PENNY-WISE POUND FOOLISH▪ Or, a BRISTOL Diamond, set in t●● Rings, and both Cracked.  
Profitable for Married men, pleasant for young men, a 〈…〉 rare example for all good Women.  
At London Printed by A. M. for Edward Blackmore, and are to 〈◊〉 sold in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the Augell. 1631.   

To the Reader.  
THe Title of this Book is Printed in many a man's face. Some walk early into the Fields to Glean Ears of Corn, who before the Harvest of their Wit was in, scattered abroad whole Sheaffes. Wealth is not regarded till we come to Beggary; Beauty an enticing Bavin-fire to warm fools, and not set by, when 'tis out. Nay, life itself knows not her own precious value, till Sickness lays it in the Balance.  
How many Courtiers may here see their pictures? How many brave Soldiers? How many Citizens? How many Countrymen? All which, were drunk with pleasures, when they swum in the full Sea of them; but now at a low ebb, count a glass of cold water more wholesome, than Healths in Canary before. The lavish, and slavish, spending of pounds, begets but sorrow; the True saving of a Penny, buys Wisdom.  
In these few papers is the Map of the whole world; London, Bristol, and Venice, are (here) the Figures of all other Cities. In all other Cities are Courtesans; and all Courtesans, have Idolatrous fools to Adore them. The Discourse is hid, (like our Lady's heads in Taffeta purse-nets) under the Masques of Ferdinand and Annabel. Their Lives and their Loves are enclosed in this Nutshell: Which, if you Crack, without hurting your Teeth, the Kernel is sweet in the Chewing. The Apples plucked from this little Tree, may serve to turn in the Fire, in your Christmas Nights, and not much amiss all the Winter after. So fall to, and farewell.   

The Excellent worth of a Penny.  
A Penny is a small piece of Silver, and therefore soon spent: a Penny is a very faithful Messenger, & the best errand it goes upon, is when a Rich man sends his commendations by it to a Beggar. The Richman gives, and the Poore-man takes; no, the Poore-man gives, and the Richman takes, for the Prayers of the Poor, increase the blessings of the Rich. Poor Penny, how much good therefore art thou able to do; nay, how much good dost thou daily and hourly, when those that are thy betters, and a thousand times beyond thee in substance and estate, will not part from a far●●hing. A Penny is the Dole for which a wretched creature cries, Good Master bestow a Penny upon me: he does not beg Twopences, but a Penny, a single Penny. A Penny will content a Carrier, when a pound will not satisfy a Curmudgeon.  
Land in old times no doubt was sold good cheap, for men used to say, They bought it with their Penny: But in these days the case is altered (quoth Ployden;) Law hath reached Land-buyers 〈◊〉 speak another Language. A Penny had wont to pay for a Pot of happy Ale: but now a Pot of Al● defies the company of a Penny. And yet for all this, a Penny will be a brave companion still: old men love it, and are therefore called Penny-fathers': Tradesmen love it, for they cry, Take it for a Pennymore. Watermens love it, for they ask but a Penny to cross the Water, and when a man hath not a Penny in his purse, than he swears he hath not one cross about him. So that as a Penny is the least Cross that a man can carry, there can be no greater cross than for a man to go without a Penny. A Black Wench, if she be Penny-white, passes for current money, where a Fair Wench that hath no pence, shall be nailed up for a counter●et.  
A Penny then being in such extraordinary request, for the general good it does to so many, how much more ought we to make of it, when for a Penny a man may buy Wit? That Market does now begin; And how much Wit a Merchant had for so small a piece of Silver, lend your Attention, and the History of that Penny-bargain, shall be worth at lest twopences to any man that hears it.   

Penny-wise, Pound-foolish: Or a Bristol Diamond set in two Rings, and both cracked.  
IN the City of Bristol, not much above two twelu● months past, did live a Merchant in the bravery of his youth, in the height of full fortunes, and in the excellency of all perfection, both for a ●●mely proportion of body, and unmatchable ornaments of mind. He had all those things, which in this world make a man to be counted happy, and wanted none of those, the lack of which teach men to believe they are miserable. One only Blessing was absent, whose possession would have set a Crown upon all the other, And that was the marriage of some delicate fair young woman, to so wealthy and handsome a young man.  
This Gentleman's name will we call Ferdinand, (his true both Christian name and surname for diverse reason's shall be concealed.) And albeit, he might have had in 〈◊〉 the choice of many Maidens, both answerable to him●elfe in state and beauty, (that City being as richly stored with fair and sweet proportioned women as any be in the world: yet M. Ferdinand using often (by way of Traffic in Merchandise) to repair to London, happened to cast his eye on the most beautiful face of a very worthy, and very wealthy Citizens daughter of London, her name being Annabel, but how she was called otherwise, her succeeding fortunes forbid me to discover.  
The parents and friends of this beauteous Damozell (who was called the star of this City, a● well ●or her delicacy of body, as for modesty.) giving way to a Match so suitable to their own desires, and their daughter's liking, little wooing needed, so that the marriage was not so joyfully on all sides appointed, as it was with pompous ceremony of friends invited, Feast, Masques, Dancing, and Revelling solemnised. No couple through the whole City of London, were held so happy as these beauteous pair: Ferdinand and Annabel drew all eyes after them wheresoever they went. But it was not enough for Ferdinand to be thus followed with praises in London; nor to have his delicate young wife gazed at, and envied by the curious Dames of this City: No, there was a fire of Uaine-glory in him, to have all the eyes of Bristol behold what gallant Prize he had taken at London, nor was the beauty of his fair Bed-fellow behinde-hand with him, in the same pride and ambition. Her longings that way were as great as his.  
Their desires thus spreading the same wing, the parents and friends loath to lose two ●uch jewels, yet necessity snatching them from them. Away do they hasten to Bristol. Wonder there looks upon them, joy and ten thousand welcomes embrace them: It was hard to tell whether the Merchants or that Town did think him more happy in being Master of such a treasure, as so delicate a Wife, or whether the brave Dames of that City did hold her more fortunate, in being l●dged every night within the arms of so handsome a Husband. But Admiration being never long-lived, let us after a quarter or half a years entertainment of Mistress Annabel, amongst her Husband's friends in Bristol, leave her there, attended upon with all those commendable glories which set forth excellent Women, whilst we follow him back again from Bristol to London.  
Whither being come and welcomed by his 〈◊〉 father and kindred, joys were redoubled to hear of her health, and to see his welfare. In a short time had he● dispatched the business, for which he came touching his Merchandise, to finish which he made the more half, as thinking every day spent here, a thousand years lost at home, until again he might rest in the bosom of his beloved, but though the Sails of 〈◊〉 desire and affection were spread fair, yet the winds grew churlish, they blustered and conspired to part our two new-married Lovers a ●under: For, the bravery of this Bristow-Merchants mind being observed by our Gallants here in the City, his con●linesse of person, affability in language, and ioyalty in expenses, kindled a fire of good liking in many, to be partners in his society. And he took as great a glory to enjoy their appointments and meetings, as they did his.  
●●uth led him on to these engagements of pleasure: New acquaintance (which still grew faster and faster upon hi●) begat new invitations, those invitations br●ught forth new delight, and those delights, seru●d as pulleys to draw on fresher and larger expenses; All these serving together as ●o many h●●kes, nay as ●o many cast Anchors, to fasten him from setting forward in his intended voyage homeward.  
In this multiplicity of acquaintance, jollities and Ie●all meetings, Ferdinand did often happen into the f●●miliarity of diverse Merchant's Wives of Lond●●, whose beauties (though they were excellent) and behaviours able to tempt any man, to admire and dote upon them, yet to him they were but as colours to a blind man th● 〈◊〉 of their enchanting tongues 〈◊〉 to the deaf: he had (as he thought) a brighter fearre of his own to ●ayle by: these p●inted ●●ree gave to him n● heat, the sunbeams that lent warmth ●o him, w●re those which were shot from the sparkling eyes of his most dearely-beloved Annabel.  
The Fates had 〈◊〉 good and even thréeds for him, had they still continued winding upon this white bottom, but then altered the Distaff, and so drew out his misery, and his Wife's misfortune.  
This constancy of his, was but a wa●ry s●nne shine; it seemed built upon a rock, but the foundation was not sound; this Dake that stood up so high and strong, in resolution never to be shaken with any allurements, is now in danger to be riven in sunder, and cleft even to the r●●e, by the lightning flying fro● the eyes of a strange woman.  
For one day chancing in a company of young Gallants like himself, to fall into private discourse, with a delicate creature, rich in Attire, costly in jewels, ●are in the proportion both of face and body, sweet in voice, and of a winning bewitching behaviour, Ferdinane was on a sudden taken prisoner by her beauty. Her charms were strong, and he lay fast bound in them. He upon this first com●●●ing into the field, made suit to be her servant, and she after a few slight skirmishing words, yielded herself to be his Mistreise. The next day, he wooed his young Mistress, that her s●ruant might be so happy, as to be suffered to visit her at her own lodging: And she feeling what fish nibbled at her bait, gave him line and leave enough to play, and told him, she was not so unworthy as not to bid so new, and so noble a servant welcome.  
The day wearing away, and the assembly in which Fer●●inand and his newfound Lady had been merry together, being weary of their pleasures (as feasting, dancing, drinking healths, courting, and such like,) the Spell broke, and dissolved those chains, which had almost a whole day bound them within this circle. Night approached, and all parted.  
Ferdinand being come home, and locking himself into his private Chamber, he begins thus to contemplate upon the beauties, graces, and perfections of his rare and most admired Mistress if ever man met an Angell-upon earth, in the shape of a woman, this is she: if ever woman was t●o worthy to be touched by any man, this was she. Had she been borne when Idolatry was first committed, to her only had the heathen given adoration. In fashioning her 〈◊〉, or the figure of her body in his phantacy, her eyes through the windows of his soul, presented themselves to him like a pair of stars. Her face he called the Master-péece of all Art, sweetness, and proportion, to equal which, nay to come but near it in picture, it was not possible for any Painter in the world to do it with his Pencil: Her hand he called his book of palmistry her foot the first step to the stateliest Measure, that ever was prosecuted by Motion: In brief, her whole body (to the eye of his imagination) appeared a Mine, stored with treasures beyond all valuation. No Arithmetic could 〈◊〉 up her excellencies, no figures set down the hopes of that happiness which he conceived in his unmatchable 〈◊〉.  
But after his cogitations had thus ●anne division on her praises, his Understanding began to fall into another time, and his Memory to be set to this Note, to call to mind his dear and disconsolated annabell in Bristol: presenting her therefore to his Remembrance, and the full volume of all her Virtue's, being printed in his soul, he thus broke forth into a passionate reprehension of his new-conceived ●olly.  
And shall thy youth, thy beauty, thy integrity, modesty, and innocence (O my dearest swéet-heart) be by me forgotten? can I prove a traitor to thy pillow, who (I ●are swear it) art most true to 〈◊〉? Must all my vows made to thee when I w●●●d thee, all those Matrimonial obligations, which I sealed to thee be●ore Angels in the holy Temple, and all those protestations I left in kisses upon thy lips, when I late and last parted from thee, must all this be forgotten, all written in sand, and left floating on the water! O Villain that I am, to fire mine eye on a Beade of worthless crystal, and prefer it before the rarest Diamond in the world: this woman sure, who hath made choice of me to be her servant, is some Mermaid enticing me to run upon the rocks of destruction: Stop then thine ears, and avoid the danger by not listening to her enchantments. A Goddess is ready to receive thee into her arms at home, and a painted Witch opens hers, to kill thee in her false embraces abroad; I will not be caught by this forcerous woman, I must not, I dare not.  
At this he fetched a deep sigh, And then his soul and her entering into conference together; Why (quoth he) though I have all the delicatest meats standing on m●ne own table, may not I sit down at another man's 〈◊〉. What Wife is true to her Husband. Why then should any Husband be true to his Wife? We are all borne free, why should marriage make us bondslaves? Shall the ceremony only of a golden King, be a charm to bind me from enjoying my pleasures? I am satisfied with a Wife, cloyed with her enjoyments, my appetite is young, and must taste varieties. The fishes in the sea are not married: birds in the air choose their U●lentines, and that's their wedding: All the beasts upon earth have a liberty in desires to range how they will, and to take whom they will, why then should man be made a captive to any wo●an? O my sweetest, dearest, most delicious Mistress, I die if I live not to do thee service, I cannot be beaten from thee with frowns, with swords, with Death: yes, Death only can force our separation, nothing else shall.  
Having thus spent the night in these passionate perturbations, the morning summoned him to appear before ●he Saint he so honoured. Up in all hast he ●●ses, and 〈◊〉 to the lodging of his Mistress, who not willing to l●●●● such a golden Fly, as she ma●● account this her new Bur●ing-s●ruant would 〈◊〉, was 〈◊〉 her 〈…〉, with the best and surest Art she could. For ●he 〈◊〉 her 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, to make her face by painting show more excellent, which of itself was absolute before: He came, and saluted, and kis● her, and in that kiss, felt all his blood put into a terrible burning: he saw her in bravery, rich as a Que●ene, bright in jewels as the morning-sunne, breathing from her apparel, perfumes more precious than those which the Spring gives to the earth: he saw her, and stood a●●onished to behold her: he saw her, and forgot that ever he saw a Wife, to whom his eyes did owe that du●y and tribute which he paid to a Courtesan. But she to put him out of this trance, took her Lu●e, which she touched sweetly, and sung to it more sweetly, and by this striving to awaken him, she cast him into a deeper sleep: out of which again she startled him by the Magic of her enticing lips, on which dwelling with a languishing delightful pleasure, tasted, nay was so filled with sweets, that he thought one Apple in this Garden, worth a whole Orchard of his Wives at home.  
Dalliance thus charming them into a liking one of another, 〈◊〉 vows ever to be hers, and none but hers, she swears ever to be his, and none but his.  
Days, weeks, and months were consumed between the●e two unch 〈◊〉 Lovers, in all kinds of varied pleasures, that riot could invent. There was no new fashions in apparel, but she had them; no jewel (how costly 〈◊〉) but she was Mistress of it. A Caroche and Coach-horses he bought for her, in which he and she together were sometimes whorried to Playhouses, sometimes to B●ainford, to lie there, then to Barner, to lie there, then to 〈◊〉 to be merry there, then to Black-wall to see the Ships there, and hen to B●oomesbury to solace themselves there. And so to all bawdy Bees lying near and about London.  
His Wife seeing her Beloved stay beyond the time limited by himself for his return, at first began to wonder, then to mistrust, then to lament for his absence. But ill news being swifter of wing than any other bird, came flying into Bristol, and alighting in Annabells' ear, (that was open day and night listening for some good tidings of her lost Husband) did there sing to her a sad note of the lewd and lascivious courses of Ferdinand with a Courtesan. Hereupon she tore her hair, beat her white breasts, cursed her hard fortunes, and wished that either she had been borne deformed, that none might ever have loved her, or that her face had been made as enticing as that Strumpets, on whom her Husband dotes, for than she had kept him to herself, where now in this wand'ring she is in danger to lose him forever. To post after him to London, would but proclaim his faults, which she was willing to hide from the world: to come and tear out those bewitching eyes of his Harlot, she had not a heart to hurt, that which her Husband had chosen to love so dear. Wavering thus betwixt many doubts & fears, fed with hopes, that yet he would come home, & fighted with despair, that she should never more see him, (for sin is a luscious meat, and the more we taste it, the more we desire it: It is a Sea, and being once got into it, (without a good Pilot) 'tis not so easy to return again to shore:) upon these considerations, she writ many loving Letters, to call and recall her dear Husband home. But he (as the papers came) still she●i●g them to his Mistress, the passions of a Wife, were comical Plays to a Strumpet: the tears which the one sent, dropping on the Letters as she writ them, were pledged in kisses by the other, on her Husband's cheeks, and in Claret-wine and Sugar. The young Woman's Father and friends likewise hearing of these dissolute courses taken by Ferdinand, found him out, and both by soft persuasions, 〈◊〉 harsh threatenings did their best to win him to his Wife, but he laughed to scorn their counsel.  
At last, the bonfires of his prodigality being almost burnt out, his purse shrinking, his money melting, his credit decaying, and his debts increasing to such a mountain, it was not possible for him to climb well ●uer them, without tumbling into one of the Co●mpters, he privately with many ostentations and oaths to his Mistress, to return from Bristol so soon as he could furnish himself there with monies, took his leave of her, she distilling from her eyes some few drops of hot waters, which her feigned sorrow drank off to him, to comfort his heart, at the farewell: but she having other Sickles to cut down her corn than his, the shower of tears which she rained upon her whorish cheeks being soon dried up, the storm was quickly blown over, and she was to provide for another golden harvest.  
But leave w● her, plucking pleasure and diseases out of one and the same Well: and let us follow him to Br●●ow: whither being secretly come, and with all expressions of a noble, loving, and forgiving Wife, welcomed by the virtuous Annabel: she wéeped for joy, and as she wéeped, mildly chid him, and as she chid him, gave him a thousand kisses.  
He ashamed to abuse such an excellent Goodness, shut up his wrongs to her in as sweet language, as he could handsomely meet with; and told her, there was no staying for him in safety either in Bristol or London: his estate (he said) was weak, yet not so weak, but that he had a staff to hold it up from falling, and that was certain b●gges of money, left in a trusty friends hands, when he departed for London, which money he would closely, and instantly disburse in Merchandise, and in some g●od Ship (of which he himself would be Captain) and with a Ging of good fellows, try his fortune at Sea: She unwillingly, willing, yields to this, so into to the straits he venture●.  
●t Scauderoone he goes on short, and vents such Commodities as he had by Caravans, up at Aleppo, amongst the Turks, and such Christian Merchants as there were in Traffic: in so much, that by his industry and knowledge in Commerce, he might have made a reasonable go●d voyage, if upon the ●ale of his Wares brought thither, and lading his Ship with Commodities from thence, he had returned home, without encountr●●g any second fortune. But Heaven smiling upon him, appointed a ●urk●sh Pirate (richly furnished) to set upon 〈◊〉 Captain of Bristol, and his mad merry company: who were all Englishmen, courageous, skilful, resolute, and fall 〈◊〉, every one of them swearing to live and dye with their noble Captain.  
The Turk set upon them, they bravely returned an English defiance. The Turks called upon Mahomer, the Christians cried St. George. but called upon Him whom they knew could help them. The Fight was short, but cruel, the victory doubtful, but speedy; for the Turkish Pirate being boarded, and as fast thrown overboard, as the English could enter, a noble and rich spoil was made, the true man robbed the thief: Captain ferdinand's Ship was doubly laden, with trea●ure, and with acclamations of joy, the Turks went sneaking to their holes, and the English put in at a hither part of Christendom, to refresh their wounded men, and to give them g●●d victuals.  
I must here put you in mind of one thing, which before when Ferdinand was to come from Bristol, I should have remembered, and that was this: At the time when he was ready to prepare for his Sea, he told his Wife, All that he could get together, was little enough to furnish him forth for ●o weighty a business, yet he would leave sufficient to maintain her in his absence's: And then merrily ask her what she would venture with him, she answered, she would adventure all that she had, a●d that was her body, and her poor life: no, says her Husband, you shall not: I will not hazard all our substance in one bottom: Why then, quoth 〈◊〉 though my body must stay at home, my heart shall go with you, and upon what shore so ever yo● land, my good wishes for your prosperity, and prayers for your health shall ever wait upon you as your servants: And yet because it shall not be said, but that both by Sea and Land, my fortunes shall still set their foot by yours, I will put in my share in your Adventure: What (my g●●d swéet-heart said her H●sband:) Sir, replied his Wife, you have often laid out much money, which never brought home any profit, I dare therefore not trust you with much: All that I put into your hands, is only one single penny. He smiling upon her, a●ked what he should do with that penny, marry (quoth she) only buy and bring home for that money a pennyworth of ●it. He glad to see her so pleasantly conceited, protested he would lay out her money, to the best advantage he could: and so took his leave of her.  
You heard before, that af●er the Fight was ended between ferdinand and the 〈…〉 Captain went on shear to 〈◊〉 his men. During his absence in a 〈◊〉- ●owne of 〈◊〉 (called Saint Luc●r de 〈◊〉 in 〈◊〉 for there h● S●●p put in,) one of the Mariners who stayed aboard, (being a merry conceited fellow, and one that knew all the 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉 life, all his wild hu●ours, and 〈◊〉 fits played between him, his Wife, and hi● Currizan) intending to p●● some merriment upon his Capt●ines shoulder, disguise his face like to a tanned Gip●ey, and put himself into ●●thing but rags, like a beggar, and in this manner 〈…〉 on the shore, till his Captain was to come 〈◊〉 to take shipping: Fer●inand being then passing by hi●, this supposed Rogue, setting out a wide throat, cried out in a big voice, Noble Captain, brave honest Captain, bestow one single penny upon a poor man, upon an English man, upon your Countryman; that shall pray you may have a b●●tte voyage, g●od worthy Captain, one penny, one p●●re single penny.  
Ferdinan● hearing the name of Englishman, and that word, single penny, cast his eye back upon my counterfeit beggar, and the sound of single penny put him in mind of his Wife, and her venture of a penny, and wh●t he was to buy with it. So, turning to the Fellow, ●●oth honest Countryman (said he) for so I perceive th●u art by thy tongue; what thou beg'st for I have about me, and so drew forth his Wif●s penny; look thou, here●s a new single penny, but I have other employment for it, than to bestow it on a Beggar, for it is an adventure put into my hands by my Wife, and I am to buy with it, for her, a pennyworth of wit.  
O Master, cries the Beggar, you were better give me the penny, than travail so long, till you buy ●o ●uch a commodity as Wit, for so p●●re a sum of money. Many come into this Country, and others on this side the Seas, and spend they care not what, only to get wit, and knowledge, and experience, but in the end return home as arrant Corrombes as I did, when I came from travel. Many a thousand pound have I laid out to purchase Wit, but I could never reach to so much as a farthings worth. Thou many a hundred pounds (said Ferdinan●,) Yes Captain (answered the ●egger) no dispraise to your person, I once held myself as brave a Gallant as yourself: my Silks and Satins on my back, men at my heels, roaring Boys at my be●k, my Comrades at a call. And how (quoth the Captain) comest thou to be so p●●re? I will tell you how (said other.) One part of my money ran away with Come on six, and Co●e on s●uen: I could play at Novum, Passage, In and In, Mum Chance, at Tables, Itish, 〈◊〉 any thing, at Cards, Maw, Sant, Primero, Primavista, Gleek, Post and Pair, Whisk, all Games, Noddy, and any Game where a knave was to be turned up. All the money I either wooune or lost this way, went sure to the Devil, for I had it with damnable swearing, and parted from it, with abomineble tearing of God, blasphemy, and cursing. Another part of my money melted away in Sack and Claret, but I lickd my lips prettily well at this Feast; for I met for my money, Wine, g●●d Cheer, good Fires, g●●d Wenches, g●●d Music, and good knocking Reckonings. A third part of my money I spent, nay, cast away upon a Whore, a dainty one, a young one, a proud-one. So long as my silver lasted, her brazen-face was always at my nose, kissing me: but when my cheeks grew liane, and my Pockets empty, away ●●ies my Wagtail. Now my noble Captain, if (as I know most of our English Gallants do) you have a liquorish tooth in your head, and keep a Punk, hang her, damn her, trust her not, she'll graze upon thy n●eddow so long, as there●s a blade of grass, that gone, she leaps over hedge and ditch in●o any Butcher's Parure. But if (my brave Captain and Countryman) thou hast a Wife, kiss her, tell h●r, trust h●r, try her, for she will ●unne for Aqua- 〈◊〉 to recover thy fortunes, when thy Cockatrice shall cast them into a 〈◊〉. Should 〈◊〉 Ship lie here upon a sand, and could not 〈◊〉 for want of water to fetch thee off, thy St●mnpet would not throw out the Ba●on in which she washes her hands (unless for her own benefit) where thy ●ife (if thou hast a good-one) would draw a sea out of her eyes to ●●ue thee from sinking.  
The Captai●e hearing the Bigger-man talk thus, with a smiling ●●mitenance, gave him his Wife's single penny, and told him, he did not think, but that the ●●ney was laid out as she de●●red: for that penny should peradventure send him and his Ship home with a richer Lading, than five hundred pound could furnish him with: And so thanking the poor Fellow for his Discourse, he gave him beside at parting, four pieces of Eight for a farewell to drink his Health, which 〈◊〉 Beggar swore he would do. Ferdinand presently gets aboard to make for England, and the mad Mariner as nimbly tears off his rags (unknown to any man) and leaps into the Ship almost as soon as the Captain.  
In this interim of Ferdinand's being at Sea, his fair Mistress, wondering at his long absence, considering his vehement oaths (with all speed possible to return) and being loath to loo●e such a Goldfinch, that sung so sweetly in her ears: she (partly for a kind of love she bore him (he being a very proper man) but chiefly for his estate, which she knew was great, and to catch which she did angle) came in her thundering Caroche like some great Lady to Bristol, with this resolution, If Ferdinand were there, then to enjoy him as before, if not there, yet the would repair her losses and charge of the journey upon any other whom she next lighted on, fit to be made a property, as no doubt but B●●stow had s●ore of such fame fowl, as well as any other City. Her wishes and intentions hit the marks she shot at: for Tarsellgentle, in abundance came to the fist of our sh●●-Faulkconer.  
By this time, (wind and weather faveuring him) Ferdinand is as secretly arrived at bristol: as he departed closely from thence: and slepping privately to a dear friend, inquires what news in the Town, how all the ma● Girls did, and what new Wenches were come to Bristol; so that in the end by way of merry Discourse, and descanting upon other Women, he perceived (but concealed it) that his Mistress had followed him thither, and his heart (leaning to his old by as) began almost to leap for joy, to think that he found his noble sweetheart so kind. But then remembering his Wife's single penny, and the Beggar's counsel, he meant to make trial what his Wives Venture would come to; and so putting himself into rags like a Beggar, with a short Cudgel in his hand, he found out her lodging, and knocked to speak with her. One of her servants being such a tottered 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Rascal, enquired scurvily what he would have; other replied as scur●uly, I must speak with your Lady or Mistress: Away you lousy Slave, cried the Pander, my Mistress a companion for such a Nitty-breech as thou art, to talk to her! but my counterfeit Bristow-Maunderer, in a very pitiful voice told him, that he had Letters from one Ferdinand a Merchant, and somewhat else by word of mouth to deliver to her.  
Upon this he was called up into her Chamber, and then requesting to del●uer his message in private; all were commanded out of the ●●me, but himself and her, and then ask, if she knew him not by his voice, (for by his tattered attire and face she could not) he told her, he was that Ferdinand, whom eu●e she loved so dear, and she that Mistress of his that commanded both his life and fortunes; all the happiness he had on earth, was to enjoy her presence: tells her how he was taken Prisoner by the Turk, made a Galleyslave, tugged at the Door, had an hundred blows on the naked back with a Bull's peezell, fed on course browne-bread and water, and hardly got away (but most miraculously) with life; entreats her (what needs entreaties) he presumes she is so noble, that she will lodge him in her bosom as she had wont; prays her to send into the Town for clothes to make him ●raue, for good cheer to fill his belly, for some clean linen, for he was lousy, and that he might h●ue 〈…〉 fire to shift himself by: But she casting an eye of sco●●●● at his 〈◊〉 reviled him, kicked at him, bid him Avaunt, called for her servants to thrust him out of doors: but he falling on his kn●●s, begged as she was a Woman, to let him lie in some Hayloft, in some Stable, upon a heap of Hor●edung, for sin●● his coming to shore, he had killed a man that misused him: and if she turned him out of dor●●, it was h●● assured death and confusion. Nay, you ba●e scum (cried she) and ●o tumbling him into the street, shut the doors upon him.  
H● then (all ragged as he was) went in private home to his Wife; she for all the misery round about him, knew his face, hung about his neck, wept for joy, and enquired what mischance sent him to her in this pitiful estate. He told her, his Ship was burnt by Pirates, his Goods taken from him, his me●slaine, and himself only scaped with life. And that's all (quoth his Wife) which I desire: let Ship, Goods, and all be lost, so I find thee: my Rings, jewels, Plate, nay, my own apparel I'll presently pawn, or sell outright, to furnish my dear Husband fitting to his worth: but he over-ioyed at this her admirable love, and unfeigned expressions of a noble Wife, plucked off his rags, and under them discovered a fair habit; but entreating her, to pardon his absence for an hour or two, for the dispatch of a most especial business, he leaves her full of joy, both at his unexpected Arrival, and at his prosperous Uoyage, of which in some few words, he gave her a firm assurance.  
Ferdinand then richly attiring himself, and taking four or five of his Mariners, neatly apparelled, passed by the Courtesans door once or twice; she spying him, sent after him, the servant saying, his Mistress entreated him by any means to come back, and speak with her. He did so, when she at his entrance into her Chamber, ran and fell upon his cheeks, printing on them and his lips an 100 kisses, and telling him that a base Rascal, in shape of a Beggar, came to her, and took his name upon him. That very Beggar, sweetest Mistress (quoth Ferdinand) was I myself, and came to you in that poverty, to try if you would relieve me, but it was an easre matter for you to scorn me, as not knowing me in that loath some appearance, I therefore pardon it; and to show, how deeply (even in absence) you were printed in my memory, and that you are to me the same beloved Mistress, that heretofore you have been; behold, as a part of my good Uoyage, I present to your white hands this rich Cabinet, full of the most precious jewels, that are to be found in this part of the world. She was reaching out her hands to lay hold upon them. But (quoth he) my most endeared Mistress, I remember I have given you many Rings, Bracelets of Diamonds, Chains of Pearls and Gold, and many costly jewels, I doubt in my absence you have bestowed these upon some other swéet-hearts: show me these therefore, and I shall be in the better hope, that for my sake you will preserve these likewise.  
Hereupon, she fetches all the braveries, and costly gifts that he ever presented to her; which seen, he seized upon them, told her, he found her to be a Bristol Diamond, she was a cunning, a cheating, and hard-hearted Courtesan; and so giving her sufficient means and money (for his own reputation sake) to rid her from Bristol, and ship her for London: on his Wife he bestowed all those jewels, and told her, that the Wit which he bought with the single Penny, she ventured in his Ship, was worth all the Merchandise he brought home besides.  
The Bed where a Husband and Wife 〈◊〉 is that Musicke-r●●me, where the souls of them 〈◊〉 lay in the most excellent Consort: All Discords 〈…〉 here put into time, all jars so wound up, with 〈◊〉 Strings of Co●cord, that no Harmony can be sweeter. Such a Bed is an Altar, where a pair of loving Hearts are offered, and no gall mingled with the Sacrifice. Such a Bed is a Cradle, where pleasure, content, and all earthly happiness rock man and wife a sleep: kisses perfuming the pillows, as if they were banks of Roses, and warm tears of joy (there to be reconciled one to another) being the soft showers, that make those Rosy kisses grow fairer, and in more abundance.  
Ferdinand (our young and now rich Merchant of Bristol,) enjoying his beauteous Annabel, a whole night together: the pleasure of their embraces, were increased, by his relation of his wild courses, dalliances, and delights which he took at London, in that bewitching Mistress of his (the Courtesan) but ten times more doubled in her fr●e, and noble forgiveness, of whatsoever had passed between them. He (thereupon) promised to be to his Wife, a new man, a new-molded Husband, and she vowed to him, to be an ever-loyall, and ever-loving Wife.  
Whilst thus they lay talking, the Sun casting his eye upon them in at the window, told them, it was time to rise, and that the Mariners who ventured their lives and fortunes with him in his Uoyage, were all attending for him. Upon this summons of the Sun, they both forsook their Beds, made them ready, and came down: Fer●inand delivering to every one of them, whatsoever in right they could claim for wage●, or any thing else, and withal (because they should not report they met with an unworthy or ingrateful person) he bestowed upon them (as his bounteous gift) twenty pounds amongst them all, over and above their due, to drink his Wife's Health and his, at a Dinner or Supper, which they with merry countenances, swear to perform. And then Ferdinand (his Wife the fair Annabel being by) relating how happily he met with a poor Beggar, at his return to his Ship, when they went a shore in Spain, and that bestowing his Wife's single Penny upon that pooreman; he found since, that the pennyworth of Wit (which the Beggar gave him there, and served him well to for so little money) had done him a great deal of good since his Arrival, and that to the last day of his life, he would be a fair gainer by the Beggar's bargain. Annabel smiling, told him, He was as much or more beholding to her, as to that p●●re man, for that her Venture of a single Penny, was the first and principal occasion of meeting so excellent and un-valluable a commodity as Wit. He confess it, and told his wife, before all those witnesses, that he was deep in her debt.  
But then the Mariner, who counterfeited the Beggar, not being able to glue up his lips any longer, told them all, that he was that Ragamuffin, who begged an Alms on the shore, only to put his Captain in mind of his Wife, and her Penny, because he knew how the single Penny was delivered, and therefore in his Beggarly Oration to him, he touched him to the quick, as knowing into how many wild and crooked currents the stream of his Captain's life had run; yet if this bold attempt of his had succeeded well, he hoped his offence, was the more easily pardoned. Pardoned (quoth Annabel!) yes, and rewarded too: and thereupon, remembering and putting her Husband in mind of his own words in Bed to her, which were, that but for the advice the supposed Beggar gave him for his Penny, he had never put that trial upon his Courtesan, but doubtless (coming home so rich) had both po●ored and rained down golden showers into her lapand his soul (as before) into her bo●ome: she therefore hung about her Husband's neck, and for the content she herself enccuntred with, by this Mariner (whose name was Theobald) as also for the blessing heaven crowned his own life with, by the hands of that good Seaman, she entreated, nay, importunately begged, nay by all the bonds of affection between them, conjured him, to make up that single Penny he gave him, a full one hundred pounds, and so set him a float in the world.  
Ferdinand being willing to win his Annabel to him by any means, sithence he had given her just cause for ever to lose her: and considering, the request, easy (in regard it was but a drop to the full-Sea his riches s●●um in) and 〈◊〉, in respect of the golden harvest, his Wife's Penny, and the Mariners counsel brought him; He not only, very nobly, freely, and cheerfully delivered an hundred pounds as his Wife's gift, but to show how much he desired to make her joys full in all things, he lent one hundred pound more to I heobald, without script or sorowle, to be paid him, when it should please the heavens to command the winds and the waves, to send him home, a merry, a prosperous, and a wealthy voyager.  
Theobald with infinite thanks for these undeserved courtesies on her part, and unexpected on his, acknowledges his life ever to be their debtor; and so in a very short time (having so many golden stars to sail b●) away puts he to Sea: where we will leave him carefully, industriously, and like a toiling Ant, providing sufficient in the Summer of his youth, how to maintain him in the winter of his age.  
And now let us cast our eyes once more upon Ferdinand and Annabel, who grew up in Bristol, (like two fair free●) liked at by all, admired by all, and loved by all. That reputation of his, which ran-a-ground at London, is in Bristol fetched off safely from all shelves, and sands: a harlot undid his fortunes there, a wife restores them here. His former Riots, are no turned to good husbandry, his feasting in ●auernes, to a civil entertainment in his own house, his rearing-b●●●s companies, to a brave society of Merchants, and his roaging beggarly noises of scraping Fiddlers, to the most excellent music of sweet and harmless stories told between him and his wife, or else, to the cunning touch of her hand upon the strings of her Lute, guided by the echoes of a ravishing voice, in both of which she exceeded even skilful Musicians. What wounds he got in his estate by borrowing, he now cured by paying every penny: so that upon his word he might either in Bristol or London, have taken up more money, than many that carried their heads higher in the Air, and more proudly ●et on the Stage of opinion, could procure upon their bonds.  
Abundance filled his bags, rich Merchandise his Cellars and Warehouses, Cupboards of Plate waited on his Table, and both manservants, and Mayd-seruants on him and his wife; superfluity of all worldly blessings, thus casting his youthful mind into a surfeit: he began not only to be weary of Bristol, but of his own natural country, burning with an immoderate and unquenchable desire to travel beyond the Seas, to come acquainted with the manners, fashions, and conditions of for●en nations. The bellows that kindled these flames within him, were the praises given to him by young Merchants and gallants that had traveled, of the delicate faces of other women abroad, of their quaint dress, curious attires, and most bewitching compliments our english Ladies, and Merchants wives of London being but course creatures, dowdyes and doddipolls, either to the German Frow, the french pretty, pailying Mademoiselle, or the cher●ylipd, wantoneyed, plu●●, Italian, Bona 〈◊〉, and besides these Spurs of longings clapped to his heels to set him going; his wife (albeit a delicate creasure) began (after this frenzy of dreaming after other women, though he never saw them) not to seem s● handsome in his eye as she was wont or if she did, let our own pasture be never so fat, never so full, never such wholesome feeding, we think our neighbours better, though far worse. As in Taverns, when fault is found in the wine, though there be none in it, If the drawer goes but to change it, and brings the same again O cries all the company, now drawer thou hast gone right indeed: so that the sick part about us is our opinion; 'tis our judgement is poisoned.  
Ferdinand therefore being thus (as it were) with child to see fashions abroad, could find no ease in mind or body until he fell into Travel; and for that purpose, he freighted a Ship with rich and vendible commodities to be sent to Venice, and himself to go as Chief in her.  
His wife was much against his going, she feared her bi●d whom she had kept so long, getting now out of the Cage, would fly she knew not whither, and grow wild. But he showing many reasons for his venturing in person, as that it was hard trusting Factors, his gains might be trebled by his being there; the eye of the Master fats the Horse: It would beside the double profit, return to his mind an infinite pleasure to behold other Cities, other people, and converse with other Merchants: his knowledge would hereby grow perfect, his experience be con●●rmed, and that little knowledge he hath in the Italian tongue be much bettered, his ambition having ever be●ene to be cunning in that language. These reasons and others, being put into the balance, weighed down her fears, and so she yielded at length to let him go.  
Ferdinand (having wind and water, as swift as his own wishes) in a short time arrived at Venice (one of the wonders, for a City, in the world, as having the foundation laid in, and the whole frame of the building raised out of the Mediterranean Sea.) His commodities being excellent good, and exceeding rich, dwelled not long in the ship, But on Silver pulleys were drawn into Uenetian-merchants house's, who paid him down for them presently: so that his purse was soon full, but his eyes and longings empty, or enjoying the Rarities of that renowned City▪ Some few days made him Master of them all: The R●alta was as familiar to him, as the Exchange ●n Cornhill is to Merchants, or the new Bar●e in the Strand is to Courtiers, and Lawyers: Saint Marks Church, he knew as well as Paul's St●●ple, and the Murano, where all the Ven●c●● glasses are made, he visited more often then Vintners do the glass 〈◊〉 in Broadst●●ete, to furnish then s●lues there with these brittle car ow●ing bowls. The Arsenal, (which is a Store, house, to arm both men, and galleys with all warlike provision) by money and friendship, he went into with desire, and came forth with admiration. The many thousands of bridges, which cr●sse every street through the whole City, put him into as much wonder, as London bridge did a Northern man, who at first gaping at it, swore he thought in his con●●●ence it cost above forty shillings.  
His eyes could never have been bloodshotten had they only fed upon these objects: as it was no hurt for him to l●●ke upon wood, and stone, and workmen: nor to have been carried in one of their Venetian G●ndeloes, rowing up and down the river (that embraces the City) called the Grand Canale. None of these enticing ●●wers carried po●son in their scent. No: As before in London he was insnar● by one English whore, so here found he ten thousand Venetian courtesans, the worst of them all, h●u●ng ●●r●ery enough in her eyes and beha●tor, to enchant him. With the butterfly he flew from herb to he● be, and from 〈◊〉 to weed, but in the end alighted upon one, which he liked above all the rest. Here he stayed, Here he set up his rest. It was a creature sufficiently fair, ha● she been indifferently good and resonably-good she might have been, but that the custom of the country (which authorizeth Brothelry) makes her believe, it is not sin in her, so to sell and prostitute her body, and in her body her soul.  
You talk of the poor Catamountains in Turnbull, who venture upon the pikes of damnation for singlemoney; and you wonder at the feathered Ostriches in Westmin●ter, Strand, Bloomsbury etc. how they can live; where these Venetian Madonaes', carry the ports of Ladies, live in houses fair enough to entertain Lords. Into such a lodging was Fer●●n●nd● received, upon such a Courtesan did he fasten his lustful affection.  
No gold was spared to warm her white hands with the fires of such sparkling Sunbeams: No music keep dumb by her whose voice she knew would entice him to hear it. This Strumpet's name was Livia Ferramonti, well-descended, and therefore taught by her education, how to win, and how to hold fast, when once she had a man in her nets. Her behaviour was pleasing, her compliments courtly, her appearance Stately, yet how strongly-guarded soever this Castle of beauty, seemed by her eyes, (in show disdainful) and a tongue proud in parleys, yet Fernand mounting his silver Ordinance, charged with golden bullets, the Fort of womanish frailty, quickly yielded, but upon this composition, that he should suffer no other Italian dame but herself share in her embraces; jealousy is a book that all our Italian dames, and signiors read, and if (quoth she) you ever give me cause to open that book (strung with yellow ribbon) I shall give you cause to curse my acquaintance, and you will teach me hereafter to hate for ever an Englishman. He told her, (nay most v●hemently protested, by the faith of a gentleman, and by all those fires burning in the breast of a Lover,) that she should have no cause to speak to him that language. And so, she (being a Merchantess for the flesh, and to sell her ware, as de●re as she could-hold it up) agreed with Ferdinand, that for 500 crowns a month, he should Enjoy her body, her bed, her house, and all that belonged to her command. The greatest Magnifico in Venice (she told him) would be glad to be sharer with two more, and so enjoy her by turns, yet each of them to allow her so poor a Sum: nay the bravest Clarissimo, to enjoy her, as now she comes to him, (alone) would into her Apron every month cast a thousand crowns, but he being an englishmen, and gracious in her eye, she would exa●● but that ●lender hire: It being the custom of Venice, that whatsoever a Courtesan, and a whoremaster bargains for, (be it for a day, a night, a week, a month, or a year) she has law on her side to recover it, and make him pay it, and she is his (for that time) as absolutely as a beast bought in Smythfield, or a rotten joint of mutton sold at pie-corner: Her Enaviorato being likewise (during the continuance of this agreement) more sure of his Itlian hackney, than many englishmen are of their wives, though a household full of eyes be ●ixed upon them; for if she flies out from him to any other, an action at the case here is nothing to that case, which the Bona roba, shall be in there, if once she be found faulty: months, and months were consigned in libidinous and adulterous embraces, by the●e two; Ferdinand, ever and anon, sending into England some slight Italian toys to his wife with letters, expressing his great care to increase his estate, kept him so long from her, and that the delight he took in seeing those Cities, and noble entertainment he found amongst those Merchante, had carried him up higher into the country, but that he would shorten his journey and cut off much of his employment, out of a desire to be again in the arms of his Annabel.  
She good soul believed all this, upon receipt of her husband's letters; but he intended no such matter. He was too fast entangled in the allurements of a Wa●●ton, and too far engaged in purse and reputation to get off without exceeding loss, if not danger of life. For when an Italian Strumpet feels her L●uer flying from her, and in disdain leaving her, a poisoned banquet, or a stab from a Panderly Bra●o, soon ends her discontentment.  
But our Bristol Merchant was too far plunged in affection, to fall off, or grow ●oole in desires to her, upon whose beauties he did more than dote: And therefore to show that he was a right Englishman, who will venture life and living, and all that he hath in the world, before he will lose his Wench, he not only (more than his bargain, tied him, of 500 crowns a month) had in banquets, costly Dinners and Suppers, and rich new Gowns and Tires for her, spent a world of money upon her: but also, (the faster as he thought to tie her to him, though he could not easily shake her off) he bestowed a company of admirable fair jewels upon his dearest Li●ia.  
Fair were those jewels in outward show (as the wearer of them was) but many (or rather most) of the Stones were counterfeit. For Ferdinand, by means of keeping company with many brave Italian Merchants, came acquainted with a ●enetian jew, (who●e name was Caleb Mosolomon. This jew was wondrous wealthy and wondrous wary, and as wicked in his ways to get money (especially from Christians) as any of his Hebrew tribes could be. ferdinand came oft to his house, and was as often welcomed, but this feast of jewish welcomes should be paid for at last in the tale of the reckoning. Mo●olomo had abundance of as costly, true, and precious jewels of all fashions, as could be made, or bought for gold and silver in the world, for it was his trade to deal with most Princes in Christ's, doom by his Fact●urs for such Commodities; but as amongst men and women some are good, some bad: So Caleb (our subtle jew) perceiving Ferdinand to be an unthrift, that his Ships rich lading was swallowed up, in a Venetian gulf, (a Venetian Whore) and that to fill such a Barn, a fool cared not, what corn field he reaped, nor from whose Sheaves he stole (were it but a handful) he saw he would sink, and therefore to rid him out of his p●ine, he would tie some of his Plummets to his heels. Hereupon, showing one day, to our Bristol Lapidary (that dealt in none but false Stones) a goodly heap of counterfeit jewels, (as fair to the eye, as any that were worn in Italy, and the falsehood not easy to be found out, but by a very cunning workman) he liked them so well, that being wondrous importunate to buy them, albeit the jew held them at an unreasonable rate, yet he had them for Time, a Bond being drawn to pay to Mosolomon, double the value, if he had not his money just upon the day. The match pleased them both, the jew laughed in his sleeve, to see how he had overreached a lecherous Christian, and the other as proudly hastened to his Italian Hen-Sparrow, to show what costly and glorious Feathers he had bought to stick her with; the jewels were with thousands of thanks received, and as many kisses paid back to him on his lips, which he accepted as a sufficient satisfaction.  
The day of payment for these jewels being come, the jew (as busy as a Kite over his prey) soars over Ferdinand's lodging, still looking when the money would be tendered: but a day or two being passed over, and no Cash appearing, Caleb leaps for joy, that now he shall have the double: the Forfeiture to him would be as a feast: a Christian to lie in Prison at his Suit, was a braver triumph than when Turkish Galleys board English Pirates: he swears by his Hebrew Tribe from whence he is descended: he will slay him alive with miseries, if he hath not his moneys: not a Christian Farthing of Copper, or Brass, no, not an 〈◊〉 Leaden Chandler's Token should be abated.  
An Officer, (nay a whole kennel of Hounds are lef lose to seize upon him, and to drag him to Prison. But 〈◊〉 being an Englishman, and understanding by his experience of Lon●on and Bristol, what it was to fall into Catchpoles hands, and how such Beagles where they fastened, did not only bite, but draw bl●●●, kept himselve out of the way, so that Ben 〈◊〉 was ready to run mad with ange●: that jews-trump in his mou●h (his tongue) played nothing but cur●es, his great nose●swell 〈◊〉 so much as it 〈◊〉 before, by his thumping and plucking it, almost off from his face, in rage, to think he should be so e●●soned by a wenching Rascal, a Christian Whoremaster, and yet he said to himself, It was no wonder for him to be so gulled, 〈◊〉 was too well known that Englishmen are as cunning as any Cheaters in the world.  
In this interim of Ferdinand his wasting of his youth, his estate, and his honour, and the hazarding both of life and soul upon 〈…〉 Strumpet; O●d one Signior 〈…〉 from 〈◊〉 he had before he went, made chief (amongst all the 〈…〉 that 〈◊〉) of this 〈…〉 to be 〈…〉.  
She perceiving by the Iew● and others of whom 〈◊〉 had taken up 〈…〉 of money, how the winds blue, and that the breath of his for 〈…〉 colder and ●older, and being glad to hea●e that 〈◊〉 was come home, writ a few wanton, but witty 〈◊〉, (for the Italian Women are excellent in those 〈◊〉) to welcome him from Travel, and to 〈◊〉 him so her lodging, unknown to her 〈…〉 the wing, as being full of 〈…〉  
A stately Banquet (●●e appointed evening) was prepared at the Courtesans House, to which Signior 〈◊〉, attended upon with one man only 〈◊〉, with resolution to renew his love to his 〈◊〉 Mistresse, and that night to pay such tribute to her embraces braces, as was due to her by his so long absence.  
Ferdinand not daring in the day to walk the streeter, came muffled in his cloak in the dark, with a Rapier by his side, to 〈◊〉 his Lady; and spying every ●●●me so full of lights, as if all the Stars had forsa●ke the 〈…〉 and shine in her lodging, and (withal) hearing admirable voices and instruments within, for she had provided all content, to please ●ouann●: Ferdinand boldly knocked at door, presuming he had paid dear enough for the opening of her Wicket.  
A Brauo● or ruffianly hee-Bawde, comes, and tells him, there was no Cushion for him to sit upon to night; another was made 〈◊〉 of his Italian Chair; the 〈◊〉 which he l●ud to cut up, was to be 〈◊〉 up, and be 〈◊〉 on a Venetian Gentlemans Trencher (the Signior Iouann●●●●●anes, Son to 〈…〉 of the chiefest 〈◊〉 and so bidding him to be ●acking, or if he were so hot for a Whore, there were enough i'th' City, and it he could not fall upon them, Stand there still and 〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉, and (with that) shut the doors upon him.  
〈…〉 euery ry Italian, laid hold (upon this 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 out of the 〈◊〉) on Ferdinand, the 〈◊〉 of the people, and the inconstancy of the Woman, 〈…〉 selves. Taking therefore this abuse offered to him by the Brano, for an act of the Mistress, as knowing he 〈◊〉 not have done so without her consent, he dove's to hill this ●ouanni, whatsoever he should be, leaving his body at her very doors, as the monument of a Strumpet's falseshood, and an englishmans noble revenge upon a corrival, and this done by the aid of darkness to escape, get a gondola, and so shifting from Venice to fly first into France, over the Alps, & after that into England. For this purpose the Spleenful Ferdinand, 〈◊〉 up and down, watching when this gallant should come forth; but he was too fast lo●kd in his Mistress' arms, to take any danger from a naked rapier: yet going to bed with his beloved Madonna, he commanded his man to get him to his lodging, and attend for him next morning.  
The fellow being lighted out of doors, and Ferdinand, who stood watching, not knowing the Master from the man, took this to be the gentleman that wrougd him, and so running at him, the glimpse of the candle made him spy the weapon, which nimbly though he put by, yet was he wounded in two or three places, murder then being cried, and more candles being held out at several windows, the servant that was hurt, was carried off, and Ferdinand haled to prison.  
The next morning, criminal judges having the examination of this business, the Bravo giving in evidence that he came to his Mistress' house, to quarrel, and do some mischief, and Ferdinand being half mad that his revenge fell so unluckily on a poor unworthy fellow, his aim being (as he confessed freely) to have sped that 〈◊〉 who lodged there that night, in the arms of a Strumpet, whose flesh he had bought, and paid dear for: the matter than grew more fowl in that besides the drawing-blood from one, his intent was to murder another, yea and to murder such a gentleman so nobly descended as Guidanel was, for the love, which all Venice bar●, both to father, and son, the whole senate set a heavy ●ine on Ferdinand's head, for his intent of murder, and albert the fellow's wounds were not mortal, yet was he (besides a doom of imprisonment) adjudged to pay for the cure, and to satisfy the servant for his 〈◊〉.  
The jew (hearing of this imprisonment) laughed, and leapt for joy, that the great fish was taken, which broke through his net, but since he was in, h●● would wear 〈◊〉 his finger's ends, with tying knots, but h●● should be fast enough, and ●o la●d a●● Action upon him of 14000. crown's.  
He then hoping for all 〈◊〉 find some 〈◊〉 at his Mistress' hands, writ in Italian to her, but she understood not his language: to him she 〈◊〉 not send, (without losing an Italian-friend wor●h 〈◊〉 English) and come to him she would not.  
Upon this, casting his eyes back at his forepassed ●ortimes, and his now present miseries, he began t● think that heaven had justly laid this shame and these crosses upon him, for not still making use of● that counsel which the Mariner in shape of a Beggar, gave to him for his wifes single Penny: had h●● followed it, coming to this Courtesan in Venice as he did when he tried that other in England, he had never met such occasion to ●urse his folly, in making himself a mo●kery to all his countrymen, especially to 〈◊〉, but mou especially to the Merchants in 〈◊〉. To call to mind the wrongs done to his wi●e, was to 〈◊〉 more than a death to think what 〈◊〉 of money 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 had in 〈◊〉 consumed, every piece of silver fetched drops of blood from his heart. He that 〈◊〉 away pounds, would now 〈…〉 himself in his own 〈…〉 in some high way begging one 〈…〉 with no worse a 〈◊〉 than tho●e p●●re 〈◊〉, his countrymen do, that so live 〈…〉: would he (he cries out) had lived so ●uer: he ●hould not then answer for the 〈…〉 of that, which was sufficient to maintain thou●●nd● wher● now, the remembrance of those 〈◊〉 expenses as much torment his soul, as the want of the money afflicts his body, happy, he protests, are those that begging a farthing-●oken, and making up, four of them, peradue●ture 〈◊〉 now in England by a good fire, with a 〈…〉 drink in their hand, where I in this 〈◊〉 and s●●●cking dungeon, would be glad of clean water to quench my thirst, and of a c●ale of fire to blow my nails over.  
Being driven almost to the very doors of despair, by these miseries, the last refuge he had was to since for his wi●e from Bristol, and to persuade her with all possible speed to turn all the estate he left with her, all his plate, all her chains, rings, and ●ewells, yea even to sell all his householdstuff, to turn it into money, and if ever she loved him, now to show it, by redeeming him from a miserable captivity: That word, if ever she did leave him, was a charm strong enough to make her fly over worlds of waters, and wildernesses of land to find him out, and faund, to set him at liberty, and being free from jews, Harlots, hard-hearted Christians, to lay him in her warm bosom, to forgive what's past, to upbraid him with nothing, and in his wants to love him as dear, as ever she did in his greatest abundance. And all this did the virtuous woman (his wife.)  
Suppose than you see them both come from beyond seas, not so beaten with winds and 〈◊〉, as bitten by hunger. His dissolute courses causing all his own friends to scorn to cast an eye of pity on him, and the constant love she carried to her distressed husband, taking from her friends all desire to help or comfort her, lest he should be a sharer in those benefits. So that not a Sunbeam of compassion shining from any friends, kind●ed, or acquaintance upon either of them, in the end they both, (by the intercession, and tears, and modest countenance of the woman, got to be trusted with a few pipes, a little 〈◊〉, and a small narrow 〈◊〉, which was both their hal●, bedchamber, 〈◊〉 and ●eller.  
This was but a poor living for him, that had w●nt to freight ships with rich commodities, now to sit filling a pipe of tobacco; and f●r a penny, that single penny comes oft● to his mind, and upbraids him with his ill husbandry. The world is changed with him, it runs not now upon wheels, as once it did: he that was wont to make Taverns roar with the noise of gallon pots, and drawers to run up stairs, and down stairs, crying anon, anon, only at his call, is now glad without any roaring or noyse-making, to be any man's drawer for a penny-pot of ale: his brave fires in a Tavern chimney, are turned to alittle pan of small coals, over which he sits blowing, to light his customers pipes; his riotous dinners and Suppers are forgotten, and instead of them, a poor dinner of sprats, now and then, for fish days, and ● sheep's Gather or a sheep's head on fl●shdayes, and very good cheer too: in former times, neither he or his wife c●uld tell what a fasting day meant, but now they c●uld hardly meet with any other; and albeit a man that has ever gone with full pockets, continually fed at full tables, and never felt what want was, could not without much repining, cursing, and disdain, undergo so low and wretche● a course of life: yet with such a noble patience did his virtue's wife, both b●are her own sorrows, and counsellor him not to sink under his, that he by her example was as jovial, in this his poverty, as ever before he was in plenty, and (how great soever their wants were known to themselves) yet would she set a good●face upon't, and not once show a sad or heavy countenance, for fear to displease, or discomfort her husband.  
It was a wonder to see, and hear, how people would descant upon these two, for their making shift to live in this order: Some laughed him to scorn, and said, pride had now caught a fall, the Peacock's feathers were plucked, and such like, others were glad to see him take any honest course to live, considering in what high bravery he spread his ●ailes before, but all persons (both men and women, d●● mightily comm●n) the wife, who in all these misfortunes was never seen to knit a brow, or heard to upbraid her husband with any of his dissolute forme● courses, by which they were both brought to this beggary. It being then blunted up and down the City, that Ferdinand, the brave young Merchant that came from Bri●●ow, was fallen to decay, and lived in that mean manner as you have heard before, a gentleman who knew him when he was in his jollity, and had taken notice of the state he was in now, came to the Courtesan vp●n whom he spent so much in London, when he called her Mistress, and as a most strange now & told her, that her servant ferdinand, (whom she followed to bristol) was in London, but exceeding poor. A 〈◊〉 on him quoth she) so when I was in Bri●●ow, he put a trick upon me, and came like a rogue to me in his plymouth●cloake, and cheated me of all the rings, jewels, bracelets, and any thing of any worth, that ever he gave me, sending me home like a sheep new shorn with scarce any wool on my back: why then said the gentleman, he's paid in the same cracked money, which he● delivered to you: He that shaved is now shaue●▪ and so close ●ut, that what wool, you carried on your back, I know not, but I fear he has scarce wool, or skin on his back, for he is so poor that his wife and he are glad to keep a tobacco-shop: a tobacco-shop (cried his quondam Mistress) O strange. It shall never be said, that I l●ued a man, in his bravery, and would not l●●ke upon him in his necessity, the injury he did me at Bristol, I deserved it, and pardon it: his wrongs I forget, but not him, the many jovial days and nights he and I have spent together, are so freshly, and deeply printed in my memory, that if I should not with gladness call them to mind, I would count myself ingrateful. It shall never be reported that a man, a gentleman, a noble-minded young fellow, spent his money upon me, when he was full of golden pieces, and let them fly, but now he wants those pieces, and is become poor, I will spend part of what I have, upon him. This is not the common humour of mad wenches (such as I am) about the City, that get their living by the labour of their thighs, and care not so they such men's estates (like their bodies) to the bare bones: I am altered from the creature, I was at Bristol▪ and so, entreating the gentleman, to direct her to the shop which Ferdinand kept, she making herself very gallant, went thither, whom he beholding, blushed, as red as fire, for shame she came upon him so unwares, into so homely a room, his wife and he being so meanly habited: But this Mistress of his, (being a wench of a lusty spirit) stepd to his wife, and kissing her, told her, she was come to beg pardon for a robbery she had committed, in stealing away her husband, ●ome days from her board, and some nights from her pillow▪ but protests he shall never play the truant more with her: is sorry for what was past▪ and wishes he had laid out his riots at no worse a market in Venic●, than he met with, in London, and that his Italian banquet had been no dearer than that which she invited him to in England. Annabel in 〈◊〉 voice, tells her partner, that she has 〈◊〉 the book of all former reckonings: the debt of her anger (both at her, and her husband) is all paid, she forgives them both, so, they run no more upon a new score with her, which both of them vow never to do, and then the 〈◊〉 swearing likewise never again to break into her orchard, to steal a way those apples, which are for her own eating, nor if she can help it, never hereafter to come into the company of her husband, in some part of satisfaction towards all expenses between them, she delivers to his wife as a free gift, twenty Pieces, and so takes her leave in this unexpected kindness, conquering all ill opinion conceived against her, and that small sum of money of twenty pieces, redeeming ●ll the lavish spend upon his 〈◊〉, and making more amends to 〈◊〉 wife, than all his riotous lay●ngs out, did do her hurt before.  
Misfortune's seldom walk alone, and so when blessings do knock at a man's door, they lightly are not without followers and fellows. For just upon this golden visitation (not usually put in practice by creatures of her quality) came home Theobald, the 〈◊〉 from Sea, upon whom our Bristol Merchant at his Wife's request, bestowed one hunded pound, for the good he received by the single Penny; and trusted him with another hundred pound to be repaid, if ever heavens should send him a ●oone voyage, that he ●●ight be able to spare it: With those two hundred pounds this Mariner playing the good Husband beyond the Seas, in ●arbary, and other places within the straits, had so ●ncreased his Stock, that he was esteemed a rich man, and his credit very good upon the 〈◊〉: He coming to this 〈◊〉- Shop, his face much sunne-burnt with travel, and his cheeks grown over with hair, called for a Pipe of smoke, and was not known. Ferdinand perceiving by his 〈◊〉 compl●●ion, and habit, that he was a Seaman, asked in what part of the world he had lately b●ene, and the other replying, both in Barbary, and some other places within the straits, Ferdinand prays him to tell him, if he knows not one Theobald, and whether he saw him not in Barbar●, yes (quoth Theobald) I both knew him, and saw him; but n●w he's past either my knowledge or 〈◊〉 in this world, for these very hands helped to bury him in the bottom of the Sea, where he died. Ferdinand started at this, and l●●king pa●e, with a deep sigh from his heart, expressed a great deal of sorrow for the loss of so faithful and honest a friend; and his Wi●e hearing the sad Story, clapping her hand on her knee (as she sat) O sweet heart (〈◊〉 she) if theobald be gone, the best of our hopes lie a dying▪ f●r it was likely, if ever heaven had prospered him, he would not have shown himself unthankful to you or to me, for the courtesies you and I did him. No remedy (quoth her Husband) we must all dye one day, and since one of our best Cards is out of the bunch, let us 〈◊〉 and cut in the world as well as we can: one g●●d, true friend as he was, (reckoning the treachery amongst men in these days) is worth a rock of Diamonds, and though we are cheated of him by death, yet let us two be true to one another, for the love of man and wife is the noblest friendship.  
By this time, our Mariner, or rather now our Merchant, had whi●●'d off three Pipes of Tobacco, for which he was to pay three pence. And drawing out a whol● handful of gold, told them, he had no white money, & they could not change any one piece; yet looking in another pocket, he asked if they would take Tokens, yes (said Ferdinand) they are as welcome to me now, as Angels and double Sove reins have been in diebusillis, in my mad days, (for I have spent some.) The other than told him, he could make but eight Tokens, and that was but two pence, a penny less than his due; no matte● Sir (answered our new Tobacco-man) for his sake whom you say you knew, and saw him bur●ed at Sea, let it alone, you shall pay nothing, and if you please, drink as much more: nay, cried other, shall I go a●th score, or drink in forma pauperis, my Pockets having such gay linings in them.  
See, see, I now can make up your money, for there's eight Tokens, and a single penny in silver (look you) tied with a string through the hole in it, for fear of running away, and I can tell you, I part very unwillingly with that Penny: Ferdinand and his Wife seeing the silk string, and noting the Penny, O (cried she) Husband, this is the single Penny you had of me, when you went to Sea, and which afterwards you tied about his arm that is dead. I did indeed (said he) and he swore, it should never from his arm, so long as there was any breath in his body.  
He was as good as his word then (replied Theobald) for when he yielded up the ghost, I (as before he bid me) took it from his arm: And because you shall know I am no counterfeit Messenger, look upon me well, hath my kissing the sun so altered my face, I am that Theobald, this is the same Penny, for which you gave me an hundred pound in gold, for the good it did you: that Penny hath done me good too, I am a made man by it, and shall not only myself ever love a Penny, but counsel every man else to make much of a Penny when he hath it▪ It is a Beggar's stock, and a rich man's stewardship. You my noble Captain, and worthy Master, made one lucky Uoyage with it, and brought home Wit for it, (though since I hear, by your travelling without it, you came home a 〈◊〉:) I have made another Uoyage with the same Penny, and praise be given to heaven, I have brought home wealth by it: Much am I in your debt, but am come honestly to pay you all: you bestowed this ●ingle Penny upon me, when you took me for a Beggar, I return your own Penny back again upon you, whom I now take, not to be very rich: the one hundred pound my good Mistress 〈◊〉 you to give me, behold I lay for them an hundred golden pictures in her lap, with the other hundred pound you trusted me with, to be paid, when the Seas and I playing together, I should get a lucky hand: that hours come, I now have it, and all that I am owner of, coming to me by your means, not only every Penny that is mine shall be yours, but every pound be sent of an errand to fetch in profit. He was as good as his word, for he lent them so much money, as put him again into his trade of Merchandise, and at this hour is he a very worthy Merchant in London.  
FINIS.