¶ A discourse of the great cruelty of a Widow towards a young Gentleman, and by what means he requited the same. Set forth in English Verse by john God.  

First read and then judge, but ere thou begin  
Despise not the matter contained herein,  
Though rude be my style, & knowledge be scant,  
Yet of the matter there nothing doth want   
Imprinted at London, by Henry Binneman, dwelling in Knightriders street, at the sign of the Marmayd.   

LECTORI.  
I Incipe nec sistes totum percurre libellum:  
O Omnia lecta docent, quae, nisi lecta iuuant?  
A Ars docet, et veterum te lectio cuncta docebit,  
N Nulla tibi virtus clarior esse potest.  
N Nāc●pi● à lectu, metu quod honestat acumen,  
E Electu vitae est pa●ta diurna salus.  
S Salq cibos condit, sic condit maxima vitae  
G Gaudia, non spa●so lectio justa sale.  
O Optima si cupias acquirere mella, studet●,  
D Disce loborosos volvere quaeso libros.  
D Disce puella precor, fuge, quod mea chartula narrat.  
V ut melius possis imperitare viro.  
S Sed mendicanti da praemia quaeso libell●  
Sic meliora queo, sit meliora dab●.   

The Preface to the Reader.  
MArk gentle reader, in this little tr●atis, both fond and affectionate love, the one proceeding from a loyal and gentle hear●e, rather decked with virtue, than folly, I say rath●r adorned, & beautified with Venus mild and gentle behaviour, than environed with the deadly and spiteful rage of uno: the other from a disdainful and loathsome stomach puffed up with too much superstition, under the colour of meek humility. with vainglory, under the shadow of constancy: with disdain, under the pretence of perfect and sound chastity. They that have passed the most part of their time in humane follies, and have rather followed the vanities of fools and insensuate lovers in matters of love (and the contemplation of heavenly things, or else of those that here on earth may give some entry for man to attain glory and honour of his name) they I say shall serve me for witnesses to confirm the opinion of long time rooted in the fancies of men, which is, that the beauty & comely favour of a woman is the most true and natural Adamant that can be found, sith the same stone (for a certain attractive power and agreeable quality therein enclosed) doth not better draw the iron, than a woman doth by a certain hidden force, which rising under the allurement of her, draweth unto it the hearts and affections of men, which hath made many believe, that the same only essence was sent to us below to serve both for men's torment and joy together. But yet there is another thing of greater wonder, it is not to hear tell that Paris forsook, Troy to go visit Helena in Grece, that Hercules had given over his mace to handle the distaff at the commandment of a woman, or that Solomon was sotted in his wisdom to dally with those which made him a voluntary slave. But that a woman of whom a man had received no favour nor courtesy, had forgotten her duty to her servant, if it seem not strange, I know not what to call wonderful or marvelous. If defence of speech for love, is not deemed such whereby man is different from brute beasts: (for reason is altogether r●fuse● of ●o●ers) and notwithstanding our Fathers have seen the example of that virtue no long time passed in the person of a Gentleman, very wise and well trained up in other things, a case so strange, as declaring the singular force of nature in that matter, wherein she seemeth to have given the preferment above all things in the earth. Examples hereof is the effemination of Hercules, the deprivation of sampson's force, the loss of sense, and the Idelatrie of the famous and wise King Solomon, and the simplicity of a warelesse & uncircumspecte Gentleman, of whom ye shall read in the History following. Mark I say, (gentle Reader) how fortune dealeth with them, which trusting in their force, despise (in respect of that which they do themselves) the little portion which they judged to be in others. If the vainglory and arrogant presumption of a chastity impregnable, had not deceived the Gentlewoman following in this Treatise, if the sugared hunger of gold had not blinded her, it could not have been known wherein her inconstancy consisted, not in the minion delights and alluring toys of a passionate Lover, but in the covetous desire of filling her purse, and hypocritical glory of praise amongst men: Notwithstanding, you shall see the gain which she made; to serve her turn nothing at all, but to the perpetual reproach of her name, and raised a slander, such as ill speakers and enemies of womankind do burden that sex withal. But the fault of one which by her own presumption deceived herself, aught not to obscure the glory of so many virtuous, fair, and honest dames, who by their chastity, liberality and courtesy, be able too deface the blot of folly, covetousness, and cruelty of this Gentlewoman here, and of all other that do resemble her: notwithstanding in the end reconciling herself, and abhorring the foolish fantasy of her former life, with an ordinary grief of him which served her for a spur too her conscience, and continually forced her too think, that the force of a man is less than nothing where God works not by his grace, who failing in us, our wo●kes can savour but of the stench and corruption of our nature, wherein it tumbleth and tosseth as the sow in the puddles of dirt and mire. This brief discourse giveth lessons unto Lovers to avoid the immoderate pangs of love, it doth 〈◊〉 the indiscretion of promised penance, it warneth to beware all 〈…〉 hests, lest the penalties of covetousness and vainglory be incurred, which shall manifest itself, if you mark the sense thereof in Reading. And that the same might the more delight thee, I have turned it into simple verse, according as my capacity would serve, but notwithstanding take it in worth, which I know to be full of errors, and not so eloquent as you require, nor so delectable as I would desire. Thus greeting thee, I bid thee farewell.   

WIthin the reach of Europe land a pleasant soil there is,  
Which Thu ri● height, a City fair, abounding in great bliss,  
Whose pastors green, Euridanus doth moisten with his Pool,  
The skorching haste of Titan's flames, this pleasant stream doth cool:  
The breadth whereof doth meze men's eyes when they the same do view,  
That each wight to inhabit there, doth daily seek and sue.  
Wherein there dwelled a widow fair, and Zilia was her name,  
Whose comely port and princely face, did merit lasting fame.  
So beautiful of face she was, so feat of limb and joint,  
That sure a world it is to see her shape from point to point  
So comely to be knit: for wit she bore the bell,  
Her comely shape, all other wights for beauty did excel.  
But yet one stained spot her body did defile,  
Whose haggard wonts, & churlish deede● at length did her beguile.  
Who went astray from nature's course, and thereby lost her name:  
Her cruel gests and foolish deeds did bring her to disdain:  
When Atropos her leech lives thread with knife had cut in twain,  
For whom she did Lament and mournt, with sorrow grief and pain.  
she bent herself her house to deck with toiling pain and grief,  
Is spinning carding and such like to find herself relief.  
Whereas before she largely gave, now she doth covet all,  
Her bounty great, her courteous gifts. are turned now to thrall.  
Her maids she doth employ with work, though she possess great land.  
she thought that nothing well was done, that came not through her hand.  
A thing truly of more great praise, than for to view our dames,  
Whose fine and dainty fingers loath to suffer any pains.  
Who think their honours to be stained if once they do but hold  
Their noses over their household things, who will not be controloe.  
Whereas their hands were requisite to help at time of need,  
And they in place, their business might be dispatched with speed.  
Let Lucrece life a mirror be to those which use that rate,  
Not running forth to feasts and games, nor with young girls to prate.  
Not fond gadding here and there, nor masking in the night,  
But with her maids to spin and card, it was her whole delight.  
she did regard her honour more than so to spend her time:  
Ill which our widow Zilia did, as Po●tes do define.  
She would not once at feasts be seen, nor seldom come abroad:  
Unless to Church she did repair as writers do record,  
she would not with the dainty dames to gardens once resort,  
Nor to such place where pleasure was nor any place of sport.  
she seemed as though she studied the Egyptian law to use,  
Because she would not get reproach, nor yet herself abuse.  
They paint before dame Venus' mouth, a bright and shining key,  
Whereby they mean, that silence did her guide in perfect way:  
And at her feet a Tortus placed, whereby they did devise,  
That wandering forth and straying often, was not her use nor guise.  
This practice used Zilia, whose tongue was tied from talk,  
Whose footestep seek were not at large abrodethe streets to walk.  
she seeemd so religious, as though naught were amiss,  
She made it strange and very coy to yield from her a kiss  
To any wight, which courtesy till this day doth remain,  
That women aught with chastened kiss, each wight to entertain,  
But let us leave her for a while, and mark what chanced then,  
With snarling traps bow Cupid often therein doth tangle men.  
There dwelled hard by that Thurin town a Lord of great renown,  
Who Philoberto had to name, in wealth he did abound.  
Of Virle Country he was Lord, a man expert in war,  
By dint of sword his foes to quell, whose glory reached far.  
It happened thus, that at the Church where Zilia did resort,  
This noble Lord was there likewise in comely state and port.  
Whose dazzling eyes by hap did view this widows worthy face,  
Her lively hew did please his mind, his port and lovely grace.  
Whose humours fed with fantasy, and pleased with Cupid's game,  
Can not withdraw those fixed eyes from that his noble dame.  
The venomed shaft of Cupid's how did take in him such place,  
That all his soundest parts of mind were trapped in woeful case.  
Thus all the morning viewing well her grace and comely port,  
she made no more account of him than of the meanest sort.  
The service done, he thought the Priest made very great post hast,  
For now upon his noble dame his eyes he might not cast.  
But coming home, of standers by he did inquire her name,  
Who ceased not without delay to she●e to him the same.  
Her stubborn state and churlish deeds to tell they did not spare,  
H●r greedy mind and coily looks to him they do declare.  
He hearing this, was all in dumps, not knowing what to say,  
He thought his suit would not prevail, but gets him straight away,  
And to his chamber he doth wend, and lays him on his bed,  
Ten thousand thoughts & careful griefs molest his troubled head.  
But baiting yet himself with hope, and tickled eke with love,  
This widows heart what so did chance he minded was to prove.  
And thus he did himself devise to love her beauty still,  
That through long service he might get at length of her his wil  
He now the Churc doth often frequent, and seems a holy state,  
And all to view the Princely port of his beloved mate.  
At length he pricked with fiery heat, took courage stout and bold,  
And in the Church to speak to her his heart was nothing cold:  
He often did conduct her home, that he her heart might win:  
But now as far from that he sought as when he did begin.  
For if of love he spoke to her, she strength would turn her tale,  
And talk to him of household things which made ●is heart to quail.  
Thus they of sundry minds, and divers eke in thought,  
Did not to others talk give ear which he full duly sought.  
Thus void of hope he parts, whose cheerful looks be dashed.  
His ready cheeks be turned to pale, his spirits were all aghast.  
This bashful wight comes home and rues his woeful plight,  
Because he could no favour find before his Lady's sight.  
Yet once again conceiving hope of that he did desire,  
Constrained through the parching heat of Cupid's burning fire,  
He thus devised with himself, to frame his matters so,  
Unto a woman there hard by be minded for to go,  
Who was familiar with his dame: to her he would complain,  
And tell her of his woeful plight that she might ease his pain.  
Thus thinking, forth he goes, and tells his woeful state,  
Unto the wight who gave her ear unto his wretched fate.  
He told her all his woe, his sorrow, grief, and pain,  
Wherefore to be released of those he would be glad and feign:  
she marked well his woeful plight, of love she had good skill:  
Who knew what meats they feed upon that are at Venus william.  
she knew the intermingled drugs and the deceitful wine,  
That Cupid quastes unto the guests with Venus that do dine.  
she therefore knowing his disease and weighing all his grief,  
Did promise for to ease his we and get him some relief,  
If she might know the wight, that so his heart did love,  
she would put to her hel●ing hand that matter for to prove.  
O Zilia, Zilia, she it is with doleful tune he cries:  
Therefore with present remedy, to help he her desires.  
And that she would betwixt them both, an intercessor stand:  
Whose pains should well rewarded be, with silver, gold or land.  
Mine only hope doth rest in you, my comfort and delight  
Doth all depend of you (he says) to get that princely wight,  
And I your soldier here, am priest to do your william.  
In right or wrong to take your part, and still your best fulfil.  
This said he holds his peace, and she with mourning cheer,  
Was wrapped in woe, and did lament his doleful case to heart.  
For she full well did know that she would not consent,  
Whose stubborns nature was so fierce, that she 〈◊〉 not present  
His cause before her state, lest she rebuke should gain:  
Therefore of this request and suit she would be rid full fain●.  
But weighing well his plight, and yielding aid to him,  
She would (s●e said) do that for him that might be done therein.  
But yet she still persuaded him for to success his love,  
But all in vain, his heart was fixed that none could if remove.  
He doth his neighbour now entreat a letter for to bear,  
Unto his love, to give the same and nought at all to fear.  
Which she with oath did promise' him: wherefore she bade him writ,  
Without delay or tract of time this letter to indite.  
Then to his closet he doth go, and pen doth fake:  
And on this wise he did devise his letter for to make.  
The Letter of Signior Philoberto, unto mistress Zilia.  
THe death with trenchant dart doth breed in breast such ill,  
That I cannot forget the smart that thereby riseth still:  
Yet ne'ertheless since that I am the ill itself in deed,  
That death with daily dolours deep within my breast doth breed▪  
I am your lasting thrall, and yet I do not know  
If you hear me good will at all, or if you love, or no.  
My wound is made so large with bitter woe in breast,  
That still my heart prepares a place to lodge a careful guest.  
O dame, thou hast my life and death at thy desire,  
Come ease my mind, where fancies flames do burn like Aetna fire.  
For wanting thee, my life is death and doleful cheer,  
And finding favour in thy sight, my days are happy here.  
The God that made my soul and knows what I have felt,  
Who causeth sighs and sorrows often the seely soul to swelled,  
Doth see my torments now, and what I suffer still,  
And understands I taste more grief than I can show by skill.  
To thee fair dame I cry that mak'st my senses err,  
And plantest peace full near my heart, and then mak'st sudden war.  
Yet at thy pleasure still thou mayest my sour make sweet,  
In granting me the right good will for faithful lovers meet.  
Which favour if I get, unto my noble mind,  
I do remain a galley slave, as thou by proof shalt find.  
And so thou shalt release my heart from cruel bands,  
If I may get the worthy peace, that yield into thy hands.  
So rendering all to thee, the Gods may join us both  
In one true league of unity, through force of constant troth.  
Then shalt thou mistress be of life, of limb and all:  
My gold, my honour, land and see shall be so at thy call.  
¶ This letter closed, he gave to her, which she with speed did take:  
He willed her to pray his dame, an answer for to make.  
When he his talk had finished, his corpse on bed he laid:  
But at the last his eyes burst out with tears, and thus he said.  
O God that rules the skies, in whom my trust doth lie:  
And thou (o God) which chiefest art above the golden sky:  
And thou o Lady dear, o Venus by thy name,  
Vouchsafe my woeful cry to hear, thy captive do not blame,  
Though that always I sought thy force for to withstand:  
Yet now I feel the weighty force of Cupid thy sons hand,  
Take pity now therefore, sith that a captive I,  
Cannot prevail, yet give me salve to cure my misery.  
Thus he with doleful cheer did wail and rue his case,  
And none but widow Zilia could in his heart take place.  
But let us leave him here oppressed with grief and pain,  
And unto widow Zilia let us return again,  
Who hard at work, when as the saw her neighbour coming in:  
She scant would lift her from her stool where she as then did spin.  
Her neighbour full of courtesy said she would with her speak,  
Who quick and short desired her with haste her mind to break.  
She not prolonging time, began with tears and doleful cheer,  
To tell the suit and woeful case of her most noble peer.  
She told her all his grief and pain was only for her sake:  
Desiring her, with willing mind for to become his make.  
And there withal drew forth the letter which she had,  
The same presenting unto her with countenance very sad,  
Desiring her to read the same, and straight an answer send  
Unto the wight, within whose heart great cares and grief be pend.  
The matter lies in you his life to save or spill,  
Unless you grant to his request through grief his heart you kill.  
Let pity therefore reign within your tender breast,  
And show some favour to the ●ight the which doth love you best.  
This said, she holds her peace: the widow than began  
With frowning face and eager looks, and thus her talk did frame:  
Your talk I listened well unto, but yet I do not prove:  
Your fond intent misliketh me, I mind not for to love.  
I marvel much that you would once so fondly speak to me,  
And to such loyal lovers that I should with heart agreed:  
I thought your wit had not been such to spend your time so ill,  
Regarding noug●t your honesty, nor how your name you spill.  
It had been more convenient for you to been at home:  
Than was to gad the streets about, so fond all alone.  
My mind did throb to hear your talk, mine ears began to glow:  
To hear your words, which at the first I thought had not been so.  
For if I had, I would at once unto your talk give ear:  
To speak to me of such fond things I neither would forbear.  
But yet his letter I will read, to hear his foolish mind,  
And of his fond pretenced will, to s●e what I can find.  
Then she began to read, as you before did h●are:  
And being re●, her ruddy cheeks were channgde to heavy chear●.  
Her rosy colour pale, her spirits were all aghast:  
This lovely letter which she read, it made her all abashed  
But taking courage bold, and plucking up her spirits  
Did argue thus, that she did not esteem of those delights,  
But pausing yet a while, she felt a wondrous change  
Within h●r breast, now love, now rage within her corpse to range.  
Her colour changed oftentimes, these twain brought her such pain:  
But yet the ruddy raynt did come into her face again,  
With no less hue and shining cheer, than when the bloomed Rose  
Is newly sprouted forth, then pale away with trice it goes.  
But rancour taking place within this widows breast:  
Both love and lovely letter she did utterly detest.  
Then turning to the messenger, she thus to her did speak:  
I thought that you would not have sought my chastity to break,  
Nor go about a thing so fond, whereby great shame might rise:  
I truly thought that you had been, more sober, sage and wise.  
Why should you thus now go about to get my whole consent:  
That ever since my husband died, did seek love to prevent?  
Hath any light behaviour of you in me been seen,  
That to consent unto your hest at all you once might deem?  
I think not so, why should you then presume or be so bold  
With foolish talk and fond desire such things for to unfold?  
But trust to this, the only love which I to you do bear,  
Doth make me now keep those things close, which I would not forbear  
Unto no wight, except to you: therefore no more of this,  
But leave your foolish enterprise, for nought and fond it is.  
Let it suffice in time to come for you therefore I say,  
To think and steadfastly believe that I am chaste always.  
And bid the Lord of Italy leave of and fond desire,  
And bid him likewise not at all my chastity require.  
For this I choose unto myself, that I will rather die,  
Than to fulfil his lusting will myself I would apply.  
And that the same he well may know, let him be sure of this,  
That of his private talked he had with me, be now shall miss.  
Now therefore get you home, and talk no more of him:  
Whose amorous toys and feigned woes I let not by a pin.  
The woman when she heard her words, being pinched to the quick.  
Whose basty words and cruel looks her heart full sort d●d prick,  
She thus did speak with quiet word●s, the Gods with hasty speed,  
Send present help unto you both who have thereof great need:  
Whose sickness and diseases both are hardly healed to be,  
Unless the Gods from out the sky●s do send some remedy.  
And saying thus, she parts, and straight she cometh home,  
And finds her Lord upon his bed with heavy cheer to groan.  
Who seemed rather to be dead than for to be on live.  
For that his cares and nipping griefs away he could not drive.  
But looking on his neighbour then, who was returned again:  
When that he saw her heavy cheer he cried out amain,  
And would not list unto her words, but wrapped in careful woe,  
Lamented sore his heavy case, whose words they sounded so:  
O thou unlucky man, whom fortune favours naught:  
The love of her who loves thee not, thou hast full dearly bought.  
Thou payest well for pleasures past great usury and gain:  
For now in stead of wonted joys, thou sufferest double pain.  
Thy liberty thou hadst once, but now in bondage kept,  
And for thy pleasures and delights, great cares and griefs be left.  
Thrice happy hadst thou been, if her thou hadst not seen:  
And if her name thou never heardst, thou mightst have blessed been.  
But sith the cruel destinies, do weave for thee such woe,  
Thou needs must languish in distress, it is decreed so.  
Then speaks he to the messenger, (who did with tears bewail)  
His woeful state, but yet his grief her tears could nought avail.  
Doth Zilia take in grateful wise the letter that I sent:  
And did she take them thankfully, when them you did present?  
I know not so, wherefore great wrong to you I now have done,  
For now your wonted company I know that she will shun.  
Ah fickle love, what fool is he that doth himself commit  
Unto thy rage, and fury fell that lasteth such a fit?  
The glistering show of Sunny beams, at first did bring my joy:  
But now the dark and foggy mist doth work me great annoy.  
I sailed first with prosperous wind, but storms did come at last:  
Who in the surge of foaming seas, my corpse do overcast.  
Wherefore an end of my mishaps I think I none shall have,  
Nor favour yet of Mistress mine, the which my life would save.  
In cruel wench, what meanest thou my soul thus to torment?  
Who would my corpse to do thee good for sacrifice present.  
How dost thou measure the good will of him that loves thee best?  
Who for thy sake in night or day for grief can take no r●st?  
O toat thy beauty once in thee a fault so foul should see,  
As to torment those loving wights which praise and honour thee.  
O cruel and unkindly deed, those servants to expel,  
And set so little by the wight that loves to serve thee well.  
O Basilisk so coloured and pleasant to man's eye,  
And yet within, the bitter gall in secret wise doth lie.  
Whose poison is dispersed now throughout my woeful breast,  
That all my senses for to do their offices detest.  
But yet and if I had some drug to set my heart at ease,  
These griefs, these sighs and sobbings often I should full soon appease.  
Then for the dame that breeds my woe I would not suit nor sue,  
But yet I feel and also prove this sentence to be true:  
Not physic herbs that grows in field the grief of love can cure,  
Nor yet no drug that man inventest that pain can well assure.  
Alas the sercloth will not serve to tent my woeful wound:  
To launch the same I think in vain my grief should then abound.  
But to be short, no dressing can so fit for me be found,  
Except the hand of her alone that gave to me my wound.  
But would to God she saw the depth and bottom of my heart,  
And viewed the closet of my mind, and how I suffer smart:  
That she might judge my constant faith, and know the wrong I hear,  
Her rigorous deeds and froward will do put me in great fear.  
But on unhappy man, I feel that I shall nothing gain,  
For all her pleasures and delights do rest upon my pain:  
Her ease upon my woe, her joy upon my grief:  
My sobbing tears, my groaning sighs do bring to her relief.  
And saying thus, he sore did weep and sighed often between,  
The Crystal drops ran down his cheeks as he a child had been.  
The woman standing by him there, and seeing all his pain,  
she viewing well his woeful plight, no longer would remain.  
she pitied so his case and did lament his woe:  
That she from tears could not abstain to see him vexed so.  
But then she told the whole success of Philiberts love,  
Unto a Gentleman, who said that he would try and prove  
How he might get him health, whose friend and mate he was:  
Who careful was and loath that he, out of the world should pass.  
He goeth for Physicians in cunning that excel:  
Who with their drugs, & sweet preserves, that they might make him well:  
And for to know the cause of grief that so doth him molest,  
And eke of them to know what kind of medicines be best.  
At last he brings Physicians his woeful plight to see,  
But none alas is there can tell to cure his malady.  
The gentleman doth weep and wail, his woeful friend to see:  
At last of them he doth inquire, if any help there be.  
To whom they answer make with heavy bending cheer,  
That naught but death in him at all to their sight did appear,  
For lively blood was gone, his pulses did not beaten,  
His limbs waxed stark for wont of blood and lack of lively heat:  
His senses do deny their offices to do,  
His breath doth fa●●e, and men do look but death for to ensue.  
Thus they despairing of his health, and thinking ●e would die,  
Of money store they having then do leave him by and by.  
Which when his friendly mate did see, he could no way devise  
How he might get again his health by any kind of wise.  
He trudged home to Zilia, desiring her to show  
Some pity to the Lord of Virle, but fill she did say no.  
He proffered gifts and promises, but all could not prevail:  
Which when he saw, her stubborn stat● he did lament and wail.  
And did not know unto what Saint for secure he might go:  
It grieved him to see his friend so wrapped in careful woe.  
But in the end, he did devise to go to her again,  
That w●s the former messenger, that she might ease his pain.  
And for his purpose finding her, he sp●ke with doleful cheer:  
O mistress mi●e mine only aid, I pray you now come near:  
I marvel much th●t of she might you make ●o small account,  
Who for ●●ch wi●●t● in woeful case a ready help w●s wont.  
If any pity reign within your tender breast,  
To help the wight that lies half dead be ready bend and priest:  
Whose sighs and tears do pity me when I the same do hear,  
Whose shrieks & groans, whose careful mone● do much abate my cheer.  
The Gods do know (quoth she) if I could tell what way,  
To cast his woe, or shorten grief, the same I would assay.  
But yet to him, I strait will wend, and promise' him, that I  
With careful head and hasty speed will get some remedy:  
Which may h●s pain perchance appease, and then I will debate,  
How that our promise we may keep to ease his woeful state.  
Thus both at once they go, the patiented for to see:  
Who when he saw his messenger he thought him sa●e to be,  
Still thinking that she would an intercessor stand,  
And for to ease his pining grief she should put to her hand.  
But thus to her he said: take pity on the wight  
Which lies in darkness, and would feign obtain the shining light.  
I mea●e, seek to assuage my woe and nipping grief:  
Seek to appease my groaning ghost, and get me some relief.  
This said she speaks to him, I know not what you mean  
Thus to torment yourself with wo● as we have plainly seen,  
I trust ere Phoebus twice his banner do display,  
And for the clear and shining light doth make a perfect way,  
To bring the thing about whereby great joy may rise  
To you: thus I through cunning ski● this matter will devise,  
That you with her shall speak on whom you so complain,  
So that to her with courage bold you may declare your pain.  
How pleasant is your talk to me? how dulcet be your words?  
To speak unto that princely wight I would spend all my goods.  
These liquors you would have me fast for faithful lovers meet,  
Which superficially do seem for to be very sweet,  
But afterwards, do make my life more wrapped in feeble case  
Than at the first, which will with cares my senses all unlace.  
What do you then despair (quoth she) and trust not to my words?  
You shall of troth go speak with her, without the loss of goods.  
Take therefore courage bold, and arm yourself with hope:  
And thank me at such time, when as you have unto her spoke.  
O mistress mine, I crave no more of your well helping hand:  
Than if before the presence of her grace, I once might stand,  
To hear if she will grant unto my whole desire,  
Or else deny the whole contents of that I do require.  
My weakness now decays, my strength it comes again,  
And eke the joyful words you speak do shorten all my pain.  
My lively blood revives my spirits, my pulses now do beaten,  
My l●mbs wax strong, my breath wax long, through force of lively heat.  
Now could I walk abroad to see that princely wight,  
For whom my heart desireth so to take of her a sight.  
Content your sel●e (quoth she) and set your heart at ease:  
I trust to work such means, that I will heal your whole disease.  
Then taketh she her leave, and unto Zilia goes:  
Whereby she might incontinent assuage his careful woes.  
And m●e●ing her at Church, she thus to her did speak:  
Take pity on the silly wight that is both faint and weak:  
Let him not die remediless, but pity now his case,  
And from all grief and ●eauy cheer his heart do now unlace.  
Your only presence would make glad his faint and pensive heart,  
Who for your love in grievous wise doth suffer heavy smart.  
It pitieth me to see him languish in distress,  
And so long time with sighs and groans to lie remediless:  
He sleepeth not at all, but waileth all the night,  
His spirits be gone, his blood dried up, he wanteth force and might.  
The pangs of death draw nigh unless your aid do come  
Therefore unto the wight oppressed with cares, show favour some.  
Then Zilia which did not before regard his woeful grief,  
Did not relent, and purposed to show him some relief.  
I thought (quoth she) this suit was done, until that yesterday,  
A gentleman did come to me, who now as you, did say.  
But seeing he is worse and worse, I will be ruled by you:  
And I will seek to ease his woe, for which you now do sue.  
For this I know, your honesty and faith it is so great:  
That you will naught require of me but that which shallbe meet.  
And when you shall do what you can, you nought shall win of me,  
For to his fond and foolish mind I never will agreed.  
Not private fact I will commit with him, this is most sure,  
Nor yet will break my chastity while my life doth endure.  
But show your counsel yet in this, how shall I once devise  
To go to him without suspect whereby no shame might rise?  
I rather had to suffer death than so to get me shame,  
The people will suspect, and so I quite shall loss my name.  
But rather let him come to morrow home to me,  
And in a chamber here below, I there will ready be.  
The messenger did thank her then, and to his chamber went,  
Who then about the same did walk, whose heart to joys was bend.  
She did recount to him the whole the which the widow said,  
These tidings which to him she told they made him well apaid▪  
As when a man hath lost some jewel rich of prize,  
With heavy heart and pensive mind he doth begin to rise.  
And so the jewel great he serketh round about,  
And never ceaseth till that be that jewel hath found out  
And when that he hath found the same up to the skies  
He lifts his hands, the joys whereof makes streams run down his eyes  
So Philibe● to now, with tears he bl●ts his face:  
And stretching out his painful arms the woman doth embrace.  
If life he says you will command, I will obey  
By life or death, or what thing else if it please you to say.  
And while that life this corpse shall full enjoy and have,  
I am the knight that shall perform what thing you beg or crave.  
And here I bind me to your mind, your man to be  
At all assays▪ without delay to do that pleaseth ye.  
Thus said, she takes her leave and to her house doth go:  
But he in joy and bliss abounds before oppressed with woe.  
So now the pleasant dew of heaven begins to fall,  
And each man lo his rest to take persuadeth therewithal.  
The silver sky of hue, the darksome shades of night  
Doth cover clean the Sun and day descended out of sight,  
And glistering starr●s do deck the pole of heaven so hi●,  
And nature gins his rest to crane, with heavy pensive eye.  
Thus Phiiiberto then, ●is rest to take doth go,  
And wisheth that fair ●ilia were there, so none might know.  
He rolls, he turns and tosseth, with dreaming often to:  
One while he thinketh on his love, an other while to do  
Some pretty feat, so that he his desire might have,  
Another while he counteth on his honour for to sane.  
Thus on this wise be spends and drives the night away,  
Until such time as Phoebus did his banner forth display.  
At length Aurora doth the bed of Titan fly.  
And gius to show her crystal face about the silver sky.  
And Phoebus he himself, his golden head doth show,  
Lifting himself from out the waves our Orison to blow.  
And with his fi●ry chair is flown into the sky,  
With sunny beams, that none delights within his bed to lie.  
He gladsome of the light, from out his weary bed doth rise:  
And decks his self with trim array after his wonted guise.  
And walking up and down within his chamber, he  
Beginneth in his mind to roll of her the great beauty.  
And doth her state compare to Venus' comely gle●:  
And yet within himself he says much fairer lot is she  
Than comely Dido's grace or Thisbe's beauty bright,  
Or Helen's eke that Graecian dame so fair and princely wight.  
Thus passed he the time which seemed long to him:  
He every hour did think a year till he with her had been.  
This is the force of love, whose sting once taking place  
Cannot again recovered be in any kind of case.  
Unless the help do come from them that cause the fame,  
Whose eye lids shut with fancies flames they do regard no shame.  
What pains would they endure for their true lovers sake,  
Who would their lives in hazard put causing their foes to quake?  
Achilles' champion stout, what time in Troy he saw  
Polixena, he did desire to be the son in law,  
To Priamus that king in Troy of great renown.  
Sir Paris eke the worthiest knight that was in Ilyon town,  
His brother Hector saw to Greece his passage took,  
His Aunt the fair Exione within their courts to look.  
But being taken with the fiery cleaving dart  
Of Helena the queen, whose sight did pierce him to the heart,  
That maugre all their heads to ship the Dame he bore,  
And boysing up his sails to Troy he 'gan so fare.  
So if that Cupid durst these champions stout assail:  
What booted them for to resist when naught they could prevail?  
To strive against the stream is labour lost in vain,  
The more he strives, the more increasth his dolour and his pain.  
The noble Pyramus himself for Thisbe slew,  
Because he thought that he was cause of breaking faith so true.  
Thus if these did as here full often we have heard say,  
For to prevent this love we aught not once to give assay.  
This knight did taste the same as well his pangs did show,  
The fiery dart of Cupid's bow● his senses pierced so.  
But now the long desired hour is come that he must go,  
S●ee looketh and abides for him within the room below.  
Now coming to the wished place of his beloved dame,  
He thought not on his for ner griefs, which he abode with pain.  
Her unkind words were quite forgot, his mind was bend to joy:  
The torments whic● he felt before, his heart did not annoy.  
T●us entering in the place which she appointed had,  
She there in place in comely wise with vestures fair was clad.  
When she did him espy accompanied with her maid,  
With simple cheer and welcome cold, on this wise to him said  
With feigned joy, which moved not his heart: I see (quoth she)  
Your late disease was not so ill as it was told to me,  
For now the good estate and health that you possess,  
Doth make me judge the contrary, and so I truly guess.  
The which henceforth shall make me judge the grief that men endure,  
Is only through their feigned woes, the thing for to allure  
The which their heart desires, they having then their will,  
Not longer do regard the same but will detest it stil.  
To looking glasses therefore, I do mak● them equal here,  
Which all be it they make excess, of present things to appear,  
Yet when the thing once seen doth pass, and vanish quite away,  
The forms out of our memory, do likewise go astray.  
I● madame, answered he, how easy a thing it is,  
The greeslesse wight to counterfeit both joys and feigned bliss,  
Which only the conceit may not that moves h●s mind detest,  
But the object must bide in him as painted in his breast:  
Which to a glass may likened be, I mean not such a one  
As feigned shapes presented there, so quickly shoul● be gone,  
Without the leaving of the trace of some imprinted mark  
Within the mind of him, which shape stands steadfast in his heart.  
Then in the mirror which through cause of hidden might  
Is ardent, have I seen a shape which is my whole delight.  
It wrought within my heart. with fervent burning heat,  
Which boiling in my tender breast my corpse it made to sweat.  
O madame think not then I f●ined my disease,  
Still thinking and devising both how I your grace might please.  
I therefore count my sel●e as whole, obeying still your mind:  
To run or ride where so you please you shall me ready find.  
I naught esteem the same (quoth she) you naught at all shall need  
To take such travail for my sake, leave off therefore with speed  
Your foolish words, and talk no more of such fond things to me:  
Your manners with your comely state, they do not well agreed.  
O dame have you determined for to torment me so,  
To bring again the pangs of death, to double eke my woe:  
Who willing is to sacrifice his body for your sake,  
If once into my service, you would him vouchsafe to take?  
It grieveth me to see your heavenly beauty neat,  
To make a proof of cruelty, so horrible and great.  
What? do you think and still conceive, that I my grief do feign?  
And do you still conjecture, that I use dissembled pain,  
Alack the tears which I have s●ed, the loss of lust to eat,  
The weary night, the sleepless limbs, not able scant to speak,  
May well assure my loyal heart is better worthy praise  
Than you esteem: seek not O Dame therefore to short my days.  
He then beholding her to fix her eyes upon the ground:  
He thought that he some favour had before his Lady found.  
And thinking he the heart had won of her beloved grace,  
He suffered tears to trickle down, alongs his blubbered face.  
He thus his talk did prosecute: O fair and gentle dame,  
Would you with rage and fury fell your beauty so bestaine?  
As seek the death of him who loveth you so well:  
And thinks amids the troop of dames, you only hear the Bell?  
This widow, whether she did not delight to hear him speak:  
Or rather doubted in the end her chastity to break:  
Through his complaint & wailing cheer, lest be a breach should make,  
For to prevent the same, therefore with eager words she speak:  
You now have talked enough, by words and writings eke:  
And for to break my chastity you practise still and seek:  
I hitherto have suffered you my patience to abuse:  
And yet the longer that you talk, the more you me misuse.  
I showed that kindness unto you, which they do not deserve,  
That would the chaste life break of those that mind it to preserve.  
You evitate with sugared words, my person to beguile,  
But yet I well enough perceive your craft and subtle wile.  
You would deprive me of the thing which you can not restore:  
With faltering words and wily ways, still seeking more and more.  
Which shall henceforth a warning be, about myself to look,  
And to despise those chanting charms of the Enchanters hook:  
Lest I by opening still mine ear to such fond talk as yours:  
Be not at length held fast therein, and bide while life endures.  
For to conclude, I you desire to end this final talk,  
To move the same to me no more but hence away to walk.  
For by my Faith, no favour more to you I mind to show,  
Than I have done, therefore of this now let us have no more:  
And if that you do still proceed, this folly to maintain,  
I will with speed to your great harm, redress seek for the same.  
Content your s●lfe therefore, my mind for thus it is:  
For of these things which I have spoke, naught shall be done amiss.  
This luckless man, when he had heard this sentence, strait was mute:  
Pretending with this wilful dame, no longer to dispute.  
And then stood st●ll like to a Saint that was both deaf and dumb:  
His spirits aghast to mummers like, which nothing say but mum.  
At length he set despair aside, his senses came again:  
He spoke to her with little cheer, abiding grief and pain.  
Sigh it is so, O Lady fair, you take from me all hope,  
And sith of your mere courtesy, I shall not get on soap.  
And sith that from your presence now, I ne●des must hence departed,  
Who of all wights that are on live, are n●xt unto my heart:  
Whose eyes perchance shall never see, your person once again:  
But languish in distress and grief, and so to die in pain.  
Deny not this my whole request, which I to you do tell:  
But yield a kiss now for a ●ledge, of this our last farewell.  
In s●cr●te nothing I demand, but which you may fulfil,  
In open wise, and yet your name you need not for to s●ill.  
This is the whole request that I of you desire:  
Perform the same therefore, O Dame, which I of you require.  
Let all my pains and greef●s, some recompense obtain,  
The same of you I now desire, which are the guide of gain.  
The spiteful dame environed with rage and cruel spite,  
Spoke thus to him, whose torments were to her a great delight.  
I straight will see if that the love you vaunt to bear to me,  
Wherein you stand so steadfastly, if that it stable be.  
Ah madame (said the lover then) the word do once but speak.  
Then shall you see how circumspect I am the same to keep.  
Yea though I should bestow my life your hest for to fulfil,  
I never would disclose the same, but keep your secrets still.  
You than shall have the kiss quoth she, which of me you desire:  
If you will swear to do the same that I of you require.  
The wilful lover than did say, I witness God do make,  
I ●il not leave one jot undone, of that I undertake.  
He vowing with affection great his true and plighted faith:  
His whole request and his desire he now shall have (she saith.)  
And saying so, she did embrace that lovely corpse of his:  
In lou●ng wise upon her lips, he doubled kiss on kiss.  
This man not knowing with what price he now had bought the kiss,  
He held her still between his arms, as one in heavenly bliss.  
And be thus still embracing her, he thought his soul did fly  
Up to the heavens, remaining still about the starry sky.  
The poisoned Balm which he did suck out of her sugared breath,  
Did joy his heart so much, that he did not esteem of death.  
She parting then his arms, to him she thus did speak:  
You must keep troth as I have done, and not your statute break,  
Which is, that in three years you to no wight do speak,  
For this nor that, in any wise my statute do not break,  
For if that you so do, no wight for your sake I will trust:  
But I will count you still a man perjured and unjust.  
But certes now I leave to you this story that do hear:  
And if this strange request would not, put any man in fear.  
He was yet so religious, so stout of heart withal:  
That he would keep and subject be, to that her cruel thrall.  
He th●n began to play the part of man which do seem dumb,  
I l●●e the mum●ers at mum chance by signs he crieth mum,  
And sh●w●s ●y tokens, that ●ir hest he would obey:  
And doing re●erence to her, he gets ●im self away,  
And feigned he had lost his speech, by means he burst some vain,  
Whereby the Rheum or Cata●, did distill from out his brain.  
He setting stay for his affairs, providing for his train.  
He made him ready to depart to France for all his pain.  
Which for the pleasant air, all countries doth excel:  
For wealth and plenty of all things it only hears the bell.  
But yet before he went, a ●●tter he did writ  
To Zilia, with cunning skill the same he did indite.  
He gave it to a Page, to her the same to bear:  
she took the same, and broke the seal, and read as you shall hear.  
¶ The Letter sent by Philoberto Lord of Virle, to ZILIA widow.  
THe roaring tempest huge, which thou hast made me felt:  
The raging storms, whereof as now well near my heart hath swelled,  
By painful pangs, whose weltering waves, by thick and troubled Skies,  
And thousands blasts of raging winds, that in those seas do rise  
Do promise shipwreck sure, of that thy sailing bark:  
When after weather clear, doth rise some tempest foul and dark.  
For either I or thou, which art of Tigers kind,  
In that great storm and raging gulf, some danger sure shall find.  
Of that thy nature rude, the destinies foes they be:  
And thy great overthrow full well they all the same foresee.  
The heavens unto my estate no doubt great friendship show,  
They do devise always to end and finish all my woe.  
The penance which I bear, by yielding to thy hest,  
Great store of joys shall heap to m●, and bring my mind to rest.  
And when I am at ease, amids my pleasant haps,  
Then I do trust to see thee fall, and snarld in fortunes traps.  
Then shall I see thee ban and curse the wreked time,  
Wherein thou madest me to gulp such draft of poisoned wine.  
By which thy mortal cup I am the offered wight,  
And eke a vowed sacrifice to that thy cruel spite.  
Wherefore my hoping heart doth hope to see the day,  
That thou for this thy silence now, to me shalt be the pray.  
O blessed God most just, (whose worthy laud and praise,  
With uttered speech in skies aloft, I dare not once to raise:  
And may not well pronounce what s●ffaance I sustain:  
Ne yet what death I do endure, whiles I in life remain.)  
Take vengeance on that traitress rude, afflict her corpse with woe:  
Thy holy arm redress her fault, that she no more do so:  
My reason hath not so far strayed, but I may hope and trust,  
To see her for her wickedness be whipped with plague most just.  
In the mean while great heaviness my sense and soul doth bite:  
And shaking fever vex my corpse, for grief of her despite.  
My mind now set at liberty from thee (O cruel dame)  
Doth give defiance to thy wrath, and to thy cursed name,  
Proclaiming mortal war on thee, until my tongue untied,  
Shall joy to speak to Zilia, fast weeping by my side.  
The heavens forbidden that causeless wrong, abroad should make his vaunt:  
Or that an undefiled death forgetful Tomb should haunt.  
But that in written book and verse, their names should ever live:  
And eke their wretched deeds should die, and virtues still revive.  
So shall▪ he pride and glory both, of her be punished right,  
By length ●f years, and tract of time, and I by virtues' might,  
Full recompense shall have and stand still in good fame:  
And she like caitiff wretch shall live to h●● long lasting shame.  
Whose fond re●arde of beauty's grace, contemned hath the force  
Of my true ●aue full fixed in her: her heart void of remorse,  
Esteemed itself right foolishly, and me abused st●l,  
Usurping my good honest faith, and credit at her william.  
Whose loyal f●ith doth rest in soul, and still therein shall bide  
Until in stinking filthy grave, the earth my corpse shall hide.  
Then shall the soul fraught with that faith, to heavens make repair,  
And rest among the heavenly ●our, bedecked with sacred air.  
And thou for thy great cruelty, as God above doth know,  
With rueful voice shalt weep and wail, for thy great overthrow.  
And when thou wouldst purge thyself, for that thy wretched deed:  
No kindness shall to thee be done, extreme shall be thy meed.  
And where my ●ong doth want at will thy mischief to display:  
My hand and pen supply the place, and shall do so always.  
For so thou hast constrained me by force of thy be●est:  
In silence still my ●ong to keep, t'accomplish thy request.  
A dew, farewel my tormenter, thy foe that is full mute,  
Doth bid thee farewell once again, and thus he ends his suit.  
He that liveth only to be revenged of thy cruelty. signor PHILOBERTO. Lord of VIRLE.  
She then disdaining all his words, made thereof but a jest:  
She did rejoice to see the woe, of that her careful guest.  
But let us leave her, and to him let us return again,  
Who journeyed to the coast of France, leaving his spiteful dame.  
Where Charles the seventh then did reign, a Noble man in war,  
Whose warlike deeds & prowess great, extended very far.  
He chased out of all his land, by force the English rout,  
Whose army then in Gascoigne lay, the coast of France about.  
And fortune favoured so that wight, that he did overcome  
That nation fierce, and with his host their camp did overrun.  
He moving then to Normandy his camp, that town to win,  
The which through force the English train to hold, did then begin,  
And viewing there this Lord of Virle repaired thereunto.  
To serve the king at all assays, his prowess eke to show,  
Whose person of the Captains of this king was well known,  
Through dint of sword, and manly might his fame was largely sown.  
They sorrowed much to see him dumb, that wight they loved so:  
But they with him incontinent unto their king do go,  
Presenting him unto his grace, commending eke his state:  
Who for his virtue, force and might, they said he had no mate.  
He doing homage to the king, by signs he did declare,  
That for nought else, but him to serve he thither did repair.  
He bearing this, did him embrace, and did in heart rejoice:  
For that to praise this Noble knight, he heard his captain's voice.  
In state he was so comely dight, that else it could not be,  
But with his state his manly force therewith should well agreed.  
Which he full well did surely show, when Roan he did beslege:  
The fortress chief in Normandy, to please his Noble liege.  
He mounted first upon the walls, and made an open breach:  
That all his host, the English rout might with their weapons reach.  
And thus through force they drove them forth through mighty stroke of hand.  
Sigh that their guide of wisdom such was ruler of the band.  
W●en news came to the king his grace, of this his noble knight,  
And how he all the English host through force had put to flight,  
O so he did rejoice in heart, that he had such a wight,  
Within his court, whose dint of sword, would put his foes to flight.  
To recompense duly with gift, he minded then his pain,  
And did appoint, that chief he, should be his chamberlain.  
He gave to him a pension great, for to extol his name,  
And would continued still he said, for to increase the same,  
If he did see him prosecute his deeds as he began,  
And venture still such enterprise as he before had done.  
This dumb and speechless gentleman gave thanks unto the king:  
And to the skies to lift his hands, he did in place begin.  
Protesting that he would endure. as long as life should last:  
And rather than he would go back of Orcus he would taste.  
His signs did much rejoice the king and all his Noble rout,  
To see his faith and vowed plights, his courage strong and stout.  
Thus lived he in great renown, whose praise extended far:  
For that his fort and manly might he did show forth in war.  
But being long in peace and rest, a Just the king did cry,  
For to rejoice the Noble knights that long in peace did lie.  
He viewing then the warlike deeds of this victorious Knight:  
To see his courage and his force, it did him much delight.  
But then again, his pensive heart it did molest and grieve:  
To see that wight without his speech, which might his sentence give  
In matters that belong unto his common wealth,  
Whose counsel grave, would much avail to keep his people's health.  
And musing thus, he strait did 'cause a trumpet to be blown,  
Which through all his dominions in short time it was sown:  
Proclaiming who could well restore that persons speech again,  
Ten thousand franks in ready gold, he should have for his pain●.  
There one might see the thr●ging heaps of these Chirurgeon sort,  
Who for to help this noble Lord did thither then resort.  
But th●s edict the King set forth, that he which durst be bold  
To cure the same, and could not end, should forfeit all that gold.  
Or if so be he could not pay the sum, his life should lose:  
When this they heard, they all in troops did flee away as Geese.  
This babbling fame was spread so much, this brute so far was blown,  
That at the length the same it was well known in Thurin town,  
And passed still from mouth to mouth, till at the length it came  
Unto the widows ear, and she did like well of the same,  
For that she saw his constant troth which he to her did plight:  
His perfect faith and steadfast love her heart did much delight.  
she likewise hearing all the sum which they should duly take,  
By any means or practise strange, this Knight to speak could make.  
She did devise immediately, that she this gold might gain,  
To wend to France, and ●o restore to him his speech again.  
she thought those passions still that he did suffer as before:  
She thought his love redoubled was, still daily more and more.  
She thought not on the letter which for his farewell he sent:  
And though she did, she still did think, that no such thing he meant.  
Wherefore she would incontinent to Paris take her way,  
And till she came again, all things at home she set in stay.  
Not caring for to see her love, but to get praise and thanks:  
And causing him to speak, she should obtain ten thousand franks.  
Which she to have already thought, thereof she made account:  
Thus thinking still, and sure thereof, on horseback she doth mount.  
Thus may you plainly see, that she, whom honest love  
And service long could not induce, did straightway mind to prove  
Gre●t riches to obtain: whom pi●y could not move,  
But under colour to attain this gold, she feigned love.  
O fond desire of worldly muck how long thus wilt thou blind  
The reason both and spirits of men, and bring them so behind?  
O raging gulf, how many wights thy yawning throat hath drunk.  
Who with thy lures, and fond procures, in endless hell have sunk,  
Whose praise had passed far the clouds in brightness like the Sun,  
If they had sought in warily wise thy su●tle ways to shun.  
Alas, thy fruits are nothing worth, the w●ich thou bringest forth:  
The pleasures which thou sowest abroad, I say be nothing worth.  
O that thy vice should so take place, that men thou shouldest blind:  
Not joys at all they do conduce the which enjoy the same,  
But at the length through greedy mind it doth increase their shame.  
For still the dropsy lieth hid within their heart and mind,  
The more they drink, the more they still the thirst thereof do find.  
This vice sometime did 'cause the death of Roman Croessus King  
Whose greedy mind I say again him to his death did bring.  
Who through gods threatening punishment fell in the Persians hands:  
And like a wretch be ended there his life in cruel bands.  
What should I speak of many more, the time it would prolong?  
It doth not well become my pen still for to sing one song.  
But now to widow Zilia again let us return,  
Who blinded with dame Avarice, her heart like sire did burn.  
Thus passing through the Mountains hie, in France she did arrive:  
The pleasant soil that there, she saw, her spirits did much revive.  
When she came there, she did inquire who had the charge of those  
That took on them to heal the Lord, to them she straight way goes.  
Who when they came, they asked of her if she durst be so bold  
To take on her the cure of him: which she did say she would.  
You know (said they) the forfeitures which they shall forfeit still:  
That is to say, the sum of gold or else their life to spill.  
All this I know (quoth she) wherefore she them requires  
That she might see the patiented, that so her heart desires.  
For God a certain secret strange, revealed hath to me.  
That I do trust ere six days pass, so speak you shall him see.  
This furthermore they also add, if fifteen days are past,  
And he not speak within that time, the wager it was lost.  
she did submit herself to all, still thinking that she had  
Like power over the Lord of Virle, which still did make her glad.  
The deputies with all speed wend to advertise the Knight,  
And of his new Physician to him they do recite,  
How that there as a woman come, that tender will his speech:  
And in six days in pain of life, will help their Noble leech.  
These sudden words did mase him much, but yet he never thought  
That Zilia, to procure his health by any ways had sought.  
He thought that Zilia never would to him bear such good will,  
As to procure his health again, his life but rather spill.  
Thus musing, still he stands, not knowing what to say,  
But yet at length this widow fair to him she took her way:  
she came in place where as he was, her patiented for to see,  
But when he saw her entered in, implete with wrath was he:  
He deemed strait that money was the cause of her repair,  
Her smiling grace he set naught by, nor yet her looks so fair.  
He calling to his mind her rage, and all the cruel woe  
Which she did 'cause him to sustain, his body bringing low  
With pining sighs and griefs, esteeming not his care,  
But to torment his silly corpse with rigour did not spare:  
The like he minded then to show to her again,  
And to molest her froward cor se, with such like grief and pain.  
Not showing favour more to her, than she to him,  
But still her foe for to endure, as she his foe had been.  
His former love was turned to rage, his friendship into ire,  
His heart to choler so was changed, that it did burn like fire.  
But in his chamber seeing her, he feigned not to know  
Her person, nor her great estate: he thought best so to do.  
This ma●e the widow sore aghast, she knew not what to say,  
Her senses left their wonted use, her spirits were gone away.  
But calling to her memory in what strange place she stood,  
To make of need a virtue then, she thought it very good.  
From whence she could not well departed without the loss of life:  
Or cast her honour in the dust, unless she were his wife.  
Wherefore she minded for to try dame Fortunes turning wheel,  
And thus she speak unto the Knight, her heart as hard as steel.  
What is the cause O knight you do not her esteem,  
Who thought the time to be full long ere that she had you seen?  
And do you now set nothing by, the wight that lones you so?  
Who as you said, did guide your heart where so ever you did go?  
Have you so soon forgotten her that was your only joy?  
Be all your former pleasures now, converted to annoy?  
Look better once again, behold your humble wight:  
Do not estrange yourself from me, work not so great despite.  
Forgive me now my former faults which once I did commit:  
Your former griefs which I did cause, out of your heart let slip.  
I am the wight that tide your tongue, now let me lose the same:  
And for the first invented wrong, no more repute the blame.  
she seeing then this Gentleman would nothing say but mum,  
she cursed within her heart, the hour wherein she made him dumb.  
He did declare by outward signs that he could nothing speak,  
The trickling tears then suddenly out from her eyes do break.  
she then with arms embracing him, his lips did kiss full often,  
And in her heart for present aid des●res the Gods aloft  
But he which once with sugared words did seek her for to please,  
He now inventest all kind of ways her person to displease.  
Her cares now unto him be joy, her griefs do glad his heart,  
Her sobs and signs do cheer his mind, all c●res he sets apart.  
All her words do not avail, her plaints do profit naught:  
Now is she quite discouraged of that thing which she sought.  
He waked once again by her which once had slain his mind:  
Th● thing w●ich seemed long asleep, he did assay to find.  
she more for fear of loss of life, or price of the reward,  
Intending by all kind of ways, her life for to safeguard,  
Than for the true and earnest love which she to him did hear,  
Did suffer him to have of her, that lovers do desire:  
Thus for the space of fifteen days, they lived in great joy:  
But yet her friend would nothing speak, which did her much annoy.  
she humbly prayed him to show, some favour to her state,  
Protesting still while life doth last for to become his mate.  
Or that she might go free from either loss at hand,  
And she would stand as truest friend, that was in all that land.  
This gay and lowly talk, she had, to move the Knight,  
But not, as ye, more favour she could find before his si●ht.  
At length the king, when that he saw this patient would not speak,  
He did commit her to the jail in prison fast to keep,  
That either she should pay the sum, or else her life should loose:  
When this she heard, to sobs and tears herself she doth dispose.  
How bitter seemed this same drink, let all men bear away,  
Who priest with pain on every side, began thus for to say:  
Ah captive wight that wen●st about, an other to deceive,  
Hast sharpened now the vital sword, thy life for to bereave.  
Did it not well enough suffice for to deceive my foe?  
But all entangled in his snares, must breed my careful wo.  
My fame he doth so much despoil, that every one doth mock  
My state, to all so I shall be a common laughing stock.  
What hap had I that I was not devoured of some beast,  
Which in the woods and hills, I passed, do take their common rest?  
O what mischance had I that I broke not my neck,  
In tumbling down the steepy hills and so myself to wreck,  
Than here to stand a gazing stock to them that this way pass,  
And on a stage to all men's eyes a common looking glass.  
But this, O god, is due reward for mine ungodly life.  
My heart so fierce in cruelty delighting still in strife.  
The Knight contented with her plaints, esteeming not her grief,  
Yet at the length constrained was to get her some relief.  
Her tears did so bedew her face that he some pity took:  
The Crystal drops r●n down her cheeks as from a water broo●e.  
He more did wail and c●e her case, than she her lovers did:  
Which argued, much a gentle heart within his breast was hid.  
He the● repaired to the King, delighting slanders by,  
Who ●hen to hear him speak, on throgs they do● approach him nigh.  
He utters then before the King, the whole discourse of love  
Which he did bear to Zilia, as is rehearsed above,  
And how also she was the cause that he his speech di● loose,  
But now revived again by her whose heart with grief it flows.  
Wherefore yet now O king (quoth he) this one thing let me crave:  
That though she have deserved death, her pardon let her have.  
The king then speaks: your whole request you certes shall obtain,  
Although this widow do deserve to suffer grievous pain.  
Your most faithful and gentle heart deserveth no less praise,  
Than her ill deeds do merit pain, whose shame will last always.  
she then likewise contented was, a●d he to wife her took:  
He loved her, she him likewise, till death them twain forsook.  
FINIS.   

●rinted at London by Henr Binneman, dwelling in Knightrider Streatt at the Sign of the Mermaid.