THE True History of the Tragic loves of HIPPOLITO and ISABEL Neapolitans. Englished  
London Printed by Tho: Harper, and Nath: Feild, 1628.    

To the Volume.  
BY sale of all things,  
humane and divine,  
Since all sorts live;  
what sells life's sacred line,  
And with that life, the soul puts under Press;  
Me thinks should render rich Men, Midass':  
Here then th' Immortal soul is sold, with life  
Of two, by Love made one, in Man and Wife.  
Love breeds Opinion, and Opinion, Love,  
In whose Orbs, all the liberal Sciences move:  
All which contracted in one Tragedy,  
Sell (great Octavius;) and Augustus be,  
In all worth, for thy sale commodity.  
G. C.   

THE TRUE HISTORY of the tragic loves of Hippolito and Isabel, Neapolitans.  
AMongst all the accidents that usually draw men into the greatest admiration & astonishment, there are none so strange or prodigious as those which Love produceth: A passion, or rather fury, so violent; as that, overthrowing the reason and understanding of those it seizeth, it leaves them no consideration of the event of what it makes them undertake. And although the examples of the wars, eversions of Kingdoms and estates, with the errors it hath caused the wisest men to commit, and the ruins into which it hath precipitated the greatest Personages, be so ordinary as no man can be ignorant of them; yet we find scarce one that will make the right use of them; nevertheless, they ought to be known, to the end that some more happy than the rest, may by the representation of others miseries, be diverted from falling into the like. Amongst the chiefest where this passion hath displayed her tragical effects; This of which I now undertake to write, deserves a remarkable place.  
Italy hath been in all times a region fertile in high and noble spirits, and capable of the greatest and fullest fruits of virtue or vice, and also the most amorous and subject to love of all other Nations: which hath been the occasion that the men (finding this inclination so common and natural to them) have ordained the laws for the lives of women so strict & severe in their restraint, to which they subject them, as not assured of their chastities without the interdiction of the sight and frequentation of men, excepting only the conversation of their near allies. Now amongst all the Towns of Italy, where virtues and fair exercises are in greatest recommendation, and where is commonly the best and noblest company, Naples is one of the chief, and where there is a greater liberty then in other Cities of the Country. In this City there lived a Gentleman, Fabritio by name, who as well for the much desert of his virtues, as for the nobleness of his descent, held the place of one of the most honoured Magistrates of the City; In which charge he so well demeaned himself, and got himself so good a reputation, as having buried one Wife, he married a second, of birth and means much above his own: for though both Nature and Fortune had yielded him enough, yet they both had more advantaged her than him. This Woman by name Livia, had to her first Husband a Lord of the best blood of the Country, who left her two children, the eldest named Pompeio, the other Cornelio. Fabritio had by his first Wife amongst other children a daughter named Isabel, the which besides an excellent beauty with which she was adorned, was endowed with so great an understanding, as she seemed not only to surpass those of her age, (which was then about fifteen or sixteen years) but to leave short of her, all those that ever nature had produced excellent of her sex, in such sort as she was esteemed and admired of all as the wonder of her time. And that which yielded her more lustre, was a certain brave and proud fashion, but suited with a sweetness agreeable to her age and condition, that made her loved and feared both at once. Those whom Nature hath given to taste the sweetness of a fatherly love, may imagine what pleasure and contentment Signior Fabritio received in being father of many hopeful children, especially of so rare a treasure as this daughter, being withal favoured with so great an increase of fortunes, and convenience (by this second marriage) to breed & more highly advance his children, and chiefly his Isabel: for whom he & his wife Livia had designed a marriage with Pompeio (her eldest Son by her first Husband) who of her part also was most glad to have so happily found for herself so good a Daughter, & her Son so fair a Wife, breeding her more carefully than if she had been her natural child. The good and commendable project of this marriage being agreed on by these Parents, and whereon they built the principal happiness of their house and family, brought them much more ruin than it had promised them contentment; being the ordinary pleasure of fortune to build upon the foundation of our designs, events most contrary to our hopes. This Maid to whom the greatness of her wit (with her knowledge of Letters) did advance the discourse of her soul to the judging of things far above her sex, or what her age might seem to bear, did make her also disdain that which she thought unworthy of her fair parts, bestowing her time more on privacy than conversation, partly in study, partly in Music; sometime marrying with her Instrument her voice which she had perfectly sweet; sometime using her Needle in working some rare story or curious Hieroglifique, that every thing might be a witness of the well-spending of her time.  
Being arrived at the seaventeenth year of her age, she had notice given her by her father of her appointed husband, with much discourse of the sense she ought to have of so good a fortune. To which she made such answer, as a Father may expect from such a daughter; who besought him only to leave yet awhile some liberty to her youth, and time to frame herself to the obedience of a Husband.  
Livia being discreet and wise, and knowing many imperfections in her Son, had left him to abide ever since her marriage in a Country house of hers, some eight or ten miles from Naples, where she kept discreet and well-fashioned people about him, to the end to correct and some way amend the ill habits of his mind and body, for certainly he was borne unpleasing to the eye, and very uncapable of any thing gentle or virtuous: but as it is impossible to overcome so great an enemy as Nature, (which though you beat from you, yet will return again) so proved the care of his Mother, and the pain of those about him most unprofitable to this young man, who having attained to the age of twenty two years, was then advertised by his Mother of her intention for his marriage, of which the beauty of this fair Maid made him so greedily desirous, that after his first fight of her, he had no disposition to be from his Mistress, who then began to look better upon him than she was wont to do before she knew her Father's pleasure. So frequentation made her know him, and her knowledge of him to disdain him: her disdain bred hatred, her hate despair, and despair those strange resolutions in her that you shall hereafter understand. In this time an Uncle of hers, called Hippolito, was returned home from Bolonia, where he had remained four or five years, as well to study, as to learn Horsemanship, Fensing, Music, and other commendable parts befitting a Gentleman, in which having bestowed himself to the age of one or two and twenty years, his elder Brother (who assumed the office of a Father) thought it fit to call him home to advise with him of the settling of his estate.  
This young man being returned to Naples, fair mannered, handsome, that knew to dress himself well, and whose speech was graceful and pleasing, was forthwith known and affected of all, but chiefly of his Niece, with whom (as well through the affinity of their natures and years, as of their blood) he was received into that peculiar degree of friendship and primacy, as if he had been her Brother; yea more, they had so great a communication and mutual relation each with other, as they were grown to esteem it an injury to themselves not to make each master of the others nearest thoughts. They had not long lived in this fashion when the young Maid acquainted him with her appointed marriage, and her little affection to it, complaining much of the cruelty of her fortune, and the severe resolution of her Father to couple her with a man so ill suiting her in every thing, and who (setting aside the advantage of his birth and means) had nothing in him remarkable.  
The company of this Uncle of hers increased still her disdain against her lover, by the approof he gave of her opinion of the others wants, whose company annoyed them both more than they were pleased with, in such sort, as they sought all means to free themselves of it, and retire to reading and other mutual pleasures between themselves. But as it is easy and most ordinary for extremities even in virtuous things to slip into vices; so this excellent friendship could not long contain itself within the bounds and limits of his duty, but growing to a farther liberty by their private frequentation, began to be accompanied with a certain unmeasured doting upon this retiredness, and a melancholy passionate grief in absence each of the other, and a loathing of all other company, and in conclusion, (it being the custom of their age to discourse of love more than any other subject) love so mingled with them, that it became the master of both their hearts. And although their years had as yet given them little practice in this affair, and that fear taken from him, and shame from her, the ordinary means of declaring their affections; yet the quickness of both their apprehensions made them both soon acquainted with their reciprocal passions. Which encouraged Hippolito one time among the rest, to take this advantage of a discourse they had had of love, and the thraldom his subjects live in, and speak to this purpose.  
Certainly Niece I have read a maxim which I now receive for purer truth than heretofore, that men cannot rightly judge or discourse of the true quality of any passion without having had some trial or feeling of it himself, and whereas I have diverse times with yourself and others, enforced in my discourses what I had read and heard of the strange effects of love, and how there is no passion nor any part of the soul that yields not to it, and that reason and prudence are able to make but weak resistance against it, yet I must confess I speak rather for arguments sake, then believing in the truth of what I related, esteeming indeed, that affect the easiest to govern and hide of most others. But I must now confess all true, and much more than I could have said or can, that might express the admirable effects that love produces, and strong hand it holds over our reasonable part.  
How now Uncle! (answered she) will the laws of our friendship allow this, that you have thought one thing, and spoken another to me? Pardon me Niece (answered Hippolito) it hath not been that I would bar you of any thought in my bosom, nor that I would, or alas could hide this from you; fear only hath denied me the liberty. Neither think (I beseech you) that I would any way offend you, or fail in the least cause of a friends duty, but rather double my respect and observance, as the subject and cause is increased; and will believe that the occasion of this discourse is happened me by fate, to remove my fear, and give you some occasion to approve the power of this deity in me, whom of a free man it hath made a captive, and instead of that Uncle and friend, I have been hitherto to you, your servant and vassal; and turned all my free thoughts into so devoted an observance, that they have no will left to will any thing but obedience to your thoughts, to honour you, to desire you, and lastly, to make me so acceptable to you, as to be by you, only esteemed worthy your affection.  
The tears and earnest sighs that accompanied these words, stayed them there, and made her no less amazed at their unexpected novelty, then troubled and doubtful, what answer she might fittest make to them: the conformity of her passion of the one side more then half yielding, and of the other, her maiden bashfulness drawing her with no less violence back; at last after a little silence, the witness of some change in her thoughts, quoth she, I do now find it true that I have heard wise people say; that a virtuous and fair appearance often covers a vicious design; and for this reason, if solitude had not been ordained to our sex, I had so disposed of myself, as to shun the unhappy consequence, which ordinarily (by my observation) follow the society and haunting with men, even those that opinion ranks amongst the honestest, but you I thought so innocent of dissembled purposes, and all your courses so led by virtue, as nothing but yourself could have persuaded me (I being what I am) you would have intended any thing against that which I shall ever hold dearer than my life. I see the too much nearness I have allowed you, gives the boldness to take this advantage, (or it may be the guessing me too easy,) to try and know the disposition of my humour, it being otherways impossible you should attempt the honour of one so near you, as nature binds you to the preservation of it; but since it is thus, I hope hereafter to let you better see, I detest these things, and neither your subtlety nor company please me.  
Those which being young beginners in love, have to an extreme passion, received such a refusal, may conceive the anguish this answer brought to poor Hippolito; who thought he heard a sentence against his life; and losing colour, speech, and understanding, remained a good while without speaking; at last returning to himself as from an extacy, with a trembling voice, as full of sighs as words, he made this answer. If my fortune have led me to an enterprise so harmful to myself, and to you so offensive; your perfections, the divine force of love, or my cruel destinies, not my will must be accused; which hath but by violent necessity offended you. O be satisfied with the infinity of those other miseries that I see prepared for me, without adding to them the privation of your company, and leave me yet the short comfort of that trouble, whereof I hope ere long, by the end of my life to deliver you, & myself by the same mean, from the punishment of myrashnesse, the which I earnestly beseech you not to imagine to have been guided by any craft or subtlety. I have all my life had this vice of dissimulation in too great a horror to be able now to use it; especially with you, towards whom (though it were familiar to me) yet the laws of my affinity and love would forbid it me. Believe me, truth accompanies my words; and the respect of your honour, my intentions: which have no other end then the assurance of your favour, and of a more particular affection then friendship may dispense with you to bear to another: 'tis no breach of your honour that I pretend unto; nor more than I will hope you may think belongs to me, being but so far a preferring me before others, as the obligation of nature, and our vowed friendship makes to become due to me.  
He was beginning to say more, when one came to call them to supper; so as Isabel had only leisure to tell him, that she was to hear no more of those matters: which thrust him yet farther into despair; by which occasion, and the many tears he had shed, his face was so changed, that he was fain to persuade his brother and sister in law, that he was not well, so excusing himself for not supping, he went to a house of another of his brothers, a Notary, a rich man, and there lodged with another fourth brother named Scipio somewhat elder than himself, where he lay with opinion of every one that he was sick as he seemed, and removed his brother from his chamber, to the end to enjoy more fully the liberty of his plaints and passions, which all the night held him in such unrest, as he not only slept not, but fell into a fever, a fit bodily disguise for the affliction of his mind. He lay four days contending in his reason, with love for the mastery: and to beat him from the hold he had got in him, but alas, what resistance can men make against gods? He was already in the snare, which the more he struggled to get free of, still the faster held him, and was forced back to the pursuit of his unfortunate love. He resolved to take more courage, and to write to his mistress, since he had neither means nor assurance to see her.  
She was no less divided, by as great a civil war of love, sometimes accusing herself of ingratitude, sometimes of cruelty, for casting him she loved best of all worldly things, into so great a despair: of this she would excuse herself upon a greater fault, that she had too easily received the first offer of his service, whom divine, humane, and the laws of public honesty, had forbidden her.  
In the mean time Hippolito was often visited by his brother Fabritio, and had speech with him of the marriage of Pompeio with his daughter, which he seemed much to approve of, wisely dissembling his grief, and offering Pompeio his service in all good offices to his mistress, for which he hourly importuned him. Amongst these passages Hipolito's footman, fit enough for such employments, brought Isabel a letter from his master, feigning to be only sent to inquire of her health. The fellow being gone, she retired into her chamber, and read the letter, which was to this purpose.  
IF I had left me any power to command my desires, I might be content to discourse only with myself, of the sufferings of my most unhappy condition, without importuning you with the view of my afflictions; but since love hath enforced the subjection of all my will to his laws, and your service, pardon me (I beseech you) if enforced by both these, I fly to your pity, which I implore with all the vows of my soul, as the only help and mean left me to escape a never ending torment. Though it be uneasy to you, yet you owe it him, who honours you above all worldly things, and adores you as the only model of all excellence here below: who lives not but by you, nor desires life but for you, and to be so happy, as to spend it in your service, to which I am so vowed, as heaven shall as soon be false as I alter this resolution. Accept, if you please, this devotion, and governing it by what laws you shall think fit, make yourself of it what assurance my life or death can yield you, and let not cruelty which finds some limits, even in them to whom it is proper and peculiar, be a perpetual blot to your fair virtues, in not suffering me to find that mercy at death's hand, that I may not at your.  
A weak persuasion will carry a divided and doubtful mind, to that part whither itself inclines; so these letters finding her leaning more to love then duty, forced her through all the doubts that could oppose themselves, and after some discourse with herself, of such differing accidents in those occurrences as her able understanding set before her; reason at length gave place to love, and respect to passion; but with this resolution, not to engage her honour, or by any thing confess her purpose, till the last she could possibly delay it to; and the next morning she sent this following answer.  
IF I had not by all the points of a faithful observance, assured you of as perfect a friendship as you can desire of me, I should allow the complaints of your letter; being incident to every good disposition, to desire a friendship with his kindred; or if our case were such as we might expect the end their desires look to, who seek the union of their lives, by the holyknot of a lawful love, I should receive that passion you complain to suffer for my sake, as a most assured testimony, of the worthy opinion you held of me, to whom you would permit yourself to address such an affection; but since I am assured of the one, and cannot hope any thing of the other; I advice you restore yourself to reason, that you may condemn (as you ought) your grievings for their unfitness, your passions as lecentions, and beyond the bounds of your part; and to show you that pity hath in me an equal place with friendship, since you put yourself upon the rules of my discretion, I beseech you lay from you your unjust griefs, and impossible hopes, and expect from me, only all the effects of a most solid, and most perfect friendship, such as my honour, and what I am to you, can bestow upon you; in so doing, you shall find my faith constant above the least change, that any thing of this world can endeavour to make in it. This I promise; this I swear to you; and conjure you to be contented with this utmost I can do, and not seek to entice my affection beyond the bounds of my duty, assuring myself in so reasonable a suit, your desires will agree with mine. I will lastly, entreat you to be well, that I may suddenly receive the pleasure of your company.  
This letter was better Physic to Hipolito's disease, than all the Physicians of Naples could give him, which having read over, and over, infinitely often, he was much troubled on what resolution to settle himself, and as a mind possessed with desire, is ever therewith accompanied with fear, so did he give so diverse interpretations to the letter, as not a word in it, but he made to suffer a double understanding, sometime taking it for general and indifferent words, sometime gathering somewhat thence to his own advantage: after many discourses of his fantasy, he resolved at last on the better part, and hope making him take heart, began by that mean to recall his health so well, as that within two days, leaving his chamber, he went to visit a sister of his, a Nun, between whom and him, by reason of the sympathy of their natures, there was an extraordinary love and amity.  
This Nun, understood but too much for her profession, and was then of the age of thirty five years, having more exercised her wit about honest affairs of the world (as far as the restraint of a Cloister might suffer her) then in the strict observance of the duties of her order.  
The Lady Isabel her Niece, had often leave to go to that Monastery, as well to hear the Service, as to see her Aunt, and learn of her to work curious works with the Needle, which she much affected.  
She was glad to see her brother so well amended, and having made him sit, and discoursing of his sickness, she blamed the strictness of her condition, that had denied her the mean of visiting him, as otherwise she would have done, if the Laws she lived under would have permitted her. To which, finding he made no answer, but sat immoderately sighing; she added, certainly Brother, either it is your sickness hath so strangely altered you, that I may say, I scarce know you, or you have somewhat in your mind, that you will keep to yourself, that makes you so melancholy, as may hazard the casting of you down again, if you take not heed. You know there is no disease more dangerous than that of the mind, the Physicians have no Receipt, nor Apothecaries any Drugge, that may avail to heal it: the best thing for it, is the advice of a faithful friend, and where can you expect it more faithful, then from me, who you know have not only loved you above my other Brothers, but even before myself. I beseech you by that inviolable, and more than sisterly love, make me a partner of your sufferings; upon this assurance that you shall find me secret, serviceable, and assisting you to all you can desire; despise not a veiled head, as an unprofitable thing that cannot give you comfort equal with others more conversant in the world. Dear Sister (answered Hippolito) my affection to you is built upon too sure a foundation to be shaken, or endangered by any earthly accident, nor have I ever doubted of the ability of your understanding, but my despair of remedy to my affliction, takes from me all will to give it you; for give me good Sister, and since you can in nothing help, let me alone endure the penance of my idle thoughts. How? (answered she) where is the resolution you men attribute to yourselves above the courage of women? Certainly, your part of it is very little, that you despair of executing, before you attempt the means; if your own invention do not presently give you a smooth way to your desires, you must not therefore think that others cannot find it out for you, the fullest understandings, in their own affairs are distrustful, and for fear of losing themselves, do often repair to the faith of a friend for their resolution. If I can serve in nothing else but to keep your griefs for you, it is no little lightning to a heavy and oppressed heart, to leave his vexations with those he knows, will affectionately embrace all, to take but a part from him. The principal effects of friendship, are help and consolation; though I be unuseful for the one; yet am I most fit for the other, and I hope able for both. God often times raises the means of our relief beyond our hope, and from those we lest expect it: dear Sister (answered he) out of the mere duty of my love, and no hope at all of any allay to my griefs; I will tell you their subject, which shame ought still as much to conceal, as reverence to the laws of Nature, should have at first forbidden. Know (dear Sister) I have been so long engaged, that now in despite of my best oppositions, I am constrained to give myself up to the love of our Niece Isabel. This hath been, and is the occasion of my anguish, and must so remain as long as my unhappy fate shall allow me life: behold the labyrinth of my pains, and the little means I have to get out, since I am already gone on so far. With this he told her the discourse of all had passed between them, showing her the letters he had writ, and her answers to them. To which his Sister said, I find now that one of the greatest faults that the Ancients have made in the picture of Love is in blinding his eyes, for though he indifferently disperseth his shafts amongst all sorts of creatures, yet the eye was never against this effect, and in that respect they needed not have blindfolded him, but this mark I see belongs better to those whom he hath once touched, and whom he leaveth not only blind in body, but even estranged from all due considerations of the mind, so much as they remain insensibly confused and lost in themselves, without ability to make use of their own understandings.  
Oh how truly was it said of that Phylospher, that for the most part we make things difficult and impossible to ourselves for want of courage to undertake them! Make yourself (Brother) judge of this in yourself, who upon the first difficulty that affronts you in your design, remain astonished and confounded. You love a Lady that is upon the point of marriage with another. There are many marriages intended, yet so crossed, as they never arrive to their consummation: and though that must be, yet were not that the worst that might happen you; marriage often bringing convenience to love. Next, you love one that you cannot marry? Well? and hath love no other ends for his contentment, than marriage? since it as often dissevers affections as it joins them, while being subjected to the laws of an obligation and duty, you disarm him of his chiefest forces. A wife (though never so fair) is like a guest, or the rain that becomes a trouble in three days.  
But you will say, I love one whom the laws do forbid me both all desire and all hope to enjoy, which so distracts me in this thorny way, as I am there ruined with the impossibility of getting out. You are not the first that have undertaken things as much forbidden, which have yet attained to a happy end. Think virtue consists in great and difficult things, and is pleased in a resistance, and the more pain and difficulty there is in an affair, the more glory follows the enterprise, and pleasure the execution: the attempt may content you, whether you gather the desired fruits of your pains, or fall under an impossible enterprise, and where your fortune fails you, not your courage. In sum, you stand not in ill terms. I find in these Letters ground enough to build hope enough on: leave the government of this business to me; it may be I shall give you a better account than you expect of it. Be you of good cheer, go see your Mistress, and procure her repair hither upon our Lady's day to hear the Vespers, and fail not to be here yourself.  
All these fair promises of the Nun wrought little in her Brother's belief; only they so far restored him to himself, as that commending his love to her care, with more affection than he would have done his life, he returned to his Brother the Notary's house till the next day after dinner, when he went to see Fabritio, and (under that pretence) his Daughter Isabel, where he received the gladdest welcome from Brother, Sister, Niece, and Signior Pompeio that might be. That afternoon passed in the discourse of his sickness, and how much every one suffered for him. Evening being come, he returned home, deferring the speech with his Niece till next day, which was our Lady's Eve, when he was to dine with his Brother Fabritio, and Pompeio should be gone home. He then entreated her to go the next day to the Nuns to Vespers, if she could get leave, which she easily obtained: her Mother in law being sick, and accompanied with an old Gentlewoman her neighbour. She carried with her only her Maid julia, in whom she wholly affied.  
This commodity gave Hippolito a presage of his good fortune, and her the first danger of her ruin, whereof she had some apprehension at her departure; for getting up into the Coach, a weakness seized her, with a head-ache, and a cold sweat all over her body, and having been a while in the Coach, the Horses that used before times to be quiet enough, began to start, and rush one upon the other, with such force and confusion as drove the Coachman into danger of his life, who had much a do to bring them into order again. These accidents not a little affrighted the understanding of the unfortunate Lady: but the force of our destiny violently drives us to what is fatally ordained to us; so these things could nothing hinder her from the pursuit of her misfortunes, in spite of all the contradictions of either her fear, or reason.  
Being arrived at the Nunnery, she found her Uncle and her Aunt walking together in a Garden, there attending her coming, who as soon as they had perceived her, and seeing her paler than she used to be, her Aunt said to her; Certainly Niece you have not brought your best looks hither, me thinks you are afraid of shaming my Brother, and therefore will partake with his sickly looks. Then Isabel told them what had happened her in her coming, and occasioned that fear which perhaps her looks had still retained.  
Well then (said the Nun) since ye are both of you ill at ease, my counsel is, that ye repose yourselves, and dispense with to day's devotion. julia and I will go hear the Vespers for you. No good Aunt (said Isabel) I came not here to see your Garden; I will go hear service with you and I think my Uncle is here for the same purpose too. God will be no less pleased (answered the Nun) with your wills, and perhaps more, then if ye did what might prejudice your healths. The Divines say, that although in the affirmative precepts of piety one be not always busied in the action affirmative, yet that the sight alone sufficeth: in precepts negative, the troth is, we must be conversant, and bend to the action negative. Stay here, stay, I will take your sin upon me; and with that went away, carrying julia along with her. Well Niece (said Hippolito) let us stay then, since it is my Sister's counsel, and taking her by the hand, led her to sit under a hanging roof covered with Gelsomines and Musk-Roses, and 'gan to speak to her in this sort.  
If ever man had reason to praise Heaven, it must be I, for the happiness I now receive in this means offered me, to return you my due humble thanks for the honour of your Letters in my sickness: and to unfold the thoughts of my soul to you; to the end that comprehending them better than heretofore you have suffered yourself to do, you will deign to receive my griefs and relieve them. I beseech you then take my words in that good part that my affection deserves, and with such pity of my afflictions as your goodness ought to move you to. I will not importune you with the repetition of any my former discourses, you may have remembered enough to found your determination upon, and to know the bounds of mine intentions so limited, as that I nor pretend, nor desire aught of you that is not in all honesty and honour permitted: nor more than a pre-eminence of affection, such as love may establish in a heart, that is, to give the fruits to others, for whom they are by the superstition of our laws, and their favourable destinies more happily reserved. All I desire is, that as all my thoughts are dedicated and vowed to the service, honour, and love of the heavenly virtues of your soul, and all my wishes but to be acceptable to you; yours may so far answer them, as to set all other friendship and affections behind mine, & so far distinguish my portion in you from other men's, as not to receive them in comparison or equality with me. Pay me no more than for God's sake with the love of a Niece, which may be common to many more; and judging aright of my devotions, receive them, since they tend not to your prejudice, nor to any thing unlawful or interdicted.  
I had thought Uncle (answered Isabel) I had so satisfied you by my Letters, as you had remained as well content as you have cause to be, and that your reason had had the power to disperse those vain fantasies that had clouded your judgement; but for aught I see, the work is new to begin: would to God I had beleft those presages that should have diverted me from coming to this place to enter anew into our wont contestations. I know (Uncle) that all desires tend unto the end of their contentment. You say that that of your love is fixed upon the soul, and those perfections which you make yourself believe mine is accompanied with. These are still for aught I can perceive those first dissembled protestations, by which those that are seized with your passion, are wont to abuse such as they find easy of belief, and within the bounds whereof they determine not to keep themselves: and though there might be found some men so discreet as would be content to be so limited, yet love still being become their master, and having taken from them all power of ruling and bounding their will, and bowing it to the appetites of the body (which is most conversant with us) it soon wearies the wit and spirit with the contemplation of things separated from humanity, and draws it to the pursuit of those delights and pleasures, to which our senses and appetites do lead us. Do you not know that the brands or Torches which they paint in Cupid's hands betoken his double and different effects? for as the light of the fire pleaseth the eyes, and rejoiceth us when we behold it only, and not feel the heat too near us; but when it comes to burn us, we suffer then the hurt of that thing that before so much delighted us; even so Love hath his beginnings pleasing, because he doth not at first possess and take up the discourse of our reason, and represents nothing to us for a while but the sweetness of a felicity and contentment which he sets before us, and makes us easily hope for: but when he hath once seized us wholly, as he takes his possession, he dazzles us with the alluring appearances of his pleasures, and putting us into the midst of his flame, melts and makes to waste from us all the freedom of our reason and judgement that we had before. It were better therefore (good Uncle) you draw back the first foot you have set into it, before the other follow it, and fail you too, and not to desire of me what I can neither give, nor you ought to pretend unto. You know I am upon the point of marriage: if ill hap discover your addresses (as time if you persevere cannot long hide them) you not only ruin this my fortune, which brings me profit, if not contentment, but with it my reputation; and be assured, if I give you not a most ample content, it is not want of will but power.  
This discourse which Hippolito believed to come from a sincere truth, and not mingled with dissimulation, sent him back to his old fever, and made him speak thus. Niece, why should you not conceive my love rather placed between Hercules and Mercury, that is, between Reason and Courage, as ancient Academies have painted him, then between voluptuous pleasure and unfaithfulness, where you seat him? Why, will you not allow him virtue for his object, before a base lust, and which you forbid me too? Why, will you rather think me wicked and false, than such as I am, and you have reason to judge me? I could easily answer the scrupulous ceremonies of law with which you combat me. The holy Bible offers me examples of such, and things much farther in nearness of alliance. The force of love is divine, and may justify us against all civil or Ecclesiastical ordinances. But I will not go so far, nor alter the style of my first language, or overthrow your marriage, much less your reputation. I have enough protested, but since so unprofitably, I find death must end my love, and despair; and I hope it will not be long first: I shall not be alone unhappy, when like Timageres you happily will too late repent the ruin of your Miletus, and so revenge upon your own self your cruelty. In speaking this, the tears fell from his eyes, and drew as many from Isabel.  
As they were taking new heart and speech, the Nun returned from her short Vespers, and at the entrance of the Garden (to be freed from julia) gave her her Psalter, to deliver her Maid, willing them to provide some collation. And coming to her Brother and Niece, a little smiling, quoth she: how now sweet hearts, I am afraid you have spent this time ill you are both so sad, make me a partner of your entertainments: though I be not so cunning as you worldlings, yet I am not such an innocent as my habit speaks me, I have books ye know of other use then to the Church; nor am I altogether unpractized in any thing; fear not to give me your discourse, for should it be even of Love, I might be able to put in a word.  
Of Love's Aunt (answered Isabel) the devotions and walls of a Cloister allow it no entrance.  
What (answered the Nun) can you that have read so much be ignorant of his effects, in the Temple of A●ubis, in Saturn's Temple at Alexandria, or how little the strict guard of Danaë, Leda, and many others, could prevent the powerful workings of this God? There is nothing that his brands cannot fire, or his arrows pierce; and I had ill spent my time in the house of your dead Mother, who was the woman I loved best in this world, and whose memory I do most honour, if I had learned nothing of this.  
My Mother Aunt (answered Isabel) what can you say of her? I was not so blest as to see her in an age fit to judge of her condition, but sure she died with a more fair and unquestioned reputation, than (if her life and manners had not throughly deserved it) this age would have given her.  
Niece (answered the Nun) nothing undoth us but indiscretion: your Mother was happy in placing her favours upon a wise and respectful Gentleman, and she of her part was in nothing unwary. This preserved her, and will keep up the honour and happiness of all that join it with their love. I will give you the whole truth, for I saw it.  
The year I was professed Nun (it is some eighteen years since) the marquis of Coria was sent to this Town in business of his Majesties; he stayed here some seven or eight months, bestowing the time his great employments left him in the noblest exercises, and most worthy his quality; he was some five and thirty years old, and the most accomplished man that I ever saw. The Lords and Gentry to do him honour, made him many feasts, and there always followed Balls, Masques, Comedies, and other pleasurable pastimes, in which he would again return his thanks to them. He took much pleasure in Masques, for the privilege it gave him of discoursing with Ladies. My eldest Brother was the man of this Town he most affied in, and to whom he did most freely impart his negotiation; my Sister the woman that pleased him best, finding her excellently fair, well graced, of a pleasing discourse, and an understanding above the rest. This inclination grew to a love, in which he governed himself so well, and so well disguised it, that he escaped all suspicion. He resolved to impart it to my Sister, but with such fitness as none but she, or some most trusted woman should know it. And knowing the common curiosity and sudden suspicions that ordinarily follow near frequentations in those kinds, might soon ruin his hopes, he retained still his ordinary modest fashion and seem. But the Carnevall drawing near, the Masques and dances were also more frequent, and gave him more convenience to speak to her, & entertain her as he did; yet so disguized, as though he was known to be in the troop, yet he was unknown to all but her, to whom (finding, or presuming, that she was not displeased, he should make more estimation of her then the rest) he gave a sign to know him by, which made the means of his approaches more easy. And after having enough by general and doubtful words, given her the chief end and aim of his desires, at last, he revealed himself wholly to her.  
To be short, his discretion so managed his affair for him, as that helped with the force of his virtue and nobleness, (and the service of my Sister's Nurse, whom he found means to gain, and make the messenger of his letters) he led my Sister to such composition, as that (convenience and safety permitting) she gave him promise of sight, and speech with her in more privacy. Such as are practised in Italy, and Spain, understand well enough, what such permissions do promise to those that women have a will to favour. To bring this to pass, there happened a very fit mean; which was the necessity of an affair of import for the King's service, wherein he was to send to Rome out of hand to his Holiness. The marquis (and the Counsel by his advice) judged my Brother, fitter than any other for this purpose; whereupon, soon as the Carnevall was ended, my brother made that voyage, where he was five or six weeks; in which time, the marquis taking the occasion, found means to visit my Sister by night, following her permission, which stretched at length even to the point, whither they say love pretends; with such continuance as that every second night he visited her, without ever having been discovered by any but my Sister's Nurse, who lay in her Chamber, and I in her inner Chamber, by reason of a sickness I had, that made me leave the Monastery a while, to be the better tended in my Brother's house? And, who not being yet throughly recovered, slept not so sound, but I sometimes heard soft noises of doors, and murmurs of words, which put me into a little suspicion, with some other things that I had already been employed about, which kept me still in doubt: In such sort, as one day I cast out a word to my sister; who so rebuked me, that I never after durst speak any more to her of it.  
But near upon the time that my Brother was expected back again; she offered occasion of speech with me to that purpose, expressly conjuring me to harbour no such opinions in my fantasy, and not to frame any false and injurious tales of her. I that loved, and honoured her more than any other thing, and had all the obligation of nature, and love from her to make me do so: gave her all the assurances that she could desire, of what she commanded me, telling her by way of discourse what I had seen here, which so satisfied her, seeing I had both engaged myself, and had beside a little knowledge of the world; as she promised me, if time gave her proof of the faith I professed her, she would one day speak more freely to me, than yet she would, as afterward she did, which ye shall hear.  
But first ye must know, that my Brother being returned, this practice between them ceased, not their loves; but virtue was of both sides so reciprocally obeyed, as their pleasure, nor desire, had not the power to carry them beyond the limits of respect, nor had they other commerce then by letters, and those but seldom. Not long after Easter, the marquis having dispatched the affairs he had in charge, was called home by the King his Master, which summons, honour, and duty both commanded him to obey. You may imagine, what an affliction was this eternal separation, both of them despairing ever to see one another again.  
I will only add this for one of the rarest, and most notable examples of discretion, and constancy in them both, that I think hath been ever seen upon the like occasion: that in a feast which the Signory of the town made him before his departure, whither the Ladies were invited, and among the rest my Sister, whom he led in the gran ballo, or Measures, and in whose pauses, or times of rest, this sad subject served them for entertainment, that neither there, in taking their leaves, nor here in this place where he saw her afterwards (as if it had been by chance, coming to bid our Abbess farewell) none could ever by either of their faces, or gestures, perceive any alteration in their minds, or any appearance so differing from their accustomed fashion, as might give any the least suspicion of the truth. He being gone, and my Sister big with child, and drawing near her time; she came hither to see me, and took of me the greatest assurances she could devise of secrisie, of what I should receive from her. Which I have hitherto most inviolably kept; and should still, had not this occasion plucked it from me, besides that, ye, and I owe an equal respect unto her memory, and all other danger is long since past. She fpake to me in this sort.  
Sister, you may remember, when my husband was employed to Rome, we had speech together of a conceit you had then taken; and I promised, so you would have patience for the present, I would hereafter talk more freely to you. The occasion is now come, that (having had many testimonies of your love, though peradventure, your youth might give cause to question your discretion) I shall repose myself upon the assurances, and trials that I have had of your affection in the thing that more concerns me then my life; assuring myself, it cannot light into more faithful, more fit, or more safe hands then into yours.  
Then she relates to me, the loves of the marquis and her, and how the child, with which she was then great, was his, as he knew, and not my Brothers; but because she was not above three weeks gone with child before my Brother's return, it was easy to conceal it. Nevertheless, she desired the marquis should know (as was agreed between them) what issue her great belly should come to: which she determined herself to do, if God gave her life, but if it pleased him by her death, to deprive her of the means, she desired me to discharge this office, and to this purpose; three days after she should be brought a bed, a Pilgrim should come, feigning to be returned from jerusalem, bringing images, and other things of devotion, and should ask alms to make his voyage to Saint jaques in Spain: whom you shall find means (said she) to take into your chamber, and give him this little coffer, whereof this is the key: there is in it a jewel, his picture, and his letters, at the bottom of one of which, you shall write a son, or a daughter, according as I shall be delivered, and you shall so discharge him, without more words to him. If I die, you shall be freed of this trouble, and shall only keep this box, which she opened, and read his letters to me, the best written I think, that ever were seen; the jewel was this Diamond, which you have so much desired, and I have ever promised you: she gave it me at her death, in the presence of my Brother to keep for you till your Marriage.  
Now you must note, that the marquis was to send some one of trust to Naples, about the time of my Sisters lying in; who clad like a Pilgrim, should temporize and dissemble himself for a time, in all but the place, where he was certainly to be found out, by those he should be sent unto from, though he knew them not. God would that soon after his arrival, she was delivered of you, Niece, so happily, as she had the means to see him dispatched herself. But she left the coffer with me still, which I kept till her death, she commanded me to burn within a while after, all that was within it (as I did) and gave me the jewel (as I have told you) the which my Brother believed, she had had of her Brother the Bishop of Ostia, when she went to see him on his deathbed, a little before her being with child of you.  
Behold the truth of the History, to which I swear to you, I have added nothing of my own, but delivered the simple truth of all as it past; being one of the seldomest seen, and rarest passages carried in this kind, that I think hath been lightly heard, or read of; and by relation, whereof I hope I shall not have diverted, or slact either of you in the offices of that amity, which the mutual opinions of your near alliance each to other hath engendered between you: and wherein (though ye may in truth discover the mistaking of your beliefs hitherto) yet your virtues, I know will smooth over greater errors, for the honour of your house, and the memory of so worthy a woman as she was.  
Isabel through this discourse, feigning to be much displeased with her Aunt, said to her; pardon me (Aunt) if I bate you a little of the respect I bore you, to the end to give the cinders of my dead Mother their due; which command me to tell you that I hold the story you have told, as repugnant to truth, as all those that have known her, have ever judged her actions conformable and obedient to virtue. And you can not more plainly forbid me your conversation, then by defaming the honour of one I owe so much to as a Mother.  
No, no Niece, (said the Nun) I pray you do not think I have discoursed any thing to you that is not most true, or have spoken at all to offend you, or blemish the honour of my dead Sister, in the reverence whereof (though you be her Daughter) you shall never exceed me. 'Twas by chance I fell into this discourse, and upon the occasion your words gave me, and upon that assurance that ought to be betwixt us, which I imagined too great to have suffered any such distrusts to have stepped between us. The experience that the world and more years may give you, will show you, that such, and stranger accidents than these, are nothing impossible: Although I must confess, if I had imagined it would have so much offended you, I had withheld myself from speaking any thing of this matter.  
I would not Sister (said Hippolito) for the better half of my life but you had brought me this unexpected quiet, and drawn me out of the conflict my soul was in, and rebellion against me, and my destinies against all my dearest desires, nay, against Heaven itself, for having plunged me into a gulf of miseries so deep, as no other thing but the remedy this your discourse may prepare for me, can deliver me out of.  
Behold (answered the Nun) to what pass I am come; for my own part, I hold you both dear, and love you with so equal an affection, as I cannot make any distinction between you, and having at once pleased the one, and offended the other, I am as much afflicted with that distaste, as glad of the other contentment. But had I known the occasion of these contrary motions, perhaps my small understanding had prompted me to have so fitly spoken, that I had remained equally accepted of you both.  
I pray Aunt (said Isabel) let us leave this ill subject; 'tis not only to you Niece (said she:) but to me dear Goddess (answered Hippolito) who proposing to myself from hence all my happiness, will believe that my Sister is miraculously fall'n upon this discourse, to draw back my life not from the grave, but (which is worse) from the forever languishing griefs, whither the mischief of my desperate condition was leading me. Then began he to discourse anew of his loves, as if he had not yet imparted them to the Nun, who the better to give the last accomplishment to this work, had sent word that her Niece was to sup with her, and that the Coach should not a wait her return till the evening. She observed well the Maid's countenance during Hipolito's discourse, and believed her heart meant him no ill, though she often interrupted him, as desirous they should believe the contrary: in the end she enforced herself to this speech.  
Was it not enough that you had digressed so much from what you ought, as to have followed the direction of so unreasonable an opinion, and so far presumed as to have thus often importuned me, but that you must now be transported beyond the limits of modesty and your own honour, in daring to lay open all this to her, before whom the least thought of it should make you blush? I beseech you be satisfied with my patience, and your own impudence, without going farther.  
The Nun believing she said this rather forced then heartily, interrupted her, saying, (Niece) scorns do not always sit well upon modest women, nor ought they to light indifferently upon all those that offer them their service: The honesty, birth, wit, judgement, good fashion, with other fair parts and virtues of such as possess them, aught to commend & make them more acceptable than others, less remarkably accomplished; and she that should not make this difference, must deserve to be thought without judgement or understanding. You are not of that number; and the especial communication of your friendship with my Brother, shows in what rank you hold him. And now that you have occasion to judge his, to you greater than ever, and more complete, since his parts heretofore made you esteem him worthy your favour, why must the increase and perfection of his love be the diminution and end of yours? restore yourself to yourself, and do not a thing so unlike you; do not (sweet Niece) make him miserable, whom you have ever known honest and worthy of love, nor pay the debt of the faithful service he hath vowed to you, with a less favourable usage than you were content to allow him when you owed him less. Isabel, though she made show that these discourses displeased her, and that she believed the tale of her Mother's loves to be but a cunning imposture of her Aunts, to draw her to her Brother's desires, nevertheless this served for the first excuse of their loves, and to clear them of those difficulties which till now had divided them; for in the end, led by her destinies, won by her Aunt's persuasions, with the oaths and assurances she gave her of the truth of her relation, and by the tears and conjurations of Hippolito, but chiefly by the force of love, she yielded herself wholly to his power: for alas, how can a silly Maid maintain her liberty against him who subdues all whom he will, and even when he will to his yoke and subjection.  
At last then, after such ceremonies as likely pass in things of this kind, Hippolito is received by Isabel for her servant, with such contentment as only those may imagine who have encountered the like happy successes, but with condition that his love should be still confined within those discreet limits he had before offered, without forcing her permission farther than her looks and speech should give him cause to hope. These are leaves with which many cover the workings of their loves, to give the more gloss to the colours of their intentions. But he willingly receives that law which enables him to make a greater, and he who desires to have a victory, embraces it upon any conditions; under the hope, that being once master, his obedience lies in his own hands. All this poor Maid could desire, was sworn and promised by her Uncle, with all the assurances could be given. So having supped, and the Coach being come, they took their leaves of the Nun, with many thanks for the easy mean she had given them to establish their contentment, promising each to other an often meeting in that or other alike convenient place. Some happy days they enjoyed to the full of their wishes, but as all things are subject to mutability; so neither could this happiness long subsist, without some feeling of the inconstancy of fortune.  
Fabritio presseth his Daughter to her marriage, believing her Uncle his Brother no small part of the cause of the coldness of her inclination to it; thereupon he resolves to send him to Milan, to confirm those noble parts his education had begun in him, and tells him this his resolution; laying before him his youth, and how much it was yet too early to retire himself, and put an end to so fair beginnings, that it behoved him to go yet further to exceed the vulgar; that his fortune was to be built upon extraordinary merits, since his own means were not great; and that only for so good purposes he should make use of him, as of one that ever would reckon him one of his; and that though at Naples there was no want of honest exercises, yet they had not letters, the chief ornament and perfection of a Gentleman: beside, that, the place of our birth is never so fit for our education as another.  
Hippolito surprised with this unexpected news, was unprovided of an answer, yet neither accepteth nor refuseth it, but found some pretence to delay the time for a few days. In the end, his duty, his honour, his reason, and the reverence he bore his Brother made him consent; but his desire, his passion, his love and contentment contradicted it: amid these doubts he went to advise with his Sister the Nun, where having long weighed all these considerations, and finding that the respect and honour of his Mistress, was too strong for any other argument for his stay, and the many accidents that might cross their contentments being to be feared; beside, that his Brother the Notary, of whom he depended, and who began a little to suspect this business, had absolutely told him, that if he would ever hope for any thing from him, he was out of hand to obey the appointment of their elder Brother, which was for his good and advancement; and that if he voluntarily rejected the well wishes of his friends, he should find himself abandoned of them, and of all the hope of his fortunes. The Nun (on the other side) persuaded him, that the yielding to his Brothers, besides that it might be to him a step to his better fortune, would be a no less principal safety for the communication of his, and his Mistress' desires, it being hard and almost impossible that the first hear of their loves could be so cunningly covered, but that some flames would be perceived, that it was not for him to hope to interrupt her marriage, and though he could, yet that he should rather help it forward as the fittest means to establish their happiness, gaining thereby the liberty to see, haunt and communicate each with other, with all the privacy they could desire; that it was to be feared that time might open the eyes of Signior Fabritio, and his Wife, to see more than they would they should, that after this marriage these fears would cease, their actions being no more subject to so much overlooking, the suspicion of the occasion of those hindrances being taken away.  
Hippolito at length concluded upon his journey to Milan, and that a while after Isabel should consent to the marriage, without showing any greater easiness than before; to remove all surmise of her Uncle's being any cause of her former backwardness: without staying then till Fabritio should press him again, his Brother of himself, urges him for the means to accomplish his will, promising him so well to employ his time and expense, as should give him contentment; this Fabritio, receives gladly.  
The day before his departure, he met his Isabel at the Nunnery; there did their approaching separation, give all passage of both sides to those griefs, tears, and sad complaints, that the violence of a mutual Love passion, might raise in the young heat of these Lover's affection; there was Fortune hewn, and their Destinies accused of too excessive a cruelty, for bringing on them so sudden a night of parting, even in the morning of their warm affections. After that, their Eyes, Voices, Lips, and Arms, had done their mutual offices, and that the Nun had comforted them, with the assurance of her continual assistance; they confirmed again the promises of their Loves, with the strong pledges, of all the solemnest Oaths they could devise, invoking all the execrations, and miseries that Heaven, and Hell could lay upon either of them that should fail in the least point, with protestation, that what ever other vow they should make repugnant to these (which again, and again, they repeated) should not be by voluntary consent, but forced, and constrained: and thereupon went and heard Mass together.  
To the end, to write with more safety each to other, they resolved Hippolito should enclose his letters, within those he should write to the Nun, who should give them to Isabel, and return him again their answer. They conjured one another also, to bear the anguish of their absence with patience, and so to command themselves at parting, as no appearance of either side, should breed any suspicion of their affection: which they did fitly enough; for Hippolito found means to speak to his Brothers, and take leave of them, and his Sisters in the absence of his Niece, whom afterward he met, as by chance going to her Chamber, and there took his leave of her with little stay. She took only leisure to entreat him, that she might see him before her marriage, which she promised to send him word of.  
He was no sooner at Milan, which was in September, but he caused to be made a Mirhor of Crystal of the Rock covered with gold, and in that, his Picture enclosed, the inside of the cover, was sealed up with their cifer, or mark, which was in this form [SS.] Without of one side was a Heart in the mids of a fire kindled by the beams of a Sun, and blown by a Cupid, with these words written about it; Puro ardet & uno: of the other side, was a burning Fire ascending upward, and Tears showering on it, with these words; Nec lachrymis, nec mergitur undis: and sent it by his Lackey disguised, directing it to the Nun, with this letter following.  
I Have been ever of opinion, that the passions of Love had their effects, much more approaching to extremes, than all others, and their fruits far above imagination, and discourse. The dear proof that now I have, assures me of it. I have as yet only tasted the pleasure one receives in the sight, of what he truly loves; and thereby, do guess at the perfection of that contentment, which possession yields. But I am at the present, so throughly afflicted with the privation, of both the one and the other, as none but he that feels it can imagine, nor though he felt could express it. Yet I do digest it with such patience, as it pleases the well come necessity of so rare, and worthy a subject to lay on me, willing to live in sufferance, or rather to beg a languishing life of so beloved a remembrance, as is the representation of your fair Idea, assuring myself you will not altogether banish mine from your eyes, but be pleased to entertain likewise the memory of that servant of yours, who will be ever so much yours, as Heaven shall as soon be false, as he unfaithful: and do not you (O my dearest) whose pure Soul, hath never produced action of crime, to these other base, and common ones; but like itself spotless, and Noble, do not you (I beseech you) suffer it to fall under the ordinary effects of time, and absence; but live pleased to Love him, who will live adoring you, and from the heat of whose affection you have already enkindled, and raised those flames, which never can be extinct, or abated.  
This letter being received by the Nun, was forthwith, delivered together with the present to Isabel; whom now Pompeio visited with more frequency than ever, being assured by his Father-in-law, and his Mother, that he should marry her before the Carnevall next; the troublesome importunities of these Parents, redoubled the grief the young maid felt for the absence of her Hippolito.  
All the ease she found, was in those often devotions she made at the Nunnery with her good Aunt, by whose help, she caused to be made her Picture, by an excellent Painter in a small Oual, and got it enclosed in a little Enamelled box of gold, upon one side of which, there were two Cupids Painted, holding each in the one hand their Bow, and in the other, a Crown of Palms, which they held aloft; as for reward of him that shot best, and written about, Neutri sed utrique, and on the other side, were their Cifers joined, made of opposed Shafts, enclosed within a Chaplet of Myrtle, and Pomgranade, and about it, Non nisi mutuis confodi potuere sagittis: which she sent to Hippolito, by him that had brought his letter, with this answer.  
IF the effects of our desires, were subject to no contraction, and Fortune were always obedient to our wills, the glory not only of our actions, but of virtue itself would be defaced, the pleasure of our hope lost, and that of our enjoying abated, and diminished. Certainly, all things whatsoever must confess themselves indebted to their contraries; because by the opposition of the one, the perfection of the other is only best known. Think then that the sharpness of this absence, which our disaster makes us now feel, is but to relish to us, the better the sweetness of each others presence, when Heaven shall favour us to enjoy it, and which we are not to fear will be long interdicted us. But being I do no less, longingly await the one, than I loathly abide the other: I will vow to you, that I should esteem myself most happy, if I could be suffered, but to enjoy the liberty of my loanenesse with peace. But behold the misery of my condition, being not daily, but hourly drawn, or rather haled by force, to the satisfaction of the loathsome, and unpleasing importunities of my torments; to whose subjection, the the tyranny of my fate hath too unjustly reserved me. So as in this continual war, with my nature and desires, I live so artificial, and forced a life, as I scarce understand myself: but bear it, forming to myself by such feigning, some little ease (and all that is left me) from from the affliction of my lives hours. Live assured of my vows, which I will keep inviolable to you; and as I have been the first cause that your heart hath felt the force of Love's fire, be likewise assured, you shall be the first, and alone that shall ever embrace me.  
They continued all they could the commerce of their letters; in the mean time, Signior Fabritio wanted no counsellors to persuade his daughter, what happiness this marriage with Pompeio did promise her: She finding which course was her best to hold, made show of more good liking towards him then aforetimes, the which gave great contentment to Signior Fabritio and Livia, who now esteeming her wholly reclaimed to their wills, made her acquainted with their desire of the dispatch of her Marriage, presently after the end of the Christmas holy-days; She that always believed it should have been deferred till the end of the Carnevall, (for fear of being surprised) writ to Hippolito this letter following.  
YOu have always promised me, and I have presumed on it, that I should have the happiness to see you before the days of my sacrifice. Now knowing they are to be hastened, and that presently after these holy-days, I must into my fetters; I have found the means to acquaint you with this sad news, whose events, I hope you will prevent with your promise. To this I do summon you, beseech you, conjure you, by the obligation of your word, by the duty of your love, by the assurance you have of mine, by the holy oaths we have made, and by that respect and reverence, you owe to those divine powers, which our invocation made our witnesses. You owe my misfortunes this consolation, because the hope of your contentment in it was not the first, but only cause of my consenting to this match. I will not fear you will by refusing this my first request, give me so just occasion to distrust your affection, because you owe it; it lies in your power to do it, I desire it, and there needs but your will, to the accomplishment of your due, and my satisfaction.  
This letter was safely delivered to Hippolito, which more afflicted him, then if it had brought him the doom of his death. And, but that he knew it madness to oppose what he could not hinder (and though he could, it might be his destruction) he had to his uttermost laboured to have crossed it: but he yielded in his resolution to necesssitie, and convenience, and sent this answer.  
THey are weak and cold affections, that need so much chafing, and remembrance of their duties, and not those who by their own feelings are enough disposed; it is not from these things that I would give you the estimation of my obedince, but by the hazard, of as many lives if I had them, as I would wish there might be days between this and the accomplishment of what you inform me, since Heaven shows itself so intentive to my ruin, as to hasten so much the time of your appointed Marriage, we must endure his bitter laws. But if it mean absolutely to triumph over my happiness, it must suddenly break off the course of my life; for that only shall deny me the bliss of your sight, almost with this letter which leaves me as full of griefs, as I wish you may be ever of contentment.  
By good hap the Post of Naples, was then at Milan, who had brought letters and money to Hippolito from his Brothers, and by whom he returned them answer, which gave him the fitter commodity to steal his journey without being discovered. He went disguized during the Christmas holy-days, and by byways got to Naples, where he arrived late in the evening, and without being known to any one, found the way the next morning to the Nunnery, where he lay concealed for the space of eight or ten days in his Sister's Chamber; in which time Isabel (who quickly heard of it) had but three times the means to see him; and then caused certain works to be made there, which was the pretext of her visitations. During the two last whereof, the good and discreet Nun left them alone in her Cabinet, two or three hours, where they employed the time about (you may imagine what) rather than to look on Pictures. For so was it fit, and reasonable, that the dear and last gage of the confirmation of a love arrived to his perfection, should be reserved for him, whose merit and affection might best claim it; not for one that had but the shadow given him by the blind tyranny of fate.  
A little after Twelve day, because the time of her Marriage drew near, and his longer stay, could not be but incommodious and dangerous; he prepared for his departure, and after having anew repeated their old oaths, and assurances; and given each other fresh witnesses of the affections of their souls, by all sorts of lamentable complaints, that may be occasioned by so displeasing a separation (which they could not leave off till Tears, Words, and time failed them) he left her.  
Shortly after, and almost as soon as Hippolito was arrived at Milan, the long promised Nuptials of Pompeio, and Isabel were dispatched, with the honour of much great and Noble company, Combats, Races for prizes, Masques, and other pleasures usual in such occasions.  
He that had well observed Isabella's looks that day (howsoever she might dissemble them) would have judged that what she did then, was more by constraint, than out of her wills election. This alteration (apparent sometimes in her tears, which yet she strove to hide) was by such as perceived it, attributed rather to the apprehension she might have of the change of her condition (which often troubles in such occurrences, the chaste hearts of young maids) then to the true cause, which none knew of. The dancing being ended, the Bride led into her Chamber and undressed, and the women that accompanied her, departed, she retired into her inner Chamber, where in despite of her best resolution, the force of her tears over-bare the strongest opposition her reason could make Detesting with sobbing, and broken complaints, the fault she made against her faith to Hippolito, and the more she sought to curb her passion, the more violent it grew, so as in this conflict, she was half distracted. In the end coming a little more to herself, she took paper, and bad her maid bring her handkerchief, feigning that her nose bled, to excuse her long stay; and in the mean time opened a vain so well to her purpose, as she had blood enough to write this letter to Hippolito.  
SInce my tears are not able to write my griefs, my blood shall, and I would these were my last drops, that I might die as innocent in my actions, as I will for ever live constant in the sincerity of my will towards you. Which will is so contrary to what I am forced to, as that (but for being your command) I would sooner have consented to my death, and though the offence might be excused through my constraint, yet nevertheless the extremity that forces me to the fault I commit against you, and against myself, will never be able to serve me for remedy against the incurable ulcer that I make in my soul, in being able to suffer that any other should be partaker of that which is only due to you, and that (as consenting to the victory of mine enemy) I should yield myself to him for his prey and trophy. I go then, no, rather I am dragged to a loathed bed. Why did not my destinies rather ordain my life for a bleeding sacrifice upon the altar of Diana, then to slave it to the tyrannous servitude of these unworthy bands? from the which (if you will not) I vow death must be ere long the means of my deliverance,  
She had only the leisure to end and seal this Letter, when her Mother who had stayed all that while in her Chamber, came to take her to bed and found her binding up her hand, which she feigned to have hurt by mischance. She seeing her face so sad and full of tears, imputed it to the anguish of her hurt, and to the apprehension that Maids usually have of their first nights endure. But when she was to go to bed, her tears broke out anew, and her Mother finding her unwillingness so great, as she could hardly in a long time draw her out of that inward Chamber where she was, sent for her Father, and said much to him that witnessed her grief to find things in so ill terms, and that this marriage was engaged beyond the recovery of repentance. At length she was put to bed, not without the pity of all about her, and belief that only her word was forced, not her will gained to this marriage: and had her Husband understood any thing, he might easily have perceived in bed how the world went; but having no sight but in his eyes, he could see no farther than their object. He suffered scornful refusals even till morning, when he received it for a great favour, to receive but a kiss.  
Some days after the Carnevall, this solemnity lasted; and than Pompeio and Isabel were honourably conducted to their own house, where his chiefest abode was before. A little after, the Nun that had conveyed Isabella's letter to Hippolito, received, and sent her this following answer.  
THis is not the only example that may teach us that things which have their beginnings removed from the vulgar, and differing from the ordinary tract of the world, have their consequences so rare and seldom seen, as that our ignorance to prevent them, and the difficulty of finding out the remedies, would rather take from whom they concern, all will to pursue them, then give them any hope of their achievement. But since virtue shines most in the most difficult things, and the more things seem impossible, the more their execution is worth the compass. Let us (dear soul) stoop, but not sink under the burden of these afflictions, death is a possible and easy remedy for all, since we have it when we list in our own power. But as it were the end of our present miseries, so would it be the privation of our future happiness. That then must be our latest refuge, when desperate of enjoying the one, we may thereby escape the other. Shall we throw ourselves at the feet of misfortune? if we must conclude there, let me make my ruin memorable by the fair marks I shall leave of the power love hath in a resolved breast. Leave me the care of what remains, for you have for your part but too well discharged your duty, since all the honour of our love hath hitherto been yours; and having no other merit to answer it with, it is fit that all the smart should be mine. But we both feel that part too much: be not you weary still to love me, assuring yourself my service shall for ever accompany the faith of mine affection, patience my misfortune, and it may be a happy event my enterprises. Of which I hope at Easter to come and advise with you.  
These Letters gave Isabel some comfort, whose sorrows neither the great feasting, entertainments, visitations of kindred, friends and neighbours, the commodities of a pleasant and rich house, nor all the fondness of her new Husband could any whit diminish; so much her mind laboured with the impatience of love and desire, w●th the absence of her Hippolito, and with the displeasure she took at the fault she accused herself of having made against him. In this time Hippolito sent his elder Brother word that he would visit him at Easter, who now having married his Daughter, was indifferent for his Brother's return: and he having received a leave, came two days before Easter; and the day after, came Pompeio and his Lady thither. The joy and contentment of these lovers at their meeting was so great, as bred them no little pain to dissemble it: Isabel feigning such a welcome come to her Uncle, as if his coming had been vndreamed of, and unexpected. They were there together eight or ten days without opportunity of any privacy, but once, because she could not go now as before without company to the Nunnery.  
In this time Hippolito using the fittest carriage for the time and quality of his love, addressed himself so well to his Nephew, and so won his affection, as no man's company was so pleasing and acceptable to him as his. After that, Pompeio and his Lady went home to their own house, but not without having first drawn a promise and assurance from Hippolito, that he would within two days see them: which he did, being now freed from the curiosity of many eyes, and having only his to blind, which were of themselves well enough seeled.  
There was yet in the house an old woman, who had long lived there a servant, who being the general Key-keeper of all the rooms, and so went too and fro through the house, entered easily into those suspicions that a wicked old age is often subject to, being also led by those many appearances which love in an unwary young couple (transported with the convenience of an unexpected liberty) takes not heed to prevent; and hatching this opinion without making show of it to any, more narrowly watcheth their behaviours, who having with contentment enough enjoyed some days together, concluded it at last better to use discreetly those opportunities, than abuse their fortune; as also the good Nun had carefully advised them to beware of being surprised in inconveniences.  
Hippolito returns to Naples, from whence he often visits his Nephew for his Niece's sake, who could not so well command her passions, but she must show much more contentment in her face, when her Uncle was there, then at other times, feasting him more than her Husband, who was so blind and yielding to them, as he would leave them to entertain one another (as he called it) and himself spend the whole day in hunting. Wherein Hippolito excused himself, being the thing he was most unfit for, and least delighted in; the malice that appeared in the doubtful looks of this busy old woman, began to make them distrust her, so as Hippolito durst neither go so often, nor stay so long in the house of Pompeio, as before: who both took his strangeness ill, and complained of it to his Wife.  
He gave her leave to go to Naples to see her Mother, with charge to return with her Uncle; ye may imagine this journey was undertaken with much gladness, and the condition accepted with more. She remained with her a good while; favoured with her Mother's sickness, and the commodity of often going to the Nunnery, where she had ever somewhat or other a making for colour of her going.  
During her absence from home, an Uncle of her Husbands (sometime his guardian, a Knight of mark and noble descent) came to see him, and his house, living at that time not far thence; where having some days expected his Niece's return, thought her long stay very strange, and told his Nephew that he was not to wink at such courses, and that since she had brought little other advantage to his house, he was to expect from her at least a careful eye over his domestical affairs, which would run into confusion if she continued this fashion.  
The malicious old woman upon this occasion could not contain herself from discovering to the Knight what she thought of her Lady, beseeching him to take it well, as coming from an ancient and faithful servant of that house, who could not pass over so great a blemish without violating her duty. He seemed to believe nothing of what she said, and like a subtle Fox, reproved her sharply taxing the v●ldnesse of her disposition in conceiving so false and wicked an opinion, of a discreet and virtuous Lady, and her impudence in daring to speak it to him.  
The old woman in her own excuse, told him all the particulars she had built upon, which sunk so deep into the apprehension of this man, as they never after left him. As it is the property of a malicious nature, to do injury to what it hates, (according as the passion is defined, to be a disposition of the will intentive to the hurt of others) so this minister of hate, willing to execute her fury upon these poor lovers, took the occasion of their mutual affections, to exercise upon them her own rage, for not being now able in her withered age, to have the part in these Love pleasures, like one ever before liquorish of such fruit, and now not capable of being satisfied, for the three score and fifth decrepit year of her age, that had already disfigured her face, with a hundred foultes and wrinkles, forbade all beholders not only the desire, but even opinion. Certainly, as the Child is the sign of Virginity past; the scar, that there hath been a wound; and Diomedes his slipper, that he had a lame clubfoot; so was the past ill life of this old woman, enough visible in that crooked disposition of her mind, that drove her forward in the ill fruits of her hate and malice, who as Prisoners sometimes play with their Shackles and fetters, so not knowing perhaps how else to pass the time, and deceive the languishment of a weary age, busied herself with the afflicting this young couple, so shaking (as it were) the fetters of her loathed Prison and solitude. We must believe so; for it is most credible that in matters uncertain, and that consist in the only knowledge of their cause (as are these inconveniences happening in the way of the renown and credit of fair demeaned people) the opinions of honest minds, will rather accord to their honour, then suffer the rashness of their judgements to conclude them vicious. If we find some faults in the life and actions of men and women, we should rather determine them the defects, or errors of virtue, not yet arrived to the perfection, then flat wickednesses, proceeding from a settled vice; and speak of them with a modest shame, and charitable compassion of poor humane Nature, which cannot produce creature so perfect and accomplished, as their lives shall be altogether exempt from reprehension, but there will ever be somewhat faulty and wanting.  
Examples do teach us, that it hath ever been an infamous, and dishonest fashion, to blot and destroy the credit and fame of people, by reason of the importance, and consequence of so many miserable accidents that ensue thereof: for what else do these exact observers, but sacrifice to the world's malice (as to an evil spirit) their outrages; provoking untimely (and often most unjustly) the sorrows, and furies of such as apprehend themselves injured. As the Carpenters that had the charge of the Deliak Galley, have (by supplying, or lining still the rotten and decayed ribs, with new pieces of wood, kept it sound and entire since the time it was first built: So certainly must we do with this Reputation, and it is no more hard to maintain, and hold up a good name and honour, than a flame, in keeping still under it somewhat to support, and preserve it alive; but when once fury, and malice have utterly quenched, and killed it, there is then no more hope left of recovering the one, then renewing the other, when the matter is spent; yet such is the perverseness of the age we live in, and so many ill inclinations there are, as for a little profit, or pleasure, they care not to see all things in combustion, and as a field full of weeds, so is the world in every corner, full of ungrateful, and disloyal minds.  
The wise therefore aught to be circumspect, and as mischiefs are like to arise, seek to prevent them, and if not utterly kill, and root them out, yet keep them under forgetting the mastery of their reputations.  
The wise (said the wise man) receive profit from their enemies, wherefore they at least, whose lives are not without colour of suspicion, ought curiously to practise this art and science.  
The satire pressing to embrace and kiss fire the first time he saw it, Prometheus cries to him, satire, thou wilt wipe the beard off thy chin; for it burns being touched, it gives (besides) warmthe, and light, and is our most useful element being well and rightly used. So doubtless, nothing in this world is so hurtful, but one side or other, it may be approached and handled, and applied to some use, and profit. Fools are the poison of society, but such as are descreete and prudent, can turn to their own profit and advantage, and fit to their own use, all the designs of enmity and hatred. And even so, what proved most hurtful to Hippolito and Isabel, might have become no less profitable to them, if they had been as careful and wary as they should have been.  
To wit, in this time, that this Uncle and guardian (incensed with what he had from the old woman's report) grows from that time vigilant and watchful over them. He uses means that Isabel is sent for, who soon after arrives accompanied with her Uncle; both of them resolving to honour this old Gentleman, as they did. After their greetings, Isabel gave him a fair wrought Towel, and a Purse of the Nun's work, and to her Husband many other little toys; wanting no fair and probable excuses for her tarriance. This Knight or guardian stayed there three days after their return, prying into all their actions, and watching them strictly, leaving no means unsought, whereby to discover their nearest passages.  
And as one of that age and Nation, being once rouched with a suspicion, yields himself easy to persever in it, upon any the least appearances that may be presented to him; so, though he perceived none sufficient to confirm, and settle his judgement upon, yet the insufficiency that he knew in his Nephew, and the disparity between his wife and him, made him dislike the honest privacies between her and her Uncle, although they stretched no farther than might be permitted. He resolves before his departure to put a man to his Nephew to wait on him in his Chamber, that had been of his own breeding, whom he furnished with all such instructions as he thought the fittest to bring him to the knowledge of what he desired to discover.  
This Chamberlain is willingly received of both the Husband and the Wife too, who nothing suspecting him for that Sentinel and Watchman over her, that her Uncle had designed him for, laboured to make him hers by the deserts of a good and kind usage. Hippolito of the other side, let pass no occasion that might bind him to him; but under the disguise of a feigned affection to their service, and acknowledgement of his obligation (this crafty malicious fellow) soothes, and lulles them a sleep. Thus this young coupple ingulfed in the mids of their pleasures, guided by the only motion of their desires, foresee not the Shelves, and Rocks that threaten them with the Shipwreck and utter loss of all their contentment.  
So hurtful often times is our happiness, in hindering the pursuit of our designs, through the sloth, negligence, and inconsideration, with which it stupifies us, and drives us headlong to our ruin.  
This Chamberlain seconded with the old woman, (to whom the Knight had also declared his intention) had within a month or two, at certain times of Hipolito's repair to his Master's house, perceived somewhat between them, which he forthwith acquainted the Knight withal. Who thereupon goes to Naples, where (like enough by his means) there was already some whispering rumour spread about of this news; and where no sooner arrived, but without any word to his Brother Fabritio, or his Wife Livia, of what led him thither; he goes to the Notary; who was Hipolito's chief refuge, and tells him, that if his Brother out of hand refrained not his dishonest frequentation with his Niece, he was in danger ere long to smart for it, adding how much they abused the advantage of their near alliance; and that he had not believed the first report of the unlawful privacies that had long been between them, but now was so undoubtedly resolved thereof, as he could no longer be ignorant, or conceal them: and that (save for the respect and honour of their house) he had ere then, taken such revenge as had befitted such a forfeit: how he had revealed it to none but himself only, as one who best, and with least scandal might stop the progress of the business, and bury it: and whose wisdom he knew of ability, for so discreet a conduct, and as the consequence of the affair required. All the allegations that the Notary could make to the contrary of this Knight's opinion, and to possess him with other belief of his Brother and Niece, and how there was nothing, that could be judged more licentious between them, than their near alliance permitted, served to no purpose.  
In conclusion, he entreated him that he might know no more such fashions in his Brother, lest he found his course more roughly interrupted than he looked for.  
This Notary mistrusted nothing of the truth the Knight had told him, being himself a man that used not to condemn any kind of this vice, and beside, had before (as granted) warned his Brother to be wary in the menage of his affairs, advertising him how hard a matter it was for him, long to conceal them, if he once gave over their conduct, wholly to the liberty of his affections. Soon after (then) he tells him what the Knight had discovered; whereupon he refrained from visiting his Niece as before, save by letters, which yet were frequent, and gave her often news of him. She on the other side (to whom writing was not sufficient) being of a nature apt enough to expose to all dangers, her Fortune, and Life, to give the greater proof of her affection, to whom she had vowed it; and condemning all artifice of dissimulation, and even discretion, as proceeding from a mind, too free within itself, and exempt from passion; full of unrest, could not contain herself, from discovering the alteration in her thoughts, but yielded to rage, and displeasure (upon all occasions) against this old woman, and often against her new man, of whom she was now grown distrustful.  
Being advertized by Hippolito, of an intention he had to accompany the Prince of Lusignan to Rome; her quick invention, supplied her readily, with a colourable occasion to go to Naples, and such as her Husband was most willing with, there she learned more particularly, all what this Knight had told the Notary, by the advice of whom, and of the Nun, Hippolito goes to Rome.  
Isabella's journey was not approved of by the Knight her Uncle; and confirmed in him, and in others, the doubt into which he was entered of this Love, and in her Mother also, who thought much more of it then she spoke.  
During Hipolito's abode at Rome, the old Woman, and the Chamberlain, had but few pleasant hours, but still she found somewhat or other amiss in their actions: so as one day, this old carcase told her, that for being too true a servant to her Master, her Lady loved her not; and that if she could have seen and said nothing, she had lived a quieter life. This came to the Husband's ears; who sounding not the bottom of it, past it over.  
The Chamberlain was more subtle, for though he could hear it said, that they were worthy of hate, that could endure to serve in a place, where they were known to be only set to do base offices; and serve for candles, to light strangers into all the baseness of the house, with much more to that purpose, yet, he stopped ear and mouth, to all, and seeming to understand nothing of it, made likewise no answer to any thing.  
The Knight who had been still informed of all things, came again to his Nephew: where freely he told his Niece, of his discontent at her fashion of life, entreating her to change it, or that else he was to make the World know, how unworthy she was, to hold the honour of such a house and alliance. All her well couched and probable speeches (which the many angry tears of her great heart, would not of a long time give passage to) did no whit abate the obstinacy of this Uncle; who at length, more sweetening his speech, then altering his opinion; told her, that to make her innocence appear, and remove all misdoubts (since things were already come to so ill a pass) she was by a change of life to remove their c●use; and that to this, there wanted but her will, by the resolution whereof, she might always make herself appear, such as she desired the World should judge her. After having well thought of what course was fittest for her to take, she had recourse to the enforced remedy of dissimulation; She spoke not so much of her Uncle as before, nor so often commended his actions, nor curiously enquired after him, yet she often heard news of him, though not so secretly, but still this Chamberlain perceived, and took notice of frequent messages to his Lady, which his Master had no word of; she showed her selfe more easy to please, and be served then in former times, and to show her purpose of confining her thoughts, within the compass of her house, and attend only to the care of her domestic affairs, she took the charge of them upon her, with so fit and dextrous a management, that one would have thought, she had busied the study of her whole life in them. She caused to be made her a Cabinet, or study, with the entry into it of her garderobe, or inner Chamber, and a passage out into the Garden of the house, by a narrow staircase glazed of either side, and the Glass covered with false windows, to see, and not be seen. She caused it to be Varnished, Gilt, adorned with Pictures, Books, China coffers, and other such singularities as people that understand, and are curious in that kind use to have. There she spent such time as the company of her Husband, Strangers, and Household business left free to her. She went sometimes to Naples, but stayed not; three or four months togethers, she was constant to this new life, with much content to her Husband, Mother, and the Knight her uncle.  
During her Hipolito's absence, she caused to be made a Bracelet of Knots of her Hair to wear on his arm, studded with Rubies, and Diamonds, with a large lock of Gold four square, and set with a rich stone at each corner, the midst was Enameled blue, resembling clouds sown with Tears half hidden, and little appearing, and written about, Conduntur non siccantur, which she sent with this letter.  
TO bear always a face differing from my passions, to have my words contrary to my thoughts, my deeds to my will, tears in my heart, and laughter in my mouth, anguish in my soul, and joy in my looks; disdain within, and respect in outward appearance, to be always present, where my mind and thoughts, are utterly absent, to feign a doting affection, out of a perfect loathing. Brief, to show a full content in living under the subjection of a most contrary servitude; these are the ordinary pleasures of my life. Till now, the hope I gave myself, that it might be Heaven would in the end grow weary of afflicting us, hath enabled me to struggle with the miseries, of this my strange condition; But I must confess, I do now begin to feel so great a failing in the force of my patience, as if I find not myself speedily assisted, with the demonstration of some thught and care of your part for my deliverance, I shall give over the care of my life, for alas it were but unprofitable to you, and to me most miserable. Think on it, and make me I beseech you capable of your deliberation, and keep with the memory of my truth, this pledge (perhaps my last) that herewith I send you.  
This letter so moved Hippolito, as immediately upon the receipt of them, he returned to Naples, where he could not stay three days without seeing his Niece, with whom (after the Husbands many welcomings) he was retained certain days with more ease than needed.  
Alas, that the first day could not pass, without reducing to them their former fashion; they stirred not out of their Cabinet, the Husband was left, the care of his affairs neglected; such as came to speak to them, had no more audience or access: all business, all company was displeasing and troublesome, all the Husband could have, was after suppers, some lean entertainment, mingled oftentimes with certain ambiguous speeches, and smiles savouring more of mockery, or contempt then otherwise: which began at last to displease him, and they perceived it, and withal, were told by Isabella's maid julia, that the old Woman, and Chamberlain, were diligent pryers into their behaviours, and held hourly little counsels between themselves of their actions; which made them presume, that they would not fail to give the Knight her Uncle notice of every thing. Hippolito hereupon takes new counsel, which was (having informed himself perfectly of the secreatest means of coming into the Garden, by a little door out of the Park, and thence into the Cabinet by the close stairs) to return to Naples, as he did, and thence feigned a journey to the Court of Sau●y; this is given out in the house, and his Brothers being advertised of it, do gladly furnish him with Horses, Money, and Letters of favour to their friends. He would yet carry but one Lackey with him, whom he wholly affied in, and with him went to a house of his Brothers the Notary (some eight miles from Naples where he at that time was) from thence his Isabel had news of him; and there he lay concealed for the space of two months; going thence every second or third night to see her, having found by ways into the Park, whence he passed into the Garden, and so into the Cabinet; he arrived there commonly at nine or ten at night, mean while his man held his Horses in a most unhaunted, and remote place of the Park, where he awaited him till too or three in the morning, and to avoid all suspicion she used before, to retire herself into her Cabinet after Suppers, and lie there alone.  
From the beginning of September, till about the end of October, this fashion held between them: But alas, the night hath eyes, and truth is seen in the dark. 'Tis known Hippolito conceals himself in this house. Pompeio's Uncle that had understood all the passage of his former journey, knows this last deceit too, but not the conveyance of the Cabinet. He grows more enraged then ever; goes to his Niece, taunts her with all the sharpest language he had, threatening her and her Hippolito, with no less than an ignominious death: tells all to the Husband, reproaching him for his little sense of this injury, and his want of courage to revenge it.  
And having sufficiently played his part there, goes forthwith to Naples, and does there also the like, discovering all to Fabritio and his wife, from point to point, how every particular had passed, the warnings he had given, and entreaties he had made to them to decist from their course: then inveyes against the Notary, who denies his Brothers being at his house (at least to his knowledge, himself being then at Naples) Hippolito, was forthwith advertized of this, to the end he might not be found there; but because those of the house, could not so readily be instructed (some woman and a child affirming that he had been there, and was but two days before gone from thence) this made all the rest credible, & after all the bitterness that the displeasure of such an affair could put into his words, and that he had therewith bound his two brothers by their oaths not to receive Hippolito, this Uncle left them; resolving to use all means to surprise him.  
Thus, this poor miserable Lover, beaten with so many tempests, left of his chiefest friends, abandoned of all hope▪ finds (though too late) how slippery is the downfall of our pleasures, and how great the disproportion is of the short contentments, and long miseries of this life.  
He retire himself to his Brother Scipio's house, who was married some twelve miles from Naples, in the way to Suca. There he remained some days, and after having rested his wits diversely distracted, and overwrought with the consideration of the extremity he was in, and what course was fittest to be taken, he resolved by the advice of his Brother (a man more subtle in vice, then ingenious in virtuous matters) to cause dispersed abroad, a rumour that he was slain, hoping by this mean to drown all noise already spread of matters past, and lay a certain ground whereon to build the last design for the contentment of his Mistress and himself.  
Before he began to put this in execution, he sent her a Tablet full of stances written upon the subject of his Fortune, covered with Gold, sown full of Thorns to the life in Enameled work, and in the midst of either face was a Tomb of black Amell, and on the top of it a Semperuive to the life, and at the foot written, Del piacer Sepolto la seranza viva; with this letter following, which the Nun (whom he sent it to,) caused it to be delivered.  
LEt not these accidents that combat us, I beseech you, drive you into despair of their remedy. Believe me, as long as Heaven shall spare me life, our misfortunes shall enjoy no peaceable victory over us, nor fall on us, unresisted. And since what you suffer, proceeds only through my occasion, if my death could deliver you; I should hold it most happily gained; but knowing it unavaileable, and that it would rid only me out of pain; to feign it, may perhaps give remedy to us both. Let not then the news you shall hear of it afflict you, as a truth; though in appearance as believing it. 'Tis the last, and best mean I have resolved on, to gain us the freedom of our contentments: desiring therein only, and only aiming at your happiness, and that I may still enjoy your love, be happy to receive your commandments, and serve you, having nothing so deeply ingraued in my soul, as the faithful observance I owe you; and if any remembrance shall accompany its immortality, believe, it will be only that of your name, and of my obligation; the which though it be impossible for me to repay, my will at least shall never fail me. But I as yet, give you only words, the shadow; I hope shortly, my deeds will prove enough fortunate, to let you see the body.  
Soon as Hippolito was sure his Mistress had received his letters, he began to play his feigned Tragedy, certain people are set on, who come betimes in the morning to his Brother's lodging, telling him that there was a man slain, that night in the next Village, upon the way to his house, with the Horse he road on, and it should seem was his younger Brother. He rises hastily, and goes to the place whither these people led him, where he found a thing trust up in form of a man, which he had caused to be stuffed with hay, and dressed up in a suit, his Brother had sometime worn, cut and mangled in divers places, resembling blows, and thrusts with swords, and all besmeared with blood, and his Horse also dead by him. He takes a Notary of the Village, and a Priest for his purpose, and in presence of those that conducted him thither, and some other of his own people, caused to be made a verbal process, how his Brother Hippolito had been by them found in that place, newly slain with so many hurts, in such places, clad in such a suit, his Horse likewise dead, beside him: and instantly, omitting nothing that might make all credible, caused that bundle, or false man to be buried as if it had been the body of Hippolito, in the Church of that Village; puts himself into blacks, and sends forthwith, the verbal proesse to Naples to his Brothers; ere long, the death of Hippolito was generally bruited about, and came to the cares of Pompeio and his wife, who feigning to believe it, (and the Husband believing) seemed much to lament it.  
The Winter was at that time well spent, when Hippolito having executed this stratagem, gets him disguised all alone, on foot, by night, by unused by ways to the Park of Pompeio's house, and lodges in his Mistress' Cabinet, where he was two days, there they consulted of what was to be done, for their delivery out of thraldom.  
It was concluded then, that they must resolve for Cypress, or Candy, and that, to that effect, he would provide a Bark, and lay it ready victualled, and furnished of all things fit, against the end of March, or beginning of April next. For this purpose she gave him such moneys as she had, resolving withal, to employ her uttermost endeavour, to get together the most she could, to make their voyage, and maintain them after. In the mean time, they resolved, he was to visit her, with the oftenest, and secretest means he could, having provided himself, of some safe retreat for himself not far of.  
Being gone, she advised with herself, to persuade her Husband to make a voyage into France, the peace being made between the Kings of France, and Naples. She wanted no fair inducements to urge him with; how it was a shame for one of his age, & place in the world, to have never seen other, than the angle he was borne in: that this voyage would fashion, and make him up better; and yield him more known, and honoured of the best and Noblest company: that he had not yet gained that esteem in the World, that he might enable himself to expect, by more enriching his mind, with experience to judge, and ability to discourse, in which, an infinite of others out went him, and were therefore preferred, and respected before him: which both in birth and means, and all other things, were far to yield to him: and how though his present estate in possession yielded him not much, she would find him enough, without much preiudicing it, for that effect: that his lands were well timbered, so as the sale of four, or five thousand crowns worth, would not be much mist: that they would lease out part of their lands, and make that way as much more money in incummes: and that with such a like sum, he might make his voyage, with credit and honour: how for her part, she would keep but her maids, and one man, and to avoid expense, would retire herself to Naples to her Mother, who she knew would think her company no trouble.  
She gilds her language so well, that her Husband begins to relish the motion, and goes to his Uncle and guardian, and communicates it to him: who likes well enough of the business; and gives the charge to Isabel, to find Merchants, and make the bargain with them, saying, he would authorise her, because her Husband was yet in his minority.  
You may imagine whither she bestirred herself or no, or Hippolito of the other side, who (having provided a Bark, Rigged, Victualled, and furnished with all things necessary to make the voyage into Cypress, upon the first day of April) goes confidently about with his Lackey disguised, like Venetian Merchants, coasting the Country, to look out some place of retreat for himself near his Mistress' house; and as there is no difficulty, but money passes through it, he gains by that bait, a Country fellow that dwelled in a little house, by a Woods side; far enough from neighbours, and only three miles off from his Mistress; where he remained till the period of his misfortune, feigning himself fled out of Venice for certain debts, and that during his absence, his friends were labouring some reasonable composition for him, with his Creditors, his poor Host, for the profit he received by him, could have wished him still in business: having expressly forbidden those of his house, not to discover him to any one, served him with all things for himself, and his Horses.  
When he went by night to see his Mistress (which was often) he made his Host believe, that it was either to speak with some that negotiated for him, or to deliver, or to receive letters at a place they were still by appointment left.  
In the mean time, Isabel of her part was not idle, for having bargained for five thousand crowns worth of timber, with Merchants that had the money ready at an hour's warning, and leased out a great part of her Husband's lands for certain years, for the receipt of five thousand more, she advertized the Knight her Uncle of it, and entreats of him to come the eighteenth of March, to see the covenants dispatched for his Nephew, her Husband, at his house: whither he came the seventeenth day to dinner.  
Hippolito, and Isabel had determined (this money being received, and locked up in her Cabinet, which they made account, would be at the furthest by the twentieth day) to depart the night following, upon Hippolito's Horses, he carrying his Mistress behind him; and his man, and her maid upon another Horse, all laden with as much as they could carry in Money, and jewels, and gain that night the Port Gaietta, and strait hoist up the sails of the Bark that lay ready for them, accommodated at all points, as well with Linen, clothes, Books, as all other necessary movables.  
The Knights two spies had so well watched over the unfortunate Isabel, that they had heard some one walking and talking in the night with her, in her Cabinet, who they knew were none of her women, having found them both a sleep in her gardrobe: beside, had further discovered, that julia did often times convey meat, and wine thither, without telling for whom: and at three or four several times, that it had reigned in the night, they had tracked the footing of some person, going and coming through the Garden, to the stair of the Cabinet, and thence to the Park gate, and the entry thereof beaten with the footing of a Horse.  
All this is told to the Knight, soon after his arrival, who without seeming to have known any thing new, passes the rest of the day in discourse of his Nephew's voyage; of the train he should carry with him, of the government of his expenses; and time of his stay abroad, and his return.  
The night being come, he sent one of his men to watch without the Park gate, which was fastened only, but that of the Garden locked every night, commanding him to conceal himself all he could, and speak to no man of it, and if he saw any one come in that way, to bring him present word. That night there appeared nothing; the next morning betimes, the Merchants come, the covenants are past, and dispatched, the last moneys received and locked into Isabella's Cabinet, and early enough for her to advertise Hippolito of it, by that mean they used to hear from one another those days they met not, which was by leaving their letters in a hollow tree in the Park, where they fetch't, or sent for them at a fit hour. Hippolito sent his man thither that night at Supper time, who found a little note, containing the advertisement of all.  
The night coming, the Knight sends his man again as before. Misfortune, and mischief intentive to the ruin of these unhappy lovers, and meaning to set them for patterns to show how little avails man's foresight, to withstand the Heaven's appointment; and that when we hold the end of our hopes nearest, and most certain, 'tis then commonly, that we feel the events farthest off, and most contrary to our expectations: This mischief (I say) would that Hippolito, who now presumed all things so happily laid, as there wanted nothing but to go to take his Isabel, (and whom the long expectance of this so desired hour, had made utterly impatient of any longer stay) came his accustomed way, at nine of the clock at night, having left his man, and Horses in the Park.  
The Knight's man having discovered them, comes to his Master undiscovered by any, tells him what he had seen; he sends him with two more of his men with Pistols to make good the Park gate, and stay by force such as were gone in, or shoot them if they pressed out, they found means to get out undiscovered before the gates of the house were shut in.  
The Knight went to bed, so did his Nephew soon after, and was as soon a sleep; when he knew his men gone, this Knight rises, and sends a Gentleman of his, whom he kept with him, for his Nephew's man, him he commanded, to watch and bring him word, when his Niece's maids should be gone out into her inner Chamber; which having done, he sends this Gentleman of his, commanding him with a sword drawn to keep the women upon their lives, from stirring out of the room they were in, or making any noise, or exclamation, till they were sent for out.  
julia was within, with her Mistress in her Cabinet. In the mean time, plants himself at the door of the Cabinet, listening what was done there, he could hear speaking, but not the words, opening and shutting of coffers, removing of moneys, and other things; at length, after a whiles stay, being near eleven of the clock, he heard julia coming to the door saying: I will go see then Madam, if all the house be a sleep, and take these purses that I have: and her Mistress answering her, stay not then, for 'tis time we were gone; thereupon, the maid half opening the door, perceived this man, that presses to enter in, which she strove against, and during their contention, Hippolito saves himself by the stairs into the garden, thinking that he not being taken, his Mistress should run no hazard: yet he could not shift himself away so suddenly, but the Knight having borne open the door, might perceive him shutting the other after him.  
His Nephew's man, that he had put to him, entered the Cabinet with him; as soon as Isabel saw that fellow, she could not hold from flying furiously at his face, with such injuries, as witnessed the belief she had of being discovered by him.  
The Knight sends him to wake, and bring his Master, and sends a man he had there of his own in the next room, along with julia, into the chamber himself lay in, to the end, to gain the truth out of her, more easily by this separation.  
Nature then showed sufficiently in this poor Lady, how she pleases herself, often times to stray from the course of her ordinary rules, and make to appear in subjects, we esteem weak and less perfect, high and great effects; showing us in this woman, how far differing a soul from the vulgar, and capable of rare virtues, is often found in that sex: and how a resolution having once taken sure footing in them, remains commonly more firm, and immovable, then in men; she then, in this cross and unexpected accident, instead of having recourse to Tears, and Prayers, (the refuge natural to the weakness some impute to women) armed herself (contrariwise) with such an unstirred assurance, amazed her enemies: for this Uncle having set his dagger to her throat, and ask her who it was went down the stairs, and whither she was going, at such an hour with that money, which was part put up into bags and sacks, and part spread upon the table, she without show of amazement, told him, that it was the fashion of a poor soul'd man, to speak to a woman with his arms in his hand, and that without more threatening it was an easy matter, to ●ill, one who resisted not; that never Noble, nor honest mind, used to allot any part of his time, to so base occupations, as to play the hourly evesdroper, and spy over the actions of an honest woman: That no body was gone down the stairs, but that she then shut that door, when her maid opened the other to go fetch purses, to put up the rest of that money upon the table, to be locked up: that her bidding of her return quickly, that they might be gone, was to dispatch her sooner to bed, because it was late.  
The Husband being come, was not a little amazed at the news his Uncle tells him, which before he dreamt not of: yet, even the Uncle himself, begins a little to stagger in his confidence, seeing the constancy of this woman; when his man came to tell him, if julia might be assured her life, that she would confess the truth.  
The Knight leaves Isabel in guard, with this servant of his, and his Gentleman, commanding them upon their lives, not to suffer her to rise out of a Chair, where they made her sit; and thence, he and his Nephew goes into the Chamber where julia was, where they were scarce entered, when she retaining of the base condition of a low servile heart, falls full of tears at their feet, begging pardon, which is promised her, upon a true relation, of her Lady's practices and intent, which she made, and was forthwith brought to Isabel, who beholding her with them, and looking her in the face, guest how the matter went, and forcing to rise up, said; Ah false treacher, why am I not suffered yet before I die, to punish thy detestable disloyalty?  
They made this maid, avouch to her all she had told them.  
They ransacked her coffers, which were all open; in one of them, they found all the letters Hippolito had written to her, bound up by themselves; they found in another, her jewels ranged together; and not far off, two other little boxes of Mercury sublimate, and other poisons made into Pills; in the upper part of one of the Chests, they found laid in a place apparent enough to the sight, this following Evidence, written with her hand.  
I Know that the precipitation of your judgements is so sudden, so moved with passion, and weighing to the worse part; as that my departure shall be no sooner known, then blamed of you; and myself condemned as an incestuous adulteress, in leaving one, who is held to be my Husband, to go away with him, that is reputed my uncle.  
But I beseech all those, before whose eyes this Evidence shall come, that having patience to read it, they will rather settle their opinions upon the certain assurance of the truth they find in it, then upon the false appearance of a common error. 'Tis an exceeding great grief to me, that in defence of my innocence, I must discover both my fault, and my shame, and inhumanly break open the Sepulchre, and disease the bones of the dead, taint the honour, and blemish the memory of her that brought me into the World: But since I have only this mean, whereby to wash off the stain of my reputation, I beseech her Ghost to pardon me, and both God and men not to impute to impiety, and ingratitude, what I am compelled unto, through necessity, and for my justification.  
It is known, and I have learned, that the Laws do say, that only the consent makes the Marriage; which consent cannot proceed but from a voluntary and free will, and exempt from all force, and constraint, the which being used therein, forbids what arises thence, to be called a consent of the will; and consequently bars all possibility of establishing a Marriage upon the contrary of that whence only it ought necessarily to come.  
There is not any one that hath been practised with any frequency in the business of our house, but must needs know, what artifices, subtleties, what authority, and force, what threatenings and ill usages, my Father (or he whom I did esteem for such) and those of whom I depended, have used towards me, to make me condescend to the Marriage with Signior Pompeio; their force and constraint, had the power to make me his Concubine, not his wife; my will contracting it, and the ability of becoming so, being taken from me, having promised, and given myself before for wife to Hippolito.  
And since the Laws permit such as enter into any Religion by force, who both do, and swear the obligation of those usual vows; since the Laws (I say) do give them, the ability to dispense with those, and give over their orders; why shall not Marriage have the like power, whereof the promises cannot bind those more strictly who make them to men, than the vows of Religion do those that swear them to God? I am not ignorant, that the common opinion every one hath, that Hippolito as Brother to my Father, and therefore my Uncle does thereby conclude my Marriage with him unlawful: But it is not so long since, but I may entreat some yet of this age to remember, that about eighteen, or twenty years since, the King sent to Naples the marquis of Coria, a Spaniard, who stayed there some time, during which, he made love to my Mother, and gained such interest in her, as that during the absence of Signior Fabritio her Husband, in a Voyage he made to his Holiness, his affection had arrived to what the affections of men do usually pretend. For in this time I was begotten: I call God to witness of my words, and that I speak a perfect truth. My Mother's Nurse, and her Sister in Law the Nun, are yet both living, who are neither of them ignorant hereof.  
But to allege a proof, that may at all times be produced, I assure myself, there may be found among the Registers of the Towne-Treazor, the day of the departure of Signior Fabritio to Rome, and of his return to Naples; and by his charges, and their discharge in his employment, and the expedition he obtained of his Holiness, may be seen the day of my Birth in his papers, and that of my Baptism in the Registers of the Church where I received it.  
Let these be brought, and it will be found that it cannot be I should be his Daughter; since by the immovable Laws of Nature, a child (to live) must of necessity be borne either upon the seventh, ninth, or eleventh month after Conception: And so far was it from any of these, as in the beginning of the eight after his return, I was borne; a time altogether insufficient, and incapable of giving life to a child.  
Being not Daughter to Fabritio, I am not Niece, nor of kin to Hippolito; Now since freedom and liberty begets the will; the will consent; and consent the Marriage; and that all this hath given me for wife to Hippolito: Since no alliance can be any bar between us; since force, or violence draws, or works no obligation; and since by that only, I was cast under the bondage and servitude of Pompeio: why shall it not be lawful, for me to redeem my liberty, from the unjust usurpation, of him that hath too long abused, and enjoyed by violence, what was none of his; and restore myself, into the hands of him to whom God, the Laws, my Election, and my Faith hath given me.  
The contentment that I give myself, in being able to work my release from mine enemies; makes me resolve to suffer with cheerfulness, all the injuries of Fortune, of the Heavens, of the Time, of Necessity, and all that can happen me in a strange Clime: Where resolved to go confine myself, and end the rest of my days; I beg of my friends no more, then to forget my name, and imagine me dead.  
This Evidence being read, she was asked, what she intended with those poisons; she said, she made them to take, if she were pursued so narrowly, as she could not save herself; to the end, to bar her enemies the contentment, and prevent the mischief of falling alive into their power.  
After she had confessed much more, and more voluntarily, than she was questioned; the Uncle said; since you determined to be your own executioner, and punish your own dishonesty; it were pity (though you have been prevented in the execution of so wicked an enterprise) that you should be frustrated too, in the just punishment, you have so well deserved, and so providently prepared for yourself; and therefore you are speedily, by the mean of your own appointment, to receive your death; wherewith, taking one of the pills, which her Uncle presented her; she answered them; it is for them that have either pleasure, or desire of life, to seek the means to keep it; and for such as have lost both the one, and the other, to hasten the end of it, and fly to death, which is so far from being a thing odious to me, (being deprived of my Hippolito) as that (were ye as inclinable to pity, and should deny it me; as you are bend to cruelty, and to give it me) I would beseech you, to let me take it with my own hands.  
Now after all the treacherous, and ignoble courses you have taken against me; I must confess myself much bound to you, for shortening my miserable life, whose end, is as pleasing to me, as the course hath been unfortunate: hoping that as God doth afford you by this mean, the triumph of your desires over me, and me the end of my afflictions; he will also please to give my soul her rest in eternal bliss, which I humbly crave of him, and that the long pains of my life, and unjust Martyrdom of my death, may obtain me his pity, and my sins their pardon.  
She spoke these words, with so resolute, and unmoved a face, and fashion, that all those about her, were seized with astonishment, and pity.  
Her Uncle himself, and Husband began to speak to her, testifying a moderation of their doom, and rage; when she swallowed the Pill, and with a nimble hand taking two more, said; One is too few, and nothing is hard to do that gives us contentment, and bars our enemies the pleasure of a long vengeance.  
Soon after, the force and quantity of the poison wrought his effect; and seizing all the Vital parts, left her only power to speak these last words: Receive, receive, my Hippolito, these last proofs of my affection; and know by my death, what power a faithful love hath in a soul resolved: and upon that word yielded up the ghost, in the same chair, where they had set her: leaving her memory no less admirable, for the constancy of her end, then remarkable, for the boldness of her desperate enterprise.  
Here (Reader) with Isabella's end, would I end too; so wearied I am, with the already too sad relation, of these unhappy Lover's fortunes, and most unwilling to add hereto, the lamentable end of the poor Hippolito, whom my Author tells me, his Isabella's death, made so desperate a despiser of his own life, as to forsake all his hopes, means of sustenance, friends and allies, and die an exile to his Country for her revenge's sake.  
For I find that within few weeks after her death, he slew her Husband, and his Uncle upon their way, in a journey to Rome; for which fact, neither his Brothers (who being questioned about him, were driven to much trouble for him) nor any other friend, or his Country durst own him: but he was constrained (being oppressed with extreme want) to return himself, into the State of Venice, where five years after Isabella's death, to avoid starving, he was enforced to Marry a Widow, that had some reasonable means to sustain him a while with, but no more than what he had in a short time so far wasted, as she (as well out of discontentment thereat, as also discovering perhaps withal, the many degrees of comparison between the love she found he bore her, and might imagine, he might bear to an Isabel, or one more worthy of him, than she, who was neither handsome, nor well natured) poisoned him, as it was thought, with a mess of broth, she caused to be made for him one morning, that he had taken a little Physic, for some indisposition of body he complained of.  
There was found in his Study, after his death a table, which it seemed, he had not long before caused to be made, wherein there was Painted his Isabel, lying along dead, with her eyes closed, and himself, kneeling at her feet, with certain verses under written; speaking (it seems) to her eyes. The verses were to this purpose.  
Sleep in your lids (ye loved shades  
Of my veiled Suns;) I vow  
'Tis not to spare my blood, that thus  
I spill my tears on you.  
Grief and affliction (only due  
To me) are justly bend  
To give me a wasting life, t' endure  
A lasting languishment.  
That when mine eyes can weep no more,  
My heart might bleed; and I,  
(Because I lived the longer life)  
A longer death might die.  
FINIS.