Select novels the first six written in Spanish by Miguel Cervantes Sayavedra author of that famous history Don Quixote de la Mancha ; the other by Francis Petrarch an eminent Italian poet and one of the first restorers of learning ; all translated from the originals by Dr. Walter Pope.

SELECT NOVELS. The firſt Six written in Spaniſh, BY Miguel Cervantes Sayavedra, Author of that Famous Hiſtory Don Quixotte de la Mancha; The other by FRANCIS PETRARCH, An Eminent Italian Poet, and one of the firſt Reſtorers of Learning.

All Tranſlated from the Originals By Dr. WALTER POPE.

LONDON, Printed for Charles Brome, at the Gun at the Weſt End of St. Paul's, and Thomas Horne at the South Entrance of the Royal Exchange, in Cornhil, 1694.

TO THE READER.

THeſe Tranſlations, with ſome other Things of greater Importance, which may in due time ſee the Light, were the product of my retirement at Epſom laſt Summer: There they were begun, and finiſh'd. I have not endeavour'd to render my Author word, for word, but my Concern was, to make him ſpeak Engliſh. In the firſt Novel, I have taken more liberty, for its Scene lying for the greateſt part in England, the Laws and Cuſtoms whereof, Cervantes was not very well skill'd in, I have chang'd the Names of ſome Perſons, and Places, which are ſuch in the Original, as were never heard of in England. I have alſo left out ſome Paragrafs, which I judg'd either impertinent to the Story, or repeated. I have added nothing, but here and there a word, to make the Sence more perſpicuous. In fine, I have made all of them ſhorter, if not better, and Brevity is always good.

May 15th. 1694.

THE Spaniſh-Engliſh Lady. NOVEL I.

AMONGST the ſpoyls which the Engliſh carried from Cales, a certain Captain, by name Manly, Admiral of a Squadron of Ships, took away a young Maid about ſix years old, without the knowledge of the Earl of Eſſex, whom the Childs Parents petitioned, That ſince he had been pleaſed to take away their Eſtates, and leave their Perſons free, he would not permit their Child ſhould be Raviſh'd from them, and carried into Captivity: Upon which he Iſſued out his Orders to ſearch all the Ships, and commanded, upon pain of Death, whoever had this Spaniſh Child ſhould forthwith return her to her Parents. But notwithſtanding the ſaid Orders and this Penalty, Captain Manly retained his Captive, ſo much was he taken with the incomparable Beauty of Izabella, for ſo was this Child called. In fine, the Parents remained ſad and diſconſolate for their loſs, and the Captain, wonderfully pleaſed, carried her to London, and preſented her to his Wife, as the richeſt and beſt Prize he had taken in that Expedition. It happened, that the Captains Family, tho they openly appeared to be of the Queens Religion, were in ſecret Roman Catholics; of this number was his Son Ferdinando, then aged about twelve years, being inſtructed by his Parents firmly to adhere to the Roman Catholick Religion. Captain Manlys wife took ſo great a kindneſs to Izabella, that ſhe gave her the beſt Education ſhe could have done to her own and onely Daughter; ſhe taught her to Read and Write more than indifferently well, and all things commendable in a Gentlewoman; ſhe danc'd, and play'd well upon ſeveral ſorts of muſical Inſtruments, and when ſhe ſung to any of them it charm'd and inchanted all that heard her. Time and good Uſage made our young Captive endure with patience the loſs of her Liberty, Parents, and Country, ſhe did not however ſo wholly forget them, but that ſhe often ſigh'd and lamented her condition: and altho ſhe learnt to ſpeak Engliſh, ſhe did not forget her Native Language; for the Captain took care to bring ſecretly to his Houſe divers Spaniards to diſcourſe with her, ſo that not forgetting Spaniſh ſhe ſpoke Engliſh, as if it had been her native Tongue. All theſe good Qualities, accompanied with an excellent Humor, caus'd love in Ferdinando, for whom alſo ſhe had a great Eſteem, as being the Son of her Patron.

At firſt he loved her as a Siſter, his deſires tending no farther; he took great pleaſure in being in her Company, to admire her extraordinary Endowments and incomparable Beauty. As ſhe increaſed in Age, ſo did ſhe alſo in Perfections: She was now twelve years old when Ferdinando fell deſperately in Love with her, and the good will he had for her changed itſelf into a deſire of poſſeſſing and enjoying her; not that he hoped to arrive at this felicity by any other way but by making her his Wife; neither would he, if he might; for he being a Perſon of Honour, and having ſuch an eſteem for her, never harboured a thought unworthy of himſelf and her.

He Was a thouſand times about to declare his Intentions to his Parents, but as oft chang'd his mind, knowing their intentions to marry him to a Scotch Lady of a noble Family and very Rich; and believing they would not conſent he ſhould marry a Slave, (if that appellation be proper to Izabella) when they had provided a Gentlewoman for him. Being thus doubtful, and not knowing which way to turn himſelf, he led a painful and troubleſom Life, nay he wanted but little to loſe it; but reflecting that 'twas a great weakneſs to let himſelf dye without attempting ſome remedy, he at laſt took heart and reſolved to declare his mind to Izabella.

All the Family were much afflicted for Ferdinandos ſickneſs, eſpecially his Parents, he being their only Child.

The Fyſicians could make nothing of his Diſeaſe, and he would not, nay, he durſt not diſcover the cauſe; but at laſt he reſolved to to break through all difficulties, and one day when Izabella came to viſit him, ſeeing her alone, with a weak and trembling voice he ſpoke to her after this manner; Moſt beautiful Izabella, you have brought me into this condition, if you do not deſire that I ſhould finiſh my life in unexpreſſible torments, have pity on me, and conform your will to mine.

I humbly deſire to have you for my Wife, without the knowledge of my Parents, becauſe I fear, that they, not knowing your merits ſo well as I do, ſhould deny me that boon which I more deſire than life itſelf. If you vouchſafe to give me your promiſe to be my wife, I from henceforward as a true Catholick, and a man of Honour, give you mine to be yours. Nor will I deſire any further Favour from you, till I have my Parents, and the Churches Bleſſing. I'll ſatisfie my ſelf in the mean time with hopes, and this will be ſufficient to reſtore me to my health, and to make me contented, till I attain to the higheſt pitch of felicity, the lawful Enjoyment of my deareſt Izabella.

While Ferdinando ſpoke this, Izabella was very attentive, and fix'd her Eyes upon the ground; ſhewing, by that poſture, that her Deſcretion was not inferior to her Beauty, nor her Honeſty to her Prudence; and perceiving he had done ſpeaking, ſhe anſwered in theſe Words,

Since my propitious, or malevolent Stars, for I know not to which to attribute it, have taken me from my Parents, noble Ferdinando, and alotted me to live with yours; being obliged by the many Courteſies and infinite Favours they have ſhewed me, I determined that my Will ſhould never vary from theirs. If therefore, with their Conſent, I may be ſo happy; from this hour I offer my ſelf to you: and, till that be obtained, you may entertain your Deſires with Hope, and I will beg Heaven to pour down all its Bleſſings upon you.

Here ended the diſcreet Words of Izabella, and here began the Recovery of Ferdinando, and the Hopes of his Parents to ſee him return to his Health.

This ſaid, they parted, he weeping for Joy, ſhe amaz'd to perceive him ſo much in love with her.

Ferdinando roſe preſently from his Bed, as if he had been cur'd by a Miracle, and reſolved to diſcover his mind to his Parents without delay.

He began with his Mother, and after other diſcourſes, he told her, That if his Parents ſhould refuſe to marry him to Izabella, 'twould be the ſame thing as to kill him, for he could not live without her; in fine, he he did ſo extol her Vertues, that his Mother believed the Match would be more advantagious to Ferdinando, than to the fair Spaniſh Captive; ſhe gave him good words, and encouragement to hope that ſhe would work ſo effectually with his Father, as to get his Conſent.

She acquainted her Husband with what had paſſed betwixt Ferdinando and her; to which, without any difficulty, he conſented, and reſolved to find ſome Excuſes fairly to break off the Scotch Match, which had not been only treated of, but almoſt agreed upon.

Ferdinando was now twenty years old, and Izabella fourteen; but in her florid Spring there appear'd a mature Autumn of Diſcretion. Now Ferdinandos Happineſs began to approach, his Parents reſolving after four days he ſhould be married with Izabella.

The Wedding Cloaths were made, the Kindred and Friends invited, and there remained nothing but to give the Queen notice of the intended Nuptials. For in that Kingdom Perſons of Quality may not marry without the Soveraigns Conſent; they not at all doubting, but that the Queen would give them leave, did not ask it, till all things were in this forwardneſs. In the evening of one of thoſe four days, which were allotted to make preparations for the Wedding, there unexpectedly arrived a Meſſenger, commanding Captain Manly to bring the Spaniſh Captive next Morning to her Majeſty, the Captain reply'd, he would not fail to obey her Majeſtys Commands; with this Anſwer the Meſſenger returned, leaving him and all the Gueſts full of Conſternation. Ah Wretch that I am, cryed the Captains Wife, what will become of us, if her Majeſty ſhould know, that we have bred this Lady in the Roman Catholic Religion? and thence infer that all our Family is of the ſame; and if her Majeſty ſhould ask her what ſhe has learnt theſe eight years ſhe has been in our houſe, what can the poor Soul anſwer, which will not turn to our Confuſion! which Izabella hearing, thus replied,

Madam, trouble not your ſelf with any ſuch Fear; for I truſt in God, he will infuſe into me ſuch Anſwers, that ſhall redound to your profit, not to your Damage.

The Captain trembled, his Mind preſaging ſome ſiniſter Accident; Ferdinando endeavour'd to keep up his Spirits, and plac'd his Confidence in the Prudence of Izabella: to whom he recommended above all things, that ſhe would take all poſſible Care, that they might not be detected to be Roman Catholicks; tho he was diſpoſed in his Mind to ſuffer Martyrdom for his Religion, yet his Fleſh was weak, and loath to come to that bitter Trial.

Izabella aſſur'd them more than once, that altho ſhe knew not what the Queen might ask her, yet ſhe did not doubt but to anſwer ſo, that they ſhould have no reaſon to complain.

They paſſed that night, diſcourſing about many things, and placed their hopes in that, that if the Queen had known them to be Roman Catholics, ſhe would not have ſent them ſo conſiderable a Meſſenger, thence they inferr'd, that her Majeſty had only a mind to ſee Izabella; the Report of whoſe Beauty and vertuous Qualities might probably have reach'd Whitehal.

Tho they were conſcious of their Error in not having preſented Izabella to the Queen before, yet they thought to excuſe it by ſaying, that from the beginning they deſigned to marry her to their Son. And altho they were blameable in ſo doing without the Queens Conſent, yet it ſeem'd to them, that for ſuch a ſmall Crime, they did not merit any heavy Chaſtizement.

This afforded them a little Comfort; the next day they dreſs'd Izabella, after the Spaniſh faſhion, in a green Velvet Gown, embroidered with Diamonds, and lin'd with a rich Cloth of Gold, the Apertures faſten'd with Buttons of Diamonds; upon her Neck a rich Necklace of Pearl; in her Hand a Fan, one of that ſort the greateſt Spaniſh Ladies wear; ſhe had nothing upon her Head but her own yellow Hair, curiouſly interwoven and ſtuck with Diamonds and Pearls: with theſe Ornaments, and her marvellous Beauty and moſt graceful and ſweet Air, ſhe took Coach, drawing upon her the Hearts and Eyes of all that ſaw her.

The Captain, his Wife and Ferdinando were in the ſame Coach; which was followed by many Gentlemen, their Friends and Relations, well mounted, and richly habited.

This Honour Captain Manly ſhew'd the Spaniſh Captive, to incline the Queen to treat her, as the Perſon he deſign'd to be his Sons Wife.

Being arriv'd at Whitehal, ſhe was conducted into a great Room, where ſhe appear'd with ſo much Splendor, that it exceeds all imagination.

The Company ſtopt at the door, and Izabella went before alone, and ſeem'd a Star, or Exhalation moving through the Region of Fire in a ſerene Night; they thought they ſaw the Sun-rays darting out between two Mountains, or rather a Comet prognoſticating the firing of of as many Souls as ſaw her. She made up to the Queen, and with great Reverence kneel'd at her Feet, and ſpake thus,

Madam, I moſt humbly deſire your Majeſty, that you would vouchſafe this your Slave to kiſs your Royal Hands, who hence forward ſhall put a value upon her ſelf, ſince ſhe has been ſo happy as to have ſeen, and been taken notice of by your ſacred Majeſty.

The Queen ſtood a good while looking upon her without ſpeaking one word, being ſurpriz'd to behold ſuch admirable Beauty; and imagin'd, as ſhe ſaid afterwards to ſome of her Ladies, that there was before her the ſtarry Heaven full of Lights, which the many Diamonds did reſemble; that her Eyes and Face ſeem'd the Sun and Moon in the ſame Sphere; that conſidering her altogether, or part by part, ſhe was a Miracle of Beauty.

The Court Ladies wiſh'd they had as many Eyes as Argus, and might at once behold every part of her, which to view ſingly, would take up an Age. Some praiſed the Livelineſs of her Eyes, others her Complexion, ſome the Slenderneſs of her Waſt, and the Proportion of her Body, and all the Sweetneſs of her Speech; thoſe that envied her, had nothing to ſay but this, 'tis true, the Spaniard is not unhandſome, but we do not like her Dreſs.

After the Queens Admiration was over, ſhe bid her riſe, and ſaid to her, Speak Spaniſh Madam, for I underſtand it, and ſhall be pleaſed to hear you pronounce it; then turning to Captain Manly, ſhe ſaid, Captain, you deſerve blame for having ſo long hid this Treaſure from me: yet I confeſs that you had reaſon to guard her with Care:

You muſt reſtore her to me, for ſhe is mine by right. Madam, reply'd the Captain, I confeſs my Error, if it was an Error, to have kept her, till ſhe was fit to appear before your Majeſty; I humbly petition your Majeſty to conſent, that ſhe may be my Sons Wife; ſo that in preſenting her to your Majeſty, I may give all that I have in the World with Izabella.

Is ſhe my Nameſake, ſaid the Queen, 'tis what I deſired, and I now ſee nothing wanting in her; but Captain, how is it, that without my licenſe you have promiſed her to your Son?

Madam, replied he, I truſted that the Services my Anceſtors and my ſelf had done the Crown, might obtain of your Majeſty Favours of greater moment than this; but however I have not yet much tranſgreſs'd, for my Son is not married.

Nor ſhall be, ſaid the Queen, till he has deſerved her: your Services and thoſe of your Anceſtors ſhall not prevail for your Son, if he does not put himſelf in a way to ſerve me, and merit this Beautiful Priſoner, whom I look upon as my Daughter.

Izabella had ſcarce heard her Majeſty pronounce theſe laſt Words, but ſhe drew nearer, fell upon her knees, and ſpoke thus in Spaniſh, The Diſgraces, Misfortunes and Changes which have happened to me, moſt ſerene and moſt potent Queen, I ſhall now look upon as Favours from Heaven, ſince your Majeſty has vouchſafed to give me the honourable Title of your Daughter; having this Pledge what Ill can I fear, what Good may I not hope for? Izabella pronounc'd this with ſuch a grace, that the Queen took a great affection to her, and entertained her in her Service, recommending her to the chief Lady of the Bedchamber to inſtruct her.

Ferdinando, who reckon'd they had taken away his Life, was ready to ſink down void of Senſe and Judgment; all in confuſion and trembling, caſt himſelf at her Majeſtys feet, and ſaid, 'Tis not neceſſary, Madam, that I ſhould be invited to ſerve your Majeſty with any other rewards, than what my Anceſtors have received for having faithfully ſerved your Majeſty and your glorious Predeceſſors; yet ſince your Majeſty commands I ſhould render you ſome new and ſignal Service: I moſt humbly crave, you would vouchſafe to tell me wherein it is, that I may obey your Royal Commands.

Two of my Ships, ſaid the Queen, are going out a Cruiſing under the command of the Baron of Tinmouth; I'll make you Captain of one of them, and if he ſhould miſcarry, for he is fat and not very healthful, you ſhall command them both, in confidence that the Blood, from which you proceed, will ſupply your want of Experience and Years. You ought to conſider, that I do you a favour in giving you this opportunity to ſerve your Queen, and to ſhew what you are, what and you can do, and that your Valour is anſwerable to the opinion I have of it; this is the way to obtain the greateſt Reward you can deſire. I will take care of Izabella, tho ſhe is ſafe enough under the guardianſhip of her Vertues, of which her Looks and Actions give ſufficient proof. Go, God preſerve you, and becauſe you are in Love I expect great things from your Valour; happy is that Prince who has in his Army ten thouſand Lovers, who propoſe to themſelves for a reward of their Service, the Glory of Victory, and the Enjoyment of their Loves. Riſe, continued the Queen, and diſpatch what you have to ſay to Izabella, for I intend you ſhall be ſeparated to morrow.

Ferdinando kiſs'd the hemm of the Queens Garment, and went preſently and kneel'd before Izabella deſigning to ſpeak to her, but he was dumb, and Tears trickled down his Cheeks; which he could not ſo well diſſemble, but that the Queen took notice of them. Be not aſham'd, ſaid ſhe of thoſe Tears; for 'tis an eaſier thing to meet an Enemy, than to part with a Miſtreſs. You Izabella, embrace Ferdinando, and bid him adieu, for he well deſerves your Love.

Izabella ſurpriz'd to ſee Ferdinando in that poſture, did not attend to what the Queen ſaid, but fell a weeping ſo bitterly that ſhe could not ſtir from the Place, but ſeem'd a ſweating or weeping Statue of Marble. This Tenderneſs of the two Lovers, drew Tears from the Eyes of moſt of the Spectators.

In this manner they parted, without ſpeaking one word. Captain Manly and his Company, making an humble Bow to the Queen, departed full of Compaſſion and Diſguſt.

Izabella was left behind like an Orfan, who had newly buried her Parents, full of Fear leſt her new Miſtreſs ſhould force her to quit the Religion, wherein ſhe had been educated.

Two days after Ferdinando put to Sea; being combated amongſt other troubleſome thoughts, with two eſpecially; one was, that he ought to give ſuch proof of himſelf, as to deſerve Izabella: the other how he could do this and not offend his Religion, which forbad him to draw his Sword againſt Roman Catholics; if he did not, he ſhould be reputed a Coward, and loſe the hopes of obtaining his Miſtreſs; tho he determined to prefer his Religion before his Love. He therefore earneſtly beg'd of Heaven to afford him an Opportunity, wherein he might ſhew his Valour, and not expoſe his Religion; ſerve the Queen, and not offend his Conſcience.

They ſailed ſix days with a fair wind towards the Iſle of Terceras, where they doubted not but to meet with ſome Portugal Ships, which uſually touch there, in there return from the Eaſt-Indies, or going to the Weſt: After ſix days there aroſe a South Wind and blow'd ſo ſtrong and continued ſo long, that they could not make to the Land, but were driven towards the Coaſts of Spain, near the Streights mouth, when they diſcovered three Veſſels, one great, and two ſmaller.

Ferdinando made up to the Commander to receive his Orders; but coming near, he perceived a black Flag, and heard Trumpets and Fifes ſound dolefully, clear ſigns ſome Perſon of Note was dead in the Ship; being come up to her, they deſired him to come Aboard and take poſſeſſion of her, for the Baron dyed the day before of an Appoplexy.

This accident inwardly rejoyced Ferdinando, not that the Barons death was pleaſant to him, but becauſe he was now at his own diſpoſing, having none to be a Spy upon his Actions; he preſently went Aboard, and was received with huzzas.

He put all things in order for a fight, when he perceived two of theſe Ships to make up to him; and by the Half Moons which they bore, he knew them to be the Turkiſh Veſſels, which cauſed in him great joy, and to thank Heaven that had afforded him an opportunity of ſhewing his courage, without offending his Religion.

The Turks imagin'd his Ships were returned from the Indies, and would make no reſiſtance. Ferdinando let them come within reach of his Guns, then he pour'd a Broadſide into one of them, with ſuch ſucceſs, that a great breach was made, and ſhe had ſunk, had not the other tow'd her off; Ferdinando purſued them, and rain'd his ſmall Shot ſo thick upon them, that they quitted her, and faſtened her to the great Ship, making what ſail they could to ſave themſelves; but Ferdinando preſſed ſo hard upon them, that they could not tack or make uſe of their Oars. The Chriſtian Slaves broke their Chains and enter'd pelmel with the Turks; Ferdinando ordered his Men to aim at the Turks, and not willingly kill any Chriſtians: in this manner many Turks were ſlain, but the greateſt part of them were cut in pieces, by the Chriſtian Slaves, who made uſe of the kill'd Turks Arms, and laid about them couragiouſly to recover their Liberty. Thus moſt of the Turks being killed, and the reſt diſarm'd and ſecur'd; ſome perſons appear'd upon the deck calling Ferdinando in Spaniſh, to come and enjoy the fruit of his Victory, for they took them for Spaniſh Veſſels, Ferdinando, the better to conceal himſelf, bearing the Flag of that Nation: Ferdinando ask'd what and whence they were? they anſwered, that they came from the Portugal Indies, and that they had aboard in Spices, Pearls and Diamonds, the value of a Million in Gold, that they were forced by ſtormy Weather upon that Coaſt, diſabled, and ſhatter'd, and almoſt ſtarved; that thoſe Gallies were commanded by Arnaut Mami a Turkiſh Pyrate, who had taken them the day before, and intended to tow them to the Canal of Raſcia, not far diſtant from thence.

Ferdinando anſwered that his Ships were not of Spain, but belonged to the Queen of England; which News put them into great Conſternation; but he bid them fear nothing, for he would ſecure them from harm, and give them their Liberty, if they would preſently yield without making any reſiſtance. They reply'd, If we would, we are not in a condition, having no Guns, for we were obliged to caſt them over-board in the late Storm; we apply our ſelves to your Generoſity, that ſince you have freed us from the intolerable yoke of Turkiſh ſlavery you would complete your Benefaction, and not carry us Captives into England.

Ferdinando called a Council to know what they would adviſe him to do with the Spaniards and the reſt, and how he might convey them to Spain without any danger to himſelf, and ſo to ſecure them, that they might not, when they ſhould find their number, and the paucity of the Engliſh, make head againſt them.

Some gave their opinion, to cauſe them one by one to paſs into the Engliſh Ship, and then cut their their Throats, that one ſhould not know what had befaln his Companion, and then with the reſt of the Ships make for London. But Ferdinando anſwered, Since it hath pleaſed God to put into our hands ſo great Riches, we ought not to make him ſuch a return; nor is it convenient to uſe Extremities, when other means will be as effectual. I will not therefore, that any Catholic die by your hand, not that I have a kindneſs for their Religion, but for my ſelf; committing ſuch barbarous Cruelty would lay a perpetual infamy upon our Country, and we ſhould be eſteem'd baſe Cowards; for Cruelty and Valour are inconſiſtent.

None of the Officers contradicted what Ferdinando ſaid; ſome of them applauding him for a valiant and generous Perſon, and others thought him more inclin'd to Popery, as they call'd it, than they could wiſh.

Ferdinando added, My opinion is, that we remove the great Guns, and the reſt of the Arms and Proviſions out of one of ours into the great Ship, and ſail in her to England, leaving the empty one, with as much proviſions as are neceſſary for ſo ſhort a Voyage, to the Spaniards, wherein they may ſhift for themſelves; to which they all conſented. Then Ferdinando with fifty Harquebuſiers went aboard the Prize, where were more than three hundred Chriſtians, who eſcaped out of the Turkiſh Galleys, he ask'd for the Captain to give him the Regiſter of the Ship, they anſwered, the Captain was drown'd, and the Regiſter with him.

Immediately Ferdinando ſet all hands at work, and in a little time clear'd his Ship, and then commanded the Spaniards to enter into it; leaving proviſions more than ſufficient for their Voyage; for they were ſo near Spain, that they could diſcern the Mountains of Culpe and Abila; he gave them alſo four Crowns a piece, to defray their charges to their homes, from the place of their landing. The laſt that was to embark, which was the firſt that ſpoke in the behalf of the reſt, thus accoſted Ferdinando, Generous and Valiant Captain, you'll do me a greater kindneſs to take me with you into England, for I do not deſire to return into Spain, tho it be my native Country, out of which I have been but ſix days, I can find nothing in it but what affords me Diſcontent. Know Sir, that in the Sack of Cales, I loſt mine only Daughter and Child, which I ſuppoſe your Countrymen carried to England, and with her the Staff of my Age, and the Light of mine Eyes, which have ſeen nothing they could take pleaſure in, ſince that time. This, and the loſs of a conſiderable Eſtate at the ſame time, did ſo afflict me, that I neither would, nor could, any longer follow my Buſineſs, which was merchandizing, by which I had got the reputation of being the richeſt of that Profeſſion in Cales; and indeed I was ſo, for beſides what I had abroad, which was to the value of ſeveral hundred thouſand Crowns; my ſtock at home was more worth than forty thouſand Ducats of Gold. I loſt all, but ſhould have accounted it nothing, had I kept my Daughter. Beſides this general Miſery, Poverty came ſo fiercely upon me, that I could not withſtand it, whereupon I reſolv'd to go to the Indies, the uſual Aſylum of diſtreſſed and decay'd Gentlemen, and take with me my Wife, which is that poor miſerable Woman you ſee ſitting there, we embark'd in an Advice boat, ſix days ago; we were no ſooner out of Cales, but we were taken by the Turks; thus renewing our Miſeries, which yet would have been much greater, if they had not taken the Portugal Ship, which kept them here, till they fell into your hands.

Ferdinando ask'd him his Daughters Name, he reply'd Izabella; which made him ſuſpect, that this Spaniard might be Father to his Miſtreſs; but, without giving him any news of her, he ſaid he would willingly carry them to London, where perhaps they might have tidings of their Daughter; ſo cauſing them to enter his Ship, and put a guard into the Portugueſe Veſſel, he ſet ſail that Night, bearing off from the Spaniſh Coaſts, leaving one of his Ships to the Spaniards, amongſt whom there were about twenty Turks, to whom he alſo gave their Liberty: making the Spaniards promiſe, that after their Landing they ſhould permit them to go whither they pleaſed. This he did to make his Men believe, that his Courteſies proceeded rather from his Generoſity, than from his Inclination to the Roman Catholic Religion.

The Wind, which at firſt was good, began to ſlacken, and, in fine, his Ship was becalmed, which cauſed great Conſternation among the Seamen; fearing leaſt thoſe they had ſet at liberty, ſhould, at their arrival in Spain, give advice what and where they were; and if it ſhould ſo happen, that there ſhould be any armed Galeots in the Port, they might be ſent out againſt them, and, by the advantage of the Calm, either take or ſink them.

Ferdinando did the beſt he could to ſettle their Minds; which whilſt he was endeavouring, a brisk and favourable Wind aroſe, that ſerved them to the end of their Voyage, which they finiſhed in eight days, and arrived ſafe within ſight of London; having, in the ſpace of one Month, put a period to that Expedition.

Ferdinando, becauſe the Commander in chief was dead, would not enter the Port with ſigns of Joy, but cauſed his Trumpets to ſound ſometimes a chearful and ſometimes a ſad Tune, and his Drums, which beat merrily, to be anſwered by Wind-Muſick in a hoarſe and melancholy Sound; and he cauſed the Turkiſh Standard to be hung revers'd from his Fore caſtle, and on the other ſide another long Flag of black Velvet, whoſe Bottom touch'd the ſuperficies of the Water, with thoſe contrary Signs, the valiant Ferdinando appear'd, having left the Portugueſe Ship lower down in the River, fearing ſhe ſhould draw more Water than he ſhould find there.

Theſe extraordinary Signs wrought Admiration in all the Concourſe of People, which perceived them from the ſhore, they knew that was the Baron of Tinmouths Ship, but could not imagine what that great one was which lay at Blackwal. In fine, their Doubts and Suſpence ceas'd, when they ſaw Ferdinando come off his Ship, richly arm'd, on foot; and, armed as he was, he immediately went to Whitehal, followed by a numerous Company of People, deſirous to know the Adventures he had met with.

Ferdinando, who was tall, well proportion'd, and in ſhining gilt Armour, appear'd very graceful; he had no Helmet on, but a Beaver garniſh'd with a Plume of Feathers of various colours, a long Sword hanging by a rich Belt, his Breeches of the French Faſhion; in this manner he appeared. Some compared him to the God of War, others, by the beauty of his face, to Venus, ſo diſguiſed to put a trick upon Mars.

Being come to White-Hall, where the Queen having notice of his arrival expected him, environ'd with a circle of the Court Ladies, amongſt which was Izabella dreſs'd after the Engliſh mode, and did not appear leſs beautiful than in the Spaniſh Garbe. Ferdinando drew near to the Queen, and falling down upon his knees, Her Majeſty was graciouſly pleas'd to let him have the honour of kiſſing her hand; which done, Her Majeſty bid him riſe and give her an account of his Expedition; making a low bow, he began thus.

Moſt Serene and Potent Queen, after my Commander in chiefs Death, and my ſucceeding him by Your Majeſties ſpecial Grace and Favour, fortune preſented me with a welcom occaſion of taking and ſinking Two Turkiſh Galleys. I aſſaulted them; your men according to their Cuſtom, fought valiantly, by force of Your Majeſties Fortune, which I did my utmoſt to ſecond. We deſtroyed the Pyrates, and took from them a conſiderable Prize. Upon one of Your Majeſties Ships I ſent away the Chriſtian Slaves which were in the Turkiſh Galleys, to whom, In Your Majeſties Name, I gave liberty. I have only brought with me a Spaniſh Gentleman and his Wife, who are come out of curioſity to ſee Your Majeſty. The Prize which I took was a Portugueſe Ship, who returning from the Indies fell into the hands of the Turks; the Spices, Pearls and Diamonds in it, are worth more than a Million of Gold, as they who came in it affirm; no bulk is broken, nothing is touched, either by us or the Turks: And I commanded that it ſhould be carefully guarded for Your Majeſty, of whom I beg only one Jewel, with which I ſhould eſteem my ſelf well rewarded, if I had preſented Your Majeſty with ten ſuch Ships; that Jewel is Izabella; having her, I ſhall account my ſelf to be richly recompenced for all the ſervices I have yet done, and which I hope to do, to make my ſelf worthy, if not altogether, yet in ſome part, of ſo great a reward.

Riſe Ferdinando, ſaid the Queen, and believe me, ſhould I make you pay for Izabella what ſhe is worth, and according to the value I ſet upon her, you could not purchaſe her with the Riches of that Ship, nor of the Indies. I give you her becauſe of my promiſe, and becauſe ſhe is worthy of you, and you of her: You have kept for me the riches of the Ship, and I have preſerved Izabella for you. It may be, you think it no great obligation to receive your own, but I know I do you a ſignal Favour; for things that the buyer has an ardent deſire to purchaſe, are worth the price the ſeller pleaſes to put them at. Izabella is yours, take poſſeſſion of her when you pleaſe, 'twill be, I believe, with her good liking, for ſhe can diſcern how true your Love is. Go home, and refreſh your ſelf, and let me ſee you again to morrow, and I'll hear the particulars of the Expedition; and bring with you the two Spaniards, who, you ſaid, deſired to come to ſee mee, that I may thank them.

There were ſome, that envied Ferdinandos reception, who did not ſtick to ſay, 'twas vanity and folly in him to appear thus arm'd in the Court; but others excuſed him, thinking, it pardonable in a young Souldier and a Lover.

After this Ferdinando went home, and was received with all the careſſes and kindneſs imainable by his Parents and Kindred. And the Londoners to teſtifie their Joy for his happy ſucceſs, fill'd the ſtreets with Bonfires, and the windows with Illuminationss.

Now were the Father and Mother of Izabella arriv'd at Captain Manlys Houſe, of whoſe condition Ferdinando had informed them, but beg'd they would not tell them any news of their Daughter, but leave that diſcovery to him. That night they began to unload the great ſhip, which was eight days a doing.

The next day Ferdinando went to the Court, taking with him the Father and Mother of Izabella, clothed after the Engliſh Faſhion, telling them it would be grateful to the Queen. Her Majeſty attended by the Court Ladies, as a mark of Her Favour, had placed Izabella cloſe to her, dreſt in the ſame Spaniſh Cloaths wherein ſhe appear'd firſt at Court; her Father and Mother, amaz'd to ſee ſo much grandeur and magnificence; looking about, at laſt fixed their Eyes upon Izabella with a certain heart-beating, and not an unpleaſant trouble, not believing it preſaged the good which they ſo much deſired, and was ſo near to them.

The Queen asked Ferdinando the particulars of his Engagement, which he told, attributing the ſucceſs to God, to the happy Stars of Her Majeſty, and to the valour of his Seamen, praiſing them all in general, and particularlizing ſome who had ſignalized their ſelves in that Action. The Queen ordered them all to be rewarded, diſtributing to ſome who had behaved themſelves extraordinarily, greater marks of her Favour.

Then Ferdinando told Her Majeſty, this Man and this Woman, pointing to Izabellas Parents, are the two Spaniards I mentioned to Your Majeſty yeſterday: They are of Cales, and I believe, by what I have remarked in their Diſcourſe and Converſation, of an honorable Quality. The Queen bid them draw near; Izabell'a look'd earneſtly upon them, hearing they were Spaniards and of Cales, with intention to enquire of them after her Parents; and turning towards her mother, who ſtood ſtaring upon her, ſhe had a confuſed remembrance of her, that ſhe had ſome where ſeen her: Her Father was in the ſame confuſion, and durſt not believe what they ſaw.

Ferdinando obſerved all of them, but was not able to determine whether they knew one another or not.

The Queen took notice with what attention and concern the Spaniards viewed Izabella, and that ſhe alſo was in great perplexity, ſweating, and often putting her hand to her head to adjuſt her hair; longing to hear her ſpeak whom ſhe thought to be her Mother, hoping her Ears might free her from the confuſion which her Eyes had brought upon her; good fortune anſwered her wiſh; for the Queen commanded her to ask them, why they would not take hold of the Liberty which Ferdinando offered them; that being a good beloved, and priz'd not only by Men, but by Beaſts themſelves?

This did Izabella ask her Mother; who, without anſwering one word, ran to her, not conſidering where, and in whoſe company ſhe was; and putting her hand to her left Ear, perceived there a black mole, which put an end to her doubts; now certainly ſhe knew it was her Daughter, ſhe embrac'd her moſt paſſionatly; and broke out into theſe Words: Oh my dear Life! but not being able to ſay any more, ſhe fell into a Swond, holding Izabella in her Arms. Her Husband being not leſs prudent, than compaſſionate, ſhew'd his Affection not with Words, but Tears flowing down from his Eyes.

Izabella turning her Eyes towards her Father after ſuch a manner, that they ſhew'd the Pain and Pleaſure that Sight afforded her. The Queen was amazed, and told Ferdinando, this was a Contrivance of his, that it could not be by chance, and that he might have cauſe to repent of it: for it as often happens that ſudden Joy, as ſurprizing bad news, had prov'd mortal: then ſhe ordered Izabella to be taken from her Mother, who having ſome cold water ſpurted in her Face, came to her ſelf; and being recovered, ſhe caſt her ſelf at the Queen's feet, and ſaid, I moſt humbly beg your Majeſty to pardon my Rudeneſs; 'tis not to be wondered at, that the Joy to find my dear Pledge, ſhould make me loſe my Senſes, and behave my ſelf ſo undecently in your Majeſtys preſence.

The Queen replied, 'twas a good Excuſe, and that ſhe took nothing amiſs, ſhe alſo appointed them Lodgings in the Court, that they might, with more opportunity and leiſure, enjoy their Daughters Company.

Ferdinando returned the Queen moſt humble thanks for this favour, withal deſiring her Majeſty to give him Izabella, if he had merited her; and if he had not, that ſhe would without delay employ him in ſome ſervice, which might render him worthy of that he ſo ardently deſired.

The Queen was well ſatisfied of Ferdinandos Valour, and deſired no farther proof, and therefore told him, that after four days ſhe would be as good as her word Ferdinando went away the moſt joyful Man in the World, having ſo near a proſpect of Happineſs.

The Queen being well pleaſed with his Preſents, ſhewed him many other ſignal Favours, which made the Courtiers grumble, and ſay, the Proverb is verified, Preſents break Stones? becauſe Ferdinandos had that effect upon that haughty Queen; but this kind Reception raiſed him many Enemies: for if a Prince ſhews any one a particular kindneſs, it is a Launce and pierces the Heart of the envious.

The time paſſed, but not with that Swiftneſs as Ferdinando deſired; for thoſe who expect a great benefice upon a day appointed, always think, that time is ſo far from flying, that it walks ſlowly and with leaden Feet. The day came and Ferdinando believ'd he ſhould accompliſh his Deſires, and find new Graces in Izabella, which ſhould make him love her more, if that were poſſible. But in that ſhort time, wherein he hoped the Ship ſhould arrive at the deſired Port, his ill Fate rais'd ſuch Tempeſts, that he was a thouſand times in danger to ſuffer Shipwrack; and this was the occaſion.

The Counteſs of Lundy, in whoſe cuſtody Izabella was, had a Son about twenty two years old, called the Earl of Lundy, the Greatneſs of whoſe Eſtate, the Nobility of his Blood, and the Favour his Mother had with the Queen, made him intolerable haughty, proud and arrogant; this Earl was deſperately inamour'd with Izabella, and during Ferdinandos abſence he had often told her his Deſires, and ſhe as often declar'd his Addreſſes were very ungrateful to her; tho uſualy Diſdain oppos'd to young Love, nips it in the Bud, and ſtops the Lovers farther procedings; yet in this Earl Izabellas Repulſes wrought a contrary effect, and inſtead of extinguiſhing his Love, caus'd it to flame more. But when he found that Ferdinando and ſhe were ſuddenly to be married, he almoſt died with Deſpair; but at laſt he reſolv'd to ſpeak to his Mother, and pray her to ask Izabella of the Queen; and added, that if her Majeſty denied his Petition, he was a dead Man, it being impoſſible for him to live without her. His Mother was much ſurpriz'd at theſe words, knowing his humour, with what obſtinancy he uſed to purſue his deſires, and fearing what might enſue; ſhe as a Mother, to whom it is natural to endeavour to pleaſe their Children, promiſed him to ſpeak to the Queen; not that ſhe had any hopes to ſpeed, for ſhe knew 'twas impoſſſible to make the Queen break her word, but to gain time, and keep her Son from attempting a more deſperate Remedy.

That morning, by the Queens Command, Izabella was habited ſo richly that my Pen cannot deſcribe her Garments, Her Majeſty putting about her neck one of the beſt Necklaces which could be found amongſt many, which were taken in the Portugueſe Prize, worth five thouſand Pound, and on her finger a Diamond Ring of exceſſive value; and whilſt the reſt of the Court Ladies were diſcourſing about the Marriage, which they concluded was preſently to be celebrated, behold the Counteſs of Lundy entred into the preſence, and caſting herſelf at her Majeſties Feet, beg'd that ſhe would defer the Wedding only for two days, which if Her Majeſty would grant, ſhe would eſteem herſelf abundantly rewarded for all her ſervices. The Queen would firſt be informed, what made her ſo earneſtly deſire her to do that which was directly contrary to her word.

The Counteſs would not anſwer, till the Queen had granted her Petition; which ſhe did, being deſirous to know the reaſon, which forced the Counteſs upon ſuch a demand.

Then the Counteſs told the Queen her Sons love, and that ſhe feared, that if he did not obtain his deſire, it might make him deſperate; and that ſhe hop'd in two days Her Majeſty might find out ſome expedient to ſatisfie her inamoured Son.

The Queen reply'd, That had ſhe not engaged her word, 'twas poſſible ſhe might find out ſome thread to guide him out of that labyrinth, but ſhe could not, neither would ſhe defraud Ferdinandos hopes for all the World. This anſwer the Counteſs carried to her Son, who immediately put on his armour, and mounted upon a ſtately Horſe rid to Captain Manlys Houſe, and with a loud voice call'd upon Ferdinando, who was dreſs'd like a Bridegroom, in order to go to White-Hall to be Married, having heard the voice he went to the Window; as ſoon as the Earl ſaw him, he thus accoſted him.

Ferdinando have patience, and mind what I have to ſay; the Queen our Miſtreſs commanded you to go to Sea, and give ſuch proofs of your Valour that might make you deſerve the incomparable Izabella; you went, and return'd with a Veſſel freight with Gold, and Spices, and precious Stones, by which Action you think you have deſerved her, and believe there is no body in the Court that merits her better than you; in which you are much miſtaken. I am of opinion, nay, I affirm, that you have not yet, nor ever can do any thing, that can make you worthy of Izabella. If you ſay the contrary, I defy you, and ſhall make my words good with my Sword. Thus the Earl ended, and Ferdinando reply'd.

My Lord, your Challenge concerns me not, becauſe I own, that not only I am unworthy of Izabella, but that there is no man living upon the face of the Earth does deſerve her; making this acknowledgment I do not ſee that your defiance touches me, nevertheleſs I accept of it, that I may chaſtiſe your inſolence.

This ſaid, he call'd for his Arms, whereat his Parents and the reſt of the Company were much diſturbed. Some who ſaw the Earl, and heard the Challenge, went immediately and inform'd the Queen, who commanded the Captain of Her Guard to go preſently and Arreſt the Earl: The Captain was ſo expeditious, that he arriv'd juſt as Ferdinando was coming out of his Houſe on Horſeback and Armed.

No ſooner did the Earl ſee him, but gueſſing what he came for, he ſpoke thus, with a loud voice to Ferdinando; You ſee what hinders us at preſent from deciding our quarrel; if you have any deſire to ſee me, you may ſearch me out; and I will not give over looking for you, till I have found and chaſtized you. Two Perſons that hate one another, may eaſily meet, if they are inclined to it; let us therefore put off the execution of our deſign, till we meet. I am contented, reply'd Ferdinando.

In this inſtant the Captain arrived, and told the Earl, that he arreſted him in Her Majeſtys Name: The Earl deſired him to carry him before Her Majeſty; which the Captain granted, and putting him in the midſt of his men, guarded him to White-Hall, and brought him into Her Majeſties preſence, who had been informed by the Counteſs of Lundy alſo of what had happened; and who earneſtly petitioned for his pardon, as one carried • y the heat of Youth and Paſſion to commit this Fact. The Earl was brought before the Queen, who without entering into any diſcourſe with him, commanded that his Sword ſhould be tak • n away, and he carried to the Tower. All theſe things cauſed great inquietude in Izabella and her Parents, who in ſo little time found their affairs ſo much embroyl'd; the Counteſs endeavour'd to perſuade the Queen to ſend Izabella to Spain, and ſo taking away the cauſe, put an end to the bad conſequences which mig • t ariſe: ſhe added, that Izabella was ſo ſtiff a Roman Catholic that no body could prevail with her to quit that Religion.

I have, reply'd the Queen, a greater eſteem for her, becauſe ſhe is ſtedfaſt in the Religion wherein ſhe was educated; neither can I think of ſending her to Spain, for that would be to deprive my ſelf of the pleaſure which her company, her virtues, and her beauty afford me: Inſtead of that, I intend either this day, or to morrow at fartheſt, to ſee her marryed to Ferdinando.

This anſwer afflicted the Counteſs with ſo much ſorrow, that ſhe was not able to reply one word; and believing there was no other remedy for her Sons Malady, but to remove Izabella out of the way, ſhe reſolv'd to put in practiſe one of the greateſt wickedneſſes and cruelties, that ever entred into the thoughts of a Perſon of her Quality, which was to Poyſon her: and as it is natural to all Women, when they have fix'd their reſolutions, eſpecially if they are bad ones, not to defer the execution of them; that very night ſhe gave her the Poyſon in C •… ſerve of Roſes, forcing her to take it, telling her 'twas a ſoveraign Remedy for the Heart-beating and Qualmes, to which Izabella was ſubject; preſently upon taking of it, ſhe began to ſwell, her Tongue, her Neck, and her Lips grew black, her Voice hoarſe, her Eyes dim, and ſhe was ſhort-breath'd; all which were evident ſign of her being poyſoned.

The Ladies repaired preſently to the Queen, and inform'd her, that the Counteſs of Lundy had poiſoned Izabella. The Queen went immediately to viſit her, whom ſhe found ſenſeleſs, and at the point of death; ſhe preſently ſent for her Fyſicians, but before they came, ſhe gave her Powder of Unicorns horn, and other Antidotes, which Princes are uſually well ſtored with: when the Fyſicians came, they applied the ſame again, and pray'd the Queen to ask the Counteſs, what ſort of Poiſon ſhe gave her; which when ſhe had declared, they now knowing the Cauſe, preſcribed ſo many, and ſo efficacious Remedies, that by their means and Gods help, Izabella remained alive, or at leaſt in ſome hopes of Living.

The Queen committed the Counteſs to the Tower; who to excuſe her fact, alledg'd, that She thought in removing Izabella any way, it would be a grateful Service to Heaven, in ridding the World of a Roman Catholic, and the Cauſe of difference betwixt her, and her Son.

When Ferdinando heard this News, it almoſt diſtracted him, he did extravagant things, raved, and lamented immoderately. Izabella did not die, but the Hair came off from her Head, Eybrows, and Eylids, her Head and her Face ſwelled, her Colour became ſqualid, her Skin ſcurfy and yellow, her Eyes red, running: in a word the Poiſon left her ſo ugly, that whereas before ſhe was a Miracle of Beauty, ſhe was now become a Monſter of Deformity; thoſe that ſaw her in this plight, thought that ſhe loſt more by her Recovery, than ſhe would have done by her Death.

This notwithſtanding, Ferdinando came to viſit her conſtantly, and at laſt he ſupplicated the Queen, that he might have her home to his Fathers houſe, ſaying, He did not eſteem her ſo much for the Beauty of her Body, as of her Soul, which ſhe retained ſtill.

Ferdinando, ſaid the Queen, carry her to your houſe, and eſteem her as a moſt precious Jewel, in a Caſe of low value: God knows my heart, I would have return'd her in the ſame condition ſhe was delivered me; but ſince that is now impoſſible, you muſt arm your ſelf with Patience. I hope the Puniſhment, which I ſhall inflict upon the Author of this miſchief, will make you ſome ſatisfaction for the Loſs and Diſpleaſure you have received.

In fine, Izabella and her Parents were conſigned into Ferdinandos hands, who carried them to his Fathers houſe.

The Queen added to her former Preſents, a rich Apparel, and many other conſiderable Gifts, as a Mark of her Favour.

Izabella continued two months in that Deformity, without any ſign of Recovering her former Beauty, after that time the rough Skin began to peel off, and her Countenance was a little clearer.

But Ferdinandos Parents, accounting it impoſſible, ſhe ſhould ever be again what ſhe was, before reſolved, without their Sons knowledge, to bring on again the Treaty with the Scotch Lady, not doubting, but that the preſent Beauty of his new Miſtreſs, would make him forget the deformed unfortunate Izabella, whom they reſolved to ſend into Spain, together with her Father and Mother, giving them ſo much Money and Proviſion, as was more than neceſſary for ſuch a Voyage. Within ſix weeks Ferdinandos new Miſtreſs arrived at London, he knowing nothing of it, and was invited to lodge at Captain Manlys houſe.

Ferdinando fearing this ſudden accident might cauſe Izabellas Death, or at leaſt retard her Recovery; to prevent this, he went to her Bed-ſide, and in the preſence of his Parents, ſpoke thus to her,

My dear heart Izabella, my Parents not being ſufficiently inform'd of the infinite Love I bore you, have brought into the Houſe a Scotch Gentlewoman, with whom, before I knew you, they had agreed to marry me; thinking, as I ſuppoſe, that the preſent Beauty of this Lady will efface my Love to you. From the beginning, my Love was not of that ſort, which deſigns only to ſatisfie its ſenſual Appetite, if the Beauty of your Body conquered my Senſes, your infinite Vertues enſlaved my Soul; ſo that if, when you were beautiful, I lov'd you, now you are far from being ſo I adore you; and to confirm this, give me, I pray you, your hand: which ſhe did, and then he continued his Diſcourſe, in this manner.

By that Faith, in which my Parents have educated me, I ſay, by the Roman Catholic Faith, which I believe and profeſs; by the True God, who ſees and hears me, I promiſe thee Izabella to be thy Husband, and from this moment am ſo, if you conſent to exalt me to ſo great Felicity. At theſe ſolemn Proteſtations, Izabella was ſtrangely ſurprized, and his Parents aſtoniſhed and confounded; ſhe could not tell what to do or ſay, ſhe only kiſt his Hands, and with a weak Voice, interrupted with Sighs, ſhe anſwered, that ſhe accepted him for her Husband, and gave her ſelf to him for his Slave.

Then did Ferdinando kiſs that homely and deformed Face, which he never durſt preſume to do, whilſt it was beautiful.

Izabellas Parents did ſolemnize this Feaſt with Tears of Joy; Ferdinando told them what way he would take, and if in the mean time, his Parents would ſend them all three into Spain, they ſhould make no difficulty of going; that they ſhould expect him within two years at Cales or Sivil, if he came not in that time, they might conclude, that ſome great Impediment or Death had retarded him.

Izabella replied, ſhe would expect him not only two years, but all her Life.

Then Ferdinando told his Parents, that he could by no means either promiſe or marry the Scotch Lady, before he had made a Journey to Rome, and viſited the Reliques and Shrines of that holy City; he founded the neceſſity of his Voyage, upon ſuch Reaſons, that his Parents, and thoſe of Chriſtiana, for ſo was his Scotch Miſtreſs called, being Catholics, believed all he ſaid, and were forced to conſent to what they could not hinder; and Chriſtiana was content to remain in her Father-in-laws houſe the ſpace of one year, hoping in that time Ferdinando might return. This being agreed upon, Captain Manly declared his reſolution to ſend Izabella and her Parents to their own Country, if he could obtain the Queens permiſſion, alledging that her native Air might perfect the Recovery of her Health, which now ſenſibly began to return.

Ferdinando, not to diſcover his Intentions, anſwered coldly, that he might do as he pleaſed; and few hours after Captain Manly went to the Queen, to ask her Majeſtys leave, to marry his Son to Chriſtiana, and ſend back Izabella, with her Parents; the Queen granted his Petition, and the ſame day, without asking the opinion of the Judges, or forming any Proceſs againſt the Counteſs of Lundy, ſhe condemned her to pay ten Thouſand Nobles to Izabella for the loſs of her Beauty, and the danger ſhe put her in of loſing her Life; beſides this, ſhe turned her out of her place, and forbad her the Court for ever; ſhe alſo baniſhed the Earl of Lundy for ſix Years; in four days time the Counteſs paid her Fine, and the Earl was prepared to go into Exile. The Queen paid the ten Thouſand Nobles to a Merchant in London, who had very conſiderable Dealings in France and Italy, and by his Correſpondents there, in Spain, and took a Bill for the payment of the Value to Izabellas Father in Sevil or Cales, or in what other part of Spain he ſhould reſide. The Merchant replied, He would draw a Bill upon a Correſpondent of his at Sevil, and order him to write to Paris, and get a Bill thence, that it might appear to be done in France, and not in England; becauſe there was then no Commerce betwixt England and Spain; and that it ſhould be ſufficient for them to carry Letters of Advice without ſpecifying the place, to which he would put ſuch Marks and Counter-ſigns, that his Correſpondent ſhould not fail to pay it upon ſight.

This ſatisfi'd the Queen; then ſhe ſent for a Maſter of a Flemiſh Ship, to whom ſhe recommended Izabella and her Parents, charging him to land them in what part of Spain they ſhould deſire, and to take care they wanted nothing. The Maſter being very willing to pleaſe the Queen, anſwered, He took it for a great Honour to ſerve her Majeſty, and that he would land them in Lisbon, Cales, or Sevil, or what other Port they pleaſed.

Then her Majeſty ſent to Captain Manly, commanding him not to take any thing from Izabella which ſhe had given her.

Next day Izabella and her Parents took their leave of the Queen, who received them with more than ordinary Kindneſs and Reſpect; beſides the Bill of Exchange, which ſhe put into Izabellas hands, ſhe made them Preſents of Money, and Proviſions for their Voyage. Izabella returned her Majeſty Thanks in ſo judicious and diſcreet Words, that her Majeſty reſolved to continue her Favour to her, and to ſeek occaſions of doing her more good. Izabella took her leave alſo of the Court-Ladies, who now wiſhed heartily ſhe would ſtay amongſt them; her Beauty being gone, their Envy was dead alſo. The Queen embraced them all three, recommending them to Gods Protection, and the Care of the Maſter of the Ship, deſiring Izabella to ſend her a Letter, as ſoon as ſhe ſhould arrive in Spain.

That very Evening they embarqu'd, not without Tears of Captain Manly and his Wife, and all the Family, by whom Izabella was very much reſpected and beloved.

Ferdinando would not be preſent at the parting, but went that day, with ſome Friends, a hunting, the better to conceal his Thoughts.

The Regales which Madam Manly gave Izabella were many, the Embraces infinite, the Tears in abundance, and the Prayers, that ſhe would write to her, numberleſs. The Thanks of Izabella and her Parents were not inferior to theſe Courteſies; and tho they left them in Tears, yet they were well ſatisfied.

That Evening the Veſſel put to Sea with a proſperous gale, and touched at France, to get the neceſſary Atteſtation; and within leſs than a Month they reached Cales, and there landed. Izabellas Parents were known by moſt of the City, and were received with great Joy, which was made the greater, when they underſtood that they had found their Daughter, in whom now there appeared great hopes that ſhe would recover her former Beauty.

They congratulated them alſo for their deliverance from the Turks and Engliſh; for they had been informed of this by the Slaves which Ferdinando ſet free. They ſtaid ſomething more than a Month at Cales, to recover the Fatigue of their Voyage. Afterwards they went to Sevil, to get the Money due upon their Bill; the Merchant ſaid he knew the Hand, but could not ſafely pay it till he had received Letters of Advice, which he expected daily.

Izabellas Parents hired a Palace over againſt Santa Paula, in which Nunnery they had a Niece, to whom they deſired to be near; ſhe was remarkable for having the ſweeteſt Voice, and being the beſt skill'd in ſinging of them all; but eſpecially, becauſe Izabella had told Ferdinando, He ſhould enquire for her of that Nun.

'Twas fourty days before the Letter of Adviſe came; two days after, the Merchant ſent to Izabellas Parents, and paid the Value of Ten Thouſand Nobles; with this Money, and what her Jewels were ſold for, her Father ſet up again, and traded very conſiderably, to the great admiration of thoſe who knew what Loſſes he had ſuſteined.

In few Months Izabella recovered her Beauty; and in two Years ſucceſsful Trading, her Father was as good a Man as before the Sack of Cales; and Izabella bore away the Bell from all the Beauties of Sevil, being called by all, the fair SPANISH-ENGLISH LADY.

Izabella and her Parents wrote to the Queen of England, giving her Majeſty Advice of their Arrival, and thanking her in a moſt humble and ſubmiſſive manner, for the many Favours they had received from her Royal Bounty. She wrote alſo to Captain Manly and his Wife, calling them Father and Mother.

They had no Anſwer from the Queen; to the other Letters they had, which imported, that the day after they departed, their Son began his Journey, adding many kind Expreſſions of their Love, to which they returned as courteous Anſwers.

Immediately Izabella imagined that Ferdinando had left England to find her out; with this hope ſhe lived the moſt contented Perſon in the World, and took care to behave her ſelf ſo, that at his Arrival he ſhould hear the Report of her Virtues before he knew where ſhe dwelt: She never went out of doors but to the Monaſtery, and that ſeldom; never confeſs'd any where elſe; every Friday in Lent, and in the holy Week ſhe went to the moſt holy Station of the Croſs; ſhe never walked to the River, or to the Triana, nor to the Feaſt in the Field of Tablada, nor to the Gate of Xeres upon S. Sebaſtians Day, whether ſo many People reſort, that they are in apperrance numberleſs: In a word, ſhe went to no Ball or public meeting, but ſtaid at home retired, and virtuouſly employing her time in expectation of Ferdinandos Arrival.

This Demeanour procured her many Admirers, every day ſome paſſed on Horſeback before her Window, others ſerenaded her, but ſhe never ſhewed her ſelf; many Bawds attempted her, but in vain; ſhe ſtood like a Rock, beaten by the Winds and Waves, but not moved.

Now one and an half of the two Years were expired, and ſhe began to be in great trouble; ſometimes ſhe imagined Ferdinando was come, and made Excuſes for his ſo long delay; and that ſhe approved of them, and pardoned him. Whilſt ſhe was in this confuſion of Thoughts, there comes a Letter from Captain Manlys Wife, dated at London Fifty days before, in theſe words:

Dear Daughter, You cannot but remember my Sons Valet de Chambre, who waited upon him in his Voyage, as I informed you in my laſt, and that they left London the day after you embarqued.

'Tis a Year and four Months ſince we heard from him; yeſterday his Servant returned with the ſad News, that the Earl of Lundy had treacherouſly murderd him. You may eaſily imagin with what Sorrow his Father and I, and his Spouſe, received theſe Tidings. Prithee, my Dear, pray to God for his Soul, who hath merited that pious Office, by the Love thou knoweſt he had for thee. Pray to God alſo to give us Patience and a happy Death, and we will ſupplicate him, to give thee and thy Parents a long and proſperous Life.

Izabella knew the Hand, and doubted not of the truth of the Contents, ſhe knew his Servant was no Lyar, and would not forge this News, and that Ferdinandos Mother had no reaſon to invent it; ſhe concluded therefore that Ferdinando was dead. After ſhe had read the Letter, without ſhedding Tears, or ſhewing any Signs of Grief, with a conſtant Countenance, and a quiet Heart, in appearance, ſhe roſe from her Chair, and retired to her Oratory, then kneeling before a Crucifix, ſhe made a Solemn Vow to take on her the Habit, and ſtrict profeſſion of a Nun; her Parents with great Diſcretion conceal'd their Grief, that they might comfort Izabella, who, as if ſhe had diſgeſted and overcome hers, by that Holy and Chriſtian Reſolution, was more able to comfort them, than they her.

Having told them her Intent, they adviſed her not to put it in Execution before the end of two Years, for ſhe was engaged to expect Ferdinando ſo long. She was obedient to their Counſel, and ſpent the ſix Months and a half, which were wanting to compleat the two Years, in Prayers and Religious Exerciſes, as if ſhe were already a Nun.

The Nunnery ſhe made choice of, was that of Santa Paula, wherein her Couſin was.

The term of two Years was now exſpired, and the time come when ſhe was to take upon her the Habit, which ſhe concluded, that now ſhe might ſecurely do, not doubting but that ſhe was a Widow.

This News fled like Lightning all over the City, the Monaſtery, and all the way betwixt it, and her Houſe were full of People, ſome whereof had only ſeen her, but moſt having only heard the Fame of her Vertues and Beauty, her Parents deſired their Friends, and they others, to accompany their Daughter, and take their leave of her, as one going out of the World.

It was one of the moſt honourable Appearances that ever was ſeen, upon the like Occaſion in that City. There was the Vicar of the Archbiſhop, the Aſſiſtant, and the Provedor, and all the Principal Perſons of both Sexes, ſo much did they all deſire to ſee that radiant Sun, which had been ſo long eclipſed. It being the Cuſtom of young Ladies taking the Habit upon them, to appear in the richeſt and moſt glorious Apparel, to evaporate the laſt Flame of worldly Splendor, which blazes moſt, juſt before its extinction. In conformity to this Cuſtom, Izabella dreſs'd herſelf in her richeſt Garments, and put on the ſame Cloaths wherein ſhe firſt appear'd before the Queen of England, what they were, we have mention'd before; theſe Ornaments, together with her Beauty and graceful Deportment, drew from the admiring People a Thouſand Benedictions. She choſe to go on Foot, becauſe the Monaſtery was not far off, but the throng of the People was ſo great, that ſhe could ſcarce paſs, which made her repent ſhe had not taken the convenience of a Coach; ſome bleſs'd the Parents that begot her, ſome the Heavens that had endow'd her with ſo admirable Beauty, ſome ſtood on Tiptoes to ſee her, others having had one view of her, ran before that they might have one ſight of her more, and amongſt this great Number, there was one whoſe eagerneſs, and preſſing to ſee her, together with his remarkable Dreſs, drew the Eyes of moſt of the Spectators upon him; he was in the Habit of a Slave, and upon his Breaſt was a Badge, which ſhew'd he had been freed from Turkiſh Captivity, by the Fathers of the Redemption.

Now, Izabella, had one Foot within the Gate of the Monaſtery, the Abeſs and the Siſters with a Croſs born before them were come to receive her according to Cuſtom, when the Slave cried out with a loud Voice, Hold, Izabella, ſtop, proceed not one Inch further, for as long as I live, you muſt not, you cannot be a Nun: Hearing this Voice, Izabella and her Parents turn'd their Heads towards it, and perceiv'd the Slave making his way through the throng, in his ſtriving, his Turkiſh Hat fell of, and diſcover'd a yellow neglected Head of Hair, curl'd in Rings, and a white and Vermilion Countenance, certain Signs that he was a Stranger, he ſometimes falling, then riſing again, made a Lane through the Preſs, and took Izabella by the Hand, and ſpoke thus:

Do you know me Izabella? Look attentively upon me, I am Ferdinando your Husband; I know you, replied Izabella, if thou art not ſome Fantome, that appears to diſturb my repoſe; her Parents view'd him wiſhfully, and upon Conſideration, were convinc'd that it was Ferdinando. He then with Tears in his Eyes, fell on his Knees before Izabella, beſeeching her, That the lowneſs of his Fortune, nor the meaneſs of his Habit, might not prevail with her to break her Word, and render thoſe Vows ineffectual, which they had both interchangably made.

Izabella giving more Credit to what ſhe ſaw, than to what ſhe had heard, embraced him, and replied; You, Sir, are without doubt the only Perſon in the World that can make me alter my Reſolution, you are my better half, you are my Husband, whoſe Image I carry deeply engraved in my Soul; the News of your Death, being, againſt my will, not able to procure mine, made me reſolve to end my Life in this Monaſtery, but ſince God by this juſt Impediment declares it is not his will, I cannot, neither ought I reſiſt his Pleaſure: Come, Sir, let's go to my Fathers Houſe, which you may call your own, and there with the Licenſe of the Holy Church, I will give you entire poſſeſſion of my Perſon and my Eſtate.

At theſe Words, the Vicar, the Aſſiſtants and the Provedor were wonderfully ſurpriz'd, and deſired to know the Hiſtory of that Slave, and of the pretended Marriage. To whom Izabellas Father replied, That Diſcovery required another place and time, and invited all who had the Curioſity to know it, to accompany him to his Houſe, which was not far off, that there they ſhould be no leſs ſatisfied of the Truth, as then they were aſtoniſh'd at the ſtrangeneſs of what they had ſeen.

Then one of the Company cried out aloud, Gentlemen, this young man is a Famous Engliſh Pyrate, the ſame that about two Years ſince, took from the Algerines a great Portuguſe Ship, no doubt but 'tis the ſame. I am ſure I have reaſon to know him, for he gave me my liberty, and money to bear my Charges hither; and not only to me, but to all the reſt of the Slaves, who were more than three hundred. Thus he bawl'd, but the Company told him, he was an ungrateful Raſcal, and ought rather to thank, than accuſe him, for his generous Action.

In fine, the principal Perſons accompanied Izabella to her Houſe, leaving the Abbeſs and Nuns lamenting their loſs. She deſired the Company to ſeat themſelves in the great Hall, whereunto ſhe had conducted them.

Ferdinando, who was about to begin his narrative, thought it would be more expedient to truſt it to the Words and Diſcretion of Izabella, becauſe he did not ſpeak Spaniſh fluently.

The Company were ſilent, and attentive, exſpecting what Izabella ſhould ſay: She began with her being carried Captive, and how many years ſhe lived in Ferdinandos Fathers Houſe; of the beginning of their Love, of the progreſs; and that they mutually engaged to be Man and Wife; ſhe told them of her being Poyſon'd, and of her wonderful recovery; of Ferdinandos leaving England, and her promiſe to expect him in two years; of his Engagement with the Turks, and the Liberality he uſed towards the Chriſtians; then ſhe proceeded to tell them the News ſhe received of his Death, upon which ſhe reſolved to turn Nun, which ſhe was juſt now, as they all knew, upon the point of putting in execution; ſhe praiſed the Liberality of the Queen of England; and the moſt Chriſtian Affection of Ferdinandos Parents to her; and finally ſhe concluded, praying Ferdinando to tell the company what happened to him ſince he left London, till the time of his arrival at Sevil.

I will, ſaid Ferdinando, in few words declare the wonderful Hiſtory of my many and great Misfortunes. As ſoon as I left London, taking with me my Valet de Chambre only; I paſſed through France to Rome, in ſeeing of which my Soul was rejoyced, and my Faith confirmed; I kiſs'd the Popes Feet, and confeſs'd to the grand Penitentiary, who abſolv'd me, and gave me a Teſtimonial thereof in writing. This done, I viſited the ſeven Churches and other holy Places, whereof there are many in that City. Of Two thouſand Crowns in Gold which I had, I reſerved four hundred for my preſent occaſions, the other ſixteen hundred I paid to a Merchant, and took his Bill upon one Rocci a Florentine in this City; I carried the other four hundred to Genoa, from whence I was informed, two Galleys were ready to depart for Spain, upon one of which I deſigned to Embark. I and my Servant came to Acquapendente, the laſt City in the Popes Dominions in the Road betwixt Rome and Florence. Having lighted at an Inn, I ſaw there my mortal Enemy the Earl of Lundy with four Servants in diſguiſe, who was going to Rome, rather out of curioſity, as I ſuppoſe, than Devotion; and leaſt he might know me, I lock'd my ſelf in my Chamber with my Servant, deſigning to change my Lodgings, as ſoon as it ſhould be dark, but I altered my intention, perceiving the Earl and his Servants remain'd quiet in their Chambers, concluding he did not know me.

However I ſupp'd in my Chamber, made faſt the Door, and commending myſelf to God, but ſuſpecting the worſe, I would not go to bed, but ſlumberd in a Chair, my Servant falling faſt a ſleep.

A little after midnight the Earl and his Servants waken'd me, in order to make me ſleep eternally, diſcharging upon me four Piſtols, and leaving me for dead, and, as I knew afterwards, mounting their Horſes, which were in readineſs, they told the Hoſt that he ſhould take care to bury me, for I was a Perſon of Quality; and then they betook themſelves to flight.

My ſervant leap'd out of the Balcony, as my Hoſt told me, and crying out, they have kill'd my Maſter, run away with ſo much fear, that I believe he never turn'd his Head, till he came to London, whither he carried the News, and the manner of my Death.

The people of the Inn came up to my Chamber, and found me ſhot through with four Bullets; I confeſs'd, and received the bleſſed Saerament, then ſent for a Surgeon to ſearch and dreſs my Wounds. After two months I was able to purſue my Journey to Genoa, where I could find no paſſage but in two Felucas, which I, and two Spaniſh Gentlemen hired, one to go before as a ſcout, and the other to carry us: We Embark'd, and ſayl'd terra terra, keeping near the ſhoar to avoid danger, yet notwithſtanding our caution, near the Three Maries, a Port of France, two Turkiſh Galleys came out of a Creek, and were not diſcovered by our ſcout, till 'twas too late; one kept betwixt us and the ſhoar to cut off our Landing, and the other aſſaulted and eaſily took us; we were no ſooner entered into the Galley, but they ſtript us to the Skin, and took out of the Felucas whatever was in them, and then let them go, ſaying, they would ſerve to bring them more HENNS, for they term the Prizes they make upon Chriſtians.

You will eaſily believe I was grieved to my heart to ſee my ſelf a ſlave, and above all things, that I had loſt my Teſtimonials I brought from Rome, which, together with my Bill for ſixteen hundred Crowns I carried in a little Tin Box, but it was my good fortune that they fell into the hands of a Spaniſh Slave, who kept them ſafe; for had the Turks known of them, they would have made me pay for my Ranſom at leaſt as much as that Bill was for, underſtanding by it of what Quality I was.

We were carried to Algiers, where I found the Fathers of the Trinity redeeming of Slaves, I ſpoke to them, and informed them what I was, and moved their compaſſion; and altho I was a ſtranger, they were ſo obliging as to redeem me; which they did in this manner, I was valued at three hundred Ducats, which they undertook to pay, one hundred in hand, and the other two when the Ship ſhould arrive, to free the Fathers, who were left in Pawn for four Thouſand Ducats, which they had borrow'd and laid out more than what they brought with them; for the mercy and charity of theſe Fathers is ſo great, that they looſe their own liberty, to ſet others free, and become Slaves themſelves to redeem Slaves.

To augment the joy of my liberty, I found my Tin Box, and in it my Roman Teſtimonial and Bill of Exchange, which I ſhewed the Father, who redeemed me, and profered him five hundred Ducats more than he paid for my Ranſom, to help to diſengage him, but I could faſten nothing upon him.

The Alms Veſſel ſtaid almoſt a year before it arrived; to tell my adventures in that interval, would be to begin another Hiſtory. I will only add, that one of the twenty Turks I ſet at liberty knew me, but was ſo honeſt, and ſo grateful, as not to diſcover me. For had the Turks known, that I ſunk their two Galleys and took their Prize from them, they would have either put me to death, or preſented me to the Grand Signior, which would for ever have deprived me of hopes to obtain my liberty.

The Fathers and I, and fifty more Ranſom'd Slaves, arriv'd in Spain; in Valentia we walk'd in a ſolemn Proceſſion; then every one of us took our leave, and went whither we pleaſed, carrying with us the badge of Liberty, which is this I wear upon my breaſt. This day I came hither, and was going to the Monaſtery to enquire after my Wife; the reſt you know. It remains only, that I ſhew you my Teſtimonials; which ſeen, and believed, you muſt acknowledge, that my ſtory is no leſs true than marvellous.

This ſaid, he put them into the hands of the Grand Vicar, who, together with the Aſſiſtant peruſed and examined them, and were convinced, that all that Ferdinando ſaid was true. And for a farther confirmation of it, it pleaſed Heaven, that the Florentine Merchant, upon whom this Bill was drawn, was preſent at this Narration, and deſired to ſee it, and when he had, he accepted of it, acknowledging he had received advice of it many months before, and that he would pay it whenever Ferdinando would come, or ſend for it.

The Vicar courteouſly embrac'd Ferdinando, the Parents of Izabella, and her alſo; the other two Prelates did ſo likewiſe, and pray'd Izabella to put in writing the particulars of the Narration they had heard, that the Archbiſhop their Lord might have the pleaſure of reading it.

The great ſilence which all the byſtanders obſerved, during this Narration, was ſucceeded with their giving thanks to God for theſe ſtupendious Mercies; from the loweſt; to the higheſt, they all congratulated Ferdinando, Izabella, and her Parents. Then Ferdinando deſired the Grand Vicar to honour their Wepding with his preſence, which they intended to ſolemnize within eight days; which he courteouſly granted, and upon the day appointed, he did not only come, but he was pleaſed to read the Office of Matrimony himſelf, and to joyn them with his own hands, which they took for an extraordinary Favour; for this he did in the preſence of of the principal Perſons of that rich and famous City. Ferdinando made an excellent Husband, and Izabella an exemplary Wife; and they lived together with ſuch mutual conjugal Affection, that they were envied, and admired by all.

Thus Izabellas Parents recovered their Daughter, and ſhe her Beauty; her Father gained a greater Eſtate than he had loſt, and paid all his Debts without any Compoſition, and his Credit was greater than ever.

The fair Palace, which till then they only hired, now they purchaſed of Don Piedro de Zifuentes, a Gentlemen of Burgos, in which they lived in great Eſteem and Veneration, at the time of writing this Novel.

The End of the Firſt Novel.

THE Liberal Lover. NOVEL II.

OH the ſad Ruines of miſerable Nicoſia! ſcarce yet dry from the Blood of your valiant and unfortunate Defenders! Why have you no Reſentment? Why cannot we two, in this ſolitude, intermingle our Complaints, and bemoan our hard Fates? that each of us having a Companion in our Miſeries, they may ſeem more tolerable. One day your Towers, which are now equal with the Earth, may be built again; but, Wretch that I am, what Relief can I hope for, in the miſerable Straits wherein I am immerſt! How can I return to the ſame Condition wherein I was before this Calamity fell upon me. My lot is very hard; I was unhappy in Liberty and am ſo in Slavery, without hope of mending my Condition.

Theſe lamentable Words were uttered by a Chriſtian Slave; who, from the top of a neighbouring Mountain contemplated the Ruines of Nicoſia.

Thus did he talk to them, as if they were capable of underſtanding, making compariſon of their Miſeries with his; a thing uſual in afflicted Perſons, who, tranſported with their Imaginations, frequently ſpeak things not agreeable to Reaſon and ſound Judgment.

In that inſtant a young Turk, of good Stature and Preſence, came out of one of the four Tents, which were then pitc'd upon that place, and drawing near to the Chriſtian, thus beſpake him,

I dare hold a wager, Friend Ricardo, for this was the Slaves Name, that your ordinary Thoughts have brought you to this place.

'Tis true, anſwered the Slave, but what good does it do me? let me go where-ever I pleaſe, I can no where find any Truce or Repoſe, and the Ruines which I ſee from hence, double my Sorrows.

You mean, ſaid the Turk, thoſe of Nicoſia. What other could I mean, replied the Slave, have we any other before our Eyes?

In truth, ſaid the Turk, you have reaſon to lament, if you enter into thoſe Contemplations: for whoever had ſeen, two years ago, the famous and rich Iſland of Cyprus in its Tranquility; and its Inhabitants, who enjoyed all, that human Felicity could aſpire to, ſhould ſee them now, ſome forced out of the Country, ſome made Slaves, how is it poſſible, with dry Eyes, to behold their Calamity? But let's leave theſe things as they are, it being not in our Power to remedy them, and ſpeak of your concerns, and try whether I can be ſerviceable to you in bettering them. I pray you, by the good will I bear to you, and by the tie of our Country wherein we were born and educated, that you would declare to me the cauſe of your exceſſive Sadneſs; for altho Captivity alone is ſufficient to dull the cheerfulleſt Soul in the World, yet I believe the ſtream of your Diſgraces is derived from another Fountain: for valiant and generous Souls, as yours is, will not let themſelves be ſo much caſt down by common Misfortunes; but there muſt be ſomething extraordinary, which has this effect upon you.

This I believe, becauſe I know that you are not ſo poor, but you can eaſily purchaſe your Liberty; beſides you are not kept cloſe, as a conſiderable Slave, in the Dardanelli, who late if ever, recover their Liberty; ſo that your ill Fortune not being ſo great, as to take from you all hopes of ſeeing your ſelf free, yet ſince it does ſo overwhelm, and oppreſs you, as your Lamentations evidence; you ought not to wonder if I imagine, that your Trouble proceeds from ſome other Cauſe.

I therefore again ſupplicate you to diſcover it to me, and I promiſe to do my utmoſt to procure your Eaſe: for who knows but Fortune has forced me to wear this Habit, which I abhor, to put me in a Condition to ſerve you.

You know, Ricardo, that my Patron is Cady of this Territory, which is the ſame thing as a Biſhop amongſt Chriſtians; you know alſo, what Intereſt and Authority he has, and how much I can prevail with him, and beſides 'tis well known to you, with what ardent deſire I wiſh not to die in the Religion, which I appear at preſent to profeſs: I cannot believe but that I ſhall in a ſhort time confeſs and publickly own the Chriſtian Faith, from which my want of years and judgment have hitherto ſeparated me; tho this Confeſſion ſhould coſt me my Life, I ſhould eſteem it well loſt, to ſave my Soul.

From what I have ſaid, I would have you underſtand and conſider, that my Friendſhip may ſtand you in ſome ſtead; and that to know what Remedies or Comforts may lighten the weight of your Diſgraces, it is neceſſary, that you diſcover the Cauſe, as a ſick Man tells his Malady to his Fyſician, I aſſure you I will depoſite it in Secrecy and Silence.

Ricardo hearkened to him with great Attention, and being obliged to anſwer by theſe kind Words and his Need of him, he replied thus,

As you have hit upon the cauſe of my Misfortune, Friend Mahomet, for ſo that Turk was call'd, if you could alſo find a Remedy to it, I ſhould eſteem this my Captivity, the greateſt Felicity in the World. But, alas, my Condition is ſuch, that every one may know from what Cauſe it proceeds, yet none can make it more Eaſy, I do not ſay Remedy it. That you may be ſatisfied that this is true, I will declare it with as much brevity as I can. But before I enter into the intricate Labyrinth of my Misfortunes, I would deſire you to inform me, why Aſſan Baſſa, my Patron, has pitch'd his Tents in this Plain, and did not enter into Nicoſia, where he as Baſſa is to reſide.

I will give you Satisfaction in a few Words, replied Mahomet. It is the Cuſtom of the Turks, who go Baſſas into any Province, not to enter the Capital City, before his Predeceſſor comes out, and when this New Baſſa is enter'd, the Old one ſtays in the Field, expecting the Event of the Informations which will be made againſt him for Miſ-government, which are put in in his abſence, leaſt he ſhould ſuborn or bribe Witneſſes in his Favour.

After theſe Informations are made, they are written in Parchment, folded up, and ſealed, and deliver'd to the New Baſſa, who preſents them to the Grand Signior and the Divan, when the Prime Viſier and the other four inferiour Baſſas have ſeen, read, and conſider'd them, they reward, or chaſtiſe, as they ſee cauſe. And if he is found Faulty, for a ſumm of Money, he eſcapes any further Puniſhment. If they have nothing againſt him, and they do not reward him with Donatives and Preſents, as it moſt often happens, he makes choice of what Charge or Office he pleaſes, of which he has the Pre-emption, for in that Court, Places are not beſtowed on them that deſerve them beſt, but upon thoſe who give moſt Money for them, every thing is Bought and Sold there.

Thoſe who have Offices, are oftentimes ſpoil'd even to their Skins, by thoſe that procured them for them, and he that has bought a Place, makes it his buſineſs to get what he can out of it, to Buy a better.

All in this Government is Violent, a ſign of a ſhort Duration, yet I believe that our Sins made it continue ſo long; I mean their Sins, who impudently offend God, as I do, but I pray Him to make me better.

For this Reaſon, your Patron Aſſan Baſſa has ſtay'd theſe four Days in the Fields, and the Baſſa of Nicoſia is not come out, as he ought, becauſe he has been indiſpos'd, but now is better, and will without doubt, either this Day or to Morrow at furtheſt, and Lodge in his Tents pitch'd behind that Hill, and then your Patron will take Poſſeſſion of Nicoſia. This is all that I can ſay in anſwer to the Queſtion.

Hearken then, ſaid Ricardo, but I fear I ſhall not be able to include in a few words my Misfortune, which is ſo great and immenſurable; this, notwithſtanding, I will do my utmoſt to end my Narration in that ſpace of time we ſhall be permitted to diſcourſe together.

Tell me then, Do you know in our City of Trepani, a young Maid who has the Reputation to be the moſt Beautiful, and moſt Perfect of all Sicily; a Maid, I ſay, whom the moſt elevated Wits, and eloquent Tongues, affirm to be the moſt compleat and exquiſite Beauty of all that the paſs'd Ages have had, or that preſent and future can hope to have. A Maid of whom the Poets ſing, that her Hairs were of the fineſt Gold of Arabia, her Eyes two ſhining Suns, her Cheeks white Lilies and purple Roſes, her Lips a beautiful Circle of Rubies, with whoſe live Vermilion that of Aurora cannot ſtand in Compariſon, her Teeth more white than Oriental Pearls, her Breaſt Alablaſter, whoſe Parts with the Whole, and Whole with the Parts make a ſweet and marvellous Harmony; Nature having endow'd her with ſo lively Colours, that Envy could never find the leaſt thing to carp at; But how is it poſſible, Friend Mahomet, that after all this thou haſt not told me her Name? I believe that either thou haſt not minded me, or wert not in thy Sences when thou didſt live in Trepani. If ſhe whom you have painted with ſo much Perfection, replied Mahomet, is not Leoniſa the Daughter of Ridulfo the Florentine, I cannot gueſs who it ſhould be; in her, I confeſs, there are all theſe marvellous Graces.

'Tis the ſame, replied Ricardo, ſhe is the principal Cauſe of all my Good, and of all my Ill. For her, and not for my loſt Liberty, my Eyes have, and do, and will, without end ſhed Rivers of Tears. For her, my ardent Sighs ſet the Air a Fire all around me; for her my Lamentations annoy the Heavens who ſee them, and deaffen the Ears of thoſe who hear them; in fine, it is for her ſake that you judg'd me to have loſt my Sences, or at leaſt to be of a low Spirit, and little worth.

Leoniſa is for me a Lioneſs, a meek Lamb for another; ſhe it is, for whom I languiſh in this miſerable State. Know then, that from my firſt Youth, or at leaſt ever ſince, I made uſe of Reaſon; I did not only love her, but waited on her, and ſerv'd her, with ſo prompt Obedience, as if there was no other Felicity to be attain'd, or wiſh'd for upon Earth, but ſerving her.

My Love was known to her Father and Mother and all her Kindred, they never ſhew'd any ſign of their diſlike, knowing my Intent to be Honourable; nay, they have often ſollicited her to accept of me for her Husband.

But ſhe who had fix'd her Thoughts upon Cornelio the Son of Aſcanio Rotolo, a young Gentleman well dreſs'd, of delicate white Hands, of an effeminate Voice and affected, inamour'd, ſuggard Words, a Man in ſhort, made of Jaſamine and Amber; ſhe would not daign to look in my Face, 'twas not ſo ſmooth, ſo Babie like as Cornelios, neither took ſhe any pleaſure in my conſtant Service, but inſtead of that, paid me with diſdain and abhorrence. Notwithſtanding this, the Affection I bore to her was ſo great, that I ſhould have thought my Life well loſt, upon Condition ſhe would abſtain from ſhewing Favours openly to Cornelio, though they never exceeded the Bounds of Honeſty.

Think now in what Condition I was, conteſting with the anguiſh of her Diſdain and the Rage of Jealouſie, two ſuch powerful Paſſions. Her Parents were pleaſed with the Favours ſhe ſhew'd Cornelio, believing, as they had reaſon, that the young Gentleman being not able to reſiſt the Charms of her invincible Beauty ſhould be prevailed upon to Marry her, and ſo they might have a Son in Law, whoſe riches exceeded mine.

But they could not have had one, if I may ſay it without Vanity, of a better Quality, of more elevated Thoughts, and of more approved Valour.

It happened, that whilſt I was purſuing my Pretences, I was informed, that one day of the Month of May laſt, which was preciſely one Year, three Days, and five Hours ago, Leoniſa, with her Father and Mother, and Cornelio, with his Parents and the Servants of his Family, went to recreate themſelves in the Garden of Aſcanio, near the Sea, in the Country of Saline.

I know that place well, ſaid Mahomet, I have often paſſed my time with great pleaſure therein, pray go on with your Narration. Having notice of this, purſued Ricardo, the Fury, the Rage, the Hell of Jealouſie tormented my Soul with ſuch vehemency, that it deprived me of my Senſes, as you will find by what I did on that occaſion.

As ſoon as I knew they were met, thither I went, and found them all ſolacing themſelves under a Wall-Nut Tree, Cornelio and Leoniſa ſitting together at ſome diſtance from the reſt, I cannot tell you what they thought when they ſaw me: I ſeeing them ſo cloſe together, ſtood like a Statue, without Motion or Voice; but it was not long before my Grief awakened my Choler, and that my Heart, and that my Anger, and that my Hands and Tongue.

But my Hands were as it were chained, out of the reſpect I bore Leoniſa, whoſe Beauty over-aw'd me; but I could not refrain my Tongue from uttering theſe Words.

You are then pleaſed, O mortal Enemy of my repoſe, to ſee, with ſo much guſt, the cauſe that makes my Eyes ſhed inexhauſtible Fountains of Tears.

Go nearer, go nearer, and cling, like Ivy, about that ſapleſs Trunc, which is ſo fond of you. Comb and curl thoſe effeminate Locks of thy Beau, who ſo coldly, ſo fooliſhly makes his Court. Give thy ſelf wholly up to that young Fool, that I, in loſing the hope to poſſeſs thee, may alſo looſe my Life, which is hateful to me. Perhaps you think, O proud and inconſiderate Maid, perhaps you think, for your ſake, that the Laws of Nature will be broken: I mean, you believe that this young Fellow, whom his Riches have made arrogant, and his ſmock-face proud, his few years unexperienced, and his Nobility of Blood haughty, will be always in the ſame mind, and conſtantly love you: Do you think he knows how to value that which is ineſteemable? Can he know as much as thoſe who have more Years, Wit, and Experience? Do not believe it; there's nothing elſe good in the World; but that the Actions of Men keep always the ſame tenour, ſo that no body can be impoſed upon, but by his own Ignorance: Young Men are light, changeable, and inconſtant; rich Men are proud and vain, boaſting and arrogant; beautiful Women diſdainful; and in all theſe Folly, the Mother of ill ſucceſs.

And thou, Youth, who haſt no Leaven or Salt in thee, doſt thou think to rob me ſo eaſily of the Reward juſtly due to my Services; thy Lazyneſs cannot pretend to deſerve any thing; why doſt thou not riſe from thy flowry Seat, where thou loll'ſt at thy eaſe? Why doſt thou not come and take away his Life, who ſo much hates thee? Not that thou offendeſt me, but becauſe thou haſt not ſenſe to value the Prize blind Fortune has put into thy hands; 'tis evident thou eſteem'ſt it not, becauſe thou dareſt not move to defend it, for fear of diſobliging thy Cravat, or diſordering the Curles of thy Jeſſamine-Butter'd and perfum'd Locks.

If Achilles had been like thee, of ſuch a repoſed flegmetic Conſtitution, Ulyſſes might have been certain never to have effected his deſign, tho he had ſhewed him the beautifulleſt Armour in the World, the moſt curious wrought and garniſhed Scimetars. Riſe, riſe, get upon thy feet, go, and play at Blind-Man-Buff with thy Mothers Maids, let them adjuſt thy Curles, furniſh thee with Powder of bitter Almonds, and Dog-skin Gloves to lye in a Nights to preſerve thy effeminate, white, ſoft Hands, fitter for a Diſtaff and Needle, than to manage a Sword.

But whatever I could ſay, would not provoke Cornelio to riſe from the Graſs; he lay ſtill looking me in the Face, as if I had inchanted him: Becauſe I ſpoke aloud, they that were walking in the Garden drew near, and heard thoſe and many other reproachful Words which I uſed to him.

At laſt, when he ſaw ſo many near him, all, or the greateſt part whereof, were his Kindred, Friends, or Domeſticks, moved rather by Shame than any other Motive, he began to riſe; but before he got up, I drew near him, and not him only, but all the reſt, who came to defend him. As ſoon as Leoniſa ſaw the glittering of my Sword, ſhe fell into a Swoon, which increaſed my Courage, and filled me with Anger and Diſdain. I cannot tell you, whether ſo many as I aſſaulted, took no other care but to defend themſelves, as againſt a Fool or a mad Man; or whether it was my good Fortune or Skill, or that Heaven had reſerved me for ſome greater Evil; it happened, that without being wounded, I hurt Seven or Eight which were next to me; in which time Cornelio took Counſel of his Feet, and running away, eſcaped my Fury.

Then finding my ſelf in manifeſt danger, being encompaſſed by my Enemies, behold Fortune ſent me a Succour, which was worſe than Death it ſelf could have been; for if I had loſt my Life, it had been better for me, than to have preſerved it to loſe it a thouſand times every hour.

It was thus: A company of Turks landed in a Creek near the Garden wherein we were, and came upon us on a ſudden, without being diſcovered by the Centinels which watched upon the Towers near the Sea, nor by the Horſe-men, whoſe employment it was guard the Coaſt; when my Adverſaries perceived them, they left me, and by flight ſecured themſelves. Of all that were in the Garden the Turks could take but three, and Leoniſa, who was ſtill in a Swoon; of this number I was one, being able to make no more reſiſtance, having received four dangerous Wounds, which I had revenged upon four Turks with ſo many Stroaks, laying them dead at my feet.

The Pirats made this Aſſault with their uſual quickneſs, and ſuddenly embarqu'd, and by the help of their Oars and Sails, reached Fabiana; but not much pleaſed with their ſucceſs: for calling over their Men, they found that there were wanting four of the beſt Soldiers, which they call Levantines, reſolved to revenge their Deaths upon me, and order'd me to be hanged preſently: While they were preparing for this Execution, Leoniſa, who was not yet quite come to her ſelf, ſeeing that ſhe was in the power of the Pyrats, ſhed abundance of Tears from her fair Eyes, and wrung her Hands, without ſpeaking one Word, attentive to underſtand what the Turks ſaid; but one of the Chriſtians who was tied to the Oar, told her in Italian, they were going to hang that Chriſtian, pointing to me, having underſtood what the Slave told her: And this was the firſt time that ſhe ſhewed any reſpect for me; ſhe prayed him to tell the Turks, that they ſhould not hang me; for in ſo doing they would loſe a good Sum of Money, which they might receive for my Ranſom, but to return to Trepani, where I ſhould ſuddenly be redeemed.

This, I ſay, was the firſt Charity which I received from Leoniſa, and will alſo be the laſt, and all for my greater Miſery.

The Turks heard, and believ'd what the Slave ſaid, and the hopes of touching Money blunted their Fury and cooled their Wrath. In the Morning of the next day they hung out a white Flag, a ſign of Peace, and returned to Trepani.

I'll let you imagin in how much pain I paſſed that night, which was cauſed not only by my Wounds, but by conſidering the danger in which my cruel Enemy was, in the Hands of thoſe Barbarians.

Being approach'd then, as I have ſaid, to the City, one of the Galleys enter'd the Port, the other ſtaid without, when ſuddenly there appeared upon the Dock, and all along the ſhoar, a great number of Chriſtians; but the perfumed Cornelio kept at a diſtance, looking at the Galley.

Then my Major Domo came to treat about my Ranſom, but I ordered him not to meddle with that, but only about the Redemption of Leoniſa; and that, if it were needful, he ſhould give for her all my Eſtate; and tell her Parents, they need not trouble themſelves, for I would procure their Daughters Liberty.

After this, the chief Commander, who was a Grecian Renegado, by name Iſuffo, demanded for Leoniſa Six Thouſand Crowns, and Four Thouſand for me; adding, he would not part with one without the other: He put this ſo great Price upon us, becauſe, as afterwards I underſtood, he was enamour'd with Leoniſa, and did not deſire that ſhe ſhould be ranſomed, but intended to give me to the Captain of the other Galley, who was to go equal ſhares in the Prey, intending to let him have Four Thouſand Crowns for my Ranſom, to which he would add one more out of his own Pocket to make up the Sum Five Thouſand, and keep Leoniſa to himſelf: And this was the reaſon why he asked for both of us together Ten Thouſand Crowns, believing we ſhould never be ranſom'd, and that it was impoſſible for our Friends to raiſe ſo vaſt a Sum.

Leoniſas Parents profer'd nothing, truſting to my Promiſe; neither did Cornelio open his Mouth to aſſiſt her. At laſt, after much ado, my Major Domo agreed to pay Five Thouſand Crowns for her, and Three for me.

Iſuffo conſented to this Bargain, being forced to it by the Perſuaſions of the Captain of the other Galley, and the Clamours of the Souldiers.

But becauſe my Major Domo had not ſo much ready Money, he deſired the term of three days; intending to ſell my Eſtate, and ſo raiſe what was wanting. Iſuffo rejoyced at this delay, hoping that ſomething might intervene to break off the Bargain, and ſaid, that he would return to the Iſle of Fabiana, and come back by that time.

But my cruel Fortune, not yet contented with what I had ſuffered, brought it to paſs, that one of the Turks who ſtood Centinel upon the higheſt part of the Iſle, diſcovered ſix Chriſtian Veſſels ſailing towards them, and gueſſed them to be a Squadron of Malta or Sicily, as in truth they were, came running to give this information; they in a trice imbarqu'd, leaving behind them ſome of their Company boiling their Victuals, others waſhing their Cloaths; and having with incredible ſpeed weighed their Anchors, they rowed out of the Port; then hoiſting their Sails, they ſteer'd to the Coaſts of Barbary, and in leſs than two hours loſt the ſight of the Galleys; and being under the Covert of the Iſland and the Night, which approached, they were quit of their fear.

I refer it to you, Friend Mahomet, to conſider in what condition I was, ſeeing my ſelf making a contrary Voyage to what I hoped; and eſpecially the next day, when the two Galleys arrived at Pantalarea; upon the South ſide whereof they went on ſhoar, to provide themſelves with Wood and Fleſh, as their Fraſe is, and to divide their Prey.

Iſuffo gave to Fetala, for this was the Name of the Captain of the other Galley, ſix Chriſtians, that is to ſay, four Rowers, and two handſom Boys, Natives of Corſica, and me alſo to boot, and kept Leoniſa for his ſhare.

Fetala was ſatisfied with this Diviſion; and altho I was preſent at the making of it, I underſtood nothing of what paſſed, till Fetala told me in the Italian Language, Chriſtian, you are mine, you coſt me two Thouſand Crowns in Gold, if thou deſireſt to have thy liberty, thou muſt give me Four Thouſand, or dye in captivity.

I asked him, Whether the Chriſtian Gentlewoman were his too? He anſwered, No, that Iſuffo had retained her, with intention to turn her to Mahometaniſm, and marry her: And it was true; for ſo one of the Slaves told me, who well underſtood the Turkiſh Language, and had heard the Agreement made betwixt Iſuffo and Fetala. I then ſpoke to my Patron, that if he could get Leoniſa to be his Slave, I would give him for her Ranſom ten Thouſand Crowns in Gold.

He anſwered, that he could not do it, but that he would let Iſuffo know, how great a Sum he might receive for her, poſſibly ſo much Money might make him change his mind, and be willing to part with her. He told Iſuffo what I had offered, but 'twas in vain.

Afterwards he commanded all thoſe of his Gally preſently to embarque, becauſe he was bound for Tripoly, of which place he was.

In like manner Iſuffo reſolved to ſail to Biſerta, and imbarqu'd with that ſpeed, as they uſed to do, when they run away from the Chriſtian Galleys, or purſue them; and they made the more haſte, becauſe they perceived the Weather began to change, and feared a Storm.

Leoniſa was on the ſhoar, but where I could not ſee her; but when we were to embarque, we arrived at the ſame time to the Sea ſide.

Her new Patron, or rather her new Lover, lead her in his hand, and when they came to go into the Galley, ſhe turned her Eyes to ſee me, and mine were fixed upon her with ſo much Tenderneſs and Grief, that I am not able to expreſs; in that inſtant came a Cloud over my Eyes, and a Darkneſs, which deprived me of my ſight, and without Senſe I fell backward upon the ſhoar; I was afterwards told, that the ſame Accident befel Leoniſa, and that ſhe fell into the Sea from the Plank whereupon ſhe was going up to the Galley, and that Iſuffo leapt in after, and caught her in his Arms, and brought her back into the Ship.

This was told me in the Galley of my Patron, whether they had carried me in my Swoon; but when I returned to my Senſes, and ſaw my ſelf there ſeparated from Leoniſa, and that the other Veſſel ſtood another Courſe, and went farther and farther from me, carrying away the half of my Soul, or to ſay truer, my whole Soul, my Heart ſunk in me, and I began afreſh to curſe my ill Fortune, and with a loud voice to call for Death.

My Complaints were ſo many and ſo great, that my Patron was almoſt deaf with hearing them, and came to me with a good Battoon in his hand, threatning to uſe it upon my back, if I did not hold my peace; I repreſſed my Tears, and witheld my Sighs, thinking, that uſing this Violence, would make me burſt, and open a paſſage to my Soul, which was ſo deſirous to abandon my miſerable Body.

But Fortune, not yet contented to have brought me to theſe Streights, was reſolved to fill me with Bitterneſs, takeing from me all hopes of Remedy. The Storm of which they were afraid, and the South-Wind were ſo furious, that we were forced to let our Veſſel drive at the diſcretion of the Wind.

The Captain deſign'd to weather the Point of the Iſland, and ſhelter himſelf under the North ſide of it, but he could not effect it; for the Wind bore ſo hard upon him, that all that which we had got in two days we loſt in fourteen hours, and were driven back within three or four Leagues of the place from whence we ſet out, and were in great hazard of being forced upon it, not upon a plain Shoar, but upon diſmal Rocks, which threatned us with inevitable Death.

We ſaw not far from us the other Galley, wherein was Leoniſa: All the Turks and Slaves endeavouring by their Oars to keep it from falling foul upon the Rocks.

All that were in ours did the ſame, but with more Vigour and Advantage, as the Event demonſtrated; for thoſe of the other Veſſel, tired with the Fatigue, and overcome by the obſtinate Fury of the Wind, and Fortune abandon'd their Oars, and making no more reſiſtance, committed themſelves to the diſpoſal of Fate.

But that having no pity for them, we ſaw her ſtrike upon the Rocks, and break into a hundred Pieces.

Now the Night began to caſt her black Veil over the Horizon, and ſo great were the Shreeks and Cries of the drowning Perſons, together with the Fright, Confuſion, and Apprehenſion of thoſe of our Galley, who, having before their Eyes the horror of Death, could neither hear nor execute the Commands which the Captain gave, only they did not quit their Oars; and for our laſt refuge, we turned the Poop of our Ship to the Wind, and caſt two Anchors into the Sea, to put off, if it were poſſible, a little farther from us the Death which ſeemed very nigh.

Thus every one, beſides my ſelf, were in the fear of Death; but I, who deſired nothing more; for the falſe hope of ſeeing her again in another Life, who had but juſt now loſt this, worked ſo much upon me, that every moment the Galley deferred ſinking, or ſtriking againſt the Rocks, was to me an Age of ſuffering the Agonies of Death. When the foaming Waves came over our Deck, and often waſh'd my Head, I ſtood attentive to contemplate, and ſee if the Corps of the unfortunate Leoniſa ſhould be caſt up with them.

I will not hold you longer, Friend Mahomet, in telling you, part by part, the Fears, the Anxieties, the Imaginations, the Thoughts, which I had in that bitter and long night: Not to break my promiſe, to couch in few Words my ſad Story.

Let it ſuffice, that my Misfortunes were ſo many and great, that if Death had come, it ſhould have been very welcome. The day broke with appearance of a greater Storm, and we found we had made a great way, and had got clear from the Rock, and were near a Point, or head Land of the Iſland, which the Turks and Chriſtians ſeeing, took Courage, and renewing their Strength and Labour, in ſix hours they weather'd it, when we found a calmer Sea, wherein we could make uſe of our Oars. When we were got under the ſhelter of the Iſland, the Turks took the opportunity, and landed, to ſee if there were any Wreck of the Galley, which was daſh'd to pieces the Night before: But Heavens would not grant me the Favour which I hoped for, in ſeeing in my Arms the Corps of Leoniſa, which, tho dead, I ſhould have been glad to have embraced; but the ill influence of my unfortunate Stars hinder'd my joyning with that ſo beloved Body. I alſo entreated a Chriſtian Renegado, that he would ſearch whether ſhe had been caſt up on the ſhoar; but herein alſo Fortune grew adverſe to me; for the Wind being ſtronger and ſtronger, at laſt was ſo furious, that we could no longer abide there.

Fetala conſidering this, reſolved no longer to ſtrive with Fortune.

She was preſently ſo far from Land, that he was ſecure, that no Impediment could put him out of his deſign'd way. The Oars were laid two and two upon the Deck, the Rowers ſat upon the Benches, the Souldiers were under Deck, ſo that tho' there were ſo many Perſons in the Galley, there appear'd none but the Steer-man, who for greater ſecurity had caus'd himſelf to be tied faſt. The Galley ſail'd with ſuch ſwiftneſs, that in three Days and Nights we paſs'd within ſight of Trepani, of Velaſſo and Palermo, and came into the Fare of Meſſina, with great fear of thoſe who were in it, and of thoſe alſo who ſaw us from Land.

But becauſe my Narration ſhall not be as long as the Storm, I conclude we arrived at length in Tripoly, hungry and tired, by the long run we had made almoſt round Sicily, where my Patron before he had divided to the Levantines their Part, or paid the fifth to the King as the Cuſtom is, fell ill and died of a Pleuriſie.

Immediately the Baſſa of Tripoly, and the Fiſcal, who has the inſpection of Goods left by the Dead, ſeiz'd upon all the Eſtate of Fetala in the Name of the Grand Signior, who is the ſole Heir of thoſe who die without bequeathing him the fifth Part; I fell to the Baſſa of Tripoly, who fifteen Days afterwards receiv'd Orders to be Baſſa of Cyprus.

I am come hither, but not with intention to redeem my ſelf, tho he has ſeveral times told me, I might, if I pleas'd, for the Soldiers had inform'd him that I was rich, but I aſſur'd him, that they who had told him ſo, were deceiv'd theirſelves, and had alſo deceiv'd him.

If thou deſireſt Mahomet to know my Intention, I will tell it thee. I will never return to any place which may afford me Comfort; my deſire is, that the bitter Memory of Leoniſas Death, together with the miſery of my Captivity, ſhould deprive me of all Pleaſure, or Guſt, as long as I live. And if it is true, that great Griefs muſt quickly have an end, or they will bring them that ſuffer them to theirs, I hope, mine will not want that effect. For I intend to give my ſelf over to them, that in a ſhort time they may eaſe me of this troubleſome Life, which I ſo much hate.

This is, Friend Mahomet, the lamentable Story of my Misfortunes, this is the cauſe of my Sighs and my Tears; conſider now whether this is not ſufficient to draw them from the bottom of my Heart, and cauſe a Drought in my afflicted Breaſt.

Leoniſa died, and with her all my hope, tho that, whilſt ſhe was living, hung by a ſmall Hair, nevertheleſs, nevertheleſs; ſpeaking this Word, Nevertheleſs, he became dumb, and could not retain his Tears, which fell in ſuch abundance, that they moiſten'd the Ground, neither could Mahomet abſtain from weeping.

But as ſoon as Ricardo was recover'd out of the fainting Fit, this Narration had put him in, Mahomet endeavour'd to comfort him with the beſt Arguments he could think of, but he interrupted him, ſaying, the beſt and moſt profitable advice you can give, Friend Mahomet, is to inſtruct me by what means I may come to be in my Patrons diſpleaſure, and be hated by all thoſe with whom I muſt of neceſſity Converſe, that my ill Treatment may add Sorrow to my Sorrow, and I arrive ſooner at my deſired Port, which is to go out of this miſerable Life.

Now I find 'tis true, replied Mahomet, what is commonly ſaid, that that makes it ſelf be felt, will make it ſelf alſo be expreſs'd, tho' ſometimes Grief ſtrikes thoſe dumb upon whom it ſeizes. But if your Pain do's equal your Expreſſions or exceed them, you ought to believe that you ſhall always find in me a faithful Friend, both to counſel and aſſiſt you. And altho' my want of Years and my inconſiderateneſs in putting on this Habit, may adviſe you not to truſt either my Words or Actions, yet I doubt not but to carry my ſelf in ſuch manner, that you ſhall be convinc'd that you had no reaſon to harbour any ſuch diſtruſt. And tho' you will not admit of my help either by Counſels or Actions, yet I will not fail to do what is convenient for me, and what I ſhall believe conducible for your good

There is no Perſon in all this Countrey who has more Intereſt than my Maſter the Cady; your Patron, tho' he is Baſſa of Cyprus can never have ſo much.

This being granted for Truth, as it is, I may ſay without vanity, that I am the Man of the greateſt Power in this City, becauſe I can do what I pleaſe with the Cady. I tell you this, that if we can find any opportunity to make you his Slave, and ſo we both being in one Houſe, time will inſtruct us what we ought to do, as well to comfort you, if you will accept of it, as alſo that I may turn to a better Life, or at leaſt in ſome part, that when I looſe it, my Soul may be ſecure.

I heartily thank you, replied Ricardo, for the Favour you offer me, yet I believe all that you can do, will be to no purpoſe.

Nevertheleſs, for the preſent, let's leave off this Diſcourſe and go to the Tents, for I perceive a great number of People coming out of the City, without doubt the Baſſa is coming into the Field to leave the entry free, for my Patron to take poſſeſſion of the place of his Reſidency.

You are in the right, ſaid Mahomet. Let's go, for I doubt not but you will be pleas'd to ſee the Ceremonies which the Baſſas uſe on that Occaſion, withal my heart, replied Ricardo, perhaps I may have need of your Intereſt with the Guardian of the Slaves of my Patron, who is a Renegado and an unmerciful Corſican, who may treat me ill, finding me diſcourſing with you.

Thus their Converſe ended, and they arriv'd at the Tents in the ſame time, when the Baſſa was come thither, and his Patron went to the entrance of the Padiglion to receive him.

Ali Baſſa, for that was the Name of him who quitted the Government of the City, accompanied with all the Janiſaries who made up the Garriſon of Nicoſia, to the number of Five Hundred, who had been there ever ſince the Turks took it, march'd in two Bodies, one with Harquebuſſes, and the other with naked Scymitars in their Hands, to the Tent where Aſſan the New Baſſa was, and made a Guard round about him; then Ali Baſſa bowing low, made a great Reverence to Aſſan, and he with a leſſer bow re-ſaluted him; then preſently Ali enter'd into Aſſans Padiglion, who immediatly mounted a ſtately Horſe richly equipp'd, and after having waited upon him round his Tent and a good part of the way towards the City, with Acclamations and Applauſe, crying out in their Language, God ſave Sultan Solyman and Baſſa Aſſan. They repeated theſe words many times, crying louder and louder till he arrived at his Tent, where Ali Baſſa waited for him; within that Tent the Two Baſſas and the Cadi ſtaid above an hour.

Mahomet, told Ricardo, that they were lock'd in there to treat concerning what was to be done in the Reparations of the City, which were began by Ali Baſſa. Then the Cady came to the entrance of the Padiglion, and cried with a loud voice in the Turkiſh, Arabic and Greek Language, That all thoſe who had any Complaint againſt Ali Baſſa might have free acceſs, becauſe Aſſan Baſſa whom the Grand Signior had conſtituted Baſſa of Cyprus, was there ready to hear them, and do them all Juſtice.

This leave being granted, the Janiſaries left the Paſſage free, that whoſoever pleas'd might enter; Mahomet took with him Ricardo, for he might go in being Aſſans Slave. Some Chriſtian Greeks, and ſome Turks demanded Juſtice, but their Complaints were of ſo little Importance, that they were ſoon diſpatch'd by the Cady without the trouble of making Acts or writing the Interrogatories and Anſwers, for amongſt the Turks all Cauſes, except thoſe which concern Matrimony, are determined upon the ſpot, according to the Judgment and Conſcience of the Cady, rather than by any Law.

For amongſt thoſe Barbarians the Cadi, or if you pleaſe, you may call him the Biſhop, is Supream Judge of all Cauſes and Differences which he ſummarily decides, and without delays, as he thinks fit, and from his Decree there is no appealing to any other Tribunal. Then there enter'd a Chiaus, which is with us a Commander, and after him an ancient Jew leading a young Maid richly dreſs'd after the Mooriſh Faſhion; the richeſt Lady of Feſs or Morocco, who much exceed the reſt of the Africans, even the Algerines, who are adorn'd with ſo many Pearls, could not appear in a better Garb; her Face was cover'd with a crimſon Velvet Veil, ſhe wore upon her Legs and Inſteps, which were a little diſcover'd, Bracelets of Gold, and on her Arms two ſuch enamell'd and ſet with Pearls, which ſhe wore under a fine tranſparent Smock, eaſily to be ſeen; in fine, her Garments were rich, faſhionable, and becoming.

The Baſſa and the Cady were aſtoniſh'd at the firſt appearance of her, but before they ask'd any queſtions, they commanded the Jew to lift up the Veil that they might ſee the Chriſtians Face; he did ſo, and diſcover'd a Countenance which dazled the Eyes, and rejoyced the Hearts of the by-ſtanders, as when the Sun after having been obſcur'd with a black Cloud, ſhews himſelf to the Eyes of thoſe that deſire to ſee his Splendor, ſo exquiſite was the Beauty, and the Grace, and the Behaviour, of that Chriſtian Slave.

But Ricardo penetrated furtheſt into that marvellous Light, as one that knew it better than the reſt, for it was his Dear and Cruel Leoniſa, for whom ſo many times he had ſhed Rivers of Tears, believing her dead.

Ali was ſtruck through the Heart, and quite overcome at the ſight of the ſingular Beauty of that Chriſtian, neither was the Cady exempted from the Wounds of thoſe Eyes, whereupon, fixing his, he appear'd as if he was without motion, and more to expreſs the Power of Love; you muſt know, that all at one time, the three equal Rivals nouriſh'd a firm hope to obtain and enjoy her; and without further enquiry, when, and how ſhe came to be in the Jews poſſeſſion, they demanded what he would take for her.

The covetous Jew anſwer'd, he would take no leſs than four Thouſand Dubloons in Gold.

He had ſcarce ſet his Price, but Ali told him he would give it, and that he ſhould come to his Tent and receive it.

But Aſſan, who was reſolv'd Ali ſhould not have her, tho' it coſt him his Life, replied, that he would give for her the ſumme which the Jew demanded, adding that he would not have profer'd this, nor oppoſed Ali, but that the Slave was too good for any but the Grand Signior, and that he would therefore purchaſe her for his Highneſs.

Let me ſee then if any one dares to be ſo bold as to take her from me. I am that raſh Perſon, replied Ali, for I bought her with the ſame Intention, and it is fitter for me to make the Grand Signior this Preſent, becauſe I have convenience and opportunity to carry her preſently to Conſtantinople, and by her, engratiate my ſelf with his Highneſs, and obtain a better Employment, for having none now as you Aſſan know, no Office, I ought to look after one, which is not your Caſe: You being provided for three Years, from this day, whereon you begin to govern this rich Kingdom of Cyprus. So that I being the firſt that offer'd the price, there is all the reaſon in the World, that you Aſſan ſhould permit me to have my purchaſe without conteſtation.

Nay, rather, replied Aſſan, it is moſt proper for me to ſend her, and it will be more pleaſing to the Grand Signior, becauſe I do it without deſign: And whereas you pretend to have more commodious means for her Paſſage to Conſtantinople, I will ſet forth an arm'd Galley, mann'd with my own Souldiers, and row'd with my own Slaves.

Ali was much inſens'd hearing this, and ſtanding up, and drawing his Scymitar, ſaid:

It being my Intention, Aſſan, to preſent this Chriſtian to the Grand Signior, and I being the firſt Buyer, it is reaſonable that you ſhould lay down your Pretentions, but if you will not, with this Sword, I will defend my right, and chaſtiſe your temerity.

The Cady, who heard their conteſt, and was not leſs inamour'd with Leoniſa, being affraid to be deprived of her, began to think how he might extinguiſh this Fire, and make himſelf Maſter of the Chriſtian Slave, without giving any ſuſpicion of his foul intention, raiſing himſelf upon his Feet, and interpoſing between the two concurrents, who were alſo ſtanding with their Swords drawn, he ſaid to them;

Keep the Peace, you Aſſan, and you Ali, I can accommodate the differences ſo, that both of you may have your deſign, and the Grand Signior have the Slave.

They preſently were obedient to the Cadys words, which they would have been, had the affair been of greater importance, ſuch reſpect do the Mahometans bear their Prieſts.

The Cady continued his Diſcourſe in theſe words; You ſay Ali, that you will have the Chriſtian to preſent her to the Grand Signior; Aſſan ſays the ſame. You alledge, that ſhe ought to be yours, becauſe you firſt proffered the price demanded for her. Aſſan on the contrary, for tho you ſpoke firſt, it was at the ſame time in his mind; without doubt both your intentions were born the ſame time, becauſe both of you reſolv'd to buy the Slave for the ſame end.

'Tis true, you have this advantage to have firſt declared your intention, but ſuch a precedence is not valuable enough to defraud him of his good intention. I think I can make you both agree, if you'll ſtand to my arbitration.

The Slave ſhall belong to you both, but the diſpoſal of her depends upon the Grand Signior, for whom ſhe is bought. Till we know that, you Aſſan ſhall pay for your ſhare two thouſand Doubloons of Gold; and you Ali, the like ſum; and ſhe ſhall be conſigned into my hands, that I may ſend her to Conſtantinople in both your Names; and I alſo ſhall not be without ſome recompence, for the expedient I have found out. I proffer you to conduct her at my proper Charges, with that decorum and reſpect due to the Perſon to whom ſhe is ſent.

I will alſo write to the Grand Signor an account what paſſed here, and of the great deſire which both of you ſhewed to his Highneſſes ſervice. The two enamoured Turks could not, and would not contradict what he ſaid, but with patience ſubmitted to his Verdict.

Yet both of them were in hopes to procure Leoniſa to themſelves.

Aſſan, who ſtaid to be Baſſa of Cyprus, reſolved to give ſo many preſents to the Cady, that being obliged, and mollified by them, he might deliver him the Slave; and Ali truſted in a deſign which he was determined to put in execution.

So both thinking themſelves ſecure of what they wiſh'd, were eaſily brought to acquieſce in the Cadys advice; and by a common conſent they put the Chriſtian into his hands, and paid the Jew two thouſand Doubloons, each of them.

The Jew ſaid, he did not intend to part with her in thoſe cloaths at that price, for they were worth two thouſand more. And it was true, for ſhe had bound up in her hair, of which one part was diſcheval'd upon her ſhoulders, ſome in pleats upon her forehead, ſtrings of orient Pearl, exceeding coſtly; and ſhe had Bracelets upon her hands ſet with Pearls; ſhe was in a garment of green Satin, after the Turkiſh mode, and richly embroider'd.

It appeared to them all, that the Jew loſt by ſelling them at that price. And the Cady, who would ſhew himſelf as liberal as the two Baſſas, told the Jew, he would pay him that ſum, that he might preſent her to the Grand Signor in thoſe Veſtments.

The two Rivals approved of his deſign, both of them believing, that the Slave and furniture would fall to their ſhare.

It remains now, to tell Ricardos Sentiment, having ſeen his Miſtreſs ſold. I leave the Reader to imagine what, and how many troubleſom Thoughts tormented his Soul, with what fears he was aſſaulted, of looſing that Jewel again, which he had but juſt now found; he could not tell whether he was awake, or in a dream; he did not believe his own Eyes, becauſe it ſeemed to him an impoſſibility, believing ſo firmly that ſhe was dead.

Then turning to Mahomet, he ſaid, do you not know her? He reply'd, I do not; then know, reply'd Ricardo, that 'tis Leoniſa,; what ſays Richardo, anſwered Mahomet? that which Mahomet hears, reply'd Ricardo.

Hold your Tongue then, reply'd Mahomet, and diſcover her not, for fortune begins to favour you, ſhe is to be my Maſters Slave.

Do you think convenient, ſaid Ricardo, that I may place my ſelf ſo, that ſhe may have a ſight of me?

By no means, anſwered Mahomet, for fear of troubling her, or your ſelf, and give ſome ſuſpicion that you know each other, for this may be very prejudicial to my deſign.

I will follow your advice, reply'd Ricardo, not to let my looks meet with hers, who, whilſt this buſineſs was acting, held her Eves upon the ground, ſhedding ſome tears. The Cadi accoſted her, and taking her by the hand, delivered her to Mahomet, and commanding him to conduct her into the City to his Wife, and bid her treat her as a Slave of the Grand Signors.

Mahomet did ſo, leaving Ricardo alone, who with his Eyes followed his Star, till the Walls of Nicoſia, like a cloud, took her from his ſight.

Afterwards the Cady demanded of the Jew where he bought that Slave; he anſwered, in the Iſle of Pantalarea of ſome Turks, who had ſuffered Shipwrack there; and as he was going on with his narration, ſome came from the Baſſa to call him, who deſired to know of him the ſame, and ſo the Jew left him.

In the way, as Mahomet conducted Leoniſa to the City, he enquired of her in Italian, whence ſhe was; ſhe anſwered, of Trepani; he ask'd her if ſhe knew a Gentleman of that place of an illuſtrious Family, and rich enough, whoſe Name was Ricardo.

Leoniſa hearing theſe words, fetch'd a deep ſigh, and reply'd, I know him to my coſt. How, to your coſt, reply'd Mahomet? Becauſe my knowledge of him has been unfortunate to me, and his knowledge of me to him.

It may be, Madam, you know another Gentleman of the ſame City, added Mahomet, young and handſom, and the Son of a rich Father, valiant, diſcreet, and no leſs liberal, call'd Cornelio.

I know him too, reply'd Leoniſa, and that has done me more hurt, than knowing Ricardo; but who are you? that are acquainted with theſe Perſons, and enquire concerning them?

I was born in Palermo, reply'd Mahomet; various accidents have forc'd me to put on this Habit, different from what I uſed to wear; but I know thoſe, of whom I enquire, for they were lately both in my power.

Some Moors of Tripoli took Cornelio, and ſold him to a Turk, who afterwards brought him into this Iſland, with Merchandiſe, and truſted all his Eſtate in his hands.

He knew well how to keep it, ſaid Leoniſa, for by nature he is very thrifty. But pray, Sir, tell me, how Ricardo came into this Iſland?

A Pyrate brought him, anſwered Mahomet, who took him in a Garden near the Sea in Trepani; and he ſaid, that with him they took a certain young Lady, whoſe Name he would never diſcover.

He ſtaid ſome time here with his Patron, who went to Medina to viſit the Sepulchre of Mahomet; but a little before he was to go he fell ſick, and his Patron left him to me, becauſe I was his Countryman, to look after him till he returned, and if he ſhould not come back, I ſhould ſend him to Conſtantinople; and that he would give me advice, as ſoon as he ſhould arrive there. But the Heavens were pleaſed to ordain otherwiſe. The miſerable Ricardo, without having a Fever, ended his Life in a few days, having always in his mouth one Leoniſa.

Tell me, I pray Sir, did Cornelio in his Diſcourſe with you, ever mention Leoniſa. He did, Madam, reply'd Mahomet, and he ask'd me, whether I knew of any Chriſtian Slave in this Iſland, ſo call'd, and gave ſeveral marks of her, ſaying, he could find in his heart to Ranſom her, if her Patron would not ask him too dear, but perhaps, ſaid he, her Patron has enjoy'd her, and therefore I do not eſteem her ſo much as I once did. But if her Ranſom does not exceed three or four hundred Crowns, I will be ſo liberal as to disburſſe them, remembring that once I had ſome affection for her.

It was but little, reply'd Leoniſa, which at the deareſt is not worth more than three, or four hundred Crowns.

Ricardo was more liberal; God forgive the Perſon who was the cauſe of his Death. Woe is me! I am that unhappy Maid, whom he lamented as dead; God knows how much I wiſh that he was living, that he might perceive I laid his Death as much to heart, as he did the report of mine.

I am, Sir, ſhe that was ſo little beloved by Cornelio, and ſo much lamented by Ricardo; many, and various Accidents have brought me into the condition wherein you ſee me; and altho it has been in much hazard, I have hitherto, by the Favour of Heaven, preſerved my Honour, with which I live contented even in this Miſery.

I know not what will become of me, who is to be my Patron, whether my adverſe Fortune will hurry me; therefore I pray you, Sir, for the ſake of thoſe Chriſtian Parents who begot you, that you would aſſiſt me with your Counſel in theſe my Troubles, which every moment come ſo faſt upon me, that I know not which way to turn my ſelf. Mahomet anſwered, That he would give her the beſt Counſel he could, and always aſſiſt her with all his Induſtry and Power.

Then he told her of the difference betwixt the Baſſas upon her account, and that ſhe was to remain in the Power of the Cady his Maſter, till he would convey her to the Grand-Seignior. But nevertheleſs, he hoped in the true God, in which he alſo believed, tho but a ſad Chriſtian, that before this took effect, his divine Goodneſs would diſpoſe better of her.

In the mean while he adviſed Leoniſa to get into the Love and Good-liking of Alima the Cadys Wife: And for that purpoſe he acquainted her with her Conditions, and many other things conducing to her profit. Then he put her into Alimas cuſtody, and told her what his Maſter commanded him.

Alima received her with a chearful Countenance, ſeeing her ſo handſom, and ſo richly apparell'd. Mahomet returned to the Tent, where he told Ricardo from point, to point, all that had paſſed betwixt him and Leoniſa; but when he came to declare what Sentiments ſhe ſhewed at the hearing of his Death, the Tears came into his Eyes; he told him, that he had feign'd the Captivity of Cornelio, to ſee how ſhe would bear it, and adviſed him with what Coldneſs and Diſdain ſhe ſpoke of him; a great Comfort to the afflicted Heart of poor Ricardo. He further added, I did not underſtand what the Baſſas had agreed upon amongſt themſelves; but a Venetian Renegado told me afterward, who was preſent during that Negotiation, and very well underſtood the Turkiſh Language. So that it is neceſſary, in the firſt place, to invent ſomething to prevent Leoniſas being ſent to the Grand Signior.

Then the firſt thing that is be done, ſaid Mahomet, is to find ſome way, that you may be my Patrons Slave; that once obtained, we will take that Counſel which ſhall be moſt expedient. Whilſt they were thus diſcourſing, there came to them the Guardian of Aſſans Slaves, and took away with him Ricardo.

The Cady returned into the City with Aſſan, and in a few days made him all his neceſſary Diſpatches, giving him them folded up, and ſealed, as I ſaid before, to carry to Conſtantinople: Upon which he ſuddenly began his Voyage, recommending earneſtly to the Cady, that he would ſend the Slave, and write to the Grand Signior to favour his Intentions.

The Cady promiſed him, but without intention to perform it; for the Love he had for the Slave, had burnt his Soul into Aſhes.

Ali departed full of fallacious Hopes, and Aſſan ſtaid behind, not empty.

Mahomet got Ricardo into his Maſters Family; ſeveral days paſſed, and the unquiet deſire to ſee Leoniſa did ſo much afflict him, that he had not one moment of Repoſe. He called himſelf Mario, leſt his own Name ſhould come to Leoniſas Ears, before he ſaw her.

Now twas a difficult thing to do that, the Moors being extraordinarily jealous of their Women, and will not let them be ſeen by any but Chriſtians, eſteeming them to be frigid, and impotent.

A day after Alima ſaw her new Slave Mario, and gazed upon him ſo long, that that ſight pierced through her Soul, and rooted it ſelf in her Memory: It might be ſhe was not well ſatisfied with the cold Careſſes of her old Husband, and therefore gave eaſie entrance into her unchaſt Mind to that adulterous Deſire; ſhe reſolved to diſcover her Deſign to Leoniſa, whom ſhe had for a good while loved for her good Conditions, being of a benign and affable Humour, and of much Diſcretion; ſhe treated her very obligingly, knowing that ſhe was deſigned for the Grand Signior; ſhe told her that the Cady had a Chriſtian Slave in his Houſe, endowed with ſuch a graceful Appearance, and of ſo gentle a Behaviour, that ſhe had never ſeen the like; and that he was a Chilibi, as much as to ſay, a Gentleman, and Mahomets Countryman; that ſhe knew not how to diſcover her Inclinations, fearing he might deſpiſe her for loving him ſo ſoon, Leoniſa asked her the Chriſtian Slaves Name, Alima anſwer'd, that he was called Mario.

If he was a Gentleman of that place, replied Leoniſa, I ſhould know him, but of the Name of Mario I know not one in Trepani: Nevertheleſs, Madam, let me ſee him, and ſpeak with him, and I will give you an account what he is, and what you may hope from him; I will, ſaid Alima, next Friday, when the Cady goes to his Prayers, you ſhall diſcourſe him, and, if you think convenient, you may diſcover the Kindneſs I have for him; I leave the whole Affair to your Diſcretion.

About two hours after the Cady call'd Mahomet and Mario, to whom, with the ſame Fervency, Alima had done before to Leoniſa, the enamour'd old Man diſcover'd his Love, and asked their Counſel, how he might enjoy the Chriſtian-Slave, what good Invention could be found out, or what Excuſe to content the Grand Signior; for he was reſolved to looſe his Life a thouſand times, rather than preſent her to the Great Turk.

In this affectionate manner did the enamour'd Moor diſcover his Paſſion to thoſe, who had other thoughts than to procure his Satisfaction.

At laſt he reſolved, that Mario, who was of the ſame City with Leoniſa, altho he ſaid he did not know her, ſhould take the Charge upon him, to declare to her, the good Will his Patron had for her, and ſollicit her to anſwer his Affections; and if he could not prevail by this way, he would uſe Force, ſince that ſhe was in his Power: And this being done, they would ſpread a Report, that the Chriſtian Slave was dead, which would be a ſufficient Excuſe for not ſending her to Conſtantinople.

The Cady remained much contented with the Counſel of the two Slaves, and the Joy of his imaginary obtaining his Miſtris was ſo great, that from that time he gave Mahomet his Liberty, with a Promiſe to leave him half of his Eſtate, at his death; and to Mario, if by his means he obtained his Deſires, to give him his Liberty, and ſo much Money, that he might return to his Country rich, honourable, and contented.

If he was large in promiſing, his Slaves were prodigal in offering to put into his hands the Moon out of the Heaven, not only Leoniſa, if they might be permitted to ſpeak to her. I will ſuffer Mario, ſaid the Cady, as often as Alima ſhall be out of doors; to which purpoſe I'll ſend her into the Country to ſee her Kindred, who are Greek Chriſtians, and I'll order the Porter to let Marie enter as often as he pleaſes; I'll alſo tell Leoniſa, that as often as ſhe has a mind, ſhe may ſpeak to her Country-man.

Now began the Wind of Ricardos good Fortune to blow favourably, and his Patron took no notice of the Deſign that they had laid.

This Reſolution then being taken betwixt them Three; although Alima was ſhe that firſt propoſed it, as a Woman changeable in Nature, eaſie and affable in her Pleaſures.

The ſame day the Cady told Alima, that if ſhe had a mind to recreate her ſelf amongſt her Kindred, ſhe might, and ſtay with them as long as ſhe thought fit. But ſhe, who was intent upon the Hopes Leoniſa had cauſed in her, would not have been content to go to Mahomets Paradiſe, much leſs into the Countrey; therefore ſhe anſwered, that for the preſent ſhe had no ſuch inclination, and that when ſhe ſhould be ſo minded, ſhe would give him notice, and take with her the Chriſtian.

That you muſt not, ſaid the Cady; for 'twill not be convenient, that the Grand-Seigniors Slave ſhould be ſeen by ſo many, nor converſe with Chriſtians; for as ſoon as ſhe arrives at Conſtantinople, ſhe muſt be ſhut up in the Seraglio, and made to deny Chriſt, whether ſhe will or not.

If ſhe goes with me, anſwered Alima, and ſtays in my Parents Houſe, it does not follow that they will do her hurt, in fixing her in her Faith; for I that am ſo often there, am nevertheleſs a good Turk. Beſides, I intend to ſtay there but four or five days.

The Love I bear you Signior Husband, will not ſuffer me to be longer without ſeeing you.

The Cady made no reply, fearing to cauſe Suſpicion of what he deſigned.

In the mean time the Friday came, and he went to the Moſch, where he ſtaid four hours, or little leſs.

Alima ſcarce ſaw him out of the doors, but ſhe ſent for Mario.

A Chriſtian Slave of Corſica, who was Porter, would not let him enter, but Alima commanded he ſhould be admitted; ſo in he came confuſed and trembling, as if he alone had been to fight with an Army of Enemies

Leoniſa was in the ſame Cloaths ſhe wore when the Jew brought her into the Baſſas Tent; ſhe ſate at the bottom of a pair of Marble Stairs, and lean'd her Head upon her right Hand, her Elbow upon her Knee, her Looks were towards the parts oppoſed to the Door by which Mario entered; ſo that going towards the place where ſhe was, he did not ſee her.

Ricardo looked round the Room, and diſcovered nothing there, but a dumb and profound ſilence; but at laſt he caſt his Eyes where Leoniſa ſate.

In that inſtant the inamour'd Slave was aſſaulted with ſo many Thoughts, that betwixt Fear and Hope he became amazed, and rejoyced at the ſame time, finding himſelf not more than twenty Steps, or thereabouts, diſtant from his chiefeſt Felicity.

He conſider'd he was a Slave, and that he was in the Power of another; with theſe Thoughts he drew near ſoftly, with Fear and Trembling, joyful and ſad, fearful and bold, to the place, where was the Centre of his Deſires; when on a ſudden ſhe turned her Face towards him, who ſtood attentively with his Eyes fixed upon her: Their Looks meeting gave evident ſigns of their Thoughts.

Ricardo ſtood ſtill without any power of motion, and Leoniſa, who, according to the Report of Mahomet, believed him dead, ſeeing him unexſpectedly before her, and alive, was in ſuch a fright, that without taking her Eyes off from him, or turning, ſhe went backward up four or five Stairs, and then pulling out of her Boſom a little Croſs, kiſs'd it many times, and Croſſing herſelf, as if ſhe had ſeen a Spirit, or ſome Apparition out of another World.

Ricardo taking notice of this fear, and gueſing at the cauſe of it, ſpoke thus to her.

I am very ſorry, oh moſt beautiful Leoniſa! that the News Mahomet told you concerning my death was not true, for then I ſhould have been out of doubt whether that rigour and diſdain you always uſed towards me, did laſt ſtill.

Fear not Madam, and come down, and if you will vouchſafe to do that which you never yet did, come near me, and touch me, I am no Spirit, I am Ricarde, who deſires no other fortune, than what you pleaſe he ſhall have.

Here Leoniſa put her finger upon her lips, which Ricardo underſtood to be a ſign, that either he ſhould not ſpeak, or at leaſt ſoftlier.

This encouraged him to draw ſo nigh to her, that he could hear theſe words; Speak more ſoftly Mario, for I underſtand you are now ſo call'd, and meddle with no other diſcourſe, but what I ſhall put you upon; I give you this advice, for if we ſhould be overheard, it may hinder us from ever meeting again.

I believe Alima our Miſtreſs ſtands liſtening, ſhe is in Love with you, and hath employ'd me to be her procureſs, if you will correſpond with her, let it be with your Body, not with your Mind, and if you will not be in earneſt, fain at leaſt to love her, I pray you, by that which the deſires of a Woman diſcovered in confidence, can merit.

I could never imagine, oh Leoniſa! reply'd Ricardo, that it ſhould be impoſſible for me to obey you in any thing, but what you command me, does undeceive me: Is ones will ſo light that it may be tranſported whether we pleaſe? Can it become a Man of Honour to diſſemble in a matter of ſo much importance? If it is your opinion, that ſuch things ought to be, command them, for you are Miſtreſs of my will; which if you had ever known, you would not employ me in ſuch an affair. Nevertheleſs becauſe you ſhall not ſay, that I denyed to obey your firſt command, and becauſe I ſhall obtain by this the happineſs of ſeeing you, I am content to comply with yours, and Alimas deſires.

Do you then fain, what anſwers you pleaſe for me, I promiſe to make them good. And in recompence for what I do now for your ſake, I pray you tell me, how you eſcap'd out of the hands of the Pyrates, and came into the Jews.

It will require much time to recount all my misfortunes, anſwered Leoniſa, yet notwithſtanding I will ſatisfie you in part.

Know then, that the day after we ſeparated, Iſuffos Veſſel was driven back by contrary winds to the Iſle of Pantalarea, where ours, do what we could to preſerve her, ſtruck upon the Rocks.

My Patron ſeeing his deſtruction certain, with great haſt emptied two Barrels, and tied them together, and bound me upon them, and with an undaunted courage threw himſelf into the Sea, and drew me after him: I fell in, deprived of my Senſes, and recovered them not, till I found my ſelf in the hands of two Turks, who held me with my mouth downwards, to make me caſt up the great quantity of water which I had drunk, I opened my Eyes with confuſion and aſtoniſhment, eſpecially perceiving Iſuffo dead by my ſide; his Head was broken to pieces, as they told me, againſt the Stones, as the Waves threw him on ſhoar; and the Turks drew me to Land half drownd; only twelve Perſons of that Galley were ſav'd. We ſtay'd eight days in that Iſland, during which time the Turks uſed me with as much reſpect, as if I had been their Siſter. They lay hid in a Cave, fearing leaſt ſome Chriſtians ſhould come out of the Fort of that Iſland, and make them Slaves, ſuſtaining themſelves with wet Biſcuit, which the Sea caſt up, and which they gathered in the Night, and brought into the Galley.

It pleaſed fortune, for my greater miſery, that the Fortreſs had no Captain, for he dyed a few days before, and there were left in it none but private Souldiers.

This we knew by a Boy whom the Turks had taken, going to the Sea ſhore to gather ſhells.

Eight days after there came upon that Coaſt a Mooriſh Veſſel, which they call Carmoſalles: They ſaw her, and went out of the Cave, and made ſuch ſigns, that thoſe who were therein, them to be Turks. Theſe told them their misfortunes, and the Moors took them into their Veſſel, in which was a Jew, a rich Merchant, to whom all the Freight of that Ship, or at leaſt the greater part of it belonged, and they were the beſt Commodities, which are uſually brought from Barbary to the Levant.

In the ſame Veſſel the Turks went to Tripoly, and in that Voyage they ſold me to the Jew for two thouſand Doubloons, an extraordinary price, but the Love he bore to me made him ſo liberal.

After the Veſſel had landed the Turks at Tripoly, it follow'd its Voyage, and the Jew began impudently to tempt me, I ſhew'd him ſuch a Countenance as his wicked deſires merited, ſo that diſpairing to obtain his will, he reſolv'd to ſell me upon the firſt occaſion which would profer it ſelf. And knowing that the two Baſſas Ali and Aſſan were in this Iſland, and that he might as well ſell his Merchandizes there as in Chio, he came hither with intention to ſell me to one of the Baſſas, and for that purpoſe he cloathed me as you ſee, that they might have a greater Appetite to buy me.

I underſtand that the Cady has bought me for the Grand Signior, which puts me into an extream trouble. Here I heard the report of your feign'd Death, and I tell you, if you believe me, that I was very much concern'd for it, and I rather envi'd than piti'd you, not that I wiſh'd you ill, for altho' I am not in love, yet I am not ungrateful, but becauſe you had finiſh'd the Tragedy of your Life.

You ſay well, Leoniſa, replied Ricardo, if Death had rob'd me of the guſto of ſeeing you again, for I eſteem more the inſtant of Glory, which I enjoy in ſeeing you, than any other Felicity except, what is Eternal.

The Affection of my Patron the Cady is to you the ſame that Alimas is to me, he has choſen me to be Interpreter of his Thoughts, and I have taken it upon me, not to pleaſe him, but to make uſe of this occaſion to ſpeak to you.

Now you ſee, Leoniſa, to what paſs our Diſgraces have brought both of us, for you to be a Baud, and an Inſtrument of procuring that which you know 'tis impoſſible for me to grant, and that I ſhould be employ'd to deſire that of you which is ſo far from my deſire, that rather than you ſhould comply with it, I would looſe my Life, which now is dear to me, becauſe I enjoy the happineſs of ſeeing you.

I know not Ricardo, replied Leoniſa, what to ſay, nor how we ſhall be able to get out of this Labyrinth, I can only ſay this to you, it is neceſſary in this occaſion, for us to uſe means, unbecoming our Qualities, Diſſembling and Deceit.

I will carry Alima ſuch an anſwer concerning you, that may keep on the Treaty, and not make her looſe her Hopes.

And you may ſay of me what you pleaſe to the Cady, my Honour preſerv'd; and ſince I truſt it in your Hands, thence you may conclude that I poſſeſs it ſtill, tho' you may have reaſon to ſuſpect the contrary, conſidering how many Voyages I have made, and how many Aſſaults I have ſuſtain'd. It will be eaſy for us to ſpeak together, and to me particularly very grateful, but with this Condition, that there never ſlip out of your Mouth the leaſt word of declaring your Intentions: If you do otherwiſe, know for certain, that from that hour I will abſtain from ever ſeeing you more: For I would not have you think that I am of ſo mean a Spirit, that Captivity ſhould make me do that which Liberty could not.

By the help of Heaven I will be Gold, and become ſo much purer by paſſing ſo many times through the Fire: Content your ſelf, that I tell you, I ſhall not be offended to ſee you, as I have been heretofore, for I will not conceal it from you Ricardo, that I always took you for a proud diſdainful Perſon, and that you had better thoughts of your ſelf than you deſerv'd.

But I confeſs, nevertheleſs, perhaps I was deceiv'd, and that it may be, upon experience I may find it otherwiſe, and for this reaſon ſtill preſerving my Honour, I have ſhew'd my ſelf benign to you: Now begon, for I fear, leaſt Alima ſhould over-hear us, for ſhe underſtands well enough the Chriſtian Language, or at leaſt the Lingua Franca, which we uſe.

You ſpeak wiſely, replied Ricardo, and I return you infinite thanks for being ſo free with me, I eſteem it equal to the good I enjoy in ſeeing you, perhaps as you ſaid, experience will convince you, that I am humble and ſincere, eſpecially in ſerving you.

As to my Words, Diſcourſes and Proceedings, they ſhall be ſo honeſt, altho' you had not limited them, and ſo reſpectful, that you cannot deſire them more; and for what belongs to the management of the Cady, be ſecure.

Do you the ſame with Alima, and know, Madam, that from this moment of our interview, I find in me a hope, nay, an aſſurance that we ſhall ſhortly recover our wiſh'd for Liberty: Adieu, till another time, and when we have more opportunity, I will declare to you the ſeveral oblique ways, whereby Fortune conducted me ſince I parted with you, or to ſay better, was forc'd from you.

Then they took their leaves, and Leoniſa reſted moſt contented and ſatisfied in the real proceedings of Ricardo, and he was the joyfulleſt Man in the World, for having once heard words out of Leoniſas Mouth, wherein there was nothing of rigour, or diſdain.

In the mean while Alima was ſhut up in her Chamber, praying Mahomet, that Leoniſa would return, and bring her good News of the Affair ſhe was intruſted with.

The Cady in the Moſch, was as thoughtful and as full of hopes as his Wife, he expected Marios anſwer, which by the help of Mahomet might be communicated to him.

Leoniſa increaſed the furious Deſire and Love of Alima, by giving her hopes, that Mario would do whatever ſhe ſhould pleaſe to command him, but not till after two Mondays were paſs'd; deſiring ſo much time to pray to God, he might return into his Liberty.

Alima was ſatisfied with this Excuſe, and the relation given her of her beloved Mario, to whom ſhe promiſed Liberty before the term of his Devotion ſhould be expired, if he would conſent to ſatisfy her will; wherefore ſhe pray'd Leoniſa to ſolicite him to make uſe of his time, and to anticipate the fix'd term, offering to give him down what Money the Cady ſhould demand for his Ranſom.

Before that, Ricardo would tell his Patron what he had done, he reſolved to conſult with his Friend Mahomet.

They both agreed, that they ought to make him diſpair, and counſell'd him with all ſpeed to carry Leoniſa to Conſtantinople, and that in the Voyage, either by Love or Force, he would eaſily obtain his deſire: And to prevent any hurt that might arrive from the Grand Signior, they might ſecure theirſelves, by purchaſing another Slave, and then give out, that Leoniſa was dead, and in the Night throw her overboard, and tell all in the Veſſel it was Leoniſa.

They told him, this was eaſy to be done, and that they would ſo manage it, that the Truth ſhould never come to light, ſo that they had trac'd him out a ſure way to obtain his deſires, and not incurr the diſpleaſure of the Grand Signior.

And that afterwards they would not fail to find out certain, and infallible ways to make his pleaſure durable.

The poor Grey-headed Cady, was ſo blinded with his Paſſion, that if his two Slaves had told him deſigns unprobable, and unreaſonable, he would have believ'd them, he therefore greedily ſwallow'd this, wherein a way appear'd leading to a happy Succeſs.

And the Propoſition was not without the foundation of veriſimilitude, if the two Counſellors had not deſign'd to make theirſelves Maſters of the Ship, and to kill the Cady in recompence of his fooliſh intention.

There was yet a greater Difficulty to be overcome, his Wiſe Alima would not let him go without her, to obviate that, he found this expedient, that Alima might ſerve inſtead of that Alima might ſerve inſtead of the Chriſtian, whom they had thoughts to buy, and kill, for the Cady was very deſirous to be freed from her.

With the ſame facility that he found it out, Mahomet and Ricardo approved of it, for a ſubtil and excellent expedient.

This reſolution being then taken, the ſame day the Cady adviſed Alima of his deſign to go himſelf, and preſent the Chriſtian Slave to the Grand Signior, by which liberality he hoped to be Cady Major of Grand Cairo, or Conſtantinople.

Alima reply'd, that ſhe much approved his reſolution, hoping he would leave behind him Ricardo; but when he told her, that Mahomet, and Mario muſt go with him, ſhe changed her mind, and adviſed him againſt what ſhe had before approved. But at laſt ſhe concluded not to let him go, without he would take her with him.

The Cady was pleaſed to let her have her will, deſigning in a little time to eaſe his ſhoulders of that troubleſom burden.

During this, Aſſan Baſſa, preſſed the Cady to let him have the Slave, for beſides that he gave him Ricardo, who was worth two thouſand Crowns, he offered him mountains of Gold, and ſhewed him how eaſily, and ſafely he might do it; for he would teſtifie, that ſhe was dead, if the Grand Signior ſhould enquire after her.

All theſe proffers made the Cady haſten his departure, ſo that being inſtigated by his own Luſt, and preſſed by the importunity of Aſſan, and alſo by that of Alima, who fed herſelf with hopes in the Air; they prepared in twenty days a Brigantine, and man'd it with ſome Chriſtian Greeks and Moors; he Embark'd therein all his Treaſure, and Alima left nothing of value behind, and ſhe pray'd her Huſband to take her Father and Mother with him, that they might ſee Conſtantinople.

The intention of Alima was the ſame with Ricardos and Mahomets, in the Voyage to ſeize on the Brigantine; but ſhe did not diſcover it to either of them before they were Embark'd, hoping to get into Chriſtendom, and there to be Married to Ricardo, who, ſhe thought, would not refuſe her, being ſo very rich, and reſolved to turn Chriſtian. In the mean time Ricardo ſpoke again to Leoniſa, and declared to her his whole deſign, and ſhe told it to Alima; after having charged each other to be ſecret, and recommending themſelves to Heaven, they ſtood in expectation when they ſhould begin their Voyage.

That day being come, Aſſan went out of the City to the Seaſhore, and accompanied them with all his Souldiers, neither could he leave them, till he ſaw them Embark'd and under Sail, neither did he ever take his Eyes from the Veſſel till it was out of ſight.

The wind of the Sighs of the inamour'd Moor ſeem'd to fill the Sails of the Brigantine, which carried from him his Soul. But he as one, whom Love for ſo long time had deprived of repoſe, ſtood thinking, and pondering what was to be done, to prevent his dying in the heat of his deſires, ſuddainly put that into effect, which by a long train of Diſtcourſe, and a conſtant Reſolution he had determined to do; and it was this, with a Veſſel of ſeventeen Oars on a ſide, which he had Armed in another Port, and Man'd with ſifty five Souldiers, whom he had won with many gifts and promiſes, he reſolved to purſue with all ſpeed, and take the Cadys Brigantine with all his Riches, and to kill all they ſhould find therein, except Leoniſa, whom he would only have for his ſhare, giving the reſt to the Souldiers; he commanded beſides, that they ſhould ſink it, that it might be thought to have been caſually loſt.

The hopes of ſo great prey, gave wings to his Men, and redoubled their courage, altho they knew the Veſſel would make no great defence, becauſe it was not Arm'd, and ſuſpected not ſuch an accident.

The Brigantine had now ſayl'd two days, and they ſeemed to the Cady ſo many Ages, ſo that without any farther delay, he reſolved to put his intention into execution.

But the two Slaves adviſed him, that firſt he ought to give out, that Leoniſa was ſick, and that this Report ſhould continue for ſome days, in order to prepare the way for the belief of her death. This Counſel did not pleaſe him.

He was of opinion, that it ſhould be given out, that ſhe dy'd ſuddainly, that he might the ſooner be rid of his Wife, for he could not longer ſuffer the amorous Fire, which by little and little, had reduced his Soul to Aſhes.

Notwithſtanding this, he was forc'd to acquieſce in the opinion of the Slaves.

Already Alima had declared her thoughts to Mahomet, and Ricardo, and they prepared to execute their deſigns, as they paſſed by the Croſſes of Alexandria, or in entering into the Caſtles of Natolia; ſo great was the impatience of the Cady, and haſtening the Slaves to effect what they had promiſed, and what he ſo much deſired, with the firſt occaſion.

The day being now come, which was the ſixth from the time of their ſetting out, the Cady was of opinion, that Leoniſas ſickneſs had been long enough, that therefore the next day they ſhould throw Alima into the Sea, wrapt up into a ſheet, and give out, that that was the Slave of the Grand Signior.

Upon the break of that day, in which Mahomet, and Ricardo ought to have fulfilled the Cadys deſires, or ſend him out of this World, they diſcovered a Veſſel Sayling and Rowing towards them, in order to attack them.

They were affraid it might be ſome Chriſtian Pyrate from which neither Turks nor Chriſtians could hope any good; the Turks and Moors fear'd to be Slaves, and the Chriſtians, tho they ſhould get their liberty, to be plunder'd and ſpoyl'd.

However, Mahomet and Ricardo comforted themſelves in hopes to obtain Leoniſas, and their own liberty, but this hope did not exempt them from the fear which they had of the inſolency of theſe Pyrats, who, of what ever Nation and Religion they are, as ſoon as they turn Pyrats become inſolent and cruel: wherefore all of them put themſelves into a poſture of defence, ſtill plying their Oars, neglecting nothing, which they hop'd might conduce to their ſafety.

After two hours the Veſſel, by the force of its Oars, fetch'd them up, and was within Canon ſhot, upon which they quitted their Oars, and furl'd their Sails, and betook themſelves to their Arms, tho the Cady cryed out, they ſhould fear nothing, becauſe it was a Turkiſh Ship.

He commanded, that they ſhould preſently hang out a white Flag, a ſignal of Peace, but they being inſtigated with deſire of prey, came on with great fury to attack the weak, and ill defended Brigantine.

In this inſtant, Mahomet, looking Weſtward, ſpy'd a Galley with Twenty Benches of Oars make towards them, of which he adviſed the Cady, and ſome Chriſtians who were at the Oars, ſaid, that the Veſſel which they ſaw approaching was a Chriſtian, this News increas'd the fear and confuſion wherein they were, they ſtood aſtoniſh'd, and not knowing what to do, hoping, and fearing the Succeſs.

In this pinch, the Cady would willingly have renounced all his hope of pleaſure, that he might be ſafe again in Nicoſia, ſo great was his fear, but the firſt Veſſel ſuddainly rob'd him of that hope, for without having any reſpect to the white Flag, nor their Religion, aſſaulted that wherein the Cady was, with ſo much Fury, that they wanted but little of ſinking of it.

At their firſt coming within ken, the Cady knew them to be Soldiers of Nicoſia, and gave himſelf over for a dead Man.

There would not have eſcaped one Man of the aſſaulted Brigantine, had not the Soldiers been more greedy of plundering, than killing, whilſt they were thus buſied, a Turk began to cry out, To Arms, to your Arms Soldiers, a Chriſtian Veſſel approaches; for that which they diſcover'd, carried a Croſs in her Standard, and came with great impetuouſneſs to attack the Brigantine of Aſſan, but he firſt hal'd her, demanding in the Turkiſh Language, whence the Ship was, it was anſwer'd it belong'd to Aſſan Baſſa, Vice-Roy of Cyprus.

How, ſaid the Turk, are you Muſſulmans, and aſſault and attack the Brigantine, upon which you know the Cady of Nicoſia is?

They replied, that they knew nothing of that matter, only they had Order from their Commander to take it, and as Soldiers they were obedient to their ſuperiour-Officer.

The Captain of the ſecond Veſſel having receiv'd Satisfaction to what he requir'd, he left Aſſans Veſſel, and attack'd the Cadys, and at the firſt aſſault, kill'd ten of the Defendants, and preſently entring it with great bravour, he was no ſooner enter'd, but the Cady diſcover'd it was Ali Baſſa inamour'd of Leoniſa, who, as alſo Aſſan had watch'd for him there, and that they might ſucceed in their Rape more ſecurely, made uſe of this Stratagem to cloath their Soldiers after the Chriſtian Faſhion.

The Cady thus knowing the Intentions of the Lovers and Traytors, fell into great exclamations, upbraiding them with their baſe wicked Actions, What's this, ſaid he, O Traytour Ali Baſſa, that you being a Muſſulman, aſſault me as if you were a Chriſtian, and you Aſſans Souldiers, rather Aſſaſſines; what diabolic Spirit moves you to commit this inſolence can you fight againſt your Prince and natural Lord in compliance with the laſcivious and irregular Appetite of your Commander.

Theſe words were ſo prevalent, that the Soldiers were quiet, and laid down their Arms, and looking upon one another, found they were all under the ſame Captain. The juſt Accuſations and Reproaches wherewith the Cady loaded them, and which their Conſciences allow'd to be true, put them into ſuch confuſion, that it blunted the edges of their Scymitars and bated their Fury: Ali alone ſhut his Eyes and ſtopt his Ears, and aſſaulting the Cady, gave him ſuch a terrible blow upon the Head, which would cut it into two pieces, had it not been wrapt up in more than a hundred Yards of Cloth, yet notwithſtanding that, it made him fall headlong upon the the Oars, being down, he cried out aloud in theſe words, Oh cruel Renegade! Enemy to my Profet, how could'ſt thou find in thy wicked and curſed Heart to aſſault thy Cady, a Miniſter of Mahomet, it is not poſſible that thy cruelty and inſolence ſhould remain unpuniſhed.

Theſe Reproaches added force to the firſt, ſo that the Soldiers of Aſſan who heard them, fearing that thoſe of Ali ſhould take the Prey out of their Hands, which they believ'd now to be in poſſeſſion of, reſolv'd to try their utmoſt, they began therefore ſome of them to charge the Enemy, and others following altogether, fell upon them with ſuch force, and ſpeed, and valour, and treated them ſo, that tho' they were more in number, in ſhort time they reduc'd them to a few; yet for all this, thoſe that were advanc'd, were not diſcourag'd, but rather renewing their Strength, did revenge the Death of their Companions, ſcarcely leaving four of Aſſans Souldiers alive, and thoſe wounded and diſabled.

Mahomet and Ricardo ſtood all this while at the Window of the Poop, looking upon them, deſirous to ſee what would be the end of this Scufflle; and obſerving that almoſt all the Turks were dead, and thoſe that were alive in ſuch plight, that they might eaſily ſily and ſafely maſter them.

Ricardo called Mahomet, and the two Nevews of Alima, which ſhe had cauſed to embarque with her, to help to navigate the Veſſel: Theſe four, with the Father of Alima, ſeizing on the Scymitars of the ſlain, leapt upon the Deck, crying, Liberty, Liberty; ſuddenly the Greeks, and other Chriſtian Mariners came to their aid; ſo that with Facility, they being vigorous and freſh, ſoon diſpatch'd the reſt of the Turks.

This being done, the Conquerers leapt into the Veſſel of Ali, which was left without any to defend it, and made themſelves Maſters of it, and of all that was in it. Amongſt thoſe that were killed in the ſecond Aſſault, was Ali, whom a Turk, to revenge the Cady, kill'd with a Scymitar.

They all were of opinion, according to the Advice of Ricardo, to put into the Veſſel of Ali whatever was of Value in their Galley, and in Aſſans, becauſe it was greater and fitter for ſuch a Voyage, and becauſe all the Rowers were Chriſtians, who being overjoyed for recovering their Liberty, and pleaſed with Money which Ricardo diſtributed amongſt them, offered to carry him not only to Trepany, but if there was occaſion, to the Worlds end.

Then Mahomet and Ricardo, full of Joy for their happy Succeſs, went to Alima, and told her, if ſhe had a mind to return to Cyprus, they would equip her Galley, and ſhe ſhould have the ſame Mariners; and beſides, they would give her half of the Riches which was in it.

But ſhe, who notwithſtanding this Calamity, had not forgot her Love to Ricardo, anſwered, that ſhe would go with them into Chriſtendom, at which Reſolution her Father and her Mother were exceeding joyful.

The Cady recovered of his hurt, uſing what Medicaments the time and place would afford; to him they gave the choice, either to go into Chriſtendom with his Wife, or to return to Nicoſia in his own Veſſel.

He anſwered, that ſince Fortune had brought him into that condition, he thanked them for their ſo great Liberality, and that he was reſolved to go to Conſtantinople, and complain to the Grand Signior of the Injuries that Aſſan and Ali had done him; but when he underſtood that his Wife would abandon him, and become a Chriſtian, they had much ado to keep him in his Senſes.

In fine, they made ready for him his Brigantine, and provided it with all things neceſſary for his Voyage, giving him ſome of his own Checkeens. He took his leave of all of them, with a deſign to return to Nicoſia; but before he ſet ſail, he beg'd the favour of Leoniſa, to embrace him; for he ſaid, ſuch a Favour would be ſufficient to make him forget all his paſt Misfortunes

All of them deſired Leoniſa, that ſhe would be pleaſed to grant him his Requeſt, that in ſo doing, ſhe would not in the leaſt diminiſh her Reputation: Leoniſa conſented. After that, the Cady beſeeched her to lay her Hand upon his Head, that by that he might hope a ſpeedy Recovery of his Wounds; in all which Leoniſa contented him.

This being done, they bored a hole in the bottom of the Veſſel of Aſſan, and ſunk it: Then they ſet ſail with a good Eaſt-Wind, which profered it ſelf, and ſeemd to invite them: So in a little time they loſt the ſight of the Cadys Galley, who ſaw the Wind carry away all his Goods, his Wife, his Pleaſure, and his Soul alſo.

Ricardo and Mahomet ſailed with Thoughts far different from thoſe of the Cady, and without touching any where, they paſſed within ſight of Alexandria; and without making uſe of their Oars, they came to the ſtrong Iſland of Corfu, where they water'd; then paſſing by the infamous Acroceraunian Rocks, Two days after, they diſcovered, at a great diſtance, the Cape Paſſaro, in the moſt fertile Iſle of Sicily, within ſight of which, and of the famous Iſle of Malta, they paſſed as it were flying; for the proſperous Veſſel ſeem'd to ſail with no leſs ſpeed.

Afterwards leaving that Iſland, in four days they diſcovered Lampadoſa at a little diſtance from the Iſland, whereupon they had ſuffer'd ſhipwrack; at ſight of which Leoniſa trembled, it bringing into her mind the great danger wherein ſhe was there. The day following, they ſaw their beloved and deſired Country.

Then their Joy renewed, and they were fill'd with unſpeakable Pleaſure, the greateſt that can arrive to Men in this Life, to return to their native Country ſafe and in good health, after a long and miſerable Captivity; or if there is any Joy comparable to this, 'tis that of a Victory obtaind over an Enemy.

There was in the Galley a Cheſt of Banners, and rich Silks of various Colours, with which Ricardo adorned his Galley. A little after break of day they found themſelves within two Miles and an half of Trepany, towards which they ſail'd with a quarter Wind, making great Acclamations and Shouts of Joy.

In a moment the Port was full of People which came thither from the City, in which there was ſcarcely one left who did not come to the ſhoar; becauſe they had ſeen the Veſſel ſo gloriouſly equipp'd approach the land. A little before Ricardo prevailed with Leoniſa to dreſs her ſelf as ſhe was when the Jew brought her into the Baſſas Pavilion, he having a mind to put a pleaſant Trick upon her Kindred.

That ſhe did, and adding Pomp to Pomp, and Pearls to Pearls, and Embeliſhments to Beauty, which ſet it off the better, and augmented the Pleaſure of the Beholders; ſo that it cauſed a new and marvellous Admiration in the Spectators.

In like manner, Ricardo and Mahomet, and all the Chriſtian Rowers, were in the Turkiſh Garb, which they eaſily might be, for the ſlain Turks had left them Cloaths more than ſuffic'd for that purpoſe, 'twas about ſeven a Clock, when they reached the Port, and the Heaven was ſo clear, as if had a mind to ſee that joyful entry.

Ricardo, before he caſt Anchor in the Haven, diſcharged the Artillery of his Galley and two Falconets, which were the chaſe Guns. The City anſwer'd him with as many.

But when they were very near, and they ſaw 'twas a Turkiſh Veſſel, by the white Turbants, which the ſeeming Moors wore, they fear'd ſome Stratagem, and preſently ſtood to their Arms, the Foot of the City drawing to the Port, and the Cavalry extended it ſelf upon the Sea Coaſt.

This effect which their fear cauſed, afforded great pleaſure to them, who by little and little drew near, then caſting Anchor, and pulling out a Bridge of Planks, all at once they quitted their Oars, and came out one by one on the Shoar, as in a Proceſſion, and for Joy kiſſing the Earth many times, they made the Spectators know, that they were Chriſtians, who made their Eſcape.

The laſt that came out, were the Father and Mother of Alima, and her two Nevews, dreſs'd like Turks, as we have declar'd before, and after them the fair Leoniſa, whoſe Face was cover'd with a Crimſon Veil, betwixt Ricardo and Mahomet.

This ſight turn'd the Eyes of all the by-ſtanders upon them, and as the other had done defore, they fell on their Faces and kiſs'd the Earth.

Then the Governour of the City came to welcome them, having underſtood that Ricardo and Leoniſa were the principal Perſons who arriv'd in that Galley; he preſently knew Ricardo, and with open Arms run to embrace him: There came alſo with the Governour Cornelio, and his Father, and the Father and Kindred of Leoniſa and Ricardo, all of them Perſons of the beſt Quality in that City.

Ricardo embraced the Governour, and gave obliging anſwers to his courteous Congratulations, and graſp'd Cornelio by the Hand, who, when he knew him, and finding himſelf held ſo faſt, chang'd Countenance, and trembled with fear, with the other Hand he took Leoniſa, and began thus to ſpeak:

I pray you Gentlemen, that before we enter into the City, and the Church, to return thanks to God for all his many and great Favours, you would be pleas'd to hearken to what I have to ſay.

The Governour replied, he might ſay what he pleas'd, that they were all attentive.

Then he turn'd himſelf to the chief of them and lifting up his Voice he began in this manner.

I believe, you may remember, Gentlemen, the diſgrace that ſome Months ſince happen'd to me and Leoniſa in the Gardens of Saline, and alſo the diligence I uſed to procure her Liberty, for neglecting mine own, I offer'd for hers all my Eſtate; yet this, which has the appearance of Liberality, ought not to be prais'd in me, becauſe I gave it to redeem my own Soul; as to the particulars, which happen'd to us both ſince, 'tis a Story, that requires another time, and a more convenient place, and another Tongue not ſo diſturb'd as mine.

Let it ſuffice, that I tell you now, that after various and ſtrange Accidents and Deſpair, ever to find Remedies to our Misfortunes, it pleas'd the pitious Heaven, altho' we did not deſerve ſo great Favour, to return us to our Native Countrey in Safety, Health, and loaded with Riches.

But the unparallell'd Pleaſure, which I enjoy, proceeds not, either from my Riches, or my recover'd Liberty, it only ſprings from that Joy, which I imagine will fill the Heart of this my ſweet Enemy, not only to ſee herſelf free, but to have before her Eyes the Object of her Love, which ſtands there, pointing to Cornelio.

But however, I take my ſhare in the common Joy, which they feel, who have bore me Company in Miſery; and tho it uſually happens, that Misfortunes and unhappy Succeſſes change the Conditions, and render the generous Souls vile and abject, they had not, however, the ſame Power over me, when I ſaw my ſelf abandon'd of all my hopes, for I have paſs'd the Shipwrack of my Diſadventures and funeſt Diſappointments of my no leſs honeſt, than ardent Importunities, with the pureſt and unexpreſſible Integrity, and have made that falſe, that thoſe who change Climates, change their Minds.

From what I have ſaid, I would inferr, that I offer'd for Leoniſas Redemption all my Eſtate, and I gave her my Soul and all my Deſires; I found a way to ſet her at Liberty, in doing which, I had greater reſpect for her, than for my own Life, and if for all theſe things, which in another occaſion might be look'd upon as Obligations, I do not pretend, that ſhe is oblig'd to me: I only intend, that ſhe ſhould acknowledge herſelf beholden for what you ſhall ſee me do now.

This ſaid, he lifted up his Hand, and with much Modeſty and Reverence, took off the Veil that cover'd the fair Face of Leoniſa, which appear'd with radiant Light, as the Sun freed from a dark Cloud.

Ricardo continued his Diſcourſe, ſaying, behold Cornelio, I conſign into your Hands a Pledge, which you ought to eſteem above all things.

And you, oh beautiful Leoniſa, behold, I give you him, whom you preſerv'd always in your Memory.

I would have this publiſh'd for a Liberality, with which the gift of Eſtate, Life or Honour, is not to be compar'd.

Receive her, oh Fortunate young Man, receive her, I ſay, and if thou haſt ſo much judgment to diſcern ſo great a Good, call thy ſelf the happieſt Man that lives here below; with her alſo I give thee my ſhare of what Heaven hath beſtow'd on us in this Voyage, which is more than Thirty Thouſand Crowns, you ſhall enjoy it all with ſecurity, and without any Diſturbance; I pray Heaven to make you happy many and many Years.

Having ſpoke this, he was ſilent, but a little while after, before that any one began to ſpeak, he added, Oh God! How much do troubles diſturb our Underſtandings: I, Gentlemen, being inclined to do good, have not conſider'd, what I ſaid, for it is not juſt that I ſhould be liberal of what belongs to another, what right have I in Leoniſas, or how can I diſpoſe of that which is ſo far from being mine, ſhe is only her own, and ſo much, that had ſhe not a Father and Mother, to whom may Heaven give many and proſperous Years, her Will can meet with no oppoſition. And if ſhe reckons upon the Obligations ſhe has receiv'd from me, which ſhe being Diſcreet and judicious, cannot but own, from this hour, for ever, I diſclaim, quit, cancel, and annul them.

As to what I ſaid about Cornelio, I unſay it, not intending to give him any thing, becauſe I cannot give that which is not mine. I can confirm only the free Donation of all my Goods to Leoniſa, not pretending any other recompence, than her honourable eſteem of my honeſt Thoughts, and that ſhe would believe, they never had any other end or aim, than what is due to her incomparable honeſty, to her many Vertues, and her exquiſite Beauty.

Here Ricardo ended, and Leoniſa anſwer'd in this manner. If you imagine, Ricardo, that I ſhew'd any Favours to Cornelio in that time, when you ſhew'd your ſelf ſo much enamour'd with me, and ſo jealous, imagine alſo, that they were honeſt and not unbecoming, and that I did them in obedience to my Parents commands, who deſiring that he might be my Husband, order'd me to treat him ſo.

If this can ſatisfy you, you may alſo be convinc'd, by what you have found by Experience concerning my Honeſty, and Modeſty: I ſay this, Ricardo, to let you know, that I have been always mine own, and not ſubject to any one, except my Father and Mother, whom I now humbly beſeech, as it is my Duty, to give me Licenſe and Liberty to diſpoſe of that, which your Generoſity and Liberality has granted me.

Then her Father and Mother, replied, that they left her to herſelf, and that they would confirm what ever Election ſhe ſhould make, truſting ſhe would do nothing, but what ſhould be for her Honour and Advantage.

Then with this Licenſe, continued the diſcreet Leoniſa, I ſhall not incurr blame, if I freely diſcover my Thoughts, and ſhew my ſelf not to be inſenſible of Obligations, or ungrateful.

Wherefore, oh generous Ricardo, my will, which hitherto has been perplex'd, and confus'd, finally declares it ſelf in your Favour, that Men may be convinc'd by my Example, that all Women are not ungrateful.

I, Ricardo, beſtow my ſelf upon thee, and will be thine, till Death, and if thou doſt not reſerve thy Hand for ſome other Lady, whom thou valueſt more, I pray, give me your Hand, as a Pledge, that you will be my Husband.

At thoſe words, Ricardo was confounded, and ſtood, as if he was out of his Wits, not being able to anſwer Leoniſa one word, he only fell upon his Knees, and taking her Hand, as it were by force, kiſs'd it many times, and bath'd it in amorous Tears. Cornelio alſo ſhed Tears, but of anger and vexation, the Father and Mother of Leoniſa, wept for joy, and the by-ſtanders for pleaſure and admiration.

They were married ſhortly afterwards with great Solemnity, it was celebrated for many Days with Feaſting, Revelling, and Balls, where were preſent moſt of the beſt and principal Perſons of the City, invited by the Kindred and Friends of Ricardo and Leoniſa, thinking they could never do enouf to expreſs their Joy.

Mahomet and Alima were reconcil'd, and return'd into the Communion of the Church, and perceiving, there was no poſſibility for her to be married to Ricardo, ſhe contented herſelf with being Mahomets Wife.

Ricardo gave ſo large a part of the Spoil to her Father, Mother, and Nevews, that 'twas ſufficient to make them live commodiouſly.

In fine, they all remain'd free and ſatisfi'd, and the Fame of Ricardo paſſing beyond the Bounds of Sicily, ſpread it ſelf through all Italy, and in many other Parts of Europe, under the Name of the LIBERAL LOVER, and to this Day it remains in the many Children, which he had by Leoniſa, who was a rare Example of Honeſty, Diſcretion, and Beauty.

The End of the Second Novel.

THE Force of Blood. NOVEL III.

ONE Evening in the hotteſt time of the year, an old Gentleman of Toledo returned from walking by the Riverſide with his Wife and a little Boy his Son, a Daughter of ſixteen years old, and a Maid-Servant. The night was clear, and 'twas eleven a-clock, and there was no Company upon the way; they walk'd ſoftly, not to buy too dear, with wearineſs, the pleaſure they took on the Rivers ſide, and upon the plain of Toledo.

The good Gentleman eſteeming himſelf ſecure, by his own innocence, and the careful Government of the City, he proceeded with his honorable Family without thoughts that any diſgrace ſhould happen to him, but as all accidents cannot be foreſeen by human Prudence; there ſucceeded one to him, which diſturbed his joy, and made him a ſorrowful Man for many years.

There lived then in that City a Gentleman of about twenty two years old, of illuſtrious Blood, and great Riches, but of an irregular Inclination; too much liberty, and the bad Company he frequented, made him commit ſuch Extravagances, as very ill ſuited with his Quality, and acquired him all the City over, the appellation of Neck breaker.

Now this Gentleman, whoſe true Name, out of reſpect to his Family, we conceal, calling him Ridolfo, with four of his Companions, all like himſelf, ready for any ill rencounter, was walking down the ſame way, by which the old Gentleman was returning home, and the Lambs met with the Wolves.

Ridolfo and his Companions, in an inſolent manner, look'd on the Face of the old Gentlewoman, the Daughter, and Servant; the old Gentleman was much diſturbed, complaining of their rudeneſs; but they made no other anſwer, but laughing at him, and without doing any thing more walked on.

But the admirable Beauty, which Ridolfo had ſeen in the face of Leecadia, for this was the Name of the young Gentlewoman, began to imprint itſelf in ſuch manner in his mind, that he remained ardently kindled, and procured in him a reſolution to enjoy her, let the conſequences be what they would, and in that inſtance he communicated his thoughts to his Companions, who reſolv'd to go back, and carry her off by force, in complaiſance to the Luſt of Ridolfo.

It always was, is now, and ever will be, that thoſe who are rich and liberal, ſh'all find aſſiſtants in what they attempt, be it never ſo villanous, and thoſe that will approve and applaud their unjuſt Actions.

The thought, the communicating, the approving, and putting in effect the Rape of Leocadia, were, as it were, all in one time.

They covered their Faces with their Handkerchiefs, and with drawn Swords turn'd back, overtook them, who had ſcarce ended their thanks to God, for freeing them from thoſe Ruffians.

Ridolfo ſeized upon Leocadia, took her in his arms, and carried her off; ſhe had not ſtrength enough to defend herſelf, and the ſuddaineſs of the aſſault took away her voice, and the ſight of her eyes, and put her into a ſwoon, that ſhe knew not by whom, and whether ſhe was carried.

Her Father cryed out, her Mother skreek'd, her little Brother fell a weeping, and the Servant-maid tore her face; but the cries, the Skreeks, the lamentation, and the tearing of the Face, availed not, for this deſert place, the ſilence of the night, and the cruel Hearts of theſe Villains, had no ears, or compaſſion.

In fine, theſe went away triumphing, and the other remain'd afflicted, and diſconſolate: Without any impediment Ridolfo got to his Houſe, and the Parents of Leocadia to theirs, being as it were deſperate through their exceeding grief.

Being deprived of their Daughter, they were become blind, for ſhe was the light of their Eyes, and not having her ſweet and grateful company, they were, as it were alone; in a word, they were in a confuſion, not knowing whether they ought, or not, complain to the Juſtice, but they were not willing to publiſh their diſhonour; They ſaw they wanted Friends, being poor Gentlemen, and they knew not of whom complain.

In the mean time Ridolfo, being cunning and wary, carried Leocadia to his own Chamber, and when he found ſhe was in a ſwoon, as he carried her, he covered her eyes with his Handkerchief, that ſhe might not take notice of the Streets by which ſhe paſs'd, nor the Houſe, nor the Room into which he had brought her; for his Father had given him an Apartment, whereof he kept the Keys, a great error in Parents, who think to keep their Sons within limits, and yet let them live ſeparately. Before Leocadia return'd to her Senſes, Ridolfo had ſatisfied his Luſt.

For the Impetuouſneſs of laſcivious Youth, ſeldom conſiders what they are going about, but when occaſion proffers, execute their deſigns; ſo he, being deprived of the light of his Underſtanding, in the obſcurity of the night, robb'd Leocadia of her moſt precious Jewel; and as the moſt part of the Sins of Senſuality paſs not beyond the effect, Ridolfo wiſh'd Leocadia were removed at a greater diſtance, and he had thoughts of putting her out into the Street, whilſt ſhe lay in a Trance.

But going about to effect this Barbarity, ſhe recovered, ſaying, Wretch that I am! where am I? what darkneſs is this? am I in the limbus of my Innocency, or in the Hell of my Sins? Jeſu, who touches me? am I in a Bed? Miſerable that I am! do you hear Mother? do you hear me dear Father? now I perceive one, nor the other hears me, and that I am in the hands of my enemies.

How happy ſhould I be if this darkneſs would laſt Eternally, and my Eyes ſhould never ſee light again? that this place was the Sepulchre of my Honour; for diſhonour unknown, is better than Honour, which conſiſts only in the opinion of Men. But I remember, and would to God I did not, that a little while ſince I was in the company of my Parents, and that I was aſſaulted; and now I imagine and perceive, that 'tis not convenient I ſhould be ſeen any more.

Whoever you are, that are now with me, (and in ſaying this, ſhe claſp'd the hands of Ridolfo,) if you have a Soul capable of granting me a favour, I beſeech you, ſince you have robb'd me of my Honour, that you would take away my Life alſo; take it from me preſently, for ſhe, who has loſt her Honour, is not worthy to enjoy her Life. The cruelty which you have uſed towards me, will be excuſed, by the pity you will ſhew in giving me my death, in ſo doing you will be both cruel and compaſſionate.

Theſe words of Leocadia, put Ridolfo into a confuſion, and being young and unexperienced, he knew not what to ſay: his ſilence cauſed great admiration in Leocadia, and ſhe ſtretched out her hand to try, whether that which appeared at her ſide, was a Spirit, or a Body, but finding that ſhe touch'd a Body, and called to mind the violence uſed towards her, ſhe was convinced of the diſgrace which had befaln her. With this conviction ſhe returned to her lamentable complaints, which many ſobbings, and ſighs had interrupted; and thus ſhe ſpoke.

Raſh young Man, for this act of yours ſhews you to be ſo, I pardon what you have done, if you promiſe, and ſwear to me, that as it has been cover'd with this night, you will alſo conceal it under perpetual ſilence.

Know, and conſider, that I never ſaw your Face, neither will I, for altho I ſhall never forget the injury, I will not however remember the offender. My Lamentations ſhall be betwixt me, and Heaven, the World ſhall not know them, who judge not according to Truth, but their own Opinion. I know not, how I come to tell you the particulars of this Truth, thoſe being founded upon the experience of many accidents, and in the courſe of many years, and mine are not yet arrived to ſeventeen.

But now I know, that grief looſens the Tongues of the afflicted. But whether I ſpeak, or be ſilent, you ought to believe and afford me remedy. Not to believe me were ignorance, and 'twould be too much cruelty not to endeavour my cure, altho, alaſs, my ill is incurable.

I will not deſpair, for 'twill coſt you very little to give me ſome eaſe in my intolerable Affliction; and this it is, I deſire of you, do not expect, or believe, that time can mitigate my juſt diſdain, nor augment my grievances. Do you reckon, that by chance, and without premeditation, you have offended me, without giving your ſelf time to conſult your Reaſon, and I will eſteem myſelf never to have been born in the World, or at leaſt, only that I might be miſerable. Pray preſently put me into the middle of the Street, near the Domo, that I may return to my Houſe. But you muſt Swear not to follow me, nor to ask mine, nor the Name of my Parents, who, if they were as rich, as they are noble, would not, without revenging it, ſee the unhappineſs of their Daughter. Anſwer me; if you fear, I ſhould know your Voice, believe me, for 'tis true, I never heard any Mans Voice, but my Fathers, and my Confeſſors, ſo few have I heard, that I cannot diſtinguiſh Voices.

Ridolfo made no other anſwer to the diſcreet words of the afflicted Leocadia than to embrace her, with intentions to renew his pleaſure and her diſhonour. But ſhe perceiving his wicked Deſign, reſiſted him with more force, than one would have thought, ſuch tender years had been capable of, ſhe defended herſelf with her Feet, her Hands, her Teeth, her Tongue, thus ſpeaking to him.

Ah Traitor! ah inconſcientious Villain! the Spoils which thou haſt raviſh'd from me, are no more, than if thou haſt taken them from Tree, or an inſenſible Stone. That Victory, that Triumf, redounds to thy diſhonour and infamy, what you pretend from me now, you ſhall never obtain, but by my Death, you have abus'd me, when I was in a Swoon, but now I have recover'd my Senſes, and Strength, you ſhall ſooner kill me, than conquer me. If now I ſhould not to Death reſiſt your abominable attempt, you might have reaſon to believe, that I feign'd my ſelf in a trance, to give you an opportunity to ruin me.

In fine, Leocadia, ſo valiantly, and conſtantly defended her ſelf, that the ſecond attempt of Ridolfo was ſucceſsleſs. For as the inſolence, he had committed, was not caus'd but by a laſcivious impetus, from whence true Love never proceeds, for that always continues in the ſame force, but the laſcivious fury goes off ſuddainly, leaving behind it repentance, or at the leaſt coldneſs, and indifferency.

Ridolfo became weary, and cool, and without ſaying one word, left Leocadia in his Bed, and locking the Chamber Door, went in queſt of his Companions, to adviſe with them what to do in this emergency.

When Leocadia perceived herſelf alone, ſhe got out of the Bed, and went round the Chamber with her Hands upon the Wall, trying to find the Door, and go out, or ſome Window out of which ſhe might caſt herſelf into the Street, ſhe found the Door but lock'd, and afterwards a Balcone, which ſhe open'd, throw which the Moon ſhined ſo clear, that ſhe could diſcern the colour of the Tapeſtry, ſhe perceiv'd the Bedſteed richly gilded, and the Bed ſo ſumptuous, that it ſeem'd rather the Bed of a Prince, than of a private Cavaleer, ſhe counted the Chairs, Stools, and Cabinets, and took notice on what ſide the Chamber the Door was, ſhe alſo ſaw ſome Pictures, but could not diſcern what they were: The Window that look'd into the Garden, was large, but with Iron Bars, and the Garden cloſed round with high Walls, theſe Difficulties hinder'd her from caſting herſelf into the Street.

The greatneſs of the Houſe, and the rich Furniture convinced her, that the Maſter of it was ſome Perſon of Note, and very rich, whilſt ſhe was conſidering, and looking about, ſhe ſaw upon a Cabinet, by the Windows ſide, a little Crucifix all of Silver, which ſhe took, and put into the Sleeve of her Gown, ſhe was not moved to it by Devotion, and much leſs with a deſign of robbing, but with hopes it might be ſome time or other ſerviceable to her, this done, ſhe lock'd the Window, and laid herſelf upon the Bed, expecting what end her Misfortune would have, which began ſo ill.

Scarce, as it ſeem'd to her, was half an hour paſs'd, when ſhe heard the Door open, and ſaw a Perſon draw near to her, who, without ſpeaking one word, blinded her with a Handkerchief, and taking her by the Hand, led her out of the Chamber, and then went back, and lock'd the Door.

It was, Ridolfo, who, altho he went out with deſign to find his Companions, as we have ſaid, yet did not look after them, thinking it was not convenient to acquaint them, what had paſs'd betwixt Leocadia, and him, for there was no need of Witneſſes, reſolving to tell them, that he repented his Undertaking, and being moved to compaſſion by the Prayers and Tears of the young Lady, had let her go untouch'd.

Having thus reſolv'd, he return'd to convey Leocadia, as far as the Domo, according to her requeſt, before Day-break, fearing he could not do it in the Day-time, for he muſt have then been oblig'd to have conceal'd her till the next Night, in all which time he had reſolv'd not to return to uſe more force, and give occaſion of making himſelf known; he led her to the great Piazza, called the Piazza of the Lords, and there with a counterfeit Voice, and in a Language betwixt Spaniſh and Portugueſe, he ſaid to her, ſhe might go home without fear of being followed by any body, and before ſhe could take the Handkerchief of, he was out of ſight.

So Leocadia remain'd alone, and in a place ſhe knew, ſhe look'd round about and ſaw no body, but fearing to be followed at a diſtance, ſhe frequently ſtopt, in her going towards her Fathers Houſe, which was not far off.

And to deceive the Spies, if there ſhould be any, ſhe went into a Neighbours Houſe, which ſhe ſaw open, and thence, after a little ſtay home.

There ſhe found her Father and Mother, in great Sorrow, having paſs'd that Night without undreſſing theirſelves, and alſo without hope of finding any remedy for their Grief: When they ſaw her, they ran to embrace her with Tears in their Eyes.

Leocadia, prayed her Father and Mother, to retire with her into a private place, which they did, and ſhe in a few words gave them an account of her Misfortune, and of all the circumſtances of it, and that ſhe had not the leaſt Light, who it was that raviſh'd her; ſhe told them, what ſhe had ſeen in the Theatre, wherein the miſerable Tragedy of her Diſgrace was repreſented, the Windows, the Iron Bars, the Garden, the Cabinets, the Bed, the Tapeſtry, and finally ſhew'd them the Crucifix which ſhe brought away.

Before which, they renew'd their Tears, they made Imprecations, they begg'd revenge, and miraculous Puniſhments upon the Perpetrator of that enormous Crime.

Then ſhe ſaid, that tho ſhe had no deſire to know the Offender, yet if it ſeem'd good to her Parents, they might poſſibly, by the means of that Crucifix, find out the Raviſher, making the Curates of all the Pariſhes in the City publiſh in their Pulpits, that whoever had loſt a Crucifix, giving the Marks of it, might receive it again from ſuch a Prieſt.

This way might ſucceed, dear Daughter, anſwer'd the Father, if Malice could not eaſily defeat it, but 'tis credible, that the Crucifix is already miſs'd, and that the Owner will conclude, that you have it, ſo that inſtead of coming to the knowledge of him, to whom it belong'd, it will only diſcover the Perſon in whoſe Hands it is: For it may be, that ſome other, to whom the infamous Raviſher has told its Marks, may come and own it, and ſo inſtead of informing ourſelves, we ſhall be more at a loſs. Your buſineſs, Daughter, is carefully to keep it, and recommend your ſelf to him, whom it repreſents.

And ſince it has been a Witneſs of thy Miſfortune, God may make it a Proof of thy Innocence. Know, Daughter, that one Ounce of public Infamy over-weighs many a Pound of ſecret Diſhonour: And ſince you can live with Honour publicly, and in the ſight of God, let not this ſecret Diſhonour trouble thee, not having wilfully offended.

True Diſhonour conſiſts in Sin, and true Honour in Virtue: God is offended with Thoughts, Words, and Actions, but ſince thou art guilty in none of theſe, eſteem thy ſelf Honourable, as for me, I ſhall always believe you ſo, and behold you with the Eyes of a loving and compaſſionate Father.

With theſe prudent Words the Father comforted his Daughter, and the Mother did the like, in tenderly embracing her, ſhe ſigh'd, and fell a freſh into Tears, and brought herſelf to live retired under the Protection of her Father and Mother, in a neat, but humble Dreſs.

In the mean time, Ridolfo return'd to his Chamber, and miſs'd the Crucifix, and gueſs'd who had it, but he valu'd not the loſs of it, being rich, and not fearing his Father would would enquire after it; three Days after, being to undertake a Voyage, he gave a Note to one of his Mothers Maids, of what things he left in his Chamber, not inſerting the Crucifix: long before Ridolfo had determin'd to go into Italy, upon the perſwaſions of his Father, who had been there; telling him, they were not to be eſteem'd well bred Gentlemen, who had never been out of their own Countrey; this, and ſuch like Reaſons diſpos'd Ridolfo to conform himſelf to the Will of his Father, who gave him Credit for great Summs of Money in Barcellona, Genua, Rome, and Naples.

A little while after, he parted with two Companions, who were incited, by what they had heard from ſome Soldiers, of the plenty in Italy, and the Liberty the Spaniards had there.

Theſe Words were pleaſing to their Ears, to behold the good Pullets, the good Pigeons, the Gammons of Bacon, and the Saucidges, with other ſuch like Diſhes, which the Soldiers uſed to talk of at their return from thoſe Parts into Spain, where they ſuffer ſo much inconvenience, and miſery; finally he parted with as little Memory, of what paſs'd betwixt him and Leocadia, as if there had no ſuch thing ever been.

In the interim, ſhe liv'd ſo ſtrictly retir'd, that ſhe ſaw no body, fearing they might read her Diſgrace in her Forehead, but in a few Months ſhe found that ſhe muſt do that by force, which till then ſhe had done willingly, perceiving herſelf with Child. This caus'd her Eyes, which were yet ſcarce dry, to return to Tears, her Sighs and Lamentations began again to fill the Air, neither was the Diſcretion of her Mother ſufficient to comfort her.

Time paſs'd, and the hour of her being deliver'd came, which was ſo private, that her Mother herſelf did the Office of the Midwife, not daring to truſt any other: She brought forth the beautifulleſt Boy, that ever was ſeen; with the ſame ſecrecy, that it was born, it was nurs'd in a Country Village, for the ſpace of four Years, at the end of which, his Grandfather took him home, and bred him tenderly, they call'd him by his Name, Lewis; he was Beautiful, of a mild Humour, and ſharp Wit, and all his Actions in that tender Age, were evident Teſtimonies, that he was begot by a Noble Father; ſo that his genteel Deportment, Beauty and Diſcretion, made his Grandfather, and Grandmother ſo much enamour'd with him, that they eſteem'd their Daughters Diſgrace to have been an happy Accident.

As he walk'd in the Streets, ſhowers of Benedictions rain'd down upon him, ſome praiſed his Beauty, others bleſs'd the Father that begot him, others the Mother who brought into the World ſuch an admirable Creature, others, thoſe who had given him ſo good breeding.

With this Applauſe of thoſe that knew him, and thoſe that knew him not, the Child arriv'd to the ſeventh Year of his Age, at which time he could read Spaniſh and Latin, and write more than indifferently well.

The Intention of his Grandfather, and Grandmother, was to make him Virtuous, for they could not make him rich, as if Virtue and Knowledge were not riches, upon which Thieves have no Power, nor that which the World calls Fortune.

Now it happen'd, that one Day the Child was ſent on an Errand by his Grandmother, and going by the Street, where ſome Cavaleers were running at the Ring, he ſtopp'd to ſee them, and to get a better place, was croſſing the Street, but he could not do it ſo quickly, but one of the Horſes, againſt the will of the Rider, run over him, and left him ſtrech'd upon the Ground, as if he was dead, there iſſuing out of his Head a great quantity of Blood: Scarce had this Accident happen'd, but an Old Gentleman, who ſtood to ſee the Courſes, with incredible ſwiftneſs lighted from his Horſe, and ran to the place where the Child lay half dead, and without conſidering his Age or Quality, which was very Eminent, he took him in his Arms, and went a great pace to his Palace, and ſent away a Servant preſently to call a Surgeon; many Gentlemen follow'd him, being much concern'd for the Misfortune of ſo beautiful a Child; preſently it was nois'd about, that he that was over-run by the Horſe, was Luiſetto, Nevew of ſuch a Gentleman, nameing his Grandfather, this paſs'd from Mouth to Mouth, till it came to the Ears of his Grandfather and Grandmother, and his conceal'd Mother, who being inform'd of this unhappy Accident, as if they were diſtracted, ran out of their Houſe to ſeek their dear Pledge.

And becauſe the Gentleman, who carried away the Child, was one of the Chiefeſt of the City, many that met them, directed them to his Houſe, where they arriv'd, juſt as the little Boy was under the Surgeons Hands, the Gentleman and his Wife, Maſter and Miſtreſs of the Houſe, comforted thoſe whom they thought to be Parents of the Child, deſiring them not to weep, and take on ſo bitterly, for it would do the bruiſed Child no good.

The Surgeon, who was a very Famous one, having with great Care dreſs'd him, ſaid the Wound was not mortal, as he at firſt fear'd: In the dreſſing, the Child, who ſeem'd ſenſeleſs, recover'd, and return'd to himſelf, and rejoyc'd to ſee his Grandfather and Grandmother, they ask'd him mournfully, how he did, he anſwer'd well enouf, were it not for a great pain he felt in his Body and his Head, the Surgeon commanded, they ſhould let him ſleep, which was done, then his Grandfather humbly thank'd the Maſter of the Houſe, for the great Compaſſion, and Charity he ſhew'd to his Nevew.

To whom the Gentleman anſwer'd, that he did not deſerve thoſe thanks, and told them, that when he ſaw the Child fall down upon the Ground, and trampled upon by the Horſe, he thought, he ſaw in him the Countenance of his own Son, whom he loved equally with his Life, and for this reaſon he took him into his Arms, and carried him to his Houſe, that he might remain there, till he was cur'd, and that he would treat him with all imaginable Care. His Wife, who was a Noble Lady, ſaid the ſame, and yet more.

The Grandfather and Grandmother of Luiſetto marvell'd at ſo much Charity, but his Mother more, her mind being ſomething quieted, by the hopes the Surgeon gave her, ſhe began to view the Chamber, wherein her Son lay, and concluded from many Marks, that it was the ſame, wherein ſhe had left her Honour, and altho it was not hung with the ſame Tapeſtry, yet ſhe knew it by the Window, that look'd into the Garden, as ſhe was told by ſome; for then it was darken'd, becauſe of the wounded Child, but it made her more certain, ſeeing the Bed was the ſame, and the Cabinet ſtanding in the ſame place, as it did, when ſhe took thence the Crucifix; in fine, the Stairs from the Chamber to the Street, which ſhe had carefully counted, when ſhe was lead out of it, clear'd her of all Doubts, ſhe counted them again, as ſhe went home, and found their number to be the ſame, ſo comparing all theſe Signs, ſhe was thorowly convinced that ſhe was in the right: of all this, ſhe gave a particular Account to her Mother, who being a prudent Woman, reſolv'd to inform herſelf, whether the owner of that Houſe had now, or ever had a Son; ſhe found he had one named Ridolfo, who was in Italy, and computing how long he had been out of Spain, ſhe found 'twas ſomething more than ſeven Years, which agreed exactly with the Age of Luiſetto, ſhe told all this to her Husband, and they reſolv'd all of them, the Father, Mother, and Daughter, firſt to expect how God would diſpoſe of the wounded Child, and afterwards conſult what was farther to be done.

In fifteen Days he was out of danger, and in ſo many more perfectly well, during all which time, he was daily viſited by his Mother and Grand-mother, and as much Care was taken of him by the Maſter and Miſtreſs of the Houſe, as if he had been their own Son.

One time as Signora Stefana, for this was Ridolfos Mothers Name, was diſcourſing with Leocadia, told her, that that little Boy was ſo like her Son in Italy, that when ſhe look'd upon him, ſhe imagin'd her own Son ſtood before her Eyes: Leocadia took this hint, they two being alone, to let her know, what with her Father and Mother ſhe had agreed, and it was in this manner.

That Day, Madam, when my Father and Mother receiv'd the News of what befel their Grandchild, they concluded, that Heaven was lock'd up from them, and that all the World would fall upon them. They imagin'd, that they had loſt the Light of their Eyes, and the Staff of their Old Age in looſing this Child: So great is the Love they have for him, that it exceeds what Parents uſually have for their own Children; but 'tis proverbially ſaid, When God ſends a Diſeaſe, he alſo ſends Remedy; this the Child has found in your Houſe, of which I ſhall preſerve a grateful Memory as long as I live. I am, Madam, a Gentlewoman of a Noble Stock, as my Anceſtors were before me, who, tho not abounding in the goods of Fortune, have nevertheleſs happily preſerv'd their Reputation in all places where they have liv'd.

Signora Stefana wonder'd to hear Leocadia ſpeak ſo well, and that ſo much Diſcretion ſhould be in ſo few Years, for ſhe ſeem'd not to paſs Twenty, without ſpeaking to her, or replying one Word, ſhe expected the end of her Diſcourſe.

Then Leocadia told the inſolence, and unworthy proceeding of her Son, that he had raviſh'd her, blinded her with a Handkerchief, and left her in the middle of the Street, and told what Marks ſhe had obſerv'd, whereby ſhe knew that 'twas he. And for a greater Confirmation, ſhe drew out of her Boſome the Crucifix, and looking earneſtly upon it, thus ſaid, O Lord, thou who waſt a Witneſs of the Force which I ſuffer'd, be now a Judge of the Reparation which ought to be made to my Honour. I took thy Image from that Cabinet with intention to put thee always in mind of my wrong, not to beg Vengeance, which I do not pretend to, but that thou wouldſt afford me ſome Conſolation, that I may with patience bear my Diſgrace.

This Boy, Madam, towards whom you have been pleas'd to exert ſo much Charity, is without doubt your true Grandchild, I believe the Heavens have permitted that the Horſe ſhould run over him, and that he ſhould be carried to your Houſe; and brought me hither to viſit him, with deſign that I ſhould find a ſatisfactory Remedy, or at leaſt ſome Reparation for my loſt Honour, ſaying this, and embracing the Crucifix, ſhe ſwooned in the Arms of Signora Stefana.

Who as a Noble Lady, in which Quality and Sex, commiſeration is as natural, as cruelty in Men, as ſoon as ſhe perceiv'd her fall, join'd her Face with Leocadias, ſhedding upon it ſo many Tears, that there was no need of throwing any other water upon it to bring her to her ſelf.

While they remain'd in this poſture, behold Stefanas Husband enter'd into the Chamber, bringing Luiſetto in his Hand, and ſeeing his Wife weeping, and Leocadia in a Trance; ask'd what was the matter. The Boy embrac'd his Mother, as his Couſin, and his Grandmother, as his Benefactreſs, and ask'd of them, why they wept.

Signora Stefana, replied, ſpeaking to her Husband, I have great things, Sir, to tell you, but I will not now uſe many words, in ſhort, this afflicted young Lady is without diſpute your Daughter in Law, and this Boy your Grandchild, ſhe has convinc'd me of this Truth, and beſides what ſhe has declar'd to me, is confirm'd by the Childs likeneſs to our Son.

The Gentleman anſwer'd, Madam, I underſtand not what you ſay, pray explain yourſelf.

In the interim, Leocadias ſpirits return'd, and embracing the Crucifix, ſhe appear'd chang'd into a Fountian of Tears.

All theſe things increaſed the Gentlmans amazement, but he ſoon came out of it, upon his Wifes telling him the ſtory, which ſhe had heard from Leocadia, and it pleaſed God, he believed it as much, as if it had been ſworn by Witneſſes of unſpotted Reputation.

He comforted Leocadia, and embrac'd her; he kiſs'd his little Grandchild; and the ſame day he and his Wife ſent an Expreſs to Naples with Letters to their Son, commanding him to return with all ſpeed, for they had found out a Match for him with a Noble Lady of exquiſite Beauty, which he could by no means diſlike.

In the mean while they would not permit Leocadia, nor her Son, to return to their Parents, who being overjoy'd at the happy ſucceſs of their Daughter, return'd them infinite thanks.

The Courier arriv'd at Naples, and Ridolfo ſwallow'd the bait his Father laid for him; two days after the receipt of the Letter, took the opportunity of four Galleys which were going to Spain, embarking himſelf, and his two Companions upon one of them: With a proſperous Voyage in twelve days he reach'd Barcelona, where he took Poſt, and in ſeven more arriv'd at Toledo, and came to his Fathers Houſe in a Garb ſo rich, and becoming, that all the Gallantry in the World ſeem'd to center in him; his Father and Mother received him with all imaginable joy.

Leocadia betwixt fear and hope, look'd upon him, from a certain place where Signora Stefana had poſted her, that ſhe might ſee, and not be perceived.

Ridolfos two Companions would preſently have retired to their own homes, but Signora Stefana retained them with courteous Invitations, thinking them neceſſary for her deſign.

It was almoſt Night when Ridolfo arriv'd, and whilſt Supper was making ready, Signora Stefana deſired the two Gentlemen to ſpeak a few words in private with them, which they readily conſented to; ſhe making no doubt but that they were two of the three, that aſſiſted Ridolfo in the Rape: ſhe conjured them with earneſt Prayers to tell her, if they remembered, that her Son had ſuch a night, and in ſuch a place, Raviſh'd a young Lady; for upon the knowledge of the truth of it, depended the honour and quiet of all her Relations, that therefore they ſhould not be ſhy of freely declaring the truth. In fine, with good words, and aſſuring them, that it ſhould not be in the leaſt prejudicial to them, ſhe prevailed upon them to confeſs.

They ſaid, that one Night of that Summer, and in the place ſhe named, they two and one more walking with Ridolfo, ſeized upon a young Lady, that Ridolfo carried her away, whilſt they ſtaid to ſtop the reſt of her Company, and that the day after he told them, he had carried her to his Houſe, and that this was all they knew of that matter.

The confeſſion of theſe two was a Key, which opened all her doubts.

Then did Signora Stefana reſolve to proſecute, and bring to an end her good intentions. This was the manner ſhe uſed.

A little before they were to go to Supper, ſhe called her Son apart, and put into his hand a Picture, ſaying, Ridolfo, I give you ſomething to whet your ſtomach, and procure you a better appetite to your Supper; behold, here is your Wife we have a deſign to make you happy with; this is her true reſemblance; but you muſt conſider, that the Beauty which is wanting, is abundantly made amends for by her Virtues; ſhe is nobly Born, very Diſcreet, and indifferently Rich; and ſince your Father and I have made choice of her, you may be ſecure, ſhe will make a convenient Wife. Ridolfo attentively conſider'd the Picture, and thus reply'd; If Painters, who uſually are prodigal, in making their draughts handſomer than the Originals, have done the ſame here, without doubt ſhe, whom this Picture repreſents, muſt be uglineſs itſelf.

Upon my Faith, Madam, altho it is juſt and reaſonable, that Sons ſhould be obedient to their Parents in all that they command, yet it is alſo as juſt and reaſonable, that Fathers and Mothers ſhould provide for their Sons ſomething which ſhould be more pleaſing to their Senſes: And ſince Matrimony is a knot, that when it is once tied, nothing but death can undo it, it is neceſſary to make it tolerable, that the Bonds ſhould be equal, and weav'd with the ſame thread, Virtue, Nobility, Prudence, and the Goods of Fortune, may rejoyce his mind, who has a Wife endow'd with them.

But that the uglineſs of a Wife ſhould content the Eyes of an Husband, ſeems to me altogether impoſſible. Tho I am young, yet I am not ignorant, that the chaſt pleaſure which Marryed Men enjoy, by the Sacrament of Matrimony is not incompatible with the Duty of an Husband, but if that is wanting, Matrimony is lame, and anſwers not its end. To have an ugly Face always before our Eyes, in the Hall at Table, and in Bed, who can think it pleaſant?

I ſay again, that I conclude, it is impoſſible. I deſire you, Madam, to give me a Companion in whom I may delight, and not one whoſe ſight I ſhall not be able to endure, ſo that without one drawing one way, and the other an other, we may both ſupport in the right way the yoke laid upon our necks.

If this Lady is noble, wiſe, and rich, as you ſay, ſhe cannot want a Husband which ſhall be of another humour than I am. Some ſeek Nobility of Blood, others Prudence and Diſcretion, others Money, others Beauty, and I am of the humour of the laſt, for as to Nobility, my Anceſtors, my Father and my Mother thanks be to Heaven, have given it me by Inheritance, for Prudence and Diſcretion, as long as a Woman is not a changling, and does not render herſelf ridiculous by her folly, it is ſufficient; as to riches, thoſe that you and my Father will leave, will put me in a Condition never to fear Poverty: I am for Beauty, I ſet my Mind upon that, I deſire no other Portion, always, provided it be accompanied with Honeſty and good Humour.

If the Wife, you deſign me, has thoſe qualifications, I will ſerve God with all my Heart, and be a comfortable Stay to my Parents in their Old Age.

Signora Stefana was very well pleas'd with this Diſcourſe, finding by it, that ſhe ſhould ſucceed in her Deſign. She anſwer'd, ſhe would marry him according to his Deſires, and bid him be of good Heart, and contented, for 'twas an eaſy thing to break the accord they had deſign'd with the Gentlewoman, for whom that Picture was drawn.

Ridolfo return'd her thanks: 'twas now Supper time, and they were ſet down at the Table, when Ridolfos Father and Mother, and he and his two Companions had taken their Seats, Signora Stefana, as if ſhe had forgot her ſelf, cries out, where's my Breeding, in truth I carry my ſelf very handſomely towards my Gueſt, go, ſays ſhe to one of her Servants, and tell Signora Leocadia, that I intreat her without making any ſcruple, to be pleas'd to come and Honour this Table, for there is no body but my Family and Friends.

This was her Invention, and done upon deſign, and Leocadia was inſtructed what ſhe was to do.

She preſently came in, and appear'd ſo unexpectedly, that they were all amaz'd to ſee ſo much natural Beauty ſo well adorn'd; ſhe wore, for it was Winter, a black Velvet Gown, embroider'd with Gold and Pearls, a Girdle and Necklace of Diamonds, her own Hair, which was very long, and of a pale yellow Colour, and ſhe had nothing elſe upon her Head, the pleaſantneſs of the Curles, and the glittering of the Diamonds, which ſparkled in every part of her Hair, dazled the Eyes of all that ſaw her.

Leocadia was beautiful and ſlender, and of a good deportment; ſhe led in her Hand her little Son, before her went two Maids bearing Wax Candles in Silver Candleſticks: All roſe to do her Reverence, as if ſhe had been ſent from Heaven, and by a Miracle appear'd there.

None in the whole Company had the Courage to ſpeak the leaſt word, they were ſo much aſtoniſh'd in beholding her.

Leocadia with much Grace and Humility made her Reverences to them all, Signora Stefana taking her by the Hand, plac'd her next to herſelf, juſt over againſt Ridolfo, and the little Boy ſat next to his Grandfather.

Ridolfo ey'd her moſt attentively, admiring her incomparable Beauty, and ſaid within himſelf, If the Lady my Mother would have me marry, had half ſo much Beauty, I ſhould think my ſelf the happieſt of Men; O God! what do I ſee, is not this an Angel?

Whilſt he thus diſcours'd within himſelf, the Image of Leocadia penetratred through his Eyes, and poſſeſs'd it ſelf of his conquer'd Heart.

Leocadia ſeeing herſelf ſo near him, whom ſhe loved more than her Eyes, with which ſometimes ſhe ſtole a look upon him, began to revolve in her Mind, what had paſs'd betwixt Ridolfo and her, ſo that the hopes which his Mother had given her to be his Wife, began to vaniſh, fearing thoſe Promiſes would be render'd ineffective by her bad Fortune.

Conſidering how near ſhe was to be Happy or Miſerable for ever, ſhe was ſo intent upon this Conſideration, and ſo much immers'd in it, and her Thoughts were ſo much upon it, that it ſtop'd the circulation of the Blood in her Heart, that ſhe began to ſweat, to look pale, and ſwoon away, and was forc'd to lay her Head in the Arms of Signora Stefana, who ſuſtain'd her.

They were all much troubled at this Accident, and roſe from the Table to aſſiſt her.

But Ridolfo ſhew'd himſelf more concern'd than the reſt, and running haſtily towards her, he ſtumbled and fell down twice, he unlac'd her, and threw water in her Face, but this did not make her return to her Senſes, but the palpitation of her Heart, and the ceſſation of her Pulſe gave evident Signs of her approaching Death, ſo that the Servants of the Houſe began to cry out, that ſhe was dead.

This bad News came to the Ears of the Parents of Leocadia, whom Signora Stefana had caus'd to be conceal'd, that when things were ripe, they might augment the common joy; they and the Pariſh Prieſt, who was with them, came running into the Room, againſt the Orders that Signora Stefana had given them. He drew near to her to ſee whether he could perceive any ſigns of Contrition or Repentance for her Sins, that he might give her Abſolution, but where he thought to find one in a Swoon, he perceiv'd two, for Ridolfo was in the ſame Condition, his Head hanging down upon Leocadias Breaſt. His Mother gave him the opportunity of approaching ſo near to Leocadia, as to one which was to be his own, therefore when ſhe perceiv'd, that he alſo had loſt his Senſe, ſhe had almoſt loſt hers, and had certainly, if Ridolfo had not recover'd; he return'd to himſelf again, but full of Shame and Confuſion, for having behav'd himſelf ſo unmanfully; but his Mother, who gueſs'd at the cauſe of his Confuſion, ſaid to him, be not aſham'd Ridolfo, that thou haſt ſhew'd ſo much weakneſs, you will have reaſon to repent, that it was no more, when you ſhall underſtand what I am about to declare to you, I will no longer conceal, what I reſerv'd to acquaint you with, upon a leſs ſad occaſion.

Know then, dear Son, that this diſconſolate Lady, which I hold in my Arms half dead, is your true and lawful Wife; I call her ſo, becauſe your Father and I have pitch'd upon her for our Daughter, the Picture I ſhew'd you, was only an amuſement, and a fiction of mine.

When Ridolfo perceiv'd this, he was ſo much tranſported by his amorous, and ardent deſire, that the name of Husband taking from him all Conſiderations and Impediments, which the Ladys Honour and Decency might have obliged him to preſerve, he joyn'd his Lips to Leocadias, expecting to receive her laſt Breath, but whilſt all of them were in Tears: The Father and Mother of Leocadia, tearing their grey Hairs, and the cries of Luiſetto penetrating the Heavens; Leocadia return'd to her Senſes, and reſtor'd the joy to all the by-ſtanders, which that funeſt Accident had depriv'd them of: She open'd her Eyes, and ſaw herſelf in the Arms of Ridolfo, and endeavour'd to get out of them.

No Madam, no, ſaid he, do not ſtrive to free your ſelf from his Arms, who holds you yet faſter in his Soul.

Theſe laſt words made Leocadias loſt Spirits return intirely, and Signora Stefana would not proſecute her Deſign any further, but ſpoke to the Curate preſently to marry them, which he did; finding there was no impediment either in time or place, or want of Conſent of Parents, and conſequently no neceſſity of thoſe forms of proceeding, which are for the moſt part practiſed.

I leave it to a better Pen than mine, to deſcribe the Univerſal Jubilee of all thoſe who were preſent, the Embraces, which Leocadias Parents gave to Ridolfo, the Thanks which they return'd to Heaven, and Ridolfos Parents, the interchang'd Compliments, the admiration of Ridolfos Companions, who ſaw unexpectedly the ſame Night that they came to Town, ſo noble a Wedding. But they were much more ſurpriz'd, when Signora Stefana acquainted them, that Leocadia was the Lady, whom her Son had raviſh'd.

This was no leſs wonderful to Ridolfo, who the better to inform himſelf concerning the Truth of it, deſired Leocadia, that ſhe would be pleas'd to give him ſome Signs, whereby he might arrive to the clear Knowledge of that, of which he made no doubt, becauſe he believ'd his Father and Mother had thorowly inform'd theirſelves in the matter. When I recover'd, anſwer'd Loocadia, from my Swoon, I found my ſelf in your Arms, but without Honour, nevertheleſs I eſteem it well loſt, becauſe in returning out of this, I found my ſelf in your Arms, but with Honour.

And if this is not ſufficient to convince you, I will add the Evidence of the Crucifix, which no body but I could rob you of, and 'tis the ſame which your Mother has in her poſſeſſion, having heard theſe words, he embrac'd her again with infinite Affection and Tenderneſs, and all the Company renew'd their Benedictions, and joyful Congratulations.

Supper was brought in, and the City Muſic hearing of this Wedding, gave their Attendance, and play'd, and ſung, all the while they ſate at the Table.

Ridolfo beheld his Face in Luiſettos, as in a Glaſs.

The four Parents ſhed Tears for Joy, upon this occaſion, there was no Corner in that ſpacious Palace, but was full of Joy and Content.

And altho Night came flying with her black and nimble Wings, ſhe did not appear to Ridolfo to approach with that ſwiftneſs, but that ſhe walked ſlowly upon Crutches, ſo great was his deſire to be alone with his beloved Conſort.

At laſt as there is nothing, but has its end, the long'd for Hour arriv'd, and they went to ſleep, all the Houſe was buried in ſilence, but ſo ſhall not this Story: For the illuſtrious Progeny, and the many Children, which this happy Couple left in Toledo, will not permit it There they live this Day, having enjoy'd one another many Years, and ſeen their Childrens Children.

Theſe Events proceeded from the permiſſion of Heaven, and THE FORCE OF BLOOD, which Luiſſettos illuſtrious Grandfather ſaw ſhed upon the Ground.

The End of the Third Novel.

CORNELIA. NOVEL IV.

DON Antonio of Izunza, and Don John of Gamboa, Eminent Gentlemen near of equal Age, very Diſcreet, and intimate Friends, being Students in Salamanca, determin'd to leave their Studies, and take a Journey into Flanders, being incited to it by the hot Blood that boil'd in their young Veins, and by Deſire and Curioſity to ſee the World; and beſides, becauſe it appear'd to them, that the Exerciſe of Arms, tho it is laudable in all Perſons, yet it was more proper and neceſſary for thoſe who are deſcended from Illuſtrious Anceſtors.

They arriv'd in Flanders in a Seaſon, when all things were quiet, or at leaſt, when the Treaties were ſo much advanc'd, that there was an indubitable proſpect of Peace.

At Antwerp they receiv'd Letters from their Fathers, ſignifying their great Diſpleaſure, that they had left their Studies, without firſt giving them Notice of it, that they might have taken Order to provide Neceſſaries for their Voyage, as became Perſons of their Quality; ſo finding they could not ſtay in Flanders without offending their Fathers, they reſolv'd to return to Spain, but firſt ſee all the moſt Famous Cities of Italy; having done ſo, they ſtop'd at Bolonia, and being taken with that Famous Univerſity, they reſolv'd there to finiſh their Studies, which they had began at Salamanca, and of this their Reſolution, they gave their Fathers an Account, who receiv'd it with exceeding Pleaſure, and ſhew'd it by the plentiful Allowance they gave them, to live like Sons of ſo rich Noble-Men. The firſt Day they appear'd in the Schools, all eſteem'd them Gentlemen well Born, and well Educated.

Then Don Antonio might be Twenty Three Years old, or thereabouts, and Don John paſs d not Twenty Seven; beſides, their Quality and flouriſhing Age, they were Valiant, Dextrous, and had other good Parts and Endowments of Mind, which made them be Honour'd by all, ſo that in a very little time they had many Friends, as well Spaniards, whereof there were many in that Univerſity, as Bologneſes and Strangers, ſhewing theirſelves Liberal, and Courteous, and far from Arrogance, which is uſually ſaid to be in Spaniards, and being ſpritely Men, and good Companions, they did not abſtain to make theirſelves known to the fair Ladies of that City, and above all, tho there were many Maiden Ladies, and married Women who were Famous for their Beauties. Signora Cornelia bore away the Prize; ſhe was deſcended of the Ancient and Noble Family of the — ſhe being infinitely Beautiful was in the Cuſtody of her Brother, an Honourable, and Valiant Gentleman, they were both left Orfans, but rich, a Condition, which renders Orfanity more ſupportable; Cornelia was ſo much retir'd, and with ſo great Care did her Brother guard her, that ſhe did not let herſelf be ſeen, and neither would he permit, that any one beſides himſelf, ſhould come near her. The Fame of her Beauty, and the ſtrict Watch over her, kindled a Deſire in Don John, and Don Antonio, to get a View of her, but 'twas in vain, as was alſo all the diligence they us'd, the impoſſibility of ſucceeding cool'd their Deſires, and took from them all their Hopes, ſo that minding their Studies, and ſometimes uſing ſome honeſt Recreation, they liv'd a chearful and honourable Life.

They went out but ſeldom a Nights, and then both together well arm'd.

Now it happen'd, that one Night when they reſolv'd to take a turn in the City, Don Antonio told Don John, that he had a mind to be alone for ſome time to ſay the Prayers of his ordinary Devotion, and deſired him to go before, promiſing that he would ſoon follow him. Nay rather, replied Don John, I will ſtay for you, but if you think ſo, it imports not whether we take a ramble this Night or not.

Not ſo, replied Don Antonio, we muſt needs go Signor Don John, and take the Air, go you towards that place, where we uſe to take our walk, I will be with you preſently.

So Don John went before alone. It was dark, and near mid-night, and after he had walk'd thorow two or three Streets, his Companion not coming, he had thoughts of returning home, as he was doing ſo, he paſs'd a Street, and at one of the Porticos he heard ſome People whiſpering, and perceiv'd that they call'd him; the darkneſs increaſing by that of the Portico, hinder'd him from perceiving, whence that whiſpering came.

He ſtop'd to hearken, and perceiv'd a Door to be half open'd, and drawing near to it, he heard a low Voice, ſaying, Are you there Fabio?

Don John not caring what the Event might be, replied, yes.

Take this, ſaid they, and ſecure it, and return preſently, for 'tis of great Importance.

Don John ſtretch'd out his Arm, and perceiv'd a Bundle, ſo that he was forc'd to make uſe of both his Hands, and ſo he took it, which he had no ſooner done, but the Gate was ſhut, and he found himſelf loaded, but did not know with what, but preſently he heard the cry of a Child new born, proceed out of his Bundle.

At which he was confuſed, not knowing what to do, or what ply to give to that Affair; he thought to go back, and tell them, they were miſtaken, would be to put the Mother in danger, and that to leave the Babe in the Streets, would be barbarous, and hazard its Life.

And if he ſhould carry it home, there was no Commodity to Nurſe it, and he being a Stranger, did not know in all the City any one, in whoſe Hands he might conſign it.

Nevertheleſs, remembring that they bid him ſecure it, and return ſuddainly, he reſolv'd to carry it to the Houſe of a Woman that ſerv'd them, that ſhe might look to it, and return and ſee whether they had any more need of him, tho he very well knew, they had given it him by a miſtake.

At laſt he carried it home, and found that his Companion was gone out, he call'd up a Maid-Servant, and open'd his Pack, and diſcover'd the moſt beautiful Child, that ever was ſeen, the Cloaths wherein it was rapt, ſhew'd, that 'twas born of rich Parents, and when ſhe had undreſs'd it, ſhe found it was a Boy, we muſt get a Nurſe, ſaid Don John, for this Child, take off theſe rich Cloaths, and put it in ordinary ones, and without telling how I came by it, put it into the Hands of a Midwife, ſhe will preſently inform you what is to be done, how much Money by the Month, you ſhall agree for, and you may aſſign what Father and Mother you pleaſe.

When Don John had given theſe Orders, he return'd to the ſame place, to ſee whether they would call him again.

But before he got thither, he heard a great claſhing of Swords, he ſtood ſtill to liſten, but could not hear the leaſt word, for they fought without ſpeaking, but by the light which the Swords made by ſtriking upon the Stones, he thought he ſaw that there were many aſſaulting one, and afterwards he knew it to be ſo, hearing theſe words; Ah, Traitors, ſo many of you againſt one, but this Cowardly Action ſhall not avail you.

Don John being carried on by his Couragious Soul, with two Leaps, put himſelf by the Side of him, who was aſſaulted, and taking his Sword and Shield in his Hand, ſpoke to him thus in Italian, that he might not be known to be a Spaniard, Doubt not valiant Cavaleer, nor let not your Noble Courage be caſt down, here is a Succour come to you, who will ſooner looſe his Life, than abandon you; manage your Weapon, fight ſtoutly, for Traitors, though numerous, cannot do much.

Thou lyeſt, replied one of the Aggreſſors, for to repair injured Honour by what ways ſoever, does not make the Undertakers Traitors.

He replied nothing, having greater concerns upon his Hand, his Adverſaries plying him hard, and ſix of them ſeized upon his Companion, giving him two ſtabs, which made him fall upon the ground.

Don John thought they had kill'd him, and putting himſelf with great Quickneſs and Valour, at the front of them all, by the Fury of his Stroaks and Thruſts, he made them retire.

Nevertheleſs, his Valour and Skill in Fencing would have nothing avail'd him, if his good Fortune had not made haſte to ſuccour him, for the Neighbours put Lights in their Windows, and cried out aloud to the Watch, which the Aſſaylants perceiving, betook theirſelves to flight.

Now was the fallen Cavaleer got upon his Legs, for the Swords could not penetrate his Coat of Mail.

Don John in this buſle had loſt his Hat, and ſearching for it, found another, and put it on, without knowing whether it was his own or not.

He whom he had ſuccour'd, drew near to him, and ſaid, Signor Cavaleer, I acknowledge, I owe my life to you, which, and all that I have, I will ſpend freely in your Service, oblige me, I beſeech you, Sir, continued he, with your Name, that I may know to whom I am indebted.

To ſatisfy you, in what you demand, and upon no other Account or Thoughts, to oblige you for my paſt Service, replied Don John, know, Sir, I am a Spaniſh Gentleman, a Student in this Univerſity, if it was of any Importance to you to know my Name, I would do it willingly, but nevertheleſs, if you ſhould have need of me in any other Occaſion, I am call d Don John of Gamboa.

You have done me a particular Favour, anſwer'd the other, tho I muſt not make known the occaſion of this Danger, from which you have reſcu'd me, but I will take care, you ſhall know it by ſome body elſe.

Don John ask'd him, whether he was wounded, he anſwer'd, by Gods help, and by the means of a good Coat of Mail, and his opportune Succour he was preſerv'd without being wounded, whilſt they were diſcourſing, they perceiv'd many people approaching them, and Don John ſaid to him, if theſe are your Enemies, that return upon you, ſtand upon your Guard, and ſhew what you are.

I rather believe, ſaid he, that they are Friends, as they prov'd: then they, who were eight in number came up to him, and whiſper'd into his Ear ſo ſoftly, that Don John could not underſtand what they ſaid; then he turn'd to him, and ſaid:

If theſe my Friends had not come, Signor Don John, I would have deſired the Favour of you to have conducted me ſafe to my Houſe, but now it is needleſs, and I you, that you would leave me with them, ſaying this, he put his Hand to his Head, and miſs'd his Hat, and turning to his Friends, he deſired one of them to ſupply him, becauſe his was fall'n in the buſtle. He had no ſooner ſpoke this, but Don John offer'd him that he had found; he handling it, anſwer'd, this is not my Hat, I beſeech you Signor Don John, wear it home, and keep it for a Trofy of your Victory, becauſe I believe it is known.

They gave him another, and Don John to oblige him, after ſeveral refuſals, accepted of it, and left him, not knowing who he was, and return'd to his Houſe not by the Street, wherein the Infant was given him, becauſe he believ'd, they were all awak'd, and up, becauſe of the ſcuffle, but by another.

It happen'd, before he got half way home, he met with Don Antonio, he knowing him, ſaid, come Signor Don John, and in the way I will tell you an Accident, that happen'd, the like whereof I believe, you never heard.

And I can pay you in the ſame Coin, replied Don John, I pray firſt tell me your Adventure. As they walked. Don Antonio began thus.

Know them, that within an hour or little more, after you went out, I follow'd to look after you, and about thirty paces from this place, I perceiv'd ſomething coming towards me in black, and walking apace, when 'twas near me, I knew it to be a Woman by its long Gown, which with a mournful voice, interrupted with ſighs, ask'd me.

Are you, Sir, a Stranger, or of this City? I anſwer'd, I am a Spaniard.

God be praiſed, replied ſhe, who has let me light into ſo good Hands, for my Remedy.

Are you wounded, Madam, ſaid I, or do you feel ſome mortal Grief.

That which I fee, may prove ſo, ſaid ſhe, if there is not a Remedy ſuddainly applied. I pray you, Sir, by that courteſie, which is natural to our Country-men, that you ll cary me out of this Street, and with all poſſible ſpeed, conduct me to your Houſe, and there, tho at the expence of my Honour, if you deſire to know it, I will tell you my Name, and who I am, and what affection I lie under. Having heard this, and perceiving that ſhe ſtood in great need of what ſhe deſir'd, I took her by the Hand, and without ſpeaking a word, I led her to our Houſe. My Page open'd the door, whom I made retire, that he might not ſee me lead her into my Chamber, wherein as ſoon as ſhe enter'd, ſhe caſt herſelf upon the Bed, and fell in a Swoon, but I drawing near, and diſcovering her Face, I ſaw ſuch Beauty, that I firmly believe, no mortal Eyes ever ſaw the like; ſhe ſeems to be about Eighteen Years old, I was wonderfully ſurpriz'd, in ſeeing ſuch a beautiful Spectacle, I threw water upon her Face, ſhe return'd to her Senſes, and ask'd me, whether I knew her, I anſwer'd, no, 'twould be too great a felicity, and that I was unworthy to know ſo much Beauty, ſhe replied, ſhe is unhappy, to whom the Heavens had given it, to increaſe her Infelicity, but, Sir, this is not a time to diſcourſe of Beauty, but to remedy my Diſgrace, I pray you leave me alone lock'd in, and permit no body to ſee me, return to the place, where you found me, to ſee, if there be any quarrelling there, if there is, do not aſſiſt one ſide or other, but if you can reconcile them: for the hurt, that ſhall accrue to either of the Parties, falls upon my Head.

I left her lock'd in, and went to pacify the Combatants.

Have you no more to ſay, Signor Don Antonio, replied Don John?

Do you not think this enouf, anſwer'd Don Antonio, in having told you, that I have under Lock and Key in my Chamber, the moſt exquiſite Beauty of this World.

It is without doubt a ſtrange Adventure, replied Don John, but now hear mine.

Then he told, what had happen'd to him, and beſides, that he had given the Babe to a Maid in the Houſe, and had order'd to change the rich Swadling Cloaths, and put poor ones upon it, and carry it to a Nurſe, to provide for its preſent wants, he told him beſides, that the Quarrel, which he went to pacify, was over, and that thoſe who were concern'd in it, by what he could judge, were Men of Quality, and much Valour.

They both marvelled at each others Succeſs, and went home to ſee whether the impriſon'd Lady had need of any thing.

Don Antonio told Don John, that he had promiſed to let no body ſee her.

However, you may find out ſome Invention, that I may have a ſight of her, anſwer'd Don John, ſince you Signor Don Antonio have kindled that deſire in me, by crying her up for ſuch an admirable Beauty.

Thus diſcourſing, they arriv'd at their Houſe, and by the light of a Torch of one of their Pages, Don Antonio ſaw ſomething ſparkling in Don Johns Hat, and taking it into his Hand, perceiv'd, that the gliſtring came from the Hatband richly garniſh'd with Diamonds, they look'd upon it again and again, and concluded, that if thoſe Stones were all true, the value of them would exceed Twelve Thouſand Crowns, whence it appear'd, that the Perſons concern'd in that Quarrel, were of the higheſt Quality, eſpecially he whom Don John had ſuccour'd, calling to mind what he ſaid when he gave it him, that he ſhould take that Hat and keep it, becauſe it was known.

Antonio commanded the three Pages to retire, afterwards he open'd the Chamber Door, and found the Lady upon the Bed, reſting her Cheek upon her Hand, and ſhedding Tears.

Don John came to the Door, which was ſo much open, that he might put his Head betwixt the Wall and it, and the light of the Diamonds darted upon the Eyes of the weeping Lady, who perceiving it, ſaid, Enter my Lord Duke, why do you peep in, and not allow me the full ſight of you, in which I ſo much delight.

Don Antonio then anſwer'd, here is no Duke, Madam, who refuſes to ſee you.

How, is there not, replied ſhe, I ſaw him look in at the Door, and knew him by that rich Hatband.

Upon my Faith, Madam, anſwer'd Don Antonio, he that wears that Hatband, is no Duke, and if you will ſee the Truth of this, and him that wears it, give him leave to come in.

Let him enter, ſaid ſhe, but if it is not the Duke, my diſgraces are the greater. All theſe words were heard by Don John, with this leave, and his Hat in his Hand, he enter'd; when he was come in, and ſhe perceiv'd 'twas not the Duke, with a troubled voice ſhe ſaid, Wretch that I am, pray Sir, hold me not in ſuſpence, but tell me, do you know him, to whom that Hat belongs, is he alive, and where did you leave him, and how came you by that Hat? Is that the token he ſends me of his Death! ah! What Succeſſes are theſe? Here I ſee thy Pledges without thee, I find my ſelf ſhut up, and in the Power of thoſe I know not. Did not I find them Gentlemen, the fear of looſing my Honour would take away my Life.

Poſſeſs your Soul in quiet, anſwer'd Don John, for neither the Maſter of this Hat is dead, neither are you in a place where any hurt ſhall come to you, but we will repair your Injuries, if it ſhould coſt us our Lives: It ſhall never be, that the hope you have in Spaniards, and Gentlemen as we are, ſhall be vain; therefore aſſure your ſelf, that we will behave ourſelves to you with ſuch reſpect, as a Perſon of your Quality, and Preſence deſerves.

That I believe, ſaid ſhe, but tell me Sir, how you came by that Hat, and where now its Maſter is.

Then Don John to hold her no longer in ſuſpence, told her, how he found it out, whilſt he was aſſiſting a Cavaleer, who, as ſhe ſaid, ought to be the Duke, his own Hat fell, and he took up that, thinking it was his, and that the Cavaleer, whoſe it was bid him keep it, becauſe it was known.

That the Quarrel ended without any of their Party being wounded, and that ſuddainly after, there arriv'd ſome Gentlemen, which were either Friends or Servants of the Duke, who pray'd him to leave them with him, after having thank'd him, and teſtified with very efficatious words, the Obligations he had to him for his ſo opportune Succour; behold, Madam, this Hat came into my poſſeſſion after this manner, and if it is the Dukes, as you ſay, 'tis not yet an hour, ſince I left him ſafe and ſound. And let this Truth comfort you, if you have any Intereſt in his preſervation.

That you may underſtand, ſaid ſhe, that I had reaſon to ask you that queſtion, I deſire your attention to the ſad Story of my miſfortune.

Whilſt they were in this Diſcourſe, the Servant Maid had chang'd the Childs rich Cloaths for ordinary ones, and was carrying it to a Nurſe, paſſing by the Chamber Door, juſt as ſhe was going to begin her Story, ſhe heard the Babe cry, and ſtanding up, ſhe liſten'd, and hearing it plainer, ſhe ask'd whoſe Child that was, which ſeem'd to be few hours old.

'Tis a Child, replied Don John, which this Night was laid at the Church Gate, and the Maid is going to carry it to a Nurſe.

Pray, Gentlemen, do me the Favour, replied ſhe, to let the Maid bring it hither, and I will do that Charity for the Children of others, ſince the Heavens will not permit me to do it for my own.

Don John call'd the Servant, and taking the Child, put it into the Arms of the Lady, ſaying, behold Madam, the Preſent, which was made to us this Night, and this is not the firſt, for few Months paſs without ſuch Adventures, ſhe took it into her Arms, and look'd wiſhfully upon it, and upon its poor Cloaths, ſhe cover'd her Breaſt with a Veil, and joyning hers to the Childs Face, put herſelf in a poſture to ſuckle it, weeping, and not lifting up her Eyes.

All that while they four were very ſilent, while the Child endeavour'd to ſuck, but could not get one drop, for thoſe, who are newly deliver'd, cannot give ſuck, which, when ſhe conſider'd, ſhe gave back the Babe to Don John, ſaying, I would have ſhew'd my Charity, but it is in vain, but this ſhews that I am not vers'd in theſe Affairs.

Command, Sir, that they rub the Palate of this Child with a little Honey, and let them not at ſuch an unſeaſonable hour carry it thro the Streets, but let it be Day firſt, and before you remove it, let me have another ſight of it, for I take much Pleaſure in looking upon it.

Don John return'd the Child to the Maid, ordering her to take care of it, till the Morning, and then to dreſs it in the rich Cloaths, but not carry it to the Nurſe, till ſhe had farther Orders.

Then entring the Chamber, and there being only they three, then the diſconſolate Lady thus began. If you would, that I ſhould entertain you with the ſad Narration of my Affliction, it is neceſſary that you firſt give me ſomething to eat, for I am in ſo great need of it, that I am ready to faint.

Don Antonio went preſently, and brought ſome Sweet-meats, of which ſhe eat a little, and afterwards drank a Glaſs of Water, with which being refreſh'd, ſhe proceeded, and ſaid, ſit down, Gentlemen, and be attentive; they ſate, and ſhe lay upon the Bed, letting her Veil fall upon her Shoulders, and diſcover'd her Head and her Face, which appear'd like the Sun ſhining in its greateſt Splendor. The Tears fell from her beautiful Eyes like liquid Pearls, bathing her Ivory Cheeks, which ſhe wip'd with a white Handkerchief, and ſuch a Hand, that 'twas impoſſible to know, whether it or the Handkerchief were whiteſt.

In fine, after many Sighs, with which ſhe a little quieted her afflicted Heart, ſhe thus began. I am, Gentlemen, one, whom without doubt you have heard much of, for there are few Tongues, which have not publiſh'd the Fame of my Beauty, tho perhaps without reaſon: In one word, I am Cornelia — Siſter of — and perhaps in theſe few words I have declar'd two Truths, the one of my Nobility, and the other of my Beauty.

From a Child, I remain'd ſubject, and under the Guardianſhip of my Brother, being an Orfan, he left me to the Government of my own Honeſty, in which he put more confidence, than in his vigilancy.

Finally, at home, and in ſolitude, accompanied only with my Maids, my Years increaſed, and with them alſo the Fame of my Beauty, which being ſpread about, as well by the Servants of the Houſe, as by a Picture, which my Brother caus'd a Famous Painter to draw, to that end, as he ſaid, That the World ſhould not be wholly depriv'd of me, after I had paſs'd to a better Life; tho this had not been enouf to ruin me, if the Duke of — had not done the part of a Father in giving a Couſin of mine at a Wedding, whether my Brother carried me, thinking thereby to honour my Relation.

There I ſaw, there was I ſeen, and as I believe captivated the Minds, and ſubjugated the Wills of divers Gentlemen, there I firſt felt the pleaſure of Praiſe, altho proceeding from lying and flattering Tongues; there, in one word, I ſaw the Duke, and he me, which ſight has brought me to the Condition, wherein I am.

I will not tell you, Gentlemen, for fear I ſhould appear talkative, the Means and Inventions by which the Duke and I, at the end of Two Years, brought the Deſigns to their deſired end, which took their beginning from this Wedding.

For neither Guards, nor Shutting me up, nor kind Admonitions, nor Threats, all which my Brother made uſe of, nor any other humane Diligence, was ſufficient to hinder our coming together, he gave me his Promiſe and Solemn Engagement to be my Husband, without which it had been impoſſible for him to have obtained his End.

I deſired him a thouſand times to ask me of my Brother, for it was certain, he would not refuſe him, and take no heed what the People ſhould ſay, he Married below his Condition: For the Nobility of my Family was not inferiour to his, to which he anſwer'd with many Excuſes, which I allow'd, ſo that Reaſon could no longer defend me againſt Love, I render'd my ſelf to his importunity, by the perſwaſion of one of my Maids, who was more wrought upon by the Dukes Preſents, than by the Duty ſhe ow'd my Brother.

Some Days after, I found my ſelf with Child, and before that my Cloaths ſhould make manifeſt the Liberty I had taken, to give it no worſe a Name, I feign'd my ſelf ſick, and prevail'd with my Brother to remove me to the Houſe of my Couſin, whom the Duke gave in Wedlock, when I let her know, in what a Plight I was, and the Danger I was in, if my Fault ſhould come to the Ears of my Brother, we agreed, that the Month before I expected to be deliver'd, to give the Duke Notice to come with a Band of his Friends, and take me thence, and carry me to his own Houſe, and publickly own me for his Wife.

This was the Night appointed, and whilſt I was expecting him, I perceiv'd my Brother paſs by with many others, and I thought I heard the claſhing of Swords, which put me into ſuch a Fright, that I preſently fell in Labour, and brought forth a Son.

This Servant, my Confident, dreſs'd the Child, and gave it at the Door, as ſhe told me, to one of the Dukes Servants, ſhortly after, dreſſing my ſelf with great haſte, as well as I could, I came out of the Houſe, forced by the incumbent neceſſity of my Affairs, which I ought not to have done, before I had been certain of the Dukes being come, but the fear which my armed Brother, and his Company had put me into, believing that now his Sword was upon my neck, took away my Reaſon, and in this Fright, like a Mad-Woman, I ventured into the Street, and what ſucceeded to me there, you know.

And tho I find my ſelf without my Son, and without my Husband, and ſtill fearing ſome worſe Misfortune, yet I cannot but thank Heavens, who made me fall into your Hands, from whom I hope, what can be expected from the known Courteſie of Spaniards, and particularly of that which your Noble Aſpects gives me aſſurance of, ſaying this, ſhe fell down upon the Bed, and the two Gentlemen drawing near to her, to ſee whether ſhe was in a Swoon, or not, ſaw that ſhe wept bitterly.

Then Don John ſpoke thus to her, If hitherto, Madam, Don Antonio, and I, have had Compaſſion of your Fate, ſeeing you to be a Woman, and now knowing your Quality, that Compaſſion is become an Obligation.

Take heart, Madam, be not afraid, and altho you are not accuſtom'd to ſuch Accidents, ſhew your ſelf to be what you are, by your Patience and Conſtancy in ſupporting theſe your Afflictions: I am confident, that theſe your ſtrange Adventures will have a happy end, for Heaven will never ſuffer ſo great Beauty illuſtrated with ſuch admirable Accompliſhments to be a Prey to Diſgraces.

Go to Bed, Madam, and take care of your ſelf, there ſhall be nothing wanting on our Parts.

Our Maid ſhall wait upon you, whom you may confide in, as much as in ourſelves, ſhe ſhall keep your Secrets, and obey punctually all your Commands.

Since 'tis your pleaſure, Gentlemen, replied the Lady, let her come in, ſhe muſt of neceſſity be good, becauſe ſhe is given me by your hands, but I deſire that no Perſon, beſides her, may be permitted to ſee me.

It ſhall be ſo, anſwer'd Don Antonio, and left her.

Then Don John bid the Maid go into the Chamber, and take with her the Babe dreſs'd in the rich Cloaths.

She went in being inſtructed how to anſwer what Queſtions the Lady ſhould put to her.

When Cornelia ſaw her, Come hither, ſaid ſhe, come hither in a good hour, give me the Child, and bring the Candle nearer to me.

The Maid did ſo, and Cornelia took the Babe in her Arms, looking attentively upon it, and ſeem'd much diſturb'd, and ſaid:

Tell me, Sweet heart, is this the ſame Child which you ſhew'd me?

'Tis, Madam, replied the Maid.

How comes it to paſs then, ſaid Cornelia, that you have chang'd his Cloaths: theſe are not the ſame Cloaths, or this is not the ſame Child.

That may be, ſaid the Maid.

Jeſu! What ſay you? That may be, anſwer'd Cornelia; tell me dear Siſter, how can that be, my Heart will burſt, if I am not ſaddainly inform'd, how comes this change, tell me, whence, and by what means you got thoſe Swadling-Cloaths, they are mine, I am ſure they are mine, if I have not wholly loſt my Sight and my Memory.

Don John and Don Antonio, having heard theſe words, would not permit her to proceed, nor continue any longer in ſuſpence, wherefore Don John ſaid, Theſe Cloaths, Madam, and this Child, are yours, and then he told her from point to point, how he was the Perſon, to whom the Woman gave it, miſtaking him for Fabio, how he had brought it home, and why he had chang'd its Garments.

And altho, that they knew, 'twas her Child, after that ſhe had told them, that ſhe had been deliver'd, they had not diſcover'd this before, to make her joy the greater in knowing him, after a ſuſpenſion of knowing him not.

Infinite were the Tears of Cornelia, infinite were the Thanks to her Protectors, calling them her Guardian-Angels in the ſhape of Men, and giving them many other Titles, which made appear, the Obligation ſhe had, for having by their means receiv'd ſo great a Benefaction.

Then they left her with the Maid, commanding her to take great Care of the Lady, and went to Bed to ſleep the reſt of the Night, with intention to viſit Cornelia no more, unleſs ſhe ſent for them, or upon ſome urgent occaſion. When 'twas Day, the Servant-Maid brought a Nurſe ſecretly into the Chamber, who ſuckl'd the Child in the dark, the Windows being ſhut.

The Gentlemen ask'd, how the Mother did, and being anſwer'd ſhe was aſleep, they went to the Schools, paſſing by the Street, wherein the Night before the Scuffle was, and before Cornelias Door, to learn what was ſaid of her abſence, but they could not inform theirſelves.

Being return'd, Cornelia ſent to call them, they anſwer'd, that they had thoughts not to enter any more into her Chamber, to keep the decorum due to her.

But ſhe anſwer'd with Prayers and Tears, deſiring them to continue their Viſits, as before, that 'twould, if not remedy, yet at leaſt be a conſolation in her misfortune.

They came, and ſhe receiv'd them with a chearful Countenance, and deſired them to take a turn about the City, to try what they could hear concerning her.

They replied, they had done ſo already with all diligence, and punctually, but they could not diſcover any thing.

In this interim, behold one of their Pages comes, crying out, At the Gate below, ſtays a Gentleman, who ſays, his Name is — and deſires to ſpeak with Don John of Gamboa

Hearing this, Cornelia trembled, and wrung her Hands, and putting her Finger to her Mouth, ſhe ſaid with a low and frighted voice, my Brother, Gentlemen, it is my Brother, without doubt he knows that I am here, and now he is come to kill me: Help me, Gentlemen, help me for Gods ſake.

Trouble not your ſelf, Madam, fear nothing, ſaid Don Antonio, you are in ſuch Hands, who will not ſuffer, that the leaſt Affront ſhall be offer'd to you: Go Signor Don John, and ſee what the Gentlemans Buſineſs is, I'll ſtay here to defend the Lady, if there ſhould be occaſion.

In the mean while he charg'd a brace of Piſtols, commanding his Servants to take their Swords, and be in a readineſs.

The Maid ſeeing theſe Preparations, fell a trembling, as alſo did Cornelia. But Don Antonio and Don John, ſtood firm, having reſolv'd how to manage the Affair.

Don John went down the Stairs ſedately, and found the Gentleman at the Door, who, when he ſaw him, ſpoke thus: I deſire you would do me the Favour, to walk to the next Church, hard by, where I will declare to you the affair, wherein my Life and Honour is deeply concern'd.

That I will do, replied Don John, lets go, Sir: They went, and ſetting upon a Bench at ſome diſtance from the People, that they might not be over-heard, the Gentleman thus began.

I am, Sir, — if not of the richeſt Family, yet of one of the Nobleſt of this City, let Truth ſpeak for me, without my having any need to praiſe my ſelf. For ſome Years, I have been an Orfan, and have had under my Government a Siſter, whom if ſhe was not ſo nearly related to me, I might praiſe ſo much, that I ſhould be put to it, to find words to do it according to her deſerts, my Honour, and her being young, and extreamly handſome, obliged me to look after her with all poſſible Care, but all the Diligence, which I employed, was not ſufficient to preſerve her, ſhe was too cunning for me, and fruſtrated my Care, and gave herſelf over to her unruly Deſires. But not to tire you with a tedious Story, I'll only tell you, that the Duke of — with the Eyes of Linceus, was too hard for thoſe of Argus, and triumfed over my Induſtry, conquering my Siſter, whom he has taken from her Lodging this Night, and I am told, ſhe has been deliver'd of a Child. As ſoon as I knew this, I went in ſearch of him all about the City, I found him, and aſſaulted him, but ſome Angel aſſiſted him, and would not permit, that with his Blood he ſhould waſh away the Stain, which he has put upon my Honour.

My Couſin, who told me this, told me alſo, That the Duke had drawn my Siſter in, with the promiſe of Marriage, but I believe it not, conſidering the inequality betwixt them, as to the goods of Fortune. For as to Blood, all the World knows, that the Family of — is inferiour to none in Bolognia.

But I believe, he, like other Grandees, when they would deceive any retir'd Maid, they lay before their Eyes, as a Bait, the ſweet Name of Husband. And tell them for certain weighty Conſiderations, they cannot Marry them yet, and theſe are Lies, which carry appearance of Truth, and Falſities which cover a bad intent.

But be it as it will, I find my ſelf without a Siſter, and without Honour, but I'll not make a public Buſineſs of it, till I have tried to remedy it ſome other way, for 'tis a leſſer Evil, that one ſhould be preſum'd infamous, than publicly known to be ſo.

In fine, I am reſolv'd to go to the Duke, and demand Satisfaction, for the injury he has done me, and if he denies it, I'll inſtantly defie him, not to fight with Troops, but Body to Body. In which I ſhall need your Aſſiſtance, if you are willing to accompany me, I promiſe my ſelf, that you will favour me in this Occaſion, being a Spaniard, and a Gentleman, as I am inform'd: I have not conſulted my Kindred and Friends, from whom I can expect nothing but Counſels and Diſwaſions to turn me, from what I am reſolv'd upon: From you, Sir, I look for Counſels, which will be as Honourable as Dangerous.

Do me the Favour, Sir, to go with me, for when I ſhall have on my ſide a Spaniard, and ſuch an one, as your Noble Preſence ſhews you to be, I ſhall think my ſelf as ſecure, as if all the Army of Xerxes were my Guard. I ask, Sir, great things, but the Fame of your Nation obliges you to much greater than this I demand.

It is enouf, Sir, ſaid Don John, who had not interrupted him, till then, it is enouf, from this hour I take upon me the charge of your Defence, and to get Satisfaction, or Revenge the wrong that is done you, becauſe I am a Spaniard, and a Gentleman, and becauſe you are of a Quality and Rank as you have declar'd, and as it is well known: Lets be going, the ſooner the better, Iron is to be ſtruck while hot, and the Ardor of Choler increaſes Courage, and freſh Injuries call for ſuddain Vengeance.

The Gentleman roſe, and obligingly embracing Don John, ſaid, to ſo generous a Heart, as yours is, Sir, it is not neceſſary to propoſe any other Intereſt, than the Honour you will get in this Occaſion, if you come off ſucceſſfully, and beſides that, I offer you whatever I have, and what I can do, my ſelf alſo.

I deſire, that we may ſet out to morrow, and this Day I will provide all things neceſſary for our Voyage.

I agree with you, replied Don John, but pray give me leave to communicate this to a Gentleman, my Companion, in whoſe Valour and Fidelity you may confide as much, as in mine.

Since you have Signor Don John taken upon you the Defence of my Honour, diſpoſe of it as you pleaſe, replied the Gentleman, and if you think fit, declare it to the Gentleman you mention'd, who being your Friend, muſt needs be a Perſon of Note and Valour; then they parted, having agreed that the next Day he would call upon Don John, and go together diſguis'd.

Don John return'd, and told Don Antonio and Cornelia, what paſs'd betwixt the Gentleman and him, and what they reſolv'd upon.

My good God! ſaid Cornelia: Signor Don John, How great is your Courteſie and Confidence? to have ſo ſuddainly oblig'd yourſelf in an Affair ſo difficult, and ſo full of inconveniencies, how know you that my Brother will have you to meet the Duke, or ſomebody elſe, but whether ſoever he leads you, doubt nothing, for you may be certain, that Fidelity it ſelf accompanies you, but as for me, I am afraid of my ſhadow, and unfortunate as I am, I ſtumble at the Atomes of the Sun; have not I reaſon to fear, ſince upon the Dukes anſwer my Life and Death depends, and how can I be ſure, that he will anſwer ſo diſcreetly, as not to tranſport my Brothers Choler beyond due limits of Reaſon, and if this ſhould happen, the Duke will not have to deal with an inconſiderable Enemy.

And do you not believe, that till you return, I ſhall be in a dreadful ſuſpence?

Do I love the Duke or my Brother ſo little, that I ought not to fear a Diſgrace, that ſhould arrive to either of them?

You argue well, and you fear too much, Madam, replied Don John, but in the midſt of theſe, find a place for hope, and truſt in God and in my Induſtry, and in my good wiſhes, to ſee you advanc'd to the higheſt Felicity you deſire and deſerve.

The Voyage cannot be put off, and I will not fail to accompany your Brother, yet we do not know the Dukes Intention, nor whether he is inform'd, that you have left your Lodgings; we ought to have it from his own Mouth, and no body is fitter than my ſelf to ask him theſe Queſtions.

Therefore reſt ſatisfied, that the Safety of the Duke, and of your Brother, is as dear to me, as the Apples of my Eyes, and I will not take more care to preſerve theſe, than them.

If Heaven will give you Power, Signor Don John, anſwer'd the afflicted Lady, to remedy my misfortunes, as it has to comfort me in the midſt of them, I ſhall call my ſelf happy, and I could wiſh you gone, and return'd, tho I cannot bear your abſence without much regret.

Don Antonio commended the Reſolution of Don John, eſpecially that he ſo readily correſponded with the Confidence Cornelias Brother plac'd in him, and more he told him, that he would accompany him.

That muſt not be, replied Don John, for 'twill not be decent to leave Signora Cornelia alone. I would not have her Brother imagine, that I ſhould be forc'd to make uſe of another Mans Valour in his Defence.

Mine is yours, replied Don Antonio, I will go incognito, and at a diſtance, I deſire to follow you, which Signora Cornelia, I ſuppoſe, will think convenient, neither will ſhe be ſo much alone, but ſhe will always have near her enouf to ſerve, protect and accompany her.

It will be, ſaid ſhe, no ſmall Comfort to me, to know, that you go both together, or at leaſt ſo near, that you may aſſiſt each other. And becauſe you put your ſelves upon a dangerous Enterprize, accept, I pray you, Gentlemen, theſe Holy Reliques, and in ſaying this, ſhe took out of her Boſome, a rich Croſs of Diamonds of ineſtimable value, and an Agnus of Gold, not leſs rich.

They looked attentively upon them, and eſteemed them to be much more worth, than the Diamond Hatband, then they deliver'd them again, and would by no means be prevail'd upon to accept of them, telling her, they carried with them other Reliques, tho not ſo rich, and well garniſh'd, yet as good in their kind: Cornelia was diſpleas'd, that ſhe could not fix them on them, but ſhe was forc'd to ſubmit to their Will.

The Maid being very attentive to ſerve her, and knowing of her Maſters intended departure, of which they had inform'd her, without letting her know, whether it was, or upon what Buſineſs, took upon her to look ſo well after her, tho ſhe did not know her Name, that at their return they ſhould have no reaſon to complain.

Next morning early, the Bologneſe Gentleman was at the City Gate, and Don John putting on his Diamond Hatband, which he cover'd with a black and yellow Plume, and a black Veil, took his leave of Cornelia, who knowing her Brother to be ſo near, was ſo affrighted, that ſhe could not bid them adieu.

Firſt went Don John with Cornelias Brother, and in a Garden without the City Walls they found two Servants, with two good Horſes, waiting for them, they mounted, and by byways they drew near to the place, where they expected the Duke

Don Antonio follow'd them at a diſtance in a diſguiſe, but becauſe he thought, they ſhun'd his Company, eſpecially the Boloneſe, he took the right way, not doubting but to find them.

Scarcely were they out of the City, when Cornelia began to tell the Maid, that waited on her, what had befaln her, and how that the Child was hers by the Duke of — with all the Circumſtances, which we have mention'd before, and ſhe told beſides, that her Maſters in her Brothers Company were gone to challenge the Duke.

Which when the Maid underſtood, as if the Devil had put it into her Head to intricate the Affair. Ah, Madam! ſaid ſhe, have all theſe things befaln you, and do you ſtay here, as the ſaying is, with your Hands in your Pockets? Either you have no Soul, or it is ſo blinded, you underſtand nothing.

Can you believe, your Brother is gone to look out the Duke? Believe it not, 'tis only a pretence to get my Maſters out of the Houſe, and in their abſence, to return and kill you, which they may, as eaſily as drink a Glaſs of Water: Conſider, what a good Guard we are left with, three Pages only, which have enouf to do to ſcratch theirſelves, they are ſo over gone with the Itch, without minding your Protection.

As for me, I muſt tell you, I do not intend to ſtay and expect the ruine that threatens this Houſe. Is your Brother an Italian, and can he confide in Spaniards, and beg their Aids? I'll be hang'd before I'll believe it.

But if you, Madam, will hearken to my Counſel, I'll give you ſuch, which will ſerve you for a Star to guide you out of this troubl'd Sea, and bring you into a ſafe Port.

The aſtoniſh'd Cornelia was frighted out of her Senſes, hearing the Maid ſay this with ſo much earneſtneſs, and fear, imagining all that ſhe ſaid was Goſpel, and that it might be, that Don John and Don Antonio were both already kill'd, and that her Brother was coming to ſtab her; upon which ſhe preſently replied, What Counſel, Dear Friend, canſt thou give me, which will be able to prevent this incumbent danger?

I'll give you ſuch, ſaid ſhe, that 'tis impoſſible to find better: I was once, Madam, a Servant to a Prieſt in a Village not far diſtant from hence, who is a holy, and a good Man, and will do for me, whatever I ſhall deſire, for he is oblig'd to me: Let's go to his Houſe, I'll find thoſe, who ſhall preſently convey you thither, and for your Sons Nurſe, ſhe is a poor Woman, and will willingly go with you to the Worlds end, and if you ſhould be found, 'twill be better in the Houſe of an old Prieſt, a Man of Honour, than with two young Spaniards, for ſuch Blades will not let eſcape the leaſt occaſion of ſatisfying their Pleaſures.

Now you are ill, they ſhew you reſpect, but if you recover in their Houſe, only God knows, what will enſue.

For in truth, if my Diſdains, my Repulſes, and my Integrity, had not preſerv'd me, they had long before now ruined my Perſon and my Honour, for all that ſhines in them, is not Gold, they ſay one thing, and think another.

But they have miſs'd their aim in me, who am as cunning as the Devil, for I am one of the ſifted and refined Milaneſe, and I keep my Honour ten Miles high in the Clouds, very ſecure from ſuch Youths: Hence you may perceive, Madam, the Calamities I have undergone, which have reduc'd me to ſerve theſe Spaniards, tho I have no reaſon to complain of them, for as they ſay of the Devils, they are good, when they are not vex'd. And this ſhews them to be Biſcayners, as they ſay they are: But who can aſſure us, that they are not Galicians, and of a contrary humour.

In ſhort, ſuch, and ſo many Reaſons did ſhe urge, that ſhe brought Cornelia to follow her Opinion, and in leſs than four hours, the Servant ordering, and the Miſtreſs conſenting, they with the Nurſe and Child, got into a Coach, without being taken notice of by the Pages, and ſet forwards for the Village, wherein the Prieſt dwelt.

This was done, not only with the perſwaſions of the Maid, but alſo with her Money, for a little before, her Maſters had paid her a Years Salary together, ſo that they had no need of the Jewel which Cornelia had given her to pawn.

And becauſe they had heard Don John ſay, that he would go by ſome by-ways, they reſolv'd to go the direct way, and ſoftly to ſhun meeting them, and agreed with the Coachman ſo to do.

Let's leave them upon the Roads, and tell, what ſucceeded to Don John and Cornelias Brother, who underſtanding upon the way, that the Duke was not at his Houſe, but at Bolognia, they left by-ways, and made to the great Road, expecting to meet him in his return, and looking that way, they perceiv'd a Company of Horſe-men coming towards them.

Then Don John deſir'd the Bologneſe Gentleman to withdraw, for if the Duke was in that Company, he would ſpeak with him there, before he went into his Caſtle, which was not far off.

The Bologneſe did ſo, approving his Advice, and Don John took the Scarf from the Hatband.

In the interim, behold the Horſe-men drew near, and with them a Lady upon a dapple in a Campaign Habit, a Veil before her face.

Don John made a halt, expecting they ſhould come up to him, as they came near, his Garb, his good Horſe, his proper Apparel, and his Diamond Hatbands luſtre drew the Eyes of all of them upon him, but eſpecially the Dukes, who was chief of them, he preſently by the Hatband knew Don John, and ſpur'd his Horſe towards him, ſaying:

I believe I ſhall not be miſtaken, Signor Cavaleer, if I ſhall call you, Don John of Gamboa, for your Preſence, and the Ornament of that Hat, perſwades me, that you are the ſame.

It is true, replied Don John, I never did, nor will deny my Name. But be pleas'd, Sir, to tell me yours, that I may commit no error thorow my not knowing your Quality.

That you can never do upon that account, nor any other, replied the Duke, nevertheleſs, Signor Don John, I am the Duke of — who remembers, that he is oblig'd to ſerve you as long as he has life, for 'tis not yet four Days, ſince you gave it him.

He had ſcarcely ſaid this, but Don John, with admirable ſwiftneſs diſmounts, and came to kiſs the Dukes Hand, who was juſt off the Saddle, and lighted in Don Johns Arms.

The Bologneſe Gentleman, who at a diſtance perceiv'd theſe Ceremonies, thinking they proceeded from Anger, and not from Kindneſs, made towards them, but ſtop'd, when he ſaw the Duke, whom when he was ſo near, as to know, embracing Don John, which very much diſturb'd him. Whilſt they were thus embrac'd, the Duke ask'd him, whether that Gentleman was of his Company.

Don John replyed, if your Excellency will pleaſe to go a little aſide, I will tell you ſtupendous things.

The Duke walk'd off, and Don John ſaid thus to him; That Gentleman whom you ſee there complains very much of you; he ſays that you have taken away Signora Cornelia his Siſter; that you have deceived her and robb'd her of her honour, and he would know what ſatisfaction you intend to him and her, and has deſired me to be his Protector, which I have undertook, becauſe I gueſſed that this was your Hat-band, whoſe liberality and curteſie forc'd it upon me: I promis'd my ſelf that no body could accommodate this buſineſs better, or ſo well.

I deſire you Signor to tell me what you know of this matter, and whether the Gentleman's ſtory is true or not.

Ah dear Sir! replyed the Duke, I have not the forehead to deny it if I had a mind; I have neither deceived nor carried away Cornelia, altho I underſtand ſhe is not at her lodgings now; I ſay I have not deceived her, for I account her my Wife. I have not carried her away, neither do I know where ſhe is, and if I have not celebrated my Marriage publicly, it is, I wait 'till my Mother, who is now in the confines of great Age, and deſigns to marry me to a Princeſs, paſſes to a better life; and for other cauſes perhaps more efficacious than this, and, which 'tis not convenient now to declare.

It is true, that that very night when you ſo valiantly defended and ſuccour'd me, I deſign'd to have carryed off Cornelia, becauſe the time was come, when the Pledge ſhe had received of me, was ready to be brought to light. But when I enquired for Cornelia, I was told ſhe was gone out, after having been delivered of the beautifulleſt Boy in the world, which Sulpitia put into the hands of one of my Servants whoſe name is Fabio; Sulpitia is ſhe you ſee there, and Fabio is alſo here, but we know not where Cornelia or the Child are. I ſtay'd in Bolognia two dayes to inform my ſelf what was become of them, but could get no intelligence.

But Signor, ſaid Don John, if Cornelia and the Child ſhould appear, would you own her to be your Wife, and the Child to be your Son?

With all my Heart reply'd the Duke, for tho I value my ſelf as a Cavaleer, I eſteem it more to be a Chriſtian; beſides Cornelia deſerves to be a Queen, would to God I could ſee her, for whether my Mother live or dy, the world ſhall know how much I love her, and that the faith I plighted to her in ſecret, I will publicly obſerve.

Will you pleaſe then Signor to ſay ſo much to her Brother.

I am diſpleas'd, ſaid the Duke, he ſhould be ſo long without knowing it.

Then Don John made a ſign to the Bologneſe Gentleman, that he ſhould alight and come to them, which he did, far from expecting the good entertainment he found. The Duke ſtept forward to embrace him, and the firſt word which he ſpoke to him was Brother.

The Gentleman knew not what to anſwer to ſo ſweet a compellation and ſo courteous entertainment, being in a great confuſion, and before he was recovered out of it, Don John began to ſpeak.

Sir ſaid he, the Duke confeſſes he has had ſecret converſation with your Siſter, he owns alſo that ſhe is his lawful Wife, and what he ſays here, he will ſay publicly when there ſhall be occaſion; he grants that four Nights ago, he deſign'd to carry her from her Couſins houſe into his Dominion, and to celebrate his Nuptials, which he is oblig'd to delay for moſt juſt reaſons he has acquainted me with.

He ſays moreover, that coming from the Skirmiſh he had with you, in ſearch of Cornelia he met with Sulpitia her woman, which is ſhe you ſee there, who gave him to underſtand, that about an hour before, Cornelia had brought forth a Son, which Sulpitia had given to one of his Servants; and that Cornelia believing the Duke was come for her, went out of the houſe, fearing what had happen'd might come to your knowledge: Sulpitia thinking ſhe gave the Babe to one of the Dukes Servants, gave it to another, Cornelia appears not, but when ſhe ſhall, he ſays, he will own her for his Wife.

Now Gentlemen, conſider, is there any thing more to be ſaid or deſired, than to have found two ſo rich, and ſo dear pledges.

Then the Gentleman anſwer'd, My Lord, and Brother, my Siſter and I could not expect leſs, than that it has pleas'd your Generoſity to favour us both with, in making her your Equal, and me a Relation to your Noble Family; at ſaying this, the Duke and the Boloneſe Gentlemans Tears ſtood in their Eyes, one for having loſt his Wife, the other for having found ſo good a Brother, but conſidering it was weakneſs to ſhew ſuch tender ſentiments, they retain'd their Tears.

They were in this poſture, when Don Antonio de Izunza, whom Don John knew at a diſtance by his cropt Horſe, drew near to them, and ſeeing the Horſes of Don John and Cornelias Brother, held by their Servants, at ſome diſtance from them he ſtopt, not knowing which was the Duke, and inquir'd of the Dukes Servants, who that Cavaleer was, pointing at the Duke, diſcourſing with the other two, anſwer was made him, that it was the Duke of — which put him into ſo great a confuſion, that he knew not what to do.

But Don John perceiving it, call'd him by his Name, ſeeing them all a foot, he diſmounted, and walking towards them, was receiv'd courteouſly by the Duke, whom Don John had inform'd that he was his Comrade.

In ſhort, Don John told him what had ſucceeded betwixt the Duke and him.

Don Antonio receiv'd the News with much Joy, and ſaid to Don John, Why do you not render this Joy compleat, communicating to them the good News, that Cornelia and the Child are ſafe in your Cuſtody.

I would have done ſo, anſwer'd Don John, if you Signor Don Antonio had not arriv'd ſo opportunely, now I'll leave it to you.

As the Duke and his new Brother heard them ſpeak of finding Cornelia, and of good News, they ask'd what it was.

What can it be elſe, anſwer'd Don Antonio, but that I will make a happy Cataſtrofe to this Tragedy, by telling you, that Signora Cornelia and the Child, are now at my Houſe, telling all the particulars before-mention'd, in which they took ſo much guſto and pleaſure, that the Bologneſe Gentleman embrac'd Don John, and the Duke Don Antonio, offering them his Eſtate, and Life, for ſuch happy News.

Then they call'd the Maid, who gave away the new born Babe at the Door to Don John, but when ſhe ſaw Cornelias Brother, ſhe trembled for fear.

They ask'd her, whether ſhe knew the Man to whom ſhe gave the Child, ſhe anſwer'd no, but that ſhe ask'd whether Fabio was there, and was anſwer'd yes, upon which words ſhe gave it him.

It is true, replied Don John, and you preſently after giving me the Child, and bidding me take care to lodge it ſafely, ſuddainly return'd, and lock'd the Door.

It was ſo, Sir, anſwer'd ſhe, weeping. Maid, 'tis no time to weep now, replied the Duke, but to laugh, and be joyful: I'll return to Bolognia without going to my Houſe, tho it is ſo near, for all theſe are but ſhadows of Content, till Signora Cornelia, with her Preſence, makes them real.

Then all of them by a common Conſent, turn'd towards Bolognia.

Don Antonio went before to give Cornelia Notice, leaſt the unexpected appearance of the Duke and her Brother, might put here into a Fit.

But not finding her, and the Pages not being able to tell him any News of her, he became the moſt ſorrowful Man in the World, and finding the Servant miſſing alſo, he imagin'd, that by her means Cornelia had chang'd her Lodgings; the Pages told him, That the Maid went away the ſame Day he ſet out, and as for the Gentlewoman, they never ſaw her ſince.

This unexpected Accident put Don Antonio into a great Confuſion, fearing the Duke ſhould think, he had impos'd upon him, or imagine ſomething worſe, which might redound to his, and Cornelias diſhonour. He was in this perplexity, when the Duke, Don John, and Cornelias Brother enter'd, having left the reſt of their Company without the City.

They found Don Antonio ſitting in a melancholy poſture, leaning his Cheek upon his Hand, and as pale as Death.

Don John ask'd him, What ill had befaln him, and where Cornelia was.

What ill has not befaln me, he replied, ſince Cornelia does not appear, ſhe went away with the Maid, the ſame Day we ſet out.

The Duke, and the Brother of Cornelia were ready to ſink down, hearing this, they were ſo troubled, and full of confuſion.

In the interim, a Page whiſper'd Don Antonio in the Ear, Sir, ſaid he, Santo Stefano, Don Johns Page, from the Day you went hence, has kept lock'd up in his Chamber, a handſome Gentlewoman, whom I heard him call Cornelia.

This News diſturb'd him much more, and he deſir'd rather that Cornelia ſhould never have been ſeen more, than found in ſuch a place, for he believ'd 'twas ſhe whom the Page conceal'd, he ſaid nothing, but went up ſoftly to the Pages Chamber, and finding the Door lock'd, drawing near to it, he ſaid in a low voice, Open the Door, Signora Cornelia, and come down to receive your Brother, and the Duke your Husband, who are come to give you a viſit.

You think, I warrant you, replied the Woman in the Chamber, you jeer me, but I'll have you know, that I have not ſo bad a Face, but that Dukes and Counts Mouths water at me.

By theſe words, Don Antonio was convinc'd that it was not Cornelia, as he unjuſtly ſuſpected.

In the mean while, Santo Stefano came up to his Chamber, and finding Don Antonio at the Door, who demanded the Key of him, the Page kneeling at his Feet, with the Key in his Hand, ſaid, Sir, your abſence, or to ſpeak truer, my wickedneſs has made me bring hither a Woman, and keep her theſe three laſt Nights. I beg of you Sir, not to tell my Maſter, and I'll bring her out preſently.

And what is your Womans Name, ſaid Don Antonio. The Page anſwer'd Cornelia.

The other, who had diſcover'd this Fact of Santo Stefano, came down to the Rome wherein the Duke, Don John, and the Bologneſe were, crying out, Oh brave Page, you'll pay dear for your Pleaſure with Signora Cornelia, you lock'd her up, and wiſh'd our Maſters abſence long, that your Pleaſure might continue.

The Bologneſe Gentleman hearing theſe words, cried out, Page, what is that you ſaid, where is Cornelia? She is above, replied the Page.

Scarce was this ſpoke, but the Duke, who heard it, runs up Stairs to ſee Cornelia, believing ſhe was found, and going into the Chamber, where Don Antonio was, Where is Cornelia, ſaid he, where is my Life?

Here Cornelia is, ſaid a Woman in the Bed, wrapt up in the Sheets, and hiding her Face, and proceeded, What a ſtir do you make, is it a new thing, and to be wonder'd at, that a Page ſhould lye with a Woman?

The Bologneſe Gentleman, who was preſent at this Farce, with great diſpight and wrath, lays hold of one of the ends of the Sheet, and pulls it, and the Bed-cloaths off, diſcovering a young Wench handſome enouf, who for ſhame, covering her Face with her Hand, and reaching her Cloaths with the other, which were under her Head, and ſerv'd for a Pillow, there being no other, which diſcover'd her to be a Two penny Harlot.

The Duke ask'd, whether her Name was Cornelia, ſhe anſwer'd yes, and that ſhe had many honourable Relations in that City: The Duke was confounded, imagining the Spaniards, had put a Trick upon him.

But not to manifeſt this Suſpition, he mounted on Horſe-back, and went away being follow'd by the Bologneſe, without taking his leave, and left Don John and Don Antonio, in greater confuſion, but reſolv'd to uſe all diligence to find Cornelia, and aſſure the Duke of their veracity. They put Santo Stefano out of their Service, and turn'd out of Door the Harlot Cornelia.

Then it came into their Minds, that they had forgot to tell the Duke of the Agnus and Crucifix of Diamonds which Cornelia had offer'd them, fearing he might gueſs, that they had them.

They went out to tell him this, but he was not in the Houſe of the Bologneſe, as they thought, and from him they underſtood, that the Duke without making any ſtay, went his way, deſiring him to uſe his endeavours to find Cornelia.

They told him, what they deſign'd to have acquainted the Duke with, but he anſwer'd, That he was well ſatisfi'd with their proceedings, and that both of them attributed the flight of Cornelia, to her fear, and doubted not but to find her: For 'twas not credible, the Earth had ſwallow'd her, the Maid and her Son.

This afforded them ſome Comfort, and becauſe no body but her Couſin knew that ſhe was miſſing; they would not make it public, but all ſecret ways of inquiry were made uſe of, leaſt Cornelias Honour ſhould ſuffer by them, who knew not the Dukes intention, for 'tis a hard thing to take away ſuſpicions when they have taken a deep impreſſion.

In the Dukes ſearch, good fortune conducted him to the houſe where they were:

Cornelia had inform'd the Curate of her affairs, and deſired his advice therein. The Curate was an intimate Friend of the Dukes; he was rich and a Virtuoſo, and his houſe was well furniſhed, the Duke often viſited him to ſee his Curioſities, and enjoy his Converſation, and for the pleaſure he took in Hunting, for which that place was convenient.

So that the Curate wonder'd not at all to ſee him, for as we have ſaid before 'twas not the firſt time, yet he was troubled to perceive by his countenance, that ſome extraordinary Grief poſſeſſed his Soul.

Cornelia underſtood that the Duke was there, and was extremely diſturb'd, wringing her hands, and running from place to place as if ſhe was mad, becauſe ſhe knew not the reaſon that brought him thither; ſhe would have enquir'd of the Curate, but he was taken up in entertaining the Duke, who ſpoke thus to him.

I am come hither reverend Father very full of grief, and for this night I intend to be your Gueſt, for I have no mind to return to my houſe. Pray bid Fabio ſend away the reſt of my Servants, I will have no body ſtay with me but him. Which the Curate did, and came to give order for Dinner, which occaſion Cornelia laid hold on to ſpeak with him, and taking him by the hand. Ah dear Signor and reverend Father, ſaid ſhe, what's the Duke's Buſineſs? For the love of God will your Reverence give him a touch concerning me, and ſound his intentions; I leave the managment to you, do as in your wiſdom it ſhall ſeem beſt.

To which the Curate replyed, that hitherto the Duke had not told him the cauſe of his melancholy.

But that which you have to do Signora Cornelia, is to dreſs the Child in its richeſt Cloaths, and adorn it with Jewels eſpecially thoſe that the Duke gave you, and then leave the reſt to me, for I hope to do you no ſmall ſervice.

Cornelia went to make her Child ready. Whilſt that, and Dinner were dreſſing, the Curate return'd to entertain the Duke, and falling from one diſcourſe to another, he at laſt ask'd, if 'twas poſſible to know the cauſe of that great melancholy, which was to be read in his Forehead at three miles diſtance.

'Tis true Mon Signor, ſaid he, 'tis difficult to make the grief of the heart not appear in the face, and the eyes uſually diſcover the ſoul; the worſt is, that I at preſent cannot manifeſt mine any other way.

Will your Highneſs be pleaſed to ſee a ſight to divert you? ſaid the Curate.

With all my heart replyed the Duke, I ſhould not count him wiſe, who in my condition, would not lay hold upon any occaſion to meliorate it. I pray you Mon Signor ſhew me that you ſpeak of, I believe 'tis ſome of your Curioſities, in which I have often taken much delight.

Then the Curate went to Cornelia, took the Child, and brought it in his arms to the Duke, who took it into his, and viewing the Jewels and knowing them to be the ſame he had preſented to Cornelia, he ſtood amaz'd, and looking upon the Child with great attention, he imagin'd he ſaw in him his own picture, and demanded of the Curate whoſe Child it was, who by his Cloaths ſeem'd the Son of ſome Prince.

I cannot tell anſwered the Curate; ſome nights ſince, it was brought me from Bolognia by an unknown Gentleman, who earneſtly prayed me to take care of it, for it was born of a Father of the higheſt Quality, and of a moſt noble and moſt beautiful Mother.

And with the Gentleman there came a Woman to give it ſuck, of whom I enquired if ſhe knew the Child's Parents, ſhe anſwered no.

But if the Mother is as handſom as the Nurſe ſhe muſt be the beautifulleſt Lady of all Italy.

Can I not have a ſight of her replyed the Duke, you may Sir ſaid the Curate; come with me, and if the beauty of the Child and the riches of his Cloaths have cauſed your wonder, I am certain it will be much augmented, when you ſhall behold the Nurſe.

The Curate would have taken the Child from the Duke, but he would not part with it, but kept it in his arms, giving it many Kiſſes.

The Curate went before a little to tell Cornelia, that ſhe might ſecurely meet the Duke, who preſently enter'd with the Child in his arms.

When ſhe ſaw him, ſuch a bluſhing came into her face, that it made her Beauty more beautiful.

The Duke at the firſt ſight of her was ready to ſwoon; and ſhe caſt herſelf at his feet.

Immediately the Duke returned the Child to the Curate, and without ſpeaking the leaſt word, went out of the Chamber in great haſt, which when Cornelia perceived, Ah ſaid ſhe! turning to the Curate, is it poſſible that the Duke ſhould be ſo ſuddainly weary of ſeeing me, am I ſo much hated by him? am I ſo ugly, does he after this manner pay the obligations he has to me. Not to ſpeak one word, did the weight of his Son appear ſo burthenſome to him, that he muſt deliver it to another?

To all which the Curate could make no reply, admiring the Dukes flight. But he went out only to call Fabio, to whom he ſaid, Fabio return immediately to Bolognia, and deſire in my name Cornelias Brother, and the two Spaniſh Gentlemen, Don John of Gamboa, and Don Antonio of Iſunza, that without any excuſe they come preſently hither, you muſt fly, and not return without them, their preſence is of equal importance to me as my life.

Fabio was not flow in executing his Maſters commands, and the Duke return'd to Cornelia, whom he found in tears; he embrac'd her, and mingled his tears with hers, receiving in his mouth the ſighs which the afflicted Lady breath'd out.

So great was their content that they were not able to utter one word; ſo with honeſt ſilence, the two happy Lovers, and true Man and Wife, enjoyed theirſelves a little while.

The Nurſe, and the Servant of the Spaniards who ſaw what paſſed betwixt Cornelia and the Duke, being tranſported with joy, leap'd up and down, as if they were mad; the Curate gave a thouſand Kiſſes to the Babe, whom he carried in one arm, and with the other hand as many Benedictions upon the embracing Lovers, who continued in this poſture 'till Dinner was ſet upon the table, and a Servant ſent to call them, which made them for the preſent looſen their arms.

The Duke took his Son and kept him in his arms all dinner time; the Dinner was not ſumptuous, but very polite and ſavory.

Whilſt they were at table, Cornelia told him all that happened to her, 'till ſhe left Bolognia by the adviſe of the Spaniſh Gentlemens Servant; ſhe acquainted him that they had ſerv'd, protected, and guarded, her with all imaginable honor and reſpect.

And the Duke related his adventures.

There were preſent the two Women which had accompanied Cornelia, to whom the Duke promiſed great rewards.

They were all much pleaſed with this happy ſucceſs, and there was nothing wanting to compleat their felicity, but the preſence of Cornelias Brother, Don John and Don Antonio, whom the Duke expected with much impatience.

After three Days they arriv'd, big with expectation to know, whether the Duke heard any News of Cornelia; for Fabio, who went for them, could tell them nothing, for he knew not that ſhe was found.

The Duke went out to meet, and receive them in a Hall facing the Chamber wherein Cornelia was, without ſhewing any ſign of Content, which caus'd grief in the Gentlemen, who look'd upon it as an ill omen; making them ſit down by him, and turning his Face towards Cornelias Brother, he ſaid theſe words.

You know well, Sir, that I never deceiv'd your Siſter, of which the Heavens and my Conſcience are true Witneſſes, you know alſo, the diligence I have us'd to find her, and the great deſire I had to marry her according to my Promiſe.

But ſince ſhe appears not, 'tis not reaſonable, that my Promiſe ſhould eternally oblige me to live unmarried: I am young, and not ſo entangl'd with the Affairs of the World, that my Pleaſures ſhould have no Power over me, the ſame Affection, that made me promiſe to eſpouſe Cornelia, had before oblig'd me to do the ſame to a Country Gentlewoman of this Village, which I deſign'd to leave for the Love of your Siſter, a great evidence of my Affection to her, tho I could not do it with a ſafe Conſcience.

Since then none can marry a Woman, that is not to be found, 'tis not juſt, I ſhould ſearch for her, that flies me, and endeavour to find one that hates me. I think, Sir, this ought to ſatisfy you, for a wrong I never did, nor ever had in my Mind to do: I deſire therefore, you will give me Licence to make good my firſt Promiſe to the Country Gentlewoman, who is now in the Houſe.

While the Duke ſpoke thus, the Bologneſe Gentleman chang'd his Colour a thouſand times, and could not ſit ſtill upon his Chair, evident Signs, that he was full of Indignation.

In the ſame Condition were the two Spaniards, who reſolv'd rather to looſe their Lives, than let the Duke do as he ſaid.

He perceiving their Minds by their looks, proceeded thus: Quiet your ſelf, Sir, and before you anſwer me, I'll try, whether the Beauty which you ſhall ſee in her, may oblige you to give me your permiſſion to marry her, ſhe has a Beauty capable to excuſe greater Errors than this.

Having ſaid this, he roſe and went into Cornelias Chamber, who that Day was richly dreſs'd, and pompouſly adorn'd.

The Duke being gone out, Don John ſtood up, and leaning both his Hands upon the ſide of the Chair, upon which the Bologneſe ſat, he ſpoke thus in his Ear:

By St. James of Galitia, and by the Faith of a Cavaleer, I will as ſoon turn Moor, as permit the Duke to do thus, he ſhall die by my Hands, or make good his Promiſe to Signora Cornelia, or at leaſt allow us ſo much time, as we ſhall think ſufficient, to find her, or till we are convinc'd ſhe is dead.

I reſolved ſo too, anſwer'd her Brother, and of the ſame Opinion is my Companion, replied Don John: In the midſt of theſe their Reſolutions, Cornelia enters betwixt the Duke and the Curate, who led her; behind her follow'd Sulpitia, whom the Duke had ſent for to his Caſtle, the Childs Nurſe and the Spaniards Maid.

When the Bologneſe ſaw his Siſter, and was certain it was ſhe; for at firſt he doubted it, he ran to the Duke, and in his haſte, his Legs croſſing, ſtumbl'd, and fell at his Feet, who rais'd him, and put him into the Arms of his Siſter.

Don John and Don Antonio, told the Duke, that he had put upon them the moſt ſurprizing, moſt diſcreet, and moſt grateful Trick in the World.

The Duke took the Child out of Sulpitias Arms, and gave it to Cornelias Brother, ſaying, Take your Nevew, and my Son.

What ſay you now? Shall I have your leave to marry this Country Lady, who was the firſt that I promis'd?

I ſhall never make an end, if I ſhould tell you Cornelias Brothers Anſwers to the Duke, and his Queſtions to Don John, and the Thoughts of Don Antonio, the Jubilee of the Curate, the Joy of Sulpitia, the Guſto of the Maid that counſell'd Cornelias flight, the Pleaſure of the Nurſe, the Admiration of Fabio, and in fine, the Content of all.

Without looſing time, the Curate married them, and Don John gave Cornelia, and they were all deſir'd to keep it ſecret, till the event of the Sickneſs of the Dukes Mother was known, who lay deſperate; in the mean time, Signora Cornelia and her Brother, return'd to Bolognia; ſoon after the Dutcheſs died, and Cornelia made a public entrance into the Dukes City, changing her Mourning into Wedding-Cloaths.

Sulpitia was married to Fabio, and the other Women made rich, and Don John and Don Antonio, were well ſatisfied, that they had been ſerviceable to Cornelia, her Brother, and the Duke, who offer'd them two of his Couſins with great Portions, but they anſwer'd, That for the moſt part, the Gentlemen of Biſcay married amongſt theirſelves, not that they ſlighted ſuch a Relation, for they would never be guilty of ſuch a Fault, but to obſerve the Cuſtom of the Country, and to be obedient to the Will of their Parents, who, it might be, had already promiſed them; for theſe Reaſons they could not accept of this offer, which they eſteem'd a great Honour, and for which they render'd him a Thouſand and a Thouſand Thanks.

He accepted of their Excuſes, and ſought, and found honourable ways of ſending many Preſents to them at Bolognia, ſome of them very rich, in ſuch times and conjunctures, as they could not be fairly refus'd, which would at another ſeaſon have look'd like Rewards, eſpecially thoſe they preſented them at their return into Spain, and thoſe the Duke gave them himſelf, when they came to take their leave of his Highneſs at his own City, where they found Cornelia a Mother of two Daughters, and more than ever beloved by the Duke.

The Dutcheſs preſented Don John with the Croſs of Diamonds we have before mention'd, and to Don Antonio the Agnus Dei, who, notwithſtanding all their Excuſes, were at laſt forc'd to receive them.

They arriv'd in Spain, and were there married with noble, rich, and beautiful Ladies, and always preſerv'd the Love and Kindneſs of the Duke, and the Dutcheſs his Conſort, and the Friendſhip of her Brother, to the general Content of all of them.

The End of the Fourth Novel.

THE Rival Ladies. NOVEL V.

ABout Twenty Miles from Sevil, there is a Village call'd White-Caſtle, into one of the Inns whereof, about the cloſe of the Day, there arriv'd a young Gentleman mounted upon a beautiful Horſe, without a Servant, who not ſtaying to have his Stirrup held, threw himſelf lightly off the Saddle.

The Hoſt, who was a diligent Perſon, took notice of him, but before he could come to him, he was ſeated upon a Bench at the Inndoor and began to unbutton himſelf with great haſte, and preſently let fall his Arms, and gave manifeſt ſigns of ſwooning.

The Inn-keeper ran to him, and throwing Water in his Face, caus'd his Senſes to return, and he ſhew'd himſelf very much diſpleas'd to have been ſeen ſo diſorder'd.

He began again to button his Coat, and ſpoke to the Hoſt to ſhew him a Chamber to lie down in, and that he might have it wholly to himſelf, if it were poſſible.

The Hoſt anſwer'd, That in his Houſe there was but one, which had two Beds in it, and if another Gueſt ſhould arrive, he muſt accommodate him with one of them.

The Traveller anſwer'd, I'll pay for them both, whether another Gueſt comes or not, and put a Crown into his Hand.

The Hoſt was contented, and promis'd, that no body elſe ſhould have the void Bed, or part of the Chamber, altho the beſt Man in Sevil ſhould come hither that Night.

The Hoſt ask'd, whether he would ſup, he replied, no, but deſir'd him to take care of his Horſe, then calling for the Key of the Chamber, and the Hoſt carrying up the Portmanteau, he went into it, and lock'd himſelf in, and ſet two Forms againſt the Door.

The Hoſt went to take care of the Horſe, and to give order for a Supper, leaſt any other Gueſt ſhould come that Night.

Preſently after, they beheld coming another Gentleman, a little older than the firſt, but not leſs handſome.

Upon which ſight, the Hoſteſs began to cry out, Jeſu! What do I ſee? Do Angels come to Lodg this Night at my Houſe?

Why ſay you ſo? demanded the Gentleman.

I ſay it not without cauſe, replied the Hoſteſs, but I ſay to you, put not your ſelf to the trouble of lighting, for I have no Bed for you. A Gentleman in that Chamber, altho he is alone, hath taken both, and paid me for them, that no body beſides, ſhould enter the Chamber, it ſeems, he delights in ſolitude, but I know not why, for upon my Soul, he has a not a Face or a Garb, which ought to be hid, but rather be ſeen, and bleſs'd, and admir'd by all the World.

Is he ſo very handſome, replied the Gentleman.

Handſome, ſays the Hoſteſs, yes handſomeneſs it ſelf.

Ho Boy, ſaid the Gentleman, here take my Horſe, I will ſee this Perſon you praiſe ſo much, tho I lie upon the bare Ground all this Night

Then bidding his Servant hold his Stirrup, he lighted and enter'd, and call'd for Supper.

A Sbirro enter'd, and ſitting down, fell into diſcourſe with him, while he was at Supper, and being unwilling to looſe time, drunk off three Bottles of Wine, and eat the Breaſt and Body of a Partridge, which the Gentleman gave him: In recompence whereof, the Sbirro ask'd the Court News, and what was done in Flanders, of the Motion and Deſcent of the Turks, not forgetting the Affairs of Tranſilvania.

The Gentleman eat on in ſilence, for he had no inclination to anſwer ſuch Queſtions, coming from ſuch a Perſon; the Hoſt added himſelf a third to their Company, and taſted his Wine with ſuch Draughts, as the Sbirro had done before, and at the end of every Glaſs, he diſtorted his Body, and turn'd his Head to his left Shoulder, praiſing the Wine, and giving to it ſo many attributes and epithets, that he exalted it to the Clouds.

In the circle of his diſcourſe, he return'd to the praiſes of his Gueſt, who was lock'd in, telling how he fainted, and that he lock'd himſelf in his Chamber without any Supper, he told that his Portmantue was well furniſh'd, as he gueſs'd by the weight of it; he prais'd the goodneſs of his Horſe, and the faſhion, and richneſs of his Cloaths, which were too good to be worn by one who was not attended by a Servant, for he came only with the Vetturin. All theſe exaggerations doubled the Gentlemans deſires to get a ſight of him, and to that end he pray'd the Hoſt to find ſome means to let him lie in the other Bed, for which he would give him a Crown.

The greedineſs of Money inclin'd the Hoſt to comply with him, but it ſeem'd impoſſible, becauſe the Door was lock'd in the inſide, and that he durſt not diſturb him.

But to all this, the Sbirro undertook to find a remedy in this manner: I will go, ſaid he, and knock at the Door ſaying, 'tis the Conſtable, who by order of a Juſtice of Peace, commands, that they Lodge this Gentleman. To which the Hoſt ſhould anſwer, That they would do him injury, becauſe that Chamber, and both the Beds were taken, and paid for by him who was in it; by this the Hoſt ſhall be diſoblig'd from his promiſe, and you, Sir, will obtain you deſire.

This Invention was approv'd, and put preſently in effect, and the Sbirro receiv'd from the Gentleman half a Crown, with which he was well contented. The firſt Gueſt was much troubled, hearing he muſt open to the Conſtable, the ſecond ask'd him pardon for interrupting his repoſe, and went immediately into the void Bed.

The other replied not one word, nor would not permit him to ſee his Face, for as ſoon as he had open'd the Door, he went to Bed, turning his Face towards the Wall, and pretended to fall aſleep.

Now the ſecond Gueſt was got into his Bed, but with this hope, that the next Morning he ſhould have a view of his Chamber-Fellow at his riſing. It was December, wherein the long, tedious, dark and cold Nights adds to wearineſs, uſually invites Sleep.

But the firſt Gueſt could not get that benefit, a little after mid-night, he began to ſigh ſo bitterly, as if with every one of them he was breathing out his Soul, ſo that he waken'd the other, who admiring the Sobs, which accompanied his dolorous Sighs, hearken'd to underſtand the Lamentations, which this afflicted Perſon murmur'd to himſelf.

The Beds were at ſome diſtance, nevertheleſs, he heard amongſt others, theſe words pronounc'd with a weak and mournful Voice.

Ah wretch, that I am! Whether does the invincible force of my Deſtiny hurry me? What Path do I take? What Thred will guide me out of the Labyrinth in which I am? Ah few Years, and ſmall Experience, incapable of Conſideration and Counſel! At what end will this my vagabond wandring arrive? Ah deſpiſed Honour! Ah ſincere Love ill recompenc'd! Ah reſpect of my Kindred laid aſide, and trod under foot, wo is me! that have thus let looſe the Reins, and ſuffer'd my ſelf to be carried away by my deſires: Oh falſe and flattering words, which have oblig'd me to anſwer in Deeds.

But of whom do I complain? Am not I ſhe that would cheat my ſelf? Am not I ſhe who took the Knife to aſſaſſinate with my own Hands, my Honour, my Reputation, and the good Opinion which my Parents had of my Vertue? Oh perjur'd Marc Antonio! How is it poſſible, that the gall of Ingratitude ſhould be mingled with the ſweetneſs of thoſe Words which thou ſpokeſt to me? Where art ungrateful? Whether art thou fled? anſwer, for I ſpeak to thee; ſtay, for I follow thee; hold me up, for thou haſt made me fall; pay what thou oweſt me; ſuccour me, becauſe I have obliged then. After theſe Words, ſhe was ſilent, expreſſing her Sorrow only with Sighs and Tears.

The ſecond Gueſt liſtned to all this with great ſilence, and concluded, that 'twas a Woman that thus lamented, which increas'd his deſire to know her, and often reſolv'd to riſe, and go to her Bed-ſide, and would have done ſo, had he not perceiv'd ſhe was got up, and had open'd the Chamber Door, calling the Hoſt to ſaddle her Pad, for ſhe would be going.

The Hoſt let her call a good while, and then anſwer'd, That 'twas ſcarce Midnight, and ſo dark, 'twould be madneſs to ſet out.

This anſwer ſatisfi'd her, and ſhe lock'd the Door, and return'd to Bed, bitterly ſighing.

It appear'd then to the Gentleman, who heard her, that 'twould not be amiſs to ſpeak to her, and offer her all Service and Aid, and to oblige her to diſcover her Misfortune, therefore he ſpoke thus to her.

In truth, Sir, if your Sighs, and the Words which you have ſpoke, had not mov'd me to Compaſſion, I ſhould think, I had a Soul of Stone in a Body of Braſs, and that both of them wanted that ſentiment which Nature has endow'd even Beaſts with.

But if this ſympathizing with your Grief, and the great deſire I have to remedy it, altho at the expence of my Blood, deſerves any Courteſie in exchange, I pray, you uſe it towards me, by declaring the cauſe of your ſo great Lamentation.

If my Grief, anſwer'd the dolorous Gentleman, had not taken away my Senſes, I might have remembr'd, that I was not alone in this Chamber, and have refrain'd my Tongue, and allow'd ſome truce to my Sighs. But ſince my Memory has fail'd me in a place, wherein I ſtood in moſt need of it, I will to puniſh it, content you in what you demand, becauſe it may be, that telling the ſad Story of my Diſgraces, the touching my ſore Wound, may renew, and add force enough to my Grief, to take me out of the World, and rid me of my hated Life.

But before that I ſatisfy your deſire, you muſt promiſe me by that Faith which you ſhew in offering me your help, and by what you are, which the greatneſs of your promiſe ſhews to be more than ordinary, that for what ever I ſhall ſay, you ſhall not come out of your Bed to mine, nor enquire more of me, than what I ſhall tell you, and if you ſhall do contrary, in the ſame inſtant I perceive you moving, I'll run my ſelf throw with my Sword, which is ready by my Beds head.

The other, who to know what he deſired ſo much, would have promis'd any impoſſibility, anſwer'd, That he would not break the Articles in the leaſt point, and confirm'd it by an Oath.

Then anſwer'd the firſt, Upon this Security, I will begin the ſad Story of my Misfortunes: Know, Sir, that tho I came into this Inn in Mans Habit, yet I am an unfortunate Maid, or at leaſt, I was a Maid within theſe eight Days, but now I am not, by truſting the feign'd words of a young Man. My Name is Theodoſia, and my Family is one of the Nobleſt in Andaluſia, whoſe Name I mention not, becauſe it is of more importance to me to conceal it, than to you to know it; my Parents are Noble and Rich beyond mediocrity: They had a Son and a Daughter, him for their Content and Honour, her for the contrary.

He was ſent to Study at Salamanca, I ſtaid at home, where I was educated with that care and punctuality: And I did not think it troubleſome, but was obedient, and conform'd mine always to their Will, but either my ill Fortune, or my too much exſtravagance made me fall in love with a young Man, a Son to a Neighbour of ours, who is as Noble, and exceeds my Parents in Riches.

The firſt time I ſaw him, I perceiv'd nothing but a certain complacence to behold him, and this ought not to be wonder'd at, becauſe his Garb, his Face, his Manners accompanied with his Courteſie and Diſcretion, were much eſteem'd by all.

But to what purpoſe is it to praiſe my Enemy, and to enlarge the Narration of my unhappy Succeſs, or to ſay better, the beginning of my Folly.

In ſhort, he ſaw me once, and oftner out of a Balcone, which was right over againſt ours, and thence, as I thought, ſent me his Soul by his Eyes. Mine were pleas'd to look on him, but 'twas a different Pleaſure from the firſt, and forc'd me to believe, that all was true, which I read in his Geſtures and Countenance.

This interview prepar'd the way for his declaration of his deſires, and they kindled my Soul, and prevail'd with me to believe them.

He added Promiſes, Oaths, Tears, Sighs, and all that a Lover can do, to manifeſt the greatneſs of his Love, and the Fidelity of his Heart to me: Ah, miſerable wretch, that I was, who had never before experienc'd ſuch Aſſaults, every word was a Canon Shot, which beat down my Cavaleers, and batter'd the Fort of my Honour, every Sigh was Fire, which burnt my Soul into Aſhes, and a furious Wind, which increas'd the Flame of my Soul, and conſum'd my Vertue, which, till that time, had never been warm'd, either more or leſs, with ſuch a Fire.

Upon promiſe of being my Husband, againſt the Conſent of his Parents, who had deſign'd him for another, I yielded without knowing how, I gave my ſelf a prey to him, without the knowledge of my Parents, and without any other Witneſs of my Folly, than one of Marc Antonios Pages, for this is the Name of that falſe Man, who has reduc'd me to this diſtreſs.

Two Days after he had obtain'd his deſires, he diſappear'd, his Parents, nor any body elſe, not knowing, or being able to imagine whether he went. In what Condition I was left, let them tell that can, I know what I felt, I tore my Hair, as if it had been the cauſe of my Fault, I curs'd my Fate, I blam'd my too prompt Reſolution, I ſhed Rivers of Tears, and was almoſt choak'd betwixt them and the Sighs, which my afflicted Soul continually ſent forth. I complain'd to Heaven, I diſcours'd with my imagination, ſeeking ſome ways to remedy my ſelf, and the beſt that I could think upon, was to dreſs my ſelf in Mans Apparel, and leaving my Fathers Houſe to run after this Aeneas, this unfaithful and cruel Birenus, who had defrauded me of my lawful hopes; ſo without farther conſideration, taking the opportunity of a Campain Suite of my Brothers, and of my Fathers Pad, which I ſaddled and bridled my ſelf, I ſet out in a dark Night, with intention to go to Salamanca, where, as I was told, I might find Marc Antonio, for he is a Student there, and my Brothers Companion. Nor was I unmindful to take Money ſufficient with me, not knowing what might happen in my Journey.

But that which troubles me moſt, is this, my Parents will cauſe me to be purſu'd, and certainly find me by the marks of my Cloaths, and the Horſe I ride. And beſides this, I am in great fear of my Brother, who is at Salamanca, if I ſhould be diſcover'd by him, think in what danger my Life would be, for altho I ſhould tell my Excuſes, yet the leaſt point of his Honour would be more prevalent with him, than what ever I could urge.

However, I am reſolv'd, tho it coſt me my Life, to find out my diſloyal Husband, which he cannot deny himſelf to be, without denying his Oaths, and going contrary to the pledge he has left me, which is a Diamond Ring with this Poſie, Marc Antonio is Theodoſias Husband.

If I find him, I ſhall know what he obſerv'd in me, that caus'd him to leave me ſo ſuddainly, I am reſolv'd, that he ſhall make good his Word and his plighted Troth, or if he refuſe, I'll kill him, ſhewing my ſelf as ready to revenge, as I was to let my ſelf be injur'd: For the noble Blood, which I derive from my Parents, awakens my Courage, and promiſes me either Satisfaction, or Revenge.

This, Sir, is the true Hiſtory which you deſir'd to know of me, which may poſſibly afford a ſufficient Excuſe for the Groans and Words, which would not ſuffer you to ſleep: I pray, and intreat you to do me one Favour, ſince you cannot remedy my Misfortunes, that you would afford me your Counſel, how to ſhun the Dangers that theaten me, and leſſen the Fear wherein I am, and facilitate the Accompliſhment of what I ſo much deſire, and ſtand in ſo much need of.

He that heard this Hiſtory, ſtaid a good while without returning any anſwer, ſo long, that ſhe thought he was aſleep, and had heard nothing of what ſhe had ſaid, ſo that to know whether ſhe was in the right, ſhe ſaid, Are you aſleep, Sir, if you are, 'tis not ſtrange, for when a miſerable Perſon relates his Miſfortunes to one who minds them not, it creates ſleep rather than compaſſion.

I ſleep not, Madam, replied the Gentleman, for I am ſo much awake, and have ſuch a ſenſe of your Misfortune, that I believe you have not a greater, therefore I will not only give you the Counſel which you deſire, but will aſſiſt you to the utmoſt of my Power. And altho from the manner you have obſerv'd in telling your Misfortunes, it appears, that your Intentions were honeſt, and thence it follows, that you were rather deceiv'd by your own Will, than by the perſwaſions of Marc Antonio, nevertheleſs, I will excuſe your Error, laying it upon your youth, and want of experience in the deceitful ways of men.

Quiet your ſelf, Madam, and endeavour to ſleep the reſt of the Night, when 'tis Day, I will give you Counſel, which may afford ſome remedy to your ſad Condition.

Theodoſia thank'd him in the beſt terms ſhe could invent, and endeavour'd to ſleep, that he alſo might do the ſame.

But it was not poſſible for him to reſt one moment, but moving from one ſide of the Bed to the other, found no place of eaſe, and ſigh'd and groan'd ſo loud, that Theodoſia ask'd him, how he did, and whether he felt any pain, and whether ſhe could do him any Service, which ſhe would willingly do in exchange of the Compaſſion and good Will he had ſhew'd to remedy her Afflictions.

The Gentleman, replied, You, Madam, are cauſe of this trouble, which you perceive in me, but you cannot remedy it, for were it in your Power, I ſhould not be hopeleſs.

Theodoſia did not underſtand the meaning of theſe confus'd words, but ſhe imagin'd he had ſome amorous thoughts, and ſigh'd ſo paſſionately for her, that made her fear this, was the convenience of the Chamber, the ſolitude, and the darkneſs, and owning herſelf a Woman, might provoke ſome diſhoneſt thought in his mind: For fear of which, ſhe began to dreſs herſelf with much haſte, and in great ſilence, ſhe girt her Sword and Poignard about her, and ſitting upon the Bed, wiſh'd for Day, which by little, and little, enter'd throw the holes and clefts of the Chamber, as it is frequent in thoſe poor Country Inns.

The ſame that Theodoſia had done, the Gentleman did alſo, and as ſoon as he ſaw Daylight, he roſe from the Bed, ſaying, Riſe, Signora Theodoſia, I will bear you Company, not only this Day, but till you have in your Arms your lawful Husband, your Marc-Antonio, or that either he or I have loſt our Lives, by this you may underſtand, how much I am concern'd in your Diſgrace, and having ſaid this, he open'd the Door and Windows of the Chamber.

Theodoſia rejoyc'd to ſee by Day light the Face of him, with whom ſhe had diſcours'd in the dark all Night: but when ſhe ſaw and knew him, ſhe could have wiſh'd, that that Morning had never came, or that her Eyes had been lock'd up in an eternal Night, for ſcarce had ſhe caſt her Eye upon him, but ſhe found 'twas her Brother, the Man in the World ſhe was moſt afraid of, and not without reaſon, at which ſight ſhe ſtood aſtoniſh'd, confus'd, ſilent and pale, but at laſt, gathering together her Spirits, and making a Vertue of Neceſſity, ſhe took Counſel from her Danger, and threw herſelf at her Brothers Feet, holding the Poignard by the point, ſpoke to him in a trembling, interrupted voice.

Sir, and Brother, take this Dagger, and revenge the Fault I have committed, which is ſo great, it cannot be pardon'd, I confeſs my Error, and do not pretend that my Repentance is a ſufficient Excuſe: Only, I pray, let my puniſhment extend no farther than to my Life, and not to my Honour, which will paſs for undefiled in the opinion of the World, if the Chaſtiſement you inflict upon me be ſecret.

In this poſture ſhe was, with her Eyes fix'd upon her Brother, and altho the raſhneſs of her going away ſo ſecretly, incited him to revenge, yet the tender and paſſionate Words, by which ſhe accus'd her ſelf, were ſo prevalent with him, that they mov'd him to compaſſion, ſo that with a ſedate, and undiſturb'd Countenance, he rais'd her from the Ground, and comforted her in the beſt manner he could, telling her amongſt other things, that becauſe he could not find a puniſhment proportionable to her crime, he ſuſpended it for the preſent, and becauſe it ſeem'd to him, that Fortune had not precluded all the ways of remedy, he would endeavour to procure it by all poſſible means, eſteeming the Injury done to himſelf, by the reflection of conſanguinity.

At theſe Words, Theodoſia began to recover her fainting Spirits, the colour returned to her Face, and her dying hopes took new Life.

Don Rafael, for this was her Brothers Name, would ſpeak no more of what was paſs'd, but only bid her change the Name of Theodoſia, to that of Theodoro, and ſaid that he would go with her to Salamanca in ſearch of Marc-Antonio, altho he believ'd, he was not there, for he preſum'd he being his Companion, ſhould have ſeen him, unleſs the Conſcientiouſneſs of having wrong'd his Siſter, ſhould make him avoid his Company.

The new Theodoro, complied with her Brothers pleaſure, and in the mean time the Hoſt coming in, they order'd him to provide their Breakfaſt, for they intended ſuddainly to be going: Whilſt Breakfaſt, and their Horſes were making ready, there came in a Gentleman, whom Don Rafael knew, as did alſo Theodoro, who, becauſe ſhe would not be diſcover'd, ſtaid in the Room.

They embrac'd one another, and Don Rafael demanded what News he brought from the Port of St. Mary.

He anſwer'd, that at his coming thence, he had left four Veſſels ready to depart for Naples, and that upon one of them, he ſaw Marc-Antonio Adorno, Son of Don Leonardo.

This News pleas'd Don Rafael, who took it as a good omen; he deſir'd his Friend to change the Mule upon which he rid for his Horſe, telling him, that he was going to Salamanca, and that he was loth to harras ſo good a Horſe.

He being an intimate Friend of Don Rafael, was contented, and undertook to carry back the Pad, to Rafaels Father: They two breakfaſt'd together, but Theodoro by himſelf in another Room, and the Gentleman went towards Caſal, where he had an Eſtate, Don Rafael did not go out with him, having a mind to be rid of his Company, but let him go before, becauſe he ſaid, he muſt that Night Lodg in Siville, when he was gone, and the Mules were ready, and the reckoning paid, Don Rafael and Theodoro, ſet out, leaving thoſe of the Inn, and ſome Country People, who caſually met there, admiring the Beauty of both of them, for that of the Brother, was in nothing inferiour to Theodoros. In the way, Don Rafael told Theodoro, what he heard of Marc-Antonio, and ſaid, 'twas his Opinion, that they ought to go to Barcellona, where ordinarily, the Ships that go from Spain, or return from Italy, caſt Anchor, and if the Gallies were not yet arriv'd, to expect them there, upon one of which, they ſhould without doubt find Marc-Antonio, his Siſter anſwer'd, ſhe was ready to do what he pleas'd, for his Will was hers; Don Rafael, told the Vetturin, he muſt have patience, and go with them to Barcellona, and that he would pay him well for all the time they ſhould imploy him.

The Vetturin knowing he had to do with a liberal Gentleman, anſwer'd, That he would conduct him, not only to Barcellona, but to the end of the World, if he deſir'd it. Don Rafael ask'd his Siſter, what Money ſhe had, but ſhe, who took it without telling, anſwer'd, ſhe knew not, ſhe remember'd, that ſhe took ſeven or eight handfuls of Gold out of her Fathers Eſcritoire, according to which eſtimation, he reckon'd, ſhe might have above Five Hundred Crowns, which with Two Hundred more that he had, and a Chain of Gold, appear'd to be ſufficient to defray their Charges. Without looſing time, they purſu'd their Voyage, and without any diſturbance, came to a place, eight Miles diſtant from Igualada, and thirty ſix from Barcellona.

In the way, they receiv'd adviſe of an Ambaſſador, who was going to Rome, who ſtaid in Barcellona for the Gallies, whereat they rejoyc'd much, and merrily proſecuted their Voyage, till they came to the entrance of a Wood, out of which they perceiv'd a Man running towards them, and often turning back his Head, ſeeming to be in a fright; Don Rafael ſtop'd, and ask'd him, what it was he run from in ſo much haſte, he anſwer'd, he had too much cauſe, for he had, as it were, miraculouſly eſcap'd a Troop of Robbers in that Wood.

Robbers, ſaid the Vetturin, then we are undone, God help us: Be not afraid, replied he that fled, for now they are gone, having left more than thirty Travellers in their Shirts bound to Trees, and one free, whom they order'd to looſe the reſt, as ſoon, and not before, they had paſs'd ſuch a Hill, which they ſhew'd him.

If that is true, replied the Vetturin, we may proceed in our Journey ſecurely, for Thieves do not for many Days return to the ſame place where they have committed a Robbery, this I know well, having twice fallen into their Hands. It is ſo, replied the other.

Don Rafael hearing this, reſolv'd to paſs on, and after a ſmall time, he ſaw thoſe who were bound, and one buſie in untying them. 'Twas a ſtrange ſight to behold ſome ſtark naked, others half cloath'd with Raggs, which the Robbers had left them, ſome lamenting their Loſſes, others laughing at the ſtrange Cloaths wherewith the Thieves had dreſs'd ſome of their Company, one told the particulars of his Loſs, and that nothing griev'd him ſo much, as a conſecrated Agnus Dei, which he brought from Rome.

In ſhort, there was nothing heard, but Complaints and Lamentations of the robb'd Travellers; but that which moſt mov'd their Compaſſion, was a young Man, for ſo he ſeem'd, about ſixteen Years old, tied to an Oak, ſtrip'd to his Shirt and Shoes, which were of Cloth, with ſo beautiful a Countenance, that he mov'd, or rather forc'd all the Company to fix their Eyes upon him.

Theodoro lighted and unbound him, who with very fit and obliging words return'd him thanks, then he deſir'd Calvetto to lend his Coat to the ſtrip'd Gentleman, till they could buy one.

He did ſo, and Theodoro put it on him, asking whence he was, whence he came, and whether he was bound, in the preſence of Don Rafael.

The young Man anſwer'd, That he was a Native of Andoluſia, mentioning the place of his birth, which they knew, being but eight Miles diſtant from their Houſe, and that he came from Sevil, and was going to the Wars in Italy, according to the laudable Cuſtom of the young Gentlemen of that Country. But his ill Fortune had permitted him to fall into the Hands of thoſe High-way Men, who had taken from him all his Money, which was a great Sum, and his Cloaths which coſt more than Three Hundred Crowns. Notwithſtanding this, he would not leave off his intended Voyage, being born of ſuch Blood, whoſe warm deſire and purſuit of Honour, would not be frozen by one ill Succeſs.

The diſcreet Diſcourſe of this young Man, his being their Neighbour, and the Letters of Commendation, which were plainly to be read in his Face, obliging not only Theodoro, but his Brother alſo to pity and aſſiſt him.

Then giving ſome Money to thoſe who ſeemed to be in moſt need of it eſpecially to ſome Prieſts and Fryers: They mounted the young Gentleman upon the Vetturins Mule, and rod on, and in a few hours arriv'd at Igualada, where they underſtood, that the Gallies arriv'd at Barcellona the Day before, and intended to go thence in two Days, if not ſooner, becauſe that Road was not very ſecure. This News made them riſe the next Day before the Sun, tho they had not ſlept all the Night, thinking upon the Relation this young Gentleman gave of himſelf: And becauſe the Evening before, when they were at Supper, Theodora look'd more attentively than ſhe had done before upon the Gentleman whom they had freed from the Tree, perceiv'd, that his Ears were bor'd, by which, and by his bluſhes, he thought 'twas a Woman, and had a mind after Supper, when they were by theirſelves, to clear this doubt.

At Supper, Don Rafael ask'd him, who was his Father, becauſe he knew all the principal Gentry of that County.

The young Man anſwer'd, that he was the Son of Don Henrico de Cardenas, a Cavaleer of Note.

Don Rafael, replied, that he very well knew Don Henrico, and was certain, he had no Son; but if he ſaid this, not being willing to diſcover his Parents, he would enquire no farther.

It is true, replied the young Man, Don Henrico has no Son, but his Brother Don Sancho has Neither has he any other Children, replyed Don Rafael, beſides one Daughter, who has the report of being marvelouſly handſome, I ſpeak this only by hearſay, for tho I have been ſometimes at his Houſe, I never ſaw her Face.

All that you have ſaid, is true, ſaid the young Gentleman, he has but one Daughter, but ſhe is not handſome, as you have heard, and if I ſaid I was Don Henricos Son, it was becauſe you, Sir, ſhould have a better Opinion of me, I am not ſo, my Father is his Major-Domo, who has liv'd many Years in his Service, I was born in his Houſe, but having play'd my Father a ſlippery Trick, robbing him of a good Sum of Money, I was reſolv'd to go into Italy, and there be a Souldier, by which way I have known many of obſcure Blood, raiſe theirſelves to great Dignity. All this Diſcourſe Theodoro exactly obſerv'd, which confirm'd him in his imagination.

Supper being over, and the Cloth taken away, whilſt Don Rafael was undreſſing himſelf, his Siſter told him her thoughts of that young Man, and with her Brothers leave, ſhe took him aſide to a Balcone, looking towards the Street, and laying both her Hands upon it, ſhe thus ſpoke.

Signor Franceſco, for the young Man had declar'd that he was call'd ſo, I would I had done that for you, which might oblige you to anſwer a Queſtion I have to ask you, but my knowledg of you has been of ſo ſhort a durance, that it has not permitted it, 'tis poſſible, hereafter an occaſion may proffer it ſelf, wherein I may evidence the great deſire I have to ſerve you. Altho I am older than you, yet I have had more experience, and ſeen the World more than my Age promiſes, which makes me ſuſpect that you are a Woman, tho your Garments ſhew the contrary, and that you are nobly born, of which there needs no other proof, but your exquiſite Beauty, and perhaps I ſhall not gueſs amiſs, if I ſhould ſay, you are unfortunate, as your Diſguiſe argues, for ſuch metamorfoſes, and changing of Cloaths, and Sexes, are evident ſigns, that they, who are put to theſe ſhifts, are not at eaſe, if this is true, tell it me freely, for I ſwear by the Faith of a Cavaleer to help, and ſerve you to the utmoſt of my ability, I am convinc'd you are a Woman, which you cannot deny, for you have holes in your Ears, throw thoſe this truth is made manifeſt. You have not been cautious enouf to conceal them, for you ought to have fill'd them with Wax of a fleſh colour, for it may happen, that ſome body elſe as curious as I, but perhaps not ſo honourable, might make this diſcovery. I repeat it to you again, doubt not to tell me confidently who you are, for by the Oath I have taken, and I ſwear over again, I will keep it ſecret what you ſhall entruſt me with, and aſſiſt you.

The young Gentleman was very attentive to Theodoro, and perceiving he had made an end of ſpeaking, before he anſwer'd one word, taking him by the Hand, and carrying it to his Mouth, by force kiſs'd it, and bath'd it with abundance of Tears, which drop'd from her moſt beautiful Eyes, and which were accompanied by thoſe of Theodore, as it is natural to Women well born, to ſympathiſe, and have a tender and mutual Compaſſion, but when he had withdrawn his Hand, tho not without ſome difficulty, he expected his anſwer, who after a profound ſigh, began thus: I cannot, nor will not deny, Sir, but that your ſuſpition is true, I am a Woman, but the moſt unfortunate one that ever was born. And ſince the good Offices, that you have been pleas'd to do me, and the Offers you make me, oblige me to obey you in all your Commands, I will confidently tell you, who I am, if it will not be troubleſome to you to hear the ſad Narration of my Diſgraces.

May I be accompanied with as great, during my whole Life, replied Theodoro, if the pleaſure to know them, does not equal the pain to underſtand that they are yours, for I feel them, as if they were my own, then embracing him again, and doubling his offers of aſſiſtance, the Lady recollecting her ſpirits began thus.

As to my Country, I told you truth, but not as to my Parents, Don Henrico is not my Father, but Don Sancho his Brother, I am that unhappy Maid, which your Brother ſaid, has been ſo much celebrated for Beauty, tho you that ſee me, are convinc'd of the contrary, for I have none at all. My Name is Leonora, and why I am thus diſguis'd, you ſhall ſuddainly hear.

Eight Miles from our Houſe, lives a Gentleman, one of the richeſt and nobleſt of Andoluſia, his original is from the ancient Family of the Adorni of Genua; he hath no other iſſue, but a Son, who is one of the beſt bred Gentlemen in the World, Fame has not been ſo prodigal in his praiſe, as in mine, being our Neighbour, and coming frequently a Hunting thereabouts, for he delighted much in that Exerciſe, as my Father did alſo; he us'd ſometimes to come to our Houſe, ſpending five or ſix Days, and good part of the Nights too, in the Field with my Father. Fortune, Love, or my want of Conſideration, took occaſion from thence to throw me down from the height of my Thoughts to this low Eſtate, wherein you ſee me: For I having conſider'd more than 'twas fit a Perſon of my condition ſhould have done, the Genteelneſs and Diſcretion of Marc-Antonio, the Nobility of his Blood, and the Riches of his Father, it ſeem'd to me, that if I could get him for my Husband, I could deſire no greater Felicity, having theſe thoughts, I began to look upon him with more attention, or to ſay better, with too much inadvertency, ſo that he took notice of it, and the Traytor found an eaſy entrance to rob me of the beſt thing I had, but I ſhall not trouble you with all the particulars, it being to no purpoſe, inſtead of which, I'll tell you at once, what he gain'd of me, by his perpetual and continual ſolicitations, that was, that having given me his Word, and Faith with ſuch Oaths, as I thought inviolable, to be my Husband, I was conquer'd, and offer'd my ſelf to be at his diſpoſal, nevertheleſs, not being yet intirely ſatisfi'd with his Oaths, fearing the Wind ſhould blow them away, I made him give me a Note, which he did, written and ſubſcrib'd with his own hand, with all the circumſtances I deſir'd, wherewith I was contented, having then receiv'd this Note, I told him how he ſhould on a Night aſſign'd, climb over the Walls of the Garden, and enter into my Chamber, where with all ſecurity he might gather the Fruit I preſerv'd for him, behold, at laſt the Night came, which I ſo much deſir'd.

Hitherto Theodoro had heard her with great ſilence, her Soul hanging upon the Words of Leonoro, every one of which pierc'd her to the heart, but when ſhe heard her mention the Name of Marc-Antonio, and conſidering the admirable Beauty of her Rival, the greatneſs of her worth, and the rare diſcretion, with which ſhe told her Story, but when ſhe heard her ſay, in fine, the Night was come, which ſhe ſo much deſir'd, Theodoro loſt all his Patience, and could contain no longer himſelf, but interrupted her ſaying:

Well, and when that moſt happy Night was come, What did he? Did he come? Did he get into the Chamber? Did you enjoy him? Did he confirm his promiſe? Was he ſatisfi'd to have had that, which you ſay, you kept only for him? Did your Father know of it? What end had ſo many wiſe and honeſt beginnings?

To leave me in the Condition you ſee, replied Leonora, for I did not enjoy him, nor he me, not coming to the appointed place.

At theſe laſt words, Theodoros Spirits return'd, which were upon the point of abandoning her, being forc'd by the peſtilent Fury, and furirious Peſtilence of Jealouſy, which had began powerfully to enter her Bones and Marrow, and made her entirely looſe her Patience, but ſhe was not ſo wholly free, but that, not without great diſturbance of Mind, ſhe appli'd herſelf to hear the reſt of Leonoras Narration, which ſhe continu'd in this manner.

The falſe Man did not only not come, as I have ſaid, but eight Days after, I had certain adviſe, that he was gone, and had carried with him a Lady, whoſe Name is Theodoſia, and whoſe Beauty and Diſcretion are not to be parallell'd, and being born of Noble Parents, the taking her away was ſuddainly divulg'd all the Country over, and the News thereof came to my ears, and it was a Sword of Jealouſy that paſs'd throw my Heart, and encreas'd the Flame of Love, in which my Heart was burnt to aſhes, my Credit conſum'd, my Patience dri'd up, and my Reputation murder'd. Wretch, that I am. I imagin'd, that Theodoſia to be more fair than the Sun, and to ſurpaſs the diſcreeteſt in Diſcretion, and above all, that ſhe was more fortunate, than miſerable and unhappy me; then I read over his Note, and attentively conſider'd its efficacious words, I look'd on the Subſcription, and I thought it valid, and that there was no hole for him to creep out of, and falſify his Promiſe.

For altho that was the holy Anchor of my hope, yet I began to fear, conſidering what a Companion Marc-Antonio was gone away with, I injur'd my Face, I tore my Hair, I curs'd my unfortunate Stars, and that which troubled me moſt, was, that I could not eaſe my Mind with Revenge, becauſe of the preſence of my Father; finally, to ſatiate my ſelf with lamenting without any impediment, or ſooner to die, which would be better, I determin'd to leave my Fathers houſe, and commit my ſelf to the wide World.

And as there is never wanting an occaſion, which facilitates the bringing to paſs ill actions, I made the way plain, and overcome all inconveniencies, I ſtole a Suit of one of my Fathers Pages, and from him I took a good Sum of Money, and under the black Cloak of a dark Night, I went out of the houſe, and travell'd a foot as far as Oſſana, where I made uſe of a Waggon, which with other Paſſengers in two Days, carried me to Sevill, where I was ſecure, that no body could find me, if I was look'd after, there I bought other Cloaths and a Mule, and in the Company of ſome Gentlemen who were going in great haſte to Barcellona, leaſt they might looſe the opportunity of the Gallies, I travell'd till yeſterday, when as you know, we fell into the Thieves hands, who took every thing from me, and amongſt the reſt, the Jewel wherein my heart took greateſt delight, and which was the greateſt relief to me in the midſt of my heavy afflictions; I mean Marc-Antonios Note, whom I thought to find in Italy, and preſent it to him as a Teſtimony of his Infidelity, and of my too firm and conſtant Faith.

But I conſider'd, that if he would deny the Obligations that Love engraves in the Soul, he would more certainly not value words written in Paper; And I doubt not, but if he has with him the incomparable Theodoſia, he'll ſlight the unhappy Leonora, or not ſo much as think of her. But tho it ſhould coſt me my Life, I will intrude my ſelf into both their Companies, that my preſence may diſturb their jollity: Let not the Enemy of my repoſe, think at ſo cheap a rate, to enjoy, what belongs to me, I'll ſearch for her, I'll find her out, and if I can, I'll take away her Life.

What is Theodoſias crime? replied Theodoro, if ſhe too, as it is poſſible, has been deceiv'd by Marc-Antonio.

If it is true, replied Leonora, that he has raviſh'd her, ſhe is without fault. But if two who love one another, mutually keep company together, here can be no deceit, they are happy in the enjoyment of each other, tho it were in the moſt remote and ſcorching Deſarts of Africa, or in the moſt ſolitary Caverns of frozen Scithia: She does enjoy him, there can be no doubt made of it, in what part of the World ſoever they are, and ſhe alone ſhall pay for all the troubles I have hitherto indur'd, and ſhall undergo, till I have found this ungrateful and perjur'd Perſon I ſeek after.

You may deceive your ſelf, anſwer'd Theodoro, for I am intimately acquainted with her, whom you call your Enemy, I know her condition and retiredneſs, and that ſhe would never run the riſque to leave her Fathers houſe, to comply with the deſires of Marc-Antonio, and follow him: But if ſhe had done ſo, not knowing you, or any thing of the Affairs betwixt you and him, ſhe has not wrong'd or injur'd you, and there is no reaſon that you ſhould revenge your ſelf upon her.

'Tis needleſs to ſpeak, replied Leonora, of her ſolitude and retiredneſs, for I have been as much retir'd, as any one, and yet have done, what I have acquainted you with, I doubt not, but he took her away by force, and ſhe has done me no wrong, when I think of it coldly, and without paſſion.

But the Grief which proceeds from Jealouſy, repreſents her to my memory as a Sword that pierces my Bowels, and it is not to be wonder'd at, if I endeavour to pull out, and break in pieces the Inſtrument which cauſes me ſo much pain, and ſo much the more, becauſe it is Wiſdom to remove far from us, what is hurtful, and 'tis natural to hate, not only thoſe things which do us harm, but thoſe which deprive us of any good.

Let it be as you ſay, Signora Leonora, replied Theodoro, for I find the troubles which you ſuffer, will not permit you to diſcourſe with conſideration, nor according to reaſon, and I alſo ſee, that you are not in a condition now to hearken to good Counſel. For my part, I confirm again, what I told you before, that I will aſſiſt you upon all juſt Occaſions, and I promiſe as much for my Brother, for I am certain, his good Nature, his Nobility and Courteſy will make my words good.

We are going to Italy, if you pleaſe to bear us Company, you will know what our Converſation is: But I muſt beg one thing of you, that I may tell my Brother, what you are, to the end, that he may treat you with more reſpect and decorum, which the knowledge of your Affairs will oblige him to.

But as to your Conduct, I think 'tis not expedient to change your Habit, for we ſhall find Cloaths here, ſuch as you wore, before you was robb'd, to morrow morning I will buy for you, the beſt I can procure; and as for your pretentions, leave them to time, which is the beſt Counſellour and Fyſician.

Leonora, courteouſly thank'd Theodoro for theſe kind offers, and gave her Licence to tell her Brother what ſhe pleas'd, deſiring him not to abandon her, for ſhe lay expos'd to many dangers, if it ſhould be known that ſhe was a Woman.

This Diſcourſe being over, they went to ſleep, Theodoro in his Brothers Chamber, and Leonora in another adjoyning to it. Don Rafael was not yet in Bed, waiting his Siſters coming in, being deſirous to hear what had paſs'd, and perceiving her come in, he ask'd what diſcoveries ſhe had made.

Then ſhe related to him particularly, and minutely, what Leonora had confeſs'd, whoſe Daughter ſhe was, with whom ſhe was enaamour'd, the Note or Promiſe of Marc-Antonio, and what her Intentions were.

Don Rafael was aſtoniſh'd at this relation, and ſaid to his Siſter; If this be true, ſhe is of one of the prime Families of our Andoluſia, and her Father and ours, are intimate Friends, and the fame of her Beauty correſponds exactly with what appears in her Face.

I think we ought to depart privately, and ſo manage the matter, that ſhe may not ſpeak to Marc-Antonio firſt, for the Note which ſhe pretends he gave her, gives me much inquietude, altho, as ſhe ſays, ſhe has loſt it.

Dear Siſter, go, take your reſt, I hope we ſhall find a remedy for all theſe Difficulties. Accordingly Theodoro went to Bed, but could not ſleep, the fury of Jealouſy had ſo much poſſeſs'd her Soul. Her imagination repreſented Leonoras Beauty, much more than really it was, as alſo the Infidelity of Marc-Antonio.

How many times did ſhe read, or at leaſt imagin'd, ſhe did ſo, the Note which he gave her Rival, what words, and what reaſons did ſhe add to it, to make it firm and binding, how many times did ſhe think it was not loſt, how often did ſhe imagine, that tho it were, yet Marc-Antonio would keep his word, and forget and ſlight that which he had given to his Theodoſia. In ſuch reaſonings ſhe ſpent the greateſt part of the Night.

Her Brother far'd no better, for knowing this was Leonora, he felt his heart ſo much inflam'd with Love of her, as if he had long before ſeen and known her.

This is the propriety and force of Beauty, that in a point, in a moment, it ſeizes the deſire, and the Soul of him that looks on it, and when there appears the leaſt hopes of obtaining it, it inflames the Soul of the beholder, like a little ſpark which cauſes a great conflagration, if it fall into combuſtible matter.

He did not imagine her, as ti'd to a Tree, and cloath'd with Raggs, and robb'd of all ſhe had, but in the habit of a Lady in the Houſe of her Parents, with the decorum ſuitable to her Quality and their Riches: He made no ſcruple of the honour, or diſhonour of the cauſe, that brought her to that paſs, but rather eſteem'd it a good fortune, becauſe it was the occaſion of his coming to her acquaintance: And now love and jealouſy had taken ſo intire poſſeſſion of him, that he would have been content to ſee his Siſter without remedy, and Marc-Antonio dead, ſo that his hopes to obtain Leonora might ſucceed.

He long'd for Day-break, to begin his Journey to find Marc-Antonio, not ſo much now to make him his Brother, as to travers his Deſigns, and hinder him from marrying Leonora, feeding himſelf with theſe hopes; he for a ſeaſon quieted his Mind, and fell aſleep.

Some ſmall time after, the Day appear'd, and they roſe, and Don Rafael call'd to the Hoſt, ask'd him if in that place they might buy Cloaths for a Page, who was ſtrip'd by the High-way Men: He anſwer'd, he had a Suit in the houſe and would ſell it, which fitting Leonora, Don Rafael bought, and cloath'd her with, girding on her ſide a Sword and a Dagger, wherein ſhe appear'd ſo ſprightly, that it caus'd admiration in Don Rafael, and doubl'd the jealouſy of his Siſter.

About ſeven a Clock they ſet forwards towards Barcellona, reſolving not then to climb the high Mountain of Momferat, and viſit the Monaſtery of our Lady, ſituated thereon, leaving that till their return.

'Twould be a hard task to expreſs the thoughts of Don Rafael and Theodoro, and with what contrary and different minds each of them beheld Leonora, one being tormented with love, and the other with jealouſy, and by how much the more ſhe ſpoke againſt Leonora, ſo much the more did the inamour'd Don Rafael, find perfections in her, which increas'd his affections and love to her.

Notwithſtanding this, they us'd ſuch diligence, that they reach'd Barcellona before Sunſetting: The beautiful Situation of the City afforded them much pleaſure, and they eſteem'd it one of the beſt in Spain; the Terror of its neighbouring and remote Enemies, the Delight of its Inhabitants, the Refuge and Protector of Strangers, the School of Chivalry, the Example of Fidelity, and fully anſwering whatever a curious Perſon can deſire, in a great, rich, populous and famous City.

At their entrance, they heard a great noiſe, and ſaw People running madly about, they ask'd what was the matter, and 'twas anſwer'd that the Souldiers of the Gallies were fighting with thoſe of the City.

Don Rafael hearing this, would go and ſee the ſcuffle, altho the Vetturin perſwaded him to the contrary, ſaying, 'twas not the part of a prudent Man to run into dangers, and that he had known much hurt happen to ſuch Spectators, beſides, 'twas no new ſhow, but might be ſeen almoſt as often as the Gallies arriv'd at that City But this did not hinder Don Rafaels going thither, and with him both the diſguis'd Ladies, being come to the Port, they ſaw many naked Swords, and ſeveral Perſons fighting, without lighting from their Mules, they drew near, and could diſcover the faces of the Combatants, by the ſhining of the Sun, which was not yet ſet.

Many People of the City got together there, and many came out of the Gallies in Boats, to help their Fellows, not heeding the prohibition and threats of the Captain, who finding that his words were to no purpoſe, he turn'd the head of the Galley, diſcharg'd a great Gun towards them, but without Ball, a ſign, that if they did not leave off and ſeparate, of another, which would follow, charg'd with a Bullet.

Whilſt Don Rafael ſtood looking upon this bloody skirmiſh, he took particular notice of one in the Gallies, who behav'd himſelf more bravely, than any of his Companions, he ſeem'd two and twenty Years old, or thereabouts, he was cloath'd in green, wearing a Hat of the ſame colour, and a Diamond Hatband: The dexterity which he us'd in fighting, and the remarkableneſs of his Habit, drew upon him the Eyes of all.

Thoſe of Theodoro and Leonora, were ſo fix'd upon him, that both of them cried out at once, Wo is me! either I have no eyes, or he in the green, is Marc-Antonio: Saying this, with great agility, they leap'd upon the Ground, and with Sword and Dagger, thruſt into the midſt of the Combatants, and plac'd theirſelves one on the right hand, and the other on the left of Marc-Antonio, for it was he that was in green. Doubt not Signor Marc-Antonio, take Courage, ſaid Leonora, for you have one by your ſide, who will lay down his Life to defend yours.

Who doubts of that, replied Theodoro, ſince I am here.

Don Rafael, who had ſeen and heard what his Siſter and Leonora had done and ſpoke, follow'd them, and joyn'd himſelf to them.

Marc-Antonio being wholly taken up in defending himſelf, and offending his Enemies, minded not what they ſaid, fighting ſtill, and giving admirable proofs of his Valour.

But they who came out of the City, encreaſing every moment, and charging thoſe of the Gallies, forc'd them to retire, and even throw theirſelves into the Sea, Marc-Antonio retir'd alſo, unwilling and ſlowly, and by his ſide the new Bradamante and Marfiſa.

In this exigent, behold there arriv'd a Catalonian Gentleman of the famous Family of Cardona, mounted upon a ſtately Horſe, who placing himſelf betwixt the two little Armies, made thoſe of the City retire, out of reſpect they bore him, but in their retreat they threw ſtones at thoſe of the Gallies, and it was Marc-Antonios ill fortune to be hit by one of them under the left temple, with ſuch force, that it made him fall into the water, which was as high as his knees.

Don Rafael was a little withdrawn to ſhun the ſtones which flew like Hail about him, and deſigning to ſuccour his Soul, his Siſter, and his pretended Brother, he ſtop'd before the Catalonian Gentleman, who ſaid to him, Stand, Sir, by me, I will ſecure you from the fury of the populace.

Good Sir, replied Don Rafael, let me paſs, for I perceive ſome there in great danger, who are moſt dear to me.

The Gentleman let him go, but before he could get thither, Marc-Antonio and Leonora, were put into the Boat of the Captains Galley, for ſhe would not part from him. And Theodoro deſigning to embark with them, whether it was by reaſon of his wearineſs, or by the grief he felt to ſee Marc-Antonio wounded, or becauſe he ſaw his mortal Enemy with him, he had not ſtrength enouf to get into the Boat, but in attempting it, had fainted, and fallen backwards into the water, if he had not been preſently aſſiſted by his Brother, who was as much griev'd as Theodoro, that Leonora was with Marc-Antonio.

The Catalonian Cavaleer taking affection to the noble Preſence of Don Rafael and his Siſter, whom he took for a Man, call'd them from the ſhoar, and deſir'd them to go with him: And they being forc'd by neceſſity and fear, leaſt the Mob, which was not yet pacifi'd, ſhould return and aſſault them, accepted his courteous invitation, who diſmounting, and placing himſelf betwixt them, with his Sword naked in his hand, paſs'd throw the Company, deſiring them to return to their houſes, which they did.

Don Rafael look'd all about to ſee Calvetto, but could not find him: For as ſoon as they had quitted their Mules, he led them to an Inn, where he us'd to lodge.

The Catalonian Cavaleer conducted them to his houſe, which was one of the nobleſt Palaces in that City: He enquir'd of Don Rafael, in what Galley he came, he anſwer'd in none, but by Land, and that he juſt arriv'd at the beginning of that Fray, and that the Gentleman, who was wounded, was his intimate Friend, and deſir'd him, that he might be brought into the City, wounded, as he was, for his Content and Life, depended upon Marc-Antonios recovery.

I will do it, anſwer'd the Gentleman, and I am ſure, the Captain General will not deny my requeſt, for he is a courteous Gentleman, and my Kinſman, this ſaid, he went thither preſently, and found Marc-Antonio under the Surgeous hand, who was dreſſing his Wound, which was very dangerous, and obtain'd leave to have him to his houſe, and being carried into a Boat, and with him Leonora, who follow'd him, as the Pole of her hopes, they landed him, and the Gentleman, in a Chair which he caus'd to be ready, made him be carried to his houſe.

In the mean time, Don Rafael ſent to enquire after Calvetto, who was found in the Inn very much concern'd what was become of his Maſters, but when he underſtood they had receiv'd no hurt, he went chearfully to them, when he ſaw coming into the Palace, the Catalonian Gentleman, Marc-Antonio, and Leonora, both which, as alſo Don Rafael and his Siſter, were therein magnificently lodg'd, and ſplendidly regal'd.

The Gentleman ſent preſently for a Surgeon, one of the moſt expert of that City, to dreſs Marc-Antonio again, but he refus'd to do any thing till the next Day, ſaying, That the Surgeons of the Army and the Fleet, who had great Experience in their Art, by the many wounded that paſs'd throw their hands every Day, aſſerted, that the firſt Plaiſter was not to be remov'd the ſame Day; all that he did, was to order them to put him to Bed in a good Chamber, and leave him to reſt.

In that inſtant, arriv'd the Surgeon of the Gallies, and gave an account to the other of the Wound, and what he had apply'd to it, as alſo the danger wherein the wounded Perſon was.

This aſſur'd the City Surgeon, that Marc-Antonio had been well treated, and he exaggerated the danger of his Wound.

Leonora and Theodoro, heard theſe words, with no leſs grief than if it had been the ſentence pronouncing their Deaths.

Nevertheleſs, Leonora reſolv'd to do that, which ſhe thought neceſſary to ſave her Honour, and as ſoon as the two Surgeons were gone, ſhe enter'd Marc Antonios Chamber, and in the preſence of the Maſter of the Houſe, Don Rafael, Theodoro, and divers other Perſons, ſhe went to the Beds-head, and taking him by the Hand, ſpoke thus:

You are not in a Condition, Signor Marc-Antonio, to hearken to many words, I therefore will uſe but few, which if they do not conduce to the health of your Body, yet they may to that of your Soul. Pray, Sir, tell me, whether you will give me leave to ſpeak, and will be attentive, for I, who from the firſt moment I knew you, have made it my whole buſineſs to pleaſe you, in this hour, which I fear is your laſt, would not be troubleſome.

Marc-Antonio hearing theſe words, open'd his eyes, and fix'd them upon Leonoras face, thinking he knew her, both by her voice and countenance, with a faint and weak voice, anſwer'd, ſay, what you pleaſe, Sir, for I am not yet in ſo low a condition, but I can hear you, neither is that voice ſo diſagreeable, as to afford me any moleſtation.

Theodoro ſtood in great expectation, and every word Leonora ſaid, pierc'd his heart like a ſharp Arrow, as it did alſo Don Rafaels, who ſtood liſtning with equal attention.

Then Leonora thus proceeded. If the Wound which you receiv'd on your head, or to ſpeak better, which wounded my Soul, hath not bereav'd you, Signor Marc-Antonio, of the memory of her, whom not long ſince, you was pleas'd to ſtile your Glory, and your Heaven upon Earth, you may call to mind Leonora, and the Promiſe and Oath you gave her, and confirm'd with a writing ſubſcrib'd with your own Hand, and if you have not forgot the Quality of her Parents, the Integrity of her Honour, and Obligations ſhe has laid upon you, by her readineſs to comply with your Deſires, you would eaſily know, altho I am in a Habit different from what I uſually wear, and in which you have lately ſeen me, that I am Leonora, who doubting, or rather fearing, leaſt ſome new accident might take from me that, to which I have ſo juſt a Title, immediately upon knowledge that you were gone from your Houſe, not valuing any inconveniences or difficulties, reſolv'd to follow you in this diſguiſe, and to ſearch all the World over, till I had found you, and you ought not to wonder at it, if ever you felt the force of true Love, or the fury and rage of a deceiv'd and neglected Woman.

In this ſearch I have endur'd many troubles, which now I eſteem pleaſant, becauſe I ſee you again, but that pleaſure is imbitter'd by finding you in this Condition, if it ſhall pleaſe God to call you to a better Life, if you, before your departure, will do what becomes you and me, and what you are oblig'd to do, I ſhall eſteem my ſelf the moſt contented and happy Woman in the World: And I promiſe you, that after your Death, I will lead ſuch a Life, that it ſhall not be long before I follow you.

Therefore, I pray you, for the Love of God, to whom all my Deſires and Intentions are directed, and by what you owe to your Quality, and to me, to whom you are more oblig'd than to any Perſon in the World, that now, and in this place, you would accept of me for your lawful Wife, and not tarry, till you are forc'd to it by Law.

Here ended Leonora, and all thoſe in the Chamber having attended to her, with great ſilence kept it ſtill, expecting Marc-Antonios anſwer, which was to this purpoſe.

I do not deny, Madam, that I know you, your Voice and your Face will not permit it, neither do I deny the Obligations I have to you, nor that your Honeſty is unblemiſh'd, and you Family Noble, and of great worth, neither do I eſteem you leſs, that you are come to ſearch me in a Habit ſo different, from which you uſe to wear: I admire you for it, and ſhall as long as I live. And ſince my ill Fortune has reduc'd me to this Condition, and I am, as you ſaid, near my Death, in this time I ought to declare the Truth, and I will tell you one, which tho at preſent it may not be pleaſant to you, it may be another Day.

I confeſs, fair Leonora, I have lov'd you, and was belov'd by you, I farther acknowledge, I gave you a Promiſe in writing, and ſubſcrib'd with my Hand, and all this rather to pleaſe you, than my ſelf, for many Days before, I had given my Soul to one of the ſame place, nam'd Theodoſia, whom I believe you know, Daughter of Parents not leſs illuſtrious than yours, and if I gave you a Note ſubſcrib'd with my Hand, to her I gave the Hand it ſelf, confirming it with ſuch Deeds and Teſtimonies, that greater could not be. I am ſo far engag'd, that I can marry no other Woman in the World.

The Love which I had to you, was only to paſs away the time, and I had from you ſome ſuperficial Kindneſſes, which did you no hurt then, nor can now: From Theodoſia, I had the Fruits which ſhe could give me, and I deſire, under the Obligation to be her Husband, as I own my ſelf now to be, and if I left you both in the ſame time, you in doubt, and her in fear, ſhe had loſt her Honour, it muſt be attributed to the ſickleneſs and inconſtancy of Youth, not conſidering what I had done, but hurried on by other thoughts, I imagin'd I might without any ſcruple go into Italy, to ſee which, I had a great deſire, and ſpend there a few of my youthful Years, after which, I deſign'd to return, and enquire what was become of you, and of Theodoſia, my lawful and true Wife.

But the juſt Heaven has permitted this Accident to fall upon me, without doubt, being diſpleas'd at my Infidelity, and that I might confeſs this Truth, and this my Error, and pay in this Life what I owe, and that you ſhould remain undeceiv'd, and free to diſpoſe of your ſelf as you pleaſe. And when Theodoſia ſhall know I am dead, ſhe may likewiſe know from you and the reſt of the by ſtanders, that dying, I fulfill'd the Promiſe which I made her in my Life.

But in the little time which I have to live, if I can do you any ſervice, Signora Leonora, I pray you, freely command me, for I will do any thing for you, except being your Husband, which I cannot poſſibly be. Whilſt Marc-Antonio ſpoke theſe words, he lean'd his Head upon his Hand, and having ended them, his Hand fell away, and he fainted.

Then Don Rafael run to him, and cloſely embrac'd him, ſaying, Courage, dear Sir, here is your Friend, and your Brother, as you have pleas'd to declare him. Do you not know Don Rafael, your Companion, and who will be a true Witneſs of your Will, and of the Favour, and Honour you have done him, in accepting Theodoſia for your Wife.

Marc-Antonio recover'd his Senſes, and immediately knew Don Rafael, whom he embrac'd and kiſs'd, ſaying, Signor, and dear Brother, now I may ſay, that the great Content I perceive in ſeeing you, muſt fore-run ſome great Misfortune, but nevertheleſs, I ſhall not eſteem it ſo, let what can arrive, comparing it with this Felicity.

I will yet make you more happy, replied Don Rafael, and preſent unto you your Wife, and looking for Theodoſia, found her weeping, and dubious betwixt the two extreams of Grief and Joy, for what ſhe ſaw and heard: Her Brother took her by the Hand, and ſhe let herſelf be eaſily led, where ſhe had a mind, to Marc Antonio, who knew her, and embrac'd her, and with her, the other two fell a weeping moſt bitterly.

All that were in the Room ſtood amaz'd at ſo ſtrange an Accident, and gaz'd upon one another without ſpeaking a w • rd, expecting what the end of theſe things would be.

But the unfortunate Leonora, who had ſeen what paſs'd betwixt Marc-Antonio, and him whom ſhe took to be Don Rafaels Brother, inclos'd in his Arms, whom ſhe always believ'd, would have been her Husband, finding her deſigns diſappointed, and her hopes vaniſh'd, ſtole privatly out of the Room, not being taken notice of by the Company, who were all attentive upon the wounded Perſon kiſſing and embracing the Page, and went into the Street in great deſpair, with intention to go far enouf off, and run about the World, or like a Mole hide herſelf in ſome place where ſhe ſhould be no more ſeen; ſhe was no ſooner out of the Houſe, but Don Rafael miſs'd her, and as if he had loſt his Soul, he enquir'd of every body if they ſaw her, but could get no News which way ſhe was gone.

Thence without delay, he went to look after her at the Vetturins Lodgings to know whether ſhe had hired a Mule for her Journey. But not hearing of her there, he ran about the Streets like a Mad-man in ſearch of her; then thinking ſhe might return to the Gallies, he went towards the ſhoar, and before he got thither, he heard one calling for the Galleys Boat, and knew that it was the voice of the fair Leonora, who perceiving ſome body coming after, and fearing ſome affront, laid Hands on her Sword, and ſtood ſtill till Don Rafael came up to her, whom ſhe knew at the firſt ſight, and was much diſpleas'd to be found by him, eſpecially in a place ſo remote and lonely, for ſhe diſcover'd before, by more ſigns than one, that Don Rafael lov'd her paſſionately, and ſhe ſhould have thought herſelf happy, if Marc-Antonios Love had been as great and true.

How can I expreſs, what Don Rafael ſaid to Leonora? In the declaration of his Love, he us'd ſo great, and ſo good Arguments, that I dare not adventure to deſcribe them, but ſince I muſt not paſs them over in ſilence, amongſt the reſt theſe were ſome.

If my bad fortune ſhould have taken from me, oh moſt beautiful Leonora, the Courage to diſcover to you the ſecrets of my Heart: The moſt ſincere Affection, which ever did, or can ſpring from a Breaſt inflam'd with Love, had been buried in perpetual oblivion.

But not to injure ſo juſt a deſign, let the event be what it will, I am reſolv'd, Madam, to let you know, if you pleaſe to hear me with patience, that Marc-Antonio has no other advantage over me, than that of being more belov'd by you: My Family is equally Noble, and his Riches do not exceed mine, as to the endowments of Nature, I ought not to praiſe my ſelf, eſpecially if they are not valu'd in your Eyes.

All this I ſay to you, moſt afflicted Lady, that you would lay hold of the remedy which kind Fortune offers you, in this your extream Diſgrace. You are convinc'd now, that Marc-Antonio cannot be yours; for Heaven has given him to my Siſter, and the ſame Heaven, which has taken him from you, will recompence you by beſtowing me upon you.

And I do not deſire a greater Happineſs in this World, than that of being your Huſband: Conſider, good Succeſs ſtands knocking at the Door, deſiring to be admitted in the place of ill Fortune, which has hitherto attended you.

Do not imagine, that I ſhould deſpiſe you, or upbraid you after our marriage, for the liberty you took in following Marc-Antonio, do not think, that I could value you more, if that had never happen'd, for in the ſame moment that you ſhall be my Wife: I will forget for ever, as I do now, whatever I knew of that Affair: Knowing well, that the ſame power, which forces me to love you, conſtrain'd you to do what you did, and ſo where there is no Crime, there is no need of an Excuſe.

To all this, and more, which Don Rafael ſpoke, ſhe anſwer'd not one word, but only from time to time, breath'd out deep fighs from the bottom of her Heart.

Don Rafael took the boldneſs to take her by the Hand, and ſhe had not the Courage to hinder him. Make an end, continued he, only Lady of my Thoughts, kiſſing her Hands a thouſand times; conclude to be mine, in the preſence of this Starry Heaven, which ſees us, and this calm Sea, which hears us, and of thoſe wet Sands, which ſuſtain us: Give me your Promiſe, which without doubt, will make as much for your Honour, as my Content. I repeat to you again, that I am a Gentleman, as you know, rich enouf, and that I love you, which you ought to value more than my Eſtate, and that inſtead of being alone, and in a Habit much prejudicial to your Honour, and at a great diſtance from your Fathers Houſe, and from your Relations, without any body to wait upon you, and provide for you, what you ſtand in need of. And without hopes of obtaining what you deſire, whereas if you accept of my profer, you may return home dreſs'd in Cloaths befitting your Sex and Quality, accompanied with as good a Husband, as him you made choice of, rich, contented, eſteem'd, and waited upon, honour'd and prais'd by all, if this be true, I can ſee no reaſon, why you ſhould not lay hold of this good change of Fortune.

Finiſh, I pray you, to exalt me from the ground of my miſery, to the Heaven of deſerving you, in ſo doing, you'll make me happy, and your ſelf alſo, and you will obſerve the Laws of Courteſy and Gratitude, ſhewing your ſelf at the ſame time both grateful and diſcreet.

Since then, replied the doubting Leonora, that the Heavens have ſo ordain'd, and it is not in my power, nor in any living Creatures to reſiſt what they determine, I am content, Sir, to comply with your Will, and Heaven knows, with what bluſhing I am brought to it, not that I am ignorant, how much I gain by obeying you, but becauſe I fear, that conforming my ſelf to your deſires, you will look upon me with other Eyes, than thoſe with which you have hitherto beheld me.

But come what will of it, be it as it pleaſes God, I am certain, to be no looſer in being Wife to Don Rafael of Villavicenco, and with this Title alone, I ſhall live moſt contented, and if the Conditions, which you ſhall obſerve in me, after that I am yours, ſhall make you have an eſteem for me, I ſhall be thankful to Heaven for having conducted me throw ſo many revolutions, to the repoſe of being yours.

To aſſure me, that you will be mine, give me, Sir, your Hand, and accept of mine, in token that I am yours for ever; I call to Witneſs this Contract, the ſame you did before, the Heavens, the Sea, and theſe Sands, and this ſilence, broken, and interrupted with my ſighs and your prayers.

This being ſaid, and having interchangably given one anothers Hands, ſhe permitted him to embrace and ſalute her, celebrating their nocturnal Marriage, only with Tears, which pleaſure, notwithſtanding their late ſadneſs, caus'd to flow from their Eyes.

Thence they return'd to the Catalonian Gentlemans houſe, who was in great perplexity for their abſence, and more was the trouble of Marc-Antonio and Theodoſia, who had already been married by the Pariſh Prieſt, for fearing ſome new Accident might deprive her of the good ſhe had found: The Gentleman was ſolicitous to ſend for the Prieſt to ſet her mind at reſt, and exempted from fear of any other traverſes. So that when Don Rafael and Leonora enter'd, and he told them his Succeſs, the Maſter of the houſe perceiv'd his Joy doubled, and as great as if they had been his neareſt Relations, for 'tis natural to the Catalonian Nobility, to ſhew theirſelves Favourers and Friends to Strangers.

The Prieſt who was there preſent, order'd Leonora and Theodoſia to change their Garments, and put on ſuch as were proper for them, which was ſuddainly done; the Gentleman furniſhing them with two rich Gowns of his Wives, which was a Lady of great Repute, of the Family of the Granoglecies, Ancient and Famous in that Kingdom.

The Surgeon was inform'd, that the wounded Perſon talk'd too much, and had Company always with him, he therefore order'd, that he ſhould be left alone, and refrain ſpeaking, which would do him much hurt.

But it did not prove ſo, for the Joy he conceiv'd at the ſight of Theodoſia, reviv'd his Spirits, and conduc'd much to his recovery, for he ſlept well that Night, and the next Morning, the Surgeon found him paſs'd danger: After fourteen Days he quitted his Bed, ſo well recover'd, that he might ſafely undertake his Vovage.

Whilſt Marc-Antonio was ill, he made a Vow to go a foot in Pilgrimage to St. James of Galicia, whether Don Rafael, Theodoſia, and Leonora reſolv'd to accompany him, and alſo the Vetturin, a thing very unuſual in Men of his employment, but the goodneſs and liberality which he had experienc'd in Rafael, obliged him not to leave him, till he had deliver'd him ſafe at his Fathers houſe. And finding that Pilgrimage was to be made on foot, ſent back his Mules to Salamanca.

The Day of their departure being come, and they having accommodated theirſelves with Pilgrims Habits, and all other neceſſaries, took their leave of Don Sancho de Cardona, to whom they promis'd for ever to preſerve the memory of his Kindneſs, having no other means to recompence him.

Don Sancho embrac'd them all, ſaying, That to do ſuch offices to all that he knew, or believ'd to be Caſtiglian Gentlemen, was natural to him, and did not deſerve thoſe thanks.

Their embraces were reiterated with much Joy mingled with ſome Sadneſs: They departed, and travell'd eaſy Journeys, having reſpect to the tenderneſs of the two new Pilgrims, and ſo in three Days they reach'd Montferat, and after having ſtaid as many Days there for their Devotion, they continued their Voyage, and arriv'd without any diſturbance to St. James's. After paying their Vows with the greateſt Devotion, they reſolv'd not to quit their Pilgrims Habits, till they were got home, to which they drew near by little and little, weary, but content, when they found theirſelves within ſight of Leonoras Town; and from the top of the next Hill they diſcover'd the place of Theodoſias abode, being diſtant one from the other, but eight Miles, then they could not keep in their Tears, which the Joy to ſee them again, drew from their Eyes, and and eſpecially from the Eyes of the two new Brides, in whom that ſight renew'd the memory of their paſs'd Succeſſes, from the ſame Hill there was ſeen an indifferent large Vale, betwixt the two fore-mention'd places, and in that under the ſhade of an Olive. Tree, they beheld a goodly old Gentleman mounted upon a ſtately Horſe, with a white Shield in his left Hand, and a Lance in his right; whilſt they beheld him with attention, they perceiv'd two others in the like Arms, who coming up to one another, conferr'd a little, and then ſeparated, and ſpurring their Horſes, with their Lances reſting upon their Saddles-bow, ran furiouſly one againſt the other, with ſo much force and dexterity, aſſaulting each other, and defending theirſelves with their Shields, that they ſhew'd they were not Novices in that Exerciſe. The third Cavaleer ſtood looking upon them without quitting his Poſt.

But Don Rafael and Marc-Antonio, being not willing to be idle Spectators of ſuch a Combat, ran down the Hill with haſte, and after them the two Brides, and ſoon came to the Combatants, juſt as they were beginning to handle one another very ill, it chanc'd that one of their Hats, and the Helmet which was under it fell off, and Don Rafael knew him to be his Father, and the other turning his Head, and lifting up his Helmet, was alſo known by Marc-Antonio to be his, Leonora, who wiſhfully beheld the other, who did not fight, knew him to be her Father, the ſight of whom put all four into amazement, and almoſt beſides their Senſes.

But the firſt aſtoniſhment giving way to reaſon, the two Brothers without delay, caſt theirſelves betwixt the Combatants, crying aloud, Hold Gentlemen, hold, for we that beg this of you, are your Sons, I am Marc Antonio, I am he upon whoſe account, as I believe, your Reverend old Age puts it ſelf to this dangerous Combat. Pacify, I pray you, the Fury which has put theſe Arms into your hands, throw away your Lances, put off your Armour, or turn it againſt ſome other Enemy, than him you have before you, who is your Brother.

Don Rafael uſed to his Father the like Arguments, hearing which, the two Gentlemen ſtood ſtill, looking upon thoſe, who ſpoke, and turning their heads, they perceiv'd, that Don Sancho was lighted, and embracing him, whom they thought was a Pilgrim.

So Leonora being known by her Father, pray'd him to make Peace betwixt the two Enemies, telling in ſhort, that Don Rafael was her Husband, and Marc-Antonio, Theodoſias.

Her Father hearing this, renew'd his embraces, then left her, to go and pacify the Enemies, but there was no need, for they had already known their Sons, and being diſmounted, held them in their Arms, the Fathers and the Sons ſhedding abundance of Tears, which proceeded from great Love, and unutterable Content.

The Fathers were reconcil'd, and looking a new upon their Sons, could not tell what to think, or ſay, they only touch'd them, to try, whether they were Bodies or Fantomes, as their unforeſeen arrival gave them reaſon to ſuſpect, and being convinc'd that they were their Sons, they repeated their Embraces and Tears.

In this interim, they beheld a great Company of arm'd Men, both Horſe and Foot, coming up the Valley in defence of their reſpective Landlords, but when they drew nearer, and perceiv'd them embracing thoſe Pilgrims with Tears in their Eyes, they diſmounted, and ſtood ſtill, gazing and wondring, till Don Sancho acquainted them in few words, what he had heard from Leonora.

Then all of them ſaluted the Pilgrims with ſo much Joy and Content, which is impoſſible to be expreſs'd.

Don Rafael repeated in few words the ſucceſſes of his Love, and that he was married to Leonora, and his Siſter to Marc Antonio, news, which caus'd new Joy in them all.

Then out of the Horſes which the Countrymen came on, they choſe five to carry the Pilgrims, and agreed to go with Marc Antonio, for his Father proffer'd them his Palace to keep the Wedding in.

And by the way, Don Rafael and Marc-Antonio, underſtood the reaſon of the quarrel betwixt their Parents, that Leonoras, and Theodoſias Fathers, had challeng'd the Father of Marc-Antonio, being inform'd that his Son had deceiv'd and diſhonour'd their Daughters; and that they two being come to the place appointed, and finding him whom they had defied alone, would not take any advantage againſt him, but fight him Man to Man, like brave Cavaleers.

The Pilgrims return'd thanks to God, that they arriv'd ſo opportunely, to hinder the ill Conſequents that might have happen'd.

The Day after their arrival, Marc Antonios Father celebrated the Marriage of his Son with Theodoſia, with great Magnificence and Splendor, as alſo that of Don Rafael and Leonora, who liv'd together happy and content, all the time of their Lives, leaving in their Children an illuſtrious Deſcendance, who are living now in the fore-mention'd places of Andoluſia.

The reaſon why their Names are conceal'd, is to preſerve the Reputation of the two RIVAL LADIES, whom perhaps ſome malignant and fooliſh, ſcrupulous Tongues may upbraid with too much levity, and the changing their Garments.

But I would deſire theſe not to blame them, but firſt conſider, whether they had at any time been ſtruck with the Arrows of Love, whoſe inevitable force exalts the ſenſual appetite above reaſon.

Don Rafael gave his Mule to Calvetto, and the reſt made him conſiderable Preſents: And the Poets, who were then in vogue, exercis'd their Pens in deſcribing the Beauty and Succeſſes of theſe two undaunted and vertuous Ladies, who are the principal Subject of this wonderful Novel.

The End of the Fifth Novel.

The Salamanca Doctor, Or the Man of GLASS. NOVEL VI.

TWO Gentlemen, Students, walking upon the Banks of the River Tormes, ſpyed a Country boy about Twelve years old, faſt aſleep under a Tree, and ſent one of their Servants to wake him; when he was wakened, they ask'd him of what Countrey he was, and why he ſlept in ſuch a deſart place? The Boy rubbing his Eyes, anſwer'd, that he had forgot the name of his Countrey, and that he was going to Salamanca to get a Maſter, and he would deſire no other Salary for all the Service he could do, but the convenience of ſtudying.

They ask'd him whether he could read?

That I can ſaid he, and write too.

It is not then for want of memory, replyed one of the Gentlemen, that you cannot retain the name of your Countrey.

Let the cauſe be what it will, replyed the waken'd Boy, no body ſhall know the name of it, nor of my Parents, 'till I have honored it and them: And how doſt thou think, demanded the other Gentleman, to honor them? By my Studies and my Learning, when I ſhall become famous. I have heard that Biſhops are made out of Men.

This anſwer prevailed with the Gentlemen to retain him in their Service, and to ſupply him with conveniences to ſtudy, as a Servitor in that Univerſity.

The Boy ſaid his name was Tomaſo Rodaſcia, by that, and his Cloaths, his Maſters judg'd him to be the Son of ſome poor Countrey man.

A few days after they put him in black; and in a little time he ſhew'd himſelf to be Maſter of a rare Wit, and a good Judgment, and made great progreſs in his Studies, and ſerv'd his Maſters with ſo much faithfulneſs and diligence, that altho he did not neglect his Studies one moment, yet he ſeem'd to employ himſelf in nothing elſe but in ſerving them.

And as good ſerving gets the love of Maſters, they treated him as if he was their Companion.

In eight years whilſt he ſtaid with them, the fineneſs and dexterity of his Wit made him famous in that Univerſity, and known and eſteem'd by all.

His principal ſtudy was Law, but he was beſt vers'd in Humanity. He had ſo happy a memory, that 'twas eſteem'd marvellous, and ſo good a Judgment, that 'twas hard to gueſs in which of the two he moſt excell'd.

The time was come that his Maſters had finiſh'd their courſe of Studies and Exerciſes, and were to return to one of the moſt famous Cities of Andoluſia, the place of their aboad, they took Tomaſo with them, and entertain'd him there ſome dayes, but the deſire to proceed in his Studies, increas'd upon him daily, and made him weary of the Countrey; he therefore applyed himſelf to his Maſters, and deſired their leave to return to Salamanca, for that place has ſomething bewitching in it, which forces all thoſe who have ever taſted of its pleaſures, always to retain a hankering after it and a deſire to return.

They, who were courteous and liberal Gentlemen, eaſily granted his requeſt, and gave him wherewith to defray his charges for three years.

After having humbly thank'd them, he parted from Malaga, for that was their Country, and in going by Zambra, in the Road that leads to Antechira, he met with a Gentleman on Horſe-back, richly habited in travelling Apparel, attended by two Servants, he joyn'd with them, and underſtood they were going to the ſame place, they enter'd into diſcourſe about many ſubjects; in a few words Tomaſo made evident the quickneſs of his Wit, and the Cavaleer by his courteous behaviour, ſhew'd that his Education was more than ordinary, he told Tomoſo, that he was a Captain of Foot, in Service of his Catholic Majeſty, and that his Enſign was raiſing Recruits in Salamanca, and fell into the praiſe of a Souldiers life; he repreſented to Tomaſo the beauty of Naples, the pleaſantneſs of Palermo, the abundance of Milan, the banks of Lumbardy, and the good treatment in the Hoſteries, and the ſweet ſound of thoſe muſical Words, Make our Dinner ready, Hoſt, bring in the Macaroons, the Pullets, and the fat Pigeons.

In a Word, he exalted to the skies the free Life of a Souldier, eſpecially in Italy; but he ſpoke not a word of the great Cold the Sentinels endur'd, of the Danger of Aſſaults, of the Terror of Battels, of the Hunger which is ſuffer'd in Sieges, of being Blown into the Air by Mines and other ſuch like Inconveniencies, which ſome will have only to be Accidents of War, whereas the chief ſtreſs of it lies therein.

In concluſion, the Captain told him ſo many fair Stories, that Tomaſos reſolution began to ſtagger, and he was inclin'd to try that Life, which confines ſo much upon Death.

The Captain, whoſe Name was Don Diego de Valdivia, being ſatisfi'd with the good preſence, wit and dexterity of Tomaſo, told him, if his Curioſity invited him to go to Italy, he ſhould eat at his Table, and have a Colours, for his Enſign was ſhortly to be removed.

Tomaſo wanted no ſpurring to accept of this Invitation, making this ſhort diſcourſe to himſelf: It will be brave for me to ſee Italy and Flanders, and other Countries, for long Voyages make Men wiſe, and therein I may employ three or four Years at the moſt, which with the few that I have, will not be ſo many, as to hinder my Studies. So as if all things would ſucceed according as he wiſh'd, he told the Captain, that he was willing to go with him into Italy, upon Condition, that he ſhould not be liſted, and under an Obligation to ſerve under his Colours. And altho the Captain told him, it matter'd not whether he was inrol'd, or not, for without that he ſhould receive pay, and ſubſiſtance Money, as the other Soldiers, and beſides that, he would give him leave to be abſent as often, and as long as he deſir'd.

That would be againſt my Conſcience, as well as yours, replied Tomaſo, but I will go under no Obligation.

Well, ſaid the Captain, be it as you pleaſe, at leaſt, till we come thither, we will be Comrades.

That Night they came to Antechira, and in few Days, making great Journeys, to the place where the Recruits were leavying, which now began to march towards Cartagena: There Tomaſo took notice of the authority of the Commiſſaries, the incommodity of ſome Captains, the Care of the Foragers, the Induſtry of Pay-Maſters, the Complaints of the People, the Buying of Billets, and the Inſolency of the new rais'd Soldiers, the Contention of the Inn-keepers, and the Quarter-Maſters taking up more Quarters than there was need, and finally, the neceſſity of doing all theſe things which he approv'd not.

He cloath'd himſelf in Popinjay, having abandon'd the Habit of a Student, he reduc'd all his Books to one Office of our Lady, and to one Garcilaſſo without a Comment, which he carried in his Snap-ſack: They came to Cartagena ſooner than he deſir'd, becauſe the Life of lodging in Inns, is various, and there occurs every Day ſomething new and delightful.

They embark'd upon four Gallies of Naples, and here Tomaſo remark'd the ſtrange Life of thoſe that inhabit thoſe Marine Houſes, where for the moſt part, the Punaizes torment them, the Slaves rob the Paſſengers, the Seamen are troubleſome and dogged, the Rats eat every thing, the roaring of the Sea, the rowling of the Ship hinder ſleep, the Fright in Storms and Tempeſts, eſpecially in the Gulf of Lyons, where they were beaten by two contrary Winds, one forc'd them to Corſica, and the other to Thoulon.

In fine, after having paſs'd many Nights without ſleep, all wet and drouſy, they arriv'd at the moſt beautiful City of Genoa, there the Captain landed, and after having viſited one Church, he had his Company to an Hoſtery, where they drown'd and forgot all their paſs'd troubles, there they experienc'd the delightfulneſs of the Trobiano, and the excellency of Monte-Fiaſcone, the briskneſs of Aſprino, the generoſity of the three Greek Wines of Candia, Soma and Iſchia, the ſwavity of Signora, Vernaccia, and the ruſticity of Contola, the delicateneſs of Albano, the pleaſantneſs of Corfo, the ſtrength of Caſtiglione or Lagryme Chriſti, the goodneſs of the Wine of Orvietto, the ſuperexcellency of Mont-Alcino, and the majeſty of Monte Pulciano the King of Wines, the greatneſs of the Wine of the five Vineyards, the vinoſity of Magnaguerra, the mediocrity or humility of the Latins, without mentioning with theſe Potentates, the ignoble Romaneſco; after the Hoſt had muſter'd up ſo many different Wines, and more, he offer'd to draw them neat, and without ſofiſtication, not like ſhewing them things painted in the Map of the World, but the true Wines, Madrigale, Coca, Alaeſcio, Eſchivia, Alanis, Cazaglia, Guadalcanale and Membriglia, without forgetting Ribadavia and Scarga Maria.

In fine, the Hoſt named them more Wines, and brought them more ſorts, than Bacchus has in his Cellars: In fine, there had been a muſter of all the beſt Wines in the World, if the Wine of Beaun in Burgundy and Tocay in Hungary had been in the Role.

Here Tomaſo wonder'd at the yellow Hair of the Genoeſe, at the genteel and gay diſpoſition of the Men, at the admirable beauty of the City, and of its magnificent Palaces and Houſes, which ſeem in thoſe Rocks, ſo many Diamonds ſet in Gold.

The next Day all that were to go to Piedmont, ſet forward directly, but Tomaſo reſolv'd to go by Land to Rome and Naples, and to return by Loretto and Venice to Milan, and ſo to Piedmont, where Don Diego de Valdivia, ſaid he ſhould find him, if he was not march'd to Flanders, as the report was they ſhould ſhortly do.

After two Days ſtay, Tomaſo took leave of the Captain, and in five more he got to Florence, having in his way ſeen Lucca, a little City, but pleaſant, and where the Spaniards are the moſt welcome, and the beſt treated of any City in Italy: He was very much pleas'd with Florence, as well for its pleaſant Situation, its Politeneſs, its ſumptuous Palaces and Buildings, its River and beautiful Streets.

He ſtaid there four Days, and afterwards went to Rome, the Queen of Cities, and the Lady of the World: He ſaw its Churches, he worſhipp'd its Reliques, and admir'd its Greatneſs. As a Lion may be known by his Claw, ſo he computed the Force of old Rome, by its broken Marbles, half, and whole Statues, ruin'd Arches, and almoſt deſtroy'd Baths or Thermae, from its magnific Porticos, its ſpatious Amfitheatres, its famous River always brimful, its infinite Reliques of the Bodies of the Martyrs, who have been buried there, its Bridges, which ſeem to look one upon another, its Ways, whoſe only Names obſcure thoſe of all other Cities in the World: The Appian, Flamian and Julia, and the three other. Neither did he leſs admire the diviſion of the Hills, the Celia, the Quirinale, the Vatican, and other four, which Names manifeſt the Greatneſs and Majeſty of Rome. He alſo obſerved the Authority of the College of Cardinals, the Majeſty of the Pope, the great variety of Nations and concourſe of People there. He ſaw all, and conſider'd it well to profit by it; he viſited the ſeven Churches, confeſs'd himſelf to a Penitentiary, kiſs'd the Popes Feet, he loaded himſelf with Agnus's and Beads, then he determin'd to proceed in his Journey. And becauſe it was in a Seaſon, when it begins to be unhealthy and dangerous for all, eſpecially Strangers, who ſtay at Rome, or go by Land to Naples, he went thither by Sea.

The Wonder, that ſeized in him in ſeeing Rome, was much increas'd in ſeeing this other City, in his Opinion, one of the beſt, not only of Europe, but of the World; thence he went to Sicily, he ſaw Palerma and Meſſina, whoſe Haven exceedingly pleas'd him, as alſo the Fertility and Plenty of the whole Iſland, which caus'd it not without reaſon, to be ſtil'd the Granary of Italy. In his way to Rome, he return'd by Naples, and thence to Loretto, in that holy Houſe he could not ſee the Walls, becauſe they were all cover'd with Crutches, and the Sheets of dead Men, with Chains, Fetters and Handcuffs, and Buſts of Wax, and Pictures repreſenting innumerable favours, which had been receiv'd from God by thoſe that dedicated them, the interceſſion of his moſt holy Mother, whoſe Image they would honour, and to give by teſtimony of its many Miracles, and to ſhew their Devotion, had adorn'd her Houſe with ſuch Pictures.

He ſaw the ſame Chamber wherein was made the moſt important Ambaſſade which ever was ſeen or known, by the Heavens, and the Angels, and all the bleſſed Citizens of that eternal City: Thence embarking at Ancona, he went to Venice, a City, whoſe equal had not been known in the World, if Columbus had never been born, but thanks to Heaven and him, and the famous Hernandes Cortes, who conquer'd the great Mexico, we have what may compare with it, as to its Situation.

Theſe two Cites have their Streets full of water, that of Europe being the Wonder of the old World, and that of America the admiration of the new.

The Riches of Venice ſeem'd to Tomaſo infinite, the Government prudent, its Situation impregnable, the Plenty immenſe, the adjacent Country pleaſant and fertile, in a word, whether you conſider it altogether, or part by part, he thought it worthy of the great Eſtimation and Fame of it, which is ſpread all over the World, eſpecially when he conſider'd its famous Arſenal, where there are continually made Gallies, and innumerable other ſorts of Veſſels.

The delights of Caliſſon were few, in reſpect of thoſe our Curioſo found in Venice, which ſo prevail'd upon him, to make him almoſt forget his firſt Deſign. But after ſtaying there a Month, he went to Ferrara, Parma and Placentia, and ſo to Milan, the Shop of Vulcan, and the Eye-ſore and Jealouſy of France, in fine, a City, of whom it is ſaid, that it can ſay, and do, its Greatneſs making it Magnificent, and the ſtatelineſs of its Domo and Hoſpital, and finally, the abundance of all things neceſſary to human Life; thence he went to Aſti, and arriv'd there very opportunely, for the next Day after, that Tertia was to march towards Flanders, he was very kindly receiv'd by his Friend the Captain, and the reſt of his acquaintance. They arriv'd at Flanders, and were quarter'd at Antwerp, a City not leſs to be admir'd, than thoſe he had ſeen in Italy, he ſaw Ghent and Bruſſels, and he happen'd to be there when all over the Country they were making preparations for the Campaign. Having ſatiſfi'd his deſire of ſeeing the World, he reſolv'd to return to Salamanca, and continue his Studies, and he put his Reſolution preſently in effect, to the great diſpleaſure of the Captain his Comrade, who earneſtly pray'd him at his departure, that he would give him adviſe by a Letter of his health, of his getting ſafe to Salamanca, and of the ſucceſs of his Voyage.

He promis'd him to do ſo, then he return'd throw France into Spain, without ſeeing the famous City of Paris, for all the Country was then in Arms.

In fine, he arriv'd at Salamanca, and there he follow'd his Studies, till he proceeded Doctor in Laws.

At that time there came to Salamanca a famous Courtiſian, all the Birds came to her call, there was not a Sparrow, but had a mind to viſit her, they told the Doctor, that the Lady had been in Italy and Flanders, and he alſo was prevail'd upon to go and ſee whether he knew her, and in his viſit ſhe became enamour'd of him, who had never gone to her houſe, had not he been forc'd to it by the ſollicitations of his Friends. In fine, ſhe diſcover'd her Love to him, and proffer'd him herſelf, and all her Eſtate, which was conſiderable.

But he minding his Studies more than Love, gave her a flat denial.

The Lady perceiving herſelf diſdain'd and deſpis'd, and as ſhe thought, hated, finding by ordinary means ſhe could not conquer the Rock of Tomaſos heart, ſhe reſolv'd to uſe other Inventions, which ſhe believ'd would prove effectual.

By the advice of a Moriſco Woman, ſhe made a Love-powder, and put it into Cidony of Quinces, gave it to the Doctor to eat, believing it would force him to love her, as if there were in Nature any ſimples or compoſitions, that could force a Mans free Will. The Latins call thoſe, who give theſe Love-provoking Doſes, Veneficae, that is, Poyſoners, for what they give is Poyſon, as it has been experienc'd by many.

In an ill hour did the Doctor take this Cidony, for 'twas no ſooner down, but he began to beat with his feet, and drum with his hands, as if he had been diſtracted, and ſo he remain'd for ſeveral hours, after which time, he recover'd, but he continu'd ſtupid and paralitic, that his Speech could ſcarce be underſtood, when he declar'd, that he was poyſon'd in preſerv'd Quince, and who gave him it.

The Juſtice being inform'd of this Fact, ſent to arreſt this ill Woman, but ſhe knowing the ſucceſs of her Cidony, was fled, and never appear'd there more.

The Doctor kept his Bed ſix Months, and conſum'd away, that he became a Skeleton, nothing but skin and bones, and all his Senſes were diſturb'd. And altho all poſſible Remedies were us'd, they prevail'd no more, but only to cure his Body, but the infirmity of his Mind continu'd, he was in bodily health, but a Fool and a Mad-man, and he was troubled with the moſt ſtrange and extravagant Madneſs that was ever known or heard of, he imagin'd himſelf to be Glaſs, and when any one came near him, he would cry out in a frightful manner, then with ſenſible words as if he was wiſe, he would intreat them not to come near him for fear of breaking him, for he was not like other Men, but from top to toe all Glaſs, there were many who to cure him of his imagination, not minding his cries and his prayers, embrac'd him, and telling him, that he might perceive he was not broke, as he fondly imagin'd, but this had no more effect than to make the poor fool throw himſelf upon the ground and skreek out hideouſly, and fall into a ſwoon, wherein he lay four hours, and when he came to himſelf, he reiterated his prayers and intreaties, that they would not touch him or come near him, he deſir'd them to ſpeak to him at a diſtance, and ask him what queſtions they pleas'd, and he would give more prudent anſwers than he could before, becauſe now he was a Man of Glaſs, which was a more ſubtile Metal, thorow which the Soul did operate more readily, and with more efficacy than thorow the Body, which was a terreſtrious and heavy compound, ſome had a mind to try him, whether he ſpoke true, and ask'd many difficult queſtions, to which he anſwer'd ex tempore, with admirable acuteneſs of Wit, which caus'd admiration in all the learned Men of that Univerſity, and amongſt the reſt, the Profeſſors of Fyſic and Filoſofy, ſeeing that in a ſubject, wherein there was ſuch ſtrange and extravagant Madneſs, as to think himſelf made of Glaſs, there ſhould be ſo much wit, as to be capable to anſwer with acuteneſs and propriety, to all ſorts of demands.

He deſir'd thoſe about him to give ſomething, wherein to put the fragil Veſſel his Body, for if he put on a cloſe Garment, he fear'd it would break; they provided him with a large Coat made of Beaver, and a wide Shirt, which he put on very cautiouſly and tenderly, as alſo about his middle a Girdle made of Cotton, and he would by no means wear Shoes, he ordered them to give him his Meat, without coming near him, in this manner, to faſten to the end of a long Staff an earthen Veſſel, and to put therein what Fruits were in ſeaſon, he would eat neither Fleſh or Fiſh, he never drank but at a Spring or a River, and us'd his Hand inſtead of a Cup, he walk'd always in the middle of the Streets, looking upon the Houſes, fearing leaſt ſome Tile ſhould fall upon his head and break it, in the Summer he ſlept in the Field under no Canopy but the Heavens, in the Winter he took up his Quarters in ſome Inn, and cover'd himſelf up to the Throat in Straw, ſaying, it was the moſt convenient and ſecure Bed that a Man of Glaſs could wiſh, when it Thunder'd, he trembl'd, as if he had been full of Quick-Silver, and always went into the Fields, never returning till the Tempeſt was over.

His Friends kept him lock'd up for a great while, but perceiving that his folly continu'd, and that he hurt no body, they let him go whether he had a mind.

So he walk'd about the City, and was a ſubject of marvail, and compaſſion of all that knew him.

The Boys made a ring about him, and he kept them off with his ſtick, praying them to ſpeak to him at a diſtanc, for fear of breaking him, for he was Glaſs, the moſt fragile of all Metals.

But the Boys, who uſually are troubleſome and importunate, valu'd not his cries or his prayers, but follow'd him ſtill, throwing Rags and Dirt upon him, and alſo Stones, crying out, they would try, whether, as he ſaid, he was made of Glaſs or not.

Then the poor Fool made ſuch extravagant out-cries, moving madly up and down, that he caus'd the Men to reprove and beat away the Boys, that they might throw no more at him, and give him no more trouble.

But one Day as the Boys were perſecuting him, he turn'd towards them, ſaying, You obſtinate Boys, What is it you would have with me? You are as troubleſome as Flies, as naſty and as ſtinking as Punaizes, as raſh as Fleas: Do you imagine, that I am the Monte Teſtaccio, a Hill in Rome made by broken earthen Pots, caſt out of the City, that you throw ſo many Tiles and pieces of earthen Veſſels at me?

Many follow'd him to ſee him fret, and to hear his anſwers.

Nay, at laſt, even the Boys by common Conſent vex'd him no more, but ſtood quiet to hear him talk.

One Day as he was going thorow the Coatſellers Street in Salamanca, one of the Trade ſaid to him, Signor Doctor, in truth I am very ſorry for your Diſgrace, but I have ſo much buſineſs, that I cannot cry.

He turning towards her with great Modeſty made her an anſwer.

The Husband of the Woman, underſtanding the cutting malice of the anſwer, ſaid to him, Signor Doctor Glaſs, You have more of the malicious Man in you than of the Mad-man.

I care not a farthing, replied he, if there is none of the Fool in me.

Paſſing one Day by a Baudy-houſe, and ſeeing many Harlots ſtand at the Door, Behold, ſaid he, the Baggage of the Devils Army, who quarter in the hoſtery of Hell.

One ask'd him, What good Counſel or Comfort he ſhould give to a Friend of his, whoſe Wife had left him, and run away with another.

Bid him, ſaid he, thank God, that his houſe is clear'd of an Enemy.

Ought he not then, ſaid the other, look after her, and get her again?

I would not adviſe him to that, replied the Doctor, for if he finds her, and takes her home, he'll have always by him a witneſs of his Diſhonour.

But if this ſhould be, ſaid the ſame Perſon, What muſt he do to make Peace with her?

Give her, ſaid the Doctor, whatever ſhe ſhall demand, and let her command over all Things and Perſons in the Family.

A young Lad, ſaid to him, Signor Doctor, I have a mind to run away from my Father, becauſe he beats me often; to whom he anſwer'd.

Do not ſo Child, for the ſtripes of a Parent honour their Children, thoſe of a Beadle or a Hangman are only diſhonourable.

Standing one time at the Church Door, he ſaw an Artiſan enter, who was one of thoſe who value theirſelves much upon their being old Chriſtians, that is to ſay, whoſe Anceſtors were not Jews or Moors, and after him another, who had not the ſame Reputation as the firſt, then the Doctor ſpoke with a loud voice, Stay Sunday, let Saturday paſs.

He ſaid, School-Maſters were happy, becauſe they always converſe with Angels, and that they would be more happy, if thoſe Angels were not ſnotty.

One ask'd him, what he thought of Bauds?

He ſaid, That they who were at a diſtance, were not Bauds, but thoſe who were near.

The fame of his Sayings ſpred throw all Caſtile, and came to the Ears of a Prince or Grandee of the Court, who had a mind to ſee him, and for that end, ſent to a Friend of his in Salamanca, to convey him thither. This Gentleman meeting the Doctor, ſaid to him, Signor Doctor, one of the Courtiers has a deſire to ſee you, and would have you come to him.

Pray, Sir, ſaid he, make my excuſes to the Gentleman, and tell him, I am not a Man for the Court, becauſe I am not impudent, and can't flatter.

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However, the Gentleman prevail'd to have him conducted thither, and 'twas in this manner.

They put him into a Hamper with a great deal of Straw, and on the other ſide another Hamper or Pannier, wherein were Stones to counterpoiſe him, and near the top, Straw with ſome Glaſſes, telling him, they carried him as a Veſſel of Glaſs.

They brought him into Vagliadolid in the Night, and there diſpannier'd him in the houſe of the Grandee, who had ſent for him, by whom he was kindly entertain'd.

Signor Doctor Glaſs, ſaid the Grandee to him, you are heartily welcome, how did your Journey agree with you, and how is your health?

There is no way bad, anſwer'd the Doctor, when one's arriv'd to the end of it, except that which leads to the Gallows. And as to my health, 'tis ſo ſo, my Pulſe is adjuſted to my Brain.

The Day after, perceiving many Falcons, and other Birds of Prey upon the Pens, he ſaid, that Hawking was a ſport for Princes and Grandees, but the pleaſure out-weigh'd the Profit two thouſand to one, and for Hunting, he ſaid, it was then moſt pleaſant, when 'twas done with borrow'd Dogs.

The Gentleman was well pleas'd with the Madneſs of the Doctor, and let him go about the City under the Guard of a Servant of his, whoſe buſineſs it was to take care, that the Boys ſhould not moleſt him, in ſix Days, not only all the Boys knew him, but alſo the whole Court, in every ſtreet, every corner, every turning, and almoſt every ſtep, he anſwer'd to queſtions, which were ask'd him.

Amongſt the reſt, a Student, ſaid to him, are you not a Poet, Signor Doctor Glaſs, you muſt needs be one, you have ſo univerſal a Wit.

I am not yet, replied the Doctor, neither ſo fooliſh, nor fortunate.

I underſtand not, what you mean, ſaid the Student, by your fooliſh and fortunate.

I mean, replied Doctor Glaſs, I have not yet been ſuch a fool as to have been a bad Poet, nor ſo happy as to deſerve the Name of a good one.

Another Student ask'd him, in what eſteem he held Poets.

In great, replied he, I hold the Art, but the Poets in none, and he added the reaſon of his ſaying ſo; amongſt the infinite number of Poets, or at leaſt, thoſe that call themſelves ſo, there are ſo few good, that they ſcarce make a Number, being next to none, and therefore he had no eſteem for Poets, as if there were none.

But he eſteem'd and reverenc'd the divine Art, becauſe it comprehends all other Sciences, making uſe, and adorning it ſelf with all of them, to poliſh and illuminate their marvellous Works, with which they fill'd the World with utility, delight, and admiration; he added I know well, in what great eſteem a good Poet ought to be, and I remember thoſe Verſes of Ovid: Cura ducum fuerant olim Regumque Poetae, Praemiaque antiqui magna tulere viri, Sanctaque Majeſtas, & erat venerabile nomen Vatibus, & largae ſaepe dabuntur opes. i. e. Poets in times paſt were favour'd by Kings and great Men, and richly rewarded, their Names were venerable, and they were inrich'd: Plato calls them the Interpreters of the Gods, and the ſame Ovid ſays of them. Eſt Deus in nobis, agitante caleſcimus illo. i. e. There is a God in us, by whom we are warm'd and inſpir'd; and in another place, At ſacri vates, & Divum cura vocamur. i. e. We Poets are holy, and the care and delight of the Gods. This muſt be underſtood of good Poets, but what can be ſaid of ill ones, but that they are Buffoons, Chiarlatans, the ignorance, the arrogance, the ſcorn of the World.

He added, you may eaſily know a Poet of this ſtamp, by his Preambles and his Invitations, when he has a mind to recite a Sonnet.

Will your worſhips vouchſafe, ſays he, to hear a bit of a Sonnet which I made laſt Night upon a certain ſubject, and tho 'tis worth but little, yet I cannot but believe there are ſome good ſtroaks in it, then he mumbles ſomething to himſelf, only moving his lips, and bending his eye-brows, putting in his hand, and ſearching his Pockets, he pulls out a hundred bits of dirty Paper, turns them over, at laſt pitches upon that belov'd one, with which he deſigns to regale his Auditors, and having commanded ſilence, begins with a ſweet and melifluous voice, and in an affected ridiculous tone, and if thoſe that hear it, either out of malice, or ignorance don't praiſe it, then he ſays, I believe, Gentlemen, you did not hear it, poſſibly, I did not pronounce it well, giving every word its true Accent; therefore it will not be amiſs, that I recite it again, and that you, if you pleaſe, be more attentive, for in truth, if I have any judgment, the Song deſerves it. Then he begins again with new ſhruggs, and pauſes. And then, What pleaſure is there to hear the cenſure of the Auditors? What ſhall I ſay of the yelping and barking of the modern Whelps againſt the great and grave Maſtives of Antiquity? What ſhall I ſay of thoſe who blame and carp at the illuſtrious and excellent Subjects, in which the true light of Poetry is refulgent, in which, when Men truly great for their entertainment, or to recreate theirſelves, after the weight of buſineſs, ſhew the divinity of their Wit, and the heighth of their Conceptions in ſpight of the ignorant vulgar, who love to judge what they underſtand not, and hate every thing which is beyond their Capacity.

To another, who ask'd him, what was the reaſon, that for the moſt part Poets were poor.

He anſwer'd, becauſe they would be ſo, for it was in their power to be rich, if they would lay hold of the opportunity their Miſtreſſes proffer'd them, who were all very rich, having their Hairs of Gold Wire, their Foreheads of poliſh'd Silver, their Eyes of Emerald, their Teeth of Ivory, their Lips of Coral, their Necks of tranſparant Chriſtal, their Tears liquid Pearls, and beſides, they made the Earth they trod upon, tho never ſo rocky and barren, to produce at the ſame inſtant Jeſſamins and Roſes, that they breath'd Amber, and Muſc, and Civet, than which there could be no greater evidence of riches.

Theſe and ſeveral other things he ſaid of bad Poets, but of good ones, he always ſpoke well, exalting them above the horns of the Moon.

He ſaw one Day in the Church of St. Francis, ſome Pictures done by an ill hand, and thereupon, ſaid, that good Painters imitated Nature, but bad ones ſpew'd upon her.

Once he came to a Bookſellers Stall, and gingerly lean'd upon it for fear of breaking his Glaſs Veſſel, and ſaid to him, I ſhould like your Trade well enouf, were it not that you have one Fault.

The Bookſeller pray'd him to tell what it was.

'Tis only, replied he, that you are Cheats, and when you buy a priviledge to print any Book at the Authors charge, inſtead of printing fifteen hundred, according to your promiſe, if it be a good Book, and vendible, you print three thouſand, and when the Author believes that the Books which are ſold are his, they are ſupernumerary ones, the price whereof gets into the Bookſellers Pocket, and the reſt are left upon the Authors hands.

It happen'd that ſix Men were to be whip'd throw the Street by the common Hangman, and when the Crier began to publiſh their Crimes, and count them, the Doctor ſpoke to the Company, ſaying, Get you gone, leaſt the Executioner begin with one of you; and when the Crier ſaid, this is the laſt, the Doctor cried, now Boys you are ſecure.

A Boy ſaid to him, dear Brother Doctor, to morrow a Baud is to be whip'd.

If you had ſaid a Pimp, replied the Doctor, I ſhould have thought, they would have whip'd a Coach.

One of thoſe who carry People in Chairs, ſaid to him, Signor Doctor, have you nothing to ſay to us.

Nothing, ſaid he, but that every one of your profeſſion know more ſins than a Confeſſor, but with this difference, he knows them to keep them ſecret, and you to publiſh them in Taverns.

A Vetturin hearing this, for there was a ring of all ſorts of people perpetually about him, liſtning to what he ſaid; Doctor Glaſs, ſaid he, you have nothing to ſay concerning us, for we are honeſt Men, and neceſſary in a Common wealth.

To whom the Doctor replied, The honour of the Maſter ſhews the honour of a Servant, therefore take notice whom you ſerve, and you will perceive of what honour you are worthy. You Vetturins are the worſt race of Men upon the Earth. I remember, that once, before I was a Man of Glaſs, I rid one days Journey upon a hir'd Mule, which had, for I counted them, no leſs than a hundred twenty and one Faults, and all deſtructive to the Rider; all Vetturins have a Spice of the Pimp, the Theif, and the Buffoon, if their Patrons, for ſo they call them, who hire their Mules, are Strangers, they rob them; if Scholars, they curſe them; if Poor, they blasfeme; if Souldiers, they fear them.

Theſe, and Seamen, and Carters, and Mulattiers, have an extraordinary way of living, only proper themſelves.

Carters paſs the greateſt part of their Lives in the ſpace of three Ells, for there is no more from the Yoke of the Mule, to the end of the Cart, half their time they ſing, and ſwear the other half, and if it chances, that they are forc'd to lift a Wheel out of the mire, they rather make uſe of two Curſes than three Mules.

As for Seamen, they are a barbarous Generation, and know no other Language than to talk of the Sea or their Veſſel, in a Calm they are diligent, in a Storm lazy, while the Tempeſt laſt, they command many, and obey but a few, they acknowledge no other God but their Ship, which is their Chamber, their ſport and pleaſure is to ſee the Paſſenger Sea-ſick and vomiting.

Mulattiers are a ſort of Men who have given a Bill of Divorce to Sheets, are married to their Pack-Saddles, they are diligent and careful not to looſe one Days Journey, and matter not if they looſe their Souls, their Muſic is the Morter, their Sawce hunger, their Matins is to look after their Beaſts, and their Maſs is to hear none.

While the Doctor ſpoke thus, he ſtood before the Shop of an Apothecary, to whom he ſaid, your Art would be very ſalutiferous, if you were not ſo great Friends to your Lamps.

In what manner, ſaid the Apothecary, are we ſo great Friends to our Lamps?

I ſay ſo, anſwer'd the Doctor, becauſe if at any time you want any ſort of Oyl, the Lamps, which are at hand, ſupply that defect, and beſides this, you have another Fault, which is ſufficient to ruin the Credit of the beſt Fyſician in the World.

The Apothecary ask'd him, What made him ſay ſo?

He replied, That there were ſome Apothecaries, who rather than they will own they had not ſuch an Ingredient, which the Fyſician had preſcrib'd, would inſtead of that, ſubſtitute another, which had, as they conceiv'd, the ſame Vertue, altho it was not ſo, and by this means it came to paſs, that the Medicine well preſcrib'd, and ill made up, had not the operation deſign'd.

He was ask'd, What eſteem he had of Fyſicians?

He anſwer'd in the words of the Apocryfal Author. Eccleſiaſticus Cap. 38. Honora medicum propter neceſſitatem, etenim creavit eum Altiſſimum, à deo enim eſt omnis medela, & à Rege accipiet donationem Diſciplina Medici exaltabit caput ejus, & in conſpectu magnatum collaudabitur, Altiſſimus de terra creavit Medicinam, & vir ſapiens non abhorrebit illam. That is, Honour the Fyſician, for the uſe you may have of him, for the moſt High hath created him, for all healing is of God, and he ſhall receive gifts from the King; The skill of the Fyſician, ſhall lift up his head in the ſight of great Men he ſhall be praiſed. The Lord hath created Medicine out of the Earth, and he that is wiſe will not abhor it.

This he ſaid about Fyſic and good Fyſicians, and the contrary of ill ones, for in a Common-wealth, there is nothing more prejudicial than bad Fyſicians: The Judge may wreſt Juſtice or delay it; the Advocate may entertain a bad Cauſe, and foment and encourage unjuſt Pretentions; the Merchant and the Uſurer may drain our Eſtates; in fine, all Profeſſions may do us ſome damage, but none but Fyſicians can kill us with immunity. They alone can kill without uſing any other Sword than a Receipt, and their Errors cannot be detected, becauſe they are cover'd under ground.

I remember, when I was a Man of Fleſh, and not of Glaſs, as I am at preſent, a ſick Man had leave of his Fyſician, to ſend for another, to be joyn'd and conſult with him, four Days after, the firſt Fyſician chanc'd to paſs by the Apothecaries Shop, to which the ſecond had ſent his Bill, he enquir'd of the Apothecary, how his Patient did, and whether the other Fyſician had preſcrib'd any new Purge.

The Apothecary, anſwer'd, he had, and that the ſick Man was to take it the next Day.

The Fyſician deſir'd him to let him have a ſight of the Bill, he read it over, and ſaw at the bottom of it, Sumat Diluculo, then turning to the Apothecary, he ſaid, I like this preſcription very well, as to all the Ingredients, except this Diluculo, which is cold in the fourth degree.

Theſe and ſuch like Sayings, which he ſpoke of all Trades and Employments, brought about him an innumerable Company, which would never let him be quiet, continually asking queſtions, but they did him no other harm. Nevertheleſs, he could not defend himſelf againſt the Boys, if his keeper had not protected him.

One ask'd him, What means he could uſe that he might not envy any body?

He anſwer'd, Sleep, for whilſt you are aſleep, you are equal to him whom you would envy.

One day ſeeing a Commiſſary going upon a Criminal cauſe, and many People following him, and two Sbirris. The Doctor enquir'd who he was, and when he was told, I'll lay a wager, ſays he, that that Judge carries Vipers in his Breaſt, Piſtols in his Inkhorn, and Thunder in his Hands, to ruin and deſtroy what he can.

I remember, that heretofore, I had a Friend, who in a Criminal Commiſſion, gave a Sentence ſo exorbitant, that 'twas not at all proportionable to the Crime: I ask'd him, Why he had pronounc'd ſuch a cruel Sentence, and done ſo manifeſt Injuſtice.

He anſwer'd me, That he did it deſignedly, that he might appeal, and then there would be ſufficient reaſon for the Lords of the Council to ſhew their mercy in moderating that Sentence.

I told him, he had done better, if he had ſpar'd the Criminal the coſts of the Appeal, and the Judges the trouble.

Amongſt the throng, which always was preſſing to hear him, there was one of his acquaintance in a Scholars habit, who was by ſome of them call'd Signor Doctor, but he knowing that he was not yet ſo much as a Batchellour.

Take heed, Sir, ſaid he, that the Fathers of the redemption of Slaves, do not meet with your Title, and carry it away as a ſtray, which has no owner.

His Friend, anſwer'd, be civil, Signor Doctor Glaſs, you know I am a Man of high and deep literature.

You are indeed, replied the Doctor, a Tantalus in Letters, you cannot reach them, they are ſo far above you, nor dive into them, they are ſo deep.

One day, as he was leaning upon a Taylors Shop, and ſeeing him ſtand with his Hands in his Pockets, Without doubt, Maſter, ſaid he to him, you are in the way of Salvation.

How know you that, replied the Taylor?

How know I that, replied he, becauſe I perceive you have nothing to do, and are ſo long without neceſſity of Lying or Stealing. Wo to that Taylor, added he, that can't Lye, and work on Holy-days and Sundays.

He ſaid, there was a wonderful difference betwixt Taylors and Shoe-makers, for tho the number of the firſt was almoſt infinite, none of them could never make a Suite fit at firſt, but were forc'd to alter it after 'twas brought home, a Shoe-maker always made them fit, for if they were too little, they'd ſay they were more faſhionable, or at the worſt, two hours wearing would make them as eaſy as a Glove, if they were to big, it was done on purpoſe too, that they might laſt longer, and not bring the Gout by pinching the Feet.

A young Man of a ſharp and ſubtile Wit, whoſe employment was to write in one of the Offices of that Province, us'd to importune him with queſtions and demands, and alſo inform him what paſs'd in the City.

This Perſon told the Doctor, that there died in Priſon one call'd Banco, that Night, who was condemn'd to be hang'd.

He replied, 'twas well done of him to die ſo ſoon, and not ſtay till the Hangman laid his Clutches upon him.

Before the Church of St. Francis, there ſtood a Company of Genoeſe, and as the Doctor paſs'd by them, one of them call'd him, ſaying, Signor Doctor Glaſs, pray come hither, and tell us a Story.

I will not, ſaid he, leaſt you ſhould carry me to Genoa.

He met a Mercers Wife leading her Daughter, who was ſolemnly ugly, but dreſs'd with many Pearls, and ſaid to her: You have done well, Madam, to beſtow ſo many Pearls upon your Daughter, 'tis poſſible, they may make her be threaded.

Of thoſe that ſold Toys, wandring Pedlars, he ſaid a thouſand tart things, that they were a vagabond Generation, and their ſelling of Saints Pictures, brought Religion to be derided, that they put all thoſe Holy repreſentations into a Sack, and ſit upon them at Dinner, for want of a Cuſhion, and 'twas a great ſhame, that the Government did not ſuppreſs them, and baniſh them out of the Kingdom.

He met a Comedian dreſs'd like a Prince, and ſaid to him, I remember, I have ſeen you act a Jack-pudding with your Face all beſmear'd with Meal, and in a Leathern Coat, turn'd the wrong ſide outwards, and now at every ſtep you make, you ſwear by your Honour, and the Faith of a Cavaleer.

Poſſibly he may be a Gentleman, replied one of the by-ſtanders, for many Players are well born.

That may be, replied the Doctor, but it muſt be a blot in their Eſcutcheons to turn Mountebanks and Jack-puddings.

'Tis true of them, that they get their Bread by their ſweat of their Brows, they are perpetually learning, perpetually like Gypſies, running from Town to Town; all their care and diligence, is employ'd to pleaſe others, and in that conſiſts their gain, it cannot be ſaid they are Cheats, for they expoſe their Wares to the ſight and judgment of all; the Fatigues of the Authors, eſpecially if they write good Plays, is incredible, and the care of the Players, if they act well, is very great.

He ſaid moreover, that they ought to get conſiderably, or elſe at the Years end, they would be forc'd to pawn their trinquets, or down-right break. He ſaid, that it was the opinion of a Friend of his, that he that ſerv'd an Actreſs in one, ſerv'd many Miſtreſſes, as a Queen, a Nymf, a Goddeſs, a Kitching wench, and a Sheapherdeſs; and the Servant muſt be now a Page, then a Footman, and change his Condition as often as ſhe does her Part.

He had a particular enmity to thoſe who dyed their Beards; when once there were two in his preſence a quarrelling, one being a Caſtiglian, and the other a Portugueſe, this laſt taking hold of his own Beard, which was much dy'd: By this Beard, ſaid he, which I twinge.

Oh gallant Man! ſaid the Doctor, you ſhould ſay by this Beard, which I tinge.

To another, who had his Beard of ſeveral Colours, for want of being well dy'd, he ſaid, his Beard was of the Colour of a Hens Turd.

To another, whoſe Beard was half white, and half black, the white being grown, ſince it came from the Dyers: Don't you contend with any one, replied Doctor Glaſs, if they ſhould ſay, you lye in half your Beard.

One Day he told this Story, that a diſcreet young Maid to ſhew her obedience to her Parents, conſented to be married to an old gray hair'd Man. But Mr. Bridegroom, the Night before the Wedding was to be, went not to the River Jordan, as the old Wives ſay, but to the Bottle of Aqua-Fortis and Silver, and ſo order'd his Beard, that tho 'twas as white as ſnow, when he lay down, at his leavy, it was as black as pitch.

The Wedding being come, as the Prieſt in the preſence of many of her Friends, was going to join their Hands, the young Maid ſtaring upon him, to whom ſhe was to be married, and finding what he had done, told her Parents, they ſhould give her the ſame Huſband they had ſhew'd her, for ſhe was reſolved not to be married to any other.

Her Parents, anſwered, 'twas the ſame to whom they had promis'd her, and of whom ſhe had accepted.

She replied, 'twas not, and call'd Witneſſes to prove, that the other who was ſhew'd her, had the Countenance of an ancient, reverend, grave Perſon, with a ſnow white Beard, and was one whom ſhe could reſpect and love, and ſhe was reſolv'd not to be impos'd upon, and inſtead of him marry this young black bearded Gallant; and ſo by pretence of refuſing a young Husband, ſhe got rid of an old one.

He had alſo a pic againſt the Matrons, or old Gentlewomen, for their uſing par mafoy to their Maids, for the length of their veils, for their capricious humour, for their ſcrupuloſity, and their extream covetouſneſs; he was alſo angry at their ſquemiſh ſtomachs, their vertigos, their fits, and their way of talking with more folds, than there were in their veils.

One ſaid to him, Mr. Doctor Glaſs, How comes it to paſs, that we have heard you ſpeak ill of ſo many Officers, and yet not one word of the Notaries of the Court, whereupon there is ſo much to be ſaid?

To which he replied, altho I am a Man of Glaſs, yet I am not ſo frail, as to let my ſelf be carried away with the current of the vulgar, who for the moſt part are in the wrong. It ſeems to me, that Notaries are as it were, the Grammar of Grumblers and Detractors, and like the Sol-fa-la, or the Notes of Muſicians, for we cannot paſs to Sciences, but thorow the Gates of the Grammar, and as the Muſician firſt ſoftly tunes his Voice before he ſings, ſo Detractors and Calumniators, begin to ſhew the malignity of their Tongues by ſpeaking ill of the Notaries of the Palace, of the Sbirris or Serjeants, and other Miniſters of Juſtice, whereas a Notary is an Officer, without which, Truth cannot be brought to light, becauſe In manibus Dei poteſtas hominis eſt, & ſuper faciem ſcribae imponet honorem; that is, The power of God is in the hands of men, and he ſhall honour the face of the Notary, or Scribe, Eccleſiaſticus. A Notary is a public Perſon, without whom the Office of a Judge cannot be well managed, therefore they ought to be made out of free People, and not out of Slaves; Legitimate, and not Baſtards, nor of infamous Blood.

They ſwear to be faithful, and to keep ſecreſy, not to make any writing for uſury, that neither friendſhip, or enmity, loſs or gain, fear or hope, ſhall make them ſwerve from exerciſing their Office with a good and a Chriſtian Conſcience. If there are requir'd ſo many good Qualities to make them fit for it, why ſhould I believe that the Devil ſhould have the Vintage of more than twenty thouſand Notaries, as there are in Spain, as if they were all Vines of his own planting.

I will not believe this, neither ought any body elſe, I ſay, in fine, they are neceſſary in a well inſtituted Common-wealth, and if they do often wrong, they do more often right, and that betwixt theſe two extreams, there might be a mean to make them more conſiderate and circumſpect.

He ſaid, he did not wonder, that Sbirris or Serjeants, ſhould have ſo many Enemies, their Office being to arreſt and ſeize upon Perſons, to take away Goods from Debtors, and keep them till they are condemn'd or abſolv'd by Law, and to eat and drink upon thoſe wretched peoples coſt.

He blam'd the negligence and ignorance of Proctors and Sollicitors, comparing them to Fyſicians, who will be ſure of their Fees, whether the Patient recover or not, ſo do they, whether the Law-ſute goes for or againſt their Clients.

One ask'd him, which was the beſt Land: He anſwer'd, That which yields its Fruit in ſeaſon, and is largely grateful to the Husbandman.

Thats not my meaning, replied the other; I would know, which is the beſt, Vagliadolid or Madrid.

Of Madrid, he anſwer'd, the extremities, and of Vagliadolid, the middle part.

I underſtand you not, ſaid he, who ask'd the queſtions.

To whom the Doctor replied, of Madrid, the Air and Soil are the beſt parts; of Vagliadolid, the Houſes.

He ſaid, Muſicians and Foot Meſſengers, had their Hope and Fortune limited, and that then it was compleat, when one came to be a Courier, or a Meſſenger mounted on Horſeback, and the other to be of the Kings Muſic.

Being one Day in a Church, he ſaw an old Man buried, a Child chriſtened, and a Woman married, all at the ſame time, upon which he ſaid, That the Church was the Field of Battle, wherein old Men were buried, and Children conquered, and Women triumfed.

A Waſp ſtung him in the Neck, he durſt not ſhake it off for fear of breaking, but he complain'd of the ſmart.

One ask'd him, how 'twas poſſible, the ſting of a Waſp could be painful to him, who was Glaſs?

He replied, that this was a Calumniator or Back-biter, for the Tongues of ſuch, were able to pierce Bodies of Braſs, and much eaſier thoſe of Glaſs.

In fine, our Doctor ſpoke ſo many pleaſant and ingenious things, that if it were not for his crying out, when any one came near him or touch'd him, and for the habit he wore, the manner of his diet, and the way of his drinking, and that he would never ſleep in the Summer but in the Fields and open Air, and in the Winter in Straw, as we have declar'd before; all which, were evident Arguments of his Madneſs, no body could have believ'd, but that he had been one of the wiſeſt Men in the World.

This infirmity of mind, laſted a little more than two Years, when one that had a peculiar faculty of curing Mad People, undertook to reſtore him to his Senſes, and in a little time perform'd it, and ſet him right, and he perfectly recover'd his former Judgment, Underſtanding, and Diſcourſe.

When he found himſelf cur'd, he apparell'd him like a Doctor, and reſolv'd to return to the Court, and there to give as many proofs of his Wiſdom, as he had of his folly, thinking by practiſing the Law, to make himſelf Famous.

Thither he went, and call'd himſelf Doctor Ruota, it pleaſing him more than Rodaſcia; he was ſcarcely arriv'd at the Court, but the Pages and Boys knew him again, but ſeeing him in a habit ſo different from what he uſed to wear, they durſt not cry out after him, nor ask him queſtions, but nevertheleſs, they follow'd him, ſaying one to another, is not that the Fool, Doctor Glaſs. Upon my Life 'tis the ſame, and he is become Wiſe, but yet he may be as much a Fool in theſe good Cloaths, as he was in a poor Habit, lets ask him ſome queſtions to clear our doubt.

All this the Doctor heard, and ſaid nothing, but he was more confounded and aſhamed, than when he was out of his Wits, not only the Boys but the Men all knew him, and before he got to the Council-Chamber, he had got a Train at his Heels of more than Two Hundred Perſons of all conditions; with this Attendance, which was much greater than us'd to accompany the Doctor of the Chair, he arriv'd at the Council Chamber, where they all made a Ring about him, ſeeing ſo much Company, he ſaid with a loud voice, Gentleman, I am Doctor Glaſs, but not the ſame that I was before; I am now Doctor Ruota; the Succeſſes and Diſgraces, which befal Men by the permiſſion of Heaven, have taken away my Reaſon, but the Mercy of God has reſtor'd it; by what I ſaid, when I was a Fool, you may gueſs what I ſhall ſay, and do, now I am of ſound Judgment, I have taken my Degree of Doctor of Laws in Salamanca, without the help of the goods of Fortune, ſo that 'tis evident, that Vertue and not Favour has elevated me.

I am come to the great Sea of the Court, to plead, and gain me a livelihood, but if you will not let me be quiet, I am come hither to get my Death: I pray you not to follow and perſecute me, and that I may not looſe that which I enjoy'd when I was a Fool, now I am Wiſe.

I mean, what is neceſſary to maintain my Life, what queſtions you were pleas'd to ask me in the Streets, come now and ask me in my Houſe, and you will ſee whether he that anſwer'd well ex tempore, as 'tis reported, will do better after conſideration.

They all heard him, and ſome of them left him, and he return'd to his Houſe, with his retinue ſomething diminiſh'd.

The next day he ventur'd abroad and found the ſame entertainment, he made another Speech to them, but to no purpoſe; he loſt and ſpent much, and gain'd nothing, ſo that finding himſelf ready to ſtarve, he reſolv'd to leave the Court and return to Flanders, where he deſign'd to get a Living by his Sword, which he found he could not do by his Learning, and putting in effect his Reſolution, he ſaid at his parting from the Court:

Oh Court, which exalts the hopes of raſh pretendents, and depreſſes thoſe of modeſt and vertuous Perſons: Thou entertain'ſt kindly, and enrich'ſt abundantly, impudent and ſhameleſs Buffoons, and permitteſt learned, wiſe, and modeſt Men to die with hunger.

Having ſaid this, he went to Flanders, where, in the Company of his good Friend Captain Valdivia, he finiſh'd the eternizing his Name by Arms, which he had begun by Letters, and died with the Reputation of a wiſe Man, and a valiant Souldier.

The End of the Sixth Novel.

Patient Griſſel. Written by PETRARCH in the Sixty Ninth Year of his Age. NOVEL VII.

THE Mountain Veſulo, now Monte-Viſo, lies on the Weſtern ſide of Italy, and is a part of the Alps, and very high, whoſe ſummity reaches above the Clouds into the clear Air, famous for its height, being reputed the higheſt of the all Alps, but more enobled by the riſe of the Po, or the ancient Eridanus, which flowing from a ſmall Spring upon its Eaſtern ſide, and ſwelling by a wonderful addition of Waters, after a ſhort courſe becomes one of the greateſt Rivers, and is deſervedly call'd by Virgil, their King, Fluviorum Rex Eridanus.

It parts Liguria with its rapid ſtream, afterwards dividing Aemilia and Flaminia, from the Venetian Territories, and at laſt, by many great Mouths, enters into the Adriatic Sea.

That part conſiſting of pleaſant Mountains, green Hills, and fruitful Vales, is call'd Piedmont, or the Countrey at the foot of the Mountains, it has ſome Cities, and many fair Towns: amongſt the reſt, at the foot of the Veſulo, lies Saluzzo, a Dominion, whereunto belong ſeveral Towns and Caſtles, it was govern'd by Noble Men, who had the Title of Marqueſſes, of which number there was one, who is ſaid to have been the chief, and the greateſt of all of them, whoſe Name was Gualtero, to whom belong'd the government of all that Marquiſate, he was every way a great Perſon, and could be tax'd but of one Fault, that being contented with his preſent Condition, he took no care for the future, or to provide Heirs to ſucceed him.

He was ſo much taken up with Hunting and Hawking, that he ſcarce minded any thing elſe, and he ſeem'd, which moſt troubled his Subjects, averſe from Matrimony.

They bore it with ſilence, for ſome time, but at laſt they went to him in a Body, and one of them, whoſe Authority, or Elegance, or Favour, with the Marqueſs, was greateſt ſpoke thus to him:

Your Humanity and Courteſy, Noble Marqueſs, has given us the boldneſs as often as occaſion ſerves, to Addreſs ourſelves to your Excellency; and now I am intruſted to preſent to you, the humble Petition of all your Subjects; the many Favours you have done me, creating a belief in them, that I am not unacceptable to you. Since therefore all your Actions hitherto have been grateful to us, there is one thing yet wanting, which if your Excellency will be prevail'd upon to do for our ſakes, we ſhall eſteem ourſelves the moſt happy of all our Neighbours; that is, That you would conſent to marry, and ſubmit that Neck, which is not only free, but commanding, to the yoke of lawful Matrimony, and that you would do it with all ſpeed, for Years paſs ſwiftly, and altho now you are in the Flower of your Youth, yet Age will come ſilently creeping on, and Death is near at all ſeaſons, no Age nor Perſon is ſecure from its ſtroak, all muſt die, and altho that is certain, yet there is nothing more uncertain, than when Death will ſeize upon us. We pray you, Sir, take this Petition of ours in good part, and grant it to us, who will never refuſe any of your Commands; leave the Care of providing you a Wife to us. We will get ſuch an one, that ſhall be worthy of you, one born of ſo illuſtrious Parents, that we cannot but hope great, and good Things from her: We pray, free us from all the troubleſome fear, leaſt perhaps, an Accident ſhould happen to you, from which no mortal Man is exempted, and you ſhould die without an Heir of your own Body, and leave us without a Governour of your Loins, whoſe Race, we pray Heavens may for ever reign over us.

Theſe humble and pious Prayers of his Subjects, prevail'd upon the Marqueſs.

I will not, ſaid he, refuſe what you deſire, tho I muſt tell you, you force me to do that, which I had thoughts very averſe from, for I was much delighted in Liberty, which rarely is to be found in Wedlock.

However, I will comply with my Subjects will, truſting to your Prudence and Fidelity, but as to the Care you proffer to take upon you to provide me a Wife, I will not put you to that trouble, but take it upon my ſelf: For the Mothers Vertue is not always inherited by the Children who are ſometimes unlike their Parents, all that is good in Man, comes only from God, to him therefore I will commit the Care of my Matrimony, hoping that he will inſpire me to do that, which may ſet your Hearts at eaſe, and conduce moſt to my Benefit.

Since then it is your deſire, I am reſolv'd to Marry, I promiſe it you upon the Word of a Prince, I will neither fruſtrate, nor delay your Expectation, and you muſt reciprocally promiſe me one thing, that you will Honour, and have a great Eſteem and Veneration for whomſoever I ſhall make my Wife, and that there ſhall not be any amongſt you, who ſhall complain, or find fault with my Choice.

You have caus'd me to ſubject my free Neck to the Yoke, but I will make a Choice of that Yoke, and ſhe, whoſoever it is, that ſhall be my Wife, is to be your Lady, as much as if ſhe was the Emperors Daughter, and I expect, you ſhould ſhew the ſame Reſpect towards her.

They promis'd unanimouſly and chearfully, there ſhould be nothing wanting on their Parts, as thoſe who deſpair'd, and thought, that they ſhould never ſee the wiſh'd for Day of their Princes Marriage.

Having obtain'd this Promiſe, they departed, not only contented, but exceeding joyful.

So this Conference ended, and the Marqueſs acquainted his Servants of his intended Marriage, bidding them take care to provide all things convenient againſt ſuch a Day, which he named.

Not far from the Place, there was a little Village inhabited by a few and poor Cottagers, the pooreſt of them all, was call'd Janicola, he had one Daughter, whoſe Name was Briſeis or Griſſel, by which Name we ſhall call her for the future; the ſhape of her Body was admirable, and nothing could be imagin'd more beautiful than her Soul; ſhe was bred with a ſparing Diet, unus'd, and ignorant of Voluptuouſneſs in extream Poverty, ſhe had no ſoft or tender thoughts, but in a young Virgins Breaſt, the Heart of wiſe experienc'd Man, ſhe took care to keep clean and nouriſh her old Father, with exemplary Piety, and look'd to his few Sheep, and returning at Night, wore out her Fingers with ſpinning, ſhe boil'd his Milk and Cabbage, and the reſt of the poor and unbought Fare; lighted him a little Fire, made his hard Bed, tuck'd him in begging his bleſſing, and wiſhing him good Night: In a word, in that ſmall Cottage ſhe exercis'd the whole Duty of filial Piety and Obedience.

The Marqueſs having occaſion frequently to paſs that way, when he was Hunting and Hawking, by chance fix'd his Eyes upon this poor Girle, not with youthful Laſciviouſneſs, but with mature and conſiderate Gravity, and perceiv'd in her greater Vertue than could be expected in her Sex, and her Age, which the obſcurity of her Condition hid from the Eyes of the Vulgar, which wrought ſuch an effect in him, as to make him reſolve to marry, which till that time he was averſe from, and preferring her before all the reſt of her Sex, to marry none but her.

The Wedding-Day drew near, but none of his Court could gueſs, from what corner of the World the Bride ſhould come: In the mean time, he order'd the Wedding Ring, and Coronet, and Scarves, and rich Cloaths to be made; the Taylor taking meaſure by another Woman, who was near the ſame heighth and make with Griſſel.

The Wedding-Day was come, and no noiſe of the Bride was heard, which increas'd the admiration of them all, a great Dinner was provided, and Dinner time was come, and the Muſcians were in readineſs, and the Palace richly ſet out and adorn'd; the Marqueſs went out to meet his Bride, accompanied with a great Train of Noble Men and Ladies.

Griſſel knowing that to be the Wedding-Day, roſe earlier than ordinary that morning, and fetch'd a Bucket of Water from a neighbouring Spring, made clean her little Houſe, gave her old Father his Breakfaſt, and having ſet in order her ſmall Affairs, dreſs'd herſelf in poor, but clean Cloaths, and in the Company of ſome other Maids of the ſame Condition and Village, was going to the Palace to ſee the Ceremony.

The Marqueſs walking towards her Houſe full of Thoughts, ſaw her, and calling her by her Name; Griſſel, ſaid he, where is your Father? She making a low reverence, anſwer'd reſpectively and humbly, If it pleaſe your Highneſs, he is at home.

Bid him, ſaid the Marqueſs, come to me preſently; ſhe went and call'd him, when the poor old Man was come, the Marqueſs taking him by the Hand, led him a little aſide, and with a low voice, ſpoke thus to him:

Friend Janicola, I know, you Love and Honour me, and that you are Honeſt and Loyal, and I believe, that what pleaſes me, will not be unpleaſant to you, I have a mind to try you in one inſtance, whether you will conſent, that I ſhould marry your Daughter, and of your Prince, become your Son?

The old Man was ſtruck with ſuch amazement at his unexſpected Queſtion, that he almoſt loſt his Senſes, and was ſcarce able to ſpeak, but at laſt, being a little recover'd, he anſwer'd with a broken and diſturb'd voice, I ought not ſaid he, will, or refuſe any thing, but what ſhall pleaſe your Highneſs, who are my Lord, and Maſter.

Let us go into a private Room and ſend for her, ſaid the Marqueſs, and when only we three are together, that I may ask her ſome Queſtions in your preſence, they two retir'd, and order'd Griſſel to be ſent for, whom they found expecting when her Father would come out, and admiring what the Marqueſs's buſineſs ſhould be with him; but her admiration was increas'd, when ſhe underſtood that ſhe was ſent for to go to them.

As ſoon as ſhe was enter'd, Griſſel, ſaid the Marqueſs, it is my Will, and I have your Fathers Conſent, that you ſhould be my Wife, and I believe, you will not be againſt it, but I muſt ask you ſome Queſtions, before we are married, which ſhall be preſently.

Are you prepar'd and reſolv'd willingly to do whatever I ſhall order you? And that your Will ſhall never vary from mine in any thing, and whatever I have a mind, you ſhall do, you ſhall perform willingly without the leaſt grumbling, or any ſhew of diſlike in your Words and Countenance.

Theſe Words made her tremble from top to toe, but collecting up her Spirits, I acknowledge my ſelf, ſaid ſhe, my Lord and Maſter, altogether unworthy of this Honour, but if it is your Pleaſure and my Fortune, I vow, that I will never knowingly do, or think any thing which ſhall be againſt your mind, neither will I think ill of whatſoever you ſhall do, tho it be to take away my Life.

It is enouf, ſaid the Marqueſs, I am contented, then taking her by the Hand, he led her out, and ſhew'd her to the Nobles, and the great Concourſe of People of all Conditions, who were congregated there to ſee the Wedding.

This is my Wife, ſaid the Marqueſs, Reſpect, Reverence, and Love her, and ſhew your dutiful Affections to her, as you hope to have me Loving and Gracious to you.

Afterwards he commanded, That ſhe ſhould be ſtrip'd to her Skin, and carry no reliques of her former Condition into her new Habitation, 'twas done, and ſhe was dreſs'd from Head to Heel in new Apparel, which was done by the Ladies of the Court, every one ſtriving, who ſhould be moſt forward in obeying the Marqueſs's Command, they took her into their Arms, and heartily expreſs'd their Joy for her exaltation to this Degree of Honour, they put her into a Bagnio, waſh'd her clean, pour'd upon her Oyl of Jeſſamin, and Mirtle, and other ſweet Perfumes, they cleans'd, comb'd, powder'd, and curl'd her Hair, took off her patch'd Cloaths, and habited her with new ones, rich, coſtly, embroider'd and faſhionable: They adorn'd her with Ribbands and Jewels, ſo that when the People ſaw her again, they could ſcarce believe, it was the ſame; the Marqueſs caus'd a Coronet to be put upon her Head, and a Ring upon her Finger, and ſolemnly eſpous'd her, and ſetting her upon a ſnow white Horſe, made her be conducted with Pomp to the Palace, a great Concourſe of People following and applauding her. After this manner was the Wedding celebrated, and the Day ended with all poſſible demonſtrations of Joy.

In a little time there appear'd ſo much Grace and Majeſty in this poor and humble Bride, that ſhe ſeem'd to have been Born and Bred in ſome great Court, and not in a poor Shepherds Cottage, and 'tis beyond belief, how dear ſhe was to all, and what Reſpect and Veneration was paid her, and even thoſe who knew her Original, could ſcarcely perſwade theirſelves, that ſhe was Janicolas Daughter, ſo eminent were her Life, and her Manners, ſo grave and graceful was her Speech, ſo modeſt and obliging her Behaviour, her Fame was not confin'd to Piedmont and Savoy, but extended it ſelf to all the bordering Countries, ſo that many came from Provinces at a great diſtance to have a ſight of her, of whom they had heard ſo much.

And the Marqueſs was ſo far from being blam'd for making Choice of this poor, but vertuous and illuſtrious Wife, that all his Neighbours eſteem'd him, not only a Wiſe, but a Happy Prince, enjoying ſuch a firm Peace at home, and the Love and Favour of all the confining Princes, neither did his prudent Wife, mind only what belongs to Women, and the Affairs of the Houſe, but when there was occaſion in the Marqueſs's abſence, undertook public Matters, compoſing Differences of the meaner Subjects, and the Nobility with ſo much Equity, that ſhe was cried up by all of them, as a Woman ſent from Heaven for the public good.

It was not long before ſhe found herſelf with Child, to the Joy of the Country, which was increas'd by her being ſafely deliver'd of a moſt beautiful Daughter, to her Husbands and Subjects great Satisfaction, for altho they had rather it had been a Son, yet they were well pleas'd with this Introduction, hoping, and not doubting, that a young Woman who had given this ſign of her fertility, would in good time, bleſs them with a Son and Succeſſour.

No ſooner was the Daughter nurs'd, but the Marqueſs was reſolv'd to put in effect a very ſtrange Reſolution, whether more admirable, or laudable, let the learned judge, to make an experiment of the Fidelity, and Patience, and Obedience of his dear Wife, which he knew too well to have any reaſon to ſuſpect, and he was not contented to make one ſingle trial, but repeated ones, which began thus.

He calls her into his Bed-Chamber, and with a troubled and diſcontented Countenance, ſpoke in this manner to her.

You cannot but remember, Griſſel, for I do not believe, your preſent Condition has made you forget what you were; I ſay, you remember how you came firſt into my Houſe, tho you are belov'd by me, and very dear, which I will not deny: Yet I muſt tell you to my great Grief, you are not ſo to my Subjects, eſpecially ſince you have brought forth a Child, and they believe you may have more, and now they ſhew theirſelves very uneaſy, and ready to mutiny for being under a Woman of ſuch mean Parentage. It is neceſſary to the Peace in my Dominions, to diſpoſe of your Daughter, not according to my own Inclinations, but ſo that I may quiet the minds of my Subjects, and to do that then, which nothing can grieve me more: But I would not put it in effect, without having your Knowledge and Conſent, not doubting but you will arm yourſelf with Patience, as you promis'd before we were married.

Having heard him ſpeak without any alteration in her Countenance or Speech; Sir, ſaid ſhe, you are my Lord and Prince, I and this little Daughter are yours, do with your own whatever you think fit, whatever pleaſes you ſhall not diſpleaſe me, I deſire to have nothing elſe, nor fear to looſe any thing but you, whom I carry fix'd in my Heart, that no Time, or Death it ſelf can remove, all things may happen ſooner, than I ſhall change my mind towards you.

The Marqueſs rejoyc'd at this anſwer, but conceal'd it, and ſeem'd to leave her with great ſadneſs in his face; not long after he ſent for an Officer of his Guards, of whoſe Fidelity he had often experienc'd in matters of great Importance, and having given him full Inſtructions, he ſent him to the Marchioneſs; he came to her in the Night, I humbly beg of you, Madam, ſaid he, to forgive the Meſſenger, that brings you ill Tidings, and not lay the fault upon me, for what I do, I do by compulſion, and God knows againſt my will.

Your Highneſs is wiſe, and knows how we are to behave ourſelves, who are under Maſters, neither can one of your divine Underſtanding be ignorant, altho you have not yet known it by Experience, that we are under an indiſpenſable Obligation of obeying our Maſters Commands, be they never ſo rigorous.

I am commanded to take this Child from you; and here he ſtop'd, as not being willing to declare what he was to do with it.

The fame of the Meſſenger, his ſuſpicious Countenance, and the time of the Night, and his ſuſpicious Speech, made her firmly believe, the Child was to be murder'd, or at leaſt expos'd upon the Mountains, yet ſhe did not ſigh, or ſhed the leaſt tear, which would be a wonderful thing in a hir'd Nurſe, and was certainly a moſt admirable in a natural Mother, but with a ſedate Countenance ſhe took the Child in her Arms, looking a while upon it, then kiſſing it moſt tenderly, and bleſſing it, and making the ſign of the Croſs upon it, ſhe deliver'd it to the Souldier.

Go, ſaid ſhe, and execute what ever Commands your Maſter has laid upon you, yet let me beg one thing of you, bury my Daughter, and permit not, that her Fleſh ſhould be food to Birds and wild Beaſts, but I do not deſire even this, if your Maſter has given you poſitive Orders to the contrary.

The Officer return'd to the Marqueſs, and inform'd him of what paſs'd, what was ſaid, and what was done, which mov'd in him Fatherly Piety, but not to that degree as to bend his mind, and make him deſiſt to proſecute his rigorous experiment, but he deliver'd the Child to the Officer, commanding him to wrap it up in warm Cloaths, and put it into a Cradle, and carry it upon a Mule, with great Care, and eaſy Journies to Bolonia, and there to deliver it to a Siſter of his, who was married to the Count of Panico, to be Educated and Inſtructed, as a Daughter of ſuch a Father ought to be, but with privacy and ſecretneſs, that no body ſhould gueſs or know, whoſe Daughter ſhe was.

He went, and carefully perform'd the Commands which his Maſter had laid upon him.

In the mean while, the Marqueſs oftentimes conſider'd the Countenance and Words of his Wife, and could find therein no change, there were the ſame Chearfulneſs, the ſame Sedulity and Obedience as before, the ſame Love, no ſadneſs, no mention of her Daughter, neither on purpoſe, or caſually, the Name of her was never heard proceeding out of the Mothers mouth.

In this Condition they paſs'd four Years, when the Marchioneſs prov'd again with Child, and in due time was deliver'd of a Boy, the moſt beautiful Child that ever the Sun ſhin'd upon, to the great Joy of its Father, and of all his Friends and Subjects, which after having been in the Country at Nurſe, was brought to Saluzzo, where the Marqueſs reſided, who not being yet ſatified in what he had done, reſolved to puſh on yet further this cruel Experiment, and thus he again accoſts his Wiſe.

I told you before, Griſſel, ſaid he, how much my People grumbled at our Marriage, eſpecially after they found you were fruitful, but now their diſcontent is augmented, ſince you have brought forth a Son, for they ſtick not to ſay, and I have often heard them: When the Marqueſs Gualtiero is dead, Janicolas Grand-Child is to be our Prince, and our noble Country muſt be ſubject to the Off-ſpring of a poor Labourer.

This is the common talk of the People, which make a great impreſſion upon me, for I love Peace, and fear Tumults and Inſurrections, that therefore I may make my Condition ſecure. I find my ſelf forced to diſpoſe of this Child, as I have done of his Siſter, but I thought good to acquaint you with it firſt, leaſt the ſuddain and unforeſeen Accident ſhould diſturb you.

To which words ſhe replied, I told you before, Sir, and now I repeat it to you; I can neither will or refuſe, any thing, but what you pleaſe to have me do, I have no ſhare in thoſe Children, but the pain of bringing them into the World, you are my Lord, and theirs, diſpoſe of your own as you think fit, and ask not my Conſent, for the ſame moment I put my Feet into your Houſe, as I put off my Raggs, ſo I did my Will and Affections, and put on yours, therefore in all things, whatever you will, I will alſo.

If I could fore-know your Will, I would deſire the ſame, and execute it, before you ſhould declare it to me, but ſince I cannot do that, tell what your pleaſure is, I'll willingly perform it; ſay, 'tis your pleaſure I ſhould be put to Death, I'll go to it with a good will, for nothing at all, not even Death, ſhall diminiſh my Love and Obedience.

The Marqueſs admiring his Wifes conſtancy, went from her, with a ſtern, and troubled Countenance, and preſently ſent to her the ſame Officer whom he ſent before, who begun with a great preamble of the neceſſity of Soldiers obeying their Prince, tho the Actions were never ſo ungrateful to thoſe who did them, and hurtful to thoſe who ſuffer'd by them, and much begging Pardon, and deſiring her not to have hard thoughts of him, for he was but a Servant, and came unwillingly to diſturb her Highneſs: Having made ſuch an harangue, as if he was about to put in execution ſome cruel, and wicked, unheard of Vilany, which he durſt not mention; he demanded the Child of the intrepid and patient Mother, who without changing her Countenance, took the Child from the Nurſe into her own Arms, it was very beautiful, and ſhew'd early hopes of excellent Endowments of mind, and was not only belov'd by the Mother, but by all that ſaw it; ſhe ſign'd it with the ſign of the Croſs, bleſs'd it, and kiſs'd it, as ſhe had her Daughter before, then looking a little while upon it, without diſcovering any ſign of Grief, ſhe put it into the hands of the Officer.

Here, ſaid ſhe, take the Child, and do with it as thou art commanded, but one thing I deſire of thee, ſuffer not the Fleſh of this beautiful and innocent Infant to be devour'd by wild Beaſts, and the Birds of the Air.

The Officer return'd to his Maſter, giving him an account of the execution of his Commands, which caus'd wonder and amazement in the Marqueſs, that had not he known, that ſhe tenderly and paſſionately lov'd her Children, he would have ſuſpected this female Conſtancy, to have proceeded from a rugged and fierce Nature, or at leaſt, from an apathie and want of Paſſion and maternal Affection, but he knew well, ſhe was compaſſionate, and lov'd every one, but lov'd her Husband above all things.

The Officer was commanded to diſpoſe of the Son, as he had done before of the Daughter, to carry him to Bolonia, to be taken care of by the Marqueſs's Siſter, which he did.

One would have thought, that theſe trials of his Wifes Patience, Fidelity, and Obedience, might have been ſufficient to have ſatisfied the moſt cruel and rigorous Husband.

But there are ſome, who, when they have once begun, never know when 'tis enouf, and when 'tis time to leave off; of this number was he, who reſolv'd to proceed, and puſh farther this cruel Experiment, fixing his Eyes therefore upon his Wife, to try whether he could diſcover any change in her, and doing this daily and continually, he could perceive none at all, but that ſhe was ſtill more faithful and more obedient, if it could be poſſible, than before ſhe had ſuffer'd ſuch cruel and inhuman uſage.

It ſeem'd, that they two had both but one Will, or rather that ſhe had none at all, but his was hers.

The Marqueſs began inſenſibly to looſe his Reputation, and to be accounted a cruel and unjuſt Perſon, thus to make away his Children, born of ſo vertuous, obedient, and every way accompliſh'd Wife.

All his Subjects admired and pitied her, and did not ſtick to ſay, that tho ſhe was the Daughter of a Labourer, yet ſhe was too good for him, and that the worſt Wife that ever was in the World, did not deſerve ſuch uſage.

This diſcontent and murmuring of the People came to the Marqueſs's ears, but were not prevalent enouf to turn him from proſecuting his Experiment.

The Children did not appear, and no body knew what was become of them, which made him, who before this act was belov'd and dear to all, become infamous and hated.

Twelve years after the birth of his Daughter, he ſent Meſſengers to Rome, who were to bring thence the Popes pretended Bull, or Licence to be divorc'd from his Wife, and ſpread a report amongſt his Subjects, that he had obtain'd leave of the Pope to annull the firſt Marriage, and to marry again for his own quiet, and the ſatisfaction of his People, for it was not an hard matter for him to make this believ'd by the ignorant Mountainers, eſpecially ſo far diſtant from Rome: this news mightily diſguſted them, but they were forc'd to ſubmit to the will of their Prince, tho not without grumbling and hard thoughts. When this report came to Griſſels ears, tho I believe ſhe was ſad, yet ſhe was unſhaken, being reſolv'd to undergo with an undaunted courage, whatever the Marqueſs ſhould inflict upon her: ſhe patiently expected the event, and what he would do, to whom ſhe had unchangeably ſubmitted her ſelf, and all her concerns.

The Marqueſs wrote to his Brother in law at Bolonia to ſend back his Children, and gave out a report, that he had made choice of the young Lady to be his Wife. A few days after the receipt of this Letter, the young beautiful Maid now marriageable, richly apparell'd, and her Brother a Youth ſeven years old, attended upon with a great troop of Nobility and Gentry, with much pomp and ſolemnity ſet forwards from Bolonia, in order to make their public entry into Saluzzo upon a day appointed.

The Marqueſs according as he had done before, to ſound his Wife, and try whether her patience would hold out againſt ſo many cruel and repeated aſſaults, and to heap upon her ſhame and grief, ſent for her, and in the preſence of a great number of by-ſtanders he ſpoke thus; for a good while Griſſel, I delighted in having you for my Wife, but 'twas before I was thorowly acquainted with your temper, but now I can endure you no longer, I perceive that all great fortune is a great ſlavery, and that it is not lawful for me to do that which every poor man may. My Subjects compel me to divorce you, and the Pope has granted me his Diſpenſation to marry again, my Bride is upon the Road, and will be here to morrow, carry your ſelf magnanimouſly then, and deliver up your place, take back your Portion, and return to your Fathers Cottage, Conſtancy of good Fortune, never attends any mortal.

To whom ſhe thus replied, I was always conſcious, my Lord and Maſter, that I was ſo far from deſerving to be your Wife, that I did not think my ſelf worthy to be your meaneſt Servant: And I call God to witneſs, that from the firſt moment I ſet my Foot in your Palace, where, for a great while, I have lived with you with much honour, and much more reſpect than I deſerv'd, or could hope, for which I return thanks to God and you: I ſay, that from that moment I eſteem'd my ſelf no more than a Servant, and now I am ready, and prepar'd with a ſedate and willing mind, to return to my poor Fathers little Houſe, and there, where I ſuck'd my firſt Milk, end my Days and die; and I ſhall always repute my ſelf happy, and an honourable Widow, having been ſo great a Perſons Wife.

I willingly give place to your new Bride, and wiſh you both much Joy, and willingly leave this place, wherein I liv'd with ſo much pleaſure and honour, ſince you will have it ſo; but I know not what you mean, Sir, by bidding me carry back with me my Portion; I acknowledge, and can never forget, how at the Threſhold of my Fathers Houſe, I put off all my old poor Cloaths, and was dreſs'd with thoſe you ſent, and that I brought no other Portion but Nakedneſs and Fidelity.

Behold, Sir, I put off theſe Cloaths, and reſtore to you the Ring, wherewith you eſpous'd me; the reſt of the Rings, and Jewels, and Cloaths, which you heap'd upon me, are all in your Bed-Chamber, naked came I out of my Fathers Houſe, and naked will I return thither again, but I think, it would be an unworthy and horrid thing, to expoſe my naked Belly to the public view, this Belly, which has born and brought forth Children, begot by you, therefore if it pleaſes you, and not otherwiſe, I moſt humbly and earneſtly beg, in lieu and recompence of my Virginity, which you know I brought hither, and do not carry back, that you would command, that I may have leave to take with me only one of thoſe Smocks I wore when I was your Bed-fellow, to cover the Belly of her, who was once your Wife.

Theſe words made the tears come into the Marqueſs's Eyes, that 'twas impoſſible for him to retain them, and turning aſide his Face, he ſaid with a trembling voice, Be it as you will, take one Smock with you, and ſo went away weeping.

The patient Lady, before all the Company, ſtrip'd herſelf to her Smock, and without a covering of her Head or Shoes upon her Feet, went out of the Palace, and in the midſt of a great Company, that went with her, all of them pitying her, and blaming Fortune, and curſing her Husband, all of them full of tears, ſhe only had her Eyes dry, and without ſpeaking a word, or ſhewing any ſign of Grief, ſhe went chearfully to her Fathers Houſe.

The poor old Man, who never lik'd the unequal Match of his Daughter, always ſuſpecting ſome miſchief would follow, and that her Huſband would ſoon be weary of a Wife ſo meanly born, and as it is cuſtomary amongſt great Men, ſend her home to him again, upon this fore-ſight, he carefully laid up her old coarſe, thred-bare Cloaths in a little corner of his poor Houſe; hearing then the noiſe of the People, and perceiving they accompanied his Daughter home, he met her at the Door, and cover'd her with an old Garment.

She remain'd a few Days with her Father, and behav'd herſelf with admirable equanimity and humanity, there was in her no ſign of ſadneſs, nor no marks that ſhe ever had been a Princeſs: And carried herſelf to her Father, with the ſame Obedience, Diligence and Carefulneſs, as ſhe did before her removal to the Palace.

Now the Count of Panico was upon his Journey, and the report of the Wedding was in every ones mouth, as he drew nearer, he ſent one before to the Marqueſs, to appoint him what Day he thought convenient to have him make his public entry into the City, which the Marqueſs aſſign'd; but the Day before it was to be, he ſent for Griſſel, who came to him, without any heſitation, with all readineſs and devotion.

Griſſel, ſaid he to her, my pleaſure is, that the young Lady, who will be here to morrow at Dinner, ſhould be magnificently entertain'd, as alſo the Gentlemen and Ladies, who come with her; I would have nothing wanting, no diſ-reſpect or affront put upon any of them, either by word, or not ranging them in their due place, I would have all things performed according to the moſt polite and courtly Faſhion, and altho I have ſeveral Maid-Servants in the Houſe, yet I dare not truſt any but you, to do it according to my mind, none of them having ſo much skill, or diligence; therefore I pray take the charge upon you, to place the Gueſts, and ſee them well ſerv'd, and be not aſham'd of your poor Cloaths.

I am not only willing, Sir, ſaid ſhe, but very deſirous to do you this ſervice, and whatſoever elſe you ſhall pleaſe at any time to impoſe upon me, to ſerve you, will never tire or weary me, as long as I have Strength or Life; ſhe had no ſooner ſaid this, but ſhe began her work, ſhe took the Beaſom and ſwept the Houſe, made the Beds, and rubb'd down, and cover'd the Tables, exhorting and encouraging the Maids to mind their work, as if ſhe had been one of them.

The next Day at Nine in the Morning, the Count arriv'd, and with him the young Lady and her Brother, whoſe Beauty they all admir'd ſo much, that they thought, they could never look long enouf upon them, or ſpeak enouf in their praiſe.

There were ſome, that ſaid, the Marqueſs had done wiſely, and chang'd much for the beſt, becauſe this Wife was younger and nobler, and had beſides, ſo extraordinarily beautiful a Brother.

In the heat of the Preparation for this Feaſt, Griſſel was in every place, and took the main care of every thing, not dejected in her mind, nor at all aſham'd of her poor Cloaths, ſhe met the young Lady as ſhe came in, with a chearful and ſmiling Countenance, kneeling upon her Knees, and her Eyes caſt down upon the Earth, ſhe humbly deſir'd to kiſs her Hand, and ſaid, my Lady and Miſtreſs, you are heartily welcome, and God give you long and continual Happineſs; ſhe alſo with a chearful Face, and wonderful Grace in her behaviour, ſaluted all the reſt of the Gueſts, and ſet the whole Houſe ſo in good Order, that it caus'd in all, but eſpecially in the Strangers an amazement and admiration, how it ſhould come to paſs, that ſuch Majeſty of Manners, and ſuch exalted Prudence ſhould proceed from a Perſon ſo meanly habited, and ſhe thought, ſhe could never extend herſelf enouf in the praiſes of the young Lady and her Brother, but by turns, now exalted the Virgins Beauty, then the Youths handſome and manly Features.

Juſt as they were ſetting down at the Table, the Marqueſs turning towards her, with a loud voice, that he might be heard, by all, as if he had done it on purpoſe to put an affront upon her.

Griſſel, ſaid he, What is your Opinion of my Bride, is ſhe not handſome, has ſhe not a modeſt, ingenious, and vertuous Countenance?

In truth, Sir, ſaid ſhe, I never ſaw one of a more beautiful and promiſing aſpect, you may lead a happy Life with her, and if not, 'tis impoſſible any body elſe can pleaſe you, I wiſh, and hope, and am confident, ſhe will be a Bleſſing to you.

But, Sir, let me beg of you, and in good earneſt adviſe you, not to try ſuch rigorous Experiments upon her, as you did upon your late Wife, for ſhe is young, and has been tenderly educated, and I believe, will not be able to endure ſo much, as I have done, ſuch uſage will ſoon either break her Heart, or provoke her, to break yours.

The Marqueſs hearing her ſpeak this, admiring the chearfulneſs and conſtancy of a Woman, whom he had ſo often, and in ſo cruel a manner offended, was mov'd to pity her unworthy Sufferings, and was not able to proceed any farther in this cruel way.

Taking her by the Hand, my Griſſel, ſaid he, I have made too much trial of thy Affection and Fidelity; I am abundantly convinc'd of the reality and immenſity of it, neither do I believe, that any one under the Canopy of Heaven, has experimentally found ſo much Love, Faith, Conſtancy and Obedience in a Wife, as I have: this ſaid, he took her into his Arms, embrac'd and kiſs'd her with all imaginable Tenderneſs and Affection.

Thou art, ſaid he, my dear and only Wife, beſides thee I never had, nor ever will have any other, ſhe, that you believe to be my future Wife, is thy Daughter, and this Youth, is thy Son, both which, thou thought'ſt to be loſt, now thou haſt them again: Let thoſe know, who foſter'd ill Opinions of me, that my Curioſity has caus'd me to make ſome Experiments, but has not made me impious, to try my Wife, but not caſt her off; to hide my Children, but not murder them.

She hearing theſe Words, was near dying with Joy, and her natural Affection ſpurring her on, ſhe ran to her Children, bathing their Faces with Tears, which copiouſly flow'd from her Eyes, now ſeeing again thoſe dear Pledges, whoſe Death ſhe had lamented, ſhe tir'd them with Kiſſes, and almoſt drown'd them with her Tears.

Upon this, the Ladies came in Troops about her, felicitating the joyful and happy End of her ſo many, ſo long, and cruel Sufferings; they ſtrip'd her of her poor Garments, and dreſs'd her like a Bride, with rich Cloaths which the Marqueſs had order'd to be made for her againſt that Day: She was applauded, bleſs'd, congratulated by all; the Palace rung with the general Acclamation of the People, every ones Heart was fill'd with unſpeakable Joy, and their Eyes with Tears which it produc'd; the Joy and Magnificence of her Wedding-Day, was much inferiour to this of her happy Return, and her Childrens.

They liv'd together for many Years after, even till their Deaths, in perfect Love and Concord, the Marqueſs never trying any more Experiments, and the Affections of his Subjects return'd like a rapid Torrent, and was greater than before its Ebb.

He ſent for Janicola, of whom till then, he had taken no notice, leaſt he might hinder his making Experiments; he order'd him an Apartment, and a bountiful Penſion, which might enable him to live like the Marqueſs's Father.

Not long after, he married his Daughter to a Noble Man of Savoy, ſuitable to her Birth and Beauty, and the great Portion he gave with her.

To conclude, He dy'd in Peace, after having been for many Years the happieſt Man upon Earth, in his Wife and Children.

His Son now at Mans Eſtate, and perfectly inſtructed and accompliſhed by the care of his Tutors and Parents, ſucceeded him in his mild and juſt Government, and the hearty Love and Affections of his Subjects.

FINIS.