hazan, who was to continue Viceroy of Cyprus, thought upon giving great gifts to the Cadi, that being thereby overcome and obliged, he should deliver up unto him the Captive. And Ali he imagined to do some such act as should assure the obtaining of what he desired, and each of them holding his owne designe the best, and the surest; they easily condiscended to what the Cadi had propounded, and with a joynt consent both of them delivered her up presently unto him, and made each of them present pay­ment to the Iew 1000 Crownes a peece: But the Iew sayd hee would not part with her upon those tearmes, if they meant to have into the bargaine her wearing apparrell, and her jewels, which hee valewed at 1000 Crownes more. And in very deed they could be little lesse worth, because in her haires which partly hung dishevell'd on her shoulders, and partly knit up in curious knots on her fore-head, there appeared some ropes of pearles, which very gracefully were interwoven with them. The bracelet about her armes, and above her ancles in the small of the legge were likewise full of great pearles; her rayment throughout was very rich, and theron a mantle after the Moorish manner of greene Sattin deepely fringed and embroydered with gold.

In a word, it seemed to all that were there present, that the Iew had undervalued the attyring of her. And the Cadi, that hee might not shew himselfe lesse liberall then the two Bashaw's, told him, hee would pay him those thousand Crownes, because hee would have her to be presented in the same dresse (which she was now in) to the Grand-Signior. The two competitors did approve very well of it, each of them beleeving that all should fall out as they would have it.

I want now words significant enough to tell you what Ricardo thought, in seeing his soule set out thus to [Page 139] open sale; and those thoughts which then came into his head, and those feares which sodainely surprized him; when as he saw that his finding of his beloved Pledge was to lose her the more; He knew not for a while, whether he were sleeping or waking, not beleeving his owne eyes, in giving credit to that which they had seene. For it see­med unto him a thing impossible, that they should see so unexpectedly before them, those eyes of hers which hee had (not long since) given to bee shut up in eternall darkenesse.

When hee saw that this was no phantasma or dreame, but a reall truth; hee came to his friendly Mahamut, and whispering him in the eare, sayd softly unto him; Friend, dost not thou kow her? Not I sayd Mahamut; Then would I have thee know, (replied Ricardo) that it is Leonisa: How (answered Mahamut) what is that Ricardo, thou sayest? That (sayd Ricardo) which thou hast already heard. Hold thy peace then, and doe not discover her, replied Mahamut, for Fortune goes now so ordering the businesse, that thou shalt finde her good and prosperous, since that shee is in my Masters power. Dost thou thinke it fit, sayd Ricardo, that I goe and put my selfe in some such place where I may bee seene by her? No, by no meanes, replied Mahamut; least shee should put you, or you her into some sodaine passion; and have a great care that you doe not give any the least signe or token that you know her, or that ever you had seen her; for if you should do so, it might redound much to the prejudice of my designe, if not utterly overthrow it. I will follow your advise, answered Ricardo, and so went his way, leaving the place, least his eyes might encounter with those of Leonisa; who held hers all the while that this passed nayled to the ground, trilling some teares downe from them.

Shee being thus (as you have heard) rendred up unto the Cadi he came unto her, and laying hands on her, de­livered her unto Mahamut, commanding him to carry her [Page 140] to the Citie, with charge to deliver her to his Lady Halima; and to tell her withall, that she should use and intreat her well, as being the slave of the Grand-Signior. Mahamut did so, and left Ricardo all alone, who with his eyes went fol­lowing this his Star, till it was wholy taken out of his sight, and covered as it were with a cloud from him by the walls of Nicosia. Having lost her, hee goes to looke out the Iew, findes him; and comming civilly unto him, askt him where he had bought this Captive Christian, and how, and in what manner shee came into his hand. The Iew made him answer, that hee lighted on her in the Island of Panta­nalea; and that he bought her of certaine Turkes, whose Gal­ley had suffered wrack, being split there against the Rocks. And being willing to have gone on in the prosecution of what hee had begun, it received interruption, and was wholy broken off by one that came from the Bashaw's, tel­ling the Iew that he must come away presently unto them who had purposely sent for him; that they might demand that of him, which Ricardo was so desirous to know, and thereupon he abruptly tooke his leave.

In the way, which was betweene the Tents and the Towne, Mahamut tooke occasion to aske Leonisa (speaking unto her in Italian) whence shee was, and of what place? Who made him answer, that shee was of the Citie of Tra­pana: Then Mahamut demanded againe of her, whether she did know in that Citie, a rich and noble Gentleman, called Ricardo? At her hearing him named, Leonisa fetcht a deepe sighe, saying; Too too well to my hurt. How, to your hurt? replied Mahamut. Because hee knew me (sayd Leonisa) to his owne, and my unhappinesse. But I pray tell mee (quoth Mahamut) Did you know likewise in the sayd Citie another Gentleman of a gentile disposition, the Sonne of very rich Parents, and himselfe in his owne person very valiant, very liberal, and very discre [...]t, called Cornelio? I likewise know him (sayd Leonisa) and I may say much more to my hurt than Ricardo.

[Page 141]But I pray Sir who are you, who know these two, and aske mee of them? I am (sayd Mahamut) of Pa [...]ermo, and by various accidents in this disguise and different habite from that which I was wont to weare. I know them pas­sing well, for it is not many dayes since that they were both in my power. For certaine Moores of Tripoli in Barba­rie had taken Cornelio Captive, and sold him to a Turke, who brought him to this Island, whether he came with Mer­chandize, (for hee is a Merchant of Rhodes) who had trusted Cornelio with all his goods. And hee will keepe them well, (sayd Leonisa) because he knows so well to keepe his own.

But tell mee Sir, how, or with whom Ricardo came to this Island? Marry hee came (answered Mahamus) with a Pyrate who tooke him prisoner in a Garden neare the sea­shoare of Trapana; and that together with him, hee had Captivated a Damosell, but I could never get him to tell me her name. He abode here some few daies with his Master, who was to goe to visit Mahomets Sepulchre, which is in the Citie of Almedina: But just at the time of his departure, Ricardo fell so extreame sicke, that his Master left him with me (for that I was his Countrey-man,) to the end, that I might use all the best meanes for his recoverie, and take care and charge of him, till his returne; and in case that hee did not returne hither, that I should send him unto him to Constantinople, whereof he would advertise me when he came thither.

But Heaven had otherwise ordered it, since that unfor­tunate Ricardo without having any accident or simptome of a dangerous sicknesse, within a few dayes ended those of his life; making often mention of one Leonisa, whom (as himselfe told me) hee loved more then his owne life, and was as deare unto him, if not dearer then his owne soule. Which Leonisa (as he at large related unto mee) suffe­red shipwrack at the Island of Pantanlea, the Galley where­in shee was, being split upon the Rockes, and her selfe drowned, Whose death hee continually lamented, and [Page 142] with much weeping bewayled, till that his mourning had brought him to breath his last; for I perceived no sicknesse at all in him in his bodie, but great shewes of griefe and sorrow in his soule.

Tell mee (Sir) replied Leonisa; this other young man whom you speake off, in those his discourses which hee had with you; which (for that you were of his owne Countrey) could not but be very many, did he not at any time speake of Leonisa? And did he tell you, how shee, and Ricardo were made Captives, and the whole manner of it? Speake of her (sayd Mahamut) yes a thousand, and a thousand times; and asked mee many a time and oft, whether any Christian of this name had of late beene brought to this Island, and with such and such markes and tokens, and how glad hee would bee to heare any tydings of her, that he might ransome her. And withall I must tell you, that hee had told his Master, and in telling, made him beleeve that shee was not so rich as he tooke her to bee; and for that he had enjoyed her, he might now make the lesse rec­koning of her; and that if three or foure hundred Crowns would purchase her freedome, he would willingly give so much for her, because heretofore he had borne some good will and affection towards her.

Very little (sayd Leonisa) must that his affection be, which would not goe beyond foure hundred Crownes. But Ri­cardo is more liberall, more valiant, more generous, and in­genious, then to make so poore an offer, for that which hee prized at so high a valew. God pardon the party that was the cause of his death; for it was I that am that un­happy woman whom hee bewayled for dead; and God knowes, if I should not bee glad with all my heart that hee were alive, that I might requite his kindnesse, and that hee might see how sensible I should be of his misfortune, who hath sor [...]owed so much for mine.

I Sir (as I have already told you) am shee, who is as lit­tle beloved of Cornelio, as I was greatly bewayled of Ricardo; [Page 143] She, who by very many and various chances am come to this miserable estate wherin I now find my self; and though it bee so dangerous (as you see) yet have I alwaies by Heavens gracious assistance, kept mine honour entire and untoucht, wherewith in this my misery I live contented. But now (woe is mee) neither doe I know where I am, nor who is my Master, nor whether my contrarious fates will hurrie mee. Wherefore I beseech you Sir, by that bloud which you have in you of a Christian, that you will give mee your best counsaile and advise in these my troubles; which for that they have beene many, though they have made mee looke about and bee somewhat the more warie and circumspect; yet notwithstanding, such and so many every moment came upon mee, that I knew not well how to prevent and withstand them.

Whereunto Mahamut answered, that he would doe all whatsoever he was able to doe, in serving, advising, and assisting her with his best wit and strength. And then did hee advertise her of the difference betweene the two Ba­shaw's for her sake, and how that she now remained in the power of the Cadi his Master, for the conveying and pre­senting her to the great Turke, Selim, at Constantinople. But ra­ther then this should take effect, he hoped in the true God, in whom hee beleeved, (though a bad Christian) that he would dispose otherwise of her; advising her withall, that by bearing her selfe fayrely, she should work and insinuate her selfe into Halima's favour and good opinion, Wife to the Cadi his Master, in whose power she was to remaine till they should send her to Constantinople; acquainting her with­all, with Halima's conditions and qualities; and besides these, told her many other things which might make much for her good, holding talke and discourse with her all the way, till he had brought her to, and left her in the Cadi's house, and in the power of Halima, to whom hee delivered his Masters message. The Moore, for that she saw she was so well clad, and so beautifull, gave her a very kinde and [Page 144] friendly welcome. Mahamut having rendred up his charge into Halima's hands, returned back to the Tents, to recount unto Ricardo what had passed betwixt himselfe, and Leonisa; and meeting with him, told him all, point by point, from the beginning to the ending. But when I came to tell him how sorrowfull Leonisa was, when I signified unto her, that hee was dead, the water stood in his eyes: I told him how I had feigned that counterfeit story of Cornelio's being a Captive, to see how she would take it; I acquainted him with her coldnesse to Cornelio, and the bad conceit she had of him for his undervaluing her. All which was as a sove­raigne cordiall to Ricardo's afflicted heart; Who sayd unto Mahamut.

There comes now into my minde (friend Mahamut) a tale which my Father told mee, who (you know) how curious hee was; and have heard (I am sure) what great honour the Emperour Charles the Fifth did him, whom he still serv'd in honourable places in his Warres: I tell you that he told me, that when the Emperour was at the Siege of Tunez and tooke it, together with the Fort Goleta; be­ing one day in the field in his Tent, they presented unto him a Moore, as a singular rarity for her beauty; and that at that very time wherein they presented her unto him, entred in certaine beames of the Sunne at the one side of the Tent, and rested on the haires of the Moore, which see­med to stand in competion with those of the Sunne, being betweene red, and yellow, resembling the collour of golden Wyars; A rare and strange thing amongst the Moores, with whom your blacke haires are in greatest esteeme and request. He told mee likewise, that on that occasion, there were in the Tent, amongst many other, two Spanish gentle­men, both very discreet, and both Poets; the one of Anda­luzia, the other of Catalunia. The former having taken a view of her, vented certaine verses, which they call Coplas, ending in rhime; but being at a stand when hee had ut­tered five of his verses; the other gentleman (seeing him [Page 145] sticke, and that hee could goe no further to make an end of what hee had begunne, for want of words which on the suddaine did not offer themselves to his liking,) who stood close by him, and had heard these his Verses, went presently on where hee left, adding instantly five other to the former. And this presented it selfe unto my memorie, when I saw that most beautifull Leonisa enter the Bashaw's Tent; not onely out shining the beames of the Sunne, should they have lighted on her, but even Heaven it selfe, with all it's starres.

Hold (sayd Mahamut) no more, least (friend Ricardo) thy tongue runne riot, for at every word thou utterest, I am afrayd thou wilt passe so farre beyond the bounds, of not onely reason, but religion, in the praise and com­mendation of thy fayre Leonisa, that leaving to seeme a Christian, thou wilt bee taken for a Gentile Let mee heare those verses or Coplas, or what else you please to call them, that wee may afterwards talke of other things that may bee more pleasing, and perhaps more profitable. In good time (sayd Ricardo) but let mee once againe advertise thee that the Andaluz vented the first five verses, and the Catalan the other five, both extempore, and these they bee.

I like them well (sayd Mahamut) but much better (my Ricardo) that you are in this good humour of repeating [Page 146] verses, because the saying [...] making of them requireth the mindes of men that are disapass [...]nated▪ Men like­wise use (replyed Ricardo) to wayle over Hearses, as to sing verses, both are verse.

But laying this aside, tell mee what thou mindest to do in this our businesse? for though I understood not what the Bashaw's treated in the Tent, till thou hast carried away Leonisa; a Renegado of my Master a Venetian told me all, who was then present, and understood the Turkish language very well. And therefore above all things it is most need­full and requisite to set our wits a worke, and seeke out some plot to prevent Leonisa's comming to the hands of the Grand-Signior.

That which is fittest first of all to bee done (answe­red Mahamut) is that thou come to bee in the power of my Master. This being effected, wee will afterwards consult on that which shall convene best for us. Whilest they were thus talking, came the Guardian of the Christian Captives belonging to Hazan, and carried Ricardo away with him.

The Cadi returned with Hazan to the Citie, who in a few dayes dispatched Ali's Residencie▪ and gave it him roll'd up and sealed, that hee might carry it a­long with him to Constantinople. Hee taking his leave, prepared forthwith to let forward on his journey, being very instant with the Cadi, that hee would ha­sten the sending of the Captive, and withall write his Letters to the Grand-Signior in his favour, for the better furthering of his pretensions: the Cadi promised him he would, but with trecherous bowells which were almost turned into ashes, so were they set on fire by the in­flamed love which he bare to the Captive.

Ali being gone full of false hopes, and Hazan abiding behinde not voyd of them; Mahamut so brought the businesse about that (Ricardo came into the power of his Master. Houres and dayes ran on, the time past away [Page 147] and the longing desire to see Leonisa, did so presse and wring Ricardo, that hee could not take one poore short mi­nute of rest.

Ricardo changed his owne name into that of Mario, be­cause his might not come to Leonisa's eares, before that his eyes had seene her. And for to see her was very hard and difficult; for that the Moores are extreamly jealous, and keep covered from all men the faces of their women; howbeit they doe not much mislike the shewing of them to Chri­stians, which happily may bee; because being Captives, they doe not reck on them for men, but slight them as con­temptible creatures.

Yet one day it so happened, that the Lady Halima saw her slave Mario; and in seeing him tooke such a good liking of him, that hee remained deepely engraven in her heart, and strongly fixed in her memory. And peradventure ta­king little contentment in the cold and weake embrace­ments of her aged husband, she the more easily gave way to this her evill desire. And with the like easinesse shee ac­quainted Leonisa therewith, whom she now dearely loved, and made exceeding much of, for her sweete behaviour, and discreet carriage; and likewise shewed her great re­spect, for that shee was to be sent for a raritie to the Grand-Signior. She acquainted her, how that the Cadi had brought and received into his house a Christian Captive, of so gentle an aspect, and comely presence; that in her eye, he was the handsomest man that ever shee saw in her life: and that they sayd he was a Chilibi, that is to say a Gentleman, and Countrey-man to Mahamut, their Renegado; and that shee knew not how to give him clearely to understand the good will and affection which she bare unto him; fearing least that the Christian should slight and neglect her, for de­claring and manifesting her love unto him at the first sight, before she had further and better knowledge of him.

Leonisa askt her what was the Captives name: Hamila told her Mario: to whom Leonisa replied; if he be a Gentleman, [Page 148] and of that place they say he is, certainely I should know him; but of this name (Mario,) I doe not remember that there is any such in Trapana. But if it shall stand with your Ladiships pleasure that I may but see him, and talke a while with him, I shall be able to informe you both who he is, and what may be hoped from him; It shall be so sayd Ha­lima, and on Friday next, when as the Cadi shall bee at the Mezquita, performing those Rites and Ceremonies which are then and there required in their devotions, and adora­tions; I will take occasion to call him in hither, where leaving you two together, you may talke alone by your selves; and if you thinke fit, you may give him some inck­ling of my desires, and well wishings towards him, and that you will doe me this friendly office in the best man­ner your wit and discretion can devise, of both which I have had already sufficient tryall, and therefore need not to expresse my selfe, or presse you any farther in this par­ticular.

This Halima sayd to Leonisa, and within lesse then two houres after, the Cadi called Mahamut, and Mario unto him, and with no lesse effecacie then Halima had discovered her heart to Leonisa, did this enam oured old young man disco­ver his to his two slaves, craving their councell and advise, what course he should take for to keepe the Christian to him­selfe, and enjoy her; and yet cumply with the Grand Signior whose she was: telling them withall, that hee would ra­ther dye a thousand deaths, then deliver her up once to the great Turke.

With such affection did this Moore expresse his passions, that they left a deepe impression and beliefe in the hearts of his two slaves; whose thoughts were fully bent to runne a contrary course to that which he imagined. He thought one thing, and they another; in the end, it was concluded betweene them, that Mario, as being a man of her owne Nation and Countrey (howbeit he had told him that hee knew her not) should take in hand the soliciting her, and [Page 149] in declaring his fervent affection: And in case that by his faire meanes hee could not prevaile and procure her good will, he should then use force, she being now in his power: and this being done, to give out that she was dead, and so hee should excuse his sending of her to Constantinople.

The Cadi rested wonderfull well contented with this devise of his slaves, and out of the great joy which he had imagined to himselfe, he instantly gave Mahamut his liber­tie; be queathing besides unto him after his death, the one halfe of his goods. Hee likewise promised Mario, if he pro­cured that which hee so earnestly desired▪ not onely his libertie, but good store of Crownes, wherewith he should returne home to his owne Countrey, rich, honoured, and contented.

If he were liberall in promising, his Captives were pro­digall, offering to hale downe the Moone from Heaven, to doe him service, how much more easily to draw Leonisa to the bent of his Bow, and to condiscend to his desire; so as Mario by his leave might have the conveniencie offered him of speaking with her. I will give him free leave of accesse unto her, answered the Cadi, even as often as hee will himselfe, if that will advance the businesse. For I will so order it, that Halima shall goe hence to the house of her Parents, who are Greeke-Christians, where shee shall stay some few daies, or longer time (if need be;) and she being abroad, I will command my Porter that he suffer Mario to enter into the house, and to have free ingresse and egresse, as oft as he pleaseth. And I will tell Leonisa, that she may (if it please her) talke and converse with her Countrey­man.

Thus did the winde begin to chop about of Ricardo's misfortunes, blowing with a gentle gale in his favour, his Master not witting which way hee meant to shape his course. This appointment being made and concluded on between these three; the first that laid this plott was Halima, shewing her self a right woman, whose nature is facile, and [Page 150] whose wit quicke, and sodaine, for the effecting of that which she hath a minde unto; especially if her heart bee eagerly set upon it. That very selfe same day, the Cadi came to Halima, and told her, that shee might when she would goe out of the Towne to visit her Father and Mother, and make merry with them, and the rest of her good friends; and to stay there as long as she listed, or till hee sent for her. But because her heart was over-joyed with those good hopes which Leonisa had given her; shee not onely would not go to her Parents house, nor yet to that feigned Paradise of Mahomet: and therefore told him, that at this time she had no great minde to goe thither, When she had, she would acquaint him therewith; but when­soever she went, she would carry the Captive Christian along with her. O by no meanes (replyed the Cadi,) for it is not fit, that this Pledge of the Grand-Signior should bee seene of any; besides, it would do her more hurt than good to converse with Christians, since that you know, that when she comes into the power of the Grand-Signior, she must be shut up in the Seraglio, and turne Turke whether she will or no. But if she go along with me, replyed Halima, it mat­tereth not much that she be in my Parents house, nor that she converse with them, with whom my selfe couverse much more, and yet I cease not for all that to bee a good Turke. Besides, the longest time that I meane to spend with them in their house, shall be at the farthest, but foure or five dayes; for the great love which I beare unto you, will not give me leave to be any longer absent, and not see you. The Cadi made no reply, that hee might not give her oc­casion to breed some suspition or other in her, of his in­tention.

Whilest this businesse was a brewing, Friday came, and he went to the Mezquita, from whence he could not come forth in almost foure houres; and Halima had scarce seene him put his foot over the threshold of his house, but shee commanded Mario to be call'd for to come unto her; but a [Page 151] Christian of Corsica would not suffer him to enter, who was then Porter and wayted at the gate of the outward Court; if Halima her selfe had not called out aloud unto him that hee should let him come in. And so hee entred, but much troubled, and trembling, as if hee had beene to fight with a whole armie of enemies.

Leonisa was in the same dresse and attyre as when shee entred the Bashaw's Tent, sitting at the foot of a curious stayr case of polished Marble, which led the way up to a large and spacious gallerie rounding the whole house; her head hung downeward towards her bosome, resting it selfe on the palme of her right hand, and leaning her el­bow on her knee, her eyes were turned another way quite contrarie to the doore by which Mario entred; so that though hee went towards the place where shee sate, yet did she not see him.

No sooner was Ricardo let in, but hee walked through the whole house with his eyes, yet could he not perceive any thing save a dumbe and still silence, till that hee cast his eye aside where Leonisa sate: Instantly whereupon, so many thoughts tooke hold on enamoured Ricardo, as did worke in him both amazement and gladnesse, concei­ting himselfe to bee a thousand paces and more distanced from his happinesse and contentment. Hee considered likewise with himselfe that hee was a Captive, and his glorie in anothers power revolving these things with him­selfe, he made towards her by a little and a little, and with a fearefull love, a joyfull sadnesse, and timerous courage, (for such passions accompanie true lovers) hee came by degrees to the Center where his hearts joy was, when by chance Leonisa turned her head aside, and fixed her eyes on those of Mario, who looked very stedfastly on her.

But when both their lookes had thus encountred each other, by different effects gave evident signes of that which their severall soules felt within. Ricardo stood stock still and could not stirre one foot further; and Leonisa, [Page 152] who upon Mahamuts relation gave Ricardo for dead, and to see him now and that so unexpectedly alive, full of feare, and amazement, without unfixing her eyes, or turning her backe, shee stept up backeward foure or five stayres, she blest her selfe as if shee had seene some phantasma, or a thing of another World.

Ricardo returned from out his astonishment, and knew by that which Leonisa did, the true cause of her feare, and therefore sayd unto her; it grieves mee to the very soule, (oh of all fayre, the fayrest Leonisa) that the newes did not fall out true which Mahamut gave thee of my death, for by it I might have excused those feares which now I have, in thinking with my selfe whether that rigour which here­tofore thou hast used towards me, continue still in the same force and being? Quiet your selfe (dearest in my love) and come downe againe, and if you dare do that which hitherto you never did, which is; to draw neare unto me, come and touch me, and thou shalt see that I am no phantasticall bodie, no wandring ghost; I am Ri­cardo (Leonisa) that unfortunate Ricardo whom thou hast made so.

Whilest he was speaking this, Leonisa puts her finger u­pon her mouth, whereby Ricardo understood that it was a signe that hee should be silent, or speake more softly: and taking a little better heart unto him, he drew a little nearer unto her in such a distance, that he might heare these words come from her. Speake lower (Mario) for so me thinketh thou now callest thy selfe, and treare not of any other thing now, save what I shall treate with thee; and consider withall that it may so happen that if we be o­ver heard, we shall never see one another any more: I verily beleeve that Halima our Mistresse listeneth to heare, if not heareth us; who (to deale plainely and briefly with thee) hath told me that she adores thee, and hath entrea­ted me to be the intercessoresse of this her desire: if thou wilt answer her wishes, it will bee better for thy bodi [...] [Page 153] then thy soule. But if thou wilt not, yet must thou feigne that thou dost embrace her love; as well because I entreate thee so to do, as also for that the declared desires of a Wo­man ought not uncivily to be despised and utterly rejected.

Hereunto Ricardo answered, I did never thinke nor e­ver could imagine (fayrest Leonisa) that there was that thing whatsoever which you should entreate me to doe, that should bring with it an impossibilitie of cumply­ing therewith: but that which you now require of mee, hath dis [...]deceived me: Is peradventure mans will so light, that it may be moved too and fro, and carried hither and thither, whether the pleasure of others shall guide and direct it? or doth it stand with the honour and faith of a Gentleman, or with the repute of an honest man, to feigne and dissemble in things of such weight and high a nature as this is? If it seeme good unto you, that any of these things in this kinde ought to bee or may be done; doe that which shall be most pleasing in your owne eyes, because you are the sole Mistresse of my will. But I now know that you likewise de­ceive me in this, since that you never rightly knew my will, and therefore know not how to dispose thereof; but because you may not say that in the first thing you commanded me, you should not bee obeyed; I will lose somewhat of my selfe, and of being what I ought to be, I will satisfie your desire, and that of Halima (as you say) feignedly, so that I may thereby gaine the happines to see you. And therefore doe you feigne my answers to your owne good liking, for from hence forth my feigned will doth [...]irme, and confirme them. Now in requitall of this office which I do for you, which is in my opinion the greatest that ever I can or shall be able to doe, though I should give my soule anew unto you, which I have so of­ten given you; I beseech you, that you will briefly tell me, how you escaped from the hands of the Pirats, and how you came to those of the Iew, who so lately sold you.

[Page 154]The storie of my misfortunes (answered Leonisa) require more leisure then time will now permit to relate, yet notwithstanding I will not leave you wholy unsatisfied. Know then, that the same very evening we parted, Yzuph's Galley was with a stiffe and strong winde driven to the same Isles of Pa [...]tanalea, where wee likewise saw your Vessell; but ours, wee being not able to hinder it, ranne remedilesly upon the Rockes. My Master then having his destruction before his eyes, and that there was little or no hope of safety left; with all possible haste emptied two Hogsheads which were full of wa­ter, then stopped up the bung-holes very close, and ha­ving bound the one to the other with good strong cords, he seated me betweene them; that done hee presently stript himselfe, and taking another Hogshead, spreading his armes over it, and binding a rope about his middle, causing the same to bee fastned to the Caskes whereon I sate bound, with great courage hee rushed into the Sea, towing mee after him. I had not the heart to rush in af­ter him, which one of the Turkes seeing, pushed mee for­ward with all his force, and sent mee packing after Yzuph, where I lay without any sense, nor came againe to my selfe, till I found my selfe on Land in the armes of two Turkes; who bowing my head and bodie towards the ground, held me so a pretty space, all that while great store of salt-water which I had swallowed downe, comming forth at my mouth.

At last I opened mine eyes, but as one amazed, and look­ing about, who should I see, but Yzuph lying by me with his braines beaten out against the Rockes when hee had almost recovered the shoare, where hee ended his life. This I afterwards understood by the Turkes; and they likewise told mee, that taking hold of the Cord, they drew mee on Land, without receiving any further harme then what I mentioned before unto you; of all the whole com­panie, onely eight persons escaped drowning. Eight daies [Page 155] wee abode in the Island, the Turkes using mee with as much respect as if I had beene their Sister, if not more. Wee kept our selves close in a Cave, the Turkes fearing that if they should bee espied, the Christians which had the command of the Fort which is in the Island, would salley forth upon them and take them Captive. They sustained themselves with wet bisket which the Sea had cast upon the shoare from out the broken bins of the Gal­ley, which they went forth to gather up by night that they might not be discovered.

Fortune had so ordered it for my great ill, that the Fort was without a Captaine, who died but a few daies before; and in all the Fort there were not above twenty souldiers. This we came to know by a youth which was captivated by the Turkes, who came downe from thence to gather Cockles by the Sea-side. At the eight daies end, there arri­ved on that Coast a Vessell of the Moores, which they call Caramucales; the Turkes saw it's comming in, and that they lay at Anchor a little off the Land and so made towards them, making such signes to the Vessell which was not far off, that they who were in her knew they were Turkes that called unto them. Thereupon they sent out their Cock-boat, and they recounted unto them their distresse, and they received them into their Barque wherein came an exceeding rich Iew▪ a Merchant; and all the lading of the Vessell, or the most part of it was his, being fraughted with Carpets, and Hides, and other commodities which they bring from Barbary, to the Levant. In the said Vessell the Turkes went for Tripoli, and in that Voyage they sold me to the Iew for two thousand Duckats, an excessive prise, if his love towards me had not made him so liberall, which the Iew afterwards discovered unto me.

Leaving the Turkes after all this in Tripoli, the Vessell tackt about to performe her Voyage, and the Iew in most impudent manner fell to soliciting of mee; but I shew­ed him such a countenance as his filthy desires deserved. [Page 156] Seing himselfe then in despaire of obtaining his lustfull ends, he resolved to rid himselfe of me upon the first oc­casion that should offer it selfe unto him. And it com­ming to his knowledge that the two Bashaw's, Ali, and [...] were in this Island, where he might sell and vent his Merchandize as well as in X [...]o whither he was bound; he came hither with intention to sell me to one of the two Bashaw's; and for this cause put mee into this dresse and weare wherein you now see me, for to affectionate them the more unto me who should buy me.

I am given to understand that this Cadi hath bought me, with purpose to carry me for a Present to the Great-Turke, whereof I am not a little afraid. Here I came to know thy feigned death; and I must now tell thee if thou wilt believe me, and believe me thou maist, that it grieved me to the very soule, and that I did more envie then pittie thee; yet not out of any ill will that I bare unto thee, though I did not answer thy love according to thy expe­ctation, (for I shall never be ingratefull and dis-respective, where I have found so much love and respect) but because thou hadst then made an end of thy lives Tragedie.

Deare Leonisa, answered Ricardo, you say not amisse here­in; if death had not hindered the happines of my comming againe to see you, esteeming more this instant of glorie which I enjoy in seeing you; then any other happinesse (saving that which is eternall) which either in life, or in death, might assure unto me my desire.

The Cadi now my Master, into whose power I am come, by no lesse various accidents then yours, beares the like [...]ervent affection unto you, as Halima doth to me; hee hath made choice of mee to bee the interpreter of his thoughts. I entertained the motion, not for to doe him any pleasure thereby, but that I might gaine the commo­ditie and convenienci [...] of speaking with you; to the end that you may see (Leonisa) to what hard termes our misfor­tunes [Page 157] have brought us; you to be the meanes of working an impossibilitie (for you know my minde touching the motion you made unto mee) and me to be likewise set a worke about such a businesse as I least dream't of, and for which I would give, rather then obtaine it, my life which now I esteeme according to it's high worth and valew, since that it hath had the happinesse to see you.

I know not what to say unto thee Ricardo, replied Leo­nisa, nor how we shall be able to get out of this intricate laborinth, whereinto (as thou say est) our hard fortune hath brought us; onely I know to say thus much, that we must be driven in this businesse to use that which is con­trary to our condition, and hatefull to honest mindes; to wit, dissembling, and deceit. And therefore say unto thee, that I will acquaint Halima with some such words delive­red by thee, that shall rather entertaine her with hopes, then drive her to dispaire. Thou likewise shalt say of me to the Cadi that which thou shalt thinke most convenient for the securing of mine honour, and the deceiving of him. And since that I put mine honour into thy hands, thou maist assure thy selfe that it is yet as true and entire as ever; though the many wayes which I have gone, and the ma­ny assaults which I have endured might call it into que­stion, though you nor any else without great injustice, can make the least doubt of it. For our speaking and conver­sing each with other, will be (by their meanes) most fa­cile and easie: alwayes presupposed, that you never once open your mouth, nor treate ought with me, which shall any way appertaine to your declared pretension; for in what houre you shall doe that, in the same you shall take your leave of seeing mee any more. For I would not have thee thinke that my valew is of so little worth, and of so few quilates, that Captivity shall worke that with me, which liberty could not do. I will be (by heavens fa­vour) like gold, which the longer it is in the Chrysoll, comes forth thence the purer, and the finer: rest satisfied [Page 158] and content thy selfe with that which I have alreadie said unto thee, least the very sight of thee should (as it hath done heretofore) cause a distance in me, if not a loath­ing. For I would have thee to know (Ricardo) that I alwaies held thee to be too rough and arrogant, and to presume somewhat more of thy selfe then was fitting. I confesse likewise that I may be deceived; and it may be that making this tryall of thee, experience will set the truth before mine eyes, and tell mee I was deceived; and being put out of this errour, I may bee more kinde, but never lesse honest: goe get you gone, for I feare me Halima may have over-heard us, who hath some under­standing of our Christian language; at least of that ming­led speech which is used, whereby wee all understand one another.

You say very well (Mistris of my heart) answered Ri­cardo, and I infinitely thanke you, and take in exceeding good part this dis-deceiving which you have given mee; and make as high esteeme thereof, as of the favour you doe mee in suffering me to see you. And as you say ex­perience peradventure will make knowne unto you how plaine and downe-right my condition is, and how meek and humble my disposition, especially for to adore you; and had you not put a bound and limit to my carriage and treating with you, yet should it have beene so fayre and so honest towards you, as you cannot wish or desire to have it better.

Touching that which concerneth the entertaining of the (adi, take you no care of that, leave it to me, doe you the like with Halima. And by the way, I would have you (Lady) to know, that since I have seene you, there is bred in me such a strong hope and confidence; as assureth mee that it shall not bee long before wee procure our desired libertie, and so God have you in his keeping; at another time, and better leisure, I shall relate unto you the revolu­tions, the turnings and windings by which fortune hath [Page 159] brought me to this estate, after that she had put us a sunder and sever'd me from your sight: with this they tooke their leaves each of other, Leonisa remaining well contented and satisfied with Ricardo's plaine proceeding, and he the most joyfull man in the world, that he had heard one word from Leonisa's mouth without tartnesse.

Halima had shut up her selfe in her oratorie, praying to her prophet Mahomet, that Leonisa might bring her a good dispatch of that businesse which she had recommended unto her. The Cadi, he was in the Mezquita, recompensing with his desires those of his wife, they keeping him very solicitous, as wholy depending on the answer which hee hoped to heare from his Slave, to whose charge hee had committed his talking with Leonisa; and that hee might better come to have some speech with her, Mahamut should afford him opportunitie, though that Halima were in the house.

Leonisa encreased in Halima her lewd lust and filthie desire, by giving her very good hopes that Mario would condiscend to her will, and doe whatsoever shee would command him. But telling her withall, that shee must have patience till two Moones were first past over; before which time hee could not cumply with that which hee much more desired then her selfe. And this terme hee entreated of her▪ that hee might make his prayers and supplications unto God, for the freeing of him from his Captivitie, and re­storing him againe to his former libertie. Halima conten­ted her selfe with the excuse and relation of her belo­ved Ricardo, whom she would free from his slaverie, be­fore the deputed time, so as hee would accomplish her desire. And therefore entreated Leonisa, that shee would treate with him, and see if shee could worke him to dispence with the sayd time, and to cut off all delaies; and she would furnish him with as much money as the Cadi should require of him for his ransome.

[Page 160]Now before that Ricardo returned are answer to his Ma­ster, he consulted with Mah [...] what answer hee should make him; and they agreed betweene them to tell him, that the case was desperate, [...] hope of winning her, and that as soone as possibly he could, he should carry her a­way to Constantinople; and that in the way thitherward, ei­ther by faire meanes, or by force obtaine his desire. And as touching the inconvenience which might offer it selfe for his cumplying with the Grand-Signior, hee should doe well to buy him another Slave; and in the voyage to feign and cause it to be given out that Leonisa was fallen sicke, and making our advantage of a darke night, we may cast the bought Christian over-boord into the Sea, saying; that it was Leonisa, the Captive of the Grand-Signior that was dead▪ and that may be done, and should [...] in such manner that the truth thereof should never be discovered, and so remaine blamelesse with the Grand-Signior, and fulfill his owne will; and that for the continuation of his pleasure, they would afterwards devise some donvenient course, that should make all safe and sure.

This poore man, this old Cadi, his love to Leonisa made him so blinde, that had they [...] a thousand other greater unlikelihoods (so as they were directed to the fulfilling of his hopes) he would have believed them all, how much more when it seemed unto him, that all which they said, was good and [...], and in a very saire way, promising prosperous successe. And so indeed it might have proved, if the intention of these his two counsellors had not beene to make themselves Masters of the Vessell; and to make an end of him, and his foolish thoughts together.

But another difficultie offered it selfe to the Cadi, which in his owne opinion was greater then all the rest; it run­ning still in his heat that his wife Halima would not let him goe to Constantinople, unlesse he would carry her with him. But presently they did facilitate that, telling him, [Page 161] that in stead of the Christian which they were to buy, and must dye and be turn'd over-boord instead of Leonisa, Hali­ma would serve excellently for that purpose, and none bet­ter, of whom he desired to be freed more then from death. With the same facilitie as he entertained this in his thought, with the like, did Mahamut, and Ricardo, yeeld there­unto.

And being firmely resolved thereon, that very day the Cadi breakes with Halima about the voyage which hee thought to make to Constantinople, to carrie the Christian to the Grand-Signior; by whose liberalitie, hee hoped hee should hee made the great Cadi of Cayro, or of Constanti­nople. Halima told him that shee liked very well of his determination, thinking that hee would leave Ricardo at home. But when the Cadi had certified her that hee would carrie him along with him, and likewise Mahamut; shee beganne to change her opinion, and to dis-advise him from that, which before shee had advi­sed him to doe. In fine, she concluded, that if he did not take her with him, she would in no hand give way to his going. The Cadi would not crosse her, but if she would needes have it so, her will should be his; thinking then with himselfe that he would quickly shake off that yoake, which lay so heavie on his necke.

All this while Haz [...] Basham was not carelesse in solici­ting the Cadi to deliver up the Slave unto him, offering him mountaines of gold, having besides given him Ricardo be­fore for nothing, whose ransome he prized at two thou­sand Crown [...] ▪ All these gifts and promises wrought no further good with the Cadi, then to make him hasten the more his depar [...] and so solicited by his desire, and by them importunities of Haz [...] together with those of Halima, who likewise build vai [...] hopes in the [...]yre.

Within [...] dayes he had fitted and rigged up a [...] of fi [...] [...] thankes, manning it with voluntary Soul­diers, lusty young able men, partly Moores, partly Greeke [Page 162] Christians. Therein he embarqued all his wealth, and [...] left not ought a [...] home in her house of any moment, and entreated her husband that he would give her leave [...]o carry with her, her Father and Mother, that they might see Constantinople. Halima's intention was the same with that of Manamut; meaning to deale with him and Ricardo, that when they were on their voyage, they should make them­selves Masters of the Bregantine, and goe away with it. But she would not open her minde, nor declare her selfe un­to them, till she saw her self embarqued; and this too with with a full purpose and resolution to goe to the Christians Countrey, and to returne to that Religion which she had first beene of, and to bee married to Ricardo; being verily perswaded, that carrying such store of wealth along with her; and turning Christian, he would not refuse to take herto wife.

In this interim, Ricardo had speech with Leonisa, and declared unto her his whole intention; and shee againe acquainted him with Halima's purpose, who had im­parted the same unto her They injoyned each other secresie, and recommending themselves to God, they stood expecting the day of their departure. Which being come, Hazan went forth, accompanying them with all his Souldiers to the Sea-side; and did not leave them, till they had hoysed sayle; neither did he take off his eye from the Bregantine, till hee had quite lost the sight of it. And it seemed that the Ayre, and breath of those sighes which the enamoured Moore vented forth, did fill and drive forward with greate [...] force the sayles, which wasted away his soule.

But he, as one who a long time liv'd in such torment, oppressed by love that hee could take no rest, thinking on that which hee was to doe, that hee might not dye by the hands of his violent desires; omitted not [...]o put that presently in execution, which with long delibe­ration and a resolute determination, hee had forecasted. [Page 163] And therefore in a Vessell of seventeene bankes which he had made readie in another Port, he clapt into her fifty Souldiers, all his friends and acquaintance, whom he had obliged unto him by many gifts and promises; giving them in charge, that they should put forth to Sea, set u­pon, and take the Cadi's Bregantine, and all the wealth that was in her, putting to the edge of the sword as many as went in her, save Leonisa the Captive, for she was the onely spoyle that he look't after, prizing her above all the other riches and treasure which were in the Vessell. He likewise gave order that they should sincke her, so that not any one thing might remaine, that might give any the least signe or token of their perdition.

The covetousnesse of the spoyle added wings to their feet, and courage to their hearts; howbeit they knew very well that they should find but little resistance in those of the Bregantine, in regard that they were disarmed, and without any the least suspition that any such unexpected accident should befall them. Two dayes had the Bregan­tins now gone in her intended course, which to the Cadi seemed two Ages; for the very first day of all, he would feigne have put in execution his determination: But his Slaves advised him, that the businesse must first be so carried that Leonisa should fall sicke, to give thereby some colour to her death, and that this would require some daies of sicknesse. He did not like of that, but would have it given out that she died suddainly, and so quickely make an end of what they had projected, by dispatching his Wife out of hand, that he might allay the heare of that fire, which by little and little went consuming his bowels. But in conclusion he must condiscend to that, which the other two thought fit.

Now in this meane while, Halima had declared her in­tent to Mahamut, and Ricardo, and they were readie to put it in execution, as soone as they had doubled the points of Alexandria, or passed by the Castles of Natolia. But the Cadi [Page 164] was so hasty with them, and so sharpe set, that they pro­mised to performe the taske they undertooke, upon the first occasion that should offer it selfe unto them. And one day at the end of sixe, which they had sailed another Voy­age, and that now it seemed to the Cadi, that the feigning of Leonisa's sicknesse was sufficient, he did importune his Slaves that they should conclude the next day with Halima, and throw her (wrapt up in a winding sheet) into the sea, saying; it was the Captive of the Grana-Signior.

The day afterwards beganne to breake, wherein (ac­cording to the intention of Mahamut, and Ricardo) was to be the accomplishment of their desires, or the end of their dayes; when loe, they might desery a Vessell, which with sayle and oare came chasing them. They were afraid that they were Christian Pirats, from whom neither the one nor the other could expect any good. For being such, the Moores feared to bee made Captives; and the Christi­ans, that though they should get their libertie, they should lose their goods, and be stript of all they had. But Mahamut and Ricardo contented themselves with Leonisa's, and their owne libertie; yet notwithstanding this imagined hope, they much feared the insolencie of your Rovers at Sea, for they that follow such kinde of exercises, and make a com­mon trade thereof, bee they of what Religion or Na­tion so ever, they usually are cruelly minded, and of an insolent condition.

They prepared to defend themselves, without forsaking their oares, and doing all that might bee done in such a case of necessity, and so suddaine. It was not long, a mat­ter of two or three houres, little more or lesse, that they drew neerer and neerer, till they came within Canon­shot of them. Seing this, they strooke sayle, loosed their Oares, betooke themselves to their Armes, and expected their comming.

Howbeit, the Cadi bid them be of good cheere, and fear nothing, for the Vessell was Turkish, and would not doe [Page 165] them any harme. He commanded that a white flagge in token of peace should presently be set up, placing it on the yard▪ sayle of the Poope, because they might the better discerne it, who being already blinded with covetousnesse and greedinesse of gaine, made up with great furie to boord the ill defended Bregantine.

Whilest this was in acting, Mahamut by chance turned his head aside, and perceived that from the West-ward there was a Galley comming up, and to his thinking of some twenty bankes, whereof he certified the Cadi; and some Christians which wrought at the Oare, sayd, that the Vessell they had descried, was of Christians. All which did but double their confusion and feare, holding them in suspence, not knowing what to doe; fearing and hoping such successe, as God should be pleased to give them.

By this time I conceive that the Cadi would have given (being in that straight that now hee was) to have found himselfe againe in Nicosia, all the hopes of his pleasure, so great was the confusion and amazement wherein he was, tho he were quickly put out of it by that first Vessell, which without respect to the Flagge of peace, or that which was due to their religion, did set upon that of the Cadi with such force and fury, that they wanted very little of sinking it. The Cadi presently knew those that had thus set upon them, for his eyes gave him assured notice that the Souldiers were of Nicosia. He soone guessed the cause of their comming, and by whom set a worke, and gave him­selfe for a lost and dead man: and had it not beene that the Souldiers gave themselves more to the spoyle, then the slaughter, not a man of them had escaped alive.

But when they were most busie about their pillaging; a Turke cry'de out aloud unto them saying, Arme, arme (fellow Souldiers) for a Vessell of Christians is comming u­pon us. And he had good reason to say so, because the Vessell which Cadi's Bregantine descried, bare Christian flags, and very fiercely did set upon that of Hazan; but before [Page 166] they came to grapple with her, one from the Prowe de­manded of them in the Turkish language what vessell that was, and whence? They made answer, that it was Ha­zans the Bashaw, Viceroy of Cyprus. Why then (replied the Turke) you being Musoliman's have set upon and robbed this vessell wherein wee know goes the Cadi of Nicosia? Whereunto they answered, that they knew no other cause, save that they were commanded to take her; and that they as being his Souldiers, in obedience unto him had done his command.

The Captaine of the second vessell who came in a Chri­stian disguise; resting satisfied with that which he desired to know, fell off from that of Hazan, and made towards that of the Cadi; and with the very first volly of shot he gave them, he killed ten of those Turkes that were in her; and presently after entered her with great courage and speed. But they had scarce set their feet on the hatches, but Cadi instantly knew that it was not a Christian that had thus set upon him; but Ali Bashaw who was in love with Leonisa, who with the same intent as Hazan, stood wayting his comming; and that hee might not be knowne, had clad his Souldiers line Christians, to the end that by this devise, his theft might not be discovered.

The Cadi, who knew the intentions of these Lovers, and traytours, beganne in a loud voyce to vent his malice, saying; what is this thou doest, (thou Traytour Ali Bashaw) that thou being a Musolimam, that is to say, a Turke, settest upon mee as a Christian? And you Traytours, Hazans Souldiers, what a Devill hath moved you to commit so great an outrage? for that to fulfill the lascivious and lustfull appetite of him who sent you hither, will thus go against your naturall Lord.

Vpon these words of his, all of them silenced their Armes, no more clattering was heard; and looking one one upon another, they came at last to know each other, because they had all of them beene Souldiers of one and [Page 167] the same Captaine, and served under one and the same banner. And being now abashed at the Cadi's word, [...]nd ashamed of their owne bad act; the points of their Cimiters were blunted, and the edges of them dulled, their coura­ges were q [...]elled▪ and their mindes mightily dismayed. Onely [...] shut his eyes, and eares, to all that hee saw, or heard; and falling upon the Cadi, he gave him such a cut in the head, that if the blow had not beene borne off by a hundred yards of Calico wrapt about it, doubtlesse hee had cleft his head asunder, yet it strooke him downe be­tweene the bankes of the Vessell; and being fallen, the Cadi sayd: O cruelt Renegado, enemie of our Prophet, and is it possible, that there is none that will chastice thy cruel­tie, and this thy great insolencie? How, (accursed as thou art) durst thou presume to lay hands and draw thy sword against thy Cadi, and a minister of Mahomet?

These words added force, to force, and more fuell to the former fire; the which being heard by Hazans Soul­diers, and moved with feare that Ali his Souldiers would take their prey from them (which they held yet to bee theirs) they determined to put all upon adventure; and one beginning first, and all the rest following after, they set upon the Souldiers of Ali with such haste, rancour, and courage; that in a little while they behaved them­selves so manfully, that though they were more by many then they, they reduced them to a very small number; but they which remained of them, tooke heart unto them, leaving [...] foure of Hazans men alive, and those very sorely wounded.

Ricardo, and Mahamut stood looking on, who ever and anon put their heads out of the scupper-holes of the Poope Cabbin, to see what would become of this great fray, which on both sides was so hotly pursued. And seeing that the Turkes were in a manner all slaine, and they that were alive, sore wounded, and how easily they might make an end of all of them, he called to Mahamut, and [Page 168] two kinsmen of Halima whom she had wrought to em­barque themselves with her, that they might assist in going away with the Vessell, and with their helpe, and her fa­thers, taking up the Cimiters of the slaine, they shewed them­selves upon the Decke, crying out, Liberty, Liberty; and being aided by the Voluntaries who were Greek Christians, with a great deale of ease, and without receiving any one wound, they cut the throats of them all; and boording Ali's Galley, which they found without defence, they took it, with all that was therein. Of those that dyed in the se­cond encounter, one of the first was Ali Bashaw, whom a Turke in revenge of the Cadi ran through the body.

Being now Masters of all the three Vessells, they consul­ted what was now best to be done▪ in the end they yeelded to Ricardo's advice, which was, that they should take out all things that were of any price or valew, both in their owne, and Hazans vessell, and stow them in Ali's Galley, which was a vessell of farre greater burthen, and fitter to take in the lading, and make good their voyage; and the rather, for that the Rowers were Christians, who resting wel contented with their recovered liberty, and with many other good things which Ricardo liberally shared amongst them, offered to carry him to Trapana, and if need were, even to the end of the World.

This being thus ordered, Mahamut and Ricardo full of joy for this their good successe, went to the Moore Halima, and told her, that if she would returne to Cyprus, they would man her owne vessell with good valiant Voluntaries, and give her the one halfe of the goods which she had em­barqued. But she, who notwithstanding this so great a calamitie, had not yet lost that itching love, and amourous affection which shee bare to Ricardo, told him; that shee would goe with him to the Land of Christians, whereof her Parents were wondrous glad.

The Cadi was by this time come to himselfe, and having drest and bound up his wound, as their haste and the place [Page 169] would permit; they likewise told him that hee should make choice of one of these two, either to go with them to the Land of Christians, or to returne in the same Vessell he set forth to Nicosia. Whereunto he answered, that since his ill fortune had brought him to such bad tearmes, hee would rather accept of the libertie which they gave him, and that he would goe to Constantinople, and make his complaint to the Grand-Signior, of the great and grie­vous wrong which from Hazan, and Ali he had received. But when he knew that Halima would leave him and turne Christian, he was almost ready to run mad.

In conclusion, they man'd his owne Vessell, and furni­shed him with all things necessarie for his voyage, and gave him some Chequines, of those which once had beene his owne. And so having taken his leave of all of them, being resolved to returne to Nicosia, he besought before he had hoysed sayle, that Leonisa would doe him the favour to embrace him; for that grace and honour shee therein should shew him, would of it selfe bee sufficient to make him forget all his misfortune. All of them entreated Leo­nisa to conferre that favour on one that lov'd her so well, since in so doing, shee should not goe against the decorum and decencie of her honestie. Leonisa yeelded to their re­quest, and the Cadi further entreated of her, that shee would but lay her hands upon his head, for that he hoped that imposition would heale his wound. Leonisa to give him content, condiscended thereunto. This done, and having bored many holes in Hazans Vessell, a fresh East winde favouring them, which seemed to court the sayles, and wooe them, that they might be admitted to come into them, did set them going amaine; so that in a ve­rie few houres they lost the sight of the Cadi's Bregantine, who with tears in his eyes, stood looking how the windes carried away his wealth, his Wife, and with Leonisa, his soules delight.

With different thoughts from the Cadi's sailed Ricardo, [Page 170] and Mahamut. And so not being willing to touch any where; as they went along on Land, they past by the Towne of Alexandria, lanching through the deepe Gulfe; and without striking sayle, or being driven to make use of their Oares, they came to the strong Island of Corsu, where they tooke in fresh water; and presently without any far­ther stay, they passed by those noted high Cliffes, the Acroce­rauros. And the second day, they discovered afar off Paquino, the Promontorie of the most fertile Tinacria: out of whose sight, and that famous Island of Malta they went flying, for with no lesse swiftnesse did this happie bottome beare them.

In fine, compassing that Island, some 4. daies after they descried Lampadosia, and anon after the Island where they had like to have been wrack't, and the Galley wherein Leo­nisa was split against the rocks▪ the very sight wherof made her to tremble, calling to mind the danger wherein she had so lately seene her selfe. The day following they might ken before them their desired and beloved Countrey, which quickned that ioy which was alreadie in their hearts; their spirits were transported with this new cōtentment, which is one of the greatest which can be had in this life, to arrive after a long captivity safe in their owne native Countrey. And the next that may be equalled with it, is that which men receive in getting the victory over their enemies.

They found in the Galley a great chest full of flags and streamers of silk of sundry colours, with which Ricardo cau­sed the Galley to be adorned in most gallant manner. The day was but newly broken, when as they found themselves to be within lesse then a league of the Citie, and rowing lustily, and sending forth ever and anone, shoutings of ioy and gladnesse; they slacked their Oares the neerer they came to the Haven, making in very leisurely. In her entring into the Port, an infinite number of people in an instant appeared; who having seene how slowly that well trimmed Vessell made to Land, there was not any [Page 171] one in all the whole Citie, which did not come forth hast­ning to the Sea side.

Whilest they were thus flocking to the shoare, Ricardo, entreated Leomsa that shee would cloath and adorne her selfe in the same manner, as when she entered into the Tent of the Bashaw's, because hee would put a pretty jeast upon her Parents. She did so, and adding gallantrie to gallantrie, Pearles, to Pearles, and beautie, to beautie, (which the hearts contentment commonly encreaseth) she attired and drest her selfe in such sort, as caused a new admiration and wonder. Ricardo also put himselfe into the Turkish habit, the like did Mahamut, and all those Christians that ply'de the Oare, for there were rayments enough of the slaine Turkes to serve all of them. When they arrived at the Port, it was about eight of the clocke in the morning, which showed it selfe so fair, and so cleare, that it seemed to appeare so of purpose, for to behold that joyfull entrance.

Before their entering the Port. Ricardo made them to discharge their Peeces of Ordnance belonging to the Gal­ley; to wit, one Canon, and two Falcons, the Citie an­swered them with the like. The people stood as thicke as they could stand together, expecting the comming in of this goodly Vessell, so bravely waving her flying flagges and streamers, moving too and fro with a gentle gale of winde. But when they were come so neere them as to dis­cerne that they were Turkish, by reason of those white Turbants that they wore on their heads, they beganne to waxe fearefull, and jealous of some fraud and de­ceit. Whereupon they betooke them to their Armes, and as many as were train'd Souldiers in the Citie, hastned to the Port, whilest the Horsemen went some one way, some another, scouring the coast. Of all which stirre they tooke great pleasure, who by little and little drew neerer and neerer till they entred the Haven, and casting anchor neere the shoare, throwing out a plank, and pulling in their [Page 174] Oares one by one, as it were in procession came on Land, which with teares of joy they kissed againe and againe; an evident signe that they were Christians, who had made prize of that Vessell. The last that landed▪ were the Fa­ther and Mother of Halima, and her kinsmen, all (as wee told you) clad after the Turkish fashion. That which made up the totall summe or finall end of all, was faire Leonisa, having a vayle cast over her face of Crimson Taffata, led by Ricardo, and Mahamut; which spectacle drew after them the eyes of all that infinite multitude, who at their landing prostrating themselves as the rest did, saluting the earth with their kisses.

By that time this was done, the Captaine and Gover­nour of the Citie was come up unto them, who knew very well that they of all the rest were the chiefe and prin­cipall persons. But he had scarce come fully neere them, but presently he knew Ricardo, and ranne with open arms, and signes of exceeding great joy to embrace him.

There came along with the governour Cornelio and his Parents, and those of Leonisa, with all her kinsfolke, toge­ther with those of Ricardo; all which were the greatest Persons of rancke and qualitie in the whole Citie. Ricardo embraced the Governour, and repayed them all with thanks, that gave him the Parabien of his returne.

He tooke Cornelio by the hand, who as soone as he knew him, and found that he held him fast, his colour began to change, and beganne to shake and tremble for feare; and taking Leonisa likewise by the hand, he sayd: Gentlemen, of curtesie (sirs) I beseech you, that before wee enter the Citie, and into the Temple to give due thankes unto our Lord God, for the great favours which he hath done for us in our misfortunes, you will bee pleased to heare mee speake a few words, which I am desirous to deliver unto you.

Whereunto the Governour answered, that hee might utter what he would; for they should all with much con­tent [Page 175] and silence, give him both a willing, and attentive eare. Presently hereupon all the chiefest amongst them, placed themselves round about him; and hee raising his voyce to such a height as he might (not overstraining it) be well heard, spake unto them after this manner.

Gentlemen, yee may well remember the misfortune which some moneths since befell me in the Garden neere the Salt-pits, together with the losse of Leonisa; it cannot likewise have fallen out of your memorie, the diligence which I used in procuring her libertie, since that being forgetfull of mine owne, I offered for her ransome all my whole estate. And though this perhaps to your seeming, was then accounted great Liberalitie, yet can it not, neither ought it to redound to my praise, since that I was to give it for the ransome of my soule. That which from that time since hath happened to both of us, will require long time, a more seasonable conjuncture, and another tongue lesse troubled then mine. Let it suffice for the present that I tell you, that after many various and strange accidents, and after a thousand lost hopes of remedying our misfortunes, Heaven taking pitie of us without any merit of ours, hath returned us home to our native Countrey, as full of con­tent, as abounding in wealth: yet neither from this, nor my procured libertie is the end answerable to my desire; nor doe I take any great contentment in the enjoying of these, but in that which I conceive, this both in peace, and war my sweet enemie taketh, as well for to see her selfe free, as to see here before her (as she doth) the image of her owne soule. Yet notwithstanding I greatly rejoyce in this generall rejoycing, which they receive who have beene my companions in miserie; and though hard mis­fortunes, and sad mischances are wont to alter our dispo­sitions, and to depresse valiant mindes. Yet was it not so with the overthrower of my good hopes; for I may bee bold to say it, that she amidst these her miseries, hath with the more undaunted courage and constant resolution, en­dured [Page 174] the shipwracke of her disadventures, and the en­counters of my earnest, but honest importunings. Where­in that old Adage is verified; they may change their Coun­tries, but not their Customes who have once gotten a habite of them. Of all this which I have sayd, I thence inferre; that I offered my whole estate for her ransome, gave her my soule in my good desires, plotted the meanes of her libertie, and adventured more for her, then my self, my life. And though from all these, (in the construction of noble, and ingenious dispositions) may be raised in­gagements of some moment, yet will I not presse any one upon her, save onely this one which I presume she will make good; and in saying this, he puts up his hand, and in a very civill and mannerly way, tooke away the scarfe from before Leonisa's face, which resembled as it were the removing of a cloud, which darkens the beautifull bright­nesse of the Sunne. Then did he prosecute his speech, say­ing; Loe, here (Cornelio) I deliver unto thee such a jewell, which thou oughtest to esteeme above all those things that are esteemed worthie. And so here (thou faire Leonisa) I give thee that which thou hast ever had in thy memorie. This if you please you may tearme Liberalitie: In compari­son whereof, to give away my estate, my life, my honour, is all as nothing. Take her (oh thou fortunate yong man) take her (I say;) and if thy knowledge can but come to reach so high as to come to know her worth, I shall hold thee to be the happiest man this day on earth. Together with her, I will give thee likewise as much as comes to my share of all that which Heaven hath allotted to us all, which I make account will come to above 30. thousand Crownes. All this mayest thou freely enjoy with much pleasure, quietude, and content; and Heaven grant that it may continue many long and happie yeares. As for my selfe, being made unfortunate by some squint-eyed starre at my birth, since that I must be without Leonisa, I am con­tent to be poore; for he lives too long who lives without Leonisa.

[Page 175]This sayd, he was silent, as if he had knit a knot upon his tongue. But within a very little while, before that a­ny other spake, recollecting himselfe, he said▪ Oh Heavens! how do pinching troubles disturbe the understanding? I (gentlemen) out of the desire which I have to doe good, have not weighed well what I sayd. For it is not possible that a man should shew himself liberall of that which is anothers, not his owne. What jurisdiction or power have I in Leonisa, for to give her unto another? or how can I make offer of that which is so farre from being mine? Leo­nisa is his, and so much his; that were her Parents dead, (but long may they live) her affection would finde no op­position. And if there may stand perhaps in her way those obligations, which (being as she is, discreet) she ought to thinke she owes me; from this day forward I disclaime them, cancell them, and acknowledge them to be wholy voyd and of none effect; and therefore unsay what I sayd before. I give then to Cornelio nothing, because I cannot; onely I confirme the grant of my goods made to Leonisa, without desiring or looking for any other recompence, save that shee esteeme for true my honest thoughts, and that she will have this beliefe of them, that they were ne­ver directed, nor looked towards any other point, save that which stood with her incomparable honestie, her great worth, and infinite beauty. And here Ricardo ended his speech.

Whereunto Leonisa answered in this manner; if any fa­vours (oh Ricardo) you imagine I did Cornelio (when as you were enamoured and jealous of mee) imagine likewise, that it was both meete, and honest, as being guided by the will and order of my Parents, who intending to make a match betweene us; laid their command upon me to do him those favours. If you rest satisfied with this, well may you satisfie your selfe with that which experience hath made knowne unto you of my honestie, and reservednes. I speake this, for to give you (Ricardo) to understand, that my [Page 176] will was alwaies subject to anothers will; to wit, my Parents, whom I now most humbly (as is meet) beseech, and earnestly entreat, that they will give me leave and li­bertie, freely to dispose of that which your valour and Li­beralitie hath bestowed on mee. Her Parents with a very good will gave her their leave so to do, relying on her dis­cretion, that she would make use thereof in such sort, as should redound alwaies to her owne honour, and their profit.

Having obtained this licence, discreet Leonisa proceeded thus. I shall entreate you (as many as be here present) that you will beare me witnesse, that I had rather incurre the censure of lightnesse, and inconstancie, (which none of you all can, or shall ever be able to charge me therewith) then to bee taxed (which is hatefull both in the sight of God and man) of unthankfulnesse and ingratitude. And therefore (oh valiant Ricardo) my good will and affection hitherto so reserved, so perplexed and doubtfull, shall now declare it selfe in your favour. To the end, that you men may know that all women are not ingratefull, by my ex­pressing of my thankfulnesse to you. I am thine (Ricardo) and will bee thine till death, if some better knowledge move thee not to deny me thy hand; for I desire nothing more then to have thee to be my Husband.

Ricardo hearing these words, was so transported with joy, and in a manner so besides himselfe, that hee neither knew how, nor could not answer Leonisa in any other lan­guage then humbling himselfe on his knees before her, and kissing her hands which hee held fast by force, bathing them often with his tender and loving teares. Cornelio did shed teares too, but of griefe, and sorrow; so did Leonisa's Parents, but of joy and gladnesse; and of admiration and contentment all the standers by.

The Bishop of that Citie was then there present, and with his Benediction, and Licence brought them to the Cathedrall Church, and dispensing with the time, instantly [Page 177] married them. The joyfull newes of this wedding was quickly spread over all Trapana, and that very night in token of rejoycing, infinite lights were set up, and great bonfires made, accompanied with ringing of bells, and divers loud musicall instruments. And for many daies after there were Maskings, Commedies, sporting with Canes. running of Bulls, and solemne invitations and feastings made by the Parents of Ricardo, and Leonisa. Mahamut, and Halima were re­conciled to the Church, who impossibilited of fulfilling her desire in being Ricardo's wife, contented her selfe in matching with Mahamut. To Halima's Parents and kinsmen Ricardo gave liberally of those spoyles which he had taken, wherewith they might be enabled to live, not onely suffi­ciently, but plentifully. In conclusion, all of them remai­ned fully contented and satisfied; and the fame of Ricardo going beyond the bounds of Sicily, spread it selfe through all the parts of Italy, and many other places under the name of the Liberall Lover. And even to this very day conti­nueth fresh in those many Children which he had by Leonisa, who was a rare example of discretion, honestie, reser­vednesse, thankfulnesse, and beautie.

IN a hot summers night, there retur­ned from recreating themselues at the river of Toledo, an ancient gentleman accompanied with his Wife, a little young sonne, a daughter of the age of 17. yeares, and a maid-servant. The night was cleare and bright, the houre eleven, the way open, and their pace slow, that they might not loose through wearines, those pleasures which the meadowes lying along the river side of Toledo, did afford them. And relying on the security, which the strict course of Iustice, and the well disposed people of that City did promise, the good old gentleman went wal­king leasurely along with his small family, farre from any thought of the least disaster that might befall them. But forasmuch as misfortunes commonly then come when wee least thinke on them, contrary wholly to his thought and quite beyond all imagination, there happened one which disturbed their present pleasure, and gave them oc­casion to weepe many yeares after. There was a gentle­man [Page 180] of that City about the age of 22. whom his great wealth, his noblenes of blood, his depraved disposition, his too much assumed liberty, and the loose and licentious company that hee kept, made him to doe such insolent and extravagant actions as did ill beseeme his quality, and gave him the attribute of impudent, and insolent.

This gentleman then (whose name for good respects wee shall conceale, and call Rodolpho) with foure other friends of his, all young men full of iollitie, and aboue all exceeding insolent, was comming downe the same hill which the old gentleman was going up. These two companies met each other, that of the sheepe, with that of the wolves, and in a most uncivill kind of manner, voyde of all shame and honestie covering their owne faces, they discovered those of the mother, daughter, and Mayd: the old man, (and I cannot blame him) was some­what moved thereat, reproved them for it, and told them they might be ashamed (had they any shame in them) to offet such an affront to gentlewomen. They answered him with mocks and scoffes, and without further misde­meaning themselues, they went forward on their way. But the great beauty of that fairest which Rodolfo had seene, which was that of Leocadia, (for that was the name of this gentlemans daughter) began in such sort to bee im­printed in his memory that it drew his affection after her, and stirred him up in a desire to enioy her, in despight of all inconveniences that might follow thereupon, and in an instant, as sudden as his passion, he imparted his mind to his Companions, and both hee and they presently re­solved to returne backe, and take her from her parents by force onely therein for to please Rodolfo, for your great and rich men, which are lewdly and licentiously given shall never want those that will canonize their evill acti­ons and qualifie their bad courses for good. And therfore the hatching of this wicked purpose, the communicating it, the approving of it, and the resolving upon it, to carry [Page 181] away Leocadia, and the putting of it in execution was done as it were all in an instant, they covered their faces with their handkerchers, and drawing out their swords they came backe, and had not gone many steps before they had overtaken those, who had not as yet fully made an end of giving thankes unto God for having freed them from the hands of those bold and insolent persons. Rodolfo seazed on Leocadia, and taking her vp in his armes, ran away with her, with all the hast he could, who had not strength enough to defend her from this violence, and the sudden passion that possessed her was so prevalent that it tooke away the use of her voyce, so that she could not cry out, and likewise the light of her eyes, since that she being in a swound, and without any sense, shee neither saw who carried her, nor whether they did carry her. Her father cryed out, the mother shreeked, her little brother wept and cryed both together, the maid she tare her haires and face; but neither their cryings nor shreekings were heard, neither did their teares move compassion, nor the tearing up of furrowes in their faces doe them any good. For the solitarines of the place, the still silence of night and the cruell bowels of the malefactors, concurred to give way to this deed of darkenes. In a word the one went their way glad and joyfull; and the other sad and mournefull. Rodolfo came home to his house without any let or hinde­rance: And the parents of Leocadia to theirs grieved, affli­cted and full of despaire: They were blind wanting their daughters eyes, which were the light of theirs; they were all alone lacking the sweet & pleasing company of Leocadia, they were confounded, and amazed, not knowing what to doe, whether they should give notice of their misfor­tune to the Iustice, or not: They were fearfull least in so doing, they should bee the principall instrument of pub­lishing their dishonour. They saw themselues neces­sitated for any matter of favour as being poore though nobly descended. They knew not on whom to [Page 182] complaine, but their owne hard fortune. Rodolfo in the meane while, being subtill and craftie brought Leocadia home to his house, and to his owne private lodging. And though she were in a swound when he carried her away; yet for the more suretie did he blind-fold her eyes with a handkercher that she might not take notice of the streets through which she passed, nor of the house nor lodging whereunto he had brought her, having put her thereinto, without being seene of any bodie, because hee had his quarter in his fathers house (who was yet living) to him­selfe, and kept the key of his chamber doore himselfe, and those of that his whole quarter, An unadvised inconsiderate­nesse of Parents, to suffer their Sonnes to live in that retyred manner, without witnesses of their conversation.

Before that Leocadia had recovered her swounding, Ro­dolfo had satisfied his lustfull desire; for the unchaste vio­lences of youth sieldome or never respect either time or place, but runs on headlong whether their unbrideled lust leades them, letting loose the reines to all licentious­nes. Having the light of his understanding thus blinded, he robbed Leocadia in the darke of the best jewell that she had. And for that the sinnes of sensualitie reach no further for the most part, then the accomplishing and fulfilling of them Rodolfo presētly resolved to turn Leocadia out of doors, and it entered into his imagination to lay her out in the street, being thus in a swound as she was, and going to put this his purpose in execution, hee perceived that shee was newly come to her selfe, and began to speake, saying.

Oh unfortunate wretch that I am! where am I? what darkenesse is this? what clouds have compassed me about? Lord blesse mee, who is that that toucheth me? am I in bed? what ayleth mee? how comes this to passe? doe you heare me deare Mother? or you my beloved Father? Aye me, unhappie as I am! for I well perceive that my Parents heare me not, and that my enemies touch mee; happie should I be if this darknesse would endure for ever, [Page 183] not giving my eyes leave to see any more the light of the World. And that this place wherein now I am, whatso­ever it be, might serve to be the sepulchre to my honour; since that better is that dishonour which is not knowne, then that honour which is exposed to the opinion of the vulgar. Now I call that to minde which before I could not, that but a little while since, I was in the company of my Parents; now I remember that some assaulted mee; now I conceive and see, that it is not meet that the people should see mee. Oh thou! whosoever thou art that art here with mee (and with this shee tooke fast hold on Ro­dofo's hands) if thou beest such a one whose soule will ad­mit of entreatie, I entreat and beseech thee, that since thou hast triumphed over my Fame, that thou wilt likewise tri­umph over my life; quit me of it instantly, for it is fit that I should lose my life, since that I have lost my honour; and consider with thy selfe, that the rigour of that crueltie which thou hast exercised on mee in offending me, will be tempered and moderated by the pitie which thou shalt use towards me by killing me; and so thou shalt show thy selfe at once, both cruell, and pitifull.

The reasons which Leocadia alleadged to Rodolfo, left him in amazednesse, and confusion; and like a raw yong man unexperienced in the world, hee knew not either what to say, or doe: whose silence made Leocadia the more to won­der, who by her hands sought to dis-deceive her selfe, and to try by touching whether it were a phantasma, or a ghost that was with her; but when she found that she touched a bodie, a very bodie, and did call to her remembrance the force which was done her going along with her Pa­rents, shee fell into a true reckoning of her misfortune; and with the very thought thereof, shee returned a new to sent those words which her many sighes and sobbes had interrupted, saying.

Oh [...] bold daring man▪ for thy actions make me to judge thee to bee of no great yeares, I pardon thee the [Page 184] wrong thou hast done me, and forgive thee that foule of­fence thou hast committed; so that thou wilt promise and sweare unto mee, that as thou hast covered it with this darkenesse, so likewise thou wilt cover it with perpetuall silence, without acquainting any bodie therewith. It is a small recompence which I crave of thee, in comparison of so great an injurie. Yet to mee (considering the case that I am in) it will bee the greatest that I can begge of thee, or thou canst give mee; consider besides, that I never saw thy face, neither doe I desire to see it. For though I cannot but still thinke on the offence done mee, yet will I not thinke upon my offender, neither will I lay up in my me­morie the image of the authour of my hurt; I shall poure forth my complaints between my selfe and Heaven, with­out desiring that the world should heare them, which doth not judge of things by their successe, but according unto that which is settled in it's opinion. I know not how it is that I utter these truthes unto thee, which usually are wont to be grounded upon the experience of many Cases, and on the discourse of many years, mine amounting to no more then 17; yet doe I understand thus much, that griefe and sorrow doth alike tye, and untye the tongue of the afflicted; one whiles exaggerating the received wrong that others may be therby the better induced to beleeve it, and another whiles burying it in silence, that others may not give any remedy thereunto. So that which way soe­ver it be, whether I speake, or hold my peace, I perswade my selfe, that I cannot but move thee either to beleeve mee, or to remedie me, since that not to beleeve me were ignorance, and to remedie me impossible. Yet maist thou give me some little ease of my griefe, whereof I will not despaire, since it will cost thee but little to give it me. This then is that which I will say unto thee; see that thou doe not flatter thy selfe with expecting or hoping, that time shall allay or pacifie that just rage and indignation which I beare, and still shall towards thee; neither doe thou goe [Page 185] about to heape more wrongs upon mee, because thou art not likely further to enjoy me; and having already enjoyed me, me thinkes thy evill desires should be the lesse enfla­med. Make account that thou offendest me by accident, without giving way to any good discourse, and I will make account that I was not borne and brought forth into the world; or if I were, it was for to be unfortunate Put me therefore presently forth into the street, or at least neere unto the great church, for from thence I shal know how to go directly home. Moreover thou shalt likewise swear unto me, that thou shalt not follow me, nor seek to know where I dwel, nor ask me, neither my Parents, or mine own name, nor of my kinsfolke, and Allies; who for that they are so rich, and so noble, they may not be in me so unhappy, and unfortunate. Return me answer to these my demands, and if thou art afraid that I may hap to know thee by thy voice, I would have thee again to know, that excepting my father and my Confessor, I have not spoken with any man in my life, and very few are they which I have heard speake in their ordinary talk and communication that I could bee able to distinguish them by the sound of their voice.

The answer which Rodolfo returned to the discreet dis­course of afflicted Leocadia, was no other save his embra­cing her, and making show that he had a minde to renew in himselfe his lustfull desire, and in her, her further disho­nour; the which being perceived by Leocadia, with greater force and resistance then her tender age could promise, she defended her selfe with her feet, with her hands, with her teeth, and with her tongue, saying.

Know traytour as thou art, and thou wicked man with­out soule or conscience whosoever thou beest, that those spoiles which thou hast had of mee, were such as thou mightst have taken from a stocke, or stone, without any sence or feeling; whose conquest and triumph which can­not but redound to thy reproach. And therfore that which thou pretendest, thou shalt not obtain but by my death. [Page 186] When I was in a swound, thou took'st thy pleasure, and didst what thou listest with me, but now that I am come to my selfe, and have my spirits and wits about me, thou shalt sooner kill me, then overcome me; for if now being awake, I should without resistance yeeld to thy abhomina­ble lust, thou mightest (and not without just cause) imagine that my swounding was feigned, when thou wast so bold and insolent in working my utter ruine and destruction.

In conclusion, Leocadia so bestirred her selfe, and made such stout and resistance, that the strength and courage, and with it the desires of Rodolfo began to flagge. And for that the insolencie which hee had used with Leocadia, had no other beginning then from a violent lascivious impe­tuousnes, from which never springeth that true love which is permanent; but instead of that impetuousnesse which passeth away, there remaineth onely repentance, or at least a coldnesse of will to second it. Rodolfo then growing somewhat cooler, but much more wearie, without speak­ing any one word, left Leocadia in his bed and lodging, and went to seeke out his companions, for to consult and ad­vise with them what he were best to doe.

Leocadia perceived that shee was left all alone and fast shut up; whereupon rising from the bed, she went ro­ming about the roome, groping the walls with her hands, for to see if she could finde a doore to get out at, or a win­dow to leape down. She found the doore, but too strong­ly lock't for her to open it, and she lighted on a window which she was able to unhaspe, by which the Moone shi­ned in so clear and so bright, that Leocadia could distinguish the colours of certaine Damasks which adorned the lodg­ing. She could discern that the bed was guilded, & so richly furnished, that it seemed rather the bed of a Prince, then of a private gentleman. She reckoned the number of the chairs, and stools, and of the Escritorios, and Cabinets; she no­ted the place where the door stood, and though she saw ta­bles hāging on the wals, yet she discerned not the pictures [Page 187] that were drawne in them. The window was large, well garnished and guarded with a great many barres, the pro­spect whereof was into a Garden, which was likewise in­closed with high walls; difficulties which opposed them­selves to that intention which she had to leape downe in­to the street. All that she saw and noted of the capacious­nesse and rich furniture of the roome, gave her to under­stand, that the Master and owner thereof must needes bee some principall Person, and not of meane wealth, but ex­ceeding rich. Vpon a Cabbinet which stood neere to the window, she e [...]pied a little Crucifix all of silver, the which she tooke thence and put it in her sleeve, not out of devo­tion, and as little out of theft; but onely drawne unto it by a discreet designe which she had in her head. This be­ing done, she shuts the window, leaving it as it was before, and returned backe to the bed, expecting what end such a bad beginning would have.

It was not to her seeming much more than halfe an houre, when she heard the doore of the lodging open, and that one came unto her, and without speak­ing so much as one word, with a handkercher hood­winked her eyes, and taking her by the arme, tooke her out of the lodging, she hearing him shut the doore after him. This person was Rodolfo, who though hee had gone to seeke out his Companions, yet was he not wil­ling to finde them; it seeming unto him, that it was not fit that he should have any witnesses of that which had pas­sed with that damosel, but was rather resolved to tell them, that repenting himself of that ill deed, and moved with her tears, hee had put her off, leaving her in the mid-way. Having thus bethought himselfe, hee returned backe with all speed, to place Leocadia neere unto the great Church, as she had formerly entreated of him before it were day, least otherwise it might disappoint his pur­pose, and hee be enforced to keepe her in his lodging till the next ensuing night; in which space of time, [Page 188] neither was he willing to use any more force or violence, nor to give occasion of being knowne. Hee brought her then to the place which they commonly call by the name of Ayuntamiento, where the people publickly assemble and meet together; and there in a counterfeit voyce, and in a tongue halfe Portughese, and halfe Spanish, hee told her that she might thence goe securely to her owne house, and that none should follow and tract her whether shee went And before that she had time & leisure to unknit and loosen the handkercher, he had got himselfe farre enough out of her sight.

Leocadia remained all alone, shee tooke away the bend from before her eyes, shee knew the place where hee had left her, she looked round about her on every side, shee saw no person living, but suspecting that some would follow her a loofe off, at every step she made a stand, ad­vancing her selfe in that manner in her way homeward, which was not very farre from the Church; and for to deceive the spies, if b [...] chance they should follow her, she entred into a house that she found open; and from thence by little and little went to her owne, where she found her Parents amazed and astonished; and so farre from prepa­ring themselves to goe to bed, that they had not so much as entertained the least thought of taking any rest at all; who, when they saw her, ran unto her with open armes, and with tears in their eies, lovingly received her. Leocadia's heart boyling with passion, and being much troubled in minde, entreated her Parents to withdraw themselves and to goe a little aside with her; they did so. And then, and there in a few words she gave them an account of that her unfortunate successe, with all the circumstances belong­ing thereunto, and that she could by no meanes come to the knowledge of him that assaulted her, and robb [...]d her of her honour. She accquainted them with all that shee had seene in that Theater, wherein was represented and acted that woefull Tragedie of her misfortune. The win­dow, [Page 189] the garden, the barres of yron, the Cabinets, the bed, the Damaskes; and last of all she shewed them the Crucifix which she had brought thence with her. Before which Image they renewed their teares, made deprecations, cal­led for vengeance, and begg'd of God miraculous cha­stisements. She likewise told them, that although she did not desire to come to have knowledge of her offender, yet if it seemed good unto her Parents to have him known by meanes of that Image, they might doe it by causing the Clerkes of all the Parishes in the Citie, to publish at divine Service in their severall Churches, that hee who had lost such an Image, he should finde it put in the hands of some such person as the party that lost it should nominate and appoint for the receiving of it; and so by knowing the ow­ner of the Image, they might come thereby to know the he use, as also the person of their enemie. Hereunto her Father replied, what you have sayd, had beene well sayd (Daughter) if the craftie and cunning now adaies did not oppose it selfe to thy discreet discourse, since that it is cleare and manifest that this Image may not suddenly be mist, or if mist, no great reckoning made of it; and the owner thereof will certainely apprehend and imagine that the person who was with him in the lodging had taken it a­way; and that if it should come to his knowledge that some Religious man hath it in his keeping▪ he will rather serve his turne, and make use of his knowing who it should be that gave it to him that now hath it, then bee willing to declare and make knowne the owner that lost it. And it may likewise happen that another may come for it, to whom the owner thereof hath given some signs and tokens whereby to know and challenge it to bee his. And if this should be so, we should be in worse case then before, and remaine rather confounded, then informed, though wee should use the same artifice and cunning, which we suspect them for, by giving it to a Religious man by a third person. That (Daughter) which is herein [Page 190] to be done, is to keepe it; that as it was a witnesse of thy disgrace, so it may become an evidence to procure thee ju­stice, and right the great wrong which thou hast received. And with all consider (deare Daughter) that one ounce of publicke dishonour doth lye heavier upon us, then a pound weight of secret infamie. True dishonour consists in sinne, and true honour in virtue. God is offended with our sayings, our doings, and our desires; and since that thou neither in thought, word, nor deed, hast offended him, account thy selfe honest, for. I shall hold thee so, and shall never looke upon thee but like a kinde and loving Father.

With these prudent reasons did this good Father com­fort Leocadia; and her Mother embracing her againe, and againe, did likewise endeavour to comfort her. Where­upon she fell a fresh a weeping, and a crying, and hiding her head (as they say) for shame; she betooke her selfe to a private and retyred course of life, under the shelter and protection of her Parents, being honestly, and decently, though but porely clad.

Rodolfo in the meane while being come home, and sit­ting him downe in his chamber, casting his eye aside, hee found the Image of his Crucifix missing, and presently ima­gined who might carry it away; but he made slight of it, and for that he was rich, he did not reckon much of it, neither did his Parents question him for it; when as (being within three dayes after to goe for Italy) he did deliver up by tale to one of his Mothers Chambermaids, all that which hee left behinde him in the lodging, whereof shee tooke a true Inventorie.

It was many daies since that Rodolfo had resolved to tra­vell into Italy; and his Father who had beene there in his younger yeares, perswaded him thereunto; telling him, that they were not Gentlemen who were onely so in their owne Countrey, but that they must likewise shew them­selves to be such abroad. For these and other reasons, Rodolfo disposed his will, to cumply with that of his father, [Page 191] who gave him Bills of credit for good round summes of money for Barcelona, Genoa, Rome, and Naples. And he with two of his Comrad's presently departed, being much ta­ken with that which he had heard some Souldiers repeate of the great store of Inn's in Italy, and France, and of the li­bertie which Spanyards tooke in their lodgings. That soun­ded well in his eare; loe sir, here be good tender Pullets, youug Pigeons, fine white fat Veale, a good Gammon of Bacon, excellent Sausages, and the like; which the Soul­diers did magnifie in mentioning them unto him; shew­ing what a great deale of difference they found when they came out of those parts into these, laying before him the scarcitie of Provision, and the discommodities of the Inn's of Spaine. In conclusion, he went away, so little thinking on that which passed betwixt himselfe, and Leocadia, as if there had never beene any such matter.

She in the interim, led her life in the house of her Parents with all possible retyrednesse, without suffering her selfe to bee seene of any, as one that was fearefull, least they might read her misfortune in her forehead. But within a few moneths, she perceived that she was driven to do that by force and constraint, which hitherto she had done wil­lingly, and of her owne accord. She saw that it was fit and convenient for her to live closely, and retyredly, be­cause she found her selfe to bee with Childe. A successe which occasioned those teares which in some sort had beene forgotten, to breake forth a new from the fountains of her eyes; and those sighes and lamentations which had layen for a while calme, and quiet, began to rise, and like fierce windes, fell a beating, and waging war one against another; her Mothers discretion, and gentle perswasions, not being able to allay the violence of her passion, nor af­ford her any comfort.

Time fled away with a swift wing, and the time of her delivery was come; but with that secresie, that they durst not trust a Midwife therewith, so that her Mother usur­ping [Page 192] this office, brought forth to the light of the world a little young Son, one of the prettiest, sweetest, and beau­tifullest babes that thought it selfe could imagine; with the like warinesse, circumspection, and secresie wherwith it was borne, they conveyed it to a Countrie Village, where it continued foure yeares. At the end whereof, with the name of Nephew his Grandfather brought him home to his owne house, where he was bred up, though not very richly, yet at least very vertuously. The Childe was (whom they named Luys, that being his Grandfathers name) of a fayre complexion, a pleasing countenance, a sweet disposition, a gentle nature, a quicke wit; and in all those his actions which in that tender age he could do, he gave apparant signes and tokens, that he was begotten by some noble Father; and in such sort his wit, beautie, and prettie behaviour, did make his Grandfather and Grandmother so farre in love with him, that they came to hold their Daughters unhappinesse, to be a happinesse, in that she had given them such a Nephew. When hee went through the street they did showre downe upon him a thousand benedictions; some blessed his beautie, other­some the Mother that bare him, these, the Father that be­gat, and those, him who had brought him up, and given him such good breeding.

With this applause of those that knew him, and knew him not, the Child grew to bee Seven yeares of age. In which time he had learned to read Spanish, and Latine, and to write a very good hand. For his grandfathers and grand­mothers intention was to make him virtuous, and wise, since that they could not make him rich; not being igno­rant, that virtue, and wisedome, were the onely riches over which neither theeves, nor fortune had any power.

It happened one day, that the Child was sent by his Grandmother on a message to a kinswoman of hers, and it was his chance to passe through a street where some gentlemen were running careers with their horses, he staied [Page 193] to looke on them, and for the getting of a better place; he ran athwart from the one side, to the other, just in such an ill conjuncture of time, that he could not avoyd a Hor­ses running over him, whose rider with all the strength he had, was not able to keepe backe in the furie of his Careere. He ranne over him, and left him stretcht on the ground for dead, pouring out much bloud from his head.

This sad mischance had scarce happened, when loe, an ancient Gentleman, who was beholding the Careere, with extraordinarie dexteritie leapt from his Horse, and went where the Child was; and taking him out of ones armes that held him, tooke him into his owne, and with­out making any reckoning of his grey haires, or regarding his authoritie, which was much, neglecting the grave Spa­nish pace, with large steps he hyed him home to his own house, willing his servants to leave him, and to goe and seeke out a skilfull Surgeon for to cure the Childe. Many Gentlemen followed him, grieving and pittying the mis­fortune that had befallen so sweete and fayre a Childe. For it was presently voyced abroad, that hee that was thus troden downe, was Luisico, the kinsman of such a Gentleman, naming his Grandfather. This voyce ranne from mouth to mouth, till it came at last to the eares of his grandfather, and grandmother, and likewise to those of his retyred Mother; who being fully and truely certified of this unluckie and lamen­table accident, ranne forthwith out of doores as if they had beene mad, to know what was become of their beloved. And because the gentleman that carried him away, was so well known, and of such principall rank and quallitie, many of those whom they met withall, told them where his house was, whether (being carried be­tween love and feare) they soon arrived just at that instant when the Child was under the Surgeons hands. The gen­tleman & his wife, the owners of the house, entreated those [Page 194] whom they thought to bee his Parents, that they would not weepe, nor fill the ayre with the crie of their com­plaints, being that it could doe the Childe no good. The Surgeon who was famous for his skill, having dressed him with a gentle hand, and as a Master of his facultie, told them that the wound was not so mortall, as at first he fea­red it had beene.

When hee was halfe drest, Luisicos memorie came to him, which untill then had left him; and was very glad and cheerie, in seeing his Grandfather and Grandmother there, who with teares in their eyes, asked him how hee did? He answered, well, save that he was much pained in his bodie, and his head. The Surgeon▪ advised them, that they should not speake unto him, but that they would give him leave to take his rest. They did so; and then his Grandfather beganne to give the Master of the House thankes, for that his great charitie which he had extended towards his Nephew. Whereunto the gentleman replied, that he needed not to thanke him; giving him to under­stand, that when the Childe fell, and was over-borne by the Horse, it seemed unto him, that hee saw the face of a Sonne of his owne, whom hee tenderly loved; and that this moved him to take him up in his armes, and bring him home to his owne house, where hee would that hee should continue till hee were fully cured; and that hee should not want cherishing, nor any thing else that the house could afford, that was needfull and necessarie for him. His Wife who was a noble Ladie, sayd (the phrase a little varied) in effect the very same words, and did somewhat more amplifie and endeare her promises.

The grandfather and grandmother of the Childe did much wonder at, and admire this their great Christianitie. And the Mother much more, for her troubled spirit being somewhat quieted by the Surgeons cōfortable words, she diligently observed the lodging where her Son lay, and by [Page 195] apparant signes and tokens, clearely knew that that was the roome where her honour had it's end, and her misfor­tune it's beginning. And though it were not now hung and adorned with Damaske, as then it was; she knew the forme and fashion of it, shee saw the window with the yron barres which looked into a Garden; and though it were shut that the Ayre might not offend the wounded Child, she did aske whether that window did Butt or no upon some garden? and it was told her, it did; but that which she most certainly knew, was, that that was the very same bed which had beene the Tombe-stone to her grave. And moreover, that that very Cabinet whereon stood the Crucifix which shee carried away with her, remained still in the selfe same place. Lastly, the stayres brought to light the truth of all her suspitions, which she had numbered and counted when she was led out of the lodging blinde­fold; I say those stayres which were from her going out thence to the street, which with discreet advisement shee had told. And when she came home (having taken leave of her Son) she fell to counting of them againe, and found the number of them to fall out right, and just; and compa­ring some signes with other some, shee was fully perswa­ded that this her imagination was undoubtedly true. Whereof she gave a large account unto her Mother, who like a discreet woman, informed her selfe whether this Gentleman where her Nephew now was, had any Son, or no? And she found that he whom we call Rodolfo was his Son, and that he was in Italy. And casting up the time, which (as it was told them) hee had beene absent from Spayne; they saw that they jumped just with the same yeers of the Child. Shee gave notice of all this to her Husband, and betwixt them two, and their Daughter, they agreed to expect how God would dispose of the wounded Child, who within fifteene dayes was out of danger of his recei­ved hurt, and at the end of thirtie, was upon his feet, and able to walke up and downe the chamber. In all which [Page 196] time, he was visited by his Mother, and Grandmother, and made as much of by the owners of the house, as if hee had beene their owne Child.

And now and then, Dona Estefania (for so was the Gen­tlemans wife called) talking with Leocadia, told her, that this Child did so well resemble a Son of hers who was in Italy, that shee never look't upon him, but that it seemed unto her that she had her own Son in her eye. From these words of hers, Leocadia tooke occasion on a time to tell her when shee was all alone with her, such things as had be­fore beene debated and agreed upon by her Parents to sig­nifie unto her, which were these, or the like.

That day (Madam) wherein my Parents heard that their Nephew was so grievously hurt, they beleeved, and verily thought that Heaven had beene shut against them, and that all the World had fallen upon them; they imagi­ned that they had lost the light of their eyes, whom they loved so dearely, and in such an extraordinary kinde of māner, that by many degrees it exceeded that which Parents commonly beare to their owne Children. But (as we usu­ally say) that when God gives the wound, hee likewise gives the me­dicine to cure it. This Child hath found it in this house, and I likewise therein call to minde somethings which I shall never forget the longest day of my life. I (deare Lady) am noble, because my Parents are so, and so have beene all my Auncestours; who with a mediocritie of the goods of fortune, have happily upheld their honour and reputa­tion wheresoever they lived.

Dona Estefania was strucken both with wonder, and sus­pension, heakening to Leocadia's discourse, and how feeling­ly her words came from her, and could not beleeve though she saw it, that so much discretion could bee comprehen­ded in so few yeares, judging her to be but some 20. years of age, little more, or lesse; and without saying any thing unto her, or replying so much as one word, she stood ex­pecting to heare what she would furthermore say, which [Page 197] was sufficient enough for the informing her of her Sons waggishnesse, and wantonesse, and of her own disgrace, and dishonour; of his stealing, and carrying her away by force, of his blind-folding of her eyes, of his bringing her to that very lodging, and telling her the signes and tokens whereby she certainely knew that the same was the roome which so strongly confirmed her suspitition. For further confirmation whereof, she tooke from out her bosome the Image of the Crucifix which shee had taken thence, and spakethus.

Thou Lord, who wast a witnesse of the force that was offered me; doe thou judge my cause, and make mee that amends and reparation of my honour, as of right is due unto me. From the top of that Cabinet I tooke this Cruci­fix, with a purpose onely to put me still in minde of the wrong I received, but not to crave vengeance thereof, (for I pretend no such thing) onely I shall entreat and begge of thee, that thou wilt give me some comfort, whereby I may the better bee enabled to beare this my disgrace with patience.

This Child (Ladie) on whom you have exercised the utmost of your charitie, is your true Grandchild; it was Gods will and the permission of Heaven, that the Horse ran over him, to the end, that by his being brought to your house, that I should finde that therein which I hope to finde; and if not the remedie, which is most convenient for the curing of my misfortune▪ yet at least the meanes which may helpe me to beare it the better.

Having sayd this, she fell downe in a swound in Dona Estefania's armes; who like a noble Gentlewoman, (in whom compassion, and pittie is as naturall, as crueltie in men,) had scarce perceived Leocadia's swounding; but shee joyned her cheekes to hers, shedding thereon so many teares, that there was no need o [...] sprinkling any other wa­ter in her face to bring her againe to her selfe. These two being thus glued each to other, it was Dona Estefania's Hus­bands [Page 198] hap to come into the roome, bringing Luisico in with him, leading him by the hand, and seeing Estefania weepe, and Leocadia lying in a swound, he was very hasty in inqui­ring what might bee the cause thereof, and whence it proceeded. The Child embraced his Mother as his Cosen, and his Grandmother, as his benefactresse; a [...]d did like­wise aske why they did weepe? Great and strange things (Sir) I have to tell you, sayd Estefania to her Husband; the whole summe whereof shall end in telling you, that I must assure you that this gentlewoman who fell into a swound, is your Daughter, and this pretty boy, your grandchilde. This truth which I tell you, was delivered unto mee by this good gentlewoman, and the countenance of this sweet Child hath confirmed it; wherein we have both of us beheld as in a glasse our owne Son. If you tell mee no more then this Wife, replied her Husband, I doe not understand you. By this time Leocadia was come to her selfe, and holding fast still the Crucifix, shee seemed to bee turned into a sea of teares. All which had put the gentle­man into a great confusion and amazement, from which he was freed by his Wifes recounting unto him all that which Leocadia had imparted unto her; and he by the Di­vine permission of Heaven, did beleeve it as verily, as if it had been proved and made good by many substantiall and true witnesses.

Hee comforted and embraced Leocadia, and kissed his grandchilde Luisico; and that very day dispatched a Post to Naples, advising his Son to come home with all possible speed, because he had concluded a marriage for him, with a marvellous faire and beautifull gentlewoman; and such a one, as was most fit and convenient for him. Nor would they by any meanes consent, and give way, that Leocadia, or her Childe should backe againe to her Fathers house; who resting beyond measure contented with this good successe of their Daughter, gave infinite thankes therefore unto God. The Post returned from Naples, and Rodolfo out [Page 199] of greedinesse to enjoy so faire a Wife as his Father had sig­nified unto him, within two dayes after that hee had re­ceived his Fathers letters, occasion of passage being offered unto him for his comming into Spayne; taking hold there­of, he embarqued himselfe, with his two Comrades who had never left him, and with a prosperous wind, in 12. daies he arrived at Barcelona; and from thence, taking Post-horses, in 7. more he came to Tolledo, and entered into his fathers house in such a brave and gallant fashion as did exceed, for in him were met together the extreames of both. His Parents were very much joyed with the welfare and arri­vall of their Sonne.

Leocadia, who unseene, from a private place had a full view and sight of him, that she might not transgresse the order given her by Dona Estefania, was in a quandarie, and in great doubt and suspension what would bee the issue of this businesse. Rodolfo's Comrades would needes goe pre­sently home to their owne houses; but Estefania would by no meanes let them, because she had need of them for the effecting of her designe. It was neere night when Ro­dolfo arrived; and whilest that supper was making readie, Estefania called her Sons Comrades aside, being verily per­swaded that these must needes be two of those three, who (as Leocadia had told her) accompanied Rodolfo that night when they stole her away; and with great and earnest entreaties▪ shee besought them that they would tell her, whether they did not or no remember that their Son on such a night, so many yeares since stole away such a Wo­man? For to know the truth thereof much concerned the honour and peace, of not onely his Parents, but of all their Alliance and kindred. And with such and so great e [...]dear­ments, she knew how to crave this courtesie of them, and in such sort to assure them, that from the discovering of this stealth, there should no dammage follow thereupon; that in conclusion, they held it fit to confesse the truth, and so told her, that they two, and another friend of Rodolfo's [Page 200] on a Summers night, the very fame which she had named unto them; had stollen away a young gentlewoman, and that Rodolfo carried her away with him, whilest they de­tained the rest of their company, who without cries sought to defend her from that violence. And that the next day following Rodolfo told them, that he carried her to his lodg­ing; and that this was all that they could say in answer to her demand.

The confession of those two, was the key which ope­ned the doore to all the doubts, which in such a case could offer themselves; and therefore she resolved with herself, to bring that good purpose which she had entertained, to a good end, which was this▪ A little before that they were to sit downe to supper, Rodolfo's Mother went apart with her Sonne into a by-roome, and putting a picture into his hands, she sayd withall unto him; Sonne Rodolfo, I will give you a very savoury and pleasing supper, in shewing thee thy Spouse. This is her true picture; but I must tell you, and would have you to thinke well upon it; that what is wanting unto her in beautie, is superabundantly supplied with her vertues. She is noble, and discreet, and indifferently rich; and since that your Father and my selfe, have made choice of her for you, assure your selfe that she is such a one as is fitting for you.

Rodolfo viewed the picture with a searching and judici­ous eye; and after hee had done looking upon it, he said; if Painters who commonly are wont to bee prodigall of their bestowing of beauty on those faces which they draw, have dealt so likewise with this; I dare bee bold to say it, and verily beleeve it, that the originall to this counterfeit, must needes bee foulenesse it selfe. In good faith (Ladie Mother) it is just and meete that Children should obey their Parents in all that they shall command them; but withall it is likewise convenient, and much more fitting, that Parents should put their Children into such an estate and condition as shall give them content, and in a lawfull [Page 201] way stand with their liking. And since that Marriage is a knot which is not undone but by death; it were not amisse, but rather much to bee desired, that the laces wherewith this knot is to bee knit, should bee equall and alike, and wrought of one and the same threds. Vertue, noblenesse, discretion, and the goods of for­tune, may well please and delight the understanding of him who shall happen to have a wife so quallified. But that the foulenesse of such a one should cheere and glad the eies of her husband, in my opinion it is impossible. I am but a young man, yet I understand my selfe very well in this particular, and know that a just and due delight which married folkes may enjoy and take one in other, may sort and stand very well with the rites of holy Matrimonie [...]nd if that once fayle and be wanting, Ma­trimonie haltes and goes lame, and contradicteth it's se­cond intention.

Now then to thinke or imagine, that a foule face which a man is to have at all houres before his eyes at bed, and at boord, may please and delight; I say againe and againe, that I hold it impossible. Therefore as you are my deare and loving Mother, I humbly beseech you, that you will give mee such a companion, and yoake-fellow, that I may take some delight in entertaining the time with her; and not such a one as may cause a loathing in me as oft as I shall looke upon her; to the end that with­out resting or turning away to this or that other side, equally, and in a direct way, wee may both of us the more easily draw together, and beare that yoake the better, which Heaven hath allotted and layd upon us. And if this Gentlewoman be noble, discreet, and rich, (as your Ladiship implieth) she cannot want a husband that may happily be of a different humour from me. Some there be, that seeke after noblenes, others discretion, others money, others beauty, and I am of the last. For noblenes, (thankes unto Heaven, my auncestors, and my Parents) that is left to [Page 202] mee by inheritance. For discretion, so as a woman bee not an ignorant, an Asse, or a Do [...]te; it sufficeth that shee doe not breake (as they say) her needles point; that shee bee not so witty, as by the subtilnesse thereof, to runne into some absurditie or other to her shame and dishonour; so foolish, that shee should not bee of some good use, and profit. For riches, those like­wise of my Parents make me not to be fearefull of ever comming to bee poore. It is beautie that I seeke after, it is one that is fayre and well favoured, that I desire; not regarding any other Dowrie then honestie, and a sweet and faire behaviour: for if my wife shall bring this with her, I shall serve God with pleasure and delight, and give a good and contented old age to my Parents.

His Mother rested very well satisfied wi [...]h Rodolfo's rea­sons, because by them shee knew that it made all as shee would have it for her designe. And therefore made him answer, that she would procure such a marriage for him, as should be answerable to his desire, and that hee should not trouble [...]r afflict himselfe about it; for it was an easie peece of businesse to undoe that agreement which was made for his marrying with that gentlewoman Rodolfo ren­dred her many thanks, and the hour of supper being come, they went forth to supper, and the father and mother and Rodolfo, and his Comrades being already sate down at table, Dona Estefania, as if she had forgotten her selfe, O Lord (quoth she) where was my minde? have I not used my guest kindly think you, to sit down before she comes? go one of you presently, and tell Leocadia, that without using any nicetie, or excusing her selfe that here are strangers, she come presently hither to honour this my Table; and that they who sit at it, are all of them my Children, and her servants. All this was her plott, and of all that which was therein to bee done, Leocadia had beene be­fore advertised. It was not long [...]re Leocadia came and entered the roome, presenting on the sudden in her [Page 203] person the fayrest show, that either artificiall, or naturall beautie could afford. Shee came in clad, (it being then Winter,) in a gowne of blacke Velvet, set with but­tons of gold, and pearle; a girdle, and chaine of Dia­monds, her owne haires which were long, and of an auborne colour, did serve her instead of her head-dressings, whose invention of ribbands, tufts of feathers, and glitte­rings of Diamonds which were interwoven with them, did dazle the eyes of the beholders.

Leocadia was of a gentle disposition, and of a quicke and lively spirit: she brought her Son along with her, leading him by the hand, two Damosells going before her, lighting her in with two waxe lights, in two silver Candlestickes. They al rose up to do her reverence, as if she had been some Deitie sent downe from Heaven, which had thus miracu­lously appeared unto them. None of those that were there, but stood astonished, beholding so rare a peece; and the more they looked on her, the more they were amazed, in­somuch that they were not able to speake unto her; such power hath beauty to impose silence.

Leocadia, with a gracefull behaviour, and discreet car­riage, made lowly curtisie and obeysance to them all; and Estesania taking her by the hand, [...] her next un­to her selfe, right over against Rodolfo. The little boy, hee sate by his Grandfather; Rodolfo who now at a neerer distance, beheld the incómparable beauty of Le­cadia, sayd within himselfe; if shee had but the one halfe of this beautie which my Mother hath made choyce of for to bee my Spouse, I should hold my selfe the happiest man in the World. What is this which I now see? is it happily some Angell that I stand thus gazing on? And in this rapture of his, the faire image of Leocadia went entring in by his eye, to take pos­session of his soule. Who all the while that supper lasted, seeing him likewise so neere unto her selfe, whom shee now loved more then the light of those her eies which now [Page 204] and then by stealth looked on him, she began to revolve in her imagination, and to call to minde that which had passed heretofore with Rodolfo. Whereupon those hopes began to wax [...] weake in her soule, which his Mother had given her of his being her Husband; fearing that the short­nesse of her fortune would be answerable in the end to his Mothers promises, She considered with her selfe how neere she was of being happie, or unhappie for ever. And so intense was this consideration, and so strong and vio­lent these her thoughts and imaginations, that they did in such sort trouble and oppresse her heart, that she began to sweat, and to change colour in an instant; whereupon suddenly followed a swounding, which enforced her to let her head fall into Dona Estefania's lappe, had she not re­ceived it within her armes. Who as soone as she saw her in this trance, much startled therewith, made her bosome her pillow.

A sudden passion seized on them all, and rising from the boord, they addressed themselves to procure her reco­verie▪ But he who gave best evidence of his sorrow was Ro­dolfo, who that the sooner he might comein to helpe her, out of meere haste stumbled, and fell twice; but neither with unclasping her gowne, nor unlacing her petticote, nor with sprinkling water on her face, did she come again to her selfe, but rather the rising of her breast, and the fay­ling of her pulse, which they could not finde to move, or stirre, went giving precise signes, and apparant tokens of her death. And the men and mayd-servants of the house, more passionate, then well advised, cryed out aloud, oh she is dead, she is dead.

This sorrowfull newes, accompanied with such woe­full lamentations, came at last to the eares of Leocadia's Pa­rents; whom for a more pleasing occasion, Dona Estefania had kept close and secret, till she saw a fit time for to bring them forth in publicke; who together with the Priest of the Parish, (for he likewise was shut up with them,) break­ing [Page 205] the order given them by Estefania, came forth into the roome where they were. The Priest made in quickly, for to see if by any signes, she gave any tokens of repenting her selfe of her sinnes, to the end that he might absolve her of them. And whereas he thought to have found but one in a swound, he found two. For Rodolfo was now in the like case, lying with his face on Leocadia's breast; his Mother gave way unto him, and was willing that hee should draw thus neere unto her, as unto a thing that was to bee his; but when she saw that her Son likewise was without sense, and lay as it were for dead, she was likewise upon the point to lose hers; and had questionlesse lost it, had she not presently perceived that Rodolfo began (as hee did) to come againe to himselfe; who was much ashamed that they had seene him run into such extreames.

But his Mother, as one that divined of that which her Sonne thought, sayd unto him; be not ashamed (Sonne) of these extreames which thou hast committed, but bee a­shamed of those which thou shouldst not have commit­ted, when thou shalt come to know that which I will no longer conceale from thee, though I thought to have deferred the doing of it, untill a more joyfull conjuncture.

I would have thee therefore to know (Son of my soule) that this gentlewoman whom you see lying thus in a swound in mine armes, is thy true Spouse. I style her thy true Spouse, because my selfe and thy Father have made choyce of her to be thy wife; for that which I presented to thee in the picture, was a false one.

When Rodolfo heard this, transported with his amorous, and enflamed desire; and the name of Husband removing all those rubbes which the honestie and decencie of the place might lay in his way, he brake through the company, and laying his face to that of Leocadia, remained as one ex­pecting that his soule should breathe it selfe forth, and ei­ther bring hers backe againe, or make it's abode with hers for ever.

[Page 206]But when the teares of all, through extreame griefe, went still more and more encreasing; and when through excesse of sorrow, their lamentations and out-cryes augmented more and more, and grew lowder and higher, and that the hayres of the head and beard of Leocadia's Mo­ther, and Father, by taring and pulling of them up by the rootes, beganne to waxe lesse and lesse, and that the shrill exclamations of their Sonne Rodolfo, with their noyse and clamour peirced the Heavens. Leocadia returned againe unto her selfe; and with her returning to life, re­turned that joy and content, which had absented them­selves from the brests of those that were about her. Leo­cadia found her selfe linked close with fast embracings in Rodolfo's armes, and sought by honest force to unloose her selfe from them. But he sayd unto her, no (sweet Mistresse) it must not bee so; it is not meet that you should strive to get your selfe from forth his armes, who holds you alreadie fo fast in his soule. With these kinde words Leo­cadia came wholy to her selfe, and perfectly recovered her lost sences; and Dona Estefania made an end of going any further forward with her former determination; spea­king to the Priest, that he should forthwith without any further delay espouse her Sonne to Leocadia. He did so, be­cause there was no difficultie that interposed it selfe for the hindering of these Espousalls.

Which being now fully ended and finished, I leave it to some choycer Pen, and to some other wit more re­fined then mine; to recount the generall joy and gladnes of all those that were there present; the embracements which Leocadia's Parents gave Rodolfo, the thankes which they gave to Heaven, and to his Parents; the fayre of­fers of love and friendshippe on their parts; the admi­ration and wonder of Rodolfo's Comrades, who so unex­pectedly saw the very selfe same night of their arrivall there, so fayre a match made up. And they wondered the more when they knew by Dona Estefania's discourse before [Page 207] them all that Leocadia was the Damosell which in their company her Sonne had violently stollen and carried away.

Nor did Rodolfo remaine any whit lesse suspensefull; and for the better certifying himselfe of this truth, hee entreated Leocadia that shee would acquaint him with some signe or token, whereby hee might come to the full knowledge of that which hee did not doubt of, because his Parents had so well approved his match­ing with her, whereunto she made this answer. When I returned and came to my selfe from out another swounding, I found my selfe (deare Sir) in your armes without mine honour; but I thinke it now well employ­ed, since that in this my latter comming to my selfe, I finde my selfe in the same armes I did then, but with much more honour. And if this token be not sufficient, let that suffice of the Image of a Crucifix, which none could steale from you but my selfe, which you could not chuse but misse the next morning. And if that bee the very same which your Mother hath now in her keep­ing, you are the Image of my soule which I highly adore, and you shall bee still neerest and dearest unto mee as long (my deare) as God shall permit us to live together. Wher­upon hee embracing her a new, their Parents bestowed their benedictions upon them, and all the rest that were by, bid God give them joy.

Supper came in, and the Musitians were come, which were before hand provided for this purpose. Rodolfo beheld himselfe in the looking glasse of his Sonnes face. The Grandfathers and Grandmothers on both sides, wept for very joy; nor was there any corner in all the whole house which was not visited with a Iubilee, with exceeding great content and gladnesse, And although night did flie away with it's blacke nimble wings; yet it seemed to Rodolfo, that it did goe and walke, not with wings, but with crut­ches; so great was the desire which he had to see himselfe [Page 208] all alone with his beloved Spouse; at last came that desi­red houre. They all of them went to bed to take their rest, and the whole house remained buried in silence. But so cannot the truth of this storie, by reason that the many Children will not give way thereunto▪ and that noble off-spring which they have remaining in Toledo. And yet these happie couple are still living, and long may they live, to the joy and comfort of themselves, their Children, and Grandchildren. All which was brought to passe by the permission of Heaven, and by the force of that bloud, which the valiant, noble, and Christian Grandfather of Luisico, saw spilt upon the ground.

AMongst those many spoyles which the Conquerours of the famous Northern Island (governed then by a most noble Queene) carried away from the Citie of Cadiz; Clotaldo, Captaine of a squa­dron of Ships, brought along with him to Mundolin, metropolis of that Isle, a Girle of the age of seven yeares, little more or lesse, and this contrary to the will and knowledge of the Generall; who with great diligence caused search to bee made for the Childe, that she might bee returned backe to her Pa­rents, who had complained unto him, of the wanting of their Daughter; humbly beseeching him, that since his Excellencie was pleased to content himselfe with their goods, and out of his noblenesse had left their persons free; that they onely might not be so miserable and unhap­pie, that seeing they were now left poore, they might not berobb'd of their Daughter, who was the joy of their hearts, the light of their eyes, and the fayrest and beauti­fullest [Page 210] creature that was in all the Citie. The Generall caused Proclamation to bee made throughout all the whole Fleet, that upon paine of death, he whosoever had the Childe, should restore her backe to her Pa­rents. But no penalties, nor feares of punishment could move Clotaldo to obey the Generalls command. For he kept her very secret and close in his owne Ship, standing wonderfully affectioned, though very Christianly, to the incomparable beauty of Isabella, for so was the Childe called.

In conclusion, her Parents remained without her very sad and disconsolate, and Clotaldo beyond measure exceed­ing glad and joyfull. He arrived at Mundolin, and delive­red up this fayre Mayde as a most rich spoyle, to his Wife. But as good lucke would have it, all they of Clotaldo's house were Christians in heart, though in pub­licke they made show to follow the religion of the Countrey.

Clotaldo had a Sonne named Ricaredo, about some 12. yeares of age, taught by his Parents to love and feare God. Catalina the Wife of Clotaldo, a noble Christian, and prudent Ladie, bare such great love and affection to Isa­bella, (that as if shee had beene her owne Daughter,) shee bred, cherished, industriated, and instructed her; and the Childe had such good naturall abilities, that shee did easily apprehend and learne whatsoever they taught her. With time, and the kinde usage shee recei­ved, she went forgetting those cockerings of her true Parents; but not so much that she did cease to thinke on them, and to sigh often for them. And although she went learning the tongue of the Island, yet did shee not lose her Spanish. For Clotaldo tooke care to bring Spa­nyards secretly to his house, to talke and converse with her. And so without forgetting her owne naturall lan­guage, she spake the other as well as if she had been born in Mundolin.

[Page 211]After that they had taught her all manner of workes, which a well bred Damosell could, or ought to learne, they taught her to read and to write more then indif­ferently well. But that wherein shee did excell, was in playing upon all those Instruments of Musicke, which might with most decencie become a woman; accompanying the same with such a voyce which Heaven had bestowed on her in so rare and singular a kinde, that when she chaunted, she inchaunted all that heard her.

All these her acquired graces, besides those that were na­turall unto her, went by little and little, kindling the coals of love in Ricaredo's heart; to whom as to her Masters Son, she wished all good and happinesse, and carried her selfe towards him with all faire respects.

At first love led him on with onely a kinde of liking and complacencie, in beholding the unmatchable beauty of Isabella; and in considering her infinite vertues and graces, and loving her as if shee had beene his Sister, his desires not going beyond their honest and vertuous bounds. But when as Isabella began to grow towards woman, (for then when Ricaredo burned in the flames of love shee was twelve yeares of age) that his former good will, and that complacencie and liking, was tur­ned into most fervent desires of enjoying and posses­sing her, not that hee did aspire thereunto by any other meanes, then by those of being her Husband; since that from the incomparable beautie of Isabel (for so did they call her) no other thing could be hoped for, neither would hee himselfe, though hee could have expected that favour from her; because his noble condition, and the high e­steeme wherein hee held Isabella, would not give the least way or consent, that any the least evill thought should take any rooting in his soule.

A thousand times did hee determine with himselfe to manifest the love he bare her to his Parents; and againe [Page 212] as oft did he not approve this his determination, because he knew that they had dedicated him for to bee the hus­band of a very rich and principall Gentlewoman, a Nor­thern Damosell, who was likewise (like them) a close and concealed Christian. And it was cleare and apparant, (as he conceived, and said with himselfe) that they would not bee willing to give unto a slave (if this name may bee given to Isabella) that which they had treated, and in a manner concluded on to give to a gentlewoman. And therefore being much perplexed and pensive, not know­ing what course to take for to attaine to the end of his good desire▪ he passed over such a kinde of life as had al­most brought him to the point of losing it. But it seeming unto him to bee great cowardize and faint-heartednesse, to suffer himselfe to dye without seeking out some kinde of remedie for his griefe; he did hearten and incourage himselfe to open his minde, and declare his intent to Isabella.

All they of the house were very sad and heavie, and much troubled by reason of Ricaredo his sicknesse. (for hee was well beloved of them all,) but his Father and Mother exceeding sorrowfull, as well for that they had no other Childe, as also for that his great vertue, valour, and under­standing did deserve it. The Phisitians did not hit right up­on his disease, neither durst he, neither would he discover it unto them. In the end, being fully resolved to breake through these difficulties which hee imagined with him­selfe; one day amongst the rest, that Isabella came in to serve and attend him, seeing her all alone, with a low voyce, and a troubled tongue, he spake unto her after this manner.

Faire Isabella, thy much worth, thy great vertue, and exceeding beautie, not to be equalled by any; have brought me to that exteamitie wherein you see me; and therefore if you will that I should leave my life in the hands of the greatest extreamitie that may bee imagined; let thy good [Page 213] desire be answerable unto mine, which is no other then to receive thee for my Spouse. But this must bee carried closely, and kept hid from my Parents, of whom I am afraid (who because they know that which I know, thy great deservingnesse) that they will denie mee that good which doth so much concerne mee. If thou wilt give me thy word to bee mine, I shall forthwith passe mine, as a true Christian to be thine. And put case that I should never come to enjoy thee, as I will not till that I have the Churches benediction, and my Parents good will, yet with this my imagining, that thou wilt be assuredly mine, it will be sufficient to recover me my health, and to make me live merrily and contented, till that happie and desired time shall come.

Whilest that Ricaredo discoursed thus with her, Isabella stood hearkening unto him with downe cast eyes, shew­ing in that her modest and sober looke, that her ho­nestie did equall her beautie, and her circumspection, her great discretion. And seeing that Ricaredo had made an end of speaking, and was silent; this honest, faire, and dis­creet Damosell made him this answer.

Since that the rigour or clemency of Heaven (for I know not to which of these extreames I may attribute it) would (Signior Ricaredo) quit me of my Parents, and give me unto yours, (thankefully acknowledging the infinite favours they have done me.) I resolved with my selfe, that my will should never be any other then theirs; and therefore without it, the inestimable grace and favour which you are willing to doe mee, I should not hold it a happinesse, but a miserie, not a good, but a bad fortune. But if they being made acquainted therewith, I might bee so happie as to deserve you, from this day forward I offer unto you that will and consent which they shall give mee. And in the meane while that this shall be or deferred, or not at all effected; let your desires entertaine themselves with this, that mine shall bee eternall, and pure, in wishing you all [Page 214] that good which Heaven can give you.

Here did Isabella put a period to her honest and discreet words, and there began Ricaredo's recoverie. And now be­gan to bee revived those hopes of his Parents, which in this his sicknesse were almost quite dead.

These two modest Lovers with a gseat deale of courte­sie and kindnesse tooke leave each of other; he with tears in his eyes, shee with admiration in her soule, to see that Ricaredo should render up his love, to hers. Who being raysed from his bed (to his Parents seeming) by miracle; hee would not now any longer conceale his thoughts, and therefore one day he manifested them to his Mother, tel­ling her in the end of his discourse, that if they did not Marrie him to Isabella, that to denie him her, and give him his death, it was one and the same thing. With such words, and with such endearings Ricaredo did extoll to the Hea­vens the vertues of Isabella, that it seemed to his Mother, that Isabella had not wrought upon her Son to win him to be her Husband. She did put her Son in good hope so to dispose his Father, that he might like as well thereof, as she did. And it so fell out, that repeating to her Husband word by word, what her Son had sayd unto her, he was easily moved to give way to that which his Son so ear­nestly desired, framing excuses to hinder that Marriage, which was in a manner agreed upon for the Northern Damosell.

When this was in agitation, Isabella was 14. yeares of age, and Ricaredo 20. And in these their so green and flou­rishing years, their great discretion and knowne prudence, made them ancient.

There were but foure dayes wanting to come, which being accomplished, Ricaredo his Parents were willing that their Sonne should enter into the state of Matrimonie, holding themselves both wise, and happie, in having cho­sen their prisoner to be their Daughter, esteeming more the dowrie of her vertues, then the great store of wealth that [Page 215] was offered with the Northerne Damosell.

The wedding clothes were already made, their kinsfolk and friends invited thereunto; and there was no other thing wanting, save making the Queene acquainted with Marriage, because without her good will and consent, the amongst those of noble bloud, not any Marriage is effected; but they doubted not of her good leave, and licence, and therefore had so long deferred the craving of it.

I say then, that all things standing in this estate, when there wanted but foure dayes till that of the wedding, one evening gave disturbance to all this their joy. A servant of the Queenes came and brought a message to Clotaldo, with expresse command from her Majestie, that the next morning he should bring to her Presence his Spanish Priso­ner that he brought from Cadiz. Clotaldo returned answer, that her Majesties pleasure should most willingly bee o­beyed. The Gentleman having delivered his message, and received his answer, went his way, leaving the hearts of all the whole house full of passion, perturbations, and feares.

Aye me (sayd the Ladie Catalina) if it bee come to the Queenes knowledge that I have bred up this Childe in the Christian religion; and shall from thence inferre that all we of this Familie are Christians. Besides, if the Queene shall aske her what she hath learned in eight yeares since that she was our prisoner; what can the poore harmlesse soule answer, which shall not (notwithstanding all her discretion) condemne us?

Which Isabella hearing, spake thus unto her.

Let not (deare Ladie) this feare give you any trouble at all; for my trust is in God that he will put words into my mouth at that instant, out of his Divine Mercie towards me; that shall not onely not condemne you, but that shall much redound to your good.

Ricaredo was much startled therewith, as divining ther­by some ill successe. Clotaldo sought out meane [...] that might [Page 216] give some courage to his great feare, but found none, save in the great confidence which he had in God, and in the wisedome of Isabella; who earnestly entreated her, that by all the wayes she possibly could devise, she should excuse her condemning of them to be Christians; for though in spirit they were readie to receive Martyrdome; yet not­withstanding, the flesh was weake, and were loth to drinke of that bitter cup.

Not once, but often Isabella assured them to rest assu­red, that for her cause, or any default of hers, that should not succeed which they feared and suspected. For albeit she then knew not what answer to make to those Interro­gatories and questions, which in such a case as this might be put unto her; yet had she such a lively and assured hope that she should answer thereunto in such sort (as she had at other times told them) that her answers should rather doe them good then hurt.

They discoursed that night on many things, especially on this particular; that if the Queene had knowne that they were Christians, shee would not have sent them so milde a message; whence they might inferre, that shee was onely desirous to see Isabella, whose unequalled beau­tie and abilitie had come to her eares, and to those of the Court, as it did to all those of the Citie. But because they had not before this presented her unto her Majestie, they found themselves faulty; of which fault, they thought good to excuse themselves, by saying; that from that very instant that she came into his power, he had made choice of her, and as it were marked her out for to be the wife of of his Sonne Ricaredo. But in this too, they likewise [...]ound themselves faultie, for having made such a match without her Majesties leave, and licence; howbeit this fault did not seeme unto them worthy of any great punishment. With this they comforted themselves, and agreed amongst themselves by a joynt consent, that Isabella should not goe meanely clad to Court, but like a Bride, since that shee [Page 217] was the Spouse of his Sonne Ricaredo.

Being thus resolved, the next day they apparrelled Isa­bella after the Spanish fashion; in a gowne of green Sattin cut upon cloth of gold, embroydered with Esses of pearles, wearing a great chaine of most rich orient pearles about her necke, having a hatband of Diamonds, and a Fanne in her hand, after the manner of your Spanish Ladies. Her haires of her head, which were full and long, and of a bright pleasing colour, sowen, and interwoven with Diamonds, and Pearles, did serve her instead of a coyfe. With this most rich dressing and lively disposition, and admirable beautie, She shewed her selfe that day in Mun­dolin, riding in a faire Caroch, carrying along with her, ta­ken by so beautifull a sight, the soules and eyes of as many as looked on her. There were with her in the same Caroch, Clotaldo and his wife, and Ricaredo, and on horse back many noble gentlemen of their kindred, and Alliance. All this honour Clotaldo was willing to do his Prisoner, for to ob­liege the Queene to use her as the Spouse of his Son.

Being come now to the Court, and brought into the Chamber of Presence where the Queene was, Isabella ente­red thereinto; presenting there the fayrest show which can fall within the compasse of imagination. The roome was large and spacious, and the traine that came with her had not gone above two steps forward, but they stood stil; and Isabella alone by her selfe, advanced her selfe towards the State where the Queene sate; and being thus alone, she seemed to appeare just like that starre, or exhalation, which by the region of fire is wont to move it selfe in a cleare and quiet night; or like unto a ray, or beame of the Sunne; which at the opening of the day discovers it selfe betweene two mountaines. All this did she seeme to bee, or rather like a Commet which did prognosticate the in­flaming and setting on fire many of those soules that were present, which love had throughly heated, if not burned with the rayes of those resplendant sunnes of beautifull [Page 218] Isabella, who full of humilitie, and courtesie, made her approaches by degrees, addressing her self to kneele down before the Queene, and then after a short pausing said thus unto her. May it please your most excellent Majestie, so far forth to honour this your servant, that she may kisse your royall hand; so shall I ever hereafter hold my selfe to be a Ladie, since that I have beene so happie, as to come to see your greatnesse.

The Queene continued looking upon her a good while, without speaking one word; it seeming unto her (as she afterwards told a great Ladie of her Bed-chamber) that shee had a starrified heaven before her; whose starres were those many Pearles, and Diamonds which Isabella bare about her. Her fayre face, and eyes were the Sunne and Moone; and take all together in the whole peece, shee was a new wonder of beautie. The Ladies that attended about the Queens Person, wished that they had beene all eyes, that there might not remaine any thing in, or about Isabella, which they might not behold and view at full. Some commended the quicknesse of her eyes, some the colour of her face, and purenesse of com­plexion; some the propernesse of her body, and some the sweetnes of her speech. And some likewise, who out of meere envie, said; the Spaniard is a very handsome gentle­woman, but her habite and dressing seemeth very strange, and out of fashion. After some little suspension, the Queene causing Isabella to rise up, she said unto her; speake (pretty Mayd) unto mee in Spanish, for I understand it well, and shall take much pleasure therein. And turning her selfe to­wards Clotaldo, she sayd unto him.

Clotaldo, you have done Vs wrong, in keeping this trea­sure so long concealed from Vs; but it is such, and so rich, that it hath moved you to covetousnesse; you are bound to restore it unto Vs, for by right it is Ours, and properly belongeth unto Vs.

Madam (answered Clotaldo) it is true which your [Page 219] Majestie sayth; I confesse my fault, if it bee a fault to have kept this treasure, that it might be preserved in that perfection, as was fitting to appeare in your Majesties Pre­sence. And now that it is here before your eye, I thought to have much improved it, by craving your Majesties leave that Isabella might be the Spouse of my Sonne Ricaredo, and to give your most excellent Majestie in these two, all that I am able to give you.

Her very name gives Vs very good content (replied the Queene) there could nothing have beene more wanting save the name of Isabella the Spanyard, to take off something from that perfection which is in her. But how is it (Clo­taldo) that without Our leave you have promised her to your Sonne?

It is true Madam (answered Clotaldo) I have made him a promise of her, but it was upon the confidence that the many and notable services which my selfe, and my Aun­cestours have done this Crowne, might obtaine of your Majestie other more difficult favours, then this of your leave; and the rather, for that my Sonne is not yet espoused unto her.

Neither shall he (sayd the Queene) Marry Isabella, till he by himselfe, and in his owne person shall deserve her. Our meaning is, that I will not that either your owne or your Auncestors services, shall any whit benefit him him in this particular; but that hee in his owne person shall dispose himselfe to serve mee, and for to merit for himselfe, and by his owne prowesse, this sweet pledge, whom we e­steeme and reckon of as if she were our owne Daughter.

Isabella had scarce heard this last word delivered, when humbling her selfe againe on her knees before the Queene, shee spake unto her in the Spanish tongue, to this effect.

As graces, which brings such graces with them (most noble Queene) are rather to be accounted happinesse, then misfortunes. And since that your Majestie hath beene pleased to grace me with the name of Daughter upon so [Page 220] good a pledge; what ill can I feare? or what good may I not hope for?

Looke what Isabella uttered, came from her so gracefully, and so wittingly, that the Queen stood extreamely affected towards her; and commanded that shee should remaine at Court in her service; and recommended her to a great Ladie, the chiefest amongst those of her Bed-chamber, that shee might trayne her up according to the Court fashion.

Ricaredo, who saw that his life was taken away, in taking away Isabella, was readie almost to have lost his wits; and therefore though overtaken with a tumbling and sudden passion of heart, he went and fell upon his knees before the Queen, and sayd unto her.

That I may serve your Majestie, I need not to be incited thereunto by any other rewards, then by those which my fore-fathers, and Auncestours have gotten by serving their Kings. But since that it is your Maiesties pleasure that I should serve you with good desires, and pretensions; I would gladly know, in what kinde, and in what employ­ment I may manifest that I cumply; with that obligation which I owe unto your Maiestie, and put my selfe to that which you shall impose upon me.

I have two Ships royall (answered the Queene) ready to put forth to Sea, whereof I have made Generall the Baron of Lansae, of one of these I make you Captaine, him Admirall, and you Vice-Admirall. For the bloud from whence you come, and runneth in your veines, doth as­sure mee that you will supply the defect of your yeares; and consider well the favour which wee doe you, since that therein I give you occasion, that corresponding with that which you are, and doing things answerable to the race from whence you come; by serving your Queene, you may show the worth of your noble disposition, and of your person; and you shall receive thereby the greatest reward, which in your opinion you can wish or desire. [Page 221] I my selfe will be Isabella's Guard, though she give Vs ma­nifest tokens, that her owne honestie will be her safest and surest guard. God blesse you in your Voyage; and since that you go [...]hence deepely (as I imagine) in love, I pro­mise great matters unto my selfe of your noble exploits. Happy shall that King that goes to warre bee, who shall have in his Armie ten thousand Souldiers that are in love, for they will live in hope that the reward of their victories, shall be the enioying of their best beloved. Rise up Rica­redo, and bethinke your selfe if you will or have any thing to say to Isabella, for to morrow you must be gon.

Ricaredo kissed the Queenes hand, humbly thanking her, and highly esteeming the favour which she did him, and presently went from her to Isabella, and would feigne have spoken unto her, but could not, for love and grief had knit such a knot in his throat, and so tied his tongue, that had his life layen upon it, hee could not utter one word. But the water stood in his eies, and were so brimme-full, that they ranne over, and silently trickled downe his cheekes which he thought to dissemble and smother them, all that hee possibly could; yet notwithstanding could hee not hide them from the eyes of the Queene, and therefore she said unto him.

Thinke it no shame Ricaredo to weepe, neither valew your selfe the lesse, for having given at this your farewell such tender demonstrations of your heart. For it is one thing to fight with your enemies, and another thing to take your leave of her you love. Isabella, embrace Ricaredo, and give him your benediction, for his excessive sor­row, and loathnesse to leave you, doth very well de­serve it.

Isabella, who stood amazed and astonished to see Rica­redo's tender heartednesse, and how truely he did grieve, and all for her sake, whom she loved as her Husband; did not understand what the Queene had commanded her, but began to shed teares; so without thinking what [Page 222] she did, and stood so still, and without any motion, that it seemed not to be a living soule, but a Statua of Alablaster that wept.

The affections of these two true and tender lovers, made the standers by to melt likewise into teares. And so Rica­redo without speaking a word to Isabella, or Isabella to him, they turned each from other, and Clotaldo, and they that came with him, doing reverence to the Queene, went out of the Presence full of compassion, discontent, and teares.

Isabella now remained like a poore Orphane, comming from the buriall of her Father and Mother, and as full now of feare, as before of griefe; least that her new Ladie to whom shee was recommended, would make her to change those manners and customes wherein she had been formerly bred up.

In conclusion, there shee remained, and within two daies after Ricaredo hoysed sayle, and put forth to Sea, bea­ten amongst many other with this thought, that he must do some notable peece of service, that might intitle him the deserver of Isabella.

But in conclusion, he besought Heaven to be propitious unto him, that such occasions might be offered unto him; wherein by shewing himselfe valiant, hee might cumply with the dutie of a Christian, leaving the Queene satisfied, and Isabella deserved.

Sixe daies these two Shippes sailed with a prosperous winde, shaping their course for the Tercera Islands; a place where never are wanting, either Ships of Portugal, from the East-Indies, or some that come thither from the West-Indies. And at sixe daies end there arose such a crosse­winde full in the teeth of them; and continued so long and so strong, that without suffering them to reach the Islands, they were inforced to make for Spaine; neere unto whose Coast, at the mouth of the Streight of Gihraltar, they descried three Ships; the one a very tall and goodly Ship, and the other two much lesse. [Page 223] Ricaredo's Ship made up to that which was Admirall, for to know of his Generall, whether or no he would set up­on those three Ships which they had descried. But before that he came up unto them; he might discerne that upon the toppe of the maine mast, there was hung out a blacke streamer, and comming a little neerer, he might hear Fifes, and Trumpets sounding faintly, and hoarsely; cleare and apparant signes that the Generall was dead, or some other principall person of the Shippe. At last comming within hearing, that they might speake one to another, which they had not done since their first putting forth; they might heare them from out the Admirall call out aloud un­to them, to have the Vice-Admirall Ricaredo to come a­boord their Ship, because the Generall the night before died of an Appoplexie.

All upon this newes were very sad, save Ricaredo,, who was inwardly glad, not for the losse of his Generall, but to see that hee was left at libertie, and might freely com­mand both Shippes; for so was it ordered by the Queene, that the Generall miscarrying, Ricaredo should succeed in his roome. Who presently went aboord the Admirall, where he found some that mourn'd for their dead General, and others that rejoyced with him that was now living. In a word, both the one and the other presently yeelded him obedience, and with short ceremonies cry'd him up for their Generall; two of those three Shippes which they had discovered not giving leave for greater, which going aloofe from the great Shippe, made up to the two Ships. They streight knew them to be Gallies, and Turkish Gal­lies, by the halfe Moones which they bare in their flagges, which gave Ricaredo great contentment; it seeming unto him, that that prize if Heaven should grant it him, would be of great benefit.

The Turkish Gallies came to know the Northern ships, who did not carry the Armes of the Island in their flagges, but of Spaine, for to deceive those that should chance to [Page 224] descrie them, and might take them to be Shippes of Pira­cie. The Turkes thought they had beene Shippes that had come from the Indies, wasted and spent with their long voyage, and that they would quickly yeeld and be taken. Wherupon, they came incroaching by little and little upon them, thinking presently to boord them, and Ricaredo suffered them to come neerer and neerer unto him, till he had them in command of his Ordnance, and then let flie at them, and giving them a broad side, discharged so luc­kily, and with such furie, that he shot one of the Gallies thorow, and thorow; so that one halfe of it lay all open, and naked, which forced them to flie, and make the best shift they could for to escape boording. The other Gal­lie seeing it's fellowes ill successe, made away in all haste, and strove to put her selfe under the side of the great Ship. But Ricaredo, who had Shippes that were light laden, and were quicke and nimble; and such excellent saylers, that they would turne and winde, and come off and on, as if they had beene plied with Oares; commanded them to charge the Ordnance anew, chasing them even to the ship, showring upon them a world of shot. They of the o­pened Gallie, as soone as they came to the ship, forsooke their Galley, and with all possible haste endeavoured to get into the ship. Which being perceived by Ricaredo, and that the sound Gallie imyloyed it selfe in relieving the o­ther▪ he sets upon her with both his ships, and without giving her leave to tacke about, or to make any use of her Oares, he did put her to that streight and exigent, that the Turkes likewise that were in her, were forced to flee for refuge to the ship, not with any hope to defend themselves therein, or to stand it out in fight, but for to escape for the present with their lives. The Christians wherewith those Gallies were man'd, tearing up their bankes, and breaking their chaines, intermingled with the Turkes, sought to recover their ship; and as they were clambring up by the side of her, with musket shot from the ships, they went [Page 225] shooting at them, as at a marke; but Ricaredo gave order that they should shoot onely at the Turkes, and spare the Christians. Thus were all the Turkes almost slaine; and they who entered the shippe with the Christians, for they were mingled one amongst another, making use of their weapons, were cut in peeces. For the force of the valiant when they begin to fall, must yeeld to the weakenesse of those that are rising. And therefore the Christians take­ing heart, layed about them with such courage and mettle, that they did wonders for the working of their libertie; thinking all this while that those Northerne ships were Spanish.

In conclusion, the Christians having in a manner cut all the Turkes throates, some Spanyards shewed themselves up­on the Decke, and called out a loud unto those whom they supposed to bee Spanyards, that they would come aboord them, and enjoy the reward of their victorie. Ricaredo asked them in Spanish what shippe that was? they told him that shee was a Portugal come from the East-Indies laden with spices, and as many Pearles, and Diamonds, as were worth a Million, and that by a storme they were driven upon that Coast, all rent and torne, and without any Ordnance, for the foulenesse of the weather, and high working of the Sea, inforced them to throw it over-boord. That their men were most of them sicke, and almost dead of thirst, and hunger; and that those two Gallies which were belonging to the Pi­rate A [...]pantemuam had taken her but the day before, without making any defence at all. And that (as it was told them) because they were not able to car­rie so great a quantitie of riches in those two small Vessels; they towed her along, with purpose to put her into the River of Larache, which was neere there­unto.

Ricaredo returned them answere, that if they conceived that those his two Shippes were Spanish, they were [Page 226] deceived, for they were nothing lesse, but ships belonging to the Queene of the Northern Island. Which newes gave those that heard it, occasion of feare, and sorrow; i­magining (and not without reason,) that they were fallen out of one net into another. But Ricardo told them that they should receive no harme, and that they should rest assured of their libertie, on condition that they should not put themselves upon their defence. Nor is it possible for us (replied they) so to doe; for (as wee formerly told you) this Shippe hath no Ordnance, nor wee any of­fensive Armes; and therefore wee must of force whe­ther wee will or no, have recourse to the gentile and noble disposition of your Generall, and the liberalitie and courtesie which hee shall use towards us; since that it is meet and just that hee who hath freed us from the insufferable captivitie of the Turkes, should reape the reward and benefit thereof, and shall bee famoused of all those to whose eares the newes shall come, of this memorable victorie, and of his kinde usage towardes them.

These words of the Spanyard did not found ill in Ri­caredo's eares; and therefore calling those of his shippe to a councell, hee demanded of them how hee might send all the Christians to Spaine, without putting them­selves in danger of any simister successe; if being so many as they were, they should take courage unto them for to rise up against them? Some were of opinion, that hee should passe them one by one to his owne Shippe, and clapping them under hatches, kill them man after man; and so they might easily and without any noyse kill them all, and carry the great Shippe along with them to [...] without any further feare or care taking. But to this Ricaredo thus replied.

Since that God hath done us this so great a favour, in giving us such great riches, I will not require [Page 227] him with a cruell and unthankefull minde; nor is it meete that that which I may remedie by industry, I should reme­die it by the sword. And therefore, I for my part am of opinion, that no Christian should dye the death. Not be­cause I wish them so well, but because I wish well to my selfe, and would that this dayes noble action, neither to me, nor to you, should mingle the name of valiant, with the sir-name of cruell; for crueltie did never sort well with valour. That which is to bee done, is this; that all the Ordnance of one of these our Shippes, be put into the great Portugal Ship, without leaving the Ship any Armes, or any other thing, save sufficient victuall. And so man­ning that Ship with our men, we will carry it home, and the Spaniards goe in the other to Spaine.

None durst contradict that which Ricaredo had pro­pounded, and some held him to bee valiant, magnani­mous, and of good understanding and judgement; and others in their hearts, to be more courteous then he ought to have beene,

Ricaredo then having resolved on this course, he put 50▪ Muskatiers into the Portugal Ship all readie fitted and furni­shed, their Peeces charged with shot, and their matches burning in their cockes. He found in the Ship well neere 300. persons, with those that had escaped out of the gal­lies. He presently called for their Cocket, or bill of lading; and the same person who at first spake to him from the Decke made him answer; that the Turkish Pirate had al­readie taken their Cocket from them, and that it was drow­ned with him. Hee did instantly put his pully in order, and bringing his lesser vessell and lashing it close to the side of the great Ship with wonderfull celeritie, and with the helpe of strong ropes, they hoysed all their Ordnance with their Carriages, out of the lesser into the greater Ship.

This being done, hee forthwith made a short speech to the Christians; he commanded them to goe into the Ship [Page 228] that was now disincumbred, where they should finde good store of victuall for more then a moneth, and more mouthes then they had. And as they went Imbarquing themselves, he gave to every one of them foure Spanish Pi­stolets, which he caused to be brought from his owne Ship, for to relieve in part their necessitie when they came on land; which was so neere, that from thence they might kenne the high mountains of Avila, and Calpe. All of them gave him infinite thankes for the favour he had done them; and the last that went to embarque himselfe, was he who had beene the mouth of the rest, who said unto Ricaredo.

Most valiant sir, I should hold it a happines for me, a­midst these my misfortunes, and the greater of the two; that you would rather carry me along with you to Mundolin, then send me into Spaine. For albeit that it be my Countrey, and that it is not above sixe dayes since I left it, yet shall I not finde any thing therein which will not minister occa­sions unto mee of reviving my former sorrowes, and soli­tudes. I would have you to know (noble sir) that in the losse of Cadiz, which is now some 15. yeares since, I lost a Daughter which some of the Conquerours carried away into their owne Countrey; and with her, I lost the com­fort of my old age, and the light of mine eies, which since they might not see her, have never seene that thing which could be pleasing unto them. The great discontentment wherein her losse left mee, together with that of my wealth, which likewise was taken from me; brought me to that low ebbe, that I neither would, nor could any more exercise the trade of Merchandize, whose great dealings in that kinde, made me in the opinion of the world, held to be the richest Merchant in all that Citie. And indeed so I was, for besides my credit, which would passe for many hundered thousands of crownes, the wealth that I had within the doores of mine owne house, was more then fifty thousand Duckets. All which I lost, yet had I lost nothing, so as I had not lost my Daughter. After this gene­rall [Page 229] misfortune, and so particularly mine; necessitie (the more to vexe me) set upon me, never ceasing to give mee over, till such time as not being able any longer to resist her; my Wife and I (which is that sorrowfull woman that sits there) resolved to goe for the Indies, the common refuge of poore Gentlemen; and having embarqued our selves but sixe dayes since in a ship of Advise, we had no sooner put out of Cadiz, but that those two Vessells of the Pirates, tooke our shippe, and wee become their slaves. Whereupon our miserie was renewed, and our misfortune confirmed. And it had beene greater, had not the Pirates taken that shippe of Portugal, who entertained them so long, till that succeeded which you have seene.

Ricaredo then asked him, what was his daughters name?

He answered, Isabella.

With this Ricaredo ceased to be confirmed further in that which before he suspected; which was, that he who re­counted this unto him, was his beloved Isabella's Father; and without giving him any tydings of her, he told him, that very willingly hee would carry him and his Wife to Mundolin, where happily they might heare some newes of that which they so much desired. He made them presently go aboord his own ship, leaving Marriners and souldiers sufficient in that of Portugal.

That night they hoysed sayle, and set themselves to get off from the coast of Spaine; and for that in the ship wher­in were the freed Captives, there were likewise 20 Turks, whom Ricaredo had also set at libertie; for to shew, that more out of his owne noble disposition, and generous minde, he had dealt so graciously with them, then infor­ced by that love which he bare to the Christians; hee en­treated the Spanyards at their parting, that upon the first oc­casion that should offer it selfe, they should set the Turkes at liberty, wherein they [...]hould shew themselves thanke­full unto him.

The winde, which gave good tokens of being large, [Page 230] and prosperous, began to bee very much calmer, which calme did stir up a great tempest of feare in the Marriners and Souldiers; who blamed Ricaredo, and his bounty, not sticking to tell him, that they whom hee had freed, might give advise of their successe in Spaine; and that if happily they should have their Galeons lying there in the Haven, they might put forth to Sea in search of them, and so put them to a narrow streight, and in danger of losing, toge­ther with their lives, all that Treasure which they had got.

Ricaredo knew very wel that they had reason on their side, but overcomming all of them with good words, he made them quiet; but that which did most quiet them, was the winde which returned againe to re-infresh it selfe in such sort, that having as fayre a gale as could blow in the skie, they clapt on all their sayles, without having need to strike any one of them, or but in the least manner to restraine them; within Nine dayes they came within sight of Mundolin. And when they were returned home thus vi­ctorious, there were thirty wanting of those that went that Voyage.

Ricaredo would not enter the River with tokens of joy, by reason of the death of his Generall; and therefore mix­ed his joyfull, with sorrowfull signes. One while the Trumpets sounding loud, and shrill; and another while low, and hoarse; one while the Drummes did beat lively, and the Flutes goe merrily, and another while dead, and softly, answering each other with mournefull and lamen­table notes. On one of the Cages of the shippe hung the contrary way, a flagge embroydered with halfe Moones; and on another, a long streamer of blacke Taffata, whose points did mocke the water.

In conclusion, with these and the like contrary extreams, they entered the River with their [...]wn shippe, because the other drew so much water, that the River could not beare her, and therefore lay at anchor in the Sea.

[Page 231]Th [...]se such contrary signes and tokens, held a world of people in suspence, who beheld them from each side of the shoare. They knew very well by some Armes and Coats in their Colours, that that lesser shippe was the Ad­mirall wherein the Lord of Lansac went; but they could not guesse how that other shippe should come to be chan­ged for that great vast shippe which lay at Sea. But they were quickly put out of this doubt, by Ricaredo's leaping out of his b [...]at o [...] shoare in rich and resplendent Armes, like a Souldier; who a foot, without staying for any other company, attended onely with the innumerable vulgar that followed him; he went directly to the Court, where the Queene being in a Gallerie, stood expecting the newes should be brought her of her ships.

There was▪ besides many other Ladies with the Queen, Isabella▪ apparelled after the Island fashion, though with a little touch of the Spanish. Before that Ricaredo came, there came another, who told the Queene that Ricaredo was come. Isabella hearing the name of Ricaredo, began to change colour, and seemed to bee somewhat troubled, and in that very instant did feare and hope, both the evill and good successe of his comming.

Ricaredo was [...]ll of stature, a gentleman, and well pro­portioned, and for that hee came Armed with his Gor­get, Corsele [...], and Powderns, all Millaine worke, richly gilded and ingraven, it became him extreamely well▪ and did please the eyes of the beholders. He had no Caske on his head, but abroad [...] hat of a Lyon colour, with a great large feather, diversified with a few different colours; abroad shortf [...]ord by his side, a very rich girdle and hun­gers, a [...]d his breeches somewhat large, and full, like unto those of the S [...]zzers.

Being thus ac [...]utered, what with the goodlinesse of his p [...]sence, and statelinesse of his gate; some were so taken their with, that they compared him to M [...]s the god of Warre; [...] taken with the beautifulnesse of his [Page 232] countenance compared him to Venus, who for to put a jeast upon Mars, had put this disguise upon him. In con­clusion, he came before the Queene, and humbling him­selfe on his knee, he sayd unto her.

Most renowned, and redoubted Soveraigne, in the strength of your good fortune, and in the consecution of my desire; after that our Generall the Lord of Lansac was dead of an Apoplexie, I succeeding in his place (thankes be rendered therefore to your Majestie) I lighted by chance on two Turkish gallies, which went towing away that great shippe which I have now brought home, and lyes not far off safe in the roade. I did set upon them, your Souldiers fought as they alwaies use to do, very manfully; we sunck both the Turkish Vessells, and in one of ours, I gave in your Majesties royall name libertie to the Christians, which escaped out of the hands of the Turkes. Onely I brought along with me one man, and a woman, both Spanyards; who out of their owne liking and election, were wonderfully desirous to come with me into our Island, that they might see the greatnesse of your Maje­sties Person, and Court. That shippe which is now yours, is a Portugal, one of those great Carricks which come from the East-Indies, the which by a storme came to fall into the power of the Turkes; who with little trouble, or to say better, none at all, made her to yeeld her selfe unto them; and as I am informed by some of those Portugals that came in her, she is worth above a Million in gold, and Spice, and other rich Merchandize of Pearles, and Diamonds, which are in her, whereof nothing hath hitherto beene toucht, neither did the Turkes come to finger any thing therein; because Heaven hath dedicated i [...] wholy unto you, and I have commanded it to bee kept and reserved whole and entire for your Majestie▪ which with one jew­ell onely that your Majestie shall be pleased to bestow up­on mee, I shall remaine indebted for ten such other ships. Which jewell your Majestie hath alreadie promised mee, [Page 233] which is, my good Isabella. With her I shall rest rich, and rewarded; not onely for this service that I have done your Ma [...]estie, but for many other which I meane to doe, for to pay some part of that great, if not infinite worth, which in this jewell your Majestie offereth me.

Arise Ricaredo (replied the Queene) and beleeve mee, that if I should upon a price give you Isabella according to that valew I esteeme her at, you would never bee able to pay it, neither with that which you have brought home in this shippe, nor with all that treasure which re­maineth in the Indies. Well, I will give her you, because I made you a promise of her, and because she is worthy of you, and you of her, your valour onely doth deserve her. And if you have kept those jewells of the Shippe for mee▪ I have likewise kept this your jewell for you. And albeit it may seeme unto you that I have not done any great mat [...]er for you, in returning you that which is your owne▪ yet I know that I doe you an especiall favour therein; for those pledges that are bought by our desires, and have their estemation and value in the soule of the buyer, they are worth a World, there being no price that can countervaile it. Isabella is yours, there shee is; and when you will your selfe, you may take possession of her, and I beleeve with her good liking and content; for shee is discreet, and knowes well how to weigh the friendshippe which you doe her, for I will not style it by the name of favour, but friendshippe; for I will take that name onely upon mee of doing favours. Goe, and take your ease, and come and waite upon Vs to morrow, and then will I more particularly heare you relate unto Vs what you did in this▪ Voyage, and how valiantly you beha­ved yourselfe. And bring those two with you, who you say were so willing to come and see Vs, that We may than [...] them for their love.

Ricaredo thanked her Majesty for the many favours she had [Page 234] done him. And then the Queen presently left the Gallerie, and retyred her selfe. And the Ladies came round about Ricaredo; and one of them which held great love and friend­ship with Isabella▪ called the Ladie Tansi; accounted the dis­creetest, the wittiest, and pleasantest amongst them, sayd unto Ricaredo, what meanes this Ricaredo? what Armes are these? Did you happily imagine that you came to fight with your enemies? beleeve mee, wee all here are your friends, unlesse it be Isabella; who for that she is a Spanyard, is bound not to heare you any good will. Sure (my La­die Tansi) shee beares mee [...]me; for since that she hath mee in her remembrance (sayd Ricaredo) I know that her good will is towardes mee; for the foulnesse of being unthankefull, cannot have the least footing in her so great worth, understanding, and incomparable beautie.

Whereunto Isabella replied, Signior Ricaredo, since that I am to bee yours, it is in your power to take all satis­faction whatsoever you will of me, that I may make you some small requitall of those undeserved praises which you have given me, and of those further favours which you intend to doe me.

These and other the like honest discour [...]ngs, Ricaredo passed with Isabella, and with the rest of the Ladies; a­mongst which, there was [...] prettie little Damosell, young both in growth, and yeares, who did nothing but gaze upon Ricaredo all the while hee was there; shee lifted up his [...]ases, to see if hee had any thing un­der them; shee tampered with his sword, and in a Childish simplicitie, would make his glittering Armour her looking Glasse, comming very neere thinking to see her face in them. And when shee went away from him▪ turning her selfe to the Ladies, shee sayd; Now (Ladies) I assure you, I imagine that War is a most beautifull thing; since that even amongst Women ar­ [...] m [...]n looke lovely. And [...]ow can they otherwise [Page 235] chuse? (replied the Ladie Tansi) if not, looke upon Ricaredo, who lookes like the Sunne, come downe from Heaven on earth, and in that habite goes walking up and downe amongst us. They all of them laughed at the little Maydes simplicitie, and no lesse at the ridiculous Roda­mantado of the Ladie Tansi. And some murmurers were not wanting, who held it an impertinencie, that Ri­caredo should come armed to Court. Though other some sought as much to excuse him, saying; that as a Souldier hee might doe it, for to show his braverie and gallantrie.

Ricaredo was by his Parents, friends, kinsfolke, and ac­quaintance received, with lively expressions of singular love and affection. And that night there were made gene­rall bonfires throughout Mundolin, and other publick tokens of their joy. The father and mother of Isabella were alreadie in Clotaldo's house, whom Ricaredo had acquainted who they were; but entreated his Parents that they might not have any the least notice given them of Isabella, till that hee him­selfe should give it them; the like advise was given to all the servants of the house.

That very night, accompanied with many boats, bar­ges, and barques, and with no fewer eyes to looke on them. The great Ship began to discharge her lading, which in eight dayes could not bee disburthened of her Pepper, and other rich Merchandize which she had in her bulke. The next day after Ricaredo went to Court, carrying with him the father and mother of Isabella, both of them being newly clad after the fashion of Mundolin, telling them that the Queene desired to see them.

They came all of them where the Queene was sitting a­midst her Ladies expecting Ricaredo, whom she was wil­ling to grace and favour, by placing Isabella next to her, having on the same attyre and dressing which shee wore when shee came first to the Court; appearing therein no lesse beautifull now, then shee did th [...] [Page 236] The Parents of Isabella wer strucken with admiration and wonder, to see so much greatnesse, and braverie met toge­ther. They setled their eyes on Isabella, but did not know her, though their hearts (presagers of that good which was so neere them) began to leape in their bosomes; not out of any sudden passion that might cause sorrow or grief in them, but out of I know not what pleasure and con­tentment, which they could not hit upon to understand aright.

The Queene would not suffer Ricaredo to continue knee­ling before her, but made him rise, and willed him to sit downe in a velvet chayre, which was by her appointment set there for that purpose; an unusuall favour, considering the stately condition of the Queene. And one whispered in anothers [...]are, Ricaredo sits not on the chayre which was brought him, but on the Pepper which hee brought in. Another say's unto him that stood by him; now is that old Proverbe verified, Que dadivas, que brantan pennas, that gifts will breake through stone walls; for those that Ricaredo hath given her Majestie, hath softned and mollified our Queens hard heart. Another tells his next fellow, now that hee is well seated, more hands then two must go to it to heave him out.

In conclusion, from that grace and honour which the Queene was pleased to doe Ricaredo; envie tooke occasion to grow in many of those Courtiers breasts, who were eye-witnesses of this her Majesties extraordinary favour extended towards him. For there is not that favour which a Prince confers on his Favourite, which is not a speare that pierceth the heart of the envious.

The Queene was desirous to know from Ricaredo, point by point, how that fight passed with the Turkish Pirates Gallies; hee recounted it a new, attributing the victorie to God, and the valour of his Souldiers; endearing the ser­vices of them all joyntly▪ and particularizing the valiant acts of some of them, who had put themselves most for­ward, [Page 237] and done her Majestie very notable service; wher­hee oblieged the Queene to doe all of them favours, and in particular, those particular persons.

And when he began to speake of the libertie which in her Maiesties name he had given the Turkes, and Christians, hee sayd unto her. That Woman, and that Man who stand there (pointing to Isabella's Parents) are they whom yesterday I told your Maiestie, who out of the great de­sire which they had to see your greatnesse, and magnifi­cence; did so earnestly entreate mee that I would bring them along with mee. They are of Cadiz, and by that which they have told me, and by that likewise which I have seene and observed in them, I know that they are of espe­ciall ranke, and worth.

The Queene commanded them that they should draw neere unto her; Isabella lifted up her eyes that shee might see these who sayd they were Spainyards, and more particu­larly of Cadiz; out of a desire that she had to learne if hap­pily they knew her Parents. And just as Isabella lifted up her eyes, her Mother fixed hers upon her, and stood still a while, that she might view and behold her the more at­tentively. And on the other side there began to be awake­ned in Isabella's memorie, some certaine confused notions, which gave her to understand, that heretofore she had seen that Woman which stood before her. Her Father was in the like confusion, without daring to determine to give credit to that truth which his eyes represented un­to him.

Ricaredo was very attentive to see and observe the affecti­ons and motions of these three doubtfull and perplexed soules, which were so confounded and amazed, between the yea and nay of knowing each other. The Queen tooke notice of both their suspensions, as also of Isabella's distra­ctions, by her inter-while sweatings, by her changing colour, and by her lifting up her hand to order and com­pose her [...]ayre.

[Page 238] Isabella thus troubled, not knowing well what to thinke of it, did earnestly wish that shee would speake, whom she imagined might be her Mother; for perad venture her eares would put her out of that doubt whereinto her eies had put her. The Queene willed Isabella that she should speake. Spainish to that woman, and that man; and they should tell her what was the cause that moved them not to accept and enioy that their libertie which Ricaredo had given them; being that libertie is a thing above all other, the dearest and best beloved, not onely of reasonable crea­tures, but of those that want it. All this Isabella deman­ded of her Mother, who without returning her any one word, suddenly, and halfe stumbling for haste, came un­to Isabella; and without regarding respect, feare, or the Courtiers looking on her, with her hand she lifted up Isa­bella's right eare, and having there discovered a black mole; which marke confirmed her suspition, and plainely per­ceiving that it was her Daughter Isabella, she could no lon­ger containe her selfe, but embracing her, cried out aloud, saying; Oh Daughter of my heart! Oh deare pledge of my soule! and not being able to utter a word more; her speech fayling, she fainted and fell into a swound in Isa­bella's armes.

Her Father no lesse tender then prudent, gave manifest signes how sensible he was of all this; but with no other words then a silent shedding of teares, which softly trick­ling downe bedewed both his cheekes, and beard. Isabella layd her face to that of her Mother, and turning her eyes towards her Father, in such a kinde of manner looked on him, that thereby shee gave him to understand the pleasure and contentment her soule tooke in seeing them there.

The Queene wondering at this so rare and strange an accident, sayd to Ricaredo; I conceive (Ricaredo) that this interview was thus preordered in your discretion; but I must tell you, I know not whether you did well in so [Page 239] doing. For we see by experience, that a sudden joy as soon kills, as a sudden sorrow. And having said this, she turned her selfe to Isabella, and tooke her apart from her Mother, who having a little water sprinkled in her face, came again to her selfe; and calling her wits a little better about her, humbling her selfe on her knees before the Queene, she [...] sayd unto her.

I beseech your Majestie to pardon my boldnes, for it is no mervaile that I should forget my selfe, and lose my sen­ces, with the overmuch joy I have received in the finding out this my beloved pledge.

The Queene made answer, that she had a great deale of reason on her side (making use of an Interpreter that she might the better understand her.)

Isabella came in this manner (as I told you before) to the knowledge of her Parents, and her Parents of her; whom the Queene commanded to reside in the Court, to the end that they might with the better leisure, both see, and talke with their Daughter, and rejoyce and make merry with her. Wherewith Ricaredo was wonderfull well pleased, and craved a new of the Queene, that she would be pleased to make good her promise, by bestowing Isabella upon him, in case hee did deserve her; and if not, hee humbly be­sought her Majestie, that shee would bee pleased present­ly to put him upon some other employment, that might make himselfe worthie of obtaining that which he so ear­nestly desired.

The Queene understood very well, that Ricaredo rested well satisfied of himselfe, and of his great valour; inso­much that there needed not onely new proofes for to qua­lifie him. And therefore told him, that foure dayes from that present being fully ended, she would deliver Isabella unto him, doing both of them all the grace and honour she possible could. Vpon this answer, Ricaredo tooke his leave, being the most joyfull, and most contented [...] i [...] the world; transported with that neere [...] which [...] [Page 240] now had of having Isabella in his power, without any feare of losing her, which is the last and utmost desire of Lovers.

Time ranne, but not with that light and nimble foot as hee wished. For they who live by the hope of pro­mise to come; doe evermore imagine, that time doth not flye with wings swift enough, but that he hath lead tyed to his heeles, and treads the steps of slothfulnesse it selfe.

Well, at last came that desired day, not wherein Ricaredo thought to put an end to his desires, but to finde in Isabella new graces which might move him to love her the more, if more he could, then he did alreadie. But in that short time, when as he thought the shippe of his good fortune sayled with a prosperous winde towards the desired Port; a contrary chance, and crosse accident, raised up in this calme sea such a tempestuous storme, that he feared a thou­sand times to see it suncke.

The case then is this. The chiefe Bed chamber Ladie to the Queene, to whose charge Isabella was committed; had a Sonne of the age of 22. yeares, called the Earle of Arnesto. The greatnesse of his estate, the noblenesse of his bloud, and the great favour which his Mother held with the Queene, made him not onely doe those things which did not become him, and to breake out into excesses; but also made him arrogant, proud, haughtie, and confi­dent of himselfe.

This Arnesto then was enamoured of Isabella, and so en­s [...]edly▪ that his very soule did burne in the sparkeling light of Isabella's eyes. And albeit in that time that Ricaredo was absent, he had by some signes discovered his desires; [...] was he never admitted by Isabella, or received any the least incouragement. And how be it that repugnancie, and disdaines in loves infane ie, are wont to make lovers to de­sist from their enterprize; yet in Arnesto, the many and knowne disdaines which Isabella shewed him, wrought [Page 241] the cleane contrary; for hee was set on fire with his owne jealousies, and burned with desire to attempt her honestie.

And for that he saw that Ricaredo in the Queens opinion had deserved Isabella, and that within so little a while she was to be given unto him for Wife, he was ready to runne into despaire, and to offer violence to himselfe. But before that he would goe about to use so infamous and cowardly a remedie, hee brake with his Mother, entreating her that she would speake unto the Queene to give him Isabella to bee his Wife; which if shee did not bring to passe, that he would then have her to know, and assuredly beleeve, that death stood knocking at the doores of his life.

The Mother wondred to heare such words fall from her Sonne, and for that she knew the roughnesse of his harsh nature, and head-strong condition, and the fastnesse wherewith these desires did cleave unto his soule, she was afrayd that this his love would end in some sinister successe, and unhappie issue; yet not­withstanding, as a Mother (to whom it is naturall to desire and procure the good of her Children,) shee promised to preferre his pretension to the Queene, though not with any hope to obtaine such an impossibilitie of her, as the breaking of her Princely word; but that shee might not omit to try in so desperate a case the utmost remedie.

And Isabella being that morning apparrelled by or­der from the Queene, so richly, that my Penne dares not presume to deliver the manner thereof unto you; and the Queene her selfe having put a chaine of Pearle about her necke, the best that was brought home by Ricaredo in the Shippe, valewed at twenty thou­sand Duckats; and a Diamond Ring on her finger worth sixe thousand or thereabouts. And the Ladies being assembled and met together for to celebrate [Page 242] the approaching feast of this glorious wedding, came in the chiefe Bed-chamber woman to the Queene▪ and besought her on her knees that shee would bee plea­sed to suspend Isabella's espousalls two dayes more. For with this favour onely which her Majestie should doe her, she should hold her selfe well satisfied and re­compenced for all whatsoever she deserved, or hoped for her service.

The Queene would first know of her why shee did so earnestly desire this suspension, which went so directly a­gainst her word, which she had given to Ricaredo. But that Ladie would not render her the reason, untill that she had granted her requeste; and that then shee would make it knowne unto her. The Queene longed to know the cause of that her demand. And therefore after that the Lady had obtained that which she much desired, shee recounted to her Majestie the love that her Son bare to Isabella; and how that she feared that if she were not given him to wife, he will either grow desperate to his utter undoing, or doe some scandalous act or other. And that whereas shee had craved those two dayes of delaying the businesse, it was only to this end and purpose, that her Majestie might have time to thinke upon some course, what might in her Ma­jesties wisedome be most sit and convenient for her Sons good.

The Queene made answer, that if she had not past unto her her royall word, she would easily have found a way to get out of that laborinth. But that shee would neither breake her promise with her nor yet defraud Ricaredo of his hopes, for all the interess of the World.

This answer the Ladie of the Bed-chamber gave her Sonne, who flying instantly from his Mother, [...]rying in the flames of love and jealousie▪ armed himselfe at all points; and being mounted upon a faire and strong limmed Horse, pr [...]ented himselfe before the house of [...]. [Page 243] And with aloud voice, requested that Ricaredo would come to the window that hee might speake a word with him▪ who at that instant was all in his gallantrie, like a bride­groome, and was even upon the point of going to Court, with such company as such a solemnitie required. But ha­ving heard a loud call, and being told who he was that cal­led unto him, and in what kinde of fashion he came; be­ing somewhat troubled with it, he came to the window; whom as soone as Arnesto saw, he sayd unto him.

Ricaredo, hearken well unto that which I shall now tell thee. My Mistresse the Queene commanded thee to goe forth in her service, and to doe such noble exploits as should make thee worthie of deserving, the not to be pa­ralelled, incomparable Isabella. Thou didst goe, and re­turnedst with thy shippes laden with gold, wherewith thou thinkst that thou hast bought, and deserved Isabella. And albeit the Queene my Mistresse hath promised her unto thee; it was as being perswaded, that there was not any one in Court that hath done her better service, nor any that with better title may deserve Isabella; and herein it may very well bee that she was deceived. And therefore leaning to this opinion, which I hold for an ap­proved▪ truth, I tell thee; that thou hast neither done such things as may make thee to deserve Isabella; neither canst thou doe any which may be able to raise thee to so great a heighth of happinesse. And therefore in regard that thou nor doest, nor canst deserve her; if thou shalt avouch the contrary, I challenge thee the field, and defie thee to the death. And here the Earle ended his speech; and Rica­redo made answer thereunto after this manner.

This challenge (my Lord) doth in no manner of wife concerne mee; for I ingeniously confesse, that I not one­ly not deserve Isabella; but that there is not that man [...] living in the world that doth deserve her. So that I confes­sing that to be true which you say, this your challenge [...] way toucheth me; yet notwithstanding I accept of it, for [Page 244] that your insolencie, and indiscretion which you have showen in this your challenging of me.

And with this he withdrew himself from the window, and called in all haste for his Armes. This unexpected crosse accident much troubled his Parents, and all those that were come to Clotaldo's house, to accompany Ricaredo to the Court.

Amongst those many that had seene the Earle Arnesto armed, and had heard the challenge he had made; there were not some wanting who acquainted the Queen there­with. Who commanded the Captaine of her Guard that he should go presently and apprehend the Earle. The Cap­taine made such good haste, that he came just in the very nicke, when as Ricaredo was going out of his house, armed with those armes wherein he disimbarqued, being moun­ted on a goodly Horse.

When the Earle saw the Captaine of the Guard, he forth­with imagined the cause of his comming; and determi­ned (if possibly he could avoyd it) not to be apprehended. And speaking aloud to Ricaredo, sayd.

Thou now feest (Ricaredo) the impediment which hin­ders us from deciding this quarrell. If (notwithstanding this interruption) thou shalt have a minde to chastise mee, thou wilt seeke after me▪ and I shall have the like minde to chastise thee, and seeke likewise after thee; and since two that seeke after each other, are easily found; let the execution of our desires [...]urecase for the present.

Content, replied Ricaredo.

By this time the Captain was come in with all the Guard, and told the Earle that he must yeeld himselfe his Priso­ner; for in her Majesties name he was to apprehend him▪ The Earle yeelded himselfe unto him; and told the Captain that he submitted himselfe to her Majesties Command; but with this condition, that he should not carry him to to any otherplace, save the Queenes Presence.

[Page 245]The Captaine remained therewith satisfied, and carry­ing him in the midst of the Guard, brought him to Court before the Queene. Who had alreadie been informed by his Mother, of the great love which her Sonne bare to Isabella; and with teares besought her Majestie that shee would pardon the Earle, who being a young man, and deepely in love, was lyable to farre greater errours. Arnesto was brought before the Queene, who without entertai­ning any speech with him, commanded his sword to be taken from him, and afterwards sent him to Prison.

All these things tormented the heart of Isabella, as like­wise of her Parents, who so suddenly saw the sea of their quietnesse troubled.

The Ladie of the Bed-chamber, Arnesto's Mother advised the Queene, that for to remove that mischiefe betwixt her house, and that of Ricaredo, that the cause thereof might be taken away; which was Isabella, by sending her into Spaine, and so those effects would cease, which now were to be feared.

Whereunto the Queen answered; that for the sending of her into Spaine, she should treate no more on that point; because her faire presence, and her many graces and ver­tues▪ gave her great content; and that doubtlesse, if not that very day, the next following, without all faile shee would marry her to Ricaredo, according to the promise she had made him.

With this resolution of the Queenes; Arnesto's Mother was so disheartened and discomforted, that shee replied not so much as one word. And approving that for good, which she had alreadie forecasted in her minde, that there was no other way, no other meanes in the world, for the mo [...]ifying of that rigorous condition of her Sonne, nor for the reducing of Ricaredo to tearmes of peace, save by [...]aking away of Isabella. She determined to put in practise one of the greatest cruelties that could ever enter into the thought of any noble woman, and especially so prin­cipall [Page 246] a one as she was. And this her determination was, to make away Isabella by poyson. And because it is com­monly the condition of women to be speedy, and resolute in what they goe about; that very evening she gave Isabella poyson in a certain Conserve, forcing her in a manner to take it, telling her that it was excellent good against those passions of the heart, wherewith shee seemed to bee troubled.

Having satisfied her importunitie, within a little while after that Isabella had taken it, her tongue and her throate began to swell, and her lippes to grow blacke, her voyce hoarse, her eies troubled, and her stomacke and bowells tormented with gripings; all manifest signes and tokens that she was poysoned.

The Ladies came to the Queene, acquainting her Ma­jestie how it was with her; and certifying her, how that the Ladie of her bed-chamber who had the charge of Isa­bella, had done her this ill office. There needed not much pressing to induce the Queene to beleeve that it was true; and therefore went presently to see Isabella, who was almost breathing her last.

The Queene commanded her Phisitians should be sent for in all haste, and in the meane▪ while before they came, she caused a quantitie of the powder of Vnicornes-horne to be given her, and some other preservatives▪ against poyson, which great Princes use alwaies to have readie at hand, up­on the like cases of necessitie. The Phisitians came and ap­plied their best remedies, and besought the Queene that shee would bee pleased to cause that Ladie of her Bed­chamber to make knowne unto them what kinde of poy­son that was which she had given her; for it was not to be doubted that any other person but her selfe had poyso­ned her. She did discover what shee had given her; and having notice of it, the Phisitians applied so many and such effectuall remedies, that by the in and Gods helping hand, Isabella remained with life, or at least in good hope of ha­ving it.

[Page 247]The Queene commanded her Bed-chamber woman to be apprehended, and to be lockt up in a streight and narrow lodging in her Court, with intention to punish her according to the nature and qualitie of this her soule offence. Although that she sought to excuse her selfe by saying, that in killing Isabella she did sacrifice to the gods, by ridding the earth of a Christian; and together with her, removing the occasion of her Sonnes further quarrells.

This sad newes being brought to Ricaredo, made him al­most out of his wits; such were the things he did, and such were the complaints he made.

In conclusion Isabella did not lose her life, yet the poyson had gotten that power over her, that she lost the hayre of her head, and of her eye-browes, her face was strangely pufft up, the graine of her skinne spoyled, her complexion marred, her whole body mightily swolne, and her eyes distilling watry humours. In a word, she was growne so soule and ill favoured; that she, who till then seemed to be a miracle of beautie, did now seeme to be a monster of uglinesse. And they who knew her before, held it the greater misfortune of the two, that she remained in this evill plight, then if she had dyed of the poyson. Not­withstanding all this, Ricaredo sued a new unto the Queene for her, and besought her Majestie that she would give him leave to carry her home to his house, because the love which he bare her, passed from his bodie to his soule; yet comforted himselfe with this, that though Isabella had lost her beauty, yet could she not lose her infinite vertues.

Thou say o [...]t crue, replyed the Queene, goe take her home with thee Ricaredo, and make account that thou carryest with thee a most rich jewell in a course case. I would have given her as sayre to thee, as thou deliveredst her un­to me. But since this is not possible▪ forgive me that faul [...] ▪ happily the chastisement which I shall give to the com [...] of this soule [...], shall in part satisfie thy desire of [...]nge.

[Page 248]Many things did Ricaredo say unto the Queen, seeking to excuse the Ladie of her Bed-chamber, beseeching her Ma­jestie to pardon her, since that the reasons she alleadged in her excuse, were sufficient for to move her to forgive her greater excesses then these.

In conclusion, Isabella and her Parents were delivered unto him, and Ricaredo carried them home, I meane to his Fathers house. To those rich Pearles, and that Dia­mond, the Queene added other jewells, and other chan­ges of rayment; which were such, and so costly, that they discovered the great love which she bare to Isabella, who remained for the space of two moneths, without being able to be reduced to her former beautie. But the time being past, her skinne beganne to peele and fall away, and a fayre and smoothe graine of skinne to disclose it selfe.

In this interim, Ricaredo's Parents presuming that it was not possible that Isabella should become the same woman which heretofore she was; resolved to send for that Nor­thern Damosell, with whom before that ever they treated with Isabella, Ricaredo (by agreement) was to marry. And all this they did without his knowledge, not doubting, but that the present beautie of this new bride, would blot out of his Sonnes remembrance, that of Isabella, which was now past; whom either they purposed to send into Spaine, together with her Father and Mother, giving them such store of wealth and riches, as should fully recompence their former received losses▪

There passed not above a moneth and a halfe, when as without Ricaredo's privitie, the new spouse entred within his Fathers doores, accompanied like her selfe, very well, and so fayre and beautifull a creature, that next to Isabella, when she was in her prime, there was not the like unto her in all [...]dclin. Ricaredo was mightily startled with the sudden and unexpected sight of the Damosell, and feared least the suddennesse of her comming▪ would put Isabella [Page 249] into some passion, and make an end of her life. And ther­fore, for to remove this feare, he went to the beds-side where Isabella lay; and finding her onely accompanied with her Father and Mother before them, he spake unto her after this manner.

Isabella of my soule; my Parents out of the great love which they beare unto mee, being not as yet well infor­med of that exceeding love which I still beare unto thee, have brought a Damosell into this house, with home they have treated and concluded to marry mee, before that I should know the worth that is in thee, or that thou shouldst recover thy lost health. And this they have done (as I verily beleeve) with intention, that the great beautie of this Damosell should blot thine out of my soule, which is therein so deepely engraven. I (Isabella) from the very instant that I lov'd thee, it was with ano­ther kind of love then that which hath its ayme, and end, in satisfying the sensuall appetite. For albeit, that thy corporall beautie did captivate my sences; yet thy infinite vertues were they which imprisoned my soule; so that if being fayre I did love thee, being now foule I adore thee. And for the further confirming of this truth, give me this hand, and she giving him her right hand, and and he holding it fast in his, prosecuted his speech, saying. By that faith which my Christian Parents taught mee; and by that true God who heareth what we say, I pro­mise thee (my deare Isabella) the one halfe of my heart, I vow my selfe thy Husband, and am so even from this very houre, if thou wilt rayse me to that heighth of hap­pinesse to be thine.

Isabella remained in some suspence upon these words of Ricaredo, and her Parents amazed and astonished, she knew not what to say, nor doe any other thing, save her often kissing of Ricaredo's hand, and telling him with a voice intermingled with teares, that she accepted him for hers, and rendered her selfe to bee his servant. Ricaredo kissed [Page 250] that her foule face, which when it was fayre, he durst never presume to touch. Isabella's Parents with tender and many teares solemnize this nuptiall feast. Ricaredo told them, that he would put off his marrying with the Nor­therne Damosell which was now in the house, in such manner as he would hereafter give them to understand. And in case that his Parents should send all three of them into Spaine, that they should not decline it, but by all means get them goe; and that they should looke for him within two yeares, either in Cadiz, or Sevilla; assuring them in the word of a Gentleman, that ere that time were expired, hee would not fayleto bee with them, if Heaven should so long lend him life: and that if the time prefixed should be preterlapsed, they should then rest assured, that some great impediment or death, which was the more certaine, had crossed his intended journey.

Isabella made him answere, that shee would not stay onely two yeares for him, but all those of his life, till that she were truely certified, that he had left this life. And that, in that instant that this should come to her knowledge, the same likewise would be her death.

With these kinde words, fresh teares fell from them all. And Ricaredo went and told his Parents, that he would by no meanes be marryed, nor give his hand to the Northern Damosell to be his Spouse, till he had quieted his minde by a yeares travell. He knew well how to expresse him­selfe, and gave them such good reasons for it; as likewise to the Parents that came with Clisterna (for that was the Damosells name) that being (as they were) all Christians, they did easily give credit unto them; and Clisterna was contented to remaine in her Father in Lawes house, till Ricaredo should returne, who craved a yeares time.

This being thus concluded and greed upon, Clotaldo told Ricaredo, how that hee was resolved to send Isabella and her Parents to Spaine, if the Queene would give him [Page 251] leave so to doe. For (sayd he) peradventure the ayre of her own Countrey will hasten and facilitate her health, which she now beganne to recover. Ricaredo, that he might not give any the least inckling of his designes, answered (though but coldly) his Father, that he should doe that which seemed best in his owne eyes; onely he besought him, that he would not take ought of those riches from Isabella, which the Queene had bestowed on her. Clotaldo promised he would not; and that very day hee went to crave license of the Queene, as well for the marrying of his Son to Clisterna, as for the sending of Isabella with her fa­ther and mother into Spaine.

The Queen was well contented with both his requests, and approved Clotaldo's determination. And that very day, without calling her Bed-chamber woman in question▪ She dismissed her of her service, and condemned her (be­sides the losse of her place) in ten thousand Crownes to Isabella. And the Earle Arnesto, for his challenging of Ricaredo, She banished him for sixe yeares. Foure dayes were scarce spent and gone; but that Arnesto was upon the point to go to cumply with his banishment, having alreadie taken order for the returning of his money.

The Queene commanded a rich Merchant to come unto her that dwelt in Mundolin, who had very good correspon­dencie in France, Italy, and Spaine; to whom She delivered ten thousand Crownes, and required of him bills of ex­change, for the returning of them to Isabella's Father in Sevilla, or in any other part of Spaine. The Merchant dis­counting his interrest and profit, told the Queene that he would make certaine and sure payment of them in Sevilla, by bills of exchange upon another French Merchant, his correspondent, in this manner and forme, viz That hee would write to Paris, to the end, that the bills might bee made there by another correspondent of his, because they would accept and allow of those that came from France, but not from this Island; by reason of the prohibition [Page 252] of commerce betwixt those two kingdomes▪ [...] that a letter of advice from him should serve the turne, by [...] marke that passed between them two; and that with­out any more adoe the Merchant of Sevilla should give him the moneys, who should bee advised thereof [...]om Paris.

In fine, the Queene tooke such good securitie of the Merchant, that she made no doubt of the true payment of it. And not contenting herselfe with this, She sent for the Master of a Flemish shippe that lay in the River, and was to put forth the day following for France, onely to take testimonie thereof in some Port, that hee might bee the better able to passe into Spaine, under the title of com­ming from France, and not from the Island; whom shee earnestly entreated to carry with him in his shippe Isabella, and her Parents, and that hee should use them well and kindly, and land them in Spaine at the very first place hee should come at on that Coast.

The Master who desired to give the Queene content­ment, told her that he would doe it, and that he would land them either in Lisborne, Cadiz, or Sevilla. Having taken sufficient securitie of the Merchant, and assurance from the Master; the Queene by way of message, sent unto Clotaldo, that he should not take any thing of that away from Isabella which She had given her, as well in jewells as in clothes.

The next day came Isabella, with her Father and Mother to take their leave of the Queene, who received them with a great deale of love. The Queene gave them the Merchants letter, and many other gifts, as well in money, as other curious dainties for their voyage. And Isabella with such courtshippe thanked her Majestie, that she left the Queene a new oblieged unto her, for to continue her favours still towards her. She tooke her leave likewise of the Ladies; who now that she was growne disfigured, would not that shee should have left them, seeing them­selves [Page 253] free from that envie which they bare unto her beau­tie, and would have beene very well content to enjoy her gifts of wit, and discretion. The Queene embraced all three of them, and recommending them to their good fortune, and to the Master of the Shippe; and desiring Isabella to advertise Her, of her safe arrivall in Spaine, and from time to time, of her well-fare, by the way of the French Merchant; She tooke her leave of Isabella, and her Parents; who that very evening Imbarqued themselves, not without the teares of Clotaldo, and his Wife, and of all those of the House, of whom shee was extreamely beloved.

At this their taking of their leaves, Ricaredo was not pre­sent, who that hee might not make show of his tender heartednesse, and manifest his sorrow; procured some of his friends to goe abroad that day a hunting with him. The Regalos which the Ladie Catalina gave Isabella for her voyage were many, her embracings infinite, her teares in a­boundance; her entreatings that shee would write often unto her, without number. And the thankes rendered by Isabella and her Parents, were answerable thereunto; so that though weeping, they left each other well satisfied.

That night the ship hoysed sayle, and having with a pro­sperous gale of winde touched upon the coast of France; and there taking in such provisions as were necessary for their voyage into Spaine; within 30. dayes after they entred the barre of Cadiz, where Isabella and her Parents dis-imbarqued themselves. And being knowne by all those of the Citie, they received them with expressions of much content. They received a thousand parabienes of the finding out of Isabella, and of the liberty which they had gotten, being first captivated by the Moores, and afterwards by the Northern Islanders. Having beene made acquainted with all the pas­sages of that businesse, by those Captives whom the libe­ralitie of Ricaredo had set free.

Now Isabella in the meane while began to give great [Page 254] hopes of returning to recover her former beauty. They re­mained but a little more then a moneth in Cadiz▪ refreshing themselves of their wearinesse in their voyage; and then they went to Sevilla, for to see whether the payment would prove good of the tenne thousand Crownes▪ which were to bee put to the account of the French Merchant, who had undertaken for to see it disbursed. Two dayes after their arrivall at Sevilla, they enquired after him, and found him, and gave him the French Merchants letter, he did acknowledge the bill; but told them, that untill he had received letters from Paris, and a letter of advise, hee could not let them have the money, but yet that he looked every moment to be advertised thereof.

Isabella's Parents had hyred a very fayre house, right over against Santa Paula; by reason that there was a Nunne in that Monasterie, a neere kinswoman of theirs, who had the on­ly rare and sweetest voyce in all Spaine; as well that they might be neere unto her, as also for that Isabella had told Ricaredo, that if he should come to seeke her, he should find her in Sevilla; and that her Cosen the Nunne of Santa Paula would direct him to her house. And that for to know where to finde her, he needed not to give himselfe any fur­ther trouble, then to enquire after that Nunne which had the best voyce in the Monasterie, because this token could not easily be forgotten.

It was forty dayes, before letters of advise came from Paris, and within two dayes after they were come, the French Merchant delivered the ten thousand Crownes to Isabella, and she them to her Parents; and with them, and some other which they had got together, by selling some of those many of Isabella's jewells; Her Father began again to follow his trade of Merchandize, not without the ad­miration of those who knew his great losses.

In conclusion, within a few monethes, he went repay­ring his lost credit, and Isabella's beautie returned to it's former perfection. Insomuch, that when any speech was [Page 255] had of fayre Women, all of them gave the Laurell to the North Isle Spaniard, who was as well known by this name, as she was for her beautie throughout the whole Citie.

By the order of the French Merchant of Sevilla, Isabella, and her Parents writ letters to the Queene of the North Isle, of their safe arrivall in Spaine; with such acknowledg­ments, and submissions at her Majesties feet, as the many favours from her received, did require. They likewise writ to Clotaldo, and to his Ladie Catalina, Isabella styling them her Father and Mother, and her father and mother them their lords. From the Queen they received no answer, but from Clotaldo and his Wife, they did; whom in their letters gave them the parabien of their safe arrivall. Certifying them besides, how that their Son Ricaredo the next day after that they had hoised saile, was gone for France, and from thence to passe to some other parts of Christendome, whether it was fitting for him to go, for these ttling and securing of his conscience. Adding to these, other discourses and comple­ments of much love, and affection, besides many other fayr and friendly offers. To which letters of theirs, they made answere with another, no lesse couteous and loving, then thankefull.

Isabella presently imagined, that Ricaredo's leaving his Countrey, was to come to seeke her out in Spaine, and feed­ing her selfe with this hope, she beganne to lead the most contented life in the world, and studied to live in such sort, that when Ricaredo should come to Sevilla, he might sooner heare the good report that went of her vertues, then come to the knowledge of her house. Seldome or never did she goe out of doores, unlesse it were to the Monasterie; she reaped no benefit by any other Iubilees, save those which she gained by the Monasterie. From her house, and from her oratorie, she went more with her meditations, then her feet. She never visited the River, nor walked to the Triana; she never went to see the common pastimes in the field de Tablada▪ nor to see the parts of Xeres; nor to goe [Page 256] if it were a fayre day, to the feast of Saint Sebastia, celebra­ted by so many people, as can hardly bee reduced to any number. But spent all her whole time in retyrednesse, in prayers, and good desires, still looking for the comming of her Ricaredo.

This her great retyrednesse, did set on fire and inflame the desires, not onely of those young gallants of that street where she dwelt, but of all those that had but once had a sight of her. Hence grew night-musicke at her window, and day careers with their [...]ennets. And from this her not suffering her selfe to be seene, and from others much desi­ring to see her, encreased their seeking out of cunning Bawdes which were Mistresses in their Art, and promised to shew themselves no lesse in soliciting Isabella. And there were not some wanting, who endeavoured to bring this their wicked purpose to passe by witchcraft, charmes, sor­cerie, and the like lewd courses. But against all these, Isa­bella was like a rocke in the midst of the Sea, against which the waves and the windes dash and beate, but doe not move it.

A yeare and a halfe was now past, when the approach­ing hope of those two yeares promised by Ricaredo, began with more earnestnesse then hitherto it had done, to vexe and grieve the heart of Isabella. And whiles shee was now and then thinking with her selfe that her Husband was come, and that she had him before her eyes, and asked him what was the cause that hindered his comming, and had kept him so long from her. And while againe she imagi­ned the just excuses that Ricaredo made her for his long ab­sence, and how willingly she did beleeve, and receive them, and how lovingly shee embraced him in her armes, and hugged him in her bosome, as being the halfe part of her owne soule. Then, even then when she was thinking on these Love fancies, a letter came to her hands from the La­die Catalina, bearing date from Mundolin some 50. dayes since. It was written in the tongue of the Island, but shee [Page 257] reading it in Spanish, saw that it spake thus.

Daughter of my foule, thou knowest very well Guillarte [...] Page, he went along with him in this his journey. And by a Former of mine unto you, I advertised you, that Ricaredo made for France the second day after your depar­tu [...] ▪ and from thence was to travell farther. Now this his servant Guillarte at the end of sixteen moneths; in all which time, we had no newes of our Sonne, came home to us yesterday, and brought us these sad tydings, that the Earle Arnesto had by treacherie killed Ricaredo in France. Now then (Daughter) consider in what case his Father, my selfe, and his Spouse are in with this heavie newes; being such, I say, that they have not left us any hope of putting this our misfortune in doubt. That which Clotaldo, and my selfe entreate of you againe, and againe, is; that you will truely and earnestly remember Ricaredo, who well deserveth this good office from you, consi­dering how dearely hee loved you, as you your selfe best know. You shall likewise begge of God, that hee will give us patience, and bring us to a good death; to whom wee likewise will make the same request; and humbly beseech him, that hee will give unto you, and your Parents, many long and happie yeares of life.

By the letter, hand, and seale, there was not any the least doubt left to Isabella, for not giving credit to the death of her Husband. She knew very well his Page Guillarte, and knew that hee was true and trustie, and that in his owne nature hee hated a lye, and that he had no reason in the World for to feigne that his death; and as little, his Mother Ladie Catalina; being that it im­ported nothing to send her such sorrowfull newes. In conclusion, no discourse that shee could make with her selfe, nothing that shee could imagine, could put it ou [...] of her thought, that this unfortunate newes was not true.

[Page 258]Having ended the reading of her letter without s [...]ng a [...]are, and without shewing any signes of [...]ow▪ with a composed coun [...]nance, and with (to appearance) a quieted and contented minde, [...] a [...]se [...] the [...] where she [...] ▪ and kneeling downe [...] ▪ she ma [...] a solemne v [...]w to live a single li [...]e, [...] that [...] [...]ght lawfully doe it being now a widow.

Her Parents dissembled t [...]ir griefe, and covered that sorrow, with the cloake of discretion, which this sad [...]ewes had caused in them, that they might bee the better able to comfort Isabella in this bitternesse of her soule. Who being now as it were fully satisfied of her sorrow▪ moderating it with the resolution which shee had put on, she fell to comforting of her Parents, to whom shee discovered her intent. But they did advise her, that shee should not put it in execution, untill that those two yeares were over-past which Ricaredo had set downe for the tearme of his com­ming; for thereupon much depended the confirming of the [...]uth of Ricanedo's death, and shee might then with the more safetie and securitie, change this her estate.

Isabella followed their counsell, and the sixe moneths and a halfe which remained for the accomplishing of the two yeares, she spent them in the exercises of a religious Damosell; and for the better preparing and [...]itting of her selfe for her entring into the Monastery; having made choice of that of Santa Paula, where her Cosen was.

The tearme of the two yeares was expired, and the day was come wherein shee was to take upon her the habit; the newes whereof was spred throughout the whole Citie, amongst those who knew her by fight, and by those that knew her onely by repor [...] Now the Mo­nastery stood not far off from [...] house▪ and her farther [...]viting [...] friends▪ and they others▪ [...] had one of the noblest and most honourable train [...]s to accompany [Page 259] her thither, as in the like occasions was ever seen in Sevilla.

There accompanied her the Assistante, the Deane of the Church, and the Vicar-generall of the Arch-bishop, and all the Ladies and gentlemen of title and qualitie that were in the Citie; so great was the desire that all of them had, to see that sunne of Isabella's beautie, which had so many moneths beene ecclipsed. And because it is the custome and fashion of those Damosells which goe to take the habit, to bee as gallant and as bravely adorned as possibly they can devise; who as one, that ever after from that instant sets up her rest, and takes her leave and farewell of all braverie, and wholy discards it. Isabella was willing (that she might not breake so ancient a custome) to tricke and set forth her selfe in the best and most curious manner that possibly she could invent. And therefore she did put on that gowene and kir­tle, and those rich dressings which she had on when shee went to Court, which we have heretofore told you, how rich, how sightly, and how magnificent it was. There came forth to publicke view, those orient Pearles, and that glittering Diamond, with the Carkanet, chaine, and girdle, which likewise were of great valew.

Isabella went out of her house on foot, for her being so neere unto the Monasterie, excused Coaches, and Caro­ches. The concourse of the people was so great, that it repented them that they had not taken Coach, for they would not give them way to get to the Monasterie. Some blessed her Parents, others Heaven that had inriched her with so much beautie; some did stand on tiptoe for to see her, others, having seene her once, ranne to get afore, that they might see her againe.

But he that shewed himselfe most solicitous in this kind, and so much, that many tooke notice of him for it; was a man clad in one of those habits which they weare, who returne home redeemed from their Captivitie. This Captive then at that very time that Isabella had set [Page 260] one foot within the Porch of the Covent, whether were come forth to receive her (as the use is amongst them) the Prioresse, and the Nuns; with a loud voice he cried out, stay Isabella, stay; for whilest that I shall be alive, thou canst not enter into any Religious order. At the hearing of these words, Isabella and her Parents looked backe, and saw that cleaving out his way through the thickest of the throng, that Captive came making towards them; whose blew round bonnet being fallen off, which he wore on his head, he discovered a confused and intangled skeine of golden wyered hayres, curling themselves into rings, and a face intermixed with crimson, and snow, so pure red and white was his complexion; all of them assured signes and tokens, inducing all of them to take, and hold him to be a stranger.

In effect, one while falling through too much haste, and then getting him up quickly againe, he came at last where Isabella was; and taking her by the hand, sayd unto her. Knowest thou me Isabella? looke well upon me; behold, that I am Ricaredo thy Husband. Yes, I know thee (replied Isabella) if thou art not a phantasma, a walking spirit, or some false assumed apparition, that is come to disturbe my repose. Her Parents drew neerer and neerer unto him, and did view and eye him very narrowly; and in conclusion, came certainely to know that this Captive was Ricaredo; who with teares in his eyes, falling downe on his knees before Isabella, besought her that the strangenesse of that habite wherein she now saw him; might not be a barre to her better knowledge of him; nor that this his meane and baser fortune, should be a hinderance to the making good of that word and faithfull promise, which they had given and plighted each to other.

Isabella (maugre the impression which Ricaredo's Mothers letter had made in her memorie, sending her the newes of his death,) chose rather to give more credit to her eyes, and the truth which she had present before her, then to trouble [Page 261] her selfe to make a further needlesse inquirie. And there­fore kindely embracing the Captive, she sayd unto him. You doubtlesse (sir) are the man who can onely hinder my determination; since that you are truely my husband▪ you can be no lesse then the better halfe of my soule. I have thee imprinted in my memorie, and have layd thee up in my heart. Come therefore (sir) unto my Fathers house, which is yours; and there I will deliver up unto you the possession of my person.

All these words the standers by heard, together with the Assistante, the Deane, and the Arch-bishops Vicar-generall of Sevilla. At the hearing whereof, they were all of them strucken with admiration, and stood a while as men asto­nished; and were desirous that it might presently be told them, what history this, and what stranger that was, and of what marriage they treated. Whereunto Isabella's father made answer, saying; that that historie required another place, and some time for to tell it. And therefore besought them, since that they were so willing to know it; that they would be pleased to returne backe with him to his house, being that it was so neere, and that there it should be re­counted unto them, and in such a manner, that with the truth thereof they should remaine satisfied, and at the strangenesse of that successe, amazed.

This was no sooner sayd, but that one of those there present, spake aloude, saying. Gentlemen, this young man is a great Pirate, for I know him well enough; and this is he, who some two years since, and somewhat more; tooke from the Pyrates of Argiers, that ship of Portugal, which came from the Indies. Ye need not doubt that this is the man, for I confidently tell you that I know him; for he gave me my liberty, and money to bring me home to Spaine; and did not onely free me, but 300. Captives more, furnishing them with victualls, and moneys. With these words the vulgar were in an uproare, and the desire afresh revived, which all of them had to know and see such [Page 262] intricate things as these to be fully cleared.

In fine, the Gentlemen of more especiall ranke and qua­litie, with the Assistante, and those two principall Church­men, returned backe to accompany Isabella to her house, leaving the Nuns sorrowfull, and weeping, that they had lost so [...]ayre a Sister, and companion as Isabella. Who being come home, and having brought the Gentlemen into a spacious large Hall, entreated them to sit downe; and al­beit Ricaredo was willing enough to take upon him the re­lating of this desired history; yet notwithstanding it see­med good unto him, rather to trust Isabella's tongue and discretion with it, then his owne, who did not very per­fectly speake the language of Spaine. All that were present were in a still silence, and having their cares and soules rea­die prepared to heare what Isabella would say, she began to recount the story; Which I reduce briefly to this; that she delivered all that unto them, which happened from the day that Clotaldo by stealth carried her away from Cadiz till her returne thither againe. Not omitting the battell which Ricaredo fought with the Turks, and the liberality and boun­tie which he had used towards the Christians, and the faith which both of them had plighted each to other, to be man and wife. The promise of two yeares, the newes which she had received of his death; and that so certaine to her seeming, that it put her into that course which they had so lately seene, of professing her selfe a Nunne. She did endeare the Queene of the North Islands bounty to­wards her, and the Christianity of Ricaredo, and his Parents. And ended her speech, with desiring Ricaredo that he would relate what had befallen him, from the time that hee left Mundolin, untill this very present; wherein they saw him clad in the habit of a Captive, and with a badge in his brest, betokening that he was redeemed by way of Almes.

It is true as you say, replied Ricaredo; and in a few short words, I will summe up unto you my many and great troubles. After that I went out of Mundolin for to excuse [Page 263] the marriage which I could not make with Clisterna, with whom Isabella told you my Parents would have mee to marry, taking Gu [...]arte along with me; that Page, who (as my Mothers letters made mention) brought the newes to [...] of my death. Crossing France, I came to Rome; where off those two thousand Crownes which I had in gold, I delivered a thousand and sixe hundred to a Banker, who gave me a bill to receive so much in this Citie, upon one R [...]qui a Florentine. And with those 400 which remai­ned▪ with me, with intention to come for Spaine, I made for Genoa; whence I had notice given me, that there were two Gallies of that Signorie to goe for Spaine.

I came with Guillarte my servant, to a certaine Towne called Aquapendien [...]e▪ And in an Inne where I alighted, I found the Earle Arnesto, my mortall enemie; who with foure servants went disguised, and went (as I conceive) to Rome, I did verily beleeve that he had not knowne me, I shut my selfe up in my lodging with my servant, and there kept my selfe close, and with a great deale of care and vi­gilancie, and with a determination and purpose, at the shut­ting in of night to get mee gone, and to change that my lodging for a safer. But I did not doe it, because the great carelesenesse which I observed in the Earle, and his fol­lowers, did assure me that he did not know me. I supt in my lodging, I made fast the doore, stood upon my guard with my sword in my hand; I recommended my selfe to God, and would not that night goe to bed. My selfe and my servant lay downe on a bench to take a little rest and sleepe, and my selfe was halfe fallen a sleepe.

But a little after midnight, they awakened me with pur­pose to make me sleepe an eternall sleepe. Foure pistolls (as I afterwards understood) the Earle and his servants dis­charged against me, leaving me for dead; and having their horses already in a readines, they presently put [...]oot in stirrop and went away; bidding the Host of the Inne, that hee would see me fayrely buried, for that I was a man of prin­cipall [Page 264] note and qualitie. My servant (as mine Host after­wards told mee) awakened with the noyse, out of very feare leapt downe from a window▪ that looked out into a base Court, crying out; oh miserable and unfortunate that I am! they have slaine my Lord and Master; and ha­ving sayd this, he hyed him out of the Inne, and that with such feare, and haste, that he did not so much as looke backe, or make any stay till he came to Mundolin; so that it was he who brought the newes of my death.

They of the Inne got up, found mee shot athwart my bodie with foure bullets, and wounded with many o­ther lesser shot; but all of them lighting on such parts, that there was not one mortall wound amongst them all. They cured me, but it was two moneths and better, before I was able to travell.

At the end whereof, I came to Genoa, where I found no other passage, save in two small boats, which my selfe, and two other principall Spanyards hyred; the one to goe before as a Vessell of advise for discoverie, and the other we went in our selves. With this securitie, we embarqued our selves: sayling along the shoare▪ with intention not to ingulfe our selves; but comming over against that place which they call Las Mtres arias, or the three Maryes, which is on the Coast of France. Our first boat going forward to see if she could discover any thing; in an unluckie houre, two Turkish Gallies that lay lurking there in a little creeke of the Sea under the Rockes; and the one of them putting her selfe forth to the Sea, and the other keeping close by the land; when they saw our drift that we meant to run a shoare, we were prevented in our course, taken by the Turkes, and stript of all that we had even to our naked skins. They rifeled the boats of all that they had, and suffered them to run a shoare, without offering to sincke them, say­ing; that they would serve another time to bring them a­nother Galima, (for by this name they call those spoyles and booties which they take from the Christians.)

[Page 265]Yee may very well beleeve me, if I tell you that I felt in my soule the sorenesse of my captivity; and above all, the losse of those certificates, and provisions I received at Rome, which I brought along with mee, lapt up in a little boxe of plate; as likewise my bill of exchange for a thousand and sixe hundered Crownes. But as good lucke would have it, they lighted into the hands of a Christian Captive a Spanyard, who kept them safe; for if they had once come to the Turkes fingering, I should at least have given for my ransome, as my bill made mention of. They brought mee to Argiers, where I found the Fathers of the order of the blessed Trinitie, treating of the redeeming of Christian Captives; I spake with them, I told them who I was; and moved out of charitie, though I was a stranger unto them, they redeemed mee in this forme and manner fol­lowing. They gave for mee three hundered Ducats, one hundered to be layd downe presently; and the other two, at the next returne of the Shippe that should come to re­deeme the Father of that society, who remained in Ar­giers, engaged in foure thousand Ducats more then those that hee brought with him; for to such great pittie and compassion extended the charitie of these men, that they give their owne, for other folks liberty, and remaine them­selves Captives, for to free others from Captivitie. And for an addition of this happinesse of my libertie, I found my lost boxe, with my certificates, and my bill also of Exchange. I shewed it to that holy Father who had ransomed me; and I offered him five hundered Ducats more then my ransome came to, towards the payment of his engagement.

It was almost a yeare ere the Shippe of almes returned; and that which in the interim happened unto mee, if I should goe about to recount it now unto you, it would be another new Historie. Onely I will tell you that I was knowne of one of the 20. Turkes whom I had set at liber­tie, with the rest of the Christians before mentioned▪ But he [Page 266] was so thankefull, and so honest a man, that he would not discover me. For had the Turkes knowne that I was the man that suncke their two Gallies, and tooke out of their hands that great shippe of In [...]ia; they would either have presented me to the great Turke, or have taken away my life. And to have presented me to the great Turke, had been the losse of my liberty during life.

In conclusion, the father that did ransome me, came to Spaine with me, together with other 50. redeemed Cap­tives. In Valencia we made a generall procession, and from thence every one went his owne way which he liked best, with these ensignes and tokens of their liberty, which are these poore kinde of habits. This day I came to this Citie, with so great and earnest a desire to see my espou­sed Isabella; that without any other thing detaining mee. I enquired for this Monastery, where I was to have notice given me of my Spouse. That which herein hath befallen mee, ye have alreadie seene; that which remaineth to bee seene, are these certificates in the plate-boxe which I told you of; and with that hee put them into the Deanes hand, who preserved them together, with the Assistante, who did not finde any thing in them, that might make doubt of the truth of that which Ricaredo had delivered unto them. And for further confirmation thereof, Hea­ven had so ordained it, that the Flore [...] Merchant was present at all this, upon whom the bill was for the pay­ment of 1000. Duckats; who entreated that they would let him see the bill; and they shewing it him, he presently acknowledged, and accepted it, for it was many moneths since that hee had order for it. All this was but to adde admiration to admiration, and amazement to amaze­ment.

The Assistante embraced Ri [...], and [...] Pa [...], and her selfe; all of them in very courteous language offe­ring them their service. The like did the [...] Clergie [...], and [...] [...] that shee would set downe [...] [Page 267] storie in writing, that the Arch-bishop might reade it, which she promised she would. The people from the highest to the lowest giving the parabien to Isabella, Ricaredo, and their Parents, they tooke their leaves. And they on the other side besought the Assistante, that he would honour their wedding with his presence, which some eight dayes hence they did purpose to celebrate. The Assistante was very well pleased with the motion; and within eight dayes after, accompa­nied with all the highest and principall persons of the Citie, he wayted on them to Church.

By these turnings and windings, and by these circum­stances, Isabella's Parents recovered their Daughter, and were restored▪to their former wealth; and she assisted by her many vertues, in despight of so many inconveniencies, lighted on a husband, of such especiall ranke and qualitie as Ricaredo. In whose company (it is sayd) she still liveth in that house which they rented right over against Santa Paula, which since they bought of the heyres of a gentle­man of B [...]rgos, called Hernando de Cifuentes.

This Novell may teach us, what great power ver­tue, and beautie have, since that both of them together, and each of them by themselves are of force, to make even their enemies in love with them. As likewise how that heaven knowes from the greatest adversities and af­flictions, to draw the greatest benefits, and comforts.

IT is not many yeares since, that out of a certaine Towne in Estremadura, issued a Gentleman borne of noble Parents; who like another Prodigall, through divers parts of Spaine, Italy, and Flanders, went spending and wa­sting as well his yeares, as his wealth. And in the end, after his many peri­grinations, and travells, (his Parents being alreadie dead, and his patrimonie consumed;) he came at last to reside in the great Citie Sevilla, where he found sufficient occa­sion to waste and consume that little of his substance which he had left.

Now seeing himselfe in some want of moneys, and not having many friends, he had recourse unto that remedie whereunto many other decayed persons, and such as are broken in their estates commonly have recourse. To wit, to goe for the Indies, the refuge and protection▪ of all your [...], and [...] people of Spaine, the sanctuary [Page 270] of Banker-rupts, the safe conduct of murtherers, the cloake and cover for your cunning gamesters, to whom some give the name of cheaters; the common lure whereunto your looser women stoope, the generall deceiving of ma­ny, and the particular relieving of few.

In conclusion, comming thither in that time, and just as it were in the very nicke when as the Fleet was putting forth to sea, to make for the West-Indies, or Tierra-F [...]me (as the Spanyards call it) having agreed with the Admirall there­of, (upon what tearmes and conditions I know not) hee furnished himselfe with all such necessarie sea-provisions as were fitting for so long a voyage; and having sent them aboord, embarqued himselfe at Cadiz, bidding Spaine fare­well. They weighed anker, and with a generall joy (ha­ving as faire a winde as heart could wish) they hoysed saile, and it was not long before they had lost the sight of land, and found themselves prosperously ploughing the waves in those spacious plaines of that Grandfather of waters, the vast Ocean.

This our thoughtfull passenger revolving in his minde, and calling to his remembrance the many and diverse dan­gers which in those former yeares of his travells hee had passed, and the ill courses which he had taken throughout the whole course of his life, and what an ill governed yong man he had beene; having fallen into this account with himselfe; and seing what a bad reckoning he was like to make of it, did put on a firme and constant resolution to change his former course of life, to turne over a new leafe, and to alter his wonted style in spending, and to looke a little better then heretofore he had done, to that wealth and meanes which God should be pleased to bestow upon him, and to proceed with a little more warinesse and cir­cumspection then hitherto he had in those his loose and expencefull entertainments of women.

The Fleet was in a manner becalmed, when Feli pede Carrizales (for that is his name who ministers occasion of [Page 271] matter to this our story) had this storme and tempest within himselfe. Well, the winde returned to take new breath, putting the ships forward with such force and violence, that they left no man surely fetled in his place. And therefore Carrizales was inforced to leave his imagina­tions, and to suffer himselfe to be carried away with those cares onely, which this his voyage offered unto him; which was so successefull, that without receiving any by­lets, or hinderances, they happily arrived at the Port of Cartagena.

And for to let passe all that which maketh not for our pre­sent purpose; I say that when Felipe went for the Indies, hee was 48▪ yeares old. And in those [...]0. ensuing years whil'st he remained there; by his industry and diligence, hee grew to bee worth a hundered and fifty thousand Ducats.

Now then, seeing himselfe in so rich and plentifull an e­state▪ touched with that naturall desire which all men have to returne home to their owne native Countrey, not re­garding the great proffers, both for his private profit, and his publicke preferment which were offered him. Leaving Per [...], where hee had gotten such great store of wealth bringing it along with him, all in barres of gold and silver▪ and seeing it registred, for to quit all inconveniencies, hee returned for Spaine, landed at S. Lucars, and came unto▪ [...] villa, as well laden with yeares, as wealth. What hee brought thence appropriated to himselfe, at the unlading of the Galleons he had quiet possession given him, with­out any the least disturbance or interruption of officers. He inquired after his friends, and found them all dead; he had a great minde to goe to his owne Countrey, though he had already received newes that death had not left him any one kinsman alive.

And if when he went for the Indies poore and necessita­ted, many thoughts troubled his braines, not suffering him to be at quiet one minute of an houre in the midst of the waves of the Sea, no lesse did they now vexe him be­ing [Page 272] on land, though the cause were different; for then he could not sleepe for thinking on his poverty, he could not now take any rest for thinking on his wealth. So heavie a loade is riches to him that hath not beene acquainted therewith, nor knowes not how to use them, as poverty is to him who lives in continuall want. Gold brings cares with it, and cares oppresse him who wants it; but the one are remedied by having some moderate quantitie thereof; and the other augmented, by having too much of it.

Carrizales his minde did runne often upon his wedges of gold, and did as often eye them, but not that he was mise­rable▪ because in those few yeares wherein he had beene a Souldier and followed the warres, he had learned to be free, and liberall; but what he should doe with them, be­cause for to keepe them still in their being, would be alto­gether unprofitable; and to keepe them at home in his house, would be but a bayte for the covetous, and atemp­ting prey for theifes.

The desire of returning to the troublesome and unquiet trade of merchandize for the gaining of more wealth, was wholy dead in him; and considered with himselfe, that being of those yeares that he was, he had money more then enough to maintaine him well and plentifully, during the remainder of those dayes that he had to live▪

Otherwhiles, he was minded to carry it with him into his owne Countrey, and to put it out to profit, spending therein the yeares of his old age in rest and quietnesse, gi­ving unto God that which he could, since that he had gi­ven to the World more then he should.

On the other side, he bethought himselfe of the scarcity and poverty of his owne Countrey, and that the people round about him were very poore and needy; and that for to goe to live there, was but no make himselfe the [...] But [...], and marke of all those importunities which the poore doe commonly give the rich, who is neere neighbour unto [Page 273] them; and more especially, when there is no other in that place, to whom they may repaire for the relieving of their miseries.

Againe, hee would feigne have one, to whom hee might leave his wealth after his owne dayes were ended▪ This desire running often in his head, and having now taken fast hold on him; he consulted with his owne strength, finding himselfe (to his seeming) able enough to undergoe and beare that heavie yeake of [...] wedlocke. But hee had no sooner entertained this thought of Ma­trimonie, but instantly such a great feare came upon him; that as a Cloud is scattered and driven away by the winde, so vanished this his thought. For in his owne naturall disposition, hee was the most jealous man in the world, though being as yet unmarried; and now with onely the bare imagination of being a married man, jealousies began to offend him, suspicions to trouble him, and strange fancies to vexe and torment him; and with such great effecacie and vehemencie, that hee was now quite off the hinges▪ and fully resolved with himselfe never to Marrie▪

And having put on this resolution, but not being re­solved what course to runne, or what manner of life to leade; his fortune had so ordained it, that passing one day along the streete, he should cast up his eyes, and see a Damosell standing in a window; being to his seeming about thirteene or fourteene yeares of age, being of so pleasing a countenance, and so fayre and beautifull, that good old Carrizales being not able to defend himselfe any longer; yeelded up the weakenesse of his many yeares to those few of Leonora, (for this was the name of that beau­tifull Damosell) And presently without any further deten­tion, hee began to heape discourse upon discourse, and talking with himselfe, sayd.

This yong mayden is very faire, exceeding hansome, and very well favour'd▪ and by the outward shew which this [Page 274] house makes, I conceive they are none of the richest that dwell therein; she is young, her tender yeares may se­cure my suspicions; I will marry her, shut her up close, and mold her to my minde; by which meanes she shall not come to have any other condion, save that which I my selfe shall [...]each her. I am not so old, that I should lose the hope of having Children to inherit my estate; whether she bring a dowrie with her or no, it mattereth not, nei­ther make I any reckoning of it, since that Heaven hath dealt so liberally with me, that I have (if enough be enough) enough and to spare. And such as are rich, ought not in their marriages to seeke after wealth, but their owne liking and content, for this lengthneth mans life; whereas the con­trary is the bane of wedlocke, and shortens the dayes of those that are so coupled together. No more I say, the Die is cast, and this is the chance which Heaven hath given mee.

And having this soliloquie with himselfe, not once, but a hundered times over and over. After some few dayes were over-past, he had speech with the Parents of Leonora, and came to know that though they were poore, yet were they of a noble Familie; and giving them an account of his intention, and of the qualitie of his person, and means; he entreated them to give him their Daughter to wife. They required time of him for to informe themselves of that hee had delivered unto them; and that hee likewise should do the like, for the better assuring himselfe of the truth of their noblenesse.

So for the present they parted; and the parties having well informed themselves each of other, they both found what they had sayd to be true. And so in conclusion, Leo­nora came to be the Spouse of Carrizales; having first en­dowed her with twenty thousand Ducats, so hotly was the heart of this jealous old man, set on fire with the love of L [...]a. Who had scarce given his hand to be her Husband, but that on the sudden a troope of [Page 275] [...]aging jealousies set upon him, and began without [...] cause given him, to shake and tremble▪ and to be afflicted with more and greater ca [...]es, then ever he [...]ad beene [...] bled with heretofore.

And the first manifestation which he made of his jea­lous condition, was; that he would not suffer a Taylo [...] to [...] measure of those many changes of garments which hee was minded to make for this his young wife. And therefore went eying, if hee could mee [...] with any other woman that was little more or lesse of the same size and stature; answerable to that of Leonora; at last he lighted on a poore Mayd, neere about her pitch; causing a Tay­lour that was a very good workeman, to take measure of her, and to make one whole sute fitting to her bo­die; that done, bringing it to his wife, he wished her to put it on; shee did so▪ In fine, hee found that it did fit her to a hayre; and thereupon, according to that measure, hee caused the rest of her cloathes to be made; which were so rich, and so many, that the Parents of the espoused, held themselves exceeding happie, in having lighted upon so good a Sonne in Law, both for their owne, and their Daughters better good and maintenance.

The yong married wife was much amazed, wondring to see such a deale of gallantry; because in all her life be­fore, her best weare was a gowne of Rash, and a Taffata-Kirtle.

The second token of his jealousie was, that hee would not bed his wife, till hee had brought her home to his owne house, which hee had ordered in this forme and manner. He bought one, which cost him Twelve thousand Ducats, being seated in a most prin­cipall place of the Cittie, with a curious Garden be­longing unto it; in the midst whereof was a fountaine, beautified round about with Grapes, Oranges, and Lem­mons; diversified with sundry sorts of flowers, and fruits [Page 276] p [...]g to the eye, and pleasant to the taste. He d [...]mmed up all the windowes that looked out towards the streete, and had no other light, but what the rooms received over head from Heaven. The like course he tooke with all the rest in his house. In the Po [...]all of the streete (which in Sevill they call Casa-puerta) he made a stable for one Mule, and over it he built a little Tallet, or Hay-loft, with a lodg­ing chamber joyning close to it, where he was to lye and make his abode, who had the charge thereof, being an old Negro, and an [...]unuch. He raysed up his walls to a great heigth, leaving the roofe open; so that he whosoever hee were that entred into the house, must behold Heaven by a direct line, without being able to see ought else. Hee made a Tornill (such as your Nunnes have in their Mona­steries) which from the Casa-puerta, or open Portall, did butt upon the inner Court▪ He had bought very rich houshold­stuffe wherewithall to adorne his house; so that for hang­ings, Carpets, Canopies, Chaires, Stooles and all other utensills, all was Lord like, costly, and substantiall.

He bought likewise foure white female slaves, and bur­ned them with a hot yron in their cheekes and forehead, setting his marke upon them; and other two Blacke-Moore she slaves, who knew no other language but their owne, save a little broken Spanish. He covenanted with a certaine Caterer to buy and bring him in his houshold provision so his dyet; but with this condition, that he should not lodge in the house, nor enter thereinto no further then the Tornill, where hee was to deliver in what hee brought.

This being done, he put out part of his moneys to use, in good and sure hands; and part of it in banke, reserving a good round summe to lye still readie by him upon all oc­casions that should offer themselves unto him. He also cau­sed one master-key to be made for all the whole house, and did locke up under that, all that whatsoever he did buy in grosse and in their due seasons, for the provision of the whole yeare.

[Page 277]And having thus ordered and disposed all things accor­ding to his owne minde, he went to his Father in la [...]s house and demanded his wife. Her Parents delivered her up unto him; not with a few teares, because it seemed unto them that they carried her to her grave. Tender h [...] ­ted Leonora, both in heart, and yeares knew not as yet what had happened unto her; and so weeping for companie with her Parents, she craved their blessing; and taking her leave of them, attended by her slaves and servants, her Husband lending her his arme, led her home to his house.

Whereinto he was no sooner entred, but Carrizales made a speech unto all his servants; recommending the guard of Leonora to their charge, willing them that in no hand they should admit any one to enter within the second doore, no not the Negro, though an [...]unuch. And she to whom more especially he recōmended the keeping and cherishing of Leonora, was a Beldame of much prudence, and gravitie; whom he had entertained to be as it were a governesse to Leonora, and a superintendent, or over-seer of all whatsoe­ver was to be done in the▪ house, and to have command o­ver the slaves, and other two Damosells of Leonora's age; to the end that she might entertaine her selfe with those of her owne yeares, whom he had made choice of for that purpose.

He promised that he would treate and use them well, and that he would regular them all in such sort, giving them such good content, that they should not risent this their retyrednesse. And that on festivall dayes, they should without fayle goe to heare Masse; but that was so early in the morning, that the light could scarce come to see them.

His servants and slaves promised him that they would doe whatsoever hee should be pleased to command them, without any the least repining, with a very prompt and willing minde. And the new married wife shrinking up her shoulders, and bowing downe her head, sayd; that [Page 278] she had no other will save that of her Husband, and Lord, whereunto she would ever be obedient.

This prevention being made, and good Carr [...]zales n [...]w fully se [...]led in his owne house; he began to enjoy as well (poore man) as he could, the [...] o [...] [...] a [...]rimonie.

Thus did she passe away the time with her Governesse, Damosells, and Slaves; and they, that they might passe it over the bet [...]es, [...] themselves with good cheere; and few dayes past over their heads, wherein they did not make a thousand Q [...]hoses, whereunto their honey, and their Sugar which they had in most plentifull manner▪ gave a very da [...]tie and delicate relish.

There was no lacke of any thing that was needfull, they had enough, and more then enough, and their master was willing that it should be [...]o; opinionating with himselfe, that by this his liberall and large allowance, he should keep them entertained and occupied without having cause gi­ven them, whereby to call to [...], or so much as once thinke of this their close imprisonment.

Leonora, looke what her servants did, the same did shee; she had no other companie, and was therfore forced to en­tertain the time with such entertainments as they thought fittest. Nay such was her simplicitie, that she fell to ma­king of babies, and other the like childish things, which shewed the plainesse and harmlessenesse of her disposition, and the tendernesse of her yeares. All which gave exceed­ing great satisfaction to her jealous husband; it seeming unto him, that he had hit right in chosing the best kinde of life that he could possibly devise, or imagine; and that by no manner of meanes, either humane industry, or mallice, could disturbe his quiet; and therefore did onely studie and beate his braines, to bring home rari [...]ies, and dainties to please and content his wife, entreating her that what­soever she had a mind to, she would acquaint him with it, and she should have it whatsoever it cost him, holding no­thing she desired to deare for her.

[Page 279]Those dayes wherein she went to Masse, (which was as hath beene sayd, betweene the two lights) her Parents came, and there in the Church talked with their Daughter, but still before her husband, that he might be an [...]are-wit­nesse of what they sayd; who gave them so many gifts, that although they did much pittie their Daughter, and inwardly grieve at that restraint wherein she lived; yet did they dissemble this their distaste, and bare their sorrow the more patiently, by reason of those many great gifts and favours which their liberall Son in Law Carrizales continu­ally conferred on them.

He used to rise betimes in the morning, staying within till the Dispensero came, whom over night by a scroll or bill which he left in the Tornell, advised him what he should bring the next day. And as soone as the Dispensero was come, and and dismissed; Carrizales instantly got him out of doores, and for the most part a foot, leaving those two doores towards the street shut, and that in the middle, and betweene both remained the Negro.

He went abroad about his businesses, which being few, were soone dispatcht, so that he quickly returned home againe; and shutting up himselfe, he retained himselfe in regalaring and making much of his wife, and in cheering up his servants, who lov'd him very well, and wisht him all happinesse; because his carriage was plaine, and plea­sing; as also, for that towards all of them he was so libe­rall and bountifull. Thus had they now passed one whole yeare of their Noviciation, or Probationorshippe, and now made profession of that kinde of life; having resolved with them­selves to continue therein till the end of his; and perad­venture would have made good this their determination, if that subtill and cunning perturber of humane peace had not hindred it, as by and by you shall heare.

Tell me now, he who takes himselfe to be the discree­test and wariest amongst men, what better or surer pre­ventions could old Carrizales have used for to make all safe [Page 280] and secure, since that by no meanes he would not permit that within his house there should bee any one creature that was a Male? no, not so much as a Cat to persecute the Mice, nor a little dogge to lie in his wifes lappe to sport and play withall, all these were of the feminine gender, none of the masculine; save onely himselfe. In the day hee mused much, in the night he slept little; he was the watch and centinell of his house, and the Argos, who had still a vigilant eye over her whom he so dearely loved. Never did any man come within his doores, no not so much as into the outward Court. With his friends and acquain­tance he did negociate and treate in the open street.

The figures in those his hangings which did adorne his Hall, and other his with drawing roomes, and chambers, were all Females, Flowers, Trees, and the like Boscage­worke. All his whole house did smell of honesty, retyred­nesse, and reservednesse; yea, even in those [...]ales which in the long and tedious nights of winter his servants told by the fire side, to passe away the time; for that he was pre­sent, not in any one of them was uttered any the least kind of lafcivious or wanton word.

The silver of the old mans hoary hayres, to the eyes of Leonora seemed to be of pure gold; because the first love which Virgins enjoy, leaves an impression in their soule, as a seale doth in waxe. His strict guard upon her, seemed to her to be advised circumspection; for she did think and beleeve, that what passed with her, the like passed with all those that were newly married. Her thoughts never went a gadding beyond the walls of her owne house; nor did her will desire any one thing, save what was her hus­bands pleasure. Onely those dayes which shee went to Masse, she saw the streetes; and this too was so [...]arely, that unlesse it were in her returne homeward from Church, there was not light enough to behold them. Never was there seene any Monastery so close kept, never any Nu [...]s more retyred, nor those golden Apples of old so narrowly [Page 281] watcht; and yet notwithstanding all this, he could in no [...]ise prevent nor avoyd the falling into that which he so much feared, at least in thinking it to be so.

There is a certaine kinde of idle people in Sevill, hand­some proper yong men, well both borne, a dclad, who in a braverie and gallantry, take great pride and glorie in cou [...]ing women; seeking by all possible meanes to winne those beauties to their will, whereunto they stand affected. This they make their studie, and therein employ the utmost of their wits.

Now one of these gallants (a single man) had taken notice of this house of warie Carrizales, and finding it alwaies shut; hee had a great itching desire to know who lived there within: and using his best diligence, but with a great deale of caution, and cunning, hee came to a full knowledge of that which hee desired; informing himselfe of all the particular passages point by point. All which did but kindle a greater and more enflamed desire in him, to see if it were possible to winne by force, or industry; a fort so well and strongly guard [...].

And acquainting two or three other of his friends of the s [...]me feather with the businesse, and of his purpose; they did encourage and hearten him on, for to put it in ex­ecution▪ for in such kinde of actions, counsellours, and hel­pers are [...]ildome wanting. The maine difficultie which offered it selfe u [...]to them, was the manner that was to he held▪ for the a [...]pting and undertaking of so hard and dangerous a [...] of service. And having entered of­ten into consulration, and sate in counsell what cours [...] we [...] [...]st to be [...]aken, with a joynt consent, they agreed as [...]st on [...]his.

That I [...] ( [...]or so was this young gallant called) [...] ­ning to goe out of Towne for some certaine time should remove himselfe from the sight of his friends and ac­quai [...] [...], and so he [...] [...]his being done [...] pu [...] [...] [Page 282] on a paire of drawers next to his bodie of very [...] white linnen, and a cleane shirt of curious [...] Hol­land; but on the toppe of them, hee had such ragged and tattered cloathes, so patched, and so peeced, that the poorest beggar in the Cittie, had none so [...] He had cut away a prettie part of his beard, clap [...] over one of his eyes a blacke patch, bound up one of his legges very straight with swathes one upon another; and resting his bodie on two crutches, hee personated a poore lame cripple; and acted that part so well, that none that were truly so taken in their limbes, could come neere him.

In this disguise and posture, night by night hee pray­ed at Carrizales his doore, which hee found still shut. The Negro (whose name was Luys) remaining mewed up betweene the two doores; there Loaysa leaning his backe against it, tooke out a little Ghitterne out of a greasie [...]ase, the instrument being none of the cleanest, wanting besides some strings; and for that hee had some smatch of musicke, hee beganne to play some merrie and lively tunes, and to sing thereto certaine prettie songs, and choisest ditties that hee could, chan­ging the tone of his voyce that hee might not bee knowne.

Things being thus ordered, he fell anone after to sing some pleasant wittie Ballads of Moores, and Mo [...]sh Women; and that with such an odd [...] kinde of grace, and gesture, and varying of the [...], that as many as past along that streete, made a stand to he [...] him; and all the while hee continued singing, your boyes and gi [...]les, and younger sort of people flocked about him, hemming him in on every side. And [...] [...]he Negro, laying his ea [...] as close as he [...] could [...] two doores; was so mightily taken with this m [...] ­sicke, that hee would have opened th [...] doore wi [...]h a [...] good will, and did endeavour it ( [...]) [Page 283] that he might to his greater contentment more fully heare it; such, and so great is the inclination which your Negro's naturally have unto musicke. And when Loaysa was wil­ling that they who heard him, should leave him; he left off his playing and singing, put up his Ghitterne, and beta­king him to his crutches, went his way.

Foure or five times he had given musicke to the Negro, and onely for his sake did he give it; it seeming unto him, that the place where he was to begin to make a breach in in this building, must be by the Negro, nor did his thought therein deceive him; for comming one night as hee was wont to the doore, he began to fall a tuning of his Ghit­terne, and perceived that the Negro was alreadie very at­tentive; and drawing neere to the hindge of the doore, in a low voyce he called unto him, saying; I prethee (good Luys) if it be possible give me a little water, for I am ready to perish for thirst; and am so drie, that I am not able to sing one note.

No, I cannot (replyed the Negro) though my life lay upon it; for I neither have the key to this doore, nor is there any the least hole or crannie whereby to give it thee.

Who then (sayd Loaysa) hath the key? My master (an­swered the Negro,) who is the most jealous man in the World. And if he should but know that there were any bodie now speaking here with me, it were as much as my life were worth, he would not let me live one houre lon­ger. But who are you that beg this water of me?

I (replied Loaysa) am a poore cripple, lame on one of my legges, which is so benum'd, that I have no sence or use of it, getting my living by begging for Gods sake, an almes of good and well-disposed people. And besides (which is no small comfort and helpe for my better maintenance) I teach some Moores, and other poore people to play on the Ghitterne, and now at this present I have three slaves, all Negro's, some young, some elder; whom I have taught in such sort, that in any Taverne or other drinking schoole [Page 284] wheresoever they come, they can sing to any tune and play any dance they call for, who have payd me very well for my paines.

I would pay you much better (sayd Luys) had I but the opportunitie to learne; but that is not possible, because my Master when he goes forth in the morning, shuts the doore to the street; and when he returnes he does the like, leaving me immured between two doores.

I sweare unto thee Luys (replied Loaysa) for he kn [...]w be­fore hand the name of the Negro, if thou couldst but thinke upon, or devise any meanes how I might get in, in the night time, to teach thee to take out some lessons, I would in a fortnight make thee play so well on the Ghitterne, that thou shouldst not be ashamed to play at the corner of any street whatsoever in Sevill; for I would have thee to know, that I have an excellent gift in teaching. And moreover, (which will be a good helpe) I have heard that thou art very apt to learne, and of a nimble and quicke apprehen­sion; and by that which I perceive already, if I have any judgement in me, that organ of thy voice tells mee, that it is a treble, and shouldest therefore sing wondrous cleare and well.

I have none of the worst voices I tell you, (answered the Negro) but what good does that doe me, since that I know no other tune, save that of Estrella de Venus, and that of Por un verd [...] prado, and that which is now most in use; A los hier­ros de una reia la turbada mano a [...]ida.

All these are toyes (quoth Loaysa) and not worth a pin, in comparison of those that I can and will teach thee. For I know all those of the Moore Abiudarraez with those of his Ladie Xarifa, and all those which are sung touching the story of the Grand So [...]i Tomuni [...]eyo, together with those of the Zarabanda, so highly esteemed; which are such [...]avi­shing tunes, that the Port [...]eses themselves are rapt there­with, and are for the time as it were in a t [...]ance. And these I teach with such dexteritie, and facilitie, that though t [...]ou [Page 285] shouldst be somewhat hard in apprehending them, and not beate thy braines much about them, thou shalt scarce have eaten three or foure bushells of salt; but thou shalt see thy selfe so improved, that thou shalt passe currant for one of the best players on the Ghitterne, of all the Negro's in this Countrey. Hearing him say so, the Negro sighed, and sayd; what booteth all this, since I know not how I shall get thee into the house?

We may (sayd Loaysa) finde a good rēmedy against that rubbe. Doe you but worke the meanes to get your Ma­sters keyes, and I will give you a peece of soft waxe, wherein you shall take the print of them in such manner, that the wards may remaine imprinted in the waxe. And then out of the great affection which I have taken to thee, I will procure a cunning Locke▪ smith, a friend of mine, to make the keyes accordingly; and so in the night I may come in unto thee, and teach thee to play better then Prester Iohu of the Indies; for it is a thousand pitties, that such a voice as thine should be lost, for want of being holpen by the Ghitterne. For I must tell thee (brother Luys) that the best voice in the World loseth of its quilates, when it is not ac­companied with some instruments, be it either Ghitterne, Lute, Harpe, Organ, or the like. But that which will fit best with your voice, is that of the Ghitterne, for that it is the more handy, and lesse costly of all other instruments.

I am of your minde for that (replied the Negro,) but that which you propound can not be done, because the keyes never come to my hands, nor doth my Master let them goe out of his, day nor night, they sleepe with him under­neath his pillow.

Then doe this other thing Luys, (sayd Loaysa) if thou hast a minde to be a perfect and compleate musitian; if not▪ I have done, and will not trouble my selfe any further in ad­vising thee. Have a minde (answered Luys;) yes marry have I, and so great, that I would leave nothing undone, no st [...] unmoved, on that condition it were possible that [Page 286] by your meanes I might come to bee a good Musitian. Doubt you not of that, replyed Loaysa; I will give you therefore in at this doore, you making way for them, by removing some little quantity of stone, or earth neere the hinges; I will give thee I say, a paire of pi [...]sars; and a hammer, wherewith thou mayst in the dead of the night, plucke out the nayles of the locke with a great deale of fa­cilitie, and with no lesse easinesse, fasten them againe to the plate in such sort, that it shall not be perceived that it had beene unnayled and taken off. And I being shut up with you in your Hay-loft, or there where you lodge, and you shall see very shortly what I can doe, and sooner per­haps then I have sayd, or you can imagine; for the making good of my promise, the encreasing of mine owne credit, and your improvement. And for to have wherewithall to eate and sustaine our selves; take you no care, for I will bring provision enough with me for both of us, which shall serve us for eight or nine daies; for I have schollers and friends (I thanke God) who will not see mee want any thing.

As for our dyet (replied the Negro) that is the least thing we need to feare; for what with my Masters allowance, and that which my fellow servants give me of that which is left, we shall have victualls enough, and to spare, for two more besides our selves. Doe you bring the hammer and p [...]sars you speake off, and let me alone for to make way for the getting of them in, and for the damming up of the place againe, that it may not be perceived. And al­though I shall be driven to strike some blowes with the hammer in taking off the plate; yet my Masters bed-cham­ber where he sleepes, is so farre off from this doore, that it must be either a great miracle, or misfortune, if hee hap to heare us.

Well (sayd Loaysa) let us put that to the venture, and within these two dayes (Luys) thou shalt have all that is necessarie for the putting of this thy vertuous purpose in [Page 287] execution. And let mee advise you to refraine from such [...] as breed fleag [...]e; for besides that, in themselves they are not wholesome, they are very hurtfull for your voyce. No one thing (replied Luys) makes mee so much hoarse as wine, yet will I not be debarr'd my drinking of it, for all the voyces in the world.

No by no meanes (sayd Loaysa,) it was the least of my thought; God forbid that I should forbid you so good a thing. Drinke (my son Luys) drinke, and much good may it doe thy heart; for wine that is drunke with measure, doth never cause any harme. Nay I drinke it with measure I assure you (replied the Negro;) for I have a jarre, which being fill'd to the very brimme, holds just three quarts, and no more, nor no lesse. And this my fellow slaves bring me unwirting to my Master. And the Dispense [...]o ever and anone, but very secretly, furnishes me with a bottle which holds just a gallon, for a new supply when my jarre begins to grow low. I tell thee (sayd Loaysa) just such a k [...]nde of [...]ife doe I leade; and there is no living without it; for, L [...] [...]ca [...], [...] [...]canta, A drie throat, cannot sing a no [...]e.

Well, fare you well (layd the Negro;) but one word with you before you goe, see you doe not misse singing here night by night, till you bring those [...]ooles with you to worke your enterance in hither, for my fingers ends i [...]ch to be fingering of the Ghitterne. Mi [...]e singing (said Loaysa) no, I will dye first; and to give you the more content when I come next, I will tickle your eares with other new [...]nes. Oh by all meanes (replied Luys) that will be ex­ [...] New [...]? tho [...] mak'st my heart leape for joy. But I pray th [...]e doe not goe hence, before [...]hou hast sung [...] song mo [...], that I may sleepe the better after i [...]; and f [...] paying you for your paines, beleeve mee though I am [...] poore, I will pay you better then those th [...] [...]re [...] ▪ I d [...]e [...] upon that (answered Loaysa) for according [...] ▪ so shall you [...] [...]e, and no [...]. [...] [Page 288] now hearken to this tune, and I hope you will like it; but if it be my good hap once to get in to you, thou shal [...] see wonders; with a very good will (answered the N [...]gro.) This large colloquie being ended, Loysa sung a witty con­ceited dittie, wherewith the Negro was so well pleased, and satisfied, that hee thought every houre a thousand yeares, till he might see the doore opened.

Loaysa was scarce gone from the doore, when as with much more nimblenesse then his crutches promised, hee hastened to give an account to his companions and coun­sellers, of this his good beginning, as a prognosticke of the good end which hee hoped for. He met with them, fin­ding them altogethe, and recounted unto them what hee had concluded with the Negro. And the next day following, he fitted him with such instruments, as should pull out any nayle, or knap it asunder, as if it were some small sticke. But in the meane while, Loaysa was not carelesse in his com­ming to give the Negro musicke; nor was the Negro negli­gent in making a hole for the receiving of those tooles which his Master should bring him, and to cover it in such sort; that if it were not looked on with a malicious and suspicious eye, it could never be espied.

The second night Loaysa gave him those instruments, and Luys tried his strength, and in a manner without putting any force at all, hee found the nayles, some pulled out broken, and some whole, and the [...] in his hands, he oppened the doore, and let in his Orphe [...]s, and new ma­ster. But when he saw him with his two crutches, and so ragged and torne, and his [...]egge so hound about with [...]wathes, he was wonder str [...]ken. Loaysa had not clapt his blacke patch upon his eye▪ because then it was not need­full; and thus accountered, as soone as [...] entered in, [...] hugged his good scholler in his armes, and kissed his [...] and presently put into his hands a great bottle of wine, and a boxe of conserves, with some other sweet meates which be had brought in a [...]allet along with him. And [...] [Page 289] his crutches away from him, as if hee had not any infir­mitie at all, he began to cut two or three capers, where­at the Negro was much more amazed then before, ad­miring what manner of man this should bee, and to what end or purpose hee had put on this disguise. To whom (to put him out of his musing) Loaysa sayd;

Know (brother Luys) that this my lamenesse, and numb­nesse, does not grow from any infirmitie that I have, but of set purpose, I feigne my selfe to bee thus ill affected whereby I get my living, and bread to put in my mouth, begging for Gods sake. And helping my selfe with this tricke, and my musicke, I picke out a pretty meanes to maintaine my selfe, and leade the merriest life of any man in the world; whereas they who are not their craft-ma­sters, and use not the like kinde of industrie, are readie to starve, and often dye out of meere hunger. And this thou shalt finde to be true, as in the discourse of this our new-founded friendshippe I shall discover and make clear unto thee.

Time will shew it, answered the Negro; in the meane while let us take order to put this plate againe in its owne place, that what wee have done may not bee discerned. With a very good will, replyed Loaysa; and so taking nayles out of his wallet, they fastened the plate so neatly to the locke, that it was just the same as it was before; wherewith the Negro rested wonderfull well contented. And so Loaysa going up to the Negro's loft, accommo­dated himselfe the best hee could. Luys presently tin­ded a waxe candle, and without any longer tarrying, Loaysa drew out his Ghitterne, and playing upon it with a soft and sweete touch, suspended the Negro in such sort, that hearing it, hee was almost out of his little wits. Having played a pretty while, hee tooke out a new collation, and gave it unto his Scholler, who in swallowing downe his sweet meats, [Page 290] dranke so deepe of the bottle, that it made him more be­sides himselfe then the musicke.

This being past and ended, hee would in all haste, that Luys should beginne to take out his first lesson; and because the poore Negro had foure fingers thicke of wine swimming in his braine, hee could not hit right upon any one of the frets, or make any true stoppe; and yet notwithstanding Loaysa made him beleeve that he had learned alreadie two tunes, and the jeast was, that the good silly Negro did verily thinke so indeed. And all that night, hee did nothing else but fumble on a Ghitterne out of tune, and worse strung, wanting its most necessarie strings thereunto be­longing.

That little of the night which was left them, they slept. And about sixe in the morning Carrizales came downe and opened the middle doore, and likewise that towards the streete, and stood wayting there for the Dispensero, who came anone after; and putting in the provision for the house at the Tornell, hee went thence and cal­led to the Negro that hee should come quickly downe and take in the provender for the Mule, and with it his allowance for himselfe. Which hee had no soo­ner done, but old Carrizales went his way in great haste, leaving both doores lockt, not perceiving that which was done in that towards the streete; where­of the Master, and his Scholler were not a little glad thereat.

Scarce had the Master of the house got him out of doores, but hee hastily snatcht up the Ghitterne, and began to play so loud thereon, that all the Maydes in the house heard the sound thereof; and calling unto him, askt him at the Tornell. What is this Luys? whence had you this Ghitterne? who gave it you? Who gave it mee (answered Luys) the best Musitian living in the world, and one that hath faithfully undertaken to teach me [Page 291] in lesse then sixe dayes, more then sixe thousand tunes. But where is this Musitian sayd the old beldame that was mother of the maydes? Not farre off, replied the Negro; and if it were not for shame, and the feare I have of my Master; peradventure I could shew him you with a wet finger, and I vow you would be very glad to see him. But where may he be, that we may see him, answered the bel­dame? since that into this house never entered any other man, save our owne Master. You say well Mistresse (sayd the Negro) but I will say nothing till you see that which I know, sure I am he hath taught me what I told you, in so short a space. Certainely (sayd the old Dame) if it be not the Devill that hath taught thee, I know not who can make thee turne so good a Musitian, in so short a time. Go, get you gone (quoth the Negro) for one of these dayes, you shall both heare, and see him. That cannot bee, replied a­nother of the maydes; for we have no windowes out to­wards the streete, either to see, or heare any thing. Very good, quoth the Negro; but yet let me tell you, that there is a remedie for all things, save against death; and so much the rather, if you can, or know how to hold your peace. Hold our peace, (replied one of the slaves,) we will bee more silent, then if we were dumbe. I assure thee (brother Luys) that like one that hath a longing, I am readie to dye, to heare a good voice; for since that we have beene here mewed up like so many Hawkes, we have not so much as heard the singing of birds.

All this prattle Loaysa heard, to his passing great content­ment, it seeming unto him, that they all tended to the perfecting of his purpose; and that good fortune had put to her helping hand, in cutting out the cloth according to the measure of his owne will. The Maydes went their way upon the Negro's promising them, that when they least thought on it, hee would call them to heare a very good voice. And fearing least his Master should returne▪ and finde him talking with them▪ he left them for the pre­sent, [Page 292] retyring himselfe to his lodging. Hee would feigne have beene tampering with a new lesson, but he durst not touch the Ghitterne in the day time, least his Master might chance to heare him, who came a little while after; and shutting the doores as he was wont, lockt himselfe up in his house.

When the Negro had his dinner given him that day at the Tornell, Luys sayd to the Negro that brought it him; that that night after that his Master was a bed and asleep, they should all come downe to the Tornell, and that without all fayle they should heare the voice he promised them. True it is, that before he told them this, hee had with most ear­nest entreaties, besought his Master that he would be plea­sed to play and sing that night at the Tornell, that he might make good his word, and cumply with the promise hee had made, that the Maydes should heare an admirable voyce; assuring him, that he should be much made of by all of them.

His master after a great deale of entreating, yeelded at last to doe that which the Negro, or rather himselfe so much desired. Howbeit he made shew that it was onely at his schollers request, and to give him content, without any o­ther interest of his owne. The Negro embraced him, and gave him a kisse on the cheek, in token of the contentment, which that his promised favour had caused in him; and that day he feasted Loaysa, and made him better cheere then peradventure he should have found at home.

The night came, and in the midst thereof, little more or lesse, they began to heare a whispering about the Tornell; whereby Luys presently understood, that the whole packe of them were gathered there together. And calling to his Master, they came both downe from the Hay-loft, with a well strung, but better tuned Ghitterne. Luys ask't who, and how many there were of them that were to heare him? They answered, they were all there save only their Mistris who was in bed with her husband; for the which Loaysa [Page 293] was very sorry; yet notwithstanding, hee was willing to give an induction to his designe, and to give satisfaction to his scholler; and so touching with a soft and gentle hand his Ghitterne, he did play so sweetly, that the Negro won­dered thereat, and the women that heard him were ravi­shed therewith. What shall I say? they thought when they heard him play loth to depart, and that taking tune of the Za­rabanda, the newest then in Spaine. There was not the oldest amongst them which did not fall a dancing; nor the yongest which did not tricke it with their armes a kembo; but very softly, and with a strange kind of silence, having set Sentinels, and spyes, to give them notice, if the old man should chance to wake.

Loaysa likewise sung a merry pleasant Ballad, wherewith he sealed up the eares of his Auditors, who earnestly intrea­ted the Negro, that hee would tell them, who was this so rare a Musitian? The Negro told them; That he was a poore beggar, but withall, the gallantest, and bravest gentleman, of all that beggerly Corporation in Sevill. They then in­treated him, that he would so order the businesse, that they might come to have a sight of him, and that for a fort­night he should not let him goe out of the house, and that they would entertaine him all that while very well, and that he should lack nothing, that was needfull for him. Then they asked him, how he came to get him into the house? Hereunto, hee returned them not one word; but told them, that if they had a mind to see him, they should make a little hole in the Tornell, which afterward they might stop up with Waxe; and that he would take it up­on him, to keepe him in the house.

Loaysa spake likewise unto them, offering them his ser­vice, in such good language, that thereby they did perceive, that such words could not come from the wit of a poore beggar. They intreated him, that he would repayre ano­ther night to the same place, and that they would procure their Mistris to come downe to heare him, maugre the [Page 294] light sleepe of their Master, which lightnesse grew not from his many yeares, but from those many jealousies that he had in his head.

Whereunto Loaysa answered, that if hee would heare him without fearing the old mans troubling them, hee would give them a powder to put into his wine, that should make him sleepe soundly above his ordinarie time. God blesse me sayd one of the Damosels, if this prove true, what good fortune hath entered within our doores, with­out our dreaming, or deserving it. This will not bee so much a powder of sleepe for him, as a powder of life for all of us; and more particularly for our poore Mistris Leo­nora, his wife, who is never from her, ni a sol, ni a sombra, neither night, nor day, not suffering her to bee out of his sight one sole minute. Oh sweet sir, if ever you will doe any thing for us, and that our best wishes may wait on you in all that you desire or endeavour; bring this powder, delay no time, bring it, bring it I beseech you, and it shall be my taske to mixe it with his wine, I will be his skinker; and I wish it with all my heart that the old ladde may sleep three whole dayes, and so many nights, that we may have as many of mirth and jollitie.

Doubt ye not but I will bring it, sayd Loaysa, and such a one shall it be, that it shall do him no other hurt that takes it, save to provoke him to a most profound sleepe. Then all of them joyntly besought him, that he would bring it as soone as possibly hee could. And so resolving the next night to bore a hole with an augour in the Tornell, and to draw their Mistris thither, that she might see, and heare him, they tooke their leaves.

And the Negro, though it were neere upon breake of day, would needes take forth a new lesson which Loaysa gave him; and withall made him beleeve, that of all the schol­lers that ever he taught, not any one had a better [...]are then himselfe▪ yet the poore Negro knew not, nor ever would come to know what a musicall note meant. [Page 295] Loaysa his friends tooke it to their care, to come nightly to listen between the two doores of the streete, to see if their friend had any thing to say unto them, or if hee needed ought; and making a certain signe, agreed upon between themselves; Loaysa knew that they were at doore, and at the hole before mentioned. He gave them a short account of the good tearmes whereon his businesse stood; earnest­ly entreating them, that they would seeke out something that would procure sleepe, for to bee given to Carrizales. For he had heard some say, that there were some powders which would worke this effect. They told him that they had a Phisitian a friend, that would give them the best that he knew, or had, for that purpose▪ And so animating him to prosecute the enterprize hee had undertaken, and promising him to bring it him the next ensuing night they speedily tooke their leave.

Night came, and the whole flocke of Pigeons came at the call of the Ghitterne; together with them, came that simple soule Leonora, fearefull and trembling least her hus­band should awake; for though she, overcome with this feare, was not willing to come; yet so many perswasions did her servants use, and more especially her Governesse spake so much in the praise of the sweetnesse of the musick, and the good disposition of the Musitian, that although she had never seene him, yet shee lifted him up above the clouds, and preferred him before Absalom, and Orpheus. So that the poore Gentlewoman, convinced, and overswayed by them, yeelded to do that which she had no will to do, nor ever would have had.

The first thing they did, was to bore a hole in the Tornell for to see the Musitian, who was not now in the habit of a poore mendicant, but in a suite of coloured Taffata, be­dawbed all over with gold lace, and a hat answerable ther­unto, with exceeding neate linnen in his band and cuffes wherewith hee came provided in his wallet; imagining that hee might happily meete with some such good occa­sion [Page 296] wherein it might be fitting for him to change his ha­bite. He was young, of a gentle disposition, and a good presence. And (because he had so much time to friend, that all of them had taken a full view of him,) comparing him with their old Master; he seemed unto them to be an An­gell, one peeped through the a [...]gar-hole to see him, and then another; and in conclusion all, one after another. And to the end that they might view him the better, the Negro waving his wax candle, one while this way, another while that way, from side to side, from top to toe, gave them a full and perfect sight of his person.

Now when as they had made an end o [...] feeding their eyes, and left further looking on him; Loaysa betooke him to his Ghitterne, and sung that night so farre beyond those other heretofore, that he strucke them all, old, and young with a strange astonishment. And all of them besought Luys, that he would invent some meanes how to bring in his Master amongst them, that they might heare, and fee him neerer hand, and not at that distance, and through so narrow a hole; as likewise that they may bee rid of their feare by being so far off from their Master, who might sud­denly come stealing in upon them and take them napping; which could not so succeed, if they tooke him into the house, and hid him closely amongst them.

But this course was crost by their Mistris, who mainely withstood it, and would by no meanes give way to his ad­mittance amongst them, saying; Content your selves, can we not as well see and heare him here; sure I am we may doe both with more safetie, and [...]esse hazzard of our ho­nour. What doe you talke of honour? sayd her Governesse, the King hath enough for us all; goe I pray and shut up your selfe with your Methusalem, and leave us to make mer­rie and enjoy our selves as we may. And the rather may we give him free entrance, for that he seemes to be so ho­nest a gentleman, that hee will no other thing of us, then what we will our selves.

[Page 297]Hence Loaysa taking his rise, sayd; Gentlewomen, I am come hither with no other intention, save onely to serve you wi [...]h my soule, and my life; condoling with you this your unheard of, and never untill now seene the like close shurting up, pittying the time which in this strickt kinde of life ye lose. I am a man (I sweare unto you by the life of my Parents) so milde, so meeke, so plaine in my dea­ling, of so good a condition, and so obedient, that I shall ne­ver do any thing more then what you shall command me. And if any, even the meanest amongst you shall but say unto mee, Master sit downe here and stirre not, master passe to this, or that other place of the house, keepe you close in such a corner, lye downe and wagge not, I will doe as you bid me, and with more nimblenesse and cele­ritie, then the tamest dog that is taught to leape and dance for the King of France.

If he will doe as he sayes (sayd the as ignorant as inno­cent Leonora) what meanes may wee use that this our mu­sicall Master may have accesse unto us? Very good meanes, replied Loaysa; doe you but get the print of this middle­doore-key in wax, and against to morrow night, I will get another made like unto it, which shall serve our turne. In taking this one key out in waxe, we take out all the rest to the whole house; because this is the master-key that opens and commands all, answered one of the Damo­sells. So much the better (sayd Loaysa;) You say true sayd Leonora. But sir you shall first sweare, that you shall not doe any other thing when you are entered in, save onely sing, and play when you shall bee commanded; and that you shall submit your selfe to bee shut up, and to rest there quiet where we shall put you, till we release you. I sweare to keepe all this truely, answered Loaysa. Nay, this oath is nothing worth (replied Leonora;) you shall sweare (sayd she) by the life of your father, and by the life of your mother▪ I sweare (said Loaysa) by the life of my father, and by the life of my mother. This done, another of the damosells [Page 298] sayd unto him; see (sir) that you do [...] not forget the pow­der, for that is tu autem of all.

With this, ceased the conversation of that might, all resting wondrous well contented with the consentment which they had made amongst themselves. And for­tune, who from good to better, went furthering Loaysa's affaires, who brought his friends to that streete two houres after mid-night; who making their wonted signe, playing on a Iewes-trumpe. Loaysa spake unto them, telling them how things stood with him, and how farre hee had proceeded in his pretension; en­treating them that they would bring him the powder, or some other thing which hee had formerly spoken for, for to cast Carrizales into a sound and deepe sleepe. Hee acquainted them likewise with that of the master key; they told him, that either the powder, or an oyntment should bee brought him the night following, being of such force and vertue; that the pulses and tem­ples being anoynted therewith, would cause a most hea­vie sleepe, out of which there was no awaking of a man in two dayes, save by washing with vinegar all those parts which had beene annoynted; and that if hee would give them the key in waxe, it should be made out of hand.

This short dialogue being ended, they with-drew them­selves; and Loaysa, and his scholler slept that little part of the night which remained. Loaysa expecting with great long­ing that which was to come, to see if they would cumply with their word concerning the promised key. And tho time seeme slow and lazie to those that waite upon it, yet at last it goes along with our thought, and comes to meete in that point as we would have it, because it never stands still, but is still going on.

Well, the expected night was now come, and the ac­customed houre of repayring to the Tornell, whether came all the servants of the house, great, and small, blacke, and white, for all of them were desirous to see this [Page 299] our Musitian within their Seraglio, but Leonora came not. And Loaysa asking for her? answere was made, that she was in bed with her Husband, who had locked the doore of his lodging; and after that hee had thus shut it, when he had layd himselfe down to sleepe, he clapt the key underneath his pillow, and that their Mistris had told them, that when the old man was fallen fast asleepe, shee would take from under him the masters key, and imprint the same in waxe; and that for that purpose shee had alreadie prepared it, and made it soft for im­pression; and that within a little while after, they should come and fetch it at the out side of the hole, which was made of purpose in the doore, for a Doc-Cat to come in at. Loaysa wondered much at the wari­nesse of the old man, yet for all this their desire was not daunted.

Now whilest they were talking of this subject, hee heard the Iewes-trumpe; hee hastened to them at that call, and found that they were his friends, who gave him a little boxe of oyntment, having that property before specified. Loaysa tooke it, and wished them to stay a while, and hee would bring them a patterne of the key. Hee returned backe againe to the Tornell, and told Leonora's Governesse, who was shee that with most earnestnesse desired his enterance of the boxe▪ and that shee should carry it forthwith to her Mistris, acquainting her with the propertie it had; and that shee should annoynt her husband so gently with it, that hee might perceive it, and shee should see it worke won­ders. The Governesse did so, and comming to the Cats hole, shee found that Leonora was expecting her, lying all along on the ground, with her face towardes the hole; whether her Governesse being come, she stretched her selfe out at length after the same manner, and clapping her mouth to her Mistris eare, and speaking in a low voyce, told her, she brought the oyntment, and after what manner [Page 300] she was to make tryall of its vertue. She tooke the oynt­ment, and told her Governesse that by no meanes shee could come by her husbands keye, for hee had not put it under his pillow as hee was wont, but betweene the two Cholcon's, and in a manner under the very midst of his body▪ but would have have her tell the Master of musicke, that if the oyntment should worke that effect as hee sayd it would, then very easily could she take the key from under him as oft as she pleased; and therefore it would be need­lesse to take it in waxe. Shee willed her to goe instantly and tell him so, and that she should returne backe againe to see how the oyntment wrought, for presently shee would anoynt him therwith. The governesse went down and did her Mistris message to Loaysa, and thereupon he dis­missed his friends, who stood wayting for the key.

Trembling and quaking very softly, and not daring to draw her breath; Leonora went gently annoynting the pul­ses of her jealous husband, and likewise annoynted the windowes of his nosthrills, and when she came to them, it seemed unto her that he did startle at it, and was almost dead for feare, that shee should bee taken with the theft in her hand. In conclusion, in the best manner she could, she made an end of annoynting all those places which they had told her were needfull; which was all one as to have embalmed him for his buriall.

It was not long ere the oyntment had given manifest signes of its vertue; for anone after the old man began to snore so loud, that the musicke thereof might bee heard without in the streete, which was sweeter in her eares, then that of the Master in those of the Negro. And yet as one not fully secured by that which shee saw, and heard; she drew unto him, she jogg'd him first a little, and then a little more to see if hee would a wake; and grew at last to be so bold, that she turn'd him from the one side to the other, without waking him.

When she saw this, she went to the hole in the doore, [Page 301] with a voice, not so low as before, she called to her gover­nesse, who was there wayting, and sayd unto her; give me albricias, some reward for my good newes. Carrizales sleepes as soundly, as if he were dead. Why then (Mistris) doe not you take the key from under him? sayd the gover­nesse, the Musitian hath beene wayting for it this houre, and more▪ Stay a little (replied Leonora) I am now going for it; and turning up the bed, shee thrust her hand be­tweene the two Colchon's, and tooke out the key from out the midst of them, without the old mans feeling it. And holding it in her hand she began to leape for joy, and with­out any more adoe, she opened the doore and presented it to the governesse, who received it with the greatest glad­nesse and contentment in the world.

Leonora commanded they should open to the Musitian, and being let in they should carry him to the gallery, not daring to bee farre from thence for feare of what might happen; and that in any case they should take a new oath of him, that he should not doe ought save what they ap­pointed him, and that if he should not ratifie and confirme it a new, in no manner of wise should they open the doore unto him. It shall bee done (sayd the Governesse,) and I vow unto you that hee shall not enter till that he hath sworne, and sworne againe. Doe not limit him (sayd Leo­nora;) but more especially be you sure that he sweare by the life of his father, and his Mother, and by that which hee loves best, for so shall wee rest secure, and wee shall have our fill of hearing him sing, and play; and as I live he doth both very delicately. Be gone therefore, without delaying the businesse any longer, least we passe away the night onely in talking.

The good Governesse tucked up her cloathes, set her best foot forward, and in a trice came to the Tornell where all the people of the house stood expecting her. And ha­ving shewed them the key which she brought along with her, so great was the contentment they all tooke, that they [Page 302] all tooke, that they lifted her up above ground in their armes, crying, [...]ivat, [...]ivat, long live our governesse. And much more were they joy [...]d, when shee told them that there was no neede of counterfeiting the key; for accor­ding to the rate of the sleeping of the anoynted old man, they might have the key as oft as they would. Good, very good sayd one of the Damosells; open this doore I pray, and let this gentleman in, that we may once see him. Be not so hasty (replied the governesse) there is more in it then to see him, for we must take an oath of him, as we did the other night. He is so good, and so honest (said one of the slaves) that he will not sticke upon oathes. Here­upon the governesse opened the doore, and keeping it halfe open, and halfe shut, she called to Loaysa, who had heard every word they sayd through the hole of the Tornell; who comming to the doore, would have entred all at once, but the governesse stopping him by putting her hand against his breast, sayd unto him.

Sir, I would have you to know, that all they who are within the doores of this house, are as true Virgins, as when their Mothers brought them forth, except my Mistris. And howbeit I may seeme unto you to bee forty yeares of age, having not as yet seen thirty, for I want two moneths and a halfe of it. And though happily I looke somewhat old, I may thanke the many troubles and crosses which have followed me; and those you know will adde one figure more, if not two to our yeares, according as they have beene more, or lesse. And this being so as it is, it stands not with reason, that in exchange of hearing two, three, or foure songs, we should put our selves to the hazard of losing so much Virginitie, as is here shut up within these walls; for even this Negra, whose name is Guiomar, is a vir­gine. And therefore sir, though my heart stands well affe­cted towards you; before you enter here into our king­dome, you must take a solemne oath, that you shall doe nothing, save what we shall ordaine. And if it seeme unto [Page 303] thee, that much is that which wee require; consider that much more is that which we adventure. And if i [...] com­ming hi [...]her your intention be good, you need not to be so nice and scrupulous in swearing. Que albu [...]n paga [...]r, no le due­len prendas. For he that is a good paymaster, will never be loth to lay downe a pawne.

Well, exceeding well hath our Mistris Marialonso spoken, sayd one of the Damosells; and like a discreet woman, as well in this, as all other her actions; and therefore Mistris if he will not sweare, let him not him come in. Hereupon sayd Guiomar the Negra, who could speake a little broken Spanish; for my part sweare, or sweare not, be he what he will be, let him come in; for though he sweare never so much, when he is once in, he will forget all his oathes.

Loaysa, with a great deale of patience and temper, hear­kened to Marialonso her long Harvenga; and with a grave re­posednesse, returned this answere. Certainely, (my much honoured and respected friends) my intention never was, is, or shall be other, save to give you liking and content, as farre as my poore abilities can reach; and therefore shall not with an ill will take this oath you require of me, yet would I rather that you would have trusted me on my bare word; since that being given by such a one as I am, it should have beene as good, and as warrantable as any bond, or obligation whatsoever. I would have you to know that under a coarse cassocke, may be a Sattin suite; and that a thred-bare cloake, may cover a good drinker. But that all of you may rest secure of my good desire, I am resolved to sweare like an honest man. And therefore I sweare by all that, which in its Proeame the true history of Charlemaine containeth, together with the death of Gyant Fierabras, not to transgresse, nor goe beyond the bounds of the oath that I have taken, nor to swerve from the com­mand of the least and meanest of these Virgins; upon paine that if I shall either in act, or in my desire doe other­wise, from this present, till then, and from then till now▪ [Page 304] I give it for voide, and of no effect and validitie.

So farre went Loaysa on with his oath, when as one of the Damosells, who with attention had given eare unto him, spake out aloud, saying; this is an oath to move the hardest stones to tender pittie; ill fortune befall me, if I suffer you to sweare any farther, for with that which you have alreadie sworne you may enter into the signe of Ca­pricorne. And taking hold of his breeches, she pull'd him in, and presently all the rest came flocking round about him; and one of them went instantly to advertise their Mistris thereof, who stood centinell, observing her husbands slee­ping. And when the messenger told her that the Musitian was come into the gallery, shee was at one and the same instant both joyfull, and sad, and demanded if he had ta­ken his oath? She answered, yes; and in such a new forme, as never in all her life shee had heard the like. Well (sayd Leonora) if he hath sworne, we have bound him fast enough. Oh how advisedly was it done of me, to put him to his oath.

In this interim, came up all the whole troope, and the Musitian in the midst of them; the Negro Luys, and the Ne­gra Guiomar, lighting them up the stairs. And Loaysa no sooner saw Leonora, but hee made speedily towards her, making shew to throw himselfe at her feete, and tender his service unto her. She continued silent, and by signes willed him to rise; and al of them were as it were mute, without daring to speak a word, fearing least their Master should heare them; which being taken notice of by Loaysa, he told them; that they might boldly speake aloud, because the oyntment wherewith their Master was anoynted, had that force and vertue, that saving the taking away of life, it made a man for the time, as dead as a doore▪nayle.

I beleeve it sayd Leonora, for if it were not so, hee had a­waked twenty times ere this; since that his many indis­positions, cause in him short sleeps, but since that I anoyn­ted him, he snores like a horse▪ Seeing it is so (sayd Maria­lonso) [Page 305] let us goe to that hall which is right over against us, where we may heare him sing, and recreate our selves a little. Be it so sayd Leonora; but let Guiomar stay here and watch that she may advise us, if Carrizales should chance to awake. Whereunto Guiomar answered; the blacke must stay, whilest the white must play. The Negra stayd behinde, the rest went to the hall, where there was a rich Estrado, covered with Turkie Capets, and costly Cushions whereon to sit; and placing the Musitian in the midst in a Chaire of Crimson velvet, they tooke their places and sate downe.

And Marialonso, mother of the maydes, taking a light in her hand, shee began to take a view of Loaysa from the crowne of the head, to the sole of the foot. Then sayd one of them; oh what a fine foretoppe, how well coloured, and how stiffe it is! Oh sayd another, what a sett of white teeth hee hath! what a bad yeare will this bee for blanched Almonds? for his teeth are more cleane and white then they. Then another; oh what a full and cleare eye hee hath! I sweare by the life of my mother, that they are like sparkling Diamonds. This, commended his mouth, comparing his lippes to Rubies; shee his legge and foote. And all of them together dis­sected the severall parts of his bodie, as if they had meant to make an Anatomie of him. Onely Leonora shee was silent, but tooke a fuller view of him then any of the rest, fixing her eyes steadily on him; and the more shee lookt on him, the more did hee seeme unto her to bee of a better presence then her aged Husband.

Whilest these things went taking up their contempla­tions, Marialonso tooke the Ghitterne which the Negro held, and put it into Loaysa's hands, entreating him that hee would play thereon, and that shee would sing a song which was then in great request, and mightily applau­ded in Sevill. The burthen of the song which shee sung [Page 306] was; Mother keepe me not un [...]er locke and key. Loaysa cumplyed with her desire. They all of them rose up, and began to prepare themselves to dance. Marialonso had the whole ditty by heart, and sung the same with a better will, then voyce. The Verses were these.

The song being ended, and with it their dancing, wher­in the Governesse Marialonso was their leader; they had scarse un-handed themselves, when loe, Guiomar their cen­tinell came running in mightily troubled, quaking hand and foot, as if she had a shaking palsey; and with a hol­low and low voice, sayd; my Master is awake Mistris, Mistris, my Master is awake; hye you hence, for he is up and comming hitherward He, who hath seene a flocke of Doves feeding in the field, eating without feare what other mens hands have sowen▪ when at the cracking re­port of a discharged Peece, are affrighted, and rise and for­getfull of their food, astonished and amazed, betake them to their wings, cleaving therewith the ayre▪ Iust [Page 309] so let him imagine remained this flocke, and company of Dancers▪ frighted and amazed with the unexpected newes which Guiomar had brought them; and every one seve­rally studying their excuse, and all of them joyntly seeking after their safety; one ranne to one place, another to ano­ther for to hide themselves in the roofes and corners of the house, leaving the Musitian all alone; who leaving his Ghitterne, and his singing full of perurbation, knew not in the world what to doe, or how to dispose of himselfe.

Leonora she wrung her faire hands, buffeted the face, tho but softly, of her Governesse Marialonso. In a word, all was confusion, amazement, and feare. But the governesse as one more subtill, and had her wits better about her then the rest; so ordered the businesse, that Loaysa should be put into her lodging chamber, and that her selfe, and her Mistris should abide still in the hall, and that an excuse should not be wanting to bee given to her old Master, in case he should come and finde them there.

Loaysa made presently the best shift he could to hide him­selfe; and the governesse she was very attentive in listning whether her Master were comming, or no; and not hea­ring any the least noyse, she began to take heart, and by little and little, step after step, shee went drawing neerer and neerer to the chamber where her Master lodged, and heard that he snored as he did before. And being assured that he was asleepe, she tuck't up her clothes before, and returned running, craving albricias of her Mistris, of her Masters being asleepe, whom she willingly rewarded.

The good governesse would not lose that faire opportu­nitie which offered it selfe unto her, of being the first en­joyer of those good parts which she imagined the Musitian had. And therefore telling Leonora that she should stay a­while in the hall, till shee went to call him; shee left her and went where hee was no lesse amazed, then pensive expecting the newes of what was become of the anointed old man, and what he did. He cursed the falsenesse of the [Page 310] oyntment, and complained of the credulitie of his friends, and accused his owne indiscretion, that he had not first made tryall thereof upon some other, before his experimen­ting of it upon Carrizales.

Whilest he was thinking on these things, in comes the Governesse, and assured him that the old man slept more, and better then he did before. His heart was much quie­ted herewith, and was very attentive to many amorous words which Marialonso uttered unto him, whereby hee collected her evill intention; and determined with him­selfe, to make her the hooke and line where withall to fish her Mistris.

Now whilest these two were talking together, therest of the servants who had hid themselves in divers parts of the house; one bolted out here, and another there, to see if it were true that their Master was awake. And perceiving that all was buried in deepe silence, they came to the Hall where they had left their Mistris, of whom they under­stood their Masters continuing still asleepe. And asking for the Musitian, and the Governesse, she told them where they were; and all of them with the selfe same silence and stilnesse which they brought with them, went faire and softly, hearkening at the doore what they two treated of.

The Negra Guiomar was not missing at this their parley, but the Negro Luys was wanting, for he no sooner heard that his Master was awake; but taking his Ghitterne along with him, he hastned to hide himselfe in his Hay-loft, and covering himselfe over head and eares with his poore bed­blanket; he sweated, and did so sweat for feare, one drop overtaking another, that his shirt was dung-wet. And yet for all this, hee did not forbeare tampering on the Ghit­terne, which hee hugged close in his bosome, wronging the strings with his untunable fingering; such and so great (now fie upon him) was the affection which hee bare to Musicke.

The wenches over-heard the courtings and love trickes [Page 311] of the old Beldame, every one of them sent their bad wishes after her, some in one ill favoured phrase, and some in another; and not any one of them did call her old, but with an addition of Hagge, Witch, Bawde, and some other worse (if worse could bee) which for good respects I silence.

But that which moved most laughter in those that heard them, were the words which Guiomar the Negra ut­tered; who for that she was a Portuguesse, spake no good Spanish, yet very unhappily, and in a strange kinde of witty manner did play upon her, taxking her loose and wanton carriage. In effect, the conclusion of the discourse between these two, was; that he would condiscend to her will, on condition, that shee should first deliver up her Mistris to his will. She offered to effect what he desired; so that in requitall thereof, he would cumply with her desire; for he had alreadie taken such full possession of her soule, that she cared not what impossibilities she promised, in an i­maginary hope of procuring her own lustfull pleasure.

On these tearmes she left him, and went forth to speake with her Mistris; and seeing at her first stepping out that all the servants were got together about her doore, shee commanded them that they should with-draw themselves to their severall lodgings; and that the next night they should have time enough to enjoy both their wishes, and the Musitian with lesse disturbance, since that this night the feare they were put into, had much abated the edge, and sowred the sweetnesse of their sport and jollitie.

All of them understood on what foot the old trot hal­ted, and this was but a shift to rid them thence, that shee might be left alone by her selfe; yet durst do no otherwise but obey her, because she was mother of the maydes, and had the rule and command of them.

The maydes they were gone; the coast being now cleare, shee came into the hall to perswade her Mistris to yeeld unto Loaysa's will; and that in such partheticall manner [Page 312] in a long continued speech, and in such a smooth and well ordred a style, as if she had studied it many dayes before. She indeared unto her his gentile carriages, the sweetnes of his disposition, the vigour of his youth, his valour, his wit, and his many other graces and good parts. Further­more painting forth unto her, how much more sweete and pleasing would the embracements of a young lover be, then those of an old decrepit husband; assuring her of all secresie and duration of delight, with divers other such like things as these, which the Devill had put into her tongue; shadowed over with rethorical colours, and what varnish eloquence could lay upon them; so demonstrative and so effectuall, as might have moved not onely the ten­der heart of simple and unwary Leonora, but even that of the hardest marble. Oh ye smooth filed tongues! Oh ye pleyted vayles! the honourable weare of grave Ma­trons, chosen out of purpose for to authorize the roomes, and the Estrados of your principall Ladies; how contrary to your place and dutie do ye exercise this your powerfull, nay rather in a manner enforcing office!

Marialonso tooke her Mistris by the hand, and as it were by force (her eyes being full of teares) brought her thither where Loaysa was; and shutting the doore after her, shee left them there together, but went her selfe and layd her downe upon the Estrado, to see if she could take a little sleep, but for that shee had watched two nights before, over­come with drowsinesse, she fell fast asleepe on the Estrado.

Now, if at such a time and season as this a man should have asked Carrizales, had he not beene asleepe, what is be­come now of your well advised circumspections? your fearefull jealousies? your wise animadversions? your pi­ [...]hie perswasions? your wise and grave admonitions? What of those high wals of your house? what of there not entring thereinto any thing that should have the name, no not the shadow of a man? what of your close kept Tornell? your master-key? and your window without light? and [Page 313] that your strange and unheard of shutting up of all your people under locke and key? What of that great Dowrie wherewith you endowed Leonora? Those Re­galos, and dainties, wherewith you continually enter­tained her? the good usage and liberall allowance of your servants, and slaves? and your not fayling in any one title in all that which you imagined they could possibly wish, or desire? But wee have told you alreadie, that there was no asking of him these and such other like questions, because hee slept some­what a longer time then was needfull and expedient for him.

But admit hee should have heard all this, and put case hee should have made answere thereunto; hee could not have given a better, then in shrinking up his shoulders, in knitting of the browe, and in saying; All this building, the subtitle of a wanton and vicious young man, the wickednesse of a false and Devillish Governesse, meeting with the unadvisednesse of an o­ver entreated, and perswaded young Woman, hath ut­terly demolished, and in an instant throwne downe to the ground.

But yet notwithstanding all this, the vertue and good­nesse of Leonora was such, that in that time which was most needfull for her, shee shewed her valour against those villanous enforcements, and base strivings of this cunning Impostor; and that with such strong and pow­erfull a resistance, that hee was not able to overcome her, but wearied himselfe in vaine, so that shee went away with the victory; and both of them being quite tyred out, and having over watcht themselves, fell fast asleepe.

Now when all was thus hush and quiet, Heaven had so ordered it; that Carrizales in despight of the oyntment, awaked; and (as his usuall custome and manner was) hee stretcht out his armes, and with his hands went feeling [Page 314] the bed from side to side, and not finding therein his beloved Wife; hee leapt out of the bed all amazed and astonished, with much greater nimblenesse then his many yeares promised; and when hee found her not in the Chamber, and saw the doore open, and that the key was wanting betweene the Colchones, hee was readie to runne out of his wits. But recollecting him­selfe a little better, hee went out into the Gallerie, and going thence as soft as foot could fall, that hee might not bee heard, hee came into the Hall where the Go­vernesse was sleeping; and seeing her all alone with­out Leonora, hee made to the lodging of the Governesse, and opening the doore very softly, hee saw that which hee could have wisht hee might never have seene; hee saw that which hee would have held a great happines that hee had no eyes for to see it. Hee saw Leonora in the armes of Loaysa, sleeping so soundly, as if the oyntment had wrought upon them, and not on the jealous old man.

Carrizales had quite lost the beating of his pulses, with the unexpected sight of what hee saw, his voyce clea­ved to his throat, his armes fell downe through faint­nesse, so that hee stood still like a Statua of cold Marble. And though choller did its naturall office, seeking to quic­ken and revive those his almost dead spirits; yet sorrow did so over-sway his anger, that it would scarce give him leave to fetch his breath. And yet notwithstanding, would hee have taken such revenge, as so great a wic­kednesse deserved; if hee had any weapon about him wherewith to have avenged himselfe of the wrong that was done him. And therefore resolved with himselfe to returne backe againe to his chamber to fetch a dagger; and at his returne, to take out the staines of his ho­nour, with the bloud of these his two enemies, and together with theirs, that of all that infamous rabble of his house.

[Page 315]Having put on this honourable and necessarie resolu­tion▪ hee returned with the selfe same silence, and wari­nesse wherewith hee came to his lodging, where griefe and anguish so wrung and oppressed his surcharged heart, that without any further power to doe any thing, he fell downe in a swound upon his bed.

In this interim the day appeared, and caught these sup­posed new adulterers, intangled in the net of each others armes. Marialonso she awaked, and would have gone for that to Loaysa, which for the good service shee had done him, shee thought of right appertained unto her. But seeing that the day was now fully in, she was willing to deferre the receiving of her recompence, till the comming of the night.

Leonora was much troubled and perplexed, seing it was now broad day, cursing her owne carelessenesse, and that of her accursed Governesse, whilest both of them with hastie steps hyed them thither where her husband was; praying to themselves as they went along, that they might finde him still snoring. And when they saw him lying on the bed, and not a word come from him, they did verily beleeve that the oyntment continued its working, since that he slept; and with great rejoycing, Leonora and Maria­lonso embraced each other.

Anon after, Leonora drew nigher and nigher to her hus­band, and taking hold of one of his armes, she turn'd him from the one side to the other, to try whether hee would awake, without putting her to the paines to wash him with vinegar, as she had beene told was needfull to bring him againe to himselfe. But with that tumbling and tos­sing of him too and fro, Carrizales returned from out his swounding, and fetching a deepe sigh, sayd with a lamen­table weake voyce; Oh miserable and unfortunate man that I am! to what bad tearmes hath my fortune brought me!

Leonora did not well understand what her husband said, [Page 316] but as soon as she perceived that he was awake, and that he spake, wondring to see that the vertue of the oyntment did not last so long as was signified unto them; she came unto him, and saying her face to his, muching him with strickt embracements, shee sayd unto him; What ayl'st thou sweet-heart? me thinkes I heare you complaine as if you were not well.

The good old man heard the voice of his sweet enemie, and opening his eies in a wilde kinde of fashion like one amazed, and startled out of some fearefull dreame, he fixed them on her with great earnestnesse, and without moving the least haire of his eye-lids, he looked wissely and stea­dily on her a great while, and then at last he sayd unto her; Let me entreat thee (my deare) that you presently out of hand send for your father, and mother to come hither to mee, for I feele I know not what in my heart which does paine me exceedingly, and I feare it will speedily shorten my life: and I would feigne see them before I die.

Doubtlesse Leonora did certainely beleeve that what her husband sayd, was true; thinking that rather the strength of the oyntment, then that which hee had seene, had put him into this trance. And telling him, what he comman­ded should be done. She sent away Luys the Negro, willing him that he should forthwith go to her Parents, and hasten their speedy comming hither, for that the businesse requi­red much haste, and their personall presence. Having dis­patcht the messenger, she came to her Husband, embraced him, kissed him, and used towards him greater expressions of kindnesse then ever she had made show of heretofore; asking him how he did? where his griefe lay? and that with such tender and loving words, as if he had beene the onely thing in the world which she most loved and estee­med. He looked on her in the same kinde of wilde man­ner before mentioned; every word that she uttered, and every muching which she made of him, being a lance that smote him to the heart, and a sword that wounded his very soule.

[Page 317]In this meane while, the governesse had acquainted the servants of the house, and Loaysa with her Masters sicknes; indearing unto them, that it would quickly make an end of him, since that he had forgotten to command the doors towards the street to be shut, when the Negro went forth to call her Mistris Parents; wondring withall, why they should be sent for in such post-haste, since that neither of them had put their foot within that house, since they first married their Daughter.

In a word, they were all of them very silent, and knew not well what to make of it, none of them lighting on the true cause of their Masters sicknesse, who ever and anone did fetch such deepe and dolefull sighes, as if every sigh would have broken his heart-strings, and rent up his soule by the roots from his bodie. Leonora wept to see him sigh in such sort, and he smiled to himselfe, like one that was not well pleased, considering the falshood of her teares.

Now by this time Leonora's Parents were come, and for that they found the doore to the street, and that to the in­ward Court open, and the house buried in silence, and no bodie to be seene, they wondred at it, and could not tell what to thinke of it, no small feares possessing their mindes, severall passions housing themselves in their distracted i­maginations. Thus troubled, they went to their Sonne in Law's lodging, and found him (as already hath beene de­livered) with his eies nailed to his wife, whom he held fast by the hand, both of them shedding many teares. She, on no other occasion, save seeing her husband shed them; and he, to see how feignedly his wife did let them fall.

As soone as her Parents were entred within the chamber, Carrizales saluted them, and sayd; I pray sit you down, and let all the rest voyd the roome, onely I will that the gover­uesse Marialonso stay here; they did so. And onely these five remaining there without expecting that any body else should speake, in a low and soft vocye, (wiping first his eyes) Carrizales spake unto them after this manner.

[Page 318]I am well assured (dearest father and mother) that it shall not be needfull to bring any witnesses for to make you be­leeve a truth, which I shall deliver unto you. You may very well remember (for it is not possible it should slippe out of your memory) with how much love, and with how great tendernesse a yeare now since, one moneth, five dayes, and nine houres, you delivered up unto me your beloved Daughter, to bee my lawfull wife. Yee likewise know what a great dowrie I made her; which was such, and in so liberall a manner, that three or foure of the same qualitie as her selfe, might therewith have beene married, with the opinion of rich. Yee may also call to minde the care and diligence I tooke in apparelling her, and ador­ning her with all that shee can desire or imagine; or that I could come to know was most fitting and con­venient for her. In like manner (my very good friends) yee have seene, how carried away by mine owne natu­rall condition, and fearefull of that ill, which doubtlesse will bee my death; and experienced by reason of my great age, in the strange and various accidents of the world; I was desirous to keepe this Iewell which I had made choice of, and yee gave mee, with the grea­test charinesse, and warinesse, as was possible for mee to doe. I raised up the walls of this house to a great heigth? I tooke away the sight and light from the windowes towards the streete; I made double lockes to the doores; I made such a Tornell, as they have at your Monasteries; I banished perpetually therefro, all that which had but the shadow, or name of man, or male-kinde. I gave her servants and slaves to attend her person; nor did I denie them, or her, ought that they did aske of mee; I made her my equall; I com­municated with her my most secret thoughts, and made her Mistris of all my wealth and meanes. All these were such workes, being rightly and duely con­sidered, as might have fully secured mee of enjoying [Page 319] of that without disturbance, which hath cost me so much; and that shee should have made it her studie, not to have given me any the least occasion of letting any kinde of jea­lous feare to enter into my thought. But because the cha­sticement cannot bee prevented by humane diligence, which the divine will of Heaven is willing to inflict on those who doe not wholy place therein their desires, and hopes, it is no marvell that I remaine defrauded in mine. And that I my selfe have beene the Confectioner of that poyson, which now goes shortning and taking away my life. But because I perceiue the suspension where­in all of you stand, upon these words procee­ding from my mouth; I will conclude the long pre­ambles of this my discourse, with telling you in one word, that which is not possible to bee uttered in many thousands. I tell you then (my noble friends) that all that which I have sayd, and done, ends in this; that this woman I found (borne into the world, for the disturbing of my quiet, and losse of my life) (poynting to his wife) in the armes of a lusty young man, which is now secretly shut up in the lodging of this pestiferous Governesse.

Scarce had Carrizales ended these words, when as Leonora having her heart suddenly clouded, fell into a swound be­tweene her husbands knees. Marialonso lost her colour, and look't as pale as ashes; and Leonora's Parents had such a knot knit athwart their throats, that it would not give them leave to speake one word.

But Carrizales going on where hee left, sayd, the revenge which I purpose to take for this foule affront, is not, nor shall be such as ordinarily in the like cases are wont to bee taken. And therefore I will, that as I was extreame in that which I did; so likewise shall bee the vengeance which I will take▪ by taking it on my selfe, as most cul­pable in this offence. For I should, and ought to have considered with my selfe, that ill could agree and sort together the fifteene yeares of this young Woman, [Page 320] with the almost fourescore of mine; I was he, who like the Silke-worme, wrought the house wherein I must dye. Nor doe I blame thee ill advised young soule, (and in say­ing this, he bowed downe his head, and kissed the cheeke of Leonora) I doe not blame thee, I say; because the per­swasions of subtill old Beldames, and the love-trickes of amorous young men, easily overcome and triumph over that little wit which thy few yeares afford. But because all the world may see and know the worth & value of that good will and affection wherewith I ever lov'd thee; in this last passage of my life, I will shew it in such sort, that it may remaine in the world for an example, if not of goodnesse, yet at least of such simplicitie of heart, as was never heretofore heard of, or seene. And therefore I will that a Scrivener be presently sent for, to make a new my last Will and Testament; wherein I will double Leo­nora's Dworie: and shall entreat her after my dayes are en­ded, which will bee but a few; that shee dispose her will (since that shee may then doe it without enforcing) to marry with that young man, whom the grey haires of this unfortunate old man never offended. And so shall shee see, that if living I did never goe one jot from that which I thought might give her content; now dying, I am desirous to doe the like; that she may take that felicitie with him whom shee seemeth to love so dearely. And to you (kinde Father and Mo­ther) I will have a great care to leave you so well, and so rich, that you shall live plentifully during both your lives. The rest of my wealth shall goe to godly and pious uses. Cause the Scrivener to come present­ly unto mee, for the passion which hath alreadie taken hold of me, doth so oppresse and torment my heart, that it goes encreasing, and will in a very short time cut off the thread of my life.

Having sayd this, hee fell into a worse swounding then the former, and fell downe so neere to Leonora, [Page 321] that their faces were joyned each to other. A strange and sad spectacle for those her Parents, who with mournefull heart and eies looked on their beloved Daughter, and their kinde Sonne in Law. The naughty Governesse would not stay to receive the rebukes and the reprehensions, which she thought Leonora's Parents would bestow upon her; and therefore shee got her out of the lodging, and went to advertise Loaysa of all what had passed; advising him, to get him instantly out of the house, and that shee would take care to certifie him by the Negro, of the successe of this businesse, since that now there were no doores, nor keyes to hinder his passage. Loaysa was wonder-struc­ken with this strange newes, and following her counsell, returned to put on his old ragges like a poore beggar; and hastned to give an account to his frieds of the successe of his love.

In the interim that those two were thus transported with their severall passions; Leonora's Father sent to call a Scri­vener, an inward friend of his, who came just at that time that his Daughter and Son in Law were come againe to themselves. Carrizales made his Will in that forme and man­ner as wee told you before, without declaring Leonora's errour; more then that for some good respects, hee ear­nestly besought and entreated her that she would marry, in case he dyed, with that young man, whom he had told her of in secret.

When Leonora heard this, shee fell downe at her Hus­bands feet, and her heart panting within her breast, shee sayd unto him; Live (my deare husband, and my chiefest blisse) live many, many yeares. For albeit you are not bound to beleeve me in ought that I shall say unto you; know, that I have not offended you, save onely in thought; and beginning to excuse her selfe▪ and to recount at large the truth of the case; shee could not move her tongue to speake a word more, but fell a new into a swound.

Being in this dismayment, her grieved Husband embra­ced [Page 322] her; her loving Parents imbraced her; and all of them wept so bitterly, that they obliged, and even in a manner, inforced the Scrivener to accompanie them in their teares, who made the Testament. Wherein he left sufficient main­tenance to all his houshold-servants; hee manumitted, and set at libertie his women-slaves, together with the Negro: but to false Marialonso, he bequeathed no more, but her bare wages.

Having thus settled his estate, the seventh day follow­ing, he was borne to his grave. Leonora remained a very sad and mournfull Widow, but was left very rich. And when as Loaysa well hoped, that shee would cumply with that (whereof he was not ignorant) which her Husband had recommended unto her in his Testament; but after­ward saw, that within a seven-night after his death, she be­came a Nunne, and was admitted into one of the strictest Monasteries of all the Citie; being frustrated of his hopes, and ashamed to shew his face, lest hee should be made a laughing-stock, and by-word to all that knew him, he left Sevill, and went for the Indyes.

Leonora's Parents were full of sorow, and heavines, though somewhat comforted with that, which their kind sonne in law had left them in his last Will, and Testament. The Maid-servants cheered themselves, as well as they could, with the liberall Legacies he had given them; And those his shee-slaves, together with Luys the Negro, rested the bet­ter satisfied with their infranchisement and freedome.

But that wicked, and accursed Governesse, shee was left (as she well deserved) very poore, and defrauded of all her evill thoughts, and lewd purposes. And I my selfe rest very well pleased, that I am now come to the end of this successe, Example, and Mirrour of the little confidence, which is to be put in Keyes, Locks, Tornells, and Walls, when as the will continueth free, and at libertie. And how much lesse we are to trust, and relye on greene and tender yeares, when are exhibited to their [...]ares, the ex­hortations, [Page 323] and perswasions of such ill-disposed Gover­nesses, whose habit and attyre is grave and Matron-like, but their tongues and hearts, full of deceit and mischiefe.

Only I doe not know what was the reason, that Leonora did not expresse her selfe more at large, in excusing her selfe, and in giving her jealous Husband to understand, how cleare, and unspotted shee was, and how cleare from doing him any wrong in that kind: but perturbation, it should seeme, had knit a knot on her tongue, and the haste her Husband made to dye, did not give her time enough to make her just excuse.