The most notable History of JOHN Lord MANDOSSE.  
Translated from the Spanish by T. de la Peend.  
1565.   

¶ To the right worshipful sir Thomas Kemp Knight.  
Right worshipful sir,  
when thankfulness had presented unto mine eyes the books: wherein the names of my friends are imprinted. I found you for sundry causes possessing an high place thearein. Whearfore, though it fall not to my fortune presently, to acquit & discharge my duty: yet these, as certain sign of my good will, to the uttermost of my small power may grately you in the mean time. Which as they are (the simple fruits of my small Orcheyard: the travail of my rude Muse) I to the judgement of the learned and dyscreate Readers. wishing to your worship perfeete felicity.  
From the middle Temple. Your kydesman: to command. T. Delapeend.   

¶ To the Reader.  
Unto the judgement of  
the wise and learned, I  
Submit my pains (to pleasure them)  
persuaded thoroughly:  
That with advisement they  
will speak, and reason right  
Shall rule their tongues, whearfore unto  
sir Momus more despite  
I give these same: that he,  
a while may gnaw thereon.  
To whet his poisoned rankling teeth,  
I cast the cur a bone:  
Lest that he seek to bite  
my name behind my back,  
To say that here his verse is lame,  
or here good sense doth lack.  
For I oft times have heard  
the vile despised sort  
Blind ignorantes, of worthy books  
to make such rash report:  
That when in order good,  
they could not read the same,  
They doubted not by slanderous words  
the authors to defame.  
That learned men allow  
these same, it shall to me  
suffice. Of Momes I do not seek●  
commended for to be.  
Let them that no time spare  
to speak all that they may  
To me: and I will answer them  
right soon, at each assay.  
Their brutish brains unfit  
to judge of melody,  
Their blinded wits, & senses stopped  
do unto them deny  
The use of reason so:  
that monsters right they be,  
Despised dregs of men, to them  
in shape alone agree.  
Or else right 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
and currysh whelps they wear,  
Their judgements I do now despise:  
their rage I do not fear.   

The Argument.  
THe mercy of God is marvelous:  
Which when it pleaseth him to extend  
On men, no wile so mischievous,  
Can it pervert from perfect end.  
As in this worthy history,  
It by a Duchess may appear,  
Which faslye of adultery  
Accused, is condemned hear  
For to be burned in a fire:  
As then the custom did require:  
But God, which still defendeth right,  
From death hath her delivered,  
By prowesle of a Spanish knight:  
Whom afterward she married.   

The History of john Lord Mandozze.  
When Envy black doth breed  
within the boiling breast,  
When ramping rage of  
rancour rules  
where reason it should rest:  
Then will doth bear the sway,  
Where wit should have the way.  
¶ Sith men of like estate,  
and matches meat in might,  
Within one country dwelling, seld  
agree, Sith that despite  
doth dwell with famous men.  
Sith wealth doth work the woe,  
And plenty placeth pride oft times:  
It is not strange that so.  
(Debate did grow between)  
The Mandozz●s and eke  
Tolledoes families:  
Most ancient noble gentlemen,  
and cheyfest lines lykewyes  
In all the province there.  
By worthy works, their fame  
Was blown about. All Europe than  
it did resound the same.  
O noble region Spain,  
for fruits that fertile soil,  
And happy with the golden mines  
for which most men do toil,  
O Realm more rich when that  
these houses did agree.  
O happy soils wherein such men  
borne or brought up they be.  
Of both these families  
right noble Gentlemen  
There were, but yet the lusty Lord  
john of Mandossa then  
Did far excel them all  
in every exercise:  
Most valiant, most active, and  
right politic like wise.  
He was beloved much,  
of all the commons there:  
Accepted for his courtesy,  
with princes every where,  
As Pallas painted had,  
his mind with learned art:  
Even so dame Nature then, in him,  
right well had wrought her part.  
His limbs were fyn●ly framed,  
his joints so strongly knit,  
That as the Simphonye always  
doth please the ears: so it  
The gazing eyes of men  
doth still delight as much.  
No painter for his portraiture,  
could picture any such.  
The greekish painter might  
an hundred graces there  
have seen, which erst in sundry shapes  
he found not any where.  
And as his shape did show  
right seemly to the sight.  
So for his force he was well known  
to be a valiant knight.  
In ancient histories,  
his high renowned fame,  
Advanced hath unto the skies  
the glory of his name.  
By space of forty years  
these families between,  
For sundry causes than  
dissension great had been.  
All stout of either part.  
they would in no wise bear  
Wrong unrevenged long wherefore  
small skirmishes there wear  
Between them often times,  
Always when they might meat  
With weapons drawn y● one, did use  
the other for to great.  
But once, with armies great  
they met their might to try:  
By dint ofswerd they would discern  
their matters by and by.  
And so, the youthly Lord  
Mandossa then did bear  
The rule, & charge as cheiftain stout  
of all his army there.  
Though to Minutyus  
he might be matched well  

The captains Oration to Soldiers Added by the Translaetour.  For courage. Yet for counsel did  
not Fabius him excel.  
When that his foes, he views,  
in glistering armour dight.  
His soldiers in such sort he doth  
encourage then to fight.  
Behole my friends, (saith he)  
the time approacheth near.  
This day, we must by manhood great,  
withstand our enemies hear  
Our enemies (saith he)  
how simply they be guided.  
How rage rules them, & reason us,  
how well we be provided.  
Of armour good, and men,  
though not so many as they  
Yet such as do not fear, to spend  
their blood I dare well say.  
Now, now, this time shall try,  
if such as we appear,  
We do acquyt ourselves like men:  
to fight with lusty cheer.  
Who would not rather choose,  
to die, then live with shame?  
As dastards for to be despised,  
to lose the worthy fame,  
Which with their blood before,  
our auncestores have won.  
Should we faint hearts not follow them  
to do as they begun?  
What bondage is so vile?  
what yoke so hard to bear  
As for to stoop unto the foe  
and still to live in fear?  
Our ancestors, with lands,  
did leave us liberty.  
Should we enthral ourselves therefore  
for fear and doubt to die?  
To bear the blot of blame  
For ever in our name.  
¶ Who looks to live so long  
in bondage for to be?  
Can stomachs stout, of manlike men  
to servile yoke agree?  
O happy death, that doth  
exempt from misery.  
The noble Roman Captains did  
not double for feign to die.  
Are we not able now,  
to keep the worthy fame,  
that erst by blood was won: shall want  
of courage lose the ●aine?  
What would our friends say then,  
and all the men that shall  
Hear of the shame that should by cow  
wardyse upon us fall?  
No man thereon would pity take,  
But every one would us forsake.  
¶ Our parents dead, and shut  
in happy feyl●os▪ they will  
For sorrow sound into our ears,  
a dreadful ●owlyng s●yll.  
Their spirits will us pursue,  
all men will us despise.  
For want of manhole we shallbe  
a gazing for their eyes.  
The children in the streets,  
will point at you, and say.  
Lo there, the wretches which of late  
by force wear driven away:  
From heritage's left,  
to them so long ago.  
By their forefathers old. And they  
like ●eastes have lost it so.  
No place there shall appear,  
from shame to hide us in.  
Wherefore at once let us account  
to die or else to win,  
Be stout. For if your courage quail  
lo then, forth which your force doth fa●le.  
¶ though stain will never out,  
it sticks unto the stork,  
We must take heed therefore lest that  
our ship run on the rock.  
The loss of worldly wealth,  
which time may soon restore,  
Is small▪ But honour being lost  
is gone for evermore.  
O men as dear to me  
as fostered children are,  
Unto their nurse. For whom my blood  
nor life I will not spare,  
Your wealths is mine. And I  
With you will live and die.  
¶ Upon your manhoods now,  
my state I do repose,  
And for to win your wealth, I will  
not spare my life to lose.  
Now are you at a point  
to die or else to live,  
Contented well with such a lot  
as destinies us shall give.  
The Soldiers then aloud,  
all with one voice do cry.  
Lo yours we are, though priest we wear  
a thousand deaths to die.  
Then straight the trumpets sound  
the banners be displayed.  
And thundering captains voice doth cheer  
such men as were afraid.  
The foaming Steads do stamp,  
half mad to hear the sound  
Of drums, the blows on harness ring,  
& men that fall to ground.  
Mandossa courseth them.  
with charged staff in hand.  
No man could bear his blow so well,  
nor yet his force withstand:  
But down to ground he goes,  
or through his body ●lydes  
The spear. And so without a foil  
no man his stroke abides,  
Then with his battle are,  
he doth so rudely greet  
Them at the first, that after, him  
they had no list to meet.  
His men, to mark that he  
his life did hazard so.  
their wearied spirits refreshed are  
and forward they do go.  
On every side, they lay  
about them with such might:  
That boiling rage, within their breasts  
renews their force to fight.  
Then buckling by the ears,  
the horsemen's sheylds have met,  
Unto their tackle hard they stick.  
and foot to foot is set.  
So valiantly they fought the field,  
And every one was loath to yield.  
¶ The tops of spears than fly  
about. And swords in twain  
Do clink, such counterbuffs be lent  
and paid so well again.  
Such noise with horses, which  
about the field do fling,  
Their masters being ●laine before  
the field it doth so ring,  
With dreadful sound, as though,  
into the burning flames  
Of Aetna mount: flood Euphrates  
had thrown his downward strames.  
But to the purpose now.  
john of Mandozze had.  
A sister, sure a lady good,  
which for these things was sad.  
And then upon her knees  
within her chamber fell,  
And prayed to God continually  
that it might please him well  
To reconcile and make  
these families agree,  
That to their furious attempts  
a better end might be.  
In midst of all the fight,  
when slain on every side  
A number wear. And doubtful still  
the conquest did abide:  
She vows. If victory  
her brother may obtain.  
Lo Rome she will a voyage go  
and come a foot again.  
So after cruel fight,  
(it chanced thus that day.  
The Lord Mandossa conquerors,  
doth bring the spoils away,  
Tolledes their force did fail  
their blood abroad is spyld,  
And driven to take their legs, forth with  
they do forsake the field.  
The lady Isab●ll,  
hereof doth understand,  
And she her vow declareth to,  
her brother out of hand.  
Which at the first doth muse,  
how she durst undertake  
On foot for his behoof, so long  
a voyage for to make.  
And loath he is that she,  
should then adventure so:  
Through lands unknown, so perilous  
a journey for to go.  
But she unportunate  
her vow for to fulfil:  
Doth crave so much that he consents,  
to give her his good will.  
Upon this charge that well,  
provided thereunto  
Of furniture: With ease she should▪  
by little journeys go.  
She takes her leave of him.  
he wills her well to far,  
And as his comfoxe so her health,  
he biddeth 〈…〉  
Departed the● from Spain,  
on Pirences anon  
She mounts. Those 〈…〉 behind,  
through France when she 〈…〉,  
And past the utmost part●  
thereof. As she 〈◊〉  
Beholds the haughty 〈…〉  
that reach unto the sky.  
As she possessed 〈◊〉  
the highest of them all:  
Despising than the clouds beneath  
and Cities seeming small,  
At last with dowenward eyes,  
Right goodly she espies,  
¶ The City Thurin fair,  
that noble famous town:  
The duke of Savoy his ancient seat  
whose wife had such renown,  
For bewtyes lonely grace:  
that every where her fame  
with worthy praise, had blown about  
the glory of her name.  
For as to Helen, she  
was match for goodly grace:  
Even so her fame renowned was  
as much in every place.  
Dame Nature tried in her  
the force of all her art,  
I wrought by wondrous work, of her  
appeared every part.  
This Duchess, sister was  
unto the puissant king  
Of happy I'll, in Ocean wide.  
whose sacred soil doth bring  
In field such valiant men,  
and doth with plenty great,  
Increase all things, which may for them  
in any wise be meat.  
Divided from the world,  
a world alone it is:  
Which of itself sufficiently  
hath all comodyties.  
Norward, not far beyond  
the noble country France.  
And Trojan Brute his land it was  
which stories old advance.  
The spanish lady now,  
to Thurin glad doth go,  
To try if fame the truth hath told.  
and then, it chanced so  
By fortunes favour fair,  
that as she entered had  
Into the City, she espies  
the Duchess fair, Yclad  
With purple fine, whose gloss  
doth glister in her eyes.  
As do the beams of Titan's son  
from highest of the skies,  
So that she doubteth still,  
whether she should behold  
The lady bright with beauties shine,  
or her attire with gold  
So gorgeous and brave.  
both do likewise delight:  
But yet the beams of beauty fair  
shine clearer in her sight.  
In Horselitter the Du-  
chess borne with Horses fair,  
Unto the fields it pleaseth her  
to ride to take the air.  
The Lady isabella,  
when she perceived that,  
With fixed eyes beholding her  
as one that wondered at  
Some sight that seemed strange:  
she standeth still in stay.  
The longer that she looks, the more  
she likes in her alway.  
In mind she doth commend,  
the sh●pe of her alone.  
She surely thinks, she never erst  
did see so fair a one.  
She knows her beauty now,  
agreeing to her fame.  
And what she knows she can not choose  
but need must show the same.  
The passing beauty, which  
in her above all other  
She views: makes her a match to make  
the better for her brother.  
Whom much more tear than life  
(good Lady) she did love.  
And therefore to her company,  
(affection so did move▪)  
In Spanish tongue she speaks  
aloud. If God (saith she)  
Would grant, my brother might unto  
this Duchess married be:  
Then might I well be bold,  
(and truth therein) to say,  
They were the goodliest couple sure,  
in Europe at this day.  
The Duchess, which right well  
did understand the tongue,  
Still passing forth, she marketh well  
the company along,  
All there as they did stand:  
feigning as though that then,  
She did not understand the speech,  
nor knew what she did mean.  
But in her mind she thought,  
as she did seem to be,  
Some noble woman. And therefore  
she bids a Page, go see  
Where she will go to lodge:  
and show her, how that I  
Desire her for to go and see  
my Castle by and by.  
But as the Duchess doth  
walk by the rivers side:  
where silver streams twixt meadows green,  
with silent noise do slide.  
She museth still upon  
the words which she before  
Had herd. And then into her mind  
it runneth evermore.  
So tossed in troubled mind  
she homeward hies in haste,  
To talk with Lady Isabell.  
and so she comes at last  
With quick returde again  
unto her Castle, where  
She finds the Lady Isabella,  
which tarried for her there.  
And so due reverence  
she doth without delay,  
Unto the noble Duchess, as  
her better every way.  
And she right courteously  
Likewise doth entertain  
The stranger well: perceiving soon  
that she came forth of Spain.  
She of her fortune, and  
her name enquyres also.  
She asketh eke the cause wherefore  
this voyage she doth go.  
When that the Duchess knew  
her birth to be so great,  
She doth excuse herself forthwith,  
that she with honour meat  
Had not received her,  
and putteth all the blame,  
On ignorance of her estate  
and place from whence she came,  
Then after much good talk  
of other matters so,  
The noble Duchess at the last  
desireth for to and  
Whereto the words erst of  
her beauty there she spoke.  
And wherefore with her brother's shape  
she first that match did make,  
The shamefast Spaniard saith,  
(with blushing at the same:)  
When that I saw your beauty bright  
agreeing to your fame,  
I was so bold, forthwith  
in spanish speech to praise  
My brother: though he might have been  
commended more always  
By mouth of either, for  
because that I may seem,  
As sister somewhat partially  
his beauty to esteem.  
Yet notwithstanding that  
I do not doubt to say,  
(As they that know him can report)  
in Spain this many a day,  
There was not living seen●▪  
A worthye● gentleman,  
But as to praise your beauties. It  
I have offended then▪  
Pardon I gra●e because  
I spoke vnfaynedl●  
The same, with but against the troth  
I could not yet deny▪  
Wherefore the Duchess say●●  
lest she should 〈◊〉 to do  
Her diligence to further it  
she answers there unto  
Madam, though 〈◊〉  
you thus 〈…〉  
I doubt not but by change of pla●●  
your judgement so it will  
Be altered, 〈…〉  
I rather thank that you,  
In mind your brothers bou●●e have,  
so well imprinted now,  
That every shape, which is  
presented to your eyes▪  
You measure to the perfect type,  
and form of him likewise,  
Madam, the Spanish said  
if I have done amiss,  
To make comparison unmeet:  
yet bear with me for this.  
Though it may not become  
his sister for to say,  
So much, as truth of him might tell  
yet sure thus much, ye may  
Hear of his enemies,  
which ye beyond his grace,  
Will say he is the gentlest knight,  
that lives in any place.  
The Duchess, seeing her  
so earnest for to be,  
To praise her brother. Therewithal  
delighted much is she,  
And so she brings her in,  
and calls for supper soon,  
Which being served sumpteously●  
when all the cheer was done,  
To honour her the more,  
her will is so, that she  
Shall 〈◊〉 chamber with herself  
that night well lodge● be.  
Where as the pylgram then,  
being weary of her way  
Took rest, and soundly sleped still  
but still the Duchess lay,  
With wars within he head:  
as they that live in love,  
Nothing the Spanish lord unknown  
might from her mind remove.  
She doth suppose, herself  
this seemly shape to see,  
And well she likes the fancy, which  
doth show him such to be.  
She doth commend his lovely face:  
And liketh well his goodly grace.  
¶ In love she wots not hue,  
Such force hath Cupid blind,  
A stranger she is darkness doth  
behold within her mind.  
Supposing seemly shapes  
sometime so to agree:  
That soon she saith (unto herself)  
even such a one is he:  
And fairer than the same,  
if any fairer be.  
But at the last, of him  
such one she doth suppose:  
That such a friend, she could right will  
contented be to choose.  
In mind, she doth compare  
him, to the goodliest knight,  
That ever she had seen before,  
so fancy feades her sight.  
That night she took no rest,  
but turning to and fro,  
On every side, unquietly:  
the night she spendeth so.  
Each beauty of the knight,  
conceived in her heart,  
Like poison vile, increaseth flames  
infecting every part.  
The day, at last aloft  
lifts up the lamp of light.  
And Pheabus fair upon the earth  
doth cast his beams so bright.  
Then Lady Isabella,  
provided to departed:  
Doth of the Duchess take her leave,  
which feeleth at her heart  
Such fervent flames of fire,  
such groping griefs, that then,  
She wisheth, that she never had  
the spanish Lady seen.  
For sith she hath begun:  
Her work must needs be done.  
¶ She can not rule her rage,  
her race begun to stay,  
Her fury doth enforce her forth  
for to keep on her way.  
And so she could not rest,  
until the Spaniard, she  
Had promised at her return,  
with her again to be,  
Then wishing her good speed,  
to God she leaves her so.  
And whilst the Lady Isabella,  
forth on her way doth go:  
The Duchess still doth seek,  
the mean, whereby she may  
Suppress her flames, & quench the fire:  
her fury for to stay.  
But still the more she strives,  
more fervent is the fire.  
And as the greater hope remains:  
the more is her desire,  
Within her tender breast,  
such force is of the flame:  
That she, good Duchess, could not long  
endure to bear the same.  
Her heavy heart so sore oppressed  
Did spoil her limes of wont rest.  
¶ So. After sundry swarms,  
of thoughts on every side:  
Upon the part of love than doth  
the victory abide,  
It is at such a point,  
without the better chance▪  
The Duke her husband (cuckold) may,  
Unto the hornpipe daun●e.  
And thus, at last she doth  
determine for to take  
Advise her in: and Embly● then,  
her maiden for to make,  
Of counsel there unto  
whom she 〈…〉 fold,  
So trusty, that she doubted not  
these secrets 〈…〉,  
To her, when she fit 〈…〉,  
She thus gins 〈…〉 her mind.  
¶ O Emilie, (saith she)  
it is well known to you:  
If you have 〈◊〉 heed unto,  
My fashions ere now,  
Even since that first, I did  
Front England came my ways,  
Unto thafflicted minds, I was  
a refuge and a stay,  
But destenses, th●y now  
such lot to me 〈…〉:  
That I of council ●eade as much,  
as any one alyne  
Sith worthy I ha●● none,  
my mind to understand  
But yo● in you alone my first,  
and latest help doth stand▪  
This cause it doth import  
no lesser thing th●n this,  
Whearon both life, ●onour lieth  
of such a weight it is.  
And therefore this may sel●▪  
That I dare trust you well.  
She shows forthwith, that she  
was not in quiet sense,  
The spanish Lady Isabella  
departed h●● from thence.  
And so declares, that with  
her brother's worthy praise  
My heart is won: so that within  
my mind, his virtue stays.  
And I can take no rest,  
My wytes, on him always  
Be occupied. Yet one  
might muse how it should be.  
But I shall never live in rest:  
till I that Lord may see.  
This said, she doth conclude,  
that for no wanton will:  
But for to view such seemly shape,  
therefore she longeth still.  
Then Emblin, which did love  
even with he● heart always  
The Duchess, Piteing her cause,  
with gentle words she prays  
Her for to stay●● w●yle,  
and to 〈…〉 gryfe:  
And she with●● two days at most  
for her will find r●lyfe,  
The Duchess glad thereof,  
requires her earnestly  
To think thereon, and promiseth  
if good effect thereby  
Do come: to no unthankful one  
She should perceive that pleasure done  
¶ And so, when Emblin had  
approved many ways,  
Therefore, Unto the Duchess, she  
doth come within two days,  
And telleth her: that, if  
this mean may like her mind,  
She need not further seek, therefore  
a fit shift to find.  
And if that you will do this same:  
Your enterprise of force must frame.  
¶ If you, forthwith will feign  
yourself so sick 〈◊〉 be:  
That every one more h●pe of death  
than life in you may● see,  
In midst of all the sickness, yo●  
Right solemnly may make a vow:  
¶ That if you may forthwith,  
recover health again.  
Within a certain time to go●  
a voyage into Spain,  
Unto saint james his shrine.  
and freely forward so,  
With Lady Isabella at her  
return: you may well go.  
And then you may behold,  
as long as you shall please  
The knight which now hath been the cause  
of this your great unease  
But we alone shall have  
to much add, I fear,  
So finely in the bravest sort  
to bring about this ●eare  
Wherefore if you think good  
to join the third heareto,  
One man I may command for me  
all that he can to do,  
And this is master Appian.  
Your graces own Physician.  
¶ Herein I may be bold  
to tell the truth to you,  
He hath sought many sundry means  
to win my love ere now,  
He hath been vexed sore,  
long time for love of me:  
And that in way of honesty,  
(as far as I could see)  
Of wohm till now, I have  
accounted very small  
For hitherto he hath received  
almost no hope at all,  
But if with flattering eyes,  
and cheerful looks, I shall  
Make much of him, and sometime for  
to kiss him there with all:  
I know his love is such,  
he would not stick for me,  
To make an hazard of his life,  
if such a need should be.  
He is a witty man.  
and trimly learned also,  
Esteemed much abroad, and may,  
do much hear in I know.  
The Duchess, straight as she,  
doth understand of this  
Discourse: the policy unto  
her mind so fit it is.  
That over come with joy,  
the maid she did embrace.  
And said good wench hereby, thou hast  
high and lofty place  
In my good will, and so,  
you shall have evermore.  
By faith of me a princess I  
do promise you therefore,  
If that my purpose, now  
take happily success,  
I will no longer use you as  
an handmaiden doubtless,  
But I do rather mean,  
a friend of you to make.  
Of whom in doubtful things always  
some comfort I may take.  
For I assure myself,  
as you have showed here in  
Your greedy will, so may you still  
proceed as you begin,  
And as a strong and steadfast stay  
I shall account of you alway.  
¶ Now am I satisfied,  
by that: which you have said,  
So well, that I of any thing  
nead not to be afraid,  
If fortune on our side  
may be. Now go thy way,  
To talk with thy Physician,  
and I without delay,  
Will lay me down to rest,  
and feign disease, so well  
That none may it perceive, now gone  
is Emblyn, for to tell  
How that the Duchess is,  
diseased in her head:  
And lately is laid down to take  
sum rest upon her bed,  
The Duchess doth devise  
to have a further pain.  
Within her stomach soon she learned,  
such sickness for to feign.  
She turneth often times  
about, to seek her ease,  
And though she feign it finely: yet  
she feeleth no disease.  
She plunged is in pain  
poor soul, for pleasure's sake:  
She means by grief so much to gain  
as shall her sorrows slake.  
Such 〈◊〉 have women. L●e  
such shifts how they can make  
When that they list full pretilye  
their pleasures for to take,  
So sick as she appears,  
so hole is dead she is,  
She seems so sad, and in so glad,  
that none perceaneth this.  
No one suspicious part,  
for to declare her mind,  
In all the time of that disease,  
in her they could not find.  
Full four days thus she lay,  
and seind to take no rest:  
Although that with no painful grief  
She felt herself oppressed.  
Yet looking like to die,  
the lively ●●dye lies,  
Nor hope of health in her at all  
that any one espies.  
Each one bewails her woe,  
and sorrows for her greys▪  
Herself alone a refuge knows  
in sickness to relief  
Her heart. O colour sign,  
O craft ye cloaked joy.  
Her sorrows such, her ease so much  
such pleasant sweet an●●●,  
Well worth such wirts, 〈◊〉,  
the way for to de●●●●  
A remedy for to recure  
their careful 〈◊〉,  
Well worth the ready braures  
that ever have in store  
A shift at nead, within a Boar  
bear saw for every sore▪  
So simple as sh●e seem,  
so subtle as she is:  
It is a wonder for to see  
them so deceived in this.  
No man 〈◊〉 could more,  
dissemble in such 〈◊〉,  
Her wo●●●s so fitly 〈◊〉 therefore,  
that sure had the grace  
For to be sick, but now  
hath Emblic begun  
To task with master Appian,  
and thus at last hath done  
So much: that she 〈◊〉 felt  
him into lovers tr●●e  
And then with long discourse forthwith  
she shows the Duchess case●  
What furious 〈◊〉 she felt,  
what pangs she did abide:  
Till that this remedy, for her  
at last she did provide▪  
And 〈…〉 conclude▪  
she addeth this thereto:  
That if he keep her counsel close  
endeavouring to do,  
His best to aid her, than  
she promiseth straight way,  
To be his wife, To witness which,  
she makes no more delay,  
But with her folded arms  
his neck she did embrace,  
And kissed him right lovingly,  
But Appian glade of grace,  
Can scant such joy sustain,  
therewith more glad was he,  
Then if that his H●pocrates,  
or Gaelen he should see  
From out their restful graves,  
for to have risen then,  
To lead their lives, as they had done  
among the midst of men.  
He promised, her then  
in nothing to deny,  
While he should live, & so thearon  
up go they by and by,  
Unto the Duchess then  
their purpose to begin.  
And to her chamber so  
when they wear entry 〈◊〉,  
He may perceive how 〈◊〉  
doth hardly draw her wind,  
And for the suffocation of  
her matrice, he doth find  
Furthwyth, that she would have  
a stomoke very weak.  
With doubled tongue with in her mouth  
full sayntlye she could speak,  
He doth to them declare,  
what danger she is in:  
With many protestations  
his tale he doth begin,  
first biding every one  
to draw themselves aside,  
Whilst he by further talk may fell,  
how she herself shall guide,  
And so f●rth with they go away,  
And leave him there his mind to say.  
¶ Now that all these afayres  
the better he might hide,  
With him an odd perfume he brought  
the force whereof was tried  
To be so strange, that by  
the smell thereof, straight way  
The Duchess in such fits like one  
half dead, long time she lay,  
Till force thereof were gone,  
and then to her again,  
The 〈…〉, and wont hue,  
it did fourth with remain.  
The Duchess, liked that  
so well: that in her mind  
She thought all men could not, for her  
a fitter medicine find.  
Among them three, then is  
the matter handled so:  
That through the town the comen brute  
From mouths of men doth go:  
The Duchess needs will die.  
the Duke doth understand  
Hereof, and sent for all the best  
Physicians out of hand  
That were in Thurin then:  
to this intent that they  
Should look to her, which being cu●●  
Unto the Duke, straight way  
Unto her chamber up,  
they all together go  
The Duke with them desires to here  
how that his wife may do,  
Whose colour in her face  
was altered so much:  
That she appeared then as though,  
she never had been such.  
And they which her before had seen,  
O●ght doubt if she the same had been  
¶ For why, of Appian  
she took perfume before:  
That of her health Phisycians,  
Despaired ever more.  
And so when all they had  
consulted what they could  
With master Appian they doubt  
what way thearin they should  
Take. And at last they come  
the Duke unto, and say  
Twere best, that for her soul he should  
provide the best he may.  
The Duke be yond all measure,  
aflycted then with grief:  
Sends for the bishops suffragan  
a man of Godly life,  
That he should her exhort  
steadfast in faith to be.  
And of this father old, forthwith  
confessed then is she,  
With voice so faint (God knows)  
●er words were uttered  
As though not of this world she were  
she seemed then half dead.  
Her piteous ruthful looks,  
persuaded every one,  
That from her senseless corpse forthwith  
〈…〉 be gone.  
Yet th●nkes be unto God,  
a faithful soul was she:  
She hopes, ere it be long, in shrift  
with spanish Lord to be.  
The Bishop in few words,  
with her had quickly done:  
Her nature failing sure he thought  
that death was coming on.  
The Duchess gives him thanks:  
desiring that he will  
Among his daily orisons.  
her soul remember still,  
Then straight the lusty Lords  
and Ladies do cum in:  
One doth bewail her woeful case.  
an other doth begin,  
To give her counsel that  
to die she may provide,  
And lykneth men unto the flower,  
that can not long abide.  
The Duchess than begins,  
in frantic furious fits,  
To beat herself, and taketh on  
as she had lost her wysts.  
Amazed there with all,  
as many as are by  
Do think, how the her life will leave  
her corpse immediately 〈…〉  
One wise among the rest,  
Aloud to her both cry:  
O sovereign think on christ the which  
on cross for us did die,  
Another willeth her,  
on other saints to call:  
The noise is great, but Emilie  
which knows her counsels all,  
Saint Jame (saith she) from youth,  
you shorshypped always.  
To hear of him the duchess straight  
as in a trance she stays,  
She rules with village wan,  
her deadly downward eyes.  
And trembling very finely, then  
with ●●low voice she cries,  
O glorious Apostle,  
which me didst help alway:  
If by thy intercession,  
my health this time I may  
Recover well, to thee  
due honour for to do  
Unto the place, whearas thy corpse  
is buried will I go.  
When feigned prayers she,  
had ended in this wise,  
To try if she can sleep a while,  
she shu●he 〈◊〉 heavy eyes,  
And 〈…〉 rest,  
she did continue so:  
Then every one therefore forth of  
her chamber strait doth go,  
Except the Duke alone,  
which could not go away:  
But for his loving spouse her health,  
to God on high doth pray.  
Two hours then being passed,  
the Duchess in her bed,  
Doth stir more lively than before:  
and holdeth up her head,  
That one might see she was  
well eased of her pain.  
With strength she casteth forth her arms.  
& plucks them in again.  
The Duke her husband then,  
with lively cheerful eye:  
With heavy hue leninge beside,  
her head, she doth espy.  
And then about his neck,  
her heedless arms doth cast:  
And kissing him she said, good Lord,  
three hours not fully passed,  
I thought I should have left,  
these joys and all with you,  
But thanks to God, & eke the saint  
to whom I made n●● 〈◊〉,  
I feel myself, so well  
amended for to be,  
That if I wax not worse again,  
I dare well warrant thee,  
You shall not yet awhile  
be married any more.  
But when the Duke did hear the same  
he was so glad therefore:  
That then he had no power  
to speak one word at all,  
But marvelling doth her behold  
as one that had a fall  
Down from on high, and still  
lies gazing on the ground,  
Not knowing where he is, like one  
that falleth in a sound,  
This past, as soon as of  
these news the people know,  
Rejoicing, that the Duchess fair  
was then amended so,  
In their procession,  
to God great thanks they give,  
As was their wont. For well they hope  
the Duchess now will live.  
Each one did wail her woe,  
and of her health to hear,  
Each one was glad, within the court  
there ●a●●●ged was the cheer  
They 〈…〉 to stir,  
which erst did sit full sad.  
The Duchess was so well beloved  
that every one was glad  
To hear the news and so,  
the Duchess takes such head.  
That she recovered before  
she felt disease in dead,  
Then in her heart began  
another kind of play.  
That same disease she could not help  
by any kind of way,  
For Lord Mandozze then,  
that fit continued so:  
until the Lady Isabella  
homeward returned fro  
Her voyage, and forthwith  
unto the Duchess came:  
For that at her departing thence,  
she promised the same▪  
So when with other talk,  
the Duchess fair, and she  
Protested had, how th'one was glad  
the other for to see.  
To tell her then at last,  
the Duchess doth not stay,  
How that sore sick she kept her head  
still sense she wen● 〈◊〉  
Fro thence. Nor then she 〈◊〉  
forget, to tell her how,  
By grace of God & good Saint james,  
to whom she made her vow:  
Her health thereby she hath  
recovered aganye.  
If of the Duke her husband then  
such leave she may obtain.  
She should be hapye sure,  
her vayage for to go  
In her good company,  
the Sapnyshe lady so  
Perswardes her for to do,  
and further doth declare,  
The singular momodyties  
which in her contreie are.  
How worthy gentle man  
and Ladies fair and free,  
At her arrival there forthwith  
will come her grace to see:  
All ready for to be,  
best service that they can,  
And so your company saith she:  
shallbe much honour then  
To me, in pleasant way  
how merry we may be.  
For to persuade her willing mind  
〈…〉tteth she,  
It ●●deth not to hid  
him go, that runs away,  
It needeth not by force to drive  
the horse that would not stay.  
Few words may soon persuade  
the judge that is content:  
Even of his own accord unto,  
the case for to consent.  
The Lady Isabella,  
persuadeth her to go,  
And she had of long time, before  
be willing thereunto.  
The Duchess then did think  
each tarriance long alway,  
And therefore to the Duke,  
her husband on a day  
She saith. My Lord I think  
ye know the grievous pain,  
And martyrdom which I so long  
in sickness did sustain.  
The vow also, I trow  
you have not yet forgot▪  
Which for my health recovered,  
I gladly made, God wot,  
And therefore me such leave,  
I pray you for to give:  
¶ That out of hand I ma●e  
dispache this voyage 〈…〉  
Having occasion fyff by thy●●  
great Lady as ye know.  
She would be glad I think,  
that we might go together.  
And it might be both for mine ease  
and honour to go with her,  
Thearto, the gentle Duke  
right gladly did agree,  
The treason, lodged long with in  
her breast he could not see.  
provision being made  
for things, that they may need,  
Like Pilgremes than I clothed, on  
their journey they proceed,  
With many Ladies fair,  
and lusty gentlemen,  
Sir Appian and Emelye  
were not forgotten then,  
Among the rest, so much  
by travails great they do:  
That past the frozen Alps high  
they cummen are into  
The country of Ro●willon,  
and entered in to Spain:  
The Duchess seeing the place so nigh  
whereof she was so sayne,  
She prayese the Lady Isabella  
That b●●the way she would not tell  
¶ 〈…〉 would be. And so,  
in little journeys they  
arrive, where as the lusty Lord,  
john y● Mandozze lay.  
The Spanish Lady prays  
the Duchess then, that she  
May send to show her brother that  
arrived there they be.  
The Duchess is content,  
the messenger is gone,  
And found the Lord Mandozze sone,  
to whom he shows anon.  
How that the Duchess is  
even now, arrived there.  
And tells the questions: which between  
her, and his sister wear:  
And passing beauty of  
the Duchess doth declare.  
Mandozze then right gladly doth  
himself forthwith prepare,  
With forty or fifty of  
his worthiest gentlemen,  
Right bravelye so appointed to  
receive the Duchess then,  
And in his mind he thought,  
no princess was so free  
Or careless of her labour, in  
that age and time; ●●at ●●ee  
A foot would undertake  
So great a voyage for to make.  
¶ But for sum other cause.  
but what thereof he may  
Conceive, in mind right well he doth  
dissemble that alway,  
So on he rides, till that  
his sister doth espy,  
Him from a far in fields, and so  
she showeth by and by  
Unto the Duchess how,  
he which comes riding hear  
Upon a Jennet white as snow:  
that is her brother dear.  
The rest his subjects are,  
Mand●zze coming nigh,  
Thrice or four times at least, he makes  
his horse to mount on high,  
And leap into the air,  
with flinging feet aloft.  
Or this side turning thrice about  
on tother side as oft,  
His foot on ground being set  
with comely grace straight way,  
When he had kissed the duchess hand  
Madam, than did he say.  
I think the wandering knights  
that 〈◊〉 lon●e ago,  
And ●●●ght to win immortal fame  
by valiant acts also,  
If they had found such hap,  
admonge adventures great,  
That which such worthy Pylgremes is  
they might sometime have met:  
Their Spear and harness they  
would soon have laid side  
To bear your burdens in the way,  
your travail to a bide.  
And then the princess, which  
was well brought up alway,  
And lived had in ease, and joy  
until that present day,  
Lest she for shamefast fear,  
should fail again to give  
Answer to him (My Lord) she saith  
if knights which erst did live  
Such as you say they should  
by greater bliss, have met.  
With Pilgrims such as we appear:  
we must needs hope, that ye●.  
The blessed saint to whom  
I made so solemn vow:  
To honour whom I undertake  
this tedious travail now,  
Would save us from the●e force  
or else we should sustain, 〈◊〉  
These labours great, in iour●●y long,  
at last to lose our pain  
And so, this first attaint  
a way to love did make  
More wide. Then Lord Mand●zze sone  
her by the arm doth take:  
And to his castle leads  
her forth, with softly pace,  
devising talk not tedious  
to her in any case  
He leads the Duchess fair,  
Cupido blind doth lead  
Them both. As they still on their way  
with tender feet doth tread,  
The one, the other doth  
behold with fixed eyes:  
And both their hearts like love doth hold  
in friendly hand likewise.  
The poison left behind  
from love, his leaden dart.  
She sow all beauties set  
in him before her eyes,  
More perfect portraiture, she thought  
no painter could devise.  
Though fancy partly die  
persuade her thereunto,  
She was not much deceived, for why  
the Italian stories do  
Ab 〈…〉 his worthy shape,  
and further show of him,  
●ow he did pass the Princes all,  
which lived in his tyme.  
But when the Duchess had  
by outward gestures told  
The secrets of her heart▪ oft times:  
and comfort never could  
Receive, to satesfie  
her uncontented mind:  
And blaming much within her heart  
the knight to be unkind,  
Sith for her travel, she  
no better hire could find,  
When at his castelt she  
three days had tarried so:  
Therefore she doth determine thence  
next morning for to go.  
She means to give the flypp  
so to deceive the knight.  
And when Aurora had removed  
the darksum shades of night  
When light of daunting day.  
Had driven the golden stars away.  
¶ The Duchess goes unto  
the chamber by and by,  
Whearas the Lady Isabella  
within her bed did lie.  
So taking leave of her,  
she thanks her heartily  
Both for her entertainment there  
and all her courtesy,  
The Duchess now she is  
departed with her train,  
Mandozze under stands thereof  
within and hour or twain.  
He looketh then about,  
and sorry in his heart,  
He museth much whearfore she should  
so sudaynlye departed,  
And take no leave of him.  
so troubled much in mind,  
Among a thousand things he thinks  
it hard the cause to find,  
And thus so long at last  
he marveleth theareat,  
That his unthankfulness he knows  
te be the cause of that.  
Upon himself he sees the blame  
And is right sorry for the same▪  
¶ Sith she a princess great,  
did come so far to see  
Him then he could not choose but think  
himself unkind to be,  
For that to please her then  
he was no readier.  
Nor, yet his service frank and free  
had never offered her,  
Whearfore he takes with him  
two of his men straight way.  
And after her rides f●rthe  
in all the haste he may,  
At last upon a cawls way, he  
Espies them in their way to be.  
¶ A lighted from his horse  
he makes no more delay,  
But asketh of the Duchess why  
she went so soon a way,  
If at his castle than  
she was disposed so.  
That of her going thence she would  
not suffer him to know,  
He promiseth with all  
his service true to do:  
If it may pleat her so. He will  
with her to Thurin go.  
He will not her forsake  
for all the world beside:  
If that she will command him so  
with her to go or ride.  
And passing further be  
in sighing sore doth say:  
O Lady Duchess, fortune had  
done much for me that day,  
If when my sister made  
the vow that she would go  
To Rome: I had of enemies  
forthwith been conquered thou.  
For than I might have had,  
some hope again to be  
A conqueror on them likewise,  
and sometime to be free.  
But now unto myself  
subdued: I must remain  
A subject evermore, except  
by you I get again  
Lost liberty at last.  
in you to save or spill  
My life it lieth. I have no force  
for to subdue my will.  
Unto your grace myself I yield  
on me your list full fill,  
You are the cause of all my care.  
you may recure mine ill.  
For now (Ab las,) since you  
this country first came in:  
I felt such hard assault within  
my heart for to begin,  
That left me to resist,  
I have no further might.  
And vanquished it booteth not  
〈◊〉, man to fight,  
I wo●●ot what to do,  
but to complain my grief,  
(For to be wail my woes) to you  
which may my mind relief,  
And ever that which I  
so hardly could sustain:  
You would dissemble it, as though  
you did not know my pain.  
Oft times by signs, I did  
to you declare my mind,  
And you so strange thereto always  
my meaning would not find.  
Far from my thoughts you semd to be  
My woeful sighs you would not see.  
¶ And that the lo●er, so  
my life might make an end  
You left my house also to day,  
disdaining for to spend  
So little time, as for  
to bid me well to far.  
And that doth grieve my heart again,  
renewing all my care,  
So, these may you desire  
For to return with me:  
And show me further courtesy,  
or else that you may see.  
On me, which you would more  
upon your foes require  
For cruel death, of this your fight  
shall pay the woeful hire,  
And mournful sighs, he draws  
from deepest of his breast:  
To tessifye the passions  
wherewith he was oppressed,  
And gentle tears from out  
his eyes do fall a pace,  
The lively blood with colour fresh  
did change within his face.  
So that he thought his soul  
with grief oppressed so sore:  
would then have left his senseless corpse,  
the Duchess now therefore,  
Though shamefast blood with in  
her blushing cheakes: do stay her tongue  
her tale for to begin:  
The blood as red as rose  
within her face so clear,  
(O beauties force) it did present,  
a passing lovely cheer.  
With modesty divine,  
she ●ules her twinkling eyes,  
And smoking sighs full sweet also  
she casts up to the skies,  
The crystal tears do fall:  
From down her face with all.  
¶ When reason had at last,  
the woeful ●and undone,  
Wh●● stayed her tongue with angels voice  
to speak she thus begun.  
I do not know the cause,  
whearfore you do pretend,  
That I should give occasion,  
your youthful days to end▪  
For if I knew myself  
but cause of your annoy:  
My loathed life, I could for grief  
no longer time enjoy.  
Such care I ●ould conceive thereby:  
That I should much desire to die,  
¶ Assure yourself therefore  
that I would be your own,  
For all the world I would not this  
to any hear were known  
Then fainting fear quite fled awa●e  
She doubteth not forthwith to say.  
¶ That flaming fire of love  
(Is kindled in her breast)  
And she with how by night, or day,  
for him she takes no rest,  
If you one hour should fe●e,  
such fits as I sustain:  
You myhht saith she, of cruelty  
then with a cause complain.  
For sure your absence is  
a very death to me,  
And long (I know) I could not live  
without sum hope to see  
You soon. Again for this  
to you I will confess:  
Long time ere now, I have for you  
endured in distress.  
It is unpossible  
almost that I should live:  
If fortune unto me forthwith  
sum comfort do not give.  
But this I must needs say:  
〈◊〉 when at first, I saw  
Your cold affection and desire,  
such fainting force to draw  
Me to your mind: I thought  
the cause thereof should be,  
For sum opinion ill, which you  
conceived had of me,  
Or that perchance, you thought  
(for sure it may be so)  
That I should seem to liberal,  
mine honour to forego.  
And that my country soil,  
I did therefore forsake  
That of myself, a slave I should  
to your good graces make.  
And ●●●ie for this cause  
I took no lea●e if you:  
When from your house I came, but yet  
perceiving plainly, now  
By this your heavy cheer,  
that otherwise I may  
Suppose thereof: I do confess  
my fault. And you I pray  
For to forget it and  
at my return, I shall  
Sufficient satisfaction pay,  
and make amends for all  
I will repent in place,  
where as I have offended.  
And prisoner my heart with you  
till all this be amended  
I leave. And thus the whilst  
contented you must be,  
And to your castle now return,  
no further go with me.  
The knyhht thereto obeys,  
her mind for to fulfil:  
But yet her beauties all within  
his heart imprinted still  
He bears, a burden hot,  
with love being sore oppressed,  
And hope prolongs his life, which he  
doth lead in great unrest,  
Each one the others heart  
doth hold. And so likewise▪  
The gestures of the one are still  
before the others eyes.  
Now him we leave, by hope  
his fancies for to feed,  
And to the Duchess now, which on  
her voyage doth proceed,  
For fortune lieth in watch  
and doth her nets prepare,  
She spoils them of their pleasures soon  
& turns their joy to care.  
So fortunes wheel doth run,  
and roull on every side,  
Still turneth fortune to and fro  
she never doth abide  
Long time in sure & steadfast stays  
But shifts her fycle feet alway.  
¶ When that with fairest face,  
she seemeth for to smile,  
Then, with sirens song so sweet  
she seeketh to beguile,  
Whearfore all wise men will  
in wether fair always  
Provide their needful things against  
a stormy lowering day  
To wise men nothing cum●●s,  
unlooked for before  
For all mishaps, the manlike mind  
is armed evermore.  
This Duchess led her life  
till now in blessed joy,  
And soon, together darksome clouds  
do cum to her annoy.  
She is pre●ented now,  
Mand●●●● hopes in vain,  
For fortune breaks the band, furt●●●  
of all their bliss intwaine,  
She lowers on them on whom  
erst frendlys she did selye.  
Their greedy mind of pleasures sweet  
she doth further beguile  
Not twelve days after that,  
the lively Duchosse, she  
From Thu●●in did departed, the Duke  
her husbane 'gan to be  
annoyed with absence long  
of her, whom he right dear  
Did ●●●ld for servant love, which he  
did ever to her ●eale,  
And then considering well,  
that she was sister to  
A king and how that her he left,  
so long away to go:  
Per●e●uing this, that it  
upon her honour lay▪  
He maketh allthings meal, ●o●●  
provided for his way.  
And well accompanied  
with store of gentlemen,  
Without delay he taketh ship,  
and into Galye then.  
The sails be full with wind,  
through surging seas ●inaine  
They s●oure away, the ●●●like wa●●es  
divided ●o in twain,  
The wind doth serve so well  
unto his will, that he  
Arrived at saint james his town,  
before the Duchess she  
Was cum. But so at last  
he understands among  
The pilgrims there, the it belike,  
would not be very long,  
Before she came, for they  
had left her then behind:  
By little journey is coming forth,  
whearfore right glad in mind,  
The Duke forthwith doth send  
sum of his gentlemen,  
In haste to ride, and met with her,  
so for to show her then  
The coming of the Duke.  
which when the Duchess had  
Ben told by them, she made as though  
thereof she had been glad,  
But sure she could have been  
contented well: that he  
Should not have taken half the pains  
to come so far to see,  
In travail tedious  
how well as she had fared  
His company a while (God wots)  
right well she might have spared.  
¶ Thouhh then her fancy led.  
her lust for to fulfil.  
Yet doth her reason teach her more  
to esteem her honour still,  
And therefore finely, she  
doth feign always to be  
Desirous with great diligence  
her husband for to see,  
some cheer to blush needs must make  
Though it be but for fashion's sake.  
So she to him forth with,  
with feigned speed doth go,  
And lovely looks for him right ●●ne,  
she shaped had also,  
Then after gre●●ng sweet  
she pitieth his pain,  
That he in danger great for her  
such travail should sustain,  
And sorry in her mind,  
(she saith) she is, therefore,  
But for Mandozz● lusty knight,  
it grieved her the more.  
And so, in to the church  
together they be gone:  
Whearas her prayers ended first,  
the Duchess doth anon  
Remember in her mind  
her loves so l●wdlye passed  
And wins so much of will that she  
repenting, knows at last  
That God was much against  
her enterprises still:  
That she the Duke unfaithfullye  
deceived: should fulfil  
Her lust. And sorrow so,  
doth sink within her breast,  
That then within her heavy heart  
forthwith she doth protest,  
To fly her filthy flame  
and fufther to forget,  
Manduzze his graces all. And much  
she thanketh God, that yet  
Her lust beyond the bonds  
of honour hath not gone,  
And clean to quench her loathsome love  
she doth agree thereon,  
That so she will depart  
from thence, even out of hand,  
Nor of this news now will she let  
Mandozze understand,  
She instantly requires,  
her husband home to haste.  
And so to ships they go, and sail  
so long, till at the last  
Mars●ille haven they take:  
annoyed of the seas,  
And therefore then on horseback they  
do ryoe in better case  
To Thurin: where they lived  
together long in joy,  
And perfect love. But now, the lord  
Mandozze in annoy  
Doth live, for absence of  
the Duchess all this while,  
His heart abode with her, and he  
did live in long ●●●le.  
But when he knew, how that  
the Duke was comen thither:  
And how the Duchess fair, and he  
returned home together:  
His grief he doth sustain,  
saying no remedy:  
He needs must now make virtue of  
extreme necessity,  
determining to go,  
to Thurin her to see,  
But now this while, that all these things  
in such a st●te they be,  
The Almayanes' lately with  
an army huge they are,  
Cum in to france, and so do spoil,  
the country every where.  
¶ As soon as of the same,  
the king doth understand,  
He sendeth to the noble Duke  
of Savoy, out of hand  
With army great of france  
to encounter with his foes,  
But all things in good order set  
at home before he goes  
He doth appoint for his  
leivetenaunt general  
The county P●●calyer, to whom  
th'affairs and charge of all  
His Duchy he doth leave,  
that as his self alway,  
The County, in his absence they  
should honour and obey.  
The County well was known  
both noble and dyscreate:  
And for to take the rule and charge  
of comen wealth most meat.  
The noble men thearto agree:  
The people well contented be.  
¶ So when he seeth himself,  
to have the charge alone  
The country to dispose and rule,  
commanding every one:  
Yet marking well oft times  
the Duchess beauty brave,  
Can not command his lust, the rule,  
upon himself to have.  
He hath no force, to fight  
against his new desire,  
His flames do burn in broiling breast,  
he fries in secret fire,  
The more he seeks always  
for to withstand his ill:  
The poison strong so much the more  
doth rage and rankle still.  
That while he striveth so  
the smoke for to suppress:  
In greater flames the furious fire  
doth more and more increase,  
Reason doth bid him rule  
his rage, and to obey  
In absence of the Duke,  
as aught a subject true alway,  
But fancy doth enforce  
his folly to fulfil.  
So battle in his breast begins,  
betwixt his wit and will,  
But reason at the last  
is fain to sly the field.  
His senses all subdued, is  
constrained for to yield  
Unto a Fortress vile,  
he can resist no more.  
But now with shame doth seek the salve  
for to recure his sore.  
So that he doth forget  
himself so much, that he  
thereof doth make no conscience  
to offer service free.  
Unto the Duchess: which  
had vowed always to live  
Upryghtly▪ And therefore to him  
a warning she doth give:  
That from thenceforth he be  
advised better in  
His cause, before he do presume  
so boldly to begin  
Unto unlawful love,  
A princess for to move.  
¶ She by●s him seek abroad  
Where as his matches be:  
To practise such conclusions  
with them of his degree.  
She chaufeth much that be  
of her so light should deem:  
To think that then her honour she  
so little should esteem.  
And shame to him, she said  
that lived all that while:  
And yet a doting fool, could not  
subdue affections vile.  
The County Pancalir  
when this he doth perceive.  
Was sum what blank, so for the time  
of her he takes his leave.  
Yet hoping still the best,  
the first denienge he  
At women's mouths doth know right well  
but words of course to be.  
Wherefore with higher style,  
he moves his cause again  
Another time: when that at large  
be pleads his case more plain.  
desiring her to take  
sum pity on his grief,  
Or else he can not long sustain,  
to lead his loathsome life.  
He saith, his senses fail,  
his meat doth not digest:  
His fainting limbs have lost their force  
his body takes no rest.  
For love of her alone  
and addeth thereunto,  
That all his limbs have now forgot  
their duties for to do.  
As he doth thus a while  
his woeful case bewail:  
She asketh if his wits alwith  
his senses do not fail:  
A stronger salve she seeks  
for his increasing ill.  
Sith that her warning would not serve  
but he continews still,  
His siege; by hard Assault  
to make a breach within  
Her honour: Of her chastity,  
the tort full strong, to win.  
County, she saith Me think  
the warning which before  
I gave: might have persuaded you  
to trouble me no more,  
These enter prizes rash,  
and will you still pursue:  
For getting how my lord, the duke  
hath hear advanced you.  
Is this the Guerdon meat  
which you to him restore?  
And did he make you his  
Lieutenant now therefore,  
That you upon his bed  
the rule also should take?  
Is this the right discharge, which you  
of that same credit make.  
Is this (I pray.) thallegiance due,  
Or service of a subject true?  
¶ I promise you, that if  
you will not thus forego  
These follies. I will see that you  
‛ Shallbe corrected so,  
That subjects from hence forth  
and traitors false, they shall  
Thereby exaple take. And thus  
you may be warned for all.  
What confidence (I pray)  
might make you now so bold:  
That you to me so hardylye  
so traitorous mind unfold:  
Wax wiser from hence forth,  
to make your match alway.  
I am your princess whom you ought  
to honour and obey:  
The County skooled thus:  
that lessen in his brain  
Imprinted is so well, that it  
will never out again.  
Disdaining much of her  
to be refused so,  
And counting that the Duke thereof  
at his return should know,  
His love to deadly spite  
is changed. He alway  
Inventeth sundry means to bring  
the Duchess to decay.  
And as he tosseth so  
his mischief in his mind:  
A policy for him at last,  
the Dyvells' grace doth find.  
He had a Nephew then,  
n●t full nyntene years old,  
One of the bravest gentlemen,  
In Thurin to behold  
The county having then  
no children: he did take  
This for his own, and after him  
his only heir to make  
So on a time to him  
my Nephew he doth say.  
Thou knowest how that but me thou hast  
no other help or stay.  
And therefore for because,  
that God hath given to me  
No lawful Issue now, mine heir  
I have appointed thee,  
If thou canst have the grace  
to follow so my mind:  
Especially in things which you  
may for your profit find.  
The old unluftie Duke  
is now from home afar,  
And many changing chances still  
do happen in the war.  
If he should chance to die,  
as doubtful is his life,  
Tis possible that you might get  
the Duchess to your wife.  
And so. God knows how great  
Advancement it might be  
To the. And that were won with ease  
(as it appears to me)  
If that herein▪ you would  
my counsel well obey.  
Thought to the point of marriage,  
it may not come straight way,  
Yet sure, you shall not fail  
a friend of her thereby.  
To have. By many sundry things  
ere this, I did espy:  
She bore thee much good will  
and never durst before  
Let it beseen. Wherefore do thou  
stick stoutly evermore  
Hearto. And take the hap,  
whatsoever it do cost:  
Do what you can to please her still  
it is no labour lost.  
Seek all the means ye may,  
To serve her every way.  
¶ And time shall teach you well  
at last, the same to see:  
Which youth ● want of skill till now  
hath hid always from the.  
This simple youth believes  
his onyles wretched wiles.  
The crafty Fowlers pipe full soon  
the silly bird beguyles,  
He thinks that all is Gould  
that glystreth to the eye.  
The Tutcstone of experience  
he wants the same to try,  
He doth begin: about  
the Duchess, for to be  
Always. And shamfastlie by signs,  
he mours her so to see:  
How he with willing mind  
To serve her was inclined.  
¶ Whice when he had observed,  
a month or twain like wise:  
The gentle Duchess at the last  
his diligence espies,  
And honesse service which  
with earnest zeal, he had  
Done her of late. And so therefore  
the Duchess, she was glad  
To favour him the more,  
prefarring him above  
The other pages. And thereto  
his comely grace doth move  
The more. Of wantonness  
proceeded not her love.  
For his good service done to her:  
She did him only so prefer,  
¶ But now the uncle false  
none other thing doth he:  
But longeth of the Duchess still  
avenged for to be.  
And thinking now for all,  
at double or quite to play:  
He calls his Nephew once again,  
and in this sort doth say,  
I see, that now thou art  
the hapieste man alive:  
If you can take the lucky lot,  
as fortune doth it give,  
Not only great good will,  
the Duchess bears to thee:  
But now with servant love, to sight  
consumed much is she.  
But women, (as ye see)  
They somewhat shamefast be.  
¶ They love to be desired  
in secret place alway.  
A certain force doth please them well.  
as though constrained they  
Do yield, and grant to that  
which they right glad and fain  
Would offer: If a little shame  
did them not still restrain.  
Be barbie then saith he,  
this to believe therefore.  
For I have proved and found it true,  
right often hear tofore,  
And that before this time  
tomorrow, thou shalt say,  
Thyself to be the happiest man,  
that lives on earth this day.  
And therefore now I would  
sometime, ye should espy,  
Unto the Duchess chamber soon,  
to go right privily.  
Under her bed also,  
thyself there must thou hide,  
Till after midnight past an hour  
at least still to abide.  
And when she doth begin  
in deepest sleep to fall:  
From underneath the bed,  
arise forthwith you shall,  
And bravely coming to  
her head, you shall declare  
That love did cause your coming there  
& tell her who you are.  
So be you sure of this  
what for her fervent love,  
And absence of the Duke so long:  
both these likewise will move  
Her, then in folded arms  
Most lovingly tembrace  
The sone, & cheer thy heart with joys  
of lovers sweet solace  
The silly youth believes  
his uncles words straight way  
Supposing that the Duchess might  
persuade him so to say.  
Himself did think no hurt  
and therefore doubts no vil,  
And so his uncles traitorous mind  
forthwith he doth fulfil.  
For then the county was  
obeyed as a king,  
And honoured even as the Duke  
himself in every thing.  
Before that midnight came.  
the traitor false in doubt,  
Lest that his shameful villainy  
might be espied out,  
Three of the counsel, with  
sum of the guard also  
He takes, and to the chamber of  
the Duchess straight doth go.  
Where knocking at the door,  
he willeth then to say,  
The Duke was cum and so, the door  
was opeded wide strait way.  
With naked sword in hand  
the county rusheth in,  
And raging like a man out of  
his wits he doth begin  
To pray on every side,  
the chamber round about.  
And so, from underneath the bed  
at last he plucketh out  
His Nephew all amazed,  
and trembling then for fear:  
Like as the lamb which yet alyne  
the ravening wolf doth tear.  
To whom denying power  
one word at last to say:  
He thrusts him through the throat & then  
with doubled stripe, streghtway  
He strikes him in the breast,  
that he might quickly lose  
His breath, & be without the power,  
his treason to desclose.  
And now poor innocent,  
upon the ground he lies  
His limbs being stiff, his striving life  
doth yield to destinies.  
¶ His blade with blood imbrue,  
the county putteth in  
His sheath again. And thus doth to  
the counsellors begin.  
My friends (saith he) this same  
was not first time, that I  
The wanton and unhonest love  
betwens them did espy.  
But now at last, I found  
a time the truth to try,  
But yet this glutton hear, I made  
to fair a death to die.  
For his desert requires,  
by rigour of the law:  
That horses wild, in quarters should,  
his traitorous body draw.  
As for my Lady hear,  
the Duchess, at this time  
I trave. I can no punishment  
determine for her crime.  
You know the customs old  
of Sa●oye, do require:  
That Ladies of adultery  
convicted should in fire  
Be burned quyeke, if they  
Within a year and day,  
¶ Find not a Champion, which  
in their behalf will fight  
The Combat: by his force in feyld  
for to defend their right.  
But for the allegiance of  
my duty, which I own  
Unto my Lord the Duke, I will  
by letters let him know  
Hereof. And so, the while,  
the Duchess shall remain  
Within her chamber close, & have  
with her one maid or twain.  
¶ The Duchess● knows herself  
now faultless for to be.  
And is in mind, amazed much  
so great outrage to see.  
But well the treason of  
The county she espies.  
And looking on her page's corpse  
with piteous weeping eyes,  
With sighing sundry times,  
O guiltless soul (saith she)  
Which hear this liveless corpse hast left  
now thou dost plainly see.  
The wickedness of him,  
Which made the thus to die.  
And having made an end unto  
her moan, and mournful cry  
She wrings her arms for woe  
and doth desire: that they  
Would let the corpse in semlye grave  
be buried straight way.  
For he hath not deserved,  
to hang on gibbet hies  
And to be meat for beasts, or birds,  
which in the air do fly,  
She saith. And so her mind,  
the counsellors fulfil,  
Misdeaming in their minds that more  
because that she did still.  
Excuse the guiltless page  
of that offence alway,  
And for to purge herself  
nothing at all doth say,  
The woeful chance full soon  
is blown about the city.  
And of the gentle Duchess, than  
not one but taketh pity,  
Crept the County fierce,  
in mischief hardened so:  
That he could never bend, but still  
is working of her woe,  
Fame with these news continually  
Full fast, always doth further fly  
¶ Such murmuring among  
the people doth arise,  
As though the town wear then subdeud  
to spoil of enemies.  
And many of them would  
with right good will, agree  
That on them and their children them  
her punishment should be:  
On this condysyon that,  
the Duchess might go free.  
The County Pancalier  
●yd nothing all this day,  
But made the accusations fain  
that all the council may,  
Set to their seals forthwith,  
all which in order done,  
He sends two posts in haste therewith,  
and into England one▪  
To show the king her brother,  
And to the Duke the other.  
Is gone. And both their charge  
full soon presented have,  
The brother, and the husband both,  
they easily credit gave  
Thearto. And chiefly they  
persuaded are thereby:  
Because the Uncle so had made  
his Nephew for to die.  
Which should have been his heir,  
without some heinous miss.  
And so the County his faithfulness  
they much commend in this:  
That to his blood he dy●  
no whit forgive or spare,  
To testify the faithfulness  
that to his prince he bore.  
So finely for a time,  
His craft did cloak the crime.  
¶ Though such offence a while  
may under ashes lie.  
Yet treason will sometime be known  
and time the truth shall try.  
What worse foe, than he  
which ever doth deceive,  
Pretending friendship, so that one  
may hardly him perceive,  
This traitorous tyrant hear,  
appearing for to be.  
A judge most just in mischeyfe new  
commended much is he,  
It is the most pernicious ill:  
In virtues shape deceiving still.  
¶ The kings of England, and  
of France, at last agree,  
In favour of the Duke: the law  
and custom kept shallbe  
Upon the Duchess just,  
to the end all Ladies might  
Example take thereby, which ought  
to soyne like lamps of light  
In virtues fair, to others:  
unlawful lusts to leave.  
And by his post again, that time,  
the County doth receive  
A rich and costly sword,  
and harness excellent:  
Which him to gratyfye with all,  
the king of England sent.  
The Duke of Savoy stays  
his post a while, because  
The matter toucheth him so near:  
he takes the longer pause.  
But at the last, he is  
resolved here unto,  
He writeth unto his council that  
on pain of life: they do  
Right straightly execute  
the statutes on his wife,  
As her offence required then,  
and not to spare her life.  
And to the County he  
besides, doth letters send,  
His truth well tried, & service goo●  
he highly doth commend.  
And ●romyseth to him  
due recompense to make.  
The post arrived, the letters to  
the counsel soon doth take.  
And so: (the letter red)  
they do forthwith agree  
According to the custom old:  
a pillar there shallbe  
Of marble stone, set up  
within a field theareby,  
Wheareon the accusation, must  
be written formally:  
Which when the Duchess hears,  
having no company  
But with one Damsel young, & eke  
her maiden Emelye:  
All comfortless, with grief  
on every side oppressed,  
As fraticke, rents her golden hear  
and beating on her breast  
With mortal sighs, she doth  
her luckless lot bewail:  
So that for sorrow so extreme,  
her speech a while did fail,  
She ceased not of long  
herself for to torment,  
the tears apace, ran down her face.  
her maidens do lament,  
Her piteous careful case,  
and ever (as they may)  
They do desire her, that she would  
take patience alway.  
And so at last, she lifts  
her joined hande● on high:  
desiring God to look upon,  
her, in that misery.  
With many prayers, she  
desireth him to sends  
Some help her innocency so  
forthwith for to defend.  
That she by such relief  
her heart revived so:  
May be released of her grief,  
triumphing of her foe.  
Now woeful Emblin, which  
the danger great doth see,  
And knowing then assuredly  
her guiltless for to be.  
By wont policy  
for her she did provide,  
And saying, Madam need requires  
to lay your tears aside,  
And not to spend the time,  
with childish weeping now:  
All which can not amend your ill.  
me thinks it best for you  
some comfort here to take▪  
and be of better cheer:  
The sheyld of patience always  
against your foe to bear.  
And now which speed, sum kind of way  
To help your need, let us assay.  
¶ Now search within your mind,  
Draw all your wits hear to.  
The shift which one could not out find  
we all may chance to do.  
This danger may persuade  
you courage for to take.  
Now let us see, what shift all we  
at such a pinch can make.  
Assay, if you can find  
the means, forthwith to send●  
Good master Appian, in haste  
to go, unto your friend  
The Lord Mandozze: whose,  
so much renowned fame  
for force, above all knights of spain.  
aruaunced is his name.  
And therefore I would wish▪  
you for to write a letter  
To him, in loving words, that he,  
may like of it the better.  
For I know no man sure,  
that would adventure now  
His life so strangely: if that he,  
do not so much for you,  
Considering▪ the prows of  
the County so too known:  
the sounding trump of fame, with praise  
his name abroad hath blown.  
You wot, how that he is  
reported for to be,  
Most valiant and courageous knight  
in Savoy▪ Who ●ut he?  
The Duchess then, doth bid  
her do even as she will.  
For I (saith she) am comfortless,  
and hardened in mine ill.  
To live or die, to me,  
the choice doth seem al●ne:  
Scythe every way, my honour thus  
for ever more is gone,  
How ever it be, no bo●e I see  
Both ills do come alike to me.  
¶ Madam, saith Emelye  
let God therefore provide.  
And let us handle this so well,  
that we be not espied.  
So Ink and paper, she  
forthwith to her doth bring,  
And saith madame, let not your heart  
fail you in any thing.  
The Duchess draws aside,  
perusing in her spright  
The long discourse of all the love,  
between her and the knight.  
To whom in form, as followeth,  
her letter she did write.  
¶ My Lord Mandozze, 
The letter of the Duchess, to Lord Mandozze.  I  
write not on hope to have  
Such remedy by this: that you,  
m silly life might save.  
Nor fear of dreadful death,  
doth move me hear unto▪  
The zeal of my good will to you,  
doth make me thus to do.  
The sorrows sunk▪ within  
my heavy heart, do now  
Compel me to declare  
my careful case to you  
This style so rude perchance  
at first, may make you muse  
From whence the letters cum, but if  
it please you to peruse  
The same you shall perceive  
how that your loving friend:  
(If you vouchsafe poor friends to have)  
this greeting now doth send.  
The same which you sometime,  
a princess ●lad did see:  
A prisoner to shameful death  
condemned for to be,  
You scantly will believe,  
but yet I feel it so.  
Though you (perchance) may much distain  
a captive for to know.  
Sith ●●cklesse stars enforce,  
and ●oo he doth permit  
This same to be sith Fortune now  
consenteth unto it,  
Contented, I must take  
good courage unto me,  
Knowing the grave, a fortress and  
a castle strong to be,  
Whearas against such hard  
assaults, we safely may  
Take rest, and yet from fortunes force  
defend ourselves alway,  
Whearfore with fixed eyes,  
I do behold the grave.  
Always the only hope for help,  
and comfort that I have,  
This only fault, I do  
in this my death espy:  
That by the treason of my foe,  
I am condemned to die.  
And therefore though theat by  
desert I can not crave  
Sum grace of you, though I can look  
n● help of you to have:  
Yet will I now present  
before your eyes, how I  
Forsook my country, where so long  
I lived dayntelye  
In honour great, and ease,  
to put myself unto  
So many peril, as but few  
of mine estate would do,  
Changing my life which I,  
before that time had styll●●  
Enjoyed in happy quietness,  
with pleasures at my will,  
To take on me the attire,  
a pilgrim pyld to be,  
By hills and dales, on foot to go,  
the ways unknown to me,  
For passing fervent love,  
which I did bear to you,  
Whom then I had not seen, wherefore  
me thinks these same, may now  
Your conscience assault  
so sore: that this may make  
Your gentle heart, on my ill suck  
sum pity for to take,  
For I, not only in  
a painful prison lie,  
But to a cruel tyrants power,  
a subject now am I  
And more than that; each hour,  
in danger for to lose  
My life, which I full soon to do  
with all my heart would choose:  
Whearto I had myself,  
advanced long ago,  
(To have rested in another life.)  
save that by doing so,  
I should mine honour lose,  
and leave unto my name  
An heritage of infamy,  
for to dyscend with shame.  
And therefore sith that love  
Doth bear with it no price,  
Nor can not pay itself, except  
the tribute do arise  
From other love: yet pay  
the ancient fruits most due  
Unto my love: so shall I say,  
I found your promise true.  
So shall you pay, the hire  
Which friendship doth require.  
¶ And sith, to paradise  
that pity is the gate:  
Behold a woeful princess now,  
a wretch most desolate,  
Which looks for nothing else  
But latest destiny,  
For to be burnt as silly lamb  
prepared to sacrifice.  
And that I think, you would,  
be very loath to see:  
Or else dissembling words, ere this  
have much beguiled me:  
The rest, this bearer now,  
by word of mouth may tell:  
Whom as myself you may be bold  
for to believe him well.  
And so accownt of him  
in every case I pray.  
And saufelye, unto him commit,  
your counsels still you may,  
(If it shall please you so)  
and thus I make an end,  
desiring God good life to you,  
to me, fair death to lend.  
The letter sealed up.  
fair Emelie doth take  
It sone. And willeth Appian  
all speed therewith to make.  
And to th'intent he should  
consider that the better:  
A dozen kisses sweet also,  
she gives him with the letter,  
And need enough. For he  
poor soul was shrunk aways  
For thought. she gave hi● not so much  
before then, many a day,  
Well cheered up is he,  
more gladder much he is,  
Then if an hundredth pounds of coin  
he had in place of this.  
Within his face, again  
appeareth lively blood.  
The blessed lips of Emelye  
had done him so great good,  
That his purgations  
and pa●trye physic, such:  
For his disease, by twenty parts  
could not avail as much.  
He trotteth now, about  
his business by and by.  
He prattleth to himself apace,  
as pleasant as a Pys.  
And sundry notes he tuneth to  
the name of emily.  
He passeth not a whit,  
in any place to go:  
Sith that his mysterysse, he may get  
out of a prison so.  
He was so glad and fain,  
her hest for ot obey:  
That he to travail ceased not,  
as well by night, as day,  
Till that arrived in Spain,  
near to the place 〈◊〉 he  
Did know the Lord Mandozze erst  
was wont most times to be.  
So there, he asks his host  
both how, and in what place  
That Lord was then▪ which told him how  
he was in very ill case  
As any knight might be,  
●yr why: of late (saith he)  
¶ His ancient enemies  
Tolledoes, whom before  
In every skirmish, he was wont  
to vanquish evermore:  
With such an army, they  
are entered on his land:  
That Lord Mandozze was to weak●  
their force for to withstand.  
For once discomfayted,  
his soldiers fled away  
Unto a little town, which is  
besieged at this day.  
And there himself with much hard pain  
His enemies might both yet sustain.  
¶ Sir Appian then, doth take  
a guide to lead the way,  
which bringeth him so near the camp  
that well the town he may  
Descry, So back a gain  
the guide forthwith be sent:  
And soon also himself unto  
a captain doth present.  
Received then he is  
a soldier for to be.  
Now Appian was wise enough,  
as soon as he doth see,  
That they to skirmish did begin,  
Amongst the thickest he thrusteth in.  
¶ That he a prisoner  
being took, was led away,  
Into ●et town▪ and so,  
the soldiers he doth pray:  
That straight unto their chief,  
the Lord Mandozze, he  
Might then be led, And so as soon,  
as him the Lord doth se●  
He knows him well enough,  
since he in Spain before,  
Had with the Duchess bens, as of  
her counsel ever more.  
But understanding of  
the means, whereby into  
The town he came, he did perceive.  
a great good will to do,  
His service true: hear in,  
his misteresse to obey,  
Which durst his life to hazard so,  
as he had done that day.  
The Duchess letter then,  
sir Appian doth deliver:  
The Lord goes to his chamber straight  
and calleth Appian thither.  
When he had red it all:  
he willeth him straight way,  
To tell his charge. So Appian, in  
this fort begins to say.  
The Duchess at this time  
thunhapiest Lady alive,  
To your good graces evermore,  
Herself doth wholly geum.  
And humbly you requy●c●,  
not for to take it ill,  
That she from Galyce did departed,  
and could not first fulfil,  
Her promise made to you, that she●  
At her return your house would see,  
¶ Des●a●nge you upon,  
the Duke to lay the blame,  
Whose unportunate, that time  
did only cause the same  
Howbeit her heart (I know)  
with you remained still,  
Though fortune did not serve so well:  
there wanted no good will.  
She was constrained to obey:  
Against her mind to go away.  
●o testify, the truth he speaks:  
The tears apace fall down his cheakes  
¶ And then, doth show the loves  
of county Pancalio:  
How that forspite, when he could not  
obtain his ●yle desire,  
Under her bed did get  
his Nephew for to lie,  
Whom so, with his own hands, he hath  
enforced for to die.  
In prosses of his tale,  
he doth declare at last:  
Then prisonment, and hard decree,  
against the Duchess past,  
The Lo●de Mandoz●● now  
conceiveth very ill  
Opinion of the Duchess, which  
he did dyssmble still  
Before fyr Appian  
To whom, my friend (saith be)  
If that my fortune did not speak  
this time, enough for me,  
Inlonge discourse I would  
forthwith declare to you,  
The woeful miseries, with which  
I am oppressed now.  
So that, I am so much  
unable for to aid  
The Duchess: that myself each hour  
of death may be afraid.  
And now (ye see) the force,  
and power that I have:  
Is all to little hear my men  
and goods from spoil to save.  
As for mine own, I am  
so sorry for her woe:  
That nothing can I do hear in,  
I pray you tell her so.  
With comendatyons such,  
as heart can best devise.  
Unluckye fortune to us both,  
this lot at once likewise  
Hath given, that as we did  
in joyful minds egree:  
So with like cause of care, we now  
together captives be.  
So, we with time, be turned thus:  
When fortune list to play with us.  
¶ And so, a skyrmyshe great,  
he makes without delay  
Upon his foes: that Appian  
might saufelye go his way.  
The whilst. He is escaped so.  
And home with heavy cheer doth go.  
¶ But being wise, and did  
Mandozz● his danger see.  
Thought his excuse allowable,  
on reason good to be.  
So when to Thurin he  
is come: to Emelye  
He kelleth all▪ And she unto  
the Duchess by and by  
Goes in and saith, madame  
God make you stedfall still  
In trouble, for sir Appian  
hath b●ought you tidings ill,  
And to thunfortunate  
Mandozze, and his case  
She shows, and how from him at all  
th●a●e is no hope of grace,  
When that the Duchess heard,  
the state that he was in:  
O ruthful cheer, that she did bear,  
her colour did begin  
To fail. And she forthwith  
unto herself doth say.  
O most unhappy accursed wretch,  
of all that live this day,  
For soak on every side,  
thou needest not to doubt.  
But now, the light of this thy life  
beginneth to go out.  
Now doth draw on▪ sith that  
no favour I can find:  
whereas I thought my succour sure,  
alas, ah knight unkind.  
Now all to late I loath  
my lust: which into Spain,  
Did drive me over hills and dales,  
with labour lost in vain.  
Now have I cause for to  
repent me of my pain.  
But let it pass. Being done, it can  
not be to do again.  
Now now at last I know,  
the love and great good will  
Which I did bear to thee: it was  
beginning of mine ill.  
And God, not Fortune hath  
provided this for me,  
An Hypocrite. For feigned vow  
a fit reward to be,  
Then Em●lye in doubt  
lest she should use sum rage  
Upon herself, doth say that she  
which is a princess sage  

Exhortation to pa 〈…〉 Translat●or  Should not take on, herself  
so strangely to torment,  
considering that afflictions  
from heaven to us are sent,  
To prove our patience always  
if we can be content,  
For to confess us worthy of  
a greater punishment.  
You know, that sum there be  
that never lived in joy:  
By their example you may learn  
to suffer sum annoy.  
For certainly, (we see)  
such griefs, and troubles are  
The tokens true, which do the love  
of God to us declare,  
For whom he suffereth  
in sins unponysht still:  
The Lord hath left, an turned him  
lose, unto his own will.  
The cross of Christ, we should  
right gladly bear therefore.  
Our pains wear due to our desert  
if they wear ten times more.  
Bear this therefore I pray:  
referring all unto  
The Lord. Alas, the Duchess saith,  
how well the healthy, do  
give counsel to the sick,  
if you did feel my sore,  
Thou wouldst with me complain & cry:  
on sorrows evermore.  
And therefore, leave me now  
for to bewail my woe.  
My heart oppressed, with burden great  
it may be eased so.  
Though I right gladly now,  
dissemble this my pain:  
Yet clouve smoky of burning sighs  
would quickly me constrain  
To breath into the air  
my smouloring sorrows so,  
To ease the painful poise of care,  
to void my breast of woe.  
That comfort do I see,  
in midst of misery  
remaining only unto me:  
last ease before I die.  
My heart full freight with fear,  
is like to burst in twain.  

A ●ump: by the Translat●or  My force doth fail, my senses quail,  
by pain of pinching pain.  
O ground gape thou on wide,  
myself soul receive,  
Sith in distress, all comfortless  
Now me my friend doth leave,  
O gentle death come now,  
refose not her to take,  
whom every one alas: a wretch,  
doth utterly forsake.  
What ●ope of help have I,  
When that my friend doth me deny.  
¶ O Lachisis leave now,  
to spin my fatal thread,  
Whea●by my life prolonged is.  
'tis time the same to shred  
From clue to big dispatch  
● doleful destinies,  
Make haste, that this your stint wear done  
shut up my woeful eyes.  
You mournful damned spryghtes  
and Furies sisters lad,  
Cum sit with me, my mates most meet  
in wofell weades yclad.  
sing to my mourning song,  
with dreadful shrekinge cry,  
Sith guiltless I condemened am  
a shameful death to die.  
But now the Duchess in  
her dumps, we leave alone,  
In sundry raging fits as she  
continueth in her moan  
Tyll-time may wear her woe  
and qualify her grief▪  
Or god which doth the truth well know  
shall send her sum relief.  
Mandozze now, this while  
rests not by night or day:  
But thinketh on the Duchess and  
her woeful case alway.  
At last himself doth see,  
that he unworthy wear:  
The worship of a knight to have  
or noble arms to bear:  
If he for fear, to help  
the afflicted should deny,  
Especyalye such Lady fair  
whose force alone doth lie  
In tears, their wretchedness  
always to weep and wail,  
And with himself by this, at last  
so much he doth prevail.  
That he disherited,  
to die wolude rather choose  
In honour, then to live long time  
and his good name to lose  
For want of courage, so  
remembering with the same  
How that in his prosperity  
to him the Duchess came.  
How can I now (saith he)  
forsake her in her woe?  
Ten deaths to die, more lief had I  
then once to sail her so.  
Thus, soon he order ge●es  
for all things needful to  
Defence of such a town. And doth  
forthwith to Thurin go,  
With horse and harness good:  
as any man might need.  
And so arrived at Thurin, he  
inquired there with speed,  
If any spaniards be  
in town. And so he hears  
But of one old religious man,  
which there this twenty years  
Had been. An holy man,  
and eke beloved well,  
Of all the citizens. Which then  
without the town did dwell  
Alone, in cottage low,  
that he might so eschew,  
The love & lust of worldly things,  
his flesh for to subdue.  
Such is religious life,  
he lived not in ease,  
Like epicures in houses buy  
such places as might please  
A Prince right well: as they  
which sumpteouslye did far  
And live in rest, need who so list,  
they take no kind of care.  
The mighty God doth see,  
their loathsome lusts at last:  
And Baal's priests profane he doth  
from out his temple cast.  
But now the Spanish knight  
hath learned the nearest way,  
Unto the old father's house, to whom  
(good man) he first doth say.  
I am a Spaniard borne,  
and come this country into,  
For certain my affairs: wherefore  
I pray, thus much to do  
On charity as, hear  
to let me lodge with you  
These three or else four days at most  
desiring nothing now  
But lodging at your hand.  
my servant which you see,  
All other my necessities.  
He may provide for me.  
The good old man at first,  
did gladly grant him this:  
And masing at his seemly shape:  
when that his servant is  
Gone forth into the town to buy  
S●ch things as should their need supply  
¶ He asketh him his name,  
and of what shire in spain  
He is. All which the gentle knight  
to him confesseth plain,  
The good old man with tears,  
that fast fall from his face  
Doth sat. O God I give the thanks  
which hast given me the grace,  
In this mine old age, now  
to see before I die.  
Within my house so great a Lord,  
whose servant poor am I.  
And so this father old.  
in long discourse doth tell  
Of many matters past. And how  
be knew his grandsire well.  
And further him be doth  
desire, as bou●o●● there.  
For to command his ●ous●, as though  
within his own he wear.  
So then M●●dozze tells  
how that he came from Spain.  
entending into France to go,  
a while there to remain,  
And how that passing forth  
by, Li●●us, he did hear,  
Thill fortune of the Duchess, whom  
if that he w●st she wear  
Ungiltie of the crime,  
he saith, he would defend  
Her right. Or thearin every drop  
of his heart blood to spend.  
But in no wise he would  
adventure any time  
His life, and soul, for to defend  
an other body's crime,  
All which the good old man,  
than liked very well:  
And saith, my lord I think it sure,  
no one alive can tell  
The truth hearem, except  
the Duchess poor, and he  
Which hath accused her. But sure,  
as far as we could see,  
She hath been evermore  
a Princess good and just.  
But for the County Pancalyer,  
which by our ●oustom must  
Approve the same by fight:  
(believe me if you lust)  
But sure methinks you are  
to young his force to abide,  
His manlike might & courage stout  
hath often times been tried.  
Of all men hear, he is  
esteemed for to be  
Most hardy and redoubted knight,  
that is in Lomberdye.  
But yet the victory,  
in God his hands doth rest.  
And that he will dispose always  
as it shall please him best.  
Even as by David it  
appeareth very plain:  
Which than a boy Goliath great,  
the Giant fierce hath slain.  
The knight doth answer him,  
a way I have found out,  
To satisfy my conscience,  
and to dissolve my doubt.  
But I hear to, small good can do,  
whearfore I must hear in  
Be bold to crave, some aid to have  
of you ear I begin.  
Under the colour to  
confess the Duchess: I  
The truth may know, and so if you  
think good, immediately:  
I will be polled, and have  
my beard clean cut a way,  
And get me garments like to yours  
for so me thinks we may  
Be suffered soon unto  
The Duchess for to go.  
¶ I think we should have licence,  
(sith that the time draws near)  
To exhort her still with patience,  
her troubles for to bear,  
The good old father glad,  
to him doth then agree  
As well for zeal, as reverence  
to his nobility.  
And so provision made  
for all things fit thearto:  
Like freirs, to the castle of  
the Duchess straight they go.  
He that the noble knight  
attired so should see:  
Would scantly then have taken him  
so great a Lord to be.  
What with the gestures s●tt,  
which he so well could feign,  
And grief for wars at home, all with  
the Duchess woes again,  
Made him to look more like  
a pilgrim poorly fed.  
Which like S. john in wilderness  
his life alone had lead,  
Then any lusty Lord.  
when to the Castle they  
Wear come the good old man unto  
the porter soon doth say.  
My masters seeing that  
the time doth draw so nigh  
Whea●in the Duchess as I hear  
●ndemned is to die.  
We are come now therefore,  
to exhort her patiently  
To take her death, that she may gain  
eternal life thereby.  
They to her chamber are,  
admitted to go in.  
And then Mandozze: fri●r fair,  
to her doth thus begin.  
The peace of God with you,  
the Duchess than doth say.  
Good father, why speak you of peace  
and I in strife alway  
Abide, bereft of joy,  
guiltless condemned to die,  
A shameful cruel death also  
to heap my misery.  
Mandozze then, which had  
his youth in learning spent.  
Madame saith he, you know right well.  
afflictions all be sent  
From God▪ Not come by chance,  
no bird is caught in net.  
But by the providence of God,  
which doth not it forget.  
The Prophet Amo● saith,  
there never chance the ill  
Within the city: but the same  
●he lord doth send it still.  
And that by holy job.  
appeareth very plain:  
On whom the devil had no power  
till he did leave obtain.  
Of God▪ You must besure,  
that tribulations are  
The tokens true which plainly do  
the lected flock declare.  
It shows a certain sign  
that G●d regardeth us.  
Read all the holy scriptures through,  
and you shall find it thus,  
To drink in cup of his  
passion, he doth prepare  
For them whom he doth love, as such  
as his ●●e●cted are.  
Since that by Caim first  
Abel afflicted was:  
And Isaake by Ishmael,  
his brother in like case.  
And joseph just, whom his  
own brothers once did sell,  
Look on the lords elected flock  
children of Israel,  
Whom under the Aegiptyan king  
The Lord did unto bondage bring.  
¶ And led them thence again,  
Through Seas in midst divided  
To happy land at last. Which for  
his people he provided.  
Consider this also  
the which saint Paul doth say.  
That if we had not hope in christ,  
but for this life alway:  
We might account ourselves  
most wretched wights to be.  
The very beasts that feed on grass  
wear nothing worse than we,  
Our grief is small, to that  
which Christ for us did bear.  
The mighty god which of the worlds  
did make the goodly sphere,  
And all thearin, to whom.  
both heaven and earth obeys,  
Which fixed stars in skies hath set  
and axe of heavens stays:  
Did suffer to be called,  
son of a Carpenter:  
A devilish man, a glutton, and  
of sinner's favourer.  
And false seductour. Then  
consider hear unto  
That we might better clothed be  
how barely he did go.  
A prisoner also,  
he was content to be:  
That we from hell, & Satan's bands  
for ever might be free,  
Himself a sacrifice,  
on alter of the cross  
Was offered also, for to  
repair old Adam's loss.  
Remember then that from  
his grief, proceeds our joy,  
And from his pains, our perfect bli●●●,  
the ease of our annoy.  
The cause why he sustained grief:  
Was certainly for our relief.  
¶ Then we should be ashamed  
so dainty for to be:  
A crown of thorns to bear a whil●  
wherefore madame, (saith he)  
Even in the name of God,  
take comfort now I pray.  
Despise this death, & arm yourself  
with patience always.  
For God hath force full soon  
the fury of your foe  
To tame, for to suppress his rage.  
doth not the Lord also  
Regard thafflicted flock:  
respect the people poor?  
He which doth raise the fallen folk,  
can you again restore  
To greater joy, and ease  
then that, you had before  
The wailing wretches woe  
he sees, with piteing eye.  
And hears the mournful moan of them  
that live in misery.  
He is the happy Haven.  
for hearts that be oppressed:  
The comfort to the comfortless,  
the weary body's rest.  
To them in darkness▪ he  
doth give the lovely light.  
Repose your hope in him. Make him  
your champion for to fight.  
The persecuted poor,  
(Saint Matthew saith:) they be  
The blessed ones, which shall of heaven  
the happy kingdom see.  
And with his godly talk  
when that the knight had done:  
The Duchess was so ravished  
in contemplation,  
That then her soul, should seem  
to taste immediately  
Of joys divine, & would forthwith  
from out her body fly.  
She feels herself even then  
to be alleged so,  
As one in danger great of late  
escaped had thearfro.  
And then she doth confess  
her mind and nothing leave  
Behind, which she remembered then  
her conscience to grieve.  
But then at last unto  
her accusation she  
Doth say. I will not ask my God,  
absolved for to be,  
For any crime in deed,  
or thought: against the right  
Of marriage, excepted this  
that to a spanish knight,  
Once heretofore, (I wot)  
I was affected so:  
That feigning for devotion,  
to see him I did go.  
Without that ever he  
had any thing of me:  
Save that good will alone, wherein  
to him I did agree.  
Whearfore my God displeased,  
hath suffered now, I see,  
These accusations false on me  
so lewdly laid to be:  
But saying that it is his will.  
I hold myself contented still.  
¶ When in this sort, all her  
confession was done:  
A Diamond rich from finger fair,  
she draweth of anon,  
And saith, fair father I  
a princess rich have been  
But all my goods, and jewels now  
from me are taken clean,  
Save this fame ring, the which  
the king my brother gave  
Me, at my marriage day:  
and for because I have  
No other means to do  
you good: I give you this.  
And keep it well, you know not what  
the value of it is.  
Perchance it may relief  
your Covent at a need.  
The King received is. And home  
the Friars trudge with speed.  
When they wear passed the place  
Mandozze by and by  
With earnest gesture, then doth say,  
good father I espy:  
This woman poor, is now herein  
accused wrongfully.  
The County (Traitor vile) which shame  
deserved hath to die.  
And therefore now, I am  
determined to fight,  
Until last breath of all my life,  
for to defend her right.  
I feel myself at heart,  
to be attainted so,  
That long me thinks the time, till to  
the purpose I may go.  
Wherefore, if I do fail  
by fortune ill I pray,  
After that I am slain, let me  
be known abroad straight way  
And let the Duchess bear  
this heavy news of me:  
But if I scape alive (which is  
unpossible to be,)  
But by the County his death  
then keep all my affairs  
In cecret still And so that night  
being spend in godly prayers,  
When day so clear had ma●e  
the darksome clouds to fly:  
And Horse fuelled with Amrosse  
drew Phoebus in the sky:  
He makes himself to be  
in Armour surely ●yght,  
And to the town on Courser strong  
forth rides the valiant knight.  
And knocking at the gate  
with thunering voice doth say  
Unto a Porter my good friend  
I pray thee go thy way,  
To County Pancalyer,  
and bid him to prepare,  
Himself, for to maintain the same  
which he doth hear declare  
Against the Duchess just:  
and that heart is a knight  
Which will compel him to deny  
the same, ere it be night.  
And that I will cut of  
that vile and traitorous tongue:  
which durst pronounce the words to do  
so noble a Princess wrong.  
Let him come out, himself  
the better to acquit:  
For of the traitor chuff I think,  
it long to have a sight.  
I hope with heave and how  
to be upon ●is jacke.  
That he shall think, he bears  
the devil upon his back.  
These news are blown about  
the City by and by:  
And all the parish churches full  
of folks, one might espy,  
Which for their Lady, now  
to God on high do pray.  
So whilst this embassage was done,  
Mandozze rides his way,  
On lusty foaming stead  
unto the Pillar where,  
The accusation written was,  
and so, abideth there  
To see Thaccuser come.  
but when the County this doth know  
Remorse of conscience  
doth pinch & prick him so:  
That in his mind he did  
endure such privy pain,  
That then repenting him he would  
have been right glad and fain,  
The deed had been undone.  
and dainty for to fight.  
He seeketh still delays, and first  
unto the Spanish knight,  
He sends a messenger.  
of him, to ask his name.  
To whom Mandozz● ●toutly saith,  
he shall not know the same.  
But sure for all the rest,  
what power in him doth lie,  
He shall it know and fecle forthwith,  
if then he list to try.  
The judges there also,  
affirmed in the same:  
How that their statutes do not bind  
him for to show his name.  
And further in the case,  
the Lawyers all do say:  
How that thaccused party ought  
to see the fight alway.  
And reason yield, not for  
because their books so be:  
But in Favorem vitae was  
the cause of that decree.  
Which when the County hears  
although he did distrust  
His part: yet of necessity  
make manhood now he must.  
And being used to  
such skirmishes before.  
He arms himself forthwith  
and feareth less therefore  
And setting up his bristles then,  
like as the forest Bore:  
Unto th'appointed place  
he comes, and there doth see  
His foe in Armour black  
well harnessed to be,  
In sign of combat then.  
he seems alustie knight.  
And bravely prancing up & down  
he feareth not to fight.  
So then the Duchess fair  
was sent for out of hand:  
Which is not sorry sure enough  
these news to understand.  
Yet in her joyful mind,  
always much museth she,  
From whence thunhoped help doth cum,  
or who that knight should be,  
That then had promised  
to do so much for her.  
So she is carried to the feyld  
within an horselytter,  
Being covered with tilt  
of Black. Accompanied  
With number great of Ladies fair  
and damsels by her side,  
Attired all in black.  
they bring her to the place  
Where as the people, & the knights  
did tarry for her grace.  
Thus than she mounted is  
upon a little stage:  
Sreight way the judges which the fell▪  
appointed wear to gauge,  
Demand of her sith that  
she is accused by  
The County Pancalyer, as guilty  
of adultery,  
And sith the custom is,  
that you a champion may  
Provide, by fight, to prove your right  
Within a year and day,  
How say you now therefore,  
Madam, do you agree  
By this same knight your innocence  
approved now may be?  
Will you that on his force  
alone your right shall lie?  
If you by him will wage your law,  
your faultless truth to try,  
Speak now what you think best,  
And there on shall the issue rest.  
¶ The Duchess answereth,  
I do repose my right  
In God which knows the same, & in  
the manhood of the knight.  
To him my cause commit do I:  
Indifferent to live or die.  
¶ But tossed in troubled mind,  
she thinketh sure that he  
A stranger never known to her:  
sum captain stout should be.  
So on her knees she falls,  
and lifting up her eyes:  
O Lord that art on high (saith she) 
The Prayer of the duchess by the translator.   
in throne above the skies,  
Thou knowest the truth untried.  
O Lord maintain my part.  
Plead thou my cause, for thou dost see  
the secrets of my heart.  
No cloaked craft so close▪  
that any man can hide  
But unto thee discovered,  
the same is well espied.  
Let not this tyrant fierce  
which thriffes my blood to spill,  
Triumph on my simplicity.  
confound him in his will.  
O Lord which thy poor flock,  
from Wolves defendest still:  
Let not this bloody butcher now  
thy silly Lamb hear kill.  
O Lord look down at last,  
turn not away thy face  
From sinners poor, Bestow on me  
the treasure of thy grace.  
Thou seest my innocence  
thou knowest the pain and smart  
That I endured hope, to thee,  
I do commit my part.  
As Hester thou didst help  
when she did make her moan:  
So Lord help me for why my hope  
remains in thee alone  
As Susan fair, thou didst  
deliver in her woe.  
And judith from the mighty hand  
of Holoferne also:  
From this same Centaur fierce,  
save me (O Lord) I pray:  
Which of mine honour so did seek,  
to bear the spoil away.  
And then with fixed eyes,  
she still behouldes the ground  
With look amazed staring like  
as she wear in a sound.  
Mandozze now, no more  
the County can abide:  
But raiging then with countenance fierce,  
to him forthwith doth ride.  
And saith, Thou Traitor, I  
do now most plainly see,  
Thy accusation against  
this princess, false to be.  
Invented for despite,  
most wicked man alive.  
And as I say the truth of it,  
so God grant me to thrive.  
And that thou her beliest  
I will the same maintain.  
Even in thy heart, right falsely thou  
this villainy didst feign.  
And wretched parricide,  
thou hast deserved to die:  
For murdering of thy Nepheu poor,  
whose guiltless blood doth cry,  
For vengeance just, before  
the face of God: to pay  
The due deserved hire forthwith,  
and this which I do say:  
By force in fight, I will  
approve it by and buy.  
Thy wicked breath infects the air,  
thy life offends the sky.  
The light doth loath thy look.  
'tis time for thee to die.  
But now by dint of sword with thee,  
the truth hear will I try,  
He had no sooner said  
but straight with courage stout:  
The County fierce, as Forest bore,  
these words he blustered out  
Defamed villain thou.  
which now hast hid thy name:  
Lest that thy filthy faults they might  
be uttered with the same.  
Darest thou to warrant her  
which thus hath forfeited  
By whoredom vile for to defile  
the Duke her husbands bed●  
Afraid for villainy  
though known the wouldest not be:  
Yet may thy shameless words,  
declare so much of thee,  
That thou sum Ruffian,  
one of her mates mightest seem  
A vakabound despised knave,  
whom no man doth esteem,  
And therefore, with despite  
to thee. I will maintain  
That thou dost sas●ie speak of me:  
and so I do again  
Dofte thee, as a slave  
whose due deserts require  
No better: but with her to be▪  
burned within one fire.  
Or at an Horse's tail,  
for to be drawn about  
The town: to th'end all wanton ladies  
still may stand in doubt,  
To do the like: as well  
as ruffian's such as thou,  
Which daily do entice to ill,  
they care not whom nor how.  
So then the Herald did 
The or●der of the Combat. 〈◊〉 b● the 〈◊〉 fla●our   
begin to make the cry.  
For so the custom did require,  
the knights, immediately  
Sets 〈◊〉 ears into the rest  
and ●rth on breathed ●●●se  
They run till joining both their shields  
their spears with such a force  
●nto their Gauntlets broke,  
●heir bodies meeting so:  
●●at both together tuskling down  
●●to the ground do go.  
〈…〉 holdeth fast  
〈…〉 aynes within  
〈…〉 ch beat in hearts they have  
〈…〉 sire to win,  
〈…〉nge up again,  
〈…〉 to fight  
〈…〉 swords a Combat then  
〈…〉 to ●●yght.  
The one doth thirst always,  
the others blood to spill:  
No blow was yet not lent, but it  
was well repaid still.  
And so long time they fight,  
and still the victory:  
Doth seem between them both,  
with doubtful wings to fly.  
The people's gazing eyes,  
do look for such a blow.  
By Lord Mandozze his hand, that might  
the Coontie overthrow.  
The 〈◊〉 life and death  
in 〈◊〉 even doth lie.  
sometime more like to live she is,  
sometime she looks to die.  
It was right hard that while,  
the heavier poise to know.  
The weight is lifted up and do●●  
it turneth with a blow  
For now must manlike 〈…〉  
Discern the better rig 〈…〉  
¶ Not hear the truth by 〈…〉  
but by the sword the 〈…〉  
And he must keep his 〈…〉  
that would not lea 〈…〉  
Such law at large 〈…〉  
they plead and 〈…〉