LA PICARA, OR THE TRIUMPHS OF Female Subtlety, Displayed in the Artifices and Impostures of a Beautiful Woman, who Trepanned the most experienced Rogues, and made all those unhappy who thought her handsome: Originally, A Spanish Relation, Enriched with three Pleasant NOVELS. Rendered into English, with some Alterations and Additions, By JOHN DAVIES of Kidwelly.  
LONDON, Printed by W. W. for John Starkey, at the Mitre within Temple-Bar. 1665.   

IMPRIMATUR,  
ROGER L'ESTRANGE. Septemb. 30th. 1664.   

To the worthily Honoured, Sir JOHN BERKENHEAD KNIGHT, Master of the Faculties, and Master of the Requests to his Majesty, and one of the Members of the Honourable House of Commons.  
SIR,  
THe world is come to that improvement of experience, as to account Dedicatories, more certain acknowledgements of obligation than any Noverint Universi, especially when there is a great distance of Quality between those by whom they are made, and those to whom they are directed. That this should be thought such, I am rather pleased, than troubled, since, my being obliged, argues my being known, to you, and consequently, that, from the one, I derive a satisfaction; from the other, an advantage.  
The last Piece, which came abroad under my obscure name, was The Travels of the Embassy from the Duke of Holstein, into Muscovy, and Persia. The excellent Person who was the original Author of it, Olearius, obliged, with us, most of the Neighbouring Nations, who also rendered his work into their several Languages. I am told it was not unkindly received here; only the occasion I have to speak of it now, is, that the coming forth of the English Translation, with greater lustre, than haply it had done otherwise, is, among those of some others, due to your encouragement.  
But I am not to date your notice of me from that; I must descend much lower, to a Time wherein you thought it dangerous to know, or be known to, many. Be not startled; when dangers are over, there remains only a pleasing remembrance of them. It was, long before the Committee at Derby-House, was advanced into a Council of State, an Age since, considering the subsequent reign of Tyranny and Barbarism, and the perpetual alarms and frights, whereto worried Loyalty was every where exposed. These you have happily weathered out, and seen the contrivers thereof at last overtaken by the slow pace of divine Vengeance, an advertisement to All Christians and Lay-Elders, who either gratulate or envy you the favours of a Prince, for whom you would have run yet greater hazards.  
As to the Piece I now present you with, I have only this to say. It is a Spanish Relation, written by D. Alonso de Castillo Savorsano, a famous Author of that Nation. One of the most refined Wits of France thought it worth his pains, to render it into the Language of his Country, with all the graces and advantages it might derive from either. I have done it out of the latter, with a freedom of alteration and addition, as my fancy led me, to make it the most divertive I could in ours, which is the only recommendation of all things of this nature. My Author promises his Readers a continuation of the Story, if what is already published be kindly entertained: I do mine, the like, upon the same precaution; but with this particular inducement, That it will give me further occasion to assure the world how much I am,  
Sir, Your most humble, and very much obliged Servant, J. DAVIES.   

Books Printed for and Sold by John Starkey at the Mitre betwixt the middle Temple-Gate, and Temple-Bar in Pleetstreet.  

Folio's.  
THe Voyages and Travels of the Duke of Holstein's Ambassadors into Muscovy, Tartary, and Persia, begun in the year 1633. and finished in 1639. containing a Complete History of those Countries; whereto are added the Travels of Mandelslo from Persia into the East-Indies, begun in 1638. and finished in 1640. The whole, illustrated with divers accurate Maps and Figures, written originally by Adam Olearius, Secretary to the Embassy, Englished by J. Davies of Kidwelly.  
The World Surveyed, or the famous Voyages and Travels of Vincent le Blanc of Marseilles, into the East and West-Indies, Persia, Pegu, Fez, Morocco, Guinny, and through all Africa, and the principal Provinces of Europe.  
A Practical and Polemical Commentary, or Exposition, upon the third and fourth Chapters of the latter Epistle of Saint Paul to Timothy, by Thomas Hall. B. D.  
Brevia Judicialia, or an Exact Collection of approved forms of all sorts of Judicial Writs in the Common-Bench, together with their returns, by Rich. Brownlow.  
Thesaurus Brevium, or a Collection of approved forms of Original and Judicial Writs in the King's Bench, with their special Directions, by J. C.  
Action upon the Case for Slander, or a Methodical Collection of thousands of Cases in the Law, of what words are Actionable, and what not, by William Shepherd, Esq;.  
Guillim's Display of Heraldry.  
Blundel's Treatise of the Sibyls.  
A General Collection of Discourses of the Virtuosos of France upon Questions of all sorts of Philosophy, and other Natural Knowledge, made in the Assembly of the Beaux Esprits at Paris, by the most Ingenious persons of that Nation, Englished by G. haver's.  
The Commonwealth of Oceana, by J. Harrington, Esq;.   

Quarto's.  
A Collection of Declarations, Messages, Speeches, Remonstrances, etc. which passed betwixt King Charles the first, and the long Parliament, in the years 1641, 1642, 1643.  
Richard Baxter's Treatise of Saving Faith.  
The History of Gavel-kind with the Etymology thereof, containing a vindication of the Laws of England, together with a short History of William the Conqueror, by Sylas Taylor.  
Andronicus Comnenius, a Tragedy, by John Wilson.  
Heraclius Emperor of the East, a Tragedy, by Lodowick Carlel, Esq;.   

Octavos.  
An Historical and Geographical description of the great Country and River of the Amazons in America; with an exact Map thereof, Translated out of French.  
The Shepherd's Paradise, a Pastoral, by Walter Montague, Esq;.  
Aminta, the famous Italian Pastoral, translated into English.  
Plowden's Queries, or a Moot Book of choice Cases in the Common-Law, Englished, Methodised, and Enlarged by H. B.  
An Exact Abridgement of all the Statutes in force and use, made in the 16th, 17th, and 18th. of King Charles the first, and in the 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th and 16th. of King Charles the second, viz. from the 4th. of Jan. 1641/2. to the 24th. of Novemb. 1664. by William hugh's, Esq;.  
Finch's Discourse of the Law in four Books. Engl.  
Tho. Goodwin. Opuscula Theolog. Lat.  
Tho. Hall Apologia pro Ministerio Evangelico. Lat.  
— Translation of the second Book of Ovid's Metamorph.  
— Treatise against the Millenaries.  
The works of the famous Mr. Francis Rabelais, treating of the Lives of Gargantua, and his Son Pantagruel, to which is newly added the Life of the Author, translated out of French into English by Sir Thomas Urchard, Kt.  
Rome exactly described, as to the present state of it under Pope Alexander the seventh, in two curious Discourses written in Italian, and Englished by J. B.   

Twelve.  
Tho. Hooker's Miscellanies in Divinity.  
Rich. Baxter's Call to the Unconverted.    

LA PICARA, OR The Triumphs of Female Subtlety.  
The First Book.  
THERE is a Treatise in the Spanish Tongue, entitled IL PICARO, which being rendered into English, under the Title of THE ROGUE, or, The Life of Guzman de Alfarache, the humour took so well in this Nation, that He and his Rogueries were several times committed to the Press. The Design of that Work was to represent a Person, on whom either Nature, or a strange ascendency of Mercury had bestowed so liberal a Talon of cheating, thieving, and circumvention, that he not only trapan'd all he dealt with, but also became a Precedent and Pattern to all those, who, out of necessity, or inclination, have been forced to live by their shifts, or, as some would have it, by their wits. The present Tract hath some resemblance to the excellent Piece before mentioned, inasmuch as it brings in a Woman, engaged in as great designs as those of her Predecessor Guzman, but with this disadvantage, that the weakness of her Sex obliges her to make use of the assistances of Men for the better prosecution thereof. Both Treatises were originally written in the Spanish, a Language we are obliged to for most pieces of this nature: and as, in the former, the Relation is pleasantly interrupted by certain merry tales and stories; so in ours, there is an intermixture of Novels, to heighten the Reader's satisfaction and divertisement.  
The draught I am to give of this Miracle of Female subtlety may be of very great advantage to three sorts of persons. Those who feel in themselves a certain disposition to be wicked, may be admonished, and reform, before they have occasion to repent; they, who, defying all advertisement, are resolved to be mischievous, may, out of an apprehension of the ensuing punishment, be deterred into caution; and the innocent and virtuous may learn a lesson of prudence and circumspection, to avoid those snares that are laid for them. The things I write are not supposititious, or framed in my own imagination, but such as really happened in one of the most eminent Cities of Spain; which yet if any man have not faith enough to believe, I have no other advice to give him, but that he would travel to those places, where our Scene lies, to disprove me.  
As to her Person, She was young, sprightly, and very beautiful; three dangerous advantages, when they are attended by those endowments for which she was no less famous, to wit, Craft, Impudence, Hypocrisy, and an insatiable longing for the goods of other people; and all these strengthened by a bent of nature, as being the issue of Parents, who, instead of giving a timely check to these vicious inclinations, rather encouraged her in them by their example, as being addicted to the same themselves.  
Seignor Trapassa, Father to this excellent person whose achievements we intent to describe, had been condemned to the Galleys, for having assumed to himself the Order of the Knighthood of Christ, before he had made the necessary trials, upon which his Majesty bestows that honour, by the judgement of his Sovereign Council of Portugal. His design in doing it, was that he might more conveniently follow his profession of stealing about the Court, where he was respected as a Knight, and the better, under that cloak, to play those pranks of villainy, wherein he was such a Professor, that the most expert might have heard his Lectures. A certain Woman, whom he used to trade withal, incensed against him upon the account of some jealousy, that he reserved not all his kindness for her, put in a charge against him, the issue whereof was, That he got the said preferment in the Galleys; where he passed over the term of his condemnation, and somewhat more. He was disposed into that Squadron, which is called the Squadron of Spain, and translated from Toledo to S. Mary's Port, with the rest who were in the same Predicament of Slavery. He had made an attempt to recover his liberty, but the plot being discovered, he was put to greater hardship than he had otherwise been.  
As soon as the Lady Estephania (so was called the jealous Woman, who had shown him that trick) understood that he was gone to exercise that painful employment, though she were not of an over-compassionate nature, very seriously repent her, that she had been the cause of his misery, and considered that she could not make a better satisfaction for that injury, than by proffering herself to him in marriage as soon as the time of his penance were expired. What inclined her the more to this kind of reparation, was, that she had already had a Daughter by him, which Daughter is the subject of the present Treatise. With this resolution, she left the Court, and went to Sevil, hoping, in that great and famous City, she might the sooner hear some news of him, whom she had reduced to so great misery, and whom she would gladly once more see at liberty.  
Estephania had a house very well furnished, being a Genoese's Widow, who had left her very well to pass. That, and the care she took to go somewhat high in clothes, gained her such a repute at Madrid, that she was looked on as a person of some quality: but she soon lost that, when the history of her life came to be known, especially this particular of it, that, out of an excess of jealousy, she had preferred to the Galleys a young Gallant, whom she had often entertained in a featherbed. That imprudent sally made her abominable in the sight of her most intimate acquaintances of her own sex, whose indignation she allowed to be the more just against her, when she considered, that she had cast away herself on an impostor and a rascal fit only for the Galleys.  
These reasons and reproaches obliged her to remove from Madrid to Sevil, taking all she could conveniently carry along with her, and selling the rest, which brought her in a considerable sum of money. Having thus ordered her affairs, she went towards Sevil by Coach, with two Maids to wait on on her, intending to continue there, till the time of Trapassa's serving in the Galleys were expired; which being near out, (for she kept an exact account of it) she understood that the Spanish Galleys were arrived at S. Mary's Port. She immediately went thither, not so highly clad as she was wont to go at Sevil, but in a more modest habit, that it might not be afterwards cast into her dish, that she had been the wife of a Galleyslave, and withal one she had courted out of his chains into her embraces.  
She immediately understood that her Gallant was in the Captain's own Galley, very jocund, and advanced to the office of a Foreman, a preeminence among the Slaves which exempts them from rowing, and he had acquired it of the General by the pleasantness of his conversation; nay, had he not had that charge, he was by this time grown so well acquainted with the Galleys, that he minded not much whether ever he got out of them. But the arrival of Estephania remedied all. Her first business was to treat about his liberty, speaking to those persons on whom the business depended, and presenting them with certain sums of money, before Trapassa had any knowledge of her design, whom he could not have seen, as having not yet stirred out of the Galley. So that he was extremely astonished, when he came to understand, that some persons did not only use bare solicitations in order to his liberty, but were also liberal of their money to procure it, yet could it never come into his thoughts, that his old Love Estephania should have changed the cruel humour, he had left her in, into one so mild and obliging.  
All things being concluded and agreed upon for Trapassa's liberty, his chains were knocked off, and he was told, that he might go whether he would. In the mean time he could not imagine who had procured him that happiness, which was no small one, inasmuch as though the poor Slaves have served out the time of their condemnation, yet are there some causes found that hinder their being set at liberty, nay some are so unhappy, that having been condemned for four years, are forced to stay there five, or six.  
Seignor Trapassa was extremely astonished, when he found himself in the presence of his Estephania, and understood, that it was only by her means he had recovered his liberty; she received him into her arms, and he, to express his gratitude, returned so obliging a reception with the like caresses; so that the kindness he then received of her, made him forget the resentment he might have of the miseries she had occasioned him. He was troubled to find her in a much different habit from that he had left her in at Madrid, for he knew not that it was out of design she had so disguised herself, nor could she at that time give him an account of it, by reason of the Captain and others being present, who had conducted him, and whom she was obliged to entertain at dinner. Having treated them as well as she could, all withdrew, save only Trapassa, who continued still in the Inn with his Mistress. Finding themselves alone, they reiterated their caresses, and outvy'd one the other in assurances of the satisfaction they conceived at that interview. Trapassa rendered her his thanks with all the grateful acknowledgements imaginable, for the pains she had taken, and the goodness she had had to deliver him out of the cruel torments he endured. On the other side, Estephania begged his pardon for the mischief she had done him, and all the miseries her malice had caused him, telling him withal, that she could not imagine any other way to repair the injury she had done him, than by joining hands with him in matrimony, if he liked the proposal, since she already had a daughter by him, and wealth enough for both of them to live at their ease.  
I leave you to judge whether this motion were not pleasing to Trapassa, one that would have snapped at the least proffer of good fortune, upon his coming out of so severe a School of penance. As if he had forgot the former, his Answer was in renewed embraces, thereby satisfying her with what joy he accepted of the advantageous offer she made him, entreating her to give him an account of his Daughter, whom he was passionately desirous to see.  
Estephania overjoyed to find his sentiments so consonant to her expectation, presented him with a noble riding-suit, which she had purposely caused to be made for him, and the next morning betimes they took their journey towards Sevil, where Trapassa finding his Daughter (who might then be about eight years of age) he acted a part he never had done before, that is, was solemnly married to the Lady Estephania, in fancy Ecclesiae. They changed their lodgings, and indeed the quarter of the City where they had lived, being resolved to lead another kind of life than they had done before. For Estephania imagining, that the hardship which her dear Love had endured in the Galleys, had abated somewhat of his former extravagancies, and that the grey hairs he had brought thence would reclaim him from his debauches, endeavoured to get him some creditable employment in Sevil, as well to keep him out of idleness, as out of a consideration that he should bring in something towards the house. But an untoward disposition, such as was that of Trapassa, is not so easily brought into discipline, and if he had as yet behaved himself with some reservedness, it proceeded from the influence, which the perpetual admonitions and rebukes of his wife had over him, and not out of any bent to virtue in his nature; so that, through his own neglect, he could find himself no other employment, than that of frequenting Gaming-houses, and Plays, and those other places, where those, who are naturally inclined to sloth, think fit to spend the greatest part of their time. This carriage of his extremely troubled his wife, who yet willing to avoid all matrimonial discontents, winked at his disorders, and endeavoured to find some comfort in the conversation of her Daughter, whose beauty was already become the common discourse of the City.  
Idleness, the seminary of all sorts of vices, by degrees brought Trapassa into his former custom of Gaming (the Sea wherein so many Estates are wracked) so that beginning at first to play for little (as if it had been rather for Recreation than otherwise) but afterwards venturing more and more, he in a short time made a shift to lavender whatever he could lay hands on of his wife's. She was sensible enough, that many of her things were wanting, and doubted not but her Husband was the conveyer of them; but all she could do was to weep, and bemoan herself, charging none with her misfortune, but herself. Trapassa perceiving her so much troubled, promised reformation; but the damned lechery of Gaming prevailing more and more upon him, his luck was such, that in four years he either sold or pawned whatever was worth it in his house. Finding himself at last reduced to very great necessities, he began to cast about how he might recover himself a little: he would have been content his wife (who was as yet handsome enough) should have condescended to lewdnesses unworthy her recovered reputation, but he perceived she was grown so honest, and so altered from what she had been before, that he had not the confidence to speak to her of any such thing. For she was so extremely troubled at the disordered demeanour of her husband, that she grew in a manner careless of all things; nay she little minded the education of her daughter, who was by this time come into the— teens, and, by reason of these distractions in the family, lived as she pleased herself, appearing every day at her window, and that not with little affectation.  
The grief and regrets which poor Estephania conceived at her being reduced to necessity, heightened by the discontent caused her by her husband, brought her into a sickness, whereof she died about a year after, with a perfect repentance for her past mis-carriages, reinforcing at that extremity all her spirits, that she might die as happy a death, as her husband had occasioned her living an unhappy life. She was very poorly buried, Trapassa having not the means to bestow any more cost upon her than he did. He was in his turn troubled, at her death, and acknowledged, but too late, his great oversight in that he had so long continued his debauches, and that if he had followed her good advice, he might have lived handsomely all the rest of his days. All the comfort he had now left, and all the hope on which he grounded his happiness, was the beauty of his Daughter, which he thought such, as would bring him a Son-in-law, that might relieve his necessities; never considering that the virtue of the Age consists in wealth, and that all perfections and graces have no charm in them, if deprived of the attractions of riches.  
The unfortunate Trapassa, as crushed as he was with miseries, continued still a constant frequenter of the Gaming-houses, not indeed to play himself, for he had not wherewith, but to receive what he had sometimes given, to wit, the Barats, a little present the Spaniards are wont to bestow on those, who look on them while they are playing, when they have had a good hand, and this is commonly the surest revenue of those who have ruined themselves by Gaming.  
The little abode which Trapassa made at his own house gave his daughter the greater freedom to follow her own inclinations. She would be perpetually at the window, which induced abundance of young Gallantilloes to make their appearances in the street she lived in. The Father, who was not ignorant of what passed, though he might have prevented, yet winked at it, out of the desire he had to see his daughter advantageously matched, that she might afterwards help him out of his necessities. This indeed was the most likely means he had to recover himself. He thereupon left the little Rufina (so was his daughter called) to her own liberty, hoping, that, by her insinuations, she would in time have the disposal of their hearts and purses who courted her. His design proved more fortunate than he had imagined, inasmuch as among the many, who languished for her, there happened to be one very rich, who was over head and ears in love with Rufina. She assumed the title of Donna, a title belongs only to women of noble extraction, because her Mother had taken it before her, which if she had not, her Daughter would not have balked it, as being an honour which costs little or nothing.  
The person who was so remarkably her Suitor had the Agency of some affairs of Peru, one whose credit much exceeded his estate, was accounted very rich in the ensuring Office belonging to the Indies, and about fifty years of age. Though he knew well enough that his Mistress had no fortune, and that he must withal be charged with the ruin'd person her Father, yet was he resolved to take her, for better, for worse; whence may be deduced this observation, That when Love becomes Master of an aged person, it is a very hard matter to dispossess him. Laurentio de Saravia (so was this amorous Elder called) was so besotted with the beauties of Rufina, that the Treaty of Marriage was concluded in less than eight days, and he had the earnest of a happiness, which he thought would have lasted as long as he lived. He took his Father-in-law into his house, though he knew him to be a great Gamester. The first days of the Nuptials were spent as they are wont to be in such Solemnities; he gave his wife new clothes, rings, and jewels, yet suitably to her condition; for being a person pretty well stricken in years, he was no lover of excess, an humour which pleased not Rufina, who minded nothing so much as gaudy clothes, and longed for whatever she saw worn by women of a quality much above hers; and this abated not a little of the love she bore her husband, who was of an Indian disposition, covetous, and careful to preserve his estate. Knowing, as I told you, that his Father was a great Gamester, and a person run out of all he had, he trusted not his wife with the keeping of his Cash, no not with the management of what was spent in the house; which quite defeated the hopes of Trapassa, who imagined, that, upon the marriage or his daughter, he should command what were in her power; so strangely was he possessed with the restless spirit of gaming.  
Rufina, perceiving her husband was taken up with his affairs, took occasion to go abroad every morning, upon pretence of a certain devotion she had undertaken, that it might please God to make her a Mother. With this excuse she blinded her husband, but the true motive of her sallies, was to show herself in the Streets and at Church. The first of those who upon sight of her, fell in love with her, was a Citizen's son of Sevil, one of the most debauched young men of his time, one, to say all of him in a word, who had brought himself almost to the same condition as Trapassa: he was descended of virtuous Parents, but his disorders had drowned their good reputation. His name was Ruperio, a Spark of a goodly presence, and one who proved so fortunate in the courting of Rufina, that she was wholly at his devotion, hoping to receive such great presents from him, as might put her into clothes suitable to her beauty, which was more than she could have expected from the Miser her husband.  
The first demand she made to him, was very modest, considering it came from a Merchant's wife, to wit, that he would bestow on her a Gown of the same Stuff and Fashion as a Neighbour of hers had, whom she named, and withal a gold-watch to hang by her side, promising him in requital of that favour that she would not deny him any that lay in her power. Ruperio, who by his insolent boastings had raised her into a persuasion of his being a person that had thousands at his command, promised to do what she desired; but being not able to perform, he set his wits to show that trick, which his purse could not. He happened to be well acquainted with her whose Gown was to be his pattern, he went to her, and entreated her to lend it him, pretending it was only for the representation of a Comedy, which was to be acted in a Nunnery. It could not be denied on such an account; so that at the end of three days, which time he told Rufina that it would be making, he sent it to her house, while her husband was abroad in the City about his business. The Watch he told her was not yet finished, but that as soon as it were, it should be brought her, entreating her in the mean time to accept of another of lesser value, as a hostage for the appearance of the other. She returned him her hearty thanks, was extremely pleased to see that he had been so punctual, and to show herself grateful, she gave him all the satisfaction he could expect from her.  
He took leave of Rufina, who resolved to persuade her husband, that a certain Kinsman of hers had sent her that Gown from Madrid, that so he might not be jealous of her. On the other side, Ruperio was contriving how to get it returned to her, of whom it had been borrowed. Saravia not knowing him, he effected his business by this cheat. About three or four days after the delivery of the Gown to Rufina, he puts himself into the habit of a Servingman, and just at dinner time comes to Saravia's house, saying that he was Servant to the Lady to whom that Gown belonged. Saravia ordered him to be brought in, which being done he told him that he was sent by his Mistress for the Gown she had lent Madam Rufina, only to see the fashion of it. Saravia turning towards his wife, asked her what Gown the fellow would have? She presently knowing her Gallant, Friend, said she to him, come hither to morrow morning, and you shall have it. But my Mistress, replies Ruperio, hath commanded me not to come back without it; for this afternoon she is to go a Christening, at which she is Godmother, and she must needs have it. How shall I know, replies Rufina, that you have any relation to that Lady, and that you now come from her? The crafty Companion perceiving what she would be at, and that she had no mind to return it, The Gown, said he, is of such a colour, the Trimming such and such, and it was sent you in a green cloth, done about with a silk fringe. Saravia hearing him give such particular marks, Sweetheart, said he to his wife, you have nothing to reply, for since he demands it with so much earnestness, it must needs be his Mistress stands in need of it, and if you are unwilling to rise out of your place, give me the key of your Trunk where it is, and I will go and fetch it. Rufina upon this had not a word to say, and at last ready to burst with indignation, she rose from the Table, took the Gown out of the Trunk, and delivering it to Ruperio, Present my humble service, said she, to Madam Leonora, and tell her, I beg her pardon, that I sent it not home sooner, which I could not, in regard she hath not been here since who borrowed it for me to have another made by it.  
The disguised Gallant received the Gown, and left Rufina, her eyes all on fire, and vexed to the soul, to find herself so impudently affronted. Saravia asked her upon what account she had borrowed that Gown; she made answer, That she had done it at the entreaty of an acquaintance of hers, who was desirous to have such another, as being extremely taken with the fashion of it. She persuaded her husband to any thing, who, poor man, understood little of the world besides his trading. In the mean time, she was extremely incensed against Ruperio for the slovenly trick he had put upon her, in depriving her of a garment she was much taken with, and whereof she thought herself indisputably possessed. She thereupon resolved to be revenged on him, what ever it cost her; but thinking to communicate her design to her Maid, who was privy to all her secret designs, Trapassa, who overheard them, came to know the whole story; and being acquainted with the Gallant, as being one who haunted the Gaming-houses, and conceiving himself obliged to revenge the affront done his daughter, he meets him in the street one day, and tells him, he desired to measure the length of his Sword, upon what account he should know, when they were come to the place. Ruperio followed him out of the City, and being out of People's sight, Trapassa told him what had occasioned his giving him that challenge. They presently drew, and made several passes, but at last Trapassa proved the more unfortunate, for he was run through the heart, so that he died immediately, having not the time to make the least act of contrition; a judgement commonly happens to those who lead such Lives as he had done. Ruperio took Sanctuary, and Trapassa's Body was brought to his Son-in-law's, where it was received, with a mixture of joy and grief; joy, that the House was disburdened of one of the most humoursome and insupportable persons in the world; and grief for the future charges of his enterrment.  
In the mean time, Rufina made it appear by her lamentations and tears, that his death caused her as much affliction as it brought her husband joy. She would not hear of any consolation, pretending she had lost all her support in this world, for all the kindred and friends she had were now exchanged for a husband, whom she could not affect. On the other side Saravia thought himself the happiest man in the world, to have a wife handsome and young as his was. But she was indeed a little too handsome and too young for him; that proportion of Age, which Parents ought chiefly to mind in the disposal of their Children, was not observed in this. 'Tis not to be expected an old Man can please a young Girl. When a woman comes once to slight her husband, she is in the way to fancy any body. But for Rufina, the passion she had withal of going highly in clothes, and to be revenged of Ruperio, made her break forth into all the excesses, that exasperated Womankind can fall into, defile the Marriagebed, and implicitly give herself over to all those things, whence she might derive either satisfaction or advantage. Nothing ran so much in her head as the injury she had received from Ruperio, which she thought such, that she would not have Lived, but out of a hope to be revenged of him. But in regard she must have other hands than her own to do that, she sought out all opportunities imaginable to assure herself of a Gallant, who would vigorously execute her commands.  
One of those Fridays, which are solemnised with a great concourse of people from Easter to Whitsuntide, in Triana part of the Suburbs of Sevil, through which passes the Quadalquivir, the famous River of Andalusia, and the Looking-glass of that wealthy City; Rufina went into a Boat covered with branches, to go and see that Festival, to which she was carried, by the express order of her husband, by a Neighbour of his, whom he thought one of the most discreet and virtuous Women in the world. But he was not the first Man that was deceived in a Woman; for, on the contrary, she was one of the wantonest and withal the simplest of the whole Sex. She therefore took up a Boat for herself, Rufina, and two other Women of their acquaintance; but though she had given the Waterman his full fare; yet was she easily persuaded by him to take in other persons into the Boat, and among those, a young Man, who had his Sentinels at the Waterside to give him notice of such an opportunity. As soon as they were got into the Boat, Rufina unveiled, and the Gallant (whom we will call Felician) had no sooner seen, but he was surprised with her Beauty. He thought her so handsome, that he persuaded some of his friends, who stood on the Riverside, to come into the Boat, and to effect that, greased the fist of the Waterman. Being all got in, Felician took his place next to Rufina, into whose favour it was his design to insinuate himself. He was Son to a person of Quality, who had raised himself to a vast fortune in the Indies, and had no Children but only this, who disposing of his wealth, as he pleased, it was conceived it would not be long ere he scattered abroad what his Father had not in so short a time raked together. For he was a constant Gamester, a perpetual Courter of Ladies, and he maintained a considerable crew of Hangers-on, who did him no other service than accompany, and encourage him in his debauches. Besides these noble qualities, he was extremely extravagant in point of clothes, a vice not extraordinary in those young men of Sevil, who have all things at their own disposal, as he we speak of had.  
Having, as was said, seated himself next to Rufina, and his Comrades next to her friends, the Boat put off, and went very leisurely down the River, for which the Waterman was so much the better paid. Felician thought this time so precious that he lost very little of it; he discovered his Love to Rufina in such obliging expressions, that she gave absolute credit to his words, and, by her attention, satisfied him, that she was not displeased with his company. Felician was a very ingenious person, and of an excellent good humour, upon such occasions as those; he delivered himself with such a smartness and grace, that the Ladies were extremely well satisfied, especially Rufina, who thought nothing comparable to his conversation. She gave him her name, told him where she lived, and what profession her husband was of, and in a word made him a kind of Confession of her more secret affairs. Felician was as open to her, concluding his discourse with a thousand protestations of service and obedience. The afternoon was spent in compliments and courtship, and to the great satisfaction of Rufina, who had two designs to carry on at the same time; one, to be revenged of Ruperio, by the assistance of Felician; the other, to cajol the latter out of somewhat towards clothes and her extravagant expenses. Nor did the business happen otherwise than she had designed it.  
From that day Felician began to frequent the street where Rufina lived, especially when he had intelligence that her husband was abroad about his affairs. Rufina, on the other side, resolved not to be over-easily conquered; for when she remembered how she had been served by Ruperio, it raised in her a certain fear of receiving the like affront from another. Before she admitted his entrance into the House, she thought fit to make trial of his liberality. Of this she was in a short time pretty well satisfied, for Felician had been a prodigal all his Life, but upon this occasion exceeded all he had done before, sending her presents of clothes, jewels, and other things, besides the expenses he was at in treatments and collations: So that Rúfina was the most satisfied Woman in the world. 'Tis commonly said, that the higher a Man's enjoyments are, the sooner he is cloyed, but it happened otherwise with Felician, for his affection to Rufina increased daily, and came up to that height it could not well be greater.  
It happened about this time, that Ruperio got at one time above six hundred Crowns at play. He went always very high in clothes; but this unexpected good fortune made him somewhat exceed his former gawdiness. But with that good, he had this ill fortune, to find out, that Felician was seen very often in the street where Rufina lived, and to infer thence, that he made some addresses to her. This jealousy awoke the love he had sometimes had for her; it troubled him that he should have any Rival, and thereupon he resolved to retrieve himself into her favour, and repair the injury, he was now sensible, that he had done her. Upon this account, he passed several times through her street, which caused not a little perplexity to Felician. Rufina was enraged to see that the Impostor had the impudence to make any pretence to her favour, after the notorious affront she had received at his hands. She considered there was no way to be rid of his importunities, but to engage her beloved Gallant Felician in her quarrel, by persuading him, that Ruperio's design was to displace him out of her affection, which if he valued, he would find some means to check the insolence of his Rival, and deliver her from his odious Courtship. See what employments Women do many times put on their Gallants! setting them on, like Cocks, to fight, till they have destroyed one the other.  
Rufina thought it not prudence to acquaint Felician with what had passed between her and Ruperio. No, she took a safer course: She told him, that Ruperio was continually importuning her with very advantageous proffers, which yet, for his sake, she slighted. Felician believed her, and that the rather, in regard he met him every day, and many times in the night, walking the rounds about his Mistress' house. To incense him the more, she added, that were it not for that troublesome person, she would see him oftener than she did. There needed no more; Felician being thus inflamed into jealousy, met with Ruperio one night in his Mistress' street, when he knew Rufina was a-bed, and her husband looking over some Accounts, which concerned his Agency. As soon as Felician had perceived Ruperio, he called him by his name, and having talked a little while together, to avoid the discovery of any quarrel in the Streets, he conducted to a little by-place, which happened to be over against the room where Saravia kept all his papers, and where he than was, very busy looking over them. The two Rivals being come to the place, Felician addressed himself thus to the other.  
Signior Ruperio, I have for some days passed observed, that you have frequented this street more than you should have done, and I was somewhat at a loss to know, what might occasion your coming hither, in regard there are several Ladies of worth, which might oblige you thereto. But I have at last discovered, that Madam Rufina is the cause of your diurnal and nocturnal haunts hereabouts; and this I am assured of, not only by what I have seen myself, but also by the relation of her servants, to whom you speak, and whom you would corrupt by presents to introduce you into their Mistress' favour. I have been her Servant a good while, and the services I have done her have gained me her affection, so far that I have received the greatest favours from her that I could expect. I am not a person much given to boast of my good fortunes; but to prevent your further progress in this affair, I am forced to make you this particular discovery, which I doubt not but you will entertain as a great secret, as every person of honour ought to do. I have acquainted you with my love, and the advantages I have made of it, to oblige you to forbear all applications to this Lady for the future. Which if you do, you will exempt yourself from many inconveniences, and ease me of those resentments, which I am now full of.  
Ruperio harkened very attentively to the discourse of Felician, and Rufina's husband no less, hearing things that concerned him so nearly. And yet though the story he had heard was extremely prejudicial to him, and could not but add very much to his disquiet, yet must he needs stay to take Ruperio's Answer; which was to this effect.  
Signior Felician, I cannot wonder at all, that you should be so careful to observe, with what devotion I courted Madam Rufina, since you were so much concerned in it as you tell me; and I believe you will be as little surprised at my being engaged in the same design, being, as I find you, ignorant what are the grounds of my Love, and the reasons I have to prosecute it. I am as backward as yourself to proclaim the favours I receive from Ladies; but since you express yourself so freely to me, I conceive myself obliged to do the like to you, that you may think my procedure the less strange. I was in this Lady's favour before you were, and I obtained of her the same thing you boast so much of: by some misfortune or other, I have lost it, yet not so, as but that I hope, in time, I reinstate myself into it again, which to do, assure yourself I shall do whatever lies in my power. If I prevail, and that she will admit the continuance of my services, as I hope she may, your only remedy is patience; for I am so far from quitting this pretention, that I shall do my utmost to prevent her giving any entertainment to yours, and bring her to such a pass, as not so much as remember, that you ever thought of her.  
With that they both drew, Felician maintaining, that he only ought to pretend to her, and Ruperio standing upon the same terms. The dispute was soon ended, his Sword, who was in present possession proved the more fortunate, Ruperio, by a thrust through the heart, falling upon the place. The noise of the Swords was not very great, for Felician had done his work so suddenly, that none heard any thing of the quarrel, but only Saravia, who, for his own reputation, would have kept it secret. That the Body might not lie in that place, Felician took it on his Shoulders, and laid it before a Monastery, and went for refuge into another, till he found what would be done in the business.  
Saravia, astonished at what he had seen and heard, began to be enraged against his wife, contriving how to be revenged of a Woman, whose perfidiousness was the more notorious, the greater reasons she had to be gratesul and loyal. She was fast asleep in her bed, never dreaming what had happened in the streets upon her account. The first thing came into Saravia's imagination, was altogether for revenge, to effect which his course would be, to go up straight into her chamber, and to dispatch her, in bed, with a dagger. But he considered with himself, that the Murderer having carried away the dead body from his door, he might be charged with killing her without any cause, and that he would want proof, as having for witness but two servant-maids, who were more likely to depose against him. He therefore resolved, as the surest way to dispatch her, to give her a secret dose of poison, such as might remove her after a certain time: but he thought withal, that he should not satisfy his own just resentment, if he any longer delayed a vengeance which required immediate execution. He proposed to himself another expedient, which was, to leave both City and Wife, and to go to some other place: but that design was soon over with him, he having many affairs undetermined, and fearing the sinister judgements might have been passed upon such a resolution, to the shame and confusion of a man of his age and reputation. This reflection brought him to his first design of sending her going with the poniard. But before he executed that cruelty (which yet rightly taken was not any, but a just punishment for her offence) he thought it requisite, for his own vindication, to leave, in writing, the reasons, which had induced him to commit that murder. He took pen and ink, and began to set down the affront he had received from his wife, and the revenge he had taken: but upon second thoughts, and imagining he had not sufficiently expressed the heinousness of her crime, he tore what he had written; and this he did to the third time, so great were the confusion and disturbance of his thoughts. He set himself down to write the fourth time; but remembering that he was to begin his revenge with adulteries, and could not do it because he knew not the several appellations thereof, he was at last satisfied, that he should be sufficiently revenged if he had but once dispatched his wife. A good part of the night slipped away in these disquiets, viz. in writing, correcting, blotting out again, and tearing all he had written. At last, being absolutely resolved in that rage to execute his design, he made another writing, without any blot, having beforehand well considered what he should set down; and when he had expressed, the best he could, the injury he had received, he was overcome by so pressing a grief that he fell down and died suddenly.  
All this past, while Rufina flept. Awaking of a sudden and not finding her husband in bed with her, she called him, and seeing he made no Answer, she put on her petticoat, and went into his closet, where she found a candle lighted, and Saravia lying on the floor, dead. She was astonished, as well she might; all she could do was to call up her Maids, who immediately came to the sight of this strange spectacle. They were no less surprised than their Mistress at the strangeness of the accident. As they were going to convey the Corpse to one of the best rooms in the house (before the neighbours had any notice of the adventure) Rufina met with a paper, which seemed to be not quite finished, wherein she found these words.  
That my justification may be the better known to all those who shall read this paper, I declare, that all my unhappiness proceeds from the lightness and inconstancy of my infamous wife, who, profaning the holy Sacrament of Marriage, by the sacred Tie whereof we were joined together in the face of the Church, without any consideration of the great affection I bore her, hath prostituted herself to two Gallants at the same time, when having quarrelled for the precedence, which either of them pretended to over his adversary, the more unfortunate of the two was killed by the other, before the window of my house. Having thus been witness os my own disgrace, and heard the whole story of my dishonour, it was but just I should revenge my infamy, thus— Then ended the writing, for death surprising him at that word he immediately expired.  
Rufina was extremely distracted at both what she saw and what she had read, so that, for half an hour, she knew not in a manner where she was, considering with herself, that the greatest secrets in the world will be discovered at last, and that it is Heaven's pleasure they should be so, either for our reformation or our punishment. The death of her husband raised in her a certain mixture of fear and affliction: a fear, to see how sudden it had been, occasioned by the resentment of an injury which she had done him; the affliction, to see her husband deprived of life, and herself ignorant how to disguise so unhappy an accident. A little remorse of conscience, like a qualm over her stomach, troubled her, that she had been so perfidious to a man, who had loved her so well, and, by marrying her, had raised her from beggary to plenty. The great affection which the Neighbours knew that he had always born her, gave her a little confidence, and induced her to take the advice of one of her Maids, which was to carry her husband's body into his bed, and to cry out the next morning so loud, that the Neighbours might here it, whom she might, by her excessive lamentations, persuade, that she had found him dead by her side when she awoke; and that her two Maids, to carry on the cheat, should give out that their Master had taken a surfeit, and died suddenly of it.  
Having thus laid their design, day came, Rufina cried out, and lamented with all her might, and the next Neighbours came in, who found her half-dressed, weeping, and tearing her hair through madness, that she had lost so good a husband. Her two Maids acted their parts very well, by relating the cause of their good Master's death, and saying, that they advised him not to eat so much, or that otherwise he must expect to repent it. All were satisfied with these reasons, and some of Rufina's friends were busy about her, out of a fear she should have swooned, so well did she personate the afflicted Lady. They did all lay in their power to comfort her, who, amidst all her grief, had not forgotten to burn the paper she had found, lest it might have proved a testimony of her miscarriages. Some Officers from the Magistrate, who are never wanting upon such occasions, came in soon after, and upon the allegations of the Neighbours, that the deceased had ever lived very lovingly with his wife, went their ways, satisfied that she had not any way contributed to his death. Saravia was buried, and Rufina was so put to it to act the part she was then engaged in, that she thought not of doing what Widows commonly do upon such occasions, that is, to make the best provision they can for themselves, out of what their husbands have left. So that one of his Nephews, as soon as the Uncle was buried, seized on all in the house, and Rufina was forced to go to Law with him, to recover what she might lawfully lay claim to.  
Let us return to see what became of Ruperio's body. Being found in the morning by the religious Inhabitants of the Monastery, and not known by any of them, they were going, without sans ceremony, to bury it, had they not been prevented by a Citizen, who advised them to expose it in some public place, that it might be known, and that if he were one that had father or mother, or friends in the City, that they might know the misfortune happened to him; that by that means, they would secure to themselves the charges of his interment, as also the fees due for other prayers and devotions, in order to the repose of his soul. This advice pleased the Superior of the Monastery, who immediately sent word to the Magistrate, that they had found in the morning a young man dead at their Chutchdoor. The body was disposed into a little place near the Monastery, with two lighted wax-candles, by which place there passed by not long after a man that knew him. He told them who he was, and then went and carried that sad news to his Friends, who were extremely troubled at his death, his Father having often foretold him, that he would come to such an end; for, from the life he led, there could not any thing else be inferred. He was buried in the Monastery, and a strict search was made for him who had committed the murder: but Sevil being a vast and populous City, no discovery could be made of him. Only Rufina knew who it was, by the absence of her Gallant, Ruperio's death, and the paper she found in her husband's closet. She was infinitely satisfied to see herself revenged of a person, who had done her such an affront; and it was a great happiness to her, that no notice had been taken of the blood, which the deceased had spilt at the place where he was killed. Had the Magistrate known of that, it would have brought her into some trouble, for the Neighbours would have testified, that they had often seen those two Rivals in that little street.  
By this means Rufina is become a Widow, but withal poor and destitute of all accommodations, having only the stock of her beauty to set herself up again; and that, together with her honour (if it may be said she had any left) she resolved to prostitute, that she might live in some measure suitably to what she had done before. Saravia's Nephew, who had taken possession of all his estate, was sentenc▪ d to pay Rufina somewhat upon the account of dower; but it was so inconsiderable, in respect of the expense she was wont to be at, that she was forced to leave the house she was in and take one of a lower rent. Nor had this Nephew what he expected by being heir to his Uncle, for the estate was extremely perplexed, so that having evened▪ accounts with the Creditors, he had but little left for himself.  
Rufina, having removed into another Quarter of the City, and being young, sumptuous in clothes, and perfectly handsome, did not as many other Widows are wont to do, who, as soon as their husbands are marched off, dress themselves as fine as hands can make them, and deriving a little advantage from their mourning seek out opportunities to show themselves to the Gallants purely out of a design to get other husbands. But ours, though young, had had so great experience, that she resolved to play another game, and that no small one.  
There was come in the Fleet from Peru a man born amidst the Mountains of Leon, who had begun his fortune by the relation of a Servant to a Merchant of Sevil, and one who, upon his Master's cost, and some little trading into the Indies, was grown rich, insomuch that within few years, he was accounted one of the ablest Merchants that traded to Peru. He makes another voyage thither, being advanced to a certain public employment, and having thereby added much to his wealth, he was returned again to Sevil, in that years' Fleet, where he sold the commodities he had brought over at double what they had cost him; so fortunate was he in all his ventures.  
Marquina (so was this lucky Merchant called) was a person of about fifty years of age; the most covetous and wretched'st natured fellow that ever was. He grudged himself what he eat and drunk, though even below moderation; nay he many times fasted purposely to spare so much. He had no more servants than he needed; his whole Train consisted in a Factor, a Lackey, a Moor-slave, who looked to his Mule, and a Maid to dress his pitiful Commons. He kept his Family so short in point of victuals, that it was wondered any one would serve him; his Miserdisposition found the whole City discourse; another would have been ashamed of it, but he only laughed at it, applauding himself, and making it his whole business to heap up wealth, whereof he had abundance.  
Rufina hearing this account of him, began to consider all the circumstances, and after she had a little reflected thereon, she concluded, that he might be made an excellent Cully, whom if she could smite, as she expected, her condition would be better than ever it had been. Marquina lived without the City, in a little Tenement he had purchased of one who ought him some money, which he knew not well how to get in otherwise; for he was naturally so perfect a slave to his profit, that he little minded his pleasures. So that he got that Tenement, with a neat house on it, very cheap, and in satisfaction for his debt; it stood near S. Bernard's Monastery, in the midst of a pleasant valley. He lived here to spare the rent of a house in the City; he had so fortified it, that no thiefs, either by day or night, could make any breach into it; all the doors were of extraordinary thickness, the windows had bars and grates, the walls very high and very strong. He had secured the place within with many fire-Arms, which he always kept charged, Halberds, and Partisans, which were disposed near the gate. He was forced to take one person more into his retinue, to wit, a fellow to order his Garden, and to make the best advantage he could of it, a married man, who should carry the fruits and other things to the market to make the best of them, so vigilant was his Avarice. His treasure was disposed into a secret place behind his bed where he lay himself, in strong iron chests; and every night before he went to bed, he, like an overdoing Constable, searched all the rooms in the house. Thus did this wrerched fellow live, though he had no children to succeed him, for he had never been married, nor intended to be, though very advantageous Matches were daily proffered him.  
Rufina had laid her design to bring in this covetous Merchant into the noose, and to effect it, she communicated it to a person who was excellent at such things, and an ancient acquaintance of her Father's Signior Trapassa. This man had played some pranks at Madrid, which had occasioned his removal thence to Cadiz, and his achievements there, his departure thence to Sevil, where he went lurking up and down, and spending some money, which it had cost him more hazard than pains to get. He was one of the most accomplished men in point of Thievery of his time, but very fearful of falling into the hands of Justice, lest there might rise up in judgement against him some of his former offences; which were such as had preferred him to the Galleys, where he had made acquaintance with Trapassa, and had continued it at Sevil. This person (whose name was Garay), Rufina took to assist her in the compass of her design. Having given him instructions what he was to do, and told him, that Marquina returned not to his house, till about Sunset, as he was wont to do, they both passed by Marquina's garden, he on a Mule, and she on a good Horse. She had put off her Mourning, and put on another dress, with a hat and feather, as the Sevil-Ladies are wont to go, when they are in the Country.  
They passed by the Garden, just as the Gardener was opening the door. Garay coming up to him, Friend, said he, here is a Lady would not willingly go into the City to day, if you will afford her entertainment this night. I will satisfy you to your own desires; besides that you will do us an extraordinary kindness, for you will thereby prevent a great misfortune which she cannot otherwise avoid. The Gardener, who was afraid of his Master's displeasure, told him that he durst not be so bold, as to receive any person into his house, without his knowledge, though he had not expressly forbidden him the doing of any such thing. But Garay, who knew the virtue and power of money, took a considerable sum out of his pocket, and giving it to the Gardener, Here, friend, said he, take this in earnest of more. The Gardener's wife longing to know what business they might have with her husband, comes up to them, and seeing the proffers were made him, undertook to lodge the Gentlewoman in her own room, making it appear to her husband, that their Master should never come to the knowledge of it, in regard their houses were at a good distance one from the other, and that they should not be so unhappy, as that he would that night search the whole house, as many times a toy took him in the head to do.  
In fine the wife's arguments prevailed, so that the Gardener was content the Gentlewoman should lodge secretly that night at his house, upon the receipt of six Rials which Garay gave him as an earnest of a greater sum promised him. He thereupon took down Rufina off the horse, and brought her into the Garden, where she took leave of Garay, who had already received the orders whereof we shall give an account hereafter.  
Being come into the Gardener's room, she took off what covered her face, and astonished the Gardener and his wife at the sight of her beauty, though she seemed to be very melancholy, as if some great misfortune had happened to her, to wit, that which she had ready to relate to Marquina, in case she might come to speech with him. The Sun was hardly set, but he came into the Garden: the Negro entering a little before to have the door opened, which he himself locked on the inside, and carried the key along with him. He chanced to be that night a little more weary than he used, which occasioned his going to bed very betimes, after he had eaten a piece of bread, and some of his own Garden fruits, and washed them down with a glass of spring-water. He only visited that part of the house where he lodged himself, and came not down to the Gardener's, which escaped not his privy search, when he thought of it. His family, who kept more fasting-days in the year, than the Church herself had appointed, supped that night, in imitation of the Master, very soberly.  
Marquina gets up the next morning betimes, and gives the Slave money to go to the market, while he went about his affairs in the City, with order to have dinner ready against his return. Rufina was at a loss how to compass her design, finding things fell not out according to her expectation: but still waiting the opportunity, she told her entertainers that she was extremely troubled at her Uncle's stay (so she called Garay) and that all her sadness proceeded thence. The Gardener's wife, who was a good hearty woman, found her all the diversion she could.  
Marquina comes home at noon, with an intention to dine in his garden, and before he sat down, he would needs take a turn about it, to see if any thing were wanting; and he observed that there wanted some pieces of wood for the more convenient watering of the several Knots. As he was going to the Gardeners to see if he had any fit for that purpose, the wife perceiving him coming, very hastily shuffled Rufina into a little back-room, where she was wont to lie: but in regard it could not be done so suddenly, but that Marquina coming in might hear the ruffling of the silks, and see Rufina's shadow, he steps into the room where she was retired, and having found her, he led her out by the hand, and bringing her into the light, he found her so beautiful, that he was astonished thereat. The Gardeners wife wondered, that her Master, instead of chiding her, as she expected, only asked her who the Lady was. She answered, that, the night before, passing by their door with an ancient Gentleman, who seemed as sad as herself, they had very earnestly entreated she might be lodged there but that night, to avoid a great misfortune, which would have happened to them, if they had gone any further.  
While the Gardener's wife was giving Marquina this account, he very attentively considered the strange Lady, who seemed to be extremely troubled in mind, which added to the attractions of her Beauty. Marquina was so taken therewith, that discarding his unsociable and covetous humour, he told the Gardener's wife, that she had done very well, in entertaining that Lady, though contrary to his orders, which in such a case were not to be observed, where compassion and charity plead for the relief of those that are in trouble. This Lady, said he, deserves a better reception than she hath found in your poor lodgings, I heartily proffer her my house, if she will but honour it with her presence. Rufina thanked him very civilly for his obliging proffers, and entreated him to allow her the privacy of some other lodging, for the little time she had to stay there, in regard she expected an Uncle of hers to come and fetch her away that night.  
Marquina, who began to be inflamed, was sorry to hear that her stay at his house would be so short, but after a little pause, he told her, that though it were but for an hour, she would infinitely oblige him, in the acceptation of the proffer he made her with so much affection. She, who expected that cue all the while, told him, that, to make some return to so great civilities, she was ready to wait on him. With that she went to Marquina's apartment, whither he led her by the hand, to the great satisfaction of the Gardener's wife, who extremely wondered to see her Master, contrary to his custom, of a civil and obliging humour. As she passed through the rooms, she took particular notice of all things; for though Marquina were naturally a very covetous person, yet, as to the furniture of his house, he was otherwise. He had very rich Tapestry, Chairs suitable thereto, and Cabinets of Ivory and Ebony, nay indeed many things brought out of the Indics, which though they cost him not much there, are here of very great price. He immediately commanded his Slave to prepare an excellent dinner, an employment he undertook with great alacrity, as knowing he might make some advantage of that extraordinary liberality of his Master. Rufina dined with him, who treated her still with the best the Table afforded, with importunate excuses that there were no better for her.  
As soon as they had dined, he conducted her into a chamber, set forth with a great number of excellent pictures, where there was also a sumptuous bed, of China-work, and entreated her to repose herself on it, a custom the Spaniards have in Summer, as soon as they have dined, by reason of the sultriness of the Country. He entreated also to give her disquiet some remission, out of an assurance, that she should be as safe in his house as in any Sanctuary, and that she should not want any thing lay in his power. She again returned him her most affectionate thanks, and complying with his desires, she stayed alone in the room, which was the same where Marquina took his repose every day. He went into another, where he laid himself down, much troubled and disquieted, as being fallen deeply in love with his fair Guest, and not knowing by what means he might induce her to favour him in what he desired of her, which if he could effect, he concluded himself the happiest man in the world. Before he acquainted her with his design, he was desirous to know the cause of her grief, and what might occasion her stopping at his Garden, and thereby find whether there were any obstruction that might oppose his desires to serve her. To be satisfied in this, it was requisite he stayed till she aw●ke; but she slept not at all, for she spent the time in considering, what Answer she should make him, when he came to question her.  
Marquina thinking it now time to speak to her, in order to the satisfaction of his curiosity, goes into her chamber, telling her it was a close day, and that he was afraid she might over-sleep herself, and craving her pardon that he had taken the boldness to give her that caution. She thanked him for the tenderness he had for her health, and assured him, that she had not refreshed herself at all, the trouble she was in not permitting her to take any rest. He begged of her that she would no longer smother the cause of her disquiet, and renewed the proffers he had made to serve her to the utmost of his power. Having returned him her thanks, and thinking it now time to make some progress in her design, she gave him this relation of her adventures.  
Granada, one of the most famous and eminent Cities of Spain, is the place of my birth; my parents (there's no necessity I should name them) are of the most ancient and most noble families of any in all the Mountains of old Casteel, and the whole issue of their matrimony was only a Brother of mine and myself. My Brother spent the youthful part of his age in courting Ladies, and, among other young persons like himself, he played some mad pranks of youth, which obliged him, for fear of falling into the hands of Justice, to absent himself from Granada; and for my part, I made it my only business to serve and humour those who had brought me into the world. I spent the days at my needle, not taking example from my companions, who only minded their divertisements; nay I was so ignorant what love meant, that I laughed at whatever related thereto, and thought those, who spent their time in courtships and entertaining those they called their Gallants, little better than so many distracted persons. But Love it seems would punish this contempt of mine, and you shall see how he did it. My Father and Mother being one day gone to visit a friend of theirs in the Country, who had buried his wife not long before, I heard in the street the clashing of swords, as if some people had been fight. I looked out at the window to see what might be the matter. I had never been guilty of such a curiosity before, and had it been God's pleasure I should have shunned it then, I should not now be telling you my misfortunes, which are such, that I shall never think on them without tears. I there saw, to my sorrow, three men with their swords drawn, fight against one, who defended himself with so great courage, that he not only made his party good a long time against so many enemies, but also hurt two of them in the head, he himself having received only a slight wound. These three Hectors finding themselves so worsted by one person, resolved to do their utmost to take away his life; so that exasperated by their wounds, they pressed upon him so much, that he was forced to retreat within our gate, where they gave him two several thrusts into the breast, upon which he fell, and was left for dead. Moved with compassion to see so proper a young man so disadvantageously engaged, I came down to the gate, calling my Maids about me, to see what might be done for him, (our house being in a lone-street) for those who were come upon the noise we made were so few, and those unarmed, that they were not able to part them. We locked the doors and brought him in, and a Chirurgeon was immediately sent for. His wounds were so great, that we thought fit to dispose him into a bed, in a ground-room, where my Brother was wont to lie. The young man thanked me very civilly for the favour he received from me; but alas! that good office began with Compassion, but ended in Love. The Chirurgeon viewed his wounds, but could not presently give any certain judgement of them, though he whispered me in the ear, that he thought they might cost him his life. That account of him struck me to the heart, for having seen him fight so gallantly, I must needs acknowledge, that I had even then conceived an inclination for him. But his kind expressions afterwards, and his thanking me so gently for the obligations he said I had put upon him, raised it into a perfect Love. My Father and Mother returned from their visit, and, ere they were got to our house, were told by one of the Neighbours, a person of some quality, what had happened in their absence, and how that I had put a period to a quarrel, by entertaining the wounded party into their house, out of compassion and a fear that he might be killed; whereat they were well satisfied, and commended the charitable office I had done at such an extremity; for they were persons who gladly embraced any opportunity to exercise their charity. They visited the wounded, encouraged him to take heart, assuring him he should want nothing their House could afford, and acknowledged it well done by me, that I had so rescued him, upon which I took occasion to spend most of my time in waiting on him; him, I say, who is the cause of all the troubles and afflictions which lie so heavy upon me. At the second dressing, the Chirurgeon assured us that his wounds were not mortal, which caused much joy in our House, particularly to me, who became every day more and more passionately in love with him. As often as I could get out of my Father and Mother's fight, I went to pass away the time in his Chamber, for which kindness he made me extraordinary acknowledgements.  
This young Cavalier was born at Pampeluna, and one of the most eminent in that City. His business at Granada was to prosecute a Lawsuit, against a very powerful person, who finding but little justice of his side, that the cause was of great importance, and that notwithstanding the favour he had in Court, the Judges must pass sentence against him, would put a period to the Suit by a shorter cut, and rid himself of his Adversary, by employing three Men to murder him, who were his own menial Servants. A month slipped away, ere Leonardo (so was the wounded person named) got out of his Bed, having all that time been attended with as much care as might be. The second day after his getting up, he had the opportunity to see me, for my Mother was gone abroad upon a visit, wherein I accompanied her not, because I had a greater mind to be alone with my young Gallant. He discovered himself to me so opportunely, and gave me such sensible assurances of his affection, that it raised a no less in me towards him, insomuch that there past mutual promises of fidelity between us. I knew nothing all this time that my Father was upon a treaty of Marriage between me and a Gentleman of Granada, who was infinitely desirous to enter into our alliance, while I was very well satisfied with the choice I had made myself. Leonardo, coming to hear of the others pretensions to me, was not a little troubled at it; but the only remedy was patience, in regard he would make no discovery of his Estate, till his Lawsuit were ended, which he hoped would be in a short time, and I in the mean time kept my Father in play with persuasions, that he would not be overhasty in concluding my Marriage with the Granadine.  
Leonardo being perfectly cured, and requiting the kindness and noble entertainment he had received at our House, with many considerable presents, returned to his own Quarters, to bring his business to a final end. For my part, my troubles increased more and more upon me; for my Father, never giving me any notice of it, as if I had been a person not at all concerned, concluded the contract with the Granadine, and passed his word he should have me; which when I came to understand, I was so strucken, that I minded not what I did. This new Servant of mine, who expected ere long to be my Master, came to give me a visit: but I soon satisfied him, that he had reckoned before his Hostess, for whereas he had flattered himself into a foolish imagination that he should have found the kindest reception in the world from me, he met with such a repulse, as he himself concluded, must rather proceed from the aversion, than any indifference I had for him. In a word, being not of those Favourites of fortune, who promise themselves the attainment of things impossible, he easily discovered, that my refusal was the effect of some other cause, than the modesty, which a young Maid ought at least pretend to upon such occasions: and knowing withal that the wounded Leonardo had lodged some time in our House, he presumed, that my disdain towards him was occasioned by the love I had for the other, and thence inferred, that having not been so happy as to prevent him in the acquisition of my favour, he had, at best, but a hazardous aftergame to recover it. The jealousy he conceived upon this presumption obliged him to make trial of all the ways he could imagine, to be assured of it, so as that he might not do any thing, whereof it should afterwards repent him. Should all do so, there would not be so many groundless quarrels. I was in an extraordinary confusion during these overtures; I acquainted Leonardo with my condition; he came to see me that very night, and we agreed, the next, to leave my Father's house, and to go to some of his Relations, where we might be secretly Married. The expected hour being come (unhappy hour to me, considering the misfortunes I have run through since!) as my Dearest and I were going out of the House and crossing into another Street, my jealous Servant (who spent the nights to be assured of his suspicion, which he now found to be too true) presently knew us, and, attended by two Servants, he set upon Leonardo, never thinking of any such surprise; so that ere he had the time to draw his Sword, he received three mortal wounds, and fell down dead, having not been able to speak one word. The little noise which the murderers had made, occasioned the Neighbours to come out with lights, upon the appearance whereof they ran away, fearing they might be discovered. By this time there was a great stir at my Father's, that I could not be found, while I was in a manner dead, to see my Dearest lying breathless at my feet. Having recovered myself, I considered it was to little purpose for me to stay in the street, after such an accident, so that putting off my Pattens, and tucking up my Coats, I ran away as fast as I could, to a friend's house of my Father's, an aged person and very poor, whom I told what had happened to me, and how much it concerned me not to stay any longer at Granada. Whereupon taking a Horse, he set me on him, and brought me to the next Village, where we took up another for him, and thence we are come hither, to avoid my Father, who, accompanied by Officers, makes a search after me, as I have understood by the way. For that reason I thought it not safe, that we should go into Sevil as soon as we came hither, but that it was better I concealed myself in some place near it. It was the pleasure of fortune to direct me to this Habitation of yours, into which, upon extraordinary entreaties your Gardener ventured to receive me for this last night.  
Thus Sir, have you the story of a wretched Maid (if there ever were any such) whose only comfort now is in the good entertainment you are pleased to afford her. May Heaven requite your charity, since there cannot be a greater than to relieve such as are afflicted and persecuted to the extremity that I am.  
The conclusion of this dismal story, which Rufina had had the time to invent and study so well, was a shower of Crocodile-tears, which raised such a compassion in Marquina, that he could not forbear them himself. The subtle Baggage, who notwithstanding her counterfeit tears observed all the actions of Marquina, perceived that he gave credit to her feigned story, and that Love began to enter at that breach which compassion had made in his heart. This encouraged Rufina to prosecute her imposture, being now in a manner confident to bring it to some effect. They continued a good while together, she weeping, as if she had done it for a wager, and he endeavouring all he could to comfort her: but that comfort came not up to the height of offering her the remedy she could have wished, for he had not yet overcome his covetous humour.  
Having with great attention considered the great beauty of Rufina, her affliction, and strange adventures, and that this happiness was as it were fallen into his mouth, he inferred that Heaven, as a signal addition to his former happiness, had directed her to his House. This was the first love that had ever moved Marquina's heart, and, in all sorts of persons that first passion ever acts violently. Is Marquina fallen in love? He must needs then be liberal. Hath he entertained Rufina into his House? That kindness will be the dearest to him that he ever did. O Love! O insinuating Passion, who dost bewitch the World, who dost ruin and beset Men! what Metamorphoses dost thou not work in them? what Dispositions dost thou not change? what Resolutions dost thou not dispense with? what Felicities dost thou not disturb? And what Hearts is it not in thy power to soften? That of this insatiable Miser, which had cast off all sense of humanity towards his nearest Relations, love hath changed; so that he hath transformed a covetous and sordid Person into a liberal and magnificent. He is extremely taken with Rufina; he is passionately in love with her; she will ere long be Mistress of his heart and wealth. She said many things in her relation, which might have betrayed her, had not the affection, wherewith Marquina harkened to her, closed both his Eyes and Ears: nay, he was so prepossessed with his passion, that he would have believed many other things from her, though they had been more improbable than they were.  
The effect of this sad narration of Rufina, was, that Marquina proffered her all the favour and assistance she could expect from him, his Estate, Life, Heart and Soul, giving her the title of absolute Mistress of all he was possessed of, further entreating her, of all love, to give over thinking of her misfortunes, and assure herself that she was in a House where she might command, and that what ever she desired, her orders should be obeyed, as far as it lay in his power. Rufina very kindly thanked him for so many generous proffers, concluding her compliment with a fresh shower of tears, a kind of tempest she could raise, when ever she either pleased, or stood in need thereof.  
With these artifices, she became Mistress of Marquina and all he had, so as that she might dispose of him and it, as she pleased. Her beauty had given him a kind of Itch, and he was mighty desirous to try whether she would be as willing to cure him of it: but he knew not well how to acquaint her with his indisposition; he resolved at last, in case he could do no good upon her by his submissions and presents, to use the last remedy, which was to Marry her. This is a Bait that many times takes the shyest of that subtle Sex; but when they are so taken, he that does it is commonly snapped himself. I told you before, that Rufina had no other design than to examine the Chests of the greedy Merchant, and that she would not be any way engaged till she were secure of her prize; for the rascally trick shown by Ruperio, had made her extremely distrustful.  
Marquina stayed all that day in his Garden, and neglected his business in the City; but the next morning betimes, leaving his Guest asleep, he takes his Mule, and goes about his ordinary occasions, having charged the Gardener's Wife, to get a good breakfast for the Lady, as soon as she were awake, and to have a care of the House. He locked the Chamber-door where his Money was, and as he went out, charged the Gardener not to suffer any to come into his Garden, but the Old man who had brought Theodora thither, for that was the name the dissembling Rufina had given herself.  
That done, he went about his business, attended by the little Negro, whom he gave Money to buy Provisions for a good Dinner. Rufina got up, and the Gardener's wife punctually obeyed the orders she had received from her Master, treating her the best she could, out of this respect, that all the Domestics made their advantage of those magnificences. Rufina comes down into the Garden, where she took occasion to commend the walks, and contrivances of it, for the Gardener kept it in very good order, and well supplied with herbs, fruits, and flowers. Finding the Sun beginning to grow hot, she went into the House, where casually meeting with a Lute, on which Marquina's factor was wont to play, she set it in Tune, and made that her entertainment, till such time as Marquina returned from the City, who hearing her at it, was not a little glad to find that perfection in her more than he knew before. Perceiving that Marquina harkened to her Music, she joined her Voice to the Instrument, to breed one maggot more in his brain than he had already. She sung so excellently, that Marquina was ravished at the melody, and acknowledged that it was not the Voice of a mortal Creature, but an Angel come down from Heaven. He continued his attention a while, imagining she would have begun another Song; but perceiving she laid by the Lute, he comes into the Room, and, transported with joy, How hath this poor Habitation been felicifyed, said he to her, by your retirement into it, most adorable Theodora? What happiness did the hour of your arrival here bring me who never had known any before? What honour have I received in beholding your transcendent Beauty, and to observe in you from time to time a thousand unknown excellencies which are not discovered at the first sight? This house may, no doubt, enter into competition with Heaven itself, since such an Angel honours it with her divine presence. What I say, Madam, is but little, in comparison of the passion I have for your worth, which were it to be commended proportionably to the apprehension I have of it, I think the most eloquent persons that ever were, would be at a loss for expressions suitable to so adorable a subject. You press too hard upon me, Dear Sir, replies the counterfeit Theodora, seeming to blush at those excessive praises; I am not such a stranger to myself, but that I know it argues excess in the highest degree, to bestow such extraordinary commendations, on a person that deserves so little. Had I mistrusted your being within hearing, I would have put off my diversion to another time, since 'tis not unlikely my Voice may seem harsh to you, compared to the excellent ones of this City, which you often hear, unless it be, that generous natures have an inclination to favour persons of mean parts, by flattering them, by their praises, into an imagination, that their endowments are greater than indeed they are. No more compliments, I beseech you, replies Marquina, raised up to the highest pitch of besotted Love, my words come short of my faith, and I am to assure you withal, Madam, that though I have heard excellent Voices in Sevil, (for I must confess there are some such) yet yours is infinitely beyond any of them. Your most humble Servant, Sir, says Rufina, your commendations are infinitely beyond my deserts, and the honour you do me can do no less than raise in me a hearty wish, that my poor abilities might find you some further diversion with this Instrument, since you are pleased to acknowledge yourself so much satisfied therewith: But my troubles are so great and pressing, that in what I did, I minded only my own. I must see them at an end, ere you leave this House, says Marquina to her, and therefore let me entreat you, if you cannot conclude an absolute peace with your afflictions, at least condescend to a short cessation of arms.  
These reiterations of your favours must needs extremely oblige me, replies Rufina, and consequently force me to a grateful compliance with your commands, as far as lies in my power: but I cannot promise it you so fully as I wish, finding the person who brought me hither, hath forgotten he did it, otherwise he would have found some means to have given me a Visit once in three days. Let not that create you any trouble, replies the amorous Merchant, but rather imagine there may be some just cause of his neglect. I have some apprehension, said she, that he may be returned to Granada, out of a fear, that, being missed there, he might be questioned as a Complice of my escape; and this would prove the greatest of all my misfortunes, for if he be gone, he hath carried all I had along with him. Never fear it, says Marquina, for he must have more compassion than to forsake you in so great an extremity; but though he and all else fail you, assure yourself, I shall not, whereof I cannot give you a greater assurance, than you may derive from this sincere protestation, of my being so passionately your Servant, that I imagine not myself to be the same person I was before I saw you. This transformation is wholly to be attributed to your Divinity, and thence you may infer the influence you have over me.  
Having so said, Marquina made an absolute discovery of his Love; the cunning Gipsy pretending she understood not his meaning, returned civil Answers to the proffers he made her, acknowledging herself extremely obliged to him for his kindness, and that she doubted not of the performance of what he was pleased, out of his own good nature to promise. By this time, Dinner was set on the Table; they both sat down, and the entertainment was very noble, suitable to the Love of the Founder; for where that little Deity comes once to reign, the first Act he makes, is for the banishment of all baseness and avarice.  
Rufina and Garay had agreed together, that he should come to her, when he were sure the old Merchant was abroad, and that he should disguise himself like a Beggar, that he might not be known, nor any suspicion be conceived of him. She had studied several ways to chouse the Merchant of some part of his Treasure, but she could not fix on any one she thought might prove effectual, the Chamber where it was Locked being extremely fortified. She had continued there three days ere she had either seen or heard from Garay, and during the time, she expressed so great a discontent, as put Marquina to much trouble, in regard it kept him from making those free discoveries of his Love, which he would otherwise have done. In the mean time Rufina, who watched all occasions, cunningly discovered the place where the Old man hid the Keys of his Iron chests.  
Marquina went, according to his custom, into the City, which being observed by Garay, he comes to his House in Beggars weeds, as they had agreed together, with two Crutches. Being got under the Window, at which Rufina was looking out, he begged an alms of her. She threw him down something, and asked him whence he came, whereto Garay answering that he was of Granada, she seemed to be extremely glad, and thereupon turning to the Gardener's wife, Let us go down a little into the Garden, said she to her, this poor fellow is come out of my Country, I would fain have some discourse with him, to know what news he hath brought thence. The poor Woman suspecting nothing, made no difficulty to let him into the Garden. Rufina asked him how long it was since he had left Granada; whereto he answering, about nine or ten days, she continued her questions so long, that the Gardener's wife weary of their discourse, and having something else to do, left them. Being rid of her, they considered what was to be put in execution the night following, and agreed upon the course they were to take, to possess themselves of Marquina's Treasure.  
That done, Garay departed, and Rufina went up to her Chamber, telling the Gardener's wife, she had understood so much from that poor fellow, concerning her affairs, that it would not be long ere she returned into her Country. The Gardener's wife, and the Maid were little pleased to hear that news, as fearing their Master would, upon her departure, reassume his niggardly humour, and keep as miserable a a house as he had done before, nay haply put himself and all the servants to a greater penance in their diet, to get up what had been squandered away, during her abode there.  
Marquina being come home found Rufina that night more cheerful than at any time before; which gave him the confidence to acquaint her more freely with his love then he had done, and to assure her of the disquiet he was in upon her account. Rufina seemed not to take it amiss, nay by a greater familiarity than she had expressed towards him before, she raised in him some hopes of seeing his desires satisfied: whence the old dotard began to presume, that the fort would in a short time be taken in upon reasonable terms. Upon this presumption, he bestowed on her a Ring, which he had purposely bought for her, wherein was a Diamond worth about an hundred crowns, set about with little Rubies. The Lady gave him many thanks for so noble a present, and in requital promised him a Lesson on the Lute, to which she sung some new Airs, though she quarrelled at the dulness of the Instrument. Marquina promised her a better the next day. They parted for that time, but with different thoughts, Marquina desirous to obtain those favours he expected from Rufina, and to oblige her thereto by presents, which overcome the greatest difficulties; and Rufina contriving how to compass the robbery she intended.  
The next day, Garay (a person of great experience in such designs) got some others of the same profession to carry on the work; and having observed Marquina going into his house, they stayed till he were gone to bed, which was somewhat late, for Rufina, who held a correspondence with them, had purposely kept him up. About midnight, Garay and his Comrades brought a thing that had the figure of a man, stuffed with straw, having about him a cloak, which cast over his shoulder, covered his face, and pitched it over against the principal window towards the garden, which was that part of the house where Marquina lodged, and left it there fastened to a stake they had thrust into the ground. The night was somewhat dark, and so more proper for their design. Having placed that figure, as I told you, they knocked at the door so loud that it might have been heard from one end of the Garden to the other. Marquina awakened thereby leaps out of his bed, it being strange to him to hear such knocking at his garden door, at such an unseasonable time, as being a thing had never happened to him before. He called up his servant, and bid him see who knocked at the door. The servant went out between sleeping and waking to see what the matter was, calling as loud as he could, Who knocks there? But no body answering, and he not minding the figure that stood in the garden, told his Master that there was not any body.  
Marquina upon that got into bed again and composed himself to rest, but it was soon interrupted, for Garay knocked more violently than he had done before, which astonished him the more, and obliged him to send down his m●n a second time, to see what the matter was. Bringing his Master the same account he had done before, he got up himself, puts his cloak about him, and calls at the window, Who knocks at my door thus unseasonably? Whereto no Answer being made, he grew the more enraged; but looking a little more earnestly about the house than his man had done, he perceived the figure planted before his windows. Marquina was extremely afraid, at the sight of a person, who, as he thought, knocked at his door, yet made him no answer, and assuming more courage than he was naturally Master of, he said to him very loud, 'Tis basely done of you, Sir, to abuse me thus, you shall find I am not a person to suffer it; pray keep on your way, and disturb not my rest any more, if you think not yourself invulnerable, and that a brace of good bullets will make no impression in your enchanted skin.  
Having made that bravado he shut to the window and went to bed; but he was hardly got warm in it, ere they began to knock more violently than they had done before; which obliged him to take a firelock, which he kept always ready charged for the security of his money. Opening the window, he found still in the same posture, him, who would not have stirred out of it, had he not been forced by some other. What obstinacy of impudence is it in you, said he to him, very much incensed, to do a mischief, you are nothing the better for, in thus disturbing my rest? 'tis impardonable, and deserves an exemplary chastisement; be you gone immediately from my door, or I shall send you going the next way. Whereupon cocking the firelock, and aiming at him, and the other never stirring, as it were out of a presumption, that he had not any fire-arms, wherewith he might make good his threats, he gave him notice the third time, that he would not oblige him to do a violence which he was unwilling to do. At last perceiving he minded not any thing he said, but as 'twere defied him, he resolved to give fire, not only to frighten him, but, if he could, to hurt him. He shot, and the figure fell to the ground, upon which Garay, who was not far off, cries out with a doleful tone, O God, I am killed; and immediately he and his Comrades made a great noise at the sight of a man so unfortunately murdered.  
Marquina was extremely troubled at what he had done, it being observed, that covetous persons are for the most part cowardly, and extremely fear whatever may cause them any loss. He shut the window, and in a great fright awaking Rufina (who had greater things to mind than sleeping) told her what he had done. She seemed to be extremely troubled at it, and much blamed him, that he had executed so cruel a resolution. For since he knew himself to be safe enough in his own house, he might have suffered them to knock at his door till they had been weary; that he had better endured that noise, and lost a little of his rest, than be in the trouble he was in, that he had been the cause of a man's death. She added several other reasons, which so confounded poor Marquina, that he knew not what to do. She advised him for his safety, to go immediately and take refuge in the Monastery of St. Bernard, it being certain, that if the dead person were found there the next morning, he would be carried to prison, as being murdered so near his house. Marquina was so perplexed, that he wished he had never come into the world; and it is to be imagined, that if Rufina had not been very highly concerned to dissemble upon this occasion, she would have died with laughing. He raised up all his people, and told them what had happened, and all blamed him, for his being so forward to commit such an action, which made the poor old dotard almost mad. He imagined himself already apprehended, his money carried away, and but a small matter between him and hanging, at least if he were obliged by tortures to acknowledge his crime, never considering that it was pardonable for one man to kill another in his own defence. At last, he resolved to go to S. Bernard's; but knew not how to dispose of his money. He thought it no prudence to leave it at the discretion of his Servants; to carry it to a friend's house (in case he had any, for persons of his humour have very few) he had not time. In this distraction he desired Rufina to advise him; she seeming very much troubled, and no less fearful than he, pretended she could not give him any; but after a little pause she gave him that advice, which she had prepared long before, and he followed it. She asked him what money he might have in the house? He ingenuously confessed that he had about four thousand crowns in gold, and somewhat better than half the said sum in silver. I'll tell you what I would do, were I in your case, says the subtle Picara, (since it cannot be carried to a friend's house without being seen) I would bury it in the garden, in some place, where you may afterwards find it, by some mark you shall set to that purpose. This you must do yourself, so as that your very servants may not know any thing of it, lest they might be tempted to prove false to you; for the times are such now, that a man must have a care whom he trusts. I would assist you herein, and keep your counsel, were it not that I am afraid, when the search comes to be made, and I be left here, I shall be the first taken; and I would be loath to run myself into that hazard, having but just escaped those I have acquainted you with. In the midst of his affliction, Marquina was troubled to perceive by his guest's discourse, the disturbance she was in upon his account, and what struck him most to the heart, was, that he saw himself upon the point of losing her. This consideration forced from him not only tears, but also bitter exclamations against the malicious crossness of his fortune. Rufina desired him to be of good courage, persuading him to do as she advised him, and hope the best. So that having commanded all his servants to go to their several chambers, and not to stir thence, he and Rufina, whom only he durst trust, went to the place where the money was. It lay in a huge chest, covered all over with iron-bars, and the keys were so extraordinary, that it was impossible to counterfeit them, or to get a piece thence by any other wile than what was invented by our subtle Ferret.  
They first took out all the silver, and then put the gold into a little box, and, having brought all into the garden, they made two holes, at some distance one from the other, in one whereof they put the silver, and in the other, the gold, setting a mark that they might find the places again. Marquina took along with him two hundred crowns in gold, and gave Rufina fifty, to shift for herself, till the business were accommodated.  
That done, they went up into the house, whence they might see several persons walking with a light; 'twas Garay and his comrades, who represented the Magistrate, which Rufina showing him, advised him to make all the haste he could to St. Bernard's. To do that, they got over the garden wall, as being afraid to open the door, for they perceived the actors of this comedy kept a watch there, with such authority, as if they had really been the Officers of Justice. All Marquina's family followed him over the wall, fearing they might come into trouble for their Master's fault. Marquina and his Mistress lurked somewhere thereabouts, till it was day, that they might have the Church-door open, to get into the Monastery. Garay was hard by, to see what became of Marquina and his people. Finding he had left his house, and got into the Monastery with Rufina, he went about an hour after Sunrising to St. Bernard's, in the habit of a Secular Priest, that he might the better speak to Rufina. She told him how things stood, and how they had buried the money in the garden, and that it was all in silver, intending to reserve all the gold for herself.  
About midnight Garay and one of his Comrades went along with Rufina, disguised in man's clothes, to the garden. They helped her over first, to go and see whether there might be any body in the house, but all were vanished as if the house had been visited. She thereupon called Garay and his companion, and, having taken up the money, they carried it away, and took up their quarters at one of the farthest Inns of the suburbs. Having been merry a while, and drunk their own healths, and to the good success of their future designs, they went all to bed, the two men together, and Rufina by herself. As soon as she found they were asleep, she puts on the same habit, and returns to the garden. She took up the little box of gold, and, without any disaster, got safe to the Inn before her companions awaked.  
The next day, having divided the silver, whereof she and Garay had the best part, and sewed up the gold in her clothes, she left Sevit, taking Garay along with her, who, finding what advantages he might make of her company, resolved to run fortunes with her. They took their way towards Madrid, to which place they will be got, by that time we shall see what is become of Marquina, whom we left in St. Bernard's Monastery.  
Having continued there four days after Rufina's departure from him, he knew not what to think of her that she came not again, as she had promised. He addressed himself to one of the Monks, who had great acquaintances in the City, and entreated him to inquire what proceedings there might be against him, upon the murder he had committed. The Religious man promised him an account of it; but having enquired at those places where he might most probably hear thereof, no body could give him any satisfaction. He thereupon told Marquina, that he might safely go abroad and needed not to fear any thing. He went out one night to a friend's of his, whom he acquainted with all that had passed, as also the great perplexity he was in, desiring him to make a more particular enquiry into the business, than he thought the Religious man had done. He did so, and gave him the same account as the other. Yet would not that satisfy him, but he must desire his friend to go to his house, whereof he gave him the Mistress key. He went, and found it without any body in it, and his Mule dead, for want of meat and tendance. He went with this news to his friend, advising him to come out of the Monastery, and go home, and thence about the City, as he was wont to do. The death of his Mule troubled him not much, so glad was he to find himself once more at liberty: the only thing gave him any disquiet, was, that his Theodora (under which name Rufina went) came not to see him. But he imagined the cause of it might be, that, being a young Maid, she had sheltered herself somewhere, to keep out of the hands of Justice, or that haply she might have been met with by her Father, who, as she had told him, sought after her. He went to his house, whither came soon after the Gardener and his wife, and the other servants. He goes into the Garden, and, notwithstanding all the fear and distraction he had been in, remembered the place where he had hid his money, and was not a little glad to find the mark where he had set it; so that before he went to bed, he resolved to secure his treasure in its former garrison. As soon as it was dark, he takes the Gardener with him, and a Lantern and Candle, and goes first to the place where the Silver was, and bids him dig. He did so, but there was nothing to be found, whereat Marquina was extremely surprised. He went thence to the place where they had laid the gold, and there they found as little, only Rufina knew what was become of all. He walked several turns about the garden, with much vexation, imagining the marks might be misplaced; but what in looking after the marks, and what in digging; the night slipped away, so that at last despairing to find any thing that night, he behaved himself like a person distracted. The Gardener knew not what he looked for, nor for what reason he had brought him thither. The poor man resolved to have a little patience till the next morning, being still in some hope to find what he had hidden. He went to bed, or rather to spend the night in unsufferable torments: but as soon as it began to dawn, he got up, and having called up the Gardener, they returned to the work they had been at the night before. Having digged again at those places, where he was confident he had laid the money, all they could find was, that there had been two holes made there before, and that money or something else had been hidden there, but all was removed. This assurance made him run stark mad, throwing himself on the ground, running his head against the wall, and doing such things as raised a compassion in his servants, who thence concluded that he had lost his money, and suspected the feigned Theodora, to have robbed him, by the orders he gave them to search after her all over the City. But she was far enough out of his reach, and had so well secured his money, that it was not likely it would come into his chests any more. He kept his bed a good while, our of a pure madness, that he had so soon lost, what had cost him many years trouble and pains to get together. The robbery was soon divulged all over the City; some, who knew not his humour, pitied his misfortune, but such as had experience of his insatiable avarice, were not a little pleased to find him so justly punished.  
The end of the first Book.   

LA PICARA, OR The Triumphs of Female Subtlety.  
The Second Book.  
AS soon as our subtle Picara had done her work at Marquina's, and had made a broken Merchant of one, who was accounted the wealthiest about Sevil, she thought it not prudence to make any long s●●y, for fear of falling into the hands of Justice, whose Officers would be abroad, upon the solicitations of the party robbed. She was gotten far enough out of the way, ere he was sensible of his loss, for the next night after they had taken away the Money, she and Garay hired two Mules, upon which they came to Carmona, which lies about half a days journey from Sevil. They had taken up two places in the Madrid-coach, which was to pass through that City, and take them up as it went. They lighted, at Carmona, at one of the best Inns, where Rufina, keeping out of sight, was resolved to expect the Coach, considering with herself, what she might come to in time, now that she was already Mistress of four thousand Crowns in Gold, in good double Pistols and Quadruples, which was all that penurious Merchant had gotten together, during his whole Life, with much pains taking, and many a hazardous venture into the most remote Climates. Behold here, the exemplary punishment, which many times happens to those miserable wretches, who become the Slaves of their own wealth. And what infinitely adds to their misfortune, is, that people are more apt to congratulate than bemoan it: for how can they expect that others should have any kindness for them, when they themselves have not any but for what they lay up in their Chests?  
The Coach which our fortunate adventurers expected to carry them to Madrid, came at its usual time to Carmona. There were in it already six Persons, a Gentleman, and his Lady, a Priest, two University-Scholars, and a Servant belonging to the Priest, a young Lad about fifteen years of Age. They all knew, that there were two persons to be taken in at Carmona, who had paid somewhat extraordinary, for the best places. They accordingly resigned them, as soon as they perceived their coming towards the Coach: but Garay, who was a very civil and obliging person, would needs recommend his interest in the place to the Gentleman's Lady, whom he seated on the left side of Rufina, and sat himself in the forepart of the Coach, with her Husband.  
All being placed to their content, they left Carmona on the Monday morning, it being in September, when most Fruits are ripe. All thought it a great happiness, that they had met so good Company; but Rufina and Garay had another secret satisfaction, arising from the thought of the good prize that had brought them into that good Company. The Gentleman was a Person of excellent discourse; the Priest, of a very sociable and conversative humour, and the two young Scholars made it appear, that they had not misspent their time at the University, every one being desirous to make the best discovery he could of his abilities. The Priest took occasion to tell them, that he was going to Court, to get a Privilege, to put two little pieces of his into the Press, being such as some Friends of his had assured him he should oblige the World in the publication of them. The Gentleman, who sat next him, was a person acquainted with Letters, and expressed a great curiosity to know what they might treat of. Doctor Monsalvo (so was the Priest called) told him they were Books of Discourses, and Divertisements; representing to him that things of that kind, were kindly received at Court: that one of them was entitled, The Staple of Discourse and Compliments; and the other, The Flowers of Helicon; that the former contained twelve Moral Novels, with an intermixture of Verses; and the Flowers of Helicon was a collection of Poems written by him, during his Residence at the University of Salamanca. He told them withal, that, if they thought it not tedious, he would entertain them with somewhat out of the former, when ever they should be at leisure to give him attention.  
Rufina, who was a great lover and reader of such Treatises, entreated the Doctor, if it were no trouble to him, to read one of his Novels, promising herself, from the assurance she had of his excellent parts, that the stile and conceptions would be answerable to the worthiness of the Author. I have endeavoured, all I could, Madam, says the Doctor to her, to conform myself to the stile now used at Court; my Prose is free from affectation, and consequently will not weary the Reader, nor are the conceits so flat as to produce the same effect. I make it my business to give my Writings a little life and smartness, which may raise in the Reader an earnestness to know the period of the adventures. I write as I speak, because I see Men love those things that are natural, better than those which smell of too much study and affectation; and take it from me as a thing very certain, that it requires a certain measure of confidence for any Man to write as the times go now; which proceeds hence, that so many excellent Wits busy themselves in writing, and publish things as admirable as ingenious, and not only Men, who profess Letters, but also some Women. Among the latter, how are we to celebrate the ingenuity of Donna Maria de Zaras, and Soto Mayor, who hath worthily deserved the title of the Sibyl of Madrid, as also the reputation she hath acquired of an excellent Wit, and to do admirable things in Poetry, having lately put into the Press a piece containing ten Novels, which are looked on as so many miracles, by those who are Judges in that kind of writing? The excellency of her Prose, and the subtlety of the designs, together with the insinuating intertexture of the Verses, have given mate to the best Pens of Spain. Donna Anna Caro de Malien, a Native of our City of Sevil, comes not much behind her, and may be allowed near the same measure of praise. Her sweet and harmonious Verses suspend the Spirits, and charm the Ears of all that hear them, as hath been seen, by those published by her the last Carnaval, at the new Palace, built by his Majesty, near the Course, which may be called the eighth Wonder of the World, since she speaks of it, with an eloquence answerable to the preparations which had been there made, many days before, for the divertisement of their Catholic Majesties. The Doctor having ended this discourse, he took out his Book of Novels, and, the Company having composed themselves to silence and attention, he entertained them with that which follows.  

THE FIRST NOVEL.  
All Covet, all Loose.  
VAlentia, one of the most eminent Cities of Spain, the Nurse of so many noble Families, the Centre of ingenious Spirits, and the sacred Receptacle of the Bodies of divers Saints, gave Birth unto Don Alexander, a Person of noble Extraction, Young, and Master of all those excellent Qualities, for which Men are either loved or admired. Having left his Country about twelve years before in the company of an Uncle of his, who had the command of a Troop of Horse in Flanders, he behaved himself with so much gallantry in those parts, that he was in a short time advanced to be Cornet, under his Uncle, who dying, he supplied his place, and so continued twelve years in the service of this Catholic Majesty, Philip the Third, against the revolted Provinces of the Low-countries. He was, at last, in compensation of his Services, honoured with the Order of Saint James, with the ordinary allowances belonging thereto.  
During that part of the year, which makes a kind of cessation of Arms in those colder Countries, his abode was in the City of Antwerp, where, by certain Letters from Valentia, he received the news of his Father's death, which made him, being the eldest, heir of a very considerable estate. He might indeed now have lived plentifully on his own, and pursued his pleasures, as many other young Cavaliers did, who place all the felicity of this Life in the infamous enjoyments thereof: But he, a dutiful Son of Honour, chose rather to continue the exercises of War, and serve his Country, than by a sudden exchange of employments, blast his reputation, and incur the reproach of a person impatient of hardship, and touched with a spice of effeminacy. This consideration discovers him to be much more stayed than those young Gentlemen, who prefer whole Skins, the shameful blandishments of Ease, and the warmth of their own Fires, before the honour, which a person truly deserving that name should endeavour to purchase in the service of his Prince. But Don Alexander considering withal, that he could not, upon this news of his Father's death, avoid taking a journey to Valentia, to order the disposal of his Estate, he desired leave to do it, of his most serene Highness the Archduke Albert, who, finding the just occasion he had to go, easily condescended, proffering him, at his return, what advancement he could reasonably expect: which obliged him to make the more earnest promises to come back into Flanders, contrary to the presumptions of many, who imagined, that he had made an Exit from the Military Stage, thence forward to follow the more pleasant divertisements of a Civil life.  
Being come to Valentia, where his Relations and Friends kindly entertained him, he began to order the management of his affairs, not trifling away his time in unprofitable diversions, whereto young Men are but too much addicted. For though he were a Soldier, yet was he no lover of Gaming, a disposition for which he was much to be commended, considering his Age and Quality: inasmuch as Gaming occasions a thousand misfortunes, and unhappy accidents, whereof there had happened not a few at Valentia. Nor was Don Alexander as yet any way inclined to Love, though he could not want occasions to express his Courtship, and how far he had studied the Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, since what added much to the Lustre of that City, was the great number of fair Ladies, shining in it like so many stars. But his most ordinary employment was the exercising of his Horses. Of these he had four excellent ones, extremely well managed, which he had bought in Andalusia, and on which he road a hunting the Bulls, according to the custom of the Country, showing himself, at that sport, more dextrous than all those who were accounted the Bravoes of the City.  
'Tis a custom in Valentia, that at the beginning of the Spring, for the space of about fifteen days together, most of the families of the City go about the Silk-husbandry, which they have in the adjacent Villages. One day, Don Alexander rid abroad into the Country, through that delightful Plain which is near a Garden not far from Valentia, known by the name of the Monastery of our Lady of Hope, and having spent the whole afternoon about those pleasant Gardens, refreshing himself with the sweet scent of the flowers of the Orenge-trees, whereof there is good store thereabouts, (the Sun being so low that it seemed to be equally divided between us and our Antipodes) he passed by a Country house not far from the pleasant River of Turia, where he heard, at a small distance, one playing on a Lute, so well, that he thought he had not heard any Music comparable to it before. He stopped his horse, imagining the person playing on that Instrument so excellently might also sing to it. He expected a while with much impatience; but the Musician putting the Instrument into several different Tunes, did not what he so much desired, which was, to hear her voice. In the mean time night came on, and Don Alexander extremely delighted with the place he was in, gave his horse to his Lackey, and causing him to remove a little distance off, he stayed alone, under the green Balcony, whence the Music came, to find out who made it. But he had not waited long, ere he could perceive, by the light of the Moon, that it was a Lady, who being got into that Balcony to take the advantage of a gentle wind then blowing, began afresh her delightful Music on the Lute, whereto she joined that of an admirable voice, singing an Air, which made an absolute conquest of that Heart, wherein all the hardships of War had not made the least breach. Whence we may deduce this Remark, That Cupid can do more in a minute, than Mars, in a Troy-siege.  
To say the same thing again in other words, The excellency of the Voice, and the transcendent nimbleness of the hand, the compliance and competition between them, so ravished our young Gallant, that he wished she might never give over, at least not till he were satiated with that pleasure. But the Lady laid by her Instrument, and leaning her breast on the Balcony, though 'twere night, made a shift to see the young Gallant, whom her Music had tied so long by the ears; who also perceiving her, would needs make his advantage of so blest an opportunity. So that getting as near her as he could, he broke forth into this Compliment: How infinitely happy must that absent Gentleman be, Madam, (for in the Verses she had sung, she bemoaned the absence of a certain person) who deserves so excellent a voice to bemoan his absence. I should be extremely glad of his acquaintance, that I may give him that of this good news, that he is so obligingly bemoaned by so deserving a Lady as you seem to be.  
The Lady wondered to find herself surprised, but recovering out of her astonishment, though she knew not the person who had spoken to her, she gave him this Answer. As to the Song you heard, Sir, you are not to imagine it sung out of any tenderness I have for some person now far from me, and therefore you may spare yourself the trouble to learn who it may be, and consequently to tell him how highly he is in my favour, as you imagine. What assurance can I have of that, says Alexander, knowing, by what I have heard from your own mouth, the predominant passion of your soul? How, I pray, Sir, may you be concerned in that, said she to him? Very much, replies he; for the enchantment of your voice hath been so powerful over him who hath heard it, that it is not without reason he requires assurances of what he asks you, to prevent the disquiet, which he must otherwise expect.  
She could not forbear laughing at this discourse of Don Alexander's, and telling him withal, that Women do prudently, when they are flattered, not to believe any thing that Men say to them, in regard they never speak truth, representing things, not as they really are, but as they appear to their beguiled imaginations,. Wherein, I pray, says Alexander, do you think, Madam, that I have told you any thing short of truth? Mistake me not, replied she, I do not charge you with a coming short, but going much beyond it, for you are so prodigal of your commendations of a person you are yet very little acquainted with, nay have not so much as well viewed, that, you must either laugh at my simplicity, or think me a great admirer of myself, if I should credit what you say. To convince you of either your error or palpable flattery, of many, I need only give you this one instance, that, when I myself, and others whose judgements I dare trust, think I do not sing tolerably well, you would make me believe, that my voice hath raised you into ecstasies, when another would not have a minute's patience to hear me. Nay, Madam, replies he, take heed your reproaches rebound not upon yourself, disparage not yourself so far, and slight not Truth so much as to call her by any other name than her own; you have an admirable voice, and the subject of the words you sung must needs be such, since it is not to be imagined you sung them in vain. To make them perfect, there needs only the mixture of a little jealousy, were it not that the happy man, upon whose account those words were made, knowing your worth, cannot give you any.  
Upon this the Lady removed from the place where she was, that she might more commodiously proceed in her discourse with Don Alexander, (though she knew him not) for she imagined he could not talk at that rate without some ground. Which made her say to him, If you make any comparison between that enchantment you speak of, and the suspicion you seem to have, I can assure you, that you are very well read in the art of Flattery, and therefore I beseech you, attribute not a melancholy humour I am subject to, to any regret occasioned by the absence of any person, for I was never yet troubled with any such thing, and I think shall not as long as I live. I would give all I am worth in the world, says he, conditionally what you say were true. Would your hazard be very great in that, replied she? Very little, said he, considering the account upon which I proffer it; but I should say no less were I possessed of all the world, and think it well bestowed. I am extremely happy, answers the Lady, to hear things so highly spoken to my advantage; but I should be transcendently vain, to imagine I should raise love in any person before I am seen by him: nay, I dare promise you, that if you had seen my face, you would not haply be so resolute. My hearing cannot deceive me, replies he, and I presume, that the person, who is so excellent to satisfy that part, may be the like in other things, which the envious night permits me not a view of at present. And when you consider, that in the discourse I have had with you, I have not talked of beams, nor splendour, nor used those expressions, which they seem to have studied; who with affected Hyperboles, make it their business to flatter and abuse Ladies, you should in some measure assure yourself, that I begin to conceive an unfeigned passion for you. Well, to humour you a little, says she, I have some inclination to believe you, which will be much confirmed, if you tell me who you are. I have a desire, said he to her, first to deserve it by my services, that, in case there may be any thing wanting in me, as to Quality, those I hope to render you may supply the defect. Nay then I am satisfied, said she, that you are a person of Quality, when you have such a distrust of yourself. Pardon me that I am forced to leave you, for I hear myself called to receive some company newly come into the house, and if I should not immediately be gone, some would come and find me here. Do me the favour then, says Alexander, to give me leave to wait on you here to morrow at this time. I know not whether it may be in my power, said she to him, however do you not fail to come hither; and though something may prevent my giving you the meeting, yet shall I think myself very much obliged to you. I shall infallibly expect you, replies the enamoured Gallant, more fixed in my resolution than the Stars, you see, are in the firmament. Your last words, replied she, if I cannot-sleep to night, will find my thoughts a diversion to deceive the dull season; but when you come next, I beseech you, be not so liberal of your Hyperboles, methinks they grate the ear, and I think all that use them great Flatterers, and consequently no great honourers of Truth, especially considering how meanly I deserve.  
Having said thus, and given him a very obliging salute, she got out of the Balcony, leaving Alexander in a little disturbance, to see that she left him so soon: for he was extremely taken as well with the excellency of her voice, as that of her discourse. He had a great desire to know who she was, and she had the same curiosity concerning him, for she immediately commanded a servant to follow him, and not to return till he had discovered who he was: which he did without much trouble, inasmuch as not far thence, he saw him get up on horseback, and knew him, and presently returned with the news to his Mistress, who was overjoyed to hear it was Don Alexander, of whom she had heard such noble things, and seen behave himself so gallantly at the Hunting of the Bulls.  
Don Alexander, being come home, enquired of a Neighbour of his, who that Lady might be to whom he had spoken; and describing to him the place where she Lived, he understood her name was Donna Isabel, (the Surname, for some reason, I shall forbear) a Lady of great repute in the City, and of extraordinary endowments, whose understanding was equal to her beauty, Daughter to one Don Berenguel Antonio, a person of great fame for his long services in the Wars, who having quitted the Military life, and Married, well advanced in years, had left that fair Daughter, who was then Fatherless and Motherless, with a very inconsiderable fortune; in regard her Father's estate consisted most in Pensions bestowed on him by King Philip the Second, in requital of his Services. This Lady lived with an Aunt of hers, an ancient Gentlewoman, who for the most part kept her Bed, and was then retired to that Countryhouse, to look after her Silk-husbandry.  
Thus was Alexander fully informed of all he desired to know, though he had already had a particular account of the perfections which made the City of Valentia full of discourses of her Beauty and Wit, which was such that she had the reputation of writing good Verses, a quality very recommendable in a person of her Sex and Quality. Alexander had never seen her, and was very desirous to do it, even before he had seen her; and understanding she Lived at that Countryhouse, his desire was the more inflamed: which made him Ride abroad the oftener, hoping to be favoured with such another opportunity as he had met with before. But he had not that happiness a good while, her Aunt being so sick, that she could not stir out of the room where she lay. About fifteen days afterwards, the old Gentlewoman being a little recovered, she had the liberty to go and see the Profession of a Nun, at the Royal Monastery of Zaida, which was not far from the Countryhouse: At which Ceremony all the Gallantry of Valentia, of both Sexes, was present. Donna Isabel came thither also, but having her face covered with her Mantle, and attended only by one of her Women, she got into a little obscure Chapel.  
Alexander, on the other side, who failed not to be there, hoping to meet her, on whom he had fastened his affections, wondered very much that he found her not among the other Ladies; and suspecting she might be one of those who were retired into that Chapel, and had their faces covered with their Mantles, he went in to them, with two other friends, to whom he said, (presuming it was she as soon as he saw her) The new-made Nun is not much obliged to these Ladies, who retire to a place, whence they cannot see those Ceremonies, which all the rest are so desirous to do: but I attribute this indifference to the little inclination they have to become Nuns. Isabel was not a little pleased to see Alexander, whom she had before observed in the Church, and wished not so well attended as he then was. However, changing her Voice, she returned him this answer. Being not invited to this Feast, we cannot expect the same welcome as those that are: And for the little curiosity we discover to see the Ceremonies used, at the reception of a Nun, having seen the like several times before, we do not much mind this, in regard the seeing of it but once is enough to satisfy a person inclinable to be a Nun. Nay then, I see, says one of Alexander's friends, that you are not of their number who have a desire to enter into that Profession. I have no Answer to make you as to that, replied she, save that a person cannot enter into this state of Life, unless he be thereto called by God, a favour I do not yet find in myself that she hath done me. We may then, replies Alexander, infer from this discourse of yours, that you are not Married, but desirous to be so. What my inclinations are, as to Marriage, said she, I am not obliged to give you any account, who are very far from being related to me so nearly, as that I should acquaint you with my resolution in a business of that concernment. However, you may satisfy us so far, Madam, says Alexander, as to let us know, which condition of Life you would rather choose. Which I pray, Sir, would you advise me to, said she to him? That of Matrimony, says Alexander. What, whether I have the accommodations requisite to enter into that state, or not? replied she. If all be wanting, says he to her, you must endeavour to forget yourself, for she who is not born to be a Nun, and cannot be Married, must remain Neuter, as being uncapable of both. I could very well follow that advice, said she. But if you please, Madam, says Alexander, to discover, what your Mantle permits us not to see, I will give you a better advice.  
Coming up nearer her, as if he were confident of that favour, she met his desires, and purposely gave him a full view of one of her fair Eyes, which Alexander's two friends also took notice of. If the advice you intent to give me, said she, should prove to my disadvantage, 'twere better, I should still continue undiscovered, though to hear your advice, I should not think it much to answer your expectation. That can do you no prejudice, says Alexander to her, in regard we have observed some things which assure us, that you ought to choose the state of Matrimony, in which you would make the person you should think worthy your enjoyments, the happiest Man in the world: Nay, ere I know any more of you than I do already, I wish myself the person, for whom that felicity is reserved. His two friends affirmed the same thing on their own behalf, being extremely satisfied with her Wit, and the little they had seen of her Face, Can there be any happiness comparable to mine, said she, who have three such handsome Persons at my Devotion, of whom it is in my power to make one the happiest Man in the World? Well, Gentlemen, since you cannot expect I should make a sudden choice in a business of this concern, you will give me leave to examine your several perfections, that I may pitch upon him, who, in my judgement, may pretend to most.  
Upon that every one began to celebrate his own worth, and undervalue his Competitors. They passed away some time in that pleasant discourse, without any offence taken, though the place they were in should have minded them, that some other Conversation would have been more suitable: But now a-days, young people are grown to that height of Profaneness, that they make little difference between Churches and Exchanges. But the Lady having had the patience to hear what every one had to say on his own behalf, she answered them altogether, thus; I am fully informed of the qualities, and deserts of Persons every way so excellent; I am now to advise with my Pillow, to know which of the three I should prefer, though to tell you the truth, I have in a manner resolved upon my choice already, finding in myself a stronger inclination for one of the three than for either of the other two. The person I mean hath many excellent qualities, but the particular inducement I have to think him worthy my approbation, is, that I know him to be a very great Wit; all I have to object against him, is, that he fears I am already engaged to some other, whence I infer he is jealous, and consequently of an ill nature.  
Alexander immediately apprehended she spoke of him, reflecting on what had passed in their discourse the first time he had seen her. The time being come for people to go out of the Church, the three Lovers out-vy'd one the other to find out passionate compliments to take leave of the Lady, Alexander purpofely staying to be the last, only to whisper these words to her. 'Tis too great a Tyranny, Madam, towards a Servant so passionately yours, in so long time not to vouchsafe him a full sight of you: I beseech you, be more kind to him hereafter, lest your further disdain may have some fatal effects on him. The indisposition of an Aunt, replied she, whom I must constantly attend, I hope, you will think an allowable excuse; and what I tell you is much more true, than the expressions you make to me of your Love. But I will endeavour your satisfaction, and put a period to your complaints, when, possibly, you lest expect it. Alexander had not the time to make her any Answer, and so he parted from her, leaving her deeply in Love, and extremely desirous to discourse with him more at leisure.  
Some few days after, Fortune favoured her with an opportunity to her own wishes, at the same Balcony where he had spoken to her the first time. As soon as she perceived Alexander, she came down, and they discoursed a long time together without any interruption. The effect of this interview and long conference, upon Alexander, was, that his Love, before little better than kindled, now broke forth into a flame. Isabel came not much behind him, yet had that command of her passion, as not to grant him the greatest kindness that can happen between persons of different Sexes, though it were out of this only reflection, that to have done it, at the first interview, would have argued such a compliance and easiness of Nature, as no Violence of affection should ever be able to excuse.  
Alexander being now fully satisfied that Isabel was both a great Wit, and a great Beauty, writ several Love-letters to her, and the better to express his passion, he also sent her some Verses of his own composure. Isabel knew, that Alexander, among so many other qualities he had acquired, was also skilful in Poetry, and consequently was the more surprised and satisfied therewith. Some of his Missives she very modestly answered in these terms.  
THE LETTER.  
THose Commendations which transcend the merit of the Person on whom they are bestowed, do rather injure, than oblige, and disparage the judgement of the Giver, in as much as the Receiver, thinking herself unworthy the honour, justly takes the Elegy for a satire. I am not so much a Stranger to myself, but that I can distinguish between Flattery and Truth; nor am I so poorly conceited of myself, but that I think I deserve somewhat of the praises you give me. I shall think it an obligation, if you abate some part of what you tell me, and find out a mean between excessive praise and contempt, for the former my own imperfections advise me to look on as an abuse. I have no great experience of your disposition, and therefore think it not strange if I give not the credit you expect to your Poetry, because it is the Language of Fiction; nor yet to your Prose, because it proceeds from the same Author, who, 'tis very likely hath read Romances. Whether they were the dictates of a sincere Affection, or an obliging Compliment, it is only in the power of Time to discover, and with all to assure me, whether I am to acknowledge your civilities, or resent the injury you have done me.  
The fair Isabel found out an expedient to convey this Letter into the hands of Don Alexander, her newly caught Gallant, who, desirous to set himself right in the opinion of his Mistress, and assure her of the sluency of his style in things of this kind, caused the Messenger to stay, and take along with him this Answer.  
THE LETTER.  
I See then, Madam, so that you procure your own satisfaction, you care not what inconveniences I may run into; since that to be more moderate in your praises (as you seem to desire) cannot be without so much the greater prejudice to my reputation, in that I think myself far short of transcendency, in that particular, and I am forced to bring in the excess of my Love, to supply the defects of my Poetry. That I may therefore be no more guilty of such a crime, I will henceforth express myself in Prose, and in some measure do what you command me in your Letter. You would find it no great difficulty to believe me, if you knew what I feel; nay though out of modesty you pretend to be ignorant of it, I defy you to do it, unless withal you resolve never to consult your Glass any more. Well, Madam, it may be the time of your conversion is not yet come, when it shall, your eyes will be opened, and you shall find, that, of all the hearts, subdued by the charms of your Beauty, mine may haply be the least, but withal the most passionate captive. Time, which gives all things their birth, perfection, and period, shall be the Touchstone, to try whether this be Truth or Fiction; nay I leave it to the same old Gentleman to assure you of a thing, you yet pretend to be ignorant of, which is, that, while I live, you shall be sole Sovereign Mistress and Directress of my Inclinations. And then haply good nature, gratitude, and generosity will rather advise you to acknowledgements of the love I bear you, than a resentment of the injuries you charge me withal.  
This Letter gave Isabel that satisfaction concerning her new Gallant, which she expected. The frequent visits were continued of Alexander's side, and the Epistolary correspondence on both sides: so that the inclinations they had one to another were, by these degrees, heightened into a noble flame of mutual love. His Mistress commanded him above all things to keep his pretensions to her very secret, which he inviolably promised to do. Nay she was so scrupulous as to that particular, that if in the Church, or some other public place, her Gallant did so much as cast his Eye on her, in the company of some friend, she immediately imagined, that he acquainted him with his passion; and, as if she had heard all their discourse, she failed not to send him a Letter concerning it, if she could not see him time enough, that he might receive her reproaches himself. Alexander cleared himself the best he could, still assuring her of the contrary; and inflamed with love and indignation, all he could do was to dispel that diffidence, which troubled him extremely. But the same Love, which is wont to reconcile the lesser differences and dissatisfactions that happen between Lovers, helps them also out of the greatest and most difficult. 'Twas Alexander's design to marry this Lady, though her fortunes were very low: but he delayed the doing of it, till he had effected a business he was then engaged to prosecute. His Uncle and himself had done the King very considerable services in Flanders, for many years together, and he was then making his applications to his Majesty for some Command in compensation thereof. And the obstructions and delays he met with in that affair contributed more to his after-happiness, than the expedition could have done, as will appear anon.  
Isabel had taken order that he should not be seen in the street where she lived, much less look up to her window to be seen by her, and it was punctually observed by Alexander, who was not known to have given her a meeting any where. But she herself was the first forgot what she had enjoined; it happened thus. During the time of the Carnaval, which, in Valentia, is celebrated with Mascarades, Balls, Tilt and Disguizes, Alexander had in some of these met with his Mistress, yet without discovery of more than ordinary kindness between them, though they had talked, and danced together. One evening, after the Ball, there was to be a meeting of certain Ladies, at the house of a Friend of Isabella's, to which she with some others had been invited. Alexander and some other friends of his were to be there, not in order to any Ball, but only to discourse. Isabel came there betimes before any of the rest, and soon after her a Woman, very sumptuously attired, attended by two Gentlemen-Ushers of her own retinue, whom her mother had ordered to wait on her to that Neighbour's house, who was very much her friend. Alexander coming into the Room, was very kindly received by the Ladies then present, whom he endeavoured to entertain the most lovingly he could, till the rest of the Company were come in. The Lady who came in last rise from her seat to go and look upon a piece of Tapestry, that was in the room, wherein there were represented lighted Torches; the admiration she expressed at the excellency of the workmanship, obliged Alexander to come also to see it. There was pen, ink and paper upon the Table; Laodamia (so was the Lady called) took the pen in her hand, and drew several strokes upon the paper; Alexander took occasion to commend all she did with such high compliments, that his Mistress, who was already possessed with a jealousy, to see him so near her, was almost ready to burst with indignation to hear them. He, minding only his own diversion in all he did, took no notice of it; nay on the contrary, being acquainted with Laodamia, through her Brother's means, whom he often visited, and a person of much freedom in his behaviour, he continued his gamesome humour, and snatched out of her hand a pen she was making to write withal. After which, having dashed a little ink upon her hand, he jestingly told her, that the blackness of the ink never appeared less than it did then. She pretending to be displeased at that freedom, gave him a clap on the shoulder with her hand, to get off the ink; but perceiving he laughed at the revenge she had taken, she gave him another harder than the former. Isabel, who minded their jesting more than what was said to her by the Mistress of the house, (with whom she was then discoursing) starts like a fury from her seat, and not considering what she was doing, gave Alexander such a blow over the face, that his nose bled. The poor man was extremely startled at it, and all he could do was to take a handkerchief out of his pocket, to receive the blood; telling his Mistress, very coldly, Well, Madam, you see, I have kept the secret you committed to my trust; you have first revealed it, and transgressed the Law you had made yourself. Concluding this reproach with a low Congee, he quitted the Room, and went home.  
Isabel had no sooner given the blow, but she was infinitely troubled at it, not so much out of the respect she bore to the Mistress of the house, who was her intimate friend, as for her, who had occasioned her jealousy. In this Interval, her Sisters, upon whose account this meeting had been appointed, coming into the house, Isabella had the opportunity to retire with her friends into another room.  
Being got together, only they two, My dearest Isabel, says her friend to her, what do you think of? How are you grown another person than what I have ever known you? I have hitherto admired your modesty and reservedness; how you should now be guilty of such a miscarriage in Behaviour, is the matter of my astonishment. The action you have done, assures me, without your speaking, what, in many words, you should hardly have persuaded me to. I was ignorant of this Affection of yours, because you ever kept it secret; and since I know it by this discovery, I am more obliged to your Jealousy, than your Friendship. Alexander is a person of worth and quality; I am very glad he is your Servant. You may henceforward publicly own him, for it is to no purpose to dissemble.  
Isabel was at such a loss, that she knew not what to answer: but having a little recovered herself, I must acknowledge, my dearest Acquaintance, replied she, since this eruption of my jealousy and indignation hath betrayed me, that Alexander is my humble Servant; my inconsiderate passion, hath, to my shame, discovered what I kept not only from your knowledge, but that of all others. I must acknowledge, I say, that Alexander serves me with a violent passion, which yet exceeds not the affection I have for him. I never saw him so indifferent, as he discovered himself in this last action; his familiarity with Laodamia touched me to the quick. That short fury, which we commonly call jealousy, forced me to that extravagant discovery of my love. Since what is passed cannot be recalled, says her Friend to her, let us find out some remedy to alleviate the inconvenience, for it is not fit we should be deprived of Alexander's good company, nor he of the pleasure of this meeting. Besides, we should not give Laodamia the time to make any reflection on this accident, or conceive apprehensions which would be disadvantageous to you. What is to be done in this conjuncture, replied the jealous Lady? The only way I can think of, says her friend, is, immediately to write to him. She followed her advice, and sent him these Lines.  
THE LETTER.  
JEalousies, when they are really the effects of Love, though expressed with some harshness, are rather to be accounted favours than affronts, by a Lover, whose soul exhales a sincere passion towards his Mistress. The injury I have done myself in wounding my reservedness, is greater than the violence you will do yourself in passing by what is now past. It much concerns my reputation, that you immediately return to the Meeting. But if you persist in your resentment, you will have further occasion, if the loss of my favour may give you any.  
A Messenger was immediately sent with this Letter to Alexander, who expressed much gladness at the receipt of it, and, without any recollection, obeyed his Mistress, as being satisfied in mind, that nothing discovers a real passion more than jealousy. He comes very gaily into the room where the Ladies were, which Laodamia perceiving was not a little troubled, for she doubted not of his being in love with Isabel, though she thought so well of him as to wish he had rather addressed his affections to herself.  
Alexander, finding himself in the presence of Isabel, thought it not fit to speak to any other, ere he had first assured her of his compliance with her desires. Approaching her with a graceful smile, he made her this compliment. I have considered this room with as much respect as if it had been a Temple, and your person no less, since it not only kept me from profaning the one, and offering any violence to the other, but also from revenging myself by that kind of Duel, which the Law permits between Gallants and their Mistresses. Isabel replied, Being so much, as I am, a Servant to Madam Laodamia, I have taken upon my account the affront you have done her, when she would have shown you a kindness, never thinking of any Law that permits a man to revenge himself of a Lady by way of Duelling. Laodamia, knowing that that indiscreet action of Isabella's proceeded merely from her jealousy, would not be engaged in her excuse, so that she very confidently made answer thus. There was never so great a familiarity between us, Madam, as might oblige you to take my part with so much passion, in an occasion wherein I should not have wanted confidence to revenge myself: but not knowing any thing that should oblige me to jealousy, and thinking not the affront done to me so great as you would persuade me it were, my precipitation was not accordingly so great as yours. I am very glad you make me the riddle of your interpretations; let them be thought such by whom you please, but for my part, I have already given them a more easy solution, such as none in the company can be ignorant of. Isabella not a little moved at the freedom of that discourse, would have replied; but the Mistress of the house unwilling the difference should go any further, interrupted them, and obliged them to sit down, for several other Ladies were coming into the room.  
Alexander was, that night, not only very sumptuous in his habiliments, but also full of excellent discourses, insomuch that there were few Ladies in the company, who were not much taken with him, among whom Laodamia was the most concerned of any. Her thoughts were full of what had happened between her and Isabel, and show was now resolved to use all the artifices she could, to get away that Gallant from her: wherein at last she had her desire, as shall be seen anon.  
All the favours which Alexander received of his Mistress, were done by her with extraordinary demonstrations of affection, for indeed the Lady had a greater kindness for him than any other, though at that very time she loved another absent Gentleman, whom she had granted more particular favours than ever she had Alexander. For the Gallant then absent had received of her by way kindness, what in matrimony is called Benevolence, and consequently had she not been lost to all modesty, she would have kept the promise she had made him, since the breaking of that and her own Reputation were not distinct actions.  
This Gallant of hers, whose name was Don Fernand Corella, had made a journey to Madrid, to prosecute a Suit at Law against the Count of Concentayna, his Uncle, for a considerable Estate in Lands, which at last was decided in the Sovereign Council of Arragon. He was returned to Valentia, with a Decree to put him into possession of the said Estate, which amounted to two thousand Crowns per annum. Isabel was extremely put to her shifts, not knowing how she should keep in with both these Gallants, and satisfy them at the same time. She considered that her Honour was engaged with Don Fernand, and her Love with Alexander: her affection being so much the more heightened towards the latter in requital of his assiduous attendances, as it was remitted towards the former, by reason of his absence. So that it is as much a miracle to see some Women forget their engagements, (when they to whom they are made are once out of sight) and mind only the present enjoyments, as to see Geese go barefoot.  
But as drowning persons will catch at any thing, and the distressed are commonly glad of any advice. This Lady, whom we represented before one of the greatest Wits of her Nation, reduced to this extremity, must needs advise with a Maid, whose fidelity and secrecy she had great assurances of, resolving in herself to find out some expedient, whereby she might make sure of the one and not lose the other. She received Don Fernand into the House, in the night, thinking she could not civilly deny him the reiteration of a kindness she had once granted him; and she kept the other in hand with Love-letters, allowing him not to see her as often as he desired, as well to add fuel to his love, as that the other, whom she was more obliged to favour, might have the freer access. Her excuse to Alexander was, that she wanted not overseers, that her friends were very shy in point of Honour, that one of them watched her day and night, and that the greatest pleasure he could do her, was, to forbear passing through the street where she lived, till she had assured him that the coast were clear. Alexander who really loved her, and suspected nothing of the imposture, easily credited all she said, and punctually obeyed her.  
Don Fernand was willing to require the kindness he had received from her, by marrying her; but having a mother alive who would not have been well pleased with that marriage, he took occasion to put it off, hoping it would not be long ere she were removed out of the way, as being very ancient. So that he passed away the time very jocundly with his Mistress, while she, by her cunning insinuations and artifices, endeavoured to bring Alexander into a fool's paradise, and make him believe all proceeded from affection.  
There happened about this time a difference between Alexander and another Gentleman, of the most eminent about the City, whose name was Don Garceran, as they were playing at Tennis. Some Friends interposed between them, and 'twas conceived they were made friends; but the reconciliation proved such as neither was satisfied. Alexander was a person of a generous open nature, grounding his gallantry on the employments he had had in Flanders, and imagining that no man, having any thing to say to him, would do it otherwise than by the ways of Honour. But his Adversary, conceiving he had more reason to be offended than the other, who had not expressed so much resentment, smothered his malice, in hopes of an opportunity, wherein he might revenge himself with advantage.  
Don Fernand was gone to a certain place in the Country, where he stayed three or four days. Isabel, who had a great kindness for Alexander, sent him word to come to her house in the night, but so secretly and with such caution that none might perceive it, inasmuch as the freedom she gave him, concerned her reputation in the highest degree. The Amorous Cavalier obeyed her in this, as he had done in many other things she had commanded him, coming thither at such hours as it was not likely any should see him. Thus, by his credulity he promoted the designs of the subtle woman, who would craftily make the most of both her Gallants, so that, preventing their being jealous of one another, nay, knowing that they were Rivals, she gulled them both. Had she been free to make her own choice, no doubt, she would have pitched upon Alexander for her Husband. But Fernand being aforehand with her, she could do no less, though 'twere only out of a fear to lose him, and prevent the reproaches he might make her, than keep him still in play, and expect the performance of the promise he had made to marry her, as soon as his Mother were marched off. But out of an apprehension that even than he might possiblv break his word with her, she thought it prudence, to give Alexander also a little more line. Upon these considerations, she suffered herself to be courted by both: but of this kind of demeanour this Age affords but too many examples, which have bred great troubles and disturbances in the most considerable Families.  
Alexander being now more kindly entertained by his Mistress than he had been, began to conceive a hope to obtain of her, within a short time, the Grand Favour can be expected from a Woman. But he reckoned without his Hostess; for it was her fear, that, if she obliged him in what he so much desired, he might become absolute Master of those inclinations, which she had so dextrously divided between them both. However Alexander passed away the time pleasantly enough, during the absence of Fernand; but as soon as he was returned to Valentia, Isabel began to put on a greater reservedness, and would not be so much as seen by Alexander. She made him such plausible excuses for it, that he, loving her as he did, believed all she said, though not without some suspicion, that there might be somewhat else in the wind: upon which account he often disguised himself, that he might, undiscovered, visit the street where she lived in the night. But he never could meet with any person, of whom he might conceive any jealousy; yet that disguise did him a courtesy; for by that means he escaped being discovered by the Cavalier who sought to be revenged of him. That he met not with Fernand in that street, proceeded hence, that Isabel, foreseeing all inconveniences, had ordered, that Fernand should come to her house, through that of a She-friend of hers, which was in another street, and had a backdoor, leading into a Garden joining unto Isabella's, in whose embraces he spent the whole night.  
It happened, one night, that Alexander being in the street where his Mistress lived, his Adversary, Don Garceran, attended by two of his servants, comes into it by another way. Being not well assured it was he, they followed him at a distance, being loath to do another that mischief which they only intended him. Alexander at last observed them, and finding himself unfurnished with Pistols, to deal with persons who never went without them, as having only his Sword to defend himself, he bethought him to make the signal he was wont at Isabella's door, who, as good luck would have it, was come down stairs, after she had put Fernand into bed. She looks out at the window, to see what her second Gallant would have, who, as soon as he perceived her, desired her immediately to open the door, otherwise he was a dead man, in regard Garceran, his enemy, followed him, and he was destitute of weapons to defend himself. The Lady imagined that Alexander would only have put a trick upon her, and only said so, that he might come in the sooner: but Alexander, with many oaths, affirmed he said nothing but the truth, and that Garceran, with two others, were coming upon him. Isabel was extremely troubled at his discourse, and for answer, told him, that a certain Gentlewoman of her acquaintance was come to see her, and to be her Bedfellow that night, and that she durst not open the door, lest he might be seen by her. Alexander pressed her the more to do it, aggravating the danger he was in, and charging her that she had little love for him, when she denied him entrance into her house in so great an extremity, which the greatest stranger in the world would not have denied him. Isabel told him again, that she could not do it without prejudice to her reputation; that as to the Love she bore him, be needed not doubt of it, since it could not be greater than it was, and called Heaven to witness, that she was extremely perplexed, that she could not satisfy his desires. Alexander told her, that since her friend was in a room above-stairs, she might without any scruple open the door, and let him stay below, till such time as he might retire with safety.  
Isabel, seeing him so importunate, imagined it proceeded from some suspicion he had conceived of her, and that he had seen Fernand coming into the House. To be assured whether it were so or no, she looked into the Street, and saw the three Men who pursued him, and whispering one to another, as being in some uncertainty whether it were the Person they looked for. These circumstances fully satisfied her, that Alexander was in very great danger; and to find some expedient to give him entrance, she bid him expect a little and she would see whether she could open the door. She went up stairs to see Fernand, who, wondering at her stay, asked her what occasioned her going down. She told him her Aunt was not fallen asleep, and that she could not come to Bed, till she were, desiring him to have a little patience.  
Having thus satisfied him, she went into another room, to consider with herself what might be done in such an extremity. On the one side, she saw Fernand possessed of her Bed, a person of a fantastic humour, yet one whom she was engaged to, and had made Master of the most precious thing she had, and still humoured out of a hope to be one day his Wife; so that her Honour was on his part. On the other, the Love she bore Alexander would have prevailed with her, not to suffer him to be assassinated by his Enemies, which he must run the hazard of, if she relieved him not, it being in her power to do it: So that she was strangely distracted, not knowing whether she should follow the dictates of Honour, or those of Love. At last, after divers considerations, that of Honour prevailed with her, and obliged her not to receive Alexander into the house. For if she did, she reflected that her reputation would be endangered two ways; one, that it could not be done without Fernand's hearing of it, who would thence take occasion to break his promise; another, that if Alexander were pursued by his Enemy, and that he should see him come into her house, he would be apt to make an ill construction of it, and that might come to the ears of Fernand, even though he saw him not.  
Having thus resolved to stick to the surer side, she went down stairs, and finding Alexander still at the door, My dearest Love, said she to him, Heaven's my witness, how willing I am to satisfy your desires, by giving you entrance, not only into my house, but even into my heart, which is absolutely at your disposal. I see you are pursued, as you told me, but it were too great an inconvenience to me, that you should be seen coming into my house at such an unseasonable hour, being a person yet so unblemished in my reputation as I am. I beseech you consider with yourself what discourses it might occasion. Besides my Friend, who is my Bed-fellow this night, is awake, and, as Women are extremely inquisitive, she will be desirous to know the occasion of my stay, and who hath kept me so long from her, for there is a very great familiarity between us. Pardon me therefore, that I cannot grant your desire; it is the greatest affliction imaginable to me, that I must leave you in such a danger, but reflecting on that of my reputation, I know you would not have me to hazard it, since I doubt not but you are so generous, as to prefer my Honour before your own Life.  
This unworthy treatment of his Mistress, in so pressing an extremity, went to the very heart of Alexander, nay he was so startled to find himself thus undeceived, that it would not have troubled him much if Garceran had set upon him, that he might be revenged of the affront done him by Isabel, by Dying before her Eyes. I should never have imagined, said he, parting from her, that you could have been so barbarous, as to put me off so poorly in so dangerous an exigency, or so inexorable, upon the entreaties of so faithful a Servant. You never had any real kindness for me; that reputation you stand so nicely upon, would have run no hazard, either as to your Friend, or my Enemy, by your receiving me as a Husband, upon which account only I made my addresses to you, upon which if you, ungrateful Woman, had entertained me, and not insisted on frivolous respects grounded on such maxims as I cannot like, my heart had at this time been absolutely at your disposal. To make it deservedly such, hath been the main end of all my Courtships and Services, but Heaven would not permit it; and since I could find no compassion in your heart, I will go and try what I may expect from my Enemy, with a resolution never to forget a procedure I am so much astonished at.  
Isabel would have made him some Answer, and, extremely moved at his discourse, was resolved to hazard all, to assure him of her affection. But when she went to call him, he was got a great way down the street, pursued by Garceran, who being assured he was the person he looked for, was going to set upon him. His resentment of her unkindness, considering the imminency of the danger, seemed just to her, and being extremely troubled thereat, after she had blamed herself, she quarrelled at Heaven, which in the mean time secured her Lover from danger, and reserved him for happier adventures. Garceran coming within Pistol-shot of Alexander, perceived that he had met with his Friend Don Jaymo, who, with his Servant, was going home to his Lodging, which prevented him from executing his design. For Garceran being, in appearance, and that before several persons, reconciled with him, all would have blamed him, had he assaulted him upon the old account, especially at advantage, and with Fire-arms. So that seeing he had lost such a fair opportunity to revenge himself, he slipped aside, to avoid being known, imagining he had not been discovered. Alexander related the whole story to his friend, and how he had been pursued thither; which he much wondered at, seeing Garceran so little minded the engagement he had made before so many persons of quality, and that so slight a business should stick so close to his heart.  
It was by this time very late, and as well for that reason, as to be satisfied of what he suspected, Alexander being near Don Jaymo's Lodging, resolved to take part of it that night, which his friend was very glad of. They got in, and ere they lay down, they fell into discourse about what had passed. Alexander opened himself to Don Jaymo, and acquainted him how things stood between him and Isabel. Don Jaymo had heard somewhat of the mutual love there was between her and Fernand, and was vexed to see his friend had so far misplaced his affections, and particularly at the resolution he had made to Marry her; whereupon he could not forbear telling him what he had heard of her and Fernand. Which Alexander understanding, he immediately presumed, that the reason why she opened not the door, must needs be, that her former Gallant was with her. A thousand passages came into his mind, but he particularly reflected on the prohibition, which the crafty Gentlewoman had made him, of speaking to her in the night, and that it was only since Fernand's return from Madrid: Upon which communicating his thoughts to his friend, they jointly concluded, that Fernand must needs be in the House with her. To be fully assured of it, they ordered a Servant of Don Jaymo's to examine the business, and to continue in the Street, till it were Day: and for further certainty, another Servant was appointed to stand sentry in the other Street, by which Fernand was wont to get in at a backdoor. With this precaution, they went to Bed together; but Alexander was in such a disturbance, that he could not sleep a wink. About half an hour before Day, one of the Servants brought intelligence, that he had seen Don Fernand going out of the House belonging to Isabella's Friend, and that about the same time, he had seen Isabel in one of the Windows that looked into that Street, looking on him as he went out, and that he was sure it was no other than she herself. This account satisfied Alexander so fully, that all the Love he formerly bore that impudent Woman, immediately vanished. 'Twas not imaginable, that Fernand frequented that House, upon the account of the Mistress of it, who being turned of fifty, could not be courted by any Gallants. Besides, she had the reputation of being a very charitable person in Love-affairs, and was wont to promote the enjoyments of younger people, and to give excellent directions how they might most cautiously accomplish their desires.  
The night following, Alexander would himself, from the House of a certain friend of his, see Fernand getting into the Sanctuary of that charitable Sollicitress, and for his further assurance, he lay perdue upon the Roof, whence he discovered, that that favoured Gallant continued there, till word was brought him that he might make his entrance into Isabella's. That very night, the dissembling Gossip, would needs endeavour to satisfy her Lover, as to the dissatisfaction he might justly have conceived of her. To leave nothing unattempted, and to keep in as near as might be with all, she sent Alexander a Letter, by a Servant-maid, in whom she reposed great trust, and who was not a stranger to the Loves of both the Gallants, and promoted the design of her Mistress in abusing them, for the advantage she reaped thereby. Hearing she stayed to speak with him, he called her up, and received from her a Paper containing these words.  
THE LETTER.  
Signior Alexander,  
I Should not think the resentment you justly have against me so great as I do, were I able to express the trouble I am in to have been the occasion of it. That I have not been so compassionate as the exigency required, be pleased to attribute to the tenderness I had for my own Honour, the consideration whereof made me inexorable. I love you beyond my own Life; but one of my Birth and Sex may be pardoned, if she sacrifice all things to the security of her Reputation, rather than expose herself to the censures of ill Tongues. You may well imagine, when I denied you entrance into my House, that my good Name must run a strange hazard with that troublesome Bed-fellow, whom, to my unhappiness, I was then forced to entertain. Notwithstanding the resentment wherewith you left me, you could not but observe the distraction I was in: whence you may infer, how thankfully I have since acknowledged the indulgence of those higher powers, who rescued you out of a danger, which I thought unavoidable. You could not have lost your Life in that adventure, but mine must have run the same hazard, and I do not know any thing but Honour, which I should prefer before two things I account so precious. Let me therefore conjure you, to smother your resentment of it, and to appease your indignation: which if I may obtain of you, I shall think all the devoirs your Love may require little enough to requite it. Your compliance with my desires herein will inform me what tenderness you have for her satisfaction and Life, who prays Heaven to preserve yours, as she wishes it may here's, who loves you with all her soul.  
ISABEL.  
Alexander was extremely incensed at this Letter, and though he did all he could to dissemble it, yet the Maid looking on him very earnestly during the perusal, sufficiently observed it in his gestures. He entreated her to walk into the Garden, and stay for an Answer, which was this.  
THE LETTER.  
YOur satisfactions, hitherto, have ever heightened my Love, but this last hath wrought in me a quite contrary effect, for I know it to be as far from truth, as I am from dissimulation. I never thought myself a person to be entertained only to pass away the tedious interval of another Man's absence, nor to act the ridiculous part you have put me upon, only to come upon the Stage, between the several Acts of your secret prostitutions. If it be any satisfaction to you, know, I have disengaged all resentments of your Hypocrisy, and shall never complain of the frivolous Elusions, wherein you suffered my Love to Languish; no, I am more obliged to your Denials, than ever I should have been to your Caresses. My Life indeed would have been secured, if you had received me into your House; but my Honour would have been irrecoverably lost, if, without my discovery of it, you could have exercised your Charity on two several persons, the same night. 'Tis very probable you loved me beyond your own Life, when, being so closely engaged to another, you thought me the fittest Person in the World to make your Diversion. I am really obliged to those who intended to be my Murderers, since by their means I came to discover your imposture. Make sure of that fortunate Gallant, whom your charitable Neighbour was ushering to your Bed, while I was knocking at your Door. Make sure of him, perfidious Woman, and henceforth, keep all your Cares and all your Caresses only for him. Live as happily with him as the Conscience of your Inhumanity towards me will permit, and never think more of Alexander, who, for his part, disclaims all future thoughts of you.  
It was not long ere this Letter came to the hands of Isabel, whom the Maid found in that Neighbour's House of hers, through which Fernand had access to her. She received it with some disturbance, and ask the Maid, what humour she found him in, she told her, that he had made her a very cold Reception, and that he expressed nothing of the Kindnesses he was wont to do, at other times. Isabella a little cast down at that discourse, It seems then, said she, I am not to promise myself any great satisfaction from this Letter. Having opened and read it, she was like one put into a fright, not able to speak. Her Friend asked her what it contained? she thinking it too great a burden, to acquaint her by word of Mouth, gave her the Letter to peruse. The old Croney, no less disturb than the young Mistress, found, that Fernand's love was discovered, to the great disadvantage of her Reputation, in as much as it clearly expressed, that it was through her House, Fernand made his approaches to her Friend, whereat she was extremely afflicted. Isabel was so troubled at the contents of that Letter, that she cursed the day and hour she had suffered Alexander to court her: The only comfort she could raise to herself, was, that she knew him to be of so generous a disposition, that, though he had a just occasion to be incensed against her, yet would he conceal her weakness, and not publish the correspondence there had been between them. This kind of generosity might haply be a little practised in the Golden Age, for the people living in this, have so far forgot the Tradition, that they aggravate Truths deplorable enough, with affected Lies and Calumnies, for which we must ever acknowledge ourselves obliged to the ruling Casuists of the Times.  
But Isabella's unhappiness was not yet come to its height, and the malice of her ill fortune thought not this affliction heavy enough. When the wheel of that vagabond-Goddess begins to turn, every spoke of it brings a new misfortune, one disgrace coming still in the neck of another. It happened then, that as the Maid was coming out of Alexander's lodgings, to bring the Letter to her Mistress, Fernand saw her with it in her hand, she having been careless to hide it, because she was dissatisfied with Alexander, who had only that time omitted to make her some present. Fernand immediately began to suspect somewhat, and, undiscovered, followed her to the house where Isabel was, and got into one of the upper-rooms, without any body's taking notice of it. The Maid, by a second oversight, having left the door open, he easily saw what passed, he heard the Letter read from one end to the other, and withal, their several discourses and comments upon it; the afflicted Lady bursting forth into indignation at every word, and not imagining she was overheard, she sufficiently expressed her resentment of so pressing a misfortune.  
The Gentleman in the next room, who would have been glad of any occasion to break the promise he had made to marry her (for a Lover once admitted to enjoyment hath other-guise thoughts than he who is still kept in hope) hearing all these things, conceived them a very fair pretence to disengage himself. He therefore goes very confidently into the room where they were, and addressing himself to Isabel, who was most startled at his presence, I expected, said he, considering the mutual obligations between us, that you would have corresponded thereto, with a sincerity suitable to my desires, which aimed only at this, to see us one day made one by marriage, and to enjoy those pleasures lawfully, and without any sting or remorse, which we have, upon hopes of the accomplishment of that sacred Tie, presumed to anticipate. But since, ungrateful creature, I find you lost to all modesty, and have entertained new Gallants, I am free, to dispose of myself as I shall think most convenient: since it were neither just, nor rational, I should be inseparably bound to a person, destitute of all conduct and honour, and so live the rest of my days in perpetual jealousies and distrusts. Having so said, he left the room, a little troubled at the distraction of the Women, but well satisfied in his own thoughts, that he had drawn his neck out of the collar, that is, shifted himself out of an affair, which bred him a great deal of trouble, since his prosecution of it to that point had been with the dis-approbation of his Mother.  
'Tis not to be imagined, that the constancy of any Woman, should be able to endure so great a shock of misfortune. Isabel fell into a swound between the arms of her Friend, and continued in it a long time; but at last being come to herself again, she spoke such things as raised a great compassion in her who heard them. She sought for remedies to her misery, and not finding any strong enough to re-engage Alexander, who was acquainted with her former engagement, nor yet to bring back Fernand, whom she knew she had offended, she was not able to smother the grief she conceived to find herself so justly slighted by both. She imputed all her misfortune to her own misgovernment of herself. Whereupon she fell a tearing of her hair, and spoke whatever rage could inspire into a Woman exasperated in the highest degree.  
She passed away the rest of the afternoon in continual disquiet, not finding any comfort in either her friend's discourses, or her own. In the evening, she went to her own house, but her distractions went along with her, so that it is not to be imagined but the night proved as restless, as the day had been unfortunate. Let us a while leave her in her bed, now the secret Remembrancer of her former miscarriages, in the midst of her troubles and transportations, and give an account what became of Alexander.  
As soon as he had dispatched away the Maid with his Letter to Isabel, he sat down a while to consider with himself what course he should take, for he saw there was nothing to be expected there, and that it was not for his reputation, to continue his visits any longer. He had always had a great inclination for the fair Laodamia, ever since she had occasioned Isabel to break forth into that extravagant discovery of her jealousy; He considered she was a Gentlewoman well descended, and of a great fortune; and thereupon he resolved to make his addresses publicly to her, by demanding her in marriage of her Father and Brother, which they, upon the first motion, very willingly granted, even with great demonstrations of gladness, inasmuch as Alexander was a person generally beloved in his Country, as being endued with those qualities, which deserved the respects and esteem of all. The Contract of Marriage was soon drawn up, and the business immediately spread over the whole City of Valentia.  
But when this news came to the ears of Isabel, imagine whether she were not extremely troubled thereat, nay so much the more, in that he pitched on the person, whom of all the world she had most reason to hate, ever since that fatal meeting, wherein she had expressed so much indiscretion. She said a thousand things against her, and made many imprecations against him and herself, charging Heaven with injustice, and sometimes bemoaning herself, and sometimes cursing her misfortune. But it was not only one she had to curse; for the very same day it was seconded by another, yet greater, inasmuch as Fernand, having had a plausible occasion to break the promise he had made to her, treated about a marriage, with another fair and rich young Lady, whom his mother had long before recommended to him. The Contract was in a few days drawn up, and though done as secretly as could be, yet was it soon known all over the City, and it was not long ere the news came to the ears of Isabel. She still retained a slender shadow of confidence in the love of Fernand, which made her imagine he would not break the promise he had made to her, conceiving she had sufficiently obliged him thereto by the highest demonstrations of love and tenderness. Thus she flattered herself, till the very day that she was clearly convinced of the contrary, saw his marriage concluded, and herself absolutely forsaken. But reflecting on the other side, what an unworthy breach of trust she was guilty of, towards him, to whom she had devoted her honour, how could she imagine he should not leave her in the lerch? How could she expect, if they intermarried, he should be able to live with her in perpetual disturbances and alarms? The very day that certain news was brought her of this Gentleman's being married, she fell into such extravagance, that she would be revenged of her beautiful face; she gave herself several blows, tore her hair, and did all the actions, which could only proceed from madness and despair. Her fair eyes became two fountains, perpetually running; and when her sighs and grief gave her a little freedom of speech, Wretched woman that I am, would she say, of whom all good fortune hath taken its last leave; how deservedly is thy ingratitude requited with ingratitude? How justly art thou punished, for having kept thy faith to a base, treacherous, and perfidious person, after thou hadst entrusted him with the disposal of the dearest thing thou hadst in the world? Thou seest, he denies the debt; thou seest, he pays it with inconstancy and oblivion. Let all easie-natured, and inconsiderate women take example by me; let those, who, deluded by flatteries and feigned caresses, are drawn in to lose what they shall never recover again, cast their eyes on my misery, and then consider whether there be any other in the world, whose affliction may be compared to mine. I wish for what all others abhor, Death; but it is deaf and inexorable, nay slights me, and will not come and put a period to my troubles.  
Having thus bemoaned herself into some remission of her grief, she went to see her Friend, through whose house Fernand came into hers; who though she endeavoured all that lay in her power to comfort her, yet was her trouble so great, the cause of it so pressing, and so little hope of any remedy, that all her remonstrances prevailed nothing. The only expedient that seemed then to offer itself, was, to forbid the Banes, since there was some ground to do it. But what proof could be made of so secret a Love, without any promise of marriage in writing, or any testimony, but that of a Servant-maid, who, belonging to her, would not have been so easily credited? A fair warning-piece, Ladies, for those, who, at the same time, admit the Courtships of several Gallants, without making any reflection on their Honours, the loss whereof they are not sensible of, till, by their subtle cajollings, they are brought to remediless extremities. The last and surest expedient this unfortunate Woman could pitch upon, was to become a Nun, upon which account she was received into the Royal Monastery of Zaida, three days after the Marriage of Fernand had been fully concluded.  
This sudden change occasioned a great deal of noise and discourse in Valentia; all wondered at it, especially those who knew her to be one of the handsomest, and the most desirous to be courted, of any Lady in Valentia. It was indeed a kind of miracle, to see a young Lady, who spent her time so passionately at Balls, Plays, and other public meetings, exchange all those nobler enjoyments of life, for the imaginary felicity of mortification and retir'dness. This sudden resolution was attributed, at first, not to the true cause thereof, for things were carried so closely that very few knew it: but to the secret inspirations of that wind, which bloweth where it listeth, and is pleased to amuse mankind with the strange ways it takes, to transplant the affections of such as are ordained to eternal bliss, from the transient vanities of this world, to the constant pursuance of the perpetual joys of a better. Thus this Lady met with a kinder Spouse than she could have expected elsewhere, and spent the rest of her time with great content▪ blessing her former afflictions, and the crosses of her love, which had brought her to the tranquillity she now enjoyed. When she seriously reflected on the gracious designs of divine Love upon her, she thought it an act of gratitude, to acknowledge, to some friends, how it had made her miscarriages the subject of its indulgence, and, instead of punishing, had rewarded her weakness; nay such was her desire to give God the glory of her conversion, that she frequently used this expression, That in that House, wherein there are many mansions, she hoped there was one for such penitent magdalen's as she, who, by timely repentance, expiate the follies of their greener years. Nor was this acknowledgement of hers unrewarded even in this life; for she became the Oracle and spiritual Directress of all those, whose Lovemisfortunes reduced them to any extremity, especially those of her own sex, of whom she so effectually convinced many, that, disgusting the world, they embraced a Religious life. After some years she was advanced to the Government of the Monastery, after she had put forth several little Tracts of Devotion, whereof one was in Verse, entitled, A Basket of Spiritual Flowers, or a Collection of Divine Poems. These spread her fame into divers parts of Spain, but at Valentia, the sanctity of her life, and her charitable directions to such as had occasion to address themselves to her, were the admiration of all, insomuch that she was reputed a Saint, even while she lived.  
Fernand had a wife, but God was pleased to punish his perfidiousness with her barrenness, for she bore him no children; and instead of the great fortunes he expected with her, he had many bags, full of Lawsuits, troubles, and differences with other people, and not a few discontents with his wife. He wished, but too late, that he had rather entered into a Monastery, than into Matrimony, the inconveniences whereof sufficiently convinced him, that Isabel had made the better choice. He visited her often, and was obliged to her for her prudent and pious admonitions. Nay to satisfy the world, that she had left behind her in it all her resentments of his demeanour towards her, there are in a volume of Spiritual Letters which she put forth, several Letters she had written to him, upon occasion of some difficulties he had proposed to her.  
On the contrary, Alexander was the happiest man in the world in his disposal of himself; his Laodamia brought him many fine children, and, by the death of some friends, a far greater fortune than he could have expected. They also visited their old acquaintance Isabel, who received them kindly, and gave them occasion to admire the strange attractions of Divine Love in that person, and the esteem they had before for the excellency of her endowments, was now converted into a reverence of her sanctity, and an admiration of her conduct.   
THis pleasant Novel entertained the Company till they came to their Inn that night. Every one took occasion to commend Doctor Monsalvo, as well for the smartness of his Invention, as for the excellency of his Style. The old Gentleman told him, that if the whole Piece were answerable to the Pattern he had shown them of it, no doubt but his Novels would be very well received in the World, and that he would gain as much Reputation by them, as they had had Pleasure: and thereupon he earnestly entreated him to communicate somewhat of the others to them, that so their Travelling might be the less tedious. The Doctor gave him and all the rest of the Company his very hearty thanks for the good opinion they had of him, and proffered them, when they should be weary of discoursing, to divert them with some of the other Novels, till they came to their Journey's end, provided they thought them not tedious. They all, with much gladness and thanks accepted of his proffer.  
Being come within a Musket-shot of the ancient City of Corduba, heretofore the chiefest of the Kingdom, while the Moors were possessed of all Spain, after Sunset, an unexpected accident caused them to make a little halt. Two Gentlemen being come out into the Fields, upon a challenge, which one had sent to the other, and having fought, one of them was worsted, being run through the Body in two several places; which had obliged his adversary to make his escape, to get into some place of sanctuary. The wounded person cried out for some body to receive his Confession, just as the Coach passed by: which being heard by the Company, Doctor Monsalvo, who was a Priest and Confessor, could do no less than get out, accompanied by Garay, and Mistress Rufina, who had a great desire to see the Wounded man. They came to him, and as soon as the Doctor had received his Confession, and given him Absolution, he lost his Speech, being supported by Garay. The Doctor returned to the Coach, and having called several times upon Rufina, who pretended she could not get away Garay, the Coachman perceiving it began to grow dark, put on the Horses, having sent them word what Inn they should take up. Rufina was much troubled to see the Coach gone, having left her and Garay behind, charitably exhorting the Dying person to recommend himself as much as he could to the mercy of God; but he was so far gone, that, to spare them further Exhortation, he gave up the Ghost. They were much troubled what they should do with the Body, when certain Officers of Justice came in, who, having at a distance seen the Dead person in the Arms of Garay, and a Woman standing by, and had notice before that two Men were seen going out of the City, with a design to fight a Duel, presently imagined, that Garay was one of them, and consequently the Murderer of the other; upon which presumption, he was sent to Prison, and order given the Jailor to put him fast enough. Rufina had more favour, being confined in the House of one of the Officers, who was to have a care to her forthcoming. They both used all the arguments they could to clear themselves, from having any thing to do with the Murder, alleging upon what occasion they came to the Body. But their own words would not be taken, and it was presumed the Duel had been upon the account of Rufina The Judge ordered her to be brought to his own House to be further examined, which was accordingly done. When she came thither, there were in the Room several Gentlemen, and among others a Genoese, a very rich Merchant, whom some business of his own had brought thither. They had no sooner seen Rufina, but they all admired her Beauty and the Majesty of her Air, but the most satisfied of any was the Genoese, who, to give him his due, was of a very amorous constitution. Rufina was extremely troubled that such an affront should be done her by the way, as perceiving that if they were stayed the next day, they should lose the opportunity of continuing their journey. The Judge put several Questions to her, concerning the Duel, and the Gentleman's Death; whereto she answered, that she knew nothing of it, that she was coming in the Sevil-Coach, to go for Madrid, accompanied by some other Persons then in the Inn, whom she named; That as the Coach passed by, a certain Person, who had been Wounded upon the Highway, not far from them, called out for some body to receive his Confession, and that a Priest who was with them in the Coach, went out to do it, with whom also she went out of curiosity, accompanied by an Uncle of hers, who came along with her. They ordered, in regard it was grown late, to adjourn the business till the next day, that a more exact enquiry might be made into it, and, in the mean time, that all who came along with the Coach, should not stir from Corduba, without permission. This done, Rufina was brought back to the Officer's House, where she was to continue that night. The Genoese, who lived not far from it, accompanied her; but though he had lived at a far greater distance, he would have thought it no great way to wait on a Lady, with whom he was already over head and ears in Love. Taking leave of her at the Officer's house, he proffered her all the Services lay in his power, for which she thanked him, yet taking it for no more than a Compliment. The Vexation she conceived at her being thus unexpectedly stayed, brought her into some fits of a Fever, the first, of a Tertian, which she afterwards fell into.  
The next day, all the persons, who came in the Coach, being examined, gave the same account as Rufina had done before, whereupon Garay was set at Liberty. Other witnesses also who knew somewhat concerning the Duel, were heard, and gave the Judges a perfect knowledge of the Murder. Garay went immediately to visit Rufina, expressing himself extremely troubled at her indisposition; he did all he could to cheer her up, that they might prosecute their Journey: but the Physician, who had visited her, advised her not to remove thence, till she had recovered her Fever, and told her, that she could not travel any further, without hazard of her Life; which being so, the Coachman was forced to leave them behind, but they were adjudged to defray the charges of their stay, and he to deliver up what they had in the Coach. The Genoese came often to see the fair Traveller, at the Officer's house, and began to treat her very nobly, an humour the more remarkable in him, who, for sordid niggardliness might be compared to the covetous Marquina; but Love, though but a small Deity, yet many times does very great miracles, turning Avarice into Prodigality, and Cowardice into Courage.  
Rufina kept her Bed fifteen days, during which time, she was constantly visited by Signior Octavio, (so was called the amorous Genoese) and after the Visit, came in a Servant with a treat of Sweetmeats, and Wildfowl, which the Officer and his Wife were glad to see, for the best share fell to them. At last, the Lady, with her Health, recovered also her good Complexion, and her Beauty, and the Genoese continuing his civilities, proffered her a House with a fair Garden, which he had on the side of the pleasant River Quadalguemir. Garay, whom she called her Uncle, advised her not to refuse that proffer, for he had discovered the Man to be extremely in Love with her, that he was very Rich, and that they might get as much out of the Genoese, as they had out of the covetous Marquina. Rufina accepted the proffer, and set things in order to go to the Genoese's, and to continue there till she had recovered herself so well, as that she might prosecute her Journey. The Genoese would not have it known at Corduba, that he had brought her to his Countryhouse, to prevent people's talk, and other inconveniences that might have ensued. So that, with the consent of Rufina, he gave out, that she had left the City in order to the prosecution of her Voyage. Accordingly, there were two Mules brought for her and Garay, and two others to carry their Luggage, and having left Corduba, towards the Evening, to blind the eyes of the inquisitive, they kept on their way towards Madrid: but having Rid out about half a League, they turned back again, and took up their quarters at Signior Octavio's, which was not above two flight shots from the City. There he expected her, with a magnificent Supper, which he had provided. Here the Genoese discovered his Love to her more freely than he had done before. He was a person of about forty years of Age, of a good Manly countenance, having buried his Wife some two years before, by whom he had had no Children. He was a wholesale Merchant, and traded in all sorts of Commodities, insomuch that all the other Merchants, not only of the City, but also of other places thereabouts came to him, for he held correspondences in all parts. He was a very thrifty person, nay, to give him his due character, I should use other expressions. He had some yearly Revenue, besides twenty thousand Crowns in ready Money, and sixty thousand in Credit, and his own Trading, which was very great. He was a great Student, and had studied at Pavia and Bologna, before he became Heir to his Brother, who Died a very Rich man in Spain, and that Inheritance it was, that occasioned his Marriage at Corduba. He had so passionate an affection for Rufina, that he used all the ways he could imagine to insinuate himself into her favour. Upon that account it was that he proffered her the use of his Countryhouse, to take the Air, and recover her Indisposition, conceiving, that, being at his own House, it would be the more easy for him to compass his desires. She had been told by Garay, that this Merchant was a well-feathered Fowl, and might be easily plucked, and since this good Luck had fallen to them by chance, they should make the best advantage they could of it. That night, they only Supped, and every one went to his rest, for it was very late. The Genoese made as if he would have returned to the City, and lie there; but his Servants, whom he had before instructed, persuaded him not to go abroad at that unseasonable time of the Night, for fear of meeting with any Thiefs: besides, there being a Press in the City, many young Men presumed to do mischief in the Night, and robbed all they met. At last, being persuaded not to stir out, he was glad to pass away some part of the Night in discoursing with Rufina, and being got to Bed, his business was to consider, by what means, and with least charge, he might obtain his desires of her. Several things came into his mind, but the easiest he could find, suitably to his humour, was to forget her, and never think of her any more; for he knew the Age we live in to be such, that it is a miracle to get any kindness in Love, without Liberality.  
The next morning he commanded somewhat should be made for her breakfast, not imagining she was up: But when word was brought him that she was out of Bed, the Genoese would needs go into her Chamber, to chide her for rising so soon, and by that means to see whether Rufina's beauty were any way obliged to artifice. He found her kembing her head, and so he had a full sight of her hair, which was of a great length, and of a Chestnut colour. The Genoese gave God thanks, who, with so many other perfections, had bestowed on her such an excellent Head of hair: but he was much more astonished, when, upon her dividing them into two parts, to make him an answer, he saw her Face, as beautiful as it had appeared to him when she went to bed; a thing able to inflame a person less inclined to Love and more to Avarice than he was, inasmuch as there is not a greater charm, to secure a Lover's heart, than to see that the beauty of his Mistress is natural, and scorns to borrow any thing of Art. Rufina indeed was not much troubled to look after waters, paints, pomatums, unguents, and such things, wherewith such women, who stand in need of them, hasten on their age with their wrinkles, and lose their youth ere they are aware. She only washed herself in fair water, and needed no other vermilion to heighten the beauty of her face, than that of her own lively complexion. The Merchant asked whether she would be pleased to see his Garden? She made answer, that she was extremely obliged to him for the trouble he gave himself to divert her; and to satisfy him how kindly she took that favour at his hands, she went along with him just as she was, without putting up her hair, which hanging down over her shoulders, added much to her beauty, and it is not much to be doubted, but she had a design in it. She went down with this new Gallant of hers, who thought it an extraordinary pleasure to have her by the hand; and in that posture she saw the whole Garden, seeming to be much taken with the delightfulness of it.  
Having recreated herself with him, till the Sun Sun began to be somewhat hot, she returned into the house, and broke her fast, after which, having discoursed of several things, she desired to see the whole house. The amorous Genoese desiring nothing so much as that she might see his wealth, shows her a great number of excellent Pictures, done by the best Painters in Europe, some very rich pieces of Tapestry, Cabinets of Ebony, of several fashions, embroidered Beds, and all sorts of Householdstuff of great value. In a word, there wanted not aught of those things requisite for the furnishing of a house fit for a Nobleman. Having seen all the rooms, he opened a curious Closet, near which there was a little Oratory, and in that Closet there were a great many pieces of Painting, done at Rome, of extraordinary value, Agnus-Dei's of gold and silver gilt, and Flowers, done as near the life as could be imagined. The Closet was full of Books, very richly bound, and neatly disposed into gilt Drawers. Garay, who was a curious person, and had read much, was looking very earnestly on the Titles of the Books, which were in one Drawer, and having put that into its place, he took out another, wherein there were others very curiously bound, but had no Titles on the backs. Garay opens one of them, and finds the Author of it to be Arnaldus de Villa Nova, and near that were the works of Rosino, Alquindus, and Raymundus Lullius. The Merchant perceiving him so taken up with the perusal of those Books, asked him what he looked on so attentively. I find here, Sir, replies Garay, a great many Books of Chemistry, and, from the curiosity I observe in your collection of Treatises of that kind, I infer, that you have studied that Science. 'Tis true, says the Genoese, I have spent some time in the perusal of those Authors; but how far, I pray, are you acquainted with them? Only so far, replies the other, that I have spent the best part of my life in that study. Nay then, says the Genoese, you must needs be a very great Chemist. I am not to acknowledge what I am, replies Garay, we shall talk another time of these things more at large; for the present, I shall only tell you, that, besides these Authors, I have read all I could ever meet with that treated of this Science. I have turned over the works of Avicenna, Albertus Magnus, Terno, Pythagoras; the Secrets of Calidus, the Book of the Allegory of Morillus, that of the Secret Stone, and that entitled, De tribus verbis; besides many Manuscripts, which I never showed any man. The Genoese was almost out of of himself for joy to hear these things. I am extremely glad, said he to him, that this Science pleases you, for I have a particular inclination for it. I know it very well, replies Garay, (which he said, having already resolved how to put a slur upon him) but in regard I place a great confidence in you, I will tell you a thing in your ear, which you will be much astonished at. It is this (whispering him in the ear) that my Niece knows, without any study, in a manner as much as I do of this Art, and is very fortunate in the practic part of it, as you shall see by experience. But I entreat you not to speak to her of it at this time, for she would not have it known to any, nay would not take it well. Garay could not have pitched upon a more likely way to bring the Genoese into the gin; for his avarice was such, that he would have parted with his Soul to find out the Philosopher's stone, hoping, if he once got that secret, ever afterwards to swim in gold.  
Rufina busied herself at the other end of the Closet, while Garay made this discourse to the Genoese, and was looking upon some other curious and pleasant Books, for there were of all sorts. Yet was she not so attentive, but she heard somewhat of Garay's discourse, concerning Chemistry, and perceived the Merchant was much taken with it. The truth is, Garay had some knowledge in that Science, and that he had spent a considerable sum of money, to find out the Philosopher's Stone, which though many had sought, yet could not any affirm they had met with it. The success he had had in that business only satisfied him of their folly, who spent their time and estates in so ridiculous a disquisition, and he was glad to have met with such an opportunity, to recover some part of the money he had squandered away therein: for the Genoese, crediting what was told him by Garay, imagined himself somewhat above a Prince. He told him, that, in that very house, he had all things requisite to make the experiment, and thereupon brought him into a room full of Furnaces, Alembics, Glasses, and Crucibles, with all the instruments used by the Chemists, and good store of char-coal. Garay seeing that, concluded the Merchant would be easily taken, and what made him the more confident was, that he imagined he understood all those Books, whereas Garay was satisfied he knew only so much of them as would serve to bring him into the noose. In fine, they gave over talking of it any further at that time, though the Genoese was unwilling to quit the discourse. They went down thence into a ground-room, the windows whereof looked into the fairest part of the Garden, where dinner expected them. After dinner, Garay, pretending it was his custom to take a nap, left the Merchant alone with Rufina, to whom he took occasion to make a full discovery of his love, assuring her, that all he had was at her service, and desiring her to dispose of it as she pleased. She seemed to entertain the proffers of his affection with much kindness, yet at that time she only raised him into a sleight hope, showing herself very pleasant to him.  
Having seen a Lute, in one of the rooms above-stairs, she desired it might be brought down; for her Music, at which she was excellent, contributed much to the bringing about of her designs. The Merchant, who had a little skill at that Instrument himself, was very glad to hear that she used it, and caused it to be immediately fetched, saying that his deceased wife played excellently well upon it, and that about a sev'n-night before, having entertained some of his friends with a Collation, they had set it in tune. The Lute being come, Rufina began to play, and made it appear, that there were very few could excel her at that Instrument. The Genoese was astonished at her dexterity, and to bring him absolutely to her lure, she sung an Air to it, but with such a grace, that he was at a loss, whether he should more admire her hand, or her voice. The truth is, she had a particular excellency in both, so that his excessive commendations of them, were not so full of flattery as might be expected from a person passionately in love. With a modest blush, which spread itself gently over her face (a thing she could command, though never acquainted with shame) she seemed to express a certain bashfulness, and ere it was quite dispelled, Signior Octavio, said she to him, what I have done was only for your diversion, be pleased to receive it with some regard to the desire I had to endeavour your satisfaction; which yet I have not done without much temerity, before a person of so delicate an ear as you are, and one, no doubt, wont to hear the best voices in the world. I never heard any, replies Octavio, that came near yours, and therefore I beseech you, let not your modesty cause you any prejudice; nay rather be proud, Madam, of the excellent endowments you have so liberally received from heaven, and acknowledge the favours it hath done you; be more sensible of your own worth, and think my approbation below it; and yet when I was a young man, I was much addicted to Music, and some would needs persuade me that my time was well bestowed in it. I must confess, the Spanish Tongue comes not so naturally to me as the Italian, the graces and beauties whereof I have better studied upon the Theorbo, which I am so far Master of, as in some measure to satisfy the hearer. Whereupon perceiving that Rufina would have laid by the Lute, he desired her to make use of it a little longer, and to sing one Air more, which she, to honour him, did.  
Octavio took occasion to give his dear Rufina greater commendations for the excellency of her voice than he had done before, and she, to renew her thanks to him, for the favour he did her. He thought it time to give her leave to take a little rest, and he went himself into another room to do the like. Garay, on the other side, instead of sleeping, was contriving how to get the Philosopher's stone, not for the credulous Genoese, but out of him. He had so far persuaded him of his abilities, in that Science, that he desired nothing so much as to be as knowing in it as he was, but all out of no other design than to satisfy his own insatiable avarice. He imagined that if he could find the Philosopher's Stone (a Rock rather, against which so many have wracked themselves) all his householdstuff should be of gold, that he should become a Croesus, and that the wealthiest about the City, compared to him, would be little better than beggars.  
Garay had also a long discourse with Rufina, about the means how they should get the Gudgeon into the net: he gave her some instructions in writing, that the Genoese might find she knew something of the Science, at least the terms of it. Rufina got them by heart, and, to begin the cheat, Garay asked for some links of a Gold-chain she had brought from Sevil. It was a large one, and if there were a dozen links taken from it, they would not have been missed. Being come into the City, he goes into a Gold-smith's shop to melt down those links, and reduce them into an Ingot, which he brought back to the house, and communicated his design to Rufina.  
Octavio, who had slept all this while as sound as if he had not been in love, comes in to them, and they began to talk of several things, far from having any relation to the business he had been about, which Garay did purposely to engage the other to fall first into that discourse, and indeed within a quarter of an hour, he was gotten into the subject of Chemistry. Garay discoursed of it after the rate of a man that had spent his whole estate in the work; insomuch that Octavio was astonished thereat, for though he pretended much skill in the Science, yet could he not but acknowledge himself much inferior to the other. Garay, desirous to give the Merchant all the satisfaction he could desire, told him, that he could turn what Metal he pleased into gold. The Genoese was ravished at the proposal, and earnestly entreated him that he might see it done. Garay asked him whether there were any char-coal in the house; the Genoese told him there was good store, for he had had the curiosity to make some trials thereof himself. They went up both into the room where they had been before, and finding it full of Furnaces, Creusets, Alembics, and other Chemical Instruments, Garay said to him, Here we have all things requisite for the present. He caused some fire to be brought, and having put a little Copper into a Creuset to melt, the Genoese saw it melting: Garay took a box out of his pocket, wherein there was a paper full of powder, which he said was the most principal ingredient in the whole work. He put it into the Creuset, which having brought as cleaverly as he could to a window, he poured out the melted Copper, and put the Ingot of gold into its place, and when he had covered it, he told the Genoese, that it should not be stirred thence for half an hour. That time they spent in discoursing of several things in Chemistry, wherein Octavio desired to make some further progress. At last, Garay thought it time to show him what he had done, and so opening the Creuset, he took out the Ingot and showed it him. The covetous Miser was almost out of himself for joy to see it, though he were not fully satisfied of its being perfect gold. Garay wished him to have it tried by a Goldsmith; which trouble he would needs take upon himself, and having found that it was very fine gold, of twenty two Carats, he returns extraordinarily well satisfied. While he was gone out, Garay instructed Rufina, how to effect their design upon Octavio, who being more covetous than amorous, would have them immediately to begin the great work of finding the Philosopher's Stone. He promised Garay extraordinary recompenses, and told him, that he would be at the whole charge, though it should amount to twenty thousand Crowns.  
Garay, who had contrived how he intended to gull the Merchant, returned this Answer to the great proffers he had made him. Signior Octavio, said he, I am now gone almost seven years beyond the grand climacterical year of my life, which is as much as to tell you, that I have passed the greatest and best part of it. It were no hard matter for me, with the help of the Science I am now Master of, to spend the little which is yet to come, at my ease, and it may be more plentifully, than some of the wealthiest Grandees of Spain; and that I can be without any man's favour or assistance, I think you may have observed yourself. And in regard I have no children, to inherit my estate, which, I thank heaven, is somewhat considerable also in Lands, the main concernment I have in this world, is to look after this young Woman, my Niece. She is already but too rich, in that she hath all I have, though her Father, who was my elder Brother, left her no mean fortune. She might, had she a mind to it, be as nobly married as she was before, for her late husband was descended from the noblest houses of Andalusia. Nor were it hard for me to add to her wealth, you know it; but such is my confidence in you, that I will tell you the reason why I do not. That I am the ablest Alchemist in all Spain, is known to many, which being also come to the ears of his Majesty, I am sought after every where; but I have hitherto had the happiness to keep out of their clutches, who are perpetually employed to find me out, having spread a report, that I was gone ●o● England. It is not out of any contempt of the honours and wealth of this world, that I avoid the searches of those, whom his Majesty hath enjoined to bring me to him, but out of this consideration, that I would not purchase any favour with the loss of my liberty, for I must expect no less, than to spend the rest of my days in a noble kind of captivity. I will express myself more clearly to you. His Majesty hath at the present very great Armies afoot in several parts, which put him to a vast expense, such as his own Revenue and what comes from the Indies are not able to defray: so that, to satisfy his ambition, he is forced to make use of the industry of his Subjects. Now were it my sad fortune to be found by those who so narrowly search after me, the King, knowing that, with the assistance of my Art, he might easily recruit the charge he is at, would immediately dispose of me into some Fortress, where being confined for the rest of my days, I should be perpetually kept at work, to augment his Treasures, and supply his pressing exigencies. I should not think it much to do it once or twice, but the avarice of men is grown to that height, that they are not satisfied with abundance, if they have the least apprehension, that the source of it may ever be dried up. This is the true reason, Signior Octavio, which obliges me to keep out of my own Country, and to play least in sight; and therefore receive what I have told you as a great secret, such as I should not have communicated to my own Brother, had he been in the world: but I have that confidence of you, that you will never reveal it.  
Octavio returned Garay his most affectionate thanks for the great trust he reposed in him, and thought himself so happy in the discovery he had made to him, that he conceived the greatest Nobles might justly envy him. His Answer to him, was, that the grounds and motives, on which he concealed the excellent knowledge he had acquired, were just and rational, since that no doubt but he would be confined, though for no other reason than this, to prevent his carrying over such a Secret into another Country, to serve a King that were an enemy to his Catholic Majesty. He acknowledged himself infinitely obliged to him, and wished it were in his power to serve him; but having only the wealth he was possessed of to proffer him, he entreated him to dispose of it as freely as if it were his own, and since he had shown him a trial of his abilities, that he would not think that enough, but ere he left Corduba, give him such further instructions, as, being observed, he might not miscarry in the great work. Garay promised to satisfy his desires, telling him withal, that so precious a thing as Gold could not be gotten but with Gold, and that the foundations of all designs require charge; that the Philosopher's Stone could not be found without cost and much pains; that if he were resolved, he should attempt the doing of it, he must be at the whole charge, and that afterwards the profit should be equally divided, and that in a short time he would be glutted with wealth.  
The Genoese, ravished at that proposal, proffered to spend all he was worth upon that account. Rufina promised to assist them. Nay, says Garay to her, there is such a necessity of your assistance; that we shall not be able to do so well without it. They thereupon resolved, that within two days they should begin the great work. Garay told him, that the principal of the divine Elixir, (so the Chemists call the perfection of their work) was formed of the solidity of Mercury, and other things which he named to him, together with the urine and excrement of a redhaired child; that all was to be put into an Alembick, with powder of Aloes, the infusion of Opium, Toads grease, Arsenic, and Saltpetre. But he hoped to do it chiefly with the urine and excrements aforesaid, which he ordered Octavio by all means to procure, as being the most necessary ingredient of all.  
He promised to find it, and, to begin the work, the Me●chant delivered him five hundred Crowns in gold, to buy certain precious drugs, which he said were necessary; and this the Genoese did the more willingly, as well out of the confidence he had to receive them multiplied into so many thousands, as out of a design he had thought on the night before, of making Rufina his wife, and by that means assuring himself of Garay. Whereupon, that very evening after supper, he took occasion to carry Garay along with him into the Garden, and acquainted him with his resolution. The Alchemist thought it a good way to further his work, and accordingly he approved of his intention, and acknowledged it would be a great honour to his Niece to meet with so worthy a Person; but that there was one Obstacle to be first removed. What may that be says the other? Garay told him, that his Niece could not be Married, till a Dispensation were first obtained from Rome, in regard, that, out of the extraordinary regret she conceived at the loss of her late Husband, she made a Vow to enter into a Religious life; that the occasion of their going to Madrid, was to receive six years' Arrearages of a Rent due to them from a person of Quality, who was very backward in paying, in order to her reception into a Nunnery; but that as soon as the Dispensation were come from Rome, they would conclude the Marriage, which he doubted not but she would accept, not only out of the compliance she had ever expressed towards him, but also out of this consideration, that she was to match herself with a Person inclined to the study of a Science, wherein she had naturally attained so great perfection. Octavio was the most satisfied Man in the world to have such a parcel of good words given him, insomuch that from that very hour Garay became absolute Master of all he was possessed of.  
Garay and Rufina having conferred notes upon this new Overture, were more confident than ever, to compass their design. He freely laid out the Money received of Octavio in Drugs, persuading him they were not to be had under such and such rates. He also furnished himself with new Furnaces, Creusets and Alembics, pretending that those in the House before, were not for his purpose. In the mean time, the silly Merchant was enquiring up and down where he might have the Urine of a Redheaded Child, which he had much ado to get; for the Mother's fearing it was to be used in some operation of Witchcraft, would not easily let him have it; but Money is omnipotent, and can do any thing. Garay could have done as much in one Day as in a hundred, as to the performance of what he had promised, but the poor Merchant must be fooled some way or other, till he met with an opportunity to smite him, and take a Dog's leave of Corduba, with as much as he could shift away on two good Horses, which lay Leger in a secret place for that purpose.  
He disposed all the Distillations into the Furnaces, in the presence of Octavio; he bought some Metals, as Brass, Copper, and Tin, several sorts of Salts, and other things commonly used by Chemists; and setting Fire to the Furnaces, they Distilled what had been put into them, but contributing nothing to the business, and only to abuse him, who was at the charge of all the Foolery. As to Octavio's Love, he was much better treated than he was before; inasmuch as since the proposal of Marriage, Rufina, the better to carry on the main design, grew more kind to him, especially in Garay's absence, which the besotted Coxcomb was so transported with, that he knew not whether his head or his heels were on the ground.  
About this time Octavio received a Bill of exchange of a considerable Sum, to be paid within twenty days after sight. This, with the breaking of some of his Debtors in other Countries, put him into some fear of doing the like, if his attempts in Chemistry proved not successful. But to prevent all inconveniences, he did what most of his Quality and Kidney are wont to do, who being upon the point of breaking, secure what they can of their Estates, that they may afterwards the more commodiously remove into some other Country. So our Merchant, finding himself within some distance of breaking, provided for the misfortune, in case it should happen, and so promoted the mischievous plot of Garay and Rufina, whom he truly acquainted how affairs stood with him, as if they had been his most faithful Relations. Garay had left in the custody of a certain friend of the Merchants, a good sum of Money, and some Jewels of great Value, with order they should not be delivered to any but one of them two. Besides which, he brought some to his Countryhouse, and hid them in a secret place in the presence of Rufina, of whom he had a confidence, as if she had really been his Wife. Garay, who was still busy about his Distillations, put him into good hope, that within twenty days he should see the end of the great work, and his House full of Gold, to recover the loss he had received by his Debtors.  
About this time, there happened a business which obliged Octavio to take a Journey, to advise with a Correspondent of his, how to prevent the misfortune he saw coming upon him. Garay and Rufina being entrusted with the House, thought it a fair opportunity to dislodge, and make the best they could of the present game. They secured all the Money and Jewels they could come at, and left the Plate and some other things, they could not so conveniently carry away, behind them, though with some regret, thinking it more prudence to make a safe retreat with what were considerable, than to hazard all, by grasping at too much. Having therefore loaden themselves with what was most precious, they left the Furnaces, and the Alembics, made the Philosopher's stone at the cost of the absent Merchant, and took Horse while the people of the House were fast asleep. They took their way towards Malaga, and travelled all night, having about them above six thousand Crowns in Money and Jewels, and left, upon a Table near the Furnaces, a paper of Verses, to hasten the credulous Merchant to hang himself.  
Two days after their departure he returns home, very ill satisfied with his Journey, in that he had not done any thing in the business which occasioned it. All the hope he now had was in his Uncle, Garay, imagining, by his means, he should yet be able to show his head, and not only keep up his Reputation, but also be Richer than ever he had been, such a strange Mist had the Witchcraft of Chemistry cast before his Eyes.  
He came not to his Countryhouse till after Night, where he found the Servant whom he had left with Garay and Rufina, for the rest of his people were in the City. The Servant received him with a sad countenance, and being got up stairs, he asked him (fearing somewhat were amiss) where his Guests were, of whom the Servant could give him no account, as having not seen them when they went out, and could only say, that, two Nights before, they had locked him into the Room where he lay, which he had been forced to break open, because he could not otherwise get out. They searched up and down, and found that the Chests had been opened, and all the Money conveyed away. This was not the worst the Merchant feared, but that they had also been with him, in whose custody he had greater sums of Money, and the most precious of his Householdstuff. It being too late to make any enquiry that Night, he thought it his best course to go to Bed; but desirous to visit the Furnaces once more, he finds on the Table the Paper, left there by Garay, which having opened, he found in it these Lines.  
Signior Octavio,  
IT is the just reward of those who attempt things impossible, to be shamefully disappointed. Many of your Profession have been ruined by their Faith, in things relating to their Trade; it was therefore but fit you should repent your Credulity, in a business you understood not. It was indeed impardonable, to expect to see that done by any Man, in a few days, which the Sun, who hath a greater power over the Metal you were so covetous of, cannot perfect under four or five hundred years. Your loss, I must confess is great, but you have this comfortable consideration, that you may now defy Chemistry, and all its cheating Professors, to show you such another trick as we have done. But, to avoid all future Temptation, take this hearty advice from two dear Friends of yours; put all the fine Treatises you have of that pernicious Art into your Furnaces, and, having set Fire to them and your House together, fairly run away by the light of it.  
The poor Merchant had no sooner read them, ere he was convinced, they were his kind Guests who had robbed him, and extracted what he had in his Chests and Cabinets with more ease than he had infused it into them. How he spent the Night, is only to be imagined, being just upon the point of Breaking, and not knowing any means to remedy it. All the hope he had, was, that the Money and Jewels which he had left in a friend's hands, were safe enough; nay he despaired not to find out those, who had done him the mischief. He turned himself from one side to another, not out of any disturbance, occasioned by his Love to the subtle Rufina, (for that was absolutely lost with his Money) but that he had been so basely trapan'd by a beggarly Rascal. Then did he begin to curse Chemistry, and all the Authors that ever writ of it, whereas he should rather have given God thanks, who, by the cheat which was put upon him, had prevented the prosecution of his design, which might have absolutely ruined him. As soon as he perceived any appearance of Day, he got up, and went into the City, to his House, whom he had entrusted with the keeping of his Money and other things. He asked him whether Garay had been with him? the other answered that he had, and had taken away whatever he had in his custody, and that therein he had followed his own orders. That word struck him almost Dead; nay the resentments he expressed of that loss were so great, that if the other had not known the cause of it, he would have thought him out of his wits. He comforted him the best he could, and told him, that his only course was to make a speedy search for the Robbers. He did all he could to that purpose, sending Officers and others several ways; but that which Garay and Rufina had taken was so extraordinary, that they could never meet with them. So they returned to Corduba, to be paid for their fruitless pursuit, by him who had sent them, which, as his affairs stood then, added not a little to his affliction. This adventure was soon known all over the City; and the Genoese, not able to accept of another Bill of exchange that had been sent him, was forced to absent himself, and to return to Genua, with what he could make by the sale of his Goods. By this means he turned Bankrupt, and defied his Creditors, who could not find any thing he had left behind him. The same thing happens many times to those, who, with small Estates, engage themselves in too great affairs, presuming upon this, that, if it comes to the worst, they can secure themselves by an escape.  
The end of the second Book.   

LA PICARA, OR The Triumphs of Female Subtlety.  
The Third Book.  
GAray and Rufina road on a good round pace, but kept in obscure ways, and, in four Nights, they would not take up their Lodging in any Town or Village, but in open Fields, for fear of being surprised by the Officers, whom they doubted not but the Genoese had sent to inquire after them. They had shifted their clothes, and having disguised themselves as well as they could, they carefully avoided all those places where they had the least apprehension they might be known. It was Garay's charge to provide Victuals; and being about the beginning of the Spring, they found it no great inconvenience, to lie abroad in the open air. They got into a thick Wood just as the Sun was ready to set, and fearing that a thick Cloud, under which they were, might break upon them with too great violence, as there was some likelihood, by reason of the great Thunder and Lightning that had gone before, they went into the thickest part of it, the better to secure themselves. Other Travellers, upon the same apprehension, had taken refuge at a place, near that where Garay and Rufina were. The noise they made in discoursing, raised in Garay a curiosity to come and overhear what they said; and through the means of thick Bushes, being come near them, he perceived they were three Men, one whereof, speaking to the others, said; If this Tempest lasts all night, I doubt we shall be disappointed of our design. I fear me so too, replies another, and no doubt but the Hermit of la Serre will be out of all patience that he hath expected us so long. O that Brother Crispin is an excellent fellow, says another of them: his Religious frock covers a great deal of mischief, and he is so insinuating in his behaviour, that he is very much in their favour, who bestowed the Hermitage upon him. He is so transcendent an Hypocrite, replies another, that he is able to blind all the World: he hath the reputation of a virtuous person all over the Country, and there is not within twenty Leagues about a more consummate Villain than he is. I have been acquainted with him these twelve years, says the Second, and his profession hath been to receive Thiefs, and their Booties; and he hath been so fortunate as never to be suspected Guilty of any crime of that kind, whereas so many other poor Rogues have been taken and trussed up, at the first falling into the hands of Justice. It must needs be acknowledged, says another, that his Hermitage is a very convenient place for persons of our profession, and the Cellar he hath made under it, is such a place, as the Devil himself would never find out. We could never have met with a more secure place, to put up the fifteen hundred Crowns we yesterday disburdened the Merchant of. 'Twas the most considerable Robbery that hath been committed in this Country of a long time. If it would but hold up a little, says he who had spoken first, I hope to make as good a Prey, yet before it be Day. They thereupon advised concerning the means how to execute their design. Garay missed not a word of all they had spoken; the Country he was acquainted with as well as if he had been Born in it, and very well knew the Hermit, whom, till then, he had accounted a person of great sanctity, so far was he from imagining, that he drove such a Trade, and that his Hermitage had, for so many years, been the refuge of High-way-beaters, and House-breakers.  
Having made this strange discovery, he returns to the place where he had left Rufina, and gave her an account of what he had heard from those Robbers. They continued there without making any noise, they and their Horses, till such time as the others were gone, considering with themselves how they might make their advantage of that unexpected adventure: And taking their way to a blind Inn, not far thence, they stayed there the remainder of that Night, and all the next Day. Having, in that time, considered what they had to do, they went both towards the Hermitage, where Brother Crispin (so was the Hermit named) lived, and being got within a small distance of it, Garay bound Rufina to a Tree, upon which she cries out as loud as she could, Is there no body to relieve a wretched Woman, ready to be Murdered here? O Heaven, revenge the injury done to my innocence. On the other side, Garay acted his part, saying, 'Tis in vain for thee to call any body to thy relief; thou hast not long to live, and therefore recommend thyself to God, for thou shalt not escape out of my hands; as soon as I have bound thee to this Tree, I will dispatch thy Soul into the other World.  
At the first noise of her crying out, Crispin hears her, and being all alone in the Hermitage, a thing seldom happened, for, most nights, he had the company of some of the tribe, who though guilty of much watching, were not much either of sanctity or miracles. The Hermit came out with two good Pocket-pistols, and being got near the place, whence he had heard the noise, he discharged one of them, which happened very luckily for Garay. For it being resolved upon the question between him and Rufina, that he should run away as soon as any came near them, it might be conceived, the discharging of the Pistol had frighted him. He presently mounted one of the Horses; and leading away the other, he rid away with all the speed he could. Crispin comes near the Tree, and, by the light of the Moon, perceived Rufina, weeping most bitterly, and seeming to be astonished, through that fright she was in. Seeing the Hermit coming towards her, What art thou returned Traitor, said she? will nothing deter thee from executing thy cruel design? Come, take away my Life, and put me out of further trouble, and doubt not but one time or other, Heaven, since it will not rescue, will revenge my innocence. The frocked Hypocrite, hearing this discourse, and perceiving thereby that she mistook him, made her this Answer, Madam, I am not the person you think me to be, but one who comes to relieve you in this extremity, and to save your Life. What is become of the Villain, who would have taken it from you, and hath obliged me, contrary to the rules of my Profession, to take Fire-arms to pursue him, not doubting but what I do will be accounted an act of meritorious charity in the sight of God?  
Having thereupon unbound her, Rufina cast herself at his feet, saying, It must needs be, Brother Crispin, (for she knew his name) that you had some revelation from Heaven, of the violence intended me, since you came so miraculously to my relief, and that with Arms so contrary to your Profession. Heaven reward you for the charitable assistance you have afforded an innocent Woman. I cannot express the resentment I have of the kindness you have done me, otherwise than by submissions and vows, as being obliged to you for no less than my Life, which the fury of a Brother was just going to deprive me of.  
Crispin was extremely taken with the Woman, (nay notwithstanding his vow of chastity, he had a kindness for the whole Sex) but he was yet master of so much modesty and reservedness, that he sorbore all discourse of Love and Familiarity; and continuing in his counterfeit sanctity, My dear Sister, in the Lord, said he to her, I think myself far from deserving all the favours it pleases God to do me: but I endeavour all lies in my power to Live virtuously, serving my Creator in this solitary place, where it hath been the pleasure of his divine Majesty, that I should be a means to save your Life: I heartily thank him for it, and am extremely glad, that what is done is to your satisfaction. For this night, I can only proffer you such a reception as a poor Cell can afford, where you may continue, till you have accommodated your affairs, and reconciled yourself to your Brother. I assure you it is absolutely at your service, and I offer it you with such a cordial affection, as a good Christian ought to have for his Neighbour, for I had not put myself into this habit, were it not to exercise such charities as these.  
Rufina renewed her thanks to him for the civil proffers he made her, bursting forth afresh into feigned tears, a thing some Women can do when they please, but this had the knack of it beyond any. She gladly accepted of his kindness, as what conduced very much to the compassing of her design. They thereupon took their way towards the Hermitage, and Brother Crispin, seeing Rufina was somewhat weary, endeavoured to comfort her with all the kind words he could think of, and at last took her by the arm, to help her forward. He opened the door of the Hermitage, and when they were got in, Rufina was not a little astonished, to see a rough Plank, which he pretended was his Bed, with a Crucifix at the head of it, and on one side, hanging up by a Nail, an Instrument made of good Whipcord; wherewith his credulous Zealots believed that he disciplined himself: all the other furniture of the Room consisted in a little rotten Table, which, by much travelling and removing from place to place, had brought four feet to three.  
Rufina finding the room so poorly furnished, and the person who made his abode in it so mortified and reserved in his behaviour, began to repent herself, that she ever came thither, and imagined that Garay had misunderstood the conference of the Robbers in the Wood But the devout Hermit put her out of her dumps, for taking notice of her looking a little strangely on the accommodations of his House, he said to her, My dear Sister, you may haply think this a very poor Lodging, and that you will have but an ill Night's rest; be not troubled, I will Lodge you much better than you imagine. 'Twas your happiness to come hither at this time, now that there are not any here upon their spiritual retreats, which some devout souls of your Sex are wont to make at this Hermitage, sometimes for eight or ten days together. Some of these, for the greater conveniency of their devotion, have sent hither Beds, and some other Householdstuff. Incomparable Hypocrite! Having asked her whether she lived at Malaga, and she telling him that she was a stranger in those parts, he would have persuaded her, that there were Beds in the Hermitage for such as came to make their spiritual retreats there, which was a damnable lie: but the truth of it was, that he, for his own ease, had very good Quilts, and other necessaries for a bed or two, for the entertainment of the secret comrades who came often to visit him. These conveniences were disposed into a low room, which was also the Treasury, where those birds of prey, put up such things as the true owners of them never intended should be acquainted with the place. He thereupon desired her to have a little patience, till he went down to fetch some bed-cloaths, which having brought, he made her a bed in a little Cell, at a small distance from his own. They had a better supper than Rufina expected, there was some boiled meat and broth, and a cold Rabbit, which Crispin pretended had been lest at the Hermitage by one of his Penitents, a very devout old Gentlewoman, whom he was infinitely obliged to; and to close their stomaches, they had some excellent fruits, according to the season.  
Rufina was a woman much inclined to mirth, but at this time, doing her natural disposition some violence, she seemed to be very melancholy and reserved, and so continued all the time they were at supper, eating very little, the better to express her weariness, and being troubled at the accident, which had befallen her. The Hermit in like manner pretended he had no great stomach, whether the meat was not dressed to his mind, or that he did it out of a compliance with his fair guest, whom he looked on so attentively all the time they were at supper, as if he had been to read a Lecture of her Physiognomy. At last, having taken away the meat and cloth, the Hermit, desirous to know of Rufina, the cause why her own Brother would have taken away her life, entreated her to satisfy him, which she did in this short account of herself.  
Though it cannot but add very much to my affliction, to make a rebearsal of the occasion of it, yet the kindness you have done me, my dear Brother, being so transcendent, I should be a very ungrateful person, to deny you the satisfaction of some account of her whom you have so highly obliged. I was born, said she, in the City of Almeria, of noble Parents, my Ancestors having been famous there for several ages. All the children they had were only myself, and a Brother, who is a year older than I am. My Father and Mother left this world, and me in it a little before I was fully arrived to the fifteenth year of my age. There were those who thought the face you now see not unhandsome, that is in other words, several persons courted me in order to marriage, but my Brother opposed it as much as lay in his power, charging my Suitors with some defects or other, in their estates or extraction, so that not any one of them obtained what they so much desired. I believe the true cause of my Brother's refusals proceeded from a desire he had that I should go into a Nunnery, where I had two Aunts, and he get to himself somewhat of the fortune my Father had left me. I discovered his design, by their continual pressing of me to become a Nun. But I never had any inclination to that kind of life, and so my Answer to them was suitable thereto; which incensed my Brother so much against me, that he never looked kindly on me since.  
While these things were in agitation, a young Gentleman, who had left Almeria ere he was ten years of age, returned from Flanders, where, for the good services he had done his Majesty, he had been advanced to the command of a Company of Foot and a Troop of Horse. He came accordingly in a very good equipage, both as to clothes and Horses. He had a pretty considerable estate, and had not received any thing from it since his departure from Almeria, so that there was a good sum lay ready for him. He one day chanced to see me at Church, and liked me so well, that he enquired who I was. Some gave him an account of me, and soon after, he began to make his addresses to me, and to court me by Letters and other ways. To make my tale short, I was not insensible of his affection, but considering with myself the equality there was between us as to birth, and the excellent endowments he was Master of, I complied with his love, and admitted him to come into the house, but upon the assurance he gave me, that his courtship was really in order to marriage. He visited me with much freedom, for my Brother was then sick of a disease, which had brought him almost to death's door, (I would it had carried him quite into that cold room, my condition would not be so sad as it is at the present.) One of my former Suitors, being not a little troubled to see a New-comer so highly advanced in my favour, began to watch him, and in a short time saw him let in and coming out of our house, at an unseasonable time of the night. He made a very ungentlemanlike advantage of that discovery; for, envying any other should have what he could not obtain, he gave my Brother an account of what was done in his house. One day coming to visit him, and being all alone with him, he told him what he had seen. My Brother, who had recovered a little of his strength, began to get up, and by his own observation was confirmed in what the other had told him. Yet could he not be revenged of me, by reason of his weakness, and put it off to some other opportunity. He seemed to be extremely troubled that I had engaged my affection to that Captain, and protested that he would have been much less, had I made choice of any other, for he had had some difference with his elder Brother, and ever since, they had never been good friends.  
At last, my Brother recovered his former health, and finding the Captain gone from Almeria, he told me, that he would carry me to see an Aunt of ours at Malaga, who was a Nun of the Order instituted by St. Bernard. I believed him, and not imagining he knew anything of the correspondence between the Captain and myself, I was very glad of the opportunity to see that Aunt, whom I was much obliged to, for several things she had sent me of her own working. We prepared ourselves for the journey, and road each of us on a horse, with two servants on two others to wait on us. Being come into the wood near this place, he ordered the two servants to go before, to prepare a lodging for us, and being come to the place where you found me, just as day was taking its last leave, he threw me off my horse, and put me into the condition you found me in, wherein no doubt I had perished, had not you fortunately relieved me, for the discharging of the Pistol made him get away before he had done the work he intended. May God, the requiter of all good turns, remember the charitable assistance you did me, which was so strange, that I shall never forget it as long as I live.  
The Hermit having heard this story, took occasion to comfort her the best he could, and promised her to do any thing that lay in his power; whereupon they parted for that time, and went to their several Beds; she, to that which had been prepared for her, and he, to another, that lay in a secret place, very well furnished; for, however he blinded the world with an apparent austerity, he was a person who loved his ease as well as any other. He was deeply fallen in love with Rufina, and mighty desirous to acquaint her with his passion; but the fear of scandal made him a a little reserved. He spent the whole night without any rest, contriving how he might best make a discovery of his love to her.  
As soon as it began to dawn, he got up and soon after him Rufina, who going into the Church belonging to the Hermitage, found him on his knees before the Altar, which obliged her to do the like, at a little distance from him. He thought fit to continue his devotion a while, but not without much distraction, for he could not forbear looking on her, to such a height was his love grown in one night. On the other side, Rufina, who was as well read in Hypocrisy as the Hermit, was resolved to outvie him at kneeling, in which posture she continued somewhat longer than she could have wished. At last perceiving that Crispin had done his prayers, she also ended hers. Whereupon the holy Brother comes to her, and said to her, Blessed be the great Preserver of Mankind, my dear Sister in Christ, for his infinite mercies; be it his good pleasure that you may live happily all the rest of your days, and have all those enjoyments of body and mind you can yourself desire. I pray tell me, excellent creature of God, how you rested this night. Very well, my beloved Brother, replied she, I thank your kindness, though the trouble I am in suffers me not to be quite free from disquiet. There is nothing more argues a devout Soul, says Crispin, than a sweet and humble compliance with the will of Heaven; put your confidence in him who hath numbered the hairs of your head, and doubt not but this heaviness will be turned into joy. If it be his blessed will, it shall be so, said she, though we see not the means how it will be effected. O excellent creature! cries out the amorous Hermit, how highly meritorious in the sight of God is this holy acquiescence and resignation?  
Having so said, he brought her into a little room, out of which they had the prospect of the fields, where being both sat down, Crispin began to open himself to her in this discourse. When I seriously consider, Madam, the strange effects of beauty, how the pursuance of it forces men into disturbances, and in a manner transports them out of themselves, I cannot choose but pity and excuse them, because the frailer part of man endeavours its own satisfaction, and the heart is naturally inclined to desire that which the eye contemplates with a certain pleasure, especially having for its object the most delightful thing that God ever framed. You may hence take occasion to imagine, Sister, what reflections we should make on the celestial beauties, and those supernatural miracles which transcend the reach of our senses. When I left the world, which was in an age not much acquainted with the wickedness of it, I proposed to myself, as far as I could with a respect to humanity, to keep myself at as great a distance as I could from the sight of that admirable sex, which is not undeservedly called, the fairer half of the world; inasmuch as I have already put away childishness, and began to entertain thoughts suitable to manhood, and apprehended, that to be exempted from the charms of women, was a privilege wholly angelical. I am at the present much more satisfied as to that particular, than I could have been in that state of innocence, and I find there is an absolute necessity I should keep out of your sight, or fall into the snare I see the devil laying for me. The sum of this discourse, Madam, is to show you, that beautiful faces are very dangerous, and that, since my first sight of yours, I feel my Soul in a very great hazard. Be not startled, I beseech you, to hear me talk after this rate; this discourse, I must confess, is very disconsonant to the habit I have on, and the proposition I have embraced: but these have not unmanned me, and consequently not exempted me from humane infirmities.  
With these words there might be seen spreading over his face a certain blush, as if he could not make the first overture of such a thing without expressing somewhat he was never truly acquainted with, Shame. Rufina, with a counterfeit modesty, seemed to do as much as he had: but Occasion presenting her forelock, and telling her that that was the most likely way to bring about her design, she would not give him an absolute denial, but made him this Answer. Though I know myself not to be of their number, who, by their beauty, may engage men into any disquiet, yet must I acknowledge, Brother Crispin, that, as to this point, I am of your opinion; for the attractions of Beauty are so powerful, that I myself, though a woman, am carried away therewith, as well as others, and know not a greater pleasure, than that of seeing a handsome face, and admiring the effects of it. And therefore I wonder not at all, that men are reduced to some extremities, when they are passionately in love, since it is to be imagined, that the force of beauty operates with an extraordinary influence. Nor do I think any more worth my admiration, to see it hath its effects as well on those who are retired out of the world, as on those whose affections are most inclined thereto, inasmuch as they have not attained a degree of perfection purified from the dross of all humane enjoyments: And therefore, I have reason to think myself the more obliged to the charity you have shown me, since I understand, that your exercising of it is not without the joss of your quiet, and somewhat of scandal. I could wish with all my heart, that I were not the cause of so much trouble in the world; but in regard you are not heard by any but myself, you need fear nothing as to that particular. You were desirous to know the History of my Adventures, I am no less to be acquainted with yours, and particularly to understand what might have obliged you to leave the world so soon, to live in this solitary place, and with so great austerity. For though I doubt not but you did it in order to the salvation of your own soul, yet methinks I perceive in you those excellent endowments, for which you might have been esteemed in your youth, and put off the execution of so hard a penance till another time.  
Rufina's discourse was as the counterfeit Hermit could have wished it, and thereupon being transported with joy, he came more home to his purpose, and told her in plain terms, that the charms of her beauty had so enchanted him, that, from the minute she first came into his house, he had not had any rest, he loving her as passionately as man could be imagined to love woman. Rufina, who minded her own work, entertained the discourse with somewhat of kindness, excusing it upon the account of humane frailty: so that giving him some hope, that he should obtain his desires, he seemed to be the most satisfied person in world. Rufina pretended indisposition, and for two days together kept her bed, where she was treated by her charitable Entertainer, with the best meat could be had for money, which was brought to the Hermitage in the night time, by his Comrades.  
It may seem somewhat strange, that Rufina should have the confidence to continue all alone in that solitary place, with a person of whose wickedness she had a sufficient knowledge: but she knew withal the passion he had for her, and inferred thence, that a real Love never being without respect, she could not imagine he would ever injure her. What further assured her, was the hope she had put him in to treat him more kindly, when she had certain notice brought her, that her Brother had left Malaga; besides, that the apprehension she had lest she might be discovered, kept her from requiting, as she thought herself obliged, the extraordinary kindness he had shown her. Thus she drew in by degrees the Rampant Hermit, who, to further on the work, promised her to make a diligent enquiry, by the means of his friends, whether her Brother were at Malaga.  
That night, Crispin's three intimate friends came to the Hermitage, bringing along with them above two thousand Crowns in gold. This was the robbery they were engaged upon, when Garay overheard their discourse in the wood. The discovery had been made by Crispin, in a house of the City, where he was wont to receive alms, and the rain having prevented the execution of the design that night, they had now done their work, by thrusting a little boy into the house where the money was, who made a shift about midnight to open the door for them.  
The three Robbers brought the money that very night to the Hermitage. Crispin, who was unwilling they should see what female-company he had in the house, received them in his own chamber, and treated them with a Supper. As they supped, they discoursed of divers things. There was among them one, who having quitted his Studies, had engaged himself in that infamous kind of life, not regarding his extraction, nor his endowments, which were much beyond ordinary. This person furnished them with discourse upon all occasions; whence it came that Crispin desired him to divert them a little, and, to drive away the time a while after supper, to entertain them with some History or Novel, for he had abundance of them. He pressed him the more earnestly, that Rufina might also participate of the diversion, who, from the room where she was, might hear all their discourse. She was very glad, to find, that Crispin was the secret entertainer of so virtuous a Society, and immediately concluded by their discourses, that they were the same persons, whom Garay had overheard in the wood. The young man, whom the Hermit had entreated to tell them some story, displayed the excellency of his wit and memory, in the relation of the ensuing Novel.  

THE SECOND NOVEL.  
The Knight of the Noble Order of the Marigold.  
Done Pedro Osorio, a Gentleman of very high Quality, was born at Villefranche de Vierco, an ancient City, upon the confines of Galicia. He was descended from a very noble Family, and was brought up in his own Country, with his elder Brother Don Fernand Osorio, and a Sister called Donna Constantia: but his Father and Mother leaving this World ere he was full fifteen years of Age, he was forced into that course of Life, which is commonly taken by the younger Brothers of Noble Houses, who have not much left them, and with the little Money he could get together, he went to trail a Pike in Flanders. He behaved himself so gallantly there upon several occasions, that he got the Colours of a Company of Foot, and after other successful encounters against the Dutch, he was advanced to the Command of the same Company. Having afterwards in that Charge made yet greater demonstrations of his Conduct and Valour, his most Serene Highness the Archduke Albert prevailed with his Majesty to bestow on him the Order of the Knights of Alcantara, with an assurance of the first Commandery, that should be void, belonging to that Order. Having obtained that, he still continued his Military employments, till such time as there was a Cessation of Arms made between the King and his Enemies of the Low-countries, to last a year and a day. This opportunity, together with the news he received out of Spain, of his Elder Brother's Death, obliged him to desire leave to make a journey into his Country, where two Children his Brother had left, and his own Sister, stood in need of his presence; the former, to be protected by him; the latter, to be disposed of in marriage. Don Pedro arrived at Villefranche, fifteen days after his Sister's departure thence for Vailladolid, where the Court was then, with an Aunt of his, a Widow, his Father's Sister, who would needs have her along with her; this old Lady, who had a great kindness for her, having resolved to leave her all she had at her Death, in hopes she might with those advantages meet with a better match.  
As soon as Don Pedro was come into his Country, he took order about his Brother's Estate, and the Tuition of his Nephews, whom he left in the custody of an ancient Kinsman of his, whom having entrusted with the care of their education and maintenance, he resolved to go and visit his Sister at Vailladolid. As he was setting things in order for that Journey, passing through the broad place of Villefranche, he saw abundance of people, going towards an Inn, which was at the end of it, accompanying two Litters, in one whereof there was an old Gentleman, and, in that which followed, a young Lady, whose transcendent Beauty, heightened by the sumptuousness of her attire, ravished the eyes and hearts of all that saw her, but above all those of Don Pedro. He was so inflamed by that transient sight of her, that, covering with his Cloak the Order he was of, he followed the Litter, so transported out of himself, that he reflected not on what those who observed him might say of his demeanour. He saw her lighting at the Inn-gate; and if he was before raised into a kind of astonishment at the beauty of her Face, he was now no less, at the handsomeness of her Body, the magnificence of her Clothing, and the sweetness of her Complexion. In a word, he was reduced to such an extremity by the passion he immediately felt in himself for her, that he made enquiry, and set himself to find out, who that miracle of perfections might be, which had so of a sudden surprised his Heart, and attained so absolute a disposal of his Liberty. He was soon satisfied as to that particular, for, meeting with one of her Servants going from the Inn towards the Marketplace, he with much civility asked him, who that old Gentleman was, and whither he was then going? The other, who understood civility well enough, returned him this Answer, The Gentleman, whose name you are so desirous to know, and who is my Master, is called the Marquis Rodolfo, a person of the highest Rank next to Sovereign Princes, who comes into Spain, an Ordinary Ambassador, from the Emperor of Germany, to his most Catholic Majesty the King of Spain. He brings along with him his beautiful Daughter, the Lady Margaret, to be married to Leopoldus, his Excellency's Nephew, who is at the present at Vailladolid, a Gentleman of extraordinary worth, who in the flower of his Youth left Germany, to go and see foreign Countries, attended only by four Servants. He has travelled over all France, England, and Italy, and is now resolved to make his abode in Spain, having already continued some time at the Court, with a very great Train. He hath a House magnificently furnished, and is very highly in favour with his Catholic Majesty, and well respected by all the Nobility about the Court; nay his generosity and excellent conversation have acquired him the esteem of all the greatest persons in this Country. This marriage of Signior Leopoldus had been treated of in Germany, with this Lady Margaret, the only Daughter of my Master, who leaving his Country upon his being honoured by the Emperor with the present Embassy, hath solicited the business with greater earnestness; so that his Imperial Majesty seems desirous that this Match should go forward. We came by Sea, but had such distress of Wether, that we were like to be cast away several times. While we were in that danger, my Master, a Gentleman much inclined to Devotion, made a Vow that if he escaped, through the intercession of the glorious Patron of Spain, (for whom he hath a particular Devotion) he would visit the place where his sacred Body lies buried, so well known all over the World for the great Miracles daily done there. Being come to Vailladolid, my Master continued there fifteen days, during which time all things were agreed upon in order to the Marriage. That great affair being concluded, he would needs perform his Vow, and go to Saint James'. His Nephew Leopoldus is not come along with him, but stays at Vailladolid, to send to Rome for the Dispensation, for the Lady Margaret and Signor Leopoldus are Cousin-germen. Thus Sir, I think I have satisfied your desire, as to the question you put to me.  
Don Pedro gave the Servant very great thanks for the account he had given him of his Master, and assured him he would requite his kindness, if it lay in his power, and so took leave. This discourse happened after night, as they walked over the Marketplace, it being so dark as that the Marquess' Servant could not take any particular notice of Don Pedro, who did all he could to avoid being discovered. The account he had received, that the Beauty, which had stolen away his heart at the first sight, was already engaged, and, within a short time to be married, caused him to return home a much sadder Man than he had left it. This affliction, with the love which he already had for her, bereaved him of all rest. That very night, he would needs go and see the Marquis and his Daughter at Supper, yet so as that he might not be perceived by them. The master of the House placed him so as that be might see all at his ease, yet not be seen himself; and this was to leap out of the frying-pan into the fire. The next day, the Marquis went thence, so as that Don Pedro saw not the Lady Margaret any more that time: nor was he much troubled at it, for having in the night advised with his pillow, to find out some remedy for his disquier, he found it necessary, that he should not be seen, either by the Marquis, or his Daughter, or any one belonging to them, that he might the better compass a design which only Love could inspire him withal.  
The Kingdom of Galicia is very full of mountains, and consequently the way to Saint James' must be troublesome to travel, so that the Marquis could make but short Journeys, whence Don Pedro inferred, that he could not be back in less than twenty days; presuming he would make some abode at Compostella, to do his devotions, and refresh himself, ere he set out for his return. Accordingly, be disposed of his affairs in order to the design he had bethought himself of, and, taking leave of all his acquaintance, he went to Pontferrada, a Town which lay four Leagues further from the Court than Villefranche. He took up his Quarters at an Inn, whence he stirred not in the daytime, but only took the air a little in the night, yet with such a caution not to be known to any, that he discovered himself to none of the Inhabitants, but only his Landlord, whom he acquainted with his quality, and the design had brought him thither. He was attended only by one Servant, whose fidelity and courage he had many years experienced, for he had served him as a Soldier, and waited on him, from the time of his first departure from Villefranche. Felician (so was this faithful Servant named) perceiving his Master more melancholy than he had been wont to be, and that somewhat kept him from resting in the night, for he heard him disquietly turning in his bed, and sighing ever and anon, he imagined that the cause of his disturbance was not at Pontferrada, inasmuch as if it had been, he would not have failed, night or day, to discover by his visits, what could not be known by his disquiets and sighs. Thus this discreet Lover not discovering any thing of his secret passion, Felician could not guess at the occasions which bred such a distraction in his mind: nay though he did all lay in his power to pry into it, yet could he never meet with any satisfaction. One day, finding his Master all alone, and not able to endure that reservedness in him any longer, he thus spoke to him.  
I should never have imagined, Sir, that you could be guilty of so great a closeness towards a servant, whom you have ever found faithful, and to love you even beyond his own life. You have heretofore thought me worthy the knowledge of your most important secrets; pardon me, if I presume to tell you, that your silence now gives me just cause to conceive, that you have not the same thoughts of me, and that I must be guilty of some crime, whereof I have not myself the least apprehension. Wherein, I pray, Sir, may I have offended you? You must needs harbour some ill thoughts of me, since you conceal from me the disquiets which deprive you of all appetite to meat or rest. Sure they proceed from Love, or I am mightily mistaken. You close not your eyes all night, and spend the day in retirement, avoiding all society, and giving yourself up to perpetual solitude, and melancholy; which I am extremely troubled to see. You have left your Country, telling your friends that you were going to Court; whereas you continue in an obscure place, where you are afraid to be known. 'Tis impossible for me to forbear grieving at it, as long as I am ignorant of the cause thereof. Pardon my curiosity, Sir, which however impertinent, is an argument of my faith and readiness to serve you. I know it to be the duty of a good and faithful Servant, punctually and implicitly to obey the commands of his Master, without insinuating himself further into his secrets, than he is willing he should be acquainted therewith. I have hitherto kept myself within those bounds, and have so lived with you as that I fear not any reproach you can make me. But now at last, my ancient fidelity gives me the boldness to ask you, what business may have brought you to this place; what occasions your disquiet, and what you intent to do in this obscure Inn, where you admit not of any enjoyments? Have you a greater confidence of the happy Master of this House, whom you have known but within these four days, than of an old Servant, of whose zeal and fidelity you have had so many experiences? You have heretofore thought my advice worth the ask, nay have followed it, in things, for aught I know, of as great importance as this is.  
Felician having thus ended his complaint, his Master conceived himself obliged to make him some Answer, which was this. Felician, I must confess, I have looked on thee, and that justly, as my friend, a title I may well allow one who hath shared with me, in war, the dangers, in peace, the enjoyments I have been engaged in. It is a very hard thing, not to say impossible, that any man should, in the disposal of himself, take a course contrary to that intended him by Heaven; though it be said, that a wise man shall have dominion over the Stars, that is (as Astrologers expound it) humane Prudence shall elude the decrees of Fate. I am born to love a Beauty, which surprising my heart, hath withal possessed itself of all the faculties of my Soul. I find myself no longer Master of my own liberty, that I am not able to make the least disposal of my will, and so it were a madness for me, to oppose the inclination, whereto the sovereign Powers have made me subject. I suffer myself to be foolishly carried away by my passion, though I know well enough that I attempt a thing absolutely impossible, and beyond my strength. This is the cause of my disquiet, musing, and melancholy, spending the nights without rest, and the day in solitude, suffering a thousand afflictions which I cannot express, and loving where I am not to hope the least return of Love, by reason of an invincible obstacle that lies in my way. This is that destroys my enjoyments, and poisons all my joy. I have seen that divine Beauty, that mortal Angel, that prodigy of miracles, who passed through our Town with her Father the Marquis Rodolfo: the excellent endowments she is Mistress of, and which thou mayst have admired as well as myself, are all the excuse I can allege for the blindness of my passion; but they feed it not with any hope. There is an obstacle lies between me and the possession of her, which I shall find it impossible to remove. This transcendent Beauty is already made sure to a Gentleman of great worth, who is her Cousin-germane, named Leopoldus, and methinks I see her ready to join hands with him. I hear such high commendations of his excellent parts, that I find the little hope I had ready to leave me. I love her, or to say better, I adore her, and if I may judge by the present agitations of my heart, I may say, it will never be disengaged from the passion I have for her. I know it is madness in me to think of her, and that I cannot, without extravagance, ever hope she may be mine, to the disappointment of a young Lord, who, with the advantages of blood, hath all those of nature. Nay I think it almost impossible to find out some means to acquaint her with my Love, and to get a Letter conveyed to her. I know that the houses of Osorio, Toledo, Astorga, and Villefranche, whence I derive my extraction, are not inferior to those of Rodolfo or Leopoldus, and consequently that I am as nobly descended as she is; that would not be the greatest obstacle, if I could but make myself known at Court. I hear that she intends thither, when she returns from her pilgrimage; I have but three months to carry on this business, which is the time requisite to get the dispensation from Rome. I have a long time considered with myself of the means, how I might get access to her, and that I conceive the most likely to take, is to counterfeit, what indeed is but too real, a certain distraction of mind. By acting the mad-man's part, I might so disguise my extravagancies, as that the Father, pleased with my humour, may haply carry me along with him to the Court. This certainly is a design fantastic enough, and not only contrary to my quality, but absolutely opposite to the opinion I should endeavour to raise myself in the world. I have a certain confidence, that at Court I shall be known to very few, because I have been a long time out of Spain. Besides these considerations, the habit I will put on, being altogether extravagant, I shall be so disguised, that my nearest friends and relations will hardly know me. If, by this means, I can get into the Marquess' house, I shall hope the plot will take. For I have heard this Lady is not fully satisfied with the marriage, having understood that her Cousin is a person of a debauched life, and inclined to Women; and that she admits of his addresses only out of obedience to her Father. I have communicated my design to the Master of the house, as being a discreet person, who may serve me, and puts me in hope to get me into the Marquess' service, when he comes to give him an account of my pleasant extravagancies, as we have already agreed together. Thus, my dear Felician, have I given thee a faithful character of myself, thou knowst now as much as I do, as well of my affliction, as my love; mistrust not the confidence I have of thee, and assist me with all thy wit and industry, or expect ere long to be a witness of my departure out of this world.  
Felician, out of compliance with his Master, approved of the project, though he doubted much the success of it. He saw his Master was too far transported to receive any prudent advice; so that he promised to assist him according to the design he had laid to get access to his Mistress, and troubled not his thoughts with any thing but how to compass it. It was his business therefore to get clothes made for Don Pedro, suitable to his extravagance. He put him into a Cassock after the old fashion, with puffs at the sleeves of green cloth, and large skirts, a Cloak somewhat like a Rocket, very short, and a Milan Cap., of green Plush. Being thus disguised, he changed his quarters, and went to the Host's Brother's house, who also must of necessity be acquainted with the secret. All this could not be done without some yellow pieces, whereof he had brought good store out of Flanders, with some Jewels of value he had gotten by gaming, at which he was very fortunate.  
About this time the Marquis, with the beautiful Lady his Daughter, were upon their return from their pilgrimage. Before they got to Pontferrada, the beams of his Litter broke, so that he was forced to come to the Town on horseback, and to stay there two days, while the Litter was mended. The Marquis took up the same Inn where Don Pedro had lodged, as being the best in the Town. The Host being taught what he had to say to the Marquis, for the furtherance of Don Pedro's design, soon met with an opportunity to do it. For, as most persons of Quality, when they travel, are very inquisitive to know what is rare or remarkable at the places through which they pass, the Marquess desirous to hear what there might be at Pontferrada, called for the Host. Having travelled several times before into Spain, he spoke the Language very well, was a very sociable person, and glad of company.  
The Host being come into the room, he began to ask him concerning the Antiquities of the Town, the illustrious Families had lived in it, the dispositions of the Inhabitants, the beauty of the Ladies, and such particulars: wherein the Host satisfied him, giving him a very exact account of all he knew. Among the antiquities and remarkable things of the Town, he came to speak of Don Pedro, telling such stories of him as might raise a desire in the Marquis to see him. There is come, said he to him, within these fifteen days, a very rare person to this Town, fantastically clad in a green stuff; but there is a greater extravagance in his behaviour than there is in his clothes, and yet in the height of his distraction, there may be observed certain shadows of understanding and staiedness which render him excellent good company. Being asked by some of our Inhabitants, who he was, I am, said he, Son to the River Silius, which passes by the walls of this Town, and descended from one of the most illustrious Families of Galicia. He expects to be treated with your Honour, and your Lordship, in discourse, though he is known by the title of Knight of the Noble Order of the Marigold. The fooleries he tells to make good the title he assumes, are so ridiculous, that they force Laughter from the most melancholy. He seldom comes out of his Lodging, feeds high, and we cannot imagine whence he should have means to live at that rate. He hath a Servant to wait on him, who knows the length of his foot, and complies with him in his madness, either for his advantage, or that he hath a soft place in his Head, as well as his Master; and I think them both very well worth your notice. I wonder the Knight hath not been yet to wait on your Excellency; for he is mighty desirous to converse with Strangers, and finds them out as soon as he hears of their arrival.  
The Marquis was much pleased with this Relation of the Host, and desired him to bring him acquainted with that noble Knight. The fair Lady Margaret expressed also a desire to see him, for she had been present at the Host's discourse. He gladly satisfied them, being overjoyed the Prologue of the design had taken so well. He went to his Brother's to fetch him, having before told the Ambassador, that he must treat him honourably, if he expected to make any sport with him; inasmuch as, being extremely self-conceited in his madness, he would be put out of all humour, if he were entertained with any disrespect, or indifference.  
The Marquis, who was a person naturally inclined to mirth and civility, promised him he would observe his directions. Whereupon the Host marches away for Don Pedro, who came into the room very humorously in his fool's coat, making wry mouths, and some fantastic gestures, the introduction to his future extravagance. The Ambassador, how serious soever he would appear, as being obliged by his quality to dissemble, could not forbear Laughing, to see him in that equipage, attended by Felician, who, on the other side, acted very well the part had been given him. He went to receive him at the Chamber-door, with this compliment; Welcome to the noblest piece of Gallantry that ever Spain saw; welcome the mirror of all the brave Knights that ever were celebrated for their heroic Actions. The News your Excellency tells me, replies Don Pedro, deserves not the reward may be expected for it: you are extremely mistaken, if you think yourself the first of those who have admired Nature's prodigality towards me in excellent parts and endowments. Give me the favour at least, answers the Marquis, to be one of the most faithful witnesses thereof, which no doubt I shall, if you please but to honour me a while with your sweet company. For as a rich Diamond pleases all the world, so the attractions of your countenance, and the transcendent insinuation of your behaviour forces the admiration of all that see you.  
Don Pedro was by this time got near the fair Lady Margaret, whereupon looking with a certain astonishment on her miraculous Beauty, My Lord Marquis, said he to him, I beseech you forbear at present the praises you are pleased to give me, for it were to profane those which are due to this excellent creature. I pray let me know whether she be your Daughter, for if she be, you will be much concerned in the Eulogies I shall give this— this— this— (well) Miracle. Her coming into the world was to embellish our Hemisphere, to supply Cupid with fresh Darts, to become the Loadstone of Hearts, the delight of the Eyes, the astonishment of the Universe, the masterpiece of Heaven, and the miracle of Nature. By the Noble Order of Knight-wood I am of, I swear, that the very minute I first cast my Eye on this accomplished Beauty, I found my heart was grown rebellious, and no longer mine; my will bereayed of all freedom; and my soul become absolutely her Slave. In a word, Sir, I think myself somewhat different from what I was before, and the more I feel myself, the more I am astonished at the strange Metamorphosis. The commendations you give me, renowned Knight, replies the Lady, smell too much of slattery: I am confident you do not yourself believe one half of what you have said, and therefore it will be hard for you to persuade me to it. You consider not that you act against your own Sentiment, when you speak against your Conscience. I should never advise a Gallant, who would raise himself an esteem with the Ladies, to hazard his own disappointment by so ill a Prologue; for to give undeserved praises breeds a suspicion of imperfections; and to be forced to the belief of falsehood brings truth into question. The truth, I tell you, replies the amorous Extravagant, is such, so pure, so clear, and so far from all suspicion of being otherwise, that you shall ever find it as plainly in my Mouth as in your own Looking-glass. Be not so hasty, honourable Knight, says the Lady to him, be pleased to take a Chair, for we desire to discourse with you at leisure. Were it Heaven's pleasure, Madam, says Don Pedro, as soon as he was sat, that I might ever continue near you: but I see the honour you are pleased to do me will be but short, and my joy soon be over, for I understand, that within two days you leave this place, and if you go without me, I shall die out of pure grief. In the mean time, give me leave to look on this mansion as the Empyreal heaven, since so great a Deity hath honoured it with her presence. We forget all civility, says the Marquis, when we fall into other discourse, before you have first entertained us with your own noble adventures, that we may thereby know what respects we ought to pay your worth. There is not any due to me Sir, replies the disguised Cavalier; but that the service, I have vowed you, may be the better received, I will give you an account of my extraction, and relate you the perfect history of my Life hitherto: be pleased to afford your attention to what I shall say.  
The Kingdom of Galicia was heretofore governed by Counts, and afterwards by Kings. Gondomar reigned in that time, and continued a Widower after the burial of his first Wife, by whom he had no other Children but the Infanta, Theodomira, who coming to reign after him was called the Wenching-queen. She fell in love with the Gallant Ricaredo, one of the richest and prope est persons in the Kingdom. He ever kept about the Court, and was a Kinsman, though somewhat afar off, to the King, but his principal Favourite, by which means he had access into the Queen's chamber, and got of her that favour whereby Mankind is propagated. I proved to be the issue of that amorous Union, and the good hour of my birth happened at a time that the King chanced to be at his Daughter's lodging. The pains of Childbirth surprised her, and being a Novice in such adventures, she could not dissemble her Labour, even in the presence of her Father, who imagined it was some other accident had happened to her. Her Women holp her to Bed, not knowing the disease that troubled her; but not long after I came into the world, it seems, to run through all the misfortunes that have happened to me since. Being received into the world by a faithful Servant, who knew of my Mother's Loves, she took me in her Lap, to be delivered to a Brother of hers, who was also acquainted with the business. As she went out of the Infanta's Lodgings, she meets with the King, going to visit his Daughter. She was afraid his curiosity would have egged him on to examine what she had in her Lap; which made her turn back of a sudden, and, by a secret pair of stairs, go down into the Garden, where having disposed me into a little wicker Basket, she put me into the River Silius, which ran by the wall thereof, and told the Infanta that she had delivered me to her Brother, as they had resolved. I was carried awhile on the Crystal waves of that clear River, but at last, the water growing somewhat rough, I sunk, and was received into the arms of the God of that River, who encompassed by his fair Nymphs, conducted me into his own Crystal palace. You may haply imagine this discourse a feigned story taken out of the inventions of the Poets; but give me leave to assure you, that the business happened no otherwise than as I tell you.  
I was brought up by the Nymphs in that secret Mansion, and instructed by the God of the River, who wished I might prove worthy so noble an education. He caused me to be instructed in all manner of Sciences, and spared no pains to make me an accomplished person. I learned three or four Languages, but particularly the Latin above any of the other. Being arrived to the twentieth year of my Age, Love, to show his omnipotency, and that all places are under his jurisdiction, caused his flames to fasten on me even through the water. In that Virginal company of Nymphs, there was one, for whom the God of that watery habitation had a particular esteem; and she deserved it, for she very much excelled all her Companions; her name was Anacarsia. Her endowments were extraordinary, and her beauty beyond all comparison. In complexion and stature she came somewhat near this fair Lady your Daughter, and had the same advantage over the rest of the Nymphs, as the Delphic Torch hath over the other Planets. She played excellently well on all kinds of Instruments; to sum up all in a word, she was a prodigy of all perfections. I fell so passionately in love with this beauty that I had not a minute's rest, from the time that little Deity had wounded my heart, with the mortal darts of her sparkling Eyes. I found it a hard business to discover my love to her, in regard I could never meet her alone. She was perpetually haunted by some of those who lived in that Crystal palace; they followed her every where, and would never be out of her sight. But one day, when all the other Nymphs were gone to a Musick-meeting, at which were also to be read certain Lectures of Poesy, being the ordinary divertisements of the God of that River, the divine Anacarsia purposely pretended some indisposition, to give me an opportunity to speak with her. She sent me notice of it, by one who came to tell me from her, that she kept her Bed only for my sake, than which I could not have expected a kinder compliment from one of her Sex. I went to her chamber, and found her carelessly laid on a Bed of Moss, exceeding in whiteness the fine Sheets she lay on, and disputing as to splendour and light, with the Sun, who then beheld her. I was startled at the sight of so many charms, and was upon the point of losing all Sentiment, an effect natural enough in those who are truly touched with love. But recovering myself a while after, though still much troubled, and my tongue but as it were newly loosened, I took the confidence to make this discourse to her.  
Adorable Nymph, the glory of these deep Habitations, but the unavoidable Rack of those hearts, which are captivated by your Beauty, my soul, since the first time I saw you, is absolutely disposed to serve you; I have no further power over her, she is wholly yours, and glories in her slavery. Treat her as a thing belongs to you, and as I have vowed her to you with an inviolable fidelity. You have done me an extraordinary favour in allowing me to declare the amorous passion I have for you: may I further hope that you will allay it, and if I should be admitted to that degree of felicity, should I not be the happiest and the most glorious of all men?  
The fair Anacarsia infinitely pleased with so obliging a discourse, and the worth she observed in me, highly honoured me with her affection, and complied with my amorous desires, in such sweet and melting expressions, as put me in hopes of the happy accomplishment of my Love. But it was not long ere our discourse was interrupted by the God of the River, who finding neither of us at the Meeting, came straight to her Chamber, and slunk in so softly, that he overheard some part of our amorous conference; which so incensed him against me, that he immediately resolved to give a check to my presumption. He laid siege, with his clear waters, to the chamber of Anacarsia, and ere he had quite damned up the door, he cast me out with such violence, that I was got to the bank of the River. I presently heard a voice saying unto me, Guadomarus, thou art descended from Kings, though it be a long time since they have had Sceptres in their hands; Princes of another Family have displaced them. Thou art born a Pagan, choose what Law thou thinkest best; if thou wilt follow my advice, thou wilt take that which is observed in this Kingdom, under which lived thy illustrious Ancestors. I have justly banished thee out of my dominions, because it was not fit I should suffer profane love to be made to a Nymph who had vowed her chastity to me, as I had mine to her. I have promised her my protection and assistance in all things. Keep henceforward within thy Kingdom, and assure thyself I wish thy good and advancement, so far am I from doing thee any discourtesy. Whithersoever Fortune shall dispose of thee, be confident, thou wilt not be out of the reach of my care.  
With those words the waters of the River seemed to stir themselves into a gentle curl, which being presently laid, it became as smooth as it had been before. I immediately found myself (by what adventure I know not) in a Kitchin-garden, in the midst of a bed of Marigolds, which I looked on as a good Omen, and thought myself obliged to derive my name thence. Afterwards, at my baptism, I took the name of Peter Gil of Galicia, taking the surname from the Kingdom which had been heretofore in the possession of my Predecessors, who have been dead these four hundred years, as I have found in History. Besides that name I have taken as an additional title, that of Knight of the noble Order of the Marigold; I have assumed it myself, for an illustrious Hero, as I am, may be his own Herald, and by what appellations he pleases raise himself above the sphere of the common sort of people.  
Thus have I given your Excellence an account who I am, and discovered to you my true Original. If the qualities and endowments I own, deserve the Honour to be received into your alliance, give me leave, O most illustrious Marquis, to make my addresses to this super-celestial Beauty, this Miracle of our age, whom Nature was humorously pleased to frame for the delight of the eyes, and torment of hearts. I only expect your good will, give it me, I beseech you, and thereby satisfy my extraordinary passion. I think you so generous, that you will not deny it me, if you consider, that granting it not, you bereave me of my life, which you know is the most illustrious of any in Europe; and are consequently satisfied, that the world, losing in me, the most renowned Knight it ever had, must withal lose the worthiest Kinsman of his Catholic Majesty King Philip.  
He delivered these last words with such pleasant gestures, the better to express the violence of his passion, that both the Marquis and his Daughter had much ado to forbear laughing. Felician was astonished to see the force of that passion, which, of an accomplished Gentleman, made a ridiculous laughingstock; and could turn a person of eminent parts and judgement, one not long before consulted in Flanders as an Oracle, into a counterfeit Extravagant. For if he had not pretended the loss of his wits, he had lost all the hopes of his love; and he could not have gotten near so fair a Lady upon any account but that of madness.  
The Marquis composing his countenance to more seriousness, returned him this Answer. Signior Don Pedro Gill, the most illustrious, and only Knight of the Noble Order of the Marigold, I am extremely pleased with the knowledge you have given me of your person, and the account you have entertained me with of your miraculous birth and noble education. Had a person, less illustrious than yourself, acquainted me therewith, I should have mistrusted his discourse, and imagined he told me fables: but a person of your worth and quality ought to be credited in all things. What further confirms me in the truth thereof is, that, he is no less than a Prince who speaks to me. Believe me, I have a great respect for your rare Qualities, and such an honour for your person, that I would assure you my own is wholly at your service. I have that esteem for your friendship, that I shall endeavour the continuance of it while I live. I wish myself a natural Inhabitant of this Kingdom, that I might have the greater opportunities to further your satisfaction. I shall stay here but till such time as his Imperial Majesty shall send order for my return; but during the abode I shall make here, command me in any thing lies in my power. As for the permission you desire to make your addresses to my Daughter, I from this time give it you, and I allow her to accept of it, and to entertain you kindly: but she is already made sure to a Cousin of hers, and I have sent to Rome for a Dispensation, which once come, the Marriage will be concluded. This obstacle lies in your way, and you will find it a hard matter to remove it. I am sorry I had not the happiness of your acquaintance before; for how gladly would I have embraced the honour of having a Son-in-law of your worth and quality, and to see my Family allied to the Blood-Royal of Galicia? The end of most Courtships is Marriage; of yours you see it cannot be. To address yourself to my Daughter upon any other account, I know you would not; the husband she expects is a person of so much gallantry, as not to receive any such affront.  
The disguised Extravagant broke forth into great resentments upon his obliging discourse, which made excellent sport for all that were present. But having laughed their fill, the Marquis and his Daughter could not forbear making charitable reflections on that strange kind of distraction. It pitied them to see a Gentleman every way so accomplished, fallen into such unheard of extravagancies, as to allege himself descended from a River, and brought up in it, five hundred years before. While some that were present, purposely to urge him to speak, opposed the stories he had told them, and he endeavoured to give them satisfaction, the Marquis acquainted his Daughter with a thing had come into his mind, which was to carry Don Pedro along with them to the Court, it being likely he would find them excellent sport by the way. They resolved to treat him as a Person of eminent quality, having understood by his Servant, that he was really such, and that upon his recovery out of a great sickness, that madness had seized him. The Lady Margaret was very well content, leaving it to some other time to acquaint him therewith. Don Pedro Gil coming to take his leave of the Marquis said to him, That since he was so unhappy as not to deserve his fair Daughter's hand, in the quality of a Husband, he would allow him to love her with a virtuous Love, such as even her Husband should not disapprove. The Marquis gave way, desiring him to honour him with his company at supper that night, for that he had somewhat to communicate unto him. Don Pedro gladly accepted the proffer, and thereupon they parted.  
The Marquis and his people talked very much of Don Pedro, wondering at the strange kind of madness he was fallen into. He acquainted them with the design he had to take him along to the Court. The Master of the house where he was lodged happening to be then present, told him, that he doubted Don Pedro Gill would hardly be persuaded thereto, if the Marquis treated him as an inferior; for he was mighty self-conceited, and stood much upon his honour; but if he were willing, there would arise another difficulty in the manner of his travelling; in regard, said he to him, your Excellency going by Litter, I think he would be loath to go by horse. We'll find an expedient for that, says the Marquis, which is, that my Daughter, as his Mistress, shall command him to entertain her at the side of her Litter; for if his love continues, he will be glad of the opportunity; and he shall have an excellent horse, richly harnessed, which I have led after me, to ride on when I am weary of the Litter.  
Don Pedro, who had been acquainted with all these discourses, failed not to come to supper, to which he had been invited. The Marquis received him very civilly, and caused a chair to be set for him, near his Daughter, which he thought a very signal favour. They talked of divers things, the Marquis finding he had an excellent wit in his intervals, which ever closed with some pleasant extravagance. They were very merry at supper, and were obliged for their diversion to the merry discourses of Don Pedro At last, the cloth being taken away, the Marquis broke his mind to him in these words.  
'Tis a thousand pities, most renowned Knight, that a person so accomplished as you are, and one furnished with all the excellent endowments that recommend men to the favour and esteem of Princes, should as it were defy their Courts, and spend your time and talents in such an obscure place as this is. I have heard that the reason of this your retirement is, that you have not means to live suitably to your condition and the rank you should maintain. If it be so, give me leave to propose an expedient to you, out of the particular esteem I have for your Signory. I shall take it for a very great favour, if you will be pleased to go along with me to Valladolid, where you shall be treated, in my Quarters, with all the submissions and respects due to a person of your quality, yet so as that it shall not cost you any thing. By this means coming to be known, and your worth spreading itself, you may meet with a rich wife, of some illustrious Family; wherein my Daughter may do you a kindness, in regard she, having occasion to see many of them, will advance you into her favour, for whom you have most inclination. Let me obtain of your Knighthood the favour I desire of you; live freely with us, since you would have me believe, that the love you bear my Daughter is pure and sincere; I will undertake it shall be kindly taken by the Husband she hopes to have. I expect your Answer to this particular, and I desire it may be consonant to the esteem I have for your worth.  
Don Pedro was extremely satisfied, that the Imposture had taken so well, and immediately apprehended, that, living in the house with the Marquis, he should be near her whom he adored, which was the main end of his desires; whereupon he returned him this Answer. No temptation in the world should have forced my removal from this place, but the extraordinary Civilities I have received from your Excellency. I had resolved to spend the rest of my days in this retirement, as conceiving it the best course for a person of my Quality, whose Revenues are much below his Honour, to confine himself to some place, where he is not much known, and so avoid the charge of Servants and clothes. But the respects you are pleased to have for me, together with this transcendent Beauty, who, by the forcible attractions of her divine countenance, draws hearts after her, as the Thracian Orpheus did living creatures, stones and plants, by the harmonious sound of his Harp, have made me wholly at your service. I shall not trouble either you or myself to tell you how persons of my Quality ought to be treated, as thinking it enough, that I have already acquainted you with my Titles, and particularly that I am of the Blood-Royal. The greatest favour you can ever do me, is, that you command me to wait on your Daughter, which if you do, I shall the more willingly accept of the proffer you are pleased to make me.  
The Marquis finding him willing to go along with them, all that remained to be done was to persuade him to do it on horseback, which he was content to do, that he might the better entertain his Mistress at the side of her Litter. Don Pedro helped the Lady into her Litter, being proud in his mind at that introduction of his service to her, and that he had the happiness to take her by the fair hand, continuing his attendance on her from their departure from Pontferrada, till they came to Valladolid. All the way along, he entertained her with pleasant discourses, intermixed with amorous expressions, and at every Inn they came to, she failed not to give her Father an account of the divertive discourses she had had with Don Pedro  
The last day of their Journey, Don Pedro would needs feel the pulse of his Mistress as to her intended Marriage, and endeavoured to discover how she was inclined thereto. He brought the business upon the Stage, so dexterously, as that she might not suspect him guilty of any impertinent curiosity. It is commonly observed that persons any way afflicted are apt to break their minds to any people, but especially to those with whom they are familiarly acquainted. Accordingly, to ease her own thoughts, and satisfy Don Pedro, she made him this Answer. Worthy Knight of the most honourable Order of the Marigold, I must needs acknowledge, that my Cousin Leopoldus is a person endowed with all the Qualities, capable to raise a Woman's Love to the highest pitch, but I have withal discovered him to be so fickle, and one so naturally inclined to address himself to all sorts of Women, not regarding whether they be nobly or meanly descended, that it very much cools my affection towards him, and makes me fear his alliance, though I find myself sufficiently inclined thereto, could I perceive any likelihood of his reforming himself of that insufferable humour. But, far from that, since my coming into Spain, when he should have endeavoured to give me greater assurances of his affection, I find him as indifferent as to my satisfaction as ever: and God knows with what apprehensions I am induced to condescend to this Match. For if I am now frighted at the thoughts of his mis-carriages, what must I not fear, when he shall become my Master? The obedience I owe my Father, and the necessity I find that this Marriage should be concluded, for the composure of some differences in our Family, make me wholly passive in the business, and so content it should go forward. I admit of his Addresses not without some violence to my own inclination, and all I can do, is to pray Heaven, that it would inspire him with better resolutions.  
Don Pedro could have wished that she had not been so resolute, as she seemed to be. He therefore, though then personating a Fool, answered her as a wise Man, and advised her to bear a while with the failings of her Cousin. Despair not, Madam, said he to her, but Don Leopoldus may become another Man, and that if he be such as you describe him now, that volatile humour will be fixed in him, when he shall come to be possessed of so fair and accomplished a Lady. But he resolved, upon the first opportunity should present itself, to express his mind to her in other terms, and to make a full discovery of himself to his Mistress.  
They came that day to Valladolid, and Leopoldus met them half a days Journey short of it. He was very kindly received both of the Marquis and his Daughter, whereat the disguised Don Pedro was not a little troubled: for finding Don Leopoldus a very graceful person, he began to entertain some doubts of the success of his enterprise. The Marquis thought fit to make him acquainted with Don Pedro, that, by the Character he gave him, he might accordingly treat him. Nephew, said he to him, I pray take notice of this noble Cavalier, who hath honoured us with his company from Galicia, for his person, and the rare qualities he is Master of are such as deserve the highest esteem. I desire you to respect him accordingly, and assure yourself all you do will be below his merit, not only upon the account of the Royal Blood from which he is descended, but also the Romantic title he assumes to himself, of Knight of the honourable Order of the Marigold. He pretends a jurisdiction over all those places where ever any of that Herb grows, and never sees it, but he thinks of the complexion of a Mistress he once had, who spent most of her time in Kitchen-gardens, in one whereof it was Love's pleasure to make him a Captive to her Beauty, as she was gathering some Marigolds.  
This description made Don Leopoldus take a particular notice of Don Pedro, and he doubted not, as well by his accoutrements, as by the fantastic title he had taken to himself, to conclude him a most transcendent Extravagant, and that, as such, they had entertained him into their Company. Accordingly, to comply with his Uncle, he made this compliment to Don Pedro Most honourable Knight of the Marigold, I shall receive your acquaintance with as great satisfaction as I should do that of the greatest Monarch in the world, and think myself infinitely obliged to you, that, being a person of such extraordinary parts, you were pleased to honour the Marquis my Uncle, and my Cousin, with your company so far out of your own territories. In acknowledgement of that noble favour, be pleased to accept the proffer I make to you of ever being your most affectionate and most humble Servant, than which I cannot expect a higher relation to you, when I consider the character my Uncle hath been pleased to give you.  
Don Pedro returned him his most humble thanks, and said to him, I have so high an esteem for whatsoever this fair Lady is concerned in, that I shall make it my business to sacrifice all you think most excellent in me to her satisfaction and yours, as long as it shall please his Excellency to give me leave to be of his retinue. How, replies Leopoldus, may we expect that further happiness as to enjoy your company for some time? I see no reason you have to be so glad of it, replies the Marquis, for you are to know, that Don Pedro Gil is fallen deeply in love with your Cousin, and that it is his affection hath occasioned this acquaintance, though he hath assured me, that, since he understood she was designed for you, that Love is turned into a pure fraternal friendship, and under that innocent passion he endeavours to oblige her what lies in his power. Be pleased to take my further assurance of it, says Don Pedro, that no thought of that may break your rest; for that consideration laid aside, I should think myself capable to raise a jealousy even in Narcissus himself, were he now alive: for I dare, without any vanity, affirm it, that there is not a person in the world may be compared to me either as to gracefulness of body; or accomplishments of mind. I am sufficiently convinced of the truth of what you say, says Leopoldus, though I have not known you long: and therefore wholly relying on the promise you make me, I shall fear nothing as to your pretensions, which were they any other Man's, I should not be guilty of so great an indifference.  
With these discourses, they got to the Court, and the Ambassador being alighted at his House, he there found many Ladies, impatiently expecting the arrival of the fair Lady Margaret, who was received out of her Litter into the arms of her designed Husband, whereat Don Pedro could do no less than conceive a little jealousy. Leopoldus, to begin the demonstrations of his Love, had prepared a magnificent Supper, to which were invited all those, of both Sexes, who were come thither to receive the Ambassador and his Daughter.  
Don Pedro went to Bed presently after Supper, extremely troubled in mind, that he had engaged himself in an enterprise, wherein he found so great difficulties. He could not imagine any means to bring it about, so as that he might come off with credit; he met with too many Obstacles, and what afflicted him most of all, was, the resolution the Lady had taken to satisfy her Father's desire, who was desirous the marriage should be concluded with Leopoldus, though he had been acquainted, as well as she, with him mis-carriages. Felician could not forbear grumbling at the resolution of his Master, which must have ended amidst those difficulties. He exposed himself as an Extravagant person in a Court where he might have raised himself into esteem, and out of a hope not likely to be brought to any effect, he ran himself daily into new inconveniences. The Master and Servant spent some part of the night in discoursing about the business, till at last Don Pedro fell asleep, with a resolution to discover himself to his Mistress, and, if his addresses were not well entertained by her, to return immediately into Galicia.  
The visits of the Cavaliers and Ladies, continued six days, during which time the Marquis and his Daughter were often seen, both of them taking much pleasure in the pleasant demeanour of Don Pedro, who acted the part he had undertaken so admirably well, that his Extravagancies became the discourse of the whole Court, all speaking of him as one of the most humorous Fools that had come upon the Stage of a long time; insomuch that some advised the Ambassador to bring him to the Palace, assuring him the King would be much pleased with his behaviour. Don Pedro coming to hear of it, seemed to be very angry, and excused himself, out of a fear his Majesty might not entertain him, suitably to his quality and extraction; that he would not run the hazard of receiving an affront, and that the least disrespect shown him would force him to violent resentments thereof. The Ambassador pressed him no further, lest he might put him out of humour, perceiving he liked not the proposal, and put it off to some other time, when haply he might find him more inclined to compliance.  
Leopoldus, who was also Lodged in the Ambassadour's house, had only two Servants to wait on him, whom he trusted with the knowledge of all his Love-adventures. It happened that both these fell Sick at the same time, a time when he should have shown more reservedness in his Amours, to raise himself into a better esteem with his Mistress; but he, on the contrary, minded his own enjoyments above all things, and never considering the present posture of his affairs, he continued his Night-visits, as he was wont to do before her arrival. Being thus disappointed of their attendance, who were best acquainted with his humours, he conceived he could not pitch on a fitter person to accompany him than Felician, who, with the leave of his Master Don Pedro, went along with him. Finding him a subtle fellow, and experienced in such affairs, he thought him a person fit for his purpose, and accordingly that he might trust him with any thing. He took him along with him three or four nights together to a certain House, out of which he came at a very unseasonable hour. Though Felician went in with him, yet durst he not be so impertinently inquisitive, as to ask who was the Mistress of the House, till the third or fourth night that he had accompanied him thither; and then being alone with a Servant-maid (who taking example by her Mistress began to express some kindness towards Felician) he asked her whose House that was, and to whom Leopoldus made his Visits. Love and Secrecy are seldom found in the same Lodging. She was a Servant, and in love with Felician; there needs no more be said, to make it apppear, that she satisfied him in whatever he desired to know. Felician understood from her, that that House belonged to his Master's Aunt, and that his own Sister was the Person whom Leopoldus had at rack and manger, upon a promise of Marriage she had gotten from him a little before under his hand, she, by reason of her retiredness, being innocently ignorant of the treaty of marriage between him and his Cousin the Lady Margaret.  
Felician, having pumped out all these particulars, failed not to give his Master an account thereof the next day. Don Pedro was extremely surprised thereat; not without indignation against his Sister, though that procedure of Leopold raised him into some hope of effecting his design, presuming the more upon it, in that being equal, as to birth, to Leopold, he was resolved ne should never marry any other, than her whom he had so highly dishonoured. He thereupon commanded Felician to acquaint the Maid who had made those discoveries to him, that the marriage of Leopoldus and his Cousin was agreed upon, and that a Messenger was sent to Rome for the Dispensation, not forgetting the rare accomplishmen●s of the Lady Margaret; to the end she might acquaint his Sister therewith, to see what course she would take, and how she would remedy the affront intended her. He punctually executed the orders he had received from Don Pedro, so that the night following Donna Blanca (so was Don Pedro's Sister called) was acquainted with the whole business. She thereupon had a great contestation with Don Leopold, who impudently denied that he had any thing to do, as to marriage with his Cousin. In fine having done all he could to vindicate himself, and appease Donna Blanca, she pretended to be satisfied with him, provided he more fully justified his innocence the next morning. So she dismissed Leopold, who went away well satisfied, imagining her to be so too: but resolving with himself not to give her any visit a while, he pretended some indisposition. Don Pedro understood that night from Felician all that had passed between Don Leopold and his Sister, and was extremely incensed against her that she had given credit to the deceitful words of a perfidious man. However he thought fit to let pass two days, to see what course his Sister would take in that time, commanding Felician to prosecute his discoveries.  
The next day, Don Leopold not coming to clear himself, as he had promised, Donna Blanca was so enraged, that she would stay no longer, but resolved to be satisfied from the mouth▪ the Ambassador, of the affront intended to be done her. She took a Coach, and veiling her face, came to his house, but at such an unfortunate time, that she met Don Leopold at the door, who, discovering who she was, presently imagined what might occasion that visit, and that her coming thither was to acquaint the Ambassador how he was engaged to her, and to show him the promise of marriage. Don Leopold received her with extraordinary kindness, which she taking otherwise than he expected, added the more to his suspicion. He told her, he had something particular to acquaint her with, and entreated her to go along with him to a room at some distance from his Uncle's lodgings. Donna Blanca would not be persuaded a good while to give him that satisfaction, telling him, that she must first speak with the Ambassador, and that afterwards he should talk with her as long as he pleased. That Don Leopold endeavoured to prevent, assuring her, that he was at that time very busy, looking over a Packet of Letters he had received from the Emperor. He was so importunate with her, that she would hear him before she spoke with the Ambassador, that at last he prevailed. Whereupon conducting her to Don Pedro's chamber, he entreated him to keep her company, till he came back to speak with her.  
Donna Blanca having her face veiled all this time, Don Pedro knew her not, but by the discoveries he had received, he suspected her to be his Sister. On the other side, he was so transformed by the extravagance of his clothes, and, what added much to his disguise, his perpetual wearing of Spectacles, that she could not have the least imagination of his being her Brother. Don Pedro kept her company a while, without enquiring into the occasion of her coming thither, and at last, leaving her locked up in the room, he went to look for Don Leopold, to know how he would have him dispose of her. He was then busy with his Uncle, sent one to desire Don Pedro, to entertain that Lady a while, with this excuse, that, as soon as he could, he would come and dispatch her. Don Pedro returning to his Chamber, immediately locked the door.  
In the mean time, the Lady Margaret had understood, that her Cousin had spoken to a Woman with her face veiled, in one of the walks leading to the Ambassador's house, and desir'd Don Pedro to conduct her to his chamber. The jealousy she conceived thereat raised in her a desire to know who she might be, which she might easily discover, by reason there was a passage from her lodgings to Don Pedro's chamber, and at the end of it a door, whereof she had the key. She opened it very softly, lest she might be perceived, and that just as Don Pedro, coming into the room, found his Sister with her face unveiled, expecting to be seen only by Don Leopold, whom only she stayed for. As soon as he had taken a sleight view of her, he made this discourse to her.  
Ungracious and unhappy woman, unworthy the House out of which thou art descended, and that I should call thee my Sister! Is it possible thou shouldst be guilty of so strange an oblivion of thyself, as, relying on the vain promises of a treacherous person, to come into this house to seek him who hath abused thee, and to whom thou hast impudently prostituted thyself? Comest thou to importune a man that hath forgotten thee, and to court him who hath so palpably deceived thee? If, besotted with a fond love, it be thy design to be married to him, thou hast friends to whom thou mightst have communicated thy desires, rather than have abandoned thyself to a man who treats thee with so much contempt, and, notwithstanding all his caresses, laughs at thee in his sleeve. He is upon the point of marriage with his Cousin; art thou so simple, as that thou only shouldst be ignorant of what is known all over the Court? Had I not a respect for the place where thou art, this sword should dispatch thy criminal Soul into the other world, that thou mightst be an example to all such simple Gulls as thou art. Hast thou so far forgotten the respect due to thy Aunt as to profane her house, by assigning Leopold his nocturnal meetings in it? Thou shouldst have bethought thyself who thou art, that he is of no better House than thyself, and that thy quality is as high as his. 'Tis a great happiness to thee, that an humour took me to come into this Court, though thou seest me in this ridiculous habit, to prevent, what lies in my power, Leopold's further abuse of thee; which I will do with the hazard of my life. Tell me, infamous woman, what hath passed between you, that I may take some course therein, and dissemble not the truth in any thing, for it concerns thee no less than honour and life.  
The disconsolate Donna Blanca heard this discourse with her eyes fastened on the ground and flowing with tears, without giving him the least interruption: but at last, to obey her Brother, whose indignation she saw justly grounded, she told him, in few words, how Leopold had seen her at a certain public meeting, that he liked her, and, having enquired out her lodgings, he had sent her several Letters; that having continued his addresses to her with great demonstrations of affection, she had granted him entrance into the house, and that upon a promise of marriage under his hand (which she had about her) she had permitted him to dispose of her as he pleased. In fine, she gave him a particular account of all that had happened between them; whereupon he, to add no more to her affliction, put her in some hope, that Leopold should be forced to perform the promise he had made her.  
The fair Lady Margaret had heard all this discourse, at the door which was between her lodgings and Don Pedro's chamber, extremely astonished how a person of quality (such as she found Don Pedro to be by his discourse) and one of such an excellent wit, could put on a Fool's coat, and behave himself as an extravagant in their house, and all about the Court. She was ignorant of the causes of that strange Metamorphosis, and yet she had a certain suspicion, that it might be upon her account. On the other side, she reflected on the double treachery of her Cousin Don Leopold, in treating of a marriage with her, having given a promise of the same thing to another, and that a person so highly qualified as Donna Blanca seemed to be.  
Being fully satisfied as to those two things, she would not stand to hear them any longer, but rushed into the room so of a sudden, as that she had not the time to put any thing over her face, nor he, to dissemble his indignation. Seeing her coming towards them, Ah Madam, said he to her, what mean these Ambushes? What's your design therein, Sovereign Princess of my Soul, and absolute Directress of my inclinations? Do you use such a treachery against those who could not so much as imagine you guilty of any such thing? I wish so great a Beauty would not give me any more such apprehensions, for another surprise of this nature would make me die out of pure joy, as it hath been the fortune of others to die out of an excess of grief. There is no dissembling any longer, replies the Lady, for I am fully assured that you are not the person you seem to us to be, and that the affliction you are in requires rather secret and real resentments, than personated extravagancies. My curiosity heightened by a little jealousy, procured me the discovery of more than you imagine; I have found the perfidiousness of my Cousin Don Leopold, greater towards me than I could have expected, considering his pretended kindnesses. I would fain be delivered out of the confusion I am in, and I earnestly entreat you to resolve me this riddle, for its obscurity perplexes me very much: but before you take that trouble upon you, give me leave to carry this Lady your Sister to my lodgings, and if my Cousin comes in the mean time to inquire after her, you may tell him, that she went away much displeased at his long stay, and leave the rest to me.  
Having so said, she took Donna Blanca along with her, assuring her she would do all lay in her power to serve her, which put her in hope of a better success in her affairs, than she could have derived from either her Brother's indignation or Leopold's treachery. The Lady Margaret left Donna Blanca among her Women, and returns to Don Pedro, who though at first suprized at the sight of her, and the thought of her having overheard the infamy of his Sister; yet was he withal glad of it, since her jealousy and curiosity had discovered his transformation, and the unhandsome carriage of her Cousin. Don Pedro therefore was very glad to see his Mistress returned, as might be seen by the cheerfulness of his countenance. She desired him to take a chair, and doing the like herself, she opened her mind to him in these words.  
I have been in an extraordinary confusion for some days past, and so incensed against my Cousin Don Leopold, to see the strangeness of his behaviour towards me, that I come to receive your advice how far I ought to resent it, and withal to be satisfied in some things, whereof I must yet acknowledge myself ignorant. One is, and that much raises my wonder, to see you counterfeiting the Fool and Extravagant, in a Court, where you might rather act the part of a person of Honour and Gallantry, as having the advantage of being Brother to so fair a Lady as Donna Blanca, who, besides the recommendation of beauty, seems to be Mistress of many other good qualities. You may infer from my discourse, that being of the quality I suppose you to be, you dishonour yourself in representing the Natural and ridiculous person, as well in regard of the habit you have assumed, as the extravagant actions wherewith you amuse the world. Which since I cannot imagine you would do but that there must be some great mystery in it, I am the more desirous to know your motives thereto, in that I conceive it will be a means to clear my mind of certain doubts which now lie somewhat heavy upon it.  
Having delivered this with the best grace in the world, the fair Lady was silent, and left Don Pedro the liberty to make her this reply. If you find me at any loss, Madam, in satisfying your desires as to this particular, I question not but you will have the goodness to attribute it, to that distraction poor mortals are subject to, when they address themselves to the objects of their vows and adorations. You cannot be ignorant, (though you knew it not by experience) that Love is a powerful Divinity, to whom men sacrifice all things; no impostures but he invents; no intrigues but he is author of; no difficulties but he overcomes, to compass his designs. This premised, I am in the next place freely to acknowledge, that the day you passed through Villefranche, which is the place of my birth, I found myself wounded by the lightning of your fair eyes. I did all lay in my power to oppose that passion; but it still proved predominant, and the engagement I knew there was between you and your Cousin Don Leopold could not abate aught thereof. Nay though I knew all the particulars of that engagement, wherein you rather complied with the commands of a Father then your own inclinations, inasmuch as you looked on that too happy Kinsman, as a fickle person, unworthy your affection, a truth I have since heard confirmed by yourself; nay though I saw the marriage in a manner concluded, yet all could not break the resolution I had taken to disguise myself as you have seen to traverse it, and fortune now seems to favour my designs. I am not therefore, Madam, to repent me of the slur I may have put upon my Blood and the noble House from which I am descended, in acting the Fool's part in yours, into which it was my business to introduce myself by all means imaginable, since the imposture hath proved so fortunate, and that I begin to conceive some hope of attaining my desires. You know, Madam, that I durst not have presumed to make you a real discovery of myself; for besides that I should run the hazard of not finding credit with you, I came in at a time when your marriage was in too great forwardness to be easily crossed by after-applications. In fine, it was Heaven's pleasure, that a strange conjunction of my Sister's misfortune, and your own just jealousies, should give you a discovery of what, haply, I should yet a while have kept from your knowledge. My true name is Don Pedro d' Osorio and Toledo, and consequently I may affirm myself to be of the most eminent Families of Spain, since I am descended from the Seignors of Villefranche and Astorga. I have the honour to be Knight of the Order of Alcantara, and I have acquired it by some years' services done his Majesty in Flanders, with hopes, ere long, to be gratified with an advantageous Commandery. I have given you an account of my Quality, and have not concealed from you my presumption. All I how now to Apologise for, is, my Love; and, I am the more confident of your pardon as to that, if you but ever so little consider the unavoidable influence of your own attractions. Nay I cannot but account it a happy offence, since it hath proved the occasion of your being undeceived; and when I make a joint reflection on my own happiness, and my Sister's credulity, I cannot repent me of a disguise, whereof the satisfaction infinitely exceeds the shame. For it is in your power to restore me the honour I have deprived myself of, only for your sake; and I shall force him, who hath cajoled my Sister out of her Honour, to perform the promise he hath made her, or it shall cost him his Life.  
The fair Lady was ravished to hear these words from her disguised Lover, and thought herself obliged to make an extraordinary return to so extraordinary a demonstration of affection. And being now fully undeceived as to the Sycophancy of her Cousin Don Leopold, she made him this Answer. Signior Don Pedro, That you have, upon so slight a ground as the little beauty I can pretend to, engaged yourself in an enterprise so prejudicial to your reputation and descent, I cannot but look on as a transcendent expression of your Love; though I do not excuse you as to this, that the noble accomplishments you are master of might no doubt have more happily and more worthily been otherwise employed. I have resented, as I ought, the little respect my Cousin expressed towards me, and therefore it is but just he should not enjoy me, since it may be inferred from the forwardness of his matching with another, that he never truly intended it. It must needs be an extraordinary joy to me, that I am undeceived before we were joined by that Tie which only Death can dissolve. I am satisfied as to the little affection he had for me, and I do yours but justice, when I assure you, that I shall be so far from forgetting it, that I shall endeavour all lies in my power to requite it.  
This was delivered with so obliging an accent, that the amorous Cavalier would have cast himself at her feet, would she have permitted it. He returned her his thanks with a thousand submissions for so extraordinary a favour, and the sweet encouragement she was pleased to give his Love. It was not now a seasonable time to expatiate into Compliments; Donna Blanca was left in the Lady Margaret's Lodgings, whose return she expected, and Don Pedro looked for Don Leopold, to inquire after the Lady he had recommended to his custody. The Lady Margaret went to comfort her whom she had left among her Women, and to put in execution what had been resolved, between her and Don Pedro About half an hour after her departure thence comes Don Leopold to his Chamber, to look after the Lady he had left there. Don Pedro told him, that he could stay her no longer, that she was gone, thinking he would not have come to her again. Nay then, I am glad I stayed so long, says Leopold, since my stay hath occasioned her to do as I would have had her, which was that she might be gone out of the house. This Woman plagues me extremely, and it was no small happiness to me, that she met not with my Uncle, for I should have been much troubled had she had any discourse with him. Don Pedro asked him some odd questions, as he was wont to do, to sift something further out of him, but Don Leopold would discover no more. The other easily apprehended, by the little had fallen from him, what course he intended to take; and the indignation he conceived at his slighting of his Sister was so great, that it was not without much violence done himself, he forbore calling him to account for it.  
In the mean time the Lady Margaret had visited Donna Blanca, of whom she had received a punctual relation of her Loves, which were but too much confirmed to her by the promise of Marriage she had brought with her. And after she had entered into a second admiration at the double perfidiousness of her Cousin Don Leopold, she sent to desire her Father to come to her, who being alone with her, she made him this discourse.  
It hath ever been a laudable custom, that Fathers should dispose of their Daughters in Marriage, as they either pleased themselves, or found most convenient for their affairs, but with this caution, that it should not be absolutely done contrary to their wills and inclinations. Many are yet willing to do so, out of a presumption, that Matrimony will change Men's humours: but it is seldom found to work that effect. Those therefore may be said to do well, who, referring the success to the higher Powers, by an implicit obedience, comply with the disposal of their Parents: but those, in my judgement do better, who use some precaution, and endeavour to prevent the inconveniences, which they must otherwise fall into. I have ever been ready, Sir, to do whatever you commanded me, especially in the business now in agitation, though I have found my Cousin Don Leopold to be of a disposition so contrary to mine, that I promised myself little satisfaction from our being joined together in the inseparable estate you intended. I have endeavoured to obey you, though with some violence to my own inclinations, which directed my affection to other persons not inferior to him, either in quality or estate. I consented to this Marriage because you seemed so much to desire it. When it was fully concluded, there was a person sent to Rome for the Dispensation; and even during that time, when I expected my Cousin should have expressed most Love to me, I have found he hath done quite contrary, since he hath given a promise of Marriage to another Lady, whom you shall presently see.  
She thereupon called for Donna Blanca, whom she had left in her own Chamber, and who immediately came before the Ambassador. Having disposed her into a Chair, the Lady Margaret continued her discourse. This, Sir, is the Lady I spoke of, to whom my Cousin hath given a promise of Marriage under his hand, which she now hath about her, and you shall see, how this perfidious person became thereby master of her Honour. Coming hither to speak with you, and complain of the affront intended her, she met him, who, giving her fair woe ds, locked her into Don Pedro's Chamber, under pretence that you were busy, and that it would be long ere you would be seen by her. Some little curiosity occasioned my going to that door, which is between my Lodgings and his, and there I came to the knowledge of this business, having overheard some part of their discourse. I thought fit to bring this Lady to my Chamber, to give you further satisfaction of so pressing a Truth. Her quality is great, since she is of the House of Osorio and Toledo, two of the most illustrious Families of Spain: She is resolved to make the case known to her Friends, who are very noble, and of great credit in this Court, that they may oppose my Marriage and prevent our common affront. I have hitherto obeyed you as a Father, I now appeal to you as my Judge, and I be seech you discharge me of so unjust an obedience for the future: for I am resolved rather to confine myself for the rest of my days, in the most austere Monastery about this City, than ever be Wife to a Man so insensible of worth and honour.  
The Ambassador was extremely astonished at both what he saw, and what he had heard. He examined the promise made to Donna Blanca, and found, that that discovery alone was sufficient to prevent his Daughter's marriage with Leopold. He immediately resolved to break all to pieces, and to dismiss his Nephew, that there might be no more talk of the business. He caused the Ladies to withdraw, and sent for his Nephew, whom he showed the schedule he had made to Donna Blanca, ask him whether he knew the hand. He not a little troubled, and changing colour, began to deny it: but the Ambassador told him, that as he could not do it sincerely, so it would be very unhandsomely proffered, since the truth would be proved by several of his Letters written with the same hand. At last Don Leopold, not without extreme confusion, acknowledged, that, blinded by Love, he had indeed made that promise, but he would lose his Life ere he performed it.  
Don Pedro having quitted his Fool's coat, and put on a very Rich suit, with the Cross of Alcantara on the Cassock, and the Cloak, heard this discourse from a corner of the Room where he was disposed, and not able to endure any longer: Signior Leopold, said he coming up to him, have a better care what you say, and consider her quality whom you injure. Her birth is at least as noble as yours. She is my Sister, and, as such, I am obliged to vindicate and protect her: if you perform not the promise you have made her, I wear a Sword by my side which shall force you to do it, if Honour will not. I have already considered what I am in duty obliged to, as to that point, replies Don Leopold, and no Man shall force me, by menaces, to do any thing against my will. This so enraged Don Pedro, that he gave Don Leopold a challenge. The dispute grew higher and higher, which obliged the Ladies to come in between them, and to give order the doors should be shut, lest they might get out to fight.  
While these things passed, the Ambassador minded not the person of Don Pedro, and imagined him some other person come thither after his Sister: for, seeing him so well clad with the Cross of Alcantara, and without Spectacles, which he constantly wore, he knew him not: but having considered him better, he found that he who challenged his Nephew was the same person, who, by his pleasant extravagancies, had found him so much sport. The Lady Margaret perceiving her Father had his Eyes fastened on him, with some astonishment, imagined the cause of it, and gave it a check in these words. He, Sir, whom you see in a habit so different from that he was wont to wear, and who seemed so ridiculous to you, is Don Pedro d'Osorio and Toledo. When this dispute is over, you shall know the motives obliged him to that disguise.  
The Ambassador was the more astonished at that, and would have pressed his Daughter to make a further discovery of that secret, had he not seen the two Cavaliers, with Swords drawn, ready to make that Room the place of their Duel. He ran in between them, and endeavoured by mildness to persuade his Nephew, not to contest in a business, which was not to his advantage; that if he satisfied not the injured Cavalier, mischief would follow; that he should not rely on any protection he might hope from him, inasmuch as seeing the little reason he had of his side, and the affront he intended that Lady, he should rather be against him, by assisting his Adversary, than countenance him in so unjust a business. That as to his Daughter, he might quit all hope of her, that he should never be her Husband, and that it would discover a great poorness of spirit in her, if she had any thoughts of kindness for him, after she had been so unworthily treated by him.  
Don Leopold, finding himself pressed with reproaches on all sides, and withal harkening to the advice of his Conscience, thought it best, to follow his Uncle's counsel. He thereupon went with open arms to his true Wife, to whom he once more gave his hand as a Husband, and then embraced his Brother-in-law, whom he yet knew not. The Lady Margaret thought it a good opportunity, before the whole Company, to give her Father an account how Don Pedro had fallen in love with her, how he got into his Retinue in the quality of a Jester; that she conceived herself obliged to requite the extraordinary demonstration of his affection to her, by an exchange of hers to him, if her Father approved thereof. The old Gentleman had so much metal left, as to admire the strange conduct of Love in all its operations, and particularly, how it made the wisest Men mad, and the Mad wise, making its advantages of extravagance itself, to compass its designs. Without any further demurring, he gave his consent, whereupon the Lady Margaret took him by the hand, and Don Pedro was so happy, as, by odd and unlikely means, to see all his desires accomplished. The solemnities of both the Marriages were put off till eight days after; all the Grandees about the Court came to them. The Balls thereat, and the Tilting were extraordinary: but what more nearly touches the story, is, that the King honoured these two Cavaliers with great advantages, wherewith Don Pedro had also those of a numerous issue, for which Don Leopold needed not much to have envied him, being the most satisfied man in the world with his choice, whom he infinitely loved, and thereby made it appear, that the Inclinations of two persons, before they are united by Matrimony, though by some intervening occurrences somewhat remitted, may yet, by that sacred Tie, be heightened into a noble and vigorous flame of perfect Love.   
THE Novel was liked and commended by all that heard it, nay Rufina was extremely satisfied therewith. Brother Crispin, who reposed a very great confidence in her, was nothing troubled that she should overhear the designs laid by him and his Comrades to search those places, where they had notice there was anybooty. Crispin approved of some of the Robberies proposed by them, and opposed others, for the inconveniences he found in the execution thereof: for they looked on him as a person of great authority among them. His experience in affairs of that kind was such, that he assumed the title of Director, or rather Dictator of that famous Society: insomuch that not any one durst contradict what he had once decreed. It was by this time grown very late, so that they would not make a Dividend of what they had brought in that night, leaving it to be done at the next meeting, and committing it to the custody of the Hermit, who was their very faithful Steward. Crispin's Companions being gone to their quarters, he thought it incivility for him to do the like ere he had made a visit to Rufina, to wish her a good night's rest. He found her a little more cheerful than he had ever observed her before, whereat he was very glad. He asked her what she thought of the Novel; she told him, that she thought it very pretty and full of diversion, and that if she might often hear the like, they would procure some abatement of her melancholy. Take a good heart, Madam, says the Hypocrite to her, I hope you will here see an end of your affliction; we shall endeavour to find you all the divertisement we can, and 'tis possible you may not repent your being among us, if you will but remit something of your reservedness, and lay aside, as a thing extremely strange in this place, some part of your modesty. Rufina thought it time to alleviate her severities with some affability, and to quit her feigned grief. From that time, she began to treat the Hypocrite with greater kindness, that she might the better execute the design she had to make a Novice of an old Projector. Crispin went to bed, half laid asleep with her favourable looks, and the hopes derived thence, that the Fort would within a short time be reduced, since he had made his approaches so near, and taken off the Mask of his feigned Hypocrisy.  
The next morning at the very break of day, Crispin's companions left the Hermitage, to seek out their livelihood, at their cost, who lest mistrusted them. The Hermit himself was soon after for his march into the City, to beg alms, where he was wont to receive any. He went to take his leave of Rufina, who desired him to make very diligent enquiry for her Brother, giving him the marks of his face, person, and clothes, much different from those whereby Garay might have been found out. He locked the door on the outside, and carried away the key with him, which Rufina was not much troubled at; for she had brought with her from Corduba some of those keys, which open all locks, an invention better than Picklocks, and some other devices, which she had used at the Genoese's. Thus was she left all alone in the Hermitage, having beforehand appointed Garay to come to her as soon as Brother Crispin got to Malaga; which he accordingly did, mounted on one of the two horses he had brought with him. Rufina having heard him, opened the door, and gave him a short account what trade Brother Crispin drove, of his falling in love with her, and how there was a considerable sum of money in the Hermitage, brought thither the night before by his Comrades. Rufina had resolved to carry away all the ready money, in order whereto, she sent away Garay back to the City, to get some sleeping-powders, to be administered to Crispin at his return, that so they might have the whole night to do their work in. Garay brought the powder's before Crispin got home, for he spent the whole day in begging, and returned not to the Hermitage till towards night.  
Being got home, he was very kindly received by Rufina, whereat he was transported with joy, for he grew more and more in love with her. He showed her what he had gathered that day, and besides what had been voluntarily given him, he had very uncharitably taken, of his own accord, two silver spoons, and a necklace of pearl. The necklace he immediately presented Rufina with, and put it about her neck, with a thousand amorous compliments. She gave him infinite thanks for his Present, after which they supped very merrily together, he ever and anon entertaining her with some discoveries of his love, whereto she gave him very favourable Answers, promising it should not be long ere he had of her what he so much desired.  
It had been ordered among the Ferrets that frequented the Hermitage, at the last Committee, that a general meeting should be had there that night, as well for the division of the former booty, as the making of new proposals. Crispin, who was not willing Rufina should be seen, and expected some secret kindness of her, thought it concerned him to prevent it. As soon as they were come together, he found out an evasion to disperse them. He told them, that he had received notice from the City, that there was a strict search made for a person who had treacherously murdered another; and inasmuch as Sacred places were no Sanctuaries for such cowardly Offenders, he feared there would be some sent to the Hermitage, and if it chanced any one of them should be apprehended for some other crimes, he might be seized and carried away prisoner, and afterwards, brought to the Torture, confess what he had not been charged with at his apprehension. Persons of that profession are commonly startled at any thing; accordingly they soon credited what their Director said to them and left the Hermitage, adjourning the Assembly to the fourth night after. By this means Crispin was left alone in the Hermitage, with his Mistress, who had promised to give him satisfaction that night; whereat he was almost out of himself for joy, thinking he should never see the hour, that should give him the possession of that Beauty.  
Soon after they went to supper, which was very magnificent, for Crispin had brought some, both wild and tame, fowl, ready for the spit, and a good large bottle of Malaga, which is the best of any wine in Spain. Rufina having played the cook, and made all things ready, they began both to eat very heartily, their minds disburdened of all care and trouble; healths were drunk, Rufina out-vying the Hermit at that exercise, and having the management of the bottle, she took care that Crispin never drunk without the powder prepared for him. He drunk as liberally as the other filled, till at last, tumbling down under the table, he fell dead asleep, insomuch that Rufina, to try whether the potion had wrought its effect, pulled him by the ears and nose, to awake him, but it was to as little purpose as if she had done it to a dead corpse. With that assurance, she went down into the Cellar, which was under ground, and out of certain chests she found there, she took all the money she met with, whereof there was no small quantity. She disposed it into bags, which she tied with cords, and into long leather pouches, wherein the Thiefs had brought it, they having robbed a rich Drover who was going to Madrid. That done, Rufina comes out, and, by a signal, got Garay to her, who lay hard by perdue for that purpose.  
They took all the ready money they could find and put it on Garay's Bay, and got up on the other horse, and put forward towards Mal●ga, extremely pleased that they had so easily trepanned the subtlest and most experienced Thief in Europe. They left some things behind them, which might have been well worth the conveyance thence; but it was a Maxim of theirs, never to burden themselves with any thing that might be known or challenged. They soon got to Malaga, and took up their quarter's in Garay's Inn, Rufina not being seen by the people of the house, that night nor the next day. She knew what night the Conclave of the Hermitage was to meet; but ere I tell you what course she took, methinks I hear Crispin snoring, and calling to me, to give an account of him. He spent that night more innocently than he had done any one of a long time before, for, never stirring from the place where he had fallen asleep after supper, it may be presumed he thought no hurt. By that time the Sun was got high enough to raise the flies from creeping to flying, he awoke, having not the least apprehension of what had happened to him in the night. He called Rufina, recollecting himself so far, that by his excessive sleepiness he had missed the opportunity he had so much wished for; but all his calling was to no purpose. He sought her all about the house, in the Church, in the Cellar, and not finding her, he went out into the fields to look for her, thinking some strange accident must needs happen to her, when he found all the doors locked. He made a second search for her, but finding the chests opened, and the bags of white and yellow pieces dislodged, he was convinced of his being robbed, and that the poor innocent woman, frighted by the thiefs, had made her escape, and lay lurking somewhere about the neighbouring fields, inasmuch as she would not venture to go far in a dark night. He sought after her till he grew weary, but she was got far enough out of his reach. At last, hearing no account of her, it came into his mind that she might be guilty of the robbery; which struck him so to the heart that he was ready to hang himself, to think that so famous a Rogue, and one that had been, for so many years, the Dictator of a Crew of Villains, should be so basely trepanned by a woman; and then he inferred that all she had done was only to bring him into the noose. However, he went that day, as he was wont to do, to Malaga, to try if he might find her in the City. He met Garay, but having never seen him before, he was never the nearer.  
Rufina and Garay had set things in order for their departure to Casteel; but she would not go till she had served the hyppocritical Hermit such a scurvy trick as that she might never fear any requital from him. She knew the time of their meeting at the Hermitage, a place intended for other uses than to be the Rendezvous of a pack of high-way-men and house-breakers. That they might be all found together, to receive the chastisement due for their villainies, she writ a Letter to one of the Magistrates, acquainting him with the time, when, and the place where he should find the Malefactors, and how they might be taken. That done, Garay and Rufina took their way for Toledo, towards which place, we shall leave them on their way, to give an account what was done upon the Letter. As soon as it was night, the Magistrate, attended by some of his men, went to the Hermitage, besieged it, and got in. He found in the first place Crispin, little thinking to receive such a visit: yet was it seasonable as to the present securing of his life; for they were beginning to squabble about the money lost, and the others charged Crispin with treachery, and 'tis likely he had had the worse among them, being but one to three. Having secured him, they searched the whole house, and at last, went into the Cellar, where they found his Companions, as also ladders of cords, picklocks, iron-crows, and all the other engines fit for Gentlemen of their profession. They also searched the chests, in which they found several pieces of Plate, and other things of value, undeniable demonstrations of the devout exercises of that virtuous company. They were all taken and brought away Prisoners. Crispin himself was so much at a loss, that he knew not what Answer to make to what was asked him. Whereupon one of the Officers made him this comfortable discourse: Ungracious and unfortunate man, vile Hypocrite, who, covered with the cloak of sanctity, dost commit such robberies! How will the world be surprised to find itself so mistaken in thee? How will others, who have entered into that holy profession of renouncing the world and its enjoyments, suffer in the respects of men, when the infamous History of thy life comes to be published? Were not the charity's bestowed on thee every day by so many good people, sufficient for thy competent subsistence, that thou mightst spend thy time comfortably in a place so holy and so convenient for the serving of God as this is, but thou must give thyself over to the basest and most disgraceful employment in the world? Thou art now fallen into my hands, and I promise thee, that neither thou, nor thy companions, shall get out of them, till you are to be honourably conducted to the Gallows or some worse place.  
With these just reproaches, he carried them away to the City, where they were condemned to die, all the others having, upon the Rack, confessed several crimes, charging Crispin to have been the man, who gave them intelligence of the robberies, that were to be committed, and many times opened the door for the better execution thereof. As for his part, he expressed so much courage and resolution in the midst of his torments, that he obstinately denied whatever was laid to his charge. Yet could not all prevent the passing of the sentence upon him, but the execution of it was a little delayed, as to him, by reason of his falling into a violent Fever in the prison: but his companions were all trussed out of the way. Not long after, Crispin being, upon his recovery, to follow them, went out of the prison, at noonday, in woman's clothes, not without the great astonishment of all the world, who expected to see his Exit hence, and to the greater affliction of the Jailer, who was conceived to have been corrupted with money, and to have set him at liberty. But he cleared himself, by producing the person who had furnished him with the clothes, wherewith he had disguised himself, who was condemned to spend the remainder of his life, though he lived ninety-nine years, in the Galleys.  
The end of the Third Book.   

LA PICARA, OR The Triumphs of Female Subtlety.  
The Fourth Book.  
Rufina and Garay were by this time gotten to the Imperial City of Toledo, where they had resolved to settle themselves. To give the greater credit to her reputation, she pretended that Garay was her Father, and took a very fair House in the most eminent quarter of the City; her train consisting of a Slave she had bought at Malaga, a waiting Gentlewoman, a Lackquey, and a Gentleman-usher, she had taken up at Toledo. She put on the habit of a Widow, and Garay, very handsomely clad for a person of his Age, went under the name of Don Jeronimo, and she under that of Donna Emerentiana, their Surname de Menezez, assuming their descent from the illustrious Family of those, who, under that name, are so well known in Portugal. She bought Householdstuff suitable to the condition of a Widow of Quality, and accordingly she was visited by the chiefest Ladies of the Quarter, who were extremely satisfied, as well with the charms of her beauty as those of her conversation, insomuch that they accounted themselves very happy in her Neighbourhood. She soon became acquainted with many of her own Sex, who took for Gold all that Glister'd in that subtle Woman. Going every day to hear Mass in the great Church, it could not be long ere she was observed by some of the young Gallantilloes of the City, who, having dispatched their Devotions, spend some time in contemplations of the Ladies who may be present. Accordingly, she being noted to be one newly come to Toledo, and withal very handsome, there wanted not those who began to Languish for her, and make their Addresses to her.  
While she is informing herself who were the richest and likely to have most ready Money, that she might not, for want of practice, forget her old Trade. We shall leave her taking her measures, and her new Gallants preparing for their amorous adventures, and take a turn to Malaga, to see what became of Crispin, after he had so cleaverly got out of Prison.  
Finding himself once more at liberty, he left Malaga, and got into a Wood, not far from the City, where he continued till Night, and then he went to the Hermitage, where he had Lived many years in the reputation of a good Christian, and a person of a very exemplary Life. As soon as he was convicted of the crimes laid to his charge, there was put into his place a very Religious man, who went about to several Churches, begging alms, to build a little Hospital there. He was not as yet fully settled in the Hermitage, the place being not yet furnished. Crispin got thither in the night, and opposite to the Southside of it found a place, where he had laid up somewhat against a Rainy day. Breaking up the ground with a Ho he had left in the Wood, he came at last to a little Earthen pot, wherein was a Bag, and in that all the Money he had reserved, of all the Robberies he had been engaged in; for he ever had two shares of the Booty, for his two Offices of Director, and Concealer, of the good Company which frequented the Hermitage.  
With that Sum, which might amount to five or six hundred pounds sterling, all in Gold, he went to the City of Jaën, where he had a friend of the same profession. This friend of his had heard of his escape out of Prison, whereat he had been not a little troubled, inasmuch as he might have made some commemoration of his Comrade upon the Rack, with whom he had been engaged in several Robberies. He was very glad to see Crispin at liberty, in hopes of his direction and assistance in some new enterprises. Crispin was but poorly accoutred, as having been uncased of the Hermit's habit, which he had shown himself unworthy of; but the Bag he had so well Lined was a sovereign remedy against Nakedness. He gave his companion Money to buy him a Light-coloured suit, and having taken off his long Beard, he put on a Periwig, which, with a Sword by his side, disguised him so that he seemed to be quite another Man, and not to be easily known even by those who had been particularly acquainted with him. In that Equipage he continued some time at Jaen, till there happened an opportunity to commit a considerable Robbery at Andujar, which was very faithfully divided between him and his companion. But fearing the person who had been Robbed would make a diligent search after them, Crispin thought it their best course to be gone thence in time, the adventure at Malaga being still fresh in his memory.  
They took into their company a third person, whom they met with by chance, a young Man, born and bred in the City of Valentia; and they came to Toledo, where they had never been but as they travelled through it. The new Comrade they had taken in, was called Jaimo, a poor Rope-maker's Son of Valentia, who, for some roguish exploits he had done there, which brought him some Money, had been obliged to absent himself thence for some years. He was a handsome, fair-haired, sprightly young Man, and besides the accomplishments of his person, he had an excellent Wit, and was not inferior, in subtlety, to either Crispin or his Comrade.  
This young Adonis went very Gallantly, upon their charges who either were ignorant or mindless of the old Proverb, Fast bind, fast find. He had the art to transform into the current Mode all the clothes he got by slight of hand, and so disguised them by changing the Laces and Trimming, that the very Owners could not have known them. On a certain Festival day, he put on a very Rich suit, and went along with Crispin to Mass, in the great Church, and into the same Chapel, where Rufina was at her Devotions, under the name of Donna Emerentiana. Though, as I told you, she was in a Widow's habit, Crispin knew her at the first blush, and was not a little glad to see her. He kept himself from her knowledge, for fear of being discovered, though there was no great fear of it, as he was then accoutred. He showed Rufina to his Comrade Don Jaimo, who was infinitely taken with her; and having desired him to dog her, so as she might not perceive it, he did it so cunningly, that he kept his Eye on her, though seeming to look another way, till he saw her go into her House. He was very glad to hear by the Neighbours, that she Lived there, and that in great Reputation, under the name of Donna Emerentiana de Menezez, lately come from Badajos, with her Father, to live at Toledo.  
Crispin had a devilish pique against her, for the scurvy trick she had shown him at Malaga, and heartily swore, that since he had so fortunately discovered her, he would not leave Toledo, ere he had called her to an account for the Money she had carried away from the Hermitage, together with the interest, and all the charges of his Imprisonment. To compass his design, he instructed Jaimo what he had to do, and whom he should represent, without making a real discovery of himself to her. It was not long ere an opportunity offered itself to prosecute the design they had agreed upon. One evening, about an hour before night, there chanced to be a quarrel in the Street, where Rufina lived, wherein there were two Men wounded. The Officers of Justice presently came in, and carried the wounded to their Houses to be dressed, and secured some others that happened to be then in the street, though nothing engaged in the quarrel; which occasioned others to run for't, it being no great pleasure to come into trouble and restraint for another Man's crime.  
Crispin's plot took its rise from that Quarrel. Jaimo, instructed by that subtle Hypocrite what he had to do, had taken the Cross of Knight of the Order of Montesa, an honour bestowed by the King only on the natural Inhabitants of the Kingdom of Valentia; and to that purpose he had gotten a very light handsome black suit made him. In this Equipage, being come to Rufina's house, and having given his Cloak to Crispin, he drew his Sword, and went in, acting the part of a Man much astonished. Finding the door which led up stairs open, he goes up, and came into the room where the jovial Widow was with her Maids. They were a little startled to see a Man coming in to them with his Sword drawn, without a Cloak, and in a manner frighted out of his Wits. Rufina rose from the place where she was sat, and found the Impostor in the posture of a suppliant, addressing himself to her in these words. If compassion be not at too great a distance from so beautiful a countenance, be pleased, Madam, to let your House be my Sanctuary against the Officers of Justice by whom I am pursued. That I have Killed a man, I must acknowledge, but it was in my own defence, in this street, where he had set upon me with advantage. The Officers pursuing me at the heels, I had infallibly been taken, had I not very courageously made my party good, by laying two of the most forward with their Bellies to the Sun, who with the Commissary had me in a manner by the Collar. I escaped from the rest, by the pure activity of my Legs; for it is prudence for a Man to give way to the Magistrate, whom he is obliged to respect. But they persisting still in the pursuit, I found your House open for my safety, and I have taken the boldness, shutting the door after me, to come up into your Chamber. I therefore most humbly beseech you Madam, if it may be done without your inconvenience, that you would dispose me into some secret corner of your House, till the people now in the street be dispersed, and that I may safely go hence. But if my presumption puts you to any distraction, or give you any trouble, you need only give me the least signal, and I will immediately go out into the Street, though I were sure to leave my Life in it, as choosing rather the horrors of Imprisonment, than to be over-importunate to so fair a Lady.  
We have already given a description of this fine Orator. Rufina looked very earnestly upon him; and she who never had loved any thing comparably to Money, immediately found herself susceptible of an inclination towards that young Man, who seemed to her as eloquent as she had thought him handsome. Whereupon she returned him this Answer. You have done me but justice, Sir, when you thought me sensible of honour and compassion; persons of my condition are never destitute thereof towards such as you are. I presume, by what I see of you, that you are a person of Quality; and therefore sympathising with your affliction, I heartily proffer you my House, to continue in it as long as you shall think fit, to avoid the pursuit of those who look after you: for it were not just you should fall into their hands, since, by my means you may be secured from so great a danger. Fear not any thing here; for though the Officers should come into the House, I shall put you into so secret a place, that they shall never find you.  
The young Spark gave her a thousand thanks for so signal a favour, which obliged her to make him this further discourse. You very well know, Sir, by the habit I am in, with what reservedness I ought to live in my House, and yet I freely proffer you the security you promise yourself in it, till you have accommodated your affairs. But I have a Father, now from home, who will expect an account of my demeanour: and if, at his arrival, which it may be will be this day, he will entertain you with a Room in his Lodgings, as I am confident he will think it an honour, I shall be content. The young Gallant renewed his thanks to her, for that continuance of her kindnesses, and he expressed himself so gently, that she was more and more taken with him.  
In the mean time, those who were of the Plot, knocked very confidently at the door, calling upon them to open to the Officers. The family was at first a little startled; but Rufina, recovering herself out of the little disorder which appeared in her countenance, took Jaimo by the hand, and led him into an upper Room which had a double Partition, before which there was a piece of Hangings, and left him there, with an assurance it would be impossible to find him out. That done she went to open the door, and Crispin impudently comes in, without the least fear of being known, being disguised as he was. He was attended by some Rogues of his Profession, who with Lanterns and Fire-arms, personating the Officers of Justice, uncivilly rushed into the Room where Rufina was. Crispin gave her a kind salute, and counterfeiting his Voice suitably to his Person. I know, Madam, said he, that it speaks a kind of incivility, to come so boldly into a VViddow's House; but my Charge obliges me thereto, and therefore you will excuse me. The Lieutenant Criminal hath commanded me, to search all the Houses hereabouts to see if I can find a Malefactor we look for. Our search hath hitherto been to no purpose, and we have but this one House to search; give us therefore leave to look into all the Rooms of it, that we may satisfy our Superiors, and withal our own Consciences. You may assure yourselves, said she to them, upon my word, that I saw no Body come into my House; but, that you may not think amiss of me, or conceive me a Woman to shelter Murderers, and Mischievous persons, search, and see whether you can find the person you look for. One of the Maids took a Wax-candle to light them, and they visited several Chambers, yet not too exactly, that the slightness of the search might be thought a Courtesy.  
That done, he civilly took leave, recommending the prosecution of the plot to his Comrade. The counterfeit Knight came out of his hole, pretending an extraordinary gladness, that he had escaped their hands, who sought after him, and in expressions full of acknowledgement, he highly celebrated the favour he had received from the fair widow. She, who, the more she looked on him, more and more fancied him, made him a thousand demonstrations of Friendship, assured him he should be waited on at her house according to his worth; and if he would have the patience to stay till her Father came in, she was confident he would not suffer him to go out of the house that night.  
The Gallant, who perceived the Lady began to grow warm, was the more earnest to beg a leave which he saw would not be easily granted him, told her, it would be his best course to take Sanctuary in some Religious house, whence he might send notice to his people at the Inn, where he was; that he was to go the next day for Sevil; and that he thought it not safe for him, to go that night to his quarters. Rufina, troubled to find him so resolved, more earnestly presses his stay, represented to him the great hazard he ran, and desired him by all means to stay two hours longer.  
Jaimo, who desired nothing so much, was persuaded to do so. She desired his permission, to go and take order about some things her Father had left her to do, whereof she was to give an account at his return. This was only a pretence to get out, to confer with her slave, in whom she reposed great confidence, what course she should take. She took her into another room, and freely acknowledged to her the inclination she had for that Knight; that it troubled her to let him go out of the house, lest he might endanger his life, or at least hazard his liberty: but on the other side, she knew not, whether Garay would take it well that she detained him, and that he should be in the house all night. At last, much troubled at these difficulties, she desired her to give her the best advice she could, and what she would resolve, were she in her condition.  
The Slave, who was as subtle a baggage as her Mistress, and immediately apprehended, that the advice she would best like must be such as promoted her passion; I must acknowledge, Madam, said she to her, that it would argue an excessive easiness of nature in you, considering the short time you have known this Cavalier, to unbosom yourself so far, as to give him a passage into your heart; and I think you would do imprudently on the other side to persuade Garay, when he comes, to suffer his abode this night in the house. My advice is, since the house is large enough, and that there are two or three empty rooms, into one whereof he may go through your lodgings, that you lodge him there, and make not any body acquainted therewith. It shall be my care to bring him thither, when I have made his bed, and supply him with all things requisite, without Garay's knowing of it. You know Garay is to be gone within these two days for Madrid, and then you may freely enjoy yourself with this young Gentleman, whom it will be easy for me to persuade, that the search being still about the street, it is absolutely necessary that he stay, if he will not hazard his life or liberty. The Slave's advice was extremely pleasing to Rufina, who ordered her to go immediately and lay clean sheets on the bed, and to put the Cavalier in possession of the room. 'Twas presently put in execution, and not long after, the amorous Widow went by a private pair of stairs, to visit her Gallant. You will haply wonder, Sir, said she to him, that without my Father's permission, I have ventured to receive you into my house, and that in the night: but to secure a person of worth, there may be a little breach made of the rules of modesty. I have thought it most convenient, that, as I have been a means of your avoiding the eyes of Justice, so you should also keep out of my Fathers, to the end you may be here in all safety. Be pleased to think yourself obliged to me for this little service; but I render it you very heartily, nay I think it necessary, in order to your safety.  
Jaimo, who perceived this fish would come into the we'll, multiplies his acknowledgements by thousands for this new favour. That begat abundance of pleasant discourses between them, whereof the issue was, that he heightening his flattery by his eloquence, insinuated himself more and more into her good opinion; & celebrating, one after another, all the perfections and accomplishments of Rufina, he got the absolute disposal of her heart. Yet would she have a little further trial of his sincerity, to see whether it were only her beauty that drew him in, and whether it were true that the charms of it had so suddenly transformed a person, who fearfully fled into her house for shelter, into a confident Lover.  
Upon this the Slave coming in, and giving her Mistress an account that she had obeyed her commands, she took Jaimo by the hand, and led him to the room prepared for him. He found it light enough, as having in the midst of it a Branch, of Crystal, wherein were many wax-candles, and a magnificent Collation staying for him. He was a little surprised to see she left him alone, but her excuse satisfied him, that she would be with him again, as soon as she had seen her Father in bed. At her departure out of the room, she beheld him with eyes so full of love and tenderness, that that new demonstration heightened the Gallant into an absolute confidence of the good success of his enterprise. Garay was not so far stricken in years, but that he had the courage left to pretend to the possession of Rufina; he acted the part of her Gallant, and had he not been already married, he would have treated of a marriage with her. He kept his wife at Madrid, who, as many others do that are cast off, and slighted, bestowed the time of her Husband's absence on such as would accept of her kindness. Some years had past since he had heard from her, whereupon imagining she might be dead, he had resolved upon a journey to Madrid, to make a secret enquiry after her, that, in case she were removed out of the world, he might prosecute his intentions to marry Rufina, who was infinitely obliged to him. Upon this account it was that he resolved his departure within two days.  
Leaving him in those thoughts, let us return to Rufina, who set him to supper as soon as he was come in, and, pretending some indisposition, excused herself that she could not bear him company. It being his custom to go to bed as soon as he had supped, Rufina stayed, till word was brought her, that he was fast asleep, and then went to her Gallant, causing her own supper, which was that night somewhat more than ordinary, to be carried along with her. As soon as the cloth was taken away, during the interval which the servants had to sup, Rufina, who was more and more in love with her new Guest, entreated him to give her an account of his life, and sincerely to acquaint her with his name, his country, and the occasion of his coming to Toledo. Jaimo, whose design it was only to abuse her, entertained her with this Romance, whereto she gave very earnest audience.  
My Country, Madam, is Valentia, one of the most eminent Provinces of Spain; you know it well enough by name, and haply are not to learn, that it hath a great advantage over several others, as well in regard of Nobility and wealth, as the temperature of its climate, and the delightful fertility of its soil. I am of the noble and ancient Family of Pertusa, well known all over that Kingdom. My name is Don Jaimo de Pertusa, and the King, for the many good services done him by my Ancestors, hath honoured me with the Order of Knight of Montesa, and the commandry of Silla, which is the best of any belonging to that Order. Besides what that brings me in, I have in other estate as much as may amount to three thousand Crowns per annum. I am the only Son of the Family, and I made my addresses to a noble Lady of the City I was born in, named Donna Blanca Ceintillas', of one of the most illustrious Families of Valentia, a Lady of excellent endowments. I have served her with all the affection imaginable, whereto she gave me no return, as being pre-ingaged to another Cavalier, who was also a Servant of hers, named Don Vincent Poiadas; whereupon seeing my Rival preferred before me, I was exasperated beyond measure. Don Vincent was a person of such an humour, as that nothing would satisfy him, less than to rid out of the way whatever might obstruct his amorous pretensions. Accordingly, one night, meeting with me in the street where my Mistress lived, attended by three servants, he set upon me, though I had but one with me. I defended myself as well as I could, but at last came off with such wound; as it was conceived I must have died of them. There could never be any perfect discovery made of him who had hurt me, though every one suspected who it might be: but the common report coming in to the Magistrate that Don Vincent was my Corrival, he was imprisoned; but, having cleared himself either by favour or money, he was set at liberty. Being recovered of my wounds, and reflecting on the advantage, wherewith my Rival had engaged me, I thought it but a just requital to fall on him, upon the same unequal terms. I therefore surprised him in the same manner as he had done me, and the result was, that he got off much more wounded than I had been. There happened to be some in the street, who knew me, and took their oaths against me, a thing not much practised at Valentia, in regard the truth is seldom discovered by that means. Upon this accident it is, that I came thence, for Don Vincent was so dangerously wounded, that the Surgeons gave but little hopes of his recovery. I saw his Friends were resolved to revenge his death, and was afraid to fall into the hands of Justice. This obliged me to leave Valentia, and to come to this City, where I have now been about a month. I have understood by a person of this City, who hath correspondents in several others, that he whom I had hurt is out of all danger, nay in perfect health, and that the treaty of marriage between him and Donna Blanca is concluded, whereof I have a greater resentment, then of having this day met with two men, who hired by Don Vincent came hither purposely to murder me. They set upon me in this street, one I have mortally wounded, as I think, and by that means made a shift to escape out of their hands, with the assistance of those who came in to part us. I found your house open, and being come into it for refuge, I find myself secure, and that all I have to fear now, is, your fair eyes. Avoiding one prison, I am fallen into another; but I think my imprisonment so pleasant, that, if you discharge me not, I shall continue it as long as I live.  
Thus did the counterfeit Don Jaimo conclude his relation, leaving Rufina extremely satisfied, to see in that Cavalier, not only those endowments which might deserve love, but also such initiations of affection, as raised in her a certain hope she might one day be his wife: which having discoursed within herself, she immediately made him this Answer. Signior Don Jaimo Pertusa, I am very much troubled, that you should come to the knowledge of me at Toledo, upon so sad an occasion to yourself; but it abates much of it, that you intent not to return so soon into your Country, for I could wish your residence in this City, and assure you, for my own particular, that if I could oblige your stay, I would endeavour it by all means possible, nay though it were fatal to my liberty. The advantages you would make of it might not haply amount to much, yet can you no less than think your sel● obliged to me, for the good will I bear you, considering the little time I have had the honour to know you. Such as it is, if it oblige you to any reciprocation, I shall think myself but too too happy, and that I have attained the greatest of my wishes. In order to such a design, Heaven hath not haply made me handsome enough; but I dare stand on my good nature, and withal that I have otherwise wherewith to satisfy a person of your worth and quality. Madam, replies Don Jaimo, I kiss the very dust you tread on, though I think not myself worthy enough it should be touched by my mouth, when I consider the favour I receive from you. Yet can I not but think I have fully satisfied whatever I ought you, since I have resigned up to you my heart and soul, and so I fear not any Action you may have against me, as to that particular. As to your forcing of my will, you may spare your further trouble, I am already sensible, Madam, that it is at your devotion, and therefore you may forbear ineffectual remedies, where there needs only that Sovereign one of your Beauty, which is so full of virtue, that it hath transported me out of myself, that I might be absolutely at your disposal. 'Twas a happy day to me, that I was set upon by those Assassins' of my Country, since the mischief they intended me hath procured me the favours I have received from you. Now I wish Heaven would prolong my Life; for if you approve of the affection I have for you, as you are pleased to assure me, in spite of all the storms of my ill fortune, I shall get into a haven where I may defy all dangers, I mean that of your good inclinations towards me. The thought of them gives me respite, and fills me with an absolute oblivion of my Country, since I must look on a place, where such happiness is prepared for me, as my Paradise.  
These discourses, and others yet more amorous, passed between Don Jaimo and Donna Emerentiana; and the crafty Youth had the length of her Foot so rightly, that she was easily ensnared in the subtle Webb of his cunning insinuations, and made it her main business to ingratiate herself more and more with him. The time insensibly passed away in these amorous conferences, insomuch that it was two in the morning ere Rufina retired to her own Chamber, yet troubled, that she was forced to do it so soon; and the Impostor Jaimo presently went to Bed, extremely pleased, that his Camerade's plot had taken so well. Crispin was extremely perplexed, that all that Day and the next, he had received no news of what passed, by reason of Garay's being in the House: but as soon as he was gone, for Madrid, the amorous Rufina gave herself more liberty, being still more and more deeply in Love with her Guest. Jaimo acquainted Crispin, by a Letter brought him by the Slave, how he was favoured by Rufina. Crispin answered him by the same hand, and withal sent him a Purse with a hundred pieces, to get her in to Play, and to make presents to the Servants, that he might be sure of them when occasion served.  
The day of Garay's departure for Madrid, Rufina was taken up with the reception of two Gentlewomen of her Neighbourhood, an employment she was not at all pleased with, for she wished them far enough, and herself in her Gallant's company. As soon as they were gone, she went to her beloved Jaimo, whom we shall Don— as long as this Scene of the imposture lasts. She found him tuning a Lute, which her Slave had brought him; for he was an excellent Musician, and had a smack of Poetry, an accomplishment not extraordinary in the Natives of Valentia, where there are also admirable Musicians. Rufina, hearing him at a distance, came softly into his Chamber, charmed with the sweet harmony of his Lute, which he touched with a miraculous dexterity, and being not seen by the young Man, she harkened to him a good while, perceiving he intended to sing a Song, as he afterwards did with an admirable grace, and he had made the Verses, which were upon the occasion of his Love. This added to the flames of her affection, which were before grown too violent for to keep within the bounds of modesty: but what most ravished her, was, that the Verses he had Sung were made for her, and upon the accident which had happened to him. Whereupon the Love-stung Widow coming up to him, What, said she, Signior Don Jaimo, you are Master of those excellencies which I little imagined? I am extremely glad of it, yet wonder not much thereat, as knowing Valentia to be famous for excellent Voices. Mine is but ordinary, said he, and it is rather the words, than the goodness of the Voice that induced me to Sing. I find, said she, this Song is very new, and that it was not made two days since. 'Tis very true, says Don Jaimo, yet is it not to be much wondered at, since the subject, upon which it is made, hath such an influence over me, as would make me undertake things impossible, as transcending whatever yet I thought worth my admiration. No flattery, I pray you, said she to him, for though I know that what you say is not true, and that you Men allow a distance between your words and thoughts, and, when you do not love, most pretend it, yet I cannot but take all kindly from you. You may be deceived in both, Madam, said he●, and therefore be pleased to believe me, that I think myself extremely happy in that unhappy adventure, which procured me the glory of your acquaintance. All I have to beg of you is, that you take a more particular notice of my freedom, and thence infer, that my Soul cannot be fuller of affection towards you than it is.  
In fine, these and other insinuating discourses screwed up the feigned Widow to such a height of kindness, that the crafty companion began to desist from the enterprise which had occasioned his coming to her, and seriously dispose himself to assure her more and more of his love. And thinking her fully satisfied with the relation he had made her of himself, he became so familiar, as to desire her to give him the like account of her extraction▪ She thought fit to make her condition equal with his, and accordingly, she acquainted him in a short discourse, how she was descended from the illustrious Counts of Menezez in Portugal, though she had been born in the City of Badajos. The crafty companion immediately apprehended what Game she would be at, and that her design was to oblige him to Marry her. This was directly contrary to the sentiments of Crispin, who would not by any means that he should think of any such thing, but continually reflect on the dangers they are apt to run into, who following the profession he was engaged in, are concerned to be expeditious in the execution of their enterprises, lest being, by some unexpected accident, prevented, they come to make their last Wills on a Gibbet, before they are willing to remove into the other World.  
The young Gallant grew more and more warm in his love towards Rufina, particularly upon this account, that, according to her relation, she was nobly descended. He thereupon did all lay in his power to heighten her affection towards him. She on the other side, had the same thoughts, so that concurring in the same desires, as Lovers mutually passionate, Rufina behaved herself so freely and familiarly towards him, that he might easily perceive she had discarded all modesty: insomuch that, upon little entreaty, she permitted him to invert the order of the Alphabet, and to put Q. before P. But in the midst of her enjoyments, she remembered her old Acquaintance Garay; she reflected on the familiarites had passed between them; she considered how much she was obliged to him; and that he was looked on all over the City as her Father. She imagined to herself the resentment he must needs have at his arrival, when he found that she had basely forsaken him. She bethought herself to give him a sum of Money privately, and to dismiss him: but thinking more seriously of it, she thought it a better course to leave Toledo before his return, and to persuade Don Jaimo to carry her into his Country, Valentia. She resolved within two or three days to declare her mind to him, for Garay was not expected home till fifteen days after.  
In the mean time Rufina and her Gallant passed away the time very jocundly, and he, being very heartily in love with her, was fully resolved to give Crispin the bag, and not to proceed any further in his first design. 'Twas in the Wintertime, when the Nights are longest, that these Lovers deceived the slow-paced Season with an intermixture of Caresses, Songs, and amorous Discourses, nay many times, they sung together, their several parts, to a Musical Instrument, which he played on. One night, after they had Sung and Talked of several things, Rufina entreated her Gallant to entertain her and her Maids with some pleasant Story, or Novel, if he knew any. The young Man, who was Versed in all things, and of an excellent Wit, was content to answer the desires of his Mistress, to give her a new demonstration of his further perfections, and said to her▪ Though to such a Person as you are, divine Emerentiana▪ and my dearest Mistress, my discourse will seem very ordinary, yet so punctually would I obey your Commands, as if I knew what you imposed on me were only for a trial of my compliance: And in regard I do it, in this, so much of a sudden, I hope to find you the more ready to excuse my failings. The Novel I intent to tell you, I heard from an accomplished Cavalier of Valentia; I thought it not unpleasant, and shall endeavour to present it to you as well dressed as I received it. Whereupon having recollected himself a little, he began his discourse thus.  

THE THIRD NOVEL.  
The Trapanner Trepanned.  
IN the great and famous City of Sevil, the Metropolis of Andalusia, Mother of so many noble Families, and excellent Wits, the Treasury of all the Wealth, which flows into Spain from the West-Indies, was born Don Pedro de Ribera, a very accomplished Cavalier, of the illustrious Family of the Dukes of Alcala, so highly esteemed all over the Kingdom. By their death, from whom he derived his being in this world, there fell to him an estate of four thousand Crowns annual rent, upon which he lived very nobly at Sevil, being the most remarkable Person at all public actions done about the City. He had at Madrid a Cousin-german, who followed the Spanish Court, and was gone thither about some affairs of great importance, which he had brought to a happy issue. Having lived there a while, he liked it, and the conversation of the Cavaliers inhabiting it, so well, that he exchanged the place of his birth for that illustrious City. He there became intimately acquainted with an old Cavalier, whose name was Don Juan de la Cerda, a person who had raised himself into a general esteem, by the excellent endowments he had. Besides which he was honoured with the illustrious Order of the Patron of Spain, with a Commandery of two thousand Ducats of annual rent. This old Gentleman was a Widower, having but one only Daughter, to whom all his vast Estate was to fall at his Death. Nature it seems had made it her particular business to enrich this young Lady, with all the graces and perfections to be wished in one of her Sex. Which occasioned the envy of all the Ladies about the Court towards her, since she had, in point of Beauty, the same advantages over them, as the Sun hath over all the rest of the Planets. Her Father, Don Juan, wished her married with a person to his mind, that is, one equal to her, in estate and extraction. Don Rodrigo de Ribera (so was called Don Pedro's Cousin whom I spoke of first) might have aspired to the honour of making his Addresses to her, as well upon account of the House, from which he was descended, as the familiar acquaintance there was between him and her Father, Don Juan. But being a younger Brother, he thought himself too low, in point of estate, to pretend to so advantageous a match. However he thought fit to make some proposal to the old Gentleman, on the behalf of his Cousin Don Pedro, who lived at Sevil, whom he highly recommended to him for his excellent Qualities, and the greatness of his Estate; for he was the only Son of a Noble house. Don Juan took it very kindly from him, but thought it withal prudence, to make further enquiry into the business, knowing that persons speaking for their own Relations are commonly very partial, and think it no mortal sin to exceed the truth. So that Don Juan, immediately writ to a particular friend at Sevil, earnestly desiring him to give him an account of the Person and Estate of Don Pedro de Ribera, inasmuch as it highly concerned the honour of his House, to meet with a Cavalier worthy his alliance, to be Husband to his only Daughter Donna Brianda.  
'Twas not long ere he received an Answer, wherein his friend confirmed all that Don Rodrigo had said of his Kinsman, with somewhat more, protesting in the conclusion, that he was so far from being partial or insincere, in the account he had sent him, that he rather told less than truth. He thereupon went to Don Rodrigo, and told him, that he might write to his Cousin, and assure him he should be very welcome, if he had any inclinations for his Daughter. He made him Answer, that he would, and Don Juan, as a further obligation, would have his Daughter's Picture sent him, that he might therein find some of the rare qualities that were in her, permitting his Cousin to be present at the taking of it, that he might assure Don Pedro, the Painter had not flattered her, and that the Copy was below the Original.  
Don Rodrigo failed not to write to his Cousin, to whom he also sent the Picture, celebrating the virtues of that amiable person, which the Painter could not represent, as he had done the lineaments of her beautiful countenance. His Cousin Don Pedro was extremely satisfied therewith, and referred it to him to make some overtures in the treaty of Marriage, till he came thither himself, for the further prosecution whereof, he sent him a full procuration.  
In the mean time Don Pedro was preparing for his journey to Madrid, to wait on his Mistress, who, having received his Picture, was as much taken with it, as he had been with hers. Leaving his retinue at Sevil, till a rich Livery, then making, were finished, he began his journey, having only one person to wait on him, and a Groom to look to their Mules, who followed them at a little distance. Don Pedro carried always about him his Mistress' picture enclosed in the same Letter, wherein his Cousin had sent it him. Being come within half a days journey of Toledo, he sent away the Groom, to provide Lodgings for them in the City. He had entertained at dinner some of the Inhabitants of Orgaz, which was the place where they had baited. The cloth being taken away, they fell to Cards; he lost his money, and was vexed, which occasioned their playing on till he had recovered his losses, and by that time it was grown later than he could have wished. Being horsed, he and his man put forward, but ere they had rode a League, night surprised them, so that they made a shift to lose their way, and got in among certain Olive-trees, about half a League short of Toledo. Not knowing where they were, and fearing to go too far out of their way, they thought it their best course to alight, and rest themselves under one of the Olive-trees, till it were day. They accommodated themselves the best they could, and weariness soon laid them asleep, yet little dreamed of the misfortune which was to happen to them. Being in their first sleep, which is commonly the soundest, four men came to the place, very softly, for the noise of their Mules brought them thither; and these were of a profession, which for the most part finds those that are of it more work by night than by day. They had then been upon a design which had not taken, and so they were returning somewhat disconsolately with empty pockets to Toledo.  
Coming up to them, and finding them both asleep, they tied their hands behind them, and took away all they had, but their Doublets and Drawers, and, to get off with more speed and safety, they made use of their Mules. Don Pedro, being thus basely surprised, was exasperated at the misfortune, but his Man told him that it had happened to them through his fault, because he had not given over playing sooner. They discoursed of it, till the Birds gave them notice of the approach of Aurora. Soon after, hearing the noise of some cattle not far from them, they called to him that looked after them, who came up to them, and unbound them, very much bemoaning the condition they were in. They asked him, how far it was to Toledo, and he told them it was not quite half a league, but if they would go along with him to a Country House hard by, he would gladly show the● the way, and that he doubted not the Lady, w●● lived in it, would relieve them in that extremity. They took his advice, and he brought them to a very fai● house. Having knocked at the Gate, it was immediately opened by an old man, who was Steward to the Lady, and had the oversight of the Shepherds and the profits arising from the Sheep. The Shepherd who brought them thither went in to the Lady, and in few words gave her an account of the misfortune had happened to those Strangers, and the condition he had found them in, whereupon she ordered them to be brought up to her chamber. Don Pedro presented himself to her, very much abashed to see himself almost naked, as having about him only an old Coat, which the Shepherd had lent him. He told her that his journey was for Madrid, about a Lawsuit of great importance, not discovering who he was, but only that he was a Gentleman of Sevil, named, Don Ferdinand Sanchez de Trivegno. The Lady, whose name was Donna Victoria, was much troubled to see him in that deplorable condition. There were in the house two chests full of clothes, which had been a Brother's of hers, who died not long before. She ordered two suits to be brought out, which they put on, that which Don Pedro had proving so fit, that the Lady was much taken with his person, and had her eyes always fastened on him. She invited Don Pedro to dine with her, which he did, taking occasion ever and anon, to make extraordinary acknowledgements of the favours he received from her.  
They continued two days in that Country house, ere the Lady made any discovery of the affection she had for Don Pedro, save only what she did with her eyes, which were the silent interpreters of the trouble she was in. Don Pedro was not insensible of it, and had some discourse concerning it with his Man; yet had he not the confidence to tell him what he really thought of it, being (as he was) upon the point of disposing himself otherwise. The Servant advised him not to let slip so fair an opportunity, and told him he should not be so hard-hearted, towards a Lady of so great worth, and one that had so highly obliged them. The solitude of the place, the beauty of the Lady, and the silent discoveries she made him by her gestures, obliged Don Pedro to answer her affection. He entered into some Love-discourses with her; but though she were really in love with him, yet would she not grant him any particular favour, unless he first assured her she should be his wife, and that she had a promise of it under his hand.  
Don Pedro, on the other side, had so great a kindness for her, that he had in a manner forgot the Mistress, whose Picture he carried about him, and advising with his Servant, (who was a dangerous Confident, and a subtle fellow) what he should do, he told him very roundly, that he ought not to let slip so sweet and favourable an opportunity; that he might easily have the enjoyment of her, and withal give her the promise of marriage she desired, provided he put not into it his own name, but filled it with the supposititious name he had assumed, since she knew neither his Country nor extraction. Don Pedro followed his advice, and thereupon had his desires of Donna Victoria, who having made the blot, could do no les● than give him leave to enter. He continued there four days, at the end whereof, acquainting the Lady that his business at Madrid was of such importance as required his personal attendance there, she consented to his departure, on condition he would return again as soon as he could; which he, with oaths, promised to do.  
The next morning betimes, he departed, leaving the Lady o're-flown with tears; he was somewhat troubled, or at least pretended it. The Lady having furnished him with all things necessary, he put forward; but ere he had gone far, he received some part of the chastisement which he deserved for his perfidiousness, for the Mule he was mounted on being apt to start gave him a fall, whereby he so sprained one foot, that he was forced to make some stay at Illescas, a place half way between Toledo and Madrid, and to send for Surgeons to set all things right again.  
Leaving him there confined to his chamber for some days, let us return to Donna Victoria, who very much bewailed the absence of her Gallant, the very thought of whom caused her no small affliction. A Servant of hers who had made the bed where he lay, sound, under the bolster, a Picture of the Lady whom Don Pedro was to be married to, folded up in a Letter which his Cousin had writ to him from Madrid, which she delivered to her Mistress, who opening the Paper, saw the Picture, whereat she was much disquieted; but she was much more astonished, when she cast her eye on the ensuing  
LETTER.  
Dearest Cousin,  
YOu will receive herein enclosed the Picture of the Lady Donna Brianda de la Cerda, which is very exactly taken from the Original; I doubt not but the charms of her Beauty will oblige you to hasten your departure. Her Father, Don Juan de la Cerda, expects you with great impatience. In the mean time the Contract of Marriage is a drawing up, and will be ready, before you be here to sign it. Assure yourself you will be extremely satisfied, that you have found so excellent a wife. I am  
Your affectionate Cousin, Don Rodrigo de Ribera.  
Donna Victoria had scarcely come to the period of this Letter, but, through the trouble she received at the reading of it, she fell into a swound, and continued therein above half an hour, in the arms of her Maid. At last she came to herself, bursting into sighs and tears; she railed at the Sevillian Impostor, but much more at her own simplicity, that she had so lightly prostituted her honour to an unknown person, whom so strange an adventure had brought to her house. She spent that whole day in weeping and bemoaning her misfortune: but considering withal, what hazard her reputation was in, she resolved it should not be said of her, that she had been so basely affronted by any man. Whereupon with the light she received from the Letter, of the occasion of his journey, and the person to whom he was to be married, she put things in order to her removal to Madrid; which she might better do than any other, in regard she had not any Kinsman near enough to whom she might communicate her intention. She communicated her design to Albert, an old Servant of hers, who had brought her up from the cradle, and was very glad to wait on her.  
Upon this resolution, she caused two Wagons to be loaden with all things necessary to furnish a house fit to receive a person of Quality, and took her way towards Madrid. Being come thither, she commanded her Servant Albert, to inquire whereabouts lived Don Juan de la Cerda, and whether the young Cavalier, whom he intended to make his Son-in-law, were come from Sevil. She understood by him, that he was not yet come, but that they expected him, which much troubled the Lady, who knew nothing of the accident had happened to him near Illescas.  
The first thing this affronted Lady did, was to take a house for herself, near that of Don Juan de la Cerda, and ordered Albert to live in it as Master thereof. That done, she sent him to Don Juan's, to inquire whether she wanted a waiting-Gentlewoman, for she would disguise herself, that she might not be known by Don Pedro The business had the effect she desired, for Donna Brianda was then enquiring for a widow to wait on her, a custom much practised in Spain, where Ladies of quality have several of them, whom, being Widows, they call Duennas. When this was proposed by Albert, who went under the name of Father to his Mistress, Donna Brianda not only received her into her service, but her Father, Albert, was also entertained into Don Juan's. Albert gave his Mistress an account of his Negotiation, whereat she was extremely satisfied: so that having put herself into the habit of a Duenna, she went the next day to present herself to Donna Brianda, conducted by her pretended Father, Albert. They were both very kindly entertained by Don Juan de la Cerda and his Daughter. Donna Victoria wished she had not been so handsome, that the Suitor she expected might be the less taken with her; however, she courageously resolved to prosecute the imposture she was engaged in. Donna Brianda asked Albert, what Countryman he was. He told her that he was born at a place called Utrera, near Sevil; that his name was Stephen de Santillana (by which we shall henceforth call him) that his Daughter had been married to a Merchant of that City, who died as he was going for the West-Indies, leaving so great Debts behind him, that all his Estate went to satisfy his Creditors. Don Juan hearing that Santillana was of Andalusia, asked him, whether he had lived any time at Sevil. He told him, that he had often been in that City, but that his Daughter had lived there. Don Juan would not at that time inquire any farther, nor enter into any discourse with him concerning Don Pedro de Ribera. Donna Victoria was entertained as Duenna to Donna Brianda, who took such an affection to her, that she trusted her with all her Keys, to the great discontent of her other Servants, who had lived with her many years. Santillana told them that he had a House of his own, not far from Don Juan's, and a Wife (for Marcelia an ancient Maid of Donna Victoria's was to act that part) whereupon he had no Lodgings assigned him in Don Juan's.  
It is now time we return to Don Pedro de Ribera, who being recovered of his fall, came to Madrid, and lighted at the House of his Cousin Don Rodrigo, who was much troubled that he had not been there sooner. He told him the cause of it, and gave him a particular account of all had passed in Donna Victoria's Countryhouse, even to the promise he had made her, under a feigned name. Don Rodrigo asked him, what quality the Lady was of, whereto be answered, that her name was Donna Victoria de Sylva, and that she was of one of the most noble Families of Toledo. Don Rodrigo was very much dissatisfied with his procedure, reproaching him with the unworthy action he had done, in abusing and dishonouring that Lady, and that it was to be feared, she might hear of his coming to Madrid in order to a Marriage with another, and find means to be revenged for that affront.  
They afterwards fell into discourse concerning Donna Brianda, and Don Pedro told him, he extremely fancied the Picture he had seen of her, but that, with the other things he had been robbed of, he had lost it: though he knew well enough, he had left it under the bed's head at Donna Victoria's, which troubled him not a little, however he dissembled it. Don Rodrigo told Don Pedro, that it were fit he put himself into other clothes, before he waited on his Mistress, and that he must keep within doors till they were ready. Within two days a very fair riding Suit was brought him, wherein pretending he was but newly come to Town, he goes to the House of Don Juan de la Cerda, by whom he was received with great demonstrations of kindness. Notice was immediately carried up to Donna Brianda, that the person designed to be her Husband was coming up to her Chamber, where she was with her Maids about her, who had just made an end of Dressing her. Don Pedro coming in, conducted by Don Juan and Don Rodrigo, was infinitely satisfied at the sight of his Mistress, whom he very civilly and discreetly saluted, for he was a person of an excellent wit and a confident carriage and demeanour. He found by the original of Donna Brianda, that the Painter had done his work very faithfully, a virtue not much practised by Painters, especially upon such occasions as that was. He was ravished, to see so great a Beauty, and she on the other side was well satisfied with the handsome personage of Don Pedro  
There were yet some things to be done in order to the absolute conclusion of the Marriage, at which there was a necessity of Don Pedro's presence; whereupon he, Don Juan, and Don Rodrigo withdrew into another room, where they locked themselves in with a Notary, and some Friends, who were to be witnesses at the Articles of the agreement. Donna Brianda continued all that time in her Chamber, with her Servants, talking of Don Pedro, her Husband-to-be, every one congratulating her good fortune, save only Donna Victoria, who saying nothing at all, her Mistress observed it, and being all alone with her, Donna Theodorn, said she to her, (that was the name she had assumed) whence comes it, that, while all the rest celebrate the happiness of my choice, you only are silent? Methinks you might have contributed somewhat to the public congratulation, though you had done it only out of complaisance. I pray give me some reason for it. Donna Victoria had done it purposely, in prosecution of her design, and this question came as seasonably as she could have wished it, so that she made her this Answer. As to the person of Don Pedro, Madam, there is not any thing to be said against it, nay he is so accomplished, that there is not any thing to be wished in him which he hath not already. My silence proceeds hence, that I had a particular knowledge of him at Sevil, for I lived in a Quarter of the City, which he much frequented. I neither will, nor aught to conceal from you the occasion of his so often coming thither, for it is my duty to be faithful to you, as having no other design than to serve you, and endeavour your quiet, so as that you may not live in a perpetual dis-enjoyment of yourself all the rest of your days. Know then, Madam, that if you match yourself with Don Pedro, you will be brought to a kind of civil death, instead of receiving the satisfactions of wedlock. Donna Brianda was much astonished at this discourse, and pressed her Duenna, to discover to her more clearly, what she had but too great a desire to tell her. Whereupon entreating her to retire into a more secret place, where they might not be observed by her other Women, Donna Victoria gave her this malicious account of the perfidious Don Pedro  
I should not live with the respect and duty I owe you as my Mistress, nor according to the affection I bear you, if I expressed not myself clearly to you, in a business wherein you are so highly concerned, and on which depends your greatest felicity in this world. Know then, Madam, that Don Pedro fell in love with a Lady at Sevil, one very handsome and well descended, in a word wanting nothing but a fortune suitable to her quality. He courted her so earnestly, that she, finding herself obliged by so great demonstrations of Affection, Letters, and continual Embassies, attended with presents, from Don Pedro, satisfied his desires, upon a promise that he would make her his Wife, whereof there are many witnesses. But the business was to be kept secret for a time; for Don Pedro's Father was then alive, who, having received some intelligence of that Love, endeavoured all he could to prevent Don Pedro's marriage with Donna Elvira de Monsalvo; so was the Lady called. The continuance of his visits to her produced living proofs, which were two Sons and a Daughter, who are at this time with the Mother. When Don Pedro's Father was removed out of the way, (which happened not long after) Donna Elvira expected he should make good his promise, and marry her, but he, for some time, came not so much as to see her. What inconveniences she was put to from the time of their acquaintance she knows to her sorrow, and I am not ignorant thereof, for I Lived near her, and went often to her House. Being now convinced that he intended to leave her in the Lerch, she discovered the business to two Cousin-germen of hers, who were so enraged thereat, that they immediately resolved to oblige Don Pedro, by force, to perform the promise he had made to their Kinswoman. Don Pedro went to a certain Farm he had, not far from Sevil, to avoid his Adversaries, who, knowing he went out of the way purposely because he would not satisfy their Cousin, resolved to be the death of him. Things were in this posture when my Father brought me to Madrid, where I have been about these six weeks. This is the account I can give you of Don Pedro, who must not think himself secure in this Court, for the Lady's Kinsmen, whom I know to be gallant and stout Persons, as soon as they hear of his being here, will be sure to attend his motion, and revenge the affront done to their Cousin; nay it will be easier for them to do it here than at Sevil.  
Donna Brianda heard very attentively the story told her by the Duenna, and was extremely troubled, to find Don Pedro so far engaged with another. She asked her a thousand questions, among others, whether he was much in love with that Mistress, whether that Donna Elvira was very handsome, etc. whereto she made such Answers as were suitable to her design, which was to put Don Pedro clearly out of her favour. Donna Brianda resolved to give her Father an account of all, and leave it to him to inform himself more fully of the business. She immediately went to the Room where he was to speak to him, for all things were concluded as to the Marriage.  
In the mean time, Donna Victoria was left in the outer-room, where the Women and Duennas are wont to wait. There came in to them a Servant of Don Pedro's whom he had sent to the Post for Letters from Sevil. Enquiring for his Master, to give him the packet, Donna Victoria told him, that he was within, but that as soon as he came out she would deliver it to him. Having opened the packet, she put into it a Letter she immediately writ, and, sealing it up again, came where her Mistress was. She asked her whither she was going with those Letters? The other answered without the least discovery of any malice, that they were directed to Signior Don Pedro, and had been brought thither a little before by one of his Servants from the Sevil-Post. Curiosity was an ingredient of the first Woman, and it is very fruitfully spread through the whole Sex. Donna Brianda showed herself nor free from it on this occasion, and she was the more excusable considering the story had been told her by the subtle Duenna. She was tempted to open the packet, wherein finding one Letter written with a Woman's hand (which was that written by Donna Victoria) she could do no less than open it, and directing her Eye down to the bottom of it, found it subscribed by one Donna Elvira de Monsalvo. She read it, and was confirmed in what before she not fully credited.  
THE LETTER.  
My dearest,  
YOur absence and my indisposition have reduced me to such extremity, that I cannot imagine I have any long time to live, it being impossible I should hold out, after the news I have heard of your resolution to be married at Madrid, which cannot easily be done, without a transcendent baseness, by a person so nearly engaged to me as you are. You know that you cannot bestow on another what is so lawfully due to me, especially if you make the least reflection on the precious pledges there are between us thereof. I have no other advice to give you, as things now stand, but that, if you are at such a loss of all shame and conscience, there is a God in Heaven, who sees our most secret thoughts, and passes a just judgement on them; and that I have many noble friends, who measuring the small account you make of them by your slighting of me, will not fail to revenge the affront done to us all. I hope we shall not be forced to those extremities, considering how highly you are obliged to do things suitably to the nobleness of your Birth, and to acknowledge, as you ought, her, whom, while we both Live, you must look on, as  
Your lawful Wife Donna Elvira de Monsalvo.  
This Letter fully satisfied Donna Brianda that all she had heard from the malicious Duenna was true. Her Father coming into the room as she had done reading it, she acquainted him with all that concerned Don Pedro, showing him the Letter from Donna Elvira. He was extremely astonished, to find that a Cavalier of so noble a Family, had abused a Lady of such quality, and that, having Children by her, he should be so impudent as to make his addresses to his Daughter. He forbore reproaching him therewith, till he had better informed himself from a Friend of his of Sevil, then at Madrid, whom he immediately went to look for.  
Don Juan was but hardly got out of doors, but Don Pedro and his Man came in, for his man having told him that he had delivered the packet to one of Donna Brianda's Women, he was come to receive it from her, since it was not brought to his Cousin's, whither all his Letters were directed. It was his fortune to meet with Donna Brianda in the outer-room, where her Father had left her. I should not have returned so soon, my dearest Lady, said he to her, had not somewhat extraordinary obliged me thereto; it is to receive some Letters, which my Man tells me he delivered to one of your Women. She thought, says Donna Brianda, that you had been still with my Father. I casually meeting her as she was coming into the room, asked her what she came for. She answering, it was to deliver you the packet, I took it from her, and (presuming that a Cavalier of your age and complexion could not have lived to this time in Sevil, and not have an inclination for some Lady) a certain conjunction of curiosity and jealousy persuaded me to open it. That curiosity hath done me a courtesy, and hath satisfied me in some things, which before I only suspected: and therefore I forbear desiring your excuse, since I have received so good an information, before I was any further engaged with you; for had it come too late, I had been ruined. Here's a Letter from a person you should be well acquainted with; this would have been enough to undeceive me, but it only confirms a relation I had received before, upon which I was almost resolved to put such a check to your pretensions to me, as that you should have but little encouragement to continue them. Farewell, my presence will but trouble you, this Letter will acquaint you with what you are not ignorant of.  
Don Pedro receiving the Letter out of her hand was not a little surprised, not imagining what might have happened to him. He read it, and presently inferred, that it was a trick put upon him by some envious person, who was desirous to obstruct his happiness. Meeting with Donna Victoria (whom, as we said before, he knew not in her Widow's habit) Ah Madam, said he to her, what forgeries are these? I a Mistress at Sevil, and of this name? I children by her, and that upon a promise of marriage? If it be not the greatest lie that ever humane malice invented, let me never look Man in the face again. For my part, replies the subtle Duenna, I find myself inclined to believe, that what you say may be true; but your main concernment is to bring my Lady to that persuasion. I know her to be of such an humour as not easily to quit a resentment, which she entertains upon just grounds, and I much question whether she will admit your addresses any further, for I know she hath acquainted her Father withal, and he is gone to a Gentleman of Sevil, an intimate friend of his, who is now in this City. I am very glad of it, says Don Pedro, for he will find it to be an absolute imposture, and that there is not any Lady in Sevil that goes under the name of Donna Elvira de Monsalvo. But I beseech you tell me, Madam, whether your intimacy be very great with the Lady Donna Brianda. So great replied she, that I am the only person in her favour, and to whom she is pleased to communicate her thoughts. If it be so, says Don Pedro, it's possible you may procure me the favour from her, that I may vindicate myself. I much question whether she will ever speak to you again, said she, for she is extremely incensed against you, and when once angry, if justly, she is the hardest to be appeased that ever I knew. But, said he, if you are so much in her favour, you may prevail somewhat with her, by representing to her the extraordinary affection I bear her. It is in my power, said she, to do with her what you desire; but what will you give me if I can procure you a favourable audience from her? Any thing you can desire, said he to her, if you mind only matter of advantage. You see I am very young, says she, and consequently may hope to be married again, money is the only thing I want; if I do what you wish, may I rely on your liberality for my reward. That you may know how earnestly I desire it, says he, do what I desire, and I will make your fortune heavier by five hundred Crowns than it is. I most humbly thank you, replies she, but I must tell you, Sir, that I have been so deluded by the verbal promises sometimes made me by a person of your quality, that I have reason to mistrust whatever is promised, if I have it not in writing. You will be pleased to excuse me, Sir, if my fear to be deceived as I have been force me to these precautions, and to assure yourself, that those satisfied, I will endeavour to serve you to the utmost of my power. To give you absolute satisfaction, as to that point, Madam, said he, help me with pen, ink and paper, and you shall have the security you desire yourself.  
Donna Victoria would see the issue of it, and so brought him what he desired. Don Pedro kept his word with her; nay either out of ignorance of the form of such obligations, or to make a greater expression of his earnestness that she should assist him, he proved so liberal, as to give her a Blank signed and sealed, not mentioning the sum whereto he obliged himself, telling her he had not specified it, out of a design to requite her beyond his promises, proportionably to the service she should do him, in the recovery of his Mistress' favour. She saw this happened according to her wishes, so that acknowledging the favour Don Pedro had done her, she promised him her utmost endeavours to deserve it, by recovering him into the favour of his Mistress. The amorous Cavalier believed her, and took his leave. Albert coming in soon after, Victoria gave him an account of what progress she had made, and putting into his hands the Blank signed by Don Pedro, bid him write above his name a formal promise of marriage, dating it about the time of his being at her Country house near Toledo, with two witnesses: which Albert did, imitating as near as he could Don Pedro's hand.  
That day, Don Juan failed to meet the Gentleman of Sevil, and put off the visit he intended him till the next. In the mean time, Donna Victoria understood from Donna Brianda, that she was resolved to lead Apes in hell, rather than have Don Pedro to her husband. Having already trusted her Duenna with some of her secrets, she thought she might make an absolute discovery of herself to her, and thereupon told her, how that before her Father had treated of a marriage between her and Don Pedro, she had been courted by a person of Honour, named Don Sancho de Leyba; that she had some inclination towards him; and that the persuasions of her Father had prevailed with her to entertain the applications of Don Pedro; but having discovered his unworthiness, she was resolved to re-address her affection to Don Sancho.  
Donna Victoria was almost out of herself for joy to hear that news, for it put her into a confidence that her design would take: and the more to promote it, she disposed Donna Brianda as much as lay in her power to favour Don Sancho. He must needs be displeased with me, says she to her, yet I doubt not but a Letter from me will re-engage him my humble Servant. The crafty Duenna proffered to be the bearer of it, on condition she might do it by Coach. Donna Brianda was very glad to find her Woman so ready to serve her, especially in a business which she was so much pleased with; and so she commanded a Coach to be made ready, and that she should go immediately to see Don Sancho, to whom she writ a Letter. Donna Victoria took Coach, pretending to go to Don Sancho's house, but she went to her own, and bid the Coachman return to Donna Brianda, and tell her, that for fear notice might be taken of the Coach, she would go afoot to the place where she had sent her, conducted by Santillana her pretended Father. From that house, she writ two Letters, one, to Don Juan, desiring him to come to her; the other to Don Sancho, to the same effect, with directions to find the house.  
While the Letters were carried abroad, she put off her Widow's habit, and put on that of a person of the highest quality, expecting these two visits with the accustomed ceremonies of Spain. Don Sancho de Leyba was not long a coming, though he knew nothing of the person who had written to him. There had not past many compliments between him and Donna Victoria, but word was brought her, that Don Juan de la Cerda was alighted out of his Coach, and was coming into the house. Sir, said she to Don Sancho, I am obliged to speak with the person who is coming up all alone. Not but that you may hear the discourse we shall have together; and therefore let me entreat you to stand behind this Curtain, whence you will hear all we say, for it concerns you more than you imagine, and will prove to your advantage. Don Sancho complied, not knowing what might be the issue of this precaution.  
Don Juan came in, and having taken a seat, Donna Victoria (whom he knew not as she was then dressed) addressed herself to him with this discourse. I doubt not, Sir, but you somewhat wonder, you should be entreated hither by a Letter, and that from a person not known to you. To recover you from that confusion, I will give you an account of myself. I was born in the Imperial City of Toledo, the only Daughter of the House from which I am descended, and Heir thereof. I am of the Family of Sylva, so well known all over Spain, that I need say nothing of it. As to my quality, I am to tell you farther, that my Father was, in his time, honoured with the Order of St. James, and my Brother, of that of Alcantara, with the command of a Troop of Horse under his Majesty in Flanders. Upon his death, I retired to a Countryhouse I have near Toledo, where I lived privately, contenting myself with the innocent enjoyments of a Country life, without the least acquaintance of any thing of Love, till that, one morning a Shepherd of mine brought to my house, two men, who had been robbed and stripped the night before by certain High-way-men. I took compassion on them, especially him, who by his demeanour seemed to be the Master, and out of two chests of clothes my Brother had left, I furnished them with two suits, wherewith they covered their nakedness. They seemed to be very thankful for so seasonable a favour; but the more considerable of the two hath treated me very ungratefully, which is the ordinary style of Courtiers, and hath required my charitable offices only with flatteries and deceit. I was so simple as to be cajoled, by the caresses he made me, during four days that I kept him at my house, and he prevailed so far with me, that I was no longer at my own disposal. The reiterated oaths and protestations of a person of that worth, raised me into a persuasion that he really loved me, and that induced me to love him again; to be short, upon a promise he made me of marriage, he got me in an humour to grant him the greatest of favours. He made me believe that his going to Court was for the prosecution of some Law-business that concerned him very highly. He desired my leave to go to Madrid, promising to return again in a short time, but with such demonstrations of love as might easily have prevailed with one who had not fancied him so affectionately as I had done. I supplied him with all things necessary, and he left me extremely troubled at his departure. Now, by a Picture and Letter he left behind him under the bolster, I found that the occasion of his coming to this Court was in order to a marriage between him, and that miracle of Beauty, Donna Brianda, your Daughter. Now our Honour being the most considerable thing we ought to be tender of, I could do no less, upon this procedure of Don Pedro, than resolve to come to this Court, and to apply myself to my friends, that, by their favour, I might cross the marriage he is about, and you will find, that I may easily do it, if you but see what Cards I have to play. I conceived my first overture should be to acquaint you with my disgrace, the dishonour I have run into by the acquaintance of Don Pedro, and his treachery towards me, that receiving it from my own mouth, you may not be too forward to conclude what is already resolved between you, as I have understood. With the Paper I have here in my hand, I will prosecute him to the utmost; it is under his own hand and seal, and witnesses to it: be pleased, Sir, to peruse it, and see whether I have not reason to prosecute this ungrateful and perjured man, and to force him to a performance of the promise he hath made me.  
Don Juan was astonished at this relation of Donna Victoria's, and, by what was put into his hands, found out the disposition of Don Pedro, and concluded him a fickle imprudent person, who pursued his enjoyments, without any thought of the consequences thereof, and thereupon he resolved there should be no further talk of any marriage between him and his Daughter. Opening the Paper which Donna Victoria had given him, he found in it these words.  
THis present writing, written with my own hand, and sealed with my Seal, witnesseth, that I, Don Pedro de Ribera, an Inhabitant of Sevil, acknowledge myself to be the lawful husband of Donna Victoria de Sylva, an Inhabitant of Toledo, and that I will perform the present promise I make her of marriage whensoever I shall be, by her, thereto required. Signed and Sealed in the presence of Albert and Marcelia, Servants to the said Donna Victoria.  
Don Pedro de Ribera.  
Having read this promise, and knowing the h●nd and seal of Don Pedro, Don Juan said to her, Madam, I am very much troubled, that Don Pedro (a person so well descended as he is) should be guilty of so unworthy an action, and a demeanour so full of treachery; for at the time when he gave you this writing, he was coming hither purposely to be married to my Daughter. But the account you have given me of him is such, that I assure you, I wil● have no more to do with him, since you have so much reason to oppose it. Prosecute your own right, and leave him not till you have obtained your desires, and be assared, I shall assist you to the utmost of my power, since I find your honour so highly concerned in it▪ I have some friends here, and those powerful, I will engage them all to serve you, that you may find I am a person, who prefers a just cause before all self-interest.  
Donna Victoria gave him very humble thanks for so great a favour, and the tears that fell from her at the close of her discourse, heightened his zeal and tenderness towards her. Don Juan took along with him the writing which Donna Victoria had shown him, that he might thereby induce Don Pedro to an acknowledgement of his fault. With those protestations he took leave of Donna Victoria, promising to see her again within a short time, and to return the promise of marriage, reiterating the desires he had to serve her. He thereupon left her, giving Don Sancho the liberty to come upon the stage. As soon as he had taken a seat, You have understood, says Donna Victoria to him, if so be you have heard the discourse between Don Juan and myself, what hath passed between me and Don Pedro Upon which account (as you have heard from her Father) you find he is never like to be husband to the fair Donna Brianda. She sent me hither to acquaint you, that what hath been done on her part in order to the marriage between her and Don Pedro was purely out of compliance with the commands of her Father, and that she is glad of the occasion she now hath to quit him, and reassume that kindness and affection she ever had for you. What I say, you will find in writing under her hand, when you have perused this Letter. Don Sancho, having read it, was the most satisfied man in the world, to find his blasted hopes now beginning to spring again.  
Donna Victoria perceiving it, to confirm his satisfaction, continued her discourse to him thus. I know, Seignor Don Sancho, you will be astonished in yourself, how this Letter should fall into my hands. It is myself only can unriddle it. Being in love, as you are, you know that that little Divinity is the Author of many disguises and transformations, as you are taught by Ovid in his Metamorphosis, and consequently you doubt not, but that I, loving an unconstant person, who had had such precious pledges of my affection, should leave nothing unattempted to recover my honour, and oblige him to the satisfaction of what he owes me. I am come to this Court, with a design, being what I am, to get into the service of Donna Brianda, and have effected it. For though you see me in this house, (which was taken upon my account) I live in hers, waiting on her in the quality of a Duenna, a part I have assumed, the better to elude Don Pedro, and to do all say in my power to put him out of my Mistress' favour: and I have also brought that so far about, that I am confident there will never be any marriage between them, and she is wholly inclined to favour you. Now consider with yourself what you would have me to say to your Mistress, for I am just going to put on my Widow's habit, and I must return presently, and am afraid she will think I have stayed too long. If you will return her an Answer, you have here all things requisite to do it. I think it were fit you should, that Donna Brianda may see, I have punctually obeyed her commands. As to the secret of my disguise, I pray keep it such, for it concerns me, that it should not be discovered a while. I rely on your discretion, and, knowing you to be a person of Honour and worth, I presume you will not discover it.  
This discourse very much surprised Don Sancho, who took occasion to commend her courage and generosity, and returned her his most humble thanks, for the favour she had done him, in entrusting him with the secret of her Love, and prayed Heaven to give him life to acknowledge and require so great an obligation. He promised her not to discover any thing till she commanded him to do it; and thereupon, seeing her in haste to be gone, he writ a Letter in Answer to what he had received from his Mistress, full of amorous compliments, and protestations of fidelity to the last gasp. While he was writing, Donna Victoria but on her Widow's habit, and made all the haste she could to Don Juan's.  
In the mean time Don Pedro, extremely resenting the imposture put upon him, acquainted his Cousin Don Rodrigo with it, whereupon they went both together to Don Juan's. He not being within, they asked for Donna Brianda, who came out without any ceremony to receive their visit, that it might be the shorter; for she had no great mind to see Don Pedro. The poor Gentleman endeavoured to vindicate himself, swearing a thousand oaths, that he never heard of any Lady in Sevil, of the name mentioned in the Letter, and that no doubt some envious person had put this trick upon him: and that if Don Juan should upon enquiry find it to be true, he would be content to lose his honour and life, nay more, the hopes of ever enjoying her.  
The earnestness of his discourse put Donna Brianda into some doubt, that what she had heard was some imposture advanced purposely to obstruct his pretensions, and referred it to her Father to make a full discovery thereof. Her Answer to them was, that she was not at her own disposal, that it was her duty, to comply with that of her Father, and consequently, she could not quit the ill-impression she had received of Don Pedro, till she were better informed of the Truth: that her Father would come in ere long, and that she could take no resolution without his orders, in a business of so great importance.  
While they were engaged in this discourse, Don Juan comes in from the visit▪ he had made to Donna Victoria. Don Rodrigo made him a short relation of what had happened, and renewed to him the just complaint which his Cousin had reason to make of the crime laid to his charge. Whereupon both desiring him to hold his hand, at least till there were an exact enquiry made into the business, he desired them to sit down, and gave them this Answer.  
Gentlemen, I went out in hopes to be informed by some friends of Sevil, now here, whether that which is imputed to Don Pedro were true, and I could not meet with them: but if I had found them, it's possible they might know nothing of the business, for Sevil is a great City, and some parts of it lie at such a distance from others, that they may well be accounted different places. What I found most certain is, that Don Pedro hath made a promise of Marriage to a Lady of Toledo, who entertained him at a Countryhouse of hers, after he had been robbed by certain Thiefs; and what is yet more to be considered, she thought it not much to secure his affection by the forfeiture of her Honour. I have it from the Lady herself, who sent for me, and showed me the promise under his hand, which since we all know, there can be no evasion.  
He thereupon showed it to both the Cousins, who were both at such a loss that they knew not what to say, especially Don Pedro, who sufficiently betrayed his guilt by his astonishment, but swore withal that he had not made that promise under his own name, but under a feigned. But Don Rodrigo knowing all the circumstances of the business, was most liberal of his reproaches to his Cousin, which raising a certain compassion in Don Juan, forced this discourse from him. Signior Don Pedro, We find by many experiences, that a young Man, once fallen in Love, will do any thing to obtain his desires. That Love should overcome you, I wonder not at all; but what occasions my astonishment, is, that you should have the confidence to address yourself to a person of the quality this Lady is of, and dishonour her, without ever considering, that, in time, she might acquaint her friends therewith, who would be sure to revenge the affront. And what adds to this astonishment, is, that you durst do such an action when you were coming hither purposely in order to your matching with my Daughter, for whom, if any credit may be given your Letters, you pretended to have a passionate affection. I see not how your heart could be capable of such a competition of passions, that you should pretend the greatest inclinations imaginable for one, and treat of a marriage with another. Being a person of Honour, I doubt not but you will make it appear in your actions, and that is, that you stand to the promise you made to the Lady Victoria, though it were only out of this consideration, that it argues a more generous nature to do that willingly, which must otherwise unwillingly be done. The Lady is not so destitute of Friends as you haply imagine; she is now at Madrid, come expressly to recover her debt, which no doubt she will; and her cause being so just, 'tis not likely she will want assistance. My advice is, that you endeavour to prevent the ill reports which the business must raise of you; perform what you have promised, and let not your Love to my Daughter blind you any further, for I am resolved to shut her up in a Cloister, for the remainder of her Life, rather than she shall ever be your Wife.  
With that he rose up, and, without any compliment, went into another room. Donna Brianda followed him, and the two Cousins, without so much as a word exchanged, went home, where Don Rodrigo fell into bitter expostulations with his Cousin, for his engaging himself in so unworthy an action. Don Pedro had nothing to reply, but that he was astonished how that promise came to be signed with his own name, having made it only under a supposititious.  
Leaving them in that confusion, making several reflections on the adventure, let us return to the feigned Waiting-woman, who was got back to Don Juan's, and had delivered Don Sancho's Letter to Donna Brianda. She was infinitely satisfied with it, as fearing he would not have been so easily retrieved into her service. Donna Brianda acquainted her, how that Don Pedro and his Cousin had been there; what had passed between them and her Father; and that he had absolutely dismissed them, it being discovered, that Don Pedro had committed another impertinence, and had made a promise of Marriage to a Lady of Toledo, who was come express to Madrid, to obstruct his pretensions to her. Donna Victoria pretended the greatest astonishment in the world, and burst forth into imprecations against Don Pedro  
In the mean time there came a message to Donna Brianda from a She-Cousin of hers, inviting her to a Comedy which was to be represented at her House, that night, whereto she sent Answer, that she would come. Donna Victoria having made so successful a progress in her business, bethought herself of an invention that should bring it to an absolute period, for she had the management of all. She told Donna Brianda, that if she pleased to wave her going to the Comedy she might have a meeting that night with Don Sancho, in a secure place, to wit at her Father's house, where she might do what she pleased herself. The Lady had a great kindness for Don Sancho, and was desirous to prevent the reproaches he might make upon her former discarding of him, and so she accepted the proffer made by her Woman. She immediately sent for Santillana, and gave him a Letter for Don Sancho, whereby he was desired to come that night at eight to Donna Victoria's house. He was sent with another to Don Pedro de Ribera, acquainting him that Donna Brianda, notwithstanding the indignation of her Father, and what she herself had said, was resolved secretly to marry him, and desired to meet him that night, at a House, whither the Bearer would bring him, and that he should not fail to be there at nine. The two Cavaliers kindly received their Letters, especially Don Pedro, who being but a little before dismissed, was recalled to join hands with Donna Brianda, and imagined it done by the intercession of the Waiting-Gentlewoman, to whom he thought himself infinitely obliged, and the present he had made her well bestowed. The two Gallants failed not to be there at the time appointed, and in the mean time Donna Brianda and her Woman took Coach, leaving Don Juan at home, ready to go to bed. They went to Donna Victoria's house, which seemed to be that of Santillana, where they were received by Marcella, Victoria's maid, who went under the name of her Stepmother. While Donna Brianda was expecting the arrival of Don Sancho, she sent Albert with a Letter to Don Juan, which contained these words.  
THE LETTER.  
Sir,  
MY Lady Donna Brianda, instead of going to see the Comedy, whereto she had been invited, is come to my Father's house, with a resolution to be secretly married to Don Pedro, notwithstanding your prohibitions to the contrary. I conceived it my duty to give you notice thereof, it is your work to take what course you think fit to prevent it; for my part I have done what lay in me, and I shall not need to fear any reproach from you, since I have sent you timely notice of her intention.  
Donna Theodora.  
Santillana was dispatched away with this Letter, and ordered not to deliver it till half an hour after nine, which he did. In the mean time Don Sancho failed not to come, precisely at his time, and was directed to his Mistress, who gave him such satisfaction as silenced all his complaints. Victoria left them together in a room, where she locked them in. Not long after came Don Pedro, according to the time appointed him, and was received by Victoria, who disposed him into a room, without light, alleging it concerned him, that he were not seen; that he should forbear making any noise, and that it would not be long ere his Mistress came to him. He promised to obey her in all things, and stayed there so long as that Victoria might shift herself into clothes suitable to her quality. That done, she went into the room, and speaking very low, it was no hard matter for her to deceive Don Pedro, and to make him believe he was very much in his Mistress' favour.  
Leaving these young people thus matched let us return to Don Juan, who received the Letter from the Duenna just as he was getting into bed. The old Gentleman was extremely surprised thereat, and going out of doors, attended by Albert, he went to the Commissary's house, which was hard by. The afflicted Man acquainted him what posture things were in; whereupon the Commissary taking some of his people about him, they went to Albert's house, where, after some knocking, they were let in. They happily had a Lantern with them, and it did them good service, for they found the House without any light. They lighted a Torch, and went into several rooms, in one whereof finding Don Sancho and Donna Brianda, the Commissary asked them what they did there? Don Sancho told him he was there with his Wife, which was confirmed by Donna Brianda. Don Juan would have run him through; but the Commissary telling him she was not with the person he imagined, that that Gentleman was Don Sancho de Leyba, a person of great quality and well known about the Court, Don Juan could do no less than approve of their Marriage, though 'twere only out of a satisfaction, that she was not fallen into the hands of Don Pedro, whom he hated extremely, for the strange pranks he had played.  
They went thence into another room, which they found locked, and thereupon threatening to break open the door, Don Pedro opened it within, and comes out telling them he was there with Donna Brianda his wife, and that it was with her consent, he was come into that house to marry her. Upon that discourse Donna Victoria came out of the room and said to him, You are deceived, sweet Seignor Don Pedro, I a● not the woman you think me, but Donna Victori● de Sylva, who expects from you the reparation o● her honour; the recovery whereof obliged me t● enter into the service of Donna Brianda, serving he● in the quality of a Waiting-woman. Don Juan de 〈◊〉 Cerda looking on her a little more attentively that he had done, knew her, as also did the fair Lad● Donna Brianda. Both of them reflecting on the disguises she had run through to retrieve her Honour, very seriously commended her courage and contrivances, and as much blamed Don Pedro, who finding himself convinced, and condemned of all, ratifi●● once more the promise he had made her. Don Sanch● and his Mistress were insured one to the other, an● the solemnity of their marriage ordered to be eigh● days after. They proved both very happy in thei● wives, of whom they had many children, who were the comfort and felicity of their Parents. But particularly for Don Pedro, when he reflected on the strange adventures whereby Donna Victoria engaged him to his duty, he looked on all as so many extraordinary demonstrations of her affection, towards him, which occasioned his to be multiplied towards her, besides the kindness he had for her upon the account of her ingenuity. For wit in a Woman is a great enflamer of Love, especially that Woman's wit whic● is ever best at a dead lift.   
RUfina and her Maids were extremely pleased with this Novel of Don faimo's; that eloquence which was so natural in him, added as so many precious grains to the perfect metal of his other excellent qualities, rendered him of so good weight in her esteem, that she could no longer forbear expressing it in her words and actions. On the other side, the Gallant, finding her so tractable, resolved to desist from the intention he had to rob her, and wished for a handsome opportunity to acquaint her therewith, which soon happened. For Rufina persuading herself that Don Jaimo was the same person he had described himself in his relation, told him, that she had some intentions, before her Father were returned from Madrid, to leave the house she was in, to carry along with her all the best householdstuff, and to go with him into Valentia, since he was so powerful in those parts, and descended from so illustrious a Family, and that her Father would not be dissatisfied with her marriage, when he should come to hear of it.  
The disguised Cavalier was forced, upon this occasion, to discover how it had been resolved that he should trapan her, and not desirous she should continue any longer ignorant of the imposture, My dear heart, said he to her, having experienced the kindness and affection wherewith you have been pleased to honour me, I were the most ingrateful person in the world, if I should keep you in darkness any longer. No, I will make an absolute and full discovery of myself to you, and tell you such things as have hitherto not so much as entered your imagination; and certainly I were not pardonable, if the sincere affection I bear you did not somewhat alleviate my crime. I do not say it consists in my loving of you, for it is impossible, that those who have once a sight of your divine beauty should not love you: I have seen it, and, subdued by your charms, am become a captive thereto, my liberty and all the powers and faculties of my soul being absolutely at your disposal. 'Tis a Victory, Madam, which you might easily obtain over hearts much more rebellious against Love than mine is, which became your slave, upon the first sight of those two Suns; and this is a truth I shall never recant while I live.  
The meaning of this Preamble is, to induce you to pardon me the offence I have committed against you. I now ingeniously acknowledge, that I am not the person I described in the account you obliged me to give me of my extraction, though it be true I was born in Valentia; but one meanly descended, yet of people of good repute. My Father got his livelihood by the labour of his hands, and the sweat of his brows, being by profession a Rope-maker. Methought I had some apprehensions above my condition; and therefore unwilling to fall to my Father's laborious trade, I went into Casteel, having before been in Andalusia, and I made those advantages of my Travel and the conversation I met with, and improved the natural Talon I had so well, that I never wanted either friends or money. I came to this City in the company of a man named Crispin, who had been a prisoner some time at Malaga, for some crime he would by no means acknowledge to me. The person hath obliged me, having born my charges all the way; nay more, he hath lent me money, out of a confidence of the reality I had to serve him, in the secret trade we drove together. He declared his mind to me one day, and advised me, by some pretence or other, to get into your house, for he knew you had good store of money, and was desirous to disburden you of some part of it. From the discourse he made, I inferred, that he had been a prisoner at Malaga for some robbery. Now to compass our design, we pretended a quarrel, which should oblige me to take refuge in your house: and in the mean time, you have entertained me with such extraordinary kindness, and have so nobly obliged me, that I find the favours you have done me will frustrate Crispin's intention. And therefore now that I acquaint you with the trick we designed to put upon you, assure yourself I will endeavour to retort it upon himself, and get out of him what money he hath, to chastise him for his folly. For heaven forbid I should prove ingrateful to a person who hath obliged me so highly as you have done. I have discovered my Soul to you, dispose of me now as you think fit, for I am resolved to perish, ere I ever consent you shall receive any injury, though I have disclaimed the quality, I had unjustly assumed.  
Rufina was extremely exasperated against Crispin, not so much for his design to be revenged on her for the prank she played him at Malaga, but upon an apprehension that he might have acquainted Jaimo what kind of person she was, and what trade she drove. Whereupon consdering that he had so ingenuously discovered himself to her, and acknowledged even to the meanness of his birth, she thought herself obliged to do the like, and to give him a sincere account of her descent, course of life, friends, in a word, all her adventures, to her arrival at Toledo. But Love and Wine make people talk more than they should. Jaimo was glad that Rufina was no better descended than himself: that equality of condition not only occasioned a greater kindness, but begat thoughts of a match, between them. They resolved to leave Toledo, and to take up their habitation at Madrid; but Rufina told him, she would first be revenged of Crispin, who intended to serve her such a base trick. Jaimo undertook it, telling her, that under pretence of their acquaintance and friendship, he might easily bring him into the noose, and not only leave him mony-less, but also find him a good secure lodging, lest he should attempt to revenge himself.  
With this resolution, leaving Rufina's he went to Crispin, whom he found at his lodging, not expecting to have seen him so soon. He was overjoyed to heat how his Companion had insinuated himself into Rufina's favour, whereupon the other telling him, that to make sure work of her, he wanted a sum of money, as well for expense, as to gain the Servants, the Apostate Hermite answered he should not want it. By this means Jaimo thought to oblige him to a greater confidence of him, heightening the intended cheat with a thousand oaths of an inviolable Friendship. Thus was that old experienced Turn-key of villainy brought into a Fool's paradise; for, that Jaimo might live suitably to the relation he had made of himself, he gave him a hundred pieces in gold, to be disposed of as he pleased, hoping to have them returned, attended with six times as many. He took them out of a bag where were five or six hundred more, some part of his former achievements. Jaimo observed the place, where he put up that treasure, and swore to himself, that he would not sleep heartily till be had altered the property of that bag. While Crispin was gone out to give the Hostess order for a brace of Partridges and a Rabet for his, and his Camerade's supper, he went to the port-manteu, wherein the money was garrisoned, and opening the chain (a thing he could do as cleaverly as any of his profession) took out the bag, and disposed it into a place, whence he might easily remove it at his departure. They supped very merrily, which ended, Jaimo took leave of Crispin, putting him over head and ears in hope, that he would bring his design to a period.  
He went strait to Rufina's, who it may well be presumed, received him very kindly. He gave her an account what had passed between him and Crispin, and how he had with his own money promoted the design he had to chouse him. Being alone with her, he showed her the goodly pieces, for she had a great affection to money of that colour. Jaimo represented to her, how much it concerned them to leave Toledo, before Crispin should take notice of the loss of his money. Rufina told him, that she knew an expedient for that, which was, to serve Crispin such a trick at Toledo, as she had done at Malaga. Having thereupon writ a large Letter to the Magistrate, whose province it is to persecute such people, they set things in order for their departure, and met with two Wagons, then going for Madrid, wherein they put their goods, taking only the She-slave to wait on them. They went to the Court, where, as in a Sea, so many Rivers meet, having resolved that Rufina should not appear, till they had some news of Garay.  
Leaving them there, let us see what was the effect of the Letter sent to the Provost. As soon as he had read it, he went, according to the directions therein received, attended by some of his Officers, to Crispin's lodging, who, impatiently expecting, that Jaim● should make his way into Rufina's house, and thereby put him into possession of all her money, was taken in his chamber, and thence conducted to prison. Not long before, one of the Judges of Malaga, had been at Toledo, to look for him, and not finding him, had left with the Provost some observations on his Physiognomy, by which, though the habit he then was in disguised him very much, it was more than presumed, that he was the person. They seized on what he had in the house, among which he thought the Gold, which Jaimo had eased him of, had been, for he knew nothing of its departure, which happened well for the two Lovers, who were already dislodged. The issue of his imprisonment, was, that, being put to the Torture, he could not keep his own counsel, and so was sentenced to receive the reward of his confessions, Hanging. 'Twas Heaven's kindness towards him, that he should end his days with some remorse for his sins, for though that be the ordinary exit of such as engage themselves in that wretched kind of life, yet are there many of them whose guilty souls, are, by sword and pistol, dispatched into the other world, without the least act of contrition. This was the end of poor Crispin, who made a public acknowledgement of all the robberies and villainies he had committed, while he was a Hermit, to the great edification of the people. He was also observed to have this generosity, that he named not any person who had been engaged with him in his designs; nay though he knew, the present misfortune had been procured him by his Friend Jaimo, yet he Christianly forgave him and all the world at his death.  
In the mean time Rufina and Jaimo were married as soon as they came to Madrid, but kept out of Garay's fight. He went soon after to Alcala, where he had been told his Wife was, but finding her not, he struck in with some of his own Profession, and the result was, that being surprised in a Robbery, they were all condemned to the lash, and six years' recreation in the Galleys. He was brought to the chain at Toledo, which eased his mind a little, for, thinking Rufina had been there still, he writ a Letter to her, desiring her, in regard she had gotten all she was worth by his co-operation and assistance, that she would have compassion on him, and exempt him from that penance, by buying a Slave in his stead, a thing commonly practised. The Cannoneer inquires for Rufina, where he had directed, but the Neighbours told him, that she had left Toledo; so that honest Garay, burdened with Iron, Years, and Hardship, came to have that relation to his Catholic Majesty, which he and many others, though they justly deserved it, little expected to be preferred to.  
On the contrary Don Jaimo lived like a Prince at Madrid, where he soon met with some of his own Constitution, a sort of people, who, like Foxes, never fare better than when they are most cursed. They committed some secret Robberies, with such caution and industry, that the Authors thereof could never be discovered, whereby they were so fleshed and encouraged, that they daily found out new designs. There was started up about this time at Madrid an excellent Company of Players, brought together by the excessive charge and liberality of a Grandee of Spain, a person of vast Wealth. What his design was in it, I know not, whether he did it out of charity, or for his particular divertisement, or upon some other account to me unknown; but he made it his business to see it furnished with all things requisite. He was desirous they might have the advantages of the Feast of the B. Sacrament, at which time, the Players of the City may, during all the days of the Octave, represent their Plays in the open streets, where all are welcome without paying; and this is done every year at Madrid, at the time of that Feast. To effectuate his design, he bought them some new Plays of the best Poets in Spain, whom he paid well, and put upon some other pieces, for the accomplishment of that famous Company. So that another Company, which was then at Madrid, being too weak to stand in competition with this, was forced to leave the City, and go to Toledo, where they had, from that Imperial City, the ordinary Salary for representing the best pieces they had, at the same Feast. This new Company had the whole Court to itself, and the said Grandee gave them by way of advance four thousand Crowns, to provide clothes suitable to the Pieces they intended to represent. This sum of money was brought into the House of one of the Players, an ingenious and understanding person, for whom the rest had such respect, that all things passed through his hands; he also took care for all things, and gave a very faithful account thereof. He disposed this money into a great Chest, whereof he always carried the Key about him. Jaimo's company soon had an inkling of it, and thinking it a noble prize to hook in that money, they proposed several ways to compass it, but at last referred all their deliberations to Jaimo, whose advice they had, upon other occasions, found the best. He desired time to consider till the next day. That night he spent in communicating the business to his Wife, whom he acquainted with the several proposals of his Comrades. She gave him infallible directions how the business should be effected. Jaimo had the reputation of being able to do somewhat in Poetry, upon which they laid the Plot, and it was approved by his Companions.  
The next day, Jaimo was clad like a Scholar newly come from the University, in a Cassock and long Cloak very bare, and spotted in many places. Thus accoutred, he smelled as strongly of the Poet as if he had fed on nothing but Verses from his Mother's milk. They fitted his Nose with a good large pair of Spectacles, which were fastened to his Ears with a Lutestring, a thing very common in Spain, and furnished him with a huge broad-brimmed Hat; in fine he had all things requisite, to act the part of a ridiculous and extravagant Poet, which was the way they conceived most likely to compass their design.  
He went thus to the Comedians, who were met at their Theatre, and upon the rehearsal of a piece, which was to be represented within three days. He addressed himself to the person who had the oversight of the Company, for he had enquired out his name, and coming to him with a great many congees, (after he had asked him how he did.) I am a Poet, Sir, said he to him, so you take it not ill. The Comedian, as we told you, was a very apprehensive person, and often had to do with such phantasms of extravagant Men, such as Jaimo seemed to be by that abrupt introduction. Many years may you be so, Sir, replied he, assure yourself, it shall not trouble me at all. The design of my studies, says the other, was to become eminent in Divinity, that so I might be capable of a good Benefice, in order to which I have already taken the degree of Bachelor of Divinity, in the University of Iracha, with the great applause of all my Countrymen; for I am a Biscayan, to serve God, and your illustrious Company. I was born at the Town of Ordugna, and I have the advantage to be allied to the most honourable families of that ancient place. I am known by the name of the Bachelor Dominico Joancho, and my fame is great in my own Country, which I told you is Biscay. There it was (not slighting the Talon, which it hath pleased Heaven to give me gratis, by causing me to be born a Poet) that I addicted myself to the study of Poetry, wherein I have been wonderfully fortunate; and finding that all people admired my works, and many were importunate with me to publish them, I would needs make a trial what kind of fancy I might have in the writing of Plays. Those I have made are not such as are now in Vogue, written by some Novice Poets as I may call them; No, I thank Mercury and the Muses, mine are of a kind of extraordinary stile, and I can furnish you with a dozen at least ready for the Stage. I am come to this Court, where there are excellent Wits, and I have had the honour to be esteemed here according to my worth, and I may without vanity affirm it, that the most humorous Judgements have acknowledged that my perfections are more than ordinary. But I think it my greatest happiness, Sir, that I flourish in the same Age with so noble and illustrious a Company, which may be called the Flower of all those that ever were in Spain, in whose service I would employ the Talon God hath bestowed on me, if yourself, and the rest of your honourable Company be so pleased. What number of Plays I have promised you, all of my own Writing, you need but call for. As to the price, you are so reasonable, that we shall not disagree: Be pleased, Sir, to honour me so far, as to make me acquainted with the rest of your Company, that they may give me their sense, as to what I propose.  
This Comedian was of an humour much different from many others of that Quality, who, when a Poet, whom they know not, comes to present them with a Comedy, slight him so far as that they will not so much as give him audience, as if that Divine Power, which hath inspired those that are in Vogue, had confined his gifts to them, and had nothing left to bestow on others. But this Comedian, I say, was of a very jovial and pleasant humour, and was glad of any such occasion to divert himself. So that measuring the inside of the person by his outside and discourse, he told him, that he did them a transcendent honour, and that he gave him thanks in the name of the whole company. Then turning about to his Companions, Gentlemen, said he to them, be pleased to take notice of the renowned Bachelor Dominico Joancho, a Nobleman of Biscay and most excellent Poet, whose productions for the Theatre are beyond all admiration, and who proffers to exhaust his precious vein for ours, having already finished at least a dozen pieces, which he hath a desire to show us. The other Comedians, by the discourse of their Comrade, and by the ill equipage, and worse looks of the person, easily discovered, that he and his wits were at a little distance, which obliged them to pretend, that they were extremely engaged to him, and so they all gave him, one after another, a very civil salute, which he very unhandsomely returned. He who had first spoken to him, asked him, whether he would have the patience till they had done rehearsing, which would not be long, in regard they had gone over it three or four times before, and had now but some particular Scenes to look over, and then they would see some of his Pieces, if he would be pleased to communicate them; which he promised to do. He took a chair and sat very quietly till the Rehearsal was over. By that time they had made an end, it was so near night, that they could not well do any thing without candles. They called for some, and sitting all about him, they desired him to read the titles of the twelve Comedies, which he said were ready for the Stage. The counterfeit Author, who acted his part very pleasantly, took a Paper out of his Pocket, and read to them, as followeth.  

A Catalogue of Plays written this present year, by the Bachelor Dominico Joancho, a Biscayan Poet.  
1. The Extravagant Infanta.  
2. The Lucifer of Yepes.  
3. Gandaya.  
4. The Creation of the World.  
5. Noah's Ark.  
6. The French-Pox.  
7. Almonds for such as have no Teeth.  
8. The scorching Summer.  
9 Between two Stools the— comes to the ground.  
10. The Pilgrimage of St. James.  
11. The Good Thief on the Cross.  
12. The Seignoress of Biscay.   
These, says he, are the twelve Comedies I have already finished: I would not willingly have any of them represented before the last, because the Adventure is of my own Country, and it is a most excellent Comedy, the contrivances of it are admirable, and I need give you no further commendation of it, than that it hath cost me abundance of oil and time, and that I bit my nails above a hundred times at the writing of it.  
The Comedians had much ado to keep their countenances, for they could hardly forbear laughing at extravagant Titles of the Comedies, and wished they had had more time to enjoy the conversation of the Biscain Poet. He who had spoken to him first, giving him thanks in the name of the whole company; I am infinitely glad, Sir, said he to him, that I have had the honour of coming to the knowledge of you, from your own self, for till now, I must, to my shame, acknowledge, that I had not so much as heard of your illustrious name: you will injure yourself extremely, if you do not make the Court of Spain sensible of your excellent parts. I am therefore to entreat you, in the name of our whole Company, that you will be pleased to honour us with that Piece of yours, which you conceive most likely to take, though we question not but your reputation is even beyond your own expressions of it. You know the custom of Poets, when they are first to appear on the Stage, which is, to present it with the first Piece gratis; for what we shall receive from you afterwards, you shall be satisfied according to our agreement, and it is possible, they may please so well, that we shall act only yours, for one year at least; and rather than we shall be behindhand with you, we shall not stick to borrow money, though at ever so great interest. 'Tis now late, and suppertime calls us away, which ended, we shall have more leisure to discourse further, if you please to give me and my Companions the meeting at my chamber. There we hope you will communicate to us your thoughts of that Comedy, which you shall be pleased to recommend to us. If you leave it to my choice, as it is fit you should, replied he, the Seignoress of Biscay shall be the first I will read to you, for I have a confidence, by that, to raise myself into the reputation of a good Author, and to acquire the esteem of this Court. He who was the Speaker of the Company, said to him, Will you be pleased, Sir, to give me a little satisfaction as to the Title of that Comedy; you call it, The Seignoress, whereby methinks it should rather have been The Lady of Biscay, that being a more usual term. You are very much in the right, replies the feigned Poet; but I do it purposely, for the King entitles himself only Seignor of Biscay, and not Prince, Duke, Earl, or Marquis: besides I have another reason, why I do not call her Lady, but Seignoress, which is, that it rhimes with Princess, and all other words of the like termination. To this I may add, that the word is new, and you know the times are such now, that all the world runs after Novelties, even to the very lowest sort of people, who express a certain disgust towards things common and trivial.  
Your reasons are beyond all expectation, replies the Commedian, and therefore I shall not trouble you much with further demands. No trouble at all, says the counterfeit Poet, you oblige me, for though you yourself may be satisfied as to my worth, yet some others here present may be glad of such directions, as I only am able to give them. Your most humble Servant, says the Comedian, then for their better information who you conceive may want it, give me leave to tell you, that I am not satisfied as to the title of one of your Plays, I mean that which you call Noah's Ark, I cannot imagine how you can accommodate that Piece to the Theatre, nor who can be the Actors, for I see but very few can be brought to speak in it. I must pardon your ignorance of my design, replies the Poet, for if you knew it, you would admire the invention, which is wholly new. I bring in as Actors in that Piece all those Creatures that are taught to speak, as Parrots, Mag-pies, Jays, Starlings, Daws, and others, a thing never seen before, and which, for its novelty, must needs be admired.  
They could hardly forbear laughing at his former discourses, but this humour was so pleasant, that it was impossible to hold, which obliged the Author to ask them very seriously what they laughed at. You see, Sir, says the Speaker, how likely this Novelty is to take with the people, since it makes us so merry, out of a conceit, that we shall make a great advantage thereby. No doubt of it, says the Poet. But no more, of the titles of my other Pieces, let us talk only of that which I would have represented first. I shall hereafter, at more leisure, satisfy the difficulties you have to propose concerning the other titles, whereof I shall give you the explication. It shall be so, said he who had spoken to him; to which purpose, we shall desire your company at my house anon after supper, where we shall all be ready to entertain you. Whereupon he took his leave, promising he would not fail to be with them.  
Having made this progress in his business, he went and gave his Comrades an account thereof, and appointed them to wait about his house where the money was. He undertook to keep the Company in play, while they should do their work, which they would not be long about, having all the implements requisite for men of their profession. The Comedians, on the other side, prepared all things to show him such a trick, as his extravagance deserved, getting some squibs and crackers made, to frighten him, if 'twere possible, out of the little wit he had.  
His hour being come, he went to his house who had invited him, to read the Seignoress. He who expected him had provided what he thought requisite to make sport enough that night for the whole Company. The chief Comedian, seeing they were all met, told them that the Room was too narrow for the whole Company, and that they were better to appoint their meeting at the Theatre, where they should not be disturbed. The feigned Poet was glad to hear the proposition, and seconded it, inasmuch as, the coast being clear, his Comrades might the more easily dispatch their business. It happened according to his wishes, for the Mistress of the house, who had heard her husband and others of the Company talk of the extravagant Poet, and how they intended to serve him, would needs see the sport, and lest it might be late ere they returned home, she took all the servants, both men and maids, along with her; so that the Garrison was clearly dismantled. They brought the Poet to the Theatre with a great deal of ceremony, and placed him at the end of a Table, on which there were two candles. Having taken the Comedy out of his pocket, and the Company silently expecting, after two or three grave Hems, he began to read thus.  

THE SEIGNORESS OF BISCAY, A NEW COMEDY.  Written by Dominico Joancho, Bachelor of Divinity, born at Ordugna in the signory of Biscay. 

The Actors Names.  
DON OCHOA, A young Cavalier.  
DON GARNICA, A young Cavalier.  
GOZENEGO, Tom-Ladle, the Fool in the Play.   
Hold a little, I pray, Sir, says the principal Comedian, why do you give the Fool two names, would not one serve? No, Sir, says the Poet; for the former is his name, as he is a Christian, or his Christian name, and the other he hath in relation to the part he acts. For as the Ladle stirs the meat which is in the Pot, so he is the person which tumbles, and turns upside down the several parts of the Plot, and shuffles all the contrivances and intrigues of the Comedy. You shall find nothing but I can give you a very good reason for it, and therefore you may spare yourself the trouble of raising any further objections. Excellent! I am satisfied, Sir, says the other, pray go on.  

GRACE. GELINDA, Seignoress of Biscay, a name very pertinent to signify the Graces that are in her.  


GARIBAYA  
GAMBOINA   Her Waiting-woman.  
L'ORDOVY, an old Gentleman-Usher belonging to the Seignoress.  
ARANELBIA, Steward to the Seignoress.  
A SMITH'S FORGE.   
Your patience, a little, Sir, says the principal Comedian, is that Forge to speak any thing in the Play? No, Sir, says the Poet; but there is a necessity of it in this Piece, in regard there is frequent mention made of it, as being the most considerable revenue of our Country, that is, of her Highness the Seignoress. Very well, very well, replies the other; but however put it not among the Actors. That's easily mended, says the Bachelor.  

Item, THIRTEEN VESSELS, belonging to the Seignoress.   
How Thirteen! says the Comedian, can they not be reduced to lesser number? No, Sir, says the Poet, because they represent Thirteen of the most eminent Families of Biscay, and every one, in the name of its whole House, hath a Voice in the General Assembly, to consent to the marriage of the Seignoress; and if there were any one wanting, 'twould argue a certain contempt of an illustrious Family. I am very punctual and exact, as to what concerns the History of Biscay, and I would not miss an atom of it. But it will be hard for us to represent it, says the Comedian, for we are not so many Actors in our whole Company. Take some at hire out of some other, replies the Poet, for upon such an account as this is you must spare for no cost. Have you any more Actors, says the Comedian? Yes, replies the Poet.  

SEVEN YOUNG MAIDS, between 15 and 20 years of age, who dance a Ball, before their Mistress, at her enrrance into Biscay.   
Well, Sir, says the Comedian, I have seen many Comedies in my time, but never any that had such extraordinary particulars as yours. How do you imagine I should find seven young Maids, especially so near the Court? Sir, says the Poet, no profit comes in without charge; but you need not be so scrupulous, they will not be searched, to try, whether they really be such or not, though 'twere more convenient they should. Nay there is yet another expedient, which is, to have them in Perspective, or in Scenes, and artificially moved to dance the Ball; but to do well, they should be alive. There you give us some comfort, says the Comedian, for we may make up that number out of our Company, if those will serve who appear not upon the Stage: but I shall not undertake they will be such as you would have them. Now, Sir, if you please, let's have a little of your way in carrying on the design of this Piece.  
In the first Scene, said he, comes out Don Ochoa, Suitor to the Seignoress, and Gozenego, Tom-Ladle, his man, in country clothes, with each of them a good thick riding hood, or Capouche, and an Indian Umbrello. How, says the Comedian, what need is there of the Parasol, or Umbrello, if they have Capouches? I see, says the Poet, you are not much acquainted with the temperature of the climate of Biscay. In summer, Sir, there are such furious deluges of waters, as if the sky were broken to pieces; presently after, there comes such a scorching Sun, as will set a man's brains a boiling in his head. I cannot disprove you, says the Comedian; pray go on.   
He then began to read the verses, but after such a ridiculous and extravagant manner, that when he had gone over about an hundred of them, the Player's perceiving that the Piece contained many sheets, close written, and tired with the impertinence of what they had already heard, and withal that they had spent most part of the night so trivially, interrupted the Reciter with a kind of a buzzing noise. That was the Cue which the feigned Bachelor expected, yet seeming to be angry at it, he clapped both hands on the Table with such violence, that he shook the two Candlesticks, and cried out with a loud voice, Tacete, Tacete. But the Players and others that were present, not understanding the Latin, the noise increased, the table was overturned, and the Candles were put out, and then all retiring from him, they set fire to the train they had laid for the poor Poet. He found himself encompassed by a number of squibs and crackers, and long bags full of sand like snakes, all in open hostility against him. He was in a very sad pickle, for there was nothing but confusion on the Theatre, besides the flames of rosin which came up from beneath the Stage, and were ready to choke him, insomuch that to cure him of all future thoughts of Poetry, there needed only a gentle tossing in a blanket. He seemed to take it very unkindly, that he had been brought thither, to receive such an affront, for besides the danger his tinder Cloak and Cassock had been in of a general conflagration, he lost the Comedy, than whichthere could not a greater loss happen to him. The Epilogue of the Piece was, that Jaimo's companions, while the Company was thus entertained at the Theatre, had found a way into the Comedian's house, and played the Ferrets in all the rooms, and examined the chests and trunks that stood in their way, in one whereof they found the money they looked for, which they cleaverly carried to Jaimo's house, where it was very fairly divided; and in regard Jaimo's wife had been the inventress of the Plot, she had an equal share with those who had been employed in the execution of it.  
The next day, the Comedian going to take up certain stuffs for clothes, was not a little astonished to find the chest open, and the money fled. He was for a while at such a loss, that he knew not where he was. At last, he asked his wife who had been in the house? whereto she could give him no account at all. He sent people to abroad to search, and acquainted the Magistrate with what had happened. The nearest streets to the house were visited, but to no purpose. The poor Comedian went to relate his misfortune to the Grandee, of whom he had received that present. But he thinking it a cheat of the Comedians, would not believe him. He fell sick out of pure discontent, and kept his bed, and then began to doubt it was a trick put upon him by that feigned Poet, for whom he immediately caused a search to be made; but he could never be found, for he and his Companions had taken a course for that. These things being represented to the Lord, who had bestowed the money on them, he was so generous as to supply them with the like sum.  
In the mean time, the Officers were still upon duty, to see, whether, searching for the Poet, they should meet with the Author of the Robbery. The indisposed Comedian recovered upon the sight of the money's return into the chest. Jaimo and his Companions had a consultation how they might trapan the Comedian of that recrute, but when it was proposed to Rufina, who had always a voice in the Conclave, 'twas immediately quashed, and she prevailed with her Husband to leave Madrid, since they had money enough to retire elsewhere, and drive some trade therewith. Jaimo took her advice, and so leaving Madrid, they went into Arragon, and planted themselves at Saragossa, the Metropolis of that Kingdom. They took a House, and kept a Silk-shop, spending some time in that employment. What designs they were engaged in during their abode their, and upon what account they were forced to remove thence shall be the subject of a Second Part of this work; wherein the Reader shall find Rufina, improved in subtlety by experience, contriving and compassing cheats much more pleasant and more ingenious, than any she hath been hitherto concerned in, with a little assistance from her Husband Don Jaimo.  
FINIS.