THE FRIAR: OR An Historical Treatise.  
WHEREIN The idle Lives, Viciousness, Malice, Folly, and Cruelty of the Friars, is described.  
In two PARTS.  
Tragical and Comical.  
Collected out of sundry Authors, and several Languages, and caused to be translated into English.  
By James Salgado a Spaniard, formerly a Romish Priest.  
LONDON, Printed for the Author, 1680.   

To His GRACE JAMES DUKE of Monmouth and Buclough.  
My Lord,  
THough the lowest Virtue ought not to want its due praise, yet true Religion (as it deserves) ought to have the highest Encomium, inasmuch as it surpasses the rest as far as Divine excellencies do excel all things Natural.  
The Moral Perfections may be found in a high measure in those who are not acted by the spirit and vigour of true Religion: But wheresoever she hath her residence, she produces all the Habits of Virtue (who receive their splendour from her, as Beams from the brightness of the Sun) and from thence diffuses them on the rest of Mankind, influencing them to aspire at imitation.  
And as Religion is in it self praiseworthy in 〈…〉 est degree (as that 〈…〉 nobles the Minds of 〈…〉 makes them indeed to 〈…〉 they were designed 〈…〉 great Creator); so 〈…〉 that be religious worthy 〈…〉 high commendation; but 〈…〉 specially those who by 〈…〉 Rank and Quality are 〈…〉 in the highest Sphere, to be as it were Exemplars to the Vulgar; for though their greatness makes them not seldom the Objects of Envy, yet they are not only feared by the bad, but always admired and praised by all good men.  
This is that which makes Your Grace so esteemed by all, and by which You deservedly have the applause of all sorts of men.  
I will not here expatiate concerning Your Renowned Exploits abroad, because they are fit for a Volume than an Epistle; but will only remember, that Maestricht (reputed once invincible) has now undeceived the owners of that fond opinion, by forfeiting her Reputation to the Force of Your Arms; so tha● you may say (and with a● good Reason as the valiant and renowned Caesar) Veni●vidi, vici. And who can doubt the truth on't, that considers how so lately, and with so much facility, you appeased by your appearance the Troubles in Scotland, which were dissipated as a Mist before the brightness of the Sun.  
But passing by Your Natural, Moral, and Military Endowments, as matters generally known to all; the true Religion (in the profession of which Your Grace is so eminently conspicuous) hath produced such proofs of love in most, and such arguments of esteem to Your Person in all, that should I go about here to recite them, I should tyre myself with writing, and at last be forced to quit the task without being able to give a due Description.  
For this reason I took the boldness of addressing myself to Your Grace with this present FRIAR, that I might bring him before Your Grace's Tribunal, as 〈…〉 to obtain Your 〈…〉 ●●●ction.  
True Religion does 〈…〉 ●●●ly consist in Worshipping 〈…〉 after a right manner, 〈…〉 practising Holiness and P●●ty; but in the abhorrence 〈◊〉 all false Worship, and hatred of Vice and Wickedness: And as Your Grace is eminent for the first, so you shall here find occasion enough for the second, when you shall consider the viciousness of their Lives, whose way of Worship you already detest.  
〈…〉 small Trea 〈…〉 to Your Grace's censure, desiring again to be sheltered by Your Grace's protection, to whom I most humbly do insinuate my Condition, and beg pardon for the presumption of,  
My Lord, Your Graces most Obedient, and most Humble Servant, JAMES SALGADO, A Spaniard, and Converted Priest.   

THE PREFACE.  
Kind Reader,  
SEveral there were, and still are, that give their minds to writing of divers Sciences and Arts, delighting as well in Contemplation, as in putting their Conceptions into practice; whereby their Souls are daily polished, as Bodies are made active and nimble by constant exercise: And every one exerciseth himself in that Art or Science which he 〈…〉 and knows. It may therefore seem strange to some, that I should not rather have published a Treatise of Divinity, than to trouble the World with those Histories of other men's Actions. But since I adventured once in this kind before, without discouragement; and seeing the Labours of other Divines increase after such a manner, that they almost distract and weary out the Readers, I thought it not impertinent to divert thee with these Stories of some Friars, I myself having been formerly a Friar: — quae sunt Medicorum Promittant Medici, tractent fabrilia fabri. Notwithstanding, I do not this with any design to defame 〈…〉 der them, or any of them; For 〈◊〉 did not cemmence these Historie● myself, but gathered and collected the same (not without Cost and Labour) out of several Authors of sundry Nations, who were Roman Catholics themselves. 〈◊〉 only intent was, to show the Protestant's the cunning Knavery, malicious Cruclty, and deluding wa● of this sort of People; and to warn the Roman Catholics to have a care how they hazard themselves in the power of such Persons, lest hoping for comfort, they meet with harm and damage, both as to their Souls and Bodies. Moreover, it was intended for men's Recreation, that the Idle may thereby have Pastime, and the weary Diversion.  
Kind Reader, Be pleased to accept of my small Labours, and wish him well who means thee no harm.  
Farewell.   

A Tragical Narration.  

The horrible Cruelties of a Spanish Friar, and his miserable and desperate End.  
IN Corduba, a principal City in Andalusia, in a Convent among many others, lived a religious Friar, for Beauty, Parentage, and Behaviour, very much respected by all. It is the fashion in the Monasteries, that the younger Friars go aside by themselves, and talk of several Matters amongst them. Sometimes they measure the whole World in a Minute, othertimes they dispose of Kingdoms and States; now the consideration of the past Roman Empire, another time the puissance of the Turcian Monarchy, is the Subject of their Discourse. Amongst the rest, it fell out one day, that they began to talk of Beauty, and every one gave in their Verdict, according as their Inclinations were bend to; some praising the Dames of their particular Countries, othersome extolling those they loved best. There was one amongst them, a young Man of great Prudence and Modesty, who hearing all their Discourse, said, What do you talk so much of the beautiful Dames of Madrid or Toledo? All the Perfections which ever mortal Creature can be capable of, are contained in a Gentlewoman living at Ossuna, Wife to a Lawyer, who is so abstinent from all other Societies and Companies, that the very Citizens themselves scarcely know her. He added to it the Lawyer's Name, and some other particularities. The Discourse being ended, every one did go to his Cell. Now Friar Agilar (so was the Gentleman's Name we are speaking of) being in his Chamber had time to overweigh the Words of the other Monk, and by them was so highly inflamed with Love towards the unknown and never-seen Gentlewoman, that he almost was besides himself, could never be at rest; Eating and Drinking he did not care for, feeding himself only with the Fancies now of his Mistress' Beauty. At last not willing to be subject to these his extreme and tormenting Passions resolved to commit the greatest Villainy as ever could be invented or thought upon. He had an intimate Friendship and Familiarity with the Procurer not only of that Convent, but also of the whole Province, who had in his keeping and custody all the Moneys of the Rents and Tithes belonging to the Monasteries. Which having very large and rich Foundations, made the Revenues to be the bigger. It happened then that this Agilar one Winter Night, went to this Procurer's Chamber, and after they had exchanged many Words in a familiar Discourse betwixt them, they began to play at Drafts. Agilar on purpose did always lose, whereby the Procurer being accended (as commonly them that win are) did protract the Play till two of the clock, after Midnight; and being the time was so far spent, Agilar said to the Procurer: Being it is so late, it is impossible for me to go to my Chamber, without being heard, and if any one should perceive or hear me at this hour of commanded silence, I should doubtless undergo a great Punishment. The Procurer answered him, Father Agilar, for that you may escape this danger, there is no need you should go to your Chamber, stay here with me, and lie with me in my Bed. Friar Agilar answered; Because the day is approaching I will not undress myself, but lie down so as I am upon one of your Chests, till it be Day, and then go to my own Chamber. The Procurer being content with what he said, undressed himself, and lay down in his naked ●ed. Friar Agilar, seeing the Procurer in a sound Sleep, took a Dagger (which he had for that purpose made ready) and coming to his Bedside, thrust the Dagger into his Breast, and so most cruelly murdered him. Afterwards taking the Keys out of his Pocket, went to the Chest wherein the Money was kept, and opening the same, (not willing to take any Silver Money because of its heaviness) took two thousand Pieces of Gold. Having done that, he shuts the Procurer's Door after him, and easily getting over the Convent's Wall, betakes himself to his Father's House; where after he had knocked at the Door, the People of the House opening the same, were all amazed at his so untimely and unseasonable coming, he being a Priest, and bound by the Canons of the Convent, not to absent himself from his Chamber (being in City) about that time of Night: So they go to their Master, his Father, and tells him how that his Son Friar Agilar, was there; Who extremely admiring at his coming, did presently inquire after the Reason of it. The Friar presently told him, how he had been at Drafts with the Procurer, and how in the midst of the play they fell into some quarrel, wherein the Procurer behaved himself so unmannerly, that he abused him after the saddest rate in the World; which he not being able to suffer, took a Dagger, and made him speechless by killing of him, whom he could not make hold his Tongue by civil Admonitions; and that he having locked his Door, betook himself to him, for to desire him, because he intended to go to Rome for an Absolution, he might provide immediately all things necessary for him, for that there was no time for talking or staying any longer. The Father very sorry, with Tears and Sighs, for that great mischance which happened to his Son, lamented his Condition, and seeing there was no other Remedy gave him some Money, ●nd secular Apparel, with a good Horse, to carry him to Rome. Friar Agilar being thus furnished, did go into a Bush, not far distant from the City, where he killed his Horse, and having digged a hole, buried his Horse, with Saddle, Bridle and all. The next Morning after, he being in a Worldly Dress, returned to the City, and went to one of his intimate Friends, and having opened unto him the whole Concern, desired that he might stay with him without fear, and that his Friend in the mean time, should observe all what he heard of him, and inquire what the Monks intended. But his Friend could never hear any thing of it, because the Monks either for fear of Scandal, or some other cause, had buried the Procurer, without having given the least hint of it to any, besides the Murderers Father, who feigned himself to know nothing of the business. A Month after, having bought a Horse, and all things convenient, he went to Ossuna: where being arrived, he asked of his Landlord, what Men was there to be found which were renowned of Wisdom, Piety, and Learning. The Landlord telling him of many, amongst the rest he mentioned the Curate of the City, whom he, as a wise old Man, and in his proceed very sage, did recommend above others. Friar Agilar hearing this, immediately goeth to the Curate, and delivers him a Letter, as if it were from his Father (which he purposely had caused to be written.) The Words of the Letter were these.  
SIR,  
I Do admire that you have never been pleased to answer me, not the least Word, to so many Letters of mine unto you directed. Howsoever I present my humble Service to you, by this present. In the mean time, because Psend my Son to your University, for the study of Civil Law; I desire you to take care of him, because he is young, and to show all the kindness you can. Farewell. From Your  
Mexico. A. D. Diego Taviria.  
The Curate hearing this, with many signs of Admiration, after he had a long time thought of, and ruminated the business, could not call to memory any such Person as Diego Taviria; saying to the Friar: Sir, either you or your Father are mistaken, for I am persuaded I never knew such a Man in all my Life. But since the Letter is directed to me, and I know no Body here about of that Name; wherein I am able to serve you, I will do it with all my Heart. Friar Agilar answered, I do not know how my Father should fall into this Error, how soever because I deem you to be an honest, sober, and a pious Man: I intent to give into your Custody, these two thousand pieces of Gold which I have ●rought with me (pulling them 〈◊〉 the mean time out) out of which you shall give me as much ●s I need for Victuals, Drink, ●nd Apparel, for I intent to stay ●ere a while, and study the Civil Law, at a House of some honest Lawyer, and renowned for his Practice. The Curate seeing the Money, and hearing his Resolution (being incited by Covetousness) immediately striking at his Forehead, as if he had called him to memory, cries out, Oh Lord! I beg Pardon at your Hands, Sir; Now I have called to memory your good honest Father. How does (Pray) honest Taviria? how well, how pleasantly, and how friendly we lived one with another in our Youth, how many tricks had we together? Good Taviria! Pray how many Children hath he got? how doth he do? is he well in Health, and what Wealth hath he got at Mexico? Agilar, who only desired to bring this to pass, of the Curate's professing himself to be acquainted with his Father, having shortly answered him upon his Demands, and having taken from him a Bond of Security, delivered up the Money into his Hands, having lest something in his Pocket for daily Expense. But before he departed from him, he enquired of the Curate, what Lawyers there were in the City, that were honest pious, prudent, and Learned. The Curate told him of many, and amongst the rest, of the Husband of that Gentlewoman which he came for. From thence he went directly to the House of this Lawyer, and finding him at home, told him his Errand; as likewise how his Father had written a Letter from Mexico to the Curate, with whom he had been acquainted in his Youth, and had been his School-fellow: and since the Curate had told him of his integrity of Life, and dexterity in his Affairs, he was willing and desirous to live in his House, not willing to be burdensome to him in any thing, besides in being informed by him in the practice of Law, for which his pains he would allow him fifty Crowns monthly. The Lawyer being somewhat jealous (as the Nature of Spaniards is) because of his Wife's Beauty, did view this young Gentleman from top to bottom, and afterwards told him; Sir, there are so many wicked and malicious Men in this Age, that we ought to use great circumspection, whom we do entertain in our Houses; yet notwithstanding all this, because the Curate knows you, and you promise me this Reward: We will go to the Curate together, and in his presence make a Composition of our Business. So they both went to the Curate, who after the proposition of the Matter, presently answered, he would engage for him with all he had. This being done, the Lawyer admits him into his House, and appointed him a Chamber, where he was obliged to eat always by himself, lest he should come to see his Wife. This cunning Friar shown always to the ●awyer the greatest respect in ●e World, and did not only pay ●im punctually what he had agreed upon: but moreover, he presented him with great Gifts, and made many other extraordinary expenses: whereof the Lawyer being ashamed, and not willing he should do himself any harm by so much Charges, said once to him; Sir, there is no need you should be at such great expenses, I am sufficiently satisfied with your Civility, neither would I desire that for my sake you should do prejudice to yourself. Notwithstanding all this, Friar Agilar did not leave off his usual manner. At last it happened once, the Lawyer caused him to be called down to that Chamber where he dined with his Wife. Friar Agilar, no less astonished, than merry, goeth thither, and entering the Chamber espied the Gentlewoman (which he had not seen as yet) and perceived that the relation of the other. Friar was nothing answerable to her exceeding Beauty, & as much short in comparison, as if the Sun had been drawn by a Coal. The Lawyer in the mean time saith to him: Though my Wife is not used to admit any Body into her Society besides me, nevertheless because you seem an honest and a discreet Gentleman, I have determined you should from henceforth Dine and Sup with us. He thanking him most humbly, dissembled his Love towards her, so that at the Dinner time he never lifted up his Eyes, but with great Medesty; having done his Din●er, bid them Farewell. Once it ●ll out, that after Dinner, the ●awyer played at the Tables with ●is Wife, and that in the mean time a Triend of his came to talk with him, so that he being forced ●o leave his Game, and being near to winning, would not give it over, but desired the young Gentleman to take notice in his absence, lest his Wife should set wrong the men, for her own advantage. After the Lawyer was gone down, he very often thought to open unto her the Inclinations he had towards her, but being repressed by fear, did not; until she, being desirous to win, supposing him to be a good Gamester, demanded of him, if he could not show her a way whereby she might overcome her Husband: he thus answered her; Madam, I would show you a way whereby you might over come as well me as your Husband. There he began to expound to her all the matter, how he was a Gentleman's Son, had heard of her Celestial Beauty, and not having seen her, fell in love with her, and how he had contrived to be admitted into her House; and having looked for many opportunities to disburden his Thoughts before her, could never find any besides this, therefore he falling at her Feet, embraced the same, desiring Mercy and Clemency at her hands. She being astonished, having not been assaulted in that way any time before: besides, ●eing of a resolution to be faithful to her Husband in Duties of Honesty, fell into a rage so ex●reme, that she in a fuming way ●egan to speak to him thus: O thou greatest Villain in the World, and Knave, not worthy whom the Earth should bear, are you come hither to bereave me of my Honesty, and against all 〈◊〉 awes of Nature, defile the Bed of Holy Matrimony; Thou art not a Nobleman, but some pitiful Rascal, because against all Hospitality and Kindness of my Husband exhibited to you, you desire to turn my Heart from him; and so speaking some other Words, she catches up the Tables, and throws them at his Head, making a great noise; which the Husband hearing, presently runs to the Chamber Whereat the Friar amazed, d●● not know what in the World t● say: But the Gentlewoman no● willing to do any harm to thei● Guest, turned the whole matte● thus. This Gentleman would have taught me some tric● whereby I might win and over come you, and I perceiving is could go on, I was ordering the Men according as I thought best and in doing so I unawares threw down the Tables (with my Sleeve, and so came this noise to be. The Lawyer hearing that, was satisfied, laughing at the whole matter as a thing vile and of no consequence. In the mean time Friar Agilar, all disturbed, discomforted, and ashamed, not without fear of being discovered 〈◊〉 his intentions, repaired to ●●s Chamber, and immediately mooned away, falling into such 〈◊〉 extremity of a dangerous ●●ckness, that they all gave him ●ver for lost. The Lawyer who ●●eady loved him not only for ●inin, but also for Friendshipand ●amiliarity's sake, was extremely sorry for him, and not only visited him his own self, but also made him to be attended by Servants and Nurses; providing for him all things he thought fit and necessary. Once having a great deal to do, and not having time to wait upon him, desired his Wife to give him a visit, and to comfort him in his Sickness. She willingly did it, either out of a will to obey her Husband's Commands, or to have an opportunity of talking with her Captive Being with him, and overweighing that he was so dangerously Sick, and looked almost as Death and that for her sake, she turned Hatred into Love, and began thus to reason with him. Are you a Gentleman of a noble Blood, and lose your Courage and Stoutness at the first stroke? do not you know, that not the first assaulting of the Enemy, but the perseverance in the desire of overcoming, carries away the Victory? Besides, though Gentlewomen may have a good Inclination at the first sight of their supposed Lovers, yet they will not let it be seen, for fear that sooner yielding, should cause a greater contempt of their dexterity. And if I should have consented to your Demands at your first proposal, surely you had, notwithstanding your long Patience and long Travels, hated me as much as ever you loved me before. Cheer up therefore, and take a good Heart, and be careful of your Health and Recovery, which doing, you will oblige me to yield to your desires, as soon as ever you shall recover. The desperate Friar being erected by those hopes began to mend, and in a very short time after, quite recovered himself. After this the Lawyer's Wife instructed him, how he might come to her without being seen by any, or without the least suspicion of her Husband. As namely, that he should fain himself to be somewhat indisposed, and desire the Lawyer, her Husband, that no Body should come to his Chamber to disturb him; and then she would look for an opportunity to let him into her Chamber, and hid him behind the Curtains, till her Husband should fall asleep, and then she would admit him into her Company: And this she did, because her Husband was so jealous, that he always locked the Door of his Chamber on the inside, so that neither she could come out, nor he come in. According to this their Agreement the business was done. And the Lawyer (as the fashion there is) having locked all the Doors, and taken the Keys with him, went to Bed, The Echo of this Friar's Sickness, came to the Curates Ears; who either out of Love towards this Gentleman, or else for the love of the Money he had in his Custody, came that very same Night to visit him, and knocking hard at the Door made the Lawyer rise out of his Bed; He coming down, asked him, who it was that knocked so hard at the Door? The Curate answered it was he, and that he hearing of his Son's (so he called this Fryer's) indisposition could not forbear but come to him. The Lawyer answered. He might spare his pains, for that the Gentleman had desired not to be troubled by any, and he, because of his Civility, was bound to do him that kindness, as to admit to his Chamber no Body, whatever he might be. But the Curate insisting much upon it, that he would see him whatsoever should be come of it, and obliging very much the Lawyer to admit him to the speech of his Son, he at last had the Door opened to him, and both he and the Lawyer went to his Chamber Door, which he finding open immediately went in, and not finding him within, presently suspected something extraordinary, especially remembering his great courtesies he shown to his Wife, and that noise we spoke of something higher, he began to be jealous of her, and at last concluded he must necessarily be with her. Still he dissembled all his suspicion before the Curate, and said, May be he is gone out for some while, to take the fresh Air, in this cool Night, and finding himself to be somewhat better than before, he stays a little longer than ordinary. The Curate being satisfied by these Words, took his leave of the Lawyer, and went his ways; after whose departure, the Lawyer (as we told you) perceiving the business, goeth immediately towards his Chamber, and taking his naked Sword in his hand searches for the Traitor; which the Gentlewoman seeing, out of love to her new Servant, goeth towards her Husband, and puts out the Candle. After this, Friar Agilar, being a lusty stout young Man, taketh hold of the Lawyer, wrings his Sword out of his Hands, and kills him immediately with his own Weapon. The Servants of the House, as well a other Neighbours, hearing the great tumult and noise, which those two Combatants had made did altogether rise, and causing the Door to be broke open, saw the Lawyer Murdered, and took Friar Agilar Prisoner, the Gentlewoman in the mean time escaping into a Nunnery. There was the beginning of this doleful Woman's Tragedy, and a part of the Fryer's innumerable Wickednesses. Now this Gentlewoman having been a long time in the place of her Refuge, at last would be in the use of a greater Liberty, and by the means of her Friends, and Relations was sent to another City a great ways distant from Ossuna. Being there she bearing a kindness for this wicked and unfortunate Friar, writ to him a Letter, wherein she explained her great desire she had to see him, and beseeching him to get out of the Prison by all means he could, told him the Town and place where she was; praying he should not stay long from her, but come to the comfort of her, whom he had made miserable by his Affection. 〈◊〉 receiving this Letter was extremely affected with it, not knowing how in the mean time to contrive, that he might get lose, or break out of Prison. At last he resolved by the first opportunity to kill the Keeper of the Prison, which he also performed, and by this means got out himself, and let out all the rest of the Prisoners, and so escaped. Now his only desire was to see hi● Mistress, which to obtain he directly goeth towards the City where she lived, and having found her out, immediately went to her, desirous to accomplish his long passions, to which he was invited by the Gentlewoman's own Letter. She either because of his long absence, or else touched with the Death of her Dear Husband, whom she had so untimely lost for his sake, would not yield now to his desire, but bid him go his ways, and forbear her company. He notwithstanding that did not cease to give her visits: But not being able to obtain any thing of her, it happened once they were both by themselves in a Chamber, where he having received a full denial of her kindness, most cruelly Murders her, and having left her in her own blood, goeth his ways, escaping into Nalentia, where he became a Captain of the Banditis, (which are a sort of Robbers and Highwaymen.) Which life he did lead a matter of two or three years, committing such cruelties and excessess, as Busins or another ●hadamantus had never Committed.  
To kill a Man was his only delight, and many a time after he had half killed them, he tormented them after the most exquisite manner, he ever could invent. He had a deal of Pleasure to see how the dying Men behaved themselves in their agonies, as if he had not been contented to kill their Bodies, unless he see the very separation of their Souls from them, cruelty being of that Nature, that it Breathes nothing but the utter ruin and Destruction of its Object.  
Once he met with a Chirurgeon, and perceiving what he was, demanded of him what was best for a heavy obstinated Stomach. The Physician answered him a Purge should be very good for it. But the Friar answering he could take nothing in of himself, the Chirurgeon replied, there was another way of Purging, by a clyster, whom the Friar as if he had not known what it was, asked how it might be, and proceeding, (he telling him it was conveyed to the entrails by the Fundament,) the Friar said, I must try that art first upon your own self, to see what operation it may have in you, and then I will use it. So he commanded his Men to take hold of him, and having filled a Hunting Horn full with Gunpowder, caused the same to be stopped into his Breech, and afterwards made the top of the Horn very close, which being done he commanded the Powder should be kindled, and this being done also, the good Chirurgeon was rend in pieces, and so lamentably lost his life.  
Another time he meets with a Man and his Wife, whom he takes, and having abused her most villainously, by the fulfilling of his abominable Lusts, he causes her to be bound to a Tree, and makes her (she being big●● with Child) After the Neronian● cruelty to be ripped oqens, to see in what manner and fashion the Child lay in its Mother's Belly, and having seen all this, commands her heart to be torn out and to be put into the Embrios Mouth to choke him, for that the same heart which gave life both to Mother and Child should now be the cause of their Deaths.  
And who can tell all that this most sad and brutal wretch committed, to pain Men to Death, to cut of People's Ears and Noses, privy parts, to put one Eye out and leave the other half blind, it was his only Pleasure and Recreation. At last the People complaining so much of this disorder, to the Viceroy he caused a strong party of Soldiers to go against this Friar Agilar and his Companions, who being utterly routed, the Friar seeing himself quite undone, betakes himself to a place (which was a dry pit,) wherein he often in time of extremity was used to hid himself. whereof the Viceroy being informed, by one of the Captains of his side, immediately sent a company of Soldiers to take him. They coming there desired him to come out promising pardon in the Name of his Majesty of Spain. But neither the hopes of Pardon, nor any other reasons which the Soldiers used as means to get him, could not prevail with him. Yea, on the contrary side he most filthily abused them, calling them as many Rogues and Knaves as 〈◊〉 himself had committed Villainies, and if any of the● ventured to go down, he ●●ving his Gun charged immediately did shoot at them and kil● them, till at last he miserabl● and desperately died in that hole for want of victuals and drink Which the Viceroy hearing o● made him to be drawn out, and having brought him into the City, he commanded first his Head to be cut off, and afterwards made him to be quartered, the Head being placed upon a High Steeple, and the quarters at the corners of four Highways, leading towards the City. This was the Tragical Life of Fryor Agilar, and his miserable and desperate end. All this came to pass in the Reign of Philip the ●urth of Spain.   

too Friars Ruffino and Valeno, goeth out at nights very often out of their Covent privately, by a Gate, and Houseth with their Amorous Ladies, at last one being forced to it by necessity kills the other, and the Murderer is also killed by his Lady's Husband.  
IN Sarragoza, the chief City of the Kingdom of Arragon, was resident a Noble Person, for his gentile behaviour, Riches, and Valour, very much looked upon and esteemed by all. This Married a young Gentlewoman called Emilia, not less heatful than Noble. The same Gentlem●● whom (for some particular respects,) We call will Aurelio, notwithstanding the Beauty and th● charms of his new Spouse, di● always much divert himself 〈◊〉 broad, and many a time feigning to have great businesses about the Court, absented himself from home for many days. The Gentlewoman commonly didgo to Church, to a certain Covent, where Father Ruffino, her Confessor was resident, and by that opportunity she took an occasion of complaining before him, a bout the vicious life of her Husband, not knowing by what means she might reduce him to the sense of his folly as well as Duty. Friar Ruffino did comfort her as much as he could, and visited her very often, which no ●ody took ill, for that the most retired and close Houses are (notwithstanding the Natural jealous of the Spaniards,) always open ●o the Friars. Emelia, in profess of time, began to be very ●amiliar with the Friar; and either out of Love or viciousness, or else out of revenge, she owed their Husband for his disdain, cherished up her sick heart with the presence and company of this Godly Father. And this their impudence had so far taken root in their hearts, that they would not content themselves with their daily recreations, but would continue the same by ●aight also. In order to that the Friar came many nights to her, by a private entry of her Garden, to the Door of which he had Key, and coming into h● Chamber took possession of h● Husbands Bed.  
Friar Ruffino had another Friar called Valerio not very much u● like himself, to whom as an entire Friend of his, he revealed a● his secrets about his Love; an● entertainment at the Lady House. Valerio again told to hi● all his amorous proceedings which he had with his Mistre●● to which he also determin●● to reveal all what Ruffino ha● told him about himself. So these two knowing their mutual proceed, and being of a like temper, agreed amongst themselves to go out every night and day together, when they could obtain the Superiors Licence, who commonly ap●ints companions according to ●s Pleasure. In the Garden of ●is Covent in a by place, was a ●ate by which the Water disburdened itself into the Channel, by his these two Friars betwixt two ●ars did always go out, not without a great deal of difficulty. And because they went to divers places ●nd by several Sreets, they made ●n agreement between them, ●hat he who came first, should ●lay for the Companion. Always when they went out, they were dressed in a Worldly dress, and well armed, not only with Swords, but also with pocket Pistols, a kind of Arms, which in that Kingdom is of a General use, especially in the night time. Friar Valerio being blinded by his love or rather by his Sin, told to h● Strumpet all the bunners abou● Ruffino. It fell out that one night either because of jealousy, or fo● something else, Valerius abuse● his Mistress most sadly, not only with words, but also with blows and so went his ways, going directly to the accustomed Gate, for to stay there for his Fellow Ruffino. Who was already come there; and was in the Garden waiting for Valerio. He as soon as he came thither began to enter, and, putting his Head between the ribs of the Gate, strove after the unusual manner to go in, but it fell so out, that he stuck fast, not being able to go either forwards or backwards. The miserable Friars were extremely troubled at this, because the day was aproching, where if they ●oth should remain they should be known and suffer severely. Friar Valerio being in the lurch, threatened the other, that if so be he would not help him out, but leave him there, he would discover all the life and conversation of them both. Friar Ruffino hearing this, and being on the other side of the Gate, said to him; what profit shall you have of it if you do ruin me, is not fit enough you should suffer yourself, if I could help you out I would with all my heart, but since I cannot, and you protest you shall discover me also; I shall find out a remedy for your silence, and drawing out his Dagger, cut off his Head, and having buried it in a very hidden place of the Garden, went his ways to his Chamber. The People in the Morning passing by and seeing him ly● there, were extremely scandalised. The matter coming into the Ears of the Magistrate, they presently commanded him to b● carried to the open Market place for that every one might take: view of him, if perhaps by his  or any other Mark or Sign, some should come to know him but no body could tell any thing of him. Though they missed Friar Valerio in the Covent that very same day when he was killed, and saw his  and all his Apparel in his Chamber, yet they either could not be persuaded it was he that was exposed in the Market to the view of all, or else would not acknowledge him for theirs, for fear of Scandal and for preserving the credit and existimation of the Covent. The Murderer not knowing, that his secrets, by the ill conduct of his Companion in concealing such matters, were made public, and being certain, that no living Soul had seen him killing Valerio, was in a great quietness of his perverse mind; and continued to give visits to his Lady Aurelio in the mean time, when this was acting in Saragoza, and in his own House, he spent his time at Madrid. The dead Friar's Mistress, knew him presently by his  and other signs, for she had often seen him, but The held her Tongue because of her own Peril. She Loved him entirely, notwithstanding he had treated her so unworthily, a●● therefore to revenge her se● on this Murderer, was a cau●● of many Tragical, and Scanned lous accidents. She than Wr●● a Letter to that place where th● Husband of Emilia was tarrying, sending him word of a● what was done, and every day passed at his House. Aureli● hearing this, as if he had awaked out of a sound, and deep sleep did take Post from Madrid to Saragoza. Being there incognito, in a House of one of hi● Friends, he espied the Friar one night when he had passed by. One night the Friar did enter by the Door of the Garden, where the Gentleman was watching his coming out, having patience till then, and not willing to bereave him of his en●terprize. At last Russino came ●ut, whom Valero did follow afar off. And seeing him throwing in his Cloak, Hat, and Arms, ●●rough the Grate, stayed till ●e had put in his Head between ●he ribs to creep into the Gar●en, and perceiving he was already about it, runs hearty towards him, and having stabbed him in several places, at last he cut off his Head, and putting his hand through the ribs, threw his Head into the Garden as far as he could, and his Body was left at the mouth of the Grate. Afterwards Aurelio, returned into the House of his Friend, where he kept privately for some time. Being there, he caused by the means of his Friend, that Woman to be Poisoned that ha● sent him this news, about th● business of his Wife and Ruffin● the like he did to Emilia his Wife because of her lechery, and immediately returned to Madri● where he fell into Melancholy and being extremely ill, an● near to his Death, made a Letter to be written to the Vice-R● of Saragoza, giving him notice of all that had happened, as we●● touching his Wife as the other Harlot, together with the manner of the Life of both the Friars desiring him that he should cause the lives and conversations 〈◊〉 the Holy Friars to be looke● after somewhat narrower.   

An abominable Sin of a Knight of Malta, committed by the assist●ance of a Monk, upon a young Gentleman, and of the ensuing Punishment for it.  
A Poland Gentleman (whose Name for some particular Reasons, I will not mention, but call him here Eranthe) of a Noble House and an Illustrious Family; being enslamed with a desire to go for Italy, a Country greatly renowned over all the World, and especially to Rome, as well to take a view of the old Monuments, and Antiquities; which in their very Ruins shows as yet the Glory and the Pomp of that Nation; which made one Monarchy out of the Universe, as to spend his time 〈◊〉 all sorts of virtuous exercise● dresseth his train, and with a● honest equipage, arrives at la●● to Florence. The Beauty of th● City, and the courteous entertainment which he received at the Court of the great Duke made him to stay longer there then ever he had done at any other place, since his departing from his own Country. Some times he run a race with a managed Horse, whom he kept on purpose, sometimes he went to Chase a Dear with the Prince, and every where he shown himself so brave and so able, that he was very acceptable to the best Gentlemen of the City. Moreover his Beauty served him greatly; he being so pretty, that his like was not to be found almost in the whole World: His Eyes were round and black, his Hair short and curled, his Face lively and of a good colour, being painted with the mixture of Roses and Lilies, in short he was all handsome and well proportioned. As for the rest, he had not as yet attained to the nineteenth year of his age. All these his Qualities. Beauty, Youth, Valour, and Riches, made him so commendable every where, that he gained the Love of all. Having been there longer than he had intended, at last being willing to pursue his intended pereg●●ation, took his leave of all at Florence, and intended for Rome. But falling somewhat indisposed by the way, sojourned for a day or two in a Village where he had first taken 〈◊〉 Lodgings: During that time, 〈◊〉 Knight of 〈◊〉 whom we sha● call 〈◊〉, not willing to t● his proper Name, because o● th● honour which we ought to have of Illustrious Families, as his was arrived to that same Lodging where Eranthe was; Flamin● had seen him at the great Duke▪ Court, a cursed and an execrable love towards the beauty of this Gentleman, made so passionate that he was in the very bonds or Death. He thought of nothing else, then of getting means for the performing of his infamous delight. A Sin cursed and detestable, abhorred by God and Nature. This abominable passion made him stay sometime at Florence, for see if any occasion, whatsoever it might be should offer itself, that he might accomplish his desire; but seeing that he aimed at a thing impossible, he was resolved to lay aside the pursuit. Afterwards, being it fell out, that the young Gentleman was in the same Lodging where he had arrived, and that he was ready to departed the next Morning to go for Rome, he found out a trick as subtle and cunning for contriving, as cursed for the executing of it. He dissembleth as if he had never seen 〈◊〉, but having got opportunity to apply himself to one of his Household, he particularly informeth himself of his descent, of the name of his nearest Relations, and of those Lands and Goods he posiessed in P●la●● After he had learned more thing than he ever demanded, whi●● he set down upon a Paper, th● better to remember it, he departed next Morning after, following always Eranthe, by little and little, to know where he should lodge, without speaking a Word to him, or making himself any ways known. So Eranthe took his Lodgings at Rome next to the Bear, and the Knight just over against him. The Poland Gentleman was no sooner come to Rome, but he began to spend his time either in the Academies; or else where any exercises of Virtue were Practised. His Beauty, and his Dress, joined with his Free and Courteus Humour, acquired to him the kindness of all the World. Fla●●nio thought upon all the means he could, to fulfil his Will, either by E●anthe's consent, or by ●orce, but presently chose the latter before the former, by reason ●e could not be ignorant that Franthe would never give his consent to it. At last disputing, how to bring to pass his Design, resolved to quit Rome, and to go for Naples, as well by staying there to put out of his Head this ●abominable Fancy which he so secretly kept in his Breast, as because he had little or no acquaintance at Rome. In the mean time when this Knight was at his House in Naples, not knowing what might happen for the future. Eranthe had at Rome the Name of the most accomplished Gentleman, that ever wa● seen. Thinking afterwards h● had seen Rome sufficiently, h● took a fancy to go for Naple to see that City whose surname is Gentile. In order to that h● made his Servants make a● things ready for their departure But O! miserable and unhappy Gentleman, whether art tho● going? The greatest affront, tha● ever could happen to any Gentles man of thy Degree and Quality attends thee. Would to G●● thou hadst been still in thy ow● Country, without ever having a Design to pass the Alps. ●ranthe arrived thither, during that time, wherein they mad●● Bonfires for Joy, for they celebrated the Marriage day of the King of Spain. They spoke no thing but of Triumphs, of Ringrunnings, of Combats upon the Stages, and of Running of Rats. The Spa●●iards and the I●al●●●● being inflamed with envy one against the other did strive to show their Achivity before one another. As the Poland Gentleman, went one day to the place where they celebrated the ●east, Flamino did espy him, and knew him presently. The cursed and execrable love, which by that time he had somewhat extinguished in his Heart, began to be kindled again more violently than ever before. When he was informed where he lodged, he stayed one day in the Street by which Eranthe was to pass. As soon as he saw him, he lighted off from his Horse, and run to embrace him. Eranthe being 〈◊〉 astonished at his new Compliments, lighted down also excusing himself because of that small acquaintance he had with him. Ha' Sir! quoth the other▪ if you do not know me at all, I am not ignorant who you are. Your Father is called the Earl of Plest, a brave Cavalier as ever was to be found in the World. He shown his signal Valour in that famous Battle, which the Polanders won against the Tarters, which hath rendered him famous, and the glory of his Memory everlasting. You have an Uncle whose name is Baron of Anty. I received of him a deal of kindness in the time of my staying in Poland, where I stayed almost four years, for some Affairs concerning our Order. In short, I am so highly obliged to your Blood, that I possess nothing ●n the World which should not ●●e at any time at your Service. Eranthe being amazed at this Acquaintance, and believing all to be true what the other said, thanked him for his good Will, and in exchange of that he offered all whatsoever lay in his Power or Command. That is not all saith the other, I will not suffer by any means you should use any other Lodging besides mine: You shall be better accommodated, and attended with a deal of greater Devotion, than where you lodge at present: for I have received other greater kindnesses of your Relations than this is. The Poland Gentleman continued to give thanks, ex●●sing himself because of that 〈◊〉 he made to him, for going to 〈◊〉 House, believing he should 〈◊〉 troublesome to him. Upon 〈◊〉 this, the other answered 〈◊〉 courteously, preying him so muc● to do what he denred, that h●● was constrained, lea●● he might be taken for an uncivil and ●ll natured Person, not to condescen● to his Demands. So he we●● with him, and was placed in the bravest Lodgings in his ●●ouse. Flaminio offering himself to treat him after the most magn●●cent way he could. He also resolved to do him all sorts of Pleasures. He made him frequent the best Companies, and all the Rarities of the City. Having thus entangled Eranthe by his Artifices, ●nd feigned Kindness; the unfortunate and detestable Man, not ●eing able to forbear longer his ●nnatural Love, he had compounded with a Friar, as unlucky and detestable as himself. This Resolution being taken, these unlucky Men put it into execution after this manner; 〈◊〉 went one day to condu●● 〈◊〉 to his Coach; They went out of the Town, and afterwards riding in the Coach, the Knight of Ma●●a did go directly to the Covent which we immediately spoke of When they were near to it, he feigned before the Gentleman, as if he had some business of importance; so that he commanded his Coach man to stand at the Door. Sir, (quoth he to the Polander) be pleased to give me leave to go in here, an● talk a little to a Friar living here. There is no necessity answers th● other, to demand leave abou● such a business as this, I will ac● company you if you please. Flaminio made himself seem as if he would not trouble him with a denial of his being conveyed by him, for that he would come again immediately. At last he went out of his Coach and entered the Covent, being accompanied by the Polander. He betook himself to a solitary place, where the Monk stayed for him. This Monk being possessed by the Devil, made them go into a Chamber where a Collation was made ready. He made them to put off their Hats and their Swords. and afterwards made them drink stoutly. When they were pretty ●●rry, Flaminio approaching to 〈◊〉, began thus to speak to 〈◊〉.  
My Lord Eranthe, there is no necessity I should use many ●ords to make you under●nd my Intention; your Beau●● and good Grace, have so in●med my love towards you, ●at I must obtain that at your ●nd which I desire; or else, you ●ust die immediately. Choose 〈◊〉 these two things which you ●ill, either to satisfy my desire, 〈◊〉 die. If you make me happy of ●our own accord, you are secure ●s well of your Life, as of ha●ing a Friend, who shall be bound ●o you for ever. Resolve to give ●●e satisfaction presently, or else ●o suffer what I spoke of. Having said this, he held a pistol to his Head ready to d●● charge. The Friar on the other side, having seized upon h● Sword, which he held drawn 〈◊〉 his Hand, threatened him wit● Death, if so be he would not yield to their desires. The poor Gentleman was greatly astonished seeing himself thus surprise without Sword or Cane. The Image of Death did present 〈◊〉 self before his Eyes on the on● side, and on the other the detestable ●●n which they were going to commit upon him. Sometime he was resolved to bear the Tre● pass, sometimes to suffer Death so he was all this while in a Gallance, betwixt the one thing an● the other. Make haste says Fi●minio, otherwise you are a Man 〈◊〉 Death. I desire you, answered the Gentleman, have pity upon me and do not treat me so unworthily. We have stayed too long answers the Friar, 'tis necessary he should die: Having said this, he made as if he would have run him through with his own Sword, and Flaminio seemed as if he would have discharged the Pistol. Stay Gentlemen (saith the Polander, whom the fear of Death had already besieged) I'll do all you please, provided you'll grant me my Life. Have no fear of Death saith Flaminio, I'll above all this sacrifice my whole Goods and Possessions to and for you, after you have consented to what I have proposed to you: See how the fear of Death maketh the Polander to permit the Knight of Malta t● do what he desired. The Friar had his share also. O Heavens 〈◊〉 where is your fears! Why do no● you thunder at these execrable Wretches? After the Achievement of this pretty Deed, they took a resolution of putting him to Death, thereby the better to cover their misdemeanour. But Eranthe who was always suspecting their Design, presently after the unhappy Deed flies to the Knight, falls about his Neck. kissing and cherishing him after the best manner he could invent. I find saith he, your embracing so sweet, that I beseech you, we may not be separated one from the other for ever; I know that what you have done to me, did proceed out of a great love you bore towards me, & as much ●s you love me, believe me I love ●ou a great deal better. These ●nd the like Discourses, sweet ●nd flattering, attended by so many charms as was possible to ●e invented; were of that power as to impeach their resolution, they had of sending him to the other World. They still drank together, and the Poland Genaleman appeared the most con●ented Man of the World, for that by this means of flattery, he might escape the cruelty of their Hands. At last the night being come. Flaminio and Eranthe took their leave of the Friar, went out of the Covent, entered the Coach, and returned to their Lodging, where the Knight thought to lie with the Polander. But he going out of the Coach, feigned as 〈◊〉 he had gone to the house of Office, and from thence presenth went to the Post house, whe● he demanded a Horse, and paying what was their due, without any Company, besides that of 〈◊〉 Postilion, that very same hou● went for Rome. He made 〈◊〉 great haste, that he got to Rom. the next Morning betimes. Th● same day Pope Clement the VIII gave public audience to all the World. The Poland Gentle man, without going to the Vatican, enters the Hall, where the Holy Father did sit, and approaching to him, throws himself down at his Feet; demanding him to do Justice of an Affront the most horrid and execrable, as ever a mortal Man could have received. The good Pope, seeing ●ch a brave Gentleman so dole●● and crying; was taken with ●●tty, and would be informed ●●mself about the whole matter 〈◊〉 touching his evil. Alas! Ho●● Father, saith he, the subject 〈◊〉 my Grief is so excerable, that 〈◊〉 have a horror to rehearse it before you. Give me leave that another, and not I myself, may open it to your Holiness. The Pope being amazed at this News, gave orders immediately to his Recorder, to take a particular information of all the business. He did the same, and after the Gentleman had opened the whole progress of a most unchristian action, he reported afterwards to the Pope, whatsoever he had told him. The good Father, having perceived, such a●● execrable forfeit; was touche● with so great a compassion, that a stream of Tears run down hi● Cheeks. After this he presently dispatched a Provost, with Soldiers, and with Patent Letters, to make his address to the Viceroy, commanding him, under the guilt of Excommunication, to aid and assist him. The Provost in few days arrived to Naples, and the first thing he did, was to surprise Flaminio, who had taken a resolution to change his Lodgings the very same day, foreseeing very well what might in process of time happen to him. After this he went to the Covent, and entering showed the Letters of the Pope, and took the Friar a Prisoner. The Viceroy begun ●o make questions about the taking of Flaminio, because he was of 〈◊〉 noble Lineage; but the People was of a mind, that such excesses as these should not escape unpunished. At last he was taken, with his Accomplice, by the shands of the Provost who sent them for Rome. He caused them to be made fast at the Tower called Nun, where they stayed but a little while. Their process was quickly brought to an end, and they having confessed the Crime, they were contented to die. The Knight, should have his Head cut off at the Bridge of Angelo; and his Body burned. And the Friar, was to be hanged, strangled, and burned. Eranthe after he had seen them executed, either for Shame or for penitence of his committed guilt by reason of his assent, went his ways, and was never heard or seen after.   

The horrible Excesses committed by a religious Woman, by the instigation of the Devil.  
IN the Land of Egypt, is an Isle called Meroe, which the renowned River of Nilus maketh famous. A Country very pleasant and fertile, above all the rest of the Universe. The Inhabitants of the place are all Christians and very devout. But particularly there was a noble Family called Abila, very much praised for the continuance in the Catholic Religion. The chief of this House espoused once 〈◊〉 handsome and a wise Gentlewoman, of an illustrious Family of Merala. The Gentleman was called Nicander, and the Gentlewoman Gallicia. Out of their lawful Bed came forth six Sons, and ten Daughters. The Eldest of them called Melissa, was endowed with such an excellent Beauty, that she led Captive the Eyes of all them that saw her. Nature had accomplished her with all outward Perfections; insomuch, that she had scarce attained to the twelfth year of her age, but she was courted in order to Marriage, by an infinite number of Gentlemen, of the best degree of that Country. The Mother gave particular Ear to the pursuit of a brave Gentleman whose Fame was very much renowned in the Country, and to him she had a singular Inclination; and he proceeded thus far that she resolved to give him her Daughter in Marriage. The Wedding was celebrated with a Pomp fitting Persons of that degree and quality, and the new married Couple repaired to a House of Pleasure in the Country, which they had of their Parents. But Fortune, which commonly delights in Inconstancy, would not permit Melissa should long enjoy the Embraces of her Husband; for he was killed when he was a hunting, by a mischance so strange, as is not to be expressed. When Nicander was informed of the death of his Son-in-Law, he took home again his Daughter, now being but in the thirteenth or fourteenth year of her age. This young Widow did grow up in Age, and in Beauty, from day to day; so that in a short time they discoursed of marrying her again: In the mean time the Father finding himself at a great charge, by reason of his great number of Children, was of a resolution (that so he might not prejudice the Lustre of his Name and Family) to send her into a Nunnery, with four of her Sisters, and three of his Sons. He thought he had made a good division amongst his Children, following the Laws of the Abyssini. The eldest, who was to keep up the Name and the Arms of the Family, was very glad of this his Father's Resolution. And these worldly Arguments, & human● Considerations, made him constrain the young Widow to ente● an Abbey of Dames called Rochperse, which was founded by the Princess Dorothy, of the House of Sitim, Wife to the valiant Prince of Saba. This Abbey, if one regard the grandeur of the Building, and the structure of the Temple, makes one to conclude, that the Foundation and the Revenues do answer the Manificence of the Founder. The young Widow was not yet fourteen years of age, when she was carried thither among the Nuns, not without a desire remaining in her towards the World, and an inclination to the things Earthly more than to the Celestial. She loved to smug up herself, and to dress herself sinely; her eyes were lose, and bend every where; and one might judge by her Countenance, that a Life separated from the company of Men did not at all please her.  
Oftentimes she resolved to quit all Conversation, and to keep herself close in her Chamber, to practise in the same a strict and austere Life. Being at last turned a Nun, according to their Formalities, she did nothing but cry and sigh. She accused the cruelty of her Father and Mother, that had forced her to a Life so contrary to her mind. After she had spent two or three years, without endeavouring to learn either to read or to write, see, the most pleasant thing of the World began to present itself before her eyes, impudent Love was now in action to intrude itself into her Soul. Her Imaginations were assaulted with Concupiscence; and if she had had any 〈…〉 accomplish her desires, she ha● done it, without any regard to the House she issued from, or consideration of her own Honour.  
The Devil, who is always in action, and who, like a roaring Lion, doth on all occasions environ us, that he may devour us, seeing her inclined to carnal desires, kindled in her that desire more and more, insomuch that she, in stead of saying her Prayers, did think upon nothing else but Love. This Passion still continuing, and she exercising many filthy Pollutions upon her Body, both asleep and awake, the Devil appeared once to her, when she was retired all alone by herself in her Chamber, for the entertaining of her impudent and lascivious Pleasures. This evil Spirit by the permission of God) did appear in the shape of an Angel of Life, having on Apparel as white as Snow.  
God save you, handsome Melissa, (says the Adversary) It is a long time since the sense of your Evil did touch me with a great deal of compassion, and that your. Beauty hath ravished my heart. I am come to you with an intention to satisfy your desire, and to serve you in whatsoever you command, if you will be pleased to accept me for your Servant.  
Melissa being astonished at the very thoughts of this Apparition, was in a great fear; but being a little come to herself, she demanded of this Spirit, that had the outward appearance of a Man, who he was. Satan, who cannot hid himself, when he is demanded to tell his Name, answered her thus; I am the King of the Air; all that shall fall out to you by my means, cannot be comprehended: I am more pleasant than ever you can believe. Ask me whatever you please, and I shall give you sufficient Answers thereto.  
This unhappy Gentlewoman giving ear to these Enchantments of that Siren, suffered herself to be entangled with his Charms; insomuch that after some Contestations, which I am not willing to write, she agreed with the Devil; and, amongst the rest, she would be the wifest, and the best spoken of all the Religious Sisters; and that she might sing the best of them all. So the malignant Spirit, in that shape we spoke of before, did dwell with her carnally, and did not omit a day wherein he had not seen her, sometimes in one form, sometimes in another, often in a Pigs, or other detestable shapes. Her Companions were greatly astonished, to observe in her a great and wonderful change. She that could neither read nor write eight or nine days ago, became in an instant able to read, writ, and speak well, about all sorts of Histories. They admired her Ingenuity, and took her for a Miracle. So that she did every day paint and dress herself above what their Order did permit.  
Her Discourses were full of vanity and worldly matters, and of lascivious practices. In stead of their Hours (so is their Prayer-Book called) she always had in her hand some Book or other treating of disorderly Love. Some good Nuns did reprove her, showing her how these things were unworthy of her Profession; but she did nothing but laugh at them, and mock them. Those that were with her of her most familiar Friends, heard nothing else coming out of her mouth, besides vain and dissolute Discourses. She praised herself, to have acquired within these few days a Gallant, who came to see her every night, and taught her the Art of Speaking eloquently. They reported this to the Abbess, who not being able to apprehend the meaning of it, caused immediately all her Actions to be taken notice of, and made her lie with Company. When she saw herself kept so close, she made her complaints to her Gallant, who induced her to revenge herself, and to set the Covent on fire. The Enemy gave her the Fire his own self, and assisted her to begin at the fairest place of all the Lodgings in the Abbey. The Fire did take, and before any one could perceive it, it spread itself from Chamber to Chamber, and destroyed that brave Edifice from the Court to the Temple, whither all the Nuns repaired, as to a place of a holy resuge. But O deplorable case! as soon as this incendiary went out of a corner,— The flame went on with such a violence, that almost in less than a moment, that elegant, and magnificent structure, together with the Cloisters. Chapters, Refertories, and Dormitories, were brought to dust and ashes. The poor Nuns were glad to save themselves, and leave all the rest to the mercy of the Hames. Afterwards they were dispersed, from one place to another and begged every where some assistance for the restauration of their edisice, which will never be so as it was before, unless some Royal hand should extend its liberality.  
After this enraged Gentlewoman had assuaged her desire of revenge, her Parents shut her up ●n another Monastery, full of Piety and Devotion. After her accustomed insolency, her filthy discourses, and the Lecture she ordinary had in her lascivious Books, forced some devouter Nuns of that Covent, to reprove her for her lose behaviour. They always set her vanity before her Eyes, and endeavoured to make her sensible of the fear of God, and of due obedience; but it was only labour lost. Instead of being beholden to them, because of this good and holy advice, she by the means of Satan that lay with her, made to die three of the Religious Women, of a sudden death. All the re●● being amazed at their death and fearing the same danger, and mischief, presented a Petition to the Sovereign Prince of Mere● desiring him most humbly, that they instantly might be delivered from this plague. The King having understood the deport meant of that young Woman commanded that they should send her back again to Abila, that is to her Father and Mother, who could not believe what they reported of their Daughter; and had a great feeling of sorrow and heaviness in their hearts. They had her a while always in their Eye, but afterwards thinking it was no action of people fearing God, to make no conscience of keeping in the world a professed person, they resolved to ●uilt and found in one of ●heir lands, a little Abbey, to ●ut in there Melissa. His Majesty himself promised to contribute towards the doing of this Abbey, a thousand pounds, While the Abbey was a building. My Lord, and my Lady Abila observed their Daughter in a more strict manner then before. They made her lie in a Chamber next to theirs, and gave her a Gentlewoman of a good age and behaviour to attend her: The mischievous young Lady, turned her out of her Chamber, with adeal of injury, saying, it was impossible for her to rest, if she was not by herself. Those that had their Ears bend to her actions, hearing her talking in th●● night time, without knowing to who. An inarticulate voi●● gave her answer, and an intelligence of all things she demande●▪ This was told to her Father an● Mother, who could not as ye● give credit to these reports, bu● once of a sudden entered into he● Chamber for to surprise her. But heinous and most horrible case. They perceive presently a Pig rolling upon the Belly of their execrable Daughter. My intentionis not to write at large of it, whether this vision was true, or illusory. My Lord Abila puts out his hand to catch him, he appeared to run from one side of Melissa to the other, at last disappeared with the great admiration of the Beholders, and to the great grief of her bather, but especially of the Mother, who having abandoned all patience and crying grieviously, began to speak these sad and piteous words.  
O cursed and execrable birth, was it so that a House so illustrious, and so renowned at all times for its piety, should now be dishonoured, by thy horrible deeds? O good God? is that the instruction, I gave thee in thy tender days, that you should make yourself acquainted with the Enemy of our salvation? When thou madest profession, and was enclosed in the Cloister, didst not thou renounce, the World, Devil and Flesh, and wert not thou espoused to him, who shed his precious bloed, upon the Tree of the Cross, to redeem us from Eternal Death? And now having broken thy Vows, and not kept the Faith, which thou gavest to thy Bridegroom, madest thy s●● acquainted with the Prince of da● knees? Will it not be said, that 〈◊〉 Belly hath born a Socerer. Ha●● death shall end my days, before should hear any speaking of such scandal. Recommend thyself to Go● O thou miserable wretch that the● art; beseech his goodness, that he may deliver thee from this evil and go to the holy Sacrament which he hath instituted in his Church take up arms to overcome the Enemy of mankind. May be the Son of God shall assist thee, and receive thee into his mercy.  
Such and the like Complaints and Reproofs, went out of the Mouth of that virtuous, and never worthily praised— Madam of Abila; when her abominable Daughter in the mean time being possessed by the Devil, did nothing but laugh, and mock at her ●others Words. And what then, 〈◊〉 sweared she, is it such a great matter to see Satan in love with 〈◊〉 young Gentlewoman? Is it a thing to ●are as that it never happened in the World? Doth it necessarily follow, that because I talk with a Spirit, I gave myself over to him. Socrates, who was the greatest Man of the past A●ges, and who by the testimony of the Oracle was esteemed the wisest; had not he a Daemon to consult withal? was he therefore a Sorcerer or a Conjurer? I do not know why you make so great a noise, about a thing so common as this is. And what will you say if I be of those Women, for the number is infinite, that pays homage to the most a bominable parts of a stinking and infected Goat. No no, Satan hath no power over me. The Spirit that visits me every Night is a good Demon, who giveth me advise in all things I am to do. If you do vex or provoke him you'll quickly feel his Wrath and Vengeance. The Father and Mother, after they had made Remonstrances, seeing, to their great Grief, that they but lost their labour, resolved to lock her up in a Dungeon, if she would not be otherwise, and to make her die miserably. Moreover, they gave her attendance more than usual, whereat she was tormented with spite, and gave all bad Language to the Gentlewomen, that were about her, that in short it was a wonder to be●old ber. In the mean time it 〈◊〉 out that the Lord Abila made a ●●yage, because of some Affairs, concerning the Government, he ●ad of the City of Mavia. He intended but to go and to come again for that he might give Orders about that evil he lest in his ●ouse. When he was departed, the good and virtuous Lady, her ●other, was always near her Daughter. She incessantly represented to her the Justice and the Love of God, invited her to confess her Sin, and to beg Mer●y for her Faults, all this time this Wretch bore with great impatience their holy admonitions, ●ut yet a great deal worse, the guards which were at the night time about her, because they hindered her from conversing freely with her beloved. At last sh● not willing any longer to hea● those holy discourses of the Lad● her Mother, endowed with P●ety and Religion, without regard or respect, which we own to them who brought us forth into the World, the detestable Daughter, by the instigation of the Devil, who already had an entire Possession of her, attempted the most horrid deed that can be imagined, against which the great Lawgiver Solon, would discern no Punishment, because he could not persuade himself, that a crime of that nature could be committed by the hands of Men. It was about eleven a Clock at Night, when the darkness clotheth all things with silence, when this infernal Fury, risen out of her Bed she lay in, and going out of her Chamber entered into her Mother's Chamber, who was in a fast sleep upon her chaste and innocent Bed, the youngest Son of the six, of about five or six years of age, was lying at her side. The Parricide with a great and large Knife, drew near to the Bed, and so promptly cuts the Throat of her, from whom she had received Life, that the poor Gentlewoman could not as much as cry out. An old Gentlewoman lay next to her, who having leaped out of the Bed, runs hastily towards her Mistress, and finding her weltering in her own Blood, slang open the Window of her Chamber, and began to cry out for help. The Domestics of the Castle, came hastily to see what it was, and amongst the rest, the eldest Son of the House, who perceiving this sad and lamentable Spectacle, immediately fell down, and swooned away. Having recovered his Spirits, he runs to the next Chamber, & catches up a Sword, to revenge upon this execrable Woman the Death of so good a Mother: And he had undoubtedly done it, had he not been prevented by some that were thereabouts, who laid open to him, That in a matter of such consequence the common course of Law was to be taken, and not a private Revenge to be used; and therefore they forced the Sword out of his hand. Nevertheless, the grief which he conceived at this sad accident, made him vomit out many reproachful Words against the Murtheress, and put in him so great a desire of Revenge, that he could not be hindered from beating her with his Fists, and disfiguring her Face with his Nails; and if they had not drawn her away, he had certainly strangled her. This Wretch was presently secured by a Safeguard, expecting the coming of the doleful Father, who came two or three days after. But who can sufficiently express his grief! to find so sweet a Companion, with whom he had lived so long in peace and quietness, bereft of Life by her to whom she gave it. O Lord (said the sorrowful Gentleman) I must needs have greatly offended you, for that you permit so many mischiefs to fall out in my House. I beseech you, O Lord, to appease your wrath, or else to exercise your vengeance upon my blame-worthy head. Alas, my poor wife! How comes it that I had so little wisdom, to leave you here alone, without advising with myself about the cruel Designs of this Infernal Fury? If I had been here, peradventure this execrable Wretch had turned her hands upon me, and my death had been a safeguard for your life, for the love of which, I would have sacrificed my own a thousand times. O cruel Viper! what Punishment can one invent, which should be answerable to thy unnatural deserts? Thus this good Gentleman lamented, abandoning all patience and moderation, and giving himself wholly over to his grief. He desembled a just and innocent Job, who, notwithstanding his cruel and extreme Afflictions, did neither curse his Creator, nor murmur against Heaven. So the true Servants of God patiently suffer Adversity, ordered for them by the same Providence by which they receive their Wealth and Prosperity.  
Afterwards he caused his execrable Daughter to be enclosed betwixt four Walls, and a true Information to be taken of the horrid Crime by her committed. The Process being made, he went to the King of Meroe, and to his Privy Council, to desire they would give Orders to execute Justice. His Majesty, having thoroughly weighed the whol● matter, and finding that neither Fire nor Sword, nor any other Punishment, could expiate the greatness of the Crime, sentenced the young Woman to die such 〈◊〉 death as her Father would inflict upon her, giving him power either to augment or to lessen the Torments according to his pleasure.  
As soon as ever she was condemned, the Evil Spirit advertised her that she should neither eat nor drink any thing, but what they that brought it to her should taste before hand: And so persisting in her Wickedness, & threatening to kill her Father and Brother, at last she died miserably, either by Poison, or by starving herself to death.   

An abominable Cruelty of a Friar, committed for the accomplishing of his detestable Lechery, and the ensuing Punishment for it.  
IN the Dominions of the Emperor Maximilanus of Austria, was a Convent of Friars, of great esteem, near unto which a Gentleman of Quality had his House. This, had such a great kindness for these Religious Persons, that for their sake and Service, nothing was so dear to him, but he would have parted with it, thereby to have a part in their good works, fasting, and chastizings of themselves. And amongst the rest there was a lusty and well shaped Friar, whom the Gentleman chose for his Father Confessor. Which had so much Power to command in the Gentleman's House, as the Gentleman himself. This Friar seeing the Gentleman's Lady very handsome and wise, so that she had but very few for her equals, fell in love with her so far, that he could neither eat nor drink, and was beraved of his natural reason. One day, being determined to execute his Intention, did go all alone to the Gentleman's House, and not having found him, asked the Gentlewoman whither he was gone. She answered him that he was gone to one of his Lands, where he was to stay, two or three days; nevertheless if he had any business with him, she would send an express to him. He said no, he had none: And began to walk up and down the House, as one that had some business of Importance in his head. And after he had departed out of the Chamber, she said to one of her Maids (there being but two of them.) Go after the good Father, and see whither he goeth, for me thinks he looks as if he was discontented. The Chambermaid went into the Court, ask him if he would have any thing. Yes, answered the Friar, and drawing her into a Corner takes out a Poniard, which he had in his Sleeve, and with that cut her Throat. Just when he had done the mischief, comes in into the same Court, one of this Gentleman's Servants, on Horse back, bringing the Tents of a Farm. As soon as he had lighted, the Friar runs to him, who in Embracing him, cuts his Throat from behind, and shuts the Door of the Castle after him. The Gentlewoman, seeing her Chambermaid did not come again, did admire why she stayed so long with the Friar; and said to her other Chambermaid; Go and see what's the matter that your Comrade doth not come again. The Chambermaid goeth to him, whom as soon as he perceived, taketh her by the hand, and draws her into a Corner, and doth the same to her as he did to the other, At last, seeing himself to be all alone in the House, he went to the Gentlewoman, telling her how he a long time ago had been in love with her, and that the hour was come, wherein she must obey him. She who never thought such a thing should come to pass, said to him, Good Father, I did not believe I should have had so bad an Inclination as this, that you would throw the first stone at me your own self. The Friar told her, go into the Court and you shall see what I have done. When she saw both her Chambermaids and her Foot Man dead, she was so highly taken with fear, that she stood like a stock unmoveable. Presently the mischievous Man, that would not have her only for an hours pleasure, would not take her by force, but said to her, Madam, be not afraid, you are in the hands of a Man, who loveth and esteemeth you above all the World. Saying thus, he pulled off his large Habit, underneath the which he had one a deal lesser, which he presented to the Lady, saying to her, that if she would not take it, he would put her amongst the number of the Dead, which she saw before her eyes. The Gentlewoman more dead than alive, resolved to dissemble that she would obey him to save her life, as well as to gain some time, by which she hoped her Husband would come again. And by the Commandment of this aforesaid Fryor began to undress herself as easily as ever she could. And when she was come to her Hair, the Friar not regarding the beauty it had, cut it off, very hastily and that being done, he made her to unstrip herself to the very Smock, and to put on that little habit, which he had brought underneath his usual one, and as hastily as he could, departed from their House, carrying along with him, his petty Friar, for whom he had longed so much. But the Lord, who hath Compassion on the Innocent in the day of their trouble, did look upon the Tears of this dolesul Gentlewoman, in so much that her Husband having dispatched his business sooner than he thought or told to any, was returning by the same Path, where his Wife was going over. The Friar perceiving him a far off, said to the Gentlewoman it is your Husband that I see a coming there. I know if he should see you, h●● would take you by force out o● my hands, therefore go a little before me, and do not turn your head here nor there; for if you should make the least Sign, or Wink, my Poniard shall be immediately at your Throat, and there shall be no body able to deliver you out of my hands. When they were thus talking the Gentleman was nigh to him, and asked him from whence he came. He answered him, from your House, where I left the Madam, your Wife, in a good health, waiting for your coming home. The Gentleman did go on in his way, without any perceiving of his Wife. But the Servant that was with him, who always used to entertain the Friar's Companion, called Friar John, began ●o talk to his Mistress, thinking ●●e was Friar John. The poor Gentlewoman, who durst not ●urn her Head towards her Hus ●and, answered him nothing at all, but the Footman to see the Face, lifted up the broad ●ape, when the Gentlewoman, speaking not one word to him, made some Signs with her Eyes, full of Mourning and Tears. The Footman riding behind his Master, said to him thus; Sir, by lifting up the Cape of the Father's Comrade, I perceived it was not Friar John, but was like my Mistress, your Wife, who did cast a piteous look upon me, with an eye full of Tears. The Gentleman answered him, he was out of his Wits, and knew not what he said. But the Footman persisting in his Say, desired the Gentleman to give him leave to pursue them, and to see whether what he saw under the Cape was that he thought to be. The Gentleman gave his consent to it, and stayed there to see what news his Footman should bring him back. But when the Friar heard some body behind him, calling, Father John, doubting the Gentlewoman had been known, came towards the Footman with a great stick set about with Iron, which he had in his hand, and gave so hard a bat upon his short Ribs, that he struck him off the Horse, down to the ground. And immediately falling upon him, cut his Throat: The Gentleman who from far off saw his Man dismounted, thinking he had tumbled down by some misfortune or other, run presently after him to help him. And as soon as the Friar saw him, he gave him a like blow with his Stick, as he ●had done to his Footman, and pulling him down off his Horse, threw himself upon him; but the Gentleman being a strong and an able Man, took hold of the Friar in that manner, that he left him no power whereby he might hurt him, and made the Poniard to fall out of his hand, which the Gentlewoman presently took up, and gave it to her Husband, and with all her force took the Friar by his hair, her Husband giving him in the mean time, several Stabs with the Poniard, in so much that he begged Pardon, and confessed to him all the truth of his Wickedness. The Gentleman would not kill him; but desired his Wife, to go to their House, and to look for some of his Servants, and that they might bring thither a Chariot, which she did. And afterwards, having stripped herself of her Habits, run in her Smock only, to her House. Immediately all the Servants run to assist their Master, and to see what Prey he had got, and they found him in that same Net wherein he was catcht, and so carried him to the Gentleman's House, who afterwards sent him to the Justice of the Emperor, into Flanders, where he pleaded Guilty, discovering his Wicked Intention: And it was found out by the Commissaries about him, and confirmed by his own Confession, that there was brought into that Monastery (which he was of) a great number of Noble Dames, and other Beautiful Gentlewomen by that same means, by which this Friar would have brought in this our Gentlewoman, whom the Lord delivered out of his great Mercy, who always gives aid and assistance to them that rely upon him. After this, the Monastery was deprived of all its Ornaments and Revenues, and the Monks that were within, together with the Gentlewomen, and the Covent, were all burned to Ashes for perpetual Memory of the committed Crime.   

Two Friars, the first Night of 〈◊〉 Wedding, takes one after th● other in the place of the Bridegroom, and afterwards were severely paid for it.  
IN a Town of France, in the Country of Perigords, in an Innkeepers House was a Wedding of a Daughter of theirs, where all their Friends and Relations, endeavoured to give the best Treat that ever they could, During the time of the Feast, two Friars came thither, to whom the Supper was made ready in their Chamber, for it is not their Fashion or Duty to be present at Wedding Feasts. But the principal of these two, who had more authority and cunning, ●●gan to bethink himself as soon 〈◊〉 he did rise from the Table, ●ow to be a Partaker of this ●ew Bridegrooms Bed, and to ●ut a trick upon him. When ●he Evening was come, and the people began to Dance, one of ●he Friars looked out of the Win●ow and for a long time beheld ●he Bride, whom he saw to be ●ery Beautiful, and for his Tooth. And narrowly enquiring of the Chamberlain where the Room was, where she was to lie, ●ound that it was next to his own, whether he did go in very easily, using the best means in the World for the accomplishing his desire. He saw the Bride undressed, by some Old Women that were with her, as the custom is there. And because it was yet pretty early, the Bridegroom would not leave off his Dancing, but was so merry and Courteous, that he dissembled as if he had forgotten his new Spouse. The Friar had as yet done nothing, but presently perceiving that the Young Bride was a sleep, he took off his hairy Apparel, and went to take the room of her Husband: Howsoever he did not tarry long for fear of being Surprised, and therefore did presently go out towards the Mouth of an Entry, where his Fellow Friar was, all that time keeping watch for him, who gave him Intelligence by some sign or other, that the Bridegroom was a Dancing still. The Friar who had not as yet quenched his filthy desires returned again to go to Bed to this ●ew Married Bride, and stayed ●ere so long until his Compani●● had given him notice, that it ●as time to departed. The Bride-room came to Bed, whose Wife, ●at had been Tormented so crumly by the Friar, that she desi●● nothing but rest, could not 〈◊〉 speaking thus to him; ●e you resolved not to sleep to ●ight at all, and to do nothing ●t forment me all the while: ●he poor Husband, who was ●t newly come, was greatly ●nazed and perplexed at her ●ords, and therefore asked her ●hat Displeasure or what Tor●ents he had done to her, being 〈◊〉 had not parted from the Dance ●t just now. It is well Danced, saith the poor Young Woman, i● is the third time you are come to Bed, I think it should be better for you, for to go to sleep The Husband hearing this Proposition, was greatly astonished and left off all other things to search out the bottom of th● whole matter. And when sh● was relating the same to him, h● smelled out, that it were the Friars that lay there, and rising ou● of his Bed immediately, goeth to their Chamber, which wa● next to his. And when he di● not find them, he began to cr● for aid and assistance, so loud tha● all the Guest that were Assembled there came running toward him, who after they had understood the matter, did assist him with Candles, Lanterns, an● with all the Dogs in the Town, ●o find out the Friars. And when they could not find them ●n the House, they made so great 〈◊〉 Diligence in searching for them ●hat they found them in the Vineyard, and Treated them according to what they deserved. For after they had beaten them fearfully, they cut off their Legs and Arms, and left them in the Vineyard, under the Protection of God Bacchus, and Goddess Venus, whose better Disciples they were than of St. Francis their Patriarch.   

Three several Murders committe● in one House, viz. upon the Master, his Wife, and their Child by the Lust of a Monk.  
IN the Country of Perigord in France there was a Gentleman who was so devout to Saint Francis, that he thought every body who did wear his Habit to be like him, He did honour so much that Saint, that, the better to show his Devotion towards him, he kept in his own House Chambers fit to lodge those of that Order; and by them he governed all his Affairs, thinking to wak surely, as long as he followed their Advices.  
It happened one day, that the Wife of the said Gentleman, who was very handsome, & both wise and godly, was brought to bed of a fine Boy; at which the said Gentleman being over joyed, and to show his kindness and love towards his dear Wife, sent for his Brother in Law, and some other Friends, and desired them to come and sup and be merry with him. Whilst they were at Supper, came in a Monk, his Ghostly Father, (from whom he did hid nothing) of which the Gentleman was very glad. After several Discourses between his Wife, his Brother, and the rest of the Company, they sat down to Supper, and when they were eating and drinking, the Gentleman looking upon his Wife, who was beautiful enough to be desired, made this Question to his Ghostly Father: Father, saith he, is it true, that a man sins mortally if he lies with his Wife whilst she lies in? The Ghostly Father, who was bound to return an Answer, said, It is so; and I think it is one of the greatest sins which is committed in Marriage: and we have for example the Blessed Virgin, who would not enter into the Temple but after her Purification, though she had no need of it: And according to that Example you are to abstain from a small pleasure, seeing the Blessed Virgin, to obey the Law, did abstain from going to the Temple, where was all her Consolation: And besides, the Physicians say, That there is great danger for the Children who are conceived at that time  
When the Gentleman heard this, he was sorry at his heart; for he had hopes his Ghostly Father would have given him leave to lie with her: but he held his tongue, and said no more. The Ghostly Father, after he had drank a little too largely, looked upon the Lady, and thought in himself, that if he were her Husband, he would ask counsel of no body to lie with his Wife: and as Fire increases by little and little, until it imflames the whole House, so this poor Friar began to burn within with the Fire of Concupiscence, so that he suddenly resolved to accomplish the Desire that he had stifled in his heart for three or four years past. After they risen up from the Table, he took the Gentleman by the hand, and leading him to the Bed where his Wife was, said thus, Sir, because I am certain of the great kindness you have for your Wife, and because, being young, you can hardly keep you from lying with her, therefore I have pity upon you, and I will tell you a Secret of our Holy Divinity; The Law, which is very strict towards indiscreet Husbands, will not permit that those who are godly and innocent, as you are, be deprived of its Intelligence: Therefore, Sir, I told you publicly the severity of the Law; but from you, who are wise, I must not hid the sweetness of it. You must know, that as all Women are not alike, so neither are all Men; you must therefore inquire of your Wife, since she has been brought to bed these three weeks, whether she is clean from her Impurity. To which the Lady answered, That certainly she ●as. Then, said the Friar, I give ●●u leave to lie with her without ●y scruple, provided you promise ●e two things. Which the Gen●eman did willingly. First, said ●he Ghostly Father, you shall come ●o her secretly, and speak with no body. Secondly, you shall not come ●ill after Two in the morning, that the Lady's Digestion may not be hindered by your Company. Both which the Gentleman did promise, with such an Oath, that he, who knew him to be more Fool than Liar, was certain he would keep his promise.  
Afterwards the Ghostly Father withdrew himself into his Chamber, bidding them Goodnight: And in going away, he took the Gentleman by the hand. saying, Without fail, Si● you will come, and make no longer stay than what you promised? The Gentleman taking his leave o● his Wife, and kissing her, said aloud, My Dear, let the door be left open: (which words the Ghostly Father took notice of) and so went into his Chamber. But when the Ghostly Father was in his Chamber, he could not rest for thinking on the Lady; but as soon as they were all gone to bed, and he heard no noise in the House, he went directly to the Chamber where the Husband was expected, and finding the door open, went cunningly to put out the Candle, and so presently to bed to her, without speaking. The Lady, thinking it was her Husband, said thus; Husband, you have not been as ●ood as your word; for you did promise's to our Ghostly Father, not ●o be here before Two in the morn●ng. The Friar being more attentive to Action than to Conversation, and fearing to be discovered, thought more upon the satisfaction of his wicked desire, than to give her any Answer; and as the fury of his Lust did hinder him from sleeping, so the fear which followeth after wickedness did not permit him to take any rest; but he went presently to the Porter, and spoke to him thus; Dear friend, your Master bid me to return immediately into our Covent, to pray for him, for some particular business known to him only; therefore give me my Horse, and open me the door, and say nothing to any body, for it must be very certain. The Porter, knowing well that to obey the Friar, was to render an agreeable Service to his Master, opened him the doors, and let him go.  
About this time did the Gentleman did awake, and seeing the hour was come, appointed by his Ghostly Father, to go to bed to his Wife, he risen up, and put on his Nightgown, and went to lie where (without any Man's leave) by the Ordinance of God he lawfully might. And when his Wife heard him speaking to her, being ignorant of what happened before, she did so such wonder, that she spoke to him in such terms as these: Is this the promise you made to our Ghostly, Father, to have such a care of your Health and mine, that you came not only before the hour appointed, ●ut also you return again? Pray, Sir, think upon it. The Gentleman was in such a trouble at the hearing of this News, that he could not hid his grief any longer, and said to her, What is this you tell me? I know for a certain truth, that these three Weeks past I have not lain with you, and now you chide me for coming too often; if you continue this Discourse, you will make me believe that I displease you, and will force me, against my custom and inclination, to leek for that satisfaction with other Women that lawfully I ought to have from you. The Lady, who thought he spoke but in jest, replied, Sir, in thinking to deceive me, do not cheat yourself, for though you spoke not a word, when you came to me, yet I knew very well that you were here. Than the Gentleman knew that they were both deceived, and took his Oath that he came not to her before. For which the Lady took such sorrow, that with abundance of Tears she entreated him to inquire diligently how it might be, for there was no body in the House but her Brother and the Friar, immediately the Gentleman suspected the Friar, and went hastily into the Chamber where he had lodged, the which he sound empty, and to be more assured of his Flight, sent for the Porter, of whom he demanded if he knew what was become of the Friar, who told him the whole truth, and the Gentleman being certain of what had passed, returned immediately to his Wife's Chamber, and said to her. My Dear, he that hath lain with you, and done many fine works, is our Father Confessor. The Lady which all her Life before had kept her Honour, was ●n such a despair, that she begged him on her Knees to Revenge ●his great injury. The Gentleman ●aking Horse, pursued the Friar, ●he Lady being left mourning ●ll alone in her Bed, without any ●o comfort, or counsel her, but ●er little new born Infant; than considering the horrible condition into which she was come, without excusing her ignorance, thought herself as if she was guilty, and the most miserable Creature in the World; and thinking on the love of her Husband, and the Honour of her Relations, which must need susier, she esteemed Death more happy than her Life, so that being transported with Fury, forgetting the knowledge of God, she took her Bed Cord, and with her own hands strangled herself; and which is worse, being in the Agony of this Cruel death, struck with her Foot on the Face of the Child, and so killed it; but dying made such a noise, that a Woman lying in the Chamber, risen up hastily to light a Candle and seeing her Mistress Strangled with the Bed Cord, and the little Infant lying dead under her foot, she ran in great haste into the Chamber of her Mistress' Brother, whom she brought to see this sad Spectacle, her Brother weeping, and very much lamenting this sad Accident, he being one that loved his Sister dearly, demanded of the Maid, who had Committed this Crime, who answered she knew not, and that none but her Master had been in the Chamber, who was just gone out; upon which he went into his Chamber, and not, finding him there believed surely he had Committed this Horrible and Villainous Crime, took his Horse without any other Inquiry to ride after him and hit on the way where he met his Brother returning from the Pursuit of the Friar, as soon as he saw his Brother in Law, he spoke thus, Cursed Coward as thou art defend thyself, this Day I hope God will Revenge me on thee by my Sword; The Gentleman would have excused himself, but seeing his Brother's Sword drawn, thought it fit to defend himself, than to inquire the cause of the difference: Whereupon so many Blows passed between them, that with expense of Blood, they were forced for some time to part for Respiration, and then the Gentleman began to inquire the cause of their difference, and what was the cause of this great Combat. But what occasion had you (answered his Brother in Law) to put to death my dear Sister, the best Wife that ever Lived, and so Barbarously, that under a colour of going to Bed with her, you Strangled her with the Bed Cord, the Gentleman hearing these Words, being almost dead with Grief, said to his Brother, is it possible that you have found your Sister in such a condition? And when his Brother had assured him of the truth thereof, Pray (quoth the Gentleman) hear the cause wherefore I left the House, and when he began to tell him the whole Story of the Friar; Whereupon being very much astonished and extremely Sorry, he had thus rashly fought his Brother, and humbly begging his Pardon said, I have wronged you, I beseech your Pardon, the Gentleman Replied, If I have wronged you, you have sufficiently punished me, for I am so wounded that I believe I shall hardly escape death, whereupon his Brother helping him upon his Horse, brought him home, where the next day he died, confessing before all his Kindred and Friends, that the Friar was the cause of all their Deaths.   

The Abomination of a Priest, who got his own Sister with Child, under a colour of Piety, and how they were both punished.  
Charles' Earl of Angoulesme, Father of King Francis the first, a very honest Prince, and fearing God; when he was at Coignac (a small Town in France) some body told him, that in a Country Town hard by, there was a Virgin, who did live with so great an Austerity, that she was the Wonder of all People, and notwithstanding was found big with Child, and did confess it to every Body, testifying that she never knew any ●an, and could not tell how it ●●me that she was big with Child, ●nless it were by the operation 〈◊〉 the Holy Ghost; and the People did believe her, because they ●ought her to be an other bles●d Virgin Mary: For every Bo●y knew, that she was always 〈◊〉 modest and wise, that never appeared in her any sign of Vanity. She not only did Fast upon ●e days commanded by the church, but also upon several o●er Days in the Week, merely ●r Devotion: and as long as they ●ere praying and singing in the church, she was there always, ●herefore she was esteemed so ●odly by the common People, ●hat every Body came to see her ●s a Miracle, and thought themselves very happy if they could but touch her Petticoat. He● Brother was the Curate of the Parish, being a Man of middle age, who did live according to outward appearance religiously, and was esteemed by all for a godly Man, and speaking to his Sister severely, he caused her to be put in Prison: that was soon spread abroad and came to the Ears of the aforementioned Earl● who seeing how much every Body was deceived, desired to discover the truth; therefore he sent two Gentlemen, who were counted very godly and prudent, to find out the cheat; they went to the said Curate, and enquired as diligently as they could about that business; the Curate being weary of this Inquisition, desired ●hem to be present at the verification he did hope to make for it. The next day early in the morn●ng he said Mass, where his Sister was present, kneeling down, big with Child, and when the Mass was finished, the said Curate took ●he Corpus Domini, and before all spoken thus to his Sister. Miserable that thou art, here is he that suffered Death for thee; and before ●im, I ask thee whither thou art a Virgin, as thou didst tell me always? ●nd she boldly answered that she was so, and how then is it possible, saith he) that thou art big with Child, and still remainest a Virgin? ●hen she did reply thus. I cannot ●ive any reason for it, except it ●e by the virtue of the Holy Ghost, who works in me what he ●leaseth: but I cannot deny the Grace that I have received from God, in keeping me a Virgin, fo● I never had a mind to be mar●ed. Then her Brother spoke th● to her: Here I give thee the Bo●● of the Lord Jesus Christ, which the shalt take as thy Damnation, if it 〈◊〉 otherwise than thou sayest: and they Gentlemen, who are here prese shall be Witnesses of it: The Gi●● being about 13 years old too● this Oath; I take the Body of t● Lord here present as my Damnat● on, before you Gentlemen, and b●fore you my Brother, if ever any Man had more to do with me tha● you: and so speaking she did receiv● the Body of our Lord. The tw● aforesaid Gentlemen, who we● there present, seeing and hearing her speak thus, went away wit● shame and wonder, thinking tha● with such an Oath she could not lie, and so came back again to the Earl, and told him what both they had seen and heard; and did their endeavour to make him believe what they did believe. But the Earl being a wise Man, meditating upon the Words that they related unto him, desired them to repeat the Oath; and after ●e had reflected upon it: She told you (saith he) that never any Man did meddle with her more than her Brother: Therefore I think that her Brother 〈◊〉 other with Child, and is willing to ●ide that Wickeduess under so great 〈◊〉 dissimulation: and as for us, who theve that Jesus Christ is come, we ●re not to expect another. Therefore ●o ye and put the Priest her Brother 〈◊〉 Prison, I am confident he will con●ess the Truth: they did obey him, ●fter they had told him what inconvenience might happen to scandalise 〈◊〉 honest a Man as he was reputed. ●ut as soon as the Priest was seized, he confessed his Wickedness, and how he advised his Sister to speak such Words, to hid their bad Practice, not only by a small excuse, but also by an Equivocation, whereby they were honoured of all. And when they asked him, why he was so wicked, to take the Lord's Body to make her swear upon't: he replied, he had not been so bold, but that he took Bread not consecrated. The whole Story and Circumstances of it, being related to the Earl of Angoulesme: he gave order to the Judges to take notice of it, and to punish them accordingly. They did stay till his Sister was bronght to Bed; and after she was brought to Bed of a fine Boy, she and her Brother were burnt publicly, and every Body did very much wonder at it, because they saw under a Holy Cloak so horrible a Monster; and to reign so abominable a Vice under the colour of a Godly Life.   
Here ends the First Part.   

THE FRIAR:  
The Second PART.  
Being A Comical Narration OF Their idle Lives, Viciousness, Folly and Cruelty of Friars.  
By James Salgado a Spaniard, formerly a Romish Priest.  
LONDON, Printed for the Author, 1680.   

A Comical Narration.  
The Second Part.  

Tryer Robert infermeth a Gentlewoman, how the Angel Gabriel had fallen in Love with her; under which disguise, he often accompanies her; at last for fear of her Parents, throws himself out of the Window, and retires into a poor Body's House. Who the next day after, carries him to the Market place, in the shape of a wild man; where the Friar being discovered, was taken by the Monks of his Order, and Imprisoned.  
AT Imola in Italy there was a man of a very lewd and vicious Life and Conversation; Whose blame worthy deeds, many of Imola thoroughly knew, and because of that, they so much despised him, and made him so infamous, that none of them would give credit not only to his Lies, but to the very Truth spoken by him. He perceiving that stage not to be proper for the acting upon any longer; a person of his disposition, half desperate, betook himself to Venice, (a gulf and a receiver of all dissolutness) to act there the remaining part of his Comedy. And as if he had been touched in his Conscience with a remorse for his former lose way of living, appeared humble beyond apprehension, and seemed to every body, to be a holy and a Catholic man, and become a Franciscan Friar, calling himself, Friar Robert of Im●●a. Being in this habit, he outwardly began to lead a sharp and a strict life, commending very much repentance and abstinence, he would neither eat Flesh, nor drink Wine, when he h●d not such as pleased him. No living Soul could perceive at the least that out of a Thief, a a Ruffian, a Cheat, and a Murderer, he so suddenly had been turned into a great and famous Preacher, without having abandoned his former vices, when he secretly could put them into effect. Moreover always after the celebration of the Mass, standing at the Altar, being seen by many, Sung with Tears the Passion of our Saviour, according to the Custom of them to whom Tears doth not cost much, when they have a mind to cry. In short, he by his Tears and Preaching knew how in this disguise to feed up the Venetians, in so much that he was an Executor almost of all the people's Wills, and had in his hands and custody the moneys of many: He was a Confessor to the bigger part of Men and Women. So going out of a Wolf he became to be a Shepherd, and the same of his sanctity in those parts, was greater than ever it was of St. Francis at Ascesia.  
It happened once, that one young Gentlewom●n, vain and foolish, called Lisetta, Wife to a great and rich Merchant, who was gone with Goods into Flanders, went with the rest of the Gentlewomen to confess to this holy Friar. She standing upon her Feet, after the Venetian fashion, where they are all delicate, and having confessed a part of her sins, was demanded by Friar Robert, if she had not a Gallant. To whom she with a sour Face, replied; How Master Friar, have you got no Eyes in your Head? Will you compare my beauty with others? I should have Lovers and Gallants enough, if I but listed, but my beauty is not bend that way, to love either one or the other. How many have you seen of that beauty as mine is? Which should be admired in the very Paradise itself. Above that she spoke so many things about her Beauty, that it was tedious to hear her, Friar Robert immediately perceived she was light headed, and seeing her to be of his own currant Co●n was suddenly and above measure taken in love with her. But to show himself at that instant, a pious and a holy M●n, did put off his flatteries, till a more convenient time, and beg ●●to reprove her, saying that this was a vain Glory, and a Pride and the like. Wherewith the Gentle woman being moved ●●●d him he was a Be●st, and did 〈◊〉 know the difference betwixt one Beauty and another. Friar Robert not willing, either to trouble her, or to put her out of conceit: The confession being done, he let her go with the rest. Some days after, he took with him a trusty Friend of his own, and went to the House of Madam Lisetta, and having retired into a secret place, not being seen by any, fell down upon his knees, saying; Madam I desire you, for God's sake, to pardon me my fault, which I last Sunday committed in speaking against your beauty, for which I was so severely chastised, that I could not rise from bed till this very same day. The foolish Dame replied: And who was it pray, that chastized you after this rate? Friar Robert answered; I'll tell you that; I being, that night in my prayers, (as I am always used to do) suddenly perceived a great light in my Chamber, and no sooner I turned the about to see what it was, or what it meant, but I saw above me, a very beautiful young man, with a great stick in his hand, who catching me by my habit, threw me down upon the ground, and gave me such merciless blows, that he almost bruised all the bones within me. I at last took hold of him, demanding why he had done so by me, and received this answer; Because you presumed to day to reprove the Celestial beauty of Madam Lisetta, which, after God, I love above all other things of the World. And I presently asked him, what are you? To which he answered; That he was the Angel Gabriel. O Stenior (quoth I) I crave mercy I crave mercy: And he presently answered: Pardon shall he granted to thee, but upon such terms, that you go to her by the first opportunity you can, and beg mercy at her hands, and if she would not sorgive you your fault, I'll ●eturn hither, and beat you so cruelly that you shall feel the smart of it all the days of your life! But what he said to me after this, I will not tell you, before I have obtained forgiveness. She hearing this, was for joy almost out of her wits, believing all he said to be true, and a little after said, Did not I tell you so, Father Robert, that my beauty was a heavenly beauty? But for all that, I take heaven to witness, I am very sorry for you, and to the end he should do you no more harm; I hearty forgive you, provided you give a faithful report to me of all, what the Angel spoke afterwards to you; Friar Robert answered, Madam, since you have been pleased to pardon me, I'll willingly and frankly tell you all the matter; only I beg one thing of you, that you should take heed, lest you should open the matter to any living Soul in the world, and in so doing you shall be the most happy Gentlewoman under the Sun. This Angel, Gabriel, ordered me to tell you, how you pleased him above measure, and that he had very often desired to come, and stay all the Night with you, but he did it not for fear of frighting you. At this present he sends word by me, that he will come to you one of these nights, and tarry a while with you. But he being an Angel, if he should come in the shape of an Angel, you could not touch him, he acquaints you with it, that he will come in the sh●pe of a man, and therefore desires you to appoint him a time, when he should come, and in whose shape, and as than he will not fail to be here; whereof you may count yourself blessed above all the living Women at this day. This antic Madam answered how she was greatly affected with joy and pleasure, for being loved by the Angel Gabriel, and therefore she loved him also, neither should she see an Image of him, where she should not light a wax Candle before it, and he might choose what hour he pleased himself to come, and should be very welcome, and find her all alone in her Chamber, provided he should not leave her because of the Virgin Mary, whom as she thought he wished well, and was so obedient to her, that every where, wheresoever she saw the Virgin, she also saw him kneeling before her, and as then, she left it to himself to come in what shape he pleased, because she was not at all afraid of him. Friar Robert presently answered; Madam, you speak very wisely, and I shall order with him the business, you spoke of, very well; but you could do me a great kindness, and it should cost you nothing; and it is this, that you may be willing to permit he should come in this my body. And herein you will show me a great kindness; He entering into my Body, will take my Soul out of it, and send it into Paradise, and as long as he stays with you my Soul shall stay there. This good Madam immediately answers: I am content, and will that you may have this consolation, in recompense of those stripes which you suffered for my sake. Friar Robert, thus again, You will order it so, that this very same night, he may find the Gates 〈◊〉 your house opened, that he may c●me in; for he being in a humane body, in which he will come shall not be able to enter but by the door. The Gentlewoman answered, she would do it. So the Friar Roberto departed, and she that was left behind, was so proud and so glorious, that she thought not her shift good enough to touch her back: That short time, in which she was to stay for the Angel, seemed to her a thousand years. Friar Robert had got permission to go with a Commerad to one of his Friends at night. Where he was very well known. From thence, the time being short, he did go to the Gentlewoman's house, and in the very entering, with those Trinket he had about him, transformed himself into an Angel, and without being perceived by any, very easily did go to the Chamber of Lisetta. Who perceiving him going in all in white, presently fell down upon her knees before him, and the Angel gave her a blessing, and having boar her up by her hand, made a sign she should go to Bed: She being willing to obey, did it presently, and the Angel instantly accompanied his devout Lady. Lying with her, he many things related to her about matters Celestial. At last the encroaching light of the then rising Sun, invited him to departed, and he taking his Trumperies, and the rest of the Apparel with him, bid her farewell. The Gentlewoman after she had Dined with one of her Companions, went directly to Friar Robert, and told him all the news about the Angel Gabriel, as likewise, what she had heard of him about the glory of the life everlasting, and how he was made, adding to it of her own other wonderful Fables. To which Friar, Robert replied. Madam, I do not know how you have housed with him; that I know well, that he coming to me that same night, and I having delivered your Embassy to him, suddenly carried my Soul amongst so many sweet Flowers and Roses, as I never saw before, and set me in one of the most delightful places of the World, where it was, till this very morning, what in the mean time happened to my Body, I do not know: I will not tell you, said the Gentlewoman; Your body was all night long with the Angel Gabriel in my Arms. And after many such stories as these she returned home again, whither Friar Alberto in the apparent form of an Angel, very often repaired, without receiving the least hurt, or impediment. It fell out once that Madam Lisetta being with her Gossip; and reasoning amongst them about beauty, for that she might put hers before all others (as being of a mean wit) said: If you knew whom my beauty pleases, in verity, you would hold your Tongue ●f the rest. Her Gossip knowing what she was, desirous to hear the matter, said: Madam you may speak truth; but because I do not know who your Gallant may be, there is no need I should be so ●asie of believing you. She presently replied: Gossip, it ●ould not be necessary to tell you of him, but my Gallant is the Angel Grabriel, who loves me above himself, as a Gentlewoman (as he tells me) surpassing in beauty 〈◊〉 the rest of the world. The Gossing was ready to fall a laughing, bu● restrained herself from it, t● make her talk more, and said God bless me, Madam, is Ange● Gabriel your Gallant indeed? And if ye say so, it is very well for you 〈◊〉 but I did not believe the Angel● did any such thing. Oyes (answered L●setta,) and because I seeme● in his eyes fairer than any Lady in Heaven, he, enchanted by m● beauty, comes very often to diver● himself with me. The Gossip being departed from Lisetta thought that time to be a hundred years long, wherein she ha● not the opportunity of rehearsing the whole matter. At las● being invited to a feast, in the company of many Gentlewoman ●ery orderly recited the History. ●hese Gentlewomen told it to ●heir Husbands, and to some o●her Dames, and they again to others, so that in less than two ●ays all the City of Venice was ●ill of it. But amongst the rest, ●nto whose Ears this History ●ad been brought, were the ●riends of Lisetta, which without saying any thing to her, determined to find out this An●el, and to know whether he ●ould fly or no, and in order to ●hat, they many nights stood at ●er Dore, holding watch. It happened that this same came to ●ryer Robert's Ears, who one ●ight to reprove the Gentlewoman, went to her, and after he had put off all his Cloth, Lisetta's Relations that had see● him going in, shut the Doors o● her Chamber after him, for tha● they might catch him. Which Friar Alberto perceiving and seeing who they were, run out o● that Chamber into another, an● having no other means whereby to escape, opened a Windo● right over against the grea● Channel (all the City of Veni●● standing upon Water) and from thence threw himself down into the River. Which being ver● deep, and he knowing how t● swim, received no hurt at all and having swum, but on th● other side of the Channel, presently retired to a House, which at that time was open; desiring the Landlord of the House, th●● ●e for the love of God would have his Life, telling him in the ●●ean time some story or other, why he came there, about that ●our, and naked. The good Man being moved with compassion, and having an occasion to go out about his business, put him into his own Bed, telling him, he should be there till his coming again, and after he had locked him up, he went his ways about his affairs. The Friends of the Gentlewoman entering the Chamber found, that the Angel Gabriel, having left his wings behind him, was flown away. Whereby they thinking themselves scorned and affronted, gave to the Gentlewoman the basest Language they ever could think on, or invent, and at last having left her comfortless, returned to their own house, with th● apparel of the Angel. In th● mean time the break of the day appeared, and his good Land Lord, being in the Market heard saying how that the Angel Gabriel, had been gone the night past to lie with Madam Lisetta● and being surprised by her Relations, out of fear fling himself into the Channel, and no body knew what was become of him, and thereby concluded immediately, that it was the same Person, he had in his House. Coming home, and having told him all the story, after many other propositions, said; That if the Friar would not have him to tell to her Relations he was there, he should make fifty Ducats to come immediately, which was ●one. After this Friar Robert desiring to departed thence, had this answer from his Landlord, I have no other means to bring you out but one, which if you will not admit of, I do not know what to do. To day we are making a great Feast, in which some will bring a Man divised in a sh●pe of a Bear, and another will b●i●g one diguised as a Wild Man, so one will do one thing, another another, and in the Piazza of S. Marco we will make a Chase, which being finished, the Feast will be done, and after that every one goeth with him, whom he brought thither, whither he pleaseth. If you will, be-before they spy out that you are here, that I conduct and carry you to that place in one of the disguises, I'll afterwards carry you whether you please. Otherwise I do not see how you can go out without being known, especially the friends of the Gentlewoman, being for certain persuaded, you are hereabouts, have all over sent out Guards to catch you. This though it appeared very hard to the Friar, as to go out in that fashion, yet for fear which he had of Lysetta's Friends, condescended to it, saying he would be led where it should please the other, and he might lead him as he thought best himself. He having anointed the Friar all over with Honey, put some down upon him, and a Chain about his Neck, and a Mask upon his Head, and gave him a great stick into one of his Hands, and two great Dogs which he had brought from the Shambles into the other, and sending some Man he had bespoke into the Market, made him cry if any one had a desire to see the Angel Gabriel he should repair to the Piazza of S. Marco: This was a Venetian Loyalty. This having been done, altar he had brought him forth, he made him to go before him, and so holding him fast by the Chain followed him, and not without a great noise of many; who asked, Who is this? Who is this? Conducted him to the Piazza. Where, when they were, some stood from behind, and some from before of them, that having heard the cry upon the streets, were come thither, a multitude without number. At last the Landlord carried this Friar to a place higher than the rest, and bound this his Wildman to a Post, feigning that as he would stay for the time of chase, in the mean time the Flies and Wasps, he being all anointed with Hony, made him feel the greatest smart immaginable. Afterwards seeing the Piazza to be very full, making as if he would have unchained his Wild man, took the Mask down from Friar Robert, and said; because the Wild Boar doth not come, the chase cannot be run, that you may not lose your labour, by coming hither in vain, I do desire you to see this 〈◊〉 Gabriel, who to comfort the Venetian Gentlewomen, descended from Heaven upon Earth. When ever the mask of was took down, Friar Robert was known by all, against whom all lifted up their voices, calling him the most horrible names th●t ever any Knave deserved, throwing moreover at his Face one foul thing or another. And they kept him along time in this ●●●nner, till at last the noise of this Trigedy coming to the Ears of his Brethren the Monks, they being moved by it came thither, and having thrown a Friar's Cap upon his back, and unchained him, carried him not without a great noise of people behind their backs into a House; and afterwards put him into prison, where (if it may belived) after a miserable life departed this World.   

Master Capelletto, deceiveth a Holy Father by a false confession and dieth, and having been a most dissolute Man in his Life, was after his death reputed for a Saint, and called S. Capelletto.  
ONE Muscato a Frenchman, from a rich and a great Merchant, being become a Knight, was bound by the invitation of Pope Bonifacius, and his own promises, to go for Tuscany in the company of Don Carlo, Brother to the King of France, and knowing his affairs, (as often times those of Metchants are) to be here and there extremely intricated, and that he could not extricate himself by lieu, or suddenly, he determinmined to commit the whole matter to some more Persons. And he found out means for all his Debtors; only he still remained doubtful; unto whom to give a Plenipotence for the receiving of those moneys, some few Burgundians owed him. The reason of this his musing was, for that the Burgundians are very cunning ill conditioned, and faithless people, and because of this, none could fall into his mind, whom he thought fit enough to intrust with his money, and to oppose to the cunning malice of the Burgandians. Examining and overweighing the matter for a long time at last fell into his mind Siur ●appaletto, who often times repaired into his House, at Paris. This Capp letto was of a very bad life. For being a public Notary, he was extremely ashamed, if any of his Indentures, or Law Instruments were found otherwise then false. To bear false witness was his greatest delight; whether he was desired to it, or not, and at that time the Frenchmen gave great credit to Oaths, not regarding whether they were false or no, he unjustly won as many Trials as upon Oath he was desired to declare the Truth, he delighted above measure, yea, studied to breed betwixt friends, relations, or any other people, Mischief, Envy, Malice, and scandal, and in how much the consequence was the worse, in so much he took a greater pleasure in it. Being invited to a murder, or any other criminal exploit; he without denial and willingly went thither, and very often to strike at a man, and to kill him also, was almost his mean besiness. He was the greatest blasphemer of God, and for the smallest matter, on Earth, who was it but he that was outraged beyond measure. He never went to Church, but with despising and scorning at the Sacraments of the same as things ●il, and of no Efficency. And as well as he abominably railed against them, so on the other side, he usually frequented Taverns, and visited the most dishonest and unlawful places. To in vade on goods, and to rob me● of all they had, was done by him with a Conscience as free as ever an honest and a godly Man distributed some thing to the poor. He was a great Glutton, and an excessive Drinker, so that he never eat, or drink, but his Stomach turned within him. A Gamester very expert, and a very famous Hocuspocus, at throwing of false Dice. But not to use so many digressions he was in short, the basest Wretch that ever was born. Whose Knavery and wickedness, was for a long time supported by the riches and the estate of Sir Muscato, for whose sake, as well as by some private persons with whom he too often played in jurious tricks, as also by the Court, where he always acted a Knave, was somewhat respected. This same Mr. Capelleto came into Sir Muscatos mind, who entirely knowing his manner of Life, thought him the fittest Person, that ever could be ●ound, for his purpose, and such a one as the malice of the Burgundians required.  
And so having made him to be called, spoke to him thus, Mr. Capelleto; you know that I am going wholly to departed from hence, and having amongst the rest to do with some Burgundians, a People much addicted to currynning, I do not know unto whem I may so cenveniently give plenipotence of receiving my own from them, as to you. And since you at present, have nothing at all to do, if you wil● attend this my concern, I'll make you to have the Favour of the Court, and give you a part of what you recover, according as I shall deem it expedient. Mr. Capelleto, who see himself in straits, being constrained by necessity, without deliberation, answered, he would willingly obey his Command. So they went together, and Mr. Capelleto having received his orders, and Favourable Letters from the King, departed from Mr. Muscato in his way for Burgundy where he was known by no Body. There, contrary to his Nature, he with great Modesty and a deal of Civility began to recover the moneys, and to do that which he was sent for thither. So doing, he repaired to a House of two Brothers of Florence, to Lodge there; these were Usurers, and for the Love of Sir Muscate, they Honoured him very much; being there, it happened he fell Sick, to whom these two Brothers caused presently some Physicians to come, and Nurses to serve him, there was nothing wanting whatsoever was requisite for the recovery of his Health. But all this help availed nothing; for the good Gentleman, who was already old, and had lived very disorderly, grew (according to the saying of the Physicians.) every day worse and worse, and was already combating with Death, which these two Brothers were exceeding sorry for And one day being very near to the Chamber, where Mr. Caselleto lay Sick, began to talk between themselves, saying one to another, what shall we do with this Man? We have a very bad business under our hands. For if we put him out of Doors, as he is now Sick and Weak, a great murmuring of People will arise, neither will it be an Argumient of great wisdom in us, but a manifest sign of folly, if after we have first received him courteously, and then made him to be attended, and carefully to be cured, should now without having received any displeasure at his hands, so suddenly throw him out of our House, in this weak and deadly condition. On the otherside, he is a Man so wicked, that he will not yield to go to confession, neither can be persuaded to receive any of the Sacraments of the Church, and if he dies without confession there is not one Church will bury him, so that he must be thrown into some hole after the manner of a Dog. And if he should confess, his Sins are so great and horrible that there is none like to be found, for which sake the Priest that will hear him if he would, shall not be able to absolve him, and he not being absolved shall nevertheless be thrown into some Dunghill. And if this should fall out, the People of this Country seeing this, either because of our calling, which they judge to be unlawful, and every day speak against it, or else for desire of robbing, should make a rumour, saying, regard not these Lombardian Dogs which could not be Buried in the Church, and how can we, or how should we tolerate them any longer, and consequently should storm, not only at our Houses for to rob them, but also should assasinate our Persons, wherefore at every side we are in a sad and pidkeled condition, in case he should die. Mr. Capelleto, who (as we told you,) did lie next to that place where they thus discoursed, having a very sharp hearing, (as we commonly see the Sick have,) did hear all they said of him. Whom he made to be called, and said to them. I desire you hearty not to doubt any thing about me. nor to have any fear of receiving any Damage by me. I have understood what you have spoke together of me, and am assured that things will not run so as you conceived they should, but they shall run quite contrary ways. I have done so many injuries to the Almighty in my Life, that if I do one more in the Hour of my Death, I do not think there shall be one more or less. Therefore procure the Godliest and the most understanding Friar you can find to come to me, (if any such can be found.) And leave the rest to me, for I will so heatly accommodate your business and mine, that yourself shall judge it to be well done, and shall be abundantly satisfied. The two Brothers who had no hopes of the good snccess of the business, went nevertheless to some Religious Friars, and asked for a Holy and understanding Man, that should hear a confession o● a dying Lombard; and they appointed to them a Godly old Man, who was respected as well for his Holy Life as for his great Learning in the Holy Scriptures, for which all the Citizens had a great devotion for him, and him they brought; He coming into the Chamber where Mr. Capelleto lay Sick, and having sit down at his side; at the first began to comfort him with a great deal of kindness, and afterwards asked of him, how long it was since the last time he confessed. To which Mr. Captlleto (who had never been at a confession.) thus Answered, Father, my ●nly custom is to confess at least ●nce a Week, excepting those ●easons, in which I confess in a Week more than once, but true 〈◊〉 is that since I fell Sick, I have ●ot confessed this eight days, so great was the tediousness which ●he infirmity had caused within ●●e. The Friar presently replied My Son you have done very well, ●nd so do for the future, and being you have confessed so lately, 〈◊〉 shall have little Labour either ●o hear you, or ●o ask you Que●tions. Mr. Capelleto answered Master Friar, do not say so, I ●ave not Confessed so often, but ●hat I always had a desire to Con●ess all my sins again in general, which I could call to memory ●rom the first till the last day of my Confession. Therefore I desire you my good Father, that you may be pleased to ask me puntually of all things, as if I had never Confessed. Neither do you regard that I am so weak for I have a greater desire to displease this sinful Flesh of mine, then by flattering of it, commit such a thing as might cause the perdition and ruin of my Soul, which was redeemed by the precious blood of our Savour. These words pleased much the good old man, and gave him reason to think he was pretty well in himself, and after he had greatly praised, this his custom he began to ask him; if he had not committed a Sin of luxury. To which Mr. Capelleto sighing Answered; As to this good Father I am ashamed to ●ell you the truth, fearing less I ●hould become guilty of vain Glory. To which this Holy Father Answered: Tell securely, ●or speaking the truth we neither ●in in, nor without the time of Confession. Presently Mr. Capelleto replied, since you make me ●ure of it, I also will tell you; I ●m as pure a Virgin as I came from my Mother's Belly; O Blessed be thou from the Almighty, quoth the Friar, how well have you done, and doing so, you have Merited by so much the more, by how much you had a greater Liberty to do the contrary, which we cannot have, ●●r any one else that is bound to the Obedience of one Rule or other. Then he asked him, if he had not displeased God in Gluttony. To which Mr. Capelleto sighing vehemently replied, I, and often too. For saith he, besides the Lent Fast and other Fasts voved to the Saints, I at least Fasting three days every Week in Bread and Water, did drink the Water with great delight and at petite, especially after I had undergon some Travel, and was made weary either by long Prayers, or else by Pilgrimage to some Holy Place, and oftentimes I got a Stomach to have a Salad of sour herbs to this my Cheer. To whom Answered the ●ryer; my Son, these sins are Natural, and so small, that I would ●ot have you to aggravate your Conscience with them, it happens to every Body, let him be never so Holy, that he thinks it it good after a long fast to eat and to drink after wearyness. O! quoth Mr. Capelleto Sir, do not speak thus because for my comfort, for you must understand, that I know that all our actions belonging to the Service of God, aught to be done neatly, and without defiling the Soul with the least of oversight, and whosoever doth it otherwise, he committeth a Sin. The Friar being very well satisfied, said; And I also am contented with your good conceit in those matters, and thy pure Conscience pleaseth me mightily. But tell me, have you sinned in Covetuousness, desiring to have more than you had need of, or keeping that from another which you should not have kept. Mr. Capelleto Answered to this. Father I would not have you to take notice of it, that I do lie hear in the House of these Usurers, I have nothing to do with them, but that I cam● hither to admonish and to correct them, and to draw them away, from this abominable gain; and believe me I had done the business, if God had not thus visited me, for you must know my Father left me a Rich Man, out of whose goods after his Death, I gave the best part of them for the Glory of God, and afterwards to maintain myself and be helpful to the Poor Members of Christ, I bought some Marchandizes, and by these to gain some profit, and whatsoever I gated I always did go halus with the Poo, converting my moiety for my own necessary uses, and the other giving to them, for which the Almighty helped me so far, that I always advanced in my things better and better. You have done well, said the Friar, but how often have you been angry. O! quoth Mr. Capelleto, this I say truly, I was very often angry. Neither could I withhold myself seeing the vicious actions of all People in general, which neither did observe the Commandments of God, nor feared his Judgements. There happened many Hours in a day, in which I wish myself more dead than alive, seeing the youth to go after vanity, to swear and forswear, to go to the Taverns, and never enter the Church, and to follow the ways of this World, more than the ways of the Lord. The Friar again said, my Son this is a good anger, and as for me I cannot lay upon thee penalty; but did not sometimes this anger bring you to the committing of a Murder, or to the Slandering of a Person, or to the doing of some other injuries to him. To whom Mr. Capelleto said; O Lord, Master Friar! You appear to me a Man of God, and how do you speak such things, if I had had the least thoughts of committing any of these Villainies you speak of, do you think I should believe, that the Almighty had kept me thus long? Such do belongs to the wicked and doleful wretches, of which when I espied one, I always said to him, God convert you. The Fire said immediately. Now my Son, God lend thee his Blessing, tell me have not you born false witness against your Neighbour, or spoke any bad thing of him, or took away something from him without his consent? Answers Capelleto, never did I speak bad of any, but I had once a Neighbour, who without any reason of the World did nothing else but beat his Wife, and of him I spoke ill to her Relations, so great compassion I had for this poor Gentlewoman, when ever he was fuddled did abuse her God knows how. The Friar said to him again, just now you told me you had been a Merchant, didst not thou cheat any Person according to the custom of Merchants? By my Faith Answered Mr. Capelleto, Mr. Friar I do not know who it was, but there was one had paid me my money he owed me for some Cloth he had of me, and I put it into a Chest without having counted the same, a month after I found there was four pence above my due, and I not finding the man, after I had kept them a whole year for to give them again to him, distributed the same to the Poor. The Friar Answered, that's a small matter, and in doing so, you did well. And after this the Holy Friar did ask him many other Questions; he upon them all, Answering at the same rate as before: He was proceeding to the absolution, to whom Mr. Capelletto, said, Master Friar, I have yet one sin, which I have not discovered to you, The Friar ask what it was, he Answered, I remember I made once a Servant of mine to sweep the room on the Lord's day and so did not pay that due reverence I ought to that day, Oh said the Friar that's but a small thing. No, replieth Mr. Capelletto, do not say it is a small matter, for the Lords day ought to be very much honoured, for on that day did our Blessed Saviour rise from the dead. The Friar said again, did you commit any thing else? Master, Answers Capelletto, I once un●wars did spit in the Church. The Friar smiling a little said, my Son, this thing is not to be heeded, we that are Religious spit there all day long. whereupon Capelletto immediately said; And thereby you commit a great Villainy, for nothing ought to be kept so neat, as the Holy Church in which we render Sacrifices unto the Lord. In short, such ●ryes as these he told many; at last he began to sigh, and afterwards to cry stoutly, as one which could do it very well, when he pleased. The holy Father said. My Son, what doth all you? Cappelletto answered: Ah me, Master Friar, because one sin is resting, which I never confessed but have the greatest shame imaginable to disclose it, and whensoever I think upon It I always cry, as you see now at this present, and as for me, I am persuaded, God will never pardon me this my exorbitance.  
The simple Friar presently replied; Out upon you my Son, what do you say? If all the sins that were committed by all Men, or that shall be committed for the future, as long as the world stands, should be in one single man, and he 〈◊〉 be sorry, for them, and repent, as I see you do, so great is the bounty and mercy of the Almighty, that he should freely forgive them to the Confitent, and therefore speak frankly and without fear; Mr. Capelletto answered again, all the while crying most bitterly. O● my Father, my sin is too great and I can hardly believe, I shall obtain pardon for it, from the Almighty, unless you help me with your Prayers. The Friar said: Tell it freely, for I faithfully promise, to interceded for thee. Mr. Cappelletto wept further, and said nothing, and the Priest comforted him, and desired him to tell. Afterwards, Mr. Cappelletto having held the Friar a long while in amaze, made a great sight and said: Good Father, since you have promised to pray to God for me, I am reso●ve● to tell you: Know then, when I was a very little B●y, I gave bad language to m● M●th●r; and having said this beg●● to 〈◊〉 again most cruelly. The Friar ●n●●cred● O my Son, 〈…〉 this to be 〈◊〉 great ●s 〈…〉 not some people ●lasphem● 〈…〉 days, and 〈◊〉 they but truly repent, the freely forgives them, and do not believe but he will for 〈…〉 you this: Do not cry, be comforted, for truly if you had been of them that crucified our Saviour, and had such a penitent heart as I see you have, you should be pardoned. Mr, Cappelletto, said again; Oh me! My Father, what do you say, my sweet Mamma, that boar me nine months in her womb, night and day, and carried me about her neck, more than a hundred times, should she be abused by me, it is a very great sin, and if you do not pray God for me, it shall not be forgiven to me. The Friar seeing there was nothing else left for Mr. Cappelleoto to say, did immediately absolve him, and gave him his blessing, counting him the holiest man in the World, as being entirely persuaded it was all truth, Mr. Cappelletto had confessed; And who should not believe it was so, hearing a Man upon his death bed speaking so as he did: And after all this the Friar spoke to him: Mr. Cappelletto, with the help of God, you shall shortly recover. But if it should happen that God should call your blessed, and well-disposed So●● to himself, will you be pleased, that your body may be buried in our Cloister? To which Mr. Cappelletto answered: Sir, I would not have it be any where else, after I received a promise, you should pray God for me, for to pass by that, I always had a particular devotion for your Order. Wherefore I desire you, that as soon as you come to your Monastery, you may cause to be brought to me the real body of Christ, such as you do consecrate every morning upon the Altar for that, (though I be unworthy I may with your good will receive it, and afterwards the holy extreme unction, that so I who have lived as a sinner should at the least die like a Christian. This holy man replied, that he was very well pleased with it, and he said, Well, and should I make that it should be brought presently, and it was done accordingly. The two Brothers doubting Mr. Cappelletto should cozen the Friar posted themselves at the partition of that Chamber, in which he lay and very easily harkening, did hear, and understand, what Mr. Cappelletto spoke to the Friar, and had many a time so good a mind to laugh, hearing his confession, that they almost bursted, and betwixt themselves talked thus; what a man is this, whom neither his old age, nor weakness, neither the fear of death, which he is near unto, nor the fear of God, before whose Judgement seat, he in few hours must appear, could remove from 〈◊〉 base tricks, neither effect h● should be unwilling to die so 〈◊〉 he had lived. But seeing that according as the Friar had said he should be buried in th● Church, they heeded nothing else. Mr. Cappelletto, after h● had received the Communion and grew worse and worse, ha● also the extreme unction administered unto him, and some tim● being past, after his brave confession, he died. After this, these two Brothers being ordered by himself, did consult how to bu●ry him honourably, and immediately sent to the Friar's Cloister, desiring them to come tha● evening, and to watch at hi● dead Corpse, according to th●● Custom, and as for the buria● they should order all things con●venient for to morrow. The ●holy Friar that had heard his confession, hearing he was departed this life, was at the Priors of the House, and made the Bell ●ring to the Chapter, where the Friars crowding in, he opened how that Mr. Cappelletto had been a holy and Godly man, according to what he had apprehended out of his confession. And hoping that the Almighty would by his means show many Miracles, persuaded them, to receive his body with great reverence and devotion. Which the Prior and the rest of the Friars believing agreed too, and at night went all thither, where the body of Mr. Cappelletto did ●ly, where they made a great and a solemn Vigil, and the mo●●ing after, all in their Surplice● and Robes, with Books in the hands, and a cross before them went for the Corpse, and with 〈◊〉 great Feast and solemnity, carried it to their Church, bein● followed almost by all the ●tizens, as well Men as Wome● And after they had set it in th● midst of the Church, the ho●● Friar, that had been his Confessor, went to the Pulpit, an● began to preach marvellous things, about his Life, fasting about his Virginity, simplieit● innocency, and holiness. A mongst the rest, telling the● what Mr. Capelletto h● confessed before him to 〈◊〉 his greatest sin, and that wi●● Tears, and how he scarce ●uid persuade him of it, that ●od thould forgive him the same; ●●ok an occasion to reprove his ●arers, saying, And you accursed ●ople, for the least bit of a ●aw under you feet, do blasfeme God, his Mother, and 〈◊〉 the Court of Heaven. And 〈◊〉 spoke many other things of 〈◊〉 loyalty, faithfulness, purity, 〈◊〉 so much, that with these ●ords (unto which they ●at were from the Country, gave ●tire credit) he put into the ●eads of the Auditors a great evotion for the dead man, and 〈◊〉 ●oon as the Office was finished, 〈◊〉 of them with the greatest ●rong in the world, went to ●●s his hands and feet, and ●ut all the Cloth about him ●inking themselves happy if they could have a little piece of it, and the Friars thought it convenient, to let it stand openly all that day, for that he might be seen and visited by all. The next night after, he was laid into a Coffin of marble, and honourably buried in a Chapel. The next morning after, as well as the rest following the people began to repair thither, and to set up lighted Candles before him, to adore him, and consequently to vow unto him, and to hang at his Grave waxed Images according to their promise. And so much did this fame of his Sanctity increase, and of people's devotion at his grave, that there was almost never a one, who being in adversity did vow to any other Saint besides to him, and ●ey called him S. Cappellet●●, affirming that God had ●ewed many Miracles by his ●eans, and showeth every day 〈◊〉 any that devoutly recommends ●●mself to this Saint. So lived eddied Mr. Cappelletto, and be●me a Saint, as you have been yformed.   

A Certain Prior and a great Reformer of Nuns, under the Cloak of Hypocrisy trieth all possible means to beguile and entice a Religious Nun, but at length his Wickedness is made manifest.  
THere was in the City of Paris a Prior of of St. Mar●● in the Fields, whose Life e●●n unto the fiftieth year of his ●●ge, was so very austere, that the fame of his Sanctity, overspread the whole Kingdom of France, in so much that there was neither Prince nor Princess, who did not entertain him with singular respect and Honour, when ever he came to visit them: Neither was there any Reformation made in any Religion, Monastery or Abbey; but he had always the chief hand in it, for he was commonly called the Father of true Religion, he was Elected Visitor of the great Abbey of the Nuns, of Frontinaux the which did so extremely dread them, that whensoever he came into any of their Monasteries all the Nuns did even tremble for fear, and to the end that they might induce him to mitigate some what of his Severities he imposed upon them, ●hey did Treat and Entertain him ●s nobly and splendidly as if he ●ad been the King himself, which sumptuous Entertainment he at ●rst did seem absolutely to refuse, ●ut at last being come to the fif●● fifth year of his Age, he be●an very well to relish the Regals ●nd Magnific Treatments, which ●e had formerly despised, so that ●e thinking that the public good ●f all Religious Order did depend ●n his Person, he resolved to be ●ore careful of his Health, than heretofore he had been, so that though according to the Dictates of his Order, he was to ab●ain from all Flesh Meat, he fairly ●nd freely gave himself a Dispensation, the which he never granted to any other Person, saying that the whole burden of the Regular Order did rely upon him So that he feasted his Carcase 〈◊〉 well, that from a lean Monk, h● in a little time became as fat as 〈◊〉 Friar, and having changed h●● manner of Liuning, he soo● changed his manners, and bega● to look and fix his Eyes upon such Faces which his Conscience did not formerly permit him t● look upon, in so much that casting his Eyes upon such Beauties which through Vails a● magnified and become more desirable, he began to lust after them, and in order thereunto to satisfy his base lust, he contrived and used the most craft● ways which lust and malice ca● suggest, and so disrobing himself of the nature of a true Pastor, h● putteth on the nature of a Ravenous Wolf, in so much that in ●any considerable Abbeys if he ●und any Nun simplish, and 〈◊〉 a pliant nature, he would not ●il to invegle her, and catch ●er by the Busk. But after that ●e had long continued in this de●stable course of Life, God's in●ite bounty Compassionating ●ese poor wand'ring Sheep, did ●●t permit him to reign and glo● in wickedness, as shall appear 〈◊〉 this following Narration. ●nce as he was going to visit a ●onvent hard by Paris called ●●if, it came to pass, that as he ●as hearing all the Nuns in confession, he observed one a●ongst them, whose name was ●●ary Herauvet, whose Speech ●as so sweet and so agreeable, ●at he did not question but that her Face and Heart would corre●● pond to it, wherefore by only having heard her, he was seize, with a violent lustful passion, f●exceeding any he had had towards the other Nuns, so that in speaking to her he stoope● himself very low to look o● her, and having perceived he Coral Lips, he could not contain himself from lifting up her Vai● that he might see whether he Eyes did answer proportionably the fair Symmetry of her Face and having found them so, he wa● presently possessed with such a surious Passion, that he could neither eat nor drink, and his Countenance was greatly altered, an● being returned to his Priory, 〈◊〉 could find no rest, but pass. Night and Day restless and fu●● ●f ear how he might compass his desire, and deal with her as ●e had done with many others, ●he which he knew right well was a hard thing to effect, because ●he was a Person of a singular Wisdom and acute Wit, and on ●he other side knowing himself so difformed and so old, he resolved with himself not to solicit her to it, but rather to make her yield by fear, wherefore he soon after went again to the said Monastery of Give, at which time and place he shown himself more severe than ever, being angry at all the Nuns, reproving this because her Veil was not low enough, and chiding that because she lifted her head up too high, and checking the other because she did not make her courtesies as became a Religious Nun, and in all these Punctilioes, he did show himself so sti●● and severe, that all the Nunn● dreaded him as much as Children do their Bug-bears. And he who was troubled with the Gout, did toil so much in visiting all the places of the Monastery, that about the time of Evening Prayers (a time appointed by him) he came to the Dormitory. The Abbess told him, Reverend Father, it is time to sing Evening Song, to whom he replied and said, go Mother, go to Church and sing it, for my part I am so weary, that I must stay here, not so much to rest myself as for to give a Check to Sister Mary Herovet, concerning whom I have heard a very ill fame, for I have been told that ●he tattles and prattles like any ●ain worldling. The Prioress who was Aunt to the said Nuns Mother, prayed him to check ●ersmartly, and left her all alone with him, excepting a young Monk who was come with him, ●s soon as he perceived himself all alone with Sister Mary, he be●g●n to lift up her Veil, and to command her she should look upon him, she did answer that according to the Rules of her Order she was prohibited casting her Eyes upon any Man. Well said Daughter, replied he, but you must not repute us Religious Persons as Men. Wherefore the said Sister Mary fearing to Sin against the vow of her Obedience, did look him in the Face, but she perceived him so ugly and deformed; that she thought she had undergone a greater Penance, than committed Sin, in looking him in the Face this Holy Father after that he had displayed the best Flowers of his Rhetoric in declaring his great respects and Cordial Affections towards her, he presently clapped his hand upon her Breast, but she according to her duty thrusted him back, and he being in a great fume Exclaimed against her saying, What? must a Religious Nunn know that she hath Teats, she forthwith replied, Yea I know that I have them, and also that you, and such as you are ought not to lay hands on them, for I am not so young nor ignorant, but that I know right well what is a sin, and what is not; but he well perceiving that he could not win the place by such Stratagems, he resolved to turn over a new leaf, in telling her, Alas, dear Sister, I must needs declare to you my great extremity; and the case is this, I am troubled with a Distemper which all Physicians do judge incurable, unless I take some pastime with a Woman that I love very well; as for me I do not esteem my life so much but that I would rather choose to die than to commit a mortal sin, but if the business did proceed so far, it is well known that the simple sin of Fornication is no way to be paralleled with the sin of Murder; wherefore if you love my life it is in your power to save it, and together to free your Conscience from an extreme Cruelty. But she, replying, asked him what kind of Pastime he meant to take; he answered her, that she might very well repose her Conscience upon his, and that he would do nothing that could any way turn to the prejudice of either of them, and to show her a prelude of that pastime he required, he presently embracing her, did endeavour with all his strength to cast her upon the Bed; but she by this time perceiving his wicked intent, what by words and what by deeds did defend herself so well, that notwithstanding all his bustle and chafing he had power to touch nothing but her . Now when he saw that all his endeavours and inventions were but in vain, as an enraged man, and one that had put off all sense of Conscience and of Natural Reason, clapped his hand under her Coats, and so f●r as he could touch, scratched her so cruelly, that the poor N●n shrieking out fell down her full height on the ground in a swoon. Now the Abbess having heard her outcry, forthwith entered the Dormitory where she was, and remembering that she had left her Niece all alone with that good Father, and smitten in her Conscience, did thrust the door which the young Monk held fast. Now this holy Prior hearing that the Abbess herself was at the door, caused it to be opened, and showing her her Niece on the ground in a swoon, told her; Certainly, Madam, you are very much to blame that you never informed me of the dispositions of Sister Mary, for I being altogether ignorant of the weak disposition of her body, caused her to stand all the while I was checking of her, and so as you see she is fallen into a swoon. They did with Vinegar, and other fit things, at last recover her out of her swoon, and found that by her fall she had got a hurt in her head. Now being come to herself, the Prior fearing lest she should declare to the Abbess, who was her Aunt, the Cause of her illness, told her secretly by herself, Daughter I forbidden you upon pain of Disobedience and of eternal Damnation, from ever speaking or revealing any thing that I have done to you in this place; for you must know that the extreme affection I have towards you hath constrained me to it, but ●eeing I perceive you are unwilling to grant your consent, I will never mention it any more but this time. I assure you that in case you be pleased to correspond with my love I shall cause you to be elected Abbess of one of the most famous Abbeys of this Kingdom. But she answered him, that she would rather choose to die in a stinking Dungeon, rather than take any other Lover besides him who suffered death for her upon the Cross, with whom she would rather suffer all the indignities and torments which the World and the Devil could inflict on her, than without him enjoy all worldly pleasure and treasure: And withal she desired him to forbear mentioning such discourse any more, or else the would declare all to the Abbess; but if he did so, she promised she would be silent.  
After this manner was this wicked Pastor, or rather ravenous Wolf, defeated of his prey who notwithstanding that he might longer enjoy the sight of her whom he lusted after, he in an Hypocritical manner went to the Abbets and prayed her to command her Nanns to sing a Salve Regina, to the honour of that Virgin, on whom he relied all his h●pes, which was done accordingly, but all the time of their singing this crafty Ruffian, shed abundance of tears, not out of any devotion towards the blessed Virgin Mary, but out of regreat and sorrow that he had conceived, in not having enjoyed his sweet Mary the Nun; as for the Religious Nuns, thinking he did it for the Love he had for the blessed Virgin Mary, they had him in great Veneration and esteemed him as a very holy Person, but as for Sister Mary, who knew his abominable hypocrisy, prayed to GOd in her heart that he would confound him who made so light of the Pearl of Chastity. So this execrable Hypocrite, went his way to his Priory of Saint Martins, in which place the fire of his base Lust was not extinct, but rather kindled every day more, and more and he left no stone unturned, that he might compass his wicked enterprise, and because he chief feared the Abbess who was a virtuous Lady; he contrived a way how he might remove her from that Monastery, and for that purpose he went towards Madam of Vendosme, who then did live at a place called La●fere, where she had Erected and founded a Convent of Nuns, by the name of Mount Olivet, And he as he was the chief Reformer made her understand that the Abbess of the said Mount Olivet, was not sufficient to Govern so great a Congregation, upon which words, the good Lady prayed him to name her one who was more able and more worthy of that Office, but he who required nothing else, Counselled her to take, and make choice of the Abbess of Give, she being the most virtuous and the ●est able in all the Kingdom of France. Madam de Vendosme, ●id forth with send for her, and committed to her the Government of her Monastery of Mount Olivet. This Prior of St. Mar●ins, who could command the ●otes of all the Convent of Give, ●aused her to be elected Abbess whom he liked best. Now af●●er this Election, he again went ●o the said Monastery to try once more, whether he by entreaty could gain the Love of Sister Mary Herovet, but seeing that ●here was no hope, returned desperate to his priory of St. Mar●in, in which place, partly ●o compass his end, and partly to revenge himself of her cruelty, and also lest his filthiness should be detected, he c●used the Relics of the said Convent to be stolen in the night, and charged the Confessor of Gist, a very honest old man, as if he had stole them, and for that sent him to Prison, to S. Martin's; in the while he had kept him Prisoner, he did subourn two Witnesses which ignorantly subscribed to all the Dictates of the Prior of S. Martins which were these: That in a certain Garden they had seen the said Confessor with Sister Mary, in an obscene act, the which he endeavoured to make the old Monk to confess: But he who knew right well all the mad pranks of his Prior, intreaded him he might have the liberty to plead his cause before a Congregation of all the Monks, and that in the presence of them all he would declare the long and the short of all he knew, but the Prior well knowing that the justification of the said Confessor would prove his Condemnation would by no means condescend to his request; but finding him firm and stiff in his purpose, did use him so severely and barbariously in Prison, that some say he died there, others that he forced him to abandon his order, and totransport himself out of the Kingdom of France; however it be, he never was seen any more. When this Prior thought he had got such an advantage over Sister Mary he went to the Monastery, where the Abbess being at his beck, durst contradict him in no kind of thing, and then he began to exercise his Authority of visitor, he therefore caused all the Nuns to be brought before him one after another, that he might hear their depositions and confessions, but the turn of Sister Mary being come, who had lost her good Aunt, he began to tell her, Sister Mary, you know the crime whereof you are accused, and that your fair pretences, as i● you was a singular model o● Chastity, did avail you nothing, for it is evident enough, you are far from being that you would be reputed to be, but Sister Mary, with an undaunted courage answered him, let him that hath accused me be brought before me, and you shall see whither he shall dare to persist in his accusation, but he presenely replying, said: That there was no need of any more Testimonies, seeing the Confessor himself had already been convicted. Sister Mary answered him: I do repute him to be so honest a man, that I think he would not wrong his Conscience, and the truth so far as to confess such a wickedness, and lie against me, but suppose the Case it was so, let him be brought before me, and I do undertake to prove the contrary to his Face. The Prior perceiving he could no way fright her, told her: I am your Father, and for this cause I desire to save, your reputation; wherefore I remit the whole business to your Conscience; but one thing I will ask you, and I conjure you upon pain of a mortal sin, to tell me ingeniously the truth, my question is whither you was a Virgin, when you was brought hither at first, she answered him again Father, when I came hither first, I was but five years of age, that age is a sufficient Testimony of my Virginity.  
Well said Daughter, said he, since that time have you not lost that precious Jewel? She protested she had not and that she never had any enticement but by him, but he said that he could not believe her, and that the business must be put to Trial. What Trial said she are you pleased to make of it? Even the same Trial that I used upon others said ●he, for I am not constituted a ●isitour of the Souls only, but of the Bodies also, most of your Abbesses and Prioresses did fall into my hands, if you be a Virgin indeed, you need not be ashamed of the Trial of your Virginity, the Trial of the Pudding is by the cut, and therefore lay yourself upon the Bed, and turn all your  over your Face, but Sister Mary full of passion answered him, you have entertained me with so many filthy talks concerning the foolish affection you had for me, that I have reason to believe you rather intent to snatch away the Flower of my Virginity than to try it; wherefore I will have you know that I will never consent to your Trial, he then told her, that sh● was really excommunicated for refusing such obedience, which she was bound to yield according to the Rules of her Order, and that unless she would consent, he would disgrace her openly before the whole Congregation, and declare all the wicked filthiness which had been committed between her and the Confessor- but she with an undaunted countenance answered him, He that tryeth the Reins and and the hearts of his Servants, will render me more honour before him than you can take away from me before Men, wherefore seeing your wickedness is come s● far, I will rather choose you should satiate your malice against me, than you should fulfil your wicked intent upon me. For I know full well that God is a just judge, and tha● he will avenge the cause of the oppressed in his blessed time. He ●t that very time caused the Bell to be rung in order to gather together all the Congregation of the Religious Nuns, and cited her to appear before him, and Sister Mary being come, was commanded to kneel down before him, to whom he in a wonderful rage and spite said. Sister Mary, you grieved me in my bear't, that all the good admonitions I have hitherto given you, proved fruitless and to no purpose, so that against my Nature I am forced to impose a penance upon you, for having carefully examined your Confessor about some crimes whereof he was lawfully accused, he hath plainly confes● before me that he had carnally abused your Person in the same place mentioned by the witnesses, who testified they saw the crime committed there. Wherefore from that honourable degree wherein I had out of my good esteem constituted you, from the overseer and Mristress of the Novices, I ordain that you shall be removed the last of them all, and moreover, that you shall be fed with Bread and Water on the bare ground before all the Nuns, until that time your Crimes be expiated by true Repentance, your contrition may call for favour and mercy.  
Now Sister Mary had been forewarned by one of the Nuns, who was her intimate Friend, and one who understood all the Intrigue, that in case she pleaded for herself, and should cast out any word that should distaste the said Prior, that he would presently cause her to be thrown in pace, that is to say, into a perpetual Dungeon, she therefore patiently suffered this sentence, and lifting up her hands and eyes to Heaven, earnestly prayed to God the avenger of the innocent, beseeching him that as he had been her safeguard, and had hitherto afforded her grace to resist all the allurements unto sin, so he would be pleased to arm her with a Christian patience in her great tribulation. Moreover this Worshipful Prior commanded, that she within the term of three years ensuing, should not be permitted to speak to any of her Parents or Kindred, if at any time they came to visit her, and that she should write no Letters but before the whole Congregation of Nuns: So that after this wicked wretch had fulfilled his rage against this innocent Maid, he went his way, and never came more there. This poor Nun was left a very long time in the disgrace and distress above mentioned; but her Mother, who loved her even above all her other Children, seeing she heard no more of her, was in a great perplexity, and told one of her Sons, who was a wise and discreet Gentleman, that she believed her Daughter was dead, and that the Nuns, to the end they might still receive her yearly Pension, did conceal her death; and withal entreated and commanded him to try all possible means whereby he might know what was become of his Sister, who forthwith repaired to the said Convent, and having questioned some of the Nuns concerning her, he was answered that his Sister was sick, and had kept her Bed three years, but he being a young man of an acute wit and quick parts, did not take their excuses for currant money, but swore presently, that if he did not see her, he would forthwith scale the Walls and force his passage through the Convent, at which words they were much affrighted, and in a peck of troubles, and therefore thought it their best way to bring her to the Grate, but the Abbess did accompany her, and stood so near that she could reveal nothing of her mind to her Brother, but she being wise and discreet had well foreseen that, and therefore had secretly committed to writing all the passages before mentioned, and a thousand other stratatagems which the said Prior had used on purpose to inveigle her, the which because they would be too long and too tedidious to rehearse, for brevity sake I will omit; but I must not forget mentioning that whilst her Aunt was yet Abbess, he thinking he had suffered a repulse because of his deformity, he caused a young and beautiful Monk to entice this chaste Nun to wickedness, hoping, that if by Love she should yield to that young Monk, he could afterwards win her by fear: This young Monk, entertained her with so vile discourses, and so obscene actions, in a Garden where he was with her, that I think myself obliged to spare chaste Ears, seeing I cannot relate them without a blush, insomuch, that this honest poor Nun was forced to jump and run but of the Garden to the Abbess, who was then speaking with that Prior, and with a great outcry, told her, Dear Mother, they that come to visit our Convent are Devils under Religious Monks Couls. But then the Prior fearing lest his Roguery should be discovered, began a ●ew Tale, and smiling, told the Abbess, Certainly, dear Mother, Sister Mary's complaint is very just and reasonable, and taking Sister Mary by the hand, told her before the Abbess: I have long ago been informed that Sister Maries Clapper was hung exceedingly well, and that she had her neat speech so much at command, that she was reputed ●ain and worldly; wherefore, for that very reason, I forced myself against my natural inclination to entertain her with such vain discourses, wherewith worldlings are wont to entice their paramours (which discourses I have read in Books, for by experience I am as ignorant of them, as I was in my Cradle,) and thinking that my old age together with my deformity did extort from her those virtuous expressions of hers, I did command my young Monk; he should entertain her with the same idle and vain discourses; the which notwithstanding she hath as you see, vigorously withstood, and therefore reputing her a very virtuous and discreet person, it is my will and desire, that henceforth she may enjoy the first place of Honour after you, and be constituted Mistress over all the younger Nuns; to the end, that by this encouragement her virtuous disposition may increase more and more, until it groweth to a perfect habit of Virtue. This act and many other pranks, did that reverend Ghostly Father play, during the space of three ●ears in which he lusted after his chaste Virgin, the which (as ●s mentioned before) gave her Brother through the Grate, the whole content of this doleful Narration, but her Brother having delivered it to her Mother, she being almost distracted, and almost desperate, came to Paris, and went presently to the Queen of Navarre, the King's only Sister, to whom she shown this Tragical Narrative, and told her, Madam, repose no more your Trust upon such vile Hypocrites, I did believe I had placed my Daughter in the way to Heaven, but now I think I had brought her to the pit of Hell, in the hands of them that are worse than the worst of Devils that can be there, for the Devils can do no more than to tempt and entice us into sin, but these will draw us by force, if peradventure they by allurements cannot Captivate ●ur affections. The Queen of Navarre was exceedingly troubled, for she reposed her whole trust upon that Prior of Saint Martins, to whom she had committed the whole charge and oversight of the Abbesses of Mon●ivillier and of Cawls, who were ●isters in Law. On the other ●●de she detested the vileness of ●he fact with such aversion, that ●he undertaken to vindicate the innocency of that poor distresed Maid, and upon that account declared the whole business to ●he King's Chancellor (who was ●t that time Legate in France) who sent for the said Prior, who ●eing come could plead nothing ●or himself, but that he was ●hreescore and ten years of age, and addressing himself to the Queen of Navarre, he earnestly entreated by all the Love she ever had for him, and for a recompense of all his former services to her, she would be pleased to stop all the proceed in Law against him, and that he was ready to confess openly that Sister Mary Herovet was a pearl of honour, and a singular pattern of Heroic Chastity. The Queen having heard him, was so amazed that it was not in her Power to speak a word with him, but went her way and left him, but the wicked wretch confounded and covered with shame withdrew himself to his Monastery, where he would be seen of no body, and survived this shame but one year after.   

A Friar fraudulently marrieth another Friar, his Companion, to a pretty Young Gentlewoman, and a while after they were both punished.  
A French Gentlewoman was once at Milan, in Italy, 〈◊〉 whom was reported, that in ●he Bishops, or Chapter-Goal, ●as a Friar imprisoned; and squiring after the reason (for she ●e that every body talked of it, ●r jests and laughings sake) was ●●ld that this Friar being an elderly man, was a Confessor to very honest Gentlewoman, and ●ous. She was a Widow, and ●●d but one Daughter, whom ●e loved so well, that no pains ●ere so hard, but she did take them, for that she might give her a Portion, and get her a good honest Husband: She seeing her Daughter to grow up in years and body, was always desirous to get her a Husband, who might live with them both, in peace, and quietness, that is, that he might be a man of a good Conscience, as she deemed herself to be. And because she heard some sottish Preacher saying: That it was a great deal better to do bad by the advice of the Doctors, than good against the inspiration of the holy Ghost, she addresses herself to her Father Confessor, a man very ancient, and a Doctor in Divinity, for his Life and Conversation esteemed by all the people of the City, assuring herself, that by his advice and fervent prayers, she ●●uld not fail of obtaining a reble for her, and her Daughter. ●nd when she very much pressed ●pon him, desiring him to choose ●●ch a Husband for her Daughter, as was known to love God ●ove all, and to support his ●onour and good Name, with virtuous actions; he answered ●er; that for the first he will be●●ke himself to implore the ●race and assistance of the Holy spirit, by prayers and fastings. ●nd after the Lord would give 〈◊〉 to his prayers, he hoped to ●nd that out which she desired. ●fter this the Friar repaired to place for to contrive the mat●●r. And because he had heard ●f the Dame, that she had five ●undred Ducats in a lump ready to be given to her Daughter Husband, and that she would take upon herself the Charge of their Victuals, of the furniture of the House of all household stuff, and of paying Customs, he bethought himself; how that he had a young fellow-Fryer, of a handsome shape, and loving looks, and concluded to give unto him the pretty Maid, the House, Goods, he being sure of Victuals, and other necessaries, and to take the five hundred Ducats to himself, for to comfort and quench a little ardent Covetousness. And after he had spoke to his Companion, and found they were both of a mind, he returned to the Gentlewoman, and said: I believe without any doubt that God hath sent to me his Angel Raphael, as 〈◊〉 did to Tobias, for that I might ●nd as accomplished Husband for ●ur Daughter: For I'll assure you ●hat I have on my side, the honestly young Gentleman that ever ●as in Italy, who hath several ●m●s seen your Daughter, and is 〈◊〉 highly taken with her, that to 〈◊〉 when I was in prayers, God ●●nt him to me, and he declared 〈◊〉 me that desire he had of being ●arried with your Daughter: I ●●ow his Family, and his Parents ●nd Relations, as likewise that he 〈◊〉 of a notable good life, I have ●omised him to speak to you. 'Tis ●ue he hath one inconveniency, ●hich only I know of him; which 〈◊〉. That he willingly to rescue one 〈◊〉 his Friends, whom another ●ould have run throw, drew his Sword, intending to part them but fortune ordered it so that he killed the other: Therefore he lest he might be taken and imprisoned escaped from thence, being he was present at his being killed and by the advice of his Friends, and near Relations, he is retire● into this City, in a dress of 〈◊〉 Scholar, where he keeps himself incognito, until his Friends have compounded the matter, which he hopes will be shortly done, because of this, it will be most convenient the Marriage should be done privately, and that you should be contented, that at day times he may go to the public Lectures, and as for night he will Sup and lie every night at your House.  
Presently the good Woman answered him thus; Sir, I find a great advantage in what you 〈◊〉 me, for at least I shall have ●●t near me which I desire above 〈◊〉 things in the world. Which ●e Friar did, and conducted him 〈◊〉 her in good order, in a brave ●it of Crimson Satin, wherein 〈◊〉 appeared very gallant; after ●●ey were come she made some ●ort Compliments. A minute as scarcely over, but the ancient Friar began to say the Mass, ●●d that being done, he Married ●●em; the young Couple went 〈◊〉 Bed together, and lay till the ●●ry break of day, when the ●usband said to his Wise, that ●r fear of being known, he must ●e forced to go into the College. ●aving taken his Crimson Suit, ●●d his long Gown, not forgetting his black Cap, came to take his leave of his Wife, who w●● yet in her Bed, assuring her th●● he would come every night 〈◊〉 sup with her, but as for Di●ners she should not stay for him so he departed leaving his Wif● who esteemed herself the happ● est Woman in the world, because she had lighted on such a Husband. The young married Friar returned to his old Father, t● whom he brought the five hu●dred Ducats, there where the had met together at the first when they were agreeing up●● the terms of the marriage, an● in the Evening did not fail t● come to sup with her wh● thought him to be her husband and he could insinuate himself so well in her and in his Mothe● kindness, that they would n● ●●ve given him for the best ●ince in the world. This life continued for a while; but being 〈◊〉 goodness of God taketh pity 〈◊〉 them that are trapanned bemuse of their credulity, it happened that one morning both Mo●er and Daughter took a great ●●sire to go to Mass at Saint Pran●●, and to visit their Father confessor, by the means of whom ●ey thought themselves extreme, 〈◊〉 well provided, one of a beau●ul Son, the other of a loving husband's. And by chance not ●●ding their Confessor, nor any ●●dy else of their acquaintance, ●ere resolved to hear high Mass, ●hich was just beginning, to see 〈◊〉 in the mean time he might not ●ome: And amidst that the ●●ung Dame, very earnestly attended the Service, and ove● weighed the mystery of it, th● Priest turning about to say 〈◊〉 Dominus Vobiscum, she was qui●● surprised and astonished, 〈◊〉 it seemed unto her that it was ●ther her Husband or one ve●● like him; but for all this 〈◊〉 would not make a great bustle but stayed till he should turn abo●● once more, and then she too a fuller view of him, and d●● not doubt but that it was he Therefore she draws her Moth● to her, that was in a deep contemplation, and says: Alas, Madam, what is that I see? Th● Mother asked her, what it wa● It is my Husband, quoth sh● that says the Mass, or a people that is the likest to him above ●ny man in the World.  
The Mother that had not ta●en great notice of him, said, beseech you, good Daughter, ●t not such an opinion take place 〈◊〉 your head. For it is a thing together impossible, that they ●ho are Men, so holy should immit so great a trumpery. You'll ●n greatly against God by giving ●edit to such an opinion as this. however, she resolved to observe 〈◊〉 features and when he came to ●y Ita missa est, she verily did see, ●●at never two Brethren of one ●●d the same Mother could be li●● yet she was so simple still, that 〈◊〉 freely said, God forbidden I should ●●eve what I see; but being ve●● much touched with the love 〈◊〉 her Daughter, would not let ●e business be unknown, therefore she resolved to find out the truth. Evening being com● when the Husband was to return who had no way perceived them the Mother said to her Daughter. If you will we shall know th● truth about your Husband presently; for when he shall be 〈◊〉 Bed, I'll come to the Chamber and stand behind him very easily without making him to hear i● you in the mean time shall tak● off his Nightcap, and so w● shall see if he hath such a shave● Crown as he had that said th● Mass: And as she said, so the● did: For as soon as the rogui●● Husband went to bed, the ol● Gentlewoman came in, an● took hold of both his hands her Daughter in the mean tim● pulling off his Cap, discovere● his pretty shaved pate. At whic● ●he Mother and Daughter being extremely astonished, insomuch ●hat they were not able to express it, immediately called their Servants, making them to take ●nd bind him till morning, not regarding his excuses and fair words. The day being come, ●he Gentlewoman sent for her Father Confessor, feigning as if ●he had to impart to him some secret matters of great importance. The Father came presently, whom she made to be ●aken as well as the young one, reproaching him for cozening ●er so basely. And after this, ●he sent for some Justices, into ●he hands of whom she delivered them both, being of that opinion, that if they had any Conscience, they would not let them escape unpunished. And according to their deserts the young est was condemned to a perpetual Prison, and the Eldest suspended of his Office.   

A Dean of Fiesola, is in Love wit● an handsome Widow, and is no● beloved of her, and believing himself to lie with her, lieth with one of her Servant-maids and the Brothers make him 〈◊〉 be cacht by the Bishop.  
A At Fiesola near Florence next to the Cathedral, lived a Gentlewoman that was 〈◊〉 Widow, called Madam Picca●da, in a pretty House, but no● very large, she was a Gentle woman very active, and stay●● ●here the greatest part of the year, and with her two young Gentlemen her Brothers, very Gallant and Courteous. It happened, that the Gentlewoman frequenting the Cathedral Church, ●nd being yet very young, beautiful and pleasant, was espied by the Dean, who immediately fell in love with her, in ●o much that she was always before his Eyes. Afterwards, he was at a time in such a burning ●ire, that he himself discovered ●nd opened his desires to her, beseeching her that she would be content of his good inclinations. ●nd love him as well as he did ●er. This Dean was old in years, ●ut very young in wit and understanding, graceless and high-spirited, he presumed very much of himself, with his ways an● customs, full of dislike and tediousness, and so importunate a●● brutish he was, that there wa● not one Person that wished hi● well, and if there was any tha● wished him well, this Gentlewoman was such, that she no● only meant him not one jo● o● good will, but also hated him above the very head ache. Therefore She being a wise Gennlewoman, answered him thus. Sir because you do love me, I do tak● it very kindly, and am bound to love you also, and frankly profess I do like you, provided that no dishonesty may pass betwixt us. You are my Ghostly Father, and a Priest, and ar● drawing very near to old age▪ wherefore you ought to follow things honest and chaste; and ●n the other side, I am not a Child, and therefore these harms of love do not very well ●gree with my condition, I being a Widow, as you know, ●●ther are you ignorant what honesty is required in a Widow, therefore I desire you t●●xcuse me, for at that rate as you ●esire me to love you, I will ●ever do it, neither do I desire to be loved by you. The ●ean not being able at that time 〈◊〉 draw any thing more besides ●hat out of her, did not show himself as a forlorn man, or cast ●t the first Trial, but set in action his usual pretence, Solliciing her both by Letters and Messengers, and moreover did ●he same when he see her coming into the Church. These Darts seeming to the Gentle woman very hard, and ted●●ous to the be endured, she thought to free herself from them by such means as the D●an deserved (since she could not do otherwise.) But she would put nothing to work, before she had spoke of it to her Brothers, and to to tell them as well what the Dean did about her, as what she had determined to do. And having obtained from them a full Licence of the same, after few days she went to the Church according to her custom. WHich the Dean seeing, presently did go towards her, and as he had been used, after the manner of a near Friend or relation, did enter with her into some talk. The Gentlewoman seeing him com●ing, and looking at him, showed him a very pleasant countenance, and having retired to a place, after the Dean had spoke ●o her a great many things according to his fashion, the Gentlewoman, having made a great sigh, said; Master Dean, I have very often heard there is no Castle so strong, which being besieged and stoutly affualted should not sometimes be taken, which I see accomplished in myself, for now by your sweet words, then with your pleasant Countenance, sometimes with one change, sometimes with another, you have so environed me, that you made me to break ●●y former resolution, so that I am at this present disposed to be yours according to your own will and pleasure. The Dean lifted up with joy beyond his sear, said, madam I rende● hearty thanks to you, but whe● and where can we be together To which the Gentlewoman replied; my sweet Sir, it may be when you have a mind to, and what hour you will be pleased to appoint, for I having no Husband, I have no occasion to give an account of my nightly seasons, but I cannot best think where it may be done. The Dean said, how now, why may it not be in your House? The Gentlewoman answered, Sir, you know, that I have two young Brothers, which both day and night come to my House with their Comrades, moreover my House is but very little, and therefore I do not ●now how you may be there, ●nless you will be there as one ●hat's dumb, without moving or ●irring, and be in the dark af●er the fashion of blind Men, if ●ou will do that you may. For 〈◊〉 cannot place you in my Cham●er, but they (their Cham●er being next to mine) may ●ear the least word we speak, ●r stirring we make. The Dean presently answered, Ma●am, notwithstanding all this ●et us not leave the sport for a ●ight or two, until I may bethink myself, where and in what part we may be with a greater Liberty. The Gentlewoman answered, this I leave to you, but I beg one thing at your hands, that all this may be secret, and that no body should know what we speak together. The Dean answered again, Madam do not doubt of that, and if it be possible agree, that we may be together this same Evening. The Gentlewoman said; I am satisfied, and she gave him orders, when and in what manner he should come; so she departed from him and went home. This Gentlewoman had one of her servants which was not veyoung already, and had a very ugly look with her, and so disfigured as any Woman in the World; for she had a Nose as an Eagle and a wry mouth, broad Lips, the Teeth quite out of order, and as well big, as black, and her Breath stunk most abominably, moreover her Eyes were always dropping, and her ●ace was all yellow and green, and above all this she was crooked, and somewhat lame on her right side, and her Name was Porca. And as well as she was disfigured as to her Person, so she was somewhat maliceful, whom the Gentlewoman called to herself and said, hark you Porca. if you will do me one Service to night, I'll give thee a brave new Smock, Porca hearing mention made of the Smock, answered, Madam if you give me a Smock, I will throw myself into the fire, besides any thing else you will be pleased to command me. Well, saith the Gentlewoman, I will have you to lie this night with a man in my own Bed, and I desire you to coaks him up, but take heed lest you make any stir for fear you should be heard by my Brothers, for you know they lie next to my room, and then I will give you the Smock. The Porca answered, What matter is it if I lie with six, not only with one. The Evening being come, Master Dean came according as he had been appointed, and the two young Gentlemen according to what they agreed to, were in their own Chamber, and made a noise, for that they might be heard. Wherefore the Dean very easily in the dark entered the Gentlewoman's Chamber, and as she had told him went to Bed, and on the other side laid Madam Porca, who was well informed by her Mistress how to act her Part. Mr. Dean believing he had the Gentlewoman at his side, kindly embraced Madam Porca. This the Gentlewoman having performed, she charged her Brothers, to do the Remnant of this Comedy. Who going very quietly out of their Chamber, went towards the Market, and fortune, in what they had under hands favoured them above their Desires, for it being very hot Wether, the Bishop had asked for them two young Gentlemen, that so he might go to their House, and drink with them. But he seeing them come, having obtained his desire, went directly with them, and entered into a cold Vault of theirs, where there was a great many Candles burning, and there he drunk a Glass of their good Wine, with very great fatisfaction. After he had drunk it, the young Gentlemen said, My Lord, since you have been pleased to show us this kindness, as to dignify us with your Presence in this our small Cottage, into which we was coming to invite you. We desire you, that it may please you, to go to a little Chamber of ours. which we are ambitious to show you. The Bishop answered, he would willingly consent to it. Presently one of the young Gentlemen, taking a lighted Torch into his Hand, and going before him, the Bishop and all the rest following him, did directly go towards the Chamber, where Master Dean did lie with Madam Porca. So the young Gentleman entered into the Chamber, the Bishop after him, and after the Bishop all the Train; to whom Master Dean with Madam Porca in his Arms was exhibited. Master Dean being discovered in that nature, and seeing the Candle and all the People about him, being extremely ashamed, and not less afraid, did put his Head under the Sheets. To whom the Bishop spoke extreme angrily, calling him a Villain and a Rogue, and made him to put out his Head from under the Sheets, for that he might see who he lay withal. The Dean seeing himself to be cozened by the Gentlewoman; either for that, or else for shame of being chidden (as he thought it would happen) suddenly grew as sad as can be imagined; and having put his  on, by the Commandment of the Bishop, was sent to Prison, for to suffer there a Punishment answerable to his deserts. Afterwards the Bishop desired to know, how this business came about, that he went to lie with Madam Porca. The young Gentlemen told him all the circumstances of the Matter. Which the Bishop having heard, praised much the Gentlewoman, and the Gentlemen also, that without being desirous to defile their Hands in the Blood of the Friar, had treated him according to what he deserved.   

Friar Rinaldo, lieth with his Gossip, whom her Husband finds together in the Chamber, they making him believe, that the Friar had Conjured some Worms out of their Child's Belie.  
AT Sienna, there was a young Gentleman, very gallant, and of a good Family, whose Name was Rinaldo, that fell in Love with a Neighbour of his, a Gentlewoman of a great Beauty, and a Wife to a very rich Man; Who hoping to find out a way, to speak to her without any Suspicion; and thereby to obtain his desire, did not see any other, besides that he might come to be her Gossip, the Gentlewoman being at that time big with Child, so he made himself acquainted with her Husband after the best manner he could, and in a very honest way he told him his Ambition, and the business was dove. Now Rinaldo being Gossip of Madam Agnetta, and having under this colour got a very good occasion of talking with her, resolved to make her know his Intention by words, which she a long time ago had perceived out of the motion of his Eyes. But he effected very little, though it was not unpleasant to the Gentlewoman to hear him thus talking. Not long after it happened that Rinaldo (whatsoever the occasion was) became a Friar. And it fell out, that he for some time put his love a side, which he bore to his Gossip, as likewise some other of his Vanities; but in process of time, reassumed that same Habit which he never had put off before, and began to delight in outward Apparel, and to make himself Suits of the best Cloth, and to be gallant and handsome in all his things, and to make Songs, Ballads and Sonnets, and to sing the same, with other things of the like nature, which he was full of. So that at last, his former Appetites being come again to him, he began oftentimes to visit his Gossip, and his boldness very much increasing above the first, he also began to Solicit her for that which he was desirous to obtain from her. The good Gentlewoman being so much and so often Solicited, and Friar Rinaldo appearing a great deal handsomer than before, was, above the rest, one day so much saluted by that it came to pass, she be came willing to do all those things which he demanded of her, and said; How now Father Rinaldo, does the Eryers do also such things. To which he Replied, Madam, as soon as ever I pull this Cap down my Back, which I can do very easily, I l'evappear before you a Man as well as the rest, and no Friar. The Gentlewoman began to Smile, and said; O sadness! You are my Gossip, how can you do this? You'll Commit a great Wickedness by it, and I have heard it is a great Sin, and indeed if that would not be, I would do whatsoever you should desire. Whereunto Friar Rinaldn answered; You are a Sot, if you leave it because of that. I do not say it is no Sin, but God forgives greater than this to them that Repent. But tell me which of us is more a Father to your Son. I that held him at the Baptism, for your. Husband, that begot him: The Gentlewoman answered of My Husband is more a Father to him. You say well, quoth the Friar, and doth not your Husband's lie with you. Sare enough, ●nsmers the Gentleivoman. Then the Friar saith again, And I that ●m the lesser Father of your Son, which your Husband is not, I may 〈◊〉 with you as well as he. The Gentlewoman that understood no Logic, and had but small Difficulties against it, she either believed or seemed to believe that the Friar spoke truth, and answered; Who is able to give an auswer to your wise discourse? And after that, notwithstanding their Gossipship, she gave him leave to do what he pleased. Neither was it done at the first time, but under a cover of Gossipping having a better opportunity, the Suspicion being less, they very often me● together. Amongst the next it happened once that Friar Rinald● being come to the Gentlewoman's House, and seeing no body there, besides a Maid of hers very Pretty and Complaisant, he sent his Companion with the Maid above Stairs, he going with the Gentlewoman that had her Child in her Arms, into a Chamber, and having locked themselves up thus within, set down upon a Bed standing there, and began to talk one with another. They sitting there in that manner, it fell out the Gossip came home, and without being perceived or heard by any, goeth to the Chamber Door, and knocking at it, calls his Wife, Madam Agnetta (●or that was the Name of the Gentlewoman) hearing this, said; Now I am gone, for here is my Husband, now he shall see what the reason is of this our Familiar Housing. Friar Rinaldo was all undressed, without his Coul and Scapular, only in his waistcoat, who hearing this, said; you say well, if I were dressed we might find out some way or other to clear the matter, but if you should open to him now, and he find me thus, we shall have no excuse for it. The Gentlewoman, being supported by a sudden Invention, said; Dress yourself quickly, and after that, take the Child upon your Arms, and take good heed of what I will say to him, that so your words may agree with mine, and then leadve the business to me. The good Ma● had scarcely left of to knock, but the Woman answered; I am 〈◊〉 coming, and having risen, with a good Countenance, runs to the Chamber Door, and having opened the same, said; Dear Husband I do tell you how our Gossip Rinaldo is come hither, and I think Go● sent him hither, for surely if he had not come hither, we had lost our dear Child this very same day.  
When this Jack Adams had heard all this, he all amazed, said, and why so pray? O Husband, answers the Woman, a sudden fit did fall upon him so extremely, that I thought he would have died; not knowing either what to say or do, in the mean time comes Father Rinaldo, our Gossip, and having taken him about the neck, said, Gossip it is Worms he is troubled with all, which coming near the heart, make him so weak and ill supposed, but be not afraid, for I will conjure them, and make them all to die, and before I depart from hence you'll see the Child as well as ever you saw him in your life; and because we were to say some certain Prayers, and our Servant could not find you, I made his Companion to say them in our Garret, and I with him went in here, and because no body but the Child's Mother was to be present, for fear others should spoil the business, we locked ourselves in, and as yet he hath the Child in his arms, and I believe he stays for nothing else but that his Companion should finish his Prayers, and so the business should be at an end, for the Child is quite recovered again. The good Tom Toast believed all this, the love of the Child constraining him so, that he did not perceive his Wife's deceitful tricks, but having made a great sigh, said I will go and see. The Gentlewoman answered; Do not go, for may be you will spoil what's done; stay here, I'll go and see if you can come there, and I'll call you. Friar Rinaldo, that had heard all the matter, and had dressed himself, and was in good posture, having retaken the Boy into his arms, and set all things in order, calls; O Gossip, do not I hear our Gossip talking there? The Simpleton answers, I Sir, I. Presently Father Rinaldo said, Come in Sir. So the Husband enters; to whom Rinaldo thus said, Take here your Son, by the grace and mercy of God, fresh and sound; for a little ago I thought you should not have seen him alive till Evening, and caused to be made a Statue of Wax about his bigness, for the honour of God, and set it by the Image of S. Ambrose, for the merits of whom God hath showed you that mercy. The Infant seeing his Father, ran towards him, and played merrily about him, as little Infants commonly ●se to do. Who taking him into his arms, cried no less than ●s if he had newly drawn him out of the Grave, began to embrace and kiss him, and to render many thanks to his Gossip who had cured him. The Comrade of Friar Rinaldo, who in ●he mean time had taught the young Maid more than four Pater-nosters, and given her a white Purse of Network, which a Nun had given him, and by this same made her to be devoted to him, hearing this good Coxcomb talking in the Gentlewoman's Chamber, came down very easily to a Corner, where he could see and hear what they were doing there; and seeing the matter to stand at very good terms, came quickly in, and entering into the Chamber said Father Rinaldo, the four Prayers you laid upon me I have said them all. To whom Friar Rinaldo answered, Brother, you have a very good wind, and have done it well. As for me, when my Gossip was come, I had not said above two. But it hath pleased God as well for thine as my pains ●o grant that mercy, as to restore ●he Child to his former health. The good Simpleton made good Wines and Comseits to be brought, and shown a deal of respect to his Gossip and to his Comrade, who had more need of them things than the other. Afterwards they departed, and commended him to the protection of God, who without any de●●y made an Image of Wax, and sent it to the Church, for that it might be hung up by the Picture of Saint Ambrose, but not of him of Milan.   

A Boat-Woman wittily escapeth from the hands of two Monks which went about to ravish her and how their wickedness came to be known to all.  
IN port of Coullon, near the City of Nyort, in France, there was a Boat-woman, wh● by day, and sometimes by Night used to carry folks over the River. Now it came to pass, that two Monks of the said City of Nyort, did pass the River, all alone, but she and them; and because the passage is one of the longest that be in France, that they might take off the tediousness of the way, they began to Court her, to whom she returned such an honest answer as her Duty and good Conscience required; but they neither tired with their d●y, travelling, nor cooled by the coldness of the Water, and being also ashamed of the repulse the woman had given them, resolved both to get her by force, and in case she repined, to throw her over board into the River: But she being as wise and witty, as they were foolish and wicked, told them. Sirs, before we proceed farther, I entreat you to grant me two things, and then you shall perceive that I have a greater desire to grant your desire than you have to crave it, the Friars swore by their good Saint Francis, that if she would answer their request, there was nothing that they were not ready to grant. First and foremost, said she, I require that you promise and swear that you shall reveal the matter to no man living, and that they very willingly granted; my other request (said she) is, that when we enjoy our amorous embraces, there may be but one of you with me, for I should be too much ashamed if both of you saw me together in the act; agree therefore betwixt yourselves, which of you must enjoy me the first, they both thought this also very reasonable and just, and therefore the youngest being very mannerly gave the right of precedency to to his Elder, whereupon she be taking herself to her Oars, made towards a little Island, where being come, she landed the youngest there, and told him, say your prayers, here until I carry your Companion yonder, into that little Island over against us, and in case I have well pleased him, when we come back you and I will Solace ourselves in the same place he therefore was contented to tarry there, expecting the return of his fellow Friar, wh●m the Ferry woman carried to the other little Island; and when they were come to Land the Ferry Woman making ●s if she had been tying her Boat, Dear Sir, go first to Land and said ●o●k for a commodious place, where we may seal our mutual affections. This reverend Ghostly Father jumped merrily out, that he might sacrifice to his Goddess Venus, but as soon as she saw him landed, she with her foot kicked against a Tree, an so in her Boat made twards the River, leaving these two holy Fathers in the two Islands to cool their heels, to whom also she with as loud a voice as she could cried out, Gentlemen pray tarry there till some Angel come down to comfort you, but from me you are not like to receive any more solace. Now these two wretches perceiving themselves to be so basely gulled, fell on their knees upon the water side earnestly beseeching her, that she woul● take them again, and carry then to the other side of the River they would trouble her no mor● with their requests; but she rowed away, telling them that the scalded Cat dreadeth the cold Water; and she being come to her Town, informed her Husband of all their mad pranks who having made his compalints to the Magistrate, who sent his Officers to the pursuit of these two greedy Wolves, out of whose ravenous jaws this harmless sheep was by the great goodness of the Almighty, happily escaped. The Officers went away exceeding well acompanied, which these Ruffians seeing, hide themselves each of them in his own Island, even as Adam did, when he heard the voice of God his ma●er. So that for shame of being ●uilty of so foul an act, but chief●● for fear of condign punishment, they were above half ●ead, but notwithstanding they ●ere taken and let to prison, the people all the way deriding and ●●ssing at them: Men said, these hypocrites make Conscience of ruching Silver or Gold Coin, ●ut they make no scruple of fingering our Wives middle pieces, others said, they are painted sepulchres without, but with●●● are full of rottenness and pu●efaction; and another cried ●ut, by their fruits one may know ●hem: In short all the places of ●he holy Scripture, commonly quoted against dissembling Hypocrites were applied to these ●●iserable Prisoners, the which by the procurement and entreat of their Prior were delivered out of prison, for he coming to the Magistrate in great haste, did assure him upon his Parole that he would severely punish them according to the enormity of their Crime, and also that he might give some satisfaction to the wronged party, he protested that he and his Friars would say as many prayers and dirges as should be imposed upon them. Wherefore the Judge granted his request and granted the Prisoners should be delivered to him, and indeed the Prior being a ma● of some honesty chect and punished them so severely, that from that time forth they never durs● cross the River before they had blessed themselves with the Sig● of the Cross, and commende● themselves too God.  
FINIS.   

A Friar falls into a Sin deserving great punishment, and wittily entangling his Abbot into the same Fault, was asquitted.  
AT Lunigiana, near Florence, there was a Monastery of Friars, amongst whom was a young Monk, whose Vigour and Courage neither Fasting could appease, nor Vigils extinguish. This young Friar once in the midst of the day, when the rest were all asleep, had a mind to take a walk by himself to his Church, which stood in a place very solitary. Going thither, by chance he espied a very fair young Maid (perhaps a Daughter to one of the Labourers in that place) going up and down the Fields, gathering some certain Flowers. At the very first sigh● of her he was presently assaulte● by the Concupiscence of the flesh and therefore approaching nearer to her, he entered into discourse with her; and falling out of on● matter into another, he at las● agreed with her, and without being perceived by any, carried he into his own Cell. In the mea● time, being transported with exceeding joy, he did not use tha● quietness which such matters require. The Abbot being wakened by his noise, and going softly to the Cell, perceived by hearing them discourse that there was some body with him; and tha● that he might the better hea● what they said, he approached very quietly to the Door to hearken, where he plainly perceived a Woman to be within the Chamber. At the first he had a Design to make the Friar open the Door; but afterwards thinking he could order him otherwise, he resolved to return to his own Chamber, and watch when the Friar should come forth: Who being entertained with the greatest pleasures and delights by his young Mistress, suspected nothing: But presently hearing a kind of a rushing in the Dormitory, he peeped thorough a little hole, and did plainly see the Abbot stand and hearken. He could not but conclude for certain, that the Abbot did know the young Maid to be in his Chamber; and therefore foretasting the ensuing penance for his misdemeanour, was sorry a 'bove measure; yet still he would not alter his countenance before the Maid, but revolving many things in his mind, if perhaps one of them might serve hi● turn, he at last found out a ne● trick, which he immediately pu● into execution; for dissembling as if he had stayed too long with this young Woman, he spoke to her in this manner: I will g● now and see how you may ge● out of this place without being seen; therefore hold your peace until my coming again. So going out, he shut the door after him, and locked it with his Key, and going directly to the Abbot's Chambers, presented the same to him, according to the custom of the Monks when they went broad: Which having done, he ●id thus to the Abbot; Mon●ur, I could not make all the Wood (as I had ordered) to be wrought in this Morning; and herefore, with your leave, I'll 〈◊〉 my ways and cause the rest to ●e brought. The Abbot, that ●e might be better satisfied about ●e Fryers committed Fault, whom he thought not to have perceived any thing that he ●new of the matter, was very glad of this occasion; and wilingly receiving the Key, gave him leave to go. Seeing him gone forth, he began to consider what was best to do, whether to open the Fryer's Chamber in the presence of all the Monks, and to make them see his default, so to escape the danger of being murmured against, in case he should put a condign punishment upon the Friar; or else to get first out of her the circumstances of the whole business: And bethinking himself, that she might be a Gentlewoman, or a Virgin● of that Degree, Quality, or Family, as he would not willingly put such an affront upon, as to expose her shamelessly to the view of all the Friars, he determined with himself to see first what she was, and then to let her go. So he quietly went to the Cell, opened it, entered, and shut the door after him. The young Maid, seeing the Abbot coming in, all astonished, and trembling for shame, began to cry. Monsieur Abbot casting his eyes upon her, and seeing her fair and brisk, notwithstanding his old age, sud●only felt the same Enchantments ●f the Flesh within him, which ●e thought his young Friar had ●een subject to; and approaching ●ear to the young Maid, he began 〈◊〉 plain terms to comfort her, ●nd to beseech her she should not ●ry; and so falling out of one Discourse into another, he at last arrived to the opening of his ardent Desires.  
The young Woman, who had a Heart not of Steel or Diamond, was willing by all means to please the Abbot. The Monk, who had feign'd himself to have been gone for Wood, being in the Dormitory, when he saw the Abbot entering into his Chamber by himself, altogether ravished for joy, judged that his contrivance would take good effecty whereof he the rather assured himself, because he saw the Abbot lock the Chamber door on the inside; and leaping out of his hidden place, he went softly to the Key hole, through which he both saw and heard what the Abbot did and said. The Abbot thinking at last he had stayed long enough with his young Lady, opened the Cell door, and returned to his Chamber: And by chance seeing the Friar, and supposing he had been returned from the Wood, concluded within himself to reprove him sharply, and to send him to Prison, for that he by that means might only himself be possessor of this newly-gotten prey. In order to this, he caused him to be called, and having reproved him severe●●, with a sour look commanded 〈◊〉 to be carried to Prison. The Friar very readily gave him this A●●●●er; Mons●ignior, I have not been so long in the Order of St. B●nnet, as to know all the particular Rules belonging to it; but as soon as you will be pleased to show me the same, I promise (provided you pardon me this Fault) never to trespass any thing against it but rather to do always what I have seen you doing. The Abbot, who was a witty Man, did presently see, that he had not only perceived something more of him than was expedient, but that he likewise had seen what he had done: Therefore feeling a remorse in his own conscience, he would not condemn the Monk for that fault which he was guilty of himself. So he granted him a pardon, and charged him to keep Silence, having honestly conveyed the young Maid out of the Cloister, whom they made often to return again.   

An Abbess riseth in haste, and goeth to surprise a Nun (accused before her) in Bed with her Lover; and herself being with a Priest, thinking to have put on her head a Veil, did put on the Breeches of the Priest, which the Arraigned Gentlewoman seeing, and bidding to unloose them, was acquitted, and granted the liberty to accompany her Gallant.  
THere is in Lombardy, a very Famous Monastery, where amongst other Religious Gentlewomen, was one not less esteemed for her admirable Beauty, as for her Noble Parentage. This Isabel (so was the Gentlewoman's Name,) came once to one of her Parents to the Grate, and seeing there a pretty and well shaped Gentleman with him, instantly fell in Love with him. On the other side she seeming a most Accomplished and Peerless Dame in his Mind, did convey that Face into his Heart, which by her Looks, was kindled in his Eyes. These Sparks of Mutual Inclination, as fruitless, were for a long time on both sides smothered in their Bosoms. At last, both being extremely solicitous, how to accomplish their Desires, it fell out the young Gentleman found out a way, whereby to give a secret Visit to his Lady. This was very often Practised, with the greatest satisfaction imaginable on both sides. In pursuance of those their Visits it happened one Night, that a Nun of that same House did espy him, without taking any notice of either of them, both how he entered into and departed out of Isabella's Chamber, which she made many others privy to, and was the first that gave counsel of Accusing Isabel before the Abbess. This Madamusinbalda (so was the Abbesses Name) was a good and a holy Virgin, as well in the Opinion of the Nuns, as of all her acquaintance. Moreover these aforesaid Nuns, (to the end nedenial should have any place, concluded to bring them both to the view of the Abbess. And in order to that, they secretly passed by the Watches and Guards, for to surprise these Lovers. Now Isabel being innocent of their Devices, nor having any Information of their Plot, it happened one Night, that she appointed him to come, and her Lover not knowing of any Plot against him, did submit to what they had agreed to. These two Lovers having been a small while together, and the Night having passed over the greatest part of her silence, the aforesaid watching Dames, were divided into two parts, one of them betaking themselves to guard the Door of Madam Isabella's Chamber, the other running to the Cell of the Abbess, knocked at her Door, (which the Abbess heard) saying; Quickly Madam, Rise quickly for we have found Isabel, to have a young, Gentleman in her Cell.  
That same Night the Abbess had been accompanied by a Priest, whom as often as she pleased, made him to be brought to her in a Chest. The Abbess hearing that, and fearing lest the Nuns, either because of her delay, or by their continual and hard knocking should break open the Door, riseth immediately, and at the best advantage dresseth herself rashly, and believing she had taken a folded Veil; which they use to wear on their Heads, and commonly call it a Psalter, chanced to take the Priests Breeches, and so great was the fear, that without any heed or earnest attention, instead of a Psalter, she put them on her Head, and so rushed out of Doors, which she immediately shutting after her, said; Where is this Wretch, I pray, where is she? The Nuns being accended with an earnest desire of making the Abbess to find Isabel in her fault, did take no notice of what she had on her Head, but run to the door of Isabella's Chamber, and with the help of their Companions forced it open, and entering further, found these two Lovers in their Naked Bed. They being so suddenly surprised, were astonished beyond measure, and not knowing what to begin in that case, resolved to continue steadfast. The young Gentlewoman, was by other Nuns immediately apprehended, and by the order and command of my Lady Abbess, carried to the Chapter. The young Gentleman stayed there, and having put on his , was desirous to see what an end this same business might have, with an intentions to play the basest sport with them that ever was done, in case they should do any mischief to his Beloved, and then to carry her away.  
The Abbess afterwards set down in the Chapter, in the presence of all the Nuns, (which had only bend their Eyes upon the Guilty,) and in the mean time began to lay to Isabella's Charge, such kind of Villainies, as she said, were never done before, by a Woman of her profes●on and Quality. As namely, ●ow she by her fordid and blameforthy Deed, had Defiled, and ●●e●lined the Sanctity, Honesty, ●nd the creditable Name of the Monastery: And that the matter should appear more ●ainous, these Exprobrations were attended, by many great and weighty Threaten. The young Gentlewoman not less Shameful than fearful, after the rate of the guilty, bereft almost of all her Senses, did not know what to answer, but being silent, gave herself over to the Mercy and Compassion of her Sisters the Nuns. But the Abbess Upbraiding and Amplifying the matter, it chanced the Gentlewoman lifted up her Eyes, and espied what the Abbess had upon her Head, as also the Kneestrings of the Breeches hanging down on both the sides of her Neck, which she well perceiving what they were, all in a kind of fury, said, God help you Madam, unloose your Veil, and as then talk to me whatsoever you please. The Abbess which did not understand her meaning, said; What Veil, you guilty Wretch, what Veil? have you a mind to Jest? You are not at present upon such a Stage, as to act the Merry Andrew! Your filthy Actions admit no Joakings! The young Gentlewoman did nevertheless repeat her former Tale, saying; Madam, I beseech you, you may be pleased to unloose your Veil, and then say what you list.  
Hence many of the Nuns, ●eing envited to turn their Eyes ●owards the Head of the Abbess, ●nd herself also by putting her ●ands to her Head perceived why ●●abella had spoke thus. The Abbess now seeing as well herself to be in the very same fault, as ●hat all the Nuns had taken notice of it, did not know whither to turn, or what to say, but with an exceeding low Voice, and quite in another manner as before, spoke modestly to them, concluding, that it was impossible to avoid the Darts of the Flesh. Therefore with a grave and peaceable Countenance, she said; that every one of them (as heretofore had been Practised,) should take advantage of the time when they could. So having freed the young Gentlewoman, she returned to Bed to her Priest, and Isabella to her Darling.   

A strange and a new way of Penitence, which was to be Inflicled by a Father Confessor upon a young Gentlewoman.  
THat Year when Lady Margaret of Austria went to Cambray, in the behalf of her Nephew the Emperor, for to capitulate a Peace betwixt him and the Most Christian King, on whose side was Madam Lovisa of Savoy, there was in the Company of the said Lady Margaret, the Countess of Aquemont, who brought in her Company the most Beautiful Damsels of Flanders. The Countess retired for a while with all her Train, into her own House, and the time of Advent being come, she sent to a Covent of Friars, demanding a sufficient Preacher, and one that was of a good Life; as well for Preaching as for Confessing her and all her Train. The Guardian searched for the best and the most worthy of that Office, because of the great good they received from the House of Aquemont, and of Pienne, out of which she was come. They, who amongst all other Religious, desire to gain a good name, and affection of great Families, sent a Preacher very much esteemed for Learning above the rest of the Friars, who all the time of the Advent discharged his duty very well, so that the Countess was very well satisfied with him. The Night before Christmas, where the Countess would have received her Creator, she made he● Confessor come to her, and after she had Confessed in a Chappe● very well shut, by reason the Confession was very secret, she gave place to her Lady of Honour, who after she had done, sends he● Daughter, to the merciful Absolution of her Father Confessor. And after she had told him all she knew, the good Father, having heard some of her Secrets, took a heart and a Courage to appoint her such a Penitence which was not usual, and said to her, My Daughter your Sins are so great, that for the satisfaction of them I'll inflict upon you that Penauce, viz. That you must bear my Cords all Night long upon your Naked Body. The Gentlewoman, that would not be disobedient, said to him; Give it me Father, and I will not refuse to wear it. Not so my Daughter, said the good Father, it will be of no efficacy, if it ●e done by you. 'Tis necessary that my own hands, before you receive any absolution, bind it about you, and afterwards you shall be absolved of all your Sins. The Gentlewoman beginning to cry, said; That she would do it by no means. How now, saith the Friar? Are you a Heretic, for that you refuse the Penance which God and our Mother the Holy Church, have ordained? I use the Confession; answereth the young Gentlewoman, as the Church hath commanded, and would with all my heart, receive the absolution, and underg the Penance, but I will permit 〈◊〉 no means, you should lay your han● there, and in that manner I refu●● your Penance. And before that, done, says the Confessor, I ca●● grant you no absolution. The Gentlewoman riseth from before him, having a Conscience ver● much troubled, for she was 〈◊〉 young, that she was afraid 〈◊〉 have Committed a great fault 〈◊〉 refusing to do that the good F●ther had imposed her. After sh● came to the Mass, and the Countess of Egmont had received Co●pus Domini, the Gentlewoman 〈◊〉 Honour going after her, asked h● Daughter, if she was ready; T●● which the Daughter crying, Replied, She was not as yet Confessed? And what have you done so long with the Priest, quoth the Mother. Nothing at all, answers the Daughter, because I refused to take the Penance which he laid upon me, he also refused to give me absolution. The Mother did not so narrowly inquire after the matter, perceiving it was some strange kind of Penance which the Friar would have Inflicted upon her, but made her presently Confess to another, and so went to the Sacrament both together. And as soon as the Countest was returns from the Church, the Gentlewoman of Honour, made her Complaints about this Friar, whereat she marvelled, and was very much astonished, being she had had so good an Opinion of him. But all her Astonishment could not keep her from Laughing at the hearing of that News about the Penance. Neither could her Laughing withhold from Commanding him to be Apprehended, and to be cannoneer in the Kitchen: And by the Virtue of Rods to Confess the Truth, and after that she sen● him, tied Hands and Feet, to the Guardian, desiring him, that he another time should give Commission to Men of a better Life than he was to preack the Gospel.   

The vile wickedness of a Monk, together with the shallowness and simplicity of a Nun.  
IN one of the most famous Cities of France, Paris only excepted, there is an Hospital richly endowed, consisting in a Priory of fifteen or sixteen Nuns, and in an Apartment before it there is a Priory with seven or eight Monks, which did every day attend Divine Service; but as for the Nuns, they were only to say their Pater-nosters and Ave-maries', because they were bound to attend the poor sick Folks of the Hospital. Now it came to pass that one of the poor men of the said Hospital fell very dangerously sick, and the Nuns gathering themselves together, did administer all possible Remedies in order to his Recovery; but seeing him very ill, they sent for the Confessor, and perceiving him to grow weaker and weaker, they gave him the Extreme Unction, after which he presently became speechless. Now because it was a long while before he could give up the ghost, and it seemed that he still understood what was said they did strive to suggest to him the best words and expressions they were capable of; but it being already very late, and the dead time of the night, they grew weary, and went one after another to Bed, so that no body remained to bury the dead Corpse but one of the youngest Nuns, together with the Confessor, whom, because of his austerity and strictness of Life, she feared even more than the Prior himself. These two having used great Exclamations, and Repetitions of the Name of Jesus in the ears of the poor man, and at last perceiving he was quite gone, they both assisted to bury him; and because they were employed in a good work of Mercy, this holy Monk began a Discourse about Mercy, the Frailty of this Life, and the Happiness of the Life to come; so that they passed the best part of the night entertaining themselves with such Discourses. The poor Nun did attentively hearken to his Divine Expressions, and looked upon him with tears in her eyes, in which this holy Father took so much delight, that as he was speaking of the Life to come, he embraced her as straight as if he had a mind to carry her presently to Heaven in his Arms. The poor silly Nun harkening to his Discourse, durst not put him by, nor refuse his Embraces. This damnable Hypocrite perceiving her simplicity, did proceed further; and as he was still speaking to her concerning God, and other spiritual things did commit with her the most obscene Act of the Flesh; and withal told her, that a secret sin was not punished before God, and that two single Persons cannot sin in that case, if there arise no scandal of it; and to avoid that, she should beware of confessing herself to any but himself. So they parted; but she going her way the first, and passing by a Chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, she went to give her the Angels Salutation, as she used to do; but looking upon the Image of the Virgin Mary, and knowing that she had now forfeited the Honour of that Title and excellent Dignity, and that without any great Allurements, and less Love, but only by a silly fear and compliance; she than began to weep as bitterly as if her Heart had been ready to break. The Monk, who though afar off, heard her deep sighs and groans, suspecting her repentance, and fearing the loss of his future Pleasure in the enjoyment of her, that he might divert her, came presently to her, whom he found prostrate at the feet of the said Image; but he checked her smartly, and told her, That if she was so silly and scrupulous as to think she had committed a sin in so doing, that then she should do so no more unless she would, and that he was ready to give her Absolution. This silly Soul thinking to make satisfaction to God for her sin, went presently to confess her sin to him, who enjoined her no other Penance, but only told her, That she had contracted no guilt of sin in loving him, and that a drop or two of Holywater would easily wash away so insignificant a Pecadillo. And she putting more confidence in him than in God himself, did a while after yield again to his brutal desire, who paid her so home, that her Belly began to swell; which the took so to heart, that making her Condition known to the Abbess, she besought her to expel that Monk out of the Monastery, telling her, That she knew him to be so full of wiles, and so crafty, that she feared she should not be able to withstand his temptation, who would leave no stone unturned to inveigle her again. The Abbess and the Prior (who understood one another, as being partners perhaps in the same guilt) did but laugh at her, telling her, That she was of an age sufficient to defend herself from the attempts of one man, and that he whom she accused had always had the repute of a very sober honest man: At length she being exceedingly tormented with a violent remorse of a guilty Conscience, craved their leave to go to Rome, thinking that if she did but confess her sins at the Pope's Feet, and kiss his Toe, she should become as pure a Virgin as ever she had been: And that both the Prior and the Abbess very willingly granted, and furnished her with Money for her Journey; for they rather chose she should become a Pilgrim, although it was against the Rules of her Order, than that she should be a Recluse Nun, and be so scrupulous; and besides, they were afraid that in detaining her, in a despairing Passion she should reveal their vile and s●●nish manner of life.   

The Canning of a Jesuit, and the Simplicity of a Pryer.  
WE have been long enough Expatiaring in the Gardens of several Countries, and Collected many Flowers (though not altogether well smelling) for our Pastime and Diversion; now leaving off to transport them any more at present out of Foreign parts, will see if there be none of our own Plantation here in England, which may be as delightful as the rest. And indeed it should tend to the prejudice of Jesuits and Friars, if they should exempt only Eng●and from their deluding Tricks, a Country so plentiful, and having store of all, to the very Superfluity. Therefore to free them from such a Scandalous Aspersion, I'll relate to the kind Reader, a History, which not long since happened here in England, and above the rest, in the Famous City of London. And it is about two Priests, the one being a Jesuit, and the other a Carmelitan Friar.  
It is not unknown to many, how that a Minister named Travers had two Sons, which he educated after the best method a Father could bethink himself for the benefit of his Children. Afterwards they not being contented with that Education they had at home, resolved to go beyond Seas, there to learn Fashions Languages, as well as to polish their Minds in Arts and Sciences. Amongst the rest of the Countries they intended to see, Italy was one, where being, and getting into Familiar Acquaintance of some Friars and Jesuits, at last turned roman-catholics. And so crafty was this Priestly Persuasion, that they not only accepted their Religion, but also would needs be Religious. So both of them became to be Ghostly Fathers, one a Jesuit, the other a Friar, commonly called a Carmelite. Being in Orders, and by their Learning and Carriage very much approving themselves to both the Orders, they gained Credit and Honour amongst all of their Companies. And since they were Englishmen bred and born, wer● judged fit to be sent into Englan● to be Emissionaries of the Holy Father, in order to the Conversion of the Souls of Poor, Forlorn Heretics. The Carmelit was more simple than witty, and his natural Integrity was termed Holiness. The Jesuit more Cunning, as commonly that sort of  are, but an Atheist. Yet bearing an outward show of Sanctity, he was counted a very Pious Man, and for his Prudence and Dexterity in performing of secular matters, was chosen to be the Procurer General of all the Jesuits Goods in England. Whatsoever Moneys they had, it was in his Custody, or whom he appointed for it. Many Lands and Goods he bought for them for to augment their Estates, under his own Name. In a Word, he was the Totum Fac of all the English Jesuits. Afterwards he once bethought him to beguile all the rest of his Brethren, and what he had done for their general good, to draw it to his own particular ends and profit, especially seeing they had not for a long time taken any account of their Money and Lands in his Custody, as trusting to his Integrity and Goddness. So he began to spend freely, and to dispose of Goods and Moneys, and was cried up for the bravest and the most generous Gentleman of the Town. The Jesuits hearing this, and knowling he had nothing of his own, concluded he must needs waste their Estates and Moneys: Therefore they met together, calls this P●ter Travers, and demands mands he should give an account of his Stewardship. He seeing the business should not smell well if it should be stirred from the very bottom, answers them (which he all along thought to do, if so be they should call him to an account) he had no reason to give them any account, for whatsoever Money he had, it was his own and not theirs, and as to the Lands they were his by Law, by reason they were all bought under his Name, and no Bodies else (for the Jesuits for fear of being discovered, make always their Lands to be bought under one Gentleman's Name.) The Jesuits Astonished and Surprised at this his talking, knew not what to say, especially living amongst Protestants (whom they call Heretics) where if they should go to Law under the name of Priests, they should not only forfeit their Estates, but (according to the Statute) lose their Lives also, for receiving Orders beyond Sea. After they had long debated the matter among them, at last they resolved to go to Law, rather than lose all; and that they might not be discovered as Jesuits, to plead as Persons Secular, wronged by this now Esquire Travers.  
When they had Indicted this holy Father, and came to the Bar, the Plead were so obscure and nonsensical, that the Judges knew not what to say, for want of clear Evidence in the matter: till at last, as wise and prudent Men, (especially some of them knowing what Travers was) they perceived they were all Priests; and so, not without laughter and admiration, throwing the controverted Bone among them, desired them to agree among themselves, for that the matter was so obscure, as that it could not be (the things being as they were) decided at the Bench. The Jesuits were now in a worse condition than before, and knew not what to do, or what to think in this matter; all the Tenants of the Lands taking this Travers for their lawful Landlord, and the Moneys being in his hands and command; so they desired him to come to a Composition. He not designing to defraud them of all, did agree to it, but still reserving the greatest part of the Moneys and Lands to his own use, made the rest over to the Jesuits.  
Being now so well furnished with Goods and Lands, he intended to marry, that so he might have Heirs to whom to leave his Estate: And yet neither would he turn Protestant, for fear of losing his Reputation; neither could he take a Wife, being a Roman-Catholick in Orders. But at last he found out a way whereby he might still continue of that Religion, and be no more a Priest, and by that means have freedom to take a Wife, nemine contradicente.  
He therefore comes to his Brother the Carmelite Friar, and with a great complaint and heaviness of heart tells him, that he was persuaded he was never baptised: For, saith be, in all the Register books of many Parishes, and particularly in that where I was born, I do not find my Name; whether it was by the negligence of my Father, or how it happened, I do not know: but sure I am, I am not baptised.  
The good old Friar was extremely amazed at it; and though he could not at the first be persuaded of any such thing, yet at last, by the great assurance of the Jesuit, and his forged Reasons and Arguments tending to that purpose, he believed him. The Jesuit seeing his Business went on so well, desired at last his Brother would be pleased to do him that charitable deed as to baptise him; for he was afraid to be damned for ever, because he was not as yet inserted into the true Church, out of whose Bosom there is no hopes of Salvation. The old Carmelite did it willingly, and accordingly he was baptised. Now he being put in Orders, and having made the profession of a Religious Person, emitted his Vows, and done all the rest of those Trumperies belonging to a Regular Priest's Life, without being baptised, was not only not bound to continue as he was, but ipso facto he was counted as Irregular; and if he would be a Person Ecclesiastic, he was to take Ordes anew upon him, and to make a second Profession. But so wise he was, that he never returned to the Jesuits, but continued a Person Secular, living in that same Religion (that they should not think him to be an Apostate, or to have done that Trick to the Jesuits because he intended to turn Protestant;) and so married a Wife, which was the only reason of his rebaptisation, and hath begot several Children on her. How he now liveth, and what his Condition is, I was not so curious as to inquire. As far as his Cunning, and his Brother's Simplicity did reach, I have here deposed, being neither willing to offend the parties, nor to have their Examples imitated.  
FINIS.