THE NOVELS OF Gio. Francisco Loredano, A NOBLEMAN OF VENICE. Translated for diversion into English.  
LONDON, Printed for Thomas Fox at the Star, and Henry Lord at the Duke of Monmouth in Westminster-Hall. 1682.   

GIO. BATTISTA FUSCONI TO THE READER.  
THese Novels being carelessly scattered up and down, I thought it my duty diligently to collect them into one Volume. Flowers bound up together in a Posy do make a much better show than when they lie strewed abroad here and there. Accept, Courteous Reader, the Stories of a Writer that knows also how to compose Histories. The Book would have been much bigger, if the Author, being employed in more important Studies, had not refused to gratify my Request. May you live free from enthralling Passions, which is as much as to say happy.   

THE TRANSLATOR TO THE READER.  
HAving pleased myself, for some little time in translating, I thought good to give others an hour or two's diversion in reading of these Amorous Discourses. If I have detracted any thing from the worth of my Author, by coming short of the politeness of his Style; I have also added something to his praise, by publishing his Work to those that understand nothing of his Language. I beg your acceptance, and bid you farewel.   


The Argument.  
Aleria a most beautiful Lady, being not in the least moved by the many Courtships and Addresses of the Marquis Arderico, becomes inclined to love him, only for that he is highly commended by her Husband. His good word effects that which all the solicitations and services of the other could not do. The Marquis on the contrary, being acquainted herewith, upon the very point of enjoying the fruits of his love, doth generously quit his pretention.  
NOVEL I.  
AMong other the Ladies, in the famous City of Vicenza, which did ravish both the eyes and hearts of all Men, the beauty of Aleria (of the Noble House of the Counts of Malosi) did so far exceed that of the rest, that it left no room neither for detraction nor amendment. The fairest faces gave place to that aspect which would have been thought Divine, if by her Courtly Carriage she had not discovered some graceful Tracts of Humanity.  
This Lady (who was Courted by those also that despaired of obtaining her) yielding obedience only to those affections which obliged her to prefer true merit, did consent to be Married to the Count of Sanca Croce; a Gentlemen both for Birth and Virtue inferior to none. He had no Quality that was not amiable, nor any thing in him that was not admirable. The Wedding was celebrated with that splendour which was befitting their Noble Estate. Those who in the general Celebration did bury their particular consolation, did not refrain from being present at this Solemnity, although in others rejoicing, they saw cause of mourning. Music and dancing, which have power to ravish even those hearts that are most deeply affected with Melancholy, could not assuage the grief of their minds, who, together with the beauty of Aleria, did lose the hopes of their lives. Yet many, by their dextrous ingenuity, making a virtue of necessity, not being able to subdue their affection, did direct it to other Women. Others knowing their eyes to have been the instruments of letting in love to their hearts, resolved to deprive them of such their complacency, by withdrawing them from their beloved object. They fled away from that Climate, wherein the Sun did not shine but in favour of others. Some following the rules of him that taught the Remedy of Love, set themselves to spy faults in that Face which, being of heavenly beauty, could not be thought exempt from Clouds. Only Arderico the Marquis of castle Novo, raising his hopes above the impossibility of the Enterprise, found that the Solemnity of this day had made his love more ardent; whilst others had thereby applied remedies to their passion. He, being as I believe, in an ecstasy of grief, was assisting to all the Offices of that day; imitating those foolish Flies, which so they may enjoy the light of a Candle, do not care if they burn themselves in its flame. He endured his torment with so much impatience, that the least effect of his distracting amazement was the forgetting of himself. The Feast being over he found new fuel added to his fire. The absenting himself did not extinguish, but foment his flames. Wretched Arderico felt his love grow the hotter, for being farther from the refreshing beauties of Aleria. She, on the contrary, did give such pure demonstrations of her zealous affection to her Husband, that all hope, except that of Ardericoes, which was devoted to obstinacy, would have turned to despair. But he nevertheless, loving so much the more for his being less beloved, let slip no occasion of discovering to her his disease. His eyes were continually fixed upon her, he assaulted her with sighs, and asked pity of her by his looks; in sum, he waiting on her in all places, and courting her at all Balls, there fell out no accident which he did not signalise, either, by some demonstration of obsequiousness, or testimony of his affection. Yet Aleria, either not believing, or not caring to be beloved, never looked upon him but with an indifferent eye. And although the rules of good manners did oblige, her to yield to him in dancing, and to correspond with him in saluting; yet she did it without the least acknowledgement of his affection. Arderico having no other means to insinuate his love into the mind of Aleria, had recourse to his Pen; and with much ado, his tears intermixing with the Ink, and defacing his Writing, he form this Letter.  
Fair Lady,  
I should think I did deserve the rigours of your disdain for discovering my affection, if I did not know that every heart stands obliged to love things that are divine. The rays of your beauty have kindled so great a fire in my breast, that I should believe the hiding it to be rather an effect of stupidity than of Virtue. Aleria I love you, and if the ties of Love were so powerful as those of Religion, I would say I adore you. But what my Pen conceals will be made manifest in my soul, if you please not to disdain the services of  
Your most humble Servant Arderico.  
Having sealed the Letter, he bethought him of the best way how to convey it safe into the hands of Aleria. Her Servants, though gained by the excesses of his Liberality, yet durst not attempt the affections of a Mistress so chaste, that she gave not the least motive for temptation. To make use of other persons he thought it both scandalous & dangerous; wherefore he resolved himself to be the Porter. He pitched upon a day when she was at Church, perhaps more adored than adoring. And coming as near to her as well he could, deceiving the suspicion and observation of many, whilst Aleria was intent upon her mental Devotions, he conveyed the Billet into her Prayer-Book, which by chance she had laid behind her. There was not any one that perceived it. Aleria herself, when she took up her Book again, was not at first ware of it. She no sooner saw it but she was surprised with a blush, being more angry with herself for having given others an occasion to tempt her, than displeased for having been tempted. This prudent Lady knew very well that she could not be called chaste, if she did not resist the allurements of Lovers. Whosoever is chaste merely for necessity, I think her unworthy of that Character. Aleria having overcome those confusions which left the marks of Vermilion in her Cheeks, and stifled that curiosity which is so natural unto Women, when she saw her time, tore the Letter into a thousand pieces, as if that had been guilty of the faults of him that wrote it. Arderico feeling his own heart rend in the tearing of that Paper, did despair of finding, for the future, any means to certify his love unto her. He was really confounded at her proceed, who being beloved, did not only not accept thereof, but gave out signs that she knew not of it. He, poor man, continued in his slavery, being so much the more unhappy, by how much the less prospect he had of the hopes of any reward. It happened that Aleria, in company of her Husband went into the Country for to enjoy that season of the Year which, bearing more fruits than any other, seemeth by its deliciousness greatly to excite the appetites of Men. Arderico, who was the Eliotrope of this Sun, followed her, not without hopes that the retirements of the Country would afford him that which the divertisements of the City had denied him; and then he presumed that he could more easily bribe the Country People, for that the minds of Men, the base they are, the sooner they are corrupted. He was scarce come thither, but he began to surround the house of Aleria, with pretence of spreading Nets for Birds and hunting of Wild Beasts, whilst his heart was indeed entangled in the snares of Love, and continually tormented with the sense of his Passion. One day, either accidentally or willingly, he entered her Palace, upon colour of looking for a Falcon that was fled from off his Fist. The Count of S. Croce, Aleria's Husband, received him with those demonstrations of kindness and civility which are usual among Gentlemen; and having commanded his Servants that they should follow the Hawk, he carried Arderico in to see his Wife. I know not how to express this encounter, which may better be conceived by imagination. Let it suffice that Arderico did blush, look pale, and was affected both with heat and cold at one and the same time. He was, by courteous invitation, constrained to taste of some fruits, whilst that his eyes feeding on their beloved beauties, all other Meats were distasteful unto him. At length having recovered his Falcon, after many obliging Compliments passed, he departed a more passionate Lover than when he came thither. He never had seen Aleria look more favourably, nor had ever received so much courtesy from her as at that time. Aleria on the other side, being very well satisfied with the good Behaviour of Arderico, asked her Husband what the name of that Gentleman was whom he had so kindly entertained. The Count smiled at this demand, and afterwards replied, Do not you know Arderico the Marquis of castle Novo? Is it possible that you only should be blind, and not see the Sun shine? Pardon me if it seem strange that you should not come to the knowledge of so Worthy a Man. I must needs think that your heart is perverted, or your soul degenerated when you have not had eyes to see the Worth of so conspicuous a Gentleman. All perfections which are desired in others, are fulfilled in him. By his unerring Prudence he causeth admiration, even in those that hate him. With a free and disinterested Courage he always take part with that which is just. By the modesty of his deportment he hath overcome all envy. In short, he is inferior to none in Arms, no one superior to him in Learning, and as to his Nobility he hath no equal. He hath all the advantages both of Mind and Fortune; neither is there any Lady so fair in Vicenza, that would not esteem herself very fortunate if she were honoured but with one look from this Noble Gentleman. And pray do not you contrariwise, neglect the knowledge of others excellencies, if you would not have me think you to be of a poor and mean spirit. Aleria excused herself very coldly, repenting within herself that she had so long slighted the service of a Man, who for his singular good qualities did deserve to be loved above all others. She, being fully satisfied with these Encomiums, grew so passionately in love with Arderico, that she turned wholly Rebel to the Laws of Honesty. That honesty which could not be subdued by a continual obsequiousness; which resisted the persuasions of Servants, the flatteries of Lovers, the assaults of Sensuality, and the powers of Love, was prostituted to the candid Speech and betrayed by the tongue of him that ought to have guarded it. That heart that could not be overcome by the eyes, was vanquished by the ears. Being therefore hurried by that vehemency which does usually agitate the soul of a Lover, (the Count her Husband being gone to Vicenza about earnest business) she wrote a Letter in manner following, to the Marquis Arderico.  
Sir,  
If the demonstrations of your affection do not deceive the ardency of my desires, I am resolved to run the hazard of complying with your satisfaction. I blame myself for taking up so precipitous a resolution, but I desire not to be innocent, when by being faulty I become yours. I would say more, but Love being a Child knows not how to speak. About three hours within night I will expect your coming to my Lodgings by way of the Garden-gate which you shall find only shut to. Let me receive a kind answer, who am  
Your most devoted Servant Aleria.  
She sent this Letter by a Maiden who was obliged to Fidelity by her excessive Liberality. This Maid presented it to Arderico, who, believing it to be a Dream, could not resolve what answer to give; at last, taking Pen and Paper, he wrote as followeth:  
Dear Aleria,  
I would thank you for that kindness which hath enriched my poor hopes, if divine favours did not oblige one rather to a silent acknowledgement, than to open thankfulness. I will come according to your appointment, about the third hour of the night, to sacrifice my heart unto you. I shall gladly perform this duty by night, because all things seeming greater in the night time, I may then perhaps seem better unto you than really I am: and then, in the dark, you cannot so easily discern the nakedness of my deserts. In the mean time please to preserve me as I am,  
Your most obliged and affectionate Servant, Arderico.  
Having sent away the Letter he began to long for the night with such amorous dotages as are wont to tyrannize over Lovers. He let not one moment of the hour appointed slip, before he was at the Chamber of Aleria. Their compliments and endearments are referred to the consideration of those who have been the subjects of the like entertainment. Aleria was already gotten into Bed, expecting to give vent in amorous embraces, to those passions which do torment the minds of Lovers. Arderico being abashed to see himself prevented, began to strip himself with all diligence. Whilst with an amorous impatience he was pulling off his Clothes, he asked Aleria the reason, why after so many slight of the proofs of his affection, she had so suddenly condescended to his desires, at a time when he was assigning over all his pretensions unto desperation. My Love, answered Aleria, the extraordinary Character of your Merit, so lively represented to me by my Husband, hath so entirely subdued my Spirit, that I did not believe I could live without you; and here she repeated to him all that her Husband had said. Well then, said Arderico, had neither my love, nor my service any power to win your heart, if the Voice of the Count your Husband, sounding forth my praises, had not charmed your Soul? It is even so replied Aleria. God forbidden, added Arderico, putting on his Clothes again, that I should injure him, who by such generous expressions of favour towards me, doth Violate the Chastity of the most noble Woman. Pardon me Aleria, I cannot serve you to the prejudice of his Honour who by his Encomiums so much advanceth the merit of my Quality. In saying so, he went hastily out of doors, by this action teaching men the true Worth of Gentility; Husbands that they ought not to speak too much in praise of other men to their Wives; and prescribing unto Women, more especially to those that are Married, not to run the hazard of settling their affections on a Man who may be changed every moment.   

The Argument.  
Epidorus a young man of Florence, falls unwarily in Love with a Masquerade that he did not know, and believing her to be a Noble Lady called Leena, he very earnestly sues for love unto her. Having obtained his Suit, whilst he thinks he enjoys her, he finds himself encircled within the Arms of a Chambermaid whom, in his own defence he is forced to Marry.  
NOVEL II.  
THere came to Venice, for to recreate himself in time of Carneval, Epidorus a young Florentine, of a very mean Extraction, but who had, by the avarice of his Father, gotten to himself some sort of Reputation. This young Man, by the Death of his Progenitors, was possessed of so great an Estate, that it gave not only light to the obscurity of his Birth, but made him also ambitious of enjoying those pleasures which are oftentimes sought after by the greatest Personages. There was no Feast, Play, nor Public Revelling in Venice, unto which he would not go. One Evening at a Ball he found himself love-stricken by an imaginary beauty. The stately Gate and rich Attire of a Masquerade did so bewitch his fancy, that he confessed himself her Lover before he could see her face. Neither did the career of his loving Dotages stop here: for, having warily followed her after she went from the Ball, he saw her go into the House of one of the chief Gentlemen of that City, who, among other temporal blessings, was happy in a very beautiful Wife. He imagining that this Masquerade was Leena, for such was the fair Lady's name of that House, grew more and more in Love, and his Passion was confirmed when he saw Leena the next day, wear part of those ornaments which he had observed on the Masquerade. Taking therefore courage from the difficulty of the Enterprise, he resolved to try all means possible. Fortune was not averse in offering them unto him, whilst that very Evening the same Masquerade came again to the Ball. He, after having waited some time on her, seeing no little correspondence in her eyes, the press of People leaving no room for observation, accosted her after this fashion. Madam, i● my tongue were not afraid of committing a rash offence, it would venture to disclose the passion that I nourish in my breast, and would intercede for a love which is so much the greater, by how much the longer it is concealed. If you knew; said she, the person that is disguised under this Habit, you would hearty repent your having given so much liberty to your tongue. I do not rely, answered Epidorus, upon outward appearances, but upon the knowledge of your singular merit which is matched to an excellent beauty. You, says the Masquerade, so you get the name of a lover do not care if you are reputed a Lyar. Tell me, how can you judge of the beauty of my face, which you have not seen otherwise than Masked? One may very well, replied Epidorus, give judgement upon the brightness of the Sun, although it be shaded by a Cloud; and my wicked eyes have forcibly introduced the bright image of your beauty into my heart. Lady Leena, it is impossible to conceal yourself from the affection of a Lover who hath the eyes of Argus. To say that I adore you is the greatest testimony that my mouth can ut●er, but the least sentiment that my heart ●an express. It lies in you to make me ●appy. Great enterprises have great difficulties attending them. But Love, that ●an rob Jove himself of the power of his Thunder, can also make level even Mountain's of impossibility. He would have gone on, if that the Masquerade, with ●ome show of anger, had not interrupted ●is discourse saying, When you spoke to me as to a person unknown, I did bear with your ignorance; but now seeing that ●ou know me, and yet, with a presumption ●reater than becomes you, dare still to ●empt me, I cannot but blame your insolence. If I did not fear the prejudice ari●ng to my honour from one so inferior ●o my Quality, Repentance should be the ●east punishment of your rashness. But whilst she was speaking these words, her ●ands and her eyes did betray her tongue, ●nd did assure Epidorus, by all the favours possible, that those resentments were the ●mpulses of honesty; and not the effects of ●nger. And here the Ball broke up, whereupon it behoved Epidorus to retire accompanied with all those inquietudes which do assault the youth and imprudence of a lover. He expected the next night, which was the last of the Carnevale, with those passionate desires which are wont to attend an enamoured Soul. The Stars had scarce made any show of the light they had borrowed from the Sun, when he went to the usual Ball. A little after came the Masquerade, very well known, although sh● had used a great deal of cunning to conceal herself from the curious eye of Epidorus. He taking her by the hand, endeavoured to give credit to his affection with these words. Fair Leena you may, by your new disguise very well impose upon the eyes of others, but not upon my hear● which, with its unusual palpitations and diffusions of heat to all the parts of my body, doth not only know you, but ador● you as a Goddess. I wish, that with your yesterday Garments, you may have also laid aside that haughtiness of Spirit that made you so averse to my Love. Know therefore that cruelty is an improper attribute for the divinity of your Beauty and that Beauty which is not communicabl● to others is directly opposite to the Decree of Heaven. If the Heavens should enjoin me to love you, answered the Masquerade, why then perhaps neither the Laws of honesty, the hazard of my life, nor the inconstancy of Men, could bridle my affection. The beauty of your aspect, added Epidorus, is a token sent you from Heaven, that admonisheth you not to be too sparing of your favours, since that by enriching your form, it hath impoverished all other the fairest ideas imaginable. Let us not fly so high as Hyperboles, replied the Masquerade. I, as I know myself not to be so fair; so I would gladly be so, that I might better please him that will love me. But your cunning and my simplicity hath made me discover the secrets of my heart to a person, who perhaps laughing at my indiscretion, doth go about to deceive my easy nature. It is not just that my reputation should venture upon such evident dangers. I have said too much. If my face were to be seen, the blushes which grief and repentance have caused there, would give sufficient testimony of the same. The blood which my heart hath sent up into my face, is the reproof of my soul, that threatens those severe punishments, the thoughts only whereof do affright me. In saying so, she retired among other the Masquerades, leaving Epidorus oppressed by a number of thoughts, from which he would not quickly have disengaged himself, if Love, which commonly is not wanting to help the necessities of Lovers, had not succoured him. Taking therefore his Masquerade again by the hand, he pressed her so hard, and promised her so much, that he obtained leave for a Conference with her the next night, (which was the first night in Lent) at a little Window that looked out into a By-street. With these pleasing hopes he passed away the remainder of that night, expecting the other with many railing expressions against the Stars, for that they stayed so long before they came to celebrate the Funeral of the day. Scarce had the light given place to darkness when he was at the appointed window. Although he thought to have anticipated the hour, yet he found himself prevented, his beloved having attended his coming, and accusing him of little love to herself, because he was not there before her. There passed many Compliments between them, and their amorous conceits were without number. They discoursed of Constancy, Fidelity and Secrecy, as if they never could have had enough of it, insomuch that the night, being weary of hearing them, seemed to invite the day. And the day approaching they departed with promise to meet there as often as Epidorus should see a little white Cloth hanging out at the Window. This was done two or three times a Week, and gave so great content to Epidorus, that, in comparison thereof, all other Entertainments were but annoyances unto him. Yet not believing his happiness to be complete if he did not communicate it unto others, he yielded so much to indiscretion, as to impart the secret of his amours unto many of his Confidents. He bragged that he had won the heart of Leena, which had driven the patience and affection of a Thousand Lovers to despair. He boasted to be the possessor of that beauty which had obliged even those men who were addicted to love none but themselves, unto adoration. These Stories came to the ears of one who being either incredulous or envious, resolved to watch the proceed of Epidorus. He overheard him one Evening when he appointed to enter that night into the possession of his Love. And not being able to comply with the felicity of one who was in no point superior to him, but in the gifts of Fortune; being excited by envy, which always conspires against the satisfaction of others, he let lose the expressions of his Rage in a Letter which he sent unto the Husband of Leena, who opening it read what followeth:  
Cordelius,  
Not to discover traitorous actions, is to confess one's self an Accomplice in them. I who, by the excess of your favours, and the obligations that lie upon me, am destinated to the protection of your honour, cannot be silent when I see it betrayed into the hands of dishonesty. The night in which those infamies are acted that obscure your reputation, hath not darkness enough to cover your disgrace. My Zeal implores you to be an eye-witness, that you may confess Leena to be unchaste, and me your real friend. The searching out of the truth hereof I refer to your discretion. I am sorry to disturb the repose of your soul with so unexpected an advice; but he is to be commended who by discovering a mischief, doth give occasion for applying the remedies thereunto.  
Your faithful Friend.  
This Letter raised an infinite number of thoughts, and all of them cruel in the mind of Cordelius. He thought upon nothing but Blood, Death and Slaughters. Yet the love he bore Leena prevailing with him, and prudently weighing what might be the effects of Malice, he resolved to believe nothing but his own eyes. He pretended very urgent affairs to go in all haste into the Country, and departed not without the Tears of Leena, who lamented every moment of his absence. Cordelius kept himself hid all the rest of that day, and at night went to spy out the betrayers of his Honour. In the mean time Leena being fallen into a most sweet sleep, was awaked, not without disturbance, by the calling of her Nurse. She informed her that Cordelius was just then upon entering into the embraces of Cinicia her Chambermaid, and that she had told her of it, that she might be no hindrance to it. Leena was apt enough to believe this, knowing the Genius of her Husband and the little honesty of her Maid. So much the rather, for that she had not been without some jealousy before, and had made some complaint of it. She quickly put on her , and not being willing that the Nurse should follow her, that so she might the more freely reprehend the incontinency of Gordelius, she went towards her Maid's Chamber. There she found her Husband, who, with his Sword ready drawn in his hand, was running upon her for to kill her. He did not do it, either to let her first see the death of her Paramour; or else because the Mercy of Heaven would not permit that her suspected innocence should have undeserved punishment. Leena, although she were full of anger, yet thought it more safe to use entreaties than reproofs. Throwing herself at his feet, and intermixing her words with tears, she said, Sir, if the honest embraces of a Servant do please you better than those of a Wife, I know not how to oppose your satisfaction. I proffer myself to be the Procuress of your pleasures, if you will do me the honour to command me. But that in the loss of my honour I should see also the danger of my life, I cannot but lament the rigours of my Destiny that hath made me so unhappy. Is therefore the impudent dishonesty of a Serving-Maid more powerful with you than the chaste delights of a Wife, whose desires are wholly subject to your beck? O that Cordelius should so much forget himself, and that the Heavens should alter their influence for to torment me! Here Cordelius interrupted her, saying, False Woman, thy lies and tears would have persuaded me something, if my eyes had not been witnesses of thy dishonesty. Prepare thyself to die, for it is not reason that she should live, who hath murdered my Reputation. But first tell me where you hid that Rascal that has had the impudence to violate my Bed. Leena not being able to endure these terms which touched her to the very quick, replied, For to excuse your amorous thefts by specious pretences, you go about to accuse my Chastity. This is not consonant to your prudence and my affection. I am yours, and only yours, Malice itself cannot find that I have prejudiced your honour, so much as in thought, much less in deed. I do appeal to yourself, at such time as the inordinate desire of enjoying a Servant-maid, or the displeasure of being intercepted shall not have possessed your soul. Cordelius, being more highly incensed hereat, with great fury asked her, what servant? or what amours she spoke of? Whereto Leena repeating to him all that the Nurse had told her, and he also hearing it confirmed by her own mouth, ran presently to the Maid's Chamber, and there found her lovingly in Bed with Epidorus. He was ready to have made him a sacrifice to his fury, had not he been diverted by the persuasions of his Wife. He was contented at last that Epidorus should Marry Cinicia, who came to be a servant more through the injuries of Fortune, than by the qualities of her Descent. Hereunto Epidorus readily consented, without reply, the fear of Death making him honest whether he would or no. After this Cordelius embraced Leena, and excused what he had done in sense of Honour, for that he had heard Epidorus make a Call with a little whistle, and then saw him brought into the House. Prudent Leena was well satisfied with these justifications, rejoicing that she had escaped a danger which was so much the greater in that it was not foreseen, and which, at one and the same time, did threaten both her Life and Reputation.  
This may serve to advertise Husbands not to run headlong into the suspicion of their Wives dishonesty; may teach Wives not to give too much liberty to their Maidens; and lastly, may be an example to all those that go about to debauch the Wives of other Men.   

The Argument.  
Lovanius coming to a certain House that was accidentally set on fire, is inflamed with the love of Deadora, who, proving not ungrateful, corresponds with him, and, to give herself the better opportunity, she wilingly condescends that her Husband, while she enjoyeth her lover, should embrace Aleria her Chambermaid; she falling in love with Lovanius, betrayeth her Mistress, who transported by jealous fury, openeth the way to her own and others destruction.  
NOVEL III.  
THere lived as a Student, in the famous Academy of Bologna, Lovanius Son to the Count of Roccabruna, a young Man who by his bodily perfection and affable demeanour, did tyrannize over the affections of all those that had the fortune to know him. He went one day a walking towards the Walls of the City, when he was stopped in the way by some voices, who crying out Fire, Fire, did pitifully call for assistance. Among other Women that, being desperately affrighted at this accident, did exceedingly weep and wail, there was a Gentlewoman, who though the Roses in her Complexion were turned into Lilies, yet was there left an appearance of a Garden full of Beauty. This Lady nevertheless, having a courage greater than the danger, was not at all daunted, though her being forsaken of all, and unable to remedy it herself, made her a little fearful. Lovanius seeing no body move, the Neighbours being fled from their Houses, and there being none but a company of poor Women, who, by their loud shrieking, did augment the terror and confusion, he resolved to go himself with his servants, and help to extinguish that fire which, having already gotten head, began with towering flames to soar aloft. Going therefore into the Palace where the fire was very furious, after having spoke to Deadora (for this was the Mistress of the House her name) that she should be of good cheer, and put away all her fears, he went, with his servants and some others that came to help, to the top of the House. There he wrought so much with his hands, and commands, that the Fire in a little while, was lost in a cloud of Smoak. He was scarce come down from the Roof of the House when he was met by Gelasius the Husband of that Lady who, hearing of the danger, came running home. Here passed many words between them, and all of them very courteous, Gelasius was not wanting to offer unto him the Patronage of that house which he had made his own by preserving it from being burnt. There came also Deadora to give him thanks in such obliging manner, that Lovanius felt those flames kindled in his heart which he had a little before extinguished. He had looked upon her before with sentiments of pity whilst she, being oppressed by fear, could do nothing but weep and wail; the waning colour of her face having not had force enough to set his soul on fire: but now that her Courage had restored her wont beauty, and that the brightness of her eyes was not clouded with tears, his pity was changed into love. Thus Lovanius dedicated his affection wholly to this Beauty; which Deadora soon perceived, and so much the sooner, because in his taking leave, he inspired his very soul into her with a sigh. Nevertheless she pretended not to see it, either for to give greater credit unto her honesty, or for that she would not so soon entrust herself to the fidelity of any man. And although Lovanius continually waited on her both to Church and at Balls, yet he reaped no other fruits of his labour than salutes and indifferent looks, which might rather be imputed unto common civility, than affectionate courtesy. The young Gentleman, not being able to resist the violent torments of his soul, he gave vent to his passion by writing these words:  
Madam,  
The flames that burned your House were destinated to torment my soul. I would have hid them, but that fire suppressed doth break forth with greater violence, and makes all succours come too late. I would have quenched them, but that they being supernatural, my tears could do no more than make my grief the more sensible. I do therefore, Fair Lady, implore that pity for extinguishing my ardours, which I did hearty contribute without so much as expecting any entreaty from you. You have reason to have compassion of me, because you have experienced the damage and dangers that do accompany fires. I hope that a Lady of your fair quality will not maculate your fame with foul ingratitude. Help me, I pray you, if for nothing else, for that you may not lose a servant who loves you as much as is possible for him, though not so much as you deserve. The hopes of my life depend upon the honour of your answer; I esteeming your favours to be the true aliment of my being.  
Having folded up and sealed this Letter, he besought Fortune to give it a safe delivery. He thought in himself that the most resolute means were also the most hazardous. To make use of Women for this purpose, were to slain the reputation of the Lady, and to provoke her to anger, while he should gain her love. At length resolving, by a rash action, to overcome all the impediments that opposed his desire, upon a certain day that Deadora was sitting in the Church at Prayers, he neatly rolled up the Letter, and threw it into her bosom, so cleverly that no body perceived it. Deadora being surprised hereat, and seeing that to make a noise would but bring her into disgrace, she cunningly concealed the Letter, and returned very much troubled in mind unto her House. As soon as she was alone her curiosity, and perhaps her love too, induced her to look upon that Paper. She had not read it over, before she gave herself up for vanquished. Those expressions were too powerful for the weakness of a Woman's heart (which is apt to receive any impression) to resist. Her amorous desires thus tyrannising over her, she found no other repose than inquietude. She summoned all the faculties of her Soul to come to counsel with her, which after a debate did finally Vote for Lovanius. Whereupon, being compelled by that force which knoweth nothing of reason, and which works with greatest violence where it finds most resistance, she returned him this answer.  
Lovanius,  
If I did not think I should incur your disdain with declaring myself so easily overcome, I would frankly say that I love you, and that I am yours. But because I know the inconstancy of men's minds to be such, as to set little value upon what is gotten and enjoyed without much labour, I therefore beseech you to abandon that enterprise which cannot take effect without endangering both my Life and Reputation. Yet I have a soul so full of gratitude that I cannot but adventure to give them satisfaction, who have so obligingly afforded me their succour in time of need. I therefore rest assured that so worthy a Gentleman who is endowed with all the graces of Nature and of Fortune, will not disturb the repose of my faithful heart, nor torment the inclinations of a Woman that, in spite of her heart, confesses herself to be yours. You did so courteously concern yourself in quenching the late fire which exercised its fury only on things insensible; that it is not just you should now foment it in my soul, with danger of consuming both my Life and Honour. If I could have shaken off that Yoke which is so much the heavier for that it came rather by Destiny than by my good will, you should not have been beforehand with me in Writing. Pardon me if I undecently trample on the Laws of Matrimony, and the honesty becoming our Sex; since that Reason is the first thing whereof Love depriveth us. But I fear I have discovered my mind too much to one that perhaps will laugh at my simplicity.  
This Letter, coming privately to the hands of Lovanius, filled him with so great joy that he was not able to contain himself. He knew very well that those expressions of Deadora were not feigned, seeing that those repulses were indeed invitations, and the doubts therein mentioned were no other than assurances of love. Hence he inferred that the affection of that Lady was greater than he could have imagined, and therefore, without sending any more Letters, he brought his business about so well, that he got the opportunity of speaking to her at a little Window, where they agreed upon the end of their amorous pretensions. Gelasius, the Husband of Deadora, was so addicted to all Women that, like a Chameleon that puts on all colours that come near him, he changed his love and desires with all objects. For to satisfy his greedy Lusts he made no distinction between Nobility and Beauty. He confessed himself to be as soon caught by Silver Hairs as by Golden Locks. A Lady of Honour, and the most arrant Strumpet had a like power over him. That Beauty wherein the most critical malice could find no fault, had no greater triumph over his affection, than a face transformed by a thousand blemishes and imperfections. Deadora being acquainted with the Genius of her Husband, thought of this means to enjoy her lover. She knew that Aleria her Chambermaid had been solicited by promises, gifts, and many times with threaten to comply with him in his Amorous Debauches. Aleria being assaulted with many unchaste thoughts, would easily have consented, had not she been withheld by the fear of her Mistress who, with Argus' Eyes, did watch over the dissolute affections of Gelasius. Deadora therefore, willing to have the opportunity of being with her Lover, was content that Aleria in the mean while should entertain her Husband. Which succeeded happily oftentimes, the hot Season of the Year also concurring in favour of their loves. Gelasius and Deadora lay in two Chambers apart, so that Lovanius being brought into a Ground-room, whilst that Gelasius enjoyed Aleria, he kept company with Deadora; and Aleria in one and the same time did serve to guard her Mistress, please her Master, and solace herself. But because amorous felicity is an Ephemera that is born and dies in one day, Fortune was resolved to precipitate them with as much ease as she had before exalted them. Lovanius was brought into the house, by Aleria, one evening a little sooner than ordinary. She, having received him with a thousand Caresses, expressing the ardour that she nourished in her breast, told him that Deadora, having not quite supped, could not come yet awhile, but that, in the mean time, she had commission to entertain him. Lovanius thanked her very kindly, telling her, this was not the first obligation she had laid upon him. Aleria had not patience to hear him any more, but, taking him by the hand, said, Mr. Lovanius, there is no greater unhappiness than to see another gather the fruit of ones own labour. I have done very much for to promote your love, and have gained nothing but fears and dangers. Is it possible, in gratitude at least, if not for love, that I may not merit the favour of your kindness? Certainly I do not envy the happiness of my Mistress in possessing your whole Heart; I only bewail the misery of my Fortune which hath put me in a condition to be despised, even by those for whom I continually do services. Having thus spoken she kissed his Hand, which she held pressed between her own, with so much passion, that Lovanius, who at first laughed at her folly, being not able to resist any longer, let himself be overcome by sensuality; so much the rather, because the Features of Aleria were so excellent, that he rather would have been counted a fool, than a constant lover who should have let slip the occasion of enjoying her. Lovanius and Aleria were ingulfed in Amorous Pleasures, when Deadora, thinking long  she was called, and perhaps not being without jealousy (since true Lovers pay this interest for their pleasure) having seen her Husband in bed, she came softly down into the ground Chamber. There having found her lover engaged in amorous action, being hurried by a precipitous rage, without remembering the dangers that were imminent to her Life and Honour, she began furiously to lay about her both with her hands and tongue. Traitors, said she, do you thus triumph over my disgrace? are these the rewards of my confidence and fidelity? I'll handle you in such manner, that by seeing you buried in my destruction, I will rejoice that my ruin shall not be infested either by your derision or lasciviousness. These words were accompanied with so many blows and bites, that fetched blood in many places about Aleria. Lovanius, in this interim, throwing himself at her feet, entreated her with such sweet words as would have softened the hardest stones. Sometimes he put her in mind of the danger their lives were in. Sometimes he excused his own error, promising amendment. And other times he protested that his body had sinned without the consent of his soul. Deadora nevertheless, being deaf to these supplications and humiliations, continued her assaults both in words and deeds; when Gelasius, with a look full of horror and fierceness, came thither. He had waking long attended Aleria's coming, whereupon rising for to look after her, he came where he heard, though not distinctly, the complaints of Deadora, the cries of Aleria, and the prayers of Lovanius. Gelasius therefore taking a Poniard in his Hand, ran in a rage whither the noise called him. He had no sooner seen Lovanius embracing his Wife's knees, but he concluded him to be the enemy of her Chastity, and the reputation of his House; wherefore, running furiously on him, he wounded him in such manner in the head, that not being able to support himself, he fell flat upon the ground, with the Agony of Death upon him, which also appeared more terrible unto him, because he saw that his sensualities had prepared a grave, not only for himself, but also for Deadora. Gelasius seeing Lovanius in a condition not to live long, much less to make any defence, turning about to his Wife, with a tone so terrible that would have struck horror into the stoutest heart, he said, Woman, thy offence is so heinous, that to let it go unpunished would be an effect rather of weakness than of compassion. Yet, the characters of my former affection being still imprinted in my mind, I will pardon thee, but on this condition, that seeing this Adulterer hath gotten thy heart, thou wilt, by the help of this weapon, tear it from his breast. Deadora taking the Dagger, with an undaunted courage, greater than is required in any Woman, said unto him, Sir, the errors of love do deserve some kind of pardon, because they proceed rather from Fate, than out of choice. But I confess myself unworthy of it, because I could not regulate my dissoluteness. She spoke these words, and then, making as if she would have run the Dagger into Lovanius' body, she stabbed her Husband to the heart, who scarce could say, Cursed Woman, dost thou thus, in one moment rob me of my Honour and my Life? but losing his Speech in a number of groans, in a manner threatening rather than yielding to death, he unhappily departed this life. Deadora, having performed this much more generous than just enterprise, she ran to suck in the last breath of Lovanius who, striving against the pangs of Death, spoke thus unto her. My dear Deadora, I now die contented, in that I die not unrevenged. Pardon me, I pray you, and let the chastisement of an humane error terminate with him that hath committed it. For God's sake let not your anger disturb my ashes. But Oh me! this is the last minute of my life. Give me, O my Dear, your last kisses for a consolation at this my departure. In ending these words he ended his days. Deadora, being oppressed with grief, stood  as a Statue; and, after a Deluge of tears, she cried out saying, Stay a little O thou Soul of my most dear Lovanius. 'Tis not just that thou shouldst go alone into the Shades. In saying so, she gave herself a Stab upon the Heart, and thereupon, in a moment, she pow'red forth her Soul with her Blood. Aleria, who in the representation of these Tragedies had suffered the torments of a thousand Deaths, flying from the sight and interrogation of all those whom the noise had drawn thither in great numbers, and hating at once both to see herself and the light, retired unto the uppermost part of the House. Thereby fitting a Cord, and therewith miserably expiring, she gave a worthy reward to her own immodesty.  
From hence it may be gathered, that the joys of all illegitimate love do terminate in sorrows, and that unchaste affection can have no other than an unhappy end.   

The Argument.  
The Countess of Castelnovo, in a certain great exigency, sends for assistance to the Marquis Oliverio. He being fervently enamoured of her, doth most readily comply with her desires. The Countess having her want supplied, doth, by a neat contrivance, carried on by favour of the night, both save her own honour, and satisfy the discretion of the Marquis.  
NOVEL IU.  
IN the City of Alexandria, situate in the Province of Puglia, upon the Confines of Monferrat, there was a most Noble Gentlewoman whom I will at present distinguish by no other name than that of the Countess. This Lady was graced with such singular perfection of Beauty, that she could not be beheld by Men without ardent love, nor by Women without great envy. The content which Lovers had in looking upon the most admirable features of her Face, did extort from them the loss of their liberty. In short, this glorious Sun did dazzle the hearts no less than the eyes of the Spectators. He was rather deemed a fool than wise, who could not be subject to such sweet Tyranny, and he was almost reputed a Sacrilegious Person who did not offer up his heart in Sacrifice to this idolised Beauty. This Treasury of all the riches of Nature was, by right of Matrimony, in the possession of the Count de Castelnovo, a Gentleman endued with all those favours that either Fortune can dispense, or Virtue can obtain: but, as it was thought, little loved by the Countess, because he, for the most part, either sojourning at the Courts of Princes, or exercising Commands in Armies, was more conversant in Martial Affairs than those of Venus. This belief got so much ground in the hearts of many, as to give them hopes of subduing that Fortress which was guarded only by beauty that might easily be suborned with gifts, or vanquished by the power of services and addresses. But they saw themselves greatly mistaken, for they found such resistance in the Virtue and Chastity of this Lady, that some of them were constrained wholly to abandon the Enterprise, others to raise the Siege, and othersome to expect those opportunities which are the genuine products of time. Only the Marquis Oliverio, who was the most noble and richest among them, was not a jot moved on the retreat of the rest. He prosecuted his assaults with so much the more Vigour, by how much the less hopes he had of Victory. The many denials, repulses and disdains he met with, were but so many winds that did rather inflame than extinguish the fire in his heart. And though he could not hope to make any further progress in the conquest of this Lady's Chastity, yet he made use of all those means that might make him deserve the character of a true lover, since he could not attain to that of being beloved. And so much the rather, for that having, by his liberality gotten the good will of all those that served her, the poor Gentlewoman had her ears continually filled with the praises of this Gentleman, since that all the Family were never weary in setting forth sometimes his Valour, othertimes his Birth, now his Goodness, than his Riches, one while his handsomeness, and other whiles the magnanimity of so great a Person. And although these so often repeated commendations did incline her to admire such rare qualities, yet they did not oblige her to any other love than what Virtue is wont to produce in a Noble Breast. But that which Oliverio, with all his Love-traps, could not do in a very long time, Fortune (as the poor Gentleman believed) did bring to pass in a moment. The Countess had a Brother a Young Man and rich, and let that suffice to denote him insolent. There was no Riot in the City wherein he was not either interessed or principal. The Night, which brings quiet and repose, even upon the insatiable cruelty of Wild Beasts, did make him restless, whilst that, being accompanied by many like himself, he rambled up and down the City equally distributing his affronts to all; those only being exempt from his insolences who had the good luck not to meet him. But, punishment oftentimes attending wicked actions, while he would, one night, forcibly enter the House of an Honourable Lady, and was already breaking open the Windows and Doors, he, with four of his Companions, were taken by the Watch, having neither time, nor courage to make resistance, since the ill Language wherewith they had menaced this Lady had raised almost all the Neighbourhood. As soon as his being made a Prisoner was publicly known, complaints came in so fast against him, that he was in great danger of losing his Life. The Countess, who loved him dearly, and could not endure to see him subjected to open chastisement, having no ready money, pawned the greater part of her Jewels to Merchants for a Thousand Ducats. With this Money she prevailed so much upon the Governor, that he, being dazzled with the Splendour of her Gold, could not see Justice. So that the young man with his Companions made their escape by the consent of this Governor who, being afraid that his Avarice might be discovered, was willing that the Prisoner by flying should take off the strength of the evidence which would have proved the Judge also to be guilty. The Countess had not long enjoyed the liberty of her Brother, but that a Letter came from her Husband which drove her to the vey brink of Desperation. The Count commanded that, without the least delay she should come to him to Milan, in her richest attire, for to wait upon the Empress, who was expected every day to pass that way. The poor Lady being oppressed by a multitude of thoughts, knew not what resolution to take that might not be either dishonourable or dangerous. To go to Milan without those Ornaments which are befitting such occasions, would bring much prejudice upon the reputation of her Grandeur. And to discover to her Husband the releasing of her Brother, she could not do it without incurring his displeasure, seeing that many important differences had happened between them. After many thoughts that came in her Head, she was forced to yield to necessity, and taking Pen, Ink and Paper, she writ as followeth:  
My Lord Oliverio,  
If I should say I do not love you I should certainly lie, since the confidence I have in you I cannot but acknowledge it to be the lawful issue of love. I love you Oliverio, and therefore, although it be a blemish to my Honour, I have recourse to your favour. I have great occasion for a thousand Ducats for to redeem my Jewels, because I must be at Milan at the arrival there of the Empress. If you can lend 'em me until my return, it will oblige my heart to a perpetual correspondence with you. But Gentlemen of your worth do act by Principles of Generosity; and then what can be expected from a heart tied up to the good opinion of the World, and the Fidelity due to Matrimony? Yet I promise myself that the greatness of your mind will not disdain the service of  
Your most devoted Countess.  
Having Sealed the Letter, she gave it to a Lackey, telling him it came from her Husband, and that he should carry it to the Marquis, she being unwilling to trust to the silence or infidelity of any Servant. Oliverio had scarce run over the Letter, but he thought himself to be in a Dream. He could hardly give credit to his happiness which was so much the greater, by how much the more it was unexpected. He had so great consolation within himself, that he let drop some tears for joy. The first surprise, which putteth a Man beside himself, being over, he retunred an answer in these following terms:  
Madam,  
I wish I had a thousand Souls, as well as I have a Thousand Ducats, for to sacrifice them all unto your Service. I am really to thank you for the honour you do me in ask so obligingly what you might have commanded as your own. But I am so much confounded with joy and obligation, that I cannot better express myself than by silence. Yet I rejoice within myself for that you have been pleased to solder my sincerity with Gold, and so much the more, because that your ask of outward Riches makes me believe you will accept the inward treasures of my heart. I hope that these double Ducats will not argue me to be double-minded, and I shall esteem it my greatest honour to be owned for  
Your most humble and most obliged Servant The Marquis Oliverio.  
He sent, without any delay, both the Letter and the Ducats to the Countess, who, redeeming her Jewels, went immediately to Milan, where she came in the very nick of time for to meet the Empress. Here she made so fair a show, that the Empress declared herself much honoured by those who sent so beautiful a person to meet her. The envy of the Ladies was converted into wonder; and it seemed as if Nature had rob all other Women of their perfections, for to bestow them wholly upon her. Th' Empress, having presented her with a very fair Necklace, departed from Milan; and she presently returned to Alexandria, where Oliverio did attend her coming with those impatiences that, like Furies, do continually torment the souls of Lovers. The Marquis would not be seen at this Solemnity in Milan, either because he would not give occasion of suspicion to so many observing eyes; or else that he might avoid the obligation of waiting upon the Empress. The Countess was no sooner returned but he sent to congratulate her arrival, and to recommend himself unto her favour. She gave him to understand, the same evening, that a little after midnight he must come to a Window that looked out into a little by-Street. Oliverio went accordingly, and at the hour appointed, heard himself called by the Countess. I cannot express the passion of Oliverio upon this first encounter, he felt the extremities both of heat and cold at one and the same time. He did in such manner confound her praises with his thanks, that he could scarce make himself intelligible. The Countess answered all he said in words so affectionate and prudent that, at the same time, she let him know both her affection and discretion. The Conference ended in this conclusion, that the next night he should come in at the Garden-gate, but with express provision that he should have no light. To which the Marquis obligingly answered, that there needed no light where the Sun shined. He being departed, spent the rest of that night in a thousand love-frenzies. He no sooner saw the Sun rise, but he wished it set, and did exclaim oftentimes against the slowness of its course, because it did not run so fast as he desired. He also blamed the Night which, striving for Empire with the Day, did stay so long from exercising its Dominion in the Air. At length the wished for hour came, whereupon he went hastily unto the Garden, and finding the Door only shut to, he went directly to the Countess' Lodgings. She, who expected him, taking him by the hand and said, My friend, you must of necessity, sacrifice this night unto silence, if so be that you have any respect either for my Reputation or my Life. My Women do lie so near my Chamber that the least whisper would be overheard by them. And then my love is not so base as to be entrusted to any servile soul; and the rather, because great Enjoyments do not admit of speaking. She gave him no time to make any answer, but brought him into the Chamber, and there told him in his ear that he should undress and go to Bed, while she would go and see if her Maids were asleep. Oliverio was scarce lain down when there came into his Arms a Beauty, by so much the more perfect, by how much the less subject it was to the eyes. What they here did my Pen dares not publish, lest I should profane the Secrets of Love. Let it suffice to say that he, being ravished with the sweetness of those embraces, did bless the time wherein he had endured so many labours, sorrows and torments, seeing all passed troubles did serve for no other end than to aggrandise his present content. But, lest the Light should discover their amorous Theft, Oliverio went away before day, and being enjoined not to use any words, he took his leave with a multitude of kisses. And then, retiring unto his own House, he did, by sleep and repose, recruit himself of his late labours, which yet were so pleasing unto him, that he thought of nothing more than of repeating them. About Noon he risen up when one of his Servants brought him a Thousand Ducats with a Letter, which he having opened, in great displeasure, read what follows:  
My Lord Oliverio,  
I return you the Money you so obligingly lent me, having made use thereof as long as my occasions required. I do not do this for to take off the obligation I have to your affection, but that I may not be wanting in what is my duty. And you may assure yourself, that your courtesy shall never be forgotten so long as I breath. Let this be esteemed by you as an honour that you have brought under subjection a soul that never knew how to submit to any one before, and be pleased to accept for  
Your very affectionate and most obliged Servant The Countess.  
This Letter did so perplex the mind of the Marquis that he, believing it to be a cheat, did read it over and over many times. He knew not what to imagine, since that the sweet kisses, and the most endearing embraces of the preceding night ought not to have begotten such general and cold expressions. After a great confusion of troubled thoughts, he wrote thus in answer:  
Fair Lady,  
They have reason that say, Money takes away a man's repose, your Ducats have put me into a mortal inquietude. You ought not, Madam, to have sent me that which is your own, supposing that it had been mine. And if my demerits or hard Fortune would have it so; why did you not also send me back my heart, which I have consecrated to your Beauties? It is a cruel sort of Liberality for you to send me Gold, which is but a vile excrement of the Earth; and to keep back my soul which is the very essence of a Man. That I may the better express my grief, please to take the trouble of coming to the little Window at the same hour as before. In the mean time pray forget not  
Your most humble and most obliged Servant Oliverio.  
Having sent the Letter, and with great impatience expected the night, he went to the place appointed, where he found the Countess. After Salutation the Marquis fell upon expostulation for her having sent the Money, which he did with so lively a resentment, that if he shed no tears it was the effect of his grief which did not admit of evaporation both by the mouth, and by the eyes. And why, answered the Countess with a gentle smile, would you not have me restore to you your own? Because, replied Oliverio, since I have received the honour of your favour, I have nothing that is not absolutely yours. Pray do not so much embitter our passed sweetnesses. And what sweetnesses were these, I pray, said the Countess? Is it possible, answered Oliverio, that the interposition of one only day should so much eclipse your memory, as to forget those sweet endearments that were both given and received? Is it possible that those sprightly kisses, which every moment brought our very Souls unto the confines of our lips, should have instilled the Water of Lethe into your heart? I shall rather put myself into Oblivion, than forget the pleasure I receive by such sweet remembrances. The Countess interrupted him, saying, My Lord Marquis, I will undeceive you, it not being just that your Opinion should arraign my Honesty, which hitherto hath had no other stains than those which it may have received from your desire and belief. For to please you I put a trick upon you, thereby to answer, in some measure, both my own obligation and your affection. Your amorous actions of the last night were with my Chambermaid Aleria, my Birth, and the Honour of my Husband, not permitting me more. She is here at hand for to testify unto you the truth hereof. Oliverio did not stay to hear any further but, being devilish mad went home to his house, devising a thousand ways how to bring the Fame and Life of the Countess to destruction. Yet, consulting afterward with reason, he admired the prudence of that Lady who, without any prejudice to her Honour, could fasten so fine a Jest upon her Lover, and changed his Sensuality into Friendship and Respect.  
Here Ladies of Honour may be instructed how to defend themselves in such hard cases without hazarding their Reputation; and Gentlemen may be warned not to attempt the Chastity of a prudent Lady, since they get nothing thereby but frauds and repulses. It not being blame-worthy to make use sometimes of evasions for to escape the tyranny of necessity.   

The Argument.  
The Count of Villa Franca, being deceived by finding of a Letter doth believe his Wife to be an Adulteress. And, whilst he goes about to take her in the fact, he finds out new matter of suspicion. He was near taking a very severe revenge upon her, when he is informed of her innocency, and given to understand that the error did arise from a certain likeness of Characters.  
NOVEL V.  
A Gentleman (who for that he is of High Birth, we will call him by the borrowed name of the Count de Villa Franca) for to avoid the heat of Summer, did retire, with his Wife, near to the Euganean Hills, to enjoy the Air of a little Mount whereupon, in spite of the Dog-days, there was a continual Spring. Here he passed away his time by spreading Nets for Birds, and setting traps for Beasts. He rob his Body of rest, and his eyes of sleep, for to sacrifice them to the hopes he had of prey. He always got up before Sunrising, and it seemed that this New Titon did nothing more than make love to Aurora. One morning among the rest, while he was in search of some young Nightingales before they were well fledged, he followed his Game to the very outmost Confines of his Vineyard which, being very great, had no fence either of Walls or Hedges. And looking narrowly after those little Birds-nests who, by crying after the old one, did unwittingly betray themselves, he cast his eye upon a Letter that lay among a company of leaves, and did seem as if it were afraid of being discovered. He, taking it up and diligently observing the Seal, was on a sudden agitated with divers thoughts. Scarce had he opened it but that, seeing the Character and Subscription to be his Wives, he grew Horn-mad. After a little pause, which was accompanied by those tumultuary passions that do assault a Soul that is governed both by honour and by love; he cursorily read over the Letter, which contained these expressions:  
Friend,  
She that loves cannot do all that she would. Fortune would not be accounted a Goddess, if she did not many times drive the patiented sufferings of a lover into desperations. Pardon therefore that impotency, which hitherto hath been accidental, and not voluntary. She that is in love is always more unhappy than all others, because she coveteth more than others. This night only Fate grants me the favour of a consolation to my impatiences. They that have authority to watch over the motions of my affection shall be either absent or consenting. I, in an Habit different from that of my Sex will convey myself into your embraces. The love I bear you will not let you run the hazard of any danger, it being far from being possible. I earnestly desire your answer without delay, to th' end that I may govern myself to your satisfaction, I being, both by election and obligation,  
Your most humble Servant Felicia.  
These Characters did so deeply wound the Soul of the Count, that the least part of his fury was to threaten death. Doubt and uncertainty could get no place in his mind, who by the Subscription, by the Seal, and by the Handwriting was too much assured of his Wife's inconstancy. He made such imprecations against Heaven, the Earth, and Himself with sentiments so vigorous as would have moved impiety itself unto compassion. At length, considering that dissimulation was the best means to facilitate his revenge, he returned hastily into his Lodgings, and there transcribing his Wife's Letter, and counterfeiting the hand, he Sealed it up and carried it back again to the place where he found it. Afterward, hiding himself at a convenient distance, as far as he could well see, he observed a Boy that came to take away that Letter; and a little after to bring thither another. He was desirous to see it, and found it, without Seal or Subscription, to speak these words:  
Fair Lady,  
Favours are then most to be prized, when they come least expected. I would express my thanks, if I could either impart the Sentiments of my Soul unto my Pen, or could requite in any part, the honour that is intended me. I will wait upon you that I may not be wanting to your satisfaction. I have no greater testimony at present of my love than to let you know that I can and will obey you. The hours will seem ages unto me, and I shall hasten every moment with a wish that I may the sooner see you. Farewell my dearest, my most beloved, and my fairest one.  
M. O.  
The Count, being wholly possessed by rage and passion, and having his thoughts fixed on revenge, left the Letter in its place, and retired to his own House. And although the wanness of his face, and the wildness of his looks did discover the trouble of his mind; yet, covering his grief with a feigned smile, he said he must go away presently for the City, although the day before he had not appointed to go till after Dinner. Felicia did not at all contradict him, but did rather give him some little business in charge, which might detain him there the day following. These were all accidents that did aggravate his Suspicion, and did turn all his patience into fury. The Count went to the City attended by the greatest part of his Servants, and afterwards came back with one only, of whose fidelity and courage he had had most experience. He arrived at the Village by Starlight; and, setting up his Horses privately in one of the Countrymen's Stables, he went to watch over the transactions at his own house. He had not stayed long before he heard the screeking of a Door, and saw a Woman come out who, notwithstanding the Garments she had put on to disguise her, was known by him. He thought her undoubtedly to be his Wife, but he would not show himself until he first saw whither she was designed. He followed her, for to find out his dishonourer and by his death, to revive his own reputation. She went not far but that she was met and received, with open arms, by one who expected her. And although the darkness of the night did secure them from the curiosity of the eye; yet the kisses and caresses of love were so many and so endearing, that they would have discovered the amorous theft even to those to whom jealousy had not lent an hundred eyes and as many ears. Patience and Prudence had no longer any power over the Count's fury. He thought it Stupidity and not Virtue to see others triumph in his dishonour, and that even in his own presence. Laying his hand therefore upon his Sword, with courage equal to his anger, he said aloud, Traitors can you so securely slain the honour of a Gentleman? The tone of this voice being very well known by the Woman, did so fearfully astonish her, that she had like to have fallen into a swoon. But her feet being winged with fear made her run speedily away, which frustrated the blow the Count was giving with his Sword for to take away her life. The Man, on the other side, being as well versed in Martial, as Venereal Affairs, he being also enraged to see the course of his pleasures interrupted (the variety of human accidents perhaps not affording a greater provocation than this) betook himself to his Arms, with a courage not inferior to the danger. And then he did so valiantly defend himself, and offend those that set upon him, that although they were two, yet they could not hope for Victory without great hazard. The Fray did not last long, because there came up six others in assistance to the lover; whereupon the Count (being forsaken by his Servant) was forced to retire. The danger of his life was so apparent that it would have been rashness, and not Valour to have fought against so much odds. It was easy for him to retreat, seeing those men had no other end than to defend themselves, and were not willing, by the slaughter of a Man they knew not, to run themselves into the hands of Justice. The Count went thence to his own house so perplexed in mind, that desperation was the least effect of his passion. He had an intention to have chastised his Wife who had made her escape from him, not without endangering his life, and without being able to discover the Murderer of his Honour. The night, which for a few hours did cast a Veil over his disgraces, was about to usher in the next day with so much the more shame, by how much he himself had partly been the author of it. To find out his Wife for to kill her was an hard matter, to find out her Lover for to revenge himself was perilous, and to cover his dishonour was impossible. These considerations made him turn many times back with thoughts of losing his life. He went searching about to no purpose, finding nothing but darkness, and receiving no other answer to his calls than that of Echoes. He said within himself, Fortune, why didst thou exalt me so much in giving me the Prerogatives of Riches and Nobility, thus for to precipitate me into the abyss of infamies which are the more grievous because they are insupportable? Perhaps you had no other means to exercise your fury upon me, than to wound my reputation, to blemish the honour of my house, and for ever to disgrace my Posterity. Whither, whither shall I go, to hid me from the scorn of those who will triumph over my shame? I will fly from the City, I will fly all Conversation: I will fly the Sun, and I wish I could fly from myself, that I might be far from remembering that which, to my greater torment, doth kill me in preserving me alive. In saying so he came near to the Walls of his own House, when he saw some body that seemed to watch there as a Spy; and certainly believing that there were the betrayers of his Honour, with a passionate and angry tone, he called out, Shall not the very Walls of my House be secured from the perfidiousness of those that have ravished my honour? After your violating my Wife, will you also violate my Walls by prying into my Secrets? It will be a little Satisfaction to my great losses for to sacrifice thy life unto my disdain. With these words he ran upon that Man who, that he might not be killed, was forced to defend himself. The outcries of the Assailant, and the assailed, did awake and raise up the People of the House, who with Arms and Lights ran towards the noise. They came just in the nick, when the Count had his enemy under his feet, and was ready to take away his life. Seeing the light he stopped, for to see if he knew him, and found it was his Servant who, being fled from the first Quarrel, and yet fearful of his Master's safety, returned, with two Wounds, unto the House. This sight increased the afflictions of the Count who, standing like a Statue, knew not what to command, nor what to resolve upon. Whilst he was in this irresolution he observed, not without amazement, that his Wife, in a white Sarsenet Veil, was coming down the Stairs. He assuredly thought that she was returned with an intention to deceive him. Being hurried therefore by that fury which was inflamed with the sense of honour, (while Felicia with great anxiety, did ask him how he did) he ran toward her with the Point of a Dagger ready to strike her to the heart. Whether it were the overhstily desire of revenge, or the Will of God that desires not the fall of the innocent, the blow, passing only through her Garment, went under her Arm without doing any further harm. The Count would have repeated his Blows, if the Maidens had not interposed in defence of their Mistress. Felicia, prostrating herself on the ground, as well as her tears would give leave, said unto him. Sir, What fault hath made the innocency of her guilty who hath remorse of Conscience for nothing more than for idolising you? In these few hours that you have been absent, I have sinned in nothing but in praying for your safety. Pray Sir, let not malignity nor suspicion give in testimony against my integrity, without first hearing what I have to say. Do not lose, Sir, by inconsiderate passion the love of her, who if she do not love you as much as you deserve, yet she loves you as much as she can tell how to love an amiable thing. The Count, as it were yielding to her persuasion, being unwilling to admit of any farther impediment to his resolutions, raised her up and went with her into a Chamber, dismissing every one else. There, taking the Poniard again into his hand, he spoke to Felicia, lying again prostrate at his Feet, in this manner, The colouring over of your perfidiousness with a Lie cannot move me. You are guilty, and guilty of my dishonour. Your accusers are your own hands, and the Witnesses are my own eyes. Your opposing the truth will be the increasing of your torment. Honour is a Goddess that cannot be appeased without a Sacrifice. Confess the violator of my Bed, and the Betrayer of your honesty, otherwise this Weapon shall, by main force, extort the confession from your mouth. My Lord, answered Felicia, if I were accused of any thing but dishonesty, I should dare to speak in my defence, but in the matter of Honour I know not what to say. Grief checks my tongue, and tears do choke any words; Wherefore I can only say that I desire my Men, Maids, and my Accusers themselves may be examined upon that point. In these I place my defence, seeing that, from the time that you departed yesterday, unto this very hour, being oppressed with grief of heart which presaged unto me your anger, I went neither out of my Chamber, nor out of my Bed. Felicia accompanied these words with so many tears, that if they could not persuade him, yet at least they did serve to mitigate his displeasure. He called in the Maid-Servants, and perceived that one of them was wanting. The Count hereupon grew more jealous, believing that this was an Artifice of Felicias, and therefore drawing out the Letter, he said unto her, if I should believe this appearance of innocence, how wilt thou excuse this Writing which convinceth thee of guiltiness? Do not these black Characters point to thee the blackness of thy heart? Where will your boldness find pretences that can excuse your dishonesty? Felicia took the Letter and observing it a little, cried out, My Hand hath rebelled against my heart; as I cannot deny to have written it, so I cannot confess to have indicted it. O God my very eyes are deceived in believing that to be my act which is but only like mine. The Count's fury was hereat revived, when a Letter was presented him from a Cousin of his which, because it came by an express, did require a speedy answer. The Count, opening it, found it contained these words:  
Dear Cousin,  
This very Night my Sister Felicia went out of my House in Man's Habit. Although I have no certainty of her design, yet I suspect she is gone aside to the Marquis Odorico. Pray let it be your care to search out the truth, since your intimacy with the Marquis will facilitate this business. I would have come myself if my old indisposition, receiving a new addition by this accident had not necessitated me to keep my Bed. It requires the more haste, because it is matter of Honour.  
The Count of Castello.  
This Letter assuaged the fury of the Count, he being thereby assured of his Wife's honesty, and the vanity of his own suspicions, seeing the Letter was writ by her Cousin, and the likeness of Hands did arise from their having both learned to write by one and the same Master. He was the more sensible of his error when he was ascertained by all that Felicia had not been out of her Bed, and that the Maid-Servant was gone out to meet her Sweetheart. And he was so much the more confirmed herein, because the love that passed between his Cousin and the Marquis was very well known in those parts. Perceiving therefore that the same Name, and the same Character were the causes of his mistake, embracing his Wife, he begged her excuse for having, for the sake of his Honour, treated her with terms unworthy of her Affection and Fidelity.  
This may be an example to those that take the mere shadows of things for the very bodies themselves; and may warn Husbands not to precipitate themselves into those resolutions which carry with them the hazard of their Lives and good Names, seeing that Jealousy is able to deceive both the Eyes, and other the Senses.  
It may also teach Wives to be vigilant over their Maidens, since their dishonesty doth often reflect upon the reputation of their Mistresses.   

The Argument.  
Eudosia doth severely censure and watch over the love-motions of her Daughter Dercella. And, finding a Love-Letter in her hand, is enamoured of her Lover, whom she inviteth to lie with her, feigning herself to be Dercella. But being deceived by another, she giveth her Daughter the opportunity of enjoying her own, whereupon both of them are Married.  
NOVEL VI  
EVdosia being the Daughter of the Count of Vancastro, was so rich in the Endowments of Mind, Body and Fortune, that she scarce attained the Age of Thirteen, before she had raised up pretensions in many to aspire to the possession of her. And although the great Riches of her Father did move the Avarice of some Men to obtain her to Wife, yet the excellence of her Beauty did tyrannically preside over the affections of all: for she, being favoured by all the Graces, was thought not inferior to them in any thing, but their number. Evander the Noblest, but withal the Eldest of all her Suitors, had the happiness to gain this Heavenly Beauty. The Fate of these Aurora's betrothing them most commonly unto Titons. This Match seemed strange in the eyes of the World, Evander being deemed more fit for his Grave, than for the Nuptial Bed. He was in the Fifty Third Year of his Age; wherefore by the Wrinkles of his Brows and the greyness of his Hairs, they thought the union of so fair a Spring with rugged Winter, that bore no fruit but what was harsh and sour, to be impracticable. Eudosia, being very young and knowing no better, did easily comply with the embraces of an old Man, esteeming the chiefest happiness of her Marriage to consist in the richness of her , the variety of Jewels, the abundance of Gold, the great number of Servants, and in the constant assistance of her Husband who, becoming jealous of her, did think her lost, as oft as she was out of his sight. This continual attendance of Evander did oblige him to some employments that were greater than the strength of his age could bear; whereupon the Nuptials were scarce ended, when his Funerals did begin. The death of Evander was accompanied with such lively sentiments of grief in his Wife, that weeping, wailing and sighing were the least arguments of her sorrow. She would have been buried even alive with him, if the knowledge of her being with Child had not flattered her with the hopes of reviving him in bearing a Son. But her desire was frustrated by the Birth of a Daughter who, even in her Cradle, did oblige her beholders to form excellent conceits of her Beauty. Eudosia would not hearken, much less adhere to any more overtures of Marriage; she believing that no man living could make her so happy as Evander had done. She voluntarily confined herself to her House attending to the education of her Daughter, but in so strict a manner that she was near Thirteen Years old, and could not boast either to have seen, or have been seen by any Men except those that waited on her Mother. She went not abroad above two or three times a Year, and then so veiled and guarded, as if they feared the Air should ravish her. Her apartment scarce gave any admittance to the bright Eye of Heaven, much less to the Eyes of any mortal Men; and then the continual Guardianship of her Mother did not permit her to use any other divertisement than some Childish Pastimes. Fortune, who commonly intercedes for Lovers, brought it so about that Eudosia and Dercella (for this was the Daughter's name) were, by some great outcries which did stir up their curiosity by being very violent, forcibly drawn to look out at the Window. They saw the life of their Neighbour Assirdus endangered by many Swords encompassing him, whilst that he did defend himself with a Courage greater than his Years. The Youth and handsome Shape of Assirdus did quickly move Eudosia to pity: whereupon, by commanding her Servants to bring him into the House, she delivered him out of the hands of those Cutthroats who, having wounded him in the hand, and deeply in the Side, were very near to have murdered him.  
Assirdus, after some few Compliments, accepted the invitation of going to Bed. Here, his Mother being called, he attended the recovery of his Health, the Chirurgeons not permitting him to go out of that house, for fear that the Air and Motion might exasperate his Wounds. Dercella, although she never knew, nor so much as heard of the Name of Love, yet was so much surprised at the first sight of Assirdus that she fell in love before she was ware of it. And not being able to withstand the first shock, she sometimes listened to the discourses of the Physicians; sometimes she inquired how he did of the Servants, and at other times, though often reproved by her Mother, she came into his Chamber making many excuses for to see him. The night did more increase the troubles of her mind which, being agitated by confused thoughts, could take no rest. And if sometimes she shut her eyes, being weary with watching, yet was she presently forced to open them again, for to avoid those phantasms that did torment her sleeping, more than waking. Dercella continued for the space of some days in these amorous frenzies, until such time as Assirdus, being pretty well recovered, went away to his own House. He had several times observed some glances proceeding from the eyes of that Maiden which were rather witnesses of affection than of compassion: but, not being well versed in Love-Affairs, he condemned all those thoughts, as idle suspicions, that might have persuaded him to have been beloved. Yet being kindled by the sparks of that Beauty which might make all boldness excusable, he staying at home for the perfect confirmation of his Health, was continually looking out at a Window that answered to Dercellas' apartment. Here he was easily discovered by her who, being hurried by a thousand impatient affections, did desire nothing more than to see him. Having found a way to open a Window directly opposite to that of her Lover, and which her jealous Mother had on purpose kept shut: She had the opportunity of seeing him at her pleasure, but not of speaking to him, either because of her own modesty, or for fear of her Mother's jealousy. He likewise, being struck dumb by an excess of love, did, by the mediation of his eyes, perform all the offices of his tongue. At last, overcoming all difficulties, he breathed out his passions by writing in this manner:  
Madam,  
The love that forcibly tieth up my tongue with the same violence moveth now my hand, and compels me to exemplify the Vassalage of my heart, which is already contracted and confirmed to you by my eyes. Indeed force hath been very requisite for to oblige me to make a declaration which, in regard of your excellent merit, cannot be termed otherwise than rash. Beauty which is the Ray of Divine Light, will not be addressed in the vulgar terms of humanity. I know it very well, but can't tell how to help it. Accept, fair Lady, of these expressions which come from a soul that glories more in your dominion, than in its own proper being. Vouchsafe me an answer in favour of those hopes which only are able to keep alive  
Your most devoted and obliged Servant Assirdus.  
He easily conveyed this Letter into the hands of Dercella; for, watching the occasion of her looking out at Window, he gently darted it into her Bosom. This Virgin being as curious as loving, presently took leave to read it. While her soul was ravished with the delight of these Characters, she was not ware of her Mother's seeing of her, who did every minute make the actions of her daughter subject both to her observation and censure. The first thing Eudosia did was to tear the Letter out of her hand; loading her afterwards with so many reproaches and menaces, that sighs and tears were the least burden of Dercellas' affliction. But the loss of that Paper, that seemed to prognosticate the loss of all her love and hopes, was that which most troubled her. Eudosia, leaving her drowned in tears, went into another Room for to read the Letter, and to find out how she came by it. And as soon as she saw it came from Assirdus, she felt a strange commotion in her mind. His Youth and Beauty made way for her desire to get him to herself. She began to repent of having spent so many years without enjoyment. She thought all other pleasures, except those that proceed from Conjugal Love, to be but flashy. On the other side she feared the censure of the World in retarding a resolution for the space of thirteen Years. She was afraid of the rashness of her daughter; of the tender age of Assirdus, and did consider that to Marry a second time, after having so long mourned for her first Husband, would but expose her to the imputation of Fame for wilfully losing her liberty. But our affections being mostly governed by sense, she resolved to venture the loss of all rather than to lose the love of Assirdus. Wherefore, taking a Pen in Hand, she wrote, in her daughter's name, as followeth:  
Assirdus,  
She that yields at the first Onset, doth greatly show her own weakness, and cannot escape the disrepute of Cowardice. Nevertheless they that love well cannot at all dissemble. Love is a fire which by how much the more it is suppressed, by so much the more it is enkindled. I do therefore hereby declare unto you, that I love you hearty, and if I had not been afraid of being denied, I would have first sued for your love. Therefore if you have a mind to enter with me into the lawful estate of Matrimony, I do expect you this Night at the Garden-door which you will find only shut to. Otherwise your affections are illegitimate, and will be very far from any hopes of enjoying  
Dercella.  
This Letter being privately delivered into the hands of Assirdus, instead of rejoicing him, did stir up such a confusion in his thoughts that they rob him of his quiet. Were it either the little experience he had in Love-affairs, or his seeing the possession of that Beauty (which he so much the more prized, by how much the more difficulty he apprehended in obtaining it) so freely offered unto him, he confessed himself a penitent for having gone so far. Whilst he was thus irresolute and doubtful, the Count of Bell'ombra, a young Gentleman of High Birth, though of low Fortune, came to see him. At first sight he discovered some passion in Assirdus, whereupon he very earnestly pressed him to tell the occasion. Assirdus being as easy to discover his disturbances, as to be disturbed, told this Count all the motives that troubled his mind, praying him, as a friend, to give him his best advice. The Count perceiving that this might be an occasion of advancing his own condition, being willing to take her to himself that Fortune offered to another, persuaded Assirdus not to venture upon the rash invitation of a Girl more worthy to be slighted than beloved, seeing that she did so easily prostitute haet self to the pleasure of a Lover. That the introducing of a presupposed Husband by Night was a manifest token of her having entertained others. That he, not well foreseeing the danger, might run the hazard of being trepanned if, by following his sensual appetite, he should accept of the invitation. To these he added so many other considerations, that being joined to the aversion Assirdus had in himself, made him resolve wholly to quit the enterprise, and so much the rather because his Mother would very hardly have given him leave to go abroad. A little after the Count, upon pretence of some business, taking his leave, went at night to the Garden-Gate of Eudosia who, believing him to be Assirdus, received him with open Arms; he also being no less deceived in supposing her to be Dercella, after some short Compliments in a very low voice, as fearful of being overheard, they retired, without any light, into a Ground-chamber where, upon a very rich Couch, they gave place to one another's amorous embraces. In the mean time Dercella, believing her Mother to be immersed in sleep, and not in pleasures, risen out of her hated, because restless Bed, and went to the Window just in the nick when Assirdus, being no less disquieted, came thither also. Dercella did send forth frequent sighs, both for the injuries received of her Mother, and because so unlucky a beginning made her wish to see the end of her love. Assirdus persuading himself that those sighs did arise from the default of his Correspondence, enforcing himself, said, Lady, I know not which to blame most either my bad fortune, or my little merit that make me unworthy to partake of the favours of Love. Dercella, believing that he did upbraid her not corresponding with him, replied, Love overcomes all difficulties, and if it acts unlike itself in me, I must blame my Fate that makes me love without hope. There is no love without hope, answered he, seeing the latter is the very substance of the former. And what (said he) would you have me hope, when all things conspire to make me despair? Why then, replied he, is not reciprocal love sufficient to give you true content? But who, added she, can give me assurance hereof? since the promises and words of Lovers are commonly accounted but Wind. I, answered Assirdus, by dedicating myself unto your service. These, said Dercella, are words which are soon dissolved into the same air whereof they are form. I would give you the proof of them, replied he, if I thought you would not condemn my rashness. And what would you do, said she? I would, with the help of a Plank, answered he, come over to your Chamber, there to conclude our Loves, and save my heart from the Rack of hopes and fears. Hereupon Dercella paused a little, as if she were afraid either to refuse, or receive this offer, and then said she I cannot so suddenly take any resolution, upon a proposal of so great a consequence. He, who by the power of Love had cast off all fear, and put on a courage which was augmented by seeing himself excessively beloved, replied, He that uses overmuch circumspection is not in love, which admits of no long consultations, for that all delays, especially in amorous affairs, are dangerous. Here is no medium, either you must give your assent, or confess you do not love me. Dercella answered, although I cannot express the desire I have to be yours; yet I will never consent that you pass out of your Window into mine, that I may not at once see both my Reputation and your life endangered. Assirdus, looking upon these expressions to be rather consenting than dissenting, placing a Board on Dercellas' Window, went over thereupon into her Chamber. Here after some slight reproofs and feigned repulses which served instead of so many invitations, Dercella, being overcome by his importunities, gave him leave to reap that pleasure which is most grateful to Lovers.  
In this interim Eudosia had given, in some part, satisfaction to the provocations of sense when, fearing that her actions might be discovered, she left the Count asleep, and went softly to visit all the corners of her House. At last she came to her Daughter's Chamber just as the Lovers, by a murmuring prologue of kisses, were preparing to act a loving Comedy. It seemed strange that her Daughter, in so tender an age, should dare encounter the arms of a Lover. Yet, being persuaded that the errors of Love deserved compassion, and knowing herself to be guilty of the same fault, she resolved to dissemble that of others, for not to discover her own. However she had a mind to know her Daughter's Sweetheart, to see if the worthiness of her choice did make any amends for the boldness of her attempt. Scarce did she cast her Eye upon Assirdus but, believing him to be her own Lover, she gave herself wholly up to Fury like one possessed with a Legion of Devils. She scratched her face, tore her hair, beat her breast, and did all things that might show her rage, and express her grief. Lastly, with railing and reproachful language she uttered her passion saying.  
Perfidious man! after having enjoyed the Mother art thou come also to betray the innocency of my Daughter? Why did Nature and Fortune make this wicked Traitor so amiable? Are these the promises you made me but even now? Does this Treachery confirm your Fidelity? Oh Heavens! I shall believe you stand still, and that your influences are blind, if you do not dart your Thunderbolts at this impious Villain.  
Dercella hearing these words of her Mother, and thinking she was imposed upon by Assirdus, fell a weeping, and with such lively expressions of grief, as would have softened the hardest heart, she said,  
Why, O Cruel Man, hast thou betrayed a poor, simple and innocent Girl? Why hast thou deceived me by a piece of Treachery which is the more execrable, for having been hid under the Mask of Love? Where, where, O inhuman Wretch, hast thou learned such unnatural Cruelty, that even savage Beasts are not guilty of. Pray Mother pardon that rashness which did not think, by its Sensuality, of offending the Laws of Nature, nor the satisfaction of her that gave me my being.  
She would have gone in if Assirdus, who hitherto had been as  as a Stock, had not interrupted her, saying, Dercella, Whosoever doubts of my Fidelity, may as well doubt of her own Sensibility. I do declare myself yours, and offer myself ready to confirm my declaration by a lawful Marriage, which shall be no longer in effecting than you are in consenting. Eudosia was much more enraged at these words, whereupon, redoubling her outcries, she furiously ran to satisfy her anger by the force of her hands. Dercella, love not permitting her to see Assirdus wronged without defending him, interposed for to pacify her Mother; but she, growing more and more outrageous, was near upon some mischievous resolution, if the sudden appearing of the Count had not stayed her and struck her dumb. He had impatiently, for some time, waited the return of his beloved, but not seeing her come, he went out of the Chamber to seek her; not without fear that this her staying might portend some disaster. As soon as he heard the outcries his fears were increased, so that he came hastily in where Eudosia, by scratching and biting, was giving vent to her furious passion.  
They were all amazed at this appearance, and the Count was much astonished at the sight of Assirdus; whereupon Eudosia began to ask him how he got into the House. To which the Count answered, by the invitation of Dercella. Thou liest, said she; and except Assirdus, there's no man can brag of having my love. The lie, replied he, from a Girl, makes no matter; and the rather, because this Writing doth declare you guilty. In saying so, he drew forth a Letter, and being about to read it, he was interrupted by Assirdus, who spoke unto him, O unfaithful friend, this Letter belongs to me. It is true, added the Count, but you refusing to come hither, I supplied your place, and have enjoyed her with a promise of Marriage. Then, answered Assirdus, shall Dercella have two Husbands? I also having enjoyed her by the same promise. Eudosia now perceiving that, whilst she went about to deceive others, she herself was deceived and, being unwilling that the publication of this accident should be an occasion of Town-talk, spoke thus to the Count and to Assirdus. Sirs, if you will, as becomes Gentlemen, keep to your words of Marriage, I will see that you shall have the same persons that you have enjoyed. For my part, said the Count, I do think myself honoured in confirming what I promised. Assirdus said the same; yet were they both very much concerned, knowing that Dercella could be Wife but to one of them. The wonder ceased when Eudosia discovered that she was the Author of this Letter, and had submitted to the Count, supposing him to be Assirdus. The Count, who had no greater end than to enrich himself: and therefore made no distinction between the Mother and the Daughter, showed himself well contented. And hereupon the Weddings were celebrated with extraordinary Mirth and Jollity: Giving to understand, that who so keep themselves within the bounds of honesty, may always expect a good end to be the consequent of their just desires.   

The Argument.  
Arsinda, being left a Widow, promises to marry the Count of Rocca Battuta. But, being cozened with a Letter counterfeited by the Marquis Odorico, she refuseth the former, and makes a Contract with the latter. At length, the fraud being discovered by one of her Maidens, she will not have the Marquis, but hasteneth away to celebrate the Count's Funeral whom she believed to be dead. Yet finding him alive, and being followed by the Marquis, they all come to an untimely end.  
NOVEL VII.  
ARsinda, who in the City of Lisbon was Mistress of all those Prerogatives that do make an accomplished Woman, having ●een two years married, was left to bewail ●he fatal cutting of that Knot which she wished might never have been loosened. But although she did, with admirable expressions of sorrow, honour the exequys of her Husband, yet it was not long before she repent the sacrificing of so many tears to those unhappy ashes, and persuaded herself that they were but vain kind of demonstrations which, being derided of all those that observed them, did hurt to the living, and no good to the dead. Harkening therefore to the incitements of sense, and the proposals of her Relations who invited her to marry again, she tied her heart, no less than her word to Daletes the Count of Rocca Battuta. And although Women do many times err in their choice, yet she was esteemed the more prudent and virtuous for choosing a Gentleman that was so excellently well qualified.  
The Nuptials were concluded on by the authority of those that had most power over them, and Arsinda, making use of that liberty which is usual with Widows, did one day privately introduce the Count into her Garden, there to express that content which she now began inwardly to enjoy. At this meeting there was no demonstration either of love or respect wanting. The Count did declare how much he was honoured in being preferred before others: and Arsinda extolled his merit which had constrained her to make him sole owner of her heart. While they were thus contending with these affectionate declarations, there came in a Page who delivered a Letter into the hands of Arsinda. She, not so much as looking upon the Seal, with a loving confidence, gave it to the Count He, receiving it very courteously, opened it, and saw that, without any subscription, it said thus,  
Fair Lady,  
Your excuses are more courtly, than necessary, and I am more fit to receive, than to deserve your favours. I know that experience doth assure me of your affection, but my heart, being jealous even of its own desires, doth sigh to see this day, which not only denys me, but communicates unto another those beauties which are (not mine, though I am) permitted to enjoy them. I should be afraid that the just title of the Count would condemn my possession as tyrannical (I being but a paramour) if the power of the Will did not surpass that of the Law. Do not, O fair one, in company of your Spouse, lose the memory of your Gallant, who is more deserving of your love, because less desiring to impose upon you the ties of Matrimony, and whose ambition is not to be your companion, but your servant.  
The Count made an end of reading this Letter with many signs of impatience, which brought such a confusion of disdainful thoughts into Arsindas' mind that she became speechless. The blood flushed into her face, not to show any guiltiness, but that it might not suffocate her heart which, by a greater palpitation than ordinary, did show the resentments due to the rashness of that Paper. The Count, taking this silence for a confession of her fault, with an odious, because feigned smile that began and ended in the same minute, said unto her, Madam, Your promise of Marriage to me was needless, since (for aught I understand) Gallant are more pleasing to you than Husbands. These words making Arsinda to reflect more upon her own innocency, than upon the Count's jealousy, she did not suffer him to say any more but, with a no less free, than scornful behaviour, after many sharp reproofs, she even told him he himself was the Author of that Letter. And, without taking leave, she retired into her Chamber, leaving the mind of the Count cruelly tormented between Love and Jealousy. The Count therefore supposing that the expressions of Arsinda were the more feigned, for being so vehement, and not being able to induce in himself a belief of her innocency, he let himself fall into the hands of desperation; his anger being arrived at that pitch that he could no longer endure her either as a Mistress, or an enemy. Without mentioning therefore to any body the madness of his resolution, he took Horse and departed from the City, hating all those things which might reduce to his memory the infidelity of her, whom he was forced to adore, though he thought her inconstant. Being carried on more swiftly by the rage of despair, than by the Speed of his Horse, the night approaching, he was constrained to take shelter in an Inn. Here, with no less hatred to himself, than to the conversation of others, neglecting to bespeak any Supper, he shut himself into a Chamber alone, with an intent there to give vent to, rather than allay the fierceness of his passion. Being alone he abandoned himself up to sorrow, to th'end that, by by the Streams of his eyes, he might, in some measure disburden the overflowing oppression of his heart. At length, being weary of Solemnising, with a Deluge of tears, the Funeral of his hopes, he thought of raising himself from misery, by humbling himself before that Idol, whose displeasure brought more terror to his soul than any other sort of chastisement. So, taking Pen in hand he wrote as follows:  
Fair Lady,  
The heart is not subject to the faultrings of the tongue; and repentance is the amendment of errors. In confidence whereof my desires are flattered with the hopes of finding you to day as compassionate, as yesterday I found you cruel. I beseech you therefore, O Fair One, to bury in oblivion the extravagant excursions of a poor soul that did dote upon the ravishing delights of your converse; and be pleased to re-establish me in your affection, which will be the more dear unto me, because I having most justly lost it, you may the more graciously restore it unto me. Although I could excuse my fault, yet I do freely confess it for to give the greater merit to your pardon, whereof my rashness had made me unworthy. Upon this sovereign act of your benignity doth depend the life of  
Your most devoted and obliged Servant Rocca Battuta.  
Recommending this Letter to the Host both for its delivery, and for an answer, he returned to his former affliction, thinking what effects his Writing might produce. Whilst, by tormenting thoughts, he felt the Tyranny both of hope and fear, he heard a mournful noise made by some sorrowful person. Being a little comforted by these doleful tones, and applying others unhappiness as a Plaster to his own Wounds, he drew near to a Partition of Board's that divided the Room. There he heard one speak some words indistinctly, which did blame Love and Fortune as the authors of his oppression. It now seemed that his passion was alleviated by the mixture of another's misfortune, when a little after there came into the Chamber, whence these sorrowful complaints did proceed, a Man crying out, Victory, my Lord Marques Odorico, Victory. By my ingenuity Rocca Battuta is wholly battered down, and you to morrow shall take possession of Arsinda, these Nuptials staying for nothing but your arrival in the City. The Marquis who, by exceeding patience, had repelled his grief, could not resist the assaults of these joyful tidings. He cried out like a Madman in conceits expressive of his great content. Why then (said he) shall Arsinda be mine? Is it possible that I shall be the Primum Mobile of that amorous Heaven which sent forth nothing but lightnings to set fire on my faithful affection? O Fortune! I will offer Sacrifices to thy honour. O God of Love I thank thee. And if heretofore I have rashly offended the sovereignty of thy power, I do now repent me of it, since that Arsinda is to be mine. The Count being out of all patience, and not considering that these accidents might carry him to some precipice, with a loud voice he made himself to be heard in these terms. Traitors, your Treachery is discovered and, if Heaven doth not favour injustice, or if my Sword hath not lost its edge, shall be punished. In uttering these words he ran furiously into the Hall with his Sword naked in his hand, while the Marquis with equal fury came to meet him. Here they began a duel with all the rage that hatred and jealousy could infuse into them. The Count, with a few blows, would have worsted the Marquis, if two Soldiers of his had not interposed in his defence. The Fight being so unequal, the Count was necessitated to take his life as a gift from them, although his generous mind scorned to ask it, and his passionate heart abhorred to receive it. Being deeply wounded in two places he was, by the Innkeeper, recommended to the Surgeons; whilst he, disdaining to live without his beloved, and hating to see her in the possession of his enemy, thought there was no more proper remedy for his grief, than despair. The anguish of his wounds was much exasperated by the answer of Arsinda which, coming from a Lady that generously insisted upon her honour, did bring nothing but the expressions of an alienated affection, and implacable aversion. Her Letter spoke in this manner:  
Sir,  
He that has the heart to injure a Lady of honour, may also have the courage to endure her resentments. Thus much I thought good to intimate unto you, more for the sake of good manners, than for your deserts. I am sorry I cannot adjust the desires of my heart to the weakness of my Sex, thereby to chastise the excursions of a tongue no less rash, than infamous. Do not abuse my patience by any more Letters; for, if you do, rest assured that they, being burnt into ashes, will the longer preserve the most just disdain of  
Arsinda.  
This Letter, being indiscreetly given into the hands of the Count at a time when, being very ill of his late hurts and a Fever that attended them, but much more languishing under the oppression of his mind, it caused such a desperate alteration in him, that his attendants thought him to be upon the point of Death. He did often aggravate his malady by lamentable exclamations which no man could hear without commiseration.  
Whilst he was struggling with the agonies of death being given over both by Chirurgeons and Physicians, the Marquis was enjoying the Visits and Congratulations of his Friends and Acquaintance. With these he boasted of his powerful ingenuity in fraudulently and cunningly subduing a Woman's heart, which commonly (he said) was termed the very seat of Artifice and Deceit. Hereupon he was requested to trace the success of his amours from the beginning. To this he most readily assented in saying thus,  
Sirs, I do willingly repeat the transactions of my love, because the remembrance of them seems sweet unto me. I did, a good while since, set my whole affection upon Arsinda, but very unsuccessfully, because Women do not so much correspond with their Lovers, as with the capricious humour of their own Genius. They love not him that deserveth best, but him that complieth best with their imperfections; so that it is even become a Proverbial Saying, That the choice of Women ordinarily falls upon the worst. In short I was rejected, and Rocca Battuta was the man pitched upon for a Husband, with that resentment which may better be imagined than described. Seeing the merits of my Birth and Love excluded, I had recourse unto Stratagems that are no less necessary in Love, than in Arms. Thus I got the Victory; for Rocca Battuta, being cheated by my counterfeit Letter, quitted the Field, and left me alone to triumph.  
These words were overheard by a Maiden to whom Arsinda confided all her secrets, who by chance came then to the Marquis his house for to compliment him from her Mistress. The Damsel would not stay to hearken any more, knowing very well that Arsinda had condescended to this Marriage more in obedience to the impulses of anger, than in compliance to the inclinations of her heart. She therefore speedily ran away to Arsinda, to whom she imparted what she had heard from the Marquis Odorico's own mouth. Here I am at a stand, for to express the commotions of Arsinda's mind. She grew pale, dumb, wept, and did all things incident to a soul overwhelmed with passion and grief. She had condemned herself to marry the Marquis, only to revenge the injuries of the Count, and for fear that what had passed betwixt him and her might hinder her Fortunes; for she always had a great aversion to the Marquis for that he was not only ill-favoured, but also ill-natured. And now, that she knew him to be treacherous, her hatred was grown to that height, that she could not endure to hear his Name, much less to see him. Preferring therefore satisfaction before all other interest, she took Pen and Ink and wrote thus:  
Sir,  
To deceive the deceiver is no deceit. For this reason I recant all those promises I made to be yours. I never thought of being stolen away, nor shall your treachery triumph over my simplicity. Yet you may believe that my eyes do, by showering down tears, strive to clear up the cloudiness of my soul, which would rather (if possible) lose its being, than ever consent to the tying of a knot that was contrived by fraud, and not by love. Do not provoke me by any new guiles, lest you turn my patience into fury. Perhaps you may be caught in your own gins, and may feel what effects the most just resentment of a Woman unjustly offended can produce.  
Arsinda.  
Having sent this Letter to the Marquis, she began to revolve in her mind the satisfactions due to the Count, when one of her Maids presented her a Letter, saying that it was brought by a Page to the Count, who, being upon his departure out of this World, could neither make an end of it, nor seal it. She took it with great eagerness, and saw that the Contents were as follow:  
Madam,  
I make use of another hand because my own is not able to govern a Pen. Excuse me Arsinda, it proceeding from weakness, and not from want of respect in me. I die, and die unhappily in that I am deprived of your gracious favour. If my ashes could obtain the least affectionate pity, I believe it would convert those horrors that are preached up to be most terrible, into happiness. Pardon him, O fair Lady, who can never offend you more, and who did offend you more to obey the excess of his love, than to bring any prejudice to your honour. But my Speech failing me makes me uncapable of pleading any farther in my own defence. I die Arsinda, and I die for you; having nothing more to add to these characters but my sighs for to soften the heart of Arsinda.  
Arsinda had scarce run over the Letter but, letting it fall from her hands, she also, not being able to resist the violence of a grief that so sensibly struck to her heart, fell into a Swoon. Being brought to life again by some remedies that her Maidens applied, she thus began to bemoan herself:  
O God is it possible that I should not sink under the weight of insupportable sorrow? How can my soul, tormented by such fierce passions, do otherwise than abandon me? Those torments are but slight that do not kill. And yet my grief, which is upon the very brink of desperation, is not able to take away my life. Couldst thou my beloved Daletes, poisoned by my unjust disdain, die? and cannot I, at the doleful news of thy death, and the craft of a Traitor, leave off to live? There is not a more precious thing in the World than a faithful man, and I have lost him before I knew him. But to what purpose do I aggravate my sorrows, by usurping those tears that are most justly due to his Hearse. Yes, yes, I am resolved at least to pay my last office to the greatness of his Merits, and my obligations; and they that see the dolorous effects of it shall not condemn me. Away with all delay. Let's go to honour him dying, whom we despised living.  
Therefore calling for her Coach, she went, with all the speed imaginable, along with him that brought the Letter, unto the Inn where the Count was lodged: as if she were resolved to join herself to him in the Grave, since that Fortune had denied her a more desirable union. As soon as she was alighted from her Coach, she was presently conducted (without ask any question) into the Count's Chamber. He lay there ready to give up the Ghost, deprived of his Senses, and raving with his tongue. Now he accused Arsinda as unfaithful and ungrateful; then he condemned himself, ask her pardon, as if she had been present. No sooner had Arsinda heard him speak but, whether surprised more by wonder or by horror I know not, she swooned away, neither her Maiden nor the Count's servant being able to support her. The Count on the other side, believing Arsinda to be a false appearance, or else the effect of his intense desire and fervent imagination, made no end of weeping and wailing.  
But afterwards, being assured that it was Arsinda no more angry, nor yet wedded to the Marquis, his heart was transported with so much unexpected joy that, without coming any more to himself, he breathed out his last. This happened in the Arms of Arsinda, whose Destiny had recalled her to life, to reserve her for a more miserable death. I want words to express her passion. The tearing of her hair, scratching of her face, and beating of her breast were the weakest proofs she gave of her sorrow. She oftentimes sought for a Knife to kill herself, but was prevented by those that stood by her. In this interim came into the Chamber the Marquis Odorico who, having notice of her departure, had followed her with an intention to carry her away by force and ravish her. Scarce did Arsinda set her eye upon him, but she cried out, Behold, O wicked man, the triumph of thy perfidiousness. Odorico, taking her in his Arms, did endeavour forcibly to remove her from those unhappy objects that did so much disquiet her. But Arsinda, being emboldened by a desperate resolution, snatched away a Weapon that hung by the Marquis his side, did give him so hearty and fatal a stab, that she at once eased him both of his love and life. At the same time, taking also revenge on herself, with a deep wound she opened her own breast, making a large passage for that soul to escape thence which was not able to resist the violence of passion.  
To such unhappy ends do they come who do not bridle their immoderate affections, nor hearken to reason, but, being led away by sensuality, do wholly give themselves up to its complacency.   

The Argument.  
Giacintha being, in a Dream, enamoured with Don Pietro de Ponzes, obliges him to undeceive his Cousin Leonora who intended him for her Husband. Whereupon Leonora, in despair, kills herself; having first given the Father of Giacincintha to understand the loving intrigues of his Daughter; which makes Don Garzia, with his Son Ardelius, to pursue Don Piedro who, being forced to kill Ardelius, flies into Flanders. Giaccintha believing Don Pietro to be dead enters into a Nunnery; but seeing her Father and her Husband both killed by one another's Sword, she suddenly dyeth with grief.  
NOVEL VIII.  
GIacintha was born at Baeza a City in Andalusia, having Riches and Nobility well matched to her singular Beauty. She was not out of the Cradle when her Mother was laid in the Grave, who left a great Estate to be divided betwixt her and her only Brother named Ardelius. Scarce had she attained the age of Fifteen (when many pretenders began to sue either for her Riches, Beauties, or both) when one night in a Dream, she really lamented the imaginary loss of her life. She fancied that she saw, walking in a very pleasant Grove, a Man of a more handsome Garb and Stature than ever she had seen before. His face was partly muffled up in his Cloak which, being finely embroidered, did make him look more brave and gallant. Giacintha feeling herself touched with curiosity, had a mind to see if his face did correspond with the other parts of his body, which at first sight, did seem to make a most admirable composure. With a bashful boldness she therefore pulled away that part of his Cloak which he had thrown over his face; but on the contrary it seemed that this Man, as a chastisement of her rashness, did, with a Dagger, strike her so sensibly through the heart, that the pain thereof making her cry out aloud, waked all her servants, who presently ran to her succour, and to free her from those frightful dreams. Giacintha was no sooner delivered from this representation of danger, but she was possessed with a real affliction of mind, wherein the idea of this person had made such a deep impression, that no time could possibly obliterate it. She desired to encounter with a Man that had those noble and amiable Features, and did let herself be so far transported by the strength of imagination, that she was in love before she knew with whom. Her flames were increased because, not knowing the cause of them, she could not make the effect to cease. These perplexing thoughts did so much disturb her repose that, despairing to obtain the love of a Chimaera, she was near upon losing both her health and life. And, in bewailing herself from time to time, she spoke thus,  
Where is it possible to find a more miserable and unhappy wretch than myself? I love a Dream, and am ready to run mad after a mere fantasme. I adore a shadow, and therefore do excuse the folly of Pigmaleon; and do pity thy dotages O Xerxes: Thou lovedst a Planetree, and the other fell in love with a Statue; yet these were bodily substances that might be both seen and felt. If they had no return of love, yet had they possession of the things beloved. These monstrous loves gave some satisfaction to the senses of seeing and touching. But my rave are founded upon an impossibility, and have nothing in them more than vain fancy. Shame and confusion will be the product of my loves which will either not be believed by the World, or else will be styled mad and foolish. Certainly there is no greater unhappiness than to adore what cannot be seen, and what depends merely upon nocturnal illusions. The original of my love springs only from fond imagination, neither hath it any other being than a phantom; wherefore I lament and torment myself, and I know not for what, nor for whom; I fear that which is not, and I hope for that which is impossible.  
With these passionate exhalations Giacintha did continually perplex herself, when one day, standing in a Balcony, she saw a Cavalier, in a travelling Habit, going into the next Palace, adjoining to hers. She, being intense upon her thoughts, could not easily be diverted by any kind of curiosity; yet letting her eye fall upon the brave Equipage, gallant Train, and goodly Presence of that Gentleman, she knew him to be the same that had wounded her in a dream, and that with absolute tyranny did rule over all the faculties of her soul. This was Don Pietro di Ponzes a Young Man who, although he had not completed the fourth lustre of his Age, yet had with reputation worthily exercised all Military Offices, and was returned home to enjoy the honour of them at Court, and to see his Father who, being very old, was afraid of dying before he could embrace him. He neither knew, nor was he known by Giacintha (though his Sister Isabel was her great Acquaintance) for when Don Pietro went for Flanders she was but a little Girl. The God of Love brought it so about that this young couple did sacrifice their whole affections unto the Shrine of his Divinity. Giacintha was with Isabel to congratulate the safe return of her Brother, who was present at this Compliment, which made it not difficult for her, by glancing words and eyes, to declare the passion of her heart. In brief there passed not many days but, by the mediation of Isabel, these two Lovers were contracted with a mutual promise of Matrimony. But Fortune for the most part envying the happiness of Lovers ordered the matter so that a Cousin of Don Piedro's, called Leonora, who was more than handsome, and extremely rich, fell grievously in love with him. Don Piedro perceived it but, his heart being otherwise engaged, made as if he saw it not, and that with so much caution that Leonora was ready to despair. At last, seeing herself despised, or at leastwise not well accepted of, she took to her Bed, leaving the Physicians little hopes of her recovery, the wounds of her heart proving to be incurable. The Mother of Leonora having the experience of many years, did easily know that her Daughter's sickness proceeded from love. She therefore by the help of one of her Maidens, penetrating into the certainty and original of it, applied her whole endeavours to find out the remedy. She sends for Don Piedro and, in words bedewed with tears and sighs, she offers him her Daughter, telling him punctually the occasion of her indisposition. She urged her entreaties by letting him know that he could not meet with a more rich or a more honourable Match. The Laws of good breeding compelled. Don Piedro to make a courteous answer. And, hoping that the time requisite for treating and getting the consent of her friends, might administer some cure to this Malady, he remitted the conclusion to the sole will of his Father, to whom, as his duty was, he entirely referred himself. After this he went in to see his Cousin, which filled her full of hopes that do easily take place in the breasts of young Virgins. Leonora in the mean time, taking courage from the words (though they were not binding) and continued visits from Don Piedro, in a very short time recovered her former health. Giacintha on the other side, wanting many of his Visits, did most miserably afflict herself, and frequently inculpate the Loyalty of Don Pietro. He, not being able to endure her resentments, thought of weakening her jealousy by discovering the whole truth unto her. Hereupon Giacintha being in a great rage, with a furious tone said unto him. Never speak to me, nor presume to see me more, if you do not make your Kinswoman know that you are my Spouse, and cannot be hers. Neither my Heart, nor my Honour will suffer any Rival. In saying so she made a motion to be gone, but was stopped by Don Piedro who, with horrible imprecations asserted his own constancy, and promised, the next day to undeceive his Cousin. Giacintha being willing to lay a further obligation upon Don Piedro for the performance of his promises, made herself sure to him by an Oath. Don Piedro in these delightsome amours having lost all that circumspection that before made him cautious, went to see his Cousin who, having wholly chased away her disease, was only attending the perfect consummation of her recovery. He was received in the most affectionate manner that a loving soul could put in practice. But the appearing of some trouble in his looks gave occasion to Leonora to ask him the cause of it. After a little slight denial Don Piedro said, It is not justice Madam, that I should betray your good affection, and falsify my own promises. My behaviour hath hitherto been rather feigned, than candid. I had a mind to recover you, but I cannot satisfy you. Bear with my Fortune that hath obliged me to another. I have passed my word, and am contracted to Giacintha, nor can I disengage myself without losing my life. 'Tis enough answered Leonora, yet had you better have let me die than to revive in me the tyranny of passion. Patience, the heart that cannot bend may break. Having said this, she went out of the Chamber and retired into a Closet, where she let lose the reins of her anger which thus dictated unto her;  
Sir,  
The injuries that are done to honour do call for revenge even from those that have no interest therein. For this reason I counsel you to look well to the guard of your House whose Honour is endangered by Don Pietro de Ponzes. If, blinded by destiny, you should think this to be a Forgery, your own eyes, when circumspect, will give you testimony of the truth hereof.  
She sealed the Letter without subscribing it, and sent it by a Footman belonging to the Father of Giacintha. This done she returned into her Closet for to write another, while Don Pietro, being doubtful what resolutions an incensed Woman might take, made haste away. Afterwards Leonora went out of the Closet to her Mother, begging her Blessing for that she was afraid she should never see her more. Her Mother chid her, saying. O Daughter, do not use these hateful expressions to me, unless you intent to shorten my days. Leonora with tears in her eyes left her Mother. She had not gone far but, sending forth a deep sigh, she fell down dead. All the House ran to her succour and, believing her to be only in a Swoon, they applied all things proper to bring her to herself again. All their endeavours were in vain, and the Doctor being come knew her to be dead indeed. In stripping off her  there fell from her Bosom a Letter which, being directed to her Mother, spoke thus:  
Dear Mother,  
I myself have undertaken to chastise the intemperance of my sensual appetite, by taking Poison to expel my immoderate affection. I thought Death would be more pleasing to me, than to see my Cousin in the Arms of another Woman. I beseech you pardon the displeasure which this my resolution shall have given you, by judging it necessary to terminate the disquiet of my heart. Adieu, dearest Mother, adieu.  
Your unfortunate Leonora.  
This unhappy accident occasioned great disturbance in the minds of her Mother and Kindred, and some there were, unacquainted with her Love-affair, that did so far err in their judgement, as to impute this her sudden death unto her great riches. Giacintha knowing herself to be unwillingly guilty of this Woman-slaughter, had a mind to have some affectionate discourse about it with Don Pietro. Whereupon she sends privately to tell him, that she desired to see him that very night. Don Pietro went accordingly and was, as at other times, conducted into a low Chamber, by a servant, who afterwards stood as Sentinel at the Door. Giaccintha was scarce come into the room, when Don Garzia, who by the Letter that did tax his honour was made very vigilant, was at the apartment of his Daughter. But not finding her there, he went on to that of his Son, where they both armed themselves for to revenge the affront done unto their Reputation. They could not do this so silently but that some of the Servants gave notice thereof to the Lovers, who thereby had the opportunity of getting away before they were assaulted. Don Pietro carried Giacintha to an Aunt of hers in a Monastery; and he, by retiring, secured himself from the Persecution which he feared, of Justice. Don Garzia, being wounded in the most sensible part of his Soul, did fully resolve to revenge, this disgrace by himself. He was so far from preferring his complaints to the Judges, that he seemed not to reserve the least sense of this injury. He answered those that spoke to him of it in such a manner that did rather favour of stolidity than of revenge.  
Nevertheless Don Pietro was not wanting in his due circumspection, hoping at length by Marrying Giacintha, by exercising acts of modesty, and by the interposition of time to appease the implacable rage of Don Garzia. In the mean time, to shelter himself from Justice, he took Sanctuary in a little Grove belonging to a Nunnery, where he stayed the longer, because in the night time, by means of the Gardener, he had the opportunity of discoursing with Giacintha through an iron-barred Window. Don Garzia, having intimation hereof, got admittance one Night, by the mediation of Gold, and with Sword in Hand, together with his Son, set upon Don Piedro. He, fearing to violate the privilege of the Monastery, and unwilling to hazard the lives of his intended Father and Brother-in-law, betook himself to flight. He was hotly pursued by Ardelius; wherefore to stop his fury, and save himself, Don Piedro facing about, was forced to run him into the side. Ardelius thereupon suddenly fell down, his Soul, together with his Blood, expiring in the same moment, Don Garzia could not come up time enough either to secure his Son, or apprehend his enemy. The daylight, discovering this sad accident, raised up great murmur, in so much as Don Piedro, having privately taken leave of Giacintha, for to secure himself, departed for Flanders, which is the Asylum of all wicked and unfortunate men. Don Garzia, not being able, at present, to sacrifice the blood of Don Piedro to his revenge, went about to alleviate his sorrow by tormenting the soul of Giacintha. He therefore, being very lavish of his Gold, to bring this to effect, contrived it so that all the Letters of Don Piedro were brought to his hands. There was a Month past wherein Giacintha was tortured with the impatience of hearing from Don Piedro, when one day, being at the Window with her Husband's Father, she took some comfort in showing her a Letter which came from Barcelona, whither Don Piedro went designing thence for Naples, and so for Flanders. She having hastily unfolded the Letter found what followeth:  
Dear Sir,  
'Tis not without extreme and hearty sorrow, that I send you the unhappy News of the loss of your Son Signior Don Piedro. He going late out of a Gaming-house last Night was killed by many Wounds he received in his Breast; no body knowing, nor so much as suspecting who should be the aggressors. It grieves me that I should write you so ungrateful a Letter, but my affection and obligation could not exempt me from this Office. To morrow he will be buried with that Solemnity that is due to his Birth and my grief. I pray God in his Mercy to moderate your affliction, and to give you that consolation which such an unlucky and cruel chance doth deserve. You shall be informed of his concerns by a better opportunity, in the mean time please to know that I am  
Your most devoted servant Il Capitan Diego di Mara.  
This Captain was an intimate friend of Don Pietro's who went with him into Flanders. But the Letter was forged by Don Garzia, not only to triumph in the grief of Giacintha, but also to divert her correspondence with Don Piedro; and it succeeded as he would have it. For Don Piedro, coming unto Naples, and finding no Letters neither from Giacintha, nor his Father, according as they had agreed, without staying long, embarked for Flanders. There, for diversion of his troubled thoughts, he betook himself to Gaming and Courting of Women, in such manner, that for Six Years time he neither regarded his Spouse, nor his Country. In this interim the unfortunate Giacintha being drowned in tears, and believing that the advice of Don Piedro's Death was true, made her tender affection submit to hard necessity, by listing herself a Nun in the same Monastery where she had taken refuge. Here, truly humbling herself, she led a life more Divine than Humane. Don Piedro, on the other hand, being surfeited with the love of many, fixed his whole delight upon one only Woman who, being either more fair or more cunning than the rest, had made herself absolute Mistress of his Heart. While thus Don Piedro thought of bringing his amorous hopes to perfection, he saw them all blasted in the wilful resolution of his beloved who sent him this Letter;  
Signior Don Piedro,  
Your pretensions are very troublesome unto me. My free choice and my Destiny do both forbid me to be yours, I being already espoused to the Count Aurelius. And although my heart shall always preserve indelible the memory of your kind expressions; yet I would not have you, by this declaration, to bring the least prejudice upon my honesty, or my Husband's Reputation. Be pleased to accept of this acknowledgement, which is all you can expect from  
Your most humble and most obliged Servant Anna Maria.  
This Paper did raise up the spirits of Don Piedro to such a pitch that he was, for some little time, beside himself. At length, coming to himself again, and believing that he could not better heal this latter Wound of Love, than by opening the former, he returned back to Barza.  
Before he saw his own House he went to the Nunnery to see Giacintha. Under pretence of bringing her some Letters from Flanders, he made her be called and, giving her to understand that he was Don Piedro, he caused such a sudden change in her that she was ready to have fainted away. Giacintha, recovering this oppression of Spirit, occasioned by such surprising joy, did presently revive her former affection, which became the more ardent for being suppressed by the tye of Religion. Yet this pair of Lovers thought it not difficult to obtain a Dispensation; since that the Bond of Matrimony did preeede that of Devotion, and Giacintha was no more at her own disposal, for that she had taken upon her a Religious Habit, supposing herself to be freed from the obligation of Marriage by the pretended death of Don Piedro. They were contriving to bring about their amorous desires to a successful end, when Don Garzia, being informed of Don Peedro's return, and of the entertainments he had with his Daughter, thought he had offended the Courage of his Mind by so long forbearance. And, aspiring to wash off the Stains of his Reputation by a bloody revenge; being full of rancour, he ran to the Grates of the Monastery. There he found his Daughter having her hands between those of Don Piedro, and holding a very strict conference with him. His defiance, threatening, laying hand on his Sword, and mortally wounding of Don Piedro was all done in a trice. Don Garzia would in like manner have exercised his fury upon Giacintha if he had not been prevented by Don Piedro who, struggling with approaching death, did so much reinforce himself as that, either to save his Beloved, or revenge himself, he struck Don Garzia with a Dagger to the heart. Don Garzia fell down dead; and at the same time Don Piedro also unhappily left this life. Giacintha, at so dolorous a Spectacle, stood like a Stock. Tears, which do usually, in some measure, assuage grief, in her did augment it. Words, which by their expression do commonly make sorrow more supportable, in her, by the greatness of the mischief, were stifled before they could be uttered. Her eyes therefore not being able to behold so dismal a Tragedy, and her heart not being strong enough to resist such cruel tortures, which robbed her in the same moment, both of her Father and Husband, seeing her losses to be desperate and irrecoverable, being overcome by deadly grief, she fell down to the ground, and unfortunately gave up the Ghost.  
By this it appears, that Women, in pleasing the inordinate appetites of their Senses, and in disobeying the Will and Commands of their Parents, do oftentimes prepare a funeral for their own, and others happiness: and that Men, by standing on the Punctilios of Honour, and by exercising the desires of revenge, do ruin the greatness of their Families, and leave behind them an unhappy and deplored memory to Posterity.   

The Argument.  
Don Diego Saranda, being disgusted by a certain Lady, resolves to love no more; and therefore makes it his business to rail against Women. Which being reproved in him by Isabel he falls in love with her. And having received two kind invitations to come to her House, is diverted by some accidents of Fire and Sword. So that, being fearful of hazarding any farther his life, he intends to quit the enterprise: but, being again encouraged by Isabel, he is admitted into her Bed. Where a new occasion of disgust arising, he departs without enjoying her.  
NOVEL IX.  
Done Diego di Saranda, a Gentleman of excellent Merit and Virtue, coming to Genova, and taking a private Lodging where he might least be known, began to evaporate his passionate Invectives in this manner. He that builds his hopes upon the hearts and promises of a Woman may boast of a foundation more unstable than the Waves. Woman, he that had the wit to call thee Woe man did describe but a little part of thy nature. For the precipices of thy inconstancy, the insatiety of thy affections, and the Hellish torments that thou makest thy Lovers to endure, cannot be comprehended in the single word Woe. He that called thee Heaven, had regard perhaps to thy Thunders and malign influences. And who so idolizes thee with the name of Deity, does it more in contemplation of the pride of thy Sex, and the folly of men, than of any desert of thine. The Astrologers had great reason to make the House of Women common with that of domestic enemies, and to place the House of Death near to that of a Wife: for you betray with your smiles, entrap by your tears, and kill with your wantonness.  
Enough, no more, Signior Don Diego, for God's sake, replied a Lady, interrupting him, that was very well known unto him, whom we, out of respect to her Quality, will call by the borrowed name of Isabel. It misbecomes all men, continued she, to reproach the Female Sex, which, though naturally it be more weak, yet is it more noble than that of yours. He that rails at Womankind, either doth not know their Merit, or is unworthy to be acquainted with it. Gentlemen, like you, aught to draw their Swords against those that scandalise Women, and not to arm their tongues with injurious words against the reputation of those who have contributed to their Being.  
Madam, answered Don Diego, my grief tyrannising over my tongue, hath made me utter some odd conceits which though they are the product of anger, yet are they not the offspring of falsehood: But I neither can, nor will dispute this matter with you, because neither my modesty, nor the respect I own you will permit it. But if you had had that experience of a man, that I have met with in a Woman, sure I am you would wish for a tongue of Thunder and Lightning that might strike dead and reduce all Mankind into Ashes; and would exclaim against Dame Nature for necessitating you to obey so odious a subject.  
Tell me, I pray you (said Isabel again) the injury that hath thus excited your hatred against Women. Certainly it ought to be very great seeing it extorts from you revenge even against those also that have not in the least offended you.  
In answer to this Don Diego says, I will give you a brief relation of my dolorous adventures, because I am sure thereby to obtain both compassion to my malady, and excuse for my hatred against Women. It is now almost five years since I first dedicated my affection unto a certain beautiful and noble Lady. This Lady seeming to accept of my love, made me so proud that I scornfully despised all other amours; and you, Madam, can be my witness herein, seeing I continually refused the favour of your love, declaring that my ambition was rather to languish for the love of one, than to enjoy the correspondence of a thousand others. Seeing that my most humble service was not unpleasing to her, after a long and faithful attendance I sued for the reward unto which Lovers do constantly aspire. There followed many delays masked under the pretences of Honour and Caution, when no longer ago than yesterday, I received a challenge to meet my sweet Mistress, at night in Venus' field. I am not able to tell you my unspeakable consolation. I as earnestly desired the setting of the Sun, as Bats and Owls do desire darkness. I came to the appointed place and gave the sign prescribed me; but was answered by nothing but mocks and scoffs, upbraiding my credulity in believing that a Lady of her esteem should prostrate her Honour to a Lover; and yet, with these eyes, I beheld her Gallant triumphing in my scorn, and, with his arms about her Neck, deriding my Love and Constancy. Don Diego did aggravate these passages with so much passion, that Isabel, taking pity of him, broke off his Story saying. And now Signior Don Diego, why do you blame the Female Sex if, by the ill placing of your affections, you have met with derision instead of reward? You should lay the blame on her that offended you, and not include in a particular injury a general revenge against those that are innocent. Without doubt you are wholly in the fault who, by neglecting the advantages offered you, have indiscreetly fled from her that loved you, and blindly pursued her that hated you. This Don Diego is a Judgement from Heaven. Acknowledge it, and repent, for it is always good to change Counsels, when you may reap profit thereby. I am the same that ever I was, and as I have long set a great value upon your merit; so I will endeavour all I can to recompense it.  
If I did believe, answered Don Diego, that my blind constancy did not make me unworthy of your favour, I would muster up all my Spirits, and sacrifice the whole strength of my heart unto your Beauty; and by my past ardours you may guests how fervent my future love will he.  
'Tis enough, Don Diego, replied Isabel. I am yours, and you shall always find me so. Your past aversion hath but refined my affection. If this Night you will put on the Habit of a Gardener, and come to my House, I will make you to know that Women are not at all blame-worthy; and that the defect is in Men who love without distinction, as being guided more by Passion than Discretion.  
Having thus spoken, she left Don Diego, I know not whether more joyful of his new Adventure, or fearful of some new misfortune. For, calling to mind his late slighting of this Lady, he thought it impossible she should preserve so much kindness for him as that, instead of revenge, she should bestow upon him those favours, which are the the reward of long and faithful services, and a loving correspondence. But his sensual appetite prevailing above all other considerations, he went, as soon as 'twas Night, to the House of Isabel. She received him most affectionately, and afterwards conducted him, unseen, into a Ground-room which, by a back pair of Stairs, did lead into her own Chamber. Here she prayed him to dispense with staying a little, till her Maidens (who were naturally prying into these kind of secrets) being retired, might give a better opportunity for their amorous Thefts. After this Isabel, thinking it long e'er she were with Don Diego, feigned herself not very well, whereupon she dismissed her Servants, and allowed some time for their going to sleep. In the mean time Don Diego, thinking every moment that did delay his satisfaction to be very tedious, did believe that he was betrayed. He saw the Room, where he was, besieged by enraging flames; and it seemed to him that the Fire did upbraid his incontinency and, by the purity of its ardour, threaten to extinguish the impurity of his desires And the rather, for that there came in to his mind the past ill opinions he had of Women, and he persuaded himself that this was a trick put upon him by Isabel, which indeed was but a mere accident. The Servants had carelessly left fire in the next Room which, having lain hid a Day and a Night, broke out with so much fury that the poor lover was near being sacrificed. He would have cried out, but he durst not for fear (being found in that place) of being killed either as a Thief or an Adulterer. He tried to get out but could not, Isabel having secured him by fast locking of the Door. His fear was increased by the confused noise of those in the House who cried out Fire, Fire, and hearing them already ask for the Key of his Chamber, he knew not what excuse to make to those that should find him there. But his danger did not admit of long consultation, since he already began to feel the difference between the elementary and imaginary flames. In these straits he heard a little Door opening into the Room which he had not till then observed. And now he gave himself for lost; being he could not on the sudden bethink himself of any pretence that might serve to cover his guiltiness. He was ●n some measure refreshed by the coming of Isabel who, taking him by the ●and, hastily drew him (trembling) out ●y the same private way that he went ●n, saying to him, Don Diego you are very unfortunate in your amours, seeing that the House is on fire. I do not ●ow wonder at other Women for having refused you. Get you among the Crowd of those that run to the fire, ●hat so you may go away unespied; and we will order our business better for the future. This succeeded happily ●o Don Diego; for he, making as if he were drawn thither by the noise, having put off the Gardener's Coat, did manfully assist in putting out the fire, which without his help would certainly ●ave dilated its Violences much farther. After this he received public Thanks from Isabel who, in very affectionate and respectful terms, did express he● own Gratitude, and her Husband's obligation unto him. Don Diego departe● more enamoured than before, his inordinate affection gaining strength by this accidental opposition; so that he continued to give fresh testimonies o● his respects towards Isabel who, being desirous to bring her amorous practice to perfection, sent him the following Letter:  
My Dear,  
It behoved me to moderate the ardency of my affection in the presence o● my Husband. He is newly gone into the Country, and I do in this Paper enclose my heart to you. If the Fire o● our House hath not extinguished tha● of your Breast I shall expect you about the Third Hour of the Night. 〈◊〉 desire that you would disguise yourself under the Habit of Austin my Servant, and so by help of the Ke● herewith sent you, you may enter th● House without any the least suspicion▪ In the mean time please to accept of her Services who professes herself to be  
Your most devoted and obliged Servant. Isabel.  
Don Diego, upon the receipt of this Letter, thought himself in Heaven; wherefore his reading and kissing it over and over, and the putting of it up in his Bosom were the least demonstrations of his joyful affection. After this, taking Pen and Paper, he sent this answer:  
My dear heart,  
I, being equally confounded by the greatness of your favour, and the smallness of my desert, cannot tell how to express my obligations. I will come, in the silent time of the Night, and sacrifice my heart unto you. I have nothing more valuable, nor more proportionable to my desire, and Love it self pretends to no more. It is great reason that I should transform myself into the likeness of what I shall always be,  
Your most humble, and most obliged Servant Don Diego.  
At length the Night came that was so often called upon by him, whereupon, in the Disguise, and at the hour appointed he went to the House of Isabel. He was near opening the Door when he saw himself assaulted by four Men who, with Cudgels in their hands, began to bang him sound. These were some debauched Youths who, having been affronted (as they pretended) by Austin, did there lie in wait to beat him, and taking Don Diego, by his Clothes, to be Austin, they did sorely rib-baste him. Don Diego, not being used to take blows, drew out a Pistol, and, discharging it, lightly wounded one of them in the side. He would have returned his salute with a kind of short Gun which, if it had taken fire, would certainly have cooled Don Diego's hot desire. The rest of the aggressors did likewise discharge their Pistols at Don Diego but, by great chance, none of them did hit him. Yet he had fallen a Sacrifice to their anger (for they had all thrown away their Sticks and drawn their Swords) if Isabel, crying aloud out at a Window, had not hastened all the men in her House to secure him that was assaulted; whereupon these young Men, fearing to be known and not being willing to venture any further, ran all away, and gave Don Diego the opportunity of retiring, who, being unwilling that the pleasures of his Sense should any longer triumph in the dangers of his life, wrote to Isabel as followeth:  
Madam,  
Fortune having always been my Foe, doth oblige me to take new measures, unless I should have a mind unfortunately to end my days. He that will not take warning from Fire and Sword deserves to be destroyed by Thunder, which my rashness is not so forward as to provoke; nor do I suppose that your Love would have me subjected to the Wrath of Heaven. And as I shall always rejoice in the thoughts of being your servant, so I will never cancel the obligation you have laid upon me. Do not condemn (O Fair Lady) that heart which, because it is humane, is awfully overruled by Divine Prodigies. To rebel against the Government of Heaven is not proper for one that is a Slave to Love, and that thinks his happiness depends upon the Starry influence of his Mistress' eyes. Yet, in my heart, I will unalterably preserve the great esteem I have for your Merit, and the favour shown to  
Your most obliged and most faithful Servant D. Diego.  
Upon the receipt of this Letter Isabel saw that her hopes were turning into despair. She knew that Carnal Appetites grew more violent for being interrupted, wherefore she believed that the excuses of Don Diego proceeded rather from want of love, than for fear. At length she returned him this following medley of Love, Jealousy, Anger and Reproof, Viz.  
Sir,  
'Tis no wonder that you meet with such ill success in your Amours, since that Fortune hates the pusillanimous, and loves the courageous. The enjoyments of Love are not attained to without labour and danger. He that prognosticates evil to himself deserves to have it; and the fear of Predictions doth often facilitate their access. Yet I, who am acquainted with the generosity of your heart, and the greatness of your Spirit, cannot think you will be frighted at Chimeras and Bugbears which do frighten (and that but seldom too) none but Women and Children. He is no true Lover that can change at every Chance; and it argues a debased mind to be easily overcome by difficulties. But your Valour may be abused by the encouragement of a Woman, who though her Sex be weaker, yet her Love is stronger than yours.  
This Evening by means of the Revellings that are to be at my House, you may go into my Chamber, and shut yourself in the Closet which you will find left open for that purpose. I hope this Night to make you know that the soft pleasures of Love are sweetened by hazards and hardships. In the mean time preserve me as I am  
Your most cordial Lover and Servant Isabel.  
In reading of this Letter Don Diego felt in himself a great conturbation of Spirit. The Beauties of Isabel which, by gentle reproofs, did sue for his Love, did make the greatest danger seem contemptible unto him; but the accidental encounters of Fire and Sword did confirm in him his reflections on Reason and Prudence. At last, Sense got the upper hand, and made him resolve that, postponing all other considerations, he would for the sake of Isabel, and to please his own inclinations, expose himself to the most imminent perils. And though his mind misgave him, promising him no good effect in this Affair; yet he was resolute in performing it, and went and shut himself unseen, into Isabella's Closet. Here he stayed a long time, expecting her with extraordinary impatience, and did often reprove or approve his design, according to the various dictates of Sense and Reason. After a great while Isabel came and, with a multitude of sweet Kisses, ravished the heart of Don Diego, in such sort that, being intoxicated with these delicious endearments, he clear forgot all his past misfortunes. Isabel for to attain the desired end of all Lovers, began to undress, desiring Don Diego to do the like. He, in obeying her, prayed her to shut the Chamber-door, that none of her Maidens, who are wont to watch over their Mistress' actions, might perceive them. Let me alone for that, said Isabel, you are a very cautious and fearful Lover. I, that hazard my Life, my Estate, and my good Name, do think of nothing but of serving you, and you, by needless circumspections, do embitter the sweetness of our affections. I see how pure your Love is, that hath a mixture of so much fear. Don Diego blushed at these words and, without reply, stripping all off, he went into Bed.  
At the same time Isabel had likewise put off her , but instead of running into the Embraces of Don Diego, who lay with open arms impatiently expecting her, she went to a little Side-Table, for to set up and accommodate a Mouse-Trapp. And were it either for making too much haste, or something else that happened amiss, she let the wire that held up the trap fall several times from her hand. Don Diego's Patience being worn out in attendance, and fearing that some Servant might come at the clattering of that noise, said, Madam, what are you doing? Why do you spend so much precious time in vain? Are those amorous desires cooled that were so ardent in you a little while ago?  
To which Isabel answered, My Dear, who so is not a true Enemy, cannot be a true Friend. I must revenge me of a certain Mouse that has done me a thousand injuries; and more especially the last Night did gnaw me a Peach which for its goodliness, and for the Persons sake that gave it was much valued by me.  
Why then, replied Don Diego, will you let a Lover languish while you take revenge of a poor Mouse? Pray lay aside revenging, and let us fall to loving. And then again he renewed his instances, that she would leave the Trap, and come to Bed.  
But Isabel being obstinate, and making as if she did not hear him, he became highly incensed. Whereupon his passed fears being awakened, and being also afraid that the Noise might call some of her Servants thither, he said,  
Madam Isabel,  
Since that you had rather entrap a silly Mouse, than oblige a Lover; I also will now let my Reason prevail over my Sense, and will no longer bestow my affection upon one who prefers an inconsiderable Revenge before it.  
Whereunto Isabel answering nothing, he, hastily putting on some, and making a bundle of the rest of his Clothes, departed the Chamber, and so went out of the House, looking afterwards upon Isabel with a very indifferent Eye. She therefore either despising this his resolution, or recanting the too much indulgence of her own inclination, cared no more for him.  
Such is the mutability of humane affections. Whereupon we may conclude that the minds of Women are many times inconstant, and sometimes overcome by dishonesty and revenge: and that no wise men ought ever to adventure their Lives in the vain pursuit of unlawful pleasures, or sensual enjoyments.   
FINIS.