WIthin the Principality of Viennois, whilome there lived and ruled; as Daulphin, a most renowned Prince, no lesse esteemed for his admired wisedome, then highly honoured for his respected greatnesse; But so absolute was hee in opinion, so perverse in disposition, and so severe in go­vernment, that he made his will his God, and rigour his law. This Daulphin had but one onely Daughter, whose exquisite beauty was so beautified with rarest vertues, that men honoured Nature as a God in her perfections and held her more then a woman in her vertues. Amongst many Knights that then followed her Fathers Court, there was a most well deserving aged Knight (who was knowne to be as sufficient, as he was sufficiently knowne) named Sir Ioques, who had but one onely sonne called Paris, whose but budding yeares, deckt with Natures pride, and honoured with timely Knighthood, well cha­lenged renowne for his right, Venus for his friend, and Fortune for his servant. But it fortuned (so Fortune would) that this young Knight casting casually his carelesse eye a­side in Court, espyed the young Princesse, the faire Vienna, (for so after the City was shee called) talking with her se­lected and endeered friend the Lady Izabella, whose graci­ous demeanour he so devoutly noted, and whose unparalel'd [Page 2] beauty hee so feelingly admired, that openly commending the one, he secretly affected the other. Many were the un­wonted thoughts that now troubled his troubled minde, and more then many were the unquiet and universuall cares that now attended his new entertained desires. Still hee gazed, and gazing sigh't, and sighing grieved that so he ga­zed, yet could hee not cease to feed his hungry eye, nor durst he once be seene to looke on her, one whom he could not but looke. For as commanding love did flatter his aspi­ring hope; so the remembrance of Phaetons fall, did dismay him with a deadly feare. And feare hee did, least that just disdaine should beget in her bitter revenge, and blacke re­venge should bring forth untimely death.

Thus in seeking to passe the meane, poore Paris dyed for being so meane, and in this disconsolation, glad he was to smother his sorrow to his greater griefe, not daring to ac­quaint any but La-nova his second selfe, his companion in Armes, and the sole secreter of all his secrets. To him, and none but him, did hee in sorrow bewray his love, and in love bewayle his sorrow.

La-nova pittying his case, disswaded him from the danger of Jxions love, least with more repentance hee vainely with Apollo pursued Daphne. Heavens forbid (said he) my Paris eye should with the Eagle soare against so bright a Sunne; or that your desire should with the Bee delight in such flo­wers, which being suckt, will yeeld more poyson then ho­ney. Ah Paris, Paris, seeke not to obtaine that with care, which you cannot keepe without danger. To desire to be a King, is no Just title of a Kingdome; and to say you love her, no sufficient desert to winne her. Desire not then be­yond thy reach, least thou fall in thy hope. Nay, admit that her chast conceites would entertaine Ʋenus deceites, yet followes it not, that Ioves royall bird would prey on sil­ly Flies. Alexander would deale with none but Kings, nor Ʋienna with any but Princes; lowe shrubs wither ever at the Cedars roote. Beware Paris, least coveting with Icarus to soare above the Sunne, thou be punished in his pride under the Sunne. Thy deserts are I confesse many, and me­ritorious, [Page 3] but the state of her estate stands not with thy indignities; men are wey'd by the aboundance of their for­tunes, not by the worthinesse of theyr vertues. Then wade no further in this fourd, but let Armours, not Amours, be the subject of thy thoughts, since the Campe affoords ho­nours, and the Court such dangers.

Paris thus dehorted, resembled the Palme-tree, that the more it is prest downe, the more it striveth upwards, so the more his friend misliked of that hee desired; the more he desired what so his friend misliked. Such was the unre­sistable force of his inlimitable affection, that in spite of rea­son he was enforc'd to doe homage unto passion. For where Love is predominant, there all other affections attend on it. And therefore he concluded still, and ever to love her; but still, and never to let it bee knowne to her. To approve which, he requested La-novas company that night secretly to give Vienna musicke, who seeing his unremoveable re­solution, vowed himselfe to his fortunes. The same night when quiet sleepe possest each weary eye, hee and La-nova taking eyther of them a well tuned Lute, went directly under Vienna's window, where sweetly striking theyr pleasant strings, Sir Paris thus chearefully warbled out his Ladies praise.

Ʋienna pleased with the tune, but more with her praise, was moved with desire to know who they were, that so sweetly sung, and so affectinately honoured her; but doe what she could, she could not know them by any meanes, which much grieved, but more troubled her disquieted thoughts. Still she conferred and talked with Jzabella of that heavenly harmony, and ever she commended, whom she knew not to commend. For Paris having ended, where yet he had not begun, convayed himselfe away as privately as might be. But the next following night they went againe with dolefull Recorders, on which they carefully sounded. Paris unknowne, thus plainely made his passion not his person knowne.

This sorrowfull Song ended, the Musicke ceased, and Paris returned to his Chamber. But Ʋienna who atten­tively had listned to this carefull Ditty, knew not well by his over-passionate conceite, and alluding and insinuating Song, that Love had made her a Mistris, and Fortune had sent her a servant. Yet could shee not imagine who hee should be, but much she was discontented that so it should be, her Princely towring thoughts were not subject to Subjects fancies, nor would she admit of servill servants. And therfore because she would punish their pride in their presumption, she went the next morning secretly to her Father, and told him how that the two passed nights, there had beene some (not knowne to her) that had bestowed Mu­sick on her, under her Chamber window, and how that one of them the first night revealed his love in her praise; and the second night bewailed his affection in his owne griefe. And therefore she humbly requested him, that hee would command a privie Watch to be made that following night, [Page 6] that they might be discovered in theyr follyes, and she live acquitted of such vaine fancies.

The Daulphin discontent that any in his Province should so proudly presume to build his nest in the Sunne, gave in secret charge, that sixe of his Guard should watch as that night, to apprehend and bring them before him the next day. All which was done accordingly: And Sir Paris not misdeeming any crosse adventure, came as hee was wont with La-nova, to offer the sacrifice of his consecrated Mu­sicke to his devoted Saint. But they no sooner tuned, but they were neere over-turned. For the Watchmen fearing their escape, thought to make them sure by laying them on the ground. But Sir Paris, provided alwayes for all perils, seeing such rude entertainment, and holding them but for straglers, armed his whole endeavors to returne them con­digne thanks for their so unseasonable curtesies, in somuch that with La-novas furthering ayde hee wounded most of them, made them all to relye more on their legges then their hands. So that being left alone, they easily recovered their Chamber, without being discovered of any, which so much incenst the Daulphin, that leaving the reynes of his unlimited anger to his then enraged will, hee commanded that secretly twenty men well appointed, should the next night lye in ambush to apprehend them.

Now Sir Paris holding that their late disturbance was rather casuall, then occasioned, went, in his unsatiable de­sire, the next night againe. But no sooner had they taken stand, but that they found themselves entrapped in the snare; which they finding unresistable, yeelded without re­sistance. The Watch glad of their apprehension, held them­selves so secure of them, that not regarding (the night be­ing darke) what they were, they carelesly went along to­wards the Castle, untill they came by a narrow Lane, that turned into the heart of the City, whereunto Sir Paris all suddenly thrusting La-nova forceably, tooke by force a Hal­berd out of the next Watchmans hands, and stepping into the Lane, kept the entrance from them all. The Watchmen now grew more furiously wrathfull, then advisedly bold, [Page 7] and so confusedly assaulted them, that Sir Paris laying the first three on the ground, the rest (over-hastily still pressing forwards) stumbled, and fell upon their Companions, so many, and so thicke, that themselves bard themselves from the entrance, which advantaged Sir Paris and La-nova so much, that having time to turne them to the next turning, they got to their Chamber before they were descryed, or could be well pursued. The Daulphin understanding the next morning of the uprore, and of their escape, was much malecontented in himselfe, the Court wondred at the acci­dent, but Vienna now recounting their undaunted coura­ges, with their noble qualities, conceived them to be men of high esteeme, and now more favourably, and affectio­nately did labour the knowledge of them, but never after durst they presume to venture the like adventure againe, which much grieved Vienna, and more incensed the Dau­phin, who being frustrated of his expectation politickly, yet plotted this devise.

First, he caused a Christall Shield, and a Chaplet of gold to bee made, both, passing faire, and rich, then delivering them to Herald, he commanded him to take them, and to carie them throughout all the Citie, and by sound of Trum­pet proclaime a solemne Iusts (free for all commers) to be kept 40. dayes after: And that he that should winne the ho­nour of the day, should by Ʋiennas hand be crowned with the sayd Chaplet as Victor, and receive the sayd Shield as the best deserving Knight. By this meane meanes, the Daulphin thought to find out the unknowne Lover. For it was an Article of his beliefe, that in honour of his Daugh­ter, he would (as a Knight) make tryall of his fortune; and as a Lover disclose himselfe, in his devise; where by ob­servance (the instrument of knowledge) might well disco­ver him. Great preparation there was made on all sides, and divers Knights and Barons of sundry Provinces, came as well to see the admired beauty of Ʋienna, as to winne re­nowne for renowned Chivalry. Amongst whom at last, though not least in worth, came Sir Paris, and La-nova, well mounted on white fiery Steedes, suteable to theyr white [Page 8] plaine Armour, without either marke, or devise: For nei­ther, neither durst vse for feare of being discovered by them. But the day, and the Daulphin being come. Vienna was set (richly roabed in Arabian Bisse) on a faire tapistred scaffold, the Chaplet on her head; and the Christall Shield standing before her at her feete; so that she seemed another Pallas in a second Ʋenus shape. Many Knights amazedly be­held her, most desired her, all admired her Thus when each hungry eye had fed, but not fill'd his covetous sight, the Herald standing up (after the summoning sound of Trum­pet) bad every Knight doe his best devoyre. Then desire of honour, armed each martiall heart with double courage and every Knights courage was redoubled with hope of ho­nour and Ʋienna's favour: So that the Iusts grew great, and both nobly did each Knight, especially La-nova bare him selfe. But Sir Paris whose unknowne prowis was not yet fully proved, seeing a Burgonian proudly brandishing his Launce before Vienna, for the honour which yet hee bare away from all, was so enraged with choller and jealousie, that fiercely spurring his hote ready Horse, he so forceably charged, and over-charged him in the encounter, that hee layd the Burgonians pride in the dust; which Ʋienna noting, noted him for the most redoubted, and best merriting Knight of them all. Still her eye followed his fortune, and still his fortune was remarkable, and pleasing to her eye. For never ceased he Iusting, nor never Iusted, but he over-turned some one, in which performance he was applauded of every one. Such was his heroicall fortitude, and such his quicke delivery, and manly cariage of himselfe, that in the end there was left none, whom he had not overthrown, nor any overthrowne, that would re-assay to overthrow the overthrower. Thus stood unvanquished Sir Paris, like invincible Hercules expecting a charge; but in finding none he found his owne discharge. So that the Heralds (with Trumpets sounding his praise) brought him to the scaffold, where the fayrest fayre, and gracious Ʋienna graced his vi­ctory, with setting the Chaplet on his head, and giving him the Christall Shield, she blushing said: Receive noble [Page 9] Knight thy most well-deserving honour, and heavens make thee happy both in thy designes, and thy desires. Sir Paris more proud of her words, then of his reward, received them at her hands, with more pleasing content then Paphos Queene did the golden fruit, and humbling himselfe on his knee, hee obsequiously reverently, yet fearefully, kist her hand, and layd his other on his heart, in token that he was hers in all service; and so rising up he made a lowe obey­zance, and both parting, both of them looked backe at one instant upon each other; a true record, that their liking hearts reioyced in the sight of either other. But Sir Paris being come to the rest of the Knights, departed with them, and as they rid each one towards his severall home, he and La-nova tooke an occasion to light to mend their Saddles, the rest passing carelesly on, which they seeing, tooke the next turning, and so were gotten away before they were mist, and mist before they were knowne. The Daulphin thus deceived by him he meant to deceive, was much agre­ved; so were the Knights that they could not tell by whom they were vanquished; & so was Vienna, that she knew not by whom she was honoured. She thought and ever looked that he should haue discovered himselfe, that he might the better bee respected of her, and the world take further knowledge of him and his merit. But the clouding of him­selfe, assuredly assured her, that he, and none but he, was the man, that so sweetly (under her window) sang her praise; that so dolefully recorded the passion of his tor­menting love; and that so valiantly forc'd to flight her Fa­thers Guard; His secret departure, argued (she thought) so much; and his invaluable valour shewed no lesse. Desire now, of she knew not what, made her love she knew not whom: oft she wisht she knew him; still she talkt of him, and ever shee highly commended him; but her wishes were but vaine thoughts, and her words but as alluring windes.

During this their discontentments, The Duke of Ʋan­doume (now called Vendosome) being brother to the issulesse [Page 10] King of France, a man so powerfull in meanes, and so po­pular in State, that nothing could make him unhappy, but the excesse of his happinesse: This Duke, I say, beeing the first Prince of the blood, was so transported with such an aspiring pride, and unlimitted desire of Rule, that he could not disgest a small expectation. His desire of Sove­raignty caried him so beyond the bounds of all respects, that neyther Wisedome could informe his minde, nor Ho­nour sway his actions. Nature nor Duty could prescribe him any law, though he were a Subject, subject to the law. How to gaine the Crowne was all his care: His glorious consideration thereof, made a continuall examination of all his thoughts, how he should be possest thereof, Ambition (the Nurse of disloyall plots and practises) sayd, The King must dye; and Resolution (the performer of all deeds) an­swered, Hee shall dye. But how, or by whom, hee knew not. Young men (he sayd) are not ripe enough for such an action, and Old men are too timorous for so great an enter­prise. The rashnesse of the one, and the feare of the other, are the ruine of such businesse. To trust others then, is to deceive my selfe; For hope of reward (for the preservation of a King) will, I feare, betray my trust; And then I must conclude, that though a desire to steale, make not a Thiefe; yet my intent for treason, will make me a Traytor; and in the punishment thereof, I shall finde no distinction of per­sons. What resteth then but force and Armes? my sword must plead for possession, Rome could not resist Cesar, when he came to the gates, in the strength of his forces. I will therefore first fortifie my selfe with potent friends, dissem­ble for the time, my intent, and take counsell of three sorts of men: of the Lawyer, that speakes not as he thinkes; of the Physitian, that doth not as he sayes; and of the Divine, which oftentimes teacheth better then himselfe leades, and alwayes better then the people follow. I know the least winde of the peoples favour will fill my sayles full; Their eyes are fixt upon my greatnesse, and they observe mee al­ready for my interest; The King hath no issue, and there­fore [Page 11] of lesse regard; his time is but short, and Respect one­ly waytes on posterity, that promiseth continuance of raigne. No sooner (sayes some) is a Collaterall heire known, but the Kings Testament is made; why then should he live to command me, that am borne to rule? He may live to bu­rie me, where then is my Crowne? I must and will raigne. Vpon these moveable sands (like a foolish Merchant, that adventures all his substance in a broken vessell) did this fond Duke build both his resolve, and his hope; And to give successe to his trust, he sent presently to the Daulphin of Viennois (whose principality was in manner equall with a Kingly Royalty) to require his daughter, the faire Ʋienna, in marriage for his sonne. The haughty Daulphins minde, did well simpathize the Dukes nature; both their prides, and desires, were reciprocall: onely the Daulphin was more reserved, and ever better advised; but this motion did so attatch him with ioy, to thinke that his daughter should in time be a Queene, that he covetously embrac'd the Dukes request, and wished that Commissioners on either side, might be nominated, and appoynted, to conferre and con­clude thereof.

This consent of the Daulphin did so elevate and animate the Duke, that hee thought himselfe already an invested King. The incorporating of Daulpheny to his Dukedome, would (he knew) make him undoubtedly, redoubted great; and the uniting of both their powers with their adheres, would well enable him to affront the King, who now was fitter for a Cloyster (as hee thought) then for a Crowne. Thus we see, that where men hath least reason, there they are aptest to beleeve anything, that but flatters their desires. Men that fall into Treachery or misery, not knowne nor fore-seene, are worthy of some compassion; but they that wilfully runne into rebellion, or calamity, deserve no pitty, but shame and death. In all our attempts, justice, and dis­cretion, should be the plotters; and Honour, and Modera­tion, the Actors. A violent humour overthrowes the Master. Kings we know are made onely by God, either in [Page 12] Iustice to execute his wrath upon a sinfull Nation; or in mercy, as well to preserve and set foorth his worship and glory, as to maintaine his people in righteousnes and peace. For neither Royall birth, succession, election, usurpation, conquest, nor right, can so establish, or perpetuate a Roy­alty; but that God when he pleaseth, can, and will translate it to others. But now the disloyall and deceitfull Duke (be­ing as farre from procrastination, as the Daulphin was gree­die of dispatch) sent his Commissioners for the recapitula­tion, and perfecting of such Articles, as should be proposed on either side. In briefe, they agreed on all points, and assigned a day for the young Prince of Ʋandoume to come to the Daulphins Court. This being divulged & made knowne to Sir Paris, did so excutiate all his thoughts, and so en­flame his perplexed heart, that hee was ready to expose himselfe to all dangers and hazards. In this distraction, La­nova found him, and knowing the cause of his distemper (for Rumour had possest all men with it) hee grie­ving, thus sadly said unto him. Let patience my Paris con­duct thee out of this stormy Sea, into a more quiet Port, Fortune should have no power over fortitude and courage. What thou never hadst, that thou dost not loose. Thy ina­bility, and imparity, could never promise thee any hope; and thy long nourished dispaire shall now finde a period, that in the end, would have brought thee to thy end. Let necessity then make the now suffer constantly; and custome will make thy sufferance easie. Sir Paris who did heare, but not hearken to what his friend had so discreetly delivered, regarded him no more then a greedy Lawyer doth his im­poverished Clyent, but still deepely excogitating how hee might intercept, or pervert the intended match, at length he all sighing said: This Gordian knot must be cut asunder, though I want an Alexanders sword. Industry, and Policie, oft effects unlikely things; and we should not judge that which is possible, nor that which seemes unpossible: as it is credible, or incredible to our capacities. The eternall wisedome hath (I know) a reserved power, and a secret in­tention, [Page 13] to bring things to passe, which the wisedome of man cannot conceive, nor see, till it happen, and be done. What though Vandoume be mighty? A small Rocke may ruinate a great Ship. I will not so loose Vienna, but where I want force to play the Lyon, there will I assay to gaine by fraud. La-nova he said welcome, thou comest in a usefull time, thou must secretly fit me with a gray beard, a payre of Beades, a Fryers Gowne, and Hood. I must turne Fryer, and Prophet all at once. It must be so, the plot is layd, and we must be Actors both in the play.

La-nova, knowing that his undaunted courage could ne­ver brooke a Corrivall, though he were never so great, did much feare that he intended some stratagem, and therefore he told him, that unlesse he might know his purpose, he would make no such provision. Why said Sir Paris, my thoughts dwell in thy breast, and in thy heart, doth my love (next to Vienna) live. How then canst thou be a stranger to my purposes, that art the Treasurer of my secrets? Thou knowest La-nova how jealous the Daulphin is of his safety; His rigorous (I might say cruell) Nature hath taught him to feare many, whom many doth still feare. Thou knowest also that Kings are ever suspitious of their Successours: Ex­perience makes them to feare, least they should loose that, which they, and many others seeke, with greatest dangers to obtaine. My project is, to make the King and the Daul­phin my instruments to breake the marriage; give me Pen, Inke, and Paper, and thou shalt see what a fearefull fire, I will kindle, to burne up all their matrimoniall hopes and agreements. But to give more life hereunto, thou must play thy part. Thy Vnkle is Steward to the Duke of Van­doume, and thou thy selfe art gracious in his presence. To him must thou poast, in shew of love to see him, and in all duty to tender thy service; And when oportunity shall fit thy purpose, thou must take occasion to wonder, that so great a Prince hath his Armoury so ill stored, and by way of perswasion, thou must tell him, that no mans title is so right and just, but that it may finde worke upon their best [Page 14] advantages, and therefore it is a provident policie for his Highnesse to be presently furnished for all contingents. This La-nova, will so feede, and sway his ambition, that he will make over-hasty and unadvised provision. The know­ledge whereof, will so prepare and fortifie the Kings jea­lousie, that it will crowne my device with beliefe and suc­cesse. La-nona glad to see him so well resolved, promised his best endeavours, and in the performance thereof had his wished successe. But before he went, he brought Pen, Inke, and Paper, whereupon Paris (more Prophetically then he thought) writ as followeth.

La-noua divining that this procreated conceit, would bring forth some good issue, could not but laugh thereat; and in that joy, he went immediatly to make provision both for himselfe, and his friend.

Now each Wednesday, in every weeke, the Daulphin (more for applause, then to doe good) received himselfe (as he went to heare Masse) all the Sutors Petitions; and in the afternoone viewed, and considered of them. Vpon this day, Paris having lapt vp his fraudulent Libell, like a plaine Petition, went to the Court well furnished for the purpose, where he did so well personate a holy Fryer, that Linxes eyes could not discover him. There did he vnsu­spected deliver it, and returned without perseverance. Afterwards the Daulphin upon the perusing of them, found and read (amongst the rest) Paris his threatning and suffoca­ting Prophesie, which did so poyson and swell him with suspitious thoughts, and most fearefull surmises, that in his irefull indignation, he cryed out with the King of Moab, How shall we avoid the deepe dissembling of Ehud? Plaine dealing I see is dead without issue; and all Honour, and due [Page 15] respects are buried, in the insatiable desire of Rule. Surely this is no enigmaticall, nor promiscuous Oracle; but a plaine prediction sent by God, or some good man in zeale and fa­vour of Princes, and in tendernesse of our safeties. O most treacherous and perfideous Duke, that in the bonds of A­liance, wouldst cut off the small remainder of our dayes; to worke thy further bloody ends.

My daughter shall not so be Queene by our death; Nor shall our Subjects be so slaine in his unnaturall and rebelli­ous Warre. I will not suffer the true Vine to be so displan­ted, nor shall my connivence traduce me for his impunity. For though wisedome permits not, that I detect him open­ly, for feare of making him my implacable enemy; yet will we send a private, and an unknowne Messenger secretly to his King, who shall (upon his Royall word for the con­cealement of our intelligence) discover, and lay open, Van­doumes most impious and pernitious intended Treason; and after shall he cast (by our instructions) such store of oyle up. on that jealous flame, that it shall (at least) burne up all Van­doumes hopes of further proceeding with us. Thus, did such hate proceed from feare, that after a small respirati­on, hee sent accordingly to the King, who was no sooner possest thereof, but that his divided thoughts made such intestiue warre within his breast, that he knew not what to say, or doe. His fraternall love made him weepe, to see Na­ture so monstrous and unkinde; and fearefull jealousies (a disease incident to Kings) called upon justice, and sayd, that corrected Treason was the life of a Prince.

Distrust now still dreamed upon Murther, and unquiet feare could not be secured, but with execution: Then Af­fection tolde him, that then wee come nearest unto God, when we judge with pitty, and pardon in mercy.

In this doubtfull Combate of the minde, he sent for the Duke, who no sooner came, but that taking him alone into his private Chamber, he with a mild severity, thus breathed out his griefe, and his just and loving rebuke.

It is our pleasure Ʋandoume (for so thy Soveraigne calls [Page 16] thee) that thou neither interrupt us while we speake, nor at our conclusion, make any answere or excuse; Then know, that if we were as ready to punish, as thou art ready to rebell; Thou shouldst now finde a sharpe censure in steede of a kinde brother; and we should be freed from an incompatible Traytor, in lieu of a loyall Subject. God that protecteth Kings, hath now made thy implicite Treason transparent. Thy proclivity to rule; thy thirsting after po­pularity; thy subtill taxing of our Government: thy need­lesse provision sor Armes in a well setled Peace: and thy disguised desire to match with the Daulphin, is not un­knowne to us; And thou that in pride, couldst not brooke a Superiour, art now by divine Iustice, brought beneath the fortune of thy equals. It is now in our power to hum­ble thee, but not to make thee humble; Such is thy aspiring Ambition, that nothing but a Crowne can limit thy un­bounded desires. For neither the terrour of Law, the in­stinct of Nature, my binding dutie, nor the awe of thy due duty, could keepe, or confine thee, within the circumfe­rence and compasse of thy Alleageance. Knowest thou not that the jealousie of a King is death? and that a Prince is neither a kinne, nor allyed to a Traytor. Admit that thou hadst prevailed in thy most nefarious rebellion. What had beene thy Conquest? but terrour of conscience, daily doubt of Treason, nightly feare of murther, the shame of thy selfe, the hate of men, and the vengeance of God. O what bitter fruites shouldest thou so untimely have purchast. The usurpation of my Crowne (which a few dayes would peaceably give thee) could not Patronize thy fratricide, nor dispence with the murther of thy Soveraigne. How fond­ly, inhumane, maligne, and degenerate hast thou then she­wed thy selfe? Many are the probabilities that thou soughts my life, and more then many are the inducements why I should secure my selfe by thy death. And what mer­cie canst thou expect there, when thou didst intend no pit­tie. I grieve and blush to see such an Antipathy betwixt us. But it shall suffice, that to my glory, and thy shame, I give [Page 17] the now pledge of the vertue of my love, that thou may­est hereafter the better love me for my vertue: For here I doe not onely fteely pardon thee, but doe entertaine the a new to dwell ever in my dearest affection. A brothers frowne should set with the Sunne; and here shall be the period of my wrathfull indignation. Then let this new birth beget in thee a new life; and let this make such a stable connexion of our loves, that wee both may hereafter con­tend, whether we with a better heart have given thee thy life; or that thou canst more affectionately retaliate our kindnesse. Onely thou shalt abjure the match with the Daulphin, and instantly write to him, that wee oppose and prohibite the same, And therefore shalt thou pray his pati­ence, and the continuance of his love; and alledge, that neither Subjects in matters of state, nor Princes of the blood in marriages, can dispose of theyr wills, nor of them­selves, without the permission of their King. This was no sooner said, but that Ʋandoume (kissing his Soveraignes hands, with full falling teares (expressing both his griefe and shame) most willingly performed the same.

O most prudent Paris, with what prescience, caution, and facility, didst thou infatuate and delude these wise and great Princes; and how subtilly hast thou made them thy deceived Agents, to worke upon each other, all onely to preserve thy weaka hopes of faire Ʋienna, But though Paris now had thus disperc'd these terrifying clouds that threat­ned shipwrack to his high desires, yet durst he not dreame after better fortunes, though he held the successe of his late fraudulent fiction very auspitious; But pleasing himselfe with what he had done, and affecting still his owne affecti­ons, he walked into the chamber of presence, where Vienna, Jzabella, and other Ladyes, were playing at Cardes; Thi­ther hee went (under colour of attendance) to feast his eyes, and to Paradise his heart with the beloved sight of his all-admired and affected Lady. O with what wonder, did he now observe her matchlesse beauty, her gracefull Maje­stie, her pleasing words, and her sweet delivery. And what a [Page 1] conflict was now growne betwixt his desire and dispaire: All his thoughts were extravagant, and at warre with each other. For as desire did finde content, with joy, to be in her presence; so Dispaire denyed him all hope, with distrust of any comfort. His heart now began to rebuke his eyes for soaring so neere the Sunne, and for gazing after impossibi­lities. But his eyes told his heart, that no disdaine could dwell in so rare a perfection. In this perturbation of mind did hee stand, untill Ʋienna being dry, called to him for a cup of wine, which he in the pride of that imployment ha­stily brought, but delivered it with great astonishment and stupidity (as being over-surprized both with joy, and feare) he all-shaking, flasht some of the wine over the cup, and so wet both theyr hands; which one of the Ladies perceiving, scornefully said; Sir Knight, you are over-bountifull, I am sure, my Ladies hand called for no wine. There is no of­fence (answered Vienna) at all; He knew my hand was dry. So Madame, said Izabella, is your foote. My foote, she re­plyed, is further off from the burning Sunne, and receives moysture enough from the humide earth. But neither, said Izabella, did neede any wine. We called, said Vienna, for it, being dry; And how could our body receive it, unlesse our hand had first taken it? A dry cup and a cleane hand, said another Lady, had beene more serviceable. Why said Vienna, cleane hands are often washt, and dry cups quench­eth no thirst; Then must drynesse have moysture, and hee hath freely given it us: but no more, we have lost our game in his defence. Paris, whose extasie had given way to these passages, recollecting himselfe, humbly said, What (most gracious Princes) you have lost in the game, that have you wonne by patience in your meekenesse; but how shall I worthily magnifie your great worth, that (notwith­standing these tart Ladies bitter provocations (hath shewed the fulnesse of all vertue in your goodnesse. Let your High­nesse but pardon my vnstayed hand, and you shall ever find me more ready to shed my dearest blood in your service, then I have beene either to wet your faire hand, or to spill [Page 19] your wine. Thankes good knight, said Vienna, wee desire no such satisfaction; your taken paines shall be all your pu­nishment. Paris being proud of this conceited favour, (though Vienna in her milde nature pleaded in his defence, onely to crosse the other Ladies derision, and to approve her owne accutenesse) withdrew himselfe to the next win­dow, where with his Diamond he thus writ.

But more considerately weighing his owne case, hee en­tertained better thoughts, and therefore writ in the next stage of the window.

But now Fortune that wayted (though yet a farre off) on Paris unknowne merit, gave him a befitting occasion to doe Vienna (though still covertly) more pleasing and more glorious service. For there had lately falne out in the French Court a great contention, betwixt the native Ba­rons, and some severall noble Forraigners, that then for their pleasures, followed that Court in honour of the King. The controversy was, whether was most fairer or the more vertuous of these three Ladies; Valentia the great Duke of Burbons daughter; Vienna, the Daulphins sole heyre of Viennoys; or the Lady Margaret, sister to the King of Eng­land. Great was their debate, and many there were that maintained each severall Ladies beauty. In so much, as they fell from arguing to anger, from anger to blowes, and from blowes to wounds. The French King offended with their offending uproare, and great neglect of their due respect to place and person, commanded peace upon their Alleage­ances: And after being pacified, and fully possest with the cause; he held the occasion well worthy dispute, but their [Page 20] faulty courages, and our furious proceedings, punishable in the place: Yet fearing the further ill that might in ma­ny particulars well ensue thereof; out of his deepe insight, he pardoned their great over-sights, and calling them all before him (after some few reprehending words) hee thus with a milde majesty, briefely and wisely appeased them all.

First, he commanded that a solemne and royall Iusts (in honour of the three Ladies) should be proclaimed through­out all his Kingdome to be holden in Paris, at Pentecost fol­lowing, free for all commers, and that she whose Knight should honour her, with the honour of the day, should bee ever had, and held, for the fairest of the three; and that his Queene should crowne her with a Crowne of white Lil­lyes, beset with precious stones, as Soveraigne Queene of most perfect beauty: This milde and pleasing shower, so kindly distilling from the King, so well allayed their stormy furies, that calming theyr over-enraged wills, in the shame of their amisse; they humbly on bowed knees, craved par­don for their offences, and thanked the King for the grace and honour that he did them. Then sent the King his Am­bassadour to acquaint the English King, and specially Messen­gers to the Daulphin, and Duke; entreating the King, and willing both the other to honour him, and his Court, with their persons, his sister, and theyr two daughters at the as­signed day, and that each of them would be pleased, to pre­pare, and bring some beseeming prize of value, befitting both themselves, the cause, and the worth of the Victor. All which they promised in the word of a Prince, holding themselves no little honoured in so honorable a contention. Before the day (the day drawing neere) there came so ma­ny noble & well appointed Knights, that the French Kings [...] seemed an Alexanders Campe. Great was theyr F [...]ti [...]g, and full Royall was all theyr entertainements. But th [...] d [...]y of tryall being come. Aurora no sooner shewed her [...]ings blush, but that the French King ashamed of [...], rose, and rid to see the three high Artifi­ciall [Page 21] Mounts, which he had caused to be erected, and made for the three Ladies to sit on; who no sooner were come and placed, but that the Duke of Burbon came marching in with a rich Garland, made all of orient Pearle, hanging on a Blew Banner, with his coate of Armes on the other side, and placed it on the Mount belonging to Valentia, on her left aside.

Then followed the Daulphin of Viennois with a rich Coller of Esses, beset all over with Rubies, hanging on a white Banner, with his armes displayed on the other side, and plac'd it on Ʋiennas Mount, on the right hand of his Daughter. Then came Englands royall King, with an impe­riall Crowne of burnisht gold, set with Indian Diamonds and blew Saphirs, supported betwixt two regall Lyons, hanging on a red Banner, and plac'd it on the middle mount before his Sister the Lady Margaret: In the face of each severall Mount (some foure degrees under the Ladies) sate each severall Ladies Father, in a strange devised Seate, so curiously made, and so gloriously deckt, that each one see­med to be Apollo sitting in the Chariot of the Sunne. The Knights (whose rare Devises discovered theyr secret and severall fancies) as they were affected; so they betooke themselves to the Mount, whose honor they were to main­taine. The French King sitting in his rich Pavillion pow­dered with Flower-deluces, opposite to the Mounts, caused Proclamation to be made on paine of death, that none but the Knights Encounterers should stay, or enter into the Listes, and that no Knight unhorsed should Iust againe, nor any make offer of Combate: This being done, the King of Armes stood up, and after a third sound, bade them goe too, and doe theyr best devoyres like valiant Knights: And no sooner had he ended his words, but that there came from Valentias Mount a Knight well mounted on a speedy Bay, his Armour, Bases, and all other his Furniture Azure, full of fiery flames, and on his shield he bare a Phoenix, en­closed within a bright shining Sunne, and under it, a hand reaching towards it, with this underwritten Motto, O vti­nam: [Page 22] Towards him came from the Lady Margarets Mount, a greene Knight, full of eyes and bleeding Hearts, moun­ted on a fierce Blacke, bearing on his Shield an Armed Knight prostrated undera Ladies mercy, his Launce lying unbroken by him, with his Motto, All-ready conquered: These two Knights encountred each other so furiously and forceably, that their Staues shivered in the ayre, and witnessed theyr courages in their fall, but in the counter­buffe, the knight of the Phoenix was borne to the ground, so that the greene Knight rode on, overthrowing twenty other Knights that came from both the other Mounts; the last of whom, bare in his Shield the Picture of Ʋienna most richly pourtracted with a vaile of lawne all over her, and from the dexter part of the Shield there was a Hand and an Arme comming forth of a Cloud; holding a fayre Labell, whereon was written, Such an one, as such is none. Great was now the glory of the Lady Margaret, and all malecontented sate the other two Ladies, especially Vienna, who now seeing her shadowed selfe lying in the dust, mist, and wisht for her White and vnknowne Knight; And as her wandring eye romed up and downe, still looking whether she could espie him, she suddainely both heard and saw a well proportioned Blacke Knight, rudely rushing from her Mount, who so fiercely saluted the Greene Knight, that he made him pay tribute for his former ho­nour, in the overthrow of his fortune: Threescore other assayling Knights he dismounted before Vienna, who now joying, wondred, and wondering, prayed that he might be her desired knight, that wonne her Christall Shield and Chaplet at her Fathers Court; and well shee prayed, that had so well her prayer, for it was Sir Paris indeed, who knowing that Emulation hath many eyes, and that Obser­vation might easily discover him, fearing to be knowne by his white Armour, had thus sadly arm'd himselfe sutable to his sable fortune; and therefore he bare nothing in his Shield but Blacknesse, for his Devise was still to be with­out Devise; only his sad Armour was covered all over with [Page 23] mourning Clouds. Many Knights there were overthrowne by La-nova, but more then many did Sir Paris foyle. For then, if ever; and if ever, then: did he shew the vertue of his valour, in the strength of his courage. Now grew the hurly-burly great, and many, and great were the encoun­ters made on each side, In so much, that there rested but unoverthrowne, one Valentia on the Lady Marga­rets part, on either side three; and all onely on Viennas, but one; which was the blacke clouded Knight, who now was deem'd hardly bestead, both in regard of his former tra­vailes, and the present advantage of the sixe fresh assailants, who bent all theyr forces first against him. Valentias hope was now a little revived, and the Lady Margarets proud ex­pectation fully answered Valentias hope. Onely doubtfull Ʋienna, neere dyed for feare, least that her beauty should now be eclipsed in the losse of her gotten fame, and that her fame should be buried in the dying renowne of her best esteemed beauty. For as she wondred hee had so long re­sisted, so shee held it unpossible hee should longer resist. But Sir Paris (onely weary, in that there were no more to be wearied by him) casting his eye (the messenger of his heart) on Ʋienna, and seeing the shining lights of her tran­sparent beauty, over-shadowed with sorrow and dismay. Desire so blew the fire of his new conceived rage, that like an unmercifull, and hunger-starved Lyon, (that runnes ra­ging for his prey) so he violently runne amongst them, that with one staffe he overthrew the first three he met, and tur­ning his House, before Vienna could turne her dispaire, he charg'd the fourth so forceably, that hee sent both Horse and Man to the ground: At the sight whereof, the people gave such applauding shoutes, that Vienna lifting up her sad eye (as waking from a carefull slumber) she saw her Knight returning in the glory of theyr overthrowes. So that hoping now for better hap, a better hap did befall her then she did, or could expect. For no sooner made hee his last returne, but hee returned againe from overturning of the other two. Who triumphed then but Ʋienna? Who [Page 24] now more sad then Valentia, or who more grieved then the Lady Margaret? the Iust thus ended, the French Queene came with a troupe of attending Ladyes, carying before her the Crowne of Artificiall Lillies, richly stoned, and setting it on Viennas head, shee Crowned her for sole, and Sove­raigne Queene, of absolute, and matchlesse beauty.

Then came the King, and tooke Sir Paris by the hand, and lead him (all the other Knights and Barrons follow­ing them) with tryumphing honour, and sound of Trum­pets, to the three Mounts, where with his owne hand hee gave him the three Banners, with the three prizes on them, which Sir Paris reverently taking, re-delivered over to his friend La-nova, secretly to convay them away, while hee stayed the ending of all other the ceremonies. All which being accomplished: The King, the Daulphin, and Vienna (rendring Sir Paris thankes for his worthy and affectionate endeavours, and most renowned and fortunate atchieve­ments) requested him, in the name of Ʋienna, to discover himselfe, and tell unto whom they were all so much boun­den. But Sir Paris humbling himselefe in all duty, made re­verent shew of his unwillingnesse therein; which the King noting, would not further importune him, nor could the Daulphin in any wise over-treat him, nor durst Vienna over-much presse him: So that he kissing her hand, held it long and after drawing his sword, layd it at her feete, and taking it vp againe kist it likewise; and then holding it up, seemed to threaten the world in her behalfe, which added this Article to Viennas beleife, that he undoubtedly was her white Knight, and the same, and non but the same, that first so melodiously sang under her Chamber window; and theeefore her desires having now no end, shee ever after though each houre an age, till she knew him. But Sir Pa­ris withdrawing himselfe to the rest of the Knights, reti­red with them, still giving backe, till he was the last of the troupe, and then taking a crosse-way, separated and con­vayed himselfe from them, and suddenly disarming him­selfe, hee speedied to finde out the Bishop of St. Lawrence, [Page 17] with whom (of purpose to prevent all surmises) hee had a little before familiarized himselfe, and no sooner had hee espyed him, but that he hasted to greete him, and still kept in his company, as if St. Marke had robb'd god Mars of a Martialist. Such was his holy shew of devout Religion, as that he made all men admire him, and his father to be in­wardly grieved at him.

But Vienna, who now had greater cause to love him, then meanes to know him, wondring at his valour, not to be va­lued; and valuing his vertues, by clowding the glory and value of his prowis, held now his love an honour to her af­fection, and vowed her affection a guerdon for his love. But when she heard of his secret departure, and that no one knew what he was, from whence he came; nor to what place he had retired himselfe; Then impatient desire made her the child of passion, & feare to loose that she never had, made her feele what before, she neither knew, nor feared. And so much the more she held her selfe miserable, in that she knew not for whom she was so miserable, nor how to seeke an end, to end her misery.

As Ʋiennas, sad conceite, thus overshaded the glory of her beautifull Conquest, so was Sir Jaques flattering hope made blacke with foule dispaire; For missing his sonne Sir Paris out of two so Royall & honorable Assemblies, where renowne eternized each deserving Knight, with never dy­ing fame; and seeing him still associating the Bishop; hee feared least his businesse of over superstitious Zeale, had abandoned all desire and regard of Knightly Chivalry. And therefore hot in his repining conceit, hee hastened to find La-nova, unto whom in griefe, he manifested the cause of his griefe; Requesting and conjuring him by the sacred lawes, and name of friendship, and by the honour he owed to Armes, to perswade his sonne to a more befitting respect of his unregarded honour. La-nova hearing Sir Jaques wor­thy complaint, and seeing his frosted beard all bedewed with the teares of his sorrow, pittyed his lament, but durst not disclose the mistery of the truth; but commending his [Page 24] [...] [Page 17] [...] [Page 26] honourable care, hee comforted him with promise of assu­red and present remedy, and so left him better satisfied, then truely certified. And no sooner were they parted, but La-nova departed, to impart to Sir Paris, what his noble Father had so sorrowfully said to him: which so mooved his feeling consideration in a Sonnes regard, that partly to satisfie his Father from living so supposedly idle, and partly to forget (if so he could forget) the tormenting thoughts, that still troubled his enthralled minde.

He determined to goe (onely with La-nova) to the warrs of Florence. And craving, he obtained, willing leave of his glad Father; but before his departure, he called his Mother aside, and delivering her the key of his Chamber, and Ora­tory, wherein were placed all his purchast Prizes, well co­vered over with Hangings of sky-coloured silke, en broy­dered with starres of gold, and shaded all over with blacke Cipris, that the dimmest eye might perceive the glory of the heavens, through the blacknesse of the cloud. Her he devoutly requested, and humbly conjured (as she tende­red his contentment, and following welfare) not to suffer any to enter therein, nor so much as looke therein her selfe. This was his request, and this did she protest religiously to performe: This done, hee craved and received their bles­sing, and so set forwards towards Florence, where in briefe, he atchieved so great honour in the Dukes Warres, as the bruit of his spreading fame, both famed, and inworthied him in the Daulphins Court, which much joyed the Daul­phin, and more rejoyced Sir Jaques.

Vienna all this while grew more pensive, and passionate then before, and still (as Pharaoh longed to know his dreame) so desired she to know, and see him whom she lo­ved more then her selfe. Her vestall vertue was now no Dianas proofe, to withstand Ʋenus force; nor could her chast conceit, dispence with affectious thoughts. But the more she sought to quench desire, the more shee burnt her­selfe within her owne fire. Many Princes became Petitio­ners and Prisoners to her beauty, and greatest Barons did [Page 27] homage to her vertues; But neyther Prince nor Baron could finde favour in Beauty, nor love in vertue. So strange­ly, was her strange affection, estranged to all but to him that was so meere a stranger to her so strange a passion. To him, and for him, had she consecrated, and reserved her devoted heart; and to him and none but him, would shee yeeld the conquest of her Maydens minde. And although disturbed reason affoorded her no hope, nor possibility of finding or enjoying him; Yet did the gracious aspect of her favoura­ble starres, yeeld her this meanes to know him. For Sir Iaques being greatly visited with sicknesse, was so gene­rally bewayled of all, and so particularly bemoaned of the Daulphin (in regard of his thrice noble service in the wars, and his wise directions in Counsell) that he sent the Daul­phinis his Lady to visite him; who taking Ʋienna and Jza­bella with her went attended with foure other Ladies, to see, and comfort his enfeebled estate. But finding him pre­tily amended (after some fashionable, and cheerefull chat:) The Daulphinis (led thereto, I know not by what desteny) was desirous to see how well the house was contrived, how beautified, and how furnished; which the good old Lady in all humblenesse yeelded unto, conducting them into eve­ry place, untill they returning, came againe by Sir Paris his Chamber doore, which his Mother both going and com­ming backe, purposely past by. But being demanded of the Daulphinis what Chamber, or Place that was; she durst not but tell, and telling, would have past away, which the Daul­phinis noting, merrily sayd; Nay Madame, I will not leave the Chamber of so worthy a Knight unseene. The good old Lady not knowing how to avoyd this counterbuffe, fearefully with a trembling hand, opened the doore, where­in they were no sooner entred, but that they saw all man­ner of Armours, and befitting furnitures for approoved good Knights, which made them commend the owner no little; and to hold him farre worthier of a better Armoury. As thus they viewed his severall Armours; Vienna happily fixt her eye on a white Armour not farre unlike unto that, [Page 20] which Sir Paris had on him, when first he won her Chap­let, and Christall Shield. Tha sight whereof, made Hope (the Harbinger of happinesse) to breath in her this plea­sing comfort; that as that Armour was none but the same: So Sir Paris (that renowned owner) must of necessity bee that secret Knight, that not daring to be knowne to loue her, was (by her sacred vowes) to bee beloved of her. Thus Hope presumed the best, and inuited joy to gratulate her good successe. But doubt (curbing rashnesse with deli­beration) perswaded her to further tryall. For as her hope was ready to embrace the first shew of comfort, so was her desire most greedy of more perfect assurance. And the better to effect, what she affected, she fayned (and fayne she was to fayne) her selfe suddenly sicke, and after some shew of some extremity, she desired her Mother (the bet­ter to make better search) to leaue her alone, all only with Izabella, to rest her for a time on the bed, which they hold­ing conuenient, consented to it. And no sooner were they gone, but that Vienna bolting the doore, began to make a wary search. At last, at the end of the Chamber she found a privie pertition, so well shadowed with the Hangings of the Chamber, that hardly could any perceive the same; within, and behind this, was the place wherein Sir Paris daily sacrificed his prayers vnto his God, wherein they were no sooner entred, but that withdrawing a glorious clouding Curtaine, they discovered the three famous rich Prizes of Sir Paris victorious prowis, stately erected vpon the wall, and below them hanged the Christall Shield, and golden Chaplet, he first wonne at her Fathers Court. Op­posite to which, on the other side, stood his white and blacke clouded Armours, so fully, and liuely set vp, as they seemed as ready to defend the place, as their Master was willing to maintaine her beauty. Long looked Ʋienna on euery severall Prize, but longer looked shee on both the Armours; now blushing and sighing; then smiling and wondring at the stately and pleasing proportion of them. In this contentment, and admiration of her thoughts, shee [Page 21] would have dwelled still, but that casting her nimble eye a­side, to see what Izabella did, she perceived these following verses to lye written on the Table.

[Page 30] These Verses well pleased Vienna, and all contentment now waited on her first liking conceit: But after shee had more consideratively weyed, how poore Sir Paris was that meane Man whom she wisht so much to see, and to whom she had devoted the honour of her love; her blush­ing bashfulnesse then rebuk't her misliked kindnesse, and his muddy clouded affection, ecclipsed the sunshine of her far more glorious worth. In this dislike, she silent sate her downe, and rising streight againe, sayd; That promise is nefarious, that is to be accomplished by an ignoble deed; and it is more tollerable to violate an vnworthy vow foo­lishly made; then by keeping the same, to draw on my dis­grace, and give just cause of offence to others: My fayth falls out a treason to my selfe, and the love I beare him, is the field wherein I seeke to overthrow my renowne: But why should my rash judgement set a ranckling tooth in his vertuous side? Or why should I care for more honors then to content my selfe; Or for more riches, then to enioy my selfe? wee are all borne to love; and wee onely live, and love to be beloved: Then not to love, and thinke to be beloved, is like that foolish Virgin, that sought to light her Lampe at anothers Torch that was quite extinct. With that she began to recount the shining Glory of his spreading renowne, the full perfection of his many approo­ved and admired vertues; the commendable regard of his secret and imprisoned love, with the dangerous and hono­rable approbation of the same; and how she was bound in honor to honor and love him, that had above the pride of all honor, so honoured her. Then, then began shee to be more sorry she could love him no better, then before she was ashamed she loved him so well: And therefore taking Jzabella by the hand, she vowed and swore, that she would live to love none but Sir Paris, nor love to live longer then she might be beloved of her Paris; For Fortune sayd shee hath decreed it so; Love will have it so, and Vienna sweares it shall be so.

Jzabella first vttering her mislike, in her complaining [Page 31] teares, and then drowning her teares in the griefe of her complaint, thus all sighing, shee sadly said: Ah Ʋienna, no more now Ʋienna, since Vienna hath lost her selfe; what is become of your Princely regard, befitting your state? where is your wonted wisedome, so admired of all? Your vertue giving light to others, and your modesty eternizing your beauty: Shall base conceit (ever attended on with re­penting follies) eclipse now the honour and wonder of your Name? Are fervile thoughts beseeming companions for your noble minde? or ignoble subiects fit obiects for Prin­ces eyes? If Ʋienna be so predominate over you, that Diana is quite forgotten of you; yet let me call you before the iudgement of your owne vertue, and then tell me whether the unworthy worthinesse of his Degree, equalize the great greatnesse of your Dignity? Admit his deserts be many, and promise much, yet are his possibilities of ad­vancement, no possessions of enrichment; nor are his noble deeds the deeds of a Noble man. Will you then lose an honor for an humor? Nay, rather performe a Regall office in a Princelike nature; that being a Princesse in your selfe, become also Princelike in your deedes. What will your Father say, nay all France, nay all the World? when they shall here that Vienna, late scorning the Royall love of greatest Princes, is now subiected to the will of a meane Knight: Farre be it from my Lady so to doe, far from any to thinke so, and farre from Izabella ever to see it so.

Vienna, (whose setled affection) held her perswasive inuertions odious, and whose resolved determination, thought her reprehension loathsome, with unusuall eyes, arguing her discontent, she all angry, thus sharpely replyed; Were I (unkind, ungratefull, and uniust Jzabella) as farre from affection, as thou art from reason and pitty; Yet would not the common care that Ladyes of esteeme ought to haue toward Knights of good regard, suffer me to heare due deserts so disgrac'd by iniurious tongues, nor true re­nowne so reproacht by malignant mouthes. Then know (and knowing grieve, that so thou knowest) that thy un­seasonable [Page 24] words hath wounded my desire, and my desire abandons thee in thy words: Thinkest thou that desire dreames once on Dignities? or that Cupid cares for Crownes, that never saw Gold: Seest not thou these Tro­phies erected in his honor, and his honor shining in these Trophies? If I be great, his great deedes answers my great estate, and my estate shall be made greater by his great deeds: For if ever any Knight merited renown for renow­ned Chivalry, it is my Paris; or if ever Knight followed his Lady with true love, loved her with honor, or honored her with regard and remarkeable services, it is my Paris: Then if ever well-deserving Knight triumphed in the faithfull love of his Lady, it shall be my Paris: For here I sweare by the eternall justice of the Highest, that none shall have Vienna but Paris, nor none love Paris so well as Vienna, Then leave to grieve me, and loade not my griefe with further displeasure, in gain-saying what I say againe, I will never gainesay: For in vaine it is to water the plant, the roote being perished, or to seeke to perswade me, that am so resolvedly perswaded.

Izabella seeing her so resolute in her passion, and so passio­nate in her resolution, thought it was in vaine to urge her further; and fearing her threatning displeasure, she thought it good thus to balme the wound she before had given. Let not my honourable Lady (she sayd) returne an imagined wrong, with an effectuall injury, but pardon the well wish­ing fault of your faultlesse friend, who (if offending) offen­ded in tender care of desiring your good, and not of pur­pose to contract you, or with will to discontent you, whom before all others I wish to content; for proofe whereof, I here vow repay to the debt of my error, with the interest of all my furthering indeavours, to advantage you in your Love. No sooner had she spoken the last word Love, but that Ʋienna in love, for love, kist, and embrast her, joying in her promise and availing aide; and protesting, that most gratefull guerdons should make full satisfaction for her offered kindnesse. In the meane time, she required [Page 25] secrecy, and fearing least their long stay might procure, ei­ther some feare, or suspition, in her Mother, shee thought good to depart as one well recovered of a suddaine hatch; but before they went, shee caused Izabella to take, and se­cretly to conuay away: the Christall Shield, and Chaplet; the first and rich records, both of her beauty, and his prowis; and this she did of purpose, not so much for any desire shee had to have them, as to give him occasion to come to enquire after them.

In this processe of time, the Warres of Florence, were ended, and Sir Paris being intelligenced of his Fathers sick­nesse (whose infeebled age he much feared) and beeing desi­rous to see Ʋienna, though dispaire of successe, the hearce of his supposed idle hopes; yet Desire (the nurse of perse­verance) gave him wings to make the more speed; so that La-nova, and hee, posting homewards, happily came, and found Sir Jaques well amended, whose good recovery was no lesse joyfull to Sir Paris, then his returne was comforta­ble to his Father. After they had long discoursed of the occurrants of these Warres, and of his many adventures and fortunes. Sir Paris, longing to give his eye content­ment, by gazing on his Idolatrous Prizes, he tooke his Mo­ther by the hand, and walking towards his Chamber (like the Lapwing that flyeth farre from her nest) he enquired of Court affaires, but she being not able to satisfie the drift of his reach, he prest her no further; but being entred into his Chamber, he made a step into his Oratory, were sud­denly missing the first pride of his happy atchievements, the chiefe glory of his study, and the true testimony of Ʋi­ennas beauty, and bounty; being therewith much appaled, and mooved at their remove, he all angerly came forth, and asked who had beene there, and there had taken away such things as hee most esteemed. His Mother abashed at the question, but more grieved that there was any thing wan­ting, not knowing how, or by whom they should bee taken away; answered, that since his departure no one had beene there, but the Daulphinis, and her daughter the Lady Vienna, [Page 34] accompanied with other Ladies that came to visite his Fa­ther in his sicknesse, and that shee desired amongst other Chambers to see that, which shee (after some denying ex­cuses) durst not longer gaine-say, and how that shee her selfe was with them so long as they stayed. Saving that the Lady Vienna being suddenly surprised with sicknesse, re­quested for her better ease, to stay onely alone with Jza­bella, to rest her a while on your bed. Paris flattering him­selfe with his owne favourable construction, deemed (and truely deemed) that the cause of her alteration, grew by the unexpected sight of the Prizes, and the view of his verses, that he had left on his Table; and that she had taken them away either in her angry disdaine, or to see what account he made of them, or whether hee would re-demand them. And therefore pleased, to adventure his fortune vpon the rocke of this hazard, hee shewed no further mislike that he mist them. But afterwards, shadowing his desire to see Vienna, under the borrowed vayle of duty, to see, and to attend the Daulphin: he went to the Court, where the Daulphin, glorying in the lustre of his Subjects renowne, because it gave a splendour to his Greatnesse; he kindly re­ceived him, with more familiar embracements, and loving respects, then his austere nature, did vsually afford: by this his unwonted curtesie & grace, he made Sir Paris thoughts (more obligatory) to his favours; and fashioned his favours (more complementory) to Sir Paris fortunes. for curtesie, they say, in Majesty, bindes ever affection in duty. As Sir Paris stood before the Daulphin (relating the honour, and issue of the Florentine Warres) hee glaunc'd, and fearefully glaunc'd many times on Vienna, but checking his eyes, that still rebuk'd him; he left to looke, on whom not daring to looke, he could not but looke. But Vienna, whose late kindled love, was now growne into a flame, having tedi­ously before expected him, could not now seeing him, feast her ravisht eyes at full, but gazing still on his ample per­fections (for now hee seemed more then exquisite) and taking pleasure in the sweet harmony of his well-tuned [Page 35] words; shee no sooner rejoyced, joying in her owne de­sires; but that straight she desired the enjoying. And tur­ning towards Izabella, she all-blushing smiled, and smiling blusht againe, because she smiled, and then asked her, whe­ther she saw not bashfull feare, and doubtfull discontent­ment, sit on the face of his troubled countenance, for the losse of his Prizes, and the discouery of his affection; and whether she were not happy in her Choyse, and more then happy in his loue. All which, Gnathonizing Jzabella prodi­gally confirmed, and demanded, how shee would doe, to enfeoffe him with her affection, that durst not be knowne of his owne loue. Which Vienna well ruminating in her mind, at length (woman-like) found out this deuice.

She faigned her selfe, for some three dayes, very sicke; and in the distemper of her wounding offences, fearefull of her sinnes; but after when shee was better enabled both in body, and minde; shee desired leaue of her Mother, to goe the next day (for the more quieting and confirming of her conscience, and to giue God praise for her recouery) to the Bishop of St. Lawrence, to confesse herselfe, and to receiue the Sacrament within the sacred Temple of God; which her Mother liking, yeelded vnto, rejoycing no little to see her so well amended, and so deuoutly and piously deuoted. In the interim, Vienna caused Jzabella to send to Sir Paris in the Bishops name, to come and speake with him in the Cathe­drall Church, at nine of the clocke the next morning; which Sir Paris promising, performed accordingly. For at the ap­pointed houre he came, and being come, saw (and wonde­red that so he saw) the Princesse Vienna conferring with the Bishop, whose leysure, he willingly attended, and walked a little aside, wearying his fancie with wishes; and punish­ing his conceit with fearefull imaginations. Long hee had not walked, but that Vienna espying him, applauded her fortune; and armed with her owne desires, shee gaue her selfe countenance, vnder the pretext of employment; and called to Sir Paris, telling the Bishop that shee had matters of imployment in forraigne affaires, to impart vnto him [Page 28] from her Mother; And therefore shee requested the Bi­shop (if he had any occasion with him) to walke a while a fide, till shee had performed her Mothers command, and then shee would leaue them both to their pleasures. The Bishop being glad to see the Princesse so sanctified, com­mended her zeale, and left her to the discharge of her duty, blindly supposing that the Daulphinis would send Sir Paris in message to some of her forraigne friends. But Ʋienna fin­ding her selfe alone with him, in whom she joyed alone; she pleasantly demanded what hee made there, or whether he had any suit to her, or to any other, wherein shee might accommodate him; If it be so (so it be conuenient) Sir Pa­ris shall finde a friend, if Sir Paris be found a friend. This pleasing and preludious demand, and Enigmaticall conclusi­on, made Sir Paris, somewhat fearefull how to answer. But Hope the comfortable Counsailour of Loue shap'd in him this bold and short reply. My businesse (thrice worthy La­dy) is the Bishops will; my suit, your service; your ser­uice my chiefe desire, and my desire your fauorable counte­nance; And longer may not Paris liue, then he rests hum­bly thankefull to Vienna; and if not offenssiue, a faithfull seruant to my Lady. Thankes (said Vienna) good Sir Paris, your suit shall not be non-suit, if you shoote at Honours ayme. But tell me, and truly tell me, whether your suit (and your discontentment, which I see harbours in your eyes) be not for your Prizes which I tooke away, when at­tending my Mother, I was at your Fathers house: If so it be, (be it so, or not so) you shall have them againe, if againe you will returne with me. Paris proud of her presence, held himselfe more deified, then dignified, by her fauours, and humbling himselfe; he vowed, that they, himselfe, and all in all, were at her Honours command. Then must I (Vi­enna said) command, and conjure you to tell me, whether it were your selfe, that so sweetly sung vnder my Chamber window; and so friendly gaue me Musicke; that did wound, and beate my Fathers Guard; that wonne, and bare away my Christall Shield, and Chaplet, in the Tournament [Page 29] at my Fathers Court; and that carried away the Honour and the three Banners, with their Prizes, from all the Ba­rons and Knights at Paris.

Paris astonished at her demand, durst neither confesse, for feare of disdaine; nor yet dissemble, for offending her, whom in no wise he would offend; which perceived by Vi­enna, shee familiarly prest him to acknowledge the trueth, which manifested; shee with a pleasing and pleasant coun­tenance merrily said, why then doth Sir Paris affectionately love us? Sir Paris whose entising fault had earst control'd but now condemned, his over-clyming thoughts, was so amated in himselfe, and so transported from himselfe, that silence, in bashfull signes, blusht out a dumbe reply. But Ʋienna (ballancing his cold conceit, by the alteration of his countenance) allowed the weight, and animated in her owne affection, shee commanded him boldly to averre, what shee her selfe inferr'd, by such his troubled silence. Paris seeing the cloud of his care dispierced, gloried the more in the brightnesse of his Sunne; the beames where­of hee found so comfortable, that hee proudly confest his love, and that hee had long done secret, and humble ho­mage, to Ʋenus under her so rare a beauty. Vienna surfeit­ting in the pride of her full content, kindly entertained his so affectionate a conceite, with as friendly a receite, and briefly, assuredly assured him; that none but Paris should enjoy Vienna; if none but Ʋienna should joy in Paris.

This cordiall conclusion, being Sealed with protestation of perseverance, and by confirmation of oathes; they knit two hearts in one, and parted one will in two, and so depar­ted. During these Haltion dayes, commanding Love, wrought ensuing cares: For Vienna sitting but in the shad­dow of love, thought the fruites of affection over-long in ripening; and therefore presuming (in her erring ayme) that her Father in her favour, would tie his consent to her choyse, and her love to his liking; She importuned Sir Pa­ris to request his Father to acquaint the Daulphin with her affection, and humbly pray his consent in favour of his [Page 38] Daughter: Which Sir Jaques advisedly at the first denyed, as unwilling to waken a sleeping Lyon, or to seeke for Fish in a dry Poole. But Paternall love (the allination of reason) and flattering hope (the nurse of deceit) so transported himselfe, from himselfe, that most vnlike himselfe, he (vainely dreaming after possibilitie) yeelded to saile in a Ship without a Stearne, and to gather honey out of Stones. But the Daulphin (whose repugnant humour scorn'd so seruile a motion, and whose abused kindnesse, now begat in him most spitefull rage) so irefully boyled in his disdainefull surquedry, that bitterly checking Sir Iaques, he fearefully thundred out his threatning indignation, in exiling poore Sir Paris.

Paris though checkt, yet not mated; shewed now the vertue of his courage in the eclipse of his fortune. For being perswaded by La-noua, to make presently away; He notwithstanding the danger of tyranicall authoritie, resol­ued to see his Lady before he lost his Countrey: And therefore as one desperate in dispaire, he hastily (yet se­cretly) went to participate his engrieued state with hap­lesse Vienna; who hearing thereof, was so confounded in herselfe, as she was full of sorrow for being vnable to relieue him, as she was voyd of all meanes to helpe herselfe. Their lamentations paide now large tribute to their griefes; and their desires that before had no end, did now, by dispaire, end endlesse things in their first motion: But after that the flood of their teares was growne to an ebbe, (admitting the necessitie of time) they concluded, euer to liue to none, but to each other; though they neuer saw againe one an other. And so Sir Paris fainting in his fare­well, was depriued of his welfare: Which (all louing and impatient) Vienna not brooking, so to be deposed from him, in whom she wholly reposed her selfe, recall'd him againe, and enfolding him within her fainting armes, she vowed to pertake with him in all his fortunes; euer remembring him, that the chast roote of her true affection was Vertue, clad in constant loues desire: Shee therefore aduised him [Page 39] secretly to conceale himselfe, and to provide for shipping, and at the hower of twelue, the third night following, she would disguised (with stored Gold and Iewels) meet him in the portch of Saint Anthonies Church, and so depart with him whithersoever: Sir Paris kissing her oft, (for in vaine kissing is some pleasure) found now his purgatory, to bee his paradice; Ioy triumpht in his eyes, and comfort lodg'd in his heart; and in this haven of happinesse hee would have swimmed still, but that danger of delay told him, that growing Trees have their falles, aswell as their springs, and that apprehension would dissolue all their harmony: Hee therefore (being borne away with the hasty tide of smal­lest leasure) roade presently into Provence, where happily meeting with Monsieur de la Mott, a Shippe Master of his acquaintance, he privately told him, that he had slaine a Man of account, and that he must for a time leave his Coun­trey, and therefore pray'd him (for his gold) speedily and secretly to Ship him and his two Friends away into some other Coast; which Monsieur la Mott promising, sent one away incontinent to Saint Victor, where his shippe lay, to make all things in readines and returned himselfe with Sir Paris, to assist and direct him in all his needfull dispatches.

Now Vienna and Jzabella, at the time and place appointed met with Sir Paris (according to their agreement) in mens apparell, dispencing with needlesse salutations, addrest them­selves to speedy journeyes: And so long they poasting, ridde out of all High-wayes, that being benighted, they were glad to crave harbour of a Prelate, who lodging them, placed Ʋienna and Jzabella in one Chamber, and Sir Paris and Monsieur de la Mott in another. In the morning, their earely desires so hastened theyr speedy departures, that being timely up, and quickly horsed, Sir Paris and La Mott, rode apase before, to view the River, whose overflowed bankes were so over runne, by the pride of a late swelling flood, that the Foard was not pastable: which made Sir Paris so impa­tient, so to be frustrated of his attending Ship (the assu­rance of his safety) that Monsieur de la Mott over venturous [Page 32] to venter over the passage, was in searching the Foard, most unfortunately drowned in the mercilesse Flood. Sir Paris daunted at that so fatall a sight, sighed, and sighing, grew to a prodigious prognosticator of his owne ensuing harmes. But fearing least the knowlege thereof might appale his faire Friend, he suddainely returned to theyr religious Host, where he had left the two Ladies, when he went to find the Foard, and to try the passage; and shadowing now his tormenting griefe with a forced smile, he demaunded of Ʋienna, how she fared, who answered, as my Love fares, so fares thy Love; happy in my selfe, because happy in thee. And long may (said Paris) my Love live to love, that loves to live onely for my love. Scarce had Sir Paris pronounced his last word, when one came running to tell the Priest, that there were many Knights in the next Towne; that came in quest, and searched for Vienna and Sir Paris: Which Ʋienna vnderstanding, was so surprized with griefe and feare, that being altogether disheartned in her hope, she held her selfe more then undone in her disturbed expectati­on: But after she had bathed the beauty of her eyes, in the sorrow of her teares, fearing most in this present perill, least death should arrest her beloved Friend: She with a much more resolued minde, and an assured countenance, then befit­ted eyther the time, or was incident to her sex, thus exhille­rated her astonished Friend.

My Paris, (she said) Time admittes not there many wordes, where danger still knockes at the doore: In extre­mities, the winning of time, is the purchase both of life and love: Let not violent passions (that neuer remooves any ill, but betrayes our secret imperfections) now sway the ver­tue of thy thoughts, nor the fortitude of thy heart; but carry thou in thy Lyons looke, a Lyons minde; and like the Sunne shew thy fayrest face, in thy lowest fall. Loade not my sorrowes with thy griefe, nor kill thou thy selfe, for feare of death; But in the wonted courage of thy never-daunted Spirit, get thee to some other more safer shore; where let Vertue be thy Governour; my remembrance [Page 41] thy Loue; thy loue my comfort, and my comfort thy sole contentment. Thou hast conquered men in loue, and Loue in me, and both in worth and wisedome; and neuer shall I deeme my selfe happy, but when I shall see thee happy, for whom I now am so vnhappy: As thou leauest me, so shalt thou finde me; be but thou as constant a Friend to my Minde, as thou shalt be a true Possessor of my Heart; and I shall haue as much cause of joy, as thou no cause of doubt. If thou continue loyall, successe (thou shalt see) will blesse thee well, and all good fortune will waite on thy just merits. This Diamond which here I giue thee, shall be a true remai­ning record of my sincere loue to thee: Onely, let me heare of thy aboad; and so I leaue thee to the guide of Vertue, and seruice of Fortune. Sir Paris thus discomforted, comforted; weighing the danger of delay, by his immient perill, and forced to set vp his sayles in this so insupportable & threat­ing a tempest; and there sealing vp the vow of his faith, in the silent griefe of a departing kisse, he posted to the Ri­uer side againe; where Dispaire made Feare so valiant, that ere he found cause of feare, hee was past all feare: For ha­uing past he knew not how the Riuer, he was got before he wist into the Ship: wherein being Cabined, hee told of La Mot his fatall accident, and forced them to put to sea, sayling himselfe with as many contrary thoughts, as Eolus sent out windes vpon the Trojan Fleete. At length he arriued at Genua, where he rested his restlesse selfe, and where he liued, wanting but little, because not desiring much. But such was his disconsolate solitary life, that the Citizens (though strangers) affecting the man in his man­ners, pittied much his distresse, in the shew of his discon­tentment. In the meane while, the Daulphin wasting him­selfe, in his owne implacable, and vnlimited wrath, vio­lently, and suddainly seazed, and consiscated, all Sir Jaques Lands and Goods into his hands; imprisoning both him, and his Lady, as Fauters, Abetters, Confederates, and Ad­juters thereunto. Thus ets Outrage, euer the sharpest edge vpon the first aduantage; And in this distemper of [Page 42] his ill disposed minde, he commanded that naught but bread and water should be giuen them. For, said he, where the offence is greater then the seruice, there Iustice chan­geth the bond of recompence into due punishment. During this their faultlesse imprisonment, the questing Knights re­turned with Vienna, and the Hospitalious Parson, her Host; who being brought before the angry Daulphin (her enra­ged Father) shee saw the cloud a farre off, before the storme fell, and therefore prostrating her selfe at his Feete, shee required pardon for her offence, and prayed that he would not make her sinne deadly, which was but veniall; pleading ignorance for the Prelate, and vnresistable loue for her selfe; swearing and assuring him, by sacrament of so­lemne oath, and the testimonie of her Host, that shee was as honest in her flight, as she was in her birth, and that her vn potted thoughts were neuer stayned, with any vnchast deede or desire. The noble followers of the obdurate Daul­phin, seeing the Princesse washing her repentance in her owne teares, humbly besought him to forget, and to for­giue her amisse, since the frailty of her offence, was rather a sore, then a sinne; and wounds were to be healed and not hurt. This submission, strengthened by such generall en­treaties, somewhat quencht the burning heate of his enfla­med ire: And though his seuere Iustice told him, that not to punish an euill, was to allow of an euill; yet mercy hee knew pardons them oft, that deserues it not, and judge­ment in nature, should be next a kin to fauour. Vpon this calme construction (after many sharpe rebukes, and protest­ed threates, he vowed that determinate, and ineuitable con­demnation [...] punish her next offence) and so he pardo­ned her vpon promise of more regardfull duty.

Now Sir Paris had not long sojourned in Genua, but that mindfull of his charge, he writ to Vienna, and enclosed it in another writ to La-noua, wherein he excused his vnkinde departure without his priuity, and conjured him by the sa­cred lawes of true amity; to attend and follow his Lady, in all seruice and fast friendship. La-noua glad of such glad [Page 43] tydings, went in the height of his ioy to Vienna, and (after some complementall salutes) asked her, what shee would give to heare of her Paris. Vienna great with child with the expectation of her friends welfare, longed to be delivered with the notice of his health; and said, that the whole world afforded not sufficient worth to answer her liberall heart therein. La-nova ioying in the constancy of her love, shew­ed her the letter, which shee hastily snatching, as hastily read, re-read, and many times, more then many times over-read, the pleasing contents as followeth.

Vienna well certified, but not fully satisfied, commanded La-noua to returne a speedy answer, with chaage that Pa­ris should not depart Genua, but that hee should there so­journe, till better times afforded better turnes: And that he should beare himselfe, as himselfe, and her fauorite. To maintaine which, shee deliuered to La-noua tenne thousand Crownes, which he sent immediately: Sir Paris receiuing now so pleasing a pledge of her perseuered constancie, tri­umphed no little in her so agreeable affection. And as shee required, so sate hee vp the mayne sayle of his obscured glory in the winde of her will, by taking a great house, and by maintaining so great a Port, that his majesticall magna­nimity well manifested, that his former sinister fortune was nothing suteable to his birth and education.

Whiles Sir Paris thus Courted it out in some content, Ʋienna was solicited by many great Lords. But the seede which they sowed in the sands, was washt away with the first flood of the Tyde; so that all their hoped Haruists, was nought but crops of growing cares. The Daulphin (whose climing thoughts looked euer vpon greatest starrs) kept the beame of his ballance straight, without gaine-say­ing this Sutor, or disgracing that. But to preuent all distaste that might come by deniall, hee speedily sent speciall Mes­sengers [Page 45] to his fast friend, the Earle of Flanders, requesting his best labours and endeauours, to moue, and make (if so he might a marriage, betwixt his daughter Vienna, and the Duke of Burbon his sonne. Such was his couetous desire, in lieu of the Burbons possessions, not to be valued; and sueh his conceit of his sonnes valour, not then (as hee thought) to be equalled; so as his pride, could, nor would, admit of any other sonne in law, but this great and matchlesse Prince. The Earle of Flanders glad that occasion offered it selfe, that he might both gratifie the Daulphin his friend, and in­terest himself in the loue & greatnesse of the Burbon Duke, which he had loue desired; was now as willing as the Phy­sitian, that is euer ready to pleasure another, to profit him­selfe. And knowing, that he that sleepeth, catcheth no Fish; he went instantly to the Duke, who no sooner herd of the motion, but glorying in the hope of such vnexpected aduancement, he entertained the Earle with all the state, that either greatnesse could performe, or desire require. In conclusion, the Burbon Duke sent his sonne, in the greatest pride of proudest state, to the Daulphins Court, where he did proportion his carriage answerable to the eminencie of his place; his merits being such, and so many, that (set­ting onely aside his pride of heart) Enuie her selfe, could not detract from his worth. But before he came to the Ci­tie, the Daulphin hearing of his neere approach, went to his daughter, and told her what tender care he had of her good, how hee had laboured to make the Burbon Prince, her glorious Groome. and how happy she might thinke her selfe, to bee bestowed on so great and famous a Lord. One, whom the world admires for his heroicall fortitude; feares for his greatnesse; and loues for his deserts. A Prince incomparable by title and birth: A person beautified by Nature; And a man inricht with wisedome, wealth, and worthinesse. Then let my Choyse be thy content, and in thy full consent see that thou entertaine him with all vertuous fauours. This said, he commanded to horse, not staying her answer, and so rid forth royally attended, and [Page 46] appointed, to receiue the young Prince. And farre he had not rid, but that he met, and encountred with his long de­sired, and now expected guest. The young Prince first a­lighting from his Horse, gaue the Daulphin occasion to dis­mount himselfe, who being on foote, stayed till the Prince came unto him; where they greeted, re-greeted, and em­braced each other, and then remounting themselves, they rid Marshalled in right good equipage to the Pallace, where all the Ladies (saving Ʋienna) gave a second salute, to the greater content of the Burbon Prince. But the Daul­phin missing Vienna, misliked much her absence, yet seemed to take no notice of it, but smoothing the angry furrowes of his discontentment, he (with an inforced cheerefulnes) brought the Prince to his lodging, and there leaving him to his private repose; hee hastily went to Viennas Cham­ber, where all sad, and solitary, he found her sitting in the seate of sorrow, or rather in the shade of death, for feare of her fathers provoked ire; whose violent, and peremp­tory disposition, would (she knew) transport him beyond all the bounds of Natures tendernesse. Of her, he deman­ded, why contrary to his command, shee had absented her selfe in the requisite entertainement of so great a Lord, and so worthy a friend.

Ʋienna rising from her sorrowfull seate, but not from her sorrow, with fearefull erected hands, and pitty plead­ing eyes, humbled her selfe at his feete, and told him, that for shame of her first flying fault, she had vowed her cha­stity to Diana; and sworne her selfe, a Vestall, to Ʋesta. And therefore had she so separated her selfe a side, because she would not give fire to his fancie, nor wrong his better deserts with forlorne desires. In consideration whereof, she humbly prayed, that none but her selfe might enioy her selfe, since none but her selfe could, or should content her selfe. The Daulphin perceiving light through a small crevis, began in milde pollicy, by gentle entreaties, and rich perswasions, to weane her from her will; telling her, that vnlawfull vowes were to be violated; since the first cause [Page 47] ceasing and a new succeeding, both might be altered; nei­ther had she any such power in her selfe, that was not to be disposed of by a Father; And to honour, and obey Parents, is the first Commandement that hath any reward promi­sed on earth. Besides, it is an enuious wrong to Nature, to suffer her fairest worke (like a sweet fragrant odoriferous Rose) to dye vpon the stocke; that being pluckt in the bloome, might yeeld both pleasure, and profit to others: therefore renounce this beliefe, if thou meanest to be sa­ued, or to haue any fauour. For by course of kinde all thinges were made to increase; and by increase to benefit another; and she is a Diuell amongst men, that profiteth no man. This did the Daulphin thinke by his smooth words, to build a Castle in the ayre, that had no hope of foundation on the earth. For Viennas vnremoueable resolution, being bent to shoote at her first marke, could not be wonne to le­uell at another ayme; which made the Daulphin, (failing (like a Foxe) to deceiue with kindnesse) to play now the Lyon by compulsion; And therefore gnashing his teeth to­gether for anger (like the Sea that waxeth mad, when the windes doe rage) he commanded both her and Jzabella to close prison.

The young Prince meruailing beyond all measure, that he could not see amiable Vienna, the eye of France, the mi­racle of her sex, the wonder of time, and the pride of Na­ture; demanded of her Father, what ominous cloud sha­dowed the brightnesse of France his second Sunne, that she appeared not in her all-admired glory. The Daulphin fea­ring least he should distast the Prince, by vnderstanding the matter; framed, and faigned this excuse. That sicknesse had attached her, and made her a prisoner to her bed, and there­fore prayed his patience awhile, till bee hoped recouery might better please his fancy. The young Prince holding his words for Oracles, held himselfe contented, and thought to weare and weary out the wearinesse of time, with otehr Courtly, and more Knightly sports; wherein hee was so fortunate, that Fame was the Herauid of his Heroicall [Page 48] deedes. This did so enflame the loue of the Daulphin to­wards him, that no eye-water could euer after quench the same; Desert did now double his desire; and his desire had no end, in gayning his daughters consent, which he againe now vainely laboured: Sometimes laying before her the Riches, Glory, and Dignities of Iuno: sometimes painting forth the Honour, Respect, and Happinesse, shee should re­ceiue by such another Hector; and then pleading the sweet content, that growes by enjoying so pleasing and compleat a Prince. But when he found his wasted wordes dye in their owne sound, and all his hopes vtterly shipwrackt: his better consideration was then forfeited further to hate, and rancour; then either nature, or pitty, could redeeme it. Then began he to thunder out fearefull threats, cruell chastments, and most insupportable miseries. Commanding the Keeper (in his ouer-awfull justice) that sad solitarinesse should onely attend her imprisonment, and that eager hun­ger should daily waite on her Table, and so he departed, hopelesse of reclayming her, and therefore resolued to cha­sten her obstinacie, with all seuerity. But

The young Prince hauing now spent many dayes, and not seene her, whom onely he came to visite; importuned the Daulphin, that he might but visite her both to comfort her in her malady, and somewhat to satisfie his starued eyes, in their more then greedy desires. But the doubling Daulphin pleaded her mislike so to be seene; assuring him, that shee daily requested, that he (whom she onely vpon sole re­port entirely affected (should not in any case see her so sore impaired. So great (said bee) is her care to seeme pleasing vnto you, such her shamefastnesse at first so to bee seene of you. And therefore let me entreat your further patience, for [...]our willing returne, vntill her better health, may bet­ter counteruaile your taken paines; which once recouered, [Page 49] you shall be speedily informed. In the meane time salute in my name, your thrice noble royall Father, and tell him, that I hold my selfe so much honoured, in his desired affini­tie, that my selfe, and what is the Daulphins, rests wholly at his pleasure: and further, pray him that the lawfull cause of this unwilling stay, may stand for satisfaction till better payment. The young Prince thus smoothed up with words of fairest dye, held himselfe well appeased, though not throughly pleased; and holding the Daulphins words for written verity, hee implored the firme continuance of his found favours, and protested kindnesses; and so commen­ding himselfe to the good grace of his adored Lady; he hum­bly and friendly tooke his leave, and returned to Burbon. The Prince departed: The Daulphin, who had no more re­morce then the cruell Iudge hath mercy; gave in charge, that no one should visite, or repaire to his Daughter, but onely Monsieur Maux, a right Saturnist by nature, and an unrelenting Tyrant in life, him hee commanded (under paine of death) to give her nothing but bread, and the worst wine, twise a day; which this enemy of vertue, and staine of all mankinde, so barbarously performed, that his cruell usage too soone impared poore Vienna, and distressed Izabella who had unkindly, and untimely pined, and perished in that loathsome solitary prison, had not La-nova found out a meanes (as hereafter shall be showne) to succour, and re­lieue them.

But now the Daulphinis, who had many times washed her aged face, in the teares of her consuming griefe for her afflicted Childe, having neither knowledge of any meanes to relieve her, nor hope of her delivery; knowing the Daulphin, to be as resolute in his rigour, as he was absolute in opinion: Advised with her nearest friends, and obliged dependants, what was to be done in so desperate and grie­vous a case. Whereby the concurrance of advises, it was concluded, that she should send unto the Delphian Oracle, there to learne, what should be done, and become of her enthralled daughter. This Counsell being embraced, and [Page 50] the iourney vndertaken, the windes gave speed, and the Messenger arrived at Delphos, where after all ceremonies were religiously performed, hereceived a scrowle to carry unto the Daulphinis, with charge not to looke therein. The Daulphinis, whose feare made her thinke all good to be too good for her; thought yet each houre an age, till his re­turne: misfortune so blindeth those, we will overthrow, as that she gives their desires wings to draw on, and hasten their owne decayes. At last he came, and humbly delivered the scrowle, importing this much.

The Daulphinis, whose over sad surcharged heart was unable to disgest such heavie and bitter Cates; found this sawce too sharpe for her dyet. For it was no sooner read, but that finding (as shee thought) all the gates of comfort shut up with intricate threates and impossibilities, (being too weake a vessell, to beare so sharpe a liquor) she shrunke under the waight of her sad burthen, and fell suddenly dead; and so left the Daulphin a cruell Father, and a carelesse Widdower.

This mournfull accident rather exasperated his irefull displeasure towards his daughter (in making her disobedi­ence the originall cause of her death) then in any wise exte­nuated his execrable resolution, against her determined en­durance. But hee had not lived many dayes in dolour, but that burying the remembrance of his dearest spouse, in the [Page 51] hope of future happinesse; his obdurate heart became as unsenceable of her losse, as of his Daughters misery. Love found love, and the madnesse of age made him such a slave unto his slave, that before one yeares period, he married one of his Wives meanest Attendants; One (who knowing her owne unworthinesse,) having neither Vertue to strengthen her fortune, nor good nature to incite her to pit­tie or goodnesse, nor any merit to winne applause, was not­withstanding so potent over him, that she guided the stearne of his flinty and unpennitrable heart: And though she feared the scorne of abiect basenesse, yet to maintaine the stolne pride of her enhansed heart, shee cunningly gave fewell to her Husbands enraged will, and covertly blew still the coales of his displeasure. For feare shee did, least that her Daughters liberty should (in the aspect of true honour) cloud both her swelling conceited glory, and de­tract from her proud insulting greatnesse: To frustrate which, she cautely one day, leaning on his brest, and stro­king his frosted beard, thus sadly sayd.

When (my deerest Lord) I looke upon the breach of the Princesse, your Daughters obligation; I finde the penaltie you take, to be most iust (though severe;) Since the iust Iudger of all, did for the sole disobedience of onely one, cast both him, and all his Posteritie out of Paradice: How like unto him you shew your selfe herein, your unpartiall Iustice well demonstrates, who rightfully punisheth the sinne of disobedience in your owne members, as God did in his owne creatures. Iustice is the badge of vertue, the state of peace, and maintenance of honour; and the will of a Father should be a religious law unto the Child: And they that preferre theyr owne Iustes before theyr Parents pleasures, looseth the benefit both of natures right, and a Fathers regard: For reason would not we should respect those that forsake us: The Husbandman cuttes and loppes off all unkindly Branches from the good Vine; Jove held his Children part of his substance, of whom he did and might dispose; and the noble Romans deprived their Sonnes [Page 52] of life, that infringed but theyr commaunds. I alleadge not this (most worthy Lord) to aggravate your Daughters foule offence, whose other deserts I honour, whose well­fare I affect, and whose merited punishment I condole; Nor yet to detract from the worth of your thrise worthy chasticement, which all men commend, and iustice allowes. But feare (of I know what) and the love of your safety enforceth me in love and duty, to manifest what I feare, and to prevent what I doubt. Vienna (you know) my endeered Lady, is the immediate apparent Heyre to this Principali­tie, and the uniust desires that waite upon a Crowne, begets oft most inhumane, unnaturall, and unlawfull Acts: Nature in that expectation, looseth her sight. Vertue her strength, Dutie her obedience, and Love her respect: Nothing can outballance ambitious desire, either in the reach of dignity, or revenge; Nor is there any limitation in the adventurers. Her restraint is (I feare) like fire raked up in embers, that covertly will kindle, and openly burst foorth into a flame; For the harder she deemes her selfe handled, the more will she seeke after her release, if not after revenge; Nor can she want instigators thereunto: Since all men like and preferre the rysing of the Moone before the setting of the Sunne: And to win advancement in that hope, they will contrive, practise, and execute whatsoever, and howsoever: Such oc­casions gives fire to corrupt Humorists; and such grounds sets repugnant Malecontents a worke. I would my death might free you from such dangerous intendments, or that my life could acquit you from such heavie accidents. And therewithall (her heart having taught her eyes to weepe) she threw her selfe into his bosome, the more to endeere her selfe unto him, and without any sorrow, she sighing, said, Ah what shall become of me, when I shall loose my loving Lord?

[Page 53] Thus to nourish debate, after she had fedde on slander, and instil'd in his eares a fearefull iealousie, which over-cre­dulous mindes easily apprehends, and covetously enter­taines. The better to acquit her selfe from all suppose of malice or detraction: She weeping, told him, That the night before, her Mothers Ghost appeared unto her, all in white, her unsmoothed haire displayed about her shoul­ders, her ruefull falne face pale, her eyes hollow, and in eyther hand a Taper burning dimme; which so affrighted her, that had she not comfortably spoken to me, when I had no power to call to you; I had awaked you, and cryed for helpe: But sodainely, with a feeble voyce, she mildly said; Feare not my Daughter, to looke upon thy Mothers harmelesse Ghost, who in tender care of thee, and thy espou­sed Lord, have left my bed of rest, to come to premonish thee of your ensuing ill. Treason doth threaten the Daulphin; Subjects mislikes, workes upon Ʋiennas discontentments: Her liberty will be his death, and in his destruction shalt thou finde thy grave: Now thou knowest it, looke to it, and so farewell. With that she gave a wimpe, darkenesse possest the place, and I lay wounded and affrighted with remembrance, both of her sight and of her words. This Apparision, the happy Angell of our God, (for visions are cleere revelations, where dreames are but delusions) hath moved me, out of an affectionate feare of you, to deliver what I saw, heard, and have said; which otherwise in my love to your Princely Daughter, I would willingly have concealed. And therewithall she wept againe, and kissing him saide, O hardest of happes, but most unhappy onely I, that she, to whom I owe all love, and from whom I can­not withdraw my devoted affections should by my meanes be the more afflicted. But in my Lords love and welfare, doe I onely live, and will bury all other affects and considera­tions. The guilled Daulphin, whose undisgested displeasure, and over-iealous preiudicating heart, gave way to every suspitious thought, so procreated [...]y false conceite, and so confirmed by her mellefluous and deceitfull tongue; be­gan [Page 54] now to conceive much more, then he did see or per­ceive. Feare and dislike so shipwrackt his iudgement upon his Wives clouded rockes, that what before seemed to him by coniecture but probable; that he holds now as an Ora­cle. And therefore imbracing her, he kist her oft, and oft did wipe her forced bedewed eyes, and then did kisse againe, and thanked her for her provident care; and pre­serving love; assuring her that thus warned, hee would be ever armed, and that in his daughters wedded miseries, they would build vp both their securities. And thereupon com­manded that a strickt Watch should ever guard the prison doore, that no one (but Monsieur Maux) should come, or send unto her.

But La-nova understanding of the Daulphins Decree, and finding the venomous drift, and impoysoned minde, of this Serpentine mother; having Land adioyning to the Castle, did erect (after a great, and strickt shew of holines) a Chap­pell in honour of our Lady, wherein he made a close parti­tion; In the one part to heare publique Masse, and in the other (which adioyned to his Castle) to prostrate himselfe before his God, and to powre forth his more private pray­ers for his secret sinnes. In this part, hee digged in the night so long, and many nights so long; that at length hee made a secret way, that ascended up to the place of their a­boade, and pausing there a while, to rest his over-wearied selfe, he heard Ʋienna and Izabella, carefully, and interchange­ably, sing this contentions Ditty.

No sooner had they made an end of theyr Song, but La­nova, found an end of his worke, and going forth of his darke passage, he softly, yet cheerefully entred, and saluted Vienna, who though amazed, yet animated at his sight, runne, and fell upon his breast, and in the fall of her many teares, ask'd him, What newes of her Paris, and whether he lived, and living, lived to his first Enone; or strugling, had found, and made a second choyse. Say, La-nova, say, [Page 56] hath any Hellen wonne my Trojan from his betrothed Nimph, or hath Adenis forgotten his Venus, and become amorous of another Lady. If so, say so, and tell mee, how thou cam'st hither. For I wonder at thy presence, and feare thy hazard. Your Knight (most constantly (vertuous, and renowned Lady) said La-noua) liues I hope, and no doubt wholly yours: But never since the receite of this Letter, heard I any tydings of him. Onely my care of your good (the summe of Sir Paris charge) hath plotted, and effected, this poore shift, to relieve and comfort your grace. And so he told her how, and shewed her the way, the top where­of he advised her to cover well, least it should be discryed, he undone and she unsuccoured. Vienna re-embracing him for his kinde and tender regard to her, and for his true, and fast love to them both; gave him many thankes, and ear­nestly entreated him, to make privie enquiry of the Genua Merchants, whether they knew, or had heard of Sir Pa­ris, and how he spent his dayes, and so fearing the detested Keepers comming. La-noua left her, to make provision for her.

Now the Daulphin, whose diseased minde could not bee cured, but by the match of the Burbon Prince; thought him­selfe still endangered, so long as she lived unmarried, and imprisoned: His wicked wily wife, had cast such an erroni­ous mist over his bewitched eyes, and so drowned his heart in fearefull doubts, that he durst not trust his owne safety; unlesse his harmelesse daughter were either made away at home, or married away farre from home. To give peace vnto these his disturbed thoughts, he went unto the Castle to see whether that weakening dyet, and tedious thraldome, had well reduced her seduced minde; and made her of a disobedient childe, the daughter of his will. In tryall whereof, he demanded, whether in the high, and sa­cred preheminence of a Father, he should finde yet the ob­liged duty of a childe; the which if she would in repen­tance acknowledge, and in performance willingly accom­plish his will. She should be restored to her former estate, [Page 57] his wonted favour, and her preeminent dignities. Vienna on humble knees, falling at his feete, required his blessing, and saide, that continued sorrowes had so mortified all thoughts of affection, that onely griefe was growne to bee pleasing to miserable creatures; and that custome had made her content to lye in her bed of woe, and to water her couch with teares: onely she prayed, that the just God might ap­pease his ire against uniust men. But how (sayd shee) shall my selfe, perswade my selfe, that you meane me any good, that not onely have so hardly intreated mee, and so vnnatu­rally imprisoned your sole childe; but most vniustly and cruelly have put in prison poore Sir Iaques, that hath spent all his happiest dayes in your unrewarded service. It is the true property of a Prince, to resemble Cod, in vertue, bounty, and mercy: and not the Lyon in force, rigour, and cruelty. Mercy pardoneth those that deserve it not; and the interpretation of the strictest law, should rather tend to mercy, then cruelty; since rigorous lawes were first made, more to terrifie all, then to torment any. The doubtfull Daulphin finding his amisse, but not his remedie; somewhat to perswade his daughter of his repenting rigour, and inten­ded good; commanded that Sir Jaques should be set at liber­ty and restored to his Pristen estate; which greatly con­tented Vienna for her Paris sake, and no little joyed good La-nova, that secretly had succoured him. But these shewes of favour, and promises of preferment, nothing advantaged the Daulphin: For Vienna (strengthned in the expectation of sorrow) not obstinately, but constantly tolde her father, that the Barbons love, was like a Spiders webbe, fit to bee swept away; and that her Virgins vowe, should eternize her chastity after death. This resolve, raised againe the storme of his allayed fury; in the rage whereof, he left her, discovering by his threats and malitious words, the ill of his heart, as Viennas sorrowfull sighes shewed the hurt of her heart.

La-nova wigehing the Tyranny of the time, & finding no hope of better hap, presently writ to Sir Paris the truth of [Page 58] all such accidents as had befalne, his Father, Ʋienna, and himselfe; since the receipt of his Letter, which gave so fresh and so sharpe an assault, to his already over-surcharged heart, that vertue was no Armour of proofe against such affliction, but raging in the tempest of discontentment, ra­ther like an unkennelled Cerberus, then any distracted A­jax, hee blasphemously belched and breathed out cruell oathes, vengeance, daring threates, and most fearefull words against Time, Love, Gods, and Men.

O Time, said hee, Traytor unto Love: O Love abused by Time: O Gods unjust to men: O Men too subject to the Gods. O that your Deities were essentiall, visible, and mor­tall, that I might hew vengeance out of your wrongs, and write Tragedies on your lives. O heavens I challenge your Throanes, and deny your powers. Your swift motions I will stay with my hand, and your revolutions I will drowne in the Sea: I will unloose the bonds of Orion, and stop the course of each constellation. The straying Starres I will plucke from theyr Spheares, and with their influences will I kill all the Tyrants on the earth. Time I will consume with my breath, and burne up Love with the Sunne. The world I will cut a sunder with my Sword, and make a new Land in the ayre. The Waters I will swallow up, and bury the windes in the Moone. Jxion I will remove from his mo­ving and tormenting seate, and set the Daulphin on his tur­ning wheele, where hunger-starved Vipours shall gnaw on his hatefull heart, and pyning Tantalus give him all his food. Ʋienna shall be sole Queene of heaven, and onely rule the glorious Globe; And I will raigne in Iupiters stead, and throw downe fire and lightning on the cursed Castle that enthralls my love: I will beate that cruell Daulphin to pow­der with thunder, that I may be revenged on Time, Love, Gods, Men, the World, the Daulphin, and all for the Daul­phin. Thus distract in his madding moode hee all enraged, raged he knew not how, and said he knew not what, pulling the Letter in pieces with his teeth, renting his Hangings, tearing his Cloathes, and breaking his Bed, Board, and [Page 59] Stooles, with such violence, that his amazed servants durst not come neere him.

At this vnwonted passion, theyr hearts were possest with wonder, and their eyes floodded with teares; his bounty causing the one, and his wisedome the other. But igno­rance is the mother of admiration: They knew not where his shooe did pinch him, nor could they tell how to helpe him. At last (as one breathlesse in his wasted fury) hee fell upon his bed; which they seeing, hastily stept to him, and uniting their strengthes, kept him downe, making silence theyr preparative, to quit his tempestious thoughts; Then darkning the Chamber, one of them tooke a deepe base sil­ver stringed Bandora, whereupon he played so sweetely, and so dolefully, that Sir Paris hearing of it, lent a listning to it, which brought him into such a sad melancholly Muse, that he began to slumber, & after fell into a heavy sleepe, which so well appeased the storme of his disturbed sences, that af­ter three houres enjoying reposed rest; he waked, and wal­ked, perfected in his minde, and ashamed that he had so de­fac'd the Image of vertue, and abused his owne knowledge. Consideration made him now hold himselfe the sole spight of Fortune, and the very scorne of time, and men. Detracti­on threatned his disgrace, Derision proclaimed his folly, and the guilt of his owne ill, made him privately, and se­cretly, to leave Genua, and to wander whether his shame should not follow him, nor any heare of his being. But be­fore he departed, he both rewarded, and discharged all his servants, and paying all duties whatsoever; hee lastly writ to La-nova and to his Father as followeth.

La-nova, having read his owne sorrow, in his Friends griefe, could not refraine from shedding most bitter teares; and having long bewailed the untimely losse of his so wor­thy a Friend, he speedied himselfe to acquaint Sir Iaques, unto whom hee delivered his Sonnes Letter, importing thus much.

Sir Inques having read the sadde contents of his Sonnes resolved last farewell, fainted under the burden of his so un­supportable griefe, but revived and comforted by La-nova, that was himselfe to be comforted, he betooke himselfe unto his carefull bedde; where though his attached tongue could pay no tribute to his dumbe sorrow, yet did his silent woes, shewe his speaking griefe. Such was his woe, that it was a woe, to see his woe: In somuch, that La-nova, swolne with his owne griefe, was ready to burst; to see his sorrow; And therefore, having neither temperance to cover the one, nor a heart to looke upon the other; he returned to his erected Chappell, where he pierst the very Heavens, for the preservation of his Friend, and powred forth his Prayers for his returne. This done, he held himselfe undone, in so inestimable a losse: And af­ter a long and sadde meditating with himselfe, he fearefully went to acquaint Vienna, that all their sorrowes might be [Page 62] compleate at once: Her he found all pensive and heavie, as one presaging her further mishap; and no sooner she saw him, but that drawing forth the true portracture of sor­row, out of his carefull countenance, she hastily, yet feare­fully, demaunded, what newes? The Heavens Madam (sayd La-nova) grant you patience, and more comfortable newes. Vienna agast, gastly asked, if Paris then were dead? Not dead he said, and yet departed. Departed, ah said Vienna, how, whether, or to whom? from life to death, or from me to a causelesse change? If dead, why live I then? If a­live, why then dead to me? Say, say La-nova, where lives, or lyes my Paris? Paris (said La-nova) lives in his sor­row, and dyes in your griefe: But where, alasse I know not; for madde in your affliction, he is gone in his fury, to dye else-where for his fancie. Vienna, whose eyes overflowed with teares, and whose heart was wounded with his words, stood like a second Niobe; and then falling suddain­lie into a deadly trance, she no sooner came to her selfe a­gaine, but that againe she lost her selfe. But after her full re­covery, her remembrance then recording, how all her nou­rished woes had begot many crosses, that miserably fell upon her like haile-stones, that strives to overtake one another; she could not refraine, but thus bewailed her selfe.

What fault of mine, cruell and unkind, hath caused thus thy causelesse flight? Is this, ah this, and woe is me in this, the hoped harvest of devoted Love? Deserves my endured miseries, this ingratefull guerdon? O Paris, Paris, thy love comforted me in my cares, but thy losse hath con­founded me in my love. O that I had never seene thee, whom yet I wish to see; or seeing thee, had never affected thee, whom ever I most affect: My hap is hard, that can neither have, nor hope; and the fault I finde in my selfe, followes me still, whiles death doth follow me. Ah La-nova, what now availes thy doubtfull diligence to thy Friend? under the zealous shew of thy simulate sancti­tude? To what end now intends my pyning imprisonment the due chastisement of my neglected duty? Am I now be­come [Page 63] the onely Daughter of sorrow, and the cashiered Childe of disgrace? O happie Portia, thy dead sad woes are all buried in my long liv'd griefes; and Heccubaes teares are all drowned in the sea of my sorrow. Why then doe I live longer in dolour, since my preordinate life is predesti­nate to a dolent death? I will cruciate my effamished Bodie? and satiate the angry Fates, with my mortall and tragicall end: The end of my woe, shall be the woefull end of my life; and the life of my laments, shall be the wounds of my death: And therefore leave me La-nova, leave me; that at last, I may honour the Carthagenian Queene by breathing out my last.

These last wordes, so sore appaled La-nova, that iealous of her weaknesse (her enfeebled estate, being unable to support her oppressing and confounding sorrowes) hee much feared (least overcome with griefe and passion) shee should yeeld to mischiefe her misery: To prevent which, he buried, for the time, all his owne griefe, in the heedfull care of her safety; and closely wiping his bedewed eyes, he began, Pastor-like, to Preach patience, Faith, Hope, and Comfort, to her sad dismayed Soule. Let not (said he, I beseech your Excellence) any sinister crosse, chance, or mun­daine affaires, overthrow, or oppresse, the lively force of your requisite Faith: Nor let any pusalimity weaken the wonted courage of your prudent minde; but build your Faith and hope on him, who as Roy, royall, rules and over-rules all chances and accidents, that befalles humane Crea­tures: Then embrace not a mischiefe, to prevent an ill; since God sends good for evill, as he made light out of darkenesse, Joseph was in prison, before he could be Go­vernor of Egypt; and the Jsraelites were in bondage, before they could come into Canaan,: You see your soare, but not your salue: Though with Job you lye now in ashes, yet when with Iob, you be tryed, there shall be no more sor­rowes left to afflict you, then there were sores left to tor­ment him: For as the power of God is above our capaci­ties; So doth his succours and comforts, come quite contra­rie [Page 64] to our hopes: To him therefore referre all things, and in him onely repose your selfe; and be you assured, that in the assurance of your better trust, you shall finde comfort unexpected, and hope well rewarded. Crosses (your Grace knowes) are but-touch stones, to try our patience; and patience is both a vertue and the true Physitian of distresse: And in managing of affection and affliction, is the true proofe of discretion: To overcome an other, is the guift of Fortune; but to vanquish our owne willes, is the true proofe of wife courage, and a glory proper to our selves.

I confesse (said Ʋienna,) that Patience is a Vertue, but a poore one; and that Hope is a heavenly thing, but long hopes consume patience, and water a farre off, doth never quench fire at hand: And when two Winters come toge­ther, Death may fall before Summer. Yet time (sayd La­nova) heales griefes, by killing of cares. Nay, Time (shee replyed) is rather a devourer of our expectations, then a Chyrurgion to heale or soares: For all men takes pleasure to come to theyr journyes end before they be wearie; and our teeming hopes, would ever be delivered of a gratious Birth. Yet be you Madame (he reanswered) as you should be, if not as you would be, since it will be as it is; and with some sweete deceit, exile these sower conceits. Alasse, (sayd Ʋienna) how can sowre conceites, entertaine sweet deceites? since present deceites, are still my sowrest con­ceites: Your Physicke La-nova, is good, but my disease is desperate: For patience without comfort, brings perill of consumption; and they are alwayes unpatient Martyrs, that are punished uniustly: my griefe was at the highest before, and now like swelling Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. Deceive not your selfe, said La-nova, his endeered Love, not broo­king your misery; and not his fraud, never knowne to any, with his killing dispayre (the bloody butcher of all hopes contentments) hath forced thus his further flight: And for probation thereof, reade heere his Letter, which he sent me; and doubt you not Madame, but when after-times shall make him finde the error of his amisse, and that his [Page 65] wounded hope shall be healed with better thoughts; that then (finding with the sicke man, that the shifting of his Bedde, alters not his disease,) he will then, I say, returne in his repentance, and make inquisition after your welfare. Ʋienna taking and perusing the Letter, and swallowing up the contents, with contentment, was overcome asmuch, with kinde, and affectionate griefe, as before she was sur­prised with cold care and distast, of his supposed flying fan­cie: Insomuch, that washing a new her face, in the balmy droppes of her love-distilling teares, she laide her hands on his shoulder, and sighing sayd; O pardon, La-nova, my offensive offence, Sweet Paris, where so ere thou art, par­don my amisse: I was, I am, and will be, still the same, and ever thine. Thus having surfeited in her owne sorrow, she purged heriealous conceite, and in the comfort of his con­stant love, she layd her downe on her weeping bed, where La-nova left her, to rest her restlesse thoughts.

By this time, the Moone seven times had showne her ful­lest face, and as many times lost the splendor of he light. When the Prince of Burbon, desirous to see the Emperious Mistresse of his enthralled heart, taking humble leave of his Father, secretly poasted to Ʋienna, where the Daulphin enknowledged of his comming, went to receive him at his outermost gate. The young Prince, greeted, entertained, and feasted, of some, of many, of all; amongst them all, mist the fairest of them all, the faire Vienna, the admired Princesse of all pulcretude, of whose wished welfare, he as­ked her Father: Who like a subtile Mercurist (cunning in Cautels) soberly sayd; that as yet she had not recovered her health. The young Prince, discomforted in so linge­ring a sicknesse, importuned the Daulphin, that he might visit her, and so somewhat satisfie his hungry minde, al­most famished with desire. The Daulphin (whose sences held now a Synode) was driven to such an exigent, that not knowing how to avoyde the Cheque without a Mate, he was pe [...]force forced to confesse the trueth. So that taking him aside; he swore by Sacrament of solemne Oath, that his [Page 66] whose drift, and desire was, to bestowe his Daughter on none but him; and that he had banished ambitious and au­datious Sir Paris, for his over-proud and presumptious love. But such (said he) hath beene, and is still, her perma­nent frowardnesse, and most obstinate disobedience therein, that in injustice, I have iustly imprisoned her, not so much for her degenerate breach of duty, (though not to restraine an ill, is to maintaine an ill) as to bring her to yeeld to your fancy: But overhardened in her willfull conceit, shee rests no lesse carelesse of her endurance. then resolved in her wil­fullnesse; for which, I also have deprived her of her glory, and comfort; sworne her continuall thraldome, and pray the continuance of your good opinion, and amitie.

The young Prince astonished at the strangenesse of the case, wondred greatly at the cause: Yet flattering him­selfe, with selfe-conceite of his more worthy worthinesse; He earnestly intreated the Daulphin, that he might make some tryall, what himselfe could doe for himselfe. The Daulphin granting his request, he presently cloathed him­selfe, in the richest Ornaments of Pride and State; and Princely attended, went with more speed, then successe to the Prison; the Doore whereof had but onely a small hole cut forth, to take ayre in, and to receive such leane and slender Sustenance, as was most sparingly allowed her.

Vienna foretold of his comming, had before, gotten by La-nova's meanes, a Capon, whose dismembred Legges, she closely had tyed under the holes of her naked Armes, that there, with heate putrifying, they might the sooner cor­rupt, and unsavery, smell the stronger. The young Prince comming to the doore, knockt, and demaunded for Ʋienna: Who comming, and seeing him so richly cladde, and in so glorious an estate, blusht out such beauty, that her very Eyes seem'd a fayre Temple, wherein Love and Beauty sea­ted themselves: Yet dissembling her knowledge of him, she asked what he was, and would. Ʋiennas Friend, (hee sayd) and Viennas Love I would. My Friend, (sayd she) oh Friendlesse, name I Friend? that live exempt from [Page 67] Friends: My Love, why name I Love? that onely love to live here unbeloved.

The young Prince (whose listening eares, were well plea­sed with the sweete harmony of her well tuned words; and whose liking Eyes, were ravished with the sight of her perfections,) was so perplexed betwixt new conceived desires, and disdaine to be disdained; that not knowing what to say, he stood like one that had lost himselfe; not reall in sence, but as a faire Flower, nipt with the morning frost, hanging downe his head, as most sorry, for his decly­ning glory: In this dispaire, the remembrance of his owne greatnesse, and the conceite of his owne merits, gave such quickning life to his mortified thoughts, and such free­dome to his imprisoned tongue, that boldly, and plainely, he told her, who he was, why, and for what he came. Ʋi­enna pleading ignorance for the error of her carelesse re­gard, humbled her selfe, with thankefull acknowledge­ment of his more worthy worthinesse: But such (said she) is the obligation of my decreed chastity, that nought but death shall breake the bond. Why Madame (replyed the Prince) in so doing, you wrong Nature, in clouding the brightnesse of her Sunne, deprive the world of more glo­rious light, neglect your duty, in disassenting from your Fathers will, wound my desires with forlorne hopes, and rob your selfe, both of propagating pleasure, sweetest con­tent, and greatest glory: Then leave these iniurious walles, and change your Prison (unfitting your Person) for a Pal­lace prepared for a Princesse; In assurance whereof, accept most renowned Ladie, this Pledge of my Faith, wherein is charactered, the Life of my Love, and the Love of my Soule; and therewith,

This was so Artificially made, and cut; that the falling drops did seeme to mourne, and pleade for pittie, and un­derneath [Page 68] them, was engraven; Viennas helpe. This he gaue, and this she gave againe; saying, that by gifts, wee make our selves Lords; but by taking, slaves: I will not make a Prince servile, nor can you make a prisoner proud: Affe­ction is a meere stranger to affection; and Iewels of price doe not befit a miserable thrall. Then let your owne gift (replyed the Prince) make you a Queene, and me your slave. My fortunes (said Vienna) admits of no such Soveraignety; and your Greatnesse is too potent for a Vassall. I am too poore to give; and it stands not with a Lord to begge; then be you still a King in your owne thoughts, and I will rest content with my Fate. Why, Kings (answered the Prince) have no priviledge in Love: and the Gods themselves were subject to beauty. Vienna constant in her chaste pretence, seeing his earnest prosecution, and being wearied with re­sistance, because loathing such conference, held it good pol­licy to prevent his further importunity, And therefore she briefely and plainely told him, that she was not for his ho­nour, nor his honour for her humour. For know (she wee­ping said) that the long cold and grievous imprisonment, which indurable, I have yet endured, hath so corrupted and putrified my impared body; that the very stench thereof offendeth, and endangereth the small (yet tedious) remain­der of my loathed life. For proofe whereof, shee bearing her breasts, bad him feele, what infectious sent her ulcera­ted and dying flesh yeelded; which he no sooner did, but that hee was neere stifled with the smell. The enflamed Prince, thus cooled in his hot pursuites, found his thoughts now freer from affection, then hee deemed his body sound from infection. Such was the choaking savour, that so of­fended his queasie stomacke, that comforting her for fashi­on sake, hee made a briefe conclusion, and there left both her, and his love, that earst would have dyed for love. Vienna well appayed in acquitting her selfe of so trouble­some, and hurtfull a suitor, returned to Jzabella; and sighing out a smile, tolde her, how shee had deceived the Prince; whereat shee ioyed no little, and concluded thereby, that [Page 69] womens pregnant wits, in all cases of sodaine extremities, pre-excelled mens most sapient heads. The Prince thus sa­tisfied, acquainted the Daulphin with the circumstance of the matter; which nothing mooved his Tygars heart; which the Prince condemning, held it no security to stay with a Tyrant: and therefore striking sayle, in so threatning a tempest, he tooke his thankefull farewell of him, and all his Knights, and so returned to Burbon.

Now Sir Paris had by this time, recovered the bounds of Turky, where fearing the innate, and inveterated malice of those barbarous Infidels against Christians. To dispierce that threatning cloud, that might shower downe mischiefe on his harmelesse head; Hee made pollicy his guyde, and craft his Councellour; And being a great Artist, and well learned in the secrets of Nature; He cast an Artificiall black­nesse all over him, and transnominated his name by turning his name backeward, he Christned himselfe Sirap, an Aethi­opian borne.

Thus with indefatigable paines he travailed, unregarded of all, and not suspected of any, unto Constantinople; where having knowledge of the Greeke tongue, hee coversed with the meanest of estate, the better to preserve his owne estate. And it happened, (and happily happened) that For­tune, Fortune-like of his foe, became his friend. For walk­ing one day into the fields, accompanied with none, but with his owne troubled thoughts, hee encountred by adventure with the Sultans chiefe Faulkner, who returning from Hawking, bare on his hand a goodly fayre Faulcon, so dangerously hurt, that there rested no hope of helpe. Sirap (for so now must we call him) seeing the Hawke hang her bruised wings, and all blooded on her fluttered breast, being Artificially cunning, and naturally affecting the game; pit­tied the chance, and boldly stepping to him, ask'd in Greeke, [Page 70] how it happened. The Faulkner neere dead, to see his Hawke almost dead; sadly tolde him, that flying at the Ri­ver, his Hawke lying at height of highest pitch, made so forceable a stouping on the rising Fowle, that in her stone­like fall, she nere gorg'd her selfe on a broken bough, that grewe amongst other branches, upon the Grovie banke. Such said Sirap, is the fortune of the field; but what will you give, if I recover your Hawke; any thing (said the Faulkner) for that Solimon, the great Sultan, doth prize her for her high flying, before any City in Greece: Then Sirap undertaking it, gathered certaine powerfull hearbs, of inward, and unknowne vertue, and bought other Apo­thecarie materials; and so carefully applyed his expert skill, that in short time he healed, and perfected the so en­dangered Hawke. The Faulkner admiring at his skill (for ignorance is the mother of admiration) in the ioy of his thoughts, went, and brought his recovered Hawke unto Solimon, and recounted unto him, how that a stranger, an Aethiopian borne, that called himselfe Sirap, had effected that cunning Cure; and that he was a man so exquisite in all proportion, and of so goodly, and majesticall a presence, that hee seemed not onely to bee of an Heroicall heart, but also promised more then was usually in a man. The Sultan joy­ous of his Hawke, and well pleased with his description, held his requisite cunning in great regard; and his service more necessary then others: And therefore hee instantly sent for him; who no sooner came, but that liking his per­son, he graced him with his good countenance, and deman­ded what he was, and what occasion brought him into that Region. Sirap, whose Courtly demeanour, might well warrant his behaviour, and in whose face, was stampt the true Character of honour, with humble boldnesse told him, that he was of no great lineage, nor lively-hood, yet gentle borne; but so subject to the destinies displeasure, that not brooking his fatall infelicity, hee secretly had left the ut­most South of Aethiopia, adioyning to the Deserts of Libia, his Native soyle, to seeke content else-where in forraigne [Page 71] Nations, And after, said Sirap, I had long with tedious tra­vaile past the hote, and whole Clymate of Affricke, having no other companinion then my minde, nor no other servant then my tongue: I was at length by the guide of Fortune, conducted into this part of Greece, where my thoughts wing'd with desire, to see the most great, and mightiest Monarch on the earth, brought me to this your imperiall seate. The Sultan pleased, with his pleasing, and well cou­ched words (grew desirous of his service) and therefore according to the nature of his pride (appropriating to him­selfe authority over all) he Imperiously commanded him to attend his person: To which, though Sirap knew, that de­nials to such absolute Potentates, were held for capitall of­fences: yet he thus reverently and boldly answered. If, said he, any poore endeavours of mine (most high and mighty Emperour) may be but pleasing to your Greatnesse, I shall then thinke my selfe most happy, when I shall find my selfe able to doe you any agreeable service. But if in any wise your unmatchable Maiesty, seeke so to tye me to your will, that of necessity I must follow your fancy: Then must I (not offending your magnificence) deeme both your highest Highnesse, uniust; and hold your Law, no Law, because grounded on necessity. The Saltan wondring at his bolde and discreet answere, and liking his noble and generous spirit, highly estimated him, according to the vertue of his courage; that could; and durst, with such prudent bold­nesse, and circumspect feare, except against his never con­troled pleasure: And therefore allowing his reasons for rea­son; hee freely graunted him more then the full prehemi­nence of a free priviledged Travailer; and setting greatnesse and the law of his will aside; he gently entreated him, but to make some stay in his Court, and hee would mount his fortunes, by his extended favours.

[Page 72] For Sirap, being thus rarely, and royally entreated, and entertained with the Sultans unknowne, and unusuall favors and requests; wholly humbled himselfe at his command; and said, that albeit, hee had vowed continuall Pilgrimage to sundry Regions; yet would he in some sort, yeeld obedi­ence to his will, and dispence for a time with his conscience, because hee would not oppose, nor resist the pleasure of his will, nor the command of his potent power. The Sultan glad of his graunt, gave one of his Basshas in charge, that he should be prouided for at his dispences; who presently placed him next to the house, where the Tartarian Ambas­sadour, but newly arrived, was lodged.

Now amongst the Ambassadors followers, there was one that farre exceeded all the rest, in huge height, incompara­ble strength, and great proportion, insomuch that the Turkes did with wonder admire his stature, and deemed his Sampson-like force, beyond the power of men. This grim and insatiating Tartar (who serv'd no other God, but his will; nor observ'd no other law, but his lust) being one day left behinde, to mannage some affaires in the house, when the rest were gone to the Court; suddainly, and most rudely seazed upon a young Damosell, that as unfortunately as unadvisedly, was come to see the provision, and manner of these Strangers. Her (without any shew of good en­treaty, or kinde usage) with a facile force he carried into a Chamber, and disverginated her; notwithstanding her shrill cryes, that call'd in many (but too late) to her ayde. This vnt [...]med beast, or rather infernall devill, finding himselfe opprest with multitudes, grewe so enraged, that his wrath had no meane, neither did his interrupted fury, admit of any consideration, but dreadlesse both of Law and danger, place, and people: hee threw all to the earth, that came neere to him, endeavouring still to retaine his prey, which made the out-cryes of all so great; That Sirap being in his Chamber, at the noyse thereof, rushed in with his peace­able sword, and finding him carrying the bemoaning Mayde, in an unmannerly manner from them, towards another [Page 73] Chamber, he so powerfully smote him on the face with his displeased hand, that force, perforce, he was forc'd to leave his hold, and betake him to his angry Semitar, with which hee furiously assaulted him. But Sirap (who held it a great fault, not to doe a good thing well) readily returned him vnwelcome interest, for his so willing leave. Long did they worke on each other, like tempests on a Shippe, and the bloud of both, did well shew, that neither of them were well pleased: None durst come neere them, till that Killer Aaga, Captaine of the Janizaries, hearing of this tumultu­ous and debatefull strife, came in, and stayed the fight.

The Damosels Father, and friends, (standing upon theyr strength of testimony) pursued the outrage, by way of com­plaint against the Tartar, and required of Solimon the bene­fit of Law. The Tarter (countenancing himselfe under the protection of Potency and Ambassagie) pleaded the privi­ledge of his place, and said, That he was lyable to theyr or­dinances; nor subiect to any but to his owne Lord, the Emperour: who in Maiesty, might, and merit, farre sur­mounted all other Potentates of the world, and therupon offered in open Court Combat, thundering out defiance a­gainst all, that but durst averre the contrary.

Solimon much distasting his ungoverned pride, and worse disiesting his barbarous outrage, and offensive contempt: did inwardly fret that no one durst attempt to quench, nor allay the prodigall heate of his foolish fire; and not know­ing how otherwise to correct his insolence, since Kings should ever shew themselves rather just, then great: and the law of Nations (which is the state of peace, and mainte­nance of honour) did warrant his tryall by Combat; hee at last thus deliberately concluded: That the 20. day follow­ing, he should be ready Armed at all assayes, and mounted like a Knight, to make that good with his sword, which he so arrogantly, and over-audatiously had delivered with his tongue. And if there came not any one then to chastise his folly, and correct him for his brutish, and iniurious at­tempts, that then he should be free from touch, both of law [Page 74] and life. This being rumoured abroad, came to Siraps eares, who grieving to loose opportunity, as one that thirsted after occasion, both to shew his courage in honourable revenge, and to doe Solimon some commendable service; though his resolution was a sufficient Armour for the encounter, yet knowing that naked valour, could promise no successe where Armed force did assaile: his greatest feare was, least for want of Armour, and furniture, others would cut the grasse from under his feete, and so deprive him both of favour and fortune. But this couragious feare, was ac­quitted by the timorous feare of all others, that feelingly feared such desperate and deadly attempts, as promised nei­ther hap, nor hope of good successe. At length the day be­ing come, and all things in order, came Solimon with his Sultannesse, attended with his Vice-royes, Beglerbegs, and Bas­shaes in great Royalty, and 2000. Armed men for his Guard, and in the place of tryall assigned, he seated himselfe and his Sultanesse upon a glorious Throane within his Imperiall Pa­villion; great was the presse, and many the people, that wayted on the issue hereof: when suddainly the sound of Trumpet shewed the neere approach of the Tartar: who (in honour of his earthly God, the sonne of the light, the terrour of men, and for the repute of his Country) came with his sword drawne, accompanied with the Ambassador and all his followers, most richly furnished. The Appel­lant himselfe being mounted on a couragious Horse, his Caparisons, and other his furniture, all of purple Sattin, embroydered with gold all over, with dismembred heads, armes, and severed legges of slaughtered men, be prinkled all with blood. And in his Shield hee over-gloriously bare his owne picture, naked; holding a Combating Lyon, stifled by the throat with his hand, and vnderneath was written, WHAT NOT: In this terrifying equipage, he stayed at the Barriers of the Lysts, untill the Officers ap­poynted for that service, demanded what he was, and wher­fore he came; who answered, that hee was Turbulent the fierce, the invincible Tartar, that came to proove by his [Page 75] sword, that he being onely subject to the greatest Monarch on earth (who had no equall) ought not to vndergoe the censure of any other inferiour power, and thereupon de­manded entrance; which being permitted, hee put vp his sword, and was conducted to the vpper end of the Lysts, where lighting, he was seated in a rich Chaire, suitable to his Basses, to repose himselfe in: Neere vnto which, was pitch'd a most stately Tent for the Ambassador, and his Trayne. Then the Herauld was commanded to summon the Defendant by sound of Trumpet, but no one appeared, which made Solimon fearefull of disgrace. Then he soun­ded the second time, but no one presented himselfe: which made the proud Tartar (in arrogancie of his redoubted pu­issance) to stand vp, and drawing his terrified sword, hee brandished it ouer his head, in such tryumphing and da­ring manner, that the great Sultan seeing his insulting pride, could scarce containe himselfe within himselfe. Then as the Herauld founded his last summons, a lowly Hermit, clad all in gray, leaning on a staffe of Ebony, stayed him with his other hand, and required, that hee might speake with Solimon the Emperour; who being brought before him, bowed himselfe thrice before him, and then prayed in zeale of justice, and for the honour of the Turkish Empire, he might haue Horse, and Armour, to tame that vnciuill and vntutored Tartar, whose pride, hee said, was not so high, but that Vengeance did sit aboue it.

The Sultan glad that any one durst, and would in his ho­nour vndertake, so great and fearefull a hazard; comman­ded that presently he should be withdrawne, and brought to his Armoury, and there at his choyse be Arm'd, & moun­ted as his proper Champion; which was no sooner said, but that the Hermit being attended on thither, tooke (vp­on the view of all) one of the largest, and one that fitted his owne conceit best: wherewith being Armed, and moun­ted, he shewed himselfe at the Barriers end of the Lyst, in a bright Azure Armour, like vnto the skie, with a halfe Moone in the midst, both before, and behinde: His Basses, [Page 76] Caparizons, and other furniture waved like a Sea, full of silver Fishes, that seemed as he rid, to stirre; and play under so bright a Planet. On his Shield hee had a Ship, stayed (in the midst of a Sea) by a little Fish, called Remora; and his impresse was, Ʋertue, not force. As thus hee stood looking for entrance, The appointed Officers, demaunded what he was, and wherefore hee came, who answered, that he was a Man of peace, a devout Hermite, and one of the least of the most humblest Servants of Great Soliman; Who for the love of Honour, and to honour his Lord, came to ap­proove that the Sultan of Turkie, was a greater and a more Emperiall, and a more magnificent Monarch, then the Tar­tarian Emperour, and much more renowned in his person; And that Turbulents shamefull, and criminall offence, was punishable (by all Nationall lawes) where the fault was committed; and this he would make good on his body, and desired to enter the Lysts. Vpon this, all the Turkes gave a great showt, and cryed God, and Mahomet for the Hermit: And so putting up his Sword, hee was conducted by one of the Basshaes to the other end of the Lysts, where dismoun­ting himselfe, hee was seated in a rich Chayre of State, curi­ously wrought with halfe Moones in silver, and set with pre­tious Stones. During theyr small repose, the elected Offi­cers viewed theyr Armes, and theyr Armours, to see whe­ther they were of equall length, and that there were no wrong done to Chivalry: and then the chiefe Herauld pro­claimed, that no one vnder paine of death should enter the Lysts, but the Officers appoynted to the service, and that no one should cast any thing into the Lysts, nor vse any words, nor signe to discourage, or encourage either party.

This done, he bade the Combatants to rise, and mount themselves, and at the sound of Trumpet to begin the as­sault. At the setting foorth it could not be discerned who was first. The Tartar, bearing his Mast-like Staffe over high, carried away part of the Hermites Plume; But the Hermite (unto whom Iudgement and custome, gave an advantage) bare himselfe so evenly in his winged Course, that he hit the Tartar so forceable on the brest, that though the good­nesse [Page 77] of his Armour denyed entrance, yet did it make him doe homage to the strength of the blow: For Turbulent keeping his seate, was notwithstanding, by the breaking of all his Girthes, set on the ground, with his Saddle betwixt his legges. This not onely moved great laughter, but stroke all men with such a wonder, that where before they could not harbour the least hope, now they began to looke after good hap. The Tartar swelling with irefull disdaine (like unto the disturbed Ocean) breathed out direfull revenge; and furiously drawing foorth his dreadfull Sword, called for him, (who needed no summons at all) threatning death and destruction, not onely to him, but to all others. But the Hermit, whose undismayed courage, could not be shaken with any boysterous windes; upon his stopage, turned his Horse, and seeing him on foote, (scorning the advan­tage) alighted, and unsheathing his correcting Semitar, ad­visedly came towards the Tartar, who rudely saluted him, with so mightie a blow, that notwithstanding his full ward, with his Shield) hee was forced to stagger a little; whereby hee knew the unresistable strength of his Foe, and more warily stood after, rather upon motion, then war­ding: Yet did his superlative valour, equall the others in­comparable strength: But the Hermit, in guerdon of Tur­bulents cold curtesie, returned him such powerfull thankes, as made his dazeled eyes ready to start out of his disturbed head. This interchange of puissant stroakes (ecchoing like the Ciclopes blowes upon theyr fiery Anviles) begot such spightfull disdaine, and malitious rage in both, that the tem­pestuous furie of theyr stormy blowes came like thunder, to the amazement of the beholders: The great stature, and unresistable strength of the one, shewing both might and courage; and the unmatchable valour, and practive skill of the other, shewing great prowis and judgement. Turbulent, madde with hatefull and angry contempt, that any one should, or could, so stand against him (trusting to his never fayling strength) layd on such loade on the magnanimious Hermite, as all men wondered how he could keepe his stan­ding, [Page 78] or standing, durst once stand to withstand him: But the bold haughtie Hermite, whose watchfull care, and vsed skill, had made him expert in such threatning tempests, gaue some way vnto that stormie shower, auoyding the danger, sometimes by motion of his Bodie, and sometimes by strong and warie wardes; neuer loosing any aduantage to offend, nor giuing ground in his defence.

In the end, finding the Tartars wasting fury to consume it selfe; In the abatement thereof, he so redoubled his re­newed blowes, which like hayle-stones, stroue to ouertake each other before they fell, that Turbulent knew not how to auoide the greatnesse of the storme. Now was there se­uerall Armours broken, bruised, and mangled in many pla­ces, and the blood that issued from them both, made the dyed Earth a witnesse of their implacable rage. But the Tartar, that had lost most blood, finding his strength to a­bate, vnited all his forces together, and smote the Hermite so forceablie on his Burgonet, that notwithstanding his Shield, which then he cloue asunder, he brought him on his knees maugre both his warde and his might; but such was his quicke deliuerie, and inuincible courage, that he was no sooner downe, then he was vp againe; and seeing himselfe depriued of the best part of his defence, he was so ouercome with scornefull anger, that he had beene brought so lowe; that he began to renew the Fight, more furiously, and with much more puissant and insupportable blowes, then before; and finding (by his euerwatching eye) that the Vambrasse was broken, and falne from the Tartars Cu­ratt, and that he was within his aduantage; taking his threatning and wrathfull Sword in both his hands, hee hit him so full and so strongly on his disarmed Arme, that hee seuered it from his cursed Bodie, so that Arme, and harmefull sword, fell both to the ground. The Sultan, and all the rest, beyond all wonder, wondering at the greatnesse of the blow, and the continuance of so terrible cumbate, admired who that valiant Hermite should be, that with such vnwearied force, and such approued skill, had shew­ed [Page 79] such prowesse, as the like was never seene.

The losse of the Tartars arme made him curse heaven, and earth, and frothing at his mouth, like a wilde chaffed Bull, he bellowing out wrath, and vengeance, in such a madding manner, that (being as ignorant of his Fate, as he was impu­dently mad in the maintenance of his ignominious wrong) he desperately runne headlong on the Hermit, thinking so to beare him over. But advised experience, and wary cir­cumspection, which had ever arm'd the Hermit for all acci­dents, and assaults, made him unwilling of such unkind embracement: And therefore made stopage by a most for­tunate thrust, which finding entrance under his bruised Ta­ses, runne upwards, and made quicke inquisition after his death. Thus was the pride of Goliah turn'd to confusion, and thus fell the redoubted Tartar, like a great Towne upon the earth, to the amazed griefe of the Ambassadour, and all his Traine; and to the admiring ioyes of the Sultan and his Turkes. But the Hermit, who ever held, that to destroy mercifully, was to save; stept to him, and pulling off his head-piece, with his sword he smit off his fearefull head, and holding it up on high, Cryed, God save Solimon, the invincible Sultan, the mightiest Emperour, and greatest Po­tentate on earth.

This being done, the Trumpets tryumphantly sounded foorth the ioy of most pleasing Victory, and all the people made such rejoycing Cryes, that theyr applauding shouts pierst the lower region, to witnesse theyr glory on the earth. But silence being made, the heroicall victorious Hermit (arm'd with glorious conquest) was betwixt two Beglerbegges (the chiefest of the Turkish Nobility) brought with sounding Trumpets unto the Sultan, who commen­ding his great strength, his surmounting prowesse, and most invincible courage, commanded him to put off his Helmet, that he might know who had so much honoured him, that according to his great merrit, hee might deser­vedly advance him. To which the humble Hermit answe­red, that all his Actions did ayme at Honour, not at advance­ment; [Page 80] and that the favours he had already found and recei­ved of so great a Prince, was all-sufficient in it selfe, to en­able a weaker arme to performe a greater worke; besides, his desire (he sayd) did carry him beyond all meanes, and ability, to doe him a more pleasing service; And there­withall taking of his Helmet, in all humility he bowed his body (according to the Turkish manner) thrice unto him. But when Solimon saw that he was Sirap, his new affected and entertained friend, laying aside all state and regard of greatnesse, he ranne to him, and embracing him, said: How shall the Turkish Sultan requite the honourable love of so praise-worthy a friend, that in therenowned hazzard of his inualuable life, hath both preserved, and dignified my name, and the fame of my Empire. But more befitting times, shall shew us respectively gratefull, and affectionately mindfull, of so vertuous a friend, so famous a Champion, and so glo­rious an act. In the interim, hee commanded that three of his chiefe Bashaes should ride before Sirap, and that the first should carry the Tartars louped arme and sword: the second his unweldy speare, and massie shield; and the third, his grim and terrible severed head; and that after should follow the monstrous and headlesse trunke of that huge boasting Goliah; after whom should march the disgraced Ambassadour, and all his discontented traine: And that Si­rap mounted on his Courser, all alone, with his naked blou­died sword in his hand, like a Conquerour should follow; and after him, he himselfe, his Sultanesse, and all his royall Attendants would ride, and so passe through the Citie, to his Pallace. This he did to honour his friend; And out of this honour, did Eugenia the Sultanesse more affectionately looke upon the Merrit of Sirap. His carriage seemed now more maiesticall; his colour though blacke, shee deemed lovely; and the noblenesse of his spirit, deserved (shee thought) the favour of the greatest Empresse. This liking begot longing, and she desired now to enioy, what she was enjoyned not to affect. The remembrance of her place, and the terrour of their law, qualified, but not quench'd her [Page 79] fired fancie; which she seeking to smother in the embers, burst out after into a greater, and more shamefull flame.

But Sirap, during his repose, for the healing of his wounds, entering into consideration of his crosse fortunes, seeing his admired victories applauded with open joyes, honour, and tryumphes; and his dejected and enthralled heart, still clad in blacke woe, and accompanyed onely with secret griefe, and tormenting passions. To feed his distaste of reioycing, with some sad conceites. He suitably compo­sed these few following reverst, and returning verses; which being read either forward or backward, are still the same in sence both wayes; and either way, end in meeter.

Thus did he shewe himselfe to be ever one, as constant in his woes as he was unremoveable in his love; And thus ever in his houres of leasure, did either his tongue com­plaine, or his penne manifest his sorrow. But when loathed time had healed his honoured wounds. The grand Sultan to give his solitarinesse some sollace, sent unto him, that the next day hee should be in befitting readinesse to attend him to the chase of the wilde Boare, in the neere adioyning for­rest; And commanded one of his Basshaes to see that Sirap should be well mounted, and furnished accordingly. For still it bare him in minde (seeing the map of Maiesty in his eyes, & finding the vertue of true nobility in his thoughts) that he was extract from Royall bloud; And by this meanes, he thought he should (by his observance) make a further tryall thereof. The next morning Phoebus had no sooner rent the sable Cloudes, and wash'd his face with the dew of the earth, but that the winding of base and bugle hornes, [Page 80] summoned the Sultan to his Silvan sports, and Sirap to his attendance.

And long it was not, but that each one was in full readi­nesse, and being horsed, rid to the Forrest, where separa­ting themselves, they tooke divers wayes, the sooner to finde theyr game, but still Sirap attended the Sultan, whose fortune was to espie the Boare, whetting of his angry Tushes in the mouth of his denne, as though hee had fore­seene his pretended pursuit, and meant to wound his pursu­ing foes. The Sultan proud of such successe, gave spurres to his flying Horse, and with carelesse eagernesse unlodging the beast, pursued his so swiftly, that none but Sirap could come neere vnto him. The Boare seeing himselfe pursued, fled by decreed desteny towards the middest of the Desart; where the Tu [...]ke fast following, was sodainly seazed on by a great, fell, and hideous Dragon.

Sirap seeing the Sultan so embraced within the murthe­ring armes of death, (knowing no feare to make a pawse) set spurres to his Horse, and so furiously runne at him with his Boare speare, that he happily wounded him under the left wing. The fierce Dragon feeling the smart of his hurt, left his vnkind hold, and smote with his wings so violent­ly at Sirap, that he brake his speare all to pieces. Then drew Sirap his Semitar, which the Sultan had that morning given him, and freshly assaulted that dreadfull Beast with such advised heedfulnesse, that hardly could that enra­ged Monster fasten on him; so quicke in agility, so ready in dexterity, and so watchfull hee was at all times. But in the end he smote Sirap so forceable with his Serpentine tayle, that maugre all his might and strength, he was constrained to fall on the ground: when the wrathfull Dragon advancing his threatning wings, and opening his infernall mouth, made offer as she would devoure him at once. But Sirap see­ing the danger, carried so vigilant an eye, and so ready a hand, that the Dragon no sooner stooped to seaze on him, but that, as hee lay vpright on the ground, hee so strongly thrust his well steeled Semitar into his almost unpenitrable [Page 81] breast, that piercing his heart, he sodainly preuented death by death. Now the frighted Sultan, who onely was but pinched a little with his clawes; was no sooner free from that murthering Beast, but that creeping amazedly into a thicke bushy Groue, he fearefully hid himselfe there, scarce daring to lend his eyes, to behold that vncouth and peril­lous Combat. But when he saw Sirap on his feete, striking off that gastly and monstrous head; and eliuating it on the point of his Semitar, and turning himselfe, called for his Lord. Then, then, came he forth in the admiration of his thoughts; and kneeling downe, first gaue thankes to Ma­homet, and then to him, for his so redeemed and preserued life. But Sirap yeelding the heauens onely thankes, bad him ascribe the onely glory thereof to God, and not to him a sinfull man, or to any other surmized power; since none but God had armed his humble heart with vndaunted courage; and none but God could haue giuen his weake hand such a happy Conquest. As this they sacrificed their thankes. One of the Basshaes, that had lost himselfe in the persuit, came straying in by chance, vnto whom the Sultan recoun­ted all the accident: with such admiring wonder of Siraps worthy valour, that both the Sultan, and his Bassha, estee­med him as another Mahomet. In this height of Solimons ioy for his secured life; he commanded the Bassha himselfe to carrie the Dragons head before Sirap into the Citie, and that his man should poast before to publish that thrice re­nowned deed, that the Citizens might tryumph in their Lords escape, and honour Sirap for his purchased life. And no sooner it was reuealed, but that the Citizens first amazed with wonder, and after rauished with ioy, wholly went to meete their earthly God; whom once reuerenced, they guarded to the Citie gate; where the Caliphe (the Primate of their superstition) to celebrate the happinesse of Solimons preseruation, accompanied with all the order of their cere­monious Priests, receiued him, and brought him after their Hereticall, or rather Heathenish manner to his Pallace. The next day hee caused the Dragons head to be set on his [Page 82] Pallace gate, that all men beholding it, might know their Lords danger, and Siraps valour. Then he assembled all his Basshaes, and in theyr presence would have created him one of his Ʋisiers; which with all thankefull humility hee reve­rently refused, as not capable yet of that dignity, and there­fore humbly requested his greatnesse, that hee would for a time pardon his denyall, untill the infancy of his weake merrit, were growne stronger in better deserts, which well pleased Solimon, because Solimon would not displease Sirap. Then began fie to feast, & to make tryumphes in his Court. Where Sirap honoured knighthood in those Iusts, and gra­ced those Iusts in honour of the Sultan. Such was his Knight­ly cariage, such his unresistable courage; so well could hee manage his furious Steed, and so redoubted was hee in all his encounters, that all men rather deemed him the God of Armes, then a man in Armes. For there was neither Turke, nor Sarazen, that could withstand his puissant force: nor was there any dismounted, that held himselfe dishonoured. So highly did they estimate his unequalled va­lour, that they held his power rather divine then humane. As for the vulgar sort they flock'd about to see him, with such applauding showtes, as though Mars had left his hea­venly Sphere, and discended amongst them, to sport him­selfe on earth.

These Heroicall deedes of famous Chivalry, begot admi­ration in all, but brought forth such unresistable affectio nin the faultfull Sultanesse, that what before shee held deadly, now she deemed it not to be veniall: Lascivious love dissol­ved the bonds of all respects, and her minde being set on desire, nothing could limit her aduentures. For though Iust carie ruine behinde her, yet must the Queene of love enioy the God of Warre: yea, though Vulcan frame and lay his subtill nets for theyr discovery. How to make Argoes sleepe was all her unquiet care; the eyes of the Eunuches must bee made blinde, either with gold or guile; which shee put in practise, by calling these watching Attendants, or rather jealous saylers unto her; unto whom shee tolde, that the [Page 83] day following, Hirena an other of the Sultans Wives, had secretly appoynted a Gretian Hero to come to solace with her; for as that day, the Sultan himself, his Ʋisiers, Basshaes, and Martiall Commanders, would sit in the Divano, there to consult and conclude, for the invading of Christendome; And if they would stand as faithfull Sentinels in such a place as she would covertly appoynt them to, and carefully make their prying eyes full witnesses of her sportfull abuses, that then she would guild their labours over with Gold, en­rich their estates, and make them more pleasing in the Sul­tans eyes, for that regardfull service, The Eunuches, whose offices stood upon such employments, embraced the offer, and promised theyr best endeavours.

The Sultanesse proudly glad, that she should by this de­ceitfull meanes, be freed from these preventing and inter­rupting Spirits, made now no question of opportunity, and therefore no doubt of the fruition of her desire; To hasten which, she called unto her Mentiga, one of her attendants, whom she before had fashioned to her purpose, and gave her in secret charge, that she should that evening following, disguise her selfe in Mans apparell, and goe to the victori­ous Aethiopian, and warily deliver him that Letter, and crave his answere. Glad was Mentiga of this imployment, it fitted her nature well, and hope of reward gave speed to her desires, to doe her Mistresse some pleasing service. The evening being come, this mindfull Mentiga (sinnes packhorse) that had tyred many a Man, now attired her selfe like a Man; and going, found Sirap alone in his Cham­ber; vnto whom, humbling her selfe, she delivered her carnall Letter, which thus pleaded in her Mistrisses behalfe.

Sirap having read this with amazement, stood abashed, not that overpowerfull Love had given her such bold coun­tenance; but that licentious lust, had armed her with such impudencie. He now found that the dry Earth, the Grave, and a wicked Woman, were three unsatiable things: But her alluring follies could not win him, nor her atractive of­fers waine him from the constant resolve of his vertuous dispose; For though Fortunes gates were set wide open for him to enter, yet he well knew, that asmuch would hurt the ill that he should find, as the good that he should loose: Though Lawrell (he said) be of high esteeme, yet who so tasteth it shall finde it bitter, Vices may vanish, but their effects can not perish; and therefore he chose rather with the Bee, to extract Hony from euery weede, then with the [Page 85] Spider to gather poyson of the fayrest flower. Viennas love was a rich rocke of defence against all Siren songs, nor would the binding benefits he had received of the Sultan suffer him to blast his benefactors Vine, nor make him mud the fountaine that gave him drinke: Aperpetuall repenting sorrow, he could not buy, for so golden and glorious see­ming a solace: For what profiteth it to touch, nay have the Crowne? and after to be smitten downe with the Scepter. Dignities agravate the offence against him, that is bound not to offend; and such pleasures ever contaminate those that imbrace them. False disloyaltie could not corrupt him nor could poverty infect him. As these considerations made him resolute in the refusall so doubtfull, feare made him carefull, least his denyall should beget disdaine, and dis­daine bring forth direfull revenge; for vniust Women, doe never apease their wrathfull ires against iust Men. To sayle betwixt these threatning Gulphes, was dangerous, yet like a wise Pilate, he turned himselfe to the stearne of his best providencie; and taking Pen and Inke, he no lesse subtilely then suddainly, writ her such an answere, as (being left of purpose unpointed) might sensibly be read, either to sute her desire, or to excuse his denyall. This Letter he sealed, and delivered it to the Protean Messenger, with excuse of the necessity of his Religious observation, to celebrate his Natiuitie the next day, and that he would couetously attend, and ioyfully embrace the benefit of the next Tyde. By this coulorable delay, he freed himselfe from all hazard, and by winning of time, he hoped to avoyde all dangers. But Eugenia receiving the Letter, read it as followes.

[Page 86] Disdaine of contempt, and rancorous despight for refu­sed favours, would scarce let her read out the last word, but that throwing it away in a most distastfull rage, shee vowed that his life should answere the disgrace: which Mentiga hearing, grieved that her labours had brought forth no better fruit, and finding her Paradiz'd hopes cast downe, shee in a most scornefull manner tooke up the Let­ter, and happily read it the other contrary way, and there­withall humbling her selfe, besought her Majesty to take a better view thereof, and not to contemne him, that gave her such ample and pleasing content. Content, nay con­tempt sayd Engneia, thou wouldst say. Thinkest thou that I cannot see, reade, nor understand what he hath done? what madnesse moves thee to perswade mee to unpossibilities. Thy idle words cannot make my constant eye, a Traytor to my perfect iudgment. See here witlesse woman, that hast either lost thy sight, or thy sences. Reade, reade, and let every word winne thy assistance to my iust, and cruell re­venge. It shall (most potent Empresse) answered Mentigae, so that in your owne milder nature, and more temperate dispose, you will but vouchsafe to see with patience, what I shall most truly and directly reade. I will, sayd Eugenia on that condition, and thereupon Mentiga read the same againe, and as she reade it, she poynted it with her finger, as followeth now poynted.

[Page 87] Now most meritorious Lady (sayd Mentiga) and wor­thiest of Princes, what mislike can you gather from so full a consent of Love? Or what could you expect more from him, then to bee wholly yours? with adventure of life hee offers love, and not regarding danger, hee devotes himselfe to your pleasure. O happie Lady, Soveraigne Queene of Fortune, and sole commander of contentment; that out of your owne fancy can tryumph over others affections, and at your owne pleasure enjoy your desires with wished de­lights. Eugenia amazed, and confounded with wonder, knew not what to say, or thinke of herselfe: Sure she was that shee read it directly otherwise, and as assuredly shee found it now to bee otherwise. In this silent confused stu­die, shee punished all her thoughts with variety of thin­king, and stood like a faire liuelesse Picture, made to life; but wanting life; untill fatall Mentiga awaked her wan­dring spirits, and thus merrily cheered her. Nay, most mighty Empresse (shee sayd) confesse your errour, and your pardon shall bee granted: heere is nothing metamorpho­zed; onely you may see, that there is nothing well done, that is ill construed. Your feare to loose what you wished to have, made you to thinke as you doubted; beleeve what you feared; and reade as you deemed. But that Cloud being dispierced, looke now with comfort upon the glory of the Sunne, and with joy receive the benefit of his sweet influ­ence; and therewithall shee read, and re-reade it, with such plaine and direct pointing of it, that the Sultanesse (being easily made apt to embrace what she desired) acknowledged her over-sight, and never after sought to reade it, in any other manner, or to any other sense. To ratifie which, Mentiga tolde her, that hee sorrowfully craved pardon for his next dayes attendance. For that, it being his Birth day, hee was tyed both by his Countries custome, and by his ob­liged observance, religiously to celebrate it, in a sacred sort, according to theyr wonted and hallowed manner. This was somewhat cordiall unto her wounded heart, though not so comfortable as she desired. And yet it did (because it must) [Page 88] satisfie for the time: which time, was all, surprized Sirap sought to gaine: For in the delay of dayes, hee hoped to prevent that threatning evill, which so dangerously (like a prodigious, though bright Commet) proclaymed, and prognosticated his destruction. In the meane time, he left the pleasing and entising sports of the Court (for pleasures are no pastimes for malecontented and disconsolated men) and purposely walked all alone into the fields (the freer to enjoy his owne thoughts;) where sudenly making a stand, in his melancholy pause, he writ in the sand with the point of his sword, as followes.

No sooner had he writ the last Letter, but with his dis­contented foote, hee buried them all in their owne Sepul­chers, and smoothing the place againe, stampt out this new inscription.

But then calling to remembrance his enthralled Lady, ly­ing hopelesse, haplesse, and heartlesse; in his losse, in her love, and in her selfe. And finding himselfe exiled from Prince, Parents, and possessions, wandering like a fugitive, from for­raigne places, to places still unknowne. Then, then, drow­ning the late flowing streame of his gotten glory, in the full Sea of his preter hard haps; hee began thus to ease his op­pressing griefe, by pleading, and publishing to the winds his case, and cause of grievous care.

O false Fortune (said he) constant onely in inconstancy, how hast thou made me a mirror of thy many mutabilities.

First, thou flatteredst my clyming thoughts with impe­riall conceits, and promised successe to my aspiring hopes; [Page 89] and then, even then, thou punishest my desires with di­strusting favours. After thou didst erect rich and glorious Trophies, for my renowned victories; and in thy greatest grace, disgraced my fortunes, and ecclipsed my honour, with most obscure and clouded Conquests. Then in thy fraudulent smiles, thou winged my hope with beauties con­sent, and madest me flye in the heaven of my blisfull con­tentment. But after (like a cruell Tyrant) thou thrust my heart out of Paradise, and like a Thiefe, robbed my desires of his purchased prey. And now rather to shew thy stay­lesse state, then to salve any wound thou gave; thou guir­dest me with pleasing glory, & unaffected favours in Greece, and feedest my mated minde with unseasonable joyes; when alas my excruciated thoughts cannot but live, as strangers in forraigne delights. O sweet Vienna, in thee onely have I lost the beauty of the World, the pride of all ioyes, the sweetest fruit of best content, and the highest marke of true loves ambition: And for thee onely, all these remonstran­ces of love, ioy, mirth, solace, and tryumphes; seeme unto me, but as the rich spoyles of a vanquished Kingdome, in the eye of a Captive Prince; which as they are, but as vnbrea­dings of his losse; so are these, but as sharpe whetstones to my continuated sorrowes.

O how these Barbarian, and Turkish tunes of comfort, sound in my eares, like che Israelites bemoaning Musicke, upon the Babylonian bankes: And how the Sultan, and his Empresses affording graces, seeme unto me, but as the gli­stering sparkes of a broken Diamond, and the pictures of dead and decayed beauties; faire signes, not salves, of my lost felicity; and true memorials, not medicines, of my pur­chast calamity. O Vienna, Vienna, as thou art the foode of my thoughts, the reliefe of my wishes, and the onely life, and repasse of all my desires, so is thy love to me a continu­all hunger; and thy absence an extreame famine. Then par­don my enforced flight in my stormy fury, driuen there­unto by my angry Fates; and let my faith live still in thy fan­cy, which is not to be controlled by any fortune. But alas, [Page 90] thou livest thy selfe, a Captive Princesse to thy will; and a most desolate prisoner to thy abused constancie. O cruell Daulphin, Tigar-hearted Father, and most vnnaturall, and vnrelenting Parent; the smallest drops will soften the har­dest stones, but Natures greatest teares, cannot supple thy stonie heart: Thy Iustice without pitty, is as cruell; as Pitie without Iustice is foolish. If wrath were not by mercy to be appeased, no flesh should be saved. O would, and thus as he would have floated further in the Sea of his sorrow, hee was interrupted, and driven out of his Saturnall humour, by a certaine Messenger of worth, that the Turke had sent to seeke him, with whom he returned shadowing his griefe, with the borrowed vale of seeming pleasant; and arming his patience, with noble resolution, to give way to all oc­currents, and to withstand all sinister accidents. No sooner was he come into the Sultans sight, but that he cheerefully called him, and briefly told him, that hee meant to invade Christendome: And that for his approoved prowis, and for the love he bare him, he meant to grace him with the con­ducting of his Army, and make him Generall over all his forces. This said hee, is our will, and this your charge: Then see that your performance answere our expectation, and that our love be guerdoned with your victories. Sirap wounded with these words, knew not how to lay a play­ster on this sore, yet resolved in his Countries good, hee humbly prostrating himselfe, yeelded all reverend thankes, for such his great esteeme and gracefull respect. But such (said he, pardon me, most victorious and most mightiest, of most mightiest Princes) is my unpractived knowledge, in Marshalling of Troupes, and ranging of Battels, that I should rather ecclipse the feared honour of your name, by my overthrow; then eternize your gotten fame by my Con­quests. Besides know most great Commander, that though I be a mortall enemie to the Crosse of Christ, and an inhe­rent foe to all Christians; yet for some private causes (best knowne to my selfe) I vowed long since never to tread on Christian ground, nor come where any worship that Mes­sias [Page 91] for their God. Then let (I humbly intreat your Impe­riall Maiesty) some other in worth, more worthier; sup­ply my defects in their better deserts, and bury not your living renowne, in my so probable ignorance, and unexperi­enced discipline.

The Sultan weying the danger of an unpractised Gene­rall, allowed the rather his devout obiections; and consi­dering the religiousnesse of his vowes, (though he held it superstitious in it selfe) yet would he not violate his conse­crated promise; but yeelding to his request, hee made Mustapha, Bassha, his Generall; and the preparation for him was so great, that the bruit thereof piercing the We­sterne Clyme, came to the knowledge of the French King: who as the greatest Christian Prince, assembled his wisest Councellours, and noble Peeres, praying also in ayde of all his Allyes, and Princely Confederates about him, to con­ferre, and conclude somewhat, for the honour and preser­vation of Christendome: Amongst whom, the Daulphin of Ʋiennois was there, as the sole Solon, and onely wisest (though too severe a Cato) of his Country. But such was his over-wayning conceite, such the elevation of his high stirring spirit, and such his proud estimation of his allowed wisedome; that halled on (I know not by what destinie) he voluntary offered, secretly, and Pilgrime-like to goe to Constantinople, there to espye, and learne, the strength, in­tention, course and preparation then intended, meant, and made for Christendome. This being applauded by the whole assembly, so tickled the flattering humour of his vaine glory (the ecclipse of his mature wisdome) that poy­soned with theyr praises; hee fayled to looke into the true consideration of so doubtfull, and threatning an enterprise. Pride made him forget both his place, and his yeares; and Glory would not permit him, neither to take counsaile of Time; nor make a provident delay; which well shewes, that they that are transported with their owne desires, have no true scope of judgement left them, to looke with perfect eyes into their designes; otherwise actions so uncertaine, [Page 92] had beene better not undertaken, then unfortunately hazar­ded: But he ever hasteth to repent, that rashly enterpriseth: Hee was most resolute in his determination, nothing could dismay him, nor no Man could disswade him; doubt hee held to be the bane of all hopefull endeavours, and if his fate were certaine, he said, it would profite him little to take heed; and if uncertaine, it would be more then meere foo­lishnesse, to feare what he was ignorant of would happen.

In this resolute resolve, he called for the Lord Vran Espe­rance, (a Man, whose care and providence, was the life of that State,) unto his wisedome and trust, did he leave the whole governement of his Principality, till his returne; commanding him upon his allegiance, to marshall, and ma­nage the whole State, as best should stand with Iustice, Law, and equitie; and that he would neither in pitty, du­tie, nor favour (such was his perseverant rigour) release, comfort, nor give countenance to the Princesse Vienna, o­therwise then was by him already censured, allowed, and accustomed: That her obstinate and degenerate disobedi­ence (she being a Traytor to true Generation) might eter­nize his unpartiall Iustice, make her miserable, in being an example to others, and that his Title and right, might in his absence be the better secured by her imprisonment. And so taking his leave, he privately departed, accompanied with none but with Mal Fiance, his affected and learned Servant.

After their Land travell, they Shipt themselves, and lan­ched into the Ocean; where after some dayes sayling, they were by force of wrathfull and sinister windes (by the com­mand of Neptune) driven into the Egyptian Sea, and so cast on the Bay of Alexandria, where he had not rested full three dayes, but that a subtile Mercurian, a Merchant of Ba­bilon, that then lay in Traffique there, observing more heedfully, the eminent Maiesty, and uncontrolled counte­nance of the Daulphin, supposed thereby, that he was of no meane Estate. His Complexion and attire made him a Chri­stian; and his commanding Eyes (the true image of the [Page 93] minde) shewed him to be of an high Spirit.

This Linx, this Blood-hound to mischiefe, hunted after opportunity, to resolue this doubt, and by fortune, encoun­tred with Mal Fiance in the Market-place, whither the Daulphin his Lord had sent him to buy some Necessaries; Vnto whom in Latine (as the most generall Tongue, best knowne to all) the politique Merchant gave many kinde salutes, offering him secretly, for the love he bare to Christ, and Christians, all the best offices he might performe, wishing withall, (to gaine the more credit) not to make himselfe knowne in so dangerous and impious a Place. Mal Fiance (being better Learned then Travelled) finding him­selfe so kindely intreated by a Stranger, returned thankes, and ioyfully embrast his courtesie. The Merchant glad that he vnderstood him, requested his acceptance of a cuppe of theyr Countrey Wine, which Mal Fiance (as one proud of such vnexpected friendship in so strange a place, and that he had met with one of knowledge to conferre withall,) willingly assented unto.

The Merchant, having waded thus farre into the depth of his awaked intention, thought good to sound the Foord at full by undermining theyr proiects: And therefore in the curtesie of theyr Bachonizing Cuppes, he gave him some fewe peeces of Gold, wishing him to make his wants knowne, with the distresse of his Companion, that he might privately relieve them, and secretly give them com­fort and directions for theyr more security. This false fire (the seeming shew of good regard) burnt vp all Mal Fian­ces feare of distrust; the strength of hot Wines, consumed all due consideration, and the ioy he tooke in finding so good a Christian amongst unbeleeving Infidels, made him unadvisedly tell the Merchant who he was, whom he ser­ved, and where his Lord the Prince was This Machivelian Merchant, being now fully enformed of what he desired, the better to mature his ill designe, spake to the Master of the House in the Slavonian Tongue, (a Language much used amongst the Turkes) that he should stay that Stranger, un­till [Page 94] his returne from the Sanzake, the Turkes Governour of Alexandria, which hee did, to no lesse admiration, then dis­may of confounded Mal Fiance: For now too late hee found, that Christall is like a pretious-stone, till it come to hamering; that his betraying tongue was guilty of his owne evill, and that in the least danger, is ever some eminent pe­rill. But this seducing Merchant (the Sonne of Deceit, borne of Hate, fedde with mischiefe, and maintayned with others losses) being now armed with all the apparances of Truth, that might fit and further his purpose, went instant­ly to the dreadlesse Daulphin, and in his corrupt Latine (su­table to his ulcerated heart) hee thus greeted him.

THE Saviour of the Faithfull, the comfortable Sonne of the most Righteous, all-Seeing, and Everliving GOD, make your Excellencie most happie in all your intendments, and guard your Person from the know­ledge and malice of cruell Miscreants. To testifie my Faith by my Workes, and to preserve the living Plants of Christs Vineyard, from the bloody handes of the Destroyer. I am come, most noble Prince, to save thy thrice worthy Christian life, from the tyrannie of murdering Infidels: In assurance whereof, let this suffice, that your Attendant Mal Fiance is apprehended, and that for feare, hee hath confest that you are a French Prince, and Daulphin of Viennois; and that as a wily Ʋlis­ses, you are selected, and come to pry into the Turkish State, and to discover theyr Projects; which being made knowne to the Sanzake, your Highnesse shall bee sent a Prisoner to Constantinople, where that cursed sinfull Sul­tan will make you dye a most cruell death. To prevent which, I have posted unto you, and will for our Saviour sake, convey you from his slavish and barbarous cruelty. For know, most gracious Prince, that in heart I am a re­all Christian, though in shew a Mahometitian, and have given addition of life to many, by private intelligence, secret reliefe, speedy prevention, and by close protecti­on, [Page 95] and unknowne transporting them to theyr native homes: And this, and all this, I doe in some satisfaction for my Sinnes, and to save my Soule, for which the Lord of Life lost his dearest Life. This loathed Habite of mine, gives me safety, and warrants my vowed endeavours for Christian supports: Vnto which saving service, I have dedicated both the length of my dayes, and the fulnesse of my meanes. Nor doe I leave Goshen to dwell in the Tents of Kedar; Nor desire I with Lot to stay in Sodom, nor would I for my Possessions heere, establish my inheri­tance (with the Children of Ruben) in the Land of Gi­liad; But I live in Alexandria, for performance of my Sa­cred Vowes, and to preserve the Flocke of Christ, from these Band-dogges of Satan, that otherwise would be de­voured by them. And therefore if you love this your life, goe with me, and passe over the Foord now the wa­ters are low, least by your dangerous delay, you be de­stroyed in the Flood: And to prevent the instant search, I will bring you out of the Lyons denne, and free you from the snare of the Hunter. Fraud you know, goes beyond Force, and prevention helpes, what repentance can not redresse. I will not use many words, (Protestation is the Mother of Iealousie,) but when time shall promise better security, I will at my owne charge convey you to France. In the meane time, you shall want nothing, that my Mo­ney can procure, or my Labours obtayne.

Thus did this subtile Sinon (who had the voyce of Jacob, but the hands of Esau) guild over his poysoned Pilles, and weave the Webbe of the Daulphins woe; who finding cause of feare, in that hee was so apparantly knowne, did willingly feed on Poyson, and rashly commend his wel­fare, to his betraying trust; praysing God, that hee had sent him such a Shield of defence, and had so preserved him from the terrour of shamefull death: But this comfort in danger, was but like the Honey that Sampson found in the Lyons Iawes, or like Lightning in a foggie night: Time would [Page 96] not permit neyther of better consideration, nor of further complement. The perfideous Merchants feare (for still hee seemed fearefully to feare) haled him away to his Cham­ber, where he closely kept him with respect, untill the next day; against which time hee had provided two swift Dro­midaries well furnished, to carry them to Babylon, there to make present of so Great and strange a Prince, unto the Soldan his King, promising himselfe, eyther a great Share in his Ransome, or no small Reward for his so worthy a Prize. The long trauaile of the Daulphin, made him give way to all suspitious thoughts: His journies were greater then stood with ease or liking; Yet what hee could not a­voyd, hee learned to beare; necessity enforced him a con­stant patience. But being come to Babylon, he was presen­ted unto the Soldan, and like a Captive (in tryumph) he was ledde through the Citie to Prison. The dejected Daulphin (whose French Fortunes, was but earst the Ministers of his will) was now so controled, and deprived of all Dignity, that hopelesse of his life, hee had no other comfort, then to be voyd of all comfort: Sometimes hee would envey a­gainst the detestable treachery of his deceitfull Servant, and condemne his owne credulity, in beleeving an Vnbe­leever. Then would hee curse his over-glorious desire of Popularity, (the ground of his griefe) in seeking applause with danger, and hazarding his Person, to give liking to others. But after, when humble misery had appeased his discontented thoughts, hee then cast off his Adders-skinne; and soft Pitty did enter in at an Iron gate; and finding then his owne cruell tyrannie, in anothers long digested misery, hee let fall some relenting teares, and passionately he thus be­wayled his Daughters endurance, in his owne thraldome.

Ah poore Vienna, too poore for Vienna: Rich art thou in Feature, but more then poore by thy Father. Nature hath honoured thee in thy Birth, Beauty hath eterniz'd thee in thy Person, and Vertue hath renowned thee in thy Life. Onely I, yea I onely, thy haplesse Sire, haue made thee in­fortunate, to bee the more infortunate my selfe: The ri­gour [Page 97] of my Iniustice, is in true Iustice, now punished in my selfe with rigour; and the remembrance of thy long in­iurious endured miseries, is as a living hell to my dying soule. O that thy sorrowes (my thoughts tormentors) might end with my life: or that thy life (my lives honour) might be preserved by my death; so should I dye more con­tented, and thou live better regarded and comforted. But alas thou untimely dyes, to live in thy renowne; and I shamefully live, to dye in my reproach. O cruell Father, unhappy Daulphin: O forlorne Ʋienna, but most distressed Daughter. The Heathens makes my death their Heaven, and my neerest friends accounts my life their hell. The earth now disdaines to beare me, and yet the heavens deny to receive me. Men scornes me in my fall, and the Gods re­fuse me in my sinne: So shall I dye, disdayned of most, be­wayled of none, and vnregarded of all. Thus did miserie, and sorrow (the kinde sisters of mercie, and true wakers of compassion) extract teares, and sighes from stonie cruelty; as strokes doe force fire out of hardest flints.

But leaving him to his more deserved dolours; Let us re­turne to the great Sultan of Turkie, who hearing of the Daulphins apprehension, and that he was a prisoner in Baby­lon; wrote instantly to the Soldan, that in no wise hee should release him: In the interim, he ioying wondred, and won­dring enioyned, that Boonfires, Feasts, and Tryumphes, should bee made throughout the Citie. In such high ac­count, and fearefull regard, did they hold him for his judi­cious discipline, practive pollicies, turbulent spirit, Martiall provocation, approoved directions, and rare stratagems, that now taken, they held (in this presage) the Conquest certaine. But Sirap understanding the cause of these rejoy­cings, was astonished at the newes. Report could not make him beleeve, what reason shewed was false. His greatnesse he thought denied all private exploytes, and his yeares gain­said such tedious travaile. The places were too farre re­mote; and there was no combination of Christian Princes, to undertake a generall Warre. Traffique stoode not with [Page 98] his dignity, and pleasure could not draw his age to perill. His command at home, would not suffer him to goe from home: Nor durst hee trust the faith of a Subject, nor the strength of his foes: He had no sonne, and therefore more subiect to his neighbour invasions. He was wise, and more feared then beloved; And therefore he had cause to feare many, whom many did feare. These, and other reasons perswaded him to the falsity thereof.

But the Sultan discoursing of the truth, and the manner thereof, wounded him with wonder, and made beliefe sub­scribe to his relation. Now griefe arrested his loyall heart, and made his dutifull regard, a prisoner to his pensive thoughts. His forsaken Country, was now forsaken, and made a prey for the avaritious forraigner. His distressed Lady destitute of his helpe, when she had most neede of his ayde. This was his greatest griefe, and this commanded his returne: But iudgement tolde him, that her right fai­led, while the Daulphin lived, that the Nature of Iustice was to render to every one his owne, and that he was bound for Viennas sake, and as a subiect, to industriate himselfe, for his delivery: And though his exile awaked Revenge, yet Charity, he knew, required forgetfulnesse of evill deedes. His Countries hazard, he deemed lesse then his Lords losse. The miscarying of the one, might be holpen by the recove­rie of the other: but the destruction of the Prince would beget both forraigne and intestive broyles. In this perswa­sion hee secretly vowed his best endeavours for his infran­chisement; and secretly smothered his sorrow, never ta­king notice of the accident, nor making enquiry after fur­ther occurrants. In the expiration of fewe dayes, being in the Court he found the Sultan alone, in the mildnesse of his vnusuall moode, both pleasing and pleasant: In that happy houre, he tooke opportunity by the fore-part, and (impri­soning his worthy resolution within the Closet of his se­cret thoughts) hee in all subiected humblenesse, requested his favourable consent, for the accomplishment of his obli­ging vowe, that tyed his engaged soule, amongst other Ci­ties [Page 99] of famous name, to see Babylon, both for the antiquity and worthinesse of the same: And that he would be pleased to graunt him his Imperiall warrant under his Silver Seale, for his better security in travaile; and further grace him, with his commendatory Letter to the Soldan; that he might finde favour in his sight, and respect with his Highnesse. The Sultan unwilling to leave him; in that he both loved him affectionately, and intended to make a profitable use of his great, and unequalled valour, perswaded him to stay still with him, and he should command in Turkie, dwell in his grace, and live in height of honour. But Sirap pleading ne­cessity to goe promised speedy returne; and that in lieu of his favours, he would bestow all his remayning dayes in his service. This pleased the Turke so well, that he yeelded to his request, and to his encouragement for his backe repaire: He gave him Princely Robes (as ornaments of honour) to countenance him; rich Iewels to shew his dignity; and great treasure to defray his answerable dispence. Hee fur­nished him with Attendants, especially with one of know­ledge in the Chaldean tongue, to bee his Interpreter. Hee also writ vnto the Soldan, to receive him, as one most com­plete in all worth, worthy all honour, honoured by Solimon the great, his especiall favourite, and the God of Warres chiefest Champion; and therefore hee entreated him to re­ceive him with all Royall regard, and to give him what con­tentment he might; and the rather, in that hee purposely came to see his magnificency, and the state both of his Court, and Citie. This no little availed Sirap, in his intend­ments, and these Princely favours, and furthering meanes, made him no lesse ioyfull for his proud hopes; then most humbly thankfull for the Sultans so gracious a respect. And so taking a submissive leave for that time; He would needs for his pleasure goe to Pera, a Citie distant but a mile from Constantinople: And as he crossed Thracius Bosphorus, (a wa­ter that only devideth the two Cities:) he fortunately espied amongst the Gally-slaves that rowed him a Frenchman, no otherwise knowne to him, then the cloath to the Lyst: [Page 100] For though seven yeares slavish Captivity had made him a Grecian in his tongue; and dyed his sunne-burnt skinne more blacker, then his Native hue; yet did his making, and manner of his speech, proclaime him a French man. Of him in Greeke he demanded, what was his name, and Na­tion: who answered; France is my Country; Bonfoy my name, which pleased him well. Then (without discovering himselfe, or taking further knowledge of him) hee asked, Whether hee would for his liberty, truely, and faithfully serve, and follow him, and his fortunes: and hee would af­ter sometime, send him into his owne Country, whereso­ever it was. Bonfoy to gaine that happy freedome, and to be freed from that miserable and base slavery; swore by the sonne of God, who was made man, that men might be made the sonnes of God; that he would truly, and faithfully (du­ring his pleasure) tye himselfe, and all his endevours, to his command. Whereupon Sirap begg'd him on the Captaine, that durst not deny him any thing, and ever after most kindly vsed him, and loved him, because hee would be, not onely served, but beloved of him: That foorth of that love, he might the better trust him, and be the better inte­rest in him. For where love hath supremacy, there all affe­ctions attend on it, and all other passions are overswayed by it.

But now the sensuall Sultanesse hearing of Siraps hastie provision for his sodaine departure to Babylon, grew more then impatient in her discontented feares; and beyond all consideration of her state, deplored the hardnesse of her hap. Her lustfull hopes were now wounded in the expecta­tion of her lascivious desires, and unbounded love so op­prest her unchaste thoughts, that finding her infected affe­ction frustrated of conceived ioyes, she fainted under the burthen of her unexpected woes. In this sad alteration she threw her selfe on the humble floare, where her dumbe sorrowes vttered nought but bemoaning teares, and com­playning sighes: Which Mentiga ruefully beholding, and well waying that this unwelcome event would deprive her [Page 101] of enriching favours, and of promised preferments, shee summoned her wits together, and set them all on the racke of Invention, to finde out meanes of some redresse. At last, after a sad and serious pause, shee sayd; Take comfort most mighty Empresse, and my most gracious Soveraigne, let this sodaine lightning dye in his abortive birth, and listen to your most submissive Handmayd, who desires no longer life, then shee may doe your Highnesse acceptable service. Your Knight is no doubt, enforc'd (by the Sultans employ­ment) to this unliked journey, and your remembrance will not onely be a plea for his dispatch; but his controling affe­ction will also give speed to his returne. In the meane time, I will undertake to bring him this night to your bed, where you may make your desired delights, doe homage to your wils, pay tribute to your sufferance, and binde him over to accomplish your further pleasure. Then raise your better thoughts, this base floare (but your footestoole) is no bed for Majesty: Nor stands it with the resplendant Queene of Asia, to prostrate her selfe so lowe, as to lye in the dust of the earth. Eugenia thus rowzed, rose (with an erected heart) from her seate of sorrow, and carefully loo­king on her, said; Ah Mentiga, Mentiga, can it be that Phy­sicke hath any Cordiall receipt for so desperate a disease: Is there any mollifying salve can cure my tormenting sore; or canst thou give a healing plaister, to my wounded mind. Speake thou haplesse, or most happy woman: When, where, or how, canst thou effect so great, and sweete a worke; and please thy Lady without perceivance? The glorious Sunne (thou know'st) is ever remarkable, when meane Starres are seldome gazed on. Pale Jealousie is a subtile spie; and invin­cible Envie hath murthering eyes. Danger waytes on digni­ties, and Beauty is ever guarded with observance, The light (I feare) is a blab, and darknesse but a Traytor: These wals have eares, then be silent Mentiga, least the ayre whisper, and betray thy intention, and enterprise.

Thus had Eugenia (when it came to it) many eyes, to see into many evils, but they were all blinde to prevent any. [Page 102] Misfortune so blindeth those, shee will overthrow, that no­thing can cleere theyr understandings, nor limit theyr ad­ventures; which made Mentiga answere, that shee had a Charme to close up Argoes eyes, and that Deceit should lull Danger asleepe, when Beauty should feast with Love. And this, shee sayd it is, and must be. The Sultan, you know, (ey­ther to refresh himselfe with ease, or to make his pleasures more compleat by change) doth the two last nights of eve­ry Weeke, abstaine both from your bed and Chamber: And this ensuing night, being the first of the two, when your Eunuches bee at supper, wee will in my Chamber secretly change our attyres, and to give life to our device, you must as Mentiga, bring mee as Emperesse to your bed, where leaving mee, you shall depart into my Chamber next adjoy­ning, where fastening the doore, you must attend the houre of midnight, and then putting on my Night-gowne, you must as silently as may be, goe downe the stayres into the Garden, and there opening the posterne gate, (The key whereof shall be pre-provided for you) you shall receive your disguised Knight, and bringing him up the stayres to my Chamber, you both may safely entertayne your stolne delights, and give both your desires, all fulnesse of content. But how (said Eugenia) shall hee returne vndiscovered. Earely in the morning replyed Mentiga, before the day shall discry your dalliances, will I rise and come unattired unto you to my Chamber, when you shall leave my blest and beautyfied bed, and returne to your owne Chamber, in such manner as I came. And then will I cloathe your Knight in the Religious habite of the Hozes, the same I used, when I went to him. And so hee may depart, when the Sunne (the eyeof the world) shall not discover him. For clouded Rocks deceive Marriners: A iustifiable cloake ever hides a treacherous fraude; and they ever may doe the most wrong, of whom least is looked for. And because we will not procrastinate our designes, lest our proiects be com­municated. I will presently put on my Protean shape, and like a holy Father, goeto Sirap, unto whom I will unfolde [Page 103] all that wee have determined, and both enjoyne and entreat him in your name, and for your love, that hee will not fayle his houre, at that place, but come to take Loves farewell, and leave a setled possession of his purchased favours. This enticing plot, promised more to Eugenia then a possibility. Her lawlesse love saw no exception, nor could her wanto­nizing thoughts dreame of any interception: Her transpor­ted desires were so drowned in her over-amorous passion, that shee entertayned the least conceit, that might but helpe her foolish fancie. Her flattering hopes held good corre­spondencie with all likelihoods; and in the confidence of her supposed assurance, shee bad her goe, and after called her backe againe. Her presaging heart did fayle her, and shee began to feare shee knew not what. A suddaine trembling possessed her in every part, and what before shee but care­lesly dread, now shee did more then fearing doubt. In this distraction, and feare of misadventure, she sayd; It is better to be in love most miserable, then through love to be guilty of our owne mainfest confusion. Why should wee then Mentiga for loving follies, weave the web of our owne woes? Violent streames being once runne out, the mudde will appeare in the bottome. The indignation of a Prince is death; and the love of a Stranger as inconstant, as a Travai­lers minde is wandring. Hee is but meane, and puddles are not for Princes to drinke at: Let him be as he is, that I may be as I am. O Eugenia! hadst thou beene as provident to shunne the cause of thy fall; as thou was foolishly wise to apprehend thy fall:

For shee being drawne by a wilfull folly, unto that whereunto shee was destinate, no sooner had uttered what shee misliked, but straight shee misliked what shee had uttered. Shall idle doubt (shee sayd) the hearce of our desires, deprive mee of my wished delights? Is base [Page 124] feare (the badge and terrour of Pesants) a befitting Coun­cellour for a commanding Empresse? or is Loue tyed to equality, honour, or maiestie, that knowes no difference of persons. Must greatest Queenes want their wills, and the drosse of Damosels enjoy their pleasures? Where then is our dignities, our pretogatives, and our priviledges? To command others and be slaves to our selves, is worse then subjection. I will be my selfe, my affections shall bowe to my will, and my fancy shall command my pleasures. Ne­cessity hath no law, and where there is no law, there is no breach. Here Mentiga take this purse, and happily get thee gone, and fortunately returne. This concluding command gave her speed, and being come before him, she thus in his private Chamber all alone salutes him.

Eugenia, the great Emperiall Sultanesse, Soveraigne Queene of Queenes, and onely Mirror of Beauty and Boun­tie, by me her trusty Hand-mayd, greetes thee well, and wisheth thee (O thou happiest of Men, and blest Sonne of Fortune) all the Ioyes that thy heart can wish, or her af­fection can afford. She grieves that thou art bound for Ba­bylon; and she entreates thee, that diguised this night, at the hower of twelue, when darkenesse hath put on her blackest roabe, thou wilt come to the Posterne-gate of the Gardon wall, where she will in person receive thee, and safely bring thee, where thou mayst bath thy selfe in Beau­ties most delightfull Fountaine, and feast thy best Fortunes, with all the pleasures that true Love, or proud State can yeeld. Nor mayst thou doubt of hazard herein, since thy security is thus carefully and certainely assured. And there­withall, she related to him the whole plot of theyr devise; which she said was onely intended, that by your incorpo­rated farewels, you both might seale such an infringeable Deed of your covenanted Loves, that nought but Death should breake the same.

Sirap being thus surprised, when least he looked for such an assault, wished himselfe in Babylon. His vertuous dis­pose, did contemne such shamefull treacherie: Nor would [Page 126] hee violated his plighted Faith to Ʋienna, for all the proud Fortunes and Favours of Asia, and Affricke: Yet fearing, least his refusall should crosse his departure, hee smoothly set a scarlet dye, on his rough and course conceyt, and like Jove himselfe, when hee entered Danaes Towre, he seemed both pleasant and pleasing to Mentiga; which made her more apt to beleeve what he never meant.

Returne (sayd hee) unto the brightest Starre, and grea­test Glory of Turkie, and present in all humble humblenesse, my true service unto her, and say; That in the entercourse of Affection, my Love surmounts hers, and that neyther Danger nor Death shall alter, or hinder, the wished frui­tion of my Fancie, so fortified by a Princes Favour. To take my farewell, is my thirsting desire, and to seale the deed of my purchased Favour, is the Gordian knot, that I most wish to unloose, Be true to thy Queene, wise to thy selfe, give thy Thoughts no tongue, nor my Name no record. Thus did hee in another meaning, satisfie blinded Mentiga; who proud of her surmised successe, was so ravished with joy, that taking a compendious farewell, shee posted (in the conceit of her happie endeavours) to feast Eugenia with her glad tydings.

And no sooner was shee gone, but that Sirap falling on his knees, besought God to guard his innocencie, from all Bar­barian perils, and to free his chaste tboughts from those tempting Syrens, those ruinating Follies, and those lascivi­ous and nefarious Assaults; and that hee would so direct him in his wisedome, and defend him by his power, that he might safely (without interuption) goe to Babylon, and for the good of his Sanctuarie, remoove that Piller of his Church out of the House of Dagon, and bring him home to bee a Glory to his Temple. This Sacrifice was his safeguard; His vertuous determination, and constant resolution, meri­ted well; but his firme affiance in his God, and dependan­cy on Divine perfection, shielded him, no doubt, from per­taking of that adherent mischiefe that fell fatally upon the Sultanesse, and Mentiga: Yet in seeking to avoyd Sylla, he [Page 106] feared to fall into Charibdes: His non-appearance, would make his fraud apparant; and his delusion, might draw on his secret destruction.

But Mentiga comming to her Soveraigne Lady (who long had expected her before she came, though she came long before reason could expect her,) chearefully recoun­ted unto her, what Sirap (in truth, but not truely) had pro­testingly delivered unto her; how pleasing her Message was to him, how joyfully he entertained the Name of Love, how feelingly he entered into comparison for his affection, and how comfortably he embraced the remem­brance of his desired Fare-well. These, and other demon­strances of Passion, she so fully and pleasantly related, that Eugenia drowning all thoughts of danger in the conceite of her approaching happinesse, she dreamed of nought but Loves Embracements, Ʋenus Delights, and wantonizing Sports; building a Pallace of Pleasure in her minde, where­in she meant to feast all her Amorous desires, and crowne her thoughts with sweet Content. To this end, she gave Mentiga in charge, that nothing should be wanting, that should be requisite to further theyr designes; Whilst inter­rupted Sirap (being thus Chequ'd by a Queene) lay study­ing how he might drive it to a Stall, and not receive the Mate, but give speed to his departure. Resolved he was, not to touch the forbidden Fruit, nor to drinke on Cirses Cuppe; he would not with the Spider sucke poyson out of a fayre Flower, nor spotte his True-love with the dregges of Maiesty. Proude bewitching Pleasure could not intice him to Folly, nor rich alluring Treasures corrupt his con­stant integrity: Hee scorned to sell his Loyalty for Lucre, or Love for Sylver: True wisedome made his vertuous minde to bend, rather to that which was good in it selfe, then to that, which by evill mindes might be judged good. In briefe, his conclusion was, to excuse his not comming, by expresse Commaund from the Sultan, that as that night, he should consult with his Visiers, concerning his negotia­tion in Babylon. But this false colour need no allowance; [Page 107] Displeased Iustice tooke away all exception, and sealed him pardon before any accusation; For the dismall night being come, Vengeance attended her fatall hower; which appro­ching, she accordingly, changed her attire with Mentiga, and brought her as her Hand-mayde to her Royall Bedde, and after, went to Mentiga's Chamber, where she waking, wayted for the appointed hower; which come, she cast­ing on Mentigaes Night-gowne, with a bold heart (beyond the resolve of her weake Sexe) she paced downe the stayres that led into the Garden; Into which she no sooner entred, but that she sawe the angry Heavens (then cladde all in blacke) throwing downe with violence, a fiery threatning Starre over-crosse the Garden, forbidding her farther pas­sage, notwithstanding the sable Skies lent not then an other Light: This prodigious Signe, and fearefull premonition, might well have appaled, and back'd a more redoub­ted heart, but that the voluptuousnesse of her thoughts, extinguished the light of her minde: Love gave her bold­nesse, and unlimited Lust directed her (according to her si­nister and destinated Fate) vnto the Posterne gate, which she with nimble facility opened, and there made her fearelesse stand. O imperious and impious Love; thou deluding Tray­tor, how rightly did the Poets, and Painters, paint thee blinde, and naked? Since thou hast no eyes to see into how many dangers thou leadest thy servants; and like thy selfe, makes them both blinde and naked, disroabing them of all their vertuous abilliments, that their naked shame may ap­peare in theyr found pursuites. Who seeketh thee, findeth deceite; and whosoever followes thee, seeketh reproach, and obtaineth repentance. Care, is thy Court; Tyranny, thy raigne; Slaves, thy Subiects; Folly, thy attendance; Lust, thy Law; Sinne, thy service, and Repentance thy wages. But this mighty Sultanesse, whose wretched folly, was cloathed in danger, had not long wayted for her owne woe, but that there came a base Sarazen towards her, who of purpose did straggle that way, to ceaze upon some prey; the fall of whose steps, gave the found Sultanesse such hope of Siraps [Page 135] then comming, that over rashly running upon him; hold­ing for certaine that it was he; she said, Come, come my best beloved; and goe with me, where I will lodge thy love in pleasures lap, and guerdonthy labour with fulnesse of gold; And therewithall she kist him, more then oft deem­ing that his rough habit had been but the cloake of his craft. For the Prince, and the Peasant, differeth but in the fleece, not in the flesh. But the subtile Sarazen being capable of his owne good, apprehended the errour, and in hope of gaine, adventured the successe. Thus did the mounting Kite, seaze on a homely prey, and in her blindnesse, preferre a greasie Lampe, before a bright and mighty Starre; and throwing her Mentle upon him, led him towards her last prepared bed: where he fearing to be discovered, disvested himselfe of his homely habite and rough shirt.

And in this furfeit of pleasure did they cloy themselves, till themselves had wholly spent themselves. When wea­ried with delights, they both were summoned by leadden Morpheus to banquet with blood and death. For the Sul­tan (by divine decree) dreaming that night, that the roofe of Eugenias Chamber did renting part it selfe in two, and was open; and that hee sawe descending downe from a blacke Cloud; a grim swarty man, cloathed in a short ill­favoured garment, all to be rent, holding a broad rusty sword, dyed with Vermillion red in his besmeared hand. Who falling on the tapestred floare, stoode not long; but that Eugenia came smiling all in white, besprinkled thicke with blood, and put on him a scarlet roabe, set her Diadem on his shaggie head; kissed, and embraced him oft, and then taking him by the soyled hand, led him towards her royall bed; which the Sultan seeming to see, cryed out, and said; [Page 134] Stay villaine, stay: The Eagle made not her nest, for the Owle to lye in; The Batte hath no eyes to looke upon the Sunne, nor may the Kestrell make her pearch within her beames. And therewithall grasping for his Semitar, hee amazedly awaked, and finding it but a dreame, smiled, yet was wounded with no little wonder at the strangenesse of the same. His thoughts still were troubled, and his heart (led thereunto by the force of Fate) gave him such a pre­sent desire to goe offer incense to Venus, in Eugenias shrine, that suddenly taking his night roabe, his Semitary, and his key, (which purposely hee had made for his sole, and pri­vate passage at all times into her Chamber) hee went to per­forme his wanton Sacrifice; and being entred, finding by the dawne of day (for the night began to cast off her blacke Mantle) that all things as he thought were well, he ioyed at the illusion of his phantasticall dreame, and in the con­tentment thereof, withdrawing a little the curtaine, he care­lesly layd him downe by Mentigaes side: who vpon his en­trance awaked, and finding her selfe intangled in her owne device, grew fearefull of the issue, and kept her selfe as close as might be. The Sultans kinde intreaties, found no resistance, nor yet any pleasing entertainment. The feare of her death, tooke away all delight of dalliance; and those pleasures which before shee made her Paradice, shee now deemed them a mortall punishment. Faine would she have killed herselfe, for feare of death, but death gave her no meanes of death. In this deadly terrour, shee lay so dista­cted, that every member began so to tremble and shake, that the Sultan in tendernesse of her health, (fearing sicknesse suddaine attachment) hastily tooke her in his armes, and kissing her many times, asked how she fared, but receiving no answere (for suddaine surprised Treason hath no tongue) he bare her towards the light, to give her better ayre, when seeing who she was, and one whom he had spent his enfor­ced pleasures; missing Eugenia, and remembring his pro­voking dreame; all enraged, hee cast her to the floare, and treading on her throate, hee tooke his Semitar, and thrust it [Page 110] quite through her heart, and then violently running at the doore, that opened into Mentigaes Chamber, hee burst it open: The noyse whereof awaked the sturdy slave, that he might see his owne death; who seeing one enter with his drawne Sword, not knowing who hee was, nor where him­selfe was, leap'd out of his banefull bed, and snatching a bed-staffe in his hand, fiercely rushed upon his unknowne Lord, got within him, and beeing the stronger, had him downe, and so liberally belaboured him, that the blood running downe his face, well witnessed, that the slave alone, now lesse respected, and feared him; then many Nations, migh­tiest Armies, and greatest Princes, that onely had trembled at his sight. Which made the Sultan in his dismay, cry; Treason, treason; at the hearing whereof, came running in, two Ianizaries that were of his Guard, whose allotment was that day amongst many others to attend. They seeing this strange accident, pulled the rascall off the Sultan, and hewed him all to pieces. But the Sultanesse thus surprized with shame, with feare, and with amazement, was more confounded at the base sight of her reproachfull deceit, then at the bloudy summons of pale Death; and because shee would not see her owne shame, nor looke murther in the face, shee crept over the head into the bed, crying fearefully, No Moore, no Moore; because she saw, shee had not layne with the Moore. Which made Solimon suppose, that shee cryed that hee should stay his hand, and doe no more; which distastfull conceit, exasperated his anger, and added more fewell to his enflamed fire, and in the heate of his irefull in­dignation, hee step'd to her adulterous bed, and like a tempe­stuous storme, hee fell upon her, giving her stab upon stab, saying oft withall; Nay, thus much more, and more: And the more hee sayd so, the more hee thrust his Semitar (not yet dryed with the bloud of the Sarazen) into her body. This speedy and suddaine execution, was Siraps preservati­on. For it tooke away all further knowledge of the cause. The Court was now all in combustion, and the City hearing that the Sultan was slaine, instantly did rise, and confusedly [Page 111] did runne to the Pallace, bearing all downe before them, in such a distract sort, that the Turkes Guard was glad to shut the gates against them, and to entreate the Sultan to shew himselfe out of the Casement vnto them, which so well ap­peased them, that they quietly returned to their houses. Then was inquisition made after the knowledge of the Sa­razens apparell, which was so base, that all men wondred not onely that he was there, but how he came there. His mangled body kept him vnknowne, and his meane habite made him no appertenant to the Court. When no notice could be had neither of the one, nor of the other, the ap­peased Sultan sent for the Eunuckes that attended his Em­peresse, and caused two Mutes to strangle them in his sight. After, he caused all the dead bodies, with the two beds, and all their apparell, to be caried forth of the Citie, and to bee burned all together; and further, gaue in charge, that the two Chambers should be conuerted into houses of base vse, and that no one vnder paine of death should after speake thereof.

Now Sirap, who during these tempestuous stormes, lay at anchor in his owne private harbour: as one that knew well, that great men euer enuying the glory, and fortune of strangers, would in this tumults be ready, to stab at the bo­some of merit; and that mischiefe (the cursed Captaine al­wayes of the vnruly Commons) might in a disturbed vp­rore endanger his safety; hearing now that the sight of the Sultan had allayed the windie Allarum of his rumoured death, and that the present murther of the Sultanesse, with her Mayde, and vnknowne Paramour, was the occasion of such disorder rising; He grew jealous of the cause, suspiti­ous of the errour, and timorous of his welfare. For, though guarded with innocencie, yet was he fearefull, lest Mentiga had cast some scandalizing aspersion vpon his vnspotted ho­nesty. In this fearefull doubt, he kept himselfe within him­selfe, vntill report had further manifested not only the man­ner of all their deathes, but the ignorance of the cause. This dispierced all cloudes of care, and made him a perfect Iudge [Page 112] both of the errour, and the event. Then lifting vp his ere­cted heart, hee said: O Ʋienna, thy love I see now, hath given me a second life, and my constant loyalty, hath kept me from the grave. Justice hath preserved the guiltlesse, and righteousnesse hath found mercy in iudgement. Now prai­sed be my God, my strong defence; For hee hath covered me under the wings of his protection, and kept mee from the death of the wicked. Hee hath cast downe lightning, and burnt up the daughters of Babell, that I might be safe in their suddaine destruction. The storme is past, and these cloudy occurrants threaten another tempest. The Sea can­not be so calme in Summer, but that it may swell again with the rage of wrathfull Winter; There is more wisedome in preventing, then in redressing a mischiefe; Security lives not in tyranny. For though the Tygar hide his clawes, yet in the end, will hee shew his Rapine. Revenge hath now smoothed the Sultans angry browe, and Time hath given some peace to his displeasure. The Tide serves me, and my prophane aboad with the heathen, is displeasing to the hea­vens. My Captived Lord cals me away, and Vienna sayes, I am too slowe; my marke is set, and I levell straight, I will commend my ayme; and therewithall casting off all further deliberation, he went to the Court to take his leave of Soli­mon, Who seeing him stand upon his departure, after some private conference, & protestations, that he would crowne his returne with highest honours advancement, he vouch­safed graciously to imbrace him, and so bad him farewell. The next morning Sirap having before caused all things to be in readinesse, the windes summoning him to Sea, hee tooke shipping, and sayling by the Ilands, scituate in part of the Mediteranian Sea, he landed at Sidon, a Port Towne in Syria, and there taking Horse, hee poasted through the Country, and part of the Desarts of Arabia, and so came to Babylon. Where we will leave him to looke into France, and see how Ʋienna brookes her continued thraldome, which was not so grievous unto her, as the tormenting sup­pose of Sir Paris losse. Great was her sorrow in feare of [Page 113] him, and many her bemoanings for not hearing from him. In so much, that La-nova seeing the increase of her grow­ing cares, thus sadly spake unto her.

Madame, these ruthlesse walls neither melt with your teares, nor yet shake, nor shrinke with your sighes. Com­fort dwels not in restraint, nor lives Remedie in Lamenta­tions. Though your Father be absent, yet hath he left a iealous Keeper: You may ever weepe and bewayle your estate, and lye still in the bed of sorrow: If you never seeke after redresse, you shall ever finde your selfe a Priso­ner: You know the secret way I made to releive you; If so you please, I will convey you through the same, to some private place, where Metamorphosed, we will eyther hunt in quest after Sir Paris, or you shall rest unknowne in some forraigne Nation, till eyther my travaile shall gaine know­ledge of his aboade, or that the death of the Daulphin shall leave (you for your right) to the tryall of your Friends. Then cast off these mortifying dumpes, and leave now your sorrow to the Governours, as a pawne for your returne, and let us stand upon our Fortunes: Hope lives in Industry. and my Adventures shall ever wayte on your pleasure.

This kinde offer did moove her much, but could not re­moove her at all: Liberty she said was sweete to that life, that might take the pleasures of this life; But to a deiected heart whose banisht content could promise no wished de­light; there a Close-prison was better then a glorious Pal­lace. To travaile (she said) to my Paris; would be more pleasing then painefull to Vienna; but not knowing where he is, I might perhaps extravagantly goe further from him then Iam, that am already further off then I would be: Here for his Love was I made a Prisoner, and here will I still rest a Prisoner for his Love. If he be living and loving, here shall I soonest heare from him; and if he be neither in Love nor in Life, here will I end both my Love and Life: Onely take thankes for thy loving care, and kinde respect, and be still a true Friend to Paris, that Vienna may ever take comfort in La-nova.

[Page 114] Vpon this conclusion he parted, and Isabella strewed the Rushes over the private way that gave him entrance: But no sooner was it done, but that one of the Keepers Gentle­men (that seemed ever most serviceable unto her) came in, whom the devilish Daulphinis had before fashioned to her purpose, for she wrought upon his want, as knowing well, that Povertie betrayeth Vertue, and that Wealth bewit­cheth Wit; Corruption having made him her Creature, shee had instructed him how to trayne Vienna to her destru­ction; for nought but Death could satisfie her disdaine­full feare: Her malicious and unbounded pride, locked in­to the danger of her Lords returne: If the Daulphin fell, then must Vienna (though now a Prisoner) be Soveraigne. This made her heart-burning hate to prosecute her over­throw: And though shee had no cause to feare her, (for occasion never yet made her her enemy) yet could she not indure to thinke that shee should bee Subject to another, that now was most eminent in her selfe. To have the Re­gent, was all her ambitious desire, and nothing did let but Ʋiennas right; To frustrate which, shee with fulnesse of Gold, and promises of preferment, had as aforesayd, sedu­ced this mettle-minded Servant, to deceive, and to destroy her by such subtile and obscure meanes, as both gave least shew of mistrust, and most likelihood of execution: And this it was.

Don Poltron (for so was hee rightly named) bringing Ʋiennas mornings repast to her, with a bemoaning tongue, and a sighing heart, complained much against Nature, and enveyed more against Fortune, that had made beauty so miserable, and Vertue so unhappie, as to entombe the glo­ry of the one, and the effecacie of the other, in so unprofi­table, and so uncomfortable a place. My eyes (sayd hee) cannot indure to see Dignity so disgraced; nor can my Eares entertaine the killing sound of your laments: I must, and will leave my wounding Service, that at longth I may bee a Stranger to sorrow, least my griefe for your griefe, make my revived woes as great as your griefe.

[Page 115] Vienna liking his generous nature, iudged by his dis­creete and relenting discourse, that he was well bred, and pleasing wittie; and therefore required him to tell what was his Name, and where he was borne: Who answered, Don Poltron am I called, and in Spaine was my birth; my education was better then my fortune, and this my servile Place beares now record of my sinister fate. Why sayd Ʋienna, if thou be infortunate, keepe still thy station, here is a place of woe, and thou hast a Princesse to associate thee in thy sorrowes: Hast thou cause to bewaile thy mishaps? Let us know thy crosses, and we will ease thee with our griefe; For it is a comfort to find a Companion in misery. Then say Poltron, (for thy Nature agrees better with us then thy Name) and story to vs the life of thy Fortune, that we may also recreate our minde, by listening to thy griefes.

Poltron having pleased her with this sugered Bayte, cast out his hidden Hooke, and tolde her that he was a rith Merchants Sonne in Spaine, left so well Treasured, that he swayed the world at will, vntill emperious Love made him of a free Lord, a Bond-slave to Melleflora: Vnto her (sayd he) I sued long for obtayned grace; which had, I held my selfe more fortunately happy, then Paris did in the fruition of his Love. Paris, sayd Ʋienna, what Paris? Paris said he of Troy, that enioyed the Beauty of Greece, and made his Pleasure a Plague to his Countrey. But in the height of my ioyes and hope of highest happinesse, Death deprived me of my Paradised Blisse, and not onely made my broken heart the sad habitation of woe, but also turned my mind (which before was a Kingdome to me) into a Hell of tor­menting thoughts. The place of my Birth grew (by her losse) so hatefull to me, that I was necessitated to for­goe the ground that yeelded me no other harvest but griefe. In briefe, for better portage, I turned all my Sub­stance into Iewels of estimate, and travelled to Naples where I spent more of my Wealth then I did of my woes. Then Repentance made me leave that wastfull Nation, and [Page 116] so I came unfortunately into France. Thus he drew on her attention with a faigned tale, that he might without all su­spition, and with better gaine of beliefe, give more fewell to her desire, for his further betraying discourse. And to blinde all iealous thoughts, he purposely seemed by his ab­rupt end, to be unwilling to proceed further. But Ʋienna whose crossed affection delighted to heare of semblable for­tunes, would needs know what other mishaps wayted on his lost love. Alas Madame, said Poltron, the small remain­der of my broken state I brought with me into France, to maintaine the length of my dayes; but in my passage, I was set on by foure Theeves, that stript me of all I had, & woun­ded me sore, and would no doubt have taken my life, but that by chance there came by a poore Hermite, who seeing theyr violence, without all dread of their number, or feare of his own feeblenes, cast off his peacefull Gowne, & draw­ing out a hidden sword out of his staffe, he so fiercely assaul­ted them, that in the end he slew three of them, whilst the fourth run away with the prey, the danger of my wounds made him then as farre to surmount himselfe in pittie, as he had excelled the other in valour: And in the tendernesse of his relenting minde, he brought me to his Cell, where on a bed of mosse he layd me; and binding up my wounds, with a peece of his shirt (for other linnens he had none) he afterwards applyed the joyce of hearbes so oft unto them, that they healed, and I began to grow strong. With him had I continued still, but that during the stay of my reco­very, I could not endure to see this good Chyrurgion, and noble minded Hermite that had so well preserved and che­rished mee, sit so oft sighing, and many times exclaiming against uniust rigour, and vnnaturall iniustice; that halfe distraught, hee would often confusedly say; Doth the Sea nourish a more cruell fish then the Dolphin? is not Vienna the fairest Citie of the world? And lived there ever a more unfortunate man then Paris. Then would hee bewayle de­stroyed Troy, and blame Love that fired Jllion; and by and by curse that wretched Knight, that overthrew so faire a [Page 117] creature, and so glorious a Citie. Then would he sit in a dolefull dumpe, and after suddainly start up as one affrigh­ted, and accuse his offending tongue of Treachery, for wronging the divine name of love, since hee was so highly beloved, as his meane fortune merited not the glory there­of. But leaving him (with my prayers) both to his Cave, and to his Cell; after many thankes, I left that woefull and worthy Hermit, and came to Ʋiennois, where necessity com­pelled mee to seeke this service. And this most vertuous Princesse, is the Map of my misery; and so hee seemed to end, before he had begun; that the Fish might bite the more eagerly, when the bayte was pulled away: But oh, said Ʋienna (for now she had swallowed the hidden, and hurtfull hooke) didst thou not perceive the cause of his so secret, and so great a griefe? Yes Noble Lady, said Poltron. Time and Occasion gave me meanes to know the same; Then good Poltron, let me intreat thee she said, to relate the full discourse thereof. For such Subiects of woe, best fit­teth wofull mindes, and causes of dolour and calamity, are ever most pleasing to perplexed persons. Poltron thus hal­led on, to set the trap, that should ensnare her life, thus cun­ningly gave fire to her tinder.

Though, said he, I am unwilling to ingrieve my thoughts with the sad remembrance of my friends over-grieuous sorrowes; yet since it is your pleasure, your will commands my obedience. Then know, most fairest of faire Ladies, that after I had many times observed the frenzie of his pas­sions: and wondring, had noted his broken and disconso­nant complaints; hee being at other times most advisedly wise, and most humbly (though sadly) patient: As wee were sitting at the mouth of his Cave, chatting on the mi­series of this life, and the crosses of this uncertaine world, I requested him in favour of my desire, to recount unto me, the cause of his so often passionate laments. In answere whereof, he said.

Though my griefe be already such, as there can be no ad­dition to so great an extreame; and though my wounds can­not [Page 118] be healed, because they may not be searched; yet to giue thee some content, know that not farre from Tolledo in Spaine, I serued not long since a great and mighty Lord, called Don Daulphinatus; who had one onely daughter na­med Paris-enna, whose beauty was farre fairer then the euening starre, and whose vertue was more powerfull then the greatest constellation. By her sweet influence did I on­ly liue, and breathe; and though my meane fortune durst not gaze on so bright a Planet, yet did her gracious aspect both so ennoble, and inable my towring thoughts, that vn­knowne I atchiued in honour of her name, many admired exployts. After some season, both my acts, and my loue, were accidentally made knowne to her, who in time made mee (though most unworthy) the Maister of her desires, that was, and still am, a servant to her will. Our mutuall mindes thus combined, was like the Garden of Eden, wher­in grew more delights, then either Nature now affords, or Art can expresse. Our hearts fed on pleasures, our eyes beheld the blisse of each other, and in the full comfort of all content, did we sleepe in love; and wake, and walke, in all fulnesse of ioy. From this Paradice, were we driven by fe­lonious Fortune, who envying our happinesse, would not suffer that we should make this earth our heaven, that was before curst for our sinnes. My Lord, her Father, had know­ledge thereof, who finding my indignity not worthy of such soveraignty, was so caried away with disdainfull scorn, and irefull displeasure, that he doomed me to death, if ever I were found within the precinct of his command. This separation (for now I was put to my flight) was such a co­rasive to both our confounded soules, that she stayed to en­dure a greater misery the deprivation of life; and I wande­red in unknowne pathes, to seeke after a wished death. Long was my travaile, and manifold my fortunes: But nei­ther distance of place, continuance of travaile, happinesse of fortune, nor tract of time, could free my fancie, nor weary me from my constant affection. At last, being both wearied and nighted, I came to this harmelesse Cell; where in love [Page 119] of Solitarinesse, and in contempt of the world, I vowed to spend the unspent sorrowes of my Life, and keepe my selfe from the knowledge of Men; and thereupon, he devoutly swore mee, that I should not make his private aboad knowne to any Man. Whereat the wounded Princesse, in her apprehension, sighed, and watered the floare with her baulmy Teares, as knowing by the amplyfied, and conioy­ned Names, and by the concurrence and circumstance of the Matter, that hee was most assuredly her beloved Paris; and thereupon, shee demanded what was his Name? Sans Lieure (replyed Poltron) did he call himselfe. Sans Lieure, sayd she? Oh how rightly did the Destinies Christen him; and how truely doth his Name expresse his Fate; For Griefe hath but a dead heart, and haplesse Love none at all: But where is that Place of playnt, that so confines Sorrow in it selfe, and makes Woe a habitation for so miserable a Man? Tell mee, O tell me, that I may send some Sancti­fied person to comfort him, and weyne him from so wret­ched a life.

My Oath (answered Poltron,) will not admit, that any Man be my meanes should know thereof. Then would I were (shee sayd) with him my selfe, for by his Name (I now remember) hee is that Divining Man that hath revea­led Wonders, and can tell what shall befall every one; Oft have I heard of him, and strange things by him fore-told hath come to passe. Thus did they both disguise theyr mindes, and with untempered Morter, daube up their se­verall concealed meanings, and hidden intentions, that they might both the better worke out theyr Advantages. But Poltron seeing his venemous Plot had (without all suspect) thus poysoned her beliefe; boldly told her, That as she was no Man, shee was not within the Condition of his Bond, and therefore (if so she pleased) he would not only give her full liberty, but also bring her unknowne to that haplesse Hermite, whom shee desired much to see, provided that shee should give him Gold, to bring him after to his native Home, and also bee directed by him, both for the [Page 120] meanes and the manner of theyr escape, and travaile. To this, she answered, that Prisons were no Treasure-houses, and that she had no Minte to answere her minde; onely some reserved Iewels she had, which she would give him. It shall (said he) suffice; Pitty pleades in your behalfe, your merit claymes redresse, and my feeling griefe, to see a Princesse so distrest, commandes the hazard of my Life. Be you but silent and secret, and you shall see, that I will de­ceive the waking eyes of encharged wisedome, and over-throw the heedfull care of reposed trust: And thus it must be: By the Print of the Keyes (which I will make in Waxe) will I make other like Keyes, by which all the doores shall congee to your Will, and give passage to your pleasure. Then will I have you, for our better security, homely atti­red with a Boxe under your arme, and Bone-lace hanging out of it, a payre of Shieres tyed to your Girdle, & a Yeard in your hand, that you may seeme to be, not what you are, but what in appearance I would have you shew to be. And I will with a Pedlers packe on my backe, well suited there­unto, travell along with you as your Husband: So shall wee both better escape, and avoyd suspition.

But how, sayd Vienna, shall Izabella bestow her selfe? She, sayd Poltron, must stay behind in Prison, to take away the knowledge of our flight; For after our departure, she must locke the doore againe, keepe your Bed with the Curtaines drawne, and lay your Cloathes by, most in sight; and when any comes into her, she must carefully say, that you are not well, and that you are layde downe to sleepe: So shall wee gaine time to prevent our hasty pur­suites, and she may after, at her will, repaire to some private Friend, in such disguise as I will provide for her. That (sayd Ʋienna) may not be; for I will never leave her, that hath never forsaken me; Nor will I without her, venture upon any such adventure.

Poltron seeing it would not otherwise be, yeelded, though unwilling thereunto, and like Sinnes Solicitor, mooved, that Izabella would play the Pedler, and he would [Page 121] become a Tinker, with his Budget on his backe, a leathe­ren coloured Apron before him, a Hammer under his Gir­dle, and a Brazen Ladle in one of his hands; And thus with his Face besmeared, would he goe a pretty way before them, as none of their company, and yet guide them in the way. So gallant a Bonelace-seller, so proud a Pedler, and so stoute a Tinker, all France will not patterne; But thus it must be, if you Madam will have your desire: Nor may you scorne that meanes, that promiseth assurance of Liberty, and hope of better Happe. The Gods to have theyr wills, disdained not to undertake the shape of Beastes; and wee must with the cunning Fowler, cloath our selves in Fea­thers, if we will deceive wylie Birdes. It is a Soare, no sinne, to betray Tyrannie; but a shift, no shame; to get Li­bertie.

These guilefull enticing words of his, and the betraying instructions of the deepe deceitefull Daulphinis, were (without any semblance of other reach) so smoothly, and passionately delivered, by this damnable and perfideous Villaine, that all his wily words were held as Oracles; and the further he seemed to be from her, the neerer still hee touched her to the quicke: In so much, that Vienna being blindly led in her over-affectionate desire, beyond the ly­mit of all due consideration, yeelded to referre her selfe to his Trust, and to fashion themselves according to his Direction.

Alasse Ʋienna, where disloyall Treason threatens thy ship­wracke, and where remorcelesse Murder is thy Plot, there assured danger must be thy Harbour, and reproachfull de­struction thy Host: Implacable malice pursues thee, invisi­ble fraude betrayes thee, and too late repentance, will I feare, learne thee, that they are most miserable that make themselves wretched examples to others. But how should Love (the Child of Folly) looke into a plot of policie, when unseduced wit can not see it, nor untainted wise­dome finde it. The apparance of Trueth, and the shew of Pitty, and simplicity, hath in all deceitfull Practises, sub­verted [Page 122] Cities, deposed Kings, defrauded Subiects of their Rightes, and taken away the guitlesse lives of Innocents. How then poore Princesse, couldst thou avoyd thy running upon the Sandes, though Armies of obiections did rise a­gainst thy doubtfull hazard; yet cannot thy good, though free intention, make thee faulty, though thy over-credulity in entertayning of conjectures made thee erre. Thy chast thoughts shines still, I see, in thy vertue; and thy vertue (by divine providence) must shield thee both from abusive shame, and from unexpected slaughter. But now Poltron had provided at Ʋiennas cost all materials; and the Ladies disroabing themselves, hid theyr attyres, and to cast a mist before the eyes of ignorance, they clothed them to the pur­pose, and at supper time, the night being darke, upon Poltrons watchword, who then stood sentinell, they came forth, pulling the doore after them: For locke it, Vienna would not, because it should appeare which way they came foorth, least vpō further search, they might find out La-No­uas private way, and so bring him into trouble, who at the time was in Flanders enquiring after his lost friend. The next morning their escape was discovered, the City was searcht, Poltron mist, and every way was full of inquisitors. But that nights travell, and their unsuspected disguise (be­ing the usuall habite of such wandring professors) brought them safe unto a great wood, that stood at the foot of a high hill in Languedoc, where he perswaded them the Hermit had his Cell. At the entrance whereof, Vienna stumbled, the dull earth forbidding thereby her further passage; and Jza­bellas eyes were suddenly, for the time, strucken blinde; as though, the feet of the one, were unwilling to bring their Mistris into perill: and the eyes of the other were ashamed to see such intended villany. But no presage can forstall de­sire, Love lookes altogether after theyr owne fancies, and consters all things according to her affections. This hel­hound, (the Divels agent,) seeing Vienna ready to fall, stept to her, and taking her by the arme, in shew to support her, led her into the thickest of the wood, where sodenly as one [Page 123] transformed, this seeming dove shewed himselfe a vulture; and like Cruelty her selfe, with imbosted mouth & staring eyes, he drew his short sword that hangd by his lustful side, and gashly swore, that if either of them made any noyse, he would forthwith kill them both: whereat the weake and wearied Ladyes, were so amazed, that all their sences were sencelesse, their tongues were bound to the peace by Iustice feare; they could not speake, nor durst not cry. Now Lust, the (execrable parent of murder) seeing her abashed beauty shine like the Sun through a Cloud, had so fiered his fancy, that where before it was but kindled by her lookes, now having her within his power, it did violently burne by the touch. Death must now forbeare, and attend his pleasure for his pleasure; and nothing could satisfie this Covetous Foxe, but after the stealing of the grapes, he meant to for­ridge the vine. To effect which, he turned Jzabellas face to a tree, and bound her armes round about the same, and notwithstanding, flatteringly promised them both their lives, if Vienna would but consent to his wanton will; If not, he then prodigally swore, that in dispight of all pow­er, he would gather the fruite, now it was ripe, and after leave their flaine bodies a prey unto the beasts of the field. Vienna, having recovered some spirit, and seeing the present danger, with elivated eyes, erected hands, & bowed knees, shee besought him not to sport in her misery, nor to spot his soule with the repenting pleasure of uncleannesse. Remember sayd she, that I am a Princesse, save but my honour, as thou art my mothers Sonne, and I will freely forgive thee my death as I am my fathers daughter. I seeke not life, but the honour of my life; for my long liv'd griefe, makes me hate life, and dispise death, But in the losse of my chiefest cherished care, my curses shall poyson thy salva­tion; and the wildfire of thy lust, shall burne up all thy worldly welfare, and make thee a speedy prey to speedy destruction. O let then my Chaste teares quench the flame of thy sinfull Concupiscence; blast not the beauty of the Lilly in the bud; deprive not the Rose of the fairnes of the [Page 124] blome; nor brand not thy selfe with the cursed name of a hatefull villaine. The fiercest Lyon hath no cruelty to hurt a Royall Virgine; Man was made to helpe, not to hurt a silly Mayd; and the Lord of hostes, hath countlesse plagues to punish such offenders. Thy carnall regard is but momen­tary, but thy shame will be everlasting, and thy punishment eternall; For repentance followes fruition; and the reward of sin is death. Thus did she pray, plead and intreat, and thus would she have disswaded him from doing evill, that never yet knew good. But his unruly passion, and thirst of blood, could brook neither intercession, nor interruption. His hot untamed desires prayd in ayde of force, which made her shricke, and call full loud on Gods Iustice for helpfull re­venge; when sodenly the angry heavens began to make warre against him, and to threaten him with a terrible voyce, sending foorth such fearefull thunder, lightning, and powerfull stormes, that force perforce, he was inforced to desist for the time. But as the wofull Ladyes continued still their shouting cryes; It fortuned that two Peasants that had Pomage in the wood, had beene seeking of their swine who by violence of the disturbed Skies, and wrathfull Ele­ments, had taken shelter under a Tree. As thus they silent stood, praying for preservation, they heard theyr dismall cries, and hasting (for so their good Angels would) to­wards the place of playnt, they found the obdurate Tray­tor attempting a fresh assault; which made, the swifter Man comming in with his Batte, to make him loose his lascivious hold.

This happy accident revived the dying heart of Ʋienna, and the guilty dread of Poltron, fearing to be taken, made him so desperate, that he both wounded and grounded the gentle Peasant; and as he endeavoured to take away his life, the other comming in, knockt out his braines. This speedy dispatch gave the Divell his due, & freed the Daul­phinis of all suspect, who otherwise had by Drugge taken order for his perpetuall concealements. The Ladies thus succoured, freed, and comforted, praysed God for their [Page 125] deliuerance, and thanked the poore Men for their assistance; And in guerdon of their so happie seruice, not knowing otherwise how to requite so great a good, they wished (concealing themselues) that they would bring them to the Gouernour of Viennois, who they knew would boun­tifully reward them. The vncapable Peasants, smyling thereat, told them, that they would not for Jasons Labour, seeke after Coridons Hyre: For Persons (said they) so vnremarkable, can neither pleasure nor profit greatnesse of State. To which, the Princesse answered, that by her meanes, they should deliuer into his hands, the two Ladies that were committed to his charge, and that lately had con­ueyed themselues out of Prison. This golden hope did winne their consents, and not onely refreshed them in their Trauaile, but also gaue speed to their Iourney: Only it contented Vienna, that she should by this meanes requite her Preseruers, though thereby she made her selfe a thrall to time and tyranny. Liberty could giue her no comfort, nor could she tell how hetter to dispose of her loathed Life, then to make her selfe a Prisoner to Loue and Fortune: The care she had of Isabella, made her the more sensetiue of her wrongs; And therefore turning towards her, shee softly said; Though the Fruit of the Olyfe-tree come late, yet is the Liquor both good and wholesome. The tyde now serueth, my deere Isabella, take thou the be­nefite thereof, and at last free thy selfe from participating of my further woes: Fortune hath bound my life prentise to her frownes, and I am resolued to serue out my time; then leaue me to my fate, and get thee to some more happy place, where my Prayers, and thy more fortunate Friends, may purchase thee more content.

Jsabellas impearled teares did publish her mislike, and in her griefe she said, that Loue neuer thought that time too long, that did hang on desert; and that sorrowes growne to a custome, were pleasing to miserable Creatures: Then what should seperate my attendance from your Grace, since without you I cannot liue, and with you I meane to [Page 126] dye. Ʋienna thanking her, joyed no little in her constant Fellowship: For Friendship is ever most sweetest, when Fortune is most sowrest.

Thus as they chatted, they came to Viennois, where she advised theyr two good Conductors, to wayt for the Go­vernours going to the Church, and then boldly to step to him, and secretly to proffer him the delivery of the Prin­cesse, and her Companion; which done, you shall private­ly bring us to him, unto whom wee will present what we have promised. The Peasants promise (having done ac­cording to instruction) made the Governour to rejoyce so at the newes, that hee returned backe to his house, and sent one of them for the Princesse, who yet was not knowne to bee the Princesse. Vpon theyr returne, Vienna with shew of Maiestie, thus greeted the Governour.

Let not my Lord Vray Esperance wonder at our disguise, nor question the Cause: It may suffice, you have your Pri­soners, and wee are content with our alotments: Reward well these honest Persons, that with hazard of then Lives, have not onely preserved our Honours and Lives but also freed you from many Cares, and saved you perhaps from dangerous troubles. This is all our desires, we know your charge, and willingly yeeld to your dispose. The Gover­nour baring (in due reverence) his aged head, with more teares of pittie then of joy, respectively saluted them, and giving the Peasants store of Crownes, humbly and courte­ously hee brought the Ladyes to their carefull Chamber, where wee well leave them to learne of Sirap, what successe wayted on his Babilonian endeavours.

Now had time, and travell, brought Sirap (whom wee left in his Iourney) unto Babilon; where the Soldan (to gra­tifie the Turke, and to shew his love to Vertue, and his esti­mation of Merit) entertayned him with all Magnificence, and variety of Kingly Delights. But after they had feasted, and spent some dayes in Courtly sports: Sirap being mind­full of his Lord, desired to see the City, with such Monu­ments and Antiquities, as were therein; which so well [Page 127] pleased the Soldan, that to honour him the more, hee ac­companyed him in person, still shewing him by his Inter­preter, all such places of note and worth, as then were there remaining: At length they past by, (for so their passage lay) the Castle wherein the Daulphin was imprisoned. Which Sir Sirap long viewing, commended, and in his praise thereof, demanded by his Interpreter, what Castle or Pallace that was, that was so well scituated, so stately built, and of such strength. And they told him, that it was called Mount Semerian, built of old by Semiramis, Queene unto the first great King of the Assyrian Monarchy, And that as then, there lay as prisoner one of the greatest Prin­ces of France in the Westerne Clime; knowne by the name of the Daulphin of Ʋiennois, Sirap seemed much to wonder both at the name and Country, as unheard of before, and therefore was desirous to see the stature, favour, cariage and manner of those men; and to learne, if he could, the nature, law, religion, custome, and State of the Countrey; which stoode so well with the Soldans liking, that both in one desire, went to the Castle to see, and to conferre with the Daulphin.

Now Sirap building on Boufoyes fidelity, as having some­what possest him with his purpose, and wrought him to his will; did vse him as an Interpretour betwixt him and the Daulphin: For hee would not altogether, yet discover himselfe to Boufoy, and therfore speaking to him in Greek, hee commanded that he should Salute the Daulphin in his name, and tell him, that as a Stranger hee was come to see him, and of meere humanity to visite him; which the Daulphin kindly accepting, as kindly regreeted, and enter­tained him with all the gracious remonstrances hee could. Sirap bad him then aske what his Country was, how great; by what lawes they were governed, under what title they were subiected, what Religion they observed, and what God they chiefly adored; unto which the Daulphin thus briefly answered.

France he said is my native nest, both most populous and [Page 128] spacious, as having in it 27. thousand Parish Churches; It is most fertill, and abounds in all plentifulnesse of fruits, wines, salt, corne, fish, and wild-fowle; There are many Vni­versities famous therein (the nursing mothers of all vertue) out of whose brests, youth drawes out the knowledge of all Arts; It hath many large Provinces; and divers aborde­ring Principalities owe homage thereunto: The Cities are great, and many; rich in Treasure: and fayre, and uni­forme in building; the chiefe whereof is Paris, famous for beauty and bignesse: the usuall residence of the King, and great trastique of all kinde of Marchandize. Our lawes are termed the ciuill Lawes, wherein Iustice is tempered, and qualified by equity and conscience; and equity and consci­ence are garded and maintained with Iustice. Our Monarch is entituled a King, the most Christian King of France, un­der whose protection his people live secure, inioying their owne; and under whose Greatnesse, his Subiects rest feare­lesse of forraigne foes. Our Religion is built upon Gods sa­cred Word: Truth is the roote thereof, Charity the branch, and good Workes the fruit. Our Pastors are our Teachers, who like Lampes consume themselves, to en­lighten others; theyr Doctrine is examined by the twelue Apostles: Our prayers by Christ taught six Petitions: Our Faith by the generall Creed; and our Lives by Gods tenne Commandements. And where the tongue of Aaron cannot perswade, there the Rod of Moses doth correct, and com­pell. Wee serve and worship one onely GOD, in persons Three: not confused, nor divided; but distinct: of one and the same divine Essence, eternity, power, and quality. God the Father, God the Sonne, and God the Holy Ghost. The Father being the first, chiefe, and originall cause of all things: The Sonne his Word and eternall wisedome: and the Holy Ghost his power, vertue, and efficacie. This is that God, that by his Word made the glorious Globe his seate, and the massie Earth his footstoole; that fed his ser­vants (the unprovided Israelites) with food from Heaven, forty yeares in the Wildernesse; that divided the Waters, [Page 129] and brought them dry-foote through the Red Sea, and drencht proud Pharaoh therin, that pursued them with mur­thering hearts. To him we offer no burnt offerings, nor sa­crifice of blood; but the sweet intercession of devout pray­ers. For those ceremonies ceased at the comming of Christ, by whom we are called Christians; and wee are received into his Church by Baptisme, and continued and fed there­in by the other Sacrament of his last Supper. And such is our Countrey, these our Lawes, such our King; this our Religion, and this the God we onely serve, love, feare, and adore. Sirap thanked him for his good description, and seemed to take pleasure in the knowledge thereof. Then he demanded how he brookt his Captivity, and hee answered like a Prince, and therefore like himselfe; as one subject to chance, and resolved in the change. Then he bad him aske whether he had any children, and hee all sighing said, but one onely daughter. Then Sirap caused him to aske why he then so sighed; and he replying said, that his sole soules griefe consisted in her memorry, and so made manifest his hard, cruell, and unnaturall dealing towards her; and how he had left her a prisoner to his tyranny, and therefore by divine Iustice made himselfe a prisoner to Tyranny. Sirap being thus certified, was well pleased that Vienna yet living, lived his permanent friend; and though hee grieved much for her endurance, yet did he smother up his conceived sorrow, in the recordation of her love. The thought of his exile, and Ʋiennaes thraldome, awaked Hatred and An­ger (the ready Offices of Revenge) to hasten his death: but in the eye of his milder consideration, knowing him to be his Lord, and Viennaes Father; his relenting heart checkd his repining humour, and blew the coales of his hotter de­sire, to seeke, and to effect his speedy deliverance. To com­passe which, he seeming (seemed of purpose) to take plea­sure in him, and understanding of his Countries customes, commodities, and government. And therefore he request­ed the Soldan for the continuance of his contentment, and for his further knowledge of forraigne affaires, to admit, [Page 128] [...] [Page 129] [...] [Page 130] and tollerate his thither repayre, that he might hereafter (if cause so required) reduce his learing to practice; which the Soldan graunting, gave in charge for his free accesse, and so they departed; the one glad in that hee had, or could gratisie so worthy a friend: the other proud, in that hee had sayde a foundation whereon to build. The two next dayes, Sirap spent in covertly revealings, wherein his ex­pertnesle, and carriage, did both win respect, and gave de­light. The third following day, hee with his Interpretour went to parley with the Daulphin, who dispairing of life, they found expecting death. But after they had greeted, and regreeted each other, with kinde salutes, Sirap told him by his Interpreter, that as a man hee bewayled his for­tune; and as he was a Prince, he lamented his fall. Yet dis­may not noble Lord, said he, since all corporall dammages, that happen to mortail men, are either by means remedied, by reason suffered, by time cured, or by death ended. Ma­licious and violent stormes may for the time cleave the barke from the tree, and rent the branches of his body; yet for all the furious blasts of wrathfull windes, it cannot bee pluckt up by the Roote. If there be a power above the ca­pacity of men, then may there come comfort, contrary to the conceit of men. Expectation in a weake minde, makes an evill greater, and a good lesse: but the resolved minde disgests an evill being come, and makes a future good pre­sent, before it come; Then expect the best, since you know the worst at the worst, will have an end.

The Daulphin conceiting the civill demeanour, the Phi­losophicall discourse, and the pious minde of the supposed impious and barbarous Moore, honoured his milde inclina­tion, wondered at his regular admonitions, and thanked him for his humane comforts & tender regard. My minde, mindfull (said Sirap) of Fortunes ficklenesse, affects (I know not how, nor wherefore) your deliverance: what then will the Daulphin give, if I affect the same? The Daulphin, whose smallest sayles of hope, the least windes did blowe, offered the third part of his Principality, when hee should [Page 131] come to Viennois. Promises said Sirap of advancement, are no assurances of enrichment, and he hath a wit too short of discretion that will loose certaine favours, for uncertaine fortunes. Notwithstanding, if you will but sweare unto me by that same God, which you serve and adore, to grant me one request that I shall make when I come to Viennois, I will endanger my life to free your life from danger; and leave, and loose my honours in Babylon, and Greece, to seale and feate my selfe with you in France: more you cannot de­sire, lesse (my Country Gods ayding me) I will not accom­plish. The Daulphin whose flattering hope, suddainly gave him a present assay of future happinesse, though at the first he was very credulous in entertaining such favourable con­jectures, yet hardly could hee ground any firme beleife; since knowing him to be but a Stranger, hee thought that such deepe wounds could not be searched with such shal­low Instruments. But at the last, referring all things to God, and to the will and wisdome of the supposed Moore; hee wholly embraced his kinde offer, and anchored all his hope, in his provident industry: unto whom, preferring life before livelihood, hee devoutly sware by his Fathers God, the onely one true God, and God of all Gods, in whom he chiefly, and onely trusted; that whatsoever hee would demaund, should be freely, absolutely, and willingly given him, In further consideration whereof, he gave him a rich Diamond, and his Interpretour a hundred French crownes, which for his vse, if neede required, he had closly hid be­twixt the lyning of the coller of his doublet. Sirap hold­ing himselfe satisfied, said, it sufficed. Onely hee required his continuall prayers for his better successe, and so left him, to feast his hopefull heart with the expectation of de­sired successe. The next day Sirap taking occasion to walk to Euphrates, that famous River that runnes by Babylon, there to view the variety of strange & severall small ships, he casually met, and secretly compounded with an avarous Pilot, whose corruption being gilded over with gold, he was to bring him downe the River through the Persian [Page 132] gulfe to the next Port Towne upon the Affricke shoare. The fifth following night hee appoynted to come a boord, attended onely with two men, and therefore gave him in charge, not onely to bee most secret therein, but also that he should make full provision of all requisites. This done, he presently gave forth, that hee would shortly depart, and returne to Constantinople; and the better to accomplish his desire without misdeeme; he determined (under colour of preparation, and fitly furnishing himselfe) to lye some few dayes in the Citie, before he would embarque himselfe. All which hee presently imparted to the Soldan, and humbly with prodigall thankes tooke his leave, saying, that his pe­riod of time, pleaded now his promis'd returne, which in no wise he would violate with the high commander of his thoughts, the great and Emperiall Turke, unto whom hee owed all obliged love, and most reverent respect. And therefore, if so it pleased his Majesty to command his rea­dy service in ought, hee would willingly attend his plea­sure, and by his Graces imployments, hold himselfe more then graced. The Soldan seeing he would depart, presen­ted him with many rich gifts of Royall estimate, holding himselfe no little bounden to his Gods, in that they had in­terested him in so noble & meritorious a friend: so blinded was hee with Siraps civill demeanour, and so dusked with Solimans powerfull commends, that he could not with Pa­limed pry now into the profundity of Ʋlysses. And there­fore requesting him to take in worth, those small remem­brances of his fast sealed love, he friendly bad him farewell, and so left him.

Sirap whose thoughts travailed now in quest after the Daulphins deliverance, got himselfe into the Citie, where he chambered himselfe in a Merchants house of great and good regard, where being once left, and seated; hee began to call his wits to account, how best he might best deceive the Daulphins Keeper. For providence preventeth misfor­tunes, and gives life to our future actions: And therefore he was neither carelesly, nor over-timorously suspitious of [Page 133] that, which might sinisterly, and suddenly succeede: but iealous, & headfull in the hazard, lest any over-sight might crosse his endeavours, and so leave his Lord helplesse, and himselfe haplesse. But after he had stretcht and tentred his wit, and set all possibilities on the racke of his invention; at length his desire carrying him beyond all doubt of dan­ger; hee armed his determination with steeled resolution, and setting his chance on the Dice, he thus attempted, and assayed his fortune.

The day before his departure, hee went unto the Castle where gently greeting the Keeper, he told him that he was to returne to Constantinople, and therefore finding himselfe engaged to him for his willing paines, and already ready shewed kindnesses, hee was come of purpose in person to invite him, and all his followers, (vnto whom he had been troublesome) to sup with him that night, that hee thereby might acknowledge his thankfulnesse, and they have cause to remember his love, and his person: And because (hee said) my Chamber is no receite, and that I am unwilling to be troublesome, or offensive to the Master of the house, let me entreate the use of the Castle, and so make you, my Host, and Guest at once. The Keeper blinded with his for­mer bounty, secured by the Soldan, and now drawne on, by the pleasing shew of kinde courtesie; knowing him (whom yet hee never knew) to be of a vertuous dispose, of great estimate, and highly favoured of the King; did freely, and gratefully offer himselfe, his service, and the Castle, at his command. The great unknowne distance, betwixt the Daulphins, and the Moores Countrey Clymes, with their admiration of each other, & the difference of their tongues could not make the gulled keeper suspitious, nor can cause him once to dreame of deceitfull guile. This illusion gave Sirap hope of happy successe, and therefore manifesting his thankfulnesse with a rich Iewell, that he (giving) required that he would weare it for his sake, he left him, and prodi­gally povided, what either his purse could procure, or the time would afford: Hee gave also further charge to his At­tendants, [Page 134] that the Table should be still and ever fully fur­nished, with many repleat Cups of Greekish Wine. For (said he) the cost is ill spared, that is spared for cost; and the beauty of the banquet is there eclips'd, where Jupiter raines not downe full showers of Nectar. As himselfe, hee had carefully and secretly before provided sleeping Poppy, heavy Darnell, and the mortifying juyce of life-bereaving Mandrake; with other powerfull powders, a small quantity whereof taken in drink, would make the Receiver fall into a most suddaine and deadly sleepe. This did he so secretly, and so frankely bestow amongst all the flaggon Pots, but one (which Bonfoy had in trusty charge reserved by marke for himselfe and his Lord) that every one had in full mea­sure, his dormative full waight. These poysoned Pots hee closely kept for the middle of the banquet; and Supper be­ing served in, Sirap seated every one in their due places, to the contentment of each one; and then he began to feast, and cheare his gladsome guests, and like a pleasant Idolist, merrily cheared his feasted friends. But in the end (they having no end in drinking) hee seeing them so deuoutly sa­crificing to Bacchus, hee to honour their Religion, added then more fatall fewell to their drunken fire. Theyr over-drawne Cups were still replenished with the powdered Wines, and ever he plyed them with Cups, till theyr Cups had over-plyed them: That drunke in theyr drowsie devo­tion, they falling into a leaden slumber, began to sleepe out all living consideration. Now Sirap seeing his hope, honou­red with some perfection, thought it fit to doe homage to opportunity; for in deferring of time, many times, it is both the losse of life, and occasion: And therefore adding execution to time, hee instantly went to make all such as were in the Castle sure; which done, hee came backe, and taking the keyes from the Keeper, (who with the rest of both their Servants, we will leave where they silent lay) he hastily went downe to the Daulphins lodging, where they found him prostrate on the ground, moystning the earth with his repenting teares, and piercing the heavens with [Page 135] his prayers, for the supposed Moores good successe; but before he could make an end of his prayers, Sirap came to end his prayers, and Purgatory at once; and releasing him from his oppressing Irons, brought him up to view Mor­pheus Comedy, which that dull God (with his ayde) had made, and prepared for his pleasure.

Now Time strucke his locke before, and it fitted not to argue what was done; or what was to be done, least they themselves might be undone; but giving praise to God in their severall shewed kindes, they presently buckled up their spirits, with theyr legges, like Bees, that having suckt the juyce of forraigne Gardens, make wing to their owne hives, that they may make merry with the fraught of their adventures. So did they hast to the back gate of the Castle, which they prizing open, went to the Rivers side, where the hyred Pilot courteously attended theyr comming: In a small vessell they imbarqued themselves, and sayled to the Persian Gulfe, and so a long to the Affricke Sea: Vpon the entry whereof, there crost them a great Pirat of Arabia, whose uncheckt fortunes, and vncontrouled strength still crown'd his hardest attempts with victory. But his Pride was now like a vapour, that ascending high, soone turneth into smoake. For he no sooner saw their small Frigot, but counting it his purchase, hee hastily made towards them, and looking for no resistance, hee grapled with them, and commanded them to yeeld. But Sirap being unwilling to loose the rich benefit of his high adventure, having no ac­quaintence with feare, and being ever accustomed to con­quer, drew forth his sleeping Semitar, which his enraged fury whetted so sharpe, that hee clove the first opposer downe to the backe, and sent the head of the next, as an Ambassadour, to plead for peace amongst the monsters of the Sea. The Daulphin seeing such great chips cut out of [Page 136] such rough timber, wondred at his force, and admired his valour; Death seemed now to hold a Sessions in the Ship, and Sirap still gave the summons for theyr appearance. For fearing least their entry into his Ship should endanger the Daulphin; he to prevent that, hazarded himselfe the more, by leaping in among his enemies, where his magnanimi­ous minde, armed with the arme of puissance, so disheart­ned his foes, that the Captaine fearing least any more should come to assist him, caused the ships to be ungrapled: And no sooner were they separated, but that the timorous Pi­lot wherein the Daulphin was, seeing himselfe severed from perill, began to turne the sterne of his Ship, and with a side winde to sayle backe; which Boufoy espying, thought it better to dye in adventure of his liberty, then to become a Captive againe to misery.

Despaire therefore made him valiant, and necessity did adde to his courage, which made him to exceed himselfe in might, and to goe beyond all hope in successe: For sud­dainly running the Pilot thorow with his sword, he woun­ded the next to him so sore, that he could not offend. The Daulphin seeing the successe of his bold attempt, raised his falne courage to the height of noble resolution; and un­sheathing his quiet sword that Sirap had given him, hee gave him such assistance, as his weake ability could afford. In the end, feare made them valiant, and their valour freed them from feare. The assaulted Saylers (being weapon­lesse) fell in theyr blood; and in theyr overthrowes, did the survivours submit themselves to the mercy of their swords Force now over-awed them, and they were compelled by Boufoy to make towards the other Ship, wherein Sirap was making an end of an unequall battell. For having at the first slaine their redoubted Captaine, hee wrested his approved broade shield from him, under which shelter, his encrea­sing valour made such slaughter, as of sixteene persons, he left but three alive, which as Boufoy came in, were pro­strate on their knees for pardon. But when Sirap saw them, and understood of their interaccident, he was more [Page 137] glad of their safeties, then he was of his owne victory. The Daulphin stood amazed when hee sawe the Shipt embost with scattered heads, devided armes, and dismembred legs; And in his admiration said, If he be but a man, how this? If more then a man, why this? Such forceable blowes, shewes a power beyond all humane power; and yet I see he is but a man, though hee hath done much more then many men. This estimate of his valour and worth, made him ever after respect him more for his incomparable prowesse, then hee did before for his deliverance. Boufoy now thought him­selfe happy in such a Master, and Sirap grew proud of such a servant. Love (the joy of nature) now sate in tryumph for their securities; and the wrathfull God of Warre, being wearied with destruction, layde him downe in the bed of peace: With these two Ships, they securely sayled, with windes suitable to their wills all along the coasts of Ma­gadoxa in Aethiopia, and so by Guine, where meeting with a Portugall Merchant, they hired the Pilot to bring them to Marselles.

Thus did the inscrutable providence of God, from iniu­rious and bad causes, produce good effects; making the ba­nishment of the one, to save the life of the other; and the love of liberty, to give liberty to love. The change that change of fortune wrought in them all, made theyr mindes more then pleasing Paradises of unspeakable pleasures. The Daulphin dreamed of nought but Majestie and Dignities; Boufoy of freedome and preferment: and Sirap his rich hopes promised him now golden fortunes: yet durst hee not unmaske himselfe, lest he should deprive Conceit of his new Christendome, and betray Policy of his chiefest pre­tence; but still holding the borrowed habite and artificiall colour of a blacke Moore, hee still spake unto the Daulphin by Boufoy his Interpreter, by whom he discoursed of many things: and againe, and againe, and still againe, enquired of such affaires, as most neerest did concerne him: wherein he tooke double delight, in not onely gaining knowledge of the assurance of Viennaes life and love: but in deceiving [Page 138] the Daulphin, that the Daulphin might thereby be the more deceiued. In this clouded communication, wee will leaue them a while, to see what befell Mal Fiance, whom we left detained in the Tauerne, ignorant of his Lords surprise, though not innocent of the cause.

Tenne dayes did the Vintner keepe him close, still ex­pecting that either the Merchant should returne, or that the Sanzake should send for his restrained guest. But when he could neither heare of the one, nor the other; hee began to grow jealous of the matter, and premeditating thereon at last, fastned on this beliefe; That the Merchant (like a subtill Mercurian) had cheated the stranger, and after left him, not onely to pay for the wine, but also made him a stale to conuay himselfe away vnder the face of honesty. For otherwise he thought, that if there had beene cause of taxation, complaint, or examination; there would no doubt haue beene hasty inquisition made after him.

In this perswasion he set Mal Fiance at liberty, who now found his repenting errour, in the losse of his Lord; Shame rebuk't his tongue, Griefe attach'd his heart, and Feare af­flicted all his thoughts. At this deare rate hee purchas'd wit; which taught him to labour more aduisedly in the fearefull search of the Daulphin; His enquiring eyes did still pry into euery corner of all his carefull and wandring wayes; and in all assemblies, hee sought whom hee could not finde. But when neither weary time, nor warie search, could giue him any knowledge of him. Then happily mee­ting with a Flemming, that was ready bound for Zeland, he went a shipbord with him, hoping that either hee should finde his Lord returned to Viennois, or giue them cause to follow him in better quest. After many dayes sayling they happily arriued at Middleburge, where in an olde decayed Burgamasters house, they lodged Mal Fiance; who finding the aged iealousie of his aged Host, cunningly caried him­selfe in a strict shew of purity; that vnder that deceit, hee might the better deceiue. This suspitious Syre, hauing not onely a beautifull daughter, but a young faire wife, whom [Page 139] lately hee had espoused, was so fearefully jealous of them both, that he confined them within the limit of his house; and if either of them were but out of his sight, hee straight supposed she was in action; A seruice which none can dis­gest, that may not themselues performe. But to take away all meanes that did helpe (not heale) his misdeemes; hee caused his daughter to lye in a lowbed within his Cham­ber, and made the doore to be lockt each night.

Now it fell out, that there was a great and secret loue be­twixt his daughter, and one Haunce, the sonne of a rich Tanner, that dwelt not farre from him, who by appoint­ment came presently after supper time to her Chamber window that lookt into the Garden, where he so passio­nately pleaded for the Haruest of his amorous desires, that she (being made of flesh not flint) granted that hee should reape the full fruition of his loue, if hee would but aduen­ture the venture of it. For so (said she) it is, that ouer and besides my Fathers watchfull feare, and euer waking iea­lousie, I doe lye neere vnto him, within his Chamber, where though I may easily giue you entrance, yet to entertaine you without his perceiuance, stands not with my beliefe. That matters not said Haunce, I will not leaue the venter, for any aduenture; leaue the managing thereof to me, who will for thy sake attempt the height of the hazard. Loue feares no danger; and pleasure without shew of perill, loo­seth the vigour of her sweetnesse: I will with feare so de­ceiue his feare; that I will take from him all apprehension of such feare. Onely bee not thou afraid at any thing that thou shalt heare, or see, and so farewell, and expect my comming.

All this wanton discourse did Mal Fiance listning heare, as by chance he leaned in his chamber window, which was but the bredth of a post from her window; who like a true Venerian (knowing their carnall conclusion) resolued to take the benefit of the match, though shee were more then his match, & to put into the Mediterranean Sea, when the winde should serue, in that pleasant Pinnace, wherein [Page 140] enhaunced Haunce hoped solely to sayle withioy through the Magellan straights. To affect which, hee sate in coun­sell with all his thoughts, how hee might best deceive, not onely hopefull Haunce, but also her jealous Father, and over-amorous Mother; who being sicke of old ages tedious, and over-long enduring debilities, had many times by her allu­ring eyes, stolne glaunces, and other enticing demeanours, lookt for Physick at his hands. At last, device advised him, that there was no way to binde jealousie to the peace, and to keepe himselfe from interruption, but onely by horrour of feare, to make him loose himselfe, and sencelesse of all other feare: In proofe whereof, that night, at the dead houre of heavy and leaden sleepe, hee tooke one of his bed sheetes, and tying a knot on the top, threw it over him, and like a troubled ghost, with doubtfull paces, went into the Burgamasters Chamber; who being kept waking by his decrepit griefes, heard the fall of his steps, and being so darke, that he could not see, he gastly askt who was there: None but I, said his watching sensuall daughter, supposing it had beene Haunce. Is the doore lockt said he: yes, quoth shee, you heard me locke it your selfe, and so shee did, but without the staple. Mal-Fiance being thus plannet-struc­ken, curst old Saturne for being now so opposite to Ʋenus, and in his pawse of doubtfull stay, hee light on this subtill shift; presently hee crept stealingly, vnder his bed, where finding a payre of bellowes, that carelesly had bin throwne, and left there; hee tooke them up, and softly rising by the beds head, hee blewe many suddaine and short blasts upon him, and then falling downe againe, he set his backe to the middle of the bed cordes; where with all his force, hee lif­ted the bed up as high as hee could, and then would let it softly fall, and then raising it up againe, would after let it fall suddainly; and then would he blast them with the bel­lowes againe, which so amazed and frighted the poore Burgamaster, that he could not speake, but fearefully crept over the head into the bed, and layd such fast (though sha­king) hands, on his wife, that he awaked her: who being [Page 141] held over-hard, demanded what so appaled him: who an­swered in a low voyce, that there was some tormenting spirit in the Chamber. Alas sweet (sayd shee) thinking it to be but the disease of his iealousie, you doe but dreame: there is no such thing, give mee leave to sleepe, since you cannot keepe me waking.

The Daughter, whose lustfull attendance, waked after veneriall copulation, hearing this, and knowing the falla­cie; could not but laugh at her Fathers deceiving, and be­traying feare, and in the pride of her naked strength, shee prepared her selfe (being then most ready, when shee was most unready) both to assay, and allay that trouble­some spirit.

Mal-Fiance hauing thus secured their stirring, by delu­ding their hearing, went boldly to the daughters bed, (the wished port, where he desired to arrive) where finding no opposition, she still deeming him to be Haunce, hee cast an­chor, that his barque might ride at full Sea: At which time Mars and Venus being in coniunction, produced such strange effects, that the bed wherein they say, did both shake and rocke; which her mother-in-law hearing, began to be halfe afraid, having heard nothing before: yet out of wonted boldnesse (which was great in bodily adventures) she called to her daughter, and asked her how shee did: I doe (quoth shee) well, and as well as any woman can doe. It is the better for you replyed the mother, but doe you not heare, nor feele any thing, I heare nothing (said shee) that is ill, and most assured I am, I feele no hurt. Well daughter said the Mother, blesse you, and crosse you well from all evill spirits. Nay mother (quoth shee) my faith herein hath ever beene so great, and so good, that I neither feare the devill, nor thinke any man is present that endan­gers me. All this while the poore Burgamaster lay over the head, in the sweat of his false fea [...]e, which did so tyrannize over his weaknesse, that he durst lye no longer, but hastily calling up his man, he bad him light a candle: For he would rise, and goe fetch his ghostly Father, Frier Fredericke, to [Page 142] come to blesse his Chamber, and to sprinkle it all over with holy water. His wife could not divert him from it; and his daughter, and her unknowne Paramour were ready to betray themselves with laughter; yet was Mal-Fiance glad to hide himselfe in the bed, whilst to prevent suspiti­on, the daughter rose, and took upon her to unlock the un­locked doores, by which time, the man came with a light, and getting his Master up, he holpe to array him, and after went with a Lanthorne with him to seeke the Frier. And no sooner were they gone, but in comes lascivious Haunce in the heat of his desire, like the Prince of darknes, cloathed in a Bulls hide, with the hornes on his head: (for it much behooved him to have hornes, that must leave hornes be­hinde him) who finding the doores open, made no stay till he came to the daughters bed, where hearing two breath, he softly shrunke backe, supposing it was the Fathers bed, and stumbling after by hap on the other bed, where the wife lay all alone, hee holding downe his head, softly said: feare not my Love, it is I, and so dismantling himselfe, layd him downe by her, who conceiting that it was Mal-Fiance that had taken the benefit of her husbands going forth, re­sisted not, but entertained him with all the full favours, that wanton love could affoord: (Thus doe womens light thoughts, many times make their husbands to have heavie heads:) But in this amorous combat, the very bed did proclaime their forceable encounters, and the fall of bed­staves well witnessed their fresh assaults; which the daugh­ter hearing, deemed that her restlesse mother was tormen­ted with some terrour of feare; and therefore calling to her, shee wished her to have a good heart, and not to yeeld to idle conceits, which but troubled the minde with decei­ving imaginations. The mother perceiving that some thing was perceived, & that they were heard; tooke upon her to be affrighted, and said; Alas daughter, some thing, I know, hath beene upon me, and if spirits have any substances, it is surely one; Cover your selfe well, said the daughter: By this enterchange of chatte. Haunce knew that hee had [Page 143] travailed in a by-path, which so distasted him, that his teeth gnashed together for anger, and Mal-Fiance lay laughing at the knowledge thereof, who remembring now, that Haunce would come in some fearefull shape, to make way for his pleasure, he thought to worke further on him, and to beat him with his owne weapon; And to give life to his device, he stole up, and creeping along the beds side where­in enchaffed Houace did lye, hee sought by feeling, and by feeling found, the hayry hide, which by handling thereof, hee knew well was a garment of his Fathers, and as hee threw it over him, with intent to frighten Haunce, he heard his Host and the Frier comming into the house; who came sooner then they were expected: Then was hee forc'd to runne behinde the dore, thinking by his hell like habite, to terrifie them all; and so get unknowne to his Chamber. Now Haunce perceiving light through the dore (for as yet the Frier durst not come in, till he had said divers Pater no­sters, & besprinkled the doore with his holywater sprinkle) leapd hastily out of his disliked bed, and failing to find his devils coate, he pulled the higher sheet out of the bed, and shrewding himselfe therein, went like a Ghost to the other side or the dore, thinking likewise thereby, so suddainly to fright them, that undiscovered he might escape. But the tardy-taken-women, that now were more afraid of shame, then they were before of sinne, were driven to such an exi­gent, that they knew not how to avoyd, neither rebuke, nor reproach; Their scarlet blushes accused them, and the holy Church was at the doore ready to condemne them. In this hell they lay, fearing to bee seene, untill the light which most they feared, freed them from those they most feared. For the new transformed devill, and the late meta­morphosed ghost, suddainly seeing each other by the light of the Candle, upon the opening of the dore, were so agast at the fearefull sight of either others terrifying, and un­knowne shapes, that they verily thought, that the divell, or some other ill spirit, were purposel come from hell to carie them away, for their sinfull assuming theyr damned [Page 144] formes, to such wicked and forbidden ends. In this feare and fearefull thought, they made such hast to runne away the one from the other, that they both rusht at once so forceably through the doore, that they beare the old Bur­gamaster downe, and turned the poore Frier over & over; in which fall hee pittifully brake his face on the housecill, and halfe drowned the Burgamaster with the Holy-water that he brought, and shed upon him. The carefull women though they were thus cleared of disgrace, yet were they so daunted at the sight of these incarnall divels, that they woefully cryed, and shrieked out; the servant with the Lan­thorne, as one distract, runne out of doores; Mal-Fiance as fearefully fled to his Chamber; and heartlesse Haunce most amazedly runne into the street after the servant; who looking for feare behind him, sawe this spirit P. running (as he thought) after him; which made him cry out Helpe, helpe, a spirit, a ghost; a ghost, a spirit.

The Watchmen comming by, and hearing him, thought the man was starke mad; but looking a side, they saw this affrighted, frightning ghost comming towards them, which put them all into such amazed feare, that they threw down theyr weapons, and runne away. The coast being thus cleared, unhappy Haunce got into his Father house. But now the next neighbours that had heard the wretched wo­mans shrieking cries, were risen, and having gotten lights, speedily came to see, and know the cause of their out-cries, And finding the Master of the house, and the Frier (whom feare had entranced) halfe dead on the floore, and the Frier all bloudied by his fall, they supposing, that they were slaine, instantly cryed out Murther, murther: The dismay­ed women (that all this while lay over theyr heads, in the bath of their sweating feare, doing pennance for their stoln pleasures) having their feare both renewed, and redoubled by these their cries; cried out as fast, the devill, the devill; at the hearing whereof, all the neighbours runne out of the house againe, and Mal-Fiance grew upon this dreadfull al­larum, so fearefully timorous, that hee durst not moove, [Page 145] though hee were more then moved. In this agonie of ter­rour, did they all lye till breake of day, when light (the comfort of darke dismay) emboldned the chiefe Officer (who of purpose was sent for) to enter into this house of horror, where raising them from that place of Purgatory; they found upon examination, that the devill had bin there, and was the cause of all theyr disturbances. But Mal-Fiance who now had made peace with his distracted thoughts; not onely found his owne error, but easily apprehended the shift and enforced subtilty of the other. For remembring that he had disfurnished Haunce of his blacke Mantle, and so prevented him of his infernall shape; he conceited, that hee had no other meanes to free himselfe, then by taking one of the sheets, and so by appearing like a ghost to make way for himselfe. In the beliefe of this conceit, he vowed that Haunce should well pay both for terrifying him, and for his planting in anothers Vineyard. And to this end, he seeking found him, and told him, that he had a very good Bull hide to sell him. Haunce knowing well where hee lay, was much astonisht thereat, and thanking him, said, He had no neede of any. Then (quoth Mal-Fiance) shall my Host have it, to make him a night-gowne; but you shall pay for the hornes, though you were so liberall as freely to give them. For in briefe Mr. Tanner, the abuse that you have offered mine Host, and the scandall that you have raised on his house, is so iniuriously great, and so shamefully iniuri­ous, that unlesse you will give me tenne pounds, I will un­case the Devill, and both reveale his adulterous dealing, and tell of your ghostly escape. Haunce seeing he was discove­red, bought his concealment with his coyne; which made Mal-Fiance so wanton, that being so well silver-shod for travaile, he discharged all his debts, and in the innocency of his thoughts, not dreaming after any danger, hee made more hast, then good speed to Ʋiennois. And no sooner was hee come, and knowne to be in Vienna, but that the Lord Vray Esperance sent for him, and demanded where his Soveraigne Lord the Daulphin was; who being unable [Page 146] to answer thereunto, was presently deemed, either to haue murthered him, or to haue betrayed him to his enemies: For it is a rule by obseruation true; that they that feare not to be thought faulty, will neither bee afraid to commit the fault, nor ashamed to be seene after the fact. His leauing (howsoeuer) of his Liege Lord, was held worthy ofdeath. And therefore was he sent bound hand and foote to prison, till rigour of justice should by speedy sentence award him condigne punishment.

But the bruite hereof, begat such tumultuous vproares, and brought forth such mischieuous factions, both in Court and Citty, that hardly could the tempest be allayed without the vtter subuersion of the state. For how should the low shurbs stands in rebellion, when the high Cedar was thought to be blowne downe by treason? In this combu­stion, some stood for the indubitate heire the Princesse Vi­enna, whose liberty they proudly required, amongst whom, Sir Iaques; and La-Noua were most forward. Some for the malicious and proud Dalphinis, whose Regencie many af­fected, But all malecontents, rupugnant humorists, disor­dered men, decayed persons, and seruile pesants (that thriue best in mutation of States, and liue by others falling, as Swine doe by the dropping of Acornes) flocked about Mon­sieur Maligne, the reputed bastard of the Daulphin, who ambitiously would needes (according to the wicked dispo­sition of illegitimates) depriue others by ruine and rapine of their rights, and appropriate to himselfe the Crowne. The fired fashions began to breake forth into flaming se­ditious; and masked Rebellion wayted but on time and ad­uantage, to vse open force against each other: The Com­mon-weale did well to see her destruction in this triumui­rie; Amongst these briers and brambles, that sought to ouer-top the stately Oake; awfull Iustice had no power­full place: Law was no force, and authority lost all com­mand. For where alteration threatens warre, there the sword maketh all things lawfull.

But when the Lord Vray Esperance, who was an Anthony [Page 147] in clemencie, a Traian in bounty, and another Augustus in wisedome, beloued of most, and respected of all; saw this tripertite, and diflentious diuision growing to such mon­strous heads: and hearing that many of the giddy headed multitude were already assembled together in the Market place, in a most confused manner, according to the muti­nous natures of the mutable Commons, fearing their apt­nest to innouation, and the sad effects of ciuill broyles, or some suddaine ouerture; leauing (because wanting) all time of further consideration, euen in the assurance of his ver­tue, and strength of his zeale to his Country, he suddenly went to the Market place, where all men (notwithstanding their distemperarures) gaue way to his merit, and in loue followed after him; so powerfull was he in popular affecti­on, which he perceiuing, stayed; and turning himselfe to­wards them, with teares in his eyes, and his Hat in his hands, more like an humble Suppliant, then a regall Ruler, he made a signe for audience; which graunted, hee mildly after some few sighes, said.

What moues my fast friends, louing fauorites, and more then deare Countrymen, to this threatning mutinie? What disturbes your quiet peace, or what seeke you by the hurtfull Armes? Doe you want a Prince? Why the Daulphin, your liege Lord (for ought that any knowes) liueth; and the Princesse his apparant heire is not dead. Doth any vsurpe your rights, or oppresse you with wrongs? Why justice shall giue to euery one his owne, and I am heere ready to shed my bloud in your behalfes. Or doth the bare suppose of your Soueraignes death, thus vn­timely moue you to create, and inuest a new, because Mal-Fiance is returned without his Lord? A proiect trust mee, that will being forth some notable deceitfull designe. If needs he must be dead, because none can heare tell that he is aliue; Why then should hee not be as well liuing, because here no one knowes that hee is dead? But admit that our sinnes haue (which God forbid) depriued vs of him, doth it follow, that the ambitious Daulphinis, or that degenerate [Page 148] Bastard Maligne, should succeed him? What though Vi­enna bee a prisoner to her Fathers will, and my faith must keepe her still a thrall to his severity? yet the Father dy­ing, the daughters bonds are broken, I discharged, and you tyed, to enthronize her for your lawfull Princesse.

Why then should there be any such disparity of minds, or diversity of affections amongst you, since you are all sud­iects born to one end, and Viennonians sworne to one right? What shall become of this Principality, when those that should unite themselves to maintaine the Weale-publique; doe thus divide themselves, to overthrow the publique weale? Know you not, that by thus banding your selves, you doe altogether abandon your selves?

Will not your insulting, and enchroaching neighbours (the proud Savonians) our inveterate and irreconciliable enemies, take advantage of your weakning of your owne strengths, enter forceably upon your rights, dispossesse you of your habitations, and make you aliens to your inhe­ritances? Yes, yes, be you assured, that hatred amongst friends, gives ever succour to Strangers: and that civill warres within you, will bring forraigne warres upon you. Looke on the Daulphinis, of whom I am loath to speak ill, yet in this, I know not how to speake well. Doth not her unwasted corruption and pride shew, that shee loves a Pal­lace better then her Paradice? that thinkes by shamefull re­bellion, to make her selfe a sinfull Queene?

Know you not, that they that are so greedy, so vnlaw­fully to get; will be ever as ready to doe wrong? What co­lour of claime can she have, that is neither royalized by propagation, nor extract from Princely or Noble blood? Shee had no authority given her in his highnesse rule; nor hath she any left her at his departure. It is, I see, onely her pride, that can suffer no equall, and Malignes ambition, that can brooke no Superiour: two fire-brands, that burnt up Romes most glorious Monarchy. O let them both then fall in their pride, that seeke so uniustly to flye before they have wings; and wash not your eyes, and hands, like Envy, [Page 149] in one anothers fall. In persisting to maintaine evill, Ma­ligne doth condemne himselfe; otherwise hee would not seeke to obtaine that with blood and shame; which he can neither get, nor keepe, without sinne and death, In all the Scriptures there was but one sole Bastard (only Iephiha) that did come to any good; and yet hee had the marke of the curse: for his all onely daughter was most sorrowfully sa­crificed for her great Fathers offence; And this was but to shew, that there is no perpetuity, nor long prosperity, in hatefull and condemned bastardy. And will you then make the corrupt and cursed seed, and excrement of sinne, your unlawfull Prince? that by all divine, nature, and nationall lawes, hath no inheritance on earth; and whom the Iewes counted as no part of their congregation.

If the Father be an Adulterer, and the Mother a Fornica­tor, the Sonne must in reason bee a bad liver, and a wicked governour. For he that is borne in double sinne, must of likely hood in nature, bee both subiect to many faults, and guilty of many offences. And how can polluted hands make foule vessels cleane? or how can he that is but the sonne of the people, be the sonne of the Daulphin? The Mothers ac­knowledgement, and protestation, is no proofe; that ever fathers them on those that can best maintaine them. Shee cannot be true to one, that is untrue to her selfe: Corrup­tion will still breake out there, where it is once festered, How then can you affect the sonne of shame, or without shame, yeeld your selves subiect to the Sonne of a strumpet? If his desire be beyond his merit and reach, let him fall be­sides his hopes, and receive just guerdon for his deserts. As for the vertuous Princesse, whose right I reverence and whose worth I admire. Let her yet remaine (though with better respect) where shee is. For it is not good over-sud­dainely to open a wound, that hath long beene closed up. The greatest right, may doe the most wrong, and the omis­sion of a good action, is no sinne; when it cannot be done without committing of sinne. I have sworne to her Father, and would bee found faithfull to my Lord; I affect not go­vernment: [Page 150] For in this, I am but like the Sunne that carries his Lanthorne for others, and not for himselfe. It is better to be doubtfull then over-credulous; and the uncertainty of his death, is no warrant for my discharge, nor your disobe­dience. There is time for all things, and the Moone that is not yet risen, may rise, & shine in full glory, though now she be eclipsed. What more would you have, or what further (O you fond Viennonians) doe you endeavour to affect? Will you turne Traytors to your Lord, rip up your owne bowels, make your wives widdowes, and your children fa­therlesse, and helplesse? Will you put fire to your owne houses, possesse your foes with your wives, and wealthes: see your daughters deflowred, and make an utter devastati­on of your Countrey?

Alas, I see your wilfulnesse betrayes your wits, & drawes on your overthrowes into your enemies tryumphes; and griefe makes me to shed teares of blood for your owne pur­chased destructions. Let me at last, O let me in love, and tender care of your welfares, dehort you from wounding of your selves, and leave these ill presaging jarres amongst you; and like birdes of one flocke, flye together; Maintaine your sacred oathes, for the preservation of your Sove­raignes right, till better assurance acquite you from your obliged faithes. To hasten the knowledge whereof, I will wing many Messengers with speede, to enquire, and learne what is become of our Soveraigne Lord, with that the teares did trickle downe his face, which struck such a com­passionate regard in all their hearts, that being before made sensitive of their errours, and now fully satisfied, and reclai­med by his tongue of perswasion; they ioyfully threw up their Hattes, and some lifting him up, cried, God save the Daulphin, and the Lord Vray Esperance, under whose go­vernment we will onely live. Thus did his pleasing words, powerfull authority, milde behaviour, refined and probable seasons, and subtilized distinction, allay the force of the approaching storme, and gave such contentment to all, that every one departing in love, brought home peace to their neighbours.

[Page 151] Thus did this noble Governour (like a good and a skil­full Musicioner) put all this iarring discord, in a good, and true time; which so crost the hatefull hopes of malicious Maligne, that failing of native strength, and rebellious for­ces, to dignifie his indignities; hee suddainly fled unto the Savoy Duke, to require forraigne ayde, to royallize his proud basenesse. Such was his aspiring wrath, that it had no meane, and such his Treason, that it had no end. Feare made him now doubt the rigour of law, that before would have beene subiect to no law: and therefore did hee in such unstable waters, and threatning windes, seeke for more powerfull eares; which the subtile Duke well perceiving, thought to feede on him, as Pharaohs leane Kine did on the fat:

But before he went, he advised thereof with his politick and sworne considerate friend, Monsieur Meschant, whose false semblable mindes, ever made such a full connexion of wills betwixt them, as what the one pernitiously contrived, the other most trayterously put in practise. And therefore Meschant seeing him already over the shooes in danger, perswaded him to wade up to the chinne: For, said hee, There can never be any perill in the adventure, where the Foord promiseth so good a passage. Danger now onely dwels at home, and the Savoy Duke may both fortifie your hope, and raise your fortunes. Offer him but interest in the Daulphin, & you shall find that his avarice & pride will in that hope, greedily worke on our broken and disturbed state. So then happily with speede, and most powerfully and successively; may you returne; and as prevailent may your successe bee, as your going is most pertinent. And therewithall, he tooke a sheete of cleane paper, and laying both sides straight together, he cut divers rowes through them both; and after cutting them a sunder, he kept the one halfe himselfe, and gave the other, saying:

By this, and through this, shall you (without either dan­ger to me, or perceivance of any other) still know what is here done, and what I would have you further to doe. For [Page 152] though I writ my Letters directly, and most distastfully against your Apostacie, and combination with the publipue foe, and aduise you to betray that noble Duke, (which for my safety I must still doe, lest in the portage, or otherwise, my Letters should miscarry) yet shall you easily at all times unmaske my intended intelligence, and finde out both my fallacie, and true instructions: if you but take this your cut patterne, and lay it one my Letter, where you shall plainly, and formally, reade through the same, no more, then what I purposely in truth doe write vnto you, & would willing­ly enfeoffe you with. In like manner (as I will teach you) may you safely by the same illusion, certifie me, of all your proiects and designes.

Maligne thanked him, prayed his remembrance thereof, and so bad him farewell. For feare sent him post away, and hope gaue him such speede, as in short time he came to the Dukes Court, where after hee had most respectiuely saluted him, he related, how that the Daulphin his father was dead, and that the Lord Vray Esperance affecting gouerment, most ambitiously sought to retaine his vsurped rule. That the Princesse Vienna was in prison vnregarded of all; and that he had himselfe, many strong and assured fauorites, that would stand for his fortune. In furtherance whereof, hee was come to pray his assistance, and for guerdon thereof, he would interrest him in that halfe of Daulphine, that lay next vnto him.

Thus did he seeke his owne ruine with great labour, and buy repentance with bloudy cost. Thus did he make him­selfe a Bridge for the encroaching Duke to enter vpon his Country: And this gap did he open, that the Sauonian for­ces might like an inundation submerge, and ouerwhelme both himselfe, and the whole body of the State. For the Duke who euer wayted on opportunity, and still watched how the Market went, finding now the Myne discouered; he thought good to make profit thereof, and to take the benefit of the Tide, while the floud serued. And therefore he embraced the person, for the occasion; and promising [Page 153] him helpe (but with Judas subtilty to make himselfe rich) hee leavyed Forty thousand men well appointed, with whom, with all affected expedition, hee instantly in person, went to fish in Ʋiennois troubled water, with­out making any Conscience of thrusting his Sickle into anothers Harvest. The opinion of possibility so redou­bled his unbounded desires, that hee thought that time too long, that hee spent in going: But it had beene bet­ter for him, with the Tortoise, to have kept his head with­in his owne shell, then by seeking so abroad, to raise his fortunes out of anothers ruines.

For that carefull Shepheard (the ever watchfull Gover­nour) being now summoned by wastfull Warre, to defend both his Flocke, and his Folde, stood not now like a doubt­full Chyrurgion, to consult of the ripenesse of the sore; but like an expert Captaine (that at the first, would prevent fury by force) hee suddainly raised 30000. men, whom in pride of his aged age, he himselfe led into Daulphine, to en­counter with the iniurious and intruding Duke.

Now Mescant hearing that the Duke and Maligne, were entred into Daulphine, and seeing the present pre­paration, and hasty march, that the governour now made against them; He instantly writ unto Maligne thereof, and thus deceitfully disguised his subtill intelligences.

Thus in a faire Cup of gold did this pestiferous Meschant utter his hidden poyson; And under the apparant shew of honest loyalty, did hee give both treacherous intelligence, and dangerous instructions to the hostile Enemy. For Ma­ligne upon the receite of this Letter, layd his patterne ther­on, and so read his subtill & cloked advertisements through the same, as by laying downe, and covering this his Letter, with this exampled patterne, you may plainely perceiue.

By this time had the Daulphin, and Sir Sirap (after tedi­ous travaile) recovered Marcelles in Province, through [Page 155] which they past unknowne into Daulphin; where the Daulphin finding his Countrey, in his declining dayes, co­vered over with Campes, Carriages, barbed Horses, and ar­med Souldiers; he amazedly asked, and asking learned, the unexpected cause thereof; which made him bewaile his si­nister fortunes, and envie no little against that impious ab­ject, his accursed supposed sonne. Griefe now made him weepe at his Countries calamity, and feare made him doubt his owne deprivation. The Harvest of his sinnes, yeelded him now more increase of woes; then the lusts of his youth afforded him pleasures. But how should (said the sorrowfull Daulphin) hee that is begotten in my full sin, and borne in his owne shame; live without doing villany, or dye without making mischiefe? If his being bee from me, why then should he seeke to take from me my being? And if he be none of mine, what then hath he to doe with it, which is mine? but he is not mine, but the sonne of ini­quity, and scorne of nature; and therefore knowes neither his shamelesse selfe, nor his sinfull father. I nourished him (as a Snake) in the bosome of my love, and now hee would sting mee to death, in the poyson of his hate. O how just are the judgements of God, that payes our amisse, in the amisse of our offences, and makes our wicked pleasures our just punishments.

In this bemoaning fury, did hee call for vengeance to be powred downe on Maligne; which Sirap seeing, could not but grieue at his sad lamentations, though otherwise he re­joyced, that occasion presented unto him both a meanes to shew there his prowesse; and a way to make his Countrey indebted to his valour. For as a stranger he knew he should winne honour, and after gaine (being made knowne) more respect. The wrath of Warre hee did not feare, nor made hee any doubt of his Countries safety. And therefore hee chearefully commanded Boufoy to comfort the distressed Daulphin, and to assure him, that the God of the Viennoni­ans had brought him thither, in iustice, both to punish the treacherie of his degenerate sonne; and also to correct the [Page 156] insulting pride of the intruding Duke; in both whose am­bitious blouds, hee vowed to bath his revengefull Sword, and by force of the Viennonian forces, to overthrow all the Savonians. Only intreate him to take up the heate of his in­dignation in the embers, and to keepe himselfe unknowne that thereby he might both receive a true tryall of his Sub­jects forces, and fidelities; and the easier escape, and sup­port himselfe, after, with forraigne supplyes, if the Vien­nonians should unhappily be vanquisht. As for himselfe, he would (when they were hottest in battaile) suddainly thrust himselfe amongst them, where he would write such Tragedies in his enemies bloud, that weeping repentance should teach them, what it is, to invade anothers right, and to displant the true Vine. His Highnesse and Boufoy, I would have them, like two peaceable Pilgrims, to stand safely aloofe, and to view the hazard of the game, till the last chance be cast, and then secretly to convey themselves to some cave in the neere adioyning Wood, whether in the darke of night I will undiscryed repaire, and further con­sult what after is to bee done. To this the animated Daul­phin subscribed. For in his vertuous valour, and practive knowledge, did he build his new raised hope; and on his unresistable force, & most fortunate atchievements, did his comfort depend.

Now Sirap having ever about him his never failing Se­mitar, wherewith he vanquisht Turbulent the fierce, and being furnished with the Shield, & Armour, that he force­ably tooke from the Captaine of the Pirats in the Affricke Seas; he made all things in readines, and instantly sent Bon­foy to the next Towne with his Shield, to cause a Painter to draw omit a disturbed waved Sea and in the middest there­of a crowned Daulphin, driving other Fishes before him, and striking many under the waves with his tayle, with this Impresse under. Crowned to Conquer.

Thus did the Daulphins unknowne Knight, in honour of the Daulphin, make himselfe the Knight of the Daulphin. But by this time the two Armies marching both on, affron­ted [Page 157] each other in sight, which made the Sauoy Duke, to make a stand, and to set his men in good array of Battaile, which he deuided in two parts. The first were his troupes of Horse, which he assigned to be conducted by the Bastard Maligne. The other, consisting of Foote, he led himselfe. In this equipage he soberly marcht, till he came to a spaci­ous Playne, neere to Andre, where hee preparedly stayed the comming on of the Viennonians, who being well Mar­shalled in one meane Battaile, Cressat-wise, with two wings of Horse on either side, came on apace, by the Com­mand of their good Generall, the L. Vray Esperance; vnto whom, honour gaue spurres; his place, faithfulnesse; and the loue of his Country courage.

Maligne heartned on the Duke with the false assurance of the Viennoians revolt, and the hope to incorporate that Principality to his owne, haled him on the more to that bloudy bargaine. For the charge being giuen, Desire, and Reuenge, encountred each other with such fury, that the Battaile was long in suspence. Victory enclining to neither side, till at last, the Troupe of the Sauonian Horses disranked both the Wings of the Viennoians, and brake in vpon the squadron of the Foote, with such violence, that they began to stagger, and giue backe. When the all-valarous, and in­uincible Sirap, the Knight of the Daulphin, came fortunatly in, who finding where danger dwelled most, there hee op­posed himselfe, and like to a suddaine Tempest, bare downe all before him. His desire to approue himselfe in his Coun­tries defence, and his implaceable wrath against those, that sought to defeat Vienna of her right, and to defraud him of the comfort of his hope, made his blowes fall like thunder, and his sword to cut like the Executioners Axe. None could stand before him, nor durst there any come neere him; which so encouraged the disheartned remainder of the Viennonian Caualirie, that they rank'd themselues a­gaine, and came vp to second him. This fresh, and new assault, disordered, and dismayed the Sauonian Troupes, who now fought fearefully, and confusedly; which Maligne per­ceiving, [Page 158] purposely, and fatally brought up all his Forces, and begirt him round, thinking so to end the Battaile, by making an end of him, that both had ended so many of their lives, & only maintained the Battell. In this danger, did the undaunted Knight of the Daulphin fight so long, that his Horse was slaine under him, which he with great agility well and quickly avoyded, and being on foote, perceived his other selfe, his entire deere friend La-nova (whom hee knew by his coate Armour) to lye in the dust. This sight was such an Alarum to waken Revenge, that he grew now more furiously wrathfull, and more irefully impatient then before; and being desirous to recover his body, hee despe­rately strid over him, and like valiant Hector amidst the be­girting Myrmidons, he stood to withstand all assaylers. La­nova being thus freed from the smothering feet of his Ene­mies, having had time of breathing, came to himselfe (for he was not mortally wounded) and began to stirre, which being found, and perceived by the Knight of the Daulphin, (maugre all the force of his swarming and pressing foes) he tooke him up, and bare him to the Lord Vray Esperance, unto whom, kissing him oft, in manifestation of his love, he delivered him, with many speaking signes, that hee should be sent safely away. The Generall who had seene with the eyes of admiration, the incomprehensible force, and unva­luable valour of this unknowne Knight, respectively recei­ved him, and accordingly sent him to the next Towne, and then having already brought up his strength of Foote, of purpose to succour the Daulphin Knight, he followed him in his bloudy passage, with intent to horse him againe, lest he should miscary in that perill: In this desire, he came on so furiously fast, that the Savoy Duke seeing the rage of this tempestuous floud, to over-beare Malignes Forces, advan­ced his maine Battaile and like a terrible storme, fell upon the Viennonians. But this lightning lasted not long, for the Knight of the Daulphin perceiving that now the dice was cast, and that they both were to abide their last chance, sum­moned all his strength together, and in the vigour of his [Page 159] displeased courage, meeting with Maligne, he smote him so on his Burganet, that he fell'd him, sore wounded to the earth, where being no respight for rescue, he was smothe­red, and troden to death.

Now notwithstanding, the withstanding Savonians, the Knight of the Daulphin tooke Malignes Horse, and in de­spight of all interruption, hee lightly mounted on him, and with his confounding sword, he made such a slaughter, that he found little resistance. This remarkable act, gave not on­ly fresh hope, but new life to Esperance, who wondred not so much, at who hee was, as at what he did; and yet hee thought he must be more then a man, that did more then a man could doe. But the doubtfull Daulphin standing all this while aloofe, joyfully beholding the heroicall deeds, of his second Saviour, said unto Boufoy, that Siraps valour was be­yond all apprehension, his courage above conceit, his puis­sance more then humane, and his deedes surmounting all opinion.

By him, said he, I have my second being; and by him I see, I shall still be a Prince; O would, and as he would have proceeded further, hee made a stay to behold the distempe­red Duke, who seeing his men discomforted and slaine, most by this alone Knight, came in with a troupe of reserue; whom hee had commanded, to unite all their forces toge­ther, and bend themselves wholly for the taking, or kil­ling of this unknown Hercules, the most redoubted Knight of the Daulphin; but costly experience made them loath to come so neare him, as to hurt him, least breaking the rule of pitty, they should be guilty of their owne deathes. Yet in some presumption, both of their number, and Armour; they faintly assaulted him to theyr repenting detrements. In this fresh conflict, the Knight of the Daulphins Beaver was broken; and fell downe, which much more advantaged [Page 160] then endammaged, or endangered him. For the Enemies seeing his blacke hew, and his wrathfull eyes (being then kindled a new with anger) shining like fire, were suddainly appald with such dread, and fearfull amazement, that (hold­ing him rather an infernall spirit, then a mortall man) they began to recoyle, and to flye from him like a great Covie of frighted Partridges, from the first pursute of a fierce Faulcon; whereupon he flourished his Conquering sword, and cried out in Greeke, Victory, Victory, and then followed them with such raging fury, that hee hewed out his way in bloud, till he encountred that proud innading Duke, whom hee knew by his rich Armour, and thinking now to make an end of both him and the Battaile at once, he lifted up his controuling and quelling arme, and so enragedly smote him on the side of his helmet, that neither the steele, nor the temper, could secure him from that fatall and inevitable blowe; but as all men fall that seekes to build up their for­tunes upon others ruines; so fell hee now (in the height of his hope) breathlesse to the ground. Then began the Savo­nians to flye on all hands, and light unharnessed legges were better then well approved armes. Most of them were slain, few escaped, the rest were taken prisoners.

Night drawing on, the Generall, the Lord Vray Esperance commanded to sound the Retrait. But the Knight of the Daulphin purposely pursued the Chase, that in the darke­nesse of night hee might the better convay himselfe away, and undiscovered goe (as he did) to the Wood, where the glad Daulphin ioyfully attended him: And no sooner did hee see him, but that with teares of ioy, that in triumph, trickled downe his cheekes, he hasted to embrace him, and impalling him within the circuit of his armes, he held him fast, his tongue failing to bee messenger of his thankefull heart. For in this passion,

[Page 161] But after his full heart had a little enioyed it selfe, and somewhat digested his surfet of ioy. Then, then, his tongue was enabled to applaud his victory; and he both crowned his prowesse with loud resounding praises, and gave him more then many thankes for his most glorious and happy labours; And now with more regard, did he not onely in­dustriate himselfe, to doe him all the kinde offices of loue, but also humbly offered to unarme him, which in no wise Sirap would permit, but wearied with that dayes travaile, he betook himselfe to his rest; where his restlesse thoughts began a new Warre betwixt his desire, and determination: faine would he have seene her, whom hee loved more then his life, and yet to deliberate well on things profitable, hee held to bee a most provident delay, At last hee resolved to keepe himselfe, and them unknowne for some few dayes, that the Country might be setled in peace, and he see what course would be held both for Vienna, and for the govern­ment. In the interim hee might the better conclude with himselfe, for his owne affaires. O noble, noble Paris, more noble then those, that are enobled with flattering and fa­ding titles. How loving art thou true? How truely wise, and vertuous; that not only canst without pride conquer thy foes; but also without folly (beyond nature) command to owne and deerest affections. If that wanton Trojan had had the like sympathie of minde, and the same stable since­rity of heart, as he had the likenesse, and unity of thy name; Troy had beene unconquered, and hee had lived longer and in greater glory. But let us returne to the Lord Vray Espe­rance, who after the overthrow and ejectment of the Savo­mans, had posting newes brought him, that the masicious and imperious Daulphinis, upon notice of the victory, fell suddainely dead. She could live no longer, that had no hope to rule any longer: He pride and desire of Soveraignety, could neither brooke subjection, nor endure controlment; Besides the guilt of her owne evill, proclaimed her death; and the feare of loosing her life, was the losse of her life. Such is the nature of greatnesse, that but crost in their am­bitious [Page 162] courses, they shrinke under the waight of their owne burthenous pride. But her remove, moved not so much the good Governour, as the misse of their glorious preserver, that invincible and all admirable Knight of the Daulphin, that to their amazement, had so oft relieved their weakned forces, rescued their fainting endangered friends, repuls'd their oppressing Enemies, slaine most of their best Commanders, daunted the whole Armie, & at two blowes, overthrowne and killed the malignant Maligne, and the proud ambitious Duke, that potent Generall: Then hee caused inquisition to be made throughout all his territories after him, and rich rewards promised to him that could, or should give knowledge of him: but no one could shew what he was, nor where he was: onely some declared, that his Beaver being broken in Battaile, they sawe his face as blacke as darknesse, and his eyes as bright as fire; which made the Governor doubtfull, whether he were a man, that did more then many men; or no man that could not be sub­dued by an hoast of men; or that the all-mercifull God in fa­vor of their distressed right, had sent some of his correcting Ministers, to chasten, and powre vengeance on the hatefull heads of their uniust foes. But the Warre being thus ended, Peace called a counsell for the further establishing of tran­quillity; And the consideration of these bloudy iarres, con­demned poore Mal-Fiance to dye; not onely for leaving his Lord, and being unable to give account of his Soveraignes life; but also for being the first cause of perturbation in the State, and after of forraigne invasion. The losse of so many of their lives, made them all thirst after his death; To ha­sten which, they brought him the next day to the place of execution, where happily the Daulphin, and Sirap, with his man Boufoy, came by all in Pilgrims gownes, as they were (by agreement) going to the Citie; who seeing and under­standing the cause of that Assembly, withdrew themselves, and upon short consultation, they sent Boufoy to the Gover­nour (who needes would bee there to heare his latest Con­fession) that he might learne somewhat concerning his be­loved [Page 163] Lord.) Of him did Boufoy, knowing now the cause) in the name of his Master, the Knight of the Daulphin, re­quire that Mal-Fiance should be delivered unto him; which granted, hee would undertake to bring them to the Daul­phin. In assurance whereof, he (unfolding his Gowne) ten­dered the honour of his Masters shield, as a pledge for his performance; which when the Lord Vray Esperance saw, hee knew it by the devise thereon, to bee the same, that the Knight of the Daulphin carried in Battaile, and therefore he joyfully tooke it, and kissing it reverently, sayd; That that remarkable badge of his all-vertuous, and most glorious worth, (besides the glad tydings he delivered of their gra­cious Lord) was more then sufficient, to redeeme a world of lives; And therefore presenting Mal-Fiance unto him, hee prayed that they might both see the Daulphin, and the Daulphin Knight, whom next to the Daulphin; both hee, and all the Ʋiennonians, did, and would ever honour, as their sole and onely preserving Patron; And then taking his Chayne from about his necke, hee gave it him, saying: Let this bee a witnesse of my gratefulnesse, and truly tell thee, with that true joy I entertaine thy welcome tydings. Bou­foy humbly thanked his honour, and requested him, that he would bee pleased to see how hee bestowed Mal-Fiance, whom he brought unto the other two Pilgrims, that were walking a little aside from them. But when the Daulphin had discovered himselfe unto him, Mal-Fiance fell downe at his feet for mercy, and rising, threw up his Hat into the ayre, and cryed aloud, the Daulphin, the Daulphin, God save my Lord the DAVLPHIN.

This unexpected, and most fortunate accident, made all the company at the hearing therof, to showt for ioy: And the good Vray Esperance hastily lighting from his Horse, fell upon his knee, and kissing his hand, sayd; Long may my Liege Lord the Daulphin live. Whereat the Daulphin ray­sing him, embraced him, and told him, that as his loyaltie was crowned with renowne, so would he adde honour, and reward to his vertues. But forget not, sayd hee, my Lord, [Page 164] to welcome this noble and heroicall Moore, the thrice wor­thy Knight of the Daulphin, that both hath preserved mee from death and thraldome, and delivered you, & my Coun­try from our oppressing foes. O with what ioy, and asto­nishment, did then this loyall reioycing Lord hasten to kneele unto him: For though he held him lesse then a God, yet he thought he could not be, but more then a man: But Sirap staying him, greeted him with all the demonstrations of love, and reverent respect. This done, they mounted both the Daulphin, and this magnificent Moore, who needs would both ride bare-fac'd in theyr Pilgrime Gownes through the Citie; Mal-Fiance waited on the Daulphins stirope and Boufoy manly carried his Masters Shield before him, and after went the Lord Ʋray Esperance, with all the rest of their retinue.

Now their approach was no sooner knowne in Vienna, but that they knew their welcomes by their rejoycing bels stately boone-fires, and triumphing hearts.

Hardly could they passe for presse of people, still they came running to see them, especially the Knight of the Daulphin, whom they admired for his fame, honoured for his great atchievements, and lov'd for their protection. Sirap seemed much to admire the French, whom the French themselvs did more then admire. But in viewing the whole Troupe, his observing eye, light by chance on his fast friend La-nova, at which sight, hee sighed, yet thought himselfe happy in the sight. Thus rode they on triumphant in them­selves, and honoured of all. At length they came to the Pa­lace gate, where dismounting themselves, the Daulphin now happy in being the Daulphin, could not but shed swel­ling teares, in tender remembrance of his too well beloved Wife.

But as the Generall of an Armie, buries all the remem­brance of his lost friend, in the pride and triumph of his Conquest: so did the Daulphins freedome from many pe­rils, and the artainement to his neere lost principality, ex­tinguish all sorrow and memory of the dead Daulphinis. [Page 165] So that wiping his eyes, he turned himselfe towards Sirap, and embracing him, said; Most worthy Knight, and my dearest friend, welcome to my Court to my selfe, and all that is mine: This Pallace, my Countrey, and I, are all at your dispose; For so in my particular obligation, and by your merritorious and pleading deserts, am I bound unto you: And longer may not I enioy what I now possesse, then you shall finde my promises full laden with rich perfor­mance. And be further assured, that as I onely live through your love, and raigne altogether by your valour, so will I ever owe you fealty for my life, and still doe you homage for my Crowne. Sirap understanding thus much by Bou­foy, returned him humble thankes for his so gratefull and high esteeme, both of himselfe, and his poore endeavours; with protestation that he neither wish'd, nor expected so great, and undeseruing guerdons; but still held himselfe most indebted vnto his owne desires, to doe him all further possible service.

This interchange of kindnesses, gave contentment to them both, and was most pleasing to the Daulphin, who yet fed so on his fresh feeling happinesse, that he gave in charge that all his Subiects should honour Sirap, as him­selfe, and hold his will, as the will of their Lord; For so (he said) is your Lords will, that next to the Lord of hoasts, holds his life, and living of him. Then told he them, how and with what hazard of his life, hee had redeemed him, from most base bondage, and cruell death; How he had left many heathen honours, to honour him, then greatly disho­noured; and how he had protected him at Sea from danger of Pirats: and lastly, established him in his regalty, in de­spight of his foes. And therefore many, and sundry were the Triumphs that now were ordained for him; but more then many, were the severall thoughts that afflicted his doubtfull minde: Vienna he thought had cause to condemne him since affection ever thinkes all times of stay too long, that hangs on desert: La-nova he knew would rebuke him for violating the sacred lawes of friendship in his conceale­ment: [Page 166] And his reverend Father might well question his breach of love and duty, that so refused to shew himselfe a sonne. One while was he ready to embrace La-nova; ano­ther time to runne to Ʋienna; and by and by hee was ready prest to fall on his knees to Sir Jaques. Now did hee pitty distressed Ʋienna (who in all these alterations, was neither moved nor removed) Then did he feare her liberty, since her Father had no feeling of her calamity. Thus dubiously perplexed in minde hee sadly sate, unregarding regarding, the continuing and maintained Iustes; untill the Daulphin iudging of his stormy thoughts, by his clowded counte­nance, thus awaked him by his Interpreter.

What think'st, said hee, my best worthy friend of our French Knights? and how stands our Court sports with your liking? Sirap, whose Martiall minde, was now molli­fied with milder, and calmer thoughts by his man, thus an­swered, As Knights of good regard, I regard your Knights; and as noble befitting sports, I commend your heroicall pa­stimes. All doth well, and well doth it stand with your Highnesse, that hath Knights, that can doe so well. But the Iustes being ended, the Daulphin that had read his discon­tentment in the deepe characters of his face (for the coun­tenance oft shewes the affects and passions of the heart) tooke him by the hand, and privatly led him into a faire ta­pistred gallery, hanged with most artificiall pictures of greatest Monarches, where he thus againe assaved to finde the cause of his disturbance. Let not (said hee) any doubt dismay mylives preserver, nor let any remembrance of your last, and lost honours, worke in you any repenting humor; since Viennaes Daulphin is both willing, and ready, both to accomplish your demand, and to honour you with all dig­nities. What pleaseth Sirap, pleaseth the Daulphin, and no­thing shall content the Daulphin, but what shall well like Sirap. Then aske my Lord, and bee Lord of your asking. Sirap thus kindly entreated, and encouraged, lowly hum­bled himselfe, and by Boufoy, thus replyed.

Know most renowned, and thrice worthy Prince, that [Page 167] doubtfull suspition harbours not in noble hearts; Nor think I once of honours change. Your covenanted promise exiles that doubt, and the effect of my request, is the honour that best will please my minde. Then let me shew, and shewing crave, both what troubleth your servant, and what he now (in all humility) demands for his conditioned gift. Not af­fecting honours, the worlds fading glory; nor coveting riches, mans pleasing evill; but seeking contentment in loves felicity. I aske, claime, and require, your daughter my Lord, for my wife, and a wife for my reward. The re­nowne of her attractive vertues, and the vertue of her mo­ving perfections, hath by report so captivated my freest thoughts since my comming to Ʋiennois, that wondring at her Fame, I am wounded with Fancy; and my desire is to see and applaude her excellencies. Then let it not seeme strange unto you, that unseene perfections have thus wrought unknowne passions, since the eare is as well sub­iect to conceit, as the eye is pliant to affection. The Daul­phin, whose unnaturall & impenitrable heart felt no longer remorce of her endured misery, then whilst hee was him­selfe in misery; and who was no sooner free, but that hee freed his remorced thoughts, from all thought of remorce; In so much, that looking neither after her imprisonment, nor his owne posterity, hee in his euer over awfulnesse shewed himselse now rather an unrelenting Tyrant, then a chastising Father. But now thus utged by Sirap (whose warranted demand, and high deserts, might well challenge an absolute grant) hee herein (still discontented) thus con­tented Sirap.

Nothing I see (right noble, valiant, and most merritori­ous Moore) seemeth worse to love, then to prefer [...]e any thing before it selfe; For cloath Desire in plates of bur­nish'd gold, and Desire will shiver all for colde; and fill affections purse with treasure, and fancy wanting content­ment will starve for hunger: so that nothing can satisfie Love, but love. Your deserts might well have challenged my Principality for your due, my dignities for your right [Page 168] and all my treasure for your owne. But all these I see suffice not, because they satisfie not; And to aske you why, is to aske one halfe pyned, why he is hungry. You loue my Lord, you loue but whom? my daughter; yea that is my griefe; Not that you loue her, vnworthy your loue; but that I cannot giue you her, more then worthy her. For such I sweare (by the eternall, and my all-preseruing God) hath beene, and yet is, the vndutifull, and most obstinate will of my too disobedient and degenerate daughter, that neuer yet nor yet euer could I, or shall I (I feare) perswade, intreate, or enforce her to consent to any, in royall ranke, worth, or majestie suitable to her selfe. For many times many power­full Princes, that sued for her fauour, shee hath both care­lesly disrespected, and scornefully refused; And as many times, many times, hath she therein my will disobeyed, and contemned. Not regarding her renowne shining in their glory; Nor respecting my contentment, nor progenie, eclipsed both in her neglect of me, and in her affoorded fa­vour to her farre inferiours; which caused me in iustice to punish her hateful disobedience with imprisonment, & yet in nature to bewaile her imprisonment, though enforced by Iustice, Where I left her, there (so you please) may you finde her, a prisoner to her will, that will not yet sub­mit her selfe to my will; and therefore by my will, worthi­ly chastised without offence to Nature. For where Nature. offendeth law, there law may iustly be executed on Nature Assay her (most worthy of all worth) and put in ballance your fortune with your fancy, and if your hap may drowne her favour, you shall redouble the small remainder of my aged dayes, and well satisfie the iustice of my displeasure, with the honour of your desired affinity. All my right is yours; your demand, my consent; and my consent a full Fathers graunt. Sirap acknowledging this his so great bounty, gave him more thankes then if he had presently in­tituled and invested him in the Principality of Viennois; Yet sayd he, it seemes not ouer-strange to me, nor should it bee so offensive to your Highnesse, that one so enriched by Na­ture, [Page 169] so admired for Vertue, and so endowed by Fortune, should herein against all nature, so resist the law of nature; since Fancie is altogether guided by Destiny; and Love is neither subiect to duty nor reason. Then seeing that Love yeeldeth neither reason of choise, nor change; I will leave to reason further of it, and aduenture once to cary up a dish to Ʋenus table, that never yet served in her Court.

The Daulphin glad that his demaund, was of no greater consequence, secretly smiled at his simplicity, that neglect­ing Honours highest advancements, onely contented him­selfe with the naked hope of most impossible favours. But Sir Sirap being more assured, then the Daulphin did assure himselfe, rested thankfully contented with the same; And the next morning in the pride of his secret ioy, hee went unto the Castle, where (having the Daulphins signet for his warrant) hee called for Ʋienna, who fearing some sud­daine stratagem, (for all her hope of welfare was dead) fearefully came to the dore, to know the end of her punish­ment. But when Sirap sawe the alteration, that vertuous Constancie had wrought in her imprisonment, griefe so at­tach'd him, that hee was more mortified at the sight, then he was Moorefied in sight; yet after some secret digested sighes, he cheared up his ingreeved spirit, with the ioy hee had to see her, and thus by his interpreter he saluted her.

Our Gods of all happinesse, make faire Vienna happy in her desires, and more fortunate in her life. The same Vien­na (Ʋienna said) yeelds you hearty thankes, and prayes that the like content may countervaile your wel wishing. Then shall (said he) my love be made immortall in your liberty, and your liberty be purchased by my love. Vienna abash'd at his reply, replyed againe; that griefe had no harbour for love, nor loue any acquaintance with distressed Ʋienna. A noble cause, said Sirap, may yet helpe to heale a grievous case. Then leave these for lorne walls, and let not your will make you a prisoner, that may live in my love a Princesse. For know (Madam) that your father being a prisoner in Ba­bylon, and allotted there to most base and cruell death; I [Page 170] though by kinde, an unpassionate Moore, yet (much more then any Moore) pittying the wiseries of others, had such compassion on your Fathers distresse, that growing care­lesse of my estate (being there then entertained with grea­test state) I aduentured with great adventure, to acquit him from shamefull bondage, and more cruell death; Condi­tionally; that vpon my arrivall with him in this Countrey, he should graunt me, without all exception, one gift, that then I should require; which he then ratified by oath in sight of his God, and now hath confirmed it, hy will in the presence of his people.

Now Madame, hearing the well worthy renowne of your renowned beauty, though being by Nature fierce, yet subiect to affection, I could not but in that frailty, yeeld to humane condition. And therefore prizing my content be­fore a Crowne, I required your Ladiship for my Wife, which your Father by oath hath graunted, which you in duty should yeeld unto, and which I in love (if love can merit such happinesse) doe deserve, and yet most humbly doe request. Vienna thus moved, remooved thus his flatte­ring and aspiting hope. If, said shee, my Father enioy a se­cond life by your conditionall adventure, you may Presse him to the performance, so farre, as it it is in his power to accomplish; more you cannot aske, lesse hee will not per­forme.

But know Sir Knight, that love knowes no such pater­nall law, that yet was never subiect to any law. The Father hath but a consent, not the choyse, in the daughters affecti­ons; his free thoughts have no feeling of her conceit; and his mettle minde, and corrupted humours, are oft unplea­sing to his childes fancie; Neither stands it with any reason, that he that cannot govern his owne passions, should com­mand others affections. Then must you of necessity, excuse his impossibility, and admit onely of his willingnesse; that can give nought but consent for his larges.

Yet Madame, by your favour (said Sirap) stands the daughter bound for her Fathers good, and the guerdon is [Page 171] but ungratefull, that is required in contempt. True said Ʋienna, but every good must not bee rewarded with the best; lest the best want fit requitall for due desert. Let it then suffice, that with thankes I acknowledge your great good, and in any other thing will be ready to pleasure you. Onely in this, pardon me my Lord, for in loves infirmities I have no affinity, A troubled soule onely in teares, her comfort seekes. It is a heavy comfort, said Sirap, that in mourning stands, yet, said she, doth the custome of sorrow lessen the griefe, and it is some comfort to bee voyde of all comfort. Dispaire, said Sirap, is mother to death, and death no fit compannion for beauty. My beauty said shee (poore as it is) hath already beene my bane, and made me most un­fortunate in my most fortunatnesse.

Why Madame, quoth he, hath your Grace beene decei­ued? So said she, say they that tolde me so. But truth hee replyed, stands not on the tongues of men; True shee said, and that is the cause why we are deceived by men: you mi­stake me much, said Sirap: Nay, said shee, not mistaken, but overtaken you in the truth, and so shee bad him fare­well, leaving him tormented in minde, in that hee gest by her last words, that some one to advantage himselfe, or in malice to him, had wronged him in words; Yet could hee not but smile, to thinke how his conceit was her deceit. But leaving her, whom hee meant not so to leave, but to re­assay her againe, he returned to the Daulphin, and told him of his haplesse successe. Who smothering his inward ioy, made such shewe of discontentment, that the angry ocean swelled not as he seem'd to storme. But Sirap neither way­ing his anger, nor her answere, all smiling said, that once more he would with Ixion, assay to embrace Juno, and see whether in shuffling againe of the Cardes, Fortune would deale him a better game. For he would owe her himselfe, and try whether in his owne language he could weane, and win her to his will, which mooved great laughter, and mi­nistred further occasion of pleasant talke. Thus they passed for the rest of the day, vntill supper, which ended, Sirap [Page 172] giving them the good night, went to his Chamber, where calling to minde Ʋiennas words, which in his suppose, ar­gued to report of his disloyalty, which grieved him much that her griefe would be redoubled by his never intended falsity, and that hee should be so wronged by unwronged, and unknowne men. But after he had a little fed his sad hu­mour with his deceiving conceit, hee determined darkly, that darke night, to shew his conceit thereon, and to re­moue that vaile of misdeeme, that so shadowed the assu­rance of his faithfulnesse. And therefore furnishing him­selfe with a well tuned Lute, in the dead of night, hee went alone to the Castle, where close shrowding himselfe under her window, he sweetly sounding, thus chaunted out this irefull song.

Vienna hearing this iarring Citty, wondered what hee should bee, or what he should meane by this his wrathfull song. At last she supposed it was La-nova, that in Paris be­halfe thus excused his long silence, and absence, so condem­ned by her; but neither discrying him, nor receiving any answer from him, wee then imagined that hee was some other, that caried away with griefe & wrong had amongst other dolefull places, there eased himselfe of his woefull burthen, by breathing out his secret and oppressing sor­rowes. For it is some comfort to the grieved, to finde ei­ther a companion in griefe, or a sad befitting wretched place, to lament and manifest his griefe. But greatly disal­lowing his uncharitable minde, she all sighing said:

Sirap perceiving that his Song rather renewed, then re­linquished her of her causelesse griefe, & perswading him­selfe, that her step-mother both in envie of her glory, and in disdaine of him, had at the first so hardened the heart of her Father, that hee now altogether forgot (in continuing [Page 174] his rigour) that he was a Father; He thought good to war­ble out a more pleasing note, and to lull her a sleepe with more comfortable Musick, And therfore turning his voyce, he chearefully recorded this liking Ditty.

[Page 175] Vienna pleased with the tune, amazed at the voyce, but more then ravished with the words, hastily put her head out of the windowe, and said; What so ever thou art, take thankes of a distressed Lady, and Heaven comfort thee, as thou hast, J know not how, recomforted me. And so turning her selfe to Jzabella, she ask'd whether she had ever heard that voyce before, who replying, sayd, That if her memory fai­led her not, it was the same, or much like; if not the same that they heard in first in Court, under her Chamber win­dowe. Ah Izabella sayd Vienna, thou harpest too well, to be so well. Yet if my minde divine aright (God graunt it may devine) I shall heare some tydings of my Paris, so per­swades my heart, so graunt our God. But say Izabella, say, what shall poore Vienna say to this moralized Moore, whose civill condition, maiesticall presence, and sugred tongue, differs so much from his rude, and barbarous Nation. Is not his blacke hue full of sweet favour, and his favour suffi­cient to command beauties proudest favour. Now trust me Izabella the gentle Moore, more and more would gaine in­terest in my affection, but the more I thinke he is a Moore, the more (for my Paris sake) I scorne to love the Moore. And therefore resolved to live to none but Paris, (though Paris hath forgotten Ʋienna) how shall I non-sute his im­portunity, whose proud hope promiseth love, and whose love is warranted by my Fathers oath. Jzabella most care­fully to acquit her of that care (though it was the least care of her care) told her, that her old putrified pollicie, would easily prevent that mischiefe. and therefore having a rea­die Capon in the Castle, they presently dismembring the body, tooke the two legges, and binding them under her arme holes, where the heate of her body might soonest corrupt them, shee preparedly expected his comming the next day. When Sirap clad in his richest array, strangely fashioned, came accompanyed with many, that of purpose (being made acquainted with his intention) came to recre­ate themselves with his so supposed unusuall courting. For hee being as they thought, not to be understood by his [Page 176] tongue, nor to be satisfied by his eare; They vainely ima­gined, that he either would woe her with gifts, or with his countenance, or with variety of gestures. But hee no sooner came to the Castle (but frustrating their expectati­on) he requested them by Bousoy, to stay, and stand a while aside. When winged with the hope of Loves assurance, he instantly boldly, and all onely, entered, saluted, and in French thus courteously assaulted his faire and friendly foe. How fares, said hee, the imperious Mistresse of my inthralled heart? As a prisoner, not like a Princesse, she said, fares the Mistresse of a thralled, and wofull heart. But how came you Sir Knight so Frenchified, that erst was so strangefied? Love, sweet love, he said, hath made my tongue your Coun­try-man, and my heart your servant. Then hath love (shee replyed) wrought a wonder in you & an admiration in me. Such said Sirap, is the divine power of Loves Deity, such the vertuous force of your heavenly beauty, and such the happy issue of our decreed destiny. Therefore, yeeld Vien­na, Vienna yeeld, to that, which the Gods have decreed, Love commands, thy beauty requires, our Fortune allots, thy Father wills, and I thy friend request. Vienna thus charged, could not tell how to discharge her selfe of him, but by having a recourse to her wonted and hidden policy; And therefore uncloathing her Ivory brests, she all sighing said, Alas Sir Knight, thy commendable demeanour, and Princely worth, well merits favour; and thy inticing tongue is sufficient to entrap a well advised minde, and a far more stayeder conceit. But know most noble, and most Magnifi­cent Moore, that I am farre worse then I seeme, and much better then I would be. For behold (shee bared her breasts that he might behold) the untimely corruption of my blasted beauty, looke on the loathsome fruit of my long, and grievous imprisonment, and but feele; O feele not the filthy sent of my ulcered and rotting body; and then tell me whether I am not rather to be loathed, then loved; fled from, then followed. Sirap astonished at her words, but beyond all amazement, danted with the smell, neere fainted [Page 177] thereat; such was his insufferable sorrow for her, that hee curst himselfe for her; And yet such was the constancy of his never dying love, that encouraging himselfe, the better to cheere her up, he with a joyfull countenance said; Be it Madame so, or worse then so, or what so you will; it shall not matter, I rest wholly yours, if for yours, you will accept of mee, that am none but yours. For know most constant, and my endeered Lady, that Paris (if Paris bee not forgot­ten) pleadeth now in person for himselfe, and here offereth his life, and service for your love. In confirmation where­of, see here the happy seale of your love, and the sole com­fort of my absence, the loyall, and unvaluable Ring, your Highnesse gave mee, when first being pursued by your Fa­thers Knights, I departed from you, like a hungry Infant pulled from his Nources breast, or a thirsty Hart chased from a sweet Fountaine. Then, then in the pride of your perfections, you paradiz'd mee in the heaven of your love; and now in the decay of your glory will I wed my ever-living constancy, to your never dying loyalty.

Looke, nay looke not on me so strangely; my black hue is but an Artificiall vizour, and my borrowed countenance but the assurance of my safety. Vienna not able on the sud­daine to entertaine so great a ioy, shrunk downe, deprived of her vitall spirits, but chafed, reuived, and enabled by Jza­bella, shee with teares of ioy distilling downe her cheekes, sadly said. Ah Paris, Paris, thy love made me a contented prisoner, but thy long absence hath made my prison a tor­menting hell. But now, O happy now; thy thrice happy returne makes my prison seeme a Paradise, and my hell a most glorious heaven; with that falling on his brest, and enclosing him within her fainting armes, she often re­doubled, her double doubled kisses. Paris being likewise surprized with fulnesse of ioy, lost himselfe in her armes, but being acquitted of that extasie, he payd her large inter­rest for her kindnesse, pleaded sorrow for her martirdome, and meere necessity for his absence. Cease Paris, shee said, my Paris surcease these needlesse excuses of faultlesse iniu­rie, [Page 178] since to over-fortifie innocencie, is to breed suspition. There is none but I, that have (if offended) offended. As first in being cause of thy exile, then of thy dangerous travailes, and now in reiecting thy love; but impute the first two, to my Fathers severity, not to my love; and the last of my ignorance, not to my inconstancy. For proofe whereof see heere, (here shewed shee the Capons legges (the triall of my truth, which but in pollicy I vsed in all ex­tremities, to withstand importunate Suters, and all onely to love none but thee, earst the sole hope of my life; but now the onely life of my soule.

Thus pleaded shee to please him, and thus it pleased him to praise her, and both of them still ioying, in that they en­ioyed each other. Then turning to Jzabella, he kist her ma­ny times, and vowed that out of his best fortunes, he would bee thankfull to her, for her love to him, but especially for her comforts to Vienna.

And taking them both by the hands, he told them how, and by what meanes, the Daulphin her Father had freely, and absolutely given her to him. And therfore he requested them to conceale their knowledge of him, and to go along with him, for that he ment to have her Father to deliver her to him; all which they both so willingly, and cheere­fully did, that the Gent. attending his leasure, no little marveiled to see him lead them so familiarly by the hands, and so pleasantly talking with Ʋienna in a private manner. But when they were come before the Daulphin, Paris (for now is Sirap turned againe to returned Paris) holding her still by the hand, humbly requested him, in the presence of his daughter, & Barons, to ratifie his vowed guist. Which the Daulphin both misliking, and admiring: demaunded of her, whether her liking, and consent, stood to that blacke irreligious Moore, that had so often refused so many po­tent Lords, and most accomplished Princes. To which shee (in all reverence, praying pardon) said. That the blacke smeared Smith was most pleasing to the Queene of beauty; That tha constant colour unfadible in it selfe, well argued [Page 179] constancie in the person. That his barbarous nature, was both reclaimed, and refined by his more civill education; and that his religion would easily be conformable to their profession. But howsoever, it sufficeth, that I love him and love yeelds no reason of choyse, nor hath any respect of persons. His blinde deity, blindes our fancies; and fancy lives not in desert, but in desire. We love altogether by li­king not for honours; and our wills cannot command our affections, that are not in our powers:

Then vouchsafe my Soveraigne Lord and most gratious Father, of my destinied desire and admit of his wel-merited demand, & let me with your free consent enioy him for my Husband, that hath so well purchased me for his Wife; so shall you honour your selfe, in doing him right; reward his services, enworthy your posterity, and repayre my decayed glory. The Daulphin seeing that it was but in vaine, to re­sist celestiall influence, preordinate be providence divine, and that he could neither in honor, nor conscience infringe his obliging oath, nor reject his pleading and glorious worth; shewed a vertue in necessity, and freely gave, and delivered her unto him.

Now Paris being thus possest of his desire, cast off his artificiall maske, and lowly on his knees, shewed and pre­sented himselfe, the humble and thankfull seruant of his Lord. The Daulphin finding himselfe thus deceived by him, that happily deceived the Soldan, and his Keepers for him; could not but commend his loyall love, and love him for his saving service. His superlative valour, and unvaluable ver­tue, shewed that his great fortunes were but Ministers to his will. And therefore he cheerefully said. In France was I honoured by Paris, In Babylon unthralled by Sirap, And at home both I, my Countrey, and people, were protected by the Knight of the Daulphin. To Paris therefore I re­turne my love, To Sirap I give my daughter, And to the Knight of the Daulphin I yeeld my Principality. Then my beloved and renowned sonne, giue me thy hand, and let me embrace thee with thy valour. And here I sweare by the [Page 180] all-ever-living-God, that if I were sole Monarch of the whole Vniverse, thou onely shouldst rule for me, and after me: More I cannot give thee for thy Asian lost honors, lesse thou shalt not have then my whole Europian dignities. To confirme which, he presently caused him to be proclaimed his sonne in law, and the next lawfull and immediate heire to all his Royall Territories. Great was now the wonder of all men, great the preparation to solemnize their Nupti­als, and more then great, the joy, and tryumphes made, and ordained for them. But amongst them all, there was none (Vienna excepted) that reioyced more then old Sir Jaques, whose silver beard, was all embossed with pearles of swel­ling teares, for the ioy of his so famous found sonne. As for his endeared friend La-nova, his glad heart shewed the tri­umphes of ioy, and all his thoughts were ravished with de­lights and contentments. To him (after many embraces) did Paris give infinite thankes for his comfortable friend­ship, and carefull regard of Ʋienna, and his Father. Thus lived they long happy in each other, untill the Daulphin summoned by death, payd Nature his due: and olde Sir Ia­ques wasted by age, yeelded to death. Then was Sir Paris created Daulphin of Vienna, who enjoyned La-nova to mar­rie Jzabella, unto whom hee gave all his Fathers Lands, and Boufoy he made his Steward. And so they fortunatly raign'd, and lived together many yeares, with great comfort, and full contentment, in Princely state, and height of terrestiall dignity.