¶ rich his Farewell to Military profession: containing very pleasant discourses fit for a peaceable time: Gathered together for the only delight of the courteous Gentlewomen, both of England and Ireland, for whose only pleasure they were collected together, And unto whom they are directed and dedicated by Barnaby rich Gentleman.  
Malui me divitem esse quam vocari.  
¶ Imprinted at London, by Robart Walley. 1581.   


〈…〉  
Must ask 〈…〉  
To her belongs the stau●ement o● the 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 ●eeldes all those their just deserved place.  
〈…〉 her path and run her royal race:  
〈◊〉 rich rewards to each, she yields each where,  
〈◊〉 might become this worthy rich to wear.   

〈◊〉 painful man that Tills his ground, reaps fruit,  
Each merit hath his meed, pain hath his hire:  
●●sert requires that Fame should not stand mute,  
〈◊〉 Wisdom doth to virtues ways aspire.  
〈…〉 of gain doth ser men's hearts on fire,  
〈◊〉 yield him thanks, that erst hath undertook,  
〈…〉 delight to pen this little book.   

〈◊〉 Momus mates chat on, in their despite,  
〈◊〉 wranglers wreak and wrest the worst they may:  
〈…〉 sort will judge and take delight,  
〈◊〉 ●●●glyng jays that know not what they say:  
〈…〉 their witless wits bewray,  
〈◊〉 ●●iche shall reap, what he right hath won,  
〈◊〉 praise for that which here is doen.   
Finis qd W. J. Gent.   

❧ baptist Star in praise of the Author.  

IF due desert should reap reward,  
or worthy merit, guerdon have:  
Why should not rich press forth himself,  
thy lovely Laurel crown to crave.  
Whose life in field that won him praise,  
he leads at home in Pallas ways.   

Scorn not then Zoilus his good hap,  
that can his will subdue and tame,  
But try to tread his path whereby,  
thou mayest thy life with virtue frame.  
Allow his pain, and pen to wright,  
who nought pretends but thy delight.   

Lo he who wonted was in field,  
to meet his furious foe in face:  
Hath scaled Parnassus' hill where he,  
attends Mineru' her noble grace.  
And there his pen doth play his part,  
as did else where his shield and dart.   
Finis. B. S.   


emperor Claudius, a noble Duke whose name was Sappho ●●ke of Mantona, who as well, through his own magnanimity and valiance, as otherwise through his great poli●ie and experience in Martial affairs, had achieved many notable victories, in the behalf of the Emperor against the Turk, which made him both famous to the world, and feared of his enemies, but most entirely beloved of the Emperor Claudius▪ But the Wars being once finished and brought to an end, so that the Empire remained in tranquility and peace: Soldiers were forgotten, Captains were 〈◊〉 cared for, such as had proffered themselves to fight for the 〈◊〉 of their Country, were now shaken of, and such were preferred in their rooms, as had any faculty in them tending to pleasure and delight, as Dancers, Pipers, Fiddlers, Minstriles, Singers, Parisites, Flatterers, jesters, Rhymers, Talebearers, News carriers, Love makers, such as can de●ise to please women, with new fangles, strange fashions, 〈…〉 of their beauties, when sometimes it is scarce 〈◊〉 by commending of their manifold virtues, when God knows they have few or none at all. But see I pray you how far my wits begin to square, I pretended but to pen certain pleasant discourses, for the only pleasure of Gentlewomen, and even at the the very fir●●●ntry, ● am ●alne from a reasonable tale to a railing rage, as it may seem. But I pray you gentlewomen bear with my weakness, and as the Preacher in the Pulpit, when he is out of his Text▪ will sai●●or excuse: Good, people, though this Bee something degressing from my matter, yet it may very well serve at this present: Take this I pray you for my excuse in like case.  
And now to my purpose where I left of before this noble ●●ke Sappho, had no skill in Courting tr●●e: his head which 〈◊〉 been accustomed to bear the lofty Helm, had now quite forgotten to wear the wavering Plumes, ready to blow a●aie with every wind. His body most ineured to wear a ●●ate of steel, could not be brought in fashion with this qu●in● 〈◊〉 nice array. His neck he thought more fitly to pa●se the 〈◊〉 Targe, then to be hanged with Gemines or Chains of gold: his fingers commonly practised to grasp the 〈◊〉 or Lance, could not be brought in frame to strike the Virginal or Lute: his voice served him better to cheer his Soldiers in the field, then either to feign or sing ditties in a lady's Chamber: His tongue had more used to speak simply and plain, then to dissemble with his friend, or to flatter with his foe: His legs had better skill to march after dub a dub a dub, then to mince it with a Minion, tracing a Pavion or Galliard upon the Rushes: what should I say farther, this noble Duke had no manner of skill in Carpet trade: But thus it fell out that Parasites and Flatterers, having once entered credit with the Emperor (as surely it is almost a common infirmity, aswell amongst Princes, as other superior Officers, to be seduced by Flatterers, Pickthanks, and talebearers) this noble Emperor likewise, by the instigation of such as were about him, who perceiving the Duke to be none of their flattering fraternity, and enueighing the great reputation wherein the Emperor held him, had so incense● the Emperor against him, that now his liking was ●●uerted into loathing, and his great love turned to a me●● hate, that in the end the poor Duke was brought to answer unto many forged articles surmised against him, who neither in consideration of his former service done for his Country, neither in respect of the innocency of his cause, could otherwise be dispensed withal, then to be banished into exile, himself, Messilina his wife, Aurelianus his son, with Phylene his daughter: And although the common sort of people held him in great honour, and much lamented his case, yet it could not be helped, but the Emperors decree openly pronounced, must needs take place.  
I beseech you Gentlewomen, yet to comfort yourselves, I know your gentle hearts, can not endure to hear of such ungentle parts, but these are but the frumps of ordina●● Fortune, not private to Duke Sappho alone, but commo● 〈◊〉 all men that be of the like profession, for what happened bet●●● to the most noble Captains of the world, or what other, 〈◊〉 compence received either Caesar, Scipio, Hannibal, or 〈…〉 〈…〉, who having honoured their Countries, with sundry ●●●umphes, and many notable Victories, when the Wars were ended, and that there was no more need of them, finished their days in such pitiful plight, as I will keep to myself, because right courteous Gentlewomen, I rather desire to draw you into delights, then to drown you in dumphes, by revealing of such unnatural facts, as I know your gentle Natures is not able to digest.  
Thus you have heard how this noble Duke, with his wife and children, by sentence from the Emperor, were banished from out their native Country, as also from any other Realms, Cities, Towns, or territories, being within the emperors Dominions. There resteth now for the Duke to make such poor provision for his furnishing, as his ability might any ways serve him, the which GOD knoweth, fell out so mean and scant, as it scarcely serveth him to defray his charges, to carry him from out those places, from whence he was prohibited: and taking his course towards the parts of ●●acedonia, after a long and weary journey, he arrived at a Town called Tariffa, where being lodged in a mean and simple house, his money now being at the last cast, wherewith to bear his charges, his poor Wife and children altogether wearied, with their long and troublesome travail, and himself all ashamed to be known what he was. Now it fell out, that the Host of the house many times viewing, and casting his eyes upon the Duchess of Messilina, who notwithstanding she dissembled her estate and degree, contented to leave her honourable dignity, and to perticipate such equal fortune with her husband and children, as their hard haps had conducted them unto, yet her beauty (which could not be blemished with mean and homely garments) had so entangled her arrant Host, that he could not be merry when he was out of her sweet sight, and now though he perceived his guest began 〈◊〉 wax slack in his payment, and not able to disburse for his ●●●inarie expenses, yet for the love he bore to his wife, he was 〈◊〉 ●ntented to chalk up the charges behind the door, hoping 〈◊〉 end to have cleared the scores to his better content, and as time and convenience might serve him, he spared not 〈◊〉 the Duchess understand his great liking towards her, assuring her, that the courtesy that he used towards her husband, was only for her sake, and that if he were assured his good will might be acceptable in her sight, she might assure herself of such a friend of him, as would be as careful of her as her husband, to whom she was married.  
This Lady now having well pondered the words of her amorous Host, who would not think but that she was much perplexed in her mind, that she who had been borne of honourable Parentage, espoused to a noble Duke, whose dignity in times past, surmounted all the rest, whose training up had ever been amongst those of the highest degree, and now that her honourable estate, was not only eclipsed by crooked Destiny, but also to have her Chastity assailed, by such a simple coisterell, whom she durst not so sharply shake of, as her heart would very well have served, for that she knew 〈◊〉 Duke her husband was run in his debt, neither could 〈◊〉 tell by what means he was able to discharge it, she was 〈◊〉 fore constrained with fair speeches, to shift him of from 〈◊〉 to time, the which the knave perceiving very well, began 〈◊〉 to think with himself, that it was but her husband's pr●●sence, that hindered him of his purpose, and therefore determined to find a present remedy.  
And now coming to his guest, began to reckon with him, and to call him to account for the charges wherein he was behind, tellying him, that at that very instant, he had occasion to occupy money, which made him not only to seek up such small sums as were due unto him, but also to try his friends otherwise to serve his turn, and that helping him now at his present need, he might then begin again 〈◊〉 new score, and would bear with him a much longer tyme●●  
The poor Duke then enforced to seek out an old 〈◊〉 for an new Sore, which is to pray when he was not 〈◊〉 pay, with very courteous speeches, desired his Host to be 〈◊〉 with his inability, assuring him that when time should 〈◊〉 he would so thoroughly recompense him, as he should 〈◊〉 〈…〉 to hold him well contented.  
But what prayers may prevail, where pity is clean exiled, or what gentleness is to be looked for, to come from such 〈◊〉 ungentle churl, whose mind was only set upon Rape and ravin, who had premeditated before the drift (which as he presupposed) was now sorted out as he looked for.  
Wherefore (as it were) half in a fury, he uttered forth these words: My friend content yourself, and take this for a resolute answer, the money which now resteth in your hands, although I might very ill forbear it, as my case standeth, yet for that it is not mine ease, to run into any farther charges, without a better assurance, than either words or promises, I am notwistanding contented to bear with you for that which is already past, minding from this day forwards to give no further credit, and for that you are altogether a stranger, unto me unknown, both what you are, from whence you come, whether you will, and where I should find you, I purpose therefore for my better security, and the rather to 〈…〉 by that you already do own me, to keep your wife in ●●aune, whom I know is so dearly beloved unto you, that for ●●er sake I shall the sooner hear from you again, otherwise I know not where to inquire after you, nor how to come by that is my due, which I am not well able to forbear, neither do I mind clearly to lose.  
The poor afflicted Duke, having never fallen before into cutthroats hands, persuaded in deed that the tenor of this varlets words, and the keeping of his wife tended to no other end, but for his better assurance to come by his money, was constrained to make a virtue of necessity, and was so ●nuche the better pleased, for that his wife might still remain free from farther travail, and thinking in time to settle him ●elf, and to recover his wife and children about him: with this resolution he began to relate unto his wife, with what saluta●●ons his gentle Host had greeted him withal, desiring her to ●●mfort herself for a season, assuring to do his best endeavour, 〈◊〉 so set up his sails to the prosperous gales of Fortune.  
〈◊〉 his good Lady, hearing her husband's discourse uncertain what to do, wept bitterly, as well for grief to 〈◊〉 his presence, as for that she should be left in the house of awarrant knave her Host, but like a wise Lady, hearing the a●●leadged reasons of her Lord and husband, did think it not for the best, to increase his old sorrow with a new grief, contented herself, uttering these words.  
Dear husband, knowing all that you have said to be very just and true, I am contented for a certain time to force my will, in hope that hereafter we may live together, ioiing ourselves in the company of our children, and this I would desire you, that so often as you can by convenient and trusty messengers, to send me word and intelligence of your health and estate, because the same should bring greater contentation unto me, than the welfare of mine own self.  
This said, she embracing him very lovingly, and he kissing her with great sorrow and grief, took his leave, and bad his Lady and spouse heartily farewell, leaving with her Phylene her dear daughter.  
Thus himself with Aurelianus his little son, 〈…〉 from Tariffa, towards the famous City of Cayre, and 〈…〉 passed through a Wilderness, having lost their way, ●●●dering two or three days without any manner of food, saving Hips, Haws, and slows, such as they could gather in the Desert, the poor child being over come with faintness, not longer able to travail, began to complain to his afflicted Father, desiring him to sit down to rest himself a time, the woeful Father tormented in his mind, to see his poor distressed child, sat him down under a Tree, where after a while, recounting to himself his sundry misfortunes being oppressed and wearied with travail, he fell into a sound sleep, the Child after he had a while rested himself, leaving his Father a sleep, began to seek about for something to s●ake his hunger, and as he was straying thus about the woo●●des, it fortuned the Duke of Vasconia, having lost his com●panie in the pursuit of a Stag, where he had been a hunting and as he was crossing the next way to go to the City 〈◊〉 Messyna, where he held his Court, having in his comp●●● 〈◊〉 the Lord of Sura, with three or four serving men, he fortuned to espy the child running in the bushes all alone, and calling the child unto him, he said, alas my little boy, what makest thou in this place, art thou here alone, or how camest thou hither I pray thee tell me. Forsooth Godfather (qd the child) I came hither with my Father, who lies a sleep here by, and I was seeking something to eat, for by my troth I am so a hongered, that I could eat worse meat than a piece of a roasted Pig, and that with all my heart.  
The Duke greatly pleasuring to hear the pretty answer of the child, replied in this wise: How sayest thou my little knave, wilt thou be my boy and dwell with me, and I will give thee good meat thy belly full, how sayest thou wilt thou go with me.  
Yea forsooth Godfather (qd the Child) on that condition you will give me roast meat enough, I will go with you, for I think I did not eat my belly full of roast meat, this month and more.  
〈◊〉 The Duke then commanded one of his men to take up the Child, whom he carried away with him, and now perceiving it to be both well favoured, quick witted, and very apt to learning, he brought it up at School, where he proved not only wise and learned, but also in many other exercises, convenient and fit for Gentlemen, he commonly excelled every other man, and thus leaving him at School, I will convert my tale to his woeful Father, who when he was awaked, and miss his pretty son, began to pry about in every bush, seeking and calling, what Aurelianus, Aurelianus, where be you Aurelianus: But in the end when he could no where find him, thinking assuredly that he had been devoured by some wild Beast, began with pitiful exclamation to cry out. O Fortune, Fortune more than fickle, who in a moment hoiste a man up to the highest degree, and by and by, in less space than in the twinkling of an eye, she throweth him down again 〈◊〉 low, as more misery is prepared for him in one day, then ●he advanced him in an hundred years, which I now prove, ●nd have experience in myself, & so much the more, the greater is my grief, who have been nourished delicately amongst my friends, maintained still in most prosperous estate, hoping for the full perfection of my felicities, by Marrying a Noble Dame, with whom I pretended to spend the residue of my life, according to the scope and lot appointed by the almighty God, but now behold all my enterprises be quite plucked back, and my purposes turned clean tops torue, in such wise, that from honourable estate, I am driven to wander like a vagabond, driven from Post to Pillar, from Country to Country, from Region, to Region, to sequestrate myself from amongst my friends, without any assured place where to make my abode. Oh froward fate, how canst thou be so hard hearted, and void of pity, still to prosecute thy cruel pursuit, first to deprive me of my honourable dignities, then to banish me from amongst my loving friends, thirdly to separate me from Messilina, my well beloved wife, more dear unto me then the balls of my unhappy eyes, and not yet contented, but now to bereave me of my sweet Infant, my only hope of comfort in my old age. O Death Death, the 〈…〉 ●●rowes, and the beginner of felicities, now make sharp thy Dart, and give no longer delay of life, dispatch, dispatch at once, the most infortunate man that lives this day on earth: for what avails my life, if in the gulf of sorrow and grief I drown the pleasures of the same: But ah I see right well, thou preservest the same of purpose, but to delight in my grieves, and to triumph over my adversities. And here withal the brinish tears so streamed down his cheeks, that he was not farther able to speak one word, but running up and down the Woods, sighing and sobbing in great anguish of mind, and his body much enfeebled for want of food and sustenance: He fortuned to meet certain labouring men, that dwelled in a poor Village not far from the place, who perceiving by his geasture, that he was passionated in his thoughts, they began with such courtesy, as they had learned in the Country, to demand the occasion of his grief.  
But he knowing very well, how far they were unable t● minister relief to the least of his afflictions, could render 〈◊〉 other answer, then piteous sighs and sobs: but the poor Pesaunts, when they had better beheld the tallness of his stature, the seemliness of his countenance, and the comeliness of his parsonage, were greatly moved with compassion towards him, and with such bad eloquence as their skill would permit, began to persuade him to walk with them to their Cabins, where he might refresh himself, with such homely junckettes, as was provided for their own suppers. The Duke contented to yield to their requests, walked along with them, where he remained all the night very pensive and heavy in his heart, and began to think with himself, that there was no more hope left for him to hear of his son, and therefore began to imagine, how he might render some relief to his poor wife and daughter, whom he had left as you before have heard.  
Now there was dwelling hard by the place, a noble man that was Lord of the Village, who having intelligence of this distressed Stranger, caused him to be sent for, before whom when the Duke was presented, after many questions debated between them, the Noble man demanded of the Duke what Country man he was, and how he had been trained up, & then if he could be contented to play the Seruyngman, and would be careful and diligent in his masters affairs, that then, he would be contented to receive him into his service, and would reward him accordingly, as he was able to deserve.  
The Duke all ashamed to be known what he was, reverently made answer, that he was borne in the Country of Achaia: and that he had been trained up in service with sundry Noble men, and would be very well contented to do his best endeavour, to serve him with the best service he could do.  
Thus the poor Duke became a Seruyngman, whom we will leave with his Master, and return to his wife, who was left in Huckster's handling (as you have heard) remained in the house with this Verlette, who sought by sundry assays, to satisfy his villainous lust, and like an expert Soldier when 〈◊〉 cometh to besiege a hold, first sendeth his Heralds to summon the Fort, proffering many large conditions, if they will quietly surrender, but if defiance be made, then presently he placeth his Battery, thundering forth his Canon shot against the walls, which if they be so well Rampered, that there will no breach be made, yet he ceaseth not with gifts and bribes to corrupt the Warders, not caring how he conquereth so he may have the spoil.  
This villain in likewise, sought first with piteous sighs, which saust with sugared words, did serve in steed of heralds, to persuade her to yield up the keys of the fortress, that with peaceable entry, he might take possession at his pleasure: but being by her repulsed, and the Flag of defiance displayed upon the Bulwark, then with thundering threats he thinketh to make his Battery, proffering to cast her into prison, for the debt which was owing him for her husband and herself. Other whiles again he would tempt her, and try her with gifts, thinking that for the necessity she was driven into, she would have made sale of that, which she preferred before her own life.  
This noble Dame, perceiving herself so hardly beset on every side, fearing in the end, the Varlet would work her some greater despite, so enforced herself, with Phyleno her little daughter to fall to work, that with weaving and knitting of laces, and otherwise with their needles, they had gained so much money, as she was able to set herself free, from out a knaves debt. And thinking with herself, that her husband had remained about the City of Cayre, to the which he purposed to journey when he departed from her: she determined with all convenient speed to repair thither, as well to comfort herself with the company of her Lord and husband, as otherwise with her yearnynges to help to relieve him, but for that she had understanding that the passage by land, was not only troublesome, but also very inconvenient for her to travail, by reason it lay through Woods and D●●sertes, she gate intelligence of a small Bark that was bou●● thither by Sea, which only stayed but for a wind to ser●● her turn: hereupon she discharged herself from the Tow●● of Taryffa, and when wether served, agreeing with the Master for her passage, herself with her daughter repaired aboard the Bark, which being put to Sea, was forced by the extremity of a contrary wind, to put themselves romer for the safety of their lives, to a clean contrary place. And where they meant to have sailed to the City of Cayre, they were now arrived at the City of Cherona, where the Lady coming a shore, she joyed nothing so much in the narrow escape she had made with life, by reason of the tempest, as she sorrowed for being so far driven from her husband, whose fellowship she more desired, than either wealth or worldly treasure. But for asmuch as both herself and her daughter, were very evil at ease, and greatly enfeebled with sickness at the Sea, and bad lying in the Ship, she determined to make her abode still at Cherona, till she might convey letters to Taryffa, that should certify her husband of all that had happened.  
In the mean time, her husband having received some small benevolence of his Lord and Master, who had conceived some good liking of him, by reason of the skill that he had in the riding of Horse, very desirous to render his wife some portion of his good fortunes, who had been so long time partaker of his evil haps, craving leave of his Lord for a time, came to Taryffa, where when he miss his wife, whose letters were not yet come from Cherona, and therefore could get no intelligence, but that she was gone to Cayre, of purpose to seek him: in a great perplexity he travailed towards Cayre, where making great inquiry could learn nothing of her, from thence he posted from place to place, from City to City, from Town to Town, but being never the near his purpose, he then began to double his dolours, and with bitter words to curse the celestial Signs, and Planets, which reigned at the day of his Nativity, and hour of his birth, contented to yield himself a captive to mishap, and to surrender himself a subject to Fortune's froward frumps.  
Being thus turmoiled with great anguish of mind, wandering to and fro, he was brought so low and bare, that he was ready to beg an alms from door to door, and coming to a poor Country Village, his penury was such, that he was glad to become a servant to him that was the Sexton of the Parish, whom he had not served long, but the old Sexton his master died, and for that he had now learned to ring Bells, and had some cunning in the keeping of a Clock: the Parishioners were contented to place him in his masters room; the Duke thinking himself more than thrice happy to get so great preferment, thanked Lady Fortune that had so friendly dealt with him, resolving himself to continued the office while he lived, but Fortune finding him so thankful for a little, dealt more friendly with him, as after you shall heart.  
But I will first declare how it happened with his son Aurelianus, who was taken up in the woods by the Duke of Vasconya; as before you have heard.  
But here I must first remember you, that the Duke changed his name from Aurelianus to Silvanus, which name he gave him of purpose, for that he was found in the Woods.  
Silvanus now having been trained up at School, was come to man's estate, and besides that he had the knowledge of good letters, he was comely in his parsonage, and of very good proportion, and in all manner of activities, appertaining to a Gentleman, he exceeded every other that was in the Court, beside in his demeanours he was so courteous and gentle, that he gained the good will and liking, both of one and other, but especially of the Duke himself, who allowed him such large expenses, whereby to maintain himself as brave as the best.  
Now this noble Duke having no other children but one only daughter, whose name was Valeria, in whom it seemed that both Virtue and Beauty had heelde some great contention, who should bear away the prize, for although that in beauty and good grace she exceeded every other Dame yet her virtues and good conditions surmounted more he● beauty, than the finest gold surmounteth lead or dross.  
This Lady now having heard great report of the nobleness of Silvanus, who was suspected to be but some poor man's son, by reason he was found in the Woods, began yet to bear him very good countenance, which at the first proceeded but of the noble Nature, which ever was accustomed to be favourable to such, in whom was found any worthy desert: but as the fish which by little and little sucketh upon the bait, till at the length she swalloweth down the hook, whereby she hangeth fast, not able to free herself, so this Lady Valerya, contemplating herself many times to behold that young Gentleman Silvanus, was so far entangled with his sweet and pleasant, countenance, that now perforce her will, she was constrained to yield to Love, and feeling herself ensnared, and bereaved of former freedom, being by herself alone, she began to complain as followeth.  
Alas (saith she) is it possible, that now force perforce my mind should be so altered, that straying from the bounds and limits of vowed Chastity: I should now become amorous, and subject to a certain unacquainted lust, from whence cometh this alteration? or how happeneth this unaccustomed hew? ah Love Love, how hast thou tormented me, and taken away the health and soundness of my mind, it behoveth me to show myself, as issued forth of the noble house of Vasconya, and with the greater care I ought to take heed, how I degenerate from the noble blood whereof I am descended, rather than to set my mind on a fondling unknown, unto whom peradventure if I discover my fondness, will not let to mock me for my labour, and for all the beauty or nobleness of my birth, will make me his jesting stock, and solace himself with the fondness of my conceits. But stay stay unhappy tongue, that thundereth forth such hateful words against my beloved Silvanus. Oh thrice accursed wench that can so ungently conceive against him, that in all his demeanours, doth show himself as noble as the best, but of what metal are either Monarch, King or Keisar framed of, otherwise then of natural, and common earth, whereof other men do come? Or what maketh these differences, which by sottish opinion we conceive, either of gentle or ungentle▪ otherwise than the show of virtue and good conditions. Then the party whom I love, is both virtuous, valiant, sage, of good grace, learned and wise. Vaunt thee then Valeria, that thou likest no inferior foundling, unworthy of thy love, but a worthy Gentleman, endued with noble qualities, in whom both Heaven and Nature have forgotten nothing, to make him equal to them that march in foremost rank: It is Silvanus whom I love, and of him I pretend to make a lawful husband, for otherwise I detest to lead the filthy life of lawless lust, but thus the bond of Marriage being made, I may love and live without offence of conscience, neither shall I do any blot or blemish to the greatness of my house. But if any be so scrupulous, as to think by marrying of him, I should diminish mine honour: It is the thing that I do least esteem, for what is honour worth, where the mind is void of contentation, and where the heart is bereaved of his chiefest desire, the body remaineth restless, and the mind is never in quiet. Silvanus therefore shall be my loyal husband, meaning thereby neither to offend God nor man.  
And now from hence forwards, she devised with herself, how to make her love known to Silvanus, not sparing when she was out of his presence, before all men to praise his great perfections, wherewith he was enriched, and in his own presence she used such loving countenance towards him, that although Silvanus were but young, and had never been trained up in the School of Love, yet he perceived very well, that those friendly glances were lent him of good liking, and those loving countenances were grounded of good will, and albeit, he saw the inequality and difference between them both, she being sorted out of royal race, and himself altogether ignorant of his own estate, and from whence he was sprung, yet being now led by Love, whose laws have no respect either to estate or dignity, he determined to follow his Fortune, and to serve her, which so lovingly showed herself, to requite him with the like, and the more he called to mind the divine beauty of his Lady, her graces, wisdom, behaviour, and courtesy, so much the more increased his desire, fortifying himself against all mishaps, and perils that might succeed, and began to debate with himself in this manner.  
How is it possible that I should be so foolish, to despise a duty so rare and precious, and to set light by that which the noblest would pursue, with all reverence and endeavour, I am not the first, that hath obtained the love of a Lady: no no, I see she loveth me, and shall not I requite it by yielding love again, if I were so void of humanity and good nature, beside I might work mine own overthrow, in seeming to despise so noble a Lady, so the Gods would not let to minister revenge, as they did upon Narcissus. But ah silly wretch that I am, what folly is this that I have now premeditated, with the peril of mine honour, and the hazard of my life: see see how far my affections begin to stray, through the hot assaults of foolish fantasy, enraged with an appetite rising on vain hope, what madness on me to think that Valerya will so much forget the greatness of her house, or yet unbase herself in respect of me poor silly soul: but what if she would be contented, either in respect of marriage or otherwise in respect of good will, to surrender herself to satisfy my request, how much were I the near my purpose, alas nothing at all, the first, I know should be denied me by the Duke her father, and as for any other courtesy, although I know it be far from her thought, yet surely mine own conscience would not suffer me, to proffer so great villainy to so noble a Lady, neither the reverence and duty which I own to her father would permit me, to requite his gentleness towards me with so great an injury. Cease therefore Silvanus, subdue thy sensuality, that by vanquishing thyself, thou mayest set open the gate to Fame, who with her Trump of everlasting glory, she may advance thee renowned to all posterity.  
But alas, shall I then give over to love my Lady Valerya, reason wills me so to do, but love hath so blinded all my senses, that reason giveth no manner of light, what help have I then hereafter to hope for, alas I know no one, and therefore be content. Herewithal he stayed his travail, resolving with himself to conquer his affections, and being in his Chamber taking pen and yuck, he sat him down and wrote these verses following.  

No shame I trust, to cease from former ill,  
Nor to revert, the lewdness of the mind:  
Which hath been trained, and so misled by will,  
To break the bounds, which reason had assyngde.  
I now forsake the former time I spent.  
And sorry am, for that I was miswent.   

But blind forecast, was he that made me serve,  
Affection fond, was lurer of my lust:  
My fancy fixed, desire did make me serve,  
Vain hope was he, that trained all my trust:  
Good liking then, so dazzled had my sight,  
And dimnde mine eyes, that reason gave no light.   

O sugared sweet, that trained me to this trap,  
I saw the bait, where hook lay hidden fast:  
I well perceiude, the drift of my mishap.  
I knew the bit, would breed my bane at last,  
But what for this, for sweet I swallowed all:  
Whose taste I find, more bitter now then gall.   

But lo the fruits, that grew by fond desire,  
I seek to shun, that pleased best my mind:  
I starve for cold, yet feign would quench the fire,  
And glad to lose, that feignest I would find,  
In one self thing, I find both baal and bliss,  
But this is strange, I like no life but this.   
When he had thus penned these verses, he committed them to memory, and the next day being in the company of certain Gentlemen and Gentlewomen in the Court, taking a Lute, whereon he could play very well, and having likewise good knowledge in his song, & therewithal a very pleasant voice, he began to sing this ditty before mentioned, in the midst whereof came in the young Lady Valerya, wherewith Silvanus stayed his song, but she joining herself to the company, seeing the saint that secretly shrined in her thought, she had vowed her greatest devotion unto, desired Silvanus, at her request, to begin his song again: Silvanus, making the matter nothing nice, was pleased very well to satisfy her request, and taking the Lute began his song, to the which the Lady gave intentive ear, from the beginning to the ending, and perceiving the song to be made in some extreme passion forced by love, she demanded of Silvanus who had penned those verses, who answered, they were of his own penning, and so lately done that he could not forget them: the Lady then thinking Silvanus to be in love with some other Gentlewoman, departed very speedily, as though some sudden motion 〈◊〉 happened to her mind, and coming to her Chamber, shutting fast the door, she began to say as followeth.  
How much am I unfortunate above all other women, that being a Lady of such blood as I am, and yet am happened into so strange a misery, that in manner with mine own mouth, I have made request to him, which rather with all humility, aught to proffer me his service, and yet am scornfully rejected, and an other like to catch the birds, whilst I do but beat the bush. Oh Silvanus Silvanus, deemest thou me no better worth, then so lightly to reject my proffered love, and shall an other that is much less worthy, bear away the sweet fruit of my desired hope, and shall possess without desert, the glory due to a firm and faithful friend? No no, I can not think thee s● ingrate, and my heart foretelleth me, that it is impossible my Silvanus should wander so far from equity, but that he is able to discern of colours, and will not requite me with wrong for right, I am sure not to be deceived in my love, I know he loveth me, but that he dareth not to disclose the same, fearing I should refuse him, and cast him of with shame, I will not let therefore with mine own mouth to bewray the same unto him, and to manifest my good will, whereby my chaste and honest amity once known unto him, virtue herself may knit the knot between us, which can not choose but bring forth the fruits of true and perfect friendship.  
And shall I then being a Lady of such degree, be constrained to sew, where every other woman of the meanest reputation, be ordinarily required, and that with the importunate instance of their suitors, I shall then be noted of boldness, and be thought to stray too far from the limits and bounds of modesty, and to make a greater show of lightness, than is properly looked for in us that be of the feminine gender, but what strictness is this prescribed to our sex, that we should be bereaved of our liberty, and so absolutely condemned of lightness in seeking to satisfy our lawful and honest desires, with what tramp be we tempered withal more than men, whereby we should be able to withstand the forces of the flesh, or of power to resist the concupiscenses which Nature itself hath assigned, we be termed to be the weaker 〈…〉 yet they would have us more puissant, then either Samson or Hercules: If man and woman be made of one metal, it must needs follow by consequence, we be subject to like infirmity, from whence cometh then this freedom, that men may ask what they desire of us, be it never so lewd, and we may not crave any thing of them, that tendeth to good and honest pretence: It is termed to be but a man's part that seeketh our dishonour, by lewd and lawless lust, but to a woman it is imputed for lightness, to firm her lawful liking, with pure and loyal love, if men will have pre-eminence to do evil, why should we be reproved for doing well.  
Whereupon stand I then amazed with these fond opinions, my love is not unlawful, neither before God nor man, I love Silvanus, whom I will take for my husband, for otherwise to love him, my heart doth not intend, therefore without any farther respite or delay, I will make my love known unto him, and the band of Marriage once confirmed between us, shall cover the fault which men would deem, neither shall my mind be altered, either by the sugared persuasion of friends, neither terrified with any threats, that may be thundered forth by Parents blustering wrath, I am not so far overwhelmed with Pride, that in respect for the greatness of my Parentage, I should despise a Gentleman endued more with virtue then with riches, though there be some that be of this condition, that they will sooner prefer the greatness of birth, than the greatness of virtue, the abundance of wealth, than the abundance of wit, the perfection of beauty, than the perfection of the mind, but I am out of the number of those women, which care more to have their husband's purses well lined with money, whereby they may be maintained in their bravery, or sometimes fix their fancy upon some young man, that is of goodly parsonage, although void of virtue, quality, and good conditions, that aught to garnish a Gentleman, and doth more beautify and enrich him, then either the bare show of beauty, or any other gifts of Fortune, but I cannot employ my love upon transitory treasure, when the 〈◊〉 of the mind is clean taken away: no no, it shall better content me to see a mean Gentleman beloved and praised of every one for his virtues, then to marry amiser possessed with all the goods of the world, hated and ill spoken of for his vices, Fear not then Valeria, to follow thy determination, and to put in proof what thou hast pretended.  
Here withal staying herself, she began to practise the mean, in what manner she might bewray her love to Silvanus, seeking for occasion and time meet for her purpose, and although there remained in her, a certain natural shamefastness, wherewith maidens are commonly accompanied, which for a time did close her mouth, and made her to defer the time of her desolued mind, yet in the end thoroughly persuaded in her intent, she sent one of her Maidens, willing Silvanus to come and speak with her; about certain affairs that she had to employ him: The maid having finished her message, there could never more joyful news happen to Silvanus, who entering the Chamber of Valeria, with trembling heart after he had done his reverence, with great fear and bashfulness said, for that I understand your Ladyship ha●● to employ me about certain affairs, I shall think my sel● the most happiest man in the world, if my travail and diligence, might any ways do you service, be it that ●erein I should offer or sacrifice mine honour or life, craving no greater benefit for the satisfaction of all my contentations, received in this world, then to serve, obey, and honour you, so long as my life doth last.  
The Lady now, all ravished with joy and contentation, perceiving by his change of colour, the fault proceeded of vehement love, taking him aside into a window, Love had so closed up her mouth, that she knew not how to begin her tale, her mind was so troubled, her wits so far out of course, that her tongue failed to do his office, in such wise that she was not able to speak one only word.  
He likewise perplexed with the like Fever▪ was now astonished to see the alteration of his Lady.  
Thus these two Lovers, like two senseless Images, stood still beholding each other, without any manner of moving, in the end the Lady taking courage in herself, with a trembling voice, joined with a maidenlike shamefastness, began to say as followeth.  
Being assured (my Silvanus) of your discretion and wisdom, which Nature hath not only endued you withal, but art hath also accomplished, what Nature began to work, I will therefore make no doubt at all, to let you know the hidden secrets of my heart, neither will I go about with circumstance to colour my words, but being well persuaded, that when you shall both hear and savour my speeches, and therewithal sound the depth of my devices, you will easily conjecture, that my enterprises be none other than just, and that my alleged reasons, are grounded of good pretence, I think sithence your arrival here in the Court of the Duke my father, you have not seen me in any behaviour, otherwise then virtue doth permit, nor in any my demeanours exceeding the bounds of modesty, otherwise then becometh a maiden of my calling, being descended of so worthy a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 if this be a fault that being provoked by the pureness of my heart, and fidelity of my good will, who to keep the same inviolable, do voluntarily offer myself to the honest disposition of your judgement, as it shall please you to conceive of me, I have then committed a fault in liking you too well, but I trust nothing at all offended God, who knoweth the innocency of my crime. Think not Silvanus, that I am the friend of Fortune, and practise pleasure alone without virtue, for it is modesty that commandeth me, and honesty is the guide of my conceits, swearing and protesting by the Almighty God, that never man shall touch Valeria, except it be in Marriage, and he that otherwise would assail me, I have a heart that shall encourage my hands to sacrifice my life. And now Silvanus, if you will not think me more prodigal of my present, than your fancy will serve you to take in good part, behold, it is you that I have chosen for my Spouse and loyal husband. And although I had determined to dissemble that, which now I have laid open unto you, yet reposing myself in your virtue and honesty, I trust I shall not have cause to repent me, for any thing that I have either said or doen.  
Silvanus which all this while hearing this heavenly harmony, with full assurance of that he most wished for, albeit he saw no possibility, how to bring to pass this desired Marriage, yet determined not to refuse so great a preferment, being so frank and liberally offered, answered in this manner.  
I know not Madam, with what humility and reverence I might receive, and accept this your great bounty and nobleness, so graciously offered unto me, I do acknowledge my condition and state too base, and that my love may be thought to presume too far beyond the bounds of order, considering that my ignobility and birth, are no meet matches for such a peerless Princes, yet this I dare boldly affirm, that if love and entire affection borne to your Ladyship, might serve to countervail that defect, which by place of birth the Destinies have denaied me, I dare undertake I should as well deserve to be received, as he that is lineally descended from the greatest Monarchy of the world. The which love if till this time I have delayed to open, I beseech you Madam, impute it to the greatness of your estate, and to the duty of my calling, but now for as much as by your own motion, grace, courtesy, and great liberality the same is proffered, and that of your own bounty, it pleaseth you to accept me for yours: I humbly beseech you, not to dispose of me as of a husband, but as of one which both is, and shall be your servant for ever. Thus said, he taking her by the hand, kissed it with great devotion, his tongue and wits were so rapt and tied, as the Lady perfectly perceived this alteration, and seeing it to proceed of love, replied on this manner.  
Then my Silvanus, there needeth at this present no farther circumstance, but for that I am well assured, there are some that will be offended with my choice, but especially the Duke my father, who will conceive some great displeasure against me: there resteth then that this our contract be kept very secret, until it please God to appoint the time, that the rest of our determinations, may without danger be consummate and accomplished. In the mean time, trusting that your desire is Godly, and that the friendship you pretend to bear me, is founded upon virtue, and to be concluded by Marriage, receive me for your Spouse and lawful wife, you shall have such part in me, as without any regard to the obedience and duty that I own to my Parents I am yours, being ready and disposed to obey you, so far as my honour may permit me.  
These two lovers now grounding themselves, the one in the others fidelity, could not so cunning▪ dissemble and cloak their affections, but that it was easily perceived by their secret glances, and countenances conveyed from the one to the other (and as we have a Proverb) (it is ill halting before a cripple) so there were many about the Court, that were so well studied in the school of Love, that they were able to have commenced Masters of Art, and could easily conjecture from whence those rolling looks did proceed, that being now assured of that which before was but suspected, the brute was spread about the Court, of the love that was between Silvanus and Valeria, that in the end it came to the Duke her Father's ear, who taking the matter very grievously, that his daughter to whom the inheritance of the Dukedom remained after his decease, should so meanly bestow her love of a foundling found in the Woods. And minding to find a remedy for the matter, willed Silvanus that in pain of his life, within twenty days he should depart the Court, and never after to be seen within the jurisdictions of the Dukedom of Vasconia.  
Valeria now having intelligence what had happened, had no leisure to vex or molest herself, when time rather required a speedy remedy, for the incounteryng of those mishaps, devised with Siivanus to convey herself away, contented rather to live in the fellowship of an honest loving husband, with whom she should hold faithful and loyal company, with what estate and Fortune so ever it might please GOD to appoint, then to live without him, beautified with the graces and foolish names of honour and pre-eminence.  
Silvanus, contented to satisfy her desire, with the hazard of his life, yielded to her request, and before the twenty days were expired, so cleanly conveyed himself and Valeria away, that when they were missing, the Duke witted not which ways to send after them. Wherefore in a great fury, he spared not to send out great companies, which posting every way, made enquiry and search after them, but all in vain: for Silvanus had so disguised himself and Valeria, that without any manner of trouble, they quietly passed the Country, and having freed themselves from out the danger of the Duke, desiring that the day of their Marriage might now be prefixed, the which by mutual consent, was presently determined, and by great Fortune (or rather conduction by the providence of God) the● happened to arrive in the Country Village, where Duke Sappho that was father to Silvanus, had remained all this while Sexton of the Parish. In this Village, because it was a place free from resort, whereby they might remain unknown, and in the better safety, they purposed aswell to celebrate their Marriage, as for a time to make their abode, till matters were better quieted, and that they might at leisure resolve, what course were best for them to take. Silvanus now having conferred with the Priest, the Marriage day was appointed, where the poor bell-ringer taking the view of this new married couple, fell in a great liking of Silvanus, not for that he knew him to be his son, for thereof he could have no manner of suspicion, aswell for that he deemed he had been devoured in the Woods, by some wild beast, as also because his name was changed, but whether it were by the instigation or secrecy of Nature, or otherwise by the will and pleasure of God, to bring to pass that, which afterwards happened in effect, this poor Sexton I say, lead by the secret motion of his own affections, proffered Silvanus that if his service might any ways stand him in steed (for that he was a stranger in the place) he should use him in any respect, and should find him ready to stand him in such stead, as his poor ability might any ways permit.  
Silvanus' in like case having forgotten his Father, being separated from him in his infancy, yet nothing despising his friendly offer, craved his help for the hiering of a Chamber, for some reasonable rent, till time that he might better provide for himself. The Sexton very glad that he had so good opportunity to pleasure him, brought him with his wife to his own house, where he lodged him in the best room that he had, proffering not only his house, but all that was in it to be at their disposition and pleasure. This new Married couple now gladding and sporting themselves, with all such sweet imbracementes, as they can better describe, which have been possessed with the like delights: but as some will say, it is the man's part to be first wearied in those Veneral sports, so Silvanus having now well feasted himself, with that sweet repast, had leisure to bethink him of his own estate: began inwardly to grow into great sorrow and heaviness, not so much for himself, as for his wife, who for his sake had disposest herself from so great honour, abandoning her friends, contented to yield herself a thrall to Fortune.  
These cogitations did so nip him, that he could not so well dissemble his grief, but that his wife perceived some disquietness in his mind, and therefore very grievously she demanded of him, to show her the cause of his discontentment, which by outward appearance, seemed inwardly so much to molest him.  
Silvanus' hearing his Lady's request, answered in this wise, my dear wife, the sweetest companion that ever man did possess, for so much as you so earnestly desire to understand, what it is that so much withdraweth my delights, I will not let to bewray the truth, which is this, when I consider with myself, of your present estate and condition, who from the tip and height of dignity, have not spared for my sake to surrender yourself, to become a subject to all mishaps, besieged on every side, with the future assaults of ordinary Fortune: It maketh me therefore to have the greater care, by what means I might endeavour myself, to maintain & continue your estate, though not according to your worthiness and calling, yet according to your well contentment and liking. And hereupon conceiving in my head divers imaginations, no means but one in my fancy seemeth best, which is, that I go to the Court of the Emperor Claudius, who at this present is leading a great band, to encounter the Turk, at whose hands I doubt not, but to receive some good entertainment, and besides the honour and reputation, I may gain by good desert, I may likewise reap such living and good liking of the Emperor, that in despite of Fortune's teeth, we may live hereafter a quiet and honourable life, to our great joy and comfort. But when I did consider the beloved company of you dear wife, I feared to bewray that, which now I have disclosed, not knowing in what part you would take it, that I should so suddenly depart. Lo here the cause of my disquietness, which you desire so instantly to know.  
The Lady which was wise, perceiving the great love that her husband did bear her, when he had stayed himself from talk, with glad and merry countenance, answered in this wise.  
Ah Silvanus, the exampler of all virtue and gentleness, let death and fortune do what they list, for I count my sel● more than satisfied of all that is past, by the only enjoying of your presence, contenting myself to be a partaker of your misfortunes, and have no doubt but that I can so moderate my affections, that during my life, I will rest better contented with that which your ability will permit be it never so mean, then otherwise to be honoured with names and titles of nobility in Princely state or port having not your presence. Disquiet not yourself therefore, but persever in your determination, and that sorrow which shall assail me by reason of your absence, I will sweeten and lenify with contentation to see your commendable desire appeased: and the pleasant memory of your valiant facts shall beguile my pensive thoughts, hoping that our next meeting shall be more joyful and glad, than this our parting shall be either heavy or sad.  
The Lady's answer did wonderfully quiet the mind of Silvanus, and calling his Host the Sexton unto him, whom he had made partaker of his determinations, he departed, leaving his wife such money and jewels as they had remaining: And coming to the Court of the Emperor Claudius, he was very well entertained, and the rather for that the Emperor had great need of men to supply his Army, which had sustained sundry conflicts, and divers overthrows, for the Turk did wonderfully encroach upon the Emperor, and had taken sundry Cities, Towns, and Castles from him, and was like still every day more to prevail then other, that now the Emperor began to repent him, of the slender account he had made of Soldiers in the time of peace, for that he had too few that were sufficient to serve him in his Wars: For in steed of Experience, valiance, and Policy (which three ought to be governors, commanders and chief officers in a Camp) he was glad to prefer Vainglory, Foolishhardinesse, and Rashness: Simple sots that were more fit to wait in Gentlewoman's chambers, then to be made Captains, or leaders in the Wars.  
The Emperor now standing in great distress for want of men, for those that he had made greatest account of in the time of peace, were now able to stand him in no steed in the time of wars: and those that had braved it up and down the Court in the new cuts, strange fashions, their hair fri●●led, looking with such grisly and terrible countenances, enough to make a wiseman believe they were clean out of their wits, now in the time of Wars, were glad to run under a Gentlewoman's Farthing all to hide them.  
The Emperor (I say) being thus perplexed, called to his remembrance the injury that he had done Sappho, whom he had banished only to satisfy the wills of those that were about him, which he knew did hate him more of spite, then for any occasion the Duke had given. Without any farther delay therefore, the Emperor sent sundry messengers into every part of Christendom to make inquiry, that who so ever could find the Duke, should be worthily recompensed, and those Proclamations were spread through every Region, in City, Town, and Village. In so much that in this Parish where the Duke remained Sexton (as you have heard) the Priest made inquiry on sunday in the Church, as the custom is) that where as about fourteen or fifteen years sithence, the Duke of Mantona was banished by the Emperor, which was procured rather by envy, then for any desert, as now it was proved, who so ever therefore could give any intelligence of the same Duke, should be very liberally recompensed by the Emperor.  
The Sexton now hearing these news, did think it more better to live still in his Sextens' room, where he remained without envy, then to become again the Duke of Mantona, subject to the spite of hateful persons. But calling to his mind his wife and daughter, which he thought remained yet alive (although he knew not where) and for the great love that he bore to Silvanus, whose wife remained in his house (as you heard) seeing that Fortune offered him so good opportunity to pleasure them, only for their sakes, resolved himself to go to the Emperor. But first comforting his gest Valerya, whom for a time he should leave in his house, only with such servants as herself had about her: he told her that he was well assured where to find this Duke, that was so much inquired after, and that he doubted not, (if it were but in respect of his good news) he should work Silvanus, her husband into some credit with the Duke, who might likewise procure his better preferment with the Emperor.  
And thus the Sexton departed, and with all convenience came to the Court of the Emperor, to whom when he had made himself known, he was most honourably received and great joy and gladness was made throughout the whole Court: the Emperor now in consideration of the injury he had done him, did not only restore him to his former room and dignity, but also advanced him in honour and estimation, to be preferred before all other next unto himself.  
Thus after many benefits received of the Emperor, the Duke prepared himself, accompanied with many his friends, to go to the emperors Camp, of the which he was made General, where he knew well how to behave himself, and giving out new ordinances, he appointed certain such as he himself knew worthy, and gave them charge, amongst the rest, seeing Silvanus who all this while remained in the Camp, whom the Duke did very well know, although Silvanus, did little suspect that a poor Sexton of a Parish, should become a General to an emperors Army. The Duke perceiving himself to be unknown to Silvanus, was contented so to remain for a time, but yet desirous to see what was in him, he gave him the leading of certain Horsemen, with the which Silvanus served so valiantly, and there with all had so happy success, that every man extolled up to the heavens, the worthiness of Silvanus. This pleased the Duke passing well, and the Duke having now sundry times encountered with the power of the Turks, and had given them many overthrows, he was now preparing a great force, for the recovery of the City of Cayoe, the which the Turks had taken before from the Emperor. And calling Silvanus unto him, he said: God grant young Gentleman, that your end agree with your good beginning, then making Silvanus to kneel he dubbed him knight, and made him Colonel of twenty Ensigns.  
Silvanus' after he had done his reverence, thanked the Duke of the honour and favour, which it had pleased him to do him, promising to do so well in time to come, as he should not be deceived in his conceived opinion, whereof he gave assured testimony at the assault that was given to the City before mentioned, where he behaved himself so valiantly, as he was the first that mounted upon the walls, and by his dexterity and invincible force, made way to the Soldiers in the breach, whereby they entered and took the City, killing and driving out their enemies before them. In many such like attempts Silvanus still showed himself so noble and valiant, that his praise and renown was sounded in every place.  
The Duke now having recovered again all such Cities, Towns, and other Forts, which the Turk had before taken from the Emperor, and there with all had banished the Turks from out the bounds, and borders of the Empire, and a League agreed upon between the Emperor and the Turk. The Army being broken up, and Soldiers discharched, every man well recompensed for his service, according as he had deserved. Silvanus likewise, who by his worthiness, having not only made himself famous to the world, but also had well lined his purse with good store of gold, bethinking him now of his fair Lady, came to the Duke to have taken his leave, but the Duke minding now to perform the good that he meant to Silvanus, was resolved in his mind, that Silvanus with his wife should be his gests, as well at Mantona where he was Duke, as they had been before, where he was but a Sexton, said to Silvanus as followeth.  
Sir Knight, what haste is this, that you would so suddenly withdraw yourself from out my company, belike you have some fair wife, to whom you make such speed to be gone, but sir content yourself to bear me company to the emperors Court, where I doubt not but you shall receive some better recompense for your service so happily begun, for it is not requisite, but that the virtue of valiance, aught to be rewarded and cherished by Princes, that be aided in their necessity, with the diligence of such virtuous and noble Gentlemen as yourself. Silvanus' greatly comforted with these w●●●des of the Duke, was well pleased to wait upon him. Thus they took their journey towards the great City of Cherona, which was in the uttermost borders of the emperors Dominions, there the Duke purposed to stay a while, to recreate himself with the rest of his company.  
Now it fortuned that the valiant acts, and haughty enterprises of Silvanus were so renowned and spread, that the fame therefore came to the ears of the Duke of Vasconya, that was father to Valerya the wife of Silvanus, who with all possible speed made such haste, that he came to Cherona, where he found Silvanus in the company of the Duke of Mantona, to whom turning himself, he said as followeth.  
Sir Duke, the only hope that I have, that you will not let to extend justice upon the mischievous and ungracious acts of wicked men, doth let me at this instant to forbear with mine own hands, to avenge the wrong that I assure myself, to have received of this Traitor Silvanus.  
The company were wonderfully abashed with these words, but especially the Duke of Mantona, who loved Silvanus more dearly than any other.  
But the other going still forwards in his tale said, if the heart break that afflicteth the soul of a woeful father, whose house is made desolate by losing his child, by the mischievous enticements of a Thief, if this precedent I say, move you not to minister such speedy revenge, as the Law doth prescribe, I suppose that all impunity of vice and sin hath place on your behalf. And there withal staying his talk, but yet by his gesture and countenance so enraged, that he seemed like a man that were beside himself.  
The Duke of Mantona now perceiving the matter, that Valerya was the daughter of the Duke of Vasconia, whom he supposed to have been of some mean birth and parentage, was wonderfully sorry for Silvanus, whose fact by the Law deserved death, and seeing the Duke in such a fury, he wist not by what means to work Silvanus' safety, for to entreat the Duke he thought it but vain, and to bring Silvanus to answer the fact, he knew the Law would condemn him, and therefore knowing where Valeria did remain, whom he knew did love Silvanus as her own life, and thinking that her tears might lenify and soften the hardened heart of the Duke her father. He therefore privily sent for her, to be brought immediately to the City of Cherona, in the mean time he committed Silvanus into safe custody, and desired the Duke at his request to stay himself a while, and he should have such justice on Silvanus, as himself would require.  
Matters being thus pacified for a while, I will in like case let them rest for a time, and will now discourse how it befell to the Duchess Messilina, with her daughter Phylene.  
You have heard before how by constraint of weather at the Sea, they were driven to this City of Cherona, where the Duke now remained, and at her first coming, falling to her work as before she had done at Taryffa, a rich Merchant that dwelled in the Town, taking the view of this new come workewoman, fell into so great a liking with her, that only to have access to come into her company, he bestowed more money in cloth to make him Shirts and Handcarchifes in one week, than he was able to wear out in three years after, which he put to her to make, whereby he became something well acquainted with her, but to the end that she might think herself something the better beholding unto him, he proffered her a more convenient house than that she was in, which he would furnish with all manner of household stuff for a reasonable rent. She being very glad of so good an offer, became his Tenant. The Merchant now perceiving his time did so well serve him, without any great circumstance, declared unto her the great good will he bore her, but Messilina so delayed him with such wise and reasonable answers, that from time to time the Merchant himself could not importunately crave that which with such modesty, she so honestly denaied him.  
Now there lay in this City of Cherona, the old Duchess of Petrona, who having intelligence of Messilina to be so good a workewoman, she sent for her, to whom she put sundry parcels of work, which she so well finished to the liking of the Duchess, that from time to time she still plied her with the like, whereby Messilina, with her daughter Phylene, had continual recourse to the Pallas of the Duchess, where Arabianus the only son of the Duchess of Petrona, (and inheritor of the Dukedom, but that he was under age) did mark and behold the beauty and good grace of this young Seamester Phylene, was so clogged and fettered in the bands of love, that all other thoughts seemed loathsome unto him, and every other joy displeasant, in respect of the pleasure that he suffered, by thinking of his fair Phylene, wherefore baiting himself with hope, and tickled only by love, he determined what soever happened to love her.  
Which being perceived by his Mother, she began very sharply to rate him, blaming him that would so indiscreetly place his love, not weighing his estate and birth, as come of Princely race, and now would make himself a fable to the world, to like of such a one so far unworthy his degree.  
Arabianus falling down upon his knees, most humbly desired his Mother to bear with all that was passed, and although it were truth that she had said, that he deemed her for her birth to be unworthy his degree, yet she deserved for her beauty to be compared to the greatest Dame, and bravest Minion else where. And whereas other girls by artificial means and trumperies, do enforce that which the heavens have denaied them, yet Phylene had no other ornament then that which Nature had enlarged in her: and otherwise for her virtue, wisdom, and modesty, he knew it to be such by report of many, as she might be a Lantern to the greatest Dame that lived.  
notwithstanding Madam, for so much as you do take my fact in so ill part, considering the reverence, that I own to the place which you hold on my behalf, and the duty and obedience that God will and hath commanded, that children should bear to those that have begotten and borne them: if it please you to pardon me of this that is past, I protest that from henceforth, I will be more wise and better advised, how I enter into any thing that might turn to any such consequence, or any manner of ways to offend you.  
The Duchess knowing all to be true that her son had said, very well pleased with his speeches, remained satisfied, thinking in her mind in deed, that if Phylene had been the Daughter but of some mean Gentleman, her son should never have sought farther for a wife.  
From this time forwards, although Arabianus by the persuasion of his Mother, had vowed to revolt and let slip the love that he bore to Phylene, yet he could not so clearly lose his liking, but that he did manifest some part of his good will, by gifts and good countenances which still he bestowed upon Phylene, causing his Mother likewise to bestow many liberal rewards upon Messilina, thus the Mother and the Daughter perceived themselves a thousand times beholding to the old Duchess and her son.  
In this mean space the Merchant before mentioned had buried his wife, and knowing no other but that M●ssilina his Tenant had been a widow, he began now a fresh suit, and with great importunity requested her in the way of Marriage, and so hardly he laid unto her, that Messilina not knowing otherwise how to rid him, confessed unto him that she had a husband alive and therefore might not marry.  
The Merchant thinking these to be but delays to shift him of, came to this point, that if hereafter he could prove her by her own confession to be a widow, that then before witness she would take him for her lawful husband, and till that time he would no farther trouble her till he had made his proof, she being glad to be at rest, thinking that he should work very wisely to make her confess herself to be a widow, agreed to his request, and witness was had in the matter. The Merchant now letting his matter rest a time for his better purpose, in the end coming unto her, he told her, that although she were so discourteous to forsake his friendship in every respect, first in the way of good fellowship, and after in the way of Marriage, whereby he was driven to go seek farther, but now having found a wife in the Country, to whom he was assured, and meant presently to be married, yet for the old friendship that he bore her, considering that he would presently remain in the Country altogether, and forsake the City, therefore for her better security, and assurance of her dwelling, he would make her a Lease of the house that she dwelled in, for one and twenty years, if it might do her any pleasure, without paying any penny Income.  
Messilina giving him great thanks, took his offer very courteously, and the Lease was put to making, which the Merchant signed and delivered, and herewithal desired her single Obligation, for the performance of some small rent, were it never so little, that she might acknowledge him to be her Landlord, the which she never denaied to give.  
The Obligation was made in this manner, Know all men by these presents, that I Messilina Widow, and so forth, with words in manner and form of every Obligation. This Obligation thus made, was signed and delivered by Messilina to the Merchant, who had now gotten that so long he had sought for, and by virtue of this Obligation, craved Messilina to be his wife, she denaiing his demand, but what could that prevail, when he had her own hand and seal to show, whereby she confessed herself a Widow, and then by her own agreement (as you have heard before) she must yield herself to be his wife.  
This matter was long in fending & proving, in so much that the Duke being now in the Town, ministering of justice to such as would crave it, the Merchant brought the matter before the Duke, who hearing the manner of the Bargain, and so many witnesses to affirm the same, gave Sentence that the Merchant ought in deed to have her. But Messilina falling at the feet of the Duke, desiring him with tears to defer his judgement: the Duke now taking better view of the woman, knowing her both by her voice, and also by looking well on her face, perceived assuredly that it was his own wife, he called again to the Merchant to see obligation, which when he had received, he said in this manner.  
Master Merchant, this obligation which you have delivered me, now I have perused with better advise, I find it to be neither sufficient nor lawful, for this woman that you would make a Widow, without doubt is Married, and hath a husband, now she being under covert barn, you Obligation is unpleadable, and I know not whom you should blame, whether yourself, or the Scrivener. And here withal being replete with great joy and gladness, taking his wife up in his arms, very lovingly embraced her, he said.  
Ah my dear and loving Wife, how much am I bound, to render innumerable thanks to the almighty GOD, that when all hope was passed, have yet again recovered my greatest hope and comfort. Messilina likewise perceiving her lord and husband, clasping her hands about his neck, was not able to speak a word for joy and contentation: The company that stood by, amazed to see this sudden hap, were likewise very joyful to see this friendly meeting. The Merchant seeing how he had been deceived, tore his Obligation, and departed all ashamed. The Duke now desirous to see his Daughter Philene, caused her Mother to send for her, who not knowing her Father, otherwise then by report, fell down on her knees to crave his blessing: The Duke taking her up, kissing her with fatherly affectiou, could not stay his tears, in remembering her brother Aurelianus, whom he deemed to be dead.  
These news were suddenly spread throughout the City of Cherona, in so much that Arabianus having now intelligence, that Philene was the daughter of the noble Duke Sappho, certifying his Mother the truth which he had learned, without any great deliberation, both the Mother and the son, coming to visit the Duke and his company, where they were very well welcomed, but especially to Messilina, to whom the old Duchess and her Son, both had been very bountiful: And when a while they had passed the time with pleasant discourses of all that had passed, the Duchess of Petrona craved Philene in Marriage for her Son. The duke being made privy to the matter, knowing Arabianus to be come of great descent, and to be endued with large and fair possessions, seeing him likewise to be a toward young gentleman, would not stand against it, but referred the matter to his Daughter's liking. Philene who had been greatly bound to the courtesy of the young Duke, and had received many gifts and good turns at his hands, would not do as a number of these nice Dames, that will many times make dainty of that they would feignest come by, gave her free consent. There was then no more to do, but to prepare for the Marriage, which was presently solemnised with great pomp & glory.  
By this Valeria (whom as you have heard before, the duke had sent for) was come to Cherona, who was privily lodged by the Duke's commandment, in a privy place. The day now being come, that Silvanus was brought to his answer, he could not denaie the fact wherewith he was charged, but that he had stolen Valeria from her father, by which confession the Law condemned him to die. There were many that knew the nobleness of Silvanus, that began to entreat the Duke or Vasconia to remit the fact, but all in vain, for the more they entreated, the more he hastened to see execution.  
The Duke of Mantona seeing his great obstinacy, did think it high time to find a remedy for Silvanus, if it might be, therefore he said, sir Duke, were it possible that this condemned man, who is like (so far as I can see) to bear the whole brunt, and yet might be enticed to this fact by your Daughter's means, or at the least, your daughter must be half partner of this fault, and yielded with her good will to come away, for otherwise it had been impossible for him, to have brought her from out your Court, which if it be true, if you will needs see justice so duly executed in the one, I can not see how your daughter can go quite, but must be as well partaker of the punishment, as she was in the fact, by yielding her consent.  
The Duke of Vasconia answered, as it is the office and duty of every good justicer, to know the valour and difference, between virtue and vice, to the end that all virtuous acts may be honoured, and the contrary chastised and punished: Otherwise he is not worthy the name of a righteous judge, but of a cruel and traitorous tyrant, wherefore sir Duke, you sitting here in the place of justice, to minister equity and right, to every one that calleth. Then I desire that I may have the Law extended upon this wretch Silvanus, as for my daughter that you speak of, as I know not where she is, so I do not desire to learn what is become of her, but this I protest, that if ever I may find her, rather than she should escape unpunished, I will not let with mine own hands, to do execution upon her, according to her demerits, and the filthiness of her fact: from henceforth denouncing her to be any child of mine, and make no better account of her, otherwise then to be a filthy strumpet, unworthy of me her father, or to challenge her descent from such a stock.  
The Duke of Mantona was now troubled worse than before, for where as he had some hope, that the humble suit of Valeria, should something have moved her father to compassion, 〈◊〉 thought that her sight, would rather increase his rage and fury: Again he thought, that to bring her into his presence, if he continued in one mood, he might work Valeria so great prejudice, as he would be heartily sorry to see. Yet thinking with himself, that it was impossible, that a Father should be void of good Nature, to see the utter ruin of his child without any remorse: He caused Valeria to be sent for, who being conducted to the place, seeing her Father and the rest of the company, she began to conjecture that all was not well. But when Silvanus saw his Valeria, wondering by what means she was brought to so evil a banquett, remembering what words her father before had protested, she began with a piteous voice to cry out.  
O my dear beloved wife, the only cause of my joy and quiet, what evil Fortune hath conducted thee to this place, what froward Faates have forced thee, that thou shouldest be made companion of my mishaps. O frail and inconstant Fortune, how hast thou fronted my honest desires, with such crooked spite, that where I covet the countenance of greatest credit, there I am forced to hazard the loss of life and alwhat crooked aspect hath governed my proceedings, that the hoped time I spent in this Warlike service, should thus conclude with his contrary, and I forced as it were by Faate to follow the unhappy event of the same, wherein I do confess my Predestinate follies. But such are the so●derie dealings of this life, as those that tend their steps to monstruous mountains, do sometime scarce conclude with mean Moole hills, the sundry conflicts of Fortune, masking my hope with a show of happy reward, hath not only wracked me, but it threateneth the sequel of worse success: That instead of happy and quiet life, my days shallbe a bridged with most shameful and vile Death. O Valeria, Valeria, the joy and comfort of my life, I shall no more see that incomparable beauty of thine, which darkeneth and observeth the Rays and Beams of the Sun.  
Then turning himself to the Duke of Vasconia, he said, I most humbly beseech your Grace, to have compassion upon me, not for that I would consume my life in your displeasure, I make offer of the same to your merciful will and disposition, choosing rather to die, and to leave your Grace satisfied and contented, then to live a happy life, your Princely mind displeased, and albeit, the right good intent, and unstained conscience is free from fault, yet the judgement of men hath farther relation, to the exterior appearance, then to virtues force. Is it a sin to Marry? Is it a fault to fly and avoid the sin of Whoredom? What Laws be these then, where the Marriage bed and joined Matrimony, is pursued with like severity, as Murder, Theft, Adultery. But seeing the fault of this mishap, to a rise by my predestinate evil luck I most humbly beseech you, to mitigate your rage, and to conceive no sinister opinion of this your worthy daughter, whose smallest grief, is my double pain: as for myself I am well pleased with my misfortune, contented to Sacrifice my life, only to receive your clear acquittance for my offence, and will make satisfaction with the price of my blood.  
The Duke of Vasconia bending his brows, answered: No Traitor no, it is not thy life that shall appease my fury, but I will so cool the Whorish heat of your Minion, for whom you seem so much to plead, that I will make her an example to all others, for doing of an act so detestable. But what abuse have they committed, under the title of Marriage, thinking without remorse of conscience, by that means to continue their mischief, and their promise and faith, that was made under a Bush, must serve for a cloak and Visard for their most filthy Whoredom. But what if their Marriage were concluded, and confirmed by God himself? Is Silvanus a man worthy to be allied, or mingled with the royal blood of the house of Vasconia, no, no, I vow I will never take sound nor restful sleep, until I have dispatched, that infamous fact from our blood, and that villain Whoremonger with his trull, be used according to their deserts.  
Valeria now knowing how matters were sorted out, and hearing this cruel Sentence, pronounced by her Father, fell down upon her knees, and bitterly crying out, she said: My dear father, most humbly I beseech yond, sith no other thing may appease your ire, than the life of the offender, let not this Gentleman abide the penance of that, which he never committed, be revenged on me, by whom the fault (if a woman's faith to her husband, may be termed a fault) is doen. And let this infortunate Gentleman departed, who God knows is innocent of any other crime, than what he was brought into, only by my provocation. And as she was about to have proceeded farther in her talk, her Father interrupted her, saying.  
Have you found your tongue now pretiepeate, than we must have an Almon for Parrot: how durst thou Strompette challenge me to be thy Father? That without regard, either of my renown, or of the honour of my house, thou art content to be abandoned from this noble Estate, and to become a Fugitive and a stranger, to follow a Rogue up and down the Country, no Minion no, think not that any Feminine flattery, shall stay me from doing thee to death, nor your darling that stands by you, shall escape with his life, verily believing, that in time it shall be known, what profit the world shall gain, by purging the same of such an infecte● plague: and I do hope besides this, that in time to come, men shall praise this deed of mine, who for preserving the honour of my house, have chosen rather to do to death two offenders then to leave the one of them alive, as less faulty or guiltless than the other.  
Valeria once again falling frustrate before her Father, said: I most humbly beseech you, for that all other comfort is denaied me, that I may crave this only grace at your hands, for the last good that ever I hope to receive, which is, that you being thus grievously offended with me, do vengeance at your pleasure upon her, who willingly yieldeth herself to the Death, with the effusion of her blood, to satisfy your ire, grant only that Silvanus, who is innocent and free from fault, may go quite.  
But her father no longer able for anger to hear her speak, crieth out to the Duke, to hasten the execution, the Duke of Mantona, whose heart did bleed in his beallie for sorrow, perceiving it folly to delay longer time, gave Sentence of death, and present execution to be made, although he took so great sorrow for them, as if his Daughter Philene should have borne them company: but he was not able to help it, the laws and ordinances of the Country would not otherwise permit. And thinking to take his last farewell of Silvanus, he said: O Silvanus, the glory and honour of all young Gentlemen that ever were, that be now, or shallbe hereafter this, whose virtue, valiance, and worthy exploits, do glister amongst the multitude, as the Sun beams do upon the cirquet of the Earth. Oh that thy hard Fortune should conduct thee to such distress, that only by thine own valiance and prowess, haste escaped so many dangers, amongst thy thronged enemies, and now thy ruin and overthrow, should be thus wrought, amidst thy assured friends, that knows not how to help it. What heaps of cares hath besieged me on every side? To think that I should crave thy company, whereby thou art brought into the midst of so great mischief, which otherwise mightest have escaped this mishap: and thou Valeria would God thy unfortunate host, which departed from thee, thinking to do thy husband pleasure, had remained with thee a poor Sexton still, till this present day.  
The rest of the company that stood by, hearing the duke to make so great lamentation, was likewise stricken into a marvelous grief and sorrow, in so much that every one that durst speak, cried to the Duke of Vasconia for pardon, and that he would remit the offence, and what pity it were, if he should seek the death of so noble a Gentleman, as Silvanus had showed himself to be: But the Duke persevering still in one mind, asked them, with what face they could make request for a varlet of no reputation, whom he had found in the woods, and brought him up to that estate he was come to, not knowing who was his Father, but by seeming some poor Country Cloune, and forgetting himself from whence he sprung, neglecting so many benefits, which he had bestowed upon him, would enter into those things, so far unseemly and exceeding his degree.  
The Duke of Mantona, giving good ear to this tale, remembering his Son Aurelianus, whom he had lust in the Woods about those parts, questioned with the Duke, of the time, and what apparel the child had on at that present, who in all things showed a troth as it was: He demanded farther, how he knew his name to be Silvanus, or whether he had any other name, yes (quoth the Duke of Vasconia) his name he said was Aurelianus, which myself changed to Silvanus, because I found him in the Woods.  
Herewithal without any farther stay, the Duke of Mantona running hastily upon Silvanus, embracing him in his arms, crying: O my son, my son, and with this sudden joy, the tears trickling down his cheeks so fast, that he was not farther able to speak one word.  
The Duke of Vasconia much amazed to see this sight, but a great deal more glad, that Silvanus had found out such a father, and now nothing at all offended with his daughter's choice, came likewise with cheerful countenance, and embraced Silvanus, desiring doth the Duke his Father, and himself to forgive what was past, and taking Valerya by the hand, he delivered her to Silvanus, promising him for her dowry 40000. Franckes in gold presently to be paid, and after his descease to remain for his inheritor.  
Silvanus' better pleased with Valeria herself, then with all the rest that was promised, gave him great thanks, and so did the Duke his father.  
All the company were replenished with the greatest joy that might be, to see this sudden sight, and thus they departed to the Pallas where the Duke kept his abode, where Silvanus was welcomed, to his mother, to his sister, to Arabianus, and to all the rest, where there was great feasting and triumph, and a bond of everlasting amity between the houses of the Duke of Mantona, the Duke of Vasconya, and the Duke of Petrona, and after a while they had feasted and sported themselves, they road altogether in company to the emperors Court, who received them with so great honour as he could devise, and making himself a partaker of their mirth, wondering to here the hole discourse how things had happened, when after a while he had feasted them, and showed them as great pleasures as might be devised, he bestowed of them all large and bountiful gifts, but especially of the two young Ladies Valerya and Phylene, and this agreeing amongst themselves, to meet once a year at the least to sport and make themselves merry, for this season they departed, every one where it liked them best.   

Of Apolonius and Silla.  
The Argument of the second History.  
¶ Apolonius Duke having spent a years service in the wars against the Turk, returning homeward with his company by Sea, was driven by force of weather to the isle of Cypress, where he was well received by Pontus' Governor of the same I'll, with whom Silla daughter to Pontus, fell so strangely in love, that after Apolonius was departed to Constantinople, Silla with one man followed, and coming to Constantinople, she served Apolonius, in the habit of a man, and after many pretty accidents falling out, she was known to Apolonius, who in requital of her love married her.  
THere is no child that is borne in to this wretched world▪ but before it doth suck the mother's milk, it taketh first a soup of the Cup of error, which maketh us when we come to riper years, not only to enter into actions of injury, but many times to stray from that is right and reason, but in all other things, wherein we show ourselves to be most drunken with this poisoned Cup, it is in our actions of Love, for the Lover is so estranged from that is right, and wandereth so wide from the bounds of reason, that he is not able to deem white from black, good from bad, virtue from vice: but only led by the appetite of his own affections, and grounding them on the foolishness of his own fancies, will so settle his liking, on such a one, as either by desert or unworthiness, will merit rather to be loathed then loved.  
If a question might be asked, what is the ground in deed of reasonable love, whereby the knot is knit, of true and perfect friendship? I think those that be wi●e would answer: Desert, that is, where the party beloved, doth requite us with the like, for otherwise, if the bare show of beauty, or the comeliness of parsonage, might be sufficient to confirm us in our love. Those that be accustomed to go● to Fairs and markets, might sometimes fall into love with twenty in a day: Desert must then be (of force) the ground of reasonable love, for to love them that hate us, to follow them that fly from us, to save on them that frown on us, to curry favour with them that disdain us, to be glad to please them that care not how they offend us: who will not confess this to be an erroneous love, neither grounded upon wit nor reason. Wherefore right courteous Gentlewomen, if it please you with patience to peruse this History following, you shall see Dame Error so play her part, with a Leishe of Lovers a Male and two Females, as shall work a wonder to your wise judgement, in noting the effect of their amorous devices and conclusions of their actions. The first neglecting the love of a noble Dame, young, beautiful, and fair, (who only for his good will, played the part of a Serving man, contented to abide any manner of pain only to behold him. He again setting his love of a Dame that despising him, (being a noble Duke) gave herself to a Serving man (as she had thought) but it otherwise fell out, as the substance of this tale shall better describe. And because I have been something tedious in my first discourse, offending your patient ears, with the hearing of a circumstance over long. From hence forth, that which I mind to write, shall be done with such celericie, as the matter that I pretend to pen, may in any wise permit me, and thus followeth the History.  
During the time that the famous City of Constantinople, remained in the hands of the Christians, amongst many other noble men, that kept their abiding in that flourishing City, there was one whose name was Apolonius, a worthy Duke, who being but a very young man, and even then new come to his possessions which were very great, levied a mighty band of men, at his own proper charges, with whom he served against the Turk, during the space of one whole year, in which time although it were very short, this young Duke so behaved himself, as well by prowess and valiance showed with his own hands, as otherwise, by his wisdom and liberalities used towards his Soldiers, that all the world was filled with the fame of this noble Duke. When he had thus spent one years service, he caused his Trumpet to sound a retreat, and gathering his company together, and embarking themselves he set sail, holding his course towards Constantinople: but being upon the Sea, by the extremity of a Tempest which suddenly fell, his fleet was deserved some one way, and some an other, but he himself recovered the isle of Cypress, where he was worthily received by Pontus' Duke and governor of the same I'll, with whom he lodged, while his Ships were new repairing.  
This Pontus that was Lord and Governor of this famous I'll, was an ancient Duke, & had two children, a son and a daughter, his son was named Silvio, of whom hereafter we shall have further occasion to speak, but at this instant he was in the parts of Africa, serving in the Wars.  
The Daughter her name was Silla, whose beauty was so peerless, that she had the sovereignty amongst all other Dames, aswell for her beauty as for the nobleness of her birth. This Silla having heard of the worthiness of Apolonius, this young Duke, who besides his beauty and good graces, had a certain natural allurement, that being now in his company in her father's Court, she was so strangely attached with the love of Apolonius, that there was nothing might content her but his presence and sweet sight, and although she saw no manner of hope, to attain to that she most desired: knowing Apolonius to be but a geste, and ready to take the benefit of the next Wind, and to depart into a strange Country, whereby she was bereaved of all possibility ever to see him again, and therefore strived with herself to leave her fondness, but all in vain it would not be, but like the foul which is once limed, the more she striveth, the faster she tieth herself. So Silla was now constrained perforce her will to yield to love, wherefore from time to time, she used so great familiarity with him, as her honour might well permit, and fed him with such amorous baits, as the modesty of a maid could reasonably afford, which when she perceived, did take but small effect, feeling herself so much out raged with the extremity of her passion, by the only countenance that she bestowed upon Apolonius, it might have been well perceived, that the very eyes pleaded unto him for pity and remorse. But Apolonius coming but lately from out the field, from the chasing of his enemies, and his fury not yet thoroughly desolued, nor purged from his stomach, gave no regard to those amorous enticements, which by reason of his youth, he had not been acquainted with all. But his mind ran more to hear his Pilots, bring news of a merry wind, to serve his turn to Constantinople, which in the end came very prosperously: and giving Duke Pontus hearty thanks for his great entertainment, taking his leave of himself, and the Lady Silla his daughter, departed with his company, and with a happy gaale arrived at his desired port. Gentlewomen according to my promise, I will hear for brevities sake, omit to make repetition of the long and dolorous discourse recorded by Silla, for this sudden departure of her Apolonius, knowing you to be as tenderly hearted as Silla herself, whereby you may the better conjecture the fury of her Fever.  
But Silla the further that she saw herself bereaved of all hope, ever any more to see her beloved Apolonius, so much the more contagious were her passions, and made the greater speed to execute that she had premeditated in her mind, which was this: Amongst many servants that did attend upon her, there was one whose name was Pedro, who had a long time waited upon her in her Chamber, whereby she was well assured of his fidelity and trust: to that Pedro, therefore she bewrayed first the fervency of her love borne to Apolonius, conjuring him in the name of the Gods of Love herself, and binding him by the duty that a servant ought to have, that tendereth his Mistress safety and good liking, and desiring him with tears trickling down her cheeks, that he would give his consent to aid and assist her, in that she had determined, which was for that she was fully resolved to go to Constantinople, where she might again take the view of her beloved Apolonius, that he according to the trust she had reposed in him, would not refuse to give his consent, secretly to convey her from out her father's Court, according as she should give him direction, and also to make himself partaker of her journey, and to wait upon her, till she had seen the end of her determination.  
Pedro perceiving with what vehemency his Lady and Mistress had made request unto him, albeit he saw many perils and doubts, depending in her pretence notwithstanding, gave his consent to be at her disposition, promising her to further her with his best advice, and to be ready to obey whatsoever she would please to command him. The match being thus agreed upon, and all things prepared in a readiness for their departure: It happened there was a Galley of Constantinople, ready to depart, which Pedro understanding came to the Captain, desiring him to have passage for himself, and for a poor Maid that was his Sister, which were bound to Constantinople upon certain urgent affairs, to which request, the Captain granted, willing him to prepare aboard with all speed, because the Wind served him presently to depart.  
Pedro now coming to his Mistress, and telling her how he had handled the matter with the Captain: she liking very well of the devise, disguising herself into very simple attire, stole awate from out her father's Court, and came with Pedro, whom now she calleth Brother aboard the Galley, where all things being in readiness, and the wind serving very well, they launched forth with their Oores, and set sail, when they were at the Sea, the Captain of the Galley taking the view of Silla, perceiving her singular beauty, he was better pleased in beholding of her face, then in taking the height either of the Sun of Star, and thinking her by the homeliness of her apparel, to be but some simple maiden, calling her into his Cabin, he began to break with her after the Sea fashion, desiring her to use his own Cabin for her better ease: and during the time that she remained at the Sea, she should not want a bed, and then whispering softly in her ear he said, that for want of a bedfellow, he himself would supply that room. Silla not being acquainted with any such talk, blushed for shame, but made him no answer at all, my Captain feeling such a bickering within himself, the like whereof he had never endured upon the Sea: was like to be taken prisoner aboard his own Ship, and forced to yield himself a captive without any Cannon shot, wherefore to salve all sores, and thinking it the readiest way to speed, he began to break with Silla in the way of marriage, telling her how happy a voyage she had made, to fall into the liking of such a one as himself was, who was able to keep and maintain her like a Gentlewoman, & for her sake would likewise take her brother into his fellowship, whom he would by some means prefer in such sort, that both of them should have good cause to think themselves thrice happy, she to light of such a husband, and he to light of such a brother. But Silla nothing pleased with these preferments, desired him to cease his talk, for that she did think herself in deed to be too unworthy such a one as he was, neither was she minded yet to marry, and therefore desired him to fix his fancy upon some that were better worthy than herself was, and that could better like of his courtesy than she could do: the Captain seeing himself thus refused, being in a great chafe, he said as followeth.  
Then seeing you make so little account of my courtesy, proffered to one that is so far unworthy of it, from henceforth I will use the office of my authority, you shall know that I am the Captain of this Ship, and have power to command and dispose of things at my pleasure, and seeing you have so scornfully rejected me to be your loyal husband, I will now take you by force, and use you at my will, and so long as it shall please me, will keep you for mine own store, there shall be no man able to defend you, nor yet to persuade me from that I have determined. Silla with these words being stroke into a great fear, did think it now too late, to rue her rash attempt, determined rather to die with her own hands, then to suffer herself to be abused in such sort, therefore she most humbly desired the Captain so much as he could to save her credit, and seeing that she must needs be at his will and disposition, that for that present he would departed, and suffer her till night, when in the dark he might take his pleasure, without any manner of suspicion to the residue of his company. The Captain thinking now the goole to be more then half won, was contented so far to satisfy her request, and departed out leaving her alone in his Cabin.  
Silla, being alone by herself, drew out her knife ready to strike herself to the heart, and falling upon her knees, desired God to receive her soul, as an acceptable sacrifice for her follies, which she had so wilfully committed, craving pardon for her sins, and so forth continuing a long and pitiful reconciliation to GOD, in the midst whereof there suddenly fell a wonderful storm the terror whereof was such, that there was no man but did think the Seas would presently have swallowed them, the Billows so suddenly arose with the rage of the wind, that they were all glad to fall to heaving out of water, for otherwise their feeble Galley had never been able to have brooked the Seas, this storm continued all that day and the next night, and they being driven to put romer before the wind to keep the Galley ahed the Billow, were driven upon the main Shore, where the Galley broke all is pieces, there was every man providing to save his own life, some gate upon Hatches, Boards, and Casks, and were driven with the waves to and fro, but the greatest number were drowned, amongst the which Pedro was one, but Silla herself being in the Cabin as you have heard, took hold of a Chest that was the Captains, the which by the only providence of GOD brought her safe to the Shore, the which when she had recovered, not knowing that was become of Pedro her man, she deemed that both he and all the rest had been drowned, for that she saw no body upon the Shore but herself, wherefore, when she had a while made great lamentations, complaining her mishaps, she began in the end to comfort herself with the hope, that she had to see her Apolonius, and found such means that she broke open the Chest that brought her to land, wherein she found good store of coin, and sundry suits of Apparel that were the Captains, and now to prevent a number of injuries, that might be proffered to a woman that was left in her case, she determined to leave her own Apparel, and to sort herself into some of those suits, that being taken for a man, she might pass through the Country in the better safety, and as she changed her apparel, she thought it likewise convenient to change her name, wherefore not readily happening of any other, she called herself Silvio, by the name of their own brother, whom you have heard spoken of before.  
In this manner she travailed to Constantinople, where she inquired out the Palace of the Duke Apolonius, and thinking herself now to be both fit and able to play the serving man, she presented herself to the Duke, craving his service, the Duke very willing to give succour unto strangers, perceiving him to be a proper smouge young man, gave him entertainment: Silla thought herself now more then satisfied, for all the casualties that had happened unto her in her journey, that she might at her pleasure take but the view of the Duke Apolonius, and above the rest of his servants was very diligent and attendant upon him, the which the Duke perceiving, began likewise to grow into good liking with the diligence of his man, and therefore made him one of his Chamber, who but Silvio then was most neat about him, in helping of him to make him ready in a morning, in the setting of his ruffs, in the keeping of his Chamber, Silvio pleased his Master so well, that above all the rest of his servants about him, he had the greatest credit, and the Duke put him most in trust.  
At this very instant, there was remaining in the City a noble Dame a widow, whose husband was but lately deceased, one of the noblest men that were in the parts of Grecia, who left his Lady and wife large possessions and great livings. This Lady's name was called julina, who besides the abundance of her wealth, and the greatness of her revenues, had likewise the sovereignty of all the Dames of Constantinople for her beauty. To this Lady julina, Apolonius became an earnest suitor, and according to the manner of wooers, besides fair words, sorrowful sighs, and piteous countenances, there must be sending of loving letters, Chains, Bracelets, Brouches, rings, Tablets, Gems, jewels, and presents I know not what: So my Duke, who in the time that he remained in the isle of Cypress, had no skill at all in the art of Love, although it were more then half proffered unto him, was now become a scholar in loves School, and had already learned his first lesson, that is, to speak pitifully, to look ruthfully, to promise largely, to serve diligently, and to please carefully: Now he was learning his second lesson, that is to reward, liberally, to give bountifully, to present willingly, and to write lovingly. Thus Apolonius was so busied in his new study, that I warrant you there was no man that could challenge him for playing the truant, he followed his profession with so good a will: And who must be the messenger to carry the tokens and letters to the Lady julina, but Silvio his man, in him the Duke reposed his only confidence, to go between him and his Lady.  
New Gentlewomen, do you think there could have been a greater torment devised, wherewith to afflict the heart of Silla, than herself to be made the Instrument to work her own mishap, and to play the Attorney in a cause, that made so much against herself. But Silla altogether desirous to please her Master, cared nothing at all to offend herself, followed his business with so good a will, as if it had been in her own preferment.  
julina now having many times, taken the gaze of this young youth Silvio, perceiving him to be of such excellent perfect grace, was so entangled with the often sight of this sweet temptation, that she fell into as great a liking with the man, as the Master was with herself: And on a time Silvio being sent from his Master, with a message to the Lady julina, as he began very earnestly to solicet in his masters behalf, julina interrupting him in his tale, said: Silvio it is enough that you have said for your Master, from henceforth either speak for yourself, or say nothing at all. Silla abashed to hear these words, began in her mind to accuse the blindness of Love, that julina neglecting the good will of so noble a Duke, would prefer her love unto such a one, as Nature itself had denaied to recompense her liking.  
And now for a time, leaving matters depending as you have heard, it fell out that the right Silvio in deed (whom you have heard spoken of before, the brother of Silla,) was come to his Father's Court into the isle of Cypress, where understanding, that his sister was departed, in manner as you have heard conjectured, that the very occasion did proceed of some liking had between Pedro her man (that was missing with her) and herself, but Silvio who loved his sister, as dearly as his own life, and her rather for that as she was his natural sister, both by Father and Mother, so the one of them was so like the other, in countenance and favour, that there was no man able to discern the one from the other by their faces, saving by their apparel the one being a man, the other a woman.  
Silvio therefore vowed to his Father, not only to seek but his sister Silla, but also to revenge the villainy, which he conceived in Sedro, for the carrying away of his sister, and thus departing having travailed through many Cities and Towns, without hearing any manner of news, of those he went to seek for, at the fast be arrived at Constantinople, where as he was walking in an evening for his own recreation, on a pleasant green yard, without the walls of the City, he fortuned to meet with the Lady julina, who likewise had been abroad to take the air, and as she suddenly cast her eyes upon Silvio, thinking him to be her old acquaintance, by reason they were so like one an other, as you have heard before, said unto him, sir Silvio, if your haste be not the greater, I pray you let me have a little talk with you, seeing I have so luckily met you in this place.  
Silvio wondering to hear himself so rightly named, being but a stranger, not of above two days continuance in the City, very courteously came towards her, desirous to hear what she would say.  
julina commanding her train something to stand back, said as followeth. Seeing my good will and friendly love, hath been the only cause to make me so prodigal to offer, that I see is so lightly rejected, it maketh me to think, that men be of this condition, rather to desire those things, which they can not come by, then to esteem or value of that, which both largely and liberally is offered unto them, but if the liberality of my proffer, hath made to seem less the value of the thing that I meant to present, it is but in your own conceit, considering how many noble men there hath been here before, and be yet at this present, which hath both served, sued, and most humbly entreated, to attain to that, which to you of myself, I have freely offered, and I perceive is despised, or at the least very lightly regarded.  
Silvio wondering at these words, but more amazed that she could so rightly call him by his name, could not tell what to make of her speeches, assuring himself that she was deceived, and did mistake him, did think notwithstanding, it had been a point of great simplicity, if he should forsake that, which Fortune had so favourably proffered unto him, perceiving by her train, that she was some Lady of great honour, and viewing the perfection of her beauty, and the excellency of her grace and countenance, did think it unpossible that she should be despised, and therefore answered thus.  
Madame, if before this time, I have seemed to forget myself, in neglecting your courtesy which so liberally you have meant unto me: please it you to pardon what is past, and from this day forwards, Silvio remaineth ready priest to make such reasonable amends, as his ability may any ways permit, or as it shall please you to command.  
julina the gladdest woman that might be, to hear these joyful news, said: Then my Silvio see you fail not to Morrow at night to sup with me at my own house, where I will discourse farther with you, what amends you shall make me, to which request Silvio gave his glad consent, and thus they departed very well pleased. And as julina did think the time very long, till she had reaped the fruit of her desire: So Silvio he wished for Harvest, before Corn could grow, thinking the time as long, till he saw how matters would fall out, but not knowing what Lady she might be, he presently (before julina was out of sight) demanded of one that was walking by what she was, and how she was called, who satisfied Silvio in every point, and also in what part of the town her house did stand, whereby he might inquire it out.  
Silvio thus departing to his lodging, passed the night with very unquiet sleapes, and the next Morning his mind ran so much of his Supper, that he never cared, neither for his Breakfast nor Dinner, and the day to his seeming passed away so slowly, that he had thought the stately Steeds had been tired, that draw the Chariot of the Sun, or else some other josua had commanded them again to stand, and wished that Phaeton had been there with a whip.  
julina on the other side, she had thought the Clock setter had played the knave, the day came no faster forwards, but six a clock being once strooken, recovered comfort to both parties: and Silvio hastening himself to the Palace of julina, where by her he was friendly welcomed, and a sumptuous supper being made ready, furnished with sundry sorts of delicate dishes, they sat them down, passing the Supper time with amorous looks, loving countenances, and secret glances conveyed from the one to the other, which did better satisfy them, than the feeding of their dainty dishes.  
Supper time being thus spent, julina did think it very unfitly, if she should turn Silvio to go seek his lodging in an evening, desired him therefore, that he would take a bed in her house for that night, and bringing him up into a fair Chamber, that was very richly furnished, she found such means, that when all the rest of her household servants were a bed and quiet, she came herself to bear Silvio company, where concluding upon conditions, that were in question between them, they passed the night with such joy and contentation, as might in that convenient time be wished for, but only that julina, feeding too much of some one dish above the rest, received a surfeit, whereof she could not be cured in forty weeks after, a natural inclination in all Women which are subject to longing, and want the reason to use a moderation in their diet: but the morning approaching, julina took her leave, and conveyed herself into her own chamber, and when it was fair day light, Silvio making himself ready, departed likewise about his affairs in the Town, debating with himself how things had happened, being well assured that julina had mistaken him, and therefore for fear of further evils, determined to come no more there, but took his journey towards other places in the parts of Grecia, to see if he could learn any tidings of his sister Silla.  
The Duke Apolonius having made a long suit, and never a whit the nearer of his purpose, came to julina to crave her direct answer, either to accept of him, and of such conditions as he proffered unto her, or else to give him his last farewell.  
julina, as you have heard, had taken an earnest penny of an other, whom she had thought had been Silvio the Duke's man, was at a controversy in herself, what she might do, one while she thought, seeing her occasion served so fit, to crave the Duke's good will, for the marrying of his man, than again, she could not tell what displeasure the Duke would conceive, in that she should seem to prefer his man before himself, did think it therefore best to conceal the matter, till she might speak with Silvio, to use his opinion how these matters should be handled, & hereupon resolving herself, desiring the Duke to pardon her speeches, said as followeth.  
Sir Duke, for that from this time forwards I am no longer of myself, having given my full power and authority over to an other, whose wife I now remain by faithful vow and promise: And albeit, I know the world will wonder when they shall understand the fondness of my choice, yet I trust you yourself will nothing deslike with me, sith I have meant no other thing, than the satisfying of mine own contentation and liking.  
The Duke hearing these words, answered: Madam, I must then content myself, although against my will, having the Law in your own hands, to like of whom you list, and to make choice where it pleaseth you.  
julina giving the Duke great thanks, that would content himself with such patience, desired him likewise, to give his free consent and good will, to the party whom she had chosen to be her husband.  
Nay surely Madam (qd the Duke) I will never give my consent, that any other man shall enjoy you then myself, I have made too great account of you, than so lightly to pass you away with my good will: But seeing it lieth not in me to let you, having (as you say) made your own choice, so from hence forwards I leave you to your own liking, always willing you well, and thus will take my leave.  
The Duke departed towards his own house very sorrowful, that julina had thus served him, but in the mean space that the Duke had remained in the house of julina, some of his servants fell into talk and conference, with the servants of julina, where debating between them, of the likelihood of the Marriage, between the Duke and the Lady, one of the servants of julina said: that he never saw his Lady and Mistress, use so good countenance to the Duke himself, as she had done to Silvio his man, and began to report with what familiarity and courtesy, she had received him, feasted him, and lodged him, and that in his opinion, Silvio was like to speed before the Duke, or any other that were suitors.  
This tale was quickly brought to the Duke himself, who making better enquiry in the matter, found it to be true that was reported, and better considering of the words, which julina had used towards himself, was very well assured that it could be no other than his own man, that had thrust his Nose so far out of joint, wherefore without any further respect, caused him to be thrust into a Dungeon, where he was kept prisoner, in a very pitiful plight.  
Poor Silvio, having got intelligence by some of his fellows, what was the cause that the Duke his Master did bear such displeasure unto him, devised all the means he could, as well by meditation by his fellows, as otherwise by petitions, and supplication to the Duke, that he would suspend his judgement, till perfect proof wer● had in the matter, and then if any manner of th●ng did fall out against him, whereby the Duke had cause to take any grief, he would confess himself worthy not only of imprisonment, but also of most vile and shameful death: with these petitions he daily plied the Duke, but all in vain, for the Duke thought he had made so good proof, that he was thoroughly confirmed in his opinion against his man.  
But the Lady julina, wondering what made Silvio, that he was so slack in his visitation, and why he absented himself so long from her presence, began to think that all was not well, but in the end, perceiving no decoction of her former surfeit, received as you have heard, and finding in herself, an unwonted swelling in her beallie, assuring herself to be with child, fearing to become quite banckroute of her honour, did think it more than time to seek out a Father, and made such secret search, and diligent enquiry, that she learned the truth how Silvio was kept in prison, by the Duke his Master, and minding to find a present remedy, as well for the love she bore to Silvio, as for the maintenance of her credit and estimation, she speedily hasted to the Palace of the Duke, to whom she said as followeth.  
Sir Duke, it may be that you will think my coming to your house in this sort, doth something pass the limits of modesty, the which I protest before GOD, proceeded of this desire, that the world should know, how justly I seek means to maintain my honour, but to the end I seem not tedious with prolixity of words, nor to use other then direct circumstances, know sir, that the love I bear to my only beloved Silvio, whom I do esteem more than all the jewels in the world, whose parsonage I regard more than my own life, is the only cause of my attempted journey, beseeching you, that all the whole displeasure, which I understand you have conceived against him, may be imputed unto my charge, & that it would please you lovingly to deal with him, whom of myself I have chosen rather for the satisfaction of mine honest liking, then for the vain pre-eminences or honourable dignities looked after by ambitious minds.  
The Duke having heard this discourse, caused Silvio presently to be sent for, and to be brought before him, to whom he said: Had it not been sufficient for thee, when I had reposed myself in thy fidelity, and the trustiness of thy service, that thou shouldest so traitorously deal with me, but since that time haste not spared, still to abuse me with so many forgeries, and perjured protestations, not only hateful unto me, whose simplicity thou thinkest to be such, that by the plot of thy pleasant tongue, thou wouldst make me believe a manifest untruth, but most habominable be thy doings in the presence and sight of God, that hast not spared to blaspheeme his holy name, by calling him to be a witness to maintain thy leasings, and so detestably wouldst forswear thyself, in a matter that is so openly known.  
Poor Silvio whose innocency was such, that he might lawfully swear, seeing julina to be there in place, answered thus.  
Most noble Duke, well understanding your conceived grief, most humbly I beseech you patiently to hear my excuse, not minding thereby to aggravate or heap up your wrath and displeasure, protesting before God, that there is nothing in the world, which I regard so much, or do esteem so dear, as your good grace and favour, but desirous that your grace should know my innocency, and to clear myself of such impositions, wherewith I know I am wrongfully accused, which as I understand should be in the practising of the Lady julina, who standeth here in place, whose acquittance for my better discharge, now I most humbly crave, protesting before the almighty God, that neither in thought, word, nor deed, I have not otherwise used myself, then according to the bond and duty of a servant, that is both willing and desirous, to further his masters suits, which if I have otherwise said then that is true, you Madam julina, who can very well decide the depths of all this doubt, I most humbly beseech you to certify a troth, if I have in any thing missaied, or have otherwise spoken then is right and just.  
julina having heard this discourse which Silvio had made, perceiving that he stood in great awe of the Duke's displeasure, answered thus: Think not my Silvio, that my coming hither is to accuse you of any misdemeanour towards your Master, so I do not denaie, but in all such Imbassages wherein towards me you have been employed, you have used the office of a faithful and trusty messenger, neither am I ashamed to confess, that the first day that mine eyes did behold the singular behaviour, the notable courtesy, and other innumerable gifts wherewith my Silvio is endued, but that beyond all measure my heart was so inflamed, that impossible it was for me, to quench the fervent love, or extinguish the least part of my conceived torment, before I had bewrayed the same unto him, and of my own motion, craved his promised faith and loyalty of marriage, and now is the time to manifest the same unto the world, which hath been done before God, and between ourselves: knowing that it is not needful, to keep secret that, which is neither evil done, nor hurtful to any person, therefore (as I said before) Silvio is my husband by plited faith, whom I hope to obtain without offence, or displeasure of any one, trusting that there is no man, that will so far forget himself, as to restrain that, which God hath left at liberty for every wight, or that will seek by cruelty, to force Ladies to marry otherwise, then according to their own liking. Fear not then my Silvio to keep your faith and promise, which you have made unto me, and as for the rest: I doubt not things will so fall out, as you shall have no manner of cause to complain.  
Silvio amazed to hear these words, for that julina by her speech, seemed to confirm that, which he most of all desired to be quite of, said: Who would have thought that a Lady of so great honour and reputation, would herself be the Ambassador, of a thing so prejudicial, and uncomely for her estate, what plighted promises be these which be spoken of▪ altogether ignorant unto me, which if it be otherwise then I have said, you Sacred Gods consume me strait with flashing flames of fire. But what words might I use to give credit to the truth, and innocency of my cause? Ah Madam julina, I desire no other testimony, than your own honesty and virtue, thinking that you will not so much blemish the brightness of your honour, knowing that a woman is or should be, the Image of courtesy, continency, and shamefastness, from the which so soon as she stoopeth, and leaveth the office of her duty and modesty, besides the degraduation of her honour, she thrusteth herself into the pit of perpetual infamy, and as I can not think you would so far forget yourself, by the refusal of a noble duke, to dim the light of your renown and glory, which hitherto you have maintained, amongst the best and noblest Ladies, by such a one as I know myself to be, too far unworthy your degree and calling, so most humbly I beseech you to confess a troth 〈…〉 those vows and promises you speak of, which speeches be so obscure unto me, as I know not for my life how I might understand them.  
julina something nipped with these speeches said, and what is the matter that now you make so little account of your julina, that being my husband in deed, have the face to denay me, to whom thou art contracted by so many solemn oaths: what art thou ashamed to have me to thy wife? how much oughtest thou rather to be ashamed to break thy promised faith, and to have despised the holy and dreadful name of GOD, but that time constraineth me to lay open that, which shame rather willeth I should dissemble and keep secret, behold me then here Silvio whom thou hast gotten with child, who if thou be of such honesty, as I trust for all this I shall find, than the thing is done without prejudice, or any hurt to my conscience, considering that by the professed faith, thou didst account me for thy wife, and I received thee for my spouse and loyal husband, swearing by the almighty God, that no other than you have made the conquest and triumph of my chastity, whereof I crave no other witness then yourself, and mine own conscience.  
I pray you Gentlewomen, was not this a foul oversight of julina, that would so precisely swear so great an oath, that she was gotten with child by one, that was altogether unfurnished with implements for such a turn. For God's love take heed, and let this be an example to you, when you be with child, how you swear who is the father, before you have had good proof and knowledge of the party, for men be so subtle and full of sleight, that God knoweth a woman may quickly be deceived.  
But now to return to our Silvio, who hearing an oath sworn so divinely that he had gotten a woman with child, was like to believe that it had been true in very deed, but remembering his own impediment, thought it impossible that he should commit such an act, and therefore half in a chafe, he said. What law is able to restrain the foolish indescretion of a woman, that yieldeth herself to her own desires, what shame is able to bridle or withdraw her from her mind and madness, or with what snaffell is it possible to hold her back, from the execution of her filthiness, but what abomination is this, that a Lady of such a house should so forget the greatness of her estate, the alliance whereof she is descended, the nobility of her deceased husband, and maketh no conscience to shame and slander herself, with such a one a I am, being so far unfit and unseemly for her degree, but how horrible is it to hear the name of God so defaced, that we make no more account, but for the maintenance of our mischiefs, we fear no whit at all to forswear his holy name, as though he were not in all his dealings most righteous true and just, and will not only lay open our leasings to the world, but will likewise punish the same with most sharp and bitter scourges.  
julina, not able to endure him to proceed any farther in his Sermon, was already surprised with a vehement grief, began bitterly to cry out uttering these speeches following.  
Alas, is it possible that the sovereign justice of God, can abide a mischief so great and cursed, why may I not now suffer death, rather than the infamy which I see to wander before mine eyes. O happy and more than right happy had I been, if inconstant fortune had not devised this treason where in I am surprised and caught, am I thus become to be entangled with snares, and in the hands of him, who enjoying the spoils of my honour, will openly deprive me of my fame, by making me a common fable to all posterity in time to come: ah Traitor and discourtious wretch, is this the recompense of the honest and firm amity which I have borne thee, wherein have I deserved this discourtesy, by loving thee more than thou art able to deserve, is it I arrant thief is it I, upon whom thou thinkest to work thy mischiefs, dost thou think me no better worth, but that thou mayest prodigally waste my honour at thy pleasure, diddest thou dare to adventure upon me, having thy conscience wounded with so deadly a treason: ah unhappy and above all other most unhappy, that have so charyly preserved mine honour, and now am made a pray to satisfy a young man's lust, that hath coveted nothing but the spoil of my chastity and good name.  
Here withal the tears so gushed down her cheeks, that she was not able to open her mouth to use any farther speech.  
The Duke who stood by all this while, and heard this whole discourse, was wonderfully moved with compassion towards julina, knowing that from her infancy she had ever so honourably used herself, that there was no man able to detect her of any misdemeanour, otherwise then beseemed a Lady of her estate, wherefore being fully resolved that Silvio his man had committed this villainy against her, in a great fury drawing his Rapier he said unto Silvio.  
How canst thou (arrant thief) show thyself so cruel and careless to such as do thee honour, hast thou so little regard of such a noble Lady, as humbleth herself to such a villain as thou art, who without any respect either of her renown or noble estate, canst be content to seek the wrack and utter ruin of her honour, but frame thyself to make such satisfaction as she requireth, although I know unworthy wretch, that thou art not able to make her the least part of amends, or I swear by God, that thou shalt not escape the death which I will minister to thee with my own hands, and therefore advise thee well what thou dost.  
Silvio having heard this sharp sentence, fell down on his knees before the Duke craving for mercy, desiring that he might be suffered to speak with the Lady julina apart, promising to satisfy her, according to her own contentation.  
Well (qd the Duke) I take thy word, and there with all I advise thee that thou perform thy promise, or otherwise I protest before God, I will make thee such an example to the world, that all Traitors shall tremble for fear, how they do seek the dishonouring of Ladies.  
But now julina had conceived so great grief against Silvio, that there was much a do, to persuade her to talk with him, but remembering her own case, desirous to hear what excuse he could make, in the end she agreed, and being brought into a place severally by themselves, Silvio began with a piteous voice to say as followeth.  
I know not Madam, of whom I might make complaint, whether of you or of myself, or rather of Fortune, which hath conducted and brought us both into so great adversity, I see that you receive great wrong, and I am condemned against all right, you in peril to abide the brute of spiteful tongues, and I in danger to lose the thing that I most desire: and although I could as●edge many reasons to prove my sayings true, yet I refer myself, to the experience and bounty of your mind▪ And here with all losing his garments down to his stomach, and showed julina his breasts and pretty teats, surmounting far the whiteness of snow itself, saying: Lo Madam, behold here the party whom you have challenged to be the father of your child, see I am a woman the daughter of a noble Duke, who only for the love of him, whom you so lightly have shaken of, have forsaken my Father, abandoned my Country, and in manner as you see am become a serving man, satisfying myself, but with the only sight of my Apolonius, and now Madam, if my passion were not vehement, & my torments without comparison, I would wish that my feigned griefs might be laughed to scorn, & my dissembled pains to be rewarded with flouts. But my love being pure, my travail continual, & my griefs endless, I trust Madame you will not only excuse me of crime, but also pity my distress, the which I protest I would still have kept secret, if my fortune would so have permitted.  
julina did now think herself to be in a worse case than ever she was before, for now she knew not whom to challenge to be the father of her child: wherefore, when she had told the Duke the very certainty of the discourse, which Silvio had made unto her, she departed to her own house, with such grief & sorrow, that she purposed never to come out of her own doors again alive, to be a wonder & mocking stock to the world.  
But the Duke more amazed, to hear this strange discourse of Silvio came unto him, whom when he had dewed with better consideration, perceived in deed that it was Silla the daughter of Duke Pontus, and embracing her in his arms, 〈…〉  
Oh the branch of all virtue, and the flower of courtesy itself, pardon me I beseech you of all such discourtesies, as I have ignorantly committed towards you: desiring you that without farther memory of ancient griefs, you will accept of me, who is more joyful and better contented with your presence, then if the whole world were at my commandment. Where hath there ever been found such liberality in a Lover, which having been trained up and nourished amongst the delicacies and banquets of the Court, accompanied with trains of many fair and noble Ladies living in pleasure, and in the midst of delights, would so prodigally adventure yourself, neither fearing mishaps, nor misliking to take such pains, as I know you have not been accustomed unto. O liberality never heard of before. O fact that can never be sufficiently rewarded. O true Love most pure and unfeigned: Here with all sending for the most artificial woorkmen, he provided for her sundry suits of sumptuous Apparel, and the Marriage day appointed, which was celebrated with great triumph, through the whole City of Constantinople, every one praising the nobleness of the Duke, but so many as did behold the excellent beauty of Silla, gave her the praise above all the rest of the Ladies in the troop.  
The matter seemed so wonderful and strange, that the brute was spread throughout all the parts of Grecia, in so much that it came to the hearing of Silvio, who as you have heard, remained in those parts to inquire of his sister, he being the gladdest man in the world, hasted to Constantinople, where coming to his Sister he was joyfully received, and most lovingly welcomed, and entertained of the Duke his brother in Law. After he had remained there two or three days, the Duke revealed unto Silvio, the whole discourse how it happened, between his sister and the Lady julina, and how his sister was challenged, for getting a woman with child: Silvio blushing with these words, was stricken with great remorse to make julina amends, understanding her to be a noble Lady, and was left defamed to the world through his de●ault, he therefore bewrayed the whole circumstance to the Duke, whereof the Duke being very joyful, immediately repaired with Silvio to the house of julina, whom they found in her Chamber, in great lamentation and mourning. To whom the Duke said: take courage Madam, for behold here a Gentleman, that will not stick, both to father your child, and to take you for his wife, no inferior person, but the son and heir of a noble Duke, worthy of your estate and dignity.  
julina seeing Silvio in place, did know very well that he was the father of her child, and was for ravished with joy, that she knew not whether she were awake, or in some dream. Silvio embracing her in his arms, craving forgiveness of all that past: concluded with her the marriage day, which was presently accomplished with great joy, and contentation to all parties: And thus Silvio having attained a noble wife, and Silla his sister her desired husband, they passed the residue of their days with such delight, as those that have accomplished the perfection of their felicities.  
FINIS.   

Of Nicander and Lucilla.  
The Argument of the third History.  
¶ Lucilla, a young maiden, endued with singular beauty, for want of a convent dowry, was restrained from marrying her beloved Nicander, in the end, through the great magnificence of the courteous▪ young prince Don Hercules, the only son and heir of Alfonso duke of Ferrara she was relieved with the some of 2000▪ Crowns, the which money being received by the father of Nicander the marriage was performed to the great contentation of the noble young prince, but especially to the two young lovers, Nicander and Lucilla.  
IN the time that Alfonso first 〈◊〉 that name, and third Duke of Ferrara goutweed that state, there was in the city of Ferrara, a gentle young gentlewoman, named Lucilla, borne of a noble Family, but by the frowardness of blind Fortune reduced to great poverty, than her virtues did deserve: whose beauty appeared to be such, in the prime and flower of her years, as it filled with marvel, all those that cast their eyes upon her. Of this Gentlewoman was fervently enamoured, a gallant young Gentleman, whose name was Nicander, and in like sort borne of noble blood. And desired nothing more, then to be joined with her in Matrimony. But she being, as it is said, poor, though of noble Parentage, and endued with singular virtues: The Father of the young Gentleman disdained her, who (as for the most part, we see old men, naturally inclined to covetise) regarding rather the wealth that their daughters in law, are to bring into their families, than either birth, virtue, or gifts of the mind, could in no wise be persuaded, or entreated to content his son in that behalf, and to suffer him to enjoy his Love, by taking her to wife: alleging that the first thing that was to be considered in marriage, was the dowry, and the woman. For that the virtues of the women, do not enrich the houses wherein they came (said he) but the quality of goods and wealth, that they brought with them.  
The covetous disposition of the father of Nicander, was cause that these two young folk languished in miserable love: For although their flames were of equal force and hea●e, yet the young gentlewoman being of a very honest mind, nor the young gentleman, never thinking upon any other mean●● then honestly to enjoy his desire, without touch or breach of her honour: and the obstinate wilfulness of the old man being cast, as a bar or block, between the unity and concord of their two minds: they lived in great torment, each consuming, and as it were melting away with desire, for love of each other Whilst their mutual love continued in this sort each day, with less hope than other, through the obstinacy of the ●ld●tarle, it happened that Don Hercules the Duke's only son and heir, being then in the freshest time of his youth, passing by the street where this gentlewoman dwelled, saw her standing in her door, appareled in White, which kind of attire increased greatly her natural beauty. And considering somewhat curioustie, the comeliness and excellency of her parsonage, together with her perfection of beauty, he received with such force into his imagination, the first impression of them both, that from thence forward, her lively Image seemed continually to be before his eyes: by the consideration whereof he grew by degrees, to conceive so vehement a desire, to enjoy the singularity which he saw in her, that he thought it impossible for him to live, if he did not attain it.  
And oft times discoursing to himself thereof, he would say, what injury hath Fortune done unto this fair Gentlewoman, that as Nature hath been liberal, in bestowing of beauty upon her, meet for any great Princes, she hath not likewise caused her to be borne of some king or mighty prince which if she were, I would never cease, till I had found the means to get her to be my wife, and so enjoy her as mine own, with the safety of her honour, and with the satisfaction and contentment of my Father.  
But in the end, although he saw her degree, to be far unequal to his, to wish, or to procure any such match: Yet ceased he not by all the means he could, to win her good will, and now by one devise, and now by an other, to induce her to love him, and to yield to his fervent desire. But all in vain. For where many others would have taken it, for a great good Fortune, that such a Prince, should have fallen in love with them: Lucilla considering the baseness of her degree, in respect of the high estate of her new Lover, reputed it to be a great mishap unto her, as she that considered, that she could not nourish, or entertain any such Love, but with the harm and prejudice of her honour. Besides that, she feared lest that Nicander should once perceive, that this young Prince hunted after that haunt, he would forsake her, for fear of farther displeasure, wherefore to avoid both inconveniences, wher● 〈…〉 then, she was w●nte to show herself, sometime at the Door, some●●●e at the Windows, she now retired herself in such sort, that she could never be seen but on the Sundays and holy days, as she went to a little Church, near adjoining to the house. Wherefore Nicander not a little marveling, and greatly troubled in spirit, fearing that Lucilla (wavering as women use to do) had forsaken him, and turned her affection else where: as one full of controversy and grief, for fault of better comfort, he would watch his times, and follow her to that Church: there to feed his fancy with a look or two, which yet amid his misery, he seemed to esteem as a relief, without the which he could not live. Finally, not being able to endure those torments, that this absence and strangeness of his Lady caused him to feel: he sent unto her a convenient messenger with a letter, containing this effect.  

The Bird which long hath lived in pleasant field,  
Esteems no whit his Cage of wreathed gold:  
The dulted note, wherewith he pierced the Sky,  
For grief of mind, he can not then unfold.  
Yet lives he still, but better were to die,  
More worse than death, even such a life have I.   

The Turtle true, of his deceased may,  
Bewails the want▪ he reaks no more of bliss:  
The swelling Swan, doth hardly brook the place,  
When he his best beloved bird doth miss.  
Such is my joy, Nicander needs must die.  
Lucilla doth his wont presence fly.   

How can I live, that double death possess,  
How should I joy, that drenched am in thrall:  
What food may feed, or bear a pleasant taste,  
Where as the heart, lies bathed still in Gall.  
If this be life, than life be far from me,  
And welcome death, to se● Nicander free.   

What cause my dear, hath thy Nicander wrought,  
That makes thee shun, in whom thou shouldst delight▪  
What moves thy mind, to ●ewe thee up so close,  
And keep thee from, thy best beloved fight.  
If I offended have, then charge me when and how,  
Nicander shall him clear, or to thy mercy ●ow.   

If no offence, but fond conceit hath taken hold,  
Condemn him not, that shows his guiltless hand:  
Who hitherto hath never meant the thing,  
That justly might, against your honour stand▪  
If guilty I, I ask no other grace,  
Give doom of Death, and do my suit deface.   

I say no more, but as I do deserve,  
So show the fruit, of my deserved hire:  
Seem not so strange, unto thy faithful friend,  
Whose absence sets, my scorching heart on fire.  
But as my love to thee, no tongue can tell,  
Esteem the like of me, and so farewell.   
Thine own Nicander.  
The young Gentlewoman who had fixed all her thoughts, and settled all the contentmentes of her heart, only upon Nicander, neither desiring any thing in the world, so much as to please and content him: Felt an intolerable perplexity of mind, in that she saw him grieve thus, at her late strangeness, and yet thought it better that he should complain, then come by any knowledge of the love, that Don He●cules did ●eare her, wherefore hiding from him the matter, replied in ●his sort.  

The Bird which is restrained,  
Of former hearts delight:  
I must confess, twixt life and death,  
Doth alway combat fight.   

So doth the heart compelled,  
By hest of Parents will:  
Obey for fear, yet forced by love,  
Continues constant still.   

No absence by consent,  
My dear Nicander I:  
Have wrought to work thy woe, from thee,  
Like Cressida false to fly.   

Ne shall I live to loath,  
What may content thy mind:  
Hap life or death, as true as Steel,  
Thou shalt Lu●illa find.   

Thy ears shall never hear,  
Nor eyes shall never see:  
That any wight shall reap the fruit,  
Which planted was for thee.   

〈…〉 thyself my dear,  
To take against thy will:  
Our absence in good part till time,  
May bette● hap fulfil.   

And therewithal receive,  
This pledge to cure thy pain:  
My heart is thine, preserve it well,  
Till we two meet again.   
Ever thine Lucilla.  
This sweet answer mitigated not a little, the mood of the young Gentleman, and so he framed himself the best he could, to tolerate the absence of his Lucilla. On the other side Don Hercules, who in like manner found himself deprived, of the sight of that young Lady, whom he loved extremely, was very much discontented, and perceiving that neither messages, nor fair offers, with large gifts sent unto her, whereof never any were accepted, could once move her to show herself courteous unto him, of so much as a look: And considering the poverty, wherein her mother lived, now in her latter years, began to imagine that it would be much easier for him, by offering her liberally, wherewithal to marry her daughter, to persuade her to yield her into his hands, then to win the young Gentlewoman to his desire.  
Wherefore having sent a fit person to Lucillas' Mother, to let her understand, that if she would be con●ent, that the young Prince might enjoy her daughter, he would give her such a dowry in recompense of his pleasure, that no Gentleman of what degree soever, should for her poverty refuse to take her to wife: whereas if she refused the good offer, she should thereby be constrained through necessity, either to bestow her upon some Artificer or craftsman, or if she would needs Marry her to a gentleman, she must give her to some such as was so poor, as that she sh●●ld li●e all the days of her life in want and misery, the which in effect would be nothing else, but to be cruel towards her own daughter in 〈◊〉 that good hap which he did offer, besides the favour that he should be able to show, in furthering her marriage, to both their end less comforts. The mother being often solicited, and summoned to this effect: and on the one side punished with poverty, and on the other charged with years, both which pressed her very much, after divers discourses made to and fro with herself, lastly she said. And whereto ought I to have regard, but to the wealth and profit of my daughter, which both she shall reap abondantly, if by the giving herself unto this young Prince, he doth bestow upon her that dowry, which he hath promised. And although in doing thereof there be some touch and spot to my daughter's honour and mine, yet shall it be so recompensed with the benefit of her dowry, that the profit will be greater than the harm. And if therein be any offence, the ●lame thereof is not to be imputed unto me, but unto my evil Fortune, that hath brought me into this miserable necessity. Besides that my daughter being now already xviii. years of age, and of most singular beauty, and myself already so old, that from day to day▪ I may look to go to my grave, I might happen to die, and leave her without any government or oversight, and she stirred with those appetites, whereto young folks are inclined, through the frailty of her sex, and the poverty wherein I shall leave her, be brought to yield herself into the hands of some such one, as would not have due regard unto her calling, but bring her unto the spoil. And after these and such like discourses, sundry times had: with herself finally, she sent him word, that if it would please him, she would gladly speak with him herself: which he having understood, caused her to be brought one evening, into a place where they two alone might talk, and there having given her opportunity, to say what she would, thus she began.  
Sir, the weapons wherewith necessity, and my poverty hath assaulted me, have been so sharp and so piercing, that although I have endeavoured all the ways I could devise, to resist and defend myself from 〈…〉 I have been forced to yield, as vanquished & overcome, and constrained to do that with my daughter, as to think of it only I am so abashed, that I dare not for shaine lift up 〈◊〉 eyes, to behold you. But for asmuch as no other thing hath persuaded me thereunto, but the desire which I have to get her a dowry, wherewith I may afterward bestow her honestly, I beseech you to be content, to extend your liberality in such sort, as she may have that large dowry, which it hath pleased you to promise me.  
Thereof I assure you (said the Prince) and larger to than hath been spoken of to you beside: And also I will minister such relief unto you for your own state▪ that you shall have cause to give me thanks for the same. Then replied the old gentlewoman, and said: Since that you perceive (sir) that no desire to make Merchandise of my daughter, but 〈…〉 poverty, whereunto my froward Fortune hath brought me, doth drive me to this exigent. I do likewise beseech yo●, that you will come unto my Daughter, at such time as I shall devise most convenient, with as much regard unto her credit as may be possible. I will therein be ruled 〈◊〉 by you (answered the young Prince) and look in what sort you will appoint me to come, ●o shall it be.  
The first thing than sir (qd she) that I think requisite, is that you come alone without any company, when I shall assign you the time, so that the thing rest secret between you and me, and my daughter, and no occasion be given to publish it, whereby my daughter might cheese her good name.  
This courteous young Prince was therewithal well content, and that being concluded and agreed upon, she said further, I know (sir) the honesty of my Daughter to be such, that if I should open my lips unto her, of any such matter, she would not only reject any persuasion, that I might use unto her, but also 〈◊〉 herself out of my house. And therefore least that should happen, and to the end that you may have your desire, and she have a dowry, wherewith she may be married, if not withal the honour that the state and calling, wherein she was borne doth require, yet with the least harm that may be possible, since my hard hap is such, and that my poverty doth so constrain me: I have determined to do herein as you shall hea●e.  
My daughter useth to lie in a low Chamber near unto the street door of my house, in the which Chamber I myself in like sort am wont to lie, whensoever we two remain alone in the house, as oftentimes we do: and commonly I rising early in the morning about such business as I have, do leave my daughter in bed, where she sleepeth some times two hours or three after that I am gone. tomorrow morning therefore will I rise and leave her alone in that Chamber, and will set open the street door, so as you shall not need but to push at it, and the chamber door likewise. You shall come very early as we have concluded all alone, and entering into the Chamber, there shall you find my daughter, and abide with her as long as it shall please yourself. But I do once again (sir) beseech you as I have done before, that the matter may pass secret, and not to be imparted to any other then to us three, to the end, that where I suffer myself to be led through necessity to do that which I do, and with an intent to place my daughter in marriage, by the mean of that dowry which you do give her, the case being known, we reap not eternal shame and infamy.  
At this devise the young Prince paused a while, thinking it strange that he should go to a young maid, that not only was unwilling, but also not so much as made privy of his coming, did what he could to refuse that mean, and to persuade the mother to devise some better. But at the last seeing none other could be found more fit for the purpose, being pricked forward with the vehemency of that appetite, which love had stirred up in him, considering himself to be a Prince, and a gallant young Gentleman, and that he should be alone with his love, thought that it should not be hard for him to win her to his will: and so content to do as the old Gentlewoman had devised. And being parted each from other, he began to attend the coming of the next morning and all that night, which seemed longer unto him then a hole year, he lay with his thoughts and imaginations, in the arms of his Lucilla. As soon as the day began to peep, Don Hercules all alone as he had promised to the mother, went to the house of his Lady, and finding the doors open according to promise, entered into the Chamber wherein Lucilla lay, and having barred the door, approached near the bed wherein she lay.  
It was in the month of julie, which season in that Country is extreme hot: by reason whereof Lucilla tumbling from one side of the bed unto the other, had rolled of all the clothes wherewith she had been covered: so as she had left herself all naked, and in that sort he found her, with corals about her neck and her arms, which with the difference of their ruddy colour did set out and beautify greatly the excellent fairness of her white body. She lay a sleep upon her back, with her hands cast over her head, (as for the most part young women are wont to do): so that forthwith the young Prince discoured her from top to toe: and considering with a greedy eye all her whole body, not only he commended her to himself so naked, as he had done whilst she was appareled, but also did so singulary well like her in that state, that he thought he saw rather some divine thing, or some Goddess come down from Heaven, to heap him with happiness, than a mortal creature: and began to allow and commend his own judgement, in that he had placed his love upon so excellent and rare a piece. And therewith bowing down himself to give her a kiss, and so to awake her. Behold she opened her eyes, which right well resembled two fair shining Stars. And where she was used to see none other body in that Chamber but her mother when she waked, now seeing this young Prince standing this over her, and finding herself in that sort all naked, she gave a great skritche, and said.  
Out alas sir (for she knew him strait way) what evil hap hath brought you hither at this time? And in so saying as one wonderfully ashamed to be seen in that plight, she wrapped about her one of the sheets, and began with a loud voice to call her mother.  
But perceiving that her mother would not hear, and that she called in vain, she began to imagine that she was consenting unto his coming thither, and lamenting with tears that trickled down her cheeks, like drops of dew hanging upon Roses, in a May morning, she said: Alas now I see my mother also hath betrayed me. Which thing the young Prince understanding, said unto her. Trouble not yourself, nor grieve not (fair Damsel) at my coming hither, but rather rejoice, that your singular beauty, hath so inflamed me, as one in a manner forgetting my estate, have been contented to come hither all alone, as a private man to enjoy your company, if it will please you to accept my good will, which though a thousand other Dames of this City, do wish and would be glad of, yet have I deemed none of them worthy thereof but yourself. And seeing your Mother, who hath that power over you, that in reason she ought to have over her child, and knoweth best what is for your good and commodity, doth consent hereunto: you (in my judgement) are not but to show yourself in like sort content. For in giving yourself to me, you do not abase or cast yourself away upon any wild person: but show yourself courteous unto a Prince, whom your beauty hath made thrall: and in whom you shall find nothing but grateful courtesy, to your benefit and satisfaction.  
And with these and other like words stetched forth his hand toward her breasts, that were like two little balls of ivory, and drawing near her to kiss her, she with her hand thrusting him modestly back, said thus.  
Sir I beseech you, by the Princely nobility that is in you, and by that love which you say you bear me, that it will please you, not to force me, or to seek at my hands any thing against my will: and that since my mother, who ought to have been the chief defender of mine honesty, hath abandoned and forsaken me, you will yet of your courtesy vouchsafe, to give me the hearing of a few words, which the special care I have of mine honour doth force me to express.  
The courteous young Prince at this request, stayed himself proceeding any further: and not being desirous to have her, but with her own good will, stood still to hear what it was that Lucilla would say unto him: yet ever hoping, with fair means to win her at the last. And she weeping very tenderly, began to say unto him in this sort.  
I am very sorry (most noble Prince qd she) that Fortune hath been so much mine enemy, that she hath made me a woman, far unworthy and unmeet for you: For that you being so great a Prince as you are, and I so mean a Gentlewoman: I see so great a space and distance between your high estate, and my low degree, that between us there can be no portion, or convenient equality: For the which cause (sir) I considering mine own estate, and not minding to exceed my calling, have a good while since chosen Nicander to be my Lover, who in respect of his blood, though he be richer than I, is no whit nor more nobly borne then myself am. By reason of which conformity of blood and birth, our love is likewise grown to be equal, and equal the desire in us both, he to have me to his wife, and I to have him for my husband. But the covetousness (let it be lawful for me to say so) of his father is such, that although he knoweth me to be a Gentlewoman borne, yet because I am not of that wealth as to bring him so great a dowry, as his riches perchance require, he despiseth me, and will not yield by any persuasion his good will and consent, that we may match together according to our desire. Nevertheless (sir) I considering how fervently this young Gentleman loveth me, and that already we are in mind united and knit together, with consent, faith and love, do yet believe assuredly, that GOD of his special goodness and favour, will grant us his assured grace, that we may one day be joined together in the holy state of Matrimony. Which thing if it should happen and come to pass, I not having any thing else to bring with me for my dowry but my virginity, am determined & fully resolved (by God's help) to give it unto him, as pure and unspotted as I brought it from my mother's womb. And if my unhappy chance and Fortune be such, as that I cannot have Nicander to my husband, I have concluded with myself (by the grace of God never to couple myself to any man living: but to give and vow me wholly unto almighty GOD, and in his service to spend my days a virgin, in continual Fasting and Prayer. Therefore (most excellent Prince) if Honesty, if justice, if Religion, have that power and force in your noble mind, which in reason they ought to have, I do beseech you, and for that loves sake that you say you bear me, that you will preserve and keep unstained my honesty, and that it would please you with the sound discourse of reason, to temper that fervent appetite which hath brought you hither, to the prejudice and breach of my honesty and credit. In doing whereof you shall show yourself to be, in deed that noble Prince that the highness of your birth and blood doth promise you should be, whereas if you should force and violate me a Virgin, and a weak maiden without defence, there could thereof ensue nought else to me but dishonour and reproach, and withal small praise would it be unto your excellency, when it shall be said that you had overcome a simple Damsel. And here being interrupted with sobs and tears exceeding for the grief of her mind, casting down her eyes for shame and sorrow, she held her peace, attending what her hap & the goodness of the Prince should dispose of her, in whose courtesy she had reposed all her hope and confidence.  
This young Prince understanding the honest desire of Lucilla, first praised her greatly to himself for the chasteness of her mind, and being moved with the magnanimity of his noble mind, though he were pricked with the sharpest dart of the blind boys quiver, and that his ardent appetite did still stir him to the accomplishment of his desire, yet conquering himself with reason, he turned all the love which erst he bare vnt● this young Lady, into compassion of her estate, and thus he said unto her. The virtue and honesty of thy mind fair Damsel do require, that I should make no less account of thine honour, then if I were come hither to no other intent, then to defend it against any other that should go about to stain or spot it. Therefore not only thou needest not to fear any violence at my hands, but also mayest hope that I will not fail to further this thy chaste purpose, so that thou mayest enjoy that young Gentleman which thou hast chosen for thy husband, with all the honour and satisfaction that appertaineth to the honesty of thy mind. And therefore, 〈◊〉 nothing else doth let thee from the getting of him but the poverty of thy state, whereunto thy froward Fortune hath unworthily brought thee: I will myself supply in that behalf, that wherein she hath failed, and correct with my liberality, the injury that she hath done thee. And having so said, he himself opened the door and called her mother, who had gotten herself into a Chamber, and there sat bewailing the misery of her state, wherein she had been driven in such sort to prepare a dowry for her daughter.  
She being come he said unto her. Gentlewoman, if erst I came hither as a lover unto your daughter, now I will depart and leave her as if I were her brother, leaving her honour no less safe and untouched than I found it, for so deserveth her virtue that I should deal with her. And for as much, as I perceive she is in love with a young Gentleman whom I well know, and is in my opinion very worthy of it, and that 〈◊〉 in like sort is in love with her, and that only the want of a reasonable dowry is the cause that she can not become his wife as she desireth. I am content to bestow upon her for her contentment, that sum for her dowry which I had purposed to have given her in recompense of my contentation, to the end that this her honest desire may have that effect, which is most convenient to so great and well grounded an affection, & that her great honesty and virtue do deserve. Therefore send you this day unto my Treasurer, and he shall forth with disburse unto you 2000 pound, which shallbe the dowry of this your gentle and honest daughter.  
And turning himself toward the young Gentlewoman, he said unto her. And as for you fair Damsel (qd he) I crave nothing else now at your hands, but that you keep this faith of yours, wherewith you are linked unto your lover inviolate and unspotted, even as I do leave you inviolate and unspotted in your mother's hands. How great the joy of the mother was, when she saw the honesty of her daughter (as it were) resaved out of this young Prince's hands, by the force of her own virtue, may better he imagined then expressed with words. But above all joys, the joy of Lucilla exceeded all other: when she understood that through the magnificence and liberality of the noble young Prince, she was to have her Nicander for her husband.  
And turning her eyes full of modesty towards him she said, I could not (Sir) have had any more certain and infallible token of your love toward me, then that which now of your great courtesy and bounty you have showed me: which I acknowledge to be so great, that I am bound to yield your excellency my most humble and infinite thanks. But for asmuch as words do fail me wherewith I might do it, I must beseech you, that it may rest in your discrete judgement, to consider how much I confess myself to be your debtor, when words do fail me, to yield you at the least thanks for so great a benefit. This only will I say unto your Grace, that the remembrance of so noble an act shall never wear out of my mind: and that I will so long as I live, pray unto almighty GOD, so to preserve and maintain your noble person, as you of your goodness have saved mine honesty: And so to grant you the accomplishment of all your noble desires, as you have offered me to make me content of mine, by having my Nicander to be my husband: Unto whom, aswell because I have ever been so disposed, as for that it hath pleased your excellency to command me, I will always keep sound and unstained that faith, which through your courtesy shall join me to him in marriage.  
The Damsel seemed unto the Prince at that instant to be in manner greater than she was in deed, when she once stood assured of the safeguard of her honesty: and delighting no less in the excellency of her mind, than he had before done in the beauty of her body, he departed from her.  
And having caused the two thousand pound to be paid unto her mother as he had promised: he went unto the Duke his father, and told him all that had passed between Lucilla and him: the manner whereof liked so well the Duke, that he concluded with himself, that all the virtues that ever had been before that time in his progenitors, would be most excellently joined in him.  
This young Prince required his father, to send for Nicanders' father, and to persuade him to agree, that his Son might match with Lucilla, since that she was provided and furnished with so reasonable a dowry: which thing the Duke did with a very good will, for that he knew that if his son should have taken in hand, to persuade the old man to any such matter, it might have stirred some suspicion in his head, why the Prince should so do? And having sent for him accordingly, when he was come, the Duke after some familiar speeches of course and courtesy, told him he was desirous that his son Nicander should take Lucilla to be his wife, who aswell for her birth, as for the rare gifts of her mind, (as he had learned) was worthy to be wife to any great Lord. The old Gentleman answered, that although she had those virtues and gifts which he spoke of, and were very well ●orne, yet had she not any dowry convenient, or agreeable to his wealth, whereby she might deserve to be matched with his son. Yes Marry said the Duke, for I myself because I would not have so great virtue as is in her, to be oppressed by Fortune's spite, have bestowed upon her two thousand pound to serve for her dowry.  
The old man hearing of such a some, was very well content to do as the Duke would have him, and the next day through the liberality of the Prince, the marriage was concluded and knit up, which had so long been delayed and hindered by the covetousness of the old man, and the povertrie of Lucilla, with the infinite joy and contentment of the two young Lovers, who had long wished and desired that happy day.  
What virtue, or what continence of Alexander, or of Scipio may be compared to this? Scipio abstained from the young Gentlewoman which was presented unto him in Spain: Alexander from Darius his daughter. But it was very easy for either of them so to do: aswell because they were in the fury of War, and the sounds of Drums and Trumpets: as for that those women were of a strange Nation, and enemies unto them, and never before that time seen of any of them, much less desired. Whereas this young prince, who even bathing as it were in bliss, living at his ease and pleasure, in the flower of his youth, and in the heat of his amorous flames, had a young Gentlewoman of a rare beauty, not of strange Nation, or any otherwise to be hated, but extremely beloved, in his hands, and voluntarily yielded, and committed unto him by her own mother: and yet not only tempered himself and refrained to defile her chaste and honest body, but also bestowed liberally her dowry upon her, to the end that an other might enjoy her, and be her husband, whom she had chosen to love and like of: did without all question far exceed all humane courtesy, in so Noble and so virtuous an act. Whereby he made apparent, that although he were pricked forward, with the sharp spurs of Love, and his sensual appetite, yet was he of that highness of courage, and of that constancy of mind, that he was able not only to conquer himself, but also to subve the forces of Love, whereunto both mortals men's valour doth commonly yield, and the very power of the Gods themselves (if we shall believe the Fables of the ancient writers) hath showed itself often times inferior.  
And thus this honest Damsel Lucilla, by the means of her Chastity, the virtue and excellency whereof, did win and Master the heart of that young Prince, much more than the perfection of her bodily beauty had done before, obtained the thing she most desired and joyed in, which was to have Nicander to her husband. With whom she lived ever after in great contentment and happiness: still nourishing with kind and loving demeanour each to other, that fervent affection, which from their first acquaintance, had taken full possession of both their liberties.  
FINIS.   

Of Fineo and Fiamma.  
The Argument of the iiij. History.  
¶ The hard adventures of Fineo, with his beloved Fiamma, who after sundry conflicts of Fortune, were in the end sold as slaves to the King of Tunise, who seeing their perfect love, caused them to be Married, and after honouring them with sundry presents, sent them home to Savona, whereby their Parents and friends, they were joyfully received.  
IN Genova, one of the fairest and most famous cities in Italy, there was sometime a young gentlewoman of excellent beauty, called Fiamma, that was in love with a young Gentleman of Gavona (a city Subject unto the State of Genova, and distant from thence about thirty miles) whose name was Fineo, and their Love being mutual, and tending to no other end, then to be linked and joined together by Marriage, they would not long have stayed, to bring their honest desires to a good end and conclusion, had not the Father of the Gentlewoman refused his consent, and showed himself contrary to this their love and good will. For he misliking with the match, either for that he purposed to place her better, or because he would not have her Married to any man, that should carry her out of Genova, did oft times chide and reprehend his Daughter, for casting her affection upon that young Gentleman, that was a stranger unto them, and in effect but a subject, though he were both of blood and richesse equal unto them.  
But for all that the father could do, or any other of her friends, the fire which love had kindled in this young couples breasts, slaked no whit at all, but still increased, both hoping in the end, to win her friends good will, and attain the fruits of their desired love. This young Damsel had to her brother a stout & valiant young gentleman, who being offended greatly that Fineo should continue his love toward his sister, and follow the pursuit of that, which he knew well enough, her friends were unwilling to yield unto: had caused him to be spoken unto, and to be warned that he should desist, and leave to solicit her: but he for all that ceased not, but continued his suit: wherefore this brother of hers determined, to make him leave of, by force and dint of Sword. For although there were at that time a very strait law in the city, that no man should were his sword, and pain of death appointted for him, that should hurt any man with any weapon: yet both these Gentlemen wear their sword, for that they both had charge of soldiers, that lay then in garrison for defence of the city.  
And having one day met Fineo in the street alone, and himself being very well accompanied with other gentlemen he began to give him evil language: and being a gentleman of great courage, and though he were a stranger there, 〈◊〉 being able to endure to be injured in words, said to him boldly and roundly again, that if they two were alone, he durst not use those speeches unto him, for he would well give him to understand, that he was no man to take wrong at his hands, and that time and occasion would serve one day (he doubted not to make him know, that he had offended one that would bear no Coals. Whereupon his adversary having drawn forth his Sword, whilst he was yet speaking, ran feercely upon him, thinking to have stricken him: But Fineo also a very lusty gentleman and quick of eye, and nimble of hand, drew out his sword, and not only warded the blow of his enemy, but also hurt him, though but lightly in the hand. Forthwith they that were with the young gentlewoman's brother, environed him, and took him prisoner, and delivered him into the hands of the Magistrate, or chief officer of the city. And the penalty being such, as is before mentioned, for hurting of any man within the city, and especially a gentleman, Fineo was condemned to lose his head.  
Nevertheless, he being very well friended, and supported by many principal gentlemen of the city, they laboured so much for him, that they obtained, that he should not be beheaded: but that his penalty should be converted unto an other punishment, very little better if it were no worse. For having bound him fast hand and foot, they laid him in a small Boat, and in very stormy weather, set him in the main sea, and there left him to the rule and government of Fortune, and to the disposition of God, and mercy of the waves and winds. The boat was a long while beaten and tossed, by the rage and fury of the Seas, and poor Fineo under diverse and sundry storms and shapes, had before his eyes a thousand times the presence of Death. Yet in that fearful and mortal peril, he ceased not to call upon the name of his dear Fiamma, and in that extremity and imminent danger, did he yet in manner glorify himself, and think himself happy, that he should end his life for the love of his Lady.  
Whiles he was thus tossed and tormented, still looking for none other but present death. the Tempest began to cease, and the storm and rage of Seas to be assuaged. When lo he discovered a Frigate of moors that went a roving, and were then 〈◊〉 gone abroad, to spy whether the Storm which was then past, had not happily prepared for them, some occasion of gain and booty. These moors had no sooner discovered this little boat, thus fleeting at all adventures, but hoping to find therein some prey for their prfiote, they made toward it: And having at the boarding thereof, found Fineo bound hand and foot, and perceiving by his countenance and apparel, that he was no very base person, they untied him, and set him in their Frigate as a slave to row, until such time as they should determine further what to do with him: who although that servitude and captivity, were grievous unto him, yet considering with himself, that it was better for him to be in the power of men, though they were Infidels, then in the power of Seas and Winds: he comforted himself, that yet if he lived, he might still hope throng the goodness of God, one day to be so happy, as to enjoy his Ldie and Love: he framed himself to bear with patient mind, that heavy yoke of his captivity.  
Fiamma having understood the unfortunate accident happened to her Lover, believing certainly that he was dead, and that she should never see him again. Wherefore she herself resolving, that she would no longer live, gave herself to devise what kind of death she were best to choose, and in doubt thereof she passed some few days, dissembling still in the house her sorrow and grief, with a merry and cheerful countenance, as though she had clean forgotten, and not once remembered her Lover Fineo. But in the end, after long debating with herself, she resolved to die the same kind of death, and to make that end, which she imagined Fineo had doen.  
There was an other Gentleman of the city, who was no less enamoured of this Gentlewoman, than Fineo was: who supposing that now since she saw there was no remedy for her, to recover her lover, whom both she and all the city, accounted certainly to be dead: he might perchance by suit obtain her good will, and so procure her to be his wife, with the consent of her friends. And therefore not long after the mischance of Fineo, he caused her father to be dealt withal for the bestowing of his daughter upon him: and the Father being willing enough to agree thereunto, and having questioned with his daughter thereupon, and finding her to give sober and obedient answer with few words, presupposing that she was willing to do as he would have her, made promise of her unto this young Gentleman, and agreed upon the dowry, and all other circumstances necessary, for the coupling of two such persons together.  
The night that went before the day appointed for their Marriage, Fiamma calling unto her a Moor, that was slave in her father's house, and had the keeping of a small Boat of the Gentleman's, wherein when he list to disport himself, he was wont to take the air upon the sea, in time of fair weather, and to go to their houses of pleasure, whereof that coast is very plentiful, and them of exceeding beauty. Which Moor had lived so many years in that thraldom, that he was now become so old, as she thought, she needed not to fear any force or violence at his hands, she began to persuade him, to put on a desire to deliver himself out of Captivity, so as he might live the rest of his years in liberty, and at his ease: whereunto finding him ready and willing, if the means or occasion were offered him: she gave him in hand a good round some of money, which she had laid together, and made him promise to carry her into the Sea in the Boat, whereof he had the custody, and afterwards to do, that whatsoever it were, that she should command him.  
This wicked and faithless Moor, seeing himself not only to purchase his liberty, but also make so great again of ready money, that he was not like at any time after, to live in want or poverty, was only thankful in his mind toward the young Gentlewoman, but strait way began to purpose and to devise, to make a greater gain of her own person, by carrying her unto the king of Tunise, and selling of her unto him at a very high prize. And with this intention, the mischievous knave assured her, that he would do in all points, as she would have him. Wherefore, when all the rest of the house were in their first fleape, the Damsel with this wretched Moor, went out of her father's house, and gather into the Boat, and the weather being very fair, the knave began to row, and make sail along the coast toward Ligorno, from which by break of the day, they were not very far. When this young gentlewoman, saw that she was now so far from home, that she needed not to fear, to be driven back again to Genova, she willed the Moor to row to y● shore, and to land himself, and then to shove of the Boat again: for that her determination was so to die, swallowed up with the waves of the sea, as she supposed her Fineo to have been. But the wicked knave, who had a father fetch in his head, and thoughts far differed from the gentlewoman's, made her believe that they were yet near unto Genova, and advised her to be content, that they might go somewhat farther, to the end that her father if he sent after them, might not overtake them.  
Nevertheless, she having often times urged him to do as she erst bade him, and he still protracted the time, and shifting her of with one tale or an other: she began to suspect his drift. The Morning therefore being well spent, she made as though she would have looked over the Boat side, into the Water, or have washed her hands in the Sea, and on the sudden would have cast herself over board. But the crafty Moor suspecting her intent, caught hold of her about the middle, and not only held her from throwing herself into the Sea, but also bound her fast hand and foot, and whereas she of her courtesy, had both set him at liberty, and liberally bestowed good store of wealth upon him, he as a treacherous Infidel, bereaved her of her liberty, making her an unfortunate Slave under his disposition, and being moved with a greedy covetous mind, thought that too little which she had given him, and therefore determined (as is afore said) to sell her person, and to increase his goods by that means.  
The desolate Damsel, when she saw herself so used by that villain, full of woe and grief, ceased not to rebuke the wild caitive, that little regarded her speeches, the breach of his Faith and promise, and blaming herself for trusting of him: and then repent when it was too late, that she had not obeyed her Father, and followed the advise of her friends, she began to curse her Destiny, and her cruel Fortune, and to cry out upon the Heavens, that had made her become the unfortunatest young woman, that ever loved man.  
And whilst she was thus lamenting her hard hap, and the Moor as fast as he could with his Ours, labouring to speed his voyage: A little Foiste or Galley of moors, that went prolling up and down the Coast, having espied the small Boat, drew near unto it, and boarded it. And having found this young Gentlewoman being bound therein, they would have taken her away: but the old knave offering to resist them, and to keep her out of their hands, they took her away from him perforce, and wounding him very sore. And asked of her in their language, from whence she came, and what she was: but she not understanding them, could make them no answer, but only with tears and weeping, make them to understand, that she was a woeful and unfortunate damsel. But the old Moor feeling himself wounded to death, before he died told them, both of what place and Parentage she was, and laid before them by plain reason, how great a booty they might account they had made that Morning, if they did carry her unto the king of Tunise (as he had thought to have done) and sell her unto him. He being dead, they despoiled him, and took from him all that, which Fiamma had given, and so he having thought by treachery, and breaking of his faith, to make great gain, lost both his life, and all that which he had gotten, of the unadvised and evil counseled young Gentlewoman. And having placed her in their Foiste, and comforted her as well as they could, they took their way strait toward Tunise.  
It fortuned that the other Frigate of moors, that had found and taken Fineo (as is already said before) met with this other. Foiste or Galley, wherein Fiamma was, and assaulted it, and having fought together a good while) for that the other resisted, and defended themselves stoutly) in fine, the Frigate wherein Fineo was) who in the encounter, and during the fight, had showed great valour among the rest) overcame the other, and took from them all that they had: so that Fiamma and Fineo were both now together, in the compass of one small vessel. And although in that extremity of both their evil fortunes, it was a great comfort for these two Lovers to see one the other, and that both longed and desired extremely, to embrace each other, and to tell the one to the other their accidents, and unfortunate adventures. Nevertheless Fineo made signs to Fiamma, that in nowise she should take knowledge, or acquaintance of him, and accordingly she dissembled and made no show, but as one had never seen him.  
Fineo for the valour and courage, which he had showed in the battle, was delivered of his chains, and much made of among the moors, until such time as they had conducted both him and her (as they did very shortly after) unto the king of Tunise. Who having seen and considered Fineo, and understood by the Pirates, that his comely parsonage was accompanied with great valour, brought him, and took him to his service, in good place near his own person. And being moved with the beauty of the young Gentlewoman, bargained for her likewise, for a great sum of money, and caused her to be put in the Cube, which is a place where he keepeth his Concubines (as the Turk doth his in his Serraqlio) among a great many of other women, and esteemed her very much, for that the Rovers (who had learned of those other that they overcame) all that which the old Moor had declared unto them, of her calling and condition, did assure him that she was a Gentlewoman, borne of a noble Family in Genova.  
Fineo by his service and discrite behaviour, became in short time very dear unto the king, so that in less than the space of one whole year, the king of special trust, gave him the charge of the gate of the Cube, which office the kings of Tunise are never wont to give, but unto such as are in singular favour about them: In the which Fineo to his great contentment, had the commodity daily to see his Fiamma, and she had no less comfort and satsfaction, to behold and look upon him, which opportunity they enjoyed, and handled so discritely, that they never gave any cause of suspicion to any person, of their fervent good will and affection.  
The manner or custom of the King, was to cause his Concubines to come unto him, and to lie with them by order as they had been bought, or come to his hands: By reason of which custom, for that there were very many bought before the coming thither of Fiamma, there was already a whole year and half, well nigh passed after her sale, and yet her turn was not come to be called for. But remaining now but three others, to be brought unto the king before her. Fineo considering to his intolerable grief, that she was ere it were long, to be likewise called for, began to be tormented with incredible passion, and an guishe of mind: and his woe increased ten thousand fold, by fear and imagination which he conceived, that she being above all the kings Concubines far the fairest, when he had once enjoyed her, he would take her to be one of his wives, which fear did no whit less torment and afflict Fiamma, than it did her Lover.  
Whilst both these young Lovers lived in this sort, there chanced to arrive at Tunise a Ship of Savona, with certain Merchants of that city: who seeing Fineo there, and knowing him, were wonderfully amcruailed finding him alive, for that he had been lamented at Savona, of all his friends for dead. Fineo likewise knowing those Merchants, and having authority and means to pleasure them in the Court, welcomed them, and made much of them in friendly sort: and demanding of the state and welfare of his father, and brother and other friends, they certified him that they were all well, and that when they should understand that he was alive, and in so good a case, they would be very joyful, and think themselves happy, if they might hope to see him once come again, as they doubted not but one day he would and might.  
These merchants having dispatched their business departed thence, and by them Fineo wrote letters to his Father, and to his brother, certifying them of his being at Tunise, and how that Fiamma was with him, and that he desired to deliver himself 〈◊〉 of bondage, and her with him: Which thing he thought he might easily bring to pass, if his brother would come thither, and withal described unto them a plot, which he had cast for the execution of his intent and desire.  
They being returned safe unto Savona, delivered the letters unto the father and brother of Fineo, who with the rest of of his friends, and in effect all the whole city, were very glad that his Fortune had not been altogether so froward toward him, as they had supposed.  
And his brother according to his instructions, prepared a very pretty Frigate, very well appointed and furnished with Merchandise, among which there were many trifles, and things of price meet for Ladies and Gentlewomen. And being arrived therewith a a Tunise, Fineo brought them unto the King, whom they presented with some things of small price, which were very grateful, and acceptable unto him, and among other speeches they said, that they had aboard many pretty things for Dames and Ladiee, which thing the king understanding, commanded Fineo that the chiefest of them might be brought into the Cube, to show such things as they had unto his Concubines: by which occasion he got that opportunity which he looked for, to confer and deal more privately with them without suspicion, and to give the better order, for the accomplisment of asmuch as he had devised.  
Fineo and his brother therefore being come into the Cube showed forth among those women, such wares as they had brought, to please their fancies, and gave unto them all, some one trifle or an other, as a gentle present to the first, and the brother of Fineo presented Fiamma among the rest, with a very fair Purse, richly embroidered with Gold and Pearl, in the which there was enclosed a letter, written by Fineo, by the conrentes whereof, she might understand at large, all that which he did wish, and would have her to do, to make their escape together, and to rid themselves out of that thraldom and captivity. Assoon as the two brethren had done that they came for, and were departed, Fiamm by their manner gathering, that the gift of that Purse, contained some Mystery, withdrew herself into a secret place, and having opened it, she found therein the letter, which when she had read, she thanked Almighty God, that of his goodness had showed her the way, to deliver herself out of Captivity, and from becoming dishonestly the Concubine of an Infidel king.  
And when this appointed day, for the performing of their purpose was come: Fiamma in the night when all was silent, and others slept, came to a window barred with Iron, where Fineo and his brother were attending for her: Who with certain instruments, which they had brought for that purpose, brake and wrested the Grate of the window, and taking her away with them, they got her into their Bark, and hoissed sail, and directed their course with a merry Wind, toward the coast of Italy, which served them very fair all that night long, & the most part of the next day. In the morning Fiamma being miss, and Fineo likewise, the king (was advertised of their escape) who perceiving the Merchants to be gone also, rested assured that it was a set match made, for the stealing Fiamma away. And being full of rage and despite towards them all, caused certain Galleys and other light vessels to be armed in all haste, and to be sent after them, giving strait charge and Commission to his Captains, that either they should bring Fineo and the Damsel, with the chief of the merchants alive unto him, because he would cause them all three to be buried alive: or that they could not get them alive, they should bring their three heads, for that he would have them be set over the Cube, for an example and a terror to all others.  
But before those Galleys and other vessels, could be in a readiness to departed: Fortune not having yet her fill of persecuting and afflicting these two poor Lovers, caused a contrary wind, with an extreme storm and tempest to arise, by force whereof, the vessel wherein they were, was not without great danger, driven back again to Tunise, with so much grief and sorrow of all them that were in it, as they may imagine, that know the cruelty and barbarousness of that people. But in the beginning of the storm, the brother of Fineo despairing of his life, as he that was assured, either to be drowned by rage of the wind and seas, or else to die in torment, if he returned into the hands of those Infidels, got himself into his Cockboat, and therein hazarded his life: and after much ado, and a thousand perils of present death, recovered the coast of Italy at the last, and returned home to Savona full of woe with heavy tidings, declaring unto his father, that either the Frigate would be lost, or else driven back again to Tunise, where he was well assured, that both his brother, and the young Damsel his Lover, should be murdered in most cruel manner.  
At which doleful news, the father, as if he had seen his son lie dead before him, began to weep and lament, complaining of his hard Destiny, that caused him to live so long, or reserved him to see those cruel and bitter days.  
Fineo seeing himself brought to so hard an exigent, for that their vessel was now driven back near unto Tunise, and knowing that he should feel the smart of his fault, and the kings anger in sharpest manner and sort: being determined to live no longer, and to prevent the cruelty of the king drew out his sword, and would there with have strooken himself to death. But Fiamam catching him by the arm: Alas Fenio (quoth she) what shall become of me if you be dead? Shall I remain behind to endure the cruel torments, that I know this Infidel hath prepared for me? Yet rather since that death must needs deliver us of our misfortunes, before you execute upon yourself this your determination, ride me out of the world, and deliver me from the pains, which already I feel in my imagination, wherewith I assure myself they will bring me to a shameful death. And with these words offering her breast unto him, she requested him to strike her with his Sword. But Fineo bade her be of good comfort, for your beauty (my Fiamma said he) being so singular as it is, I know will save you, and therefore you need not fear, and I alone should be the man that they would plague, and torment to death for us both, and therefore (my dear) suffer me to die before, and content thyself to live, and vouchsafe sometime to remember thy unfortunate Fineo when he is dead.  
Whilst they were thus talking and debating, which should first die, the people which the King had sent out to apprehend them, came and boorden their Frigate, and took them both, whom they bound in Chains, and brought on land to the presence of the king. Who as soon as he beheld the beauty of Fiamma, felt his former wrath and cruelty intended to relent, and in much milder manner, than the two Captives hoped or looked for, he said unto her: tell me what moved you, I pray you fair Damsel to run away, and fly from me, at whose hands you had no cause to look for any other entreaty, then loving and friendly? Fiamma who in that year and a half, that she had been in the Cube, had learned the language indifferently well: made answer unto him. That no cause or meaning to fly from him, but her earnest desire to enjoy Fineo, whom she had loved, and chosen for her husband many years before, had forced her to do that which she had done: And herewith she told him, the beginning of their acquaintance and love, and how many perils and dangers they had run through, still hoping one day, to come unto that happy hour, wherein their troubles should have an end, and that they might be honestly united, and enjoy one an other: And finally, casting herself down at his feet, with abundance of tears, she besought him with all humility to pardon her, if she had offended him, and withal to forgive Fineo since that long and faithful love, had made them to procure the accomplisment of their desires.  
The tears of Fiamma, and the only name of Love were of such force and virtue, in the heart of the king, though he were barbarous, and cruel of Nature, that the Ire and hatred, which he had conceived against them before, was then converted and changed into pity, and compassion of their misfortunes: and where before he had appointed a cruel death to be their punishments, he now determined to overcome with his courtesy, the frowardness of their perverse Fortune and to make them, after so many perils and dangers contented and happy, and to see an end at last of their miseries by making them to enjoy their long hoped for desires. Wherefore, having caused them to be both forthwith unbound, he took from his own finger, a marvelous fair and precious Ruby, and giving it unto Fineo, he said unto him: since your Fortune hath been such, that after so many strange adventures, and through such dangers, you are fallen into my hands: I for my part will not be he, that will extinguish, or quench the flames of so fervent and constant Love, or unloose or dissolve the bands, wherewith your hearts be bound and knit together. And therefore Fineo, I do not only pardon you both, but also I will have thee, before thou depart hence, to wed this Damsel with this Ring, and to cake her for thy wife, and that she henceforth enjoy thee for ever as her husband. It is not to be demanded, whether the two Lovers, (who looked for none other of the kings courtesies then death) were glad to hear him use those speeches, yea or no. But both being fallen on their knees, and in humblest manner, having yielded their thanks unto his Majesty. Fineo in his presence Wedded Fiamma, and took her for his wife, to the unspeakable joy and contentation, of both their hearts and minds. And the king to honour their Marriage, caused a sumptuous feast to be prepared, with no less charge and abundance of all things, then if he had Married a Daughter of his own, to some great Lord, or chief man of that Country.  
And after certain days, the two young Married Lovers, being desirous to return into their own Country, he gave them very rich and costly presents, and sent them honourably accompanied home to Savona: Whose arrival was no less marvelous, then joyful to the Father and Brother of Fineo, and to all the city, they having been assuredly esteemed, and accounted as dead. Afterwards they sent to Genova to Fiammas Father and Brother, certifying of all that had happened, who then persuading themselves, that God & Nature had created those two young folk, to be matched and joined together in Wedlock, were well contented with that, which they saw was God's will should be. And being gone both to Savona, the Father embraced and accepted Fineo for his Son in Law, and the Brother for his Brother in law. And the two young Lovers lived ever after, in great happiness and felicity: giving by this success of their hard Fortune, an assured argument, and a notable example, whereby we may learn, that though froward Fortune do for a while, cross and molest the desires, and travails of men, yet in the end she can not let, but that of necessity those things must come to pass, which GOD by his Divine providence, wherewith he ruleth the whole world, hath appointed shall take effect.  
FINIS.   

Of two brethren and their wives.  
The Argument of the fift History.  
¶ Two brothers making choice of their wives, the one choose for beauty, the other for riches, it happened unto them after they were married, the one of their wives proved to be of light disposition, the other a common scold, in what manner they lived with their husband's, and how in the end the first became to live orderly and well, but the other could be brought by no devise, to any reason or good manner.  
GEntlewomen, before I will proceed any farther in this History, I must desire you to arm yourselves with patience in reading hereof, that if you find any thing that might breed offence to your modest minds, take it in this sort, that I have written it only to make you merry, and not to set you a snarring or grudging against me, for although I mean to present you with a Chapter of Knavery, yet it shall be passable, and such as you may very well permit, and the matter that I mind to write, is upon this question, whither a man were better to be married to a wise Harlot, or to a foolish overthwart and braviing woman, this question I know will seem very doubtful unto some, and yet in my opinion very easy to be answered, and to speak my mind without dissimulation of both those evils, I think the first is least, and therefore is to be chosen: and herein I could allege for my better proof, an example of the ancient Romans, who in all their governments were most wise and politic, amongst whom the infirmity of the first was borne withal, because it proceeded of the frailty of the flesh, but the courage of the second was ever condemned, for that it did abound from a wicked and mischievous mind. And in common reason, it is not less noisome for a man, to live accompanied with a wife, who although she will some time fly out, can so wisely, dissemble with her husband, that he shall never so much as suspect her, whereby he shall receive no discontentment in his mind, then to be bedfellow with Xantippa a common scold, who daily and hourly will be checking, taunting, and railing at him, in such sort, that he shall think himself most blest and happy, when he is farthest from her company, but for your better confirmation, I have set forth this History of two brethren, the one of them married to a wench, that could so cunningly behave herself towards him, that he had thought she had believed there had been no other God but himself, & yet by your leave, she would take reason when it was proffered her, but what of that: the heart never grieves, what the eyes see not. The other was married to a Dame, that from her navel downwardly was more chaste and continent, but otherwise of her tongue such a devil of Hell, that the poor man her husband could never enjoy merry day nor hour, although he devised many a pretty remedy, as by the reading of the process of this tale you shall better perceive, which followeth in this sort.  
There was sometime remaining in a famous City two brethren, the eldest (according to the custom of the place) enjoyed his father's goods and possessions after his death, whereby he was well able to live, the youngest had neither lands nor livings, saving that his Father had trained him up in learning, whereby he was able to govern himself, in all manner of companies where soever he became. These two brethren being weary of their single lives, disposed themselves to marriage: The eldest being of himself well able to live, sought a wife only for her beauty, without any other respect either to her conditions or riches, and as the proverb is (he that seeks shall find) so in the end he lighted on a Gentlewoman, called by the name of Mistress Dorothy, whose beauty in deed was very excellent, and there withal has a passing ready wit, Marry her training up had not been after the best, nor worst manner, but as a man might say, after the common sort: this gentlewoman he Married, who could so well handle him with kissynges, cullynges, and other amorous exercises, that her husband thought himself, the most fortunate man that lived, to light on such a wife, although she cunningly armed his head with horns, as after you shall hear.  
The second brother left (as you have heard) without maintenance or living, sought for a wife only to relieve his want, and fortuned to hit of a widow in deed with great wealth, but in conditions so overthwart, and so spiteful of her tongue, that the poor man had not been Married fully out a month, but he more than a thousand times, cursed the Priest that married him, the Sexton that opened the Church door when he went to be married, yea, and his own unhappy legs that had carried his body to be yoked to so great a mischief. But because I do mind more orderly to tell you the manners of these two Gentlewomen: I will first begin with Mistress Dorothy, whose husband after they had been a while married, fortuned to fall sick, and then according to that Country manner, a Doctor of Physic was presently sent for, who coming many times to visit his patient, began to behold and contemplate the lively beauty of this gentlewoman, and lent her many rolling look, and secret countenances, in such sort that Mistress Dorothy being well practised in the Art of Love, and seeing Master Doctor to be a man as sufficient, to content a Gentlewoman in her Chamber that was whole, as to minister Medicines to those that were sick, did not only requite him again with look for look, but she yielded him a large usury, and paid him more than forty in the hundred: Master Doctor who was likewise skilful enough, could well perceive whereto those looks did tend: Upon a time being alone in her company, he said unto her as followeth.  
Mistress Dorothy, if the experience which I have learned in Physics arte, might crave credit, and make my tale to be the better believed, assure yourself then that I mind to say nothing, but that that shall be to your own behoof, and the reason that makes me to enter into this discourse, is the pity that I take to see so proper a gentlewoman as yourself, should be so deceived in a husband, who although you shall find him both honest, gentle, and loving, yea, and peradventure may content you with such rights, as appertain to the Marriage bed, yet assure yourself he shall never be able to get you with child, considering your Natures and complexions be so far different the one from the other, whereby you are like for ever to remain without issue, and one of the greatest comforts that may happen unto us in this world, is to see ourselves as it were regenerate and borne a new in our children, and barrenness in the ancient time, hath been accounted not only infamous, but also most hateful amongst women, in so much that Sara gave her own Handmaid to her husband, because she could not herself conceive a child: but I would wish women more wit then to follow Saras example. God defend their should be so foolish to give their Maidens to their husbands, I would wish them rath●● themselves to take their men: it hath been ever holden for the greater wisdom, rather to take then to give, and sure they shall find it more for their own profits, that if their housebands want be such, that he is not able to get a child, to take help of some other, that may supply his imperfections, but I trust I shall not need to use many persuasions, considering that every wise woman will think, that I have reason on my side: Thus Mistress Dorothy, you have heard the some of my tale, protesting, that if my service may any ways stand you in stead, I am as ready to obey, as he over whom you have power to command.  
Mistress Dorothy, who all this while had well pondered his words, knew very well how to whet Master Doctor on, and the more to set his teeth on edge, answered him thus: I perceive Master Doctor you are something pleasantly disposed, and hereafter when I shall find my husband's infirmity to be such as you have said, I mean to send for you, desiring you, that you would not be out of the way, to help me when I have need.  
The Doctor knew not well how to understand these words, whether they were merrily spoken, or otherwise in disdain of his former talk, answered thus. Alas Mistress Dorothy, pardon me if my words seem any thing offensive unto you, assuring you that in this mean space, that I have made my recourse to your husband, (whose health by the sufferance of God, I have now well restored) am myself fallen into a Fever so extreme, as neither Galen, Hypocrates, Avicen, Plinij, nor any other that ever gave rules of Physic, could yet prescribe a Medicine for the malady, or diet to suppress the humour that feeds it: I shall not need to use long circumstance in the matter, knowing your wisdom to be such, that you can well conceive the some of all my grief, it is your beauty that is like to breed my bane, and hath already driven me into the greatest depth of danger, unless some plaints of pity may prevail, to yield remorse to him, that vows himself to do you service during life.  
Mistress Dorothy seeing the matter sorted out as she looked for, could tell well enough how to handle master Doctor, and to make him the more eager, she delayed him of with doubtful speeches, but yet fed him still with such enticing and pleasant countenances, that ministered great hope of comfort to his disease, she answered thus.  
And could you then find in your heart (Master Doctor) to deceive your very friend of his dear and loving life, how can you offer him so manifest an injury, to whom you are so lately linked in so great a league of friendship, as is between my husband and yourself, I can not think master Doctor, that it is good will that hath caused you to move this suit unto me, but rather to see how I were disposed, or peradventure you use these words for exercise sake, knowing the fashion of you men to be such, as by praising of our beauty, you think to bring us into a fools paradise, that we will give credit strait way, that you love us so soon as you shall but tell us the tale: but for my part (Master Doctor) although I want wit to encounter you with words, so likewise I want will to believe any thing that you have said, to be otherwise than words of course.  
These speeches did engender such a number of swetee and sour alterations in Master Doctor, that for his life he wist not how to understand them: one while they were like to drive him to despair: an other while they something quieted him with hope, but in the end determining to follow what he had begun, he said.  
Sweet Mistress, most humbly I desire you to account of me, not according to my deserts, which as yet are none at all, but according to the dutiful service, which hereafter I vow faithfully to do unto you, and for the better testimony of my words which (as you say) seem to be of such ordinary course, I desire no other credit may be given them, then shall be agreeable to my deeds, when it shall please you to command: but alas for the injury which you speak of, that I should offer to your husband, who in deed I make account to be my very friend, what is he I pray you, that is able to prescribe laws to love? And as love is without law, so is it without respect, either of friend or foe, father or brother, rich or poor, mighty or weak, virtuous or vicious: the examples are so many & general, that I should but waste the time to repeat them. But (Mistress Dorothy) I protest the very cause that maketh me to move this matter unto you, is for no ill will that I bear to your husband, but for the good will I bear to your sweet self, you may use your husband as your husband, and me as your friend, glad to stand at reversion, when your husband may take his fill of the banquet, and be glutted with more then enough: farther, if you make so great account of your husband's good liking as you say, what wives be ever better beloved, or more made of by their husband's, than those that have discretion to help their friends when they need. But what sottish opinion is this, which so many doth hold, that they think it so great an injury for a man, to seek the wife of his friend, when he is attached by love, whose arrest, neither Gods nor men have been ever able to resist. But I pray you (Mistress Dorothy) if I might ask you this question, would you not think your good will better bestowed upon your husband's friend then his foe, if you love your husband, I am sure you will say I have reason, what should I longer trouble you then with circumstances: I know you are wise, and now I desire you for the good will that you bear to your husband, to pity me his friend, whom I trust you will restore with one drop of mercy, & the rather for your husband's sake.  
How think you Gentlewoman, be not these gentle persuasions to be used by a Doctor, Marry he was no Doctor of divinity, and therefore you need not follow his doctrine, unless you list yourselves, but this pitiful Gentlewoman, seeing Master Doctor at such desperate points, for fear of damning of her own soul, that so dear a friend to her husband as Master Doctor was, should perish and be so wilfully cast away through her default, she received him for her friend, and so I pray God give them joy.  
But it fortuned afterwards, this Gentlewoman to light into the company of a Lawyer, who perceiving this Dame to be of such excellent beauty, joining himself some thing near her, he said: Gentlewoman, although I have no skill in the art of Painting, yet assure yourself, your form and passing beauty, is so surely engraven and fixed in my mind, that although yourself were absent, I could draw your perfect counterfecte, saving that I think all the Apothecaries in this City, were not able to furnish me with colours, to make the perfect distain of the beauty in your face.  
Mistress Dorothy knowing whereto these speeches pretended, answered: In deed sir, it should seem you would prove a passing Painter, that can so cunningly Paint forth with words, that which I know is too far unworthy of so excellent a flourish, as you would give it. Mistress (qd the Lawyer) if I have committed any offence, in these words which I have spoken, it is in that I have taken upon me to praise your beauty, and not able to give it such due commendations, as I see it doth deserve, the sight whereof doth so captivate my affections, and hath so creepled all my senses, that it hath caused me in manner to forget myself, no marvel then though my tongue doth fail, and is not able to express the perfection of you, unto whom with vow of continual service, I subject my life, living, and liberty, if it please you to accept of it.  
This Gentlewoman, that had yet but one friend to trust upon, besides her husband, began to think that store was no sore, and therefore determined not to forsake his friendly offer, but first she demanded of him of his faculty, and what trade of life he used, to which he answered, that he was a Gentleman appertaining to the Law. It may well be so (qd she) for I perceive by your experience, that this is not the first Plea that you have framed. And yet believe me (qd the Lawyer) I was never brought before to plead at Beauty's bar, but sith my hap is such, I humbly hold up my hands, desiring to be tried by you courtesy and mine own joyaltie, contenting myself to abide such doom and judgement, as it shall please you to appoint, being the chief and Sovereign judge yourself, she replying, said: Seeing you have constituted me to give Sentence at my pleasure, it is not th● office of a good justicer, to be partial in his own cause, and therefore this is the hope you shall look for at my hands, that if hereafter in your deeds, I shall see as plain proof of perfect good will, as your words by pretence import likelihood of earnest Love, you shall find me ready to render such recompense, as shall fall out to your own contentation and liking. This comfortable answer, very well pleased him, and within a very little space after, he so handled the matter, that he had entered his action in her Common place. Thus what between Master Doctor on the one side, who was still ministering of Physic unto her, so long as there were any Drugs remaining in his Storehouse, and the Lawyer on the other side, who sufficiently instructed her with his Law: they used such haunt unto this Gentlewoman's company, that the one began to grow suspicious on the other, and each of them desirous to have her several to himself, began in the end to enuaigh the one against the other: the Doctor against the Lawyer, and the Lawyer against the Doctor, and to tell her to her face what they suspected, the one against the other. But Mistress Dorothy being very angry with them both, that would so narrowly look into her doings, did think it had been sufficient for reasonable men, that she had received them into her favour, and as often as it had pleased them to come, she welcomed them as themselves did desire, and what can a man desire any more, then to drink so often as he shall be a thirst? But with fair speeches she contented them both for a time: but she thought in the end, to find a remedy for that mischief.  
And thus it fell out, that a Soldier, who was lately returned from the wars, I guess about the same time, that King Henry the fift was returned, from the winning of Agincourt field: this Soldier I say, braving it out about the streets of the City (as commonly the custom of Soldiers is, to spend more in a month, than they get in a year (as he roomed to and fro, and fortuned to espy this blazing star looking out at a window, was suddenly strooken into a great maze, to senthis Lamp of light, then ever he had been in the field, to see the Ensigns of his enemies, and was so far evercharged with her love: that but for fear to have been marked by the passers by, he would have stood still gazing and looking upon her: but learning in the end, that she was the Mistress of the house, he began to devise how he might make her understand the fervency of his Love, on which he determined to write unto her: But then he knew not how to begin his Letter, because Soldiers are very seldom accustomed to indite, especially any of these loving lines: And to speak unto her, he was likewise to learn how to use his terms, neither wist he how to come into her presence, but you shall see Fortune favoured him: For in an Evening as he passed through the street, she was sitting alone in her door to take the air, and coming unto her, not knowing for his life how to begin his tale: In the end, Mistress (qd he) I pray you is your husband within? No surely sir (qd she) he is abroad in the Town, but I know not where: And I would gladly have spoken with him (qd the Soldier) if he had been within: Believe me sir he is not within (qd she) but if it please you to leave your errand with me, at his coming home I will show him your mind. In faith Mistress (qd the soldier) my errand is not great, I would but have craved his help in choosing me a wife, because I perceive he hath some experience in the faculty, or else I think he could never have chosen so well for himself. If your errand be no other than this (qd Mistress Dorothy) you may at your own leisure come and do it yourself, and as for my husband's experience that you speak of, although peradventure it be not fitting to your fancy, yet I am well assured that he hath made his choice of such a one, as he himself very well liketh. I believe it well (qd the Soldier) and if without offence I might speak it, I swear so God help me, I like his choice so well, that I would think myself more than a thousand times happy, if I might be his half, or if my unworthiness deserved not so great a p●●●on, I would crave no more than yourself would willingly bestow on me, accordingly as you should see me able to deserve it. Why sir (qd Mistress Dorothy) I do not understand whereunto your speeches doth tend, neither what part you would have me to give you, when I have already bestowed of my husband, both my hand, my heart, my mind, and good will. Alas Gentlewoman (qd the Soldier) these be none of them that I would crave, there is yet an overplus which you have not yet spoken of, which if you please to bestow of a Soldier, I should think myself the happiest man alive, whose love and good liking towards you is such, that I trust in time to come, yourself will judge me worthy, for my well deserving zeal, to have deserved hire. Soldiers are seldom seen (qd Mistress Dorothy) to march under the banner of Venus, but what so ever you be, do you think to overthrow my virtues, with the assault of your wanton persuasions, or would you make me believe that you love me as you say, when you have no more respect to the hurt of my soul. Gentlewoman (qd the Soldier) I am not able to encounter you with words, because it hath not been my profession, nor training up, but if you doubt of my love and good liking: Please it you to make trial, command any thing that yourself shall think requisite, which if I do not perform to the uttermost, then esteem my love in deed to be but feigned, and where you think that I go about to seek the prejudice or hurt of your soul, believe me I never meant it.  
Mistress Dorothy, who had been well acquainted before with many suitors, had never been opposed with such a rough hewn fellow, that was so blunt and plain, aswell in his gesture, as in his terms: Began to think with herself, that he might well be a Soldier, for she knew that they had little skill in the courting of Gentlewomen, yet she perceived by his countenance, the vehemency of his love he bore unto her, and perceiving his plainness, she began to think him more fit for her diet, than either Master Doctor, or Master Lawyer, that could not be contented the one with the other, when she gave them both so much as they could crave, and therefore thinking with herself, that to lose any longer time were but a point of folly, taking the Soldier by the hand, she led him up into a Chamber, where other speeches were passed between them in secret, which I could never yet understand, and what they did farther when they were by themselves, gentlewomen I pray guess you, but this I must advertise you of, that before they came forth of the Chamber again, the Soldier had pleased Mistress Dorothy so well, that both Master Doctor, and Master Lawyer, were put quite out of conceit, so that from that time forwards when they came of their visitation, the Gentlewoman was not well at case, or she had company with her, or she was not at home, that they could no more speak with her: which turned them both into a wonderful agony. The Doctor had thought she had forsaken him for the love of the Lawyer: The Lawyer he thought as much by the Doctor, that in the end not knowing otherwise how to spit out their venom against her, they devised each of them a letter, which they sent her. The first of these letters delivered unto her, came from the Doctor, which letter he left unpointed of purpose, because that in the reading of it, it might be poincted two ways, and made to seem either to her praise or dispraise, but Mistress Dorothy herself in the reading of it, poincted it as I have set it down, and followeth in this sort.  
And who would have thought mistress Dorothy, that for the loving advertisements given you by your friend, you could so lightly have shaken him of, if I burdened you with any thing that might seem grievous unto you, think it was Love that led me unto it, for that I protest inwardly in my mind, I never did esteem you otherwise then for as honest a gentlewoman as lines this day in Bridewell. I have heard say some have been scourged more upon evil will, then for any deserts whereof they might justly be accused, so if it be my hap to suffer undeserved penance, I must impute it to my own misfortune, but yet contrary to my expectation, considering how I have ever taken you to be given in your coditions to practise unseemly, filthy, and detestable things: I know you have ever abhorred to live chastened, decently, and orderly: you have ever been trained up to be wanton, proud, and incontinent: you never took delight in that was good, honest, or conmendable: you wholly gave yourself to lewdness, lust, and Lechery: you were an open enemy to virtue: a friend to vice. What should I say, I do but waste the time in the setting of you forth, and therefore will leave you like as I found you.  
This Letter brought Mistress Dorothy into such a fury when she had perused it, that she swore by no Beggars she would be so revenged upon the Doctor, that she would make him a spectacle to all the Physicians in the world, how they should abuse an honest gentlewoman while they lived. And in the midst of her Melancholy, her dearest friend the Soldier happened to come in, whom she made partaker of all her secrets, showing him the Letter which Master Doctor had sent her: and as they were devising how to use revengement, a Messenger was knocking at the door, to deliver a letter from the Lawyer, the tenure whereof followeth in this manner,  
May this be the reward of my true and faithful Love, which so firmly I have borne thee? Or is this the delight of thy dalliance, which so many times thou haste used with me? So carelessly to shake me of, as though I had committed some notable abuse, when in deed I have loved thee a great deal more, than I perceive thou art worthy of. Oh feminine flattery. O feigned fawning. O counterfeit courtesy. O deep dissimulation: But what hope is otherwise to be looked for in these Kites of Cressides kind. Or what constancy may any man think to find in a woman? No no, if a man may generally speak of their sex, you shall never find them but counterfeit in their courtesy, feigned in their friendship, dissembling in their deeds, and in all their actions most dangerous, for men to deal withal? For if she have a fair face, it is ever matched with a cruel heart, their heavenly looks with hellish thoughts: their modest countenances, with merciless minds: they have wit, but it is in wiles: if they love, it is too vehement: when they hate, it is to the death. But good God, with how many fopperies are they accustomed to feed fools, I mean such as be Lovemakers and Suitors unto them, whom they delay with as many devices, as they be in number that seeks to serve them. Some they lure with looks: some they practise with promises: some they feed with flattery: some they delay with deliance: some they wind in with wiles: some they keep with kisses: some they diet with dissimulation. One must wear her Glove, an other must wear her Garter, an other must wear her Colors: an other shall wear the spoil of as much as she can get from all the rest by cozenage, and yet to see how dainty these darlings, will seem to those that be not acquainted with their customs, were able to dash a young man out of countenance: I warrant you, they can make it more nice than wise: more coy than comely, more fine than honest. And to whom do they make the matter most dangerous, but to them that deserveth best to be rewarded: For where they see a man that is drowned in affection towards them, over him they will triumph, and can tell how to ride the fool without a snaffle: one while they will cross him with froward language, than again comfort him with some feigned look. Now she drives him into desperation with frounyng face, by and by she baits him again with banquets of uncertain hope, such is their evil nature (as I say) that they will show themselves most squeamish and dainty, to him that loves them most entirely, and him that seeks them least dishonestly, him they reward with their coldest courtesy. For better proof, let a man seek to win one of these tender pieces, that goes for a maid, honestly, and in the way of Marriage, and I warrant you she will make the matter more coy and nice to him that means good earnest, then to an other that comes but to try and prove them. And what signs of shamefastness will they seem to make, when a man doth but touch them: feigning themselves to be too young, when (in deed) if they once passed the age of fifteen years (if they were not a feared of breeding of bugs in their belly) by their good wills they would never be without the company of a man. Thus to conclude, their nature is openly to scorn all men, be their loves never so honest, and secretly to refuse no man be his lust never so lewd. Full aptly did Solomon in his proverbs compare you to Wine, that can make us so drunken which your devices, that notwithstanding we see the snares with our eyes, which you have set to entangle us, we can not shun the bait, which we know will breed our bane. Thus much Mistress Dorothy, I have thought good to signify unto you, whose discourtesy at this time hath caused me so generally to enuaie against your whole Sex, not otherwise minding to accuse yourself particularly, knowing that if you should otherwise have used me then you have, you should have degressed and swerved quite from your kind, and so I leave you.  
Gentlewomen I beseech you forgive me my fault, in the publishing this infamous letter, I promise you I do but signify it according to the copy, which this unhappy Lawyer sent to Mistress Dorothy, and when I had well considered the blasphemy that he had used against your sex, I cut my pen all to pieces, wherewith I did copy it out, and if it had not been for the hurting of myself, I promise you I would have cut and mangled my own fingers, wherewith I held the pen while I was writing of it: and trust me according to my skill, I could well have found in my heart, to encounter him with an answer in your defence, but then I was interrupted by an other as you shall well perceive. For the Soldier, which you have heard spoken of, that was remaining with Mistress Dorothy, when he had perused this Letter, was put into a wonderful chafe, and in the midst of his fury, he uttered these words.  
Ah most wild and blasphemous beast, what art thou that with such exclamations, goest about to defame those, whom by all honest humanity and manhood, we be willed specially to love, honour, and reverence, what art thou? A man, a devil or a subtle Lawyer, yea surely, and so thou mayest well be, and herein haste thou showed thyself no whit at all to degress from thy profession. For as at the first the Laws were constituted to minister justice, and to give every one his right, so now are they made by the practice of a number of Petty foggers, the instruments of all iniquity and wrong. Even so that worthy sex, which at the first were given unto man by the almighty God himself, to be his chiefest comfort and consolation. See here the practice of a wicked Caitiff, who with his eloquence would persuade us, that they were our greatest ruin and desolations: Ah wicked wretch that thou art, how thinkest thou to escape, thus to blow forth thy blasphemy, against those blessed ones, whom God hath perfited above all other creatures. For at their first creation, they were made of the most best and purified metal of man, where man himself was framed but of slime and dross: what reason then that being at the first framed most pure and perfect creatures, but that they should continue their first perfection to the end of the world. And like as at the first they were made more excellent than man, where should we now seek for grace, virtue, and goodness, but only in the feminine sex, according to their singular creation.  
I trust this is so evident that there is no man able to denaie it, and enough to prove, that as women at the first were created most perfect, so they have still remained the storehouse of all grace virtue and goodness, and that if there be any thing found in us men that is worthy of commendation, we are only to give thanks to women from whom we receive it, as being descended from out their entrails: but with how great and manifold miseries, should we men be daily afflicted, were it not for the comfort we find at women's hands, for besides that by their industry we be notified, made more clendly, and kept sweet, who otherwise of ourselves we should become to be most filthy and loathsome creatures, so at all times and seasons they be so necessary and convenient about us, that it were impossible for us to be without their blessed companies. First, in our health they content us with their familiarity, in our sickness they cherish us, in our mirth they make it more abound, in sorrow their company doth beguile our pensive thoughts, in pleasure they be our chief delights, in pain their presence breedeth comfort our grief, in wealth what greater treasure then to enjoy our beloved, in want what greater wealth than a loving and faithful wife, in peace we labour still to get their liking, in wars they make us show ourselves more valiant: but how is it possible that women should behave themselves, but that there are some will find fault with them: First, if she be familiar, we judge her to be light, if she seem any thing strange in her conversation ah we say she is a dangerous Dame▪ if merry, we thin● her to be nought, if sad, we say she is more grave than honest, if she be talkative, we say she is a tatlying housewife, if silent, we say she is a sheep, if clendly in her apparel, we say she is proud, if plain or homely, we say she is a doudie or a slut, if they denaie us their courtesy when we sue unto them, we say they be cruel Tigers, Bears, and Bugs, if they have compassion of us, we discredit them amongst our companions.  
But see here the cunning of a Caitiff, that would wrest the words of Solomon to the dispraise of women, because in his proverbs he compareth them to Wine, but to interpret the words of Solomon by Solomon himself: in an other place of the same proverbs, he willeth Wine should be given to comfort those that be feeble and weak, now compare these places together and see what harm he hath done to women, and in my opinion, he could not more aptly have made a comparison, for as Wine is a comfort to these that are feeble and weak, so are women our greatest solace, both in sickness and in health: But if any will say that Wine maketh us drunken, and from reasonable men to become more brute than beasts. I answer that the fault is not to be imputed to the Wine, but to the beastliness of him that taketh more than enough, for there is nothing so precious for our behoofes, but by our own abuse we make it seem most vile & loathsome: And thus granting master Lawyer his comparison to be true, he hath done little hurt, saving he hath showed himself a diligent scholar to his Master the devil, who is father of all lies, in maintaining so manifest a lie against such harmless creatures.  
There were many other speeches pronounced by this Soldier in the behalf of women, which I have forgot to recite. But I pray Gentlewomen how like you by this Soldier, do you not think him worthy a Sargantes fee for his answer: in my opinion, you ought to love Soldiers the better for his sake.  
But to return to Mistress Dorothy, those two letters had so vexed her, that there was nothing in her mind but how she ●●ght be revenged. Her friend the Soldier promised for her sake, that he would so cudgel both Master Doctor, and the Lawyer, that they should not in one month after be able to lift their arms to their heads, saving he witted not how to get them into a place convenient, for that it was dangerous to deal with them in the open streets. Mistress Dorothy giving him twenty kisses for his courtesy, told him she would devise to bring them into some place where he might work his wil  
Presently after, Mistress Dorothy sent for Master Doctor, whom she knew very well how to handle, and in a mild manner she began greatly to blame him, that being wise as she knew him to be, would so rashly judge of her, for that he might well know that there was some great cause, that moved her to use him as she had done, otherwise than he had conjectured: and thus with many other like speeches, she so smoothed the matter with Master Doctor, that she made him believe her husband had some suspicion in their familiarity, and that by his commandment she had abstained his company for a time, the which (Master Doctor qd she) I did for no evil will that I bear you, but for a time to blear my housebandes' eyes, thinking in the end so to have handled the matter, that we might have continued our accustomed friendship, without any manner of suspicion: And then drawing forth the letter, which the Doctor had sent her (she said): But see Master Doctor your good opinion conceived in me, lo, here the reward that I have for my courtesy bestowed of you, thus to rail and rage's against me, as though I were the most notable strumpet in a Country.  
The Doctor knowing in what form he had wright the letter, and desirous again to renew his late acquaintance, answered, that he never writ letter unto her, whereby he had given any occasion for her to take any grief. No have? (quoth Mistress Dorothy) read you then here your own lines, taking him the letter, which the Doctor as I told you before, had left unpointed, and therefore in the reading, he pointed it after this manner.  
And who would have thought (Mistress Dorothy) that for the loving advertisements given you by your friend, you could so lightly have shaken him of, if I burdeined you with any thing, that might seem grievous unto you, think it was Love that led me unto it, for that I protested inwardly in my mind, I did never esteem you otherwise, then for as honest a Gentlewoman as lives at this day. In Bridewell I have heard say, some have been scourged more upon evil will, then for any deserts whereof they might justly be accused: So if it be my hap to suffer undeserved penance, I must impute it to mine own misfortune, but yet contrary to my expectation, considering how I have ever taken you to be given in your conditions: to practise unseemly, filthy, and detestable things, I know you have ever abhorred: To live chastely, decently, and orderly, you have ever been trained up: to be wanton, proud, and incontinente, you never took delight: In that was good, honest, or commendable, you wholly gave yourself: to lewdness, lust, and Lechery, you were an open enemy, to virtue a friend, to vice: what should I say, I do but waste the time in setting you forth, and therefore will leave you like as I found you.  
I pray you Mistress Dorothy (quoth the Doctor) where is this railing and raging you speak of, I trust I have written nothing that might discontent you. Mistress Dorothy perceiving the Knavery of the Doctor, and seeing the matter fell out so fit for her purpose: First giving him a friendly buss she said. Alas my dear friend, I confess I have trespassed, in misconstering of your lines: But forgive me I pray you, and now have compassion of her, whose love toward you is such, that it is impossible for me to live, without your good liking, and seeing that my housebandes' jealousy is so much, that you can have no longer access to my house, but it must needs come to his ear, by such spy and watch as he hath laid, neither myself can go abroad to any place, but I am dogged, and followed by such as he hath appointed: But now if your love be but half so much towards me, as I trust I have deserved, and hereafter do mean to requite. I have already devised a mean, how for ever I might enjoy my desired friend, without either let or molestation of any one, seem he never so much to be offended at the matter.  
The Doctor the gladdest man in the world to hear these news, answered: And what is it then that should make you stagger, or doubt of the fredndship of your loving Doctor, no not if thereby I should hazard the loss, both of life & goods.  
Alas (quoth Mistress Dorothy) GOD defend I should work you so great a prejudice, and I beseech you use no more such speeches unto me, that I should go about to put you into any such peril, the remembrance whereof is more grievous unto me, then if I had felt the force of a thousand deaths, and now behold my determination, and what I have devised: You have a house not far hence standing in the fields, which you keep for your solace, and recreation in the time of Summer: to this house I have devised, how you may so secretly convey me, that you may there keep at your pleasure to your own use, and to my great contentation, where I may at pleasure enjoy him, more dearly beloved unto me, than the balls of mine own eyes. And herewithal she gave him an other judas kiss, that the Doctor desired her of all friendship, not to be long in her determination, for that he was ready to follow her direction, when soever it would please her to command: yea, if it were presently he was ready.  
Mistress Dorothy, who have driven the matter to that pass she looked for, said: Nay Master Doctor, there resteth yet an other thing, my housebandes' jealousy (as I told you) is such, that there must be great circumspection used, in the conveying of me away, and therefore give ear to that I have devised: I have in my house a certain Male with stuff, that is left with me, to be sent by the Carriers into the Country, whereof my husband doth know very well, this stuff I will cause to be secretly taken forth, and to be sent to the Carriers, trust up in some other thing, without any knowledge to any, saving to my Maid, that shall work this feat herself, whose trustiness I know to be such, as there is no suspicion to be had in the matter, the which when she hath done, she shall truss up me in the same Male, then see that you fail not to morrow in the Evening about eight of the clock, disguised in a Porter's weed, to come to my house to inquire for the same Male, which you shall say, you will bear to the Carriers, my Maid who shall of purpose, be ready to wait for your coming at the hour, shall make no bones to deliver you this Male, and thus without either doubt or jealousy of any one, you may carry me into the fields, where for your better ease you may take me forth, and disguising ourselves we may walk together, to your house aforesaid, where I may remain without any manner of suspicion, or knowledge to any, so long as it shall please yourself.  
O most excellent devise (quoth the Doctor) I have this matter already at my finger's ends, and I warrant you, you shall see me play the Porter so cunningly, that how many so ever I meet, there shall none of them be able to suspect me: Thus with a feigned kiss that she again bestdwed of him, for that time they departed.  
Mistress Dorothy, in like manner sent for the Lawyer, whom she handled in like sort, as she had done the Doctor, making him believe, that her housebandes' jealousy was such, as she durst no more come in his company: But of herself she loved him so entirely, that she would hazard any thing for his sake, and because he should the better believe it, to morrow (quoth she) in the after noon, my husband will be forth of the doors, wherefore I pray you fail not about three of the Clock to come and visit me, when we shall have laisure to disport ourselves, to our better contentation: Many like enticing words she used, which so persuaded the Lawyer, then dreading no bad measure at all, he promised her not to fail, but he would keep his hour: and thus departed very joyful, that he had again recovered his Mistress. And the next day, even as it had struck three of the Clock, he was knocking at the door of this Gentlewoman, who looking for his coming, was ready to receive him, and up they go together to a Chamber, which she had appointed for the purpose: where for a time she dallied him of with devices: And suddenly her maid (according as her Mistress had given her instructions) came hastily to the Chamber door, calling her Mistress, saying: that her Master was come in, and had asked for her: Mistress Dorothy, who was not to learn to play her part, seemed to be stricken into a wonderful fear, alas? quoth she to the Lawyer) for the love of GOD keep yourself secret for a time, that I may go down and rid him away, if it be possible, and thus going her way down, she shuts the door after her.  
The Lawyer who was ready to beraie himself for fear, crept under the Bed, where she let him alone, the space of an hour, and then coming up into the Chamber, and could not see him, she began to muse what was become of him: he hearing one was come in at the Chamber door, began to pry out under the Beds feet, and perceiving by the skirt of her gown who it was, with a faint voice he said: Alas my dear what news, is your husband gone? Ah my loving friend (quoth she) I was never so hardly beset sith I was borne: my husband i● come home with three or four of his friends, which he met withal in the city, and be come out of the Country of 〈◊〉, to make merry with him, and here they be appointed this night to Sup, and hither be come to their beds, so long as they remain in the city, and this Chamber is appointed for two of them to lie in, that for my life I know not what shift to make, nor how to convey you hence.  
Alas (quoth the Lawyer) then am I utterly undone, for the love of GOD, devise some means tonueigh me out of the house, for I would not remain all night in this perplexity, no not for all the gold in the world. Mistress Dorothy making a little pause, suddenly as though she had an invention, but even then come into her head, she said.  
I have this only remedy left, here is in the house a Male full of stuff, which should this night be sent to the Carriers: my devise is therefore to take forth the stuff, and lay it aside till sometime the next week, when I will make shift to send the stuff away very well, and you shallbe presently packed up in this Male, which my Maid shall do while I am below with my husband and his friends, and so causing a Porter to be sent for, he shall carry you to your Chamber, or to any other place, where it shall please yourself, so that my husband seeing this Male go forth of doors, will think it is the stuff, which he knoweth this night should be sent.  
No better devise in the world (quoth the Lawyer) and let the Porter convey this Male to my Chamber, you know where, and deliver it to my man, as sent from his M●ister, and will him to give him forty pence for his labour.  
The matter thus determined, Mistress Dorothy sent up her Maid with this empty Male, wherein she trussed up the Lawyer, and there she left him lying from five of the Clock, until it was passed eight, and in the Summer season the weather being very hot, the Lawyer had like to have been smothered where he lay: at the length according to poinctment, comes master Doctor disguised like a right porter, with a long gaberdine down to the calf of his legs, and he inquires for a Male that should go to the Carriers, yea a Marry (quoth the Maid) if you please to come in, it is ready for you, the Doctor being a good sturdy lubber, took up the Male very easily for fear of bruising the Gentlewoman's tender ribs, whom he had thought he had upon his back, and thus forth of doors he goes, taking the next way towards his lodging.  
Mistress Dorothy with her beloved Soldier (whom she had made privy to her devise) stood where she might see Master Doctor in his Porter's weed, going with his carriage, whereat when they had awhile sported themselves, the Soldier followed master Doctor an easy pace, but only to keep the sight of him, and the Doctor he took his way through the streets with a main pace, till he had recovered the fields, where looking about him, to see what company was stirring saw no body near him but the Soldier, whom he did not know, and then crossing the way from the common paths, he came to the side of a Bank, and being weary (as he was not to be blamed, considering the knavish burden that he had borne upon his back) he laying down the Male tenderly upon the side of the Bank) seeing no body but the Soldier, who was but a little distance from him, said. Ah my sweet wench, I can see no creature stirring in all the fields, but one man which is coming this way, who so soon as he is paste, I will undo the Male.  
The Lawyer in the Male, when he felt the Porter lay him down, was in a good hope, that he had been in his own chamber, but hearing by these speeches, that he was in the fields, began to conjecture assuredly, that the Porter had spoken those words to some woman that was in this company, with whom he was confederate, for the stealing of such things as they should find in the Male, and that when they should open the Male and find him there, they would not stick to cut his throat for fear, lest he should bewray them, and for the only spoil of such things as he had about him, that the Lawyer was in such a perplexity, that he witted not for his life what he might do: one while he had thought to have cried out for help than he thought it would the sooner bring him to his end, and as he continued thus in the midst of his muse, the Soldier was come to the place, and speaking to the Doctor, he said: Porter it seemeth thou haste been knavishlie laden, for I perceive thou art very hot, but what hast thou in the male, I pray thee, that thou art carrying his way so late in the Evening. Marry (quoth the doctor) I have ware there such as it is, hast thou aware knave (quoth the Soldier) is that a sufficient answer, what ware is it, men's ware, or women's ware. Sir I know not (quoth the Porter) I have but the carrying of it to a gentleman's house that is here hard by, well (qd the Soldier) undo your truss, for I will see what wares you have there, before you and I depart, why sir (qd the Porter) should I be so bold to undo a gentleman's male, that is delivered me in trust to be carried, no sir you shall pardon me, if you were my father, and herewithal he took the male upon his back, and began to go his ways. But the Soldier knowing better what was in the Male, than the Porter himself that carried it, and being provided for the purpose with a good Cudgel, let drive half a dozen blows at the Male, as it lay upon his back so surely, that the Lawyer cries out, alas, alas, alas. Why Porter (quoth the Soldier) have you quick wares in your Maleno marvel you were so dainty in the showing of it.  
Here withal the Doctor laid down his Male, and kneeling down to the Soldier, said. Ah sir for the love of God be content, and I will not let to confess the whole truth unto you: I have a Gentlewoman in my Male, which I have stolen from her husband, and seeing you to be a gentleman but young in years, and impossible but that you should love the company of a fair woman, behold, I will deliver her unto you, to use at your pleasure, and when you shall see time, to restore her unto me again, desiring you sir of all courtesy, to seek no other displeasure against us. You have said well (qd the Soldier) but is she such a one as is to be liked, fair, fresh, and young. Trust me sir (qd the Doctor) if she be not as fair, and well liking as any Dame within the walls of this city, make me an example to all other, how they shall dissemble with a gentleman such as you are. Thou sayest well (qd the Soldier) and now I think long till I have a sight of this Paragon, which thou haste so praised unto me. You shall see her strait way (qd the Doctor) and herewithal he began to unlace the Male with great expedition, which when he had unlosed at the one end, that he might come to the sight of this Gentlewoman's face (as he had thought) he said to the Soldier, see here the sight which you so much desire, and pulling the end of the Male open with his hands, the Lawyer thrust forth his head, and looked with such a piteous countenance, as though he had been ready to be turned of the Ladder: But the Doctor seeing a face to appear with a long Beard, was in such a maze, that he could not tell in the world what he might say. The Soldier who had never more a do then to forbear laughter, to see how these two, the one beheld the other: Said to the Doctor, and is this the fair Gentlewoman that thou haste promised me, hast thou no body to mock but me, that with such commendations thou givest praise to a woman, whereby to set my teeth an edge, and then in th'end thus to delude me? But I will teach thee how to play the knave again while thou livest, and here withal he laid on with his Cudgel, sparing neither head, shoulders, arms, back, nor breast, and so be bombasted the Doctor, that for the space of a quarter of a year after, he was not able to lift an Eurinall so high as his head.  
The Lawyer who had nothing out of the Male but his head, seeing this fray, struggeled so much as he could, to have gotten forth, and to have run away, while the Porter was a beating, but it would not be, his arms were so surely laced down by his sides, that for his life he could not get them forth.  
The Soldier, when he had throughly requited Master Doctors Knavery, that he had used against his beloved Mistress in his letter, left him, and began to bend himself towards the Lawyer: The Lawyer seeing the Soldier coming, had thought verily that he had been some good fellow that was walking there so late, to have taken some prey, said: Oh sir, for the love of God spare my life, and take my purse, to whom the Soldier answered: nay villain, my coming is neither to take thy life nor thy purse, but to minister revengement for thy large speeches, which like a discourteous wretch thou haste used against a woman, and there with all laid upon him so long as he was able to fetch any breath, and then calling the Porter unto him, he said: Let these words which I mind to speak suffice for a warning to you both, if ever I may learn that any of you hereafter this do use any misdemeanour towards any woman, either by word or writing, assure yourselves that although I have but dallied with you at this time, I will devise some one mean or other to minister revenge, that all such as you be, shall take an example by you. And thus I leave you, going his way to his sweet heart, telling her the whole discourse how he had sped, by whom he was welcomed with a whole last of kisses, etc.  
And now to return to those two that were left in the fields, as you have heard: the Doctor taking good view of the Lawyer, knew him very well, but the Doctor was so disguised in his Porter's apparel, that the Lawyer did not know him, but said unto him, a mischief light of all such Porters, that when they be put in trust with carriages into the City, will bring them into the fields to such banquets as these, Marry qd the Doctor a mischief take all such burdens, that when a man hath almost broken his back with bearing them, and then shall receive such a recompense for his labour as I have done: Villain (qd the Lawyer) why didst thou not carry me to my chamber as thou wert willed when thou didst receive me, I would I had carried thee to the Gallows (qd the Doctor) so I had escaped this scouring, but I perceive this banquet was prepared for us both, and here withal with much ado he got of the Porter's coat, and making himself known to the Lawyer, each of them conferred with the other, how cunningly they had been dealt withal, and did think it not best for them any farther to deal in the matter, for fear of farther mischief, but with much ado got them home, where the Lawyer kept his bed very long after: But the Doctor took Sparmaceti, and such like things that be good for a bruise, and recovered himself in a short space.  
Now it fell out afterwards that this Soldier, who lived in great credit with Mistress Dorothy (as he had well deserved) was employed in the Kings wars against foreign foes, with a great number of others, where he spent his life in his Prince's quarrel, & Mistress Dorothy, sorrowing a long time the loss of so faithful a friend, seeing the diversity of men, that she had made her choice amongst three, and had found but one honest, feared to fall into any further infamy, contented herself to live orderly, and faithfully with her husband, all the rest of her life, and her husband who never understood any of these actions, loved her dearly to his dying day.  
And now to say something of the other brother and his wife, which as you have heard was such a notable scold, that her husband could never enjoy good day, nor merry hour: She was such a devil of her tongue, and would so crossebite him with such taunts, and spiteful quips, as if at any time he had been merry in her company, she would tell him his mirth proceeded rather in the remembrance, of that she had brought him, then for any love that he had to herself: if he were ●adde, it was for grief she was not dead, that he might enjoy that she had. If he used to go abroad, than he had been spending of that he never got himself. If he tarried at home, she would say it was happy he had gotten such a wife, that was able to keep him so idly. If he made any provision for good cheer, or to far well in his house, she would bid him spend that which he himself had brought. If he showed himself to be sparing, than she would not be pinched of that which was her own. Thus do what he could, all that ever he did was taken in the worst part: And seeing that by no manner of fair means he was able to reclaim her: in the end he devised this way, himself with a trusty friend that he made of his counsel, got and pinioned her arms so fast, that she was not able to undo them, and then putting her into an old Petticoat, which he rend and tattered in pieces of purpose, and shaking her heir lose about her eyes, tore her Smock sleeves that her arms were all bare, and scratching them all over with a Bramble that the blood followed, with a great chain about her leg, wherewith he tied her in a dark house that was on his Backside, and then calling his neighbours about her, he would seem with great sorrow to lament his wives distress, telling them that she was suddenly become Lunatic, whereas by his geasture he took so great grief, as though he would likewise have run mad for company. But his wife (as he had attired her) seemed (in deed) not to be well in her wits, but seeing her husband's manners, showed herself in her conditions to be a right Bedlam, she used no other words but cursings and Bannynges, crying for the Plague and the Pestilence, and that the Devil would tear her husband in pieces: the company that were about her, they would exhort her, good neighbour forget these idle speeches, which doth so much distemper you: and call upon God and he will surely help you. Call upon God for help (qd the other) wherein should he help me, unless he would consume this wretch with fire & brimstone, other help I have no need need of. Her husband, he desired his neighbours for Gods that they would help him to pray for her, and thus altogether kneeling in her presence, he began to say (Miserere) which all they said after him, but this did so spite and vex her, that she never gave over her railing, and raging against them all. But in the end, her husband who by this shame had thought to have reclaimed her, made her to become from evil to worse, and was glad himself in the end, clean to leave, and to get himself from her into a strange Country, where he consumed the rest of his life.  
Thus to conclude, besides the matter that I mean to prove, Men may gather example here, when they go a Wiving, not to choose for beauty without virtue: nor for riches without good conditions. There be other examples if they be well marked, worth the learning: both for men and women, which I leave to the discretion of the reader.  
FINIS.   

Of Gonsales and his virtuous wife Agatha.  
The Argument of the sixth History.  
¶ Gonsales, pretending to poison his virtuous wife for the love of a Courtisane, craved the help of Alonso a Scholar something practised in Physic, who in the stead of poison gave him a powder, which did but bring her into a sound sleep during certain hours, but Gonsales judging (in deed) that his wife had been dead: caused her immediately to be buried: The Scholar again knowing the operation of his Powder, for the great love he bore to Agatha, went to the Vault where she was entombed, about the hour that he know she should awake. When after some speeches used between them, he carried her home to his own house, where she remained for a space, in the mean time Gonsales being married to his Courtisane, was by her accused to the Governor for the poisoning of his first wife, whereof being apprehended he confessed the fact, and was therefore judged to die, which being known to Agatha, she came to the judge, and clearing her husband of the crime, they lived together in perfect peace and amity.  
THere was sometime in the City of Seville in Spain, a Gentleman named Gonsales, who though he were a man of years sufficient to be stayed, and to give over the wanton pranks of youthful folly. Yet was he by nature so inclined to follow his lusts, and withal so variable and so unconstant, that he suffered himself to be ruled wholly by his passions, and measured all his doing rather by his delights and pleasures, than by sound discourse and rule of reason. This Gentleman falling in love with a Gentlewoman of the same City, whose name was Agatha, sought all the means he could to have her to wife. And her friends although they were well enough informed of the disposition of Gonsales, whereby they might have feared the entreaty of their kinswoman, for that they knew him very rich, and her dowry not to be very great, they were well content to bestow her upon him: and thought that they had in so doing placed her very well. But before the first year after their Marriage was fully expired, Gonsales following his wont humour, and waxing weary of love, grew to desire change, giving thereby a notable example for women to learn how little it is to their commodity or quiet, to match then●ise. 〈…〉 that be rather rich then wise: and how much it were better for them to be married to men, then to their goods.  
For being come to sojourn in that Street wherein he dwelled, a notable Courtesane, who to the outward show was very fair, though inwardly she was most foul, as she that under a goodly parsonage, did cover a wicked and dangerous mind, corrupted with all vices (as for the most part all such women doen.) It was Gonsales chance to be one of the first that fell into those snares, which she had set for such simple men's minds, as haunt after the exterior appearance of those things, which their senses make them to delight in, and not considering the danger whereunto they commit themselves, by following of their disordinate appetites, do suffer themselves to be entrapped by such lewd Dames: Among which this (forsooth) was one that was of singular skill to captive men's minds, which by experience and by the natural disposition of her mind, bend wholly to deceit and naughtiness: had learned a thousand giles and arts, which way to allure men with the pleasantness of her baits. Wherefore after he was once entangled with her snares, he fell so far beyond all reason, and past all belief, to dote upon this Strumpet that he could find no rest, nor no contentment, but so long as he was with her. But she being as dissolute a Dame as any lived in the world, and as greedy likewise of gain as ever any was of her profession, would not content herself with Gonsales alone, but yielded unto as many as list to enjoy her, if they came with their hands full, and spared for no cost to reward her liberally. Which thing was unto him, that was so besotted on her, so grievous and so intolerable, that nothing could be more.  
There was at that same time, a Scholar in the City that studied in Physic: with whom Gonsales had familiar acquaintance, and the Scholar thereby having access and conversation in his house, began so fervently to be in love with Agatha his wife, that he desired nothing so earnestly in the world as to enjoy her, and to win her good will. Wherefore having (as I have said) free access to her house, and to ●eclare his affection unto her without suspicion, he ceased not 〈◊〉 all the means he was able to devise, to solicit and to procure her to yield unto his desire. With his endeavour and earnest suit, although it were unto Agatha, noisome and displeasant, as she that was disposed to keep herself honest: and that she could in that respect have been very glad, that he would forbear to frequent her house. Yet knowing her husband to be a man of no very great substance, and but slenderly stuffed in the hedpeece: and that he delighted greatly in the familiarity of the Scholar, she forced herself to endure with patience, the importunate molestation, which he still wearied her withal. Taking from him nevertheless all hope, to obtain at any time any favour at her hands, and cutting him short from all occasions, as much as she could, whereby he might have cause to molest her, or to look for any thing to proceed from her, that were less than honest.  
The Scholar perceiving that his own travail, to win her affection was but labour lost, thought best to try if by the allurement or persuasion of any other, he might haply move her to show herself more courteous, and favourable unto him. Wherefore having found out an old Mother Elenour, a disciple of the Spanish Celestina, such a one as was most cunning and skilful in mollifying of women's minds, to work them afterward to receive the impressions of their lovers, he caused her to take acquaintance of Agatha, and by degrees (as though she had been moved with pity and compassion of case) to declare unto her the love which her husband bare unto the Courtesans: and to show her how unworthy he was that she should be true unto him. And in the end passing from one speech to an other, she said plainly unto her, that it was a great folly, since her husband did take his pleasures abroad with other women, to stand to his allowances, and to take the leaving of his Strumpets, and therewith to be content: and that, if she were in her case, and had a husband that would strike with the sword, she would undoubtedly requite him and strike with the scabbard, so she counseled her to do likewise.  
Agatha being a very discrete Gentlewoman, and loving her husband as an honest woman ought to do, said to her in answer of her talk, that she would be right glad to see her husband to be such a man as she wished him to be, and as he ought to be. But that since she saw it would not be, and that he could not frame himself thereto, she would not take from him or bar him of that liberty, which either the custom of the corrupted world, or the privilege that men had usurped unto themselves, had given unto them. And that she would never for her part violate or break that faith which she had given him, nor slack or neglect that care and regard of her honour, which all women by kind and nature ought to have, as the thing that maketh them to be most commended throughout the world, let her husband do what he list, and like and love as many other women as pleased him. And that she thought herself so much the rather bound so to do, because he did not in the rest misuse her any way, or suffer her to want any thing that reasonably she could desire or crave at his hands: and for that she had not brought him in effect any other dowry worthy to be accounted of then her honesty. Wherefore she was fully resolved never to vary from that constant resolution. And finally showing herself somewhat moved and stirred with Choler, she told her that she marveled at her not a little (that being a woman of those years) that she should rather reprehend and chide young folk, if she should see them so bend, then encourage them to evil, & mused much she could find in her heart to give her such counsel: which she assured her was so displeasant and so ungrateful, as if from hence forth she durst presume to speak thereof any more, she would make her understand perchance to her smart, how ill she could away with such pandarly practices.  
This old Hag having had her head washed thus without soap, departed from Agatha, and came unto the Scholar and told him in brief how ill she had sped, and in what sort the honest Gentlewoman had closed her mouth, whereof the scholar was very sorry: yet for all this, he thought he would not give over his 〈◊〉 imagining that there is no heart so hard or fiintie, but by long love, by perseverance, prayer, and tears, may in the end be mollified and wrought to be tender.  
In this mean season, Gonsales still continuing his old familiarity with the Scholar, and having made him privy of the love he bore unto the Courtisane, and what a grief it was unto him to see her enjoyed by any other then by himself: one day among other talk between them of that matter, he said bnto the Sholler, that it never grieved him so much to have a wife as it did then, for that if he had been unmarried he would have taken Aselgia (for so was the Courtisane named) to be his wife, without whom he could find no rest nor quiet in mind, and so long as every man hath a share with him in her, he accounted himself as ill as if he had had no part in her at all. And thereto said further, that assuredly if it were not for fear of the Law, he would ease himself of that burden by ridding of Agatha out of the world. Thereunto replied the Scholar, saying that in deed it was a grievous thing for a Gentleman to be cumbered with a wife, whom he could not find in his heart to love, and that in such a case, he that did seek the best way he could to deliver himself of that yoke, was not altogether unexcusable, though the rigour of justice had appointed severe punishments, for such as violently should attempt, or execute any such thing. But that men that were wise, could well enough find out the means, which way to work their intentes, without incurring any danger of the Law for the matter. Which language in deed he used unto him, but to feed his humour, and to see whereunto that talk in fine would tend: And according to his desire before it was long. Gonsales having used the like speeches, two or three times, and still finding him to sooth his saying, took one day a good heart unto him, and broke his mind unto the Scholar at large, and in plain terms, to this effect.  
Alonso (for that was the Scholars name) I do assure myself, and make full account, that thou art my fast friend, as I am thine, and I doubt not but that the friendship, which is between us, doth make thee no less sorry than myself, to see me grieve with this continual trouble of mind, wherein I live, because I can not compass to take this woman, whom I love so dearly to be my wife, and by that means come to have the full possession of her unto myself, which is the thing I do desire above all other things in the world. And for as much as I do persuade myself, that by thy means, and with the help of thy profession, I may hap to find some remedy for my grief. I have thought good to tell thee a conceit, which I have thought on oftentimes: wherein I mean to use thee and thy assistance, for the better accomplishing of my purpose in that behalf. Assuring myself that thou wilt not refuse, or deny me any furtherance, that thy skill may afford me, or shrink and draw back, from the performing of any friendly offer, whereby I may come by to find some ease of mind, and be delivered of that intolerable torment of spirit, wherewith I am oppressed, for the love of this Aselgia, in whom I have fixed and set all my joys and delights. Thou shalt therefore understand, that I am determined as soon as I can possible, to rid my hands of Agatha my wife and by one mean or other to cause her to die: And I have been a good while about the execution of this my intent, but because I could never yet devise the best way to perform it, so that her death might not be laid unto my charge. I have delayed it hitherto, and perforce, content to bear the heavy burden of my grieved mind till now, which hence forward I am resolved to bear no longer, if thou wilt according to my trust in thee, and as the friendship which is between us doth require, grant me thy furtherance and helping hand. Wherefore, knowing that through thy long study in Physic thou haste attained so great knowledge, that thou canst devise a number of secrets, whereof any one might be sufficient to bring my purpose to effect. I do require thee to fulfil my desire in that behalf, and to give me thy help, to bring this my desire to pass: Which if thou do, I will acknowledge myself so long as I shall live, to be so much bound unto thee, that thou shalt command me, and all that I have, in any occasion of thine, as freely and as boldly, as thou mayest now any thing that is thine own.  
The Scholar when he had heard Gonsales and his demand, stood still awhile, as musing upon the request, and in the mean while discoursed with himself, how by the occasion of his intent, and resolution of Gonsales, he might perhaps find out a way, to come by the possession of Agatha, and to have her in his hands, and at his devotion. But keeping secret his thoughts and meaning, he made him answer: That true it was, that he wanted not secret composissions, to make folk die with poison, so as it could never be discerned by any Physician, or other, whether the cause were violent, or no, but that for two respects he thought it not good to yield unto his request. The one, for that Physic and Physicians, were appointed in the world, not to bereave men of their lives, but to preserve them, and to cure them of such diseases, as were dangerous and perilous unto them: The other, because he did foresee, in what jeopardy he should put his own▪ life, whensoever he should dispose himself to work any such practice, considering how severely the laws have prescribed punishments for such offences. And that it might fall out, how warely so ever the thing were wrought, that by some seldom or unlooked for accident, the matter might be discovered (as for the most part it seemeth, that God will have it) in which case he were like to incur no less danger than Gonsales, and both (assured) without remission to lose their lives. And that therefore, he would not for the first respect, take upon him to do that, which was contrary to his profession● nor for the second, hazard his life to so certain a danger, for so hateful a thing, as those practises are to all the world.  
Gonsales very sorry to hear his denial, told him that the Laws and duties of friendship, doth dispense well enough with a man, though for his friend he strain sometime his conscience. And therefore, he hoped that he would not forsake him, in a cause that concern him so waightily as that did. And that neither of those two respects (if they were well considered) ought to be able to remove him from pleasuring of his friend. For that now adays, aswell were they accounted and esteemed Physicians, that killed their Pacientes, as they that did cure them: and because the thing being kept secret between them two alone, he needs not to doubt, or fear any danger of his life by the Law. For if it should by any mischance happen, that he should be imputed, or burdened with poisoning of his wife, he assured him that he would never whilst he had breath, confess of whom he had the poison, but would rather suffer his tongue to be pulled out of his head, or endure any torment that might be devised.  
The Scholar at the last seeming to be won, by the earnestness of his petition: Said, that upon that condition and promise, of not revealing him at any time, he would be content, rather to show himself friendly unto him, than a true professor of his Science, or an exact regarder of his conscience: and that he would do as he would have him.  
And having left Gonsales very glad and joyful, for that his promise, he went home, and made a certain composition of mixture of powders, the virtue whereof was such, that it would make them that took any quantity thereof, to sleep so soundly, that they should for the space of certain hours seem unto all men, to be stark dead. And the next day he returned to Gonsales▪ and to deliver it unto him, saying: Gonsales, you have caused me to do a thing, I protest I would not do it for my life: But since you may see thereby, that I have regarded more your friendship, than my duty, or the consideration of that, which is honest and lawful: I must require you eftsoons to remember your promise, and that you will not declare to any creature living, that you have had this poison of me.  
Which thing Gonsales very constauntlie upon his oath, did promise him again, and having taken the powder of him, asked him in what sort he was to use it: And he told him, that if at Supper, he did cast it there upon her meat, or into her broth, she should die that night following, without either pain or torment, or any grievous accidents, but go away even as though she were sleep. That Evening at Supper time, Gonsales failed not to put the powder into his wives pottage, who having taken it, as soon as Supper was done, feeling herself very heavy and drowsy, went to her Chamber, and gather to bed (for she lay not with Gonsales, but when he list to call he, which had been very seldom, since he did fall into love with the Strumpet) and within an hour after, the operation of the powder took such force in her body, that she lay as though she had been dead, and altogether senseless, Gonsales in like sort when he saw his time went to his bed, and lying all that night with a troubled mind, thinking what would become of Agatha, and what success his enterprise would take: the morning came upon him, before he could once close his eyes, which being come he rose, not doubting but that he should assuredly find his wife dead, as Alonso had promised him. And as soon as he was up, he went out of his house, and stayed but an hour abroad, and then he returned home again, and asked his Maid, whether her Mistress were up or no. The Maiden made him answer, that she was yet a sleep: And he making as though he had marveled at her long lying in bed, demanded her how it happened that she was so sluggish that Morning, contrary to her custom, which was to rise every Morning by break of the day, and had her go and wake her, for he would have her to give him some thing, that lay under her Keys. The wench according to her masters commandment, went to her Mistress bed side, and having called her once or twice some what softelie, when she saw she waked not, she laid her hand upon her, and giving her a shag, she said withal, Mistress awake, my Master calleth for you. But she lying still, and not awaking for all that the Maid took her by the arm, and began to shake her good and hard: and she not understanding, neither answering, nor stirring hand or foot. The Maid returned to her Master, and told him that for aught she could do, she could not get her Mistress to awake. Gonsales hearing the Maid to say so, was glad in his mind: But feigning himself to be busied about somewhat else, and that he regarded little her speech, he bid her go again, and shake her till she did waken. The Maid did so, and rolled and tumbled her in her bed, and all in vain: wherefore coming again unto her Master, she said unto him, that undoubtedly she did believe, that her Mistress his wife was dead, for she had found her very cold, and rolled her up and down the bed, and that yet she stirred not. What? dead qd Gonsales, as if he had been all aghast and amazed, and rising therewithal, he went to her beds side, and called her, and shaked her, and wrong her by the fingers, and did all that might be, as he thought, to see whither she were alive? But she not feeling any thing that he did, lay still like a dead body, or rather like a stone.  
Wherefore, when he saw his purpose had taken so good effect, to dissemble the matter, he began to cry out, and to lament, and to detest his cruel Destiny, that had so soon bereaved him of so kind, so honest, and so faithful a wife: and having in th'end discovered her body, and finding no spot or mark, whereby any token or sign of poisoning might be gathered, as one that would not seem to omit any office of a loving husband, he sent for the Physician to look upon her, who having used some such means, as he thought meet to make her come to herself: finally, seeing her to remain unmovable, and without sense, concluded, that some sudden accident had taken her in the night, whereof she had died, and for dead he left her.  
At which his resolution, though Gonsales were very glad yet to the outward show, declaring himself to be very sorry, and full of woe and heaviness, he behaved himself in snche cunning sort, as he made all the world believe, that he would not live long after her. And having called her friends, and lamented with them her sudden death, and his misfortune: in fine, he caused her Funeral to be very sumptuously and honourably prepared, and buried her in a Vault, which served for a Tomb to all his ancestors, in a Church of a Friary, that stands without the city.  
Alonso that was very well acquainted with the place, and had himself a house, not very far from that Friary, went his way that same Night unto his said house, and when he saw the time to serve for his purpose, he got him to the Vault or Tomb, wherein Agatha was laid, with one of these little Lanterns, that they call blind Lanterns (because they turn them, and hide their light when they list.) And because he was a young man of very good strength, and had brought with him instruments of Iron to open the Tomb, and lift up the stone that covered it, he got it open, and having under propped it surely: He went into the Vault, and took the woman strait way in his arms, minding to bring her out, and carry her away so a sleep as she was. But the force and virtue of the powder, being finished and spent, assoon as he moved her, she awaked out of her sleep, and seeing herself clad in that sort, among rags and dead bones, she began to tremble, and to cry: alas where am I? Or who hath brought me hither, wretch that I am? Marry that hath your cruel and unfaithful husband, answered the Scholar: who having poisoned you, to Marry a common Strumpet, hath buried you here, whether I come to try if by my skill I could revive you, and call back your soul by those remedies, which I had devised unto your body again: Which if I could not have done, as I intended, I was resolved to have died hereby you, and to have laid my dead body here by yours, to rest until the latter day, hoping that my Spirit should in the mean while have come and enjoyed yours, where ever it had been. But since the Heavens have been so favourable unto me, as in this extreme danger wherein you were, to grant such virtue unto the remedies, which I have used toward you, as the which I have been able to keep undissolved, your gentle Spirit with your fair body. I hope (my dear) that you will henceforth consider, what the affection of your wicked husband hath been toward you, and how great good will, and by consideration thereof, discern and resolve which of us two hath best deserved to be beloved of you.  
Agatha finding herself in that sort buried in deed, did easily believe the truth which the Scholar told her, and to herself concluded, that her husband had showed himself in her behalf, a man of all other most cruel and dis●●all. Wherefore turning herself toward the Scholar, she said unto him.  
Alonso, I can not deny, but that my husband hath been to me, not only unkind, but cruel also: nor I can not but confess, that you have declared yourself to be most loving and affectioned toward me: and of force I must acknowledge myself beholding unto you, of no less than of my life, since (alas) I see myself here among dead bodies buried alive. But for as much, although my husband have broken his vow to me. I have not yet at any time failed my faith to him. I do require you, that if you desire that I should esteem this kind and loving office of yours, as it deserveth to be esteemed, or make account of this life, which you have given me, you will have due regard and consideration of mine honesty, and that you will not by offering me any villainy (which nevertheless I can not any way misdoubt, where I have always found so much and so great courtesy) make this your courteous and pitiful act to be less commendable, and praise worthy than it is. Which if you do bridle your unlawful and sensual appetite and desire, will remain the most virtuous and worthy of honour and fame, that ever courteous Gentleman hath do●n for a miserable woman, since the world began.  
Alonso failed not with affectual and manifest arguments to persuade her, that her husband had now no more right or title to her at all, and that although he had, yet if she were wise, she should not commit herself unto his courtesy again, since by this mortal token, he had given her a sufficient testimony of his rancour, and evil will towards her, whereby she might well enough be assured not to escape, when soever she should resolve, to put herself again into his hands: and that therefore she was not to make any account of him, but to show herself thankful, for so great a benefit as she had received, and to requite him so with her favour and courtesy, as he might now in the end, attain to gather the fruit of his long and constant good will, and of his travel sustained for the safeguard of her life. And with those words bending himself toward her, he would have taken a kiss of her lips. But Agatha thrusting him back, said unto him again. If my husband (Alonso) have broken those bands, wherewith I was knit unto him by Matrimony, through his wicked and lewd demeanour, yet have not I for my part dissolved them, neither will I at any time, so long as I shall live. As for committing myself unto his courtesy, or going any more into his hands, therein I think it good to follow your advise: not that I would be unwilling to live and dwell with him, if I might hope to find him better disposed: but because I would be loath to fall eftsoons into the like danger and grievous peril. And as for requiting you, for this your commendable travail in my behalf, I know not what better recompense I am able to give you, then to rest bound unto you for ever, and to acknowledge myself beholding unto pour courtesy for my life: which obligation if it may satisfy you, I will be as glad and as content, as I may be in this miserable state wherein I am. But if your meaning perchance be, that the loss of mine honesty, should be the reward and hire for your pains, I do beseech you to departed hence out of this tomb, and to leave me here enclosed, for I had rather die here thus buried quick, through the cruelty of my husband, then through any such compassion or pity to save my life, with the loss of mine honour and good name.  
The Scholar by those words, perceived well enough the honest disposition of Agarha, which he wondered at, considering that the terror of death itself was not able once to move her from her faithfulness and constancy of mind. And though it were grievous unto him to find her so steadfast, yet hoping that by time in the end he might overcome her chaste and honest purpose, answered: that he could not but commend her for her disposition, though he deserved a kinder recompense of his long and fervent love, and she a more loving and faithful husband. But since she was so resolved, he would frame himself to be content with what she would, and not crave of her any thing that she would not willingly grant him to have. And therewith helping her out of the Sepulchre, he led her home unto his house, and left her there with an old woman that kept his house, to whom he recommended her, and whose help he was assured of, to dispose the good will of Agatha towards him, and the next morning returned into the City.  
Gonsales after a few days, seeming not to be able to live without a wife to take care of his family, wedded that honest Dame Aselgia, and made her Mistress of himself and all that he had. This his new Marriage so soon contrived, caused the friends of Agatha to marvel not a little, and to misdoubt that the sudden death of their kinswoman, had not happened without some mystery. Nevertheless, having no token nor evidence or proof, they held their peace. But Gonsales having his desired purpose and living with his new wife, it befell unto him (through God's just judgement with this his jolly Dame) as it chanced to Agatha with him before. For Aselgia that was never wont to feed with so spare a diet, as she that had never been contented before without great change, nor had not been used to that kind of straigtnesse (which Gonsales growing jealous of her, began to keep her in) but had always lived at liberty, and with such licentiousness, as women of her profession are wont to do, became in short space to show herself so precise unto him, and to hate and abhor him in such extreme sort, that she could not abide to see, or hear him spoken of. By occasion of which her demeanour towards him: Gonsales to his grief began at last, to know and to discern what difference there is between the honest and careful love of an honest wife, and the dissembling of an arrant Strumpet. Wherefore one day among the rest, complaining of the little love which he perceived she bore him, and she answering him thawartly. Gonsales falling into heat of Choler, said angrily unto her: have I thou naughty pack poisoned Agatha for thy sake, that was the kindest and the lovingest wife that ever man had, and is this the reward I have and the requital thou yieldest me, to show thyself every day more despightefull and crabbed than other? Aselgia having hard him and noted well his words, took hold of them, and strait way thought that she had found the way to rid herself of Gonsales: wherefore she revealed his speeches unto a Ribald of hers, such a one as supplied her want of that which Gonsales alone nor ten such as he were able to satisfy her withal, and induced him to appeach him for that fact, assuring herself that the Law would punish him with no lnsse then death, and thereby she to remain at liberty to do what she list again, as she had done before. This companion accused Gonsales upon his own words unto the friends of Agatha, who having had half a suspicion thereof before, went and accused him likewise before the judge, or head Magistrate of the City. Whereupon Gonsales and his woman were both apprehended and put to their examinations, to search out the truth: which Gonsales being half convicted by the confession of the gentle peat his new wife, but chief grieved with the worm of his own conscience, and to avoid the torment of those terrors which he knew were prepared for him, confessed flatly, affirming that he had poisoned her with a poison which he had kept of long time before in his house, performing yet therein the promise which he had made unto the Sholler. And upon his own confession, sentence was given against him that he should lose his head.  
Alonso, when he understood that Gonsaler was condemned to die, was very glad thereof, supposing that he being once dead, Agatha (who all this while for any thing that the old woman could say or allege unto her in the behalf of Alonso, would never yield or consent to any one point wherein her honour might have been touched or spotted) should remain at his discretion, and that she would no longer refuse to grant him her good will when she should see herself delivered of Gonsales. But the day being come wherein he was to be put to execution, she having had intelligence of all that had passed, and knowing that he was appointed to die that day, determined with herself that she would in that extremity deliver her disloyal husband, and give him to understand how little she had deserved to be so entreated by him as she had been. Wherefore having gotten out of Alonso his house, she hied her unto the City as fast as she could, and being before the justice or Magistrate she said unto him. Sir, Gonsales whom you have condemned and commanded to be put to death this day, is wrongfully condemned: for it is not true that he hath poisoned his wife, but she is yet alive, and I am she. Therefore I beseech you give order that execution may be stayed, since that your sentence is grounded upon a false enformation and confession is unjust, and you may plainly discern by me being here.  
When the Governor heard Agatha speak in this sort, whom he had thought to have been dead and buried, he was all amazed and half afraid to look upon her, doubting that she was rather her spirit or Ghost, or some other in her likeness then a lively woman in deed: for she was appareled in a very plain and black attire, and was very wan and pale by reason of the affliction which she had endured. First, for her own ill fortune, and then for the mischance of her husband.  
In this mean while, the Sargantes and Officers had brought Gonsales before the justice or Magistrate, to the end that he (according to the custom of the City) should give them commandment to lead him to the place of execution, and there to fulfil his sentence upon him. But as soon as Agatha perceived him, she ran unto him, and taking him about the neck and kissing him she said. Alas my dear husband, whereunto do I see you brought through your own folly and disordinate appetite which blinded your judgement. Behold here your Agatha alive and not dead: who even in that extremity is come to show herself, that loving and faithful wife unto you, that she was ever.  
The justice or Governor seeing this strange accident, caused execution to be stayed, and signified the whole case unto the Lord of the Country, who at that time chanced to be at Scivill: who wondering no less than the other at the matter, caused both Gonsales and his wife to be brought before him, and demanded of them how it had chanced that she having been buried for dead was now found alive. Gonsales, could say nothing but that for the love he bore unto Aselgia he had poisoned his wife, and that he knew not how she was revived again. But Agatha, declared how the Scholar with his skill had delivered her from death, and restored her life unto her, but how or by what means she could not tell.  
The Lord having sent for Alonso, and demanded him of the truth, was certified by him, how that in steed of poison he had given to Gonsales a Powder to make her sleep: Affirming likewise that notwithstanding the long and earnest pursuit, which he had made to obtain her love, and the cruelty and injury which she saw her husband had used toward her, to put her in that danger and peril of her life, out of which he had delivered her, yet could he never by any persuasion or entreaty win her to fulfil his desire, or bring her to make breach of her faith and honesty. By which report the Lord knew very well, that in an honest woman the regard and respect of her honour and chastity, doth far exceed any other passion, for any misery be it never so great. And commending highly the love, and constancy of the woman toward her husband, and praising the policy of Alonso, he turned himself unto Gonsales, and said unto him: Full evil hast thou deserved to have so good, and so virtuous a Gentlewoman to thy wife, and in reason she ought now rather to be Alonso his wife than thine: Neither wert thou worthy of less than that punishment, which the Law hath condemned thee unto, though she be yet alive, since thou, as much as in thee lay, hast done, to bereave her of her life. But I am content that her virtue and goodness, shall so much be available unto thee, that thou shalt have thy life spared unto thee for this time: not for thy own sake, because thou deserueses it not, but for hers, and not to give her that sorrow and grief, which I know she would feel, if thou shouldest die in that sort. But I swore unto thee, that if ever I may understand that thou dost use her henceforth, otherwise then lovingly and kindly, I will make thee to thy grievous pain prove how severely I can punish such beastly and heinous facts, to the example of all others.  
Gonsales imputing his former offence, to want of wit and judgement, made promise unto the Lord, that he would always do as he had commanded him. And accordingly having forsaken clean that baggage Strumpet, that he had wedded: He lived all the rest of his days in good love and peace with Agatha his wife, whose chaste and constant mind, caused Alonso where before he loved her for her excertor beauty, ever after to reverence her, and in manner to worship her as a divine creature, for the excellency of her virtue. Resolving with himself that a more constant faith and honest disposition could not be found in any mortal woman.  
FINIS.   

Of Aramanthus. borne a Leper.  
The Argument of the seven. History.  
¶ Armanthus son to Roderick King of Tolosia, being borne a Leper, was sent by his Father to the isle of Candy for remedy, and by a Tempest at the Sea, the Ship was driven into Turkey, where she was cast away, and no man saved but the child, which was taken up by a poor Fisherman, and fostered as his own son, and afterwards serving the Turk in his wars, showed himself so politic, that the Turk by his only advise, encroached much upon the Christians, and in fine, by his mean the City of Tolosia was taken, his father put in prison, and how in the end he was known to be the son of Roderick.  
I Shall not need by any long circumstance to describe, how many troubles, tumults, broils, Brabbles, Murders, Treasons, how kingdoms have been disturbed? How many Countries laid waste? How many Cities have been sacked? How many Towns have been razed, and how many mischiefs have ever happened, sithence the first creation of the world, until this present day, by that monstruous vice Ambition. Considering that every History maketh mention, every Chronicle beareth record, and every age, time, and season, have seen with their eyes, and this our tale that followeth shall some thing make more evident.  
There was sometime remaining in the famous City of Tolosia a worthy King, whose name was Roderick: who was likewise espoused to a most virtuous Queen called Isabella, and truly a happy Court it might be called, which they held, as well for the love that was between the King and Queen: as for the virtue and clemency, wherewith both the one and the other were accompanied.  
There was remaining in the Court, the Duke of Ca●ia, who was the only brother of Roderick King of Tolosia: This Duke being a great deal more vicious than his ●●ether was virtuous, practised no other thing, but how he might come by the Kingdom of Tolosia: Knowing that there were no more between him and it but the King, who loved him more dearly by a great deal than he deserved. But it fell out the Queen Isabella was known to be with child, the Duke very loath that any other heirs should step in between him and home, devised to poison the Queen, & so had thought to have done, by as many as the King should have taken to wife (if at any time they proved to be with child) but by the providence of God, this poison took no great effect in the Queen, saving that when she was delivered of a son, the child was found to be in a notable Leprosy, and the King having intelligence of an excellent Physician, (but especially for the curing of that disease) was remaining in the isle of Candy, prepared a Ship presently to send the child, which by the extremity of a contrary wind, was driven into Turkey, and the Ship cast away upon the main, and all the men drowned excepting the child, which being in a Cradle was carried to the Shore as it lay. Where a Fisherman found it, with such sumptuous furnitures about it, with a very rich jewel hanging about the neck. He took it up in his arms, and carrying it home, with Baths and homely Ointments of his own devising, within a very little space, the child was restored to perfect health, whom he called Aramanthus, and brought him up as his own Son, the child knowing no other in deed, but that the Fisherman had been his father, and as Aramanthus grew in years, so he proved of a very comely parsonage, but of a most excellent and perfect wit, although he had no other training up, but used to go to the Sea with his father a fishing.  
Now it fell out that the Turk was leaviing a mighty Army, to set upon the Christians, the cause was t●is, he had two children, a son and a daughter, the daughter her name was Florella, whose beauty was very excellent, and minding to match his daughter with some noble Prince, he pretended that such Countries, Cities, Towns, Castles, Forts, or what so ever he could by conquest get from the Christians, to give them all for his daughter's dowry.  
Aramanthus hearing of this preparation to the Wars, would needs become a Soldier, where at his father the Fisherman was greatly displeased, and began to preach unto his son of the incommodities of war, and with how many miseries Soldiers are besieged. Aramanthus whose baseness of his bringing up, could not conceal the nobility of his birth, would in no wise be persuaded but go he would, and being pressed for an ordinary Soldier, when he came to the place of service showed himself so valiant, and in very short space became to be so expert, that that Captain under whose Ensign he served, bore away the credit from all the rest: and in the end was himself preferred to charge, which he governed with so great discretion, and still conducted with such celerity and sleight, that who but Aramanthus and his company had the only name throughout the Turks camp, and where there was any attempt to be given, where valiancy should be shown, Aramanthus he must give the charge, and where any policy must be put in practice, Aramanthus he must lay the plat: that to be short, he grew into such credit with the great Turk himself, that Aramanthus only gave him counsel in all his affairs, and there with all had so good success, that his practices still prevailed, and came to happy end, that the Turk by his advise, had done wonderful spoils upon the Christians, and had taken from them many Cities, Towns, and Provinces.  
And thus leaving them in the wars for a season, I will convey my tale again to Isabella Queen and wife to Roderick, who was now the second time known to be with child, whereat the Duke of Caria being wonderfully wroth, pretending to find a quick dispatch for all together, he secretly accused the Queen of Adultery, to the King his brother, and with such allegations, and false witnesses as he had provided, so informed the King that his tale was credited: and the rather for that the king knowing his Queen to be with child did think himself too far spent in years, to do such a deed. And yet the King was replenished with so great pity, that he could not endure to hear of her death: He therefore by a messenger, commanded her presently to departed the Court: and in pain of her life, never after to come in his presence. These news did wonderfully amaze the Queen, who with many piteous intercessions, desired to know her accusers, and that she might but speak for herself before his Majesty, and then as he should find her, to use her according to her deserts. But all in vain, for the Duke had so throughly incensed the King, that he would neither abide to see, nor hear her. The duke understanding how matters had passed, came to the Queen, and seemed much to lament her case, persuading her to hold herself contented for a little season, not doubting but in time, that he himself would so persuade with his brother, that she should be heard to speak in her own defence, in the mean season, if it pleased her to use his house in the Country he would provide for her all manner of necessaries, what soever she should want, and for her better comfort, if she had any assured friend, whose company she desired, that she might secretly send for them, to hold her fellowship, and to pass the time: and that he himself would many times visit her, and daily inform her, how matters did pass in her behalf, with the King his brother.  
The poor Queen, thinking all had to proceed of good will which this Traitor had proffered, gave him more than a thousand thanks, reposing herself, and the innocency of her cause, only in this judas, who practised nothing else but her death, and the death of that she went withal.  
The next day he provided a couple of Ruffians, such as he knew were for his purpose, which should have secretly conveyed her to the Duke's houses (as she had thought) but as the Duke had willed them, as they road over a Forest, when they came to the side of a wood, they took her from her horse, spoiled her of such things as were about her, and minded to have killed her, and thrown her in some Bush: But it fell out that there were certain banished men in the Wood, which lived in that desert in manner of Outlaws, and hearing the piteous complaint of the Queen, they came to her rescue, but the villains that would have slain her, perceiving them, fled, and left the Queen, where these Outlaws came unto her: unto whom from point to point she declared every thing, how it was happened unto her, the Outlaws having great compassion, when they knew her to be the Queen for that they had ever heard her to be Nobly reported on, brought her with them to their Cave, where they ministered such relief to her distress, as men might do that were in their estates. The Queen thinking that God had preserved her life, to some better purpose, contented herself for a season, to remain amongst them: Where she learned to play the Cook, and to dress their meat, such as they brought in, or could provide for in the Forest. And thus leaving the Queen with these Outlaws, I will return again to speak of Aramanthus, who was now devising to frame a plot, how he might betray the city of Tolosia, whereof his Father was King, as you have heard.  
For the Turk having intelligence, of the pleasantness of this city, and of the wonderful wealth and riches, wherewith it did abound, and therewithal had learned, that it was of such force and invincible strength, that there was no manner of hope, how it might be subdued, whereat the Turk was very sorrowful and sad.  
But my young Fisherman Aramanthus, whose cunning never failed, where courage could net help, caused the Turk with his whole army by sea, to come before this city, which is situate fast upon the sea side, and there to come to an anchor, where Aramanthus himself; as a messenger appointed from the Turk, came to the king of Tolosia, to whom he told this tale: That the Turk his Master, having been in dives parts of Christendom, where he had made wars a long space, and upon divers considerations, minding to depart with his Army, into his own Country for a season, and being upon the Seas: one night as he was lying upon his bed, behold, a vision appeared unto him in a Dream, which showed him how grievously he had offended the God of the Christians, in the persecuting, spoiling, and the murdering of them, as he had done in this journey, and for that he should know, that the Christian God, was the most high and Almighty God in deed, whom with his tyranny he had so displeased, he should be creepled of al● his limbs from that time forth, till his dying day, which should very shortly follow, with this he awaked, and giving a piteous groan, such as was about him coming unto him, found him in a wonderful maze, and so benumbed in all his parts, that he was not able to stir hand nor foot: The next day calling his Counsellors and Captains about him, not able of himself to come forth amongst them, but as he was brought out of his cabin on men's backs, he declared unto them the whole circumstance of the premises, and being stricken with a wonderful remorse in conscience, he determined to sail back again, not minding to departed from out those parts of Christendom, till he had made satisfaction of all such spoils and outrages, as he had committed against the Christians, and himself with his whole army to become Christened, and there to be instructed in the true and perfect faith, and as he continued this determination, behold, a contrary wind hath driven us on these parts, where hearing of the Fame of this Noble city of Tolosia, he hath sent me unto your grace, desiring nothing but your safe conduct for himself, and certain of his chief Lords and Counsellors that be about him, that in this noble city they might be Baptized, and receive the Christian faith, promising hereafter, not only to join in league, and perfect amity with the Christians, but also to link with them in Religion, himself, his Countries, Kingdoms, and Provinces.  
This tale was not so smoothly told, but there was great doubt and suspicion had in the matter, in the end thinking they could receive no prejudice, by receiving of so small a number, gave safe condite for the Turk himself, and for five hundred of his company, such as it pleased himself to appoint.  
The next day, the Turk was brought into the city on men's shoulders, with his appointed company, where he was worthily received by the king himself, with the rest of his lords, and brought into a Palace of purpose, very richly furnished, where being laid down upon a bed, as though he had been able neither to stand nor sit, and giving the King, with the rest of his company, great thanks for his entertainment he desired him with the Duke his brother (according to the custom) to be his Godfathers when he should be Christened, to which request they both willingly agreed: the next day the Turk himself was the first that received Christendom, and then all the rest of his noble men that were with him, the which being finished, many godly exhortations were preached unto them by learned menue. The Turk seemed in very grateful manner to take this courtesy, wherewith the King had used him: and thus taking his leave himself with all his company, departed again aboard the ships: the Turk himself being carried upon men's backs, making show as though he had been so feeble and weak, that he had not been able to have moved, or stirred any one joint without help, feigning that he would have departed with his company into Turkey.  
The King of Tolosia with all his people and Citizens, seeing with what devotion the Turk with the rest of his company, had received Christendom, began to think assuredly, that only by the Divine providence of God, the Turk was so converted, and doubted nothing of the tale, which Aramanthus before had told them, which turned in the end to their utter subversion. For the next day Aramanthus coming again to the King, brought word of the death of the Turk, and with a piteous discourse uttered, with a number of feigned sighs, said: that about twelve a clock of the night past, the Turk deceased, and desired at the hour of his death that as in this worthy city, he had received the true and Catholic faith, so likewise that he might be entoumbed, and receive Christian burial in the Cathedral Church, to the which he had given by his will forty thousand franks, more to the common Treasure of the city, an hundred thousand franks, to the King himself as a precedent of his good will, a rich jewel, which himself did wear of great estimation, to the Duke his brother, his own Armour and furniture. Item, to the relief of the poor within the city, ten thousand franks. Many other things (qd Aramanthus) he hath bequeathed, that I have not spoken of, the which God willing, shallbe performed to the uttermost.  
The king seemed greatly to lament the death of the Turk and began to conjecture assuredly, that it was the will of God but to preserve his life, till he had received Christendom, but the time of his burial, was deferred for certain days, till things might be provided, and more ready for the pomp, and solemnising of his Funeral, and wonderful cost was bestowed by Aramanthus, who had the only ordering of the matter, hoping in the end to receive the whole commodity: and also to be rewarded with a large and bountiful interest. The day of burial being at hand, Aramanthus desired the king, that for so much as the Turk had finished his days in the midst of his army amongst his Soldiers, that he might likewise be buried like a noble captain, and according to the manner of the field: he might be brought to his grave with certain bands, trailing their weapons, as the custom of soldiers is to bury their dead. This request seemed to be very convenient, and therefore was the readilier granted: but what should I stand with long circumstance, to decipher all the Ceremonies that were used in this treason. The day was come, that this practice must be put in ure, and an empty coffin solemnly brought to the city, under show of great sorrow, when they were all filled with great joy and gladness, to see what happy success was like to follow, of that they had premeditated, and according as Aramanthus had given order, 5000. of their chose men were appointed to march, the one half before, and the other half after the Coffin, trailing their Ensigns and weapons, and in this manner they entered the city, where the king with his nobles and principals of the city, were ready in mourning weeds to accompany the Corpse. When Aramamnthus saw his time, the Alarm was given, and he himself was the first that laid hands of the king his Father, the rest of his nobles were so enclosed, that there could not one of them escape: Defence there was none to be made, for the one side were in Arms, killing and murdering of as many as they could see stirring in the streets: The other side unprovided, glad to hide themselves, for the safeguard of their lives: The rest of the fleet were likewise in a readiness, and coming a land, entered the city, where there was no man to repulse them. And thus the famous city of Tolosia was taken by the Turks, even in a moment, without any manner of resistance: the churches and prisons were filled full of Christians, where they were whipped, racked, and tormented to the death, unless they would forsake their Faith. The king himself with his brother, and all the Lords, were committed to prison, there to be fed with bread and water (and yet to be scantled with such short allowance, as it was not able to suffice Nature) and so to be dieted, unless they would forsake their Faith.  
Now the Turk, who only by the means of Aramanthus, had conquered from the Christians so many cities and towns, for the love he bore unto him, and in respect of his service, determined to make Aramanthus his son in law, and to give him his daughter Florella for his wife: and for her dowry, all such parts as he had taken from the Christians by conquest and understanding that the father of Aramanthus was but a poor Fisherman, he pretended likewise to make him a duke, and to give him living to maintain his estate. The Turk therefore with allpossible speed, hasted messengers with shipping, to bring his daughter, with the old Fisherman, the supposed Father of Aramanthus, to this City of Tolosia, where he minded to perform that he had determined.  
Now it fell out, that the miserable Queen Isabella (whom you have heard was left with child, remaining with certain Outlaws) was delivered of a Daughter, which she herself nursed in the Cave, where she had remained, and hearing that the Turk had taken the city of Tolosia, would needs go see what was become of the king her husband: her daughter which was not yet fully a year old, she committed to the Outlaws, to be fostered with such homely junkets, as their could provide, woe seeing her determination, promised to dry Nurse the child, so well as they could, till she should make return. Thus preparing herself in a very simple attire, with a bondle of Brooms on her head, she came to the city of Tolosia, where roaming up and down the streets to sell her Brooms, she learned all that had happened to the King, and how he was ready to perish, for want of food and sustenance wherefore minding to give such succours, as her ability would serve: She devised in the manner of a poor servant, to get into the service of the Turk, who was the jailer, and had the custody of the King, where every Night, as opportunity would serve, she conveyed to him through a grate, such fragments as she spared out of her own bailie, which were very short, and there withal much more homely, but somthyng the better to amend his cheer. She would lean herself close to the grate, and thrusting in her Teat between the Irons, the king learned again to suck, and thus she dieted him a long season. Neither wist the king what she was, that bestowed on him so great grace and goodness: yet he blessed her more than a thousand times a day. And although there were many of his company, that died for want of sustenance, yet he again with these banquettes recovered himself, and began to wax strong. Whereat the Turk began to suspect some partiality in the jailer, and caused a privy watch to be kept: but Isabella suspecting nothing, according to her accustomed manner, at night when it was dark came to her Nursery, where her order that she so long used, was espied, and being apprehended by the watch, the next day she was presented to the Turk, and in what manner they had found her, whereat the Turk wonderfully aggrieved: Swore by Mahounde himself, that she should presently be tortured, with the greatest torments that might be devised. And in the midst of his fury, word was brought him that his Daughter Florella, with the Fisherman that was Father to Aramanthus were arrived, and ready to present them selves before him, whereat the Turk wonderfully rejoiced, and ca●lyng Aramanthus, caused them to be brought in, Florella gave that reverence to the Turk, which both appertained to the duty of a Child, and also as belonged to his estate. Aramanthus likewise, although he were the greatest counsellor, appertinent to the Turk, yet used that dutiful reverence to the Fisherman his Father, as is to be required in a Child. The Turk embracing his Daughter Florella, told her the cause that he had sent for her, was to espouse her to Aramanthus, who although the Destinies had denaied to make Noble by place of birth, yet through his Virtues, valiance, and worthy exploits, he had gained the title of true Nobility, in despite of Fortune's teeth. Florella having heard of the Fame and worthiness of Aramanthus, was the best pleased woman in the world.  
And the Turk turning him towards the Fisherman, said: And a thousand times happy art thou old Father, that hast lived to see thyself so highly exalted in thy offspring: The poor Fisherman kneeling down, said: Most mighty, and magnificent Prince, not minding longer to conceal the thing, which might redound so greatly to the contentation of such worthy personages, seeing then that Aramanthus, who only through his own valiancy, hath aspired to so great dignity and honour. How greatly were I then to be blamed, and how worthily might I be condemned? If I should take upon me to be the sire of him, who by all likelihood, is descended of Royal and Princely race, for better testimony, behold this rich mantel, and these other costly furnitures, wherein I found Aramanthus wrapped, and by seeming saved by his Cradle, which brought him a Shore, from some Ship that was wracked, where I found him by the Sea side (as I say) wrapped in these sumptuous Furnitures, with this rich and precious jewel about his neck, being but an infant▪ by conjecture not above the age of a quarter of a year, where taking him up in my arms, I brought him home to my house, called him by the name of Aramanthus, and thus fostered him up as my own child, until the day that he came to serve your Majesty in the Wars.  
The Queen Isabella which stood by, and heard this discourse, and seeing the furnitures and the jewels, wherewith she had decked her child, assuring herself that Aramanthus was her son, could no longer stay her speech, but said: And do I then behold my son with my unhappy eyes, is he living here in presence, whom I deemed to be dead? Oh most gracious Gods I yield you humble thanks, and would to God my son thy coming had been but half so happy, as thy presence is joyful to me thy wretched mother. What news be these (qd the Turk) which I heard, I think the woman be out of her wits: but what art thou that wouldst challenge Aramanthus for thy son, whose parents now I well perceive, are no beggars like thyself. Yes surely (quoth the Queen) and much more miserable, than those that go from door to door: and although his father sometime swayed the sword of government, and sat in place and seat of Princely Throne. Dispatch then at once (qd the Turk) and tell me who is his father, and what is the misery wherewith he is perplexed: wherein if thou canst persuade me with a truth, assure thee that only for Aramanthus sake, I am the man that will minister release.  
Behold then (qd the Queen) King Roderick is his Father, whom thyself keepest here in prison, in this miserable manner, and I whom thou seest here am his mother, the wife of the King, and sometime the Queen of this wretched City of Tolosia, who being delivered of a son, which by the pleasure of GOD was visited in my womb, and borne in an extreme Leprosy: for help whereof he was sent by his Father by Shipping to the isle of Candy, and till this present day there was never tidings heard, either of the Ship, or of any one man that was in her. And now behold I see with mine eyes the furnitures wherein I wrapped my child, and the jewel which I put about his neck, with my own hands at his departure: the Fisherman verifying this tale to be true, said in deed that he found him in an extreme Malady, which he cured himself with medicines of his own providing.  
Aramanthus having heard how matters were sorted out, began to tear himself, saying: Ah most wicked and unnatural wretch, what Furies have saved thee, that thou wart not drowned with the rest, but that thou must be preserved as an Instrument to work thy Parents wrack: Come come you Hellish Hags, and show your force on him that hath worthily deserved it. But what hath Tantalus offended, that he should continually be starved? Or how hath Sisyphus that rolls the restless Stone? Or what trespass hath been committed by Prometheus, Ixyon, Titias, or Danaus' silly daughters, drawing water at the Well: that may be compared to that which I have done, is it possible them that I should escape unpunished? Or that the sacred Gods will be unrevenged of my fact, no no, I have deserved to be plagued, and have merited more worthily to be tormented then any of these afore rehearsed. Florella over hearing these desperate speeches, fell down in a sown for grief to see her Aramanthus so disquieted. The Turk after his daughter was come again to herself, forrowed to see the heaviness of Aramanthus, caused the King his father, with the Duke of Caria presently to be sent for out of prison: And taking Isabella on the one of his hands, and Aramanthus on the other, he said to the King: Receive here noble Prince, a most loving and faithful wife, and a most valiant and worthy son: And myself from an enemy, for ever after this, to become thy most assured and trusty friend.  
The King was wonderfully amazed to hear these speeches, did think himself to be in some dream: till in the end he heard the whole discourse how every thing had happened, and being ravished with gladness, he said.  
O happy evil, which bringeth in the end so great a good, and welcome be that sorrow, whereby is sprung a joy, much more surmounting, then ever was any heaviness: and with many like speeches, he still embraced his son Aramanthus in his arms, and although he 〈…〉 it was the Queen his wife, which so louin● 〈…〉 him, when he was ready to have 〈…〉 want of meat: yet he could not 〈…〉 any countenance, considerg●● 〈…〉 her, by the information 〈…〉 which being 〈…〉 forgiveness: he 〈…〉 the beginning 〈…〉 sorry and 〈…〉 so virtue 〈…〉 so 〈…〉 had.  
Well (quoth her father) then see you ●ame your 〈…〉 like well of my liking. I have promised you to Phylotus in marriage, and Phylotus is he that shall be your husband, and   

〈◊〉 ●●●lotus and Emelia.  
〈…〉 viii. History.  
〈…〉 Citizen of Rome, falleth in love 〈…〉 beautiful virgin 〈…〉 the wonder●●●● 〈…〉 his daugh●●● 〈…〉 as prettily 〈…〉, who 〈…〉  
seen their own error, and there withal have confessed their abuse, yet their have not been able to refrain themselves, from prosecuting their folly to the end, and all be it, reason proffereth us sundry sufficient causes, why we ought to refrain the appetite of our own desires, yet fancy then is he that striketh such a stroke, that reasons rules can nought at all prevail, and like as those whom love hath once entangled, the more they strive the farther they be tied, so it is unpossible that love should be constrained, where affection breeds not liking, nor fancy is not fed, but where these two hath once joined in election, all other affects be so dim and blinded, that every vice seemeth to us a virtue, whereof springeth this Proverb. In love there is no lack, so that in deed to say the truth, if there be any piety to be imputed to this raging love, it is in that it is not partial, nor hath it any respect of persons, but be they friends, be they foes, be they rich, be they poor, be they young, be they old, be they wise, be they foolish, love is still indifferent, and respecteth all a like: but if any man will think that in respect of beauty, we esteem not all the rest: I am able to say it is not true, considering how many have forsaken the better liking, and have chosen the worse, so that for my part the more I consider of it, the more I am 〈◊〉, and therefore will beat 〈◊〉, that I would go about to contrary the credi●bbornly would refuse what soever you would think convenient for my behoof, and although you shall find in me such duty as is meet for a daughter, and all obedience that is fit for a child, yet sir consider the heart which can not be compelled, neither by fear, neither by force, nor is not otherwise to be lured, then only by fancies free consent, and as you have bestowed on me this frail and transitory life, so my body shall be at your disposition as it shall please you to appoint it, and will conclude with this humble petition, desiring you not to bestow me of any that is not agreeable to my fancy and good liking.  
Well (quoth her father) then see you frame your liking to like well of my liking. I have promised you to Phylotus in marriage, and Phylotus is he that shall be your husband, and look you go not about to contend against that I have determined, if you do, never account me for father nor friend, and thus he departed.  
Emelia hearing this cruel conclusion of her father, was wonderfully abashed, and being by herself in her Chamber, she began to consider of her father's words, and for fear to incur any farther displeasure, she deused how she might frame herself to the liking of her lover, and with a young woman's mind, she first began to consider of his wealth, of his calling, of the reverence wherewith he was used in the City, and that likewise in being his wife, she should also be had in estimation, and be preferred before other women of meaner credit, and to desire superiority, it is commonly every woman's sickness, and therefore this could not choose but please her very well: then she remembered how commodious it were to marry one so wealthy as Phylotus, whereby she should not need to beat her brains about the practising of housewiferie, but should have servants at commandment to supply that turn, this likewise pleased her very well, but because she would well persuade herself, she began to conjecture how she should spend the time to her contentment, and therefore she began to think what a pleasure it was to be well furnished with sundry suits of apparel, that in the morning when she should rise, she might call for what she list to put on, according as the time and the fashion did require, and her fancy served best, for thus Phylotus was well able to keep his wife, and this pleased her likewise very well, & then when she were up, she might break her fast with a cup of Malmsie, or muscadine next her heart. It was very good for ill Airs in a morning, and this she thought was but an easy matter, and likewise pleased her very well: when she had broken her fast, than she might stir about the house, and look to this, and see to that, and where she found any thing amiss, not to touch it with her own fingers, for marring the beauty of her hand, but to call for Cicelie, jone, or Cate, and to chide them like Sluttes, that they could not spy a fault but when they must be told: this likewise pleased her very well, then to have provided for Dinner some iuncketts, that served best her appetite, her housebande had good store of coin, and how could it be better spent, then upon themselves: to make their fare the better, this likewise pleased her very well, now when she had dined, than she might go seek out her examplers, and to peruse which work would do best in a Ruff, which in a Gorget, which in a Sleeve, which in a Coif, which in a Caule, which in a Handkercheef, what Lace would do best to edge it, what seam, what stitch, what cut, what guard, and to sit her down, and take it forth by little and little: and thus with her Needle to pass the after nun, with devising of things for her own wearing, this likewise pleased her passing well: Then to provide for Supper some shift of diet, and sundry sauces; the better to help the stomach, Oranges, Lemons, Olives, Capers, Salads of sundry sorts, alas a Crown will go a great way in such trifles. This likewise pleased her very well, when she had supped, to use some exercise, according to the season: if it were in Summer, to go walk with her neighbours to take the air, or in her Guard in to take the verdure of sweet and pleasant flower, this likewise pleased her very well, when she was come in, and ready to go to her Chamber, a Cup of cold Sack to bedward, is very good for digestion, and no cost to speak of, where such abundance doth remain, and this likewise pleased her very well.  
But now although she had devised, to pass the day time with such contentation, when she remembered at Night, she must go to bed to be lubber leapt: and with what cold courtesy she should be entertained by her grey headed bedfelowe, what frozen embracementes he was able to bestow of her, all was marred, and quite dashed out of remembrance, and all the commodities before spoken of, that she should receive in the time of the day, would not serve to countervail that one incommodity, in the season of the Night: Like as we say, one vice spills a great number of virtues. Thus Emelia was now to seek, and could in nowise frame herself to love Philotus: but when she had flattered herself with a thousand delights, that she should receive in the day time by his wealth, when she remembered bed time, she was as new to begin as before. Wherefore she remained in great perplexity, thinking her hap to be over hard, and the comfort very bare, where the best choice had such assurance of doubtful end. For to Marry after her Father's mind, she knew would breed her loathed life: and to gainsay what he had determined, would likewise lose her fathers, liking, that she wist not for her life whereon to resolve, and thus from day to day, as she continued in this doubt. There happened to hit into her company a young Roman gentleman, whose name was Flanius, who suddenly fell in Love with Emelia, and taking the time whilst his opportunity served: he let Emelia to understand, of the great love he bore her. Emelia, according to the custom of women, made the matter very coy at the first, although in her heart she were right glad, considering her case how it stood. Flanius was so much the more importunate upon her, and with such nice terms as wooers be accustomed: He so Courted, and followed Emelia, that she perceiving his fervent affection, told him a very short circumstance, how her father had disposed her, to one that she could not like of, and therefore, if he would first promise to take her as his wife, and that he could find such means, to convey her from her Father's house in secret sort (for otherwise she was sure her Father would be a let to hinder their purpose) she was contented to hearken to his speech, and yield to his demand. Flanius the gladdest man in the world, to hear these joyful news, swore unto her, that all should be accomplished, and that with as much speed as herself would desire.  
There was no more to conclude of them, but how she might be conveyed from out her father's house. Flanius devised that late in an Evening, or in the Night time when every one were quiet in their beds, if she could find the means to get forth of doors, than he would be ready to receive her. But that could not be, for both her Father and Mather never failed, to be at home in the Euenynges, and at Nights she was lodged in her Father's Chambers, that it was impossible for her to get forth. So that there was no remedy, but that the feat must be wrought in some after Noon, when both her Father and Mother used to be abroad, about their business: And then she knew not how to come forth alone, because she had not been accustomed so to do, and to follow a stranger, it would breed the greater suspicion.  
But Flanius to avoid all these surmises, devised the next evening, to convey her in at some back window of her father's house, a suit of man's apparel: wherein the next day in the after noon, her father & mother being abroad, she should shift herself, and so come her ways unknown of any, to such a place: where he himself would be ready awaiting for her, and so convey her home to his own house. This devise Emelia liked passing will, and according as it was appointed. The next evening Flanius conveyed this suit of apparel in at the window, where Emelia was ready to receive it, and laying it up in safety, till the next day in the after noon, her father and her mother being both forth of doors, she quickly shifted herself, into this manes apparel, and thus forth of doors she goes to her appointed place, where Flanius was staying, who according to promise, conveyed her home to his own house.  
This matter was not so closely handled by Emelia, but she was espied by one of her Father's servants, who being on the backside through a Window, saw her how she was stripping of herself, and marked how she put on the man's apparel, whereat the young fellow had great marvel, and stood still beholding to see what would fall out in the end, But when he saw her go forth a doors, he hastened after into the street: But Emelia was so suddenly gone, that for his life hr witted not which ways to seek after her, wherefore in a wonderful haste, he came to his Master, whom he found in the city, in the company of Philotus, saying: Oh sir, I have very evil news to tell you, what is the matter (qd his master) is any thing a miss at home? Yea sir (qd the servant) your daughter Emelia is even now departed into the city, in the habit of a man: But which ways she went, I could not for my life devise, for after she got once forth of the place where she shifter her, I could never more set eye of her.  
Is Emelia gone (quoth her lover Philotus) Oh God, what evil news be these that I hear: And without any further stay, both the Father and the Lover, got them out at the doors together, and about the streets they run like a couple of mad men.  
Now it fell out, that Philerno the Son of Alberto, and Brother to Emella, whom you have heard before, was left at Naples, being an infant, and had remained there till this time at School, and at this very instant was come from Naples to Rome, to visit his Father and Mother, of whom he had no manner of knowledge, otherwise then by their names. And it fortuned that Alberto and Philotus, happened to meet with Philerno in the streets, who was so like his sister Emelia, that both Alberto and Philotus, assured themselves, that it could be no other but she. Wherefore Alberto coming to him, said: stay, stay, most shameless and ungracious Girl, dost thou think that by thy disguising of thyself, in this manner, thou canst escape unknown to me, who am thy Father, Ah vile strumpet that thou art: what punishment is sufficient for the filthiness of thy fact? And with this he seemed, as though he would have fline upon her in the street, to have beat her: but Phllotus thrust in between them, and desired his neighbour to stay himself, and then embracing Philerno in his arms, he said: Ah Emelia my sweet and loving wench, how canst thou so unkindelie forsake thy Philotus, whose tender love towards thee is such, that as I will not let to make thee sovereign of myself, so thou shalt be Dame and Mistress of all that ever I have, assuring thee, that thou shalt never want for Gold, Gems, jewels, such as be fit and convenient for thy degree.  
Philerno seeing a couple of old doting fool, thus clustering about him, not knowing what they were: had thought at the first, they had been out of their wits, but in the end by their words, perceiving a farther circumstance in the matter, he devised some thing for his own disport, to feed them a little with their own folly, said: Pardon me I beseech you this my grievous offence, wherein I know I have too far strayed, from the limits and bounds of modesty, protesting hereafter so to govern myself, that there shall be no sufficient cause, whereby to accuse me of such unmaiden like parts, and will ever remain with such duty and obedience, as I trust shall not deserve but to be liked during life.  
Philotus having heard this pitiful reconciliation, made by his Emelia, very gently entreated her father, in her behalf, well (qd her father) seeing you will needs have me to forgive this her lewdness, at your request I am contented to pardon her, and then speaking to Philerno, he said.  
How say you housewife, is your stomach yet come down, are you contented to take Philotus for your husband, yea my good Father (qd Philerno) and that with all my heart, Oh happy news (qd) Philotus) and here withal he began to set his cap on the one side, and to turn up his mustaches, and fell to wiping of his mouth, as though he would have fallen a kissing of her by and by in the streets, but remembering himself where he was, he brought Alberto with Philerno, into a friends house, that was of his familiar acquaintance, and there the Marriage between them, was throughly concluced, and all parties seeming to give their full consents. Philotus desired his father in Law, that he might have the custody of Emelia, swearing by his old honesty, that he would not otherwise use her, than his own Daughter Brisilla, until the day of his Nuptials, and then to use her as his wife: to which request Alberto seemed very willingly to give consent: but then because Philotus would not carry his beloved, through the streets in her man's apparel, he desired his Father in Law to go home, and send some suit of her apparel, wherewith to shift her, before he would carry her to his own house. Alberto seeing matters so thoroughly concluded, took his leave of them both, and going his ways home, he caused all his Daughter's apparel to be looked together, and to be sent to the place where Philotus was remaining with Philerno, who taking forth such as should serve the turn for that present. Philerno so well as he could arrayed himself, in one of his sister's suits of apparel, and thus departed with Philotus to his own house, where Philotus calling his daughter Brisilla, he said unto her, behold here the party, whom I have chosen to be your Mother, charging you of my blessing, that you honour, reverence, and obey her, and with all diligence that you be attendant upon her, and ready at an inch to provide her of any thing, that she shall either want or call for. And you my dear and loving Emelia, I do here ordain and appoint you to be Mistress of this house, and of all that is in it, desiring you to accept of this my Daughter, to do you service in the day time, and in the night to vouchsafe her for your bedfellow, until our day of Marriage be prefixed, and then myself will supply the room. Philerno seeing the excellent beauty of Brisilla, was nothing sorry to have such a bedfellow, but thought every hour a day, till night was come, which being approached, to bed they went, where Philerno did not think it his readiest way, to give any sudden attempt, but therefore he broke into this discourse following.  
My Brisilla, were it not but that we be found partial in the causes of our friends, but especially where the causes do touch our parents, our judgements be so blinded by affection, that we can neither see, nor well confess a manifest truth: but if matters might be considered on, without respect of persons with indifference, and according to the truth and equity of the cause: I durst then put myself in your arbitrement my Brisilla, and to abide your sentence, whereto I doubt not, but you would confess the prejudice I sustain, it is much intolerable, and almost impossible▪ for a young maid to endure and the rather, if you would measure my condition, by your own estate, who being as you see, a young maiden like yourself, and should be thus constrained by my friends, to the marrying of your father, whom I do confess to be worthy of a better wife than myself. But considering the inequality of our years, I can not for my life, frame myself to love him, and yet I am forced against my will to Marry him, and am appointed to be your mother: that am more meet to be your companion and play fellow. But that affiance which I have conceived in your good Nature, hath made me thus boldly to speak unto you, desiring but to hear your opinion with indifferency, whether you think I have good cause to complain or nay: and then peradventure I will say farther unto you, in a matter that doth concern your own behoof.  
Brisilla hearing this pitiful complaint, very sorrowful in her behalf, said: would to God I were as well able to minister relief unto your distress, according to your own contentment, as I am heartily sorry to consider your grief, and do well perceive the just occasion you have to complain.  
Ah my Brisilla, said Philerno, I am as heartily sorry in your behalf, and peradventure do understand something, which yourself do not yet know of, which will grieve you very sore. But first Brisilla, let me ask you this question, do you know my father, or nay.  
No sure (quoth Brisilla) I have no manner of knowledge of him, neither did I know, whether you had any father a live, or nay, but now by your own report, and as strange it was to me, to hear the words, which my Father used to me this day, when he brought you home, for that I never understood before, that he went about a wife.  
Philerno was very glad to hear these news, because it served so much the better for his purpose: and therefore said as followeth.  
This tale that I mind to tell you (my Brisilla) will seem more strange than all the rest, and yet assure yourself, it is nothing so strange as true, and therefore give ear to that I mind to say: Do you not think it very strange in deed, that the one of us should be made both mother and daughter to the other, and that our fathers, which be now so diescrepit and old, should be so over haled, with the fury of their fond and unbridled affections, that to serve their own appetites, they force not with what clogs of care, they cumber us that be their loving daughters, but have concluded between themselves a cross Marriage, and so in deed it may well be termed, that will fall out so overthwart to our behoofes, who being now in our young and tender years, and should both of us be made the darlings of two old men, that seeks to prefer their own lust, before their children's love, and measure their fiery flames of youth, by the ded coals of age, as though they were able with their cold and rare imbracementes, to delay the forces of the flesh, whose flames doth exceed in these our green and tender years, and as much possible for us to continued in liking, as flowers are seen to agree with Frost, but in plain terms (my Brisilla) and to decipher a very troth it is contracted between our aged parents, that your father (as you see) should first take me to his wife, which wedding being once performed, than my Father in like manner, should challenge you, according as it is concluded between them.  
Alas (qd Brisilla) these news be strange in deed, and it should seem by your words so fully resolved on, that there is no hope of redress to be had in the matter.  
None in the world (qd Philerno) but thus between ourselves, the one of us to comfort the other.  
A cold comfort (qd Brisilla) we shall find in that, but oh pitiless parents, that will prefer your own pleasures with your children's pain: your own liking, with your children's loathing: your own gain, with your children's grief: your own sport, with your children's spoil: your own delight, with your children's despite. O how much more happy had it been, that we had never been borne.  
Alas my Brisilla (qd Philerno) torment not yourself with such extreme anguish, for if that would have served for redress, the matter had been remedied, and that long sithence: But I would to God my Brisilla, that I were a man for your only sake, and having so good leisure, as thus being together by ourselves, we should so handle the matter, that our fathers should seek new wives.  
Alas (qd Brisilla) such wishes are but waste, and unpossible it is, that any such thing should happen.  
Impossible (quoth Philerno) nay surely Brisilla, there is nothing impossible, but I have known as great matters as these have been wrought: Do we not read that the Goddess Venus, transformed an ivory Image, to a lively and perfect woman, at the only request of Pygmalion. Diana likewise converted Actaeon to a Heart. Narcissus for his pride was turned to a flower. Archane to a Spider, with a great number of others have been transformed, some into Beasts, some into Foules, and some into Fishes, but amongst the rest of the miracles that have been wrought by the Goddess, this story falleth out most me●te and fitting to our purpose.  
There was sometime remaining in the Country of Phestos a married couple, the husband called by the name of Lictus, the wife Telethusa, who being with child, was willed by her husband so soon as she should be delivered, if it were not a lad, that the child should presently be slain, his wife being delivered at her appointed time, brought forth a girl, and yet notwithstanding her husband's commandment, brought up the child, making her husband believe it was a boy, and called it by the name of Iphis, and thus as it grew in years, was appareled like a lad, and being after by his father assured to a wife called by the name of janthe, a young Maiden, and the daughter of one Telest dwelling in Dictis, Telethusa the mother of Iphis, fearing her deceit would be known, deferred of the Marriage day so long as she could, sometimes feigning tokens of ill success, sometimes feigning sickness, sometimes one thing, sometimes an other, but when all her shifts were driven to an end, and the Marriage day at hand, Telethusa coming to the Temple of the Goddess Isis, with her heir scattered about her ears, where before the Altar of Isis, she made her humble supplications, and the gentle Goddess having compassion, transformed Iphis to a man.  
Lo here Brisilla, as great a matter brought to pass as any we have spoken of yet, and the Goddess be of as great force and might in these days, as ever they were in times past, we want but the same zeal and faith to demand it, and sure in my opinion, if either of us made our request to the Gods, who commonly be still assistant to help distressed wights, they would never refuse to grant our reasonable requests, and I will adventure on it myself, and that without any farther circumstance.  
And here with all he seemed with many piteous sighs, throwing up his hands to the heavens, to mumble forth many words in secret, as though he had been in some great contemplation, and suddenly without any manner of stirring either of hand or foot, did lie still as it had been a thing immovable, whereat Brisilla began for to muse, and in the end spoke to him, but Phylerno made no manner of answer, but seemed as though he had been in some trance, wherewith Brisilla began to call and with her arm to shake him, and Phylerno giving a piteous sigh, as though he had been awaked suddenly out of some dream, said. O blessed Goddess Venus, I yield thee humble thanks, that hast not despised to grant my request: and then speaking to Brisilla, he said: and now my Brisilla be of good comfort, for the same Goddess which have not disdained to hear my supplication, will likewise be assistant to further our farther pretences, as hereafter at our better leisure we shall consider of, in the mean time receive thy loving friend, that to day was appointed to be thy father's wife, but now consecrated by the Goddess to be thy loving husband, and here withal embracing Brisilla in his arms. She perceived in deed, that Emelia was perfectly metamorphosed, which contented her very well, thinking herself a thrice happy woman to light of such a bedfellow: thus both of them the one pleased very well with the other, they passed the time, till Phylotus had prepared and made all things ready for his Marriage day, and then calling his friends and neighbours about him, to the Church they go together, where Alberto gave Phylerno his son, in the steed of his daughter Emelia to Phylotus for his wife: when all the rest of the Marriage rites that are to be done in the Church were performed, they passed forth the day with feasting and great mirth until it was night. When the company began to break up, and every one to take his leave, and Phylotus with his bride were brought into their Chamber, where Phylerno desiring the company to avoid, and making fast the door he said to Phylotus, there resteth yet a matter to be decided between you and me, and seeing we be here together by our selves, and that time and place doth fall out so fit, I hold it for the best that it be presently determined.  
What is the matter then (qd Phylotus) speak boldly my Emelia, and if there be any thing that hangs in dispense between us, I trust it shall easily be brought to a good agreement.  
I pray God it may (qd Phylerno) and to reveal the matter in brief and short circumstance, it is this. You are now my husband, and I your lawful wife, and for that I do know the difference in our years, yourself being so old and I very young, it must needs fall out there will be as great diversity in our conditions: for age is commonly given to be froward, testy, and overthwart: youth again to be frolic, pleasant, and merry, and so likewise in all our other conditions we shall be found so contrary and disagreeing, that it will be impossible for us to like the one of the others doings, for when I shall seem to follow my own humour, than it will fall out to your discontentment. And you again to follow that diet which your age doth constrain, will be most loathsome unto me, than you being my husband will think to command me, and I must be obedient to your will, but I being your wife will think scorn to be controlled, and will dispose of myself according to my own liking, and then what brawls and brabbles will fall out, it were to much to be rehearsed, and thus we shall live neither of us both in quiet, nor neither of us both contented, and therefore for the avoiding of these inconveniences, I have devised this way, that being thus together by ourselves, we will try by the ears which of us shall be master and have authority to command: if the victory happen on your side, I am contented for ever after to frame myself to your ordinance and will as it shall please you to appoint: if otherwise the conquest happen on my side, I will triumph like a Victor, and will look to bear such a sway, that I will not be contraried in any thing, what so ever it shall please me to command.  
Phylotus knowing not what to make of these speeches, and thinking the time very long, till he had taken his first fruits, said: Come, come my Emelia let us go to bed, where I doubt not but we shall so well agree, that these matters will easily be taken up, without any controversy, such as you have spoken of.  
Never while I live (qd Phylerno) before I know whereon to resolve: and whether you shall rest at my commandment, or I at yours.  
Why (qd Phylotus) do you speak in earnest, or would you look to command me that am your husband, to whom you ought to use all duty and obedience.  
Then were I in good case (qd Phylerno) that should be tied to use duty or obedience, to a man of your years, that would not let to prescribe us rules of your own dotage, to be observed in steed of domestical discipline.  
Then I perceive (qd Phylotus) we shall have something ado with you hereafter, that will use me with these terms the very first night. But see you make no more to do, but come on your ways to bed.  
And I perceive (quoth Phylerno) the longer that I bear with you, the more fool I shall find you, and with this up with his fist and gave Phylotus a sure wheritte on the ear. Phylotus in a great rage flies again to Phylerno: there was between them souse for sauce, and box for box, that it was hard to judge who should have the victory. In the end Phylerno gets Phylotus fast by the grey beard, and by plain force pu●●es him down on the flower, and so be pomels him about the face, that he was like to have been strangled with his own blood, which gushed out of his nose and mouth. Wherefore holding up his hands he cried, Oh Emelia, I yield myself vanquished and overcome, for God's sake hold thy hands, and I will never more contend with thee during life.  
Phylerno staying himself, said: Art thou contented then to yield me the conquest, and hereafter this according as thou hast said: nevermore to strive with me, never to gainsay any thing, what soever it shall please me to command.  
Never while I live (qd Phylotus) and therefore for God's sake 〈◊〉 me arise, and challenge to yourself what superiority you please, which form shall never be denaied so long as I shall live.  
Well (qd Phylerno) but before I will let you arise, I will have you promise me to confirm these conditions, which follow in this manner. First, that at my pleasure I may go abroad with my friends, to make merry so often as I list, whither I list, and with whom I list. And neither at my going forth, to be demanded whither I will, ne at my return to be asked where I have been. I will farther have you condescend to this, that for as much as I have learned, that it is not only very untothsome, but likewise very unwholesome, for youth and age, to lie soaking together in one bed. I will therefore make no bedfellow of you, but at my own pleasure. And in manner as followeth, that is to say: this first year I shall be contented, to bestow one night in a month to do you pleasure, if I 〈◊〉 you worthy of it, or that you be able to deserve it: but the first year being our expired, four times a year may very well suffice, that is one night a quarter, as it shall please myself to appoint. There be many other matters which I will not now stand to repeat, but these before rehearsed, be the principal things wherein I will not be controlled, but mean to follow mine own liking: How say you Phylotus, can you be contented to frame yourself herein, to follow my direction.  
Alas (quoth Phylotus) I see no other shift, I must perforce endeavour myself patiently to abide what soever it shall please you to command, and do yield myself as recreant, and overcome, and wholly do put myself to your favour and mer●ie, ready to receive what soever it shall please you to award 〈◊〉.  
Phylerno, letting him n●w arise said: prepare yourself then to go to your bed, and anon at mine own leisure, I will come unto you: and depart again at mine own pleasure, when I shall see tyme.  
Phylotus, comforting himself with these sweet speeches, did think it yet, to be some part of amends, that she had pro●●ed to come and visit him: went quietly to his bed, there to abide the good hour till Emelia did come.  
Phylerno, having prepared one of these Marcenarie women (whereof there are great store in Rome to be had) conveyed her to the bed of Phylotus, giving her instructions how to use herself: and went himself to his best beloved Brisilla, whom he had made privy to his whole devise, and in this manner it was agreed between them, they had thought to have dieted Phylotus once a month with some cast stuff, such as they could hire best cheap in the Town.  
But it fell out that Flanius, whom you have heard before, had stolen away Emelia, being at the Church the same day that Phylotus was married, and saw Alberto give his daughter Emelia to Phylotus for his wife: had thought assuredly that himself had been deceived by some Devil or spirit, that had taken upon him the likeness of Emelia. And therefore hasting himself home with all possible speed, came to Emelia, and blessing himself he said: I charge thee in the name of the living GOD, that thou tell me what thou art, and that thou presently depart to the place from whence thou camest. And I conjure thee in the name of the holy Trinity, by our blessed Lady the Virgin Marie, by Angels and archangels, patriarchs and Prophets, by the Apostles, and four Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, by all the holy Martyrs and Confessors, and the rest of the rabble and blessed rout of Heaven, that thou quietly depart without any manner of prejudice, either to man, woman, or child, either to any manner of Beast that is upon the face of the earth, the Fowls of the air, or the Fishes of the Sea, and without any manner of Tempest, Storm, Whirl wind, Thunder or Lightning, and that thou take no manner of shape, that 〈◊〉 seem either terrible or fearful unto me.  
Emelia hearing these words, merueiling much what they meant▪ with a ●●ilyng countenance came towards Flanius, saying: Why how now Signior Flanius▪ what do you think me to be some Devil, or any Hag of Hell, that you fall so to Conjuring, and blessing of yourself.  
I charge thee come no near (quoth Fla●ius) stand back, 〈◊〉 these enticements can no longer abuse me, when I have seen with mine eyes, my beloved Emelia, married in the Church, and given by Alberto her Father, to Phylotus for his wife, what should I think of thee but to be some Fee●d, or sent unto me by some Enchantment▪ or Witchcraft, and therefore I will no longer neither of thy company, neither of thy conference: And here withal taking Emelia by the shoulders, he thrust her forth of doors, and shutting the door after her: He got him to his Chamber, where he fell to his prayers, thinking assuredly that Emelia had been some spirit.  
But Emelia, after she had a three or four days made what means she could to Flanius, and saw it was in vain: was driven to go to her Father, before whom falling upon her knees, she desired him most humbly to forgiver her.  
Alberto taking her up in his arms said: that he knew nothing wherein she had offended him, but her suit might easily be granted.  
Dear father (quoth Emelia) I know I have offended, and so far as my fact deserveth, rather to be punished then pitied: the remembrance whereof is so loathsome unto me, that I fear to call you by the name of father, having showed myself so unworthy a daughter. These words she pronounced with such sorrow, that the tears streamed down her cheeks, wherewith Alberto moved with natural affection, said: dear child, I know no such offence that ought to be so grievously taken: but speak boldly what so ever it be, I freely forgive it.  
Emelia very well comforted with these speeches, began to discourse how she first disguised herself in Pages appare●●, and what grief it was to her conscience, that she should so far stray from the duty and obedience of a child, and to become a fugitive in a man's apparel. But her father not suffering her further to proceed in her tale, said: Alas dear daughter if this be the matter, it is long ago sith I have both forgiven and forgotten these causes: and therefore let these things never trouble you. But tell me now how do you like of your bedfellows, how agree you with him, or he with you, I would be glad to know.  
Alas dear father (quoth Emelia) that is the matter that I come to you, he hath turned me away, and will no longer take me for his wife, and what is the cause that hath moved him unto it, I protest before God I know not for my life.  
Hath he turned thee away (qd Alberto) myself will quickly find a remedy for that matter, and without any more to do (would not tarry so much as while his gown was a brushing) but out of doors he goes towards Phylotus, whom by chance he met withal in the Streets, and in a great chafe gins to challenge him for abusing of his daughter, swearing that he would make all Rome to speak of his abuse, if he meant to proceed in that he had begun.  
Phylotus wondering to see the man in such an agony, began to wish that he had never seen him nor his daughter neither, and that if any body have cause to complain it is I (quoth Phylotus) that have married such a wife, that is more like to a Devil then a woman: and I perceive now is maintained in her mischief by you that are her father, who ought rather to rebuke her then so to take her part, and to encourage her in her lewdness.  
What encouragement is this you speak of (qd Alberto) I know not what you mean by these words, but assure yourself of this, that as I will not maintain my child in any thing that is evil, so I will not see her take a manifest wrong.  
Do you think this to be good then (quoth Phylotus) that your daughter should bestow such handsel on her husband as she hath already bestowed upon me, and then pointing to his face, he said: See here your daughters handy work, how think you, is this requisite to be borne with all, that you stand so much in your daughter's defence?  
Alberto seeing his face all swollen, and the skin scratched of, perceived that Phylotus was at a fray, and had good cause to complain: And wondering that his daughter was so suddenly become a shrew, said: If this be my daughters handy work, I can neither bear withal, neither will I allow it in her, so to use her husband. And therefore I pray you, let me hear the matter debated between you: and I doubt not, but to take such order, as there shall no more any such rule happen between you.  
I am contented you shall debate what you will (qd Philotus) so it may be done with quietness, but I will never more contend with her for the mastery while I live, she hath already won it, I am contented she shall wear it.  
I pray you then (quoth Alberto) that you will go home to your own house, and I will go fetch my daughter, and will come unto you strait way, and I doubt not but to take such order between you, as shall fall out to both your likings.  
I pray God you may (qd Philotus) and I will go home▪ and there will stay your coming.  
Alberto likewise went to his own house, and calling Emelia, said never a word to her, but willed her to follow him: and coming to the house of Philotus, whom he found within, tarrying his coming. And it fortuned at the same 〈◊〉, Philerno and Brisilla, both were gone into the Town to buy certain things, that they had need of. And Alberto beginning first to rebuke his Daughter, that would seem in such manner to abuse her husband, and with a long discourse he preached unto her, with what duty and obedience, women ought to use their husbands withal, and not to take upon them like Masters, to correct and chastise them. Emelia denaied not only the fact, but also she denaied Philotus to be her husband.  
What have we here to do (quoth the Father) how canst thou (shameless quean) denaie that, which within these four days was performed, in the face of the whole world?  
Emelia standing stiff to her tackeling: would in nowise confess that ever she was Married.  
Then her Father began to charge her with her own words, which he had used to her before, how she had disguised herself in man's apparel, and so stolen away forth of doors, the which Emelia never denaied. Why then (quoth her father) did not I meet thee in the streets, and at the request of thy husband here present, did forgive thee thy fault, to whom I then delivered thee, and with whom thou hast ever sithence remained.  
Emelia made flat denial of any of all these sayings to be true. Alberto in a great fury, would have taken witness of Philotus in the matter, but Philotus fearing an other banquet at night, when he should go to bed, durst not in any wise seem to contrary Emelia: In the end after great fending and proving had in the matter, Emelia from point to point discoursed to her Father, how she first fell into the liking of Flanius, and by his practice, so conveyed herself away in his Page's apparel, and had with him remained all this while, till now he had turned her away.  
Her father would in nowise allow this tale to be true, but Flanius being well known to be a courteous Gentleman, Alberto devised to send for him, who presently at his gentle entreaty, came to the house of Philotus, where he spared not to confess a truth, that only for the love that he bore to Emelia, he devised to steal her away: and there came one unto him in the likeness of Emelia, and in the same apparel that he had provided for her, whom he very charyly kept, until such time as he saw with his own eyes, that Emelia was Married in the Church to Philotus, and then assuring himself, that he had been deceived by some Spirit, that had taken upon the similitude and likeness of Emelia, he presently came home, and turned her away, and what was become of her, he could never learn.  
Alberto much amazed to hear this tale, said: Signior Flanius do you know your Emelia again, if you see her, and then pointing to his daughter, he said: Is not this the same Emelia that you speak of, which you have turned away.  
I know not (qd Flanius) the one from the other, but sure I saw with mine eyes two Emelias' so like, that the one of them of force must needs be the Devil.  
There is no question (qd Philotus) but that is my wife, if there be ever a Devil of them both, I know it is she: Out alas that ever I was borne, what shall I now do, I know I have Married the Devil.  
And by fortune as Alberto chanced to look forth of th● window, he espied Philerno and Brisilla in the Street coming homewards: Peace (qd Alberto) here cometh the other Emelia, we shall now try, which of them is the Devil (I think) before we depart.  
By this Philerno was come in, and hearing how matters had been debated, and were fallen out: again, knowing Alberto to be his Father, and what prejudice his sister Emelia was like to sustain, if she should be forsaken by her friend and lover Flanius, confessed the whole matter, humbly desiring his Father to forgive him.  
When he had a while wondered at the circumstance, and the truth of every thing laid open, and come to light, all parties were well pleased and contented, saving Philotus, for when he remembered, first the loss of his love Emelia, then how Philerno had heaten him, what a bedfellow he had provided him, while he himself went and lay with his Daughter: these things put all together, made him in such a chafe, that he was like to run out of his wits: But when he had regarded a good while, and saw how little help it did prevail him, he was contented in the end, that his Daughter Brisilla, should Marry with Philerno, and Flanius very joyfully received again his Emelia (when he knew she was no Devil) and both the Marriages consummate in one day. And so I pray God give them joy, and every old dotard so good success as had Philotus.  
FINIS.   

The Conclusion.  
GEntle Reader, now thou hast perused these Histories to the end, I doubt not but thou wilt deem of them, as they worthily deserve, and think such vanities more fit to be presented on a stage (as some of them have been) then to be published in Print (as till now they have never been) but to excuse myself of the folly that here might be imputed unto me, that myself being the first that have put them to the print, should likewise be the first that should condemn them as vain: for mine own excuse herein, I answer: that in the writing of them, I have used the same manner, that many of our young Gentlemen useth now adays, in the wearing of their apparel, which is rather to follow a fashion that is new (be it never so foolish) then to be tied to a more decent custom, that is clean out of use: Sometime wearing their hair freeseled so long, that makes them look like a water Spaniel: Sometimes so short like a new shorn Sheep: Their Beards sometimes cut round like a philip's Daler: Sometimes square like the kings head in Fishestreate: Sometimes so near the skin, that a man might judge by his face, the Gentleman had had very piled luck, their Caps and Hats sometimes so big, as will hold more wit, than three of them have in their heads: Sometimes so little, that it will hold no wit at all. Their Ruffs sometimes so huge, as as shall hang above their necks like a Cart wheel: Sometimes a little falling band, that makes them look like one 〈…〉 Queen's Silkewomen. Their Cloaks sometimes so 〈…〉 trip on their heels: Sometimes so short, 〈…〉 over they elbows: Their jerkinnes sometimes with high collars, buttoned close under their Ch●●● sometimes with no collars at all about their necks, like wench in a red waistcoat, that were washing of a Buck● Sometimes with long saucy sleeves, that will be in every dish before his master, sometimes without sleeves, like Scogins man, that used to run of sleeve less errands: The Doublets sometime Faggot wasted about the Navil, sometimes Cowbealied below the flanks, that the Gentleman must undo a button when he goes to piss.  
In their Hoose so many fashions as I can not describe, sometimes Garragascoynes, breeched like a Bear, sometimes close to the dock, like the Devil in a play (wanting but a tail) sometimes round like to Saint Thomas Onions: Sometimes petite Ruffs of two inches long, with a close stocking clean above the neck of his tail: Sometimes disguising themselves after the use of Spain: Sometimes after the Italian manner, and many times they imitate the French fashion so near, that all their hair is ready to fall of their heads.  
Now I am sure, if any of them were asked, why he used such variety in his apparel, he would answer, because he would follow the fashion. Let this then suffice likewise for mine excuse, that myself seeing trifles of no account, to be now best in season, and such vanities more desired, than matters of better purpose, and the greatest part of our writers, still busied with the like. So I have put forth this book, because I would follow the fashion.  
And now friendly Reader, because I have entered thus far to speak of fashions: I will conclude with a tale, that maketh something for my purpose. I have read it so long ago, that I can not tell you where, nor the matter is not great though I do not tell you when, but in England (as I think) and as it should seem, near about London. There was sometimes dwelling a Gentleman, though not of very 〈…〉 wealth, yet of a very honest life, and of good report 〈…〉 his neighbours, whose name was master Persinu●●● 〈…〉 had a Daughter, whose name was 〈…〉 〈◊〉 of eighteen years, of a singular beauty, very well trai●● up by her own Mother, who was likewise living, and ●ith whom she now remained. It fortuned that a Devil of Hell called Balthaser, no inferior Devil, but a Master Devil, a principal Officer, and commander in Hell, and trust 〈◊〉, if there were ever a Devil that was an honest man, Balthaser was he, saving that being now an ancient Devil, ●nd well spent in years, he began to wax wanton, and to dote in the Love of Mistress Mildred: but yet not like our greatest part of lovers now a days, that still practise their loves unlawfully, more for lust, then for loyalty: but Balthaser contrariwise, bore his love honestly, lawfully, yea, and in the way of Marriage, the which to bring to pass, he took such continual care, and travail in his mind, that he now confessed the fire of Helle to be but a trifle, in respect of the scorching flames of love. Sometimes conjecturing in his mind, what bashfulness is found to be in young Damsels in these days, but especially when a man comes to proffer them love, they are so shamefast, that with a good will, they would never hear of Marriage, till they were thirty years old at the least, and many of them if it were not for men; I think could be well contented to lead Apes in Hell: other whiles he remembered the greedy desire, that is generally in Parents, who never consent to the Marrying of their fair daughters, without some great jointer: Now the Devil had no lands, and therefore to find the best remedy he could: they say the Devil is able to put upon him all manner of shapes, so he took upon him the presence and parsonage of so gallant a your gentleman, and fitted so well the fancy of Mistress Mildred, that without any long circumstance, she was contented to accept him for her husband, the which being perceived by her Father and Mother, not minding to contrary their Daughter's liking, gave their free consents, that there was no more 〈◊〉, but to appoint for their marrying day, the which 〈…〉 expired, the Devil sitting by his best beloved, 〈…〉, ●ordes, or such like as followeth.  
〈…〉, my dear and loving wife, I must confess myself not a little beholding unto you, that neither 〈◊〉 my Pedigree from whence I came, neither 〈◊〉, neither yet how I am able to keep you, would notwithstanding vouchsafe to take me for your husband, I must think your courtesy proceeded of Love, and do 〈◊〉 myself so much the more beholding unto you, and 〈◊〉 give you some trial, that you have not made your choice 〈◊〉 Rascal, or Knave of no reputation, I am contented to 〈◊〉 you one demand, what soever you think best to require 〈◊〉 me, and therefore my dear, ask what you list, your desire shall be satisfied: always provided, that hereafter you never trouble me, with any farther requests.  
The young wife wonderfully well contented with these loving speeches, of her courteous husband, desired of him a little pause and respite: And now coming to her Mother, to whom she unfolded the whole contents of the premises, fitting them down together, to consider of the matter, after a great number of consultations, and as many imaginations had between them, in the end they concluded, that her 〈◊〉 should be for a suit of apparel of a gallant fashion, but even then newly come up, and coming to her husband with this demand, they had their wish presently accomplished, and this suit of apparel laid by them, so well made and fitted, as possibly could be desired. Thus all parts were well pleased, they continued in good liking for the space of one month, at which time an other new fashion was then come up, aswell in the attiring of their heads, as also in the making of their Gounes, Kirtelles, and Stomachers. Mistress Mildred, being now quite out of conceit, for that she had never a Gown to put on her back, but of a stolen cut, and the fashion at the least of a month old, who would blame the Gentlewoman, though she took it very grievously: alas her mind was so far out of quiet, that her meat almost did her no manner of good. Which sudden alteration being perceived by her husband, he began to entreat her, to show him the cause of her conceived grief, the which when she had revealed, the good honest devil her husband said: well my dear wife, although 〈◊〉 I satisfied your last demand, my conditions were 〈◊〉 you should never trouble me, with any further requests, 〈◊〉 once again to recomfort you, ask of me what you will, 〈…〉 grant your desire, but to cut you of all hope that here●● 〈◊〉 his, I will never be troubled again with new fashions, 〈…〉 yourself that this is the last request, that ever I 〈…〉 to grant you.  
Mistress Mildred giving him twenty kisses for his kindness, went again to her mother with these joyful news, and concluding as before, they brought the Devil, an Inventory 〈◊〉 new fashions, beginning with caps, Cawls, Quaives Ruffs, Partlettes, Sleeves, Gounes, ●irtelles, Petticoats, and there was no stitch, no Cut, no Lace, no Guard, nor no fashion that was then in use, but in this Inventory it was to be found, and as before, this bill was no sooner presented, but all things were in readiness, so well fitted and fashioned as if the most cunningest workmen in England had been at the making. But what should I say? Before an other month was expired, there was a new invention, for than came up new fashions in their Caps, in their Hats, in their Cawls new fashioned Shadows, than came up Periwigs, Frezeling, and Curling, then came up Doublets, Bombasting, and Bolstering: new fashions in their Gounes, ●irtells, and Petticoats, than they began to wear Crimsm, Carnation, Green and Yellow Stockynges: To be short, there was such alteration in women's apparel, from the top to the toe in a month, that Mistress Mildred though herself now again to be clean out of fashion, the remembrance whereof brought her likewise to be quite out of countenance, but when she remembered how she was prohibited, from making any further demands, it did so gaul her at the heart, that now she began to frown, lump, and lower at her husband, which when he perceived, he said unto her: why how now my good Mildred, I fear me thy head is troubled again with new fashions, from whence cometh these sudden fits, what is the matter that ●eedeth such alteration in thy manners, tell me I pray thee, what is it that doth offend thee?  
The poor Gentlewoman not able to speak one word for weeping, at the last bursting out into these terms, if (quoth she) I had made my choice of a husband worthy of myself▪ I should never have given him cause thus to wonder at me▪ nor myself have had occasion to complain for such a trifle, for that I might have done, as other women do, and have followed every fashion, and every new devise, without 〈◊〉 grudging, or restraint of my desire, I should not their ha●● been enjoyved to such a kind of silence, but I might have made my husband privy to my wants, I should not then have been kept like jone of the Country, in a tire of the old fashion devised a month ago.  
While Mistress Mildred was proceeding in these speeches or such other like, the Devil her husband was stroke in such a dump, that not able any longer to endure her talk, he not only avoided himself from her presence, but also devised with speed to fly the Country, and coming to Dover, thinking to cross the Seas, finding no shipping ready, he altered his course and got him into scotland, never staying till he came to Edenbrough, where the King kept his Court, and now forgetting all humanity which he had learned before in England, he began again a fresh to play the Devil, and so possessed the King of Scots himself, with such strange and unacquainted passions, that by the conjecture of Physicians, and other learned men that were then assembled together, to judge the Kings diseases, they all concluded that it must needs be some Fiend of Hell, that so disturbed their Prince: Whereupon Proclimations were presently sent forth, that who soever could give relief, should have a thousand crowns by the year, so long as he did live. The desire of these crowns, caused many to attempt the matter, but the fury of the Devil was such, that no man could prevail.  
Now it fortuned that Persinus, the father of Mistress Mildred, at this present to be at Edenbrough, who by constraint of some extremity, was now compelled to practise Physic, wherein he had some pretty sight, but there with all so good success, that who but Persinus the English Physician, had all the name through the whole Realm of scotland. The fame of this Physician came to the hearing of the King, who sending for Persinus, began to debate with him of the strangeness of his fits, proffering large sums of money if he could find a remedy. To whom Persinus answered, that it 〈◊〉 far his skill: the King notwithstanding, would not 〈◊〉 over, but entreated Persinus to take in hand the cure, 〈◊〉 when he still denaied, did think it rather proceeded of stubborness, then for want of experience: wherefore he began to threaten him, swearing that if he would not accomplish his request, it should cost him his life.  
Persinus seeing himself so hardly besteade, was contented to cry some part of his cunning: and the next day when the King was in his fit, he was brought in to see the manner how it held him. Whom the Devil perceiving to come in at the door, speaking to Persinus, he said in this manner.  
My father Persinus, I am glad I see you here, but what wind hath driven you hither to this place.  
Why what art thou (quoth Persinus) that callest me thy father.  
Marry (quoth the Devil) I am Balthaser, that was once married to your Daughter, in deed a Devil of Hell, though you never knew it before, whom your Daughter wearied so much with her new fashions, as I had rather be in Hell, then married to such a wife.  
And art thou then Balthaser, (quoth Persinus) why then I pray thee good son depart the King of Scots, for he hath threatened me for thy cause, to take away my life.  
Marry (quoth Balthaser) even so I would have it, it were some part of aquitaunce, for your Daughter's kindness towards me.  
Persinus seeing the disposition of the Devil, thought it not good to deal any farther with him at that present, but afterward when the King was come to himself, he requested of him but respete for one month, and against the day that he should then take him in hand again, he devised with the King that all the ordnance in the Town might be shot of, all the 〈…〉   
FINIS▪