THE Troublesome and Hard ADVENTURES IN LOVE.  
Lively setting forth, The Fevers, the Dangers, and the Jealousies of Lovers; and the Labyrinths and Wildernesses of Fears and Hopes through which they daily pass.  
ILLUSTRATED By many admirable Patterns of Heroical Resolutions in some persons of Chivalry and Honour; and by the Examples of incomparable Perfections in some LADIES.  
A Work very Delightful and Acceptable to All.  
Written in Spanish, by that Excellent and Famous Gentleman, Michael Cervantes; And exactly Translated into English, By R. C. Gent.  
London; Printed by B. Alsop, dwelling in Grubstreet near the upper Pump. 1652.   

To the Munificent Lover of all Ingenious Spirits, The Right Honourable, and most Noble, JAMES Earl of Northampton, etc.  
My LORD.  
I Have read that great Princes have stooped so low from the height of their power, that they have vouchsafed their Princely favour to the most abject of their people, & gratefully received a few drops of fair water from the palm of a poor man's hand; which act of royal acceptance and respect, hath more ennobled their names unto posterity, than all their deeds of victorious Chivalry and Magnificence. The Consideration of this hath emboldened me to prefer these papers to your Honour's acceptance and protection. The subject is but light, for it treats of love; but so interwoven with stories of heroical resolution, & examples of high perfection that you can read nothing in this nature more profitable or delightful. The Author was by birth a Spaniard, the same Gentleman that composed Guzman de Alfarache, and the second part of Don Quixot, who in all his writings hath made it as much his study as his mirth, to represent and deride the vanity of those bold inventors, whose wild glory it hath been, not only to impose upon, but to torment the imaginations of their readers; and instead of possibilities to fill their fables and the world, with Giants and with Monsters.  
The Spaniard (I know not by what fate) is more happy in his prose then in his verse, whether his Cuentaes cannot so well be taught to run in numbers, or whether the Genius of that Nation is more promptly inclined to express itself in Prose then in Verse. Howsoever though he differs in the manner, yet he agrees in the substance, for as the incomparable Sir Philip Sidney truly observes, it is not the rhyme but the invention that crowns the Poet, and verse doth no more make a Poet, than a gown doth a Lawyer. The piece in the Original is dedicated to one of the Grandees in Spain, and of the Privy Council to the King, which hath more encouraged me, to present it to your Lordship in the translation. And though there is no man a more absolute master of his passion then your Lordship, and therefore cannot properly be said, to be subject unto love, yet it shall be no dishonour to you to be a lover of the Muses, and to accept these their flowers into your protection; flowers they are, but so sweetly violent, that as their beauties may arrest all eyes, so I doubt not but their perfume through many ages will continue to testify unto the world the influence of your protection, and the most grateful resentments of him who is  
(My Lord) Your Honour's most humble and devoted Servant. R. C.   

The Printer to the Reader.  
COurteous Reader, this work coming to my hands by chance I published, hoping that some might be delighted with the reading thereof. How worthy or unworthy it is to be joint-heir with the fine-born children of this our Age, I leave to your censures, keeping mine own judgement within the compass of my breast. Yet thus much the condition and quality of the Author emboldeneth me to say, That he being as much a Merchant, as a Scholar, and a Traveller, as a Courtier, it seemeth that the Subject of his writings is as pleasant as the Form; and the Matter as delightful as the Manner. And knowing that some men conceive more pleasure in the substance of Histories, either Politic or Amorous, then in the flourish of words, I was the more encouraged to blaze this work to the light, wherein many Histories are recorded; among which, though some are inserted that have been written by others before, yet were never seen in English till now. See them and use them at pleasure.  
Farewell, B.A.   

The Troublesome and Hard ADVENTURES IN LOVE.  

CHAP. I. How the Emperor Nero sent to demand the daughters of Camillo for his Concubines, and what happened thereupon.  
IN the famous City of Mantua, at that time that Nero (whose cruelty hath made the world to admire his manners) was Emperor of Rome, dwelled an old Knight named Camillo, no less adorned with virtue then favoured of fortune: who being about threescore and ten years old, was forced to lead a single life, his wife Paulina paying nature her due. This Camillo being thus dispossessed of his most well-beloved Lady, with no less grief bewailed her death, then with pleasure he enjoyed her presence whilst she yet lived. But time the medicine of all sorrow diminished his grief, the sooner by means of the unspeakable pleasure which he took in viewing the perfections of his son Perierio, and his two daughters Euphilia and Perina; which Gentlewomen for their singular virtues and extreme beauty, were of the Citizens of Mantua worthily termed the sepulchers and tombs of their mother Paulina's graces and perfections, all Mantua judging that all the gifts both of fortune, nature, & the mind, wherewith Paulina was endued in her life time, were buried and entombed in her two daughters: neither was Perierio less famous in respect of virtuous conditions than his sisters, he being adorned with most excellent qualities, and inferior to no man both in perfection of body and subtlety of wit.  
Thus Camillo rejoicing that he was the father of such children, therein thinking himself to be most happy, lived with as great contentment as any man might do. But Fortune (whose favours are but seldom continual) grudging at his felicity, intended to try whether he could as patiently suffer adversity in his latter years, as he being younger had virtuously behaved himself in prosperity.  
For Nero the Emperor, being informed of his wicked companions, in whose flattery he took pleasure, that Camillo had two daughters in beauty surpassing natures cunning, and in perfection of body resembling the Goddess Venus, incontinently sent a Letter unto old Camillo, by two of his Noblemen, being written after this manner.  
Nero Governor of the world, to Camillo.  
FRiend Camillo, (for so much I account thee to be, in that thou art my subject.) These are to give you notice, how that the rare beauty of thy two daughters Euphilia and Perina, being bewrayed unto the world by the report of fame, and made known unto me by the relation of my noblemen, I judged them too worthy to be joined in marriage to any man of lower estate than a King. And therefore I command thee to send both thy daughters to the Court, where neither the one nor the other shall be Empress, but both of them the Paramours and Concubines of an Emperor.  
Farewell.  
This letter was with all speed by the said said Noblemen delivered unto Camillo, who unclosing the same, and breaking us the seal, soon read that which was sufficient to break his heart in pieces, and work his death, had not his destinies reserved him to defend his daughter's honesty, and free themfrom the tyrant's outrageous lust, through his sage counsel, and politic deliberation. So that having read the Letters, after he had something meditated upon the contents thereof, he gave the Noblemen answer, that for as much as he being a widower could not live being separated from his two daughters and his son Perierio, he would with his son accompany them to the Court, there doing his Majesty such service as it might please him to command, expecting the day of his departure out of this world, leaving not his daughters only but his son also at his Majesty's pleasure. But to the end that he might take order for the preparation of his journey, and provide such necessaries as were expedient for him, his son and his daughters, he desired them to obtain of his Majesty but the space of one month, which expired, he would without all doubt be at the Court with his children. The Noblemen finding old Camillo so ready to pleasure Nero the Emperor, promised him to do what they might, and so departed. But Camillo calling his son Perierio, with his daughters Euphilia and Perina to him sending a world of tears from his eyes, which distilling along his pale cheeks streamed on his silver hairs, and fetching a long sigh from the innermost part his heart said unto them.  
Ah Perierio, ah Euphilia, ah Perina, ah my loving children, in whose prosperity consisteth all my hope, yea in whose felicity my life is harboured, insomuch, that through the increase of your honourable virtues, I have enlarged the term of my life; and now seeing that Fate or Fortune doth threaten your dishonour, I doubt not but that I shall be overcome by grief to end my aged days, and with a tragical and mournful death shut up all those happy and blessed hours which the Gods have hitherto granted me. Ye have heard the Tyrants will, ye know his lust, and likewise ye are not ignorant, what shame, what infamy, what dishonour that would be, not only to you two, Euphilia and Perina, but also unto me, unto your Brother, yea unto all the line and stock of our race and kindred. What answer I have made the Noblemen, is not unknown to any of you. But as I do not mean to be found as good as my word in the least point of all that which I have promised them; so I am of opinion that ye cannot believe otherwise, but that my tongue spoke further than it had command from my heart, and that my lips pronounced that which was not in my breast concluded. But loving children, where Lust is a Lord, & Riot ruleth, equity and justice is expelled: and where a Tyrant governeth, all is Law that he doth like. Wherefore fearing lest contradiction and denial might be cause of our disgrace, I stuffed the Tyrant's Messengers with such a pleasing and soothing answer. But to be short, know, loving children, that I had rather that we should all agree to die one death, then to condescend unto the Tyrant's outrageous and lividinous desire.  
Perierio having heard his Father's noble resolution wondering that such courage harboured in his breast, he being a man of such an aged life, considering that old men are commonly deprived of natural heat, and so become cold, fearful, and void of all heroical virtues; amazed therefore at his father's virtue, and rejoicing that he was the son of such a father, answered him in this mander. Father, the extreme sorrow which I conceived by reason of Nero his heinous intent to disgrace us with the spot of infamy, in demanding my sisters to deflower them, and make a prey of their chastities, no doubt had smothered my heart and stopped my senses, not suffering me to utter one word, had not the joy which your noble virtue and valiant courage worketh in me, gotten the superiority, and freed me from the excessive injury of sorrow. Therefore if it would please the Gods to be so gracious unto us, that we might escape the imminent ruin and fall of our honour, I for my part am ready to resign not only my liberty, but also my life, and with ransom of the cruelest death that man may excogitate, redéem the honour of our lineage and progeny.  
Perierio had no sooner declared his readiness in agreeing to his fathers resolved will, but Euphilia (though by grief commanded to keep silence) uttered forth these words.  
Father, the Tyrant can rule the body, but not the mind, he may threaten us shame, dishonour, and disgrace, but shall not be able to accomplish or execute the least of his menaces Cowards fear the threaten of those that would fly, were they threatened: but where courage displayeth his Ensigns no menaces may approach. And therefore let the Tyrant do what he can; for his power is not sufficient to dishonour our kindred by threatening us disgrace, for that we neither fear him, nor all his torments. For death, which the Gods have appointed, a fearful token to most men to warn them to leave their worldly pleasures, and to resign their vital breath is unto us a most sweet and pleasant object, and yieldeth us comfort, being the only mean by which we may escape infamy and shame. Death therefore shall free us from the Tyrant's intended villainy, and redéem our kindred from disgrace.  
Perina, glad that her sister concluded so well to her liking, said.  
Father, seeing then that (as my sister hath well declared) death must be our redeemer, I beseech you not to torment your old age with anxiety and grief for us; and you brother, though we die, may pass your youth in pleasing rest. And therefore let my sister and me care for this matter, which toucheth us only, and fear not that by means of our cowardice ye shall reap any dishonour. And seeing that of two evils the least must be chosen, and the greatest avoided, let me persuade you to look to yourselves, and avoid the Tyrant's anger, which ye are sure to incur, if you resist his will, and obey not his command, accomplishing your promise made unto his Messengers. Wherefore Father send us, and wring yourself from Fortunes wrong: consider your age, which requireth rest: take your delight, comfort yourself with the presence of my brother Perierio, in viewing whose virtues and perfections you may easily forget us, though we were Goodesses and not mortal maids. So shall both yo● and my brother escape danger, and my sister and I g●in honour and renown. For we fear not the Tyrant; he may tyrannise where he can, for our hearts (which will never yield to vice) are of too noble a disposition to be conquered by him that i● overcome by his own lusts and lividinous affections. To be short know that neither the Tyrant nor all his menaces shall be able to conquer us, seeing that we have death tied at our girdles, which shall in spite of all the Tyrants of the world ransom us from dishonour.  
Old Camillo seeing that his son and both his daughters were endued with such an haughty and valiant mind, as a man that had forgotten all occasion of sorrow, with a pleasant countenance replied.  
Most haughty Euphilia, and covyagious Perina, I have followed your counsels, and as you see put off all sorrow: Now therefore attentively hear my counsel, and prepare yourselves to put it in execution. My intent is such, that if ye die, your brother and I will not live till morn; let us therefore disguise ourselves, and to morrow morning departed from Mantua before day. The Gods will favour us, and deliver us from Nero his hands seeing that we (as our consciences witness) to free their sacred constitutions from violence, have left our possessions, lands, castle and substance, committing ourselves to fortune's mercy, which is mere cruelty. But if our flight be so unhappy that we be overtaken by the Tyrant, then, as we hoped all to live can we all but die: and seeing we cannot live the one without the other, let us all live together, or all die together. These hoary hairs of mine, are messengers of death, and warn me to prepare myself for the grave: but your golden locks, and the glory of your youth forbiddeth death to approach, and shall then ye be ready to die, and I that stand with one foot in my grave fly from him whom I cannot overrun? No no, loving children. I seek not to live but to have you live, and therefore yield to my request, and live with me, if ye will not have me die with you,   

CHAP. II. How Camillo, with his Son Perierio, and his two daughters, Euphilia and Perina, fled out of Mantua into Spain, to escape the fury of the Tyrant Nero, where they became shepherds: Also how Perierio became enamoured on a strange Lady,  
EUphilia and Perina, hearing that their Father was so desirous to abandon all his live for their cause, fell down on their knees before his feet, and prayed him to command them to do whatsoever he pleased, and they would be most ready to execute his pleasure. Camillo therefore taking them up by the hand, willed them to prepare themselves to departed from Mantua with him and Perierio the next morning, taking their best jewels with them, and all their ready Gold. Camillo clothed himself like a Shepherd, and Perierio (lest his father should be known) played the Barber, and shaved his beard clean off to the chin: and apparelled himself like a Butcher's boy, Euphilia and Perina, (whose beauty and favour was such as could not but be known) scarce able all night to imagine how they might disguise themselves in such manner that they might pass unknown, at last concluded to  themselves like Market-women, and seeing the wind blew something strongly, they thereby took occasion to muffle their faces with their handkerchiefs, as if they had the toothache. Thus the old shepherd, young butcher, and muffled Market-women, were so cunningly disguised that no man thought so much as to dream, that they should be Sir Camillo, with his son and his daughters. So that they passed not only through the City but the Country also, unknown to any man. Neither did they rest until they were so far from Mantua that they thought themselves to be out of danger. Yet they durst not stay in any place of Italy, for fear least search being made after them, they might fall into the tyrant's hands: and therefore traveled on daily till they came into Spain, and there in a solitary place where no kind of people but shepherds did resort they built a pretty house, and bought a flock of sheep, determining to live shepherds until such time as the Gods and their fortune would suffer them to return to their country.  
These shepherds had not dwelled in their new built house the space of six months or thereabout, but they had perfectly learned to understand and speak the Castilian tongue, insomuch that the same language was as easy unto them as their own. For there being but little difference betwixt the Italian and Spanish tongues (which are of near affinity,) and these noble shepherds being wonderful witty and ingenious, it could not be but that they should in short space apply their Italian tongue to the pronunciation of the Spanish words. For all the shepherds that in those quarters dwelled, as they did marvel at the supernatural beauty of these strange shepherds, so did they think it a miracle that they had in so short a time learned to talk with the Spanish shepherds, and that so eloquently and with such a grace, that many took pleasure to talk with them, and few departed from them without bearing away that which was sufficient to instruct them in their own language. In so much that divers of them being more curious than others, when they went to talk with the new shepherds, carried paper books with them to note up such phrases as Perierio and his sisters used in their talk. Besides the Castilian tongue, they had also learned to play upon all such rural and pastoral instruments as were by the shepherds of that quarter used. On which instruments Perierio played with such dexterity, that the inhabitants thereabouts thought that Orpheus had been raised from hell to fill the air with the agreeing noise of his instrument, and to delight the shepherds of that Country with his pleasant notes. Euphilia and Perina, not much inferior unto Perierio in that quality, yet far his superiors in singing a part in music, by reason that their voices were clearer than his, when they sung unto their brother's instrument, moved the other shepherds to wonder at their celestial melody, and become so heretical, that they thought Perierio to be some God, and his sisters two Goddesses, supposing it a thing impossible that mortal creatures should be endued with such heavenly and immortal conditions. But whatsoever they were thought to be, they were so beloved of all the Spanish shepherds, that no man thought himself happy that had not perfect friendship & alliance with them. Yea if the least injury in the world had been offered to Perierio, his aged father, or his beautiful sisters, they were all ready to revenge it, not as a private quarrel, but as some common and public wrong done to the whole Country, and all the inhabitants thereof.  
Old Camil●o, therefore seeing that he and his children were so beloved of all the Country, and taking great delight in the sweetness of the air of that climate, began to build farms and to purchase land, so that fortune favouring him, he became in short time wealthy and rich, and of great credit. Perierio his son, took great delight in hunting and fowling, often committing his flock to his sister's care, who kept both his sheep and their own with such diligence, that all men marked that they were not careless, but painful and industrious Yea they won such favour and commendation in every man's eye, as their beauty was not only praised in the Country, but also spoken of in Cities fare from them. And yet was their submiss modesty such, that although their praise daily increased, yet they nothing puffed up with pride, humbled themselves, and scorned not to keep company with the basest swain in all the Country. Every day they went forth with their flocks to the field, defending their faces from the heat of the Sun, with no other scarf or vale then a garland made of sundry kinds of flowers, that attire becoming them so bravely, that they seemed to be daughters unto the Goddess Flora for their exquisite beauty, marching with their sheep through the pleasant Downs and green fields, more like to some heavenly Nymphs then mortal women. If it chanced there were a meeting of all the Farmer's daughters, than were they (I mean Euphilia and Perina) bid thither as the mistresses and chiefest of the feast: Perierio their brother, likewise miss no feast nor game, being invited by the richest and chiefest farmers sons; whereof many became suitors unto his sisters, and many of their sisters enamoured of his beautiful and comely disposition, wished themselves married unto him. But he delighting more in tuning his pastoral Harp, rejoiced his companions with a round or twain, whilst that others courted their mistresses, not so much because he would not debase himself to love a shepherdess, as for that he shunned so Lordly a Master as Cupid, esteeming his liberty and freedom from fancy, the only cause of all his joy and pleasure. But fortune who thitherto had favoured both Perierio and his sisters, began to withdraw her lovely looks from them, and in lieu of a smiling countenance, intended to show them a lowering face and frowning forehead For not long after, it chanced upon a pleasant morning betimes before Phoebus' golden lines had gréeted the Southern plains, that Perierio haunting his accustomed hunt in a passing pleasant wood, not far from the place where his sisters fed their flocks, (having left his sheep unto their keeping as he was wont to do) espied a brave damosel, her beauty being comparable to the colour that Venus' face is died withal; sitting on a hillock, and resting her head on her hand. At the sight whereof, Perierio greatly amazed, retired behind a bush, where he not seen, might perfectly both see her, and hear what she said: for he marked by her countenance that she was in a melancholy mood, and vexed with extraordinary grief. Her words were these being expressed with a lamentable voice, moving the very trees and bushes to yield tears.  
Ah Fortune, as often as Phoebus appeareth in the woods, as often as he riseth in his Eastern glory, and as often as his penetrating rays warn me to leave my restless rest, and harness myself to my endless toil, and never ceasing labour; so often thou dost renew my grief and multiply my sorrows. What, Fortune, hast thou made all other women so happy through my mishap, that to make me an instance of the miserablest wight that liveth, thou hast delivered all others from their miseries, to throw them all on me? O most injust doom! O most cruel Goddess! Though by reason of the exceeding injustice, thou deservest to be crossed out of the catalogue of divine powers. And therewith she risen from the hillock, and looking round about which way she might take, she espied Perierio behind the bush coming towards her, which she marking, stayed unill he came near her and saluting him with a most gracious countenance, said. Shepherd (for so much thy apparel betokeneth, though thy beauty be such, as maketh me to mistrust if, and think that thou art but a counterfeit shepherd) pardon me if I be too bold in demanding thy name and country; which if it may please thee to tell me, thou shalt bind me to owe thee a good turn. Perierio (whose heart was pierced with Cupid's shaft, and on sudden made captive to that Lord whose service he so shunned) so gazed on this Lady (for she was no less, as you shall hereafter learn) in whose beauty all his desire rested that he could scarce speak one word; at last, plucking up his spirits, answered. Madam (for your exquisite perfections and stately countenance deserves no less) where no offence is committed, pardon is craved but in vain; I am an Italian born; called Perierio, the happiest man that ever was named, if occasion were presented wherein I might do any service acceptable unto you Madam, I thank thee Perierio (replied the young Lady) for this thy undeserved courtesy; and seeing I am not able at this time to make thee any recompense. I can but pray the Gods to grant thee thy hearts desire. And with that shooting into the midst of the woods she was out of Perierios' sight, before he thought she was departed. For when she heard by his name and Country, that he was not the man she doubted of, and gathering by his countenance, that he was suddenly struck in love of her, lest he should become troublesome and importunate unto her, hasted thence, supposing that she being out of sight should also be out of the shepherd's mind; and that by ●eason of her absence he should recover his liberty and freedom which her presence had caused him to lose. But alas, where she thought by her departure to ease his grief contrarily she increased his passions. For he seeing that the sum of his conceived pleasures were fled, and she missing, in whose golden locks his soul was entangled, began to cry out with a loud and pitiful voice. My soul, my soul, whither art thou fled? Why hast thou left my body, seeing that thou being separated from me, I may not live? Ah poor Perierio wretched Perierio! Die: die miserable Perierio. Ah cruel Gods, that have allotted me a life worse than death and a body without soul. Ah discourteous Lady, and is this the gratefulness you wished to show me, as a due recompense for my readiness in doing you pleasure? Is this the thankfulness you talked of Is this the good turn you should owe me? To steal away my heart, and carry my soul with thee, imprisoned in the snares of thy alluring looks; leaving my body breathless, and so giving me sufficient occasion to accuse them both of theft and murder, considering that thou hast rob me of my soul, and thereby deprived me of life. For now have I no life of mine own but live only in thee Ah unhappy man that live, and know not where I live, for I live in that body which is in place as far unknown unto me, as that body ●t self. So that I live in a body I know not what, which unknown body is in a place, I know not where. Forgive me Cupid divine power and mighty God, I confess to have offended in contemning and neglecting thy puissance: Which my contempt, thou hast punished with a pain the like never heard of before. The dart penetrated into the very inmost part of my heart and forced me to yield to love. Seeing then I love and am inroled in the scroll of those that follow thy bands, as a true and valorous Captain lead me to the knowledge of that which I love. For I doubt nut but that thou which hast had the puissance to make me love, and that so strangely; art likewise able to make me know whom I love. Thus Perierio after that he had with many sighs and tears bewailed the loss of his former freedom, began at length to consider, that the accustomed hour of his returning to dinner was past, and therefore lest his father should marvel at his long absence, and by reason thereof fall into suspicion, lest some mischance had befallen him (for old men are always careful of their children, and as often as they be out of sight, so often do they déem them to be lost) he more like a shadow then a man crossed the nearest way homewards. Where he found his aged father sleeping, for the heaviness he was in by reason of Perierios' absence, rocked him a sleep: but as soon as he heard Perierio, he awaked, and then they fell closely to their cheer, though Perierios' mind ran more on his unknown mistress than his present meat.  
Whilst that these two were at dinner, Euphilia and Perina, to shun the extreme heat of Phoebus, mounted in his Meridian pride, went with their sheep towards the Wood side, to take the advantage of the high trees which yielded a most pleasant shadow: Where they sitting together began to take their Oaten Pipes and sing. Euphilia began in this manner.  
Whilst Thaetons' sage fire  
his scorching beams  
On th'earth doth cast and move  
the sacred crew,  
Of Nymphs most chaste to seek  
the silver streams;  
Therein to bathe their hands  
of Crystal hue:  
My Pipe shall move the air  
with her sound  
To send down drops and wet  
the scorched ground.  Perina. 
Whilst bright Apollo in his highest seat,  
With fiery lines doth burn the tender grass:  
My notes shall pierce the skies and jove entreat,  
To bid the winds repress their furious blasts.  
That sweetly breathing on us in the field,  
The glittering leaves a pleasant noise may yield.  Euphilia. 
The chirping birds now do moiest the air,  
And to the clouds complain of summer's heat:  
The hunter ceaseth to pursue the hare,  
And fowls do leave their prey for fainting sweat.  
Now therefore shall my voice the skies ascend,  
To move the Gods this harmful heat to mend.  Perina. 
Now do the simple sheep to shadow fly,  
The Traveller by Cinthia's light is lead:  
To shun the rays which sparkling down the sky,  
Proceed from fiery Phoebus' golden head.  
My Pipe shall therefore to the clouds complain,  
Resolving them in showers of wished rain.  
What an excellent matter is it (said Euphilia) sister Perina, that we here leading this Country life, and being separated from the noise and tempestuous uproars and broils which commonly are raised in the proud Courts of Princes, should enjoy such extreme pleasure as we do in these pleasant groves, sometimes being in the shadow, sometimes sitting on the banks of the delectable River, and sometimes walking in the dark groves, where we both fence our faces from Phoebus' injury, and delight our ears with the natural Music of the singing birds. I promise you truly (quoth Perina) I am of opinion that the noise which the wind maketh among the trees, doth delight and recreate the hearts of men, more than the fond noise of some people when there is a great assembly. For there the greatest pleasure, is mere grief: proud Majesty and highness, nothing else but vanity; feasts and games nothing but troubles and tempests; honour and renown, nothing but blind errors; and most commonly we find, that among them that delight in that kind of life, words and thoughts are different, the tongue pronouncing otherwise then the heart meaneth. But here (said Euphilia) ambition layeth not her bait, neither hath avarice or covetousness any place here. The people doth not here aspire to honours nor sue for dignities: but men live free from passions and perturbations in all virtue and simplicity. Here reigneth little or no malice, but all things are ruled by justice. Neither doth the simple shepherd (quoth Perina) seek out new parts of the world nor adventure into strange Countries, committing himself neither to the cruel furious winds, nor unmerciful waves, to enlarge his treasure, or augment his riches. And yet he liveth as contentedly with that little which he hath, as he that doth abound in rich possessions and great revenues.   

CHAP. III. How Marcelio came to the house of Camillo, and of the strange advenutres that befell him in his love ro Alcida.  
AS Euphilia and her sister were thus discoursing, they seemed to hear the voice of some distressed person, and Euphilia arising, espied a shepherd resting his back against the trunk of a tree; but she hoping to gather the sum of his grief by the sense of his complaint, steeped immediately applying her ear to the shepherd's words, which were not unlike to these.  
Ah love, thou canst not invent any worse torment than I feel nor thou fortune canst be more variable and inconstant, than thou art unto me. And it is impossible to find a heart so bereft of all hope, and yet so content in suffering pain, as mine whereof love is the only cause; which upholdeth my languishing breath, to the end that I may endure the grief which continually vexeth me, But when shall my tears and life take end? when shall my torment cease? when shall my sighs bring forth my heart with them.  
And therewith he took his way strait towards the place where Euphilia and Perina sat. Wither he arrived so sorrowful, so weary, and so grieved, that it seemed that fortune pitying his case, had purposely sent him to that place to comfort him and assuage his dolours, n●t only up means of the clear water which did spring out of the foun● in whither the shepherd's accustomed to lead their sheep to drink: but also by reason of the pleasantness of the place the shadow of the trees, and exceeding beauty of these two noble shepherds. In so much that all these things caused him to think that he had received some solace, though the importance of that which he sought, and the desire he had to find the same, gave him no leisure to rest in that place. Yet was he, being a stranger so curtuously entertained by the two sisters, that he deemed himself not a little happy to have lighted on such company, Wherefore he being entreated by them to go with them to their lodging, to eat something, and to refresh himself with such dainties as their country manner afforded, could not but grant their request, and so followed them unto their father's house. Where he was received of aged Camillo and his son, not as a stranger, but as one that had been of their near kindred and affinity. For they marking his singular beauty and perfection of body his excellent grace in speaking, his sharp wit; and his comely, behaviour, thought him worthy of all the courtesy they could imagine to show him. Supper being done, old Camillo took his leave of the strange shepherd, and went to his rest. But Perierio and his sisters keeping the shepherd company, led him into the Orchard to take the evening air, after that Phoebus had shut up his light in the Western parts. And Euphilia desirous to know what sinister chance had brought the shepherd into such a Chaos of cares and world of sorrows, began thus to be inquisitive of his fortune.  
Gentle shepherd, seeing that the night is no time to travel and you are so tired that you are like to fall in great danger of some sore disease, unless you look to yourself and rest your weary limbs, I hearty pray thou to stay with us this night, and you shall have no worse bed than where my brother lieth on, nor worse bedfellow than himself. And for as much as the pleasantness of this cool air is such, that it enticeth and provoketh us to recreate ourselves therein: if that you will whilst we expect the coming of the dark night, unfold the cause of this your wand'ring journey unto us, and make us partakers of your evil and adverse fortune, we shall think us to be greatly beholding unto you. The shepherd would not be long entreated by such excellent persons, but walking with them in a pleasant arbour of Eglantine, began to discourse after this manner.  
Gentle shepherds, the manifold benefits which it hath pleased you to heap on me being a mere stranger, unworthy by my deserts of the least courtesy in the world, bind me to yield to whatsoever you can demand of me, as far as my simple power stretcheth, And therefore although my evil be of such nature that it cannot be communicated unto all kinds of persons, yet the opinion which I conceive of your deserts, and the valour which your beauty bewrayeth, constraineth me to make an open rehearsal of all my forepast life, if I may term that life which I would willingly counterpoise and change with death. Know therefore gentle shepherds that I am called Marcelio, and that my vocation and estate is far contrary to that which my co●t showeth. I was born at Soldine, the principal and chief Cit● of the Province of Vandalia, and my parents were of great authority abounding in wealth & riches; I have been brought up even from my childhood in the Court of the Lusitan King, where I was much made of, and dearly beloved, not of the principal Peers only, but also of the King himself. Insomuch that he would not suffer me to part from his Court, until that time that he had commited his Garrisons in the borders of Africa unto my charge. Where I remained a long time chief and general Governor of all the Cities and For tresses which the King there hath; keeping my residence in the City of Cente, where my misfortune and adversity took beginning. There was in the same City a certain Knight named Eugerio, who was by the King honoured with the charge and government of the City. This Knight had a son called Polydor, most valiant and courageous in all extremities; and two daughters called Alcida and Clenarde, exceeding all the Gentlewomen of their Country in beauty. Clenarde was endued with singular dexterity in handling her bow, but Alcida, who was the eldest surpassed her in beauty. Who hath so enamoured my heart, that she hath been the cause of this hopeless and desperate life which you see me lead, and of the cruel death which I call and wi●h for every hour. Her father was so careful and dainty of her, that he would scarce allow her at any time to absent herself from his presence, which hindered me that I could not let her know the affection which I bore her. But nevertheless as often as I saw her I signified and bewrayed my pain unto her by means of my passionate looks, and the sighs which proceeded from my heart without the consent of my will. At length I found occasion to write unto her and therefore unwilling to neglect such wished opportunity, I sent her a letter the contents whereof were such.  
Ma●celio unto Alcida.  
MAdam, your honesty and grave countenance, your modesty and wisdom, your wit, and great judgement, and thousand other virtues with which you are most happily endued besides the incomparable beauty which increaseth your renown in all parts of the world, have so entangled my thoughts in the consider●ion thereof that I have been forced to collocate, and place the sum of my felicity in meditating the rare gifts both of body and mind, by which it hath pleased the Gods to make your Ladyship famous. But when I consider mine own unworthiness, and perpend the great difference, which is between such excellency and myself, such is the despair which possesseth my heart, that I suffer incredible torment. Yet the force of your beauty constraineth me to judge myself happy, in that I suffer pain for so worthy a Lady as yourself. So that I feel singular joy and gladness in my evil, and receive an extreme glory in enduring grief. Pain unto me is a pastime; to weep, a pleasure; to sigh, a solace; grief, health; which doth raise the fury of torment in me, though therein I enjoy a blessed content. All this do I suffer for you Madam; it is your beauty and virtue which causeth me to be tormented with such contrary passions. And therefore pity an unfortunate lover, who offereth you his own ●●fe, and who desireth not that his evil may be redressed, but only wisheth that it may be known.  
This was the Letter which I wrote unto my Lady, which if it had been so well ●eaned as it was fortunate. I would be loath to change my ability with the eloquent stile of Tully. The Letter being secretly conveyed into the hands of Alcida, at the first caused her to be offended with my boldness, but at last marking the sincerity of my love, and the constancy wherewith I not only remained steadfast, but also patiently endured he● s●●rnfull answers and disdainful looks, her heart was altered, and she moved to reward my love with a pleasant countenance. So that when my luck was to see her, I easily e●pted the alteration of her former frowardness. For her very eyes did warn me to be of good cheer, and I might plainly see grace ●e●ted in her forehead. After which time I b●gan openly to show myself to be her superior, oftentime just, turneying, and writing verses poems, and many such other things for her service, remaining in this pain the space of certain years. Which being expired, Eugerio thought me worthy to be his son in law, and by means of some of the chiefest personages of the City he offered me his daughter Alcida in marriage. And it was amongst us agreed, that our wedding should be kept in the City of Lisbon, to the end the King of Portugal might be present at the same. Whereupon we dispatched a Post in all haste to advertise the King of this marriage, & to entreat his Majesty that we commending our charge unto faithful and trusty persons, might come thither to celebrate our marriage the. The rumour of which marriage was incontinently sperad through all the City and the neighbour places thereof and caused such a general joy and applause in all men, as so beautiful a Lady as Alcida, and so faithful a lover as myself deserved. Until that time it seemeth that I was very happy. But fortune that favoured me so highly, afterward cast me down headlong into the depth of these miseries, in which I find myself presently, Know therefore that after my unfortunate marriage was concluded on, and the Kings licence granted, Eugerio being a widower, his son Polidor, his daughters Alcida and Clenarde, and unhappy Marcelio, who unfoldeth his mishap unto you, having committed our charge to loyal persons, we embarked at the Haven of Centa, to sail to the noble City of Lisbon, there to celebrate our marriage, as I have before said. The content and pleasure which we conceived of our wished desires, in such manner blinded us, that regarding neither the unmerciful waves nor the boisterous winds, and commending our vessel to fortune, the patroness of inconstancy, we went to sea in the worst and dangerousest time of the year, not considering or perpending the inconveniencies that at such times are ordinary. But very shortly thereafter, fortune chastised our temerity and fond rashne: for before night had covered Neptune's face with the curtain of darkness, the Master of the ship discovered certain tokens of tempests to come. Soon after began the thick and obscure clouds to cover the skies, the angry waves began to murmur, the winds blow variably. Whereupon the master of the ship with a fearful and troubled countenance uttered these words. Ah sorrowful and fearful tokens! Ah infortunate bark! What ill luck and miserable adventure is prepared for thee, if the Gods here show not their deity!  
He had no sooner ended these words, but a certain boistreus and furious blast so lanced on the mainsail, and in such manner whirled into the body of the whole ship, that at that instant she was in such danger, that he who held the stern was forced to abandon the government thereof, and so the ship following the mighty fury wherewith she was led, & went whither the wind and waves did drive her. The tempest increased more and more and became greater and greater; the furious waves covered with white foam began to augment their anger and to rage's more than before. There might we see a massy rain falling from the element, intermingled with lightning and fearful thunder. There might we also hear a terrible noise and shaking of the sail yard, the mast, the lines, cords, cables, and tackling of the ship. There might we also hear the lamentable voice both of the passengers and Mariners, which caused us to fear exceedingly. The winds beset the ship on all sides, and the waves battered it in such manner, that the very strongest and best nailed parts thereof burst in pieces. The proud sea sometimes lifted us up to the firmament, and suddenly she carried us down even unto the bottom; yea and (that which was wonderful) the waves in such manner parted asunder, that we might plainly see the sand & gravel in the bottom of the sea. The men and women that were in the ship lamenting and bewailing their infortunate end, some fetched heavy and grievous sighs from the bottom of their hearts; some offered pitiful vows, others yielded fountains of tears out of their eyes. The master of the ship not knowing what to do against such raging fortune, his cunning being overcome by the fierceness and perseverance of the tempest, could no longer conduire le timon.  
He knew not the nature nor offspring of the winds, and in one instant commanded and ordained a thousand different matters. The Mariners troubled and vexed by reason of the agony and perplexity of their present death, could not execute their charge and by reason of the noise and cries of the passengers, could not understand what the master prescribed them, calling as loud as he could for his life. Some of them turned the sail yard; others hales the sale cord; others striked the topsail; others came to mend the spirit sail; others to save the mizzen sail; others did take of the bonnet and enlargement of the mainsail; others were occupied with knitting the broken lives together; others looked to the hinder deck tail and castle of the ship; others to the fore deck; others to the hatches; others voided the sea into the sea, casting the water out of the ship. To be short every man did what in him lay to defend and save the miserable vessel from inevitable shipwreck. But all their diligence served to no end, their vows and tears helped not to appease angry and fierce Neptune; but the night approached more and more, and the wind and tempest increased marvellously. When the dark night was fallen, the tempest being nothing assuaged, Bugerio hoping for no remedy, with a terrible countenance, representing the very picture of fate and despair, his eyes being cast on his son, his daughters, and me his son in law, gave us sufficiently to understand by the heaviness of his looks, what grief he suffered for the death which was prepared for us. Insomuch th●t his care and grief did as much hurt, as our own misfortune. T●● poor old m●n environed with sorrow, spoke in this order with a lamentable voice the tears running down his f●ce  
Ah changeable Fortune, enemy of humane welfare hast thou reserved such a woeful disaster for my old days? Oh how happy are they that die in bloody battles amidst their enemies in their youth, to the end that never attaining to their l●tter age, they f●ll not into d●nger to bewail the pitiful adventurse & de●th of their loving children! oh wonderful mishap! oh sorrowful success! who ever ended his life with such grief as myself? For whereas I thought to comfort myself at the time of my de●th in leaving children in the world, to conserve and keep the memory and remembrance of my lineage and kindred, now I am constrained necessarily to die with those that aught to celebrate my funerals. O loving and dear children who would have thought that my life and yours, should have finished at one self same time and instant? Who would have thought that our lives should have taken their and through one and the selfsame misfortune? I would willingly comfort you my dear children; but what solace can a sorrowful father give, whose heart is pestered with so much grief, und who himself is void of all consolation.  
Comfort yourselves my children, arm your hearts with patience, leave all grief and sorrow unto me, to the end that I dying may suffer as many deaths as ye all must endure.  
This, old Eugerio uttered with so many sighs and sobs that he could scarce with much ado speak, embracing us all one after another to take his leave and bid us farewell, before the hour of eminent shipwreck was come. It would be a great enterprise, and difficult matter for me presently to recount what tears Aloda wept, and what grief I suffered for her sake, and therefore I will only tell you one thing that nothing so much grieved me as that my life (which I had offered for her service) could not take end without her death. In the mean time our forlorn ship driven with the force of the angry waves and furious winds (which blew so marvellous strongly) flying all night though the straight of Gilbatan, more swiftly than we wished or served our turn the next day went astray, I know not how many leagues into the large Mediterrean sea.  
Where after that we had long wandered hither and thither, the force of the wind and waves driving us up and down for the space of that dry and night, the next morning the tempest seemed to be something assuaged, and the rueful waves abating their courage, Neptune spread a pleasant calm over the sea; wherewith we were not a little cheered.  
But fortune not contented to have heaped such a world of calamities upon us, would also take her pleasure in mocking us in the midst of miseries. For on the sudden the wished calm was turned into a worse and greater extreme tempest then before: which brought us into such extremity, that we hoped not for one hour of life. At last one side of the ship being strooken with a great raging whirlwind, the other side lay flat upon the water, and was in danger to sink presently.  
When I saw the manifest danger, I began to ungird my sword, to the end it might not hinder me, and embracing Alcida, I leapt with her into the ship boat. Clenarde being a light and nimble Gentlewoman, following us did the same, not leaving behind her bow and arrows, for that she esteemed more of that than of some great and precious treasure. Polidor thrusting his father forwards, thought to have done as much, and to have leapt into the boat as we had done; but the shipmaster, with another Mariner, leapt in before them: And as Polidor with his aged father thought to have followed, the boat was separated from the ship by reason of a mighty wave which was driven by the wind betwixt the ship and the boat, so that they were forced to remain in the ship: the sight whereof in short time we lost, and never since heard any news of her. But I am of opinion, that (all doubt removed) she was swallowed up by Neptune's greedy waves, or that crossing overthwart the Sea, she perished miserably on the coast of Spain.   

How Bartophamus the Pilot, by Treason, left Alcida in the Isle Formentaria, and Marcelio in the Isle Juique, and carried away Clenarde, and what ensued.  
PErierio and his sisters listening to Marcelio's discourse, he proceeded in this manner. Alcida, Clenarde, and I, being in the boat conducted by the industry and diligent painfulness of the Mariners, we went astray up and down the seas for the space of one whole day and night, attending for Death from hour to hour, without hope of any remedy, not knowing where, or in what part of the world we were. This notwithstanding the morning next following, we perceived that we were very near to land, endeavouring to row as near it as we could possibly, At the length, the two Mariners being very cunning in swimming, did not only leap into the water to swim to the shore, but also drew us all to that so long desired land. After we were so happily delivered from the danger which furious Neptune threatened us. the Mariners fastened their shipboat to the shore side, and knowing the place where we landed, told us we were in the Isle of Formentera: and wonderfully marvelled that we had run so many miles in so little time. But they had such experience of the wonders that fierce tempests are accustomed to do. that they were not too much amazed at the course of our navigation. Yet howsoever the tempest had driven us, we were then assured and out of danger of the menaces wherewith fortune feared us amidst the inexorable waves. But we were so gréeved for the loss of Eugerio and Polydore, so troubled with weariness, and so famished with hunger, that we had none or little cause to rejoice of the life which we had recovered. Neither will I now rehearse what tears Alcida and Clenarde shed because they had lost their father and brother, to the end that I may tell you the sorrowful and unhappy success, which I had in that desert and solitary Isle. For after that, by reason we were arrived in the same, I was delivered from the fury of the sea, love became such an adversary and enemy unto me, that he seemed to be grieved that my life was saved from the pecil of the tempest, and that he would torment me with a new and more grievous pain, when I thought myself to be in safety. For malicious Cupid wounded the heart of the Pilot (who was called Bartophamus) and rendered him so far in love of the beauty of Clenarde, the sister to Alcida, that to attain to the point of his intended desires, he forgot the law of friendship and fidelity, and imagined a strange and wicked treason which he did put in execution. Which was such.  
As the two sisters wept, and grievously lamented their fathers and brothers miserable death, it happened that Alcida overcome with heaviness and weariness, she lay down on the sand and fell a sleep. Whereupon I began to say to the Pilot: friend Bartophamus if we take not some order to provide for victuals, and if our ill luck be such that we can find none, we may make account we have not saved our lives, but rather that we have changed the manner and kind of our death: and therefore would I that you and your companion should go to some village or burrow of this Isle, which thou may find, to fetch meat for us to eat. Sir Marcelio (answered Bartophamus) fortune hath done us pleasure enough in bringing us hither, and helping us to arrive at this Isle, though it be desert and barren. And you must not think that we shall here find any meat to assuage our hunger, and remedy our necessity; for the country is not inhabited. But I will tell you how we may find means to suffer no hunger: do you see yonder little Isle that lieth right over against us, in that Isle there is great quantity of Dear, Coneys, Hares, and many other beasts. There is also a Hermitage, where the Hermit hath good store of bread and meal. Therefore I am of this advice, that it were good that Clenarde (whose dexterity and cunning in shooting is not unknown unto you) should pass over to that Isle and carry her bow and arrows, which she hath here with her, & kill some Hart or Do. I and my companion will row her thither, and you sir Marcelio may stay with Alcida. For it may so come to pass, that before she awaketh, we shall return hither with abundance of fresh and savoury provision. This counsel of the Pilot was well liked of me, and Clenarde, we not thinking of his pretended treason. Nevertheless Clenarde, would not in any case pass over to the said Isle, unless I went with her; for she durst not trust the Mariners. And although I excused myself not to go with her, saying that it was not convenient for me to leave Alcida alone, and that sleeping in a place so solitary; she answered, that the distance between that place and the little Isle, was not very great, that she was sure that we should bring good provision with us, for that there was much venison in the Isle, and that the sea was calm and still, (for after that we were set on shore the surging waves were appeased) by reason whereof she concluded, that we might pass over to the Isle, and return again before Alcida awaked, especially because she was tired with weariness and had many nights been deprived of her rest. Finally, she alleged so many reasons, that forgetting what was most convenient for me to do, I resolved to accompany her to the Isle. Whereof Battophamus was not a little grieved, for that he sought not to have any but Clenarde only to go, to the end that he might the better execute his villainous treason, yet wanted not the villain means to bring his wicked will to pass: for we leaving Alcida a sleep alone and being all settled in the boat to pass to the Isle, I thinking of no hurt and being unarmed (for I left all my weapons in the ship when I leapt into the boat with Alcida to savo our lives) the two mariners fell upon me, took me and bound me,  
Clenarde seeing their manifest treason, would for grief cast herself overboard into the sea, but the Pilot held her, and taking her aside, secretly said unto her in this manner. Lady, trouble not yourself for this fact, and be not grieved at that which you see us do; we do it in your behalf you shall understand, that this Marcelio assoon as we were arrived in yonder desert Isle, spoke secretly unto me, and desired me to counsel you to pass over to the Isle hard by, and after that we were on the sea, that I should sail Eastward, declaring that he was in love with you, and that he would leave your sister in the Isle, to the end that he might have you at his pleasure, without any let or hindrance. And whereas he made such difficulty, and seemed so unwilling to accompany you, he did but dissemble to cloak his malice, But I beholding the worthiness of your passing beauty, not to prejudice your deserts, at the very hour that I should have executed the treason, I resolved to remain loyal and faithful unto you, and thereupon have served Marcelio as you see, with full deliberation to leave him at the end of an Isle not far hence, on the shore side, and thence to return with you incontinently to the place where we left your sister sleeping. Now you know how the matter standeth, and therefore see what you will do.  
Clenarde hearing this in good sooth believed that it was all true, and was mortally angry with me, being very well content that Bartophamus should carry me to that place where he had appointed to leave me. Besides, she beheld me with a disdainful countenance, that I could not enough marvel at the strangeness of her alteration. And she was so enraged that she could not speak, but she rejoiced in her heart, that she should be so revenged of me; without perceiving the knavery which the Pilot went about. So that I well marked, that Clenarde was nothing grieved at my evil entreatment, whereas notwithstanding at the first, she took it so heavily: and therefore I said unto her, How now my sister, what mean you by this? Do you think both my misfortune and yours, and the danger wherein the Gods have placed us both at this instant, to be so small and of so little weight, that you ought so soon to cease from weeping? Or do you hope to see us soon delivered out of their traitorous hands, that we may be revenged of their villainy. Whereupon she inflamed with fury, like a fierce Lioness, told me, that I was so dealt withal, because I would have left her sister Alcida in the solitary isle to lead her away, and many other such brave invented lies, which the Pilot had made her to believe.  
When I understood that, I felt such an extreme pain, and was so greeved, that I well perceived, that never the like had befallen me before; and although I could not stir nor touch those Peasants, yet I miscalled them, and railed at them wonderfully.  
And as touching Clenarde, I alleged her such quick and forcible reasons, that at length she knew that all this proceeded out of the love which the Pilot Bartophamus bore her. So that she began so pitifully to lament our case, that it was sufficient to mollify stones, but not the hard hearts of those traitorous mariners. Now consider, that our boat had in short time with marvellous swiftness overrun a great part of the sea, when as unfortunate Alcida awaked, and found herself alone, who seeing that she was to abandoned and forsaken, turned her eyes toward the sea side, to see if the could espy the boat and perceiving that it was not there, she went along the shore to seek us, but she found no body. Ye may well think beautiful shepherds) what grief Alcida suffered at that instant, and imagine what abundance of tears she sent from her Crystal eyes. Consider I pray you, in what extremity the miserable young Lady found herself, when as she was left all alone in that solitary and desert Isle: perpend in like manner how often she meant violently to cast herself down headlong into the sea, molesting the air with her lamenting voice, and how often she called me, and forced echo to repeat my name in the element. But we were by this time so far separated from her, that we could not understand her cries, but we might well perceive that she with a white handkerchiff (which she lifted in the air) made sign that we should return, but the traitor Bartophamus could not be entreated. But sailing marvellous swiftly with wind and tide, we arrived at the Isle juique, where he landed and with his companion carried me on the shore, tying me to an anchor that stuck in the ground. Incontinently certain Mariners came thither being of Bartophamus acquaintance and of like disposition. And notwithstanding that Clenarde recommended her honour unto them, & prayed them to deliver her from Bartophamus his wicked enterprise, yet she obtained nothing the more of them peasants, who took no regard of her just complaint, but gave the traitor sufficient provision to live, wherewith he entered his boat again, taking Clenarde with him sorely against her will. After which time I have not seen her, nor heard any news of her. I remained there a long time famished and bound hand and foot. But the chiefest part of my grief consisted in the calamity and miserable case which poor Alcida was in, being left alone in the Isle of Formentera. For as concerning the necessity wherein I was, that was soon redressed. For certain mariners that were more pitiful and honester men than the other villains, hearing me call unto them, came near me, and freed me from my wonderful kind of prison unlosing the lines wherewith I was tied to the anchor. And after that they had given me meat to assuage the fury of hunger (which well near had overcome me and caused me to resign my life) I was so earnest with them, and so importunately requested them to carry me to the Isle of Formenters, that they being moved with pity presently rigged a briggantine, and making provision of victuals and weapons, ●ailed with me to the Isle of Formentera, where I had left Alcida. But what search I made I could not find her. Suppose gentle shepherds that she had chosen the sea to be the sepulchre wherein she buried her grieved body, or that the wild and savage beasts had made a prey of her tender limbs. But I searching along the shore, plains, rocks, valleys, caves dens, and most secret corners, and burroughs, of all the Isle, at length found a piece of a rock wherein certain letters were ingraved with the point of a knife, which contained this protestation; which I as deeply ingraved in my heart with the edge of my memory, as it was cut in the hard rock with the point of a knife.  

Thou sandy meadow, desert all and dry,  
Thou sable, like the plumes of snowwhite swans,  
Thou sea that shrowdest Neptune in his court,  
And art acquainted with my flowing tears,  
Thou furious wind and variable air,  
Molested with my grievous sad complaints;  
Where painted and engraven doth remain,  
Th' exceeding torment of my helpless grief;  
All ye make true report of my intent,   

For seeing that mine own Marcelio  
Is with Clenarde fled I left alone,  
And sigh his faith and all my hope withal,  
Is with his sails commirted to the wind;  
Bear witness that Alcida thus forsaken,  
Henceforth will never fancy person more;  
For fear to enter in such dangerous seas  
And eke to fall from freedom to like foil,  
From pleasing rest to such disquiet toil.   
I will not here make mention of the wound which I felt in my heart, when I read this memorial, that I knew that by fortunes cursed spite, I was hated of my Lady and mistress, whom I love dearer than mine own life. Wherefore being environed with so many calamities and troubles, I as weary to live any longer, would have pierced my distressed heart, intending to run on the point of my sword had not those good Mariners that were with me, not only by persuasions and words, but in effect and deeds also hindered my intent. They forced me half dead to return to the Brigantine, and by my importunate entreaties they sailed towards the coasts of Italy, and landed at the Haven of Cayetta in the Kingdom of Naples: wherein I enquired for Alcida, ask news of all those that I found; and at length meeting with certain shepherds, after I had told them certain tokens of her, they knowing whom I meant, informed me that she certainly landed at the same Haven in a Spanish ship, which passing by the Isle of Formentera, and them rivers, finding her there all alone, fetched her aboard. And that because I should not find her, she had changed her apparel and clothed herself like a shepherd. Whereupon I also became a shepherd to the eye, in outward colours, hoping the sooner to find her; and in this habit ran over the whole Country: without meeting with any man that might tell me news of her. At length I found a certain shepherd that gave me intelligence, that she knowing that I was informed of her being there, took ship and sailed into Spain. So that with all speed I took ship also, minding to follow her, and I arrived here in Spain which I have almost coursed over, and as yet I cannot hear any tidings of this cruel Lady, which I seek with such labour and exceeding pain.  
And this (gentle shepherds) is the Tragedy of my life, this the cause of my death, and this the success of my mishap. If perchance I have troubled you with the tediousness and perplexity of this pitiful history, the fault is in you selves, who have so earnestly desired me to do the same. In the mean while, I beéech you not to take your pleasure in going about to remedy my evil, nor to comfort my distressed soul. But let me spout out of my infortunate eyes so many tears, as so just an occasion requireth. Wherewith Marcelio having ended the discourse of all his misfortune, he began to sigh and weep so bitterly, that it was pitiful to behold; in such manner that no man that saw him could not but be moved with extreme pity,   

CHAP. V. How Marcelio taking his leave of Perierio and his sisters, departed in search of Alcida.  
EUphilia having heard this pitiful and lamentable discourse of Marcelio, was ●orely grieved for his cause, and gave him this comfortable answer. Sir Marcelio, the strangeness of your mishap is sufficient to abash any man whatsoever, and to give him sufficient cause to be grieved though it concern not himself; but seeing there is no harm so great but may be helped in tract of time, and as fortune is inconstant in her favours, so is she likewise not constant in her frowns, and she hoiseth men as well from adversity to prosperity, as she casts them from their wicked pleasures to an intolerable grief Insomuch that her only essence is inconstancy, and all her being is being variable, as well in withdrawing her favours, as in bestowing them. And therefore (valiant Knight) be of good cheer, draw up your spirits, and courageously take hold on the shield of hope. For I doubt not but that you shall in short space attain to your wished desires, and find your Lady whom you say to be in these parts of Spain. For if it be so (as I certainly believe it is) all doubt removed, I shall hear of her by reason that all the shepherds of the Country resort hither; so that it cannot be but we shall hear of them such news as they know, and it may so fall out, that Alcida herself may have occasion to pass this way. But howsever know this that she cannot be long in the country but we shall hear of her. And besides, we will give order that she shall be sought for in the most secret places of the wh●le country. But in such manner, that your arrival into these parts be kept secret, lest she fly into some other country further off. M●rcelio thanked her greatly for her exceeding and undeserved courtesy, and desired her to remember to do as she so freely and of her own voluntary goodness had promised. Whereupon taking his leave of her, Perina, and Perierio, notwithstanding that they were loath to let hi● departed ere morning, yet he so earnestly desired them to take his most just excuse in good part, and to suffer him to do according to his own intent, that they could not but let him accomplish his pleasure. So that Marcelio thanking them all in most courteous manner, for their rare hospitality & singular benevolence towards him, departed late in the night from those famous shepherds, and took his wont course in running up and down the woods, rocks, plains, caves and all such solitary and desert places where he thought he might meat with the cause of his grief, and yet the sole mistress of his heart and only object of his content and delight. The noble shepherds were marvellously sorrowful for his departure: but especially Perierio, who (as you have heard) was in love with the Lady that fled from him in the wood. For he had purpose to ask Marcelio certain tokens of his Alcida, because he doubted whether that Lady which he had seen had been Alcida; but for that Marcelio had declared, that his Lady was apparelled in the habit of a shepherd, he gathered that it was not Alcida, because the Lady which he saw was most sumptuously and gorgeously attired, more like some Princess than a counterfeit shepherd. Whereof he was glad for two respects; the one because Marcelio had rehearsed Alcida her protestation ingra●en in the rock. Whereby he signified that she would never love any man living more. The other, because Marcelio was Alcidas husband in troth and promise, & therefore thought he should have but hard luck to become competitor and corrival to so worthy a Knight and faithful lover as Marcelio. Euphilia and Perina went to their rest, but Perierios' mind was so entangled in the conceit which he had of his strange love, that he could not rest, but tumbling and tossing up and down in his bed, by that time the day appeared, he went from b●d as he came unto it, for he had not so much as shut his eyes all the time that he lay. Assoon as he had put on his , he went into the Orchard to drive away his melancholy passions; but the more he strove against love the less he prevailed, and the means wherewith he sought to quench the fire which Cupid had inflamed in his breast, did kindle the same. For hearing the birds sing their natural notes, and ●ill the air with their chirping noise, he began in this manner to renew his passions.  
Ah pleasant birds, that bewray your wished content by your shrill voice, which soundeth so sweetly in the air would I were so happy that I might have cause to sing with you. Ah cruel fortune that didst send me into the wood to meet with my enemy. Ah unmerciful Cupid that goest about to stay me, by her for whose service I would willingly offer my life? Why hast thou made me love her that hateth me? And why prolongest thou my life to increase my torment? If I may not enjoy her in whom my felicity consisteth, I must die. And therefore if I must be deprived of my wished desires, sweet death mend thy pace, and deliver me out of this intolerable grief. Make haste ye fatal dames, and cut the line of my life, that with the loss of the same, I may gain a pleasing rest and quietness. But why do I request, where I may command? Have not I this dagger which at my pleasure may cause the breadfull Destinies to throw my miserable body (the very habitation of grief) breathless on this ground? True, but what if with one stroke I make four wounds in four several bodies. For if I die, aged Camillo cannot live, nor yet either Euphilia or Perina. Therefore rather than my father or my sisters should end my Tragedy, I will endure the extremest torment that love or fortune can invent.  
Why then come woe,  
and be my daily weed;  
Come, come, and wend  
with me in every place,  
Come be the drink,  
and meat whereon I feed:  
And paint thy colours  
in my youthful face.  
Let fortune frown,  
let wanton Venus' hate:  
Let Cupid fret,  
woe is my trusty mat●.  
And therewith Perierio fling out of the Orchard, and went with his sheep to the field. And after Euphilia and Perina being warned by Phoebus' silver lines, that Aurora had cleared the air, and expelled the darkness of the night, followed with their flocks also. But Perierio lest they should perceive his inward grief by his outward looks led his sheep something fare out of the way where he thought he might be out of sight until he had poured forth the tears which as yet sat in his eyes. Dinner time being come, he washed the tears from his face, and looked as cheerfully as he could, lest his father or his sisters should mark any alteration in him. He lived thus for the space of two months, weeping and lamenting the absence of the Lady which he loved, oftentimes ranging through woods, to see if he might be so fortunate as to meet with her again.   

CHAP. VI How Euphilia and Perina came to the knowledge of Perierio's love, and what conference passed between them.  
HOw runningly soever Perierio cloaked his grief under a pleasant countenance, yet because he so delighted to be alone, haunting solitary places Euphilia and Perina began to suspect that their brother had something or other that troubled him.  
And they could not enough marvel why he so often separated himself from their company whereas notwithstanding he was wont so pleasantly to recreate them, either rehearsing some history, or sounding his instrument, or discoursing of the disposition of the water, inclinations of the Planets, and of the celestial orbs. And therefore they could not imagine what might be the cause that he was of a merry, become melancholy, and to delight in solitariness, where he so coveted company. And to the end that they might know what moved him to alter and change his natural complexion, upon a certain morning, when the air was something darkened with a gross mist, they followed him secretly into the woods: and although he almost tired them with trotting up and down all the paths and cross ways of the wood, yet they marveling at the strangeness of his walk, rested not until the bright beams of the sun had chased away the duskish mist: for than they were compelled to stay behind Perierio a pretty way, lest they should be seen by him.  
At length he being overcome with weariness, the sooner because he laboured in vain: grief and travel together forced him to rest. He therefore espying a tall Pine, which did cast a large and enticing shadow, threw himself down on the hard ground under the same. and taking his country Cytherens sung so sweetly unto it, that the heavenly harmony of his music amazed all the Deer and birds in the wood.  
Euphilia and Perina had no sooner marked that their brother had taken the advantage of the Pine, to shroud his weary body from the injury of Apollo's heat, but they entering in the midst of the thicket, to draw as near him as they might hear the sound of his instrument rebound against the bushes, whereof they were passing glad, hoping that he would bewray his thoughts to the dumb trees and senseless bushes. They therefore listening, heard him sing in this manner.  

Floribusnt plenum ver, sic mea vita periclis,  
Piscibus ut que fretum, sic ego mille malis:  
Adversis cumn●or, cumulat; ut hortus arenis;  
Gaudia me fugiunt, sort petitque dolour.   

My mind is void of mirth, no joy  
my humour doth possess;  
No pastime doth avail, nor sport  
my grief for to redress.  
No muse may move, no song delight,  
no, no, nor pleasure please;  
No tune can touch, no fancy like,  
no toy can work my case.  
No game, no play, no dance, no show,  
no company at all;  
No exercise, no use of bow,  
nor yet of boul or ball.  
Ne Bacchus' cups, ne Ceres' cheer,  
ne Venus looks unsure:  
From woe to wantonness, can now.  
my pensive thoughts allure,  
Care, care, doth waste my years though young  
and vex my youthful age;  
And therefore since no worldly thing  
my dolour can assuage.  
I am content because compelled,  
where others laugh to weep:  
At night a thousand thoughts resolve,  
where others take their sleep.   
After he had ended this Sonnet, Perina his youngest sister, seeing that he arose to departed thence, whistled and so stayed him. For he marvelled who it should be; but at length espied both his sisters coming towards him, which wonderfully astonished him, because they had never done the like before; and courteously greeting them, asked what the cause was of their coming thither? Euphilia answered, yourself brother Perierio. For though we have great regard of our own welfare (quoth Perina) yet we do not regard ourselves only, but are as careful of your fortune as of our own. And therefore we (quoth Euphilia) marking and perceiving by your solitary walks, that you were troubled with some grief or other, and that some misfortune had happened unto you, we were as sorry as if it had been our own case. This brother Perierio, is the cause of our coming, to see if we might come in knowledge of the evil which tormenteth your youth, that it being known unto us, might by our diligence and industry, be remedied and amended. Therefore brother conceal it not from us whatsoever it be, and you shall find in us more than sister-like readiness, if more may be. Ah loving sisters (quoth Perierio) I cannot enough thank you both, for the love you bear me; and in truth the only cause that I have smothered my pain with silence, not detecting it unto any of you, hath been, for that I was loath that you should be grieved for my sake, and I wished nothing so much: as that all the discontent and anguish of my evil should redound to no bodies grief but mine own. And therefore (sweet sisters) if you love yourselves and me also wish not to be acquainted with my sore, lest you suffer part of the pain. But content yourselves, and look to the tranquillity of your own hearts, not tormenting yourselves in my behalf. But you be deceived herein brother Perierio (quoth Euphilia.) For in thinking to free us from grief by concealing your evil you do amiss. Know you not that they which are careful of any man's welfare, and so tenderly love him, that they think themselves hurt if any ill light on him, are continually compassed with fear if he be grieved, thinking the cause thereof oftentimes to be far greater or worse than it is?  Quando ego non in tui graviora pericula veris? 
And therefore brother you afflict our hearts with divers torments in concealing your evil from us, whereas we can but feel one pain if we knew it. For now the torment of suspicion in suspecting divers things, doth assail us of one side, fearing sometimes one mischief sometimes another; every one whereof woundeth our hearts with passing sorrow. And fear maketh the assault of the other side; causing us to imagine that the matter is far worse than it is. Lastly, hope troubleth us as much as suspicion or fear. For though it be a motion of the mind of future luck or good to come, and not of evil; yet is it but a perturbation of the mind troubling and vexing it continually; and he that hopeth enjoyeth not his hearts ease nor quietness of mind. Why then sister (quoth Perierio) to rid you of all suspicion, fear and hope, know that I love, and suspect no worse, nor hope any better; and ask we no more, for I should not be able to answer you if you should be too inquisitive. The reason is because I know not whom I love; nor where she is whom I love. And is it love (quoth Perina) that troubleth you? Why then left you not this verse out of the Sonnet, which you sung to the Cytharen but even now.  
Ne Bacchus' cups, ne Ceres' cheer,  
ne Venus looks unsure:  
From woe to wantonness, can now,  
my pensive thoughts allure.  
Well remembered sister Perina, (quoth Euphilia) for if he be in love, he must needs offer sacrifice to Venus, and what but the unsure looks of Venus hath caused him to give over all pasture and mirth, and live in passionate grief. And yet he saith.  
That Venus looks unsure.  
could no way him allure.  
How then can you love Perierio, if you be not alured by be ●●ty? Very well sister (quoth Perierio) For though Venus be accounted the Goddess of love in being mother to Cupid, yet doth she command no further than beauty stretcheth: which is not the only object that moveth men to love. What think you not that virtue, nobility, excellency, or wealth, may move us to love? Then you must confess that I may love, and yet not alured by Venus' colours. Nevertheless know, that beauty is the only cause and motive of my love, and yet do I not think that the verse which my sister Perina so well remembered, was unfitly inserted among the other verses of my Sonnet. For seeing that I loved, and yet was bereft of all hope, ever to enjoy her whom I loved (because I neither knew what she was, nor where she was, as I have already told you) by reason whereof, I wished no greater pleasure than grief, nor better companion than woe, and therefore might very well say, that the unsure looks of Venus should not provoke my pensive thoughts from we to wantonness; meaning not by Venus looks sincere and true love, but wanton and voluptuous love.   

CHAP. VII. How Maffeo arrived at the place where Perierio and his sisters were: how he was enamoured on the Lady Eleonora, and departed with her into Spain.  
AS Perina thought to reply, she was interpelled by a certain Knight that came galloping towards the place where she, Perierio, and Euphilia sat, being sorely wounded in divers places of his body, his sword being drawn, and holding a scarf of silk almost in pieces in his left hand. This Knight seeing Perierio and his sisters could not enough marvel that he had found shepherds so far surpassing in beauty. And drawing near them, he was so courteously saluted by them, that he was amazed to have such an unlooked for Salve. And requiting them with like courtesy, asked them whether they had not seen any men riding that morning through the same wood. Perierio answered no. And as the knight thought to take his leave of them, Euphilia desiring to know what he was, found occasion to stay him, and therefore spoke unto him in this manner: Sir Knight, it seemeth that you are sorely wounded, by the abundance of blood which hath issued out of sundry parts of your body, and therefore I think it were not amiss, if you should alight from your horse, and tie up your wounds, ere you travel on any further.  
And for as much as we are far from any town or village, if it will please you to take in good part such homely fare as my father's country cottage can afford, you shall find us ready to lead you thither, and to welcome you to such cheer, as may content nature, though it be not comparable to courtly dainties. The Knight being very weary, and fearing lest he might incur extreme danger, if it should happen to be long are he might reach to some town, though he was ashamed, necessity forcing him thereto, accepted of Euphilias' offer; thinking that God had sent him in that wood to meet with those courteous shepherds, who beyond all expectation proffered him such friendship and succour, he being a mere stranger unto them. Therefore thanking them for their exceeding courtesy, he did bear them company to their father's house. Where the old man, rejoicing to see so comely a person by his son Perierio and his two daughters feasted the Knight in such manner, that he easily might perceive that he was welcome. After they had ended dinner, Euphilia asked the Knight how he had gotten all those wounds, and what ill fortune had brought him into such danger. Whereupon the Knight began to make this discourse of his tragedy. Gentle shepherds, to the end that you may know that you have the miserablest man in the world before your eyes, here present with you, I will as briefly declare you the history of all my life as I may, so I be not troublesome unto you, to hear the tragical events happened unto me since my cradle, I am loath to give you any cause of grief. But seeing that it pleaseth you, to know the cause of this my mishap. I hold myself bounden to pleasure you, and do according to your desire. And to be as little tedious as I possible may, I will use as much brevity as the greatness of the matter will permit me. Know therefore (gentle shepherds) that fortune threatening me bad luck, began to lower on me before I came into the world; for she conspired my death before I was born. You must note how that my father before I was born had no children, but his brother's son was his adopted heir, and should have inherited all his lands, had he died without issue So that this adopted heir having intelligence that my mother was big with child, very carefully w●ited for the time that she should fall in travel, which hour being approached, he corrupted the midwife with a great sum of money to smother me at my first entry into this world, and to spoil me of my life before I perfectly lived. But no; fortune would reserve me to worse events, and I was not so happy to be dealt withal as my unkind cousin had appointed. For the midwife being pricked with remorse of conscience, and overcome with pity, could not find in her heart to stifle me in her hands, when as I was committed to her to be tenderly handled and looked to, with all the care and diligence that might be; but she invented another manner to content Silvestro, (for so was my cousin named) which was secretly to steal me from my parents, and to convey me into the house of a poor labouring man (whose wife was wont to serve for nurse unto such poor men's wives as for weakness or sickness could not bring up their own children) about twenty miles from the place where my parents dwelled, which was the renowned City of Constantinople my father at that time being general governor over the same City. The Midwife made the same poor labouring man and his wife believe, that I was son unto one of her cousins, that she had in the abovenamed City being called Bradasso, and therefore willed them to take all the care and diligence that might be, in fostering me as a child ought to be, and that she would accordingly reward them; as ste did; for she paid them duly week by week, as long as she lived. Thinking her fault more excusable, seeing she caused me to be brought up with part of the money which she took of my cousin to spoil me of my life. I omit for brevity's sake, what grief my parents suffered for the love of their long desired son, especially because they kn●w not what was become of me; but they thought nothing so ●u●e as that I was dead and that the midwife would not let them know of it, lest they should have been too suddenly oppressed with such sorrowful news.  
When I was three years old or thereabout the midwife died such a sudden kind of death that she could not take order with my nurse for me. The nurse therefore having intelligence of her death, fearing lest she should keep me for nothing (which she was not able to do being a very poor woman) borrowed her neighbour's horse, and road with me to the City of Constantinople; where at the midwives she inquired for the same Bradasso, whose child she thought it was: this Bradasso, being a young man of some four or five and twenty years of age, and unmarried, swore by all that he might, that he never had to do with woman in his life time, so far as to g●t her with child. Whereof the woman wonderfully amazed witted not what she should do with me. And so poor Maffeo (for that is my unfortunate name) was become a bastard that had neither rath●r or mother that would know him or receive him as their child, and yet had both father and mother, who would have thought themselves to be the happiest parents that lived under the v●●l of he●●en, if they had found their own beloved infant, whom they thought to be dead long since. But my cousin being informed by the rumour spread through the City that a child nourished three or four years by the industry of such a midwife, could find neither father nor mother, after the same midwife was dead, began to calculate the time of my birth, and finding it to be full just at the time that the nurse avouched that I was brought unto her, remembered that the midwife had told him, that she had dispatched the child, & taken such order that he should never be heard of. And therefore he never thought any otherwise but that I was dead. But after he had heard this rumour spread through the City of me, he began to think how women are pitiful, & therefore doubted whether the midwife had caused me to be fostered or no in that place, because he should not hear of me; he considered also, that my parents had told him divers times, that I was not dead but lost, or rather stolen: though in truth they thought I was dead, and imagined that the midwife had but made them to understand that I was lost, or stolen to diminish their grief with hope. He considered also, that the midwife was no woman to be the mother of the child her self-séeing that she had been widow a long time, and was above 70 years old when she died, which age was not convenient for wantonness, to be short, he concluded that it was I, and fearing lest if the nurse should make too diligent search to find out my parents, it might at length come to my father's ear, and himself thereby deprived of his heredity, he caused the nurse to come unto him and told her, that seeing no man would father me he would have me brought up to be his page, seeing that I was a pretty fair complexioned boy. And agreeing with her for my board, charged her to let me want nothing, and to use me well. After that time he came oftentimes to the place where the nurse dwelled, to see whether I was well handled, and sent me apparel by his men, and money to discharge my expenses for my board. When I was about ten or eleven years of age, he took me from that place and made me his page, but in truth he used me as if I had been his brother rather than his boy: by reason whereof my father, (though I then did not yet know that he was my father) made the more of me: for my cousin dwelled with my father, and was as his son. In the mean time I thought myself most happy, seeing that I had no father to have hit upon so good a master, Whom I served as faithfully as he dearly loved me. After I had served him the space of three or four years, his father by adoption and my father by right, though fortune had beguiled nature, died, and my mother within three months after his burial. So that my master being in possession of all my father's goods, lands, and lordships, began to Court all the chiefest gentlewomen of the city, thinking himself worthy to be matched with the chiefest. Among all others unto whom he made love, he chief offered his service to the daughter of a Spanish Knight that lived in Constantinople, called Don Francisco de guerdona, a man of great valour, wealth, and policy. So that my master to obtain the love of fair Eleonora (for so was the gentlewoman called) sued sought, watched, warded, prayed, protested, and did what service a man might be said to do in the behalf of his mistress; sometimes he played late in the night before her window, on his Lute, Cytharen, & Bandora; sometimes he turneyed and jousted in her presence, to move her to love him for his manhood: and sometimes he sent her letters, songs, and sonnets, therein bewraying his passions; hoping she would receive him to her servant, being overcome with pity. But all served not: for she could no way be moved to bear him affection; whereat I marvelled greatly, nor could not imagine at the cause thereof. For he was a brave valiant young Gent. of great authority and estimation, favoured by fortune, as wealthy, rich, and abundant, exorned by nature, being beautiful and fair of complexion, tall and well proportioned, and of a courageous and resolute mind, wise politic, and witty. All which considered, no man could but condemn the Gentlewoman of cruelty, seeing that no man so faithfully served her as sir Sylvestro (for so was my master called.) But at length I had sufficient occ●si●n offered me, not to marvel any longer at her frowardness towards my master. For Eleonoras' mind was more settled on the Page th●t was wont to bring her letters and papers, wherein was his master's message, then on him that sent them. Which she at last showed, and bewrayed so openly, that I began to perceive what affection she bore me, and how she both despighted and despised my master. For I being sent unto her upon a certain morning with a pair of silken garters from my master, all edged with gold, and environed with pearls, most sumptuously and artificially wrought, she taking the garters out of my hand, gave me a Portugal Crusado, (being worth sir English Angels) for my pains. Whereof I was very gl●d, partly because I was so well rewarded, and partly because I thought she began to make more account of my master in accepting the present, so bountifully rewarding the messenger. But as I was departing out of the house to let my master know of the good news, (hoping thereby to have augmented my Crusado with my master's liberality) she called me again and leading me into her bedchamber alone, burst out into these words. Ah M●●teo, thou dost serve thy master too trustily, to do me pleasure: and thou art an instrument against thine own welfare. How so Madam (quoth I?) I will soon show thee how (quoth she,) but first you must tell me, whether you think not that he hindereth himself that sueth to obtain that thing for another, which is wished unto himself? Yea Madam quoth I.) Then (replied she) do you harm yourself in endeavouring by your careful painful, industrious and diligent service, to satisfy your master's desire, in that he wisheth her to be his wife, unto whom thyself mayest be a wedded husband. And so if thou grant that thou wouldst be glad of such a wife as Eleonora, I conclude that thou strivest against thine own commodity, and that thou art an instrument against thine own self.  
When I heard her conclusion, it so well liked me, that I considered not whether the consequence followed according to the premises or no. Yet howsoever it was so contrived, that it set me at a non plus, insomuch that I stood am●ed, and knew not what betided me. I had never yet followed the Court of Cupid, though I had served one of his soldiers: and therefore I was to seek of mine answer, and witted not what to say. Notwithstanding that I felt an amorous passion creeping in my heart, contrary to any motion that I had felt before. For I know not how, my thoughts were surprised with love, after Eleonora had argued in such order with me, and I feared that she had been but in some merry vein to jest, taking her pastimes in mocking with me. And therefore I made this answer, Madam you are very merry this morning, whatsoever the matter is; God grant it be towards your good luck. And you are the bolder with me, because you may. But lest my master long for my coming I beseech you to tell me whether it will please you to command me any service, for I must hast homeward. None other (quoth she) but that thou thank him for his present, and give him this from me, which is no less worth than his and so I do own him nothing. Wherewith she reached me a Hat that was sent her father from a Spanish Duke, being a most costly jewel. I therefore taking my leave, she bid me farewell, adding this clause to shut up her Vale, Molest me no more for thy master; do for thyself what thou wilt Maffeo. To be short. I returned unto my master with such answer as Eleonora commanded me. But I began to be so lovesick, that I knew not how it was possible that a man might be so greatly altered, and so wonderfully changed in so short a time. Within a few days after, my master had prepared a letter to be sent to Elconora, which I put in my pocket, and walked up and down the streets not far from the place where she dwelled, and when I thought good, I returned home with such answer as my brains could invent and so I served my master, obeying the command of Eleonora. Who was so fixed in my heart, that I could not be separated from the thought of her beauty and excellency one minute of an hour. And though I sought by all means possible to extinguish the fire that consumed me, lest at length it might grow to an unquenchable flame; all helped not, I strove against the stream, and to go about to root out the sparkles of love, was as hard a matter for me, as it were to any man to pluck the stars out of the crystalline orb wherein they be fised. Therefore at length, not able to endure any longer. I wrote Eleonora a Letter to this effect.  
Maffeo to Elonora.  
LAdy, the extreme pain which my overburdened heart doth suffer, causeth me to let you understand the greatness thereof. I was in liberty, but you have brought me into bondage, I mean of the mind. I was free from those butchers, the affections which torture the hearts of men; but now by you am delivered into the hands of those cruel vexations which so poster my passionate heart, that I am forced to fly unto your mercy. Pity therefore your poor Maffeo, lest he die: who if he hath been too bold in bewraying his grief and torment unto you, hopeth himself to be excused, in that yourself are the cause thereof.  
Farewell Lady, and think on poor Maffeo.  
She had no sooner received my Letter, but she sent me this bitter answer which she did but to try my constancy as afterwards it very well appeared. The contents were such.  
Eleonora to base Maffeo.  
I Perceive Maffeo, that baseness and fondness strive in thy heart for superiority; of which foolish strife I mean not to be an arbitress. Can you find no fit person than myself, to part the fray? Poor ●wad, could thy tongue pronounce in my presence, which thy heart cannot perceive in mine absencee? and cannot you with deep study having had all this time, attain to the knowledge of my humour, whereas notwithstanding extempore, you gave so right a censure of my vein, When Eleonora mocketh, thou must not imagine that she meaneth: and when she jesteth, thou must not think that she is in earnest. As for the loss of thy liberty, not I, but thy base ignorance and dull wit is the cause thereof. But grant I were, do always they that imprison set at liberty? No, many are taken by one, and delivered by another. Leave thy fondness Maffeo, lest I have cause to hate thee, for I may not love thee. I bid the farewell, for I wish thee no evil. And therefore take heed thou offer me no occasion thereto.  
Ye may suppose (gentle shepherds) how coldly that letter comforted distressed Maffeo, when he expected the sentence of life or death. But then I perceived that she had but mocked with me, when she used her merry prittle prattle unto me in her chamber at her own house, yet ceased not to burn and fry in the furious flames of my burning passions; and so remained as long as I could, striving against love like a valiant champion; and passed over two months in continual skirmishes against Cupid: but alas, who was compelled to yield at length, but I that fought against a God of such force and puissance? insomuch that I chose rather to die, then to live without the love of Eleonora, and in all hast dispatched another letter, which I secretly conveyed unto her, the meaning where of was much to this purpose.  
Maffeo to Eleonora.  
LAdy I am loath to molest you, and yet cannot choose but trouble you. Love hath so conquered the bulwark of my heart, that I have determined to offer my life for your service I know that Eleonora did mock, and doth now disdain, but I am forced to suffer, and am ready to die, because both mocked and disdained by her in whom my life consisteth. And therefore though by fortune I am base (as you urged) yet by nature I find the contrary, in that noble Eleonora is the subject of my restless thoughts. You willed me to take heed lest I should give you occasion to hate me: if I do, though it grieve me, yet I cannot help it. Nevertheless, so you give me leave to love you, I shall be content, though you hate me.  
Farewell.  
Unto this Letter, she sent me no answer, but it happened within two or three days after that she had read it, that I had occasion to pass through the street where she dwelled, she seeing me, and sitting in the door alone, called me unto her, and broke forth into these bitter words.  
Why Maffeo, thinkest thou not that thou dost me displeasure enough to trouble me with thy odious letters, but must you also fret me with the sight of thy ignominious person? I have wished these two days that I might see thee, to cast out all the anger and spite unto which thou hast moved me, upon thee. But seeing thou hast vowed thy life to my service, I mean to try thy faithfulness and obedience; and yet desire not to have thy life. I command thee therefore to carry this letter unto thy master Sylvestro: but I will allow thee to read it before I seal it.  
With that she felt in her pocket, and with her hand in colour like to Juno when she braved the Queen of love for the golden apple before the Trojan youth,) drew forth the letter and bid me read it. The meaning I remember to be such.  
Eleonora to Sylvestro.  
THe knavery of your Maffeo, hath given me occasion to use your service Sylvestro. Therefore if I may be so bold with you, I would entreat you to punish his knavish sauciness: for because he seethe I make little account of his master's feigned love, he offereth me letters wherein he painteth his own passions. I have admonished and warned him to leave his peevishness; but seeing he despiseth my warning, let him fear your threatening.  
Farewell.  
When I had read this letter, I was in worse case than before: it would be too long for me to make rehearsal in what a passionate state I was, both while I heard her rail at me like a raging Lioness and when I saw by the reading of the Letter how she sought to be revenged of me, that I was ready to resign up my life, and to fall down dead in her presence for love grief, and fear: and contrarily, gladness and hope made such a combat at one instant in the midst of my heart, that I knew no more of myself, than he that was never born. At length gathering my senses together, I came to myself; and answered her: that whereas she sometime said, that I was an instrument against myself, she should now have most just occasion to say the same, and most fit matter whereout to gather premises producing the conclusion of her saying. And though if be my death (quoth I) to do your command, yet I will and must obey With that she having sealed the Letter, I taken it and went away; bidding her adieu with all the humility that I could for my life. And posting to my master, I delivered him the Letter which was so spitefully written against poor Maffeo, notwithstanding that I was not ignorant of the contents thereof, though my master knew not so much. But assoon as he read the letter, supposing that I had been the only cause of his bad success in his amours, drew forth his dagger and threw it at me; and seeing that though the dagger stuck in my leg, yet it had not given me my fatal stroke, ran at me with his naked sword, intending fully to glut himself with the blood of his innocent page, and cousin german (though I as yet then knew not that I was so.) But I stepped aside, and got out of the house as soon as I could, flying unto one of our neighbours who seemed to make much of me, and in whom I had most confidence. Unto him I declared how my master was fallen out with me, and shown him the wound which he had given me, meaning to slay me. This man being a poor honest man, and a Baker by his occupation, by name Pharicles, was likewise cunning in chirurgery, and so willingly and so carefully dressed my wound that I thought him worthy of greater reward than I could give him. But the smart of the wound, the sorrow of my grief, and the torment of love, cast me into such a dangerous disease, that I was in great peril of death, and out of all hope ever to recover my life again. After that I had lain in that case six or seven days, late in the night came Eleonora unto me, in the habit of a gentleman page, because she would not be known, and told the baker Pharicles that she was my cousin, and that she had brought something to make a confection for me. Whereupon the good Baker arose, and opening his door let her in, and sent her up to my chamber. Where she seeing that I was alone fell down on her knees before my bed, and weeping most pitifully, pronounced these words. Pardon me sweet Maffeo, pardon me, and could not for grief speak one word more, but shed out whole streams of tears, which running down her cheeks, fell on my bed, and in such sort wetted it as if it had been cast into some river. I amazed at that sudden chance, could not tell whether I dreamt, or whether I was awake; for me thought by the voice it should be Eleonora, but when I looked on her vesture. I suspected it had been my master that had repent in such manner, for that he so hardly used me. But to rid myself from doubt, I reached the candle that stood by my beds-head, and looking her in the face, I soon knew my Eleonora, who was in the like taking that I was when I read that unfortunate letter before her. Incontinently I lifted her from off her knees, embraced her, and kissed her on her tender lips, saying: What Eleonora my Lady and mistress, do you humble yourself after this order unto you servant? Pluck up your heart and be of good cheer; and ask no pardon at my hands, for you have not committed any fault against your servant. Ah Maffeo (qd. she) my fault is great, and so much the greater, because against Maffeo. After we had passed on great part of the night in such talk, she in accusing herself, and I in reiterating my unworthiness, at last we promised each other troth; and agreed to leave Constantinople and fly into Spain. For because she knew that her father would never agree unto our marriage, she concluded to provide a good sum of money, and many rich jewels, for the easier carriage, and so to transport herself and me into Spain, there to lead a contented life, until such time as we might be reconciled to here father, or fortune allowed us to return. This devise liked me so well, that all the medicines in the world, could not have cured my disease so well as the presence of her, for whom I was so willing to die. To be short, she appointed me the hour and place where I should meet her, when all things were prepared for our voyage. Where I finding her in the same habit that she was when she visited me, we took ship, and sailed unto Saint Lucar in Spain, where we lived contentedly and merrily for the space of five or six years. In he mean time you must note, how that Eleonoras' parents marveling what was become of her, were exceeding sorrowful.   

CHAP. VIII. How Maffeo and Eleonora sailing towards Constantinople were severed by a tempest, and Sylvestro drowned: also how he met with her again.  
MY cousin Sylvestro, having heard of her secret and sudden departure and mine also, began to suspect that we were together, and that Eleonora sent him that letter but to give the matter a contrary colour. Wherefore considering that the Gods so favoured me first in that my life was saved by means of the pitiful midwife, and afterwards that I was loved by so noble a gentlewoman where he was rejected, his conscience began to prick, and urged him so far, that on a morning he went to the house of Eleonoras' father, and declared to him the whole matter. Whereat he wondering would have besought the Magistrate to burn Sylvestro at a stake; but that Sylvestro promised him that he would go to the end of the world but he would find us, and in like manner discover the whole case unto us, and bring us home to Constantinople. In so much that six years being expired, I espied my cousin Sylvestro walking in the Market place, and lest he should see me, I went homewards to carry the news unto Eleonora. But he espied me and followed me to the place where I dwelled, and entering into the hall, where I sat with Eleonora, fell down on his knees, and informed us of all the matter: showing us his testimonial letters and passport, from the city of Constantinople, wherein was mentioned that he was purposely sent to seek us. Besides he brought letters written with Eleonoras' father, Don Francisco de Guerdonaes' own hand. Whereof we were so glad, especially Eleonora, that we could not but pardon my master, who now became our servant. You may well think that we made as speedy preparation as we could to return to Constantinople. For within eight days we found a ship rigged and throughly furnished, with provision of victuals, and all things necessary, which was bound to Constantinople. In which ship we conveyed ourselves with all that we had, and haysing fail, committed the vessel to Neptune's mercy. But variable fortune (that cannot be reduced into any order, sometimes being lighter than the wind, and flying more swiftly than an arrow being shot out of the bow, and sometimes heavy and marching slowly, and resembling the Tortyse; Variable fortune I say) being loath that we should rejoice of our felicity without any proof of sinister hap, raised such a tempest on the sea, that the ship being battered with the swelling waves, clove asunder and burst into pieces. So that every man catching hold some on a piece of mast, some on a piece of a board, some on the ship hatches. Eleonora having a young child by her, (for God had enriched us with a young Spaniard called Alonso, though the poor babe was as soon hated of fortune as it was born, therein not unlike his unfortunate father (for it was but three months old when we came to sea) she emptied one of our greatest chests, and therein clapped herself and her young Alonso: stirring the boat up & down with a piece of an Oar which she had spied in a ship. My cousin Sylvestro reaching to two or three oars thinking to lay them under him tumbled into the sea. I for my part had got a great piece of cork, which such as it was, by the help of the Gods saved my life. But nothing so galled me, as th●t I saw my only Eleonora and Alonso, floating on the terrible sea within the chest, and yet I could not come near her, and the traitorous waves would not drive my cork the same way that the chest was carried. For the winds blew so crabbedly that the chest floated one way, and I with my cursed cork was driven quite contrary. So that in short space I lost the sight of the chest, and therewith of all my joy. Imagine gentle shepherds in what plight poor Maffeo was at that instant. For as long as I could see my Eleonora and her Alonso, I perceived not the perilous case I was in, but after I had lost that blessed sight, I marked in what danger I was to be swallowed up by the greedy waves at every moment. Yet the grief that I suffered for that I knew not how Eleonora fared, permitted me not to care for myself, who almost an hundred times had purposed to leave my cork and cast myself into the depth of the roaring sea, and very Court where Neptune sat to rail at him for his fierce government. But yet I know not how my dreadful destinies inveigling my heart with vain hope, reserved me to worse mishaps. After that I had rolled up and down the seas a whole night, in the morning betimes I espied a great ship of war on the sea, so that I being something comforted at the sight thereof, began to call unto them that were aboard of her, as loud as my voice could reach. But the Mariners though they heard not my voice, by reason of the noise of the waves which did beat against the belly of that great ship; yet seeing me, considered in what necessity I was, and steering the ship as near as the steer man could, they threw out a cable rope which I catched by the end, and so got into the ship. Thus God had redressed my necessity, howsoever it fared with poor Eleonora and Alonso. My life was saved, but my sorrow nothing ceased, yea increased rather. For thinking on Eleonora and Alonso, I was so beset with grief, that my life was in greater danger, then when I lay rolling up and down the rising waves on the Cork. I had not been in the ship above the space of three days, but the wind blew so slowly, that we were not the better for our sales, but were compelled to use all the oars th●t were in the ship. As we had thus rowed one day and a night, we espied a chest floating on the sea which by reason of the lightness was carried away more swifter than our great ship. At length it approached so near us, that I might well perceive it to be the same chest wherein my Eleonora was. And when I saw that no body was in the chest, suppose (gentle shepherds) whether I had not sufficient occasion to think that fortune had made Eleonora, and my unfortunate boy Alonso, a prey unto the hngry. Whereupon I fell into such a trance, that having by the diligence of the Mariners recovered my senses again, I heard them say, that they had never seen the like ecstasy. O spiteful fortune! when she beginneth to frown on men, she never ceaseth until she maketh them most miserable, and bringeth them into despair. And when they are in such distress, that they think it impossible to be worse handled, than she to show her power, augmenting their evil, causeth them to acknowledge their heresy. As I for example, who could be in worse case than I was, when sprawling on the cork amidst the raging waves, I was in danger every moment to be devoured of Neptune? Yet I farto worse when I lost the sight of my dearest Eleonora. And a thousand times greater was my misery, when I saw the empty chest. At which time, cursing the winds as helping causes to my mishap; the sea as greedily desiring the prey, the ship as the instrument that brought me into that Charybdis of calamity, the celestial Planets as hard hearted, seeing me injured, and not revenging my wrong, the stars as witnesses of my misery, and fortune as the efficient cause, yea primum mobile, and only author of what mischief soever had betided me; I would have cast myself overboard: but my intent being hindered by the Mariners, I was forced to comfort myself as much as the greatness of my hap could permit, and to arm myself with that old poesy, Dum Spiro, Spero. Though my greatest hope was despair, and my life worse than death.  
Within a few days after, the Mariners taking occasion by a gale of wind, which blew something strongly, hoist up their sails & arrived at Constantinople within two days after. Where incontinently I went to my father in laws Don Francisco de Guerdonas house, and declared the whole history of our navigation unto him, how we suffered shipwreck, how I saw Sylvestro my cousin fall into the sea, how I had lost Eleonora and my child, & how I was saved in the other ship. But lest I should kill the old Knight's heart, I suppressed the sight of the empty chest. Don Francisco and his Lady, glad to hear their son in law speak, but sorry to understand the sum of his woeful relation, fell both into an ecstasy. At length the old man coming to himself said. Ah my dear son Maffeo, whose presence I have wished for so long time. What a disastrous chance is this? what spiteful mishap? what an horrible event? it seemeth that fortune (that monstrous Goddess) hath endeavoured to exercise what mischief she can upon thee and thine. Ah Maffeo, thou seest these silver hairs which cover my face, are tokens how near I approach to my grave; and yet this heart, which is enclosed in this weak and feeble body, is such, that I might with shield and spear, encounter with fickle fortune, I doubt not but I should become victorious. But alas, force, manhood, courage, or valour cannot prevail in this case; and therefore only resteth that we put on the armour of hope. It is not impossible, (seeing my daughter and her son were so well placed in a chest) that we should hear of her, and perhaps before we are ware, may see her. Wherefore seeing the Gods have saved you, and amidst such a multitude of misfortunes brought you home to your Country, I think it not amiss that you should acquaint yourself with the estate of your goods, and take possession of such lands and houses which, your honourable father dying, your traitorous cousin Sylvestro inherited. Whereunto I answered, that well I might do it, but never should enjoy any pleasure though all the goods, riches, and kingdoms of the world were mine, unless I had my Eleonora and her child present with me: and therefore I meant not to stay at Constantinople. Which done, I took my leave of my kind father, and mother in law (who so wept at my departure, that it might have moved any man to commiseration) and so leaving them, I betook me to my fortune, meaning to try whether she would some time turn her whéel, and become more favourable than she was accustomed to be. After I had traveled by sea and land, so far that I marched through most parts of Europe, through a great part of Asia, and Africa, at last I shipped from the West-Indies, towards Spain, where I had been three times before. For I know not how, my mind gave me that if she lived, I should hear of her there, thinking that she could land no where but in Spain, seeing that our ship was drowned near the coast thereof. But all helped not in all those three years (for so long I had traveled sithence my last departure from Constantinople) not living creature could tell me any news of Eleonora or the child And therefore I would not return to my country, but thought to run over all Spain, and throughly search the whole Country, for I hoped not to find her in any place, if I found her not in Spain; though my hope was little or none to find her at all, considering that I had seen, the unhappy chest spoiled of her carriage. When I had ranged up and down the dry fields and sandy meadows of the country nine days, at length I came into a most pleasant green, through which there can as delectable a river as man's eye might behold, the banks whereof were beset with Orange and Lemon trees; which by reason of their fruit cast forth such a fragrant and odoriferous smell, that the very odour thereof did perfume the air in such manner, that it did spread the same smell over all the neighbour greene's and meadows of that quarter. So that the coldness of the river, the shadow of the trees, and the odoriferous scent of the fruit, enticed me to rest my weary limbs on the river side; where the pleasing noise of the murmuring stream did bring me into the sweetest sleep I could have wished. You must note, that the b●nk on the other side of the river was something high by reason whereof, my dear Eleonora (whom I so painfully sought) lay in the grass against the bank on the other side the river, not being seen. Who whilst I was a sleep, chanced to rise up, and seeing me lie with my face upward knew me. How glad she was (gentle shepherds) I leave unto your discretion to judge of. But she willing to try what remembrance I had of her plucked off a lemon in colour like to the Indian gold, and in it ingraved this distichon.  
Hesperio sub sole virum requiescere gaudet:  
(Cum prole complaudens) Eleonora ●uum.  
And casting the carved lemon on my breast, she lurked behind the bank lest I should see her. But I slept so sound, that although I felt the lemon fall just upon my breast, yet I started not; for in that paradise I feared nothing: but imagining that the lemon was shaken off by the wind, I was loath to give over my sleep so soon, and therefore I turned myself to fall into sleep again. But as I held the lemon that was cast at me in my hand, I felt that it was something rough: willing therefore to see what kind of lemon it was, I read the poesy, and no sooner espied the name of Eleonora, but my heart seemed to leap out of my body for joy. Yet because I saw not her, nor any man in the world near me, I could not tell what to imagine of that lemon; but concluded at last, that the Gods had sent me that eminent token in sign that I should hear of Eleonora and the child. At length she called on the other side of the bank, Maffeo, Maffeo, why dost thou not speak to thy Eleonora? Wherewith I as a man raging mad, looked up to the skies, sometimes down into the river, and sometimes over the meadow, and seeing no mortal wight, I broke out into this open exclamation.  
O miserable wretch that I am! I ran over the world to seek my beloved Eleonora, and now I have found her, I cannot see her. Where art thou Eleonora, where art thou? Or doth an echo rebound the sound of thy voice from the other part of the world unto mine ears? Or do I dream? Or do I imagine to hear that which I do not? Or is it the ghost of Eleonora that calleth unto her Maffeo? And if that be, why am not I a ghost also? Or have the Gods hearing her bewail her miseries pitied her complaints, and changed her into one of these delectable lemon trees? Or have the sacred nymphs being ravished with the love of Eleonoraes' beauty, led her with them into the secret bowels of this pleasant river? surely I believe it is so. And therefore Maffeo make haste to follow her. Cast thyself into the silver streams Maffeo, and they will bring thee to thy wished and long sought for Eleonora.  
Thus I being ready to leap into the water, Eleonora risen up, and came on the top of the bank, right over against me, saying. Stay Maffeo, stay, Eleonora is here; and here mayest thou behold thy son Alonso. At the fight whereof I was so amazed, that I knew not whether I did but dream, or whether it was so indeed. At last knitting my wits together, I perceived that I was not deceived or enchanted, but that with my natural eyes I beheld my wife and my son, being a pretty tall wag about four years old. But to see the churlish nature of fortune who though she seem to favour men, yet she doth in such manner with wrinkled frowns intermingle her favours, that they have no cause fully to rejoice of her benefits. And so it fared with us, for what greater chance in the world might have glutted our hearts more with joy then this that I seeking Eleonora found her, and Eleonora seeking Maffeo found him likewise, each of them saluting the other, and speaking the one to the other? And yet contrarily, what greater grief than this that we had found each other, saw each other, and spoke one to another, and yet could not come one to the other; being separated by that, being something large and very deep. I could not swim, Eleonora less: and so we were in the pittyfullest taking that might be in the world.  
Eleonora told me that she had traveled one day and a half along the bankside of the river, and had seen no bridge from the place where she was, unto the side where I was, Insomuch that we could not imagine how we might do to travel both together; for we were ●oath (seeing we had so happily met with each other) to part again, fearing lest we should hazard ourselves into danger of our former mischance. What remedy I wanted my sword to cut down trees to serve me for a bridge, and lose wood there was none. Nothing rested but this, that we should travel along the river by the banks side, she of the one side of it, and I on the other side of it, until such time as we had found means to get together.  
After we had marched in that sort four or five hours, (in which space she had declared me how she was saved from the present danger of drowning, by the means of a Spanish galley; how that the chief ruler of the staves that rowed in the galley kept her in a close prison, because she would not consent to his wicked and filthy desires; and how that by means of one of the galley slaves after she had been in that miserable and loathsome captivity two years and a half, set on shore, and brought to a country village not passing forty miles from the place where I found her) we met with a shepherd & his wife, who told us that we should within a small mile find a bridge to pass over the river, whereof we were passing glad. And in short space reaching to the bridge, I passed over to the other side, and embraced my beloved Eleonora, & my young Olphonsus, who began prettily well to prattle in the Spanish language, for his mother used continually to speak Spanish unto him. But mark (gentle shepherds) how fortune still sought to bar us from perfect felicity. For as we were thus embracing one the other, and rejoicing of our good success after so much ill suck and so many dangerous chances; came three tall lubberly Moors, each having a good cudgel in his fist who approaching near us, and being enamoured with the beauty of Eleonora, presently fell upon me, and hinding me hand and foot, rolled me to the bankside where they left me; But Eleonora and the boy they carried with them, whither I knew not, until the next morning, that she having escaped from the Villains (who were so busy in robbing a Farmer's house, that they took but little regard of her) told me herself, being returned to the same place where they left me b●und. You must note, that the thee us had set Eleonora with her child upon this horse which they had stolen, with all the furniture belonging unto it, from some Farmer by the way, and had loaden it with swords and other weapons, with all which, she ran away, and rested not till she approached the bridge, near which I lay bound. I very glad to see her and my son incontinently cast of all the weapons and other trash, saving this sword which I kept for my defence. And thinking it scarce safe to stay long in that place we road on a good pace, till we reached to a small village, where we lighted.  
Assoon as we perceived the darkness of the night to fly from the beautiful glimpse of Lady Aurora, to horse we hied, and road on still towards the next haven. But Phoebus darting his beams on the plains, so inflamed the air with the heat thereof, that we were compelled about midday to alight, and to shroud ourselves from the Sun, under a Tree that stood in the midst of the highway. The passing heat made me slumber, and from that slumbering I fell so fast asleep, that awaking, I miss Eleonora, and what was become of her, I knew not, but that the child which was by me cried and told me as well as it could, that the naughty man had run away with his mother. Whereby I suspected that some villain or other was by Fortune suborned again to cross me with her currish envy. In what grief and perplexity I was at that present time, you may think (gentle shepherds) by yourselves how perplexed you would be if you were in the like case: yet seeing it was not the first time I had been in like taking, I stuck to patience, and cleaved to hope. For my heart was so hardened in unfortunate events, & unhappy chances, that contemning Fortune and all her power, I could better behave myself in adversity than I was accustomed. And therefore speedily leaping on horseback, I took up my Alonso with me, & road till I came to the next village, where leaving the child with an honest shepherd (unto whom I declared the case wherein I was, promising to reward him throughly for the boys maintenance till I fetched him thence, which I hoped would not have been long) & desiring him to use it well, I posted thence to seek sweet Eleonora, that poor Eleonora whose life was so miserable, because so dear to me. As I coursed with my steed up & down the wildest and solitariest places of the country at length this morning (being the sixth day after I lost Eleonora) I fell into the hands of the same villains that took away Eleonora the first time, when they tied me by the unfortunate Bridge. These on every side assailed me, some behind, some before, and some of them on each side of me: for they had increased their company by four men, so that there were seven of them. Yet by the help of the Gods and my sword, I so acquitted myself, that with no worse wounds than these, I got from them, and recovered this Scarff, which Eleonora for haste had forgotten and left behind her, when she ran away with this horse.  
Thus (gentle shepherds) have you heard the whole history of my life, and I hope you are satisfied as concerning your question. Now I am to request you, to give me leave to follow on my journey; for until I find Eleonora, I cannot rest. And so Maffeo, thanking them for their courteous entertainment, took his leave and departed. Now therefore leaving him to seek Eleonora, we will proceed in rehearsing the success of Perierio his strange love.   

CHAP. IX. How Perierio resolved to travel in search of the Lady on whom he was enamoured, and how he obtained leave of his father under pretence of becoming a Scholar.  
PErierio being entreated by his sisters to tell them whom he loved, though he could not name her, for that he knew her not; yet he let them know as much as he could tell, and declared the whole matter unto them; how he met with that Lady by chance, how that she asked him his name and country: and how therewith she conveyed herself out of sight on the sudden. Euphilia and Perina were very sorry, that their brother's love was of such a kind, that it might not be remedied, but by giving over love. For it was altogether casual and accidentary, neither might they hope that ever he might enjoy his love, for that there was nothing less like, yea it seemed rather impossible.  
For they considered, first, that he had never seen the Lady before that time nor after; by reason whereof, though he chanced to see her, perchance should not know her. Secondly, they marked that he knew not her name, her parents, or Country, to inquire after her: so that the nearest place he knew where he might find her, was the world, and the properest individium to denominate her, was a certain woman.  
And lastly, they prepended that she sought for some other Knight, who had her heart in hold; and therefore a very hard matter, though Perierio should find her, to obtain her love. All this considered and weighed, they sought to root love out of Perierio his breast, which Cupid had so pierced with his dart, that all the persuasions of the world could not serve to extinguish the fire which was kindled in his heart, and increased more and more daily. In so much that the fire being inflamed, and beginning to torment him with insupportable pain, he determined to commit himself and his case to Fortune, hoping, that as the cause of his grief was accidentary, so the effect might by chance be redressed and remedied.  
Perierio thus resolved, asked, and obtained leave (though with much add) of his aged father, to travel into far countries, to see and learn such things as a young Gentleman ought to know, alleging that there was nothing more peremptory to youth, then to pass over those years which are apt to comprehend and learn, in foul obscurity of ignorance. In so much that a young man that will live in credit and reputation, aught to travel into strange countries, to be acquainted with foreign manners and governments, to learn tongues, to haunt Universities, and insinuate himself into the company of learned men. All this Father (quoth Perierio) is necessary for them that will have their lives famous, and death honourable.  
Old Camillo replied with Horace: Coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mane currunt. Men change not their manners, but the air, that run from country to country, Perierio. And therefore I am not of their opinion that believe that men by far travelling from home, can attain to wisdom and humane prudence. For I think, that that is not gotten by running into far Countries, or by living in exile fare from home, but rather by communication and conversation of wise men. Yet Perierio seeing that here in this multitude of shepherds, little wisdom is to be learned, or little profit to experience and prudence to be reaped. I and content that thou go to the University of Salamanca, which is within this kingdom, and there to repeat such rudiments as thou hast begun at Rome, that thou mayst afterward be apt to greater studies, and to exorn and beautify thy mind with the brightness of the liberal Sciences which are the lights of humane understanding: Lastly, also to fence thy mind with wise and sage precepts of Philosophy, that after thou hast attained to the knowledge of natural things, thou mayst use moral Philosophy to moderate thy affections, and to follow that which thou knowest to be honourable and profitable, shunning the contrary. Then art thou fully armed to pass forward, & to travel into other countries to be acquainted with strange customs, or to learn divers tongues; otherwise what profiteth it to have coursed through sundry and strange regions, and to have seen many kingdoms, and manners of divers Nations, if he that traveleth wanteth the ripeness of wit and judgement to reap profit by his being abroad: Therefore Perierio, think not that I disallow of travelling, but would have them that take that course, not to have their stomaches empty, but first guard themselves with the knowledge of Philosophy and humanity, and furnish themselves with provision necessary to such journeying. For I remember that Homer and Virgil to describe and form an heroical man adorned with all virtues, feigned that Ulysses and Aeneas, had traveled through all the world; and not thinking this sufficient, they feigned that they descended into hell, and went into the Elysian Fields, and knew those that were in them.  
Perierio hearing his father allege such points as made for his purpose, was exceeding glad, at length obtained his Father's good will to leave the country and rustic company of Shepherds, to haunt the comely and seemly conversation of Scholars though his mind was more moved to his Lady then to the University, whither old Camilla determined to send him. And although Euphilia and Perina knew the colour wherewith he painted the occasion of his travelling, yet they reserved the whole sorrow to themselves, without declaring it to their father, fearing lest he should be discouraged and discomforted thereby, that he might hinder his health, and for grief fall into sickness, considering that old age is so subject to diseases, that the least cause in the world of discontent is sufficient to subvert the estate of health in an aged person.   

CHAP. X. How Perierio in his journey met with the fair Shepherdess Ismenia with whom he departed towards the Temple of Diana.  
PErierio lifted up with the wings of hope, in a manner doubted not but his fortune would be more favourable than she had been, taking his leave of his father and his sisters, he betook himself to his journey, intending to go to the University of Salamanea, as his father wished but in such order that he would take the nearest way about to see if Fortune would once again favour him with that sight which made such an impression in his heart, that neither continuance of time, nor contrariety of thought, was able to raze out the print thereof.  
Thus Perierio having traveled six days through Woods, dales, bushes, gréens, meadows, hills, valies, and other solitary place, and yet had not met with that which he sought, nor seen any likelihood thereof, began to be wonderfully discomforted, and thought his pain vainly bestowed, seeing that Fortune was blind and made no discretion of persons, but ever wrought by chance, bestowing her favours not where she would, but where they fell. Perierio thus discomforted, climbing on the top of a hill, heard a most sweet and melodious voice sounding to a harp within a little wood where the high Oaks made a pleasant shadow. And drawing near to the wood, he marked that it was the voice of a shepherd, who after she had ended her song, began thus to complain of her misfortune. No doubt but all the stars that from the skies send light on the earth, have agreed and consented to my mishap and ill fortune; neither is there any thing on earth, that may yield me any comfort or consolation; but love which is subject to fear, turneth and converteth my sorrowful soul into pure ice. Ah Fortune, how canst thou be so cruel? How canst thou forbear to secure a heart so distressed as mine, seeing that I am falsely suspected of disloyalty? And therefore I must accuse thee Lexander, thou art the man whom I must burden with the cause of all my grief; unto thee do I discover and unfold my plaints, hardhearted and cruel Lexander, in whom no pity taketh place: For if thou wer'st of my side, I would not care though Heaven Earth Love and Fortune were against me, and enemies unto me. After that she had ended her complaint, she fetched a heavy sigh from her heart, and therewith wept so bitterly, that Perierio might easily perceive that she was in that pitiful and lamentable taking, by reason that her husband falsely suspected her to be disloyal and unfaithful; so that he entered into the wood and found her sitting upon the grass in the shade, near to a delectable Fountain, which issuing from the top of the hill, ran along a great part of the wood in divers places. But when she saw Perierio coming near her, though she was something discontented that she was interpelled amidst her passions; yet beholding that he seemed by his behaviour to be some Shepherd of great account, being most courteously by him greeted, saluted him likewise with such modesty, that he began to misdoubt whether she were Alcida the promised spouse of Marcelio. (For he called to mind how that Marcelio had told him and his sisters, that Alcida had clothed herself in the habit of a Shepherd, because she might be the harder to be found by him) and therefore spoke thus unto her, Beautiful Shepherd (for so your coat bewrayeth, though your singular grace make me suspect that your calling is contrary to your colours,) I shall desire you not to be discomforted, though I have troubled you at this time, intruding myself into your company, for as I have discourteously offended, so shall you find me most ready to make amends for my boldness. Gentle shepherd (answered she) I am so forsaken of all comfort and solace, that good company cannot offend me, & therefore where no fault is committed there is nothing to be misconstred of. And to put you out of suspicion, know that I am a shepherd as well in vocation as in habit, called I●menia, and born near to the Temple of Minerva, in the kingdom of Portugal: But I pray you what chance hath brought you hither into these Countries, or do you by hap dwell hereabout? In truth Ismenia, (quoth Periorio) my ill fortune hath brought me hither, for I neither dwell here, nor ever was in this place before; I was born in Italy, but with my father and sisters transported to the fields annexed to the river Epla, about four or five day's journey hence. I know the place very well, quoth Ismenia, it is not far from the pasture where fair Euphilia, so renowned in all that quarter, doth feed her sheep. I hear you name my sister (quoth Perierio) and am glad to have met with one that is not wholly unacquainted with our Family. What say you (quoth Ismenia?) In truth unto a woman so distressed as I am being desolate and forsaken of my loving husband, nothing could have happened more wished for, then to have met with such honest and virtuous company as it hath pleased the Gods to comfort me withal, in directing yourself towards these woods. And forasmuch as I am in mind to go to the Temple of Diana, if your journey lie that way, I shall think myself among so many mishaps, to have received no small favour of Fortune. As for me (quoth Perierio) where I am I know not, nor whether I may go, and therefore am induced to think that Fortune beginneth to repent herself of her shrewdness, in that she hath favoured me with so worthy a guide as yourself, to lead me forth of my straying errors to some place where I may inquire for directions in my journey. And I am most passing glad, that you go towards the Temple of Diana; of the sumptuousness whereof, I have heard such famous relation among the Shepherds, in the Village near my father's Farm, that I have a long time been moved with great desire to see the same. And therefore fair Shepherd, take which way you will, and Perierio will follow you. Ismenia glad that this Shepherd was in her company, began to march, hoping before Phoebus should attain to his Western home, that they should reach to a Farm where she thought that they might be lodged that night: But to shun tediousness in their wearisome journey, Perierio desired her to recount and declare the cause of her grief unto him. Ismenia answered, that although the memory thereof could not but pierce her heart with the prick of exceeding sorrow, yet notwithstanding because he desired whom she could not say nay, she was content to make a pastime of her misery. And thus in this ensuing Chapter began the History of her Tragedy.   

CHAP. XI. How Lexander was enamoured on Ismenia, and how he was crossed in his love by his father Filene.  
IN our Village dwelled a certain Farmer that had a comely youth to his son, in beauty passing all the Shepherds thereabout, being called Alanio, who feeding his sheep in a pasture ground, not far from ours used sometimes to come to me and keep me company sitting in the shadow by me, and telling of tales, or passing over the time with some other kind of honest recreation; whereby at last grew such a familiar acquaintance betwixt us, that love joining our hearts together, we were not well while we were separated the one from the others company. To be short, he loved me, and was loved of me. There was in the same Village a fair beautiful Shepherdess called Selvagia, who for her beauty might be compared with Venus in the valley before Paris, when she won the golden Apple. Of which Shepherd my Alanio became enamoured; whereupon I to be revenged on him feigned to favour Lexander his deadly enemy. Which feigned love of mine, at length by reason of the acquaintance that grew between us, changed into such pure and true love, that by reason thereof I am fallen into the misery, in which I now find myself at this present.  
Now, continuing the history of my life, you shall know that Lexanders' father called Filene, sometimes frequented my father's house, by reason of certain business that my father and he had between them concerning Oxen and Cows, and seeing me although he was something old, yet he fell in love with me and that so greatly, that he became foolish, mad, and frantic: He became so importunate unto me, and troubling me above a thousand times, daily declared me his passions & grief, but all could not help: For I would never give ear to his prattle, nor mark what he said, and though he had been much younger or less aged, and by many parts more perfect than he was, yet for him could I not have forgotten his son Lexander, who had so won my heart, that I had wholly given him the possession thereof. The old man knew not what friendship was between his son and me, for Lexander was so obeisant and dutiful, that he behaved himself secretly in wooing me, lest his father knowing thereof should have rebuked him, and have occasion to be angry with him. And in like manner, was Lexander altogether ignorant of his father's folly, who because he should not give his son example of lightness, took all the regard he might to his love from him. Nevertheless the foolish coxcomb, ceased not to molest me with importunate requests to take him to my husband. He made me wonderful large proffers, he promised to give me many  and jewels, and he sent me many Letters, hoping thereby to change my mind. In his time he had been a Shepherd most excellently qualified, eloquent in speech, and witty, which you may easily gather by a Letter which he wrote me, as I yet remember.  
Filene to Ismenia.  
FAir Shepherd, love is cause of all such fault as I can commit in writing unto, hoping that I have not committed any in loving you. And if perhaps my Letter be troublesome unto you, believe certainly, that I already fear the answer you will make. I have a thousand times signified and declared unto you, what affection I bear you, and in recompense thereof, you take pleasure in mocking me. You openly laugh at me to see me like to die for love of you; but as for me I am glad to see you laugh, though it be to my ruin and destruction; For when I remember and think of my evil, and see that you take pleasure therein, rejoicing at my misery, I perceive that you will not remedy my grief, insomuch that it were an exceeding folly for me to regard your mocking, seeing that my life and death consisteth in you, to dispose of me as you please. If you ask why I should love you? I answer, because I am forced, and cannot but love you, insomuch that though I might live and not love you, yet I had rather to die, than so to live; for when I remember your graces and perfections, I cannot but judge them happier that die for love of you, than those that can behold you without admiring your exceeding virtues; for I cannot be persuaded that a man may die more happily, than he who loseth his life by reason of such heavenly beauty as yours, which hath so pierced my breast, that I am not mine own, but yours: for as soon as I saw you, I began to love, and to pine for grief. And if you say that I am to be blamed because I am amorous and yet old; in that respect I sue for remedy unto you, seeing that I have not so greatly offended in loving you, as in knowing you so late; For I acknowledge that I am old, and I am not a little grieved that this my pain is not as ancient as the course of my age; and I am sorry that I might not have loved you from the first day that I was born as well as since the first hour that I saw you, certifying you that this love shall dure and continue till death. Marvel not sweet, to see me grey and wrinkled; and though you surpass me in valour, yet I think it but small reason that a man should lose his pay and salary under this colour, that he is an old Soldier. The new built houses are not comparable to the ancient buildings of Rome; and commonly all men always say, that among all things, the old is the best. Love would not until this present time make me feel the pinching pain of amorous passions, because he well knew that affection was more firm, and fancy less fickle in an old man as I am, then in tender age, where every look is love, and every face a new fancy. I am firm and constant to love you for ever; and old, never to be loved as long as I live. Young men that say they love, are double and subtle; they fain, but not fancy; their forehead is marked with Venus' badge, but their heart never felt Cupid's shaft. And when they plead for mercy, alleging that they die for love, then are they less subject to passion & most free from fancy. Their changeable affection, is assured liberty; their passion, pastime; their love, a custom and not a pain. Think not sweet, that I am like the amorous youth, who having received a favour of his mistress, vaunteth and boasteth thereof to all the world; for though I had received ten thousand, I should be as constant and firm in keeping them secret: But as I see you disposed and bend to work my death, I fear that I shall endure much torment, and have occasion to say little, and brag less; yet the chiefest favour whereof I may boast, is to die for the love of Ismenia. With what great reason may I find fault with the time, considering that I who love you most, am least esteemed. But alas, I loved you too late, and seeing I was not born at the same time that you were, it is reason that I should die for love of you. Ah fair Shepherdess, had my Fortune been such, that I might have been of your time, I had had that which had been sufficient to win your love, and to deserve favour of you; for though it becometh no man to blaze his own praises, yet affection forceth me to say, that among all the young men of our time, none might compare with me, at dancing, leaping, football, hand-ball, bowl, bow, cithrens, pipe, flute, and all such kinds of exercise, wherewith our Country youths recreate themselves and win the hearts of their mistresses. But (ah cruel chance!) what serveth either that which is, or that which hath been, unto him poor wretch, that is buried in the bowels of forgetfulness, because he is near unto his death? In the mean time, may it please you to consider by that which I have said, that the glory of your perfection which at this present maketh you famous to all the country, shall finally fade, as the pride of the sweet violet decayeth with the fall of the Summer. Now you are hard as a rock, and cruel, but when you shall be overtaken with age, then shall you want the liberty and force wherewith now you disdain me. For this is the revenge which love taketh of you, that he than bringeth you into deadly pain and torments, when hope beginneth to fail you.  
Filene sent me this Letter and many more, with other Songs and Sonnets, wherewith if I had been as greatly moved as contented and delighted, he had judged himself happy, and had been ill wedded; but it was impossible to find any where means whereby the picture and image of my beloved Lexander, might be razed out of my heart; For he so pleased me, and was so constant and perfect in love, that his will and mine was but one will, his word and mine one word, and his heart and mine one heart. Never did he perform less in deed, then in word he promised. His do were always correspondent to his say. And as for me, what Lexander liked, I could not mislike; and whatsoever displeased him, was horrible to Ismenia. In this pleasant life and sweet concord having passed certain years, we purposed to confirm and establish our content, and to sign our wished desire with the seal of honest and chaste marriage. And although Lexander before he would take me to his wife, intended to speak unto his father first, and to ask his consent as it beseemed an obedient son to do, yet when I had advertised him how that his father would not be willing to agree unto that match, by reason of the foolish desire he had himself to take me in marriage he esteeming more of his own content and the estate of his own life, then of his due obeisance towards his father, concealed the matter. So that this unfortunate marriage, was made with the consent and good will of my father, at whose house the wedding was kept, where there was such feasts, games, sports and pastimes held, in respect of our marriage that it was spoken of in all the Boroughs and Villages thereabout. When the amorous old man knew that his own son had deprived him of his love, he became so furious against Lexander and me, that he hated us both, and abhorred us worse than death itself, in such manner that he would never after see us, or come near us.  
On the other side, a certain shepherdess of the same village, called Felisarde, who so fancied Lexander, that she almost fell mad for love of him (who made no account of her by reason that he loved me so well, and because she was an elderly Maid and nothing well complexioned,) seeing that he whom she so dearly loved had wedded me, almost fell into despair. In so much that our marriage bred us two deadly enemies. The angry old man to have occasion to disinherit his son, determined to marry some fair young woman, by whom he might have children; but though he was exceeding rich, yet all the shepherds of our country disdained to be married unto him. except Felisarde only, who to have opportunity to allure my husband to her unlawful and dishonest lust, (for she had not as yet forgotten the love of Lexander) willingly took old Filene to her husband. She had not long time been married, but she began to practise means to gain the love of my husband, and for that intent she sent a Maid that served her, called Sylveria, unto Lexander, to tell him that if he would grant her her will, she would obtain pardon for him from his father; and besides, she would do him much pleasure, and show him great favour; but she could never corrupt him with all her large proffers and fair promises to consent to her wicked will; wherefore she considering that she was so despised and so little regarded of Lexander, began mortally to hate him, and endeavoured continually to move her husband more and more to indignation against his son. Neither was she content with that but determined also to practise a strange and villainous treason against us both; for she had in such a manner won the heart of Sylveria her maid, by reason of her flattering promises and other favours which she had done her, that she was ready to do whatsoever she would have her, although it had been against Lexander, whom she respected for the time that she had served in his father's house. So that they secretly consulted among themselves, how they might be revenged of me, and at the hour appointed for the execution thereof, Sylveria went forth of the Village, and coming to a certain Green near the River, where Lexander used to feed his sheep, she stepped unto him, and with a troubled countenance as if she had some matter of great importance to tell him, spoke unto him in this manner. Ah Lexander, how well and prudently have you done in eschewing the love of your wicked mother in law, unto which although I sometimes encited you, yet know that I did so by reason of her importunate requests; but now I know how the matter standeth, she shall not be able any more to make me the messenger of her dishonesties, I am acquainted with some of her secrets that concern her nearly, and are such, that if you knew them, although your father be so cruel unto you, yet would you not leave to hazard your life for his honour. I will not say any more, because I know you to be so wise, and endued with such discretion, that it shall not be necessary for me to use many words and reasons in your behalf. Lexander being astonished to hear her talk in this order, misdoubted some dishonesty of his stepmother. But to know the truth, and to be throughly informed, he desired Sylveria openly to show him all the matter, and to let him hear what it was that she knew of Fehsarde her mistress. At first she would be prayed, seeming to be unwilling to disclose a matter so secret; but at length she declaring that unto Lexander, which he demanded of her, and which she so greatly desired to tell him, stuffed him with a lie most notably well forged and contrived. Saying, and considering that it is a matter of great weight both unto yourself and your father Filene in like manner, to know that which I know: I will most plainly declare it unto you, assuring myself that you will not let any man know how that I have discovered this secret unto you. You shall understand, that your mother in law Felisarde hath purposed to defile your father's bed with a certain shepherd, whose name I will not tell you, seeing it lieth in you to know him if you please; for if you will come this evening and enter into that place where I will lead you, you shall find the Traitress with the Adulterer in your father's house, for they have so appointed it, because that Filene your father doth this night lie abroad, and doth not return till to morrow about midday, by reason of certain affairs moving him thereto. Therefore prepare yourself (if you will follow my counsel) and about eleven of the clock at night come unto me to our house, where I will bring you to the place, where you may easily do that which you shall think convenient for the honour and credit of your father; and by means whereof, you may also be reconciled unto him. Sylveria said all this, dissembling so cunningly, that Lexander resolved to put himself in danger to be revenged of him that thought so foully to dishonour his father: And thus the traitress Sylveria, glad that she had deceived my husband by the counsel of Felisarde, returned home, to let Felisarde know the effect of her talk with Lexander, and what he appointed to do.   

CHAP. IX. How Lexander, through the treachery of Felisarde and Sylveria, would have slain his father, and what ensued thereon.  
THe obscure night had not so soon veiled the air with the curtain of darkness, but Lexander coming to the Village, and taking a dagger which he had gotten by the decease of his Uncle Palemon, went just at eleven of the clock at night to his father's house, where Sylveria expected him, according as they had ordained. Where was ever such treason seen? Or where such malice thought? She took him by the innocent hand, and ascending the stairs as softly as they might, she led him to the chamber door where Filene his father lay with Felisarde asleep; when she had brought him there, she said, Lo Lexander now are you in place where you ought to have your heart and hand required in such a case. Enter into this chamber, and ther● you shall find your stepmother in bed with the adulterer. With that she got away, and retired as swift as she could. Lexander being deceived by that dissembling traitress gave faith to her words, and encouraging himself, drew his Poniard, and having thrust open the door with his foot, entered into the Chamber like a furious man, and being enraged, with a loud voice uttered these words: Traitor, I will presently make thee die, the loves of Felisarde shall but little avail thee; nay they shall be the cause of thy death and ruin. And so saying, altogether enraged, and not knowing who was in bed with Felisarde his stepmother, lifted up his hand to clap his weapon into his father's breast; but as Fortune would have it, old Filene knew his son by reason of the light which was in the chamber, and thinking that Lexander purposely came to kill him, because he had so ill used him both in word and deed, sat upright in his bed, and crossing his arms spoke thus unto Lexander. Ah my son, what cruelty moveth thee to become the butcher of thy natural father? Call your judgement, and enter into your wits again, and seek not to shed my blood, or term my life with so tragical an end. For if I have been something rigorous unto you, and unnaturally dealt with you being my son, I crave pardon, intending to become most favourable unto you ever hereafter. When Lexander perceived the treason of Sylveria, which had almost been cause that he had slain his own father, he fell into such an ecstasy, that his force failed him, and his dagger fell out of his hand without his knowledge; for he was so amazed of the treason which he had committed against his father (had not God provided the contrary) that he could not feel his weapon drop out of his hand, but altogether troubled and confounded like a man that was bereft of all his senses, went presently out of the chamber, and out of his house. Felisarde knowing what should chance that night, watched for the coming of Lexander, who was no sooner entered in the chamber, but she leaping out of her bed fled into a more inward and back room, where barring up the door, she freed and exempted herself from the fury and anger of Lexander. But when she saw that he was departed, and by reason thereof she out of danger, returning to her bed where Filene lay, trembling at the peril which he had so wonderfully escaped, she began to stir up her husband against Lexander his son, exclaiming in this manner.  
O Filene, now may you see what a son you have, and know that to be most true which I so often have admonished you, concerning his evil nature and inclination.  
O cruel Lexander! O traitor Lexander! how cometh it to pass that Heaven doth not confound thee? why doth not the earth open and swallow thee up into her bowels? why do not the brute beasts tear thee to pieces? and why do not all men persecute thee, and punish thee according to thy heinous actions. Accursed be thy marriage, accursed be thy disobeisance, accursed be thy loves, and accursed be thy Ismenia, seeing that she hath enticed thee to execute such a cruel act and abominable deed. Ah Traitor, thou hast not chastised the shepherd Alanio, who unto thy great dishonour and shame, hath dishonestly haunted and entertained thy wife Ismenia, whom she loveth better than thyself, and yet thou wouldst kill & massacre thy own father, who always hath made great account of thy life, honour and credit. Ah unhappy father! Ah unfortunate old man! what fault hast thou committed so great, as to be slain and murdered by thy son? by him whom thou hast engendered? whom thou hast brought up and nourished? And for whom thou hast suffered a thousand troubles? Now therefore take heart, cease henceforth to bear him any more love or affection; commit him to the rigour of the law, that he may be punished as he hath deserved; for if he that hath committed so execrable an offence escape due punishment, every disobedient child will be emboldened and unfearful, and thine at length will in good earnest lay hands on thee to shorten the course of thy odious life.  
Sorrowful and troubled Filene, altogether amazed and fearful, hearing his wife's voice, and weighing the horrible treason which his son had thought to commit upon his person became so angry, that taking up the dagger which Lexander (as I told you) had let fall out of his hand, went forth as soon as the day appeared, to assemble the justices of peace and chiefest of the Village together in the criminal Court, where he with abundance of tears flowing out of his eyes, spoke unto them in this manner.  
I call God to witness (most excellent shepherds) that I am so grieved with that which I am to declare unto you that I greatly fear, lest my spirit and breath fail me before I have opened the matter unto you. Especially seeing it is such that I may be esteemed most cruel, in that I publicly complain of my son, expounding his misdeeds and wickedness unto you, which being so strange, that I know not how it may be accordingly punished and chastised, I beseech you to see what is convenient to be done in this case, to prescribe him such and so just a punishment, that other children may thereby take a manifest example how to behave themselves towards their parents. Ye know very well, that I have nourished him carefully, and maintained him as a father ought to do, brought him up painfuly, taught him and instructed him, and what trouble, pains, and labour I have had with him, what counsel I continually have given him, and how mildly I have rebuked and chastised him in his youth. Now is he sorely against my will married to the Shepherdess Ismenia, and because I have rebuked him, therefore instead of revenging himielf on the shepherd Alanio, who shamefully entertaineth (as all the Village knoweth) the said Ismenia his wife, he hath turned his rage against me, intending to murder me: He found means the last night to enter into my house, yea into my bedchamber where I lay and slept with my wife Felisarde, and there with this poniard would have slain me: and verily had dispatched me, if God of his grace had not taken his force from him, in such sort, that he could not hold the dagger in his hand, but was constrained to let it fall, and so confounded and bereft of his senses, departed without executing his damnable enterprise. And this is it that I had to say, thus is the matter verily passed, as my beloved spouse can better inform you. But for as much as I certainly know that my son Lexander had not taken upon him to commit such an horrible treason against me his father, unless he had been counselled and provoked thereto by the enticements and allurements of his wife Ismenia, I beseech you to perpend and weigh what ought herein to be done, to the end that my son may be punished for his offence, and false Ismenia also, as well for the counsel which she hath given unto her husband, as for her lightness and dishonest love towards Alanio.  
Filene had scarce ended his tale, but the people began to murmur and make such a noise, that it seemed that the whole Village should have presently sunk in the ground; in so much that the hearts of all the Shepherds were troubled, and all conceived generally mortal hatred against Lexander. Some said, that it was pity he should live till Phoebus had reached to his Meridian seat; others said, that he ought to be cast into the River; others, that it was pity if he were not burned quick; and others, that he ought to be committed to the mercy of the cruel and savage beasts: finally, there was no one person that was not stirred up against him. Besides, they did likewise all marvel of that which Filene falsely alleged concerning my life; but they were nevertheless all of them so amazed at the fact Lexander, that they did not greatly hearken to the accusation and impeachment which Filene most falsely (by reason of Felisarde his wives deceitful speech) had made against me.  
When Lexander had heard what his father had deposed against him, in the Court of criminal cause, in the presence of the justices and audience of all the people, he was wonderfully grieved; & besides, when he understood what his father had said against me, he conceived such exceeding sorrow, that it passeth my ability to express the same. And thence cometh all my grief, thence took my evil it offspring, that was the cause and beginning of all my labours, travel, pain, and sorrows. For my dear husband Lexander, remembering that in times past I did love, & was loved of Alanio, and that love forgotten and dead, oftentimes may be renewed and revived again, because he saw that the Shepherd Alanio (whom I could not abide to see, & whom I abhorred for Lexanders' sake) was yet amorous of me, daily showing me such courtesies and importunate cherishments, he thought verily, and persuaded himself that all was most certain and true which his father had spoken of me in the face of the world. In such manner, that he despairing as well for the treason committed unto him by Traitress Sylveria, as for the suspicion which he conceived of me, departed incontinently from the village: since which time he was never seen there, nor any news brought what is become of him. And as I knew that he was departed, and the cause wherefore, by report of certain shepherds his friends, (unto whom he had rehearsed the whole matter,) I likewise left the village to seek him and intent not to rest any where, until I find my sweat spouse, to the end that I may excuse and clear myself unto him of that fault which is falsely imputed to me, and which he suspecteth to be most true. It is long since I have wandered up and down through the world to seek my husband and although I have sought him and inquired for him in most places, and especially all the chiefest and principal farms, houses, villages, and boroughs of the country, yet can I not hear any thing of him. The best adventure that I have had in this my endless voyage, was, that two days after I departed from our village, in a certain valley, I met the traitress Sylveria, who having heard of the voluntary exile and banishment of my husband Lexander, went after him to discover her treason unto him, repenting that she had so highly offended him. But she had not as yet found him: and as soon as she saw me, she approached near me, and falling fi●t on her face, cried me mercy, and at my will, rising she opened the whole matter unto me Whereof I was not a little glad, thereby understanding how that abominable treason was practised against us. And although I was but a weak woman yet I could have unlaced the traitress members, and teared her to piece-meal with mine own hands, yet I withheld myself because she only could remedy my harm, by reporting her own mischief. I willed her diligently to seek my beloved Lexander, and to give him notice how all the matter was passed: and therewith on the sudden, I left her going one way, and I came anut her, to the end that either of us might find him.  
Thus gentle shepherd, have you heard the plain and true rehearsal of all my miseries and calamities. And for as much as Phoebus is not yet drowsy or sleepy, nor like to reach to his Western bed so soon: if in like manner you (as I have done) will take pleasure in reporting the cause and offspring of your wand'ring errors, I doubt not but we shall reach to the place (where I hope we shall rest this night) by that time that you have added the canclusion to your narration. Alas (quoth Perierio) the conclusion must needs follow quickly, where the narration is sooner ended then begun. For all the speciality that I can use in declaring the cause of my misery, is this general rule, that I know that I am most miserable. For I love, but whom I know not: and that is all I can say concerning myself.  
Perierio had scarce ended his words, but Ismenia made sign that he should hearken to a certain voice which she thought to Have heard in the woods; for there was a Gentlewoman in the habit of a shepherd not far from the place where they were, which thus complained of her mishap.  
Ah Fortune, have I thus long had thee in estimation and yielded thee such honour; and dost thou reward me with continual and never ceasing travel? Ah unthankful and ingrateful Goddess! If a Goddess. For Gods are just, constant, merciful; thou inconstant, cruel and most unjust: by the rule of contraries, therefore art thou no Goddess. Ah foolish wench be wise at last being taught by experience, and instead of worshipping fortune, curse her, detest her, and defy her; and persuade thyself that the Gods which are jealous, and therefore wrathful, and incensed with anger against those that deprive them of the honour due unto them, and give unto others have thrown thee into this Charybdis of miseries, to punish and chastise thy heinous offence committed against them in worshipping that Idol fortune. Wherefore O heavenly powers, Brisilla bendeth her knees and foldeth her hands, ask pardon of heaven for her error. She repenteth her of her ignorance, she bewaileth her folly. Pardon merciful Gods, pardon me, and cease to work your vengeance upon a poor distressed virgin, that is desolate and bereft of all hope and consolation, pleadeth for mercy from heaven. And with that she wept so bitterly, that Ismenia and Perierio coming unto her could not see her face, it was so vailed with tears. Likewise she pulled her golden hair, by whole locks off her head with her hands, which were so white and so delicately fashioned that it was a marvel to see such tender hands so cruelly pray upon so brave a head. Ismenia therefore not able to behold such an unmerciful spectacle, stepped unto her and held her hands, which so furiously teared her glistering hair, saying, Ah distressed shepherdess, seek not your own ruin, wrong not yourself, and fight not against your own person; for the torment and grief which you suffer by reason of your misfortune, is augmented and enlarged, not diminished or slacked by these means.  
Therefore (fair shepherdess) hold your hands, & cease from vexing yourself. You live not alone in adversity, for we are not so happy but that we may worthily complain of Fortune's sickleness. Company in misery is no small solace comfort yourself therefore, and with us hope, that the Gods will at last be moved to mercy, and appoint the end of our miseries. Ah gentle Shepherd (answered Brisilla, for that was her name) where despair ruleth there hope is banished Nay, quoth Perierio, embrace hope, and despair dareth not approach. The extremity of my case (replied Brisilla) forbiddeth me to take hold of hope. Yea, but through magnanimity and courage (quoth Perierio) may you overcome and vanquish your extremity. And therefore (sweet shepherd) let not your heart faint, nor your courage slacken, but with an invincible heart suffer not any extremity though never so supreme, to brave your mind; and though you be conquered of all your enemies, yet yield not the liberty of thy mind to the proudest Champion that either Fortune or fate can arm against you.  
Brisilla marking that both Perierio and Ismenia were persons of estimation, thought then to be some of the chiefest shepherds thereabout, & therefore assoon as she could contain from weeping, thanked them for their comfortable persuasions; for she received great consolation in that she had met with them taking great delight in beholding their beauty: and ask them whether they traveled, Ismenia told her, that she with Perierio were bound toward the temple of Diana, hoping that the Lady precedent of the same temple would remedy their harm, and give them such instruction, that they should have cause to hope for the end of their troubles in short time. Brisilla hearing that, was passing glad, and began to clear her eyes from the water which continually ran down her face. And having chased away such impediments as hindered her speech, by reason of her sorrow, she spoke to Perierio and Ismenia with such an excellent grace, that her words seemed to flow from her mouth, as running water issueth out of the fountain. Insomuch that they did not doubt, but that she was some courtly Princess, though she covered her body with the vesture of a country lass.   

CHAP. XIII. How P●riander Prince of Albion, and Brisilla daughter to the Duke Florindos, became enamoured of each other, and what ensued.  
AFter they had had some talk of each others fortunes and troubles, Brisilla at the request of Perierio and Ismenia, began to unfold the cause of her travel, making a copious and large narration of the course of all her life. Permitting this Exordium.  
Loving shepherds, though I fear that I shall not be able to accomplish that accordingly, which I have undertaken to do, mistrusting that I shall both lack time to end the history of my life, when I have begun it, & also discretion to contrive the same into some order and method my memory being weak by reason whereof, I may chance to forget, and slip over many things; yet hoping that you will accept of my good will and readiness in pleasuring you, I will endeavour as near as I can, and as truly as my memory will permit, to report and lay down the whole circumstance of my case unto you.  
I was borne in the famous Isle of Albion, where my father was general Commander over all the King's Forces abroad when the King was at home. And if his Majesty chanced to follow the Camp in his proper person than was my father Viceroy and supreme Governor at home I had not lived six years, but my father venturing himself in the midst of his enemies, and pressing into the very bowels of their Camp, slew the King of Gaul with his own hand, and therewith gave the enemy a terrible overthrow, and his King a great victory, but it cost him his life. For after he had slain the King, there were so many Knights that besought him to revenge the death of their King that he was not able to escape the hour which his destinies had appointed him.  
When the King was informed how that my father had obtained him such a wonderful victory with the price of his life, knew not whether he had greater cause to rejoice for the overthrow of his enemy, or to weep for the loss of such a valiant Soldier, and faithful subject. Wherefore he in proper person came to my father's Palace, and himself brought my Mother the news of my Father's honourable death, comforting us all with such friendly speeches, that we could not have been grieved for his death, if Nature had not forced us to lament his loss. Yet howsoever we were grieved, the King caused my Father to be buried most honourably, and erected such a magnificent Tomb at his own cost, that he gave a sufficient Token to all his Country, how greatly he esteemed of Duke Florindo, (for so was he called.) Within four years after, my Mother the Duchess, being an aged woman died, and was buried under the same Tomb with my Father. And the King considering that I was young (about ten years of age) and that I was only heir to the Dukedom, to the end that I might be carefully brought up and well looked unto, he caused me to be brought to the Court, where I weighted on the Queen, who made as great account of me as if I had been her daughter. And to the end that I might perceive the love and affection she and her husband the King did bear me, I was honoured with the title of a Duchess, and disposer of all my fathers signiores, and Lordships, yea & of the Dukedom also, at mine own pleasure: neither did the King withhold from me any part of the revenues thereof; so that I lived in as great joy as any mortal maid might; for I wanted nothing that I was able to think of. I was loved and favoured both of the King and Qu●en, and therefore honoured of all the country. But alack, this my felicity was too great to be perpetual; and I was seated too high to escape the stormy blasts of adversity. The tall Oaks are shaken with the winds, and the climbing stéeples rend with the thunder clap, where the low brambles feel not the fury of the wind, nor the base cottage the force of the storm. The tops of high mountains are chopped through Apollo's heat, where the low plains and green meadows are beautified with flowers, and being cherished with Phoebus' rays, produce sweet herbs, and yield food to the shepherd's flocks. And so poor Brisilla lifted up to high estate, triumphing in Court, and glorying in her happiness; is brought in this most miserable torment, whereas many simple maids and country wenches enjoy sweet content, and pass their lives in supreme pleasure. You shall therefore understand (loving shepherds) that I being 15 years of age or thereabout, the young prince was sent for by the King from the University; for the Qeen had purposed to marry me unto him Who being about eight or ten months younger than myself, was thought too young to be married so soon; but the Queen fearing least some one or other (for there was many noble men's sons of great houses and high descent in the Court) should win my heart and love, used the matter so, that few or none could have my company but her son, whom she wished to be matched with none but myself. And in truth by reason of our daily conversation at length grew such familiarity and acquaintance between Periander and me, that love creeping into our hearts united us together, and of two bodies made but one heart, one will, one desire, one pleasure, and one mind. Insomuch that the Queen, yea and all the Court, began to perceive the affection that we did bear one to another. Suppose (shepherds) what a pleasure it was both to the King, his wife, and most of all the noblemen of the realm, yea generally to all men in the country, to see such likelihood of a marriage, which they so earnestly wished and greedily desired. And die that time that Periander had reached to the age of eighteen years, the King fearing least delay might breed danger, and my affection to change or his son's mind alter, called us both into his chamber and in presence of the Queen his wife spoke unto us after this manner, intending to try our constancy.  
Marvel not my son Periander, nor you young Duchess, that I have sent for you hither, for I will not keep close the cause thereof. Know therefore that my pleasure is, that you Periander love not Lady Brisil any longer; have I sent for you from the University to court your mother's maids? Did I call you to the Court to learn how to play Mars in the field, and do you take upon you so young, to serve Venus in the chamber, you are but a boy yet Periander, and therefore unfit for love. And you Lady Brisill, have we shown you such friendly entertainment in the Court, and honoured you with such an high estate, to allure our son to fancy you, where I purposed to marry him to the King of Portugal's eldest daughter, & heir apparent to the crown of Portugal? thy father the deceased Duke, was a man of great desert, but his daughter not so worthy as to become a Queen. Be contented with the title of a Duchess Lady Brisil, and reach not so high a bough as a crown; for thou mayest both miss of thy purpose, and incur danger to lose their favour, in whom consisteth your welfare. Therefore I exhort you both to leave these familiar meetings, these lovely Salves, which you give one to another in the morning, & courteous good nights you bid one another in the evening; also those pleasant smiles, passionate looks and continual winks wherewith you favour one an other, will I have you not to use any longer. And to be short, I forbidden you to use company one with the other any more. Periander hearing his father concluded so peremptory against his bliss, answered. Then father, my Lord and Sovereign if it please your Majesty to separate me from the conversation of Duchess Brisil, I beseech you to give me leave to separate myself from the company of all men; and with that he drew his dagger, and would have wounded his loving heart with the sharp point thereof, had not his Mother the Queen hindered his intent, holding his arm. As for me, I was so perplexed both at the King's words and his rashness, that I fell on the ground in such manner, that the king himself thinking that I had been dead, ran from his chair of estate, and lifted me from the ground, calling Lady Brisil, speak, speak Lady Brisil, young Queen of Albion, speak but one word. But I lay in that ecstasy a good hour. All which time the King, the Queen, and all that were present, (but especially Periander) were so grieved that none of them could abstain from weeping. The King called, the Queen hallowed in mine ears, with a lamentable voice, and Periander almost breathless, being choked with exceeding sorrow which he conceived, could neither call, nor cry. At length with much ado, I came to myself, and stood upright, to the joy of all those that had heard of my mischance. Whereupon the King told us that he had used his formor words, but to learn whether our love was firm, intending if I liked of Periander, and Periander of me, as of man and wife, to marry us together. To be short, before we departed from the King, he sent for some of the chiefest Noblemen, and in their presence, Periander made promise never to marry other woman then myself, and in like manner affirmed that I was content to have him to my husband, and would die rather than be married to any other. So that our marriage was presently concluded, and the wedding to be a month after.   

CHAP. XIV. How Massicourt betrayed the Prince Periander, and sold him to the Moors for a Galleyslave, and the sorrow that was made for his absence.  
IMagine, loving Shepherds, what joy there was through the country, when it was reported that the young Prince and the young Duchess were promised, and should be married within the space of one month? Consider also, how happy and blessed that Periander and I thought ourselves to be, when we had obtained that with the King and Queen's consent and good will, which we feared that they would never have granted? but envy the sorest enemy that wageth war against content, soon made a breach of our felicity, into a woeful and pitiful mishap.  
For there was a young Knight in the Court called sir Massicourt, being son to the Earl Doraster, who was so in love with me (though he had not as yet declared it to me) that for me he had willingly made exchange of all that he had. This Sir Massicourt having of the contract between us, took it so heavily, that he almost dispaired. But considering that grief or sorrow could not prevail to remedy his harm, took courage, and hoped to find means by subtlety and craft to hinder the marriage, which he practised with all speed. The Earl his father was Admiral of the sea, by means whereof, this young Knight had great acquaintance with divers Captains of the ships of war, and other Pilots and shipmasters: among whom he had one especially bound unto him named Barsalis, whose service he durst employ in the weightiest matter of the world, and unto whom he might have communicated the chiefest secrets he had.  
To be short, he sent for this Barsalis and told him, that if ever he would requite the courtesies and friendship which he had received of him, that now the time was come, and occasion offered, wherein he might show the thankfulness and gratefulness of his mind. The Captain Pilot answered, that he wished not for any better hour than that in which he might be employed in his service, protesting, that whatsoever he would have him do, he should find him most ready to execute his pleasure were it right or not, so it consisted in his power, being ready to hazard his life to do him service; whereupon Sir Massicourt desired him to cause a ship to be well rigged and furnished with provision, and to lay Anchor at the haven of Dover, where he should expect his coming, and then he should further understand his pleasure. Which Barsalis promised to do, though he witted not why, nor to what end. For Sir Massicourt being something politic, and considering that men's minds are fickle, and subject to alteration, would not as yet disclose his intent unto the Pilot, fearing lest he might have been moved to bewray him before the time that he purposed to execute his treason. But after he had charged the Pilot to expect his coming to the Haven of Dover, he sought occasion to talk with the young Prince as soon as he might. And the next morning having heard that Periander intended to ride a hunting, prepared himself, to meet the Prince as he road towards the Park. Periander glad of his company (for there was great familiarity between them) and sir Massicourt was wonderfully well beloved of him, began to be merry with him, and to talk with him according to his accustomed manner. At length sir Massicourt taking occasion to speak of the Sea, I remember (quoth he) that your Grace oftentimes hath been earnest with me to go to Sea, and to see what rule Neptune keepeth in his kingdom. The weather is now most pleasant for that purpose, insomuch that if it will please your Grace now to recreate yourself in beholding such pleasure as the calm Sea can yield, I am ready to accompany your Grace to Dover, where I have a most gallant Pinnace, as excellent and fit for our turn as any Vessel in all the Realm. Periander thanked him, and appointed to ride with him the next morrow towards the haven. As soon as he came to the Court, he told us that he had purposed to go to Sea, and asked me whether I would give him leave to be away five or six days. And although I was very sorry and unwilling that he should go, fearing lest any mischance might happen unto him, yet seeing he so desired to go, I seemed to be more willing than I was, left he should be grieved, and leave his pleasure for fear of displeasing me.  
The next morning sir Massicourt being come, their fast broken, and their horse ready, they road merrily from the Court; but alas, I was not without cause discomforted, neither did I forecast such danger as happened in vain; for the traitor Massicourt, as soon as the Prince was aboard the Pinnace, called the Pilot Barsalis aside, and gave him certain chains of gold and other sumptuous jewels, mounting to the value of ten thousand crowns, promising him a far better reward. And this is it I request at your hands (quoth he) that when we be on the sea (seeing the wind serveth for Spain) you should fail into the Spanish sea, and being there, on the sudden lay hold on the Prince, and myself also, as if you were enraged against us, and sought to bereave us both of our lives. That done, you shall hid me into some odd corner of the Ship, where the Prince shall not be able to see me, and make him believe that you have cast me into the Sea and then arriving at some Spanish haven, sell him to the Moors that have the government of the Galleys, to be a Galleyslave, but first put off his clothes, and apparel him as if he were one of the Shipboys; then shall we be rid of him, and he never like to escape out of their hands. Barsalis promised to do all this, and performed no less indeed. For Periander was sold unto the Galley slaves, sir Massicourt traveled into Spain and Italy, and Barsalis upon a certain night, set his Pinnace on fire, and burned all his Mariners, saving himself in a Ship boat, and in a Merchants he returned to Albion. Wither being arrived, he came presently to the Court and brought us news of those that we so long had wished to hear of. For they had been away ten months, and though the King had sent out divers Ships, and the Admiral himself also coursed through the seas, yet could we hear nothing either of the Kings or Admiral's son. Whereby we supposed that they were dead, though we hoped the contrary. But Barsalis that traitorous Pilot told us, that as soon as they had entered the mouth of the Sea, the wind risen, and such a tempest was spread over all the Sea, that the Pinnace being beaten with the waves on every side, rend in pieces and sunk presently. All that he could say of Periander and Massicourt, was, that he saw them both together leap out of the Pinnace, and that the Knight with a small mast in his hands swum up and down whither the stream drove him, and that the Prince casting himself upon one of the hatches, tossed up and down the waves. All the rest that were in the Ship, he said that they sunk with the Pinnace, and himself escaped alone in the Shipboat. This traitor Barsalis received no small gift of the King and of me, (although his news was so evil) because he told us that he saw the Prince fleeting up and down the waves upon one of the ship-hatches, hoping that he was somewhere cast on land, though perhaps so far that he could not so soon return home to Albion.  
I will not hear make mention what a living death or dying life I poor wretch led, all the while that Periander was absent, sometimes persuading myself that he was dead, and sometimes hoping to see him and enjoy his presence; but this I will leave to your discretion (loving shepherds,) and pass on forwards in the declaration of this lamentable history. You shall therefore know, that after Barsalis had been six months at home, the Admiral's son returned to his father's house attired like a ship slave, and told us such a tale of his wonderful adventure, how he was cast on the shore side with his mast-piece, and how he fared on the land, that not the Court only, but all the Country also admired at his hard fortune. But concerning the Prince, he could tell no more than the other traitor had done, yet to give a colour of likelihood, he agreed to the same report which the Villain Barsalis had made. And though my hope was small, yet I took the greater courage, because sir Massicour● that Arch-traitor had escaped such dangers and troubles as he made us believe. And howsoever my young heart strove against sorrow and grief, yet the Queen being old and weak of nature, consumed for very grief, and died. Who being buried and entombed, what mourning, what grief, and what sorrow was made, not in the Court only, but generally over all the Country, I am not able to express. And as for myself, though I was very sorry for her death, yet was the grief and pain which I suffered for the absence of Periander, so great and exceeding, that I could scarce think up-any other thing, and therefore the sooner forgot the death of the Queen.   

CHAP. XV. How the traitor Massicourt slew himself, because he could not obtain the love of fair Brisilla: also how the King was enamoured on her.  
BY this time began the traitor Massicourt to make love unto me, and to cast such passionate looks upon me, at all times that he passed by me, or came into the place where I was, that I could not choose but perceive that he was become darling to Venus, by the forcing dart of her Son Cupid, and that he suffered great pain for my sake.  
I was sorry for his case, because he was a most gallant Gentleman, exceeding both in perfection of body and readiness of wit, but yet my hart was so fixed on Periander, that although I had certainly known that he was dead, yet could I not have forgotten him to love any other. Yet howsoever I was affected, Massicourt found means to enter into the Orchard. I being there alone, and emboldened himself so far, that he came unto me, gréeted me, and with all humility, by word of mouth declared what torment he suffered for love of me, desiring me to be merciful unto him. Whereunto I answered, that I could show him mercy in pitying his case, and exhorting him to change his mind, but other mercy I could not show him, and so I fling into the Palace and left him among the trees, which might have been witnesses of the tears he shed. Yet he gave not over the field for all he had had but ill success at the first assault, and purposed to send me a Letter, hoping that ink and paper would do more than his bare words had done. Especially because he being passionate, was not able in my presence to express his mind, neither would I hearken unto his speech. Insomuch that he thinking that I could not do less than read all whatsoever he wrote, though I could not give ear to his say; dispatched a Letter and conveyed it into my hands as secretly as he could: which letter was written to such an end.  
Massicourt to the Duchess Brisil.  
PArdon me gracious Lady, if I am troublesome unto your grace, for I am forced by that Lord whom I must obey. The sum of my desire is to please your grace, and my chiefest felicity consisteth in your content, therefore think not Lady that I would willingly molest you. My humble Petition is that it may please your grace to weigh the torment, grief and pain, which I suffer, which if your gracious mercy do not slacken, is like to seal my love with death, and to give the world cause to accuse your grace of cruelty. Mercy Madam is an ornament to Ladies of high estate. I wish not that you should forget the Prince Periander, but to admit me as copartner and partaker of your grief. Neither do I crave that your grace should not love Periander (whether he be dead or yet live) but give me leave to love you, and to accept of my love, as a comfort to assuage the sorrow you suffer for Periander.  
Farewell.  
When I had read this Letter I could not but be angry: for it grieved me that he went about to withdraw me from the love of Periander, though he seemed to wish the contrary. For how could I have loved him, and not forget Periander? how could I have been merry with him, and mourn for Periander? and how could I laugh with him, and weep for Periander: wherefore incontinently, I wrote him this answer.  
Brisilla to Sir Massicourt.  
YOur conscience urged you (Sir Massicourt) to crave pardon in the beginning of your letter, foreknowing your offence. But your excuse is, for that you are constrained by him whom you must obey. Cupid you mean, I am suit: but how shameful it is that a Knight should so bewray his pusilanimity and faintness of courage, I leave to your own consideration. And to let you understand furthermore, that if your desire be to please me, and therefore far from undertaking any thing that may trouble me, you shall obtain your wish and enjoy true felicity (which you affirm to consist in my content) if you molest me with neither letter nor speech, to love you. For in so doing you shall bind me to acknowledge that you have done me a singular pleasure. You know that I have already told you that I am sorry for your torment and passion; though I may not be your Physician. Neither do I think the world so mad, as to judge me cruel, if your folly cause you to die. (Though it be a common and usual custom unto all your sex, to talk of the mate  you have the check.) You can teach me that mercy beseemeth maids, but you forget in the mean time, that Knights ought not to be unmerciful as to seek the overthrow of our honesty, and to spoil us of our honour. Have not I given faith to love Periander, and shall I not incur foul shame and dishonour, if contrary to my promise. I love you? but would you have me use your love as a pastime to forget the dolour which otherwise I should suffer for the absence of Periander. How far do you run beyond reason; for I will have you know that such love as you talk of; yea the very memory thereof only, should be a whetstone to sharpen my grief, seeing there is nothing more painful or odious unto me, than that which draweth my mind from thinking on Periander, and encumbereth my thoughts with matters taking away the remembrance of Periander, thinking no time il spent but that wherein I shed not tears for Periander. Therefore cease to molest me, seeing the sum of your delight consisteth in pleasing me.  
After Massicourt had received this Letter, he durst not so often molest me. Northelesse, of purpose he came divers times to the Court, pressing near the privy chamber to have occasion to speak with me; but I could watch him as well to shun him, as he could watch me to talk with me. In so much, that since I wr●te him that Letter, I spoke with him but once, at which time I so sharply rebuked his importunity (seeing that no mild or courteous speeches could serve) that a long time he absented himself from the Court. At length (when I thought surely that I had been altogether rid of such a troublesome suitor) on the sudden he greeted me upon a certain morning, being but newly risen. And although I was alone, yet I was so angry, that I turned my face from him, and would not speak unto him. This happened (to my remembrance) twice or thrice, after which time I saw him no more. But about three weeks after, a little casket covered with a cloth of gold was brought me, whereon there was written this inscription in golden letters.  
My Supreme will and pleasure is, that this be given to Duchess Brisil.  
I marveling what that meant, asked the messenger, who sent it? or to what end? To which he answered, that he that sent it, is not now, but living was called Sir Massicourt. Who being in his chamber (quoth the messenger) this morning, willed me to go into the next room till he called me, and that I should presently carry the casket which I should find upon the table to Duchess Brisil: when I had stayed there three or four hours, I marvelled what my master did there so long alone, and peeping through the crease of the chamber door, I saw him lie breathless on the ground, and so amazed, I stepped in and found this casket, what is in it I know not, and so the messenger being Sir Massicourts' chamberlain, departed. I opening the casket, found a dagger all bloody, on the blade whereof, was this message engraven in such small letters that I could scarce read it.  
Go tell the Queen that in my heart enthroned,  
Doth sway the sceptre of my haughty mind,  
That thou hast pierced the seat whereon she sat,  
And overcome the Kingdom which she ruled;  
That thou hast massacred that Massicourt,  
Whereover she so proudly tyrannised:  
That thou hast drowned all his thoughts in blood,  
Who loved her as never wight was loved:  
That thou hast rid him from her cruel face,  
Who praised her beauty to the sovereign skies;  
That thou hast sent him to the groves of hell,  
That deemed his heaven consisted in her grace:  
That thou hast ended his exceeding pain,  
Whose grief her mercy would not mitigate:  
And that thou hast his torment finished,  
Whom she (for cruel) caused to despair.  
This do, and let the colour of thy coat,  
Give to the butcher of my death a note.  
In what case I was (loving shepherds) after I had read that message and been informed of that rueful tragedy, I will not now declare.  
For the sorrow which I conceived for the end of Massicourt, was incredible. Besides what a sudden rumour was spread through the Court of his death you may consider, insomuch that I need not to stand upon that point. But I will pass on to the rest of my misery. For within three or four months after the decease of sir Massicourt, I got a stronger enemy to my content then Massicourt; for the King himself (though he was above fifty years of age) solicited me to give over all remembrance of his son, and yield to his request, which was to become his wife, and be crowned with the diadem of Albion. Yet could not that precious object alter the mind of Brisil, or any whit in her diminish the memory of Periander. But the King knowing that he might command, when he perceived that I could not be induced by prayers, fair words, lofty promises, and other allurements to grant his suit, soon used the tyrannous sentence of all those that may do what they will.  Sic volo, sic jubeo, stat pro ratione voluntas. 
And thought to try whether he could by threaten and menaces obtain that, which by fair means I would not consent unto: but all could not help, for except death only nothing could take from me that faith and promise which I made to Periander. And whilst the King & I thus strove, he in loving, & I in hating a letter was brought to the Court from the King of Spain, wherein he informed the King that his son Periander was with him intending to be in Albion with his father and loving Brisil very shortly. But that he had sent a messenger before his coming, that they should be informed of his health and fortune, could scarce believe it; but that they saw it was manifest, seeing the Prince Periander had written that Massicourt was by the Pilot Barsalis cast overboard, and yet notwithstanding he complained not of Barsalis, but agreed with him in the report of the tempest which was none. Besides that love which he bore me was sufficient proof of his treason. For he sent us the whole declaration of the treason practised by Barsalis against him. He also informed us how he had heard of the Queen his mother's death, whereof he was very sorry. The King having received these Letters, at the first was glad that his son was living, and caused Barsalis to be apprehended, who with a little racking confessed the whole matter, and appeached the Admiral's son that was dead, as the Author and cause of all that he had executed. Whereat the whole world so marvelled, that they could scarce believe it. And whereas many had pitied the Knights lamentable and tragical end, now they judged him rewarded according to his deserts. And I for my part, was so enraged against him, that if he had yet lived. I believe I had with my own hands wrung his head from his shoulders; for he was the cause of all my calamities. The King caused Barsalis to be hanged and quartered, and in the place where Massicourt that politic traitor was buried, did he command a gibbet to be set up reaching over his Tomb, and this written on the top of it in great letters, 
Here lieth entombed a Knight of ancient fame,  
An Earls son, Sir Massicourt by name.  
This Knight, for love, an heinous treason tried;  
Yet could not help, he pierced his heart and died.  
He was no traitor known till clad in clay,  
This Gibbet here was set it to bewray.   
For the King was terribly enraged, when he had heard this strange kind of treason: which was the cause that now he loved her whom he had wedded to his son; and hated him whom he was by Nature bound to love.  
For lest Periander should return into Albion, and marry with me, whom he would have to be his wife, the King forgetting both the law of Nature and Honesty wrote unto the King of Spain, that his Son Periander was guilty of treason against his own person, being his Father: and therefore desired him upon all friendship, and the alliance that had a long time been between the Kingdoms of Spain and Albion, to keep his son close prisoner, and to let him be used as hardly as any of all the other Captives which were in his Kingdom or Domions.  
When I had heard what answer the King had returned by the Ambassadors of Spain, my heart was ready to burst. And I was minded divers times to dispatch myself with one of my garters, thinking that by my death I should deliver Periander from imprisonment, and move the King's mind to use his son as he ought to do. But I know not how, I was always so falsely alured with hope, that I continually abstained from shortening my life, and thereby prolonged my misery. You shall therefore understand, that I got one of the Ambassadors Pages to carry a Letter from me unto Periander, and to deliver it secretly into his own hands; which the youth promised that he would accomplish, though it should cost him his life: and to reward his readiness, and to make him the willinger and carefuller to discharge his duty, I gave him twenty crowns to drink. The Letter was written to this effect.  
Brisilla to the Prince Periander.  
SWeet Periander, the joy which poor Brisil conceived when she heard of her Periander, was too great to be of long continuance, and even as the herb that groweth and fadeth in one hour, so the mirth that possessed my soul, was in a moment expelled and banished. You accused the Pilot Barsalis, but you might rather have cursed the traitor Massicourt as the chief cause and first beginning of all our sorrows: for the furious love, hypocriticaf friendship, and malicious policy of that unhappy Knight, hath wrought first his own ruin, and therewith our adversity. How miserable and unhappy art thou Periander, that thy own natural father hateth thee? How unfortunate, that thy parent conspireth against thee? And how unlucky, that he who ought to be thy chief friend is become thy enemy? Nay rather, how wretched is distressed Brisil, that unhappy Periander must be thus miserable, unfortunate and unlucky for her sake? Ah Periander, could my captivity set thee at liberty, how pleasantly, and how willingly should the world see me run to the Prison, and yield my leg to the Stocks or Iron Gyves? Nay, might the dearest blood that succoureth my faithful heart, purchase thy ransom from imprisonment, and obtain thee thy souls desire, how soon should my breast offer itself to my knife to be set a broach, and to have a passage made into the inmost part thereof? But no, the Gods and fortune envy at me too greatly, to suffer me to enjoy so great happiness. If no man can or dare tell you the cause of your father's sudden wrath against you, know that I have found means to rid you of that doubt, and to let you understand that accursed Brisil is the occasion thereof, though she had rather die then live to see thee wronged. The King thy father will be married to Brisil, and therefore must Periander be banished, (which is more) imprisoned among strangers far from home. But assure thyself Periander that I will rather die, then undo that which is knitted with my faith, and bound with my honour. If you can patiently endure your imprisonment, persuade yourself that I will courageously abide my martyrdom. Which for that as it cannot but be the crown of mine honour, so also is like to be the cause of my releasement: I wish that it may happen with all speed. That Brisil being lifeless and forgotten, Periander may be reconciled to his father, return to his country and enjoy his pleasure until the decease of the King, then to be crowned with the glorious title of King of Albion. And thus faithful Brisil biddeth thee farewell, lamenting nothing so much as that she was not in the galley by you to row for you, and bear all the travel that you by reason of her were constrained to suffer, among them unnatural Moors and galley slaves. Adieu.  
Thine, and therefore thyself miserable. Brisilla.  
This Letter I had no sooner delivered to the Page, but Ambassadors departed from the Court having taken their leave of the King, and embarked themselves the next day after to return into Spain. When they were gone the King sent for me, and asked me whether I was not yet resolved to love him seeing he hated his own son for love of me. Whereunto I answered that if his Majesty loved me indeed, he would likewise love his son, seeing that I loved none but his son, nor could not love any other as long as I lived. But (to be short, and as little tedious loving shepherds, as I possibly may) after we had reasoned and argued together the space of a full hour, he in protesting how entirely he loved me, and that he could not live, unless he enjoyed Brisil as his Queen; and I in defending, that I might not love him, nor live, if I break my promise made to his son in his presence and by his consent; at length he burst out into these raging words. Proud Brisil, and ungrateful Duchess, thou despisest the high offers of a King, and contemnest the love of a Monarch, that governeth a whole Kingdom. And thinkest thou not that I cannot command thee, seeing an huge people is ruled by me? I promise thee, that I will teach thee not to say nay, when I demand; and to be ready to grant when I request. Therefore know, that thou shalt be married unto me, wilt thou, or wilt thou not, and the Marriage day shall be the ninth day after to morrow. See then that thou prepare thyself against that day, to condescend to my pleasure, lest thou wilt rue thy stubborn hardneckedness. And with that he turned from me into the next chamber, and left me poor distressed wight ready to yield up the ghost, at the sound of his conclusion. But snatching hope by the subject, I thought either the King's mind might before the appointed day be altered, or fit opportunity offered me to escape his tyranny by flight. But neither I could in time get away, nor the King had forgotten his intent. But the day which he had appointed for the Wedding being come, and all things in a readiness, sent for me. I, although I did not well know what to do yet r●sting upon this point, rather to die, then to forsake Periander; and considering that fury was not to be repressed by force, where Majesty commanded, and that fair speeches prevail most, where the party is weakest, I went presently unto him, and falling on my knees, beseeched his Majesty to pardon me for my former folly, promising, that whereas I had offended his Majesty with stubbornness, I meant to make him amends with obedience and loyalty. And for that I could not but as yet mourn for my forepast frenzy, I besought his Majesty to protract the day of the wedding one month farther, to the end that I might prepare and exorn myself in such manner, that the whole world may bear witness that Brisil doth offer herself a worthy spouse to so mighty a Bridegroom. The King was herewith so pleased, that giving the farewell to all anger, willingly granted me my request; whereof I was not a little rejoiced, hoping before the space of one month to be so far from his reach that he should not force me to be married to any but to Periander.   

CHAP. XVI. How Brisilla to avoid the intended Marriage of the King with her, departed secretly into Spain, where she found means to speak with the Prince Periander, and how he escaped out of prison with her.  
TO compass the conclusions of my intent, lest I should seem pensive or sorrowful, I wept all night, to the end mine eyes might spare from shedding tears in the day. Besides I seemed to be very busy in beautifying my person with sumptuous clothes, costly jewels, precious pearls, and other ornaments which I had laid aside since the loss of Periander. At last, about a week before the prefixed time of our marriage, I espied an occasion to get out of the Court, which though it was not so fit as I could wish, yet fearing lest if I did let that slip, I should not have the like offered the day being so near at hand, I took hold of it, which was this. There was a ship that six weeks before, had brought sugar, figs, raisins, dates, oranges and lemons, to Albion, the Merchants whereof, having bought other wares to return into Spain, had made their provision to go to Sea. Which when I heard, (for I was in nothing so attentive as to learn of some Back that was bound toward Castille) I changed my sex in outward sight, and in the form of a Ship-boy, I went to the Spanish Merchants, and beseeched them to take me into their service, for I was a poor fatherless child that had for the space of two years led a Mariner's life; which misliked me so, (for that I was weak of constitution, and my limbs tender by nature) that I have taken leave of the Master of the Ship, wherein I have served to see if I could happen into some other kind of good service. The Merchants no doubting my tale to be other than truth, because I spoke Spanish unto them, supposing that I had learned their speech by travelling into their Country, liked me so well, that they went to Mumbchance which of them should be my Master. Whereof I was so glad, that seeing the Mariners hoist up the sails, and hale in the Anchor cable, I cared not for the chance of the Die, or whose servant I should be, hoping that if the Gods would favour us with a gale of wind that I should shortly arrive to the place where the stay of my life, and hold of my hope remained. But mark the taunting check which Fortune gave me. For we had scarce entered the mouth of the Sea, but we were overtaken by two swift Pinnaces, so well furnished with all warlike provision, that they had been able to master four such Barks as the Merchant's ship wherein we were. To be short, that they calling to our Pilot that he should strike, durst not but obey; and I misdoubting that they were Albion ships, sent to look after me, kept myself under the ship hatches, where I so bepitched and betarred my face, that the judgement of the eye could not prevail to discern who I was, if I might have escaped speaking. But the Pilot who could not understand the Albion speech, called me to interpret what the Albion Pilot demanded of him. But I made as if I had been so afraid that I could not speak, and while I heard them wrangling each in his own language, one nothing understanding the other, I tried to counterfeit my voice as well as I ceuld, fearing lest I should have been compelled at length to become their interpriter, which in truth so happened. For the Merchant my Master considering the course of our Navigation, was greatly hindered by their importunity, and fearing lest they were Pirates and thought to pilfer and rob the Bark, and spoil him and the other Merchants of their goods and lives, forced me to come to the uper part of the ship, and to speak to my Countrymen. Thus I constrained whether I would or no, not only to present myself unto them that sought me (for I had heard what they demanded, though none could understand them but myself, and therefore I was the better instructed what to say unto them, and how I should interpret their say unto the Spaniard) but also to bewray my voice unto them, and to be the expounder that should declare and explicate what they demanded, and what the Spaniards answered. Wherefore being come into their presence, I began to speak British, but that in such order that they had much add to understand me, and took more pleasure to laugh at me, then to inquire after Brisil, whom the fools spoke with, and thought that she had been some Moor or Turk. For the Admiral who was there in his own proper person, hearing how crabbedly I cracked his British language on the pate; what the devil (quoth he) have the Gods sent us hither, to mock us with our language after this sort. No doubt but our pains are well bestowed to come thus far into the Sea, to talk with such an eloquent fellow. I believe certainly, that he hath been an Orator to the Devil three or four years. Whereupon he asked me what Country man I was, a Turk or a jew? I answered him that I was which he would, for I knew not myself where I was born. At length he asked me where I had learned to speak such good British, whereunto I made as if I had not marked that he mocked and gybed with me, said, that when I was two or three years old I was in Albion with my mother, for the space of two or three years or thereabout, in which time I learned so much of their language, that God be thanked it serveth my turn. Whereat they all burst forth, and laughed very hearty, and at length, remembering Brisil, they asked me whether our Bark was bound? and I answered to Barbary; then they asked whether we had not any women passengers aboard, I answered, that we had no more than they saw, either men or women. They said they were not so content, but would search the Ship, and bade me to tell the Pilot that he should not resist their pleasure, for they would do it and were forced to do it by the strait command of their King. Whereupon I told our Pilot this tale, that they were the King of Albion's searchers, that scoured up and down the Seas, to see if they could meet with any Ship that carried such wares out of the country as were not granted or licenced by the king; and that because they suspected that the Merchants that were in that Ship had unprivileged wares, they would for that purpose make search for them, and if they found none, they would not any longer hinder them of their undertaken voyage. The Pilot willingly let them come aboard the Bark, though the Merchants thought verily that they had been Pirates, and used that colour to obtain their prey the easier. But they found themselves deceived, for after the Albion Lords had throughly searched the Ship, they returned into their Pinnace again, without offering the least injury in the world to the Spaniards, whereof they were glad, and I gladder, having escaped the danger which Fortune seemed to threaten me. And in few days after, being speedily arrived at the wished Haven, my Master took post horse for himself and me, and we road to Sivil, in which City my Periander lay imprisoned. And now I began to wish myself released from the subjection of my Master, for he employed me in so many matters that I could not perform my duty towards him accordingly, and withal have time and occasion to obtain my desire concerning Periander; wherefore I sought all means possible to be rid of my Master, who was loath to part from me. At length I feigned myself to be sick, that I could neither eat nor drink, nor stand on my feet, but kept my bed, and being asked by him what I ailed, or what sickness I had, I made as if I durst not tell him, at length seeing he was so importunate to know, I told him it was the plague, whereof he was so afraid, that he would put me into an Hospital among the diseased; but I entreated him that he would rather leave me to mine own shift, then to place me among the diseased, promising that if I escaped death, I would return into his service before any other. And though he was loath to let me go where I should want looking unto, yet seeing that I had rather have died then be carried to an Hospital, he gave me three or four pieces of gold and sent me packing, wishing that I might far well. I thanked him for his kindness, and the Gods for my liberty. And now I began marvellously to long for the sight of my only comfort Periander, who little knew that I was so near him. But I could scarce imagine how I might come to him, and avoid all suspicion. For I feared lest the King should have misdoubted of my intent, and therefore have written unto the King of Spain to make search whether I were in his country, but especially to watch whether any came unto Periander, knowing that if I were in Spain it was to come to him. The consideration whereof, made me so careful and so wary that I looked before I leapt, and did nothing but being forethought; So that I passed by the prison where Periander lay every day once or twice, and sometimes more often, to see what likelihood there was that I might come near him. I espied the manner of the prison, the condition of the Jailor the estate of those that frequented his company. At length I became so impatient, that I could not abide any longer delay and therefore began to invent some deceit or other to beguile the keepers, and come to the speech of Periander. First I purposed to apparel myself like some Italian Gentleman, and so to have asked the Jailor leave to speak unto the Albion Prince, but that seemed not the safest way. Afterwards, I thought to go like a British beggar; thinking that they would have brought me to talk with the British Prince, to take pleasure at our strange parley. And this liked me worse, for so I might have easily been entrapped. At last I found no better means then to counterfeit myself to be an Egyptian Prophet and Fortune-teller. So that I went into the street where the prison stood and a good way off (as I had not thought to come near the prison) I began to sing an Egyptian enchantment, and I did so counterfeit the ●une thereof (though knew not myself what sense my Sonnet inferred) that the Spaniards thought me an upright Egyptian; and having ended my Song, a number of Youths, Maids, women and men, also came flocking about me, holding up their hands to know their fortune. I, as cunningly as I could, held the devil a candle, and told them many good morrows, and evil evenings, as I often have heard that the Egyptian figure Castres' used to do, to deceive the world; yet nevertheless I used the matter so that they were content of their fortune, and liked me the better. But I was so haled and pulled from one place to another, that I knew not how I might content them all. At length I was fetched by the Maids that dwelled with the Jailor and his daughters to come thither, whither I went willingly, for that was my cause of my practised sorcery, and there was the man whose fortune made me become a fortune-teller. To be short, the Maids of the house led me into a yard where they might secretly talk with me, and ask me questions concerning their fortunes. But it chanced that my good hap was such, that I espied Periander out of a window reaching unto the yard where we were; but alack I spied that renowned mirror of beauty, fair Florina, the daughter of the King of Spain, standing by him, who entangled in the snare of fancy, and fettered in the pleasant contemplation of Periander's beauty so loved him that she corrupted the Jailor with sums of money to use her Love, not as a strange prisoner, but rather as a worthy guest whom she also in proper person sometimes visited to assuage his sorrow; which sight so amazed me that I could not tell what I said to the Maids desirous to know their fortune. I felt a kind of soothing pleasure creep into the veins of my heart, for the presence of my friend, & on the other side, a fearful kind of grief possessed my soul, for th●t I was acquainted with his company, mistrusting whether poor Brisil was committed to the winds, & raised out of the heart of Periander, by the matchless courtesies which he received of fair Florina; but not suspend you with my long and endless discourse (loving shepherds) know that fair Florina espying what deal I had with the jailors daughter, as new sick as the rest, willed the jailor to bring me into the chamber where she was with Periander, to learn what cunning I had. Therefore I being led by the jailor before her, saluted her and her company with all the humility I could, but yet in such order that my besmouged cheeks were died with a vermilion red at the sight of Periander. But Florina imputing the change of my hue to shamefastness, and thinking I being a simple swad, was abashed to see myself in their presence bid me come near her boldly, saying she meant to be my patient, & to see whether I knew by the lineaments of her h●nd, what Fortune she had; and was like to have. Imagine (gentle shepherds) what mind I had either to tell her fortune, or to give her an answer being in that case; yet taking all the courage that in such extremity could cleave to my heart. I said, My skill is too small to conjecture of so high constellations; for I hold opinion that the destinies of those that are of such noble descent as yourself, are more intricate than the constellation of base persons; and therefore if my divinations prove false or little agreeing to the truth, I leave your Grace to be burdened with the blame, seeing it is your pleasure that I should conjecture of your luck, and not my own presumption: And therefore thus much I will say of your fortune, I will not touch your Parentage, wealth, honour, and likelihood of great renown, for that is known to all the world, but I will tell you of that which is most doubtful, and more delightful unto you, as my simple knowledge teacheth me; for (unless I am deceived) you love (Lady) and that most loyally, but I see one doubt which is like to redound to your sorrow, that you shall have a shrewd enemy to your desire, and a terrible foe to your wished love. And to yield you reason of my divination, mark the line of affection in your hand, it is straight, a token of pure love, and faithful affection accompanied with loyalty, and these two short wrinkles which you see of each side of the forsaid line, are token of the cross you are like to endure in obtaining you heart's ease. Neither would I have your grace to think that the clause of this ill success dependeth only on the person who hath your heart in hold; for there be many events and chances that we cannot foreknow or forethink, which may breed your sorrow. But hoping that your Grace is minded as the Astrologian that said, Inclinationes non sunt edicta praetorum, that inclinations be not ordinances and decrees of Majors; shall be able to command the stars and rule over them, according to that old saying, Sapiens hominabiter astris, I am glad thou takest me to be so wise Egyptian, replied Florina. But I pray thee canst thou not tell me more particularly of some adventure to come? No truly Madam (quoth I) may it please your Grace to bear with my rudeness and ignorance, which is not able to content your pleasure, and satisfy your mind concerning this point. Why then, quoth she, let me know what you can say to this Gentleman, for I hope as I admitted him to hear my luck so he will not be angry if I hear his fortune. But Periander, (as I well perceived) knew me; for I saw his face receive such divers colours, and his countenance altered so suddenly, that Florina marvelled what had befallen unto him, that he stood so perplexed; for he conceived infinite pleasure in seeking his only joy so near him and contrarily he was grieved that I found him with Florina, fearing lest I should suspect him less constant, and so myself less faithful. Florina beholding Periander, witted not what to say, and although I was sorry to see him in that taking, yet because I knew the occasion and reason thereof, I was the better contented, hoping that it was no more than I thought it to be, and that he was led in a trance by my unexpected presence. Yet I was commanded by Florina to departed, she thinking it now no time to tell any more fortunes. And so I was forced to leave poor Periander, before he was come to himself, although I feared that as my presence had strucken him, so my departure would kill him. Nevertheless, seeing there was no remedy, I took it as patiently as I could, and away I went, though I was not permitted to go far; for the Maids of the house so fling about me, and kept such ado with me to know the sequel of their fortunes, and to have me fully resolve them in all points which they desired to know, (seeing I was so hastily called from them by Florina, that I had not half satisfied them before) that I could scarce get from them. And my luck was such, that while I was busy with answering to their questions, the Jailor had heard that Florina was miss in the Court, and looked for, to come to the Queen her mother, which when he had signified unto her, she stayed not, but incontinently hied to the Court. Periander therefore by this time being restored to his wits, and seeing both time and place serve to talk with me in secret, to the end that I should not be descried, willed the Jailor to bid me to come unto him, for that he earnestly desired to confer with me about the nature of certain herbs that grow in Egypt and other peculiar matters. To be short, the Jailor sent me in to Periander, and there left me with him alone, where he came and embraced me, his eyes distilling and gushing forth whole streams of tears, saying, Brisil, Brisil, pardon me, that you were not by me welcomed and entertained at your arrival, according to your deserts, and my duty. For where necessity nippeth, all must obey. And doubt not that Leander had been more welcome to loving Ero, if the swelling waves had not hindered his journey by glutting themselves with his carcase, and so stayed him from the wished Tower, unto which he was swimming, than thou most worthy Brisil to thy faithful Periander. It were too long for me (worthy Shepherds) to declare what other cherishments and loving congratulations that he made. To be short, we talked of many matters (as you may well think,) of Sir Massicourts' Conspiration and treason especially, which was the first step to all our troubles; of the Queen's death; of the King's unnatural tyranny, of my secret flight of our Fortune on the Sea, of my Master: to be short, there was nothing raked up in silence, that concerned our fortune. At length, the chiefest matter and hardest point of all our conference was offered, when as we having informed each other of all our adventures since that time that we were by the policy of traitorous Massicourt separated entered into consultation what we might do to shun the eminent danger which was like to fall upon us, by reason of the King's wrathfulness. And after we had long deliberated, now intending to use this means, now that at length, we concluded to take the vantage of the time, seeing that by means of Florina. Periander was not kept so straightly, but that he might go secretly out of the prison, and walk whither he would to take the air. Therefore lest if his father the King of Albion should upon my flight send new Ambassadors to the King of Spain, to have his son put to death (for he divers times swore unto me that Periander should die if he any way hindered his marriage with me,) or brought Albion to be dealt withal not according to fatherly affection, but his merciless rage, we thought best not to expect the worst, but to play safe as long as time and occasion was offered us. To make few words Periander the next morning by break of day got out of the prison (telling the jailor that he went to a place where Florina had appointed him to meet her) and coming to the house where I waited for him, she presently departed from Sivil, intending to trabel towards some solitary place, where we might live until we heard of the death of the King of Albion. And because we should not be known, if search were made after us, we clothed ourselves both alike in the habit of country maids, as if we had been two sisters.   

CHAP. XVII. How the Prince Periander and Brisilla became shepherds, and how by the means of Malorena and Bergama, the Prince departed from Brisill.  
AT length travelling thus together, we arrived to a certain village which is called Ezla, where we purposed to keep our residence. And although we had sufficient wherewithto maintain ourselves, yet the better to avoid suspicion, and to have wherein to employ our leisure and to take our delight, and pastimes, we bought a flock of sheep, and learned to play the shepherds as well as we could; none of all the inhabitants knowing but that we were two sisters. For Periander was yet but young and had no beard, and besides he was so fair of complexion, that it had been impossible for one to suspect that he was no woman.  
After we had passed over one month in that haven of content and passing pleasant kind of life, I enjoying the presence of my Periander, and he of his Brisil in spite of the world, fortun● began to envy at our felicity, and to evert the happy estate wherein we lived. For it chanced that we being both at the feast which was celebrated in honour of the Goddess Ceres, there was a young shepherd being son unto one of the richest farmers in our village, who casting his eyes on Sibylla, (for so I named Periander, who was thought to be my sister) was fetttered in the snare of his beauty that we were so troubled with importunate requests and suits of this youth, that we witted not how to dehort him from folly, or how to quench the burning flames which consumed the poor shepherd's hear● For the crueler Sibylla my supposed sister seemed to be, the more he was provoked to hope for mercy; the colder she shown herself to be, the hotter he was, the more she disdained, the more earnest he sued; the more she crossed him for his fondness, the more he hoped for kindness.  
Insomuch that poor Petulca (for so was that wretched shepherd called) so miserably loved, that all the Country knew by his colour, what Captain he honoured and served. His joy and welfare which was wont to recreate the whole company of the Inhabitants, was changed into Melancholy.  
His young face which was a fashion of Modesty, Grace, Mirth, Beauty and Comeliness, waxed wrinkled, his limbs weakened, and all his body decayed: So that as he was generally pitied of all men, so were we most woefully grieved at his hard Fortune, though we could not help or remedy the same.  
Nevertheless, seeing that Petulca ceased not from his suit, but so hotly followed his cause, pleading for mercy to save his life, I counselled Periander to fain as if he loved him, hoping that we might by that devise and mean escape the ill will and anger which we were like to gain of all our Neighbours if the youth had died. For his passion was such that nothing but death only could move him to leave his love. Thus Petulca loving a young Prince in the habit of a lovely shepherd, and perceiving that he had won the Fort which he had so fiercly assaulted, revived again, and in short time became as pert & as trim as ever he had been. He came twice or thrice in the week unto us, and so pleasantly discoursed of divers matters as occasion offered, that we could not have changed the recreation which he had by his honest company and merry conversation, for the richest jewel of India. As he had lived in this contented and pleasant manner one month, it happened that the daughter of a shepherd called Petrueco, dwelling in the next Farm to our cottage, was foe intricated in the net of affection, and so entangled in the beauty of Petulca, that she alured him by continual favours, loving glances, courteous greetings, pleasant speeches, and all means she could invent to gain his good will, and to move him to love her; but all the world was not able to alter his mind, though we wished that he might have been enticed by her deserts, to repent of his first bargain. At length when Malorena (so was this unhappy shepherd named) espied that Petulca was so ungrateful that he would not any way requite her courtesies with favour, she began most deadly to hate my sister (I mean Periander) supposing her to be the cause of all her woe: For as she knew Petulca was in love of my said sister, so she thought that he was as well liked of her; which induced her to be persuaded that we of purpose entertained him the more kindly to hinder her matter: whereas contrarily when we knew that she so dearly affectioned him we made less account of him, hoping that he wearied with our coyness, might have lent his ear to his new Mistress that honoured him so highly. Yet howsoever we wished her well, and longed that she might enjoy her hearts desire, she nevertheless being of contrary opinion, became our mortal foe. If she chanced to pass by us, she did cast such a lowering look upon us, as if she would have eaten us: if she had lighted at unawares in the company where we were, she thought herself the worse; if she spoke of us to others, she belied us, and invented tales to defame and discredit us. Yet all this served not; but intending fully to revenge herself of the injury which she dreamt that we offered her, she excogitated this stratagem There was in the same Village a beautiful young M●id, Niece to this Malorena, who by reason that she kept her sheep in the next pasture to ours, kept great company with us, and became very familiar and friendly unto us. Which her Niece Malorena espying thought to use her as the instrument of her supposed practices. Therefore on a certain morning she sent for her & made such a sugared speech unto her, declaring the occasion why she sent for her, the estate of her love towards Petulca, the love of Petulca towards Sibylla, alias Periander, and briefly all that concerned this matter, desiring her not to deny her friendly aid and holy herein. So that to be short, Bergama (for that was this other Shepherd's name) promised her niece that what she could do, she would be ready to perform. Whereupon she told her what she would have her to do, instructing her in all points concerning the same. Which tended to no other end then to work our woe, and by expelling us by their treachery out of those quarters, to enjoy the love of Petulca. Insomuch that these two Nieces having agreed and concluded upon the premises, thus began Bergama to play her part. But you must note, that when Petulca the amorons shepherd used to come to our field, his way lay by the place where Bergama kept her sheep. So that she espying him, on a certain morning betimes marching over her ground to come to pass the time with us in merry chat according to his manner, she stepped unto him, and knowing with what kind of talk she might stay his journey, she cunningly held him prattle until such time as she espied that I was alone. For commonly my sister Sibyl alias Periander, towards noon used to go to our lodging, not so well able to suffer the heat of midday, as I. Bergama therefore espying me alone, called me unto her, and asked me where my sister was (as if she had not known it) when I had answered that she was gone home; why then (quoth she) seeing thou art alone, I pray keep company with me a little and this shepherd, who although he had rather be in company with Sibyl, yet for that maugre his will, he must this noon be my guest, will not be displeased with your presence sigh he loveth y●u the better for your sister's sake. With that she did lead us both into a delectable Arbour, whence I might see my sheep as well as if I had been in mine own field, and therefore was the sooner entreated to stay with her. In the midst of this Arbour was a table of Marble stone, on which she laid a fair napkin, and set before us such cheer as was most wished for in the Country at that time of the year, praying us to sit down and take such fare as she had in good part, sigh she envited us not for the excellency of her delicates, but for good will and pleasure of our company. So she placed the shepherd Petulca and me together on one side of the Table, and she herself sat on the other. While we were thus merrily banqueting and talking together, thinking or dreaming of no harm, Malorena by whose counsel and instinct all this was practised having notice of our being together, by means of a little wench sent under by Bergama her niece in post-haste went to our Cottage and entering into the house spoke unto Periander in this manner.  
Fair Sibyl, I doubt not but you have heard of the love and affection which I have borne towards the shepherd Petulca, and that therefore I seemed to be displeased with you because he so dearly loved you, and for your sake despised and disdained me. But now, seeing I know the contrary, and being informed of one of his special friends, how the matter standeth, I perceive that I have greater occasion to be angry with your sister then with you; and therefore I thought good to come unto you, and to crave pardon of you, for that I was offended with you without c●use. In respect whereof for acquittance, I will now show you as great friendship, as before I wished you evil. You shall therefore understand that your sister Brisilla doth most unnaturally deal with you in loving Petulca, whereas she seemeth not to esteem of him, and Petulca himself doth most shamefully abuse your courtesy, in that you give such trust and credit to his feigned speeches and dissembling persuasions. For he therewith bringeth you in a fool's paradise, causing you to believe that you are the saint whom he honoureth, whereas he like a treacherous caitiff loveth your sister Brisil so affectionately, that he never espieth her out of your company, but he hieth unto his Lady, passing the time with passionate speeches, swearing each other love and loyalty, and therewith conspiring together how they may best deceive you and feed you with this false opinion that Petulca loveth you, because you should not perceive that he and your sister could play concord in your absence, though they were always at discord in your presence. And for because you shall find my words to be true, and acknowledge me to be your perfect friend, whom you suspected to be your foe (as in truth for a time I could not well digest you, I will lead you in a place where you shall see your unnatural sister and dissembling suitor banqueting together. You know my niece Bergama very well, I doubt not, which is as shrewd a wench as any in the world, if you knew her qualities. And I think also that you perceive what great acquaintance there is between her and your sister. This Bergama my cunning niece hath granted them her house for their secret meeting place, where Petulca after he hath been with you, and sometimes without coming unto you, stayeth till he come home, and then is sure to enjoy the company of his loving Brisil. For as soon as you are gone from her, thither she trippeth. And if you will follow my counsel and go with me, you shall see how lovingly she at this present sitteth on Petulca's side, and maketh good cheer with him in Bergama's Arbour. I would have you to go with me, because if we go to your field, we are like to miss of our purpose, the reason is, for that my shrewd Niece Bergamas standeth on her hold, and watcheth for your coming, and as soon as she can espy you, the convert breaketh up, the Shepherd marcheth on forward, and your sister returneth to her sheep. But where I will lead you, we shall not be seen, and yet see all. And then take Malorena to be your friend, when your own eyes shall force you to confess the same.  
Periander giving faith to this Sirens sweet Song, went with her, and according to her saying, saw us together, though we poor souls most innocent, and thought of no such supposed villainy. Yet Fortune to mar our matter the more, and to give the greater colour to Malorena's tale, would have it so, that while Periander stood with that traitress and looked upon us, the shepherd Petulca being of custom merry and pleasant, smacked his lips on my cheek as I sat by him, which I knowing his humour, that he did it of wantonness, and not of love, made not strange of it, & seemed not to take it in ill part, sigh the shepherd meant no evil by it: But alas! (loving shepherds) Periander took it so heavily, and so ingraved both that which he had heard of Malorena, and seen with his own eyes, in the ground of his tender heart; that now I am compelled to detest that traitress Malorena to hate that deceitful Pergamon and to curse Fortune yet at this hour. For when Periander had seen us in the Arbour, he returned home presently, and thanking Malorena, that she had so faithfully bewrayed our treachery unto him, desired her to return home with him, where he wrote a Letter unto me, and sealing it up gave it to Malorena, and not doubting of her fidelity, prayed her to deliver it unto me; which he promised to do, and departed from Periander, who incontinently went his way I know not whither; for since that time that he went home and I was called by Bergama, I never saw him, nor heard of him, nor could know what is become of him. The traitress seeing how cunningly she had deluded her neighbour, unripped the seals of the Letter, thinking she might be her secretary seeing she had done her so good a turn; but by chance looking on the subscription before she had read the contents, and seeing Periander written instead of Sibylla, was strucken in a maze on the sudden, not knowing what it meant, but to be the better informed, she read the Letter which was thus penned.  
To Brisil, health and pleasure.  
BRisil, to the end that thou mayst enjoy thy Petulca at thy will and pleasure without any hindrance, I have left thee, and myself means to live solitary in some wilderness, seeing the society wherein I only delighted, is taken from me. Love Petulca, and love him so, that thou hate me if thou wilt; for I cannot but love love thee, and so love thee, that for fear lest I be troublesome unto thee, I have separated myself from thee, wishing thee all the pleasure and delight thou canst desire, and praying the Gods to save Petulca from all mischance for thy sake.  
Farewell. Ever thine, though thou weary to be his, PERIANDER.  
When Malorena had read that Letter, she could not but marvel at the strangeness of the case; for she perceived thereby what kind of sisters we were; and though she was sorrée that she had offered such true Lovers that injury, yet glad for that she hoped to enjoy the love of Petulca, she stayed till he came home, and then she shown him Periander's Letter, telling him from point to point how she had served us: For she thought, when Petulca should know how he was by us deceived, in that he loved a man for a woman, a youth for a maid, yea Periander for Sibylla, that then he would be sorry that he so unwisely had disdained herself, and set so little by her love. But yet she was deceived; for Petulca having attentively listened to her tale, and well prepended the Letter, was so angry at her and enraged that she had committed such villainy against us, that he swore he would himself revenge the injury by her offered to us. And therewith fling from her, and presently declared all the matter unto me with tears trickling down his eyes, and shown me the Letter which Periander had written unto me: whereat I was both so ashamed and amazed, that I fell in a swound. But being by the industry of Petulca come to myself again, I conceived that grief for the departure of Periander, and the false opinion which he holdeth of me, which now so tormenteth and vexeth me, that I wish I had fared as wicked Malorena did, who understanding that Petulca had opened all her treachery and devilish practices unto me, falling into desperation, for that she had attempted so much villainy in vain, cast herself into the River, and so was drowned. By means whereof the whole village, yea and the neighbour towns, were filled with the rumour of this tragedy; and I the next morning making no man of my counsel, departed from thence, to seek my sorrowful Periander.  
Thus (loving shepherds) have you heard the discourse of my miserable life, which now is so much the more miserable, by how much the more pleasure and joy I have had therein: For the grief which I suffer because Periander (the thought of whom, and remembrance of whose love is the only thing whereby I live) departed from me with such an opinion, is so extreme, that the greatest pleasure which ever I enjoyed in all my life, is no way equivalent or comparable unto it. judge then your selves (worthy shepherds) whether I have not cause to curse Fortune, and blame even the Gods of cruelty.  
Wherewith Brisilla having ended her history, began newly to weep and lament most pitifully. But Ismenio and Perierio, who had so attentively given ear to her discourse, that they had not interrupted any part thereof, comforted her as much as they might. And seeing that by this they were come to the place where I●menia had appointed to rest that night, they made provision for supper, as merrily as their passions would suffer them, falling to their meat, refreshed their weary bodies, and afterward took their rest.  
As soon as Apollo had lighted on his fiery steeds to run his wont course, Perierio, Ismenia, and Brisil, rising from their bed, be took them to their journey towards the Temple of Diana, every one of them hoping that they should have their grief if not remedied, yet at lest something mitigated; for the wisdom and divine power of the Lady precedent of that Temple, was so blazed by the Trump of Fame through all the Countries about her that no man in her time which had heard of her celestial knowledge, doubted but that his evil might by that Lady be redressed, though it were ne'er so marvellous, so it passed not the bounds of possibility. This Lady was called Felicia, of whose wisdom, knowledge, beauty, excellency courtesy, gracious favour towards all true Lovers, and virtuous piety towards all distressed persons Monte Mayor largely describeth in his Diana; and forasmuch as the same Monte Mayor copiously setteth forth the sumptuousness and magnificence of the Palace wherein this Lady Felicia kept her Court, in the fourth Book of the first part of his said Diana; I think it superfluous for me to retain the Readers ear with unnecessary relations of those things that by others have so exactly been performed.  
Wherefore turning the gentle Reader desirous to know the curiosity of the sumptuous building both of the Temple and Palace before mentioned, with the situation of the place to the fourth book of Monte Mayor Diana, I will prosecute the matter of my history.   

CHAP. XV. How Perierio, Ismenia, and Brisil, in their travel found Marcelio and Maffeo asleep, who departed with them towards the Temple of Diana.  
PErierio with his company had not gone above the space of an hour or thereabout, they came into a fair green, where they saw a shepherd and a Knight lying on the tender grass asleep both together. Ismenia and the Lady Brisil marveling at that sight, seeing two persons of such different calling, so fellow likely sleeping one by the other witted not what it meant; for they saw neither flock of sheep by them, nor yet any other company. But Perierio told them that he knew both the shepherd and the Knight also; for he had both seen them at his father's house, and heard them declare their sorrows to his sisters. So while they lay and slept, Petierio declared unto Ismenia and the Lady, who they were, (for it was Marcelio, and Maffeo) and as briefly as he could rehearsed the sum of both their discourses which they made in his presence to his sister Euphilia, concerning the cause of their travel and trouble, when she so courteously with her sister Perino, entertained them at her father's lodging. And when as he had told them as much as he knew of Marcelio and Maffeo, (which greatly delighted both Ismenia and the Lady Brisil, for they conceived infinite pleasure in hearing the strange history of their lives) he awaked them, both desirous to know what success they had in their travel, and how they had so happily hit of one another's company. Maffeo not sleeping so sound as Marcelio, awaked at the first call, and marveling to see such beautiful shepherds about him, thought that it was some ominous token of good hap; and as he beheld them more narrowly espying Perierio, he leapt up suddenly, and embraced him so courteously, yielding him a thousand Bezolas manus and thanks for his gentle entertainment at his father's country house, that not Perierio himself only, but I●menia also, and the Lady Brisil could not but praise the Knight for his gratuity and thankfulness? and being asked of Perierio whether he had found his Eleonora, and where he had met with Marcelio, he answered, that after he parted from him and his sisters, he found Marcelio within two days after, exclaiming on fortune for her accursed inconstancy, & most bitterly lamenting the miserable estate he was in for his Alcida, who continually fl●d from him when she could hear of his arrival to the place where she was. Insomuch (quoth Maffeo) that when I heard Marcelio (whom I till that time never had seen) so pitifully breathe forth his plaints to the merciless skies, I thought myself favoured of the Gods, that I was not only tormented with the sting of adversity, seeing there were more that bewailed their adventures then myself. And in truth I so pitied Marcelio his case, that I assuaged mine own grief by comforting him; when I found him so desolate, and void of all consolation and hope. So that he glad of my company and I of his, after we had declared our troubles each to other, we purposed to travel together, and so have kept one the other company these five days. In which time we have coursed over most part of all the villages aout the river Ezla, where old Camillo your father dwelleth. And as we were one evening something late in a pleasant grove, some 40 leagues from this place, we (overcome by the wearisomeness of our journey, and heaviness of our sorrows) fell asleep. Where being awaked by three most beautiful nymphs, of them received a letter subscribed unto us both: whereof we greatly marvelled, seeing that no man in the world knew of our amity and friendship, which was out of two or three days continuance. Nevertheless we hoped more than we feared. For we thought that such divine things could not happen but for our better luck & content. Wherefore unknitting the letter we read it, & found these to be the contents,  
Felicia servant to the Goddess Diana, to the valorous Knights Marcelio and Maffeo.  
Marvel not (most worthy Knights) that my Nymphs amidst the solitary groves, bring you a message from me: being unknown unto you. For seeing that I take pleasure in nothing so much as in succouring those that profess chastity and true love, when as by the uncertain doom of the unchangeable. Goddess Fortune, they be led into the irksome path of adversity, and pestered with sorrows for the unhappy and overthwart success of their honest and worthy desires; when I was informed at the altar of Diana, of your deserts, and understood how worthily you have merited not only to enjoy your wished love, but also to be crowned with a glorious laurel in token of your loyalty, how could I do less than send my Nymphs unto you, straying as forlorn, and to set you in the path that shall bring you to the accomplishment of all your heroical desires; take the way that my messengers appoint you, and you shall have occasion to hope Marcelio for his Alcida, and Maffeo for his faithful Eleonora.  
Farewell.  
When we had read this letter, not knowing whether we dreamt or were deceived with some fantasy or vain vision, we looked on the Nymphs, gazing on their beauty; but knew not what answer to make. But they so graciously spoke unto us with such a settled and grave countenance, beautified with pleasantness and courtesy, saying. Be not abashed at our presence worthy Knights; for we are sent hither not to harm you, but help you, to give you comfort, and encourage your minds now distressed. Marcelio taking heart gave them this answer, Worthy Nymphs sigh we be not able to make you any part of amends for this your high desert, I beseech the sacred powers of heaven to recompense your favour toward us. In the mean time if occasion were offered that our service might requite your courtesy, till death we acknowledge ourselves bound both unto you and the sovereign Lady Felicia, who hath sent you hither to direct our straying paces, and address us in some stayed path, by following of which we may obtain the end of our hapless journey.  
Courteous knight (replied one of the Nymphs) recompense we neither deserve nor desire, our message we bring and thus deliver it. Seeing you have read the Letter, it may please you to stay here till you see us no longer but so, that you mark well what way we take, and then follow us at your pleasure, and you shall not miss of the way which our Lady doth write of. And therewith the Nymphs most courteously taking their leaves departed from us, though we were sorry to see them go, and leave us behind them. Yet we encouraged by their words, followed, being led by the guide of hope, not so much knowing whether we go right, as hoping that we are in in the way which the Lady promised that we should take.  
Thus (Perierio,) you have heard what success we have had since I was with you.  
When Perierio, Ismenia, and the Lady Brisil, had heard the words of Maffeo, marvelled at the strangeness thereof, and told him, that unless they were deceived, they were in their direct way to the Temple of Diana, whither they also traveled to the same Felicia, to crave her aid and counsel for the abridgement of their sorrows. Maffeo passing glad of that, waked Marcelio, who in like manner as his fellow had done, knew and saluted Perierio. And after they had very courteously greeted one another, and each discharged him of his duty according to the rules of civility, they marchd on pursuing their journey. And for as much as Ismenia and the Lady Brisil had partly by Maffeo, while Marcelio in his shepheads weed yet sleeped, been informed of their Fortunes, they requested Perierio, Ismenia, and the Lady Brisil, each of them to tell the cause of their travel. Which to beguile the wearisome journey, and to pleasure the Knights, they did all three perform.  
When they had ended each his discourse, they came near to a most pleasant Grove, beautified with sundry ranks of tall trees, which yielded such a pleasant shadow, that they could not pass by that place without entering into it, and enjoying such pleasure as the amerity thereof did offer them. This Grove was so perfectly made by Nature's skill, and hedged with such pleasant bushes, that the manner thereof fare exceeded the artificial Gardening invented by the subtlety of mortal men.  
As these Lovers walked up and down the Grove, when they came near the hedge, they sat down, and listening, they heard certain shepherds singing to the sound of their Oaten Pipes. Which shepherds belonged to the Lady Felicia, and were called Custophilus and Eromaus, Their singing tended to this sense.  Custophilus. 
APollo seated on his golden Steed,  
No sooner 'gins to climb the mounting sky,  
But Coridon, his tender Lambs to feed,  
To pleasant field with them doth careful high.  
He lets them nibble on the savoury grass,  
And wily sounds his Pipe to praise his Lass.  Eromaus. 
NO sooner Phillis, shaking off her sleep,  
Doth spy the glory of Aurora's face;  
But to their wont pastures drives her Sheep,  
And treads the green-grasse with a nipping pace.  
She hears her Coridon doth sound her name,  
She steppeth near, of him to do the same.  Custophilus. 
Fair is my Love (quoth Coridon the Swain)  
For in her face sits Venus' Queen of Love;  
Who liketh Phillis, liketh not in vain,  
For how could Nature frame a braver Dove?  
Ye Heavens the wrathful Gods to anger move,  
If Coridon to her unfaithful prove.  Eromaus, 
Fair is my Friend (quoth Phillis in reply)  
For in his forehead Cupid takes his place;  
And prints his Trophies in his lovely eye,  
Wherein should I then but Coridon embrace?  
Revenging Nemesis, with shame repay  
My fault, if ever my true love decay.  Custophilus. 
HEr lips (saith Coridon) are like the hue  
That Cherries bear by natures secret skill:  
Her breath as doth the Violet so blue,  
The glowing air with fragrant scent doth fill.  
And therefore Coridon accursed be,  
When from his sweet saint Phillis he doth glie.  Eromans. 
IN beauty like Alexis he is famed,  
(Quoth Phillis) like to Paris for his pace:  
When he in Ida beauties judge was named,  
And for the fairest deemed Venus face.  
But did not he poor Oenone forsake,  
That fault my Coridon will never make.  Custophilus. 
TH' Antarctick pole join to the Arctic may,  
(Quoth Coridon) and stars fall out the sky:  
Yea and the silent dame of night by day,  
May run her race, and take her course awry.  
But never shall that hapless day be seen,  
Wherein shall Coridon forsake his Queen.  Eromaus. 
THe flames of Aetna flashing on the main,  
(Quoth Phillis) may in tract of time be turned;  
In pouring showers of never ceasing rain,  
And th' Ocean into ashes may be burned.  
But never shall the luckless hour come,  
That Phillis shall disdain her Coridon.  Custophilus. 
Erst cold December, down shall way the trees,  
With summer's fruit, and  the earth with flowers:  
Erst July shall let running rivers freeze,  
And deck with snow the tops of climbing towers.  
Yea death shall close my life with dreadful doom,  
To Phillis ere disloyal I become.  Eromatus. 
THe Husbandman with Plough shall ear the sky,  
And Fishers wrap the Seas in snaring net:  
The Birds shall swim, and watery fishes fly,  
Ere Phillis shall her Coridon forget.  
And when the fatal Dames have stopped my breath,  
My shadow shall him follow after death.  Custophilus. 
THus Coridon and Phillis past the time,  
With vowing each to other loyalty:  
He could not blow his Pipe, or roll in Rhyme,  
But she for verse her cunning needs must try.  
And if he ceased to sing, and 'gan to speak,  
Most wittily she wistt her mind to break.  Eromaus. 
BY this Apollo doth decline and fall,  
He lights from off his steed to take his rest:  
And from the Fields these Lovers 'gins to call,  
Who ere they part, a kiss or twain must wrest.  
Therewith content, till morning leave they take,  
And with their sheep, each haste doth homeward make.   

CHAP. XIX. How Marcelio met with Polydor and Clenarde, who declared to them what had happened to his father Eugerio and himself, after they were separated by the tempest.  
WHen these Shepherds had ended their Sonnet, Marcelio, Maffeo, Perierio, Ismenia, and the Lady Brisil, intending to rise and pass on in their journey, they heard a certain Knight and a Lady thank the Shepherds for their Music. And because they could not see what this Knight or Lady was, by reason of the thickness of the hedge, they harkened to their talk. For the Knight turning himself towards the Lady, spoke unto her in this manner. But I pray you sister, have you ever heard in the Court, or in any populous City, any Music that so delighted the senses, and contented the mind, as this Pastoral fit, which these Shepherds here have bestowed upon us? Certainly brother (quoth she) these Country songs, being accompanied with a certain kind of simplicity and goodness, please me far better than those melodious tunes which are used in the Courts or Palaces of Kings and Noblemen, being most curiously composed and artificially interlaced with divers new inventions. And now we talk of this matter, I cannot forget that good time in which Marcelio making love to our sister Alcida, did use some evening to play on his Lute, and sung so sweetly, that if Orpheus his Music was agreeable unto his, I marvel not though he moved stones and trees to follow him, and fetched Eurydice from the duskish Groves of Tartarus. Ah Marcelio, Marcelio! Where art thou now? Nay where art thou Alcida? Ah most unfortunate wretch that I am! Continually doth Fortune offer me occasion to remember something or other which may increase my grief, at such time as I intent to recreate myself with some simple pastimes.  
Marcelio who was with the other Lovers on the otherside of the hedge, hearing very attentively what talk the Knight & the Lady had, was so astonished to hear them name him that he scarce beléeved that he was the man they named; but began to imagine that it was some other Marcelio and Alcida they spoke of. But to be resolved, he climbed on a tree, and looking over the hedge, espied that it was Polydorus and Clenarde, brother and sister to his Alcida; whereof he was so glad, that he ran unto them and embraced them both with tears expressing his exceeding joy, seeing he could not utter one word in a long while he was so suddenly surprised with gladness. Polydor and Clenarde marvelled greatly what this might mean; for because Marcelio was apparelled like a Shepherd, they knew him not, till such time that his sobs and tears permitted him to utter these speeches. Ah brother of my heart, now do I not care for my misfortune, seeing that I am so happy as to see thee. But what, is not Alcida by thee? Or doth she perhaps hid herself in some secret place of the Grove? I beseech thee to let me know some news of her, if thou knowest any, & deliver me from the torment which I suffer. Herewith Polydore & his sister knew Marcelio, and embracing him said.  
O most blessed day! O most happy hour! Ah brother to our soul, what cruel disaster hath been cause that thou art deprived of the company of Alcida, and us of her presence? Why dost thou march thus disguised? Why dost thou wear such counterfeit apparel? Ah cruel Fortune! It is most certain that there is no perfect content in any thing whatsoever.  
On the other side Maffeo, with the other Lovers, seeing that Marcelio had so luckily met with Polydore and Clenarde, were very glad, and so they marched altogether toward the Temple of Diana. And by that time that they had gone two leagues, the Sun being at the highest, forced them to take the shadow of certain trees that grew about a pleasant Fountain. Where they all sat down, and washing their hands in the Crystalline water that issued out of the Fountain, each one setting out such provision as they had brought with them, they refreshed themselves, and having satified their hunger, after that Marcelio had told Polydore and Clenarde what fortune he had after his departure from them, he desired Polydore to let him know what adventures he had had, since that time that he left him with old Eugerio in the Ship, when he with Alcida and Clenarde leapt in the shipboat, and so were separated from their sight by the tempestuous waves; thinking sure that they had miserably perished with that unfortunate ship. Whereupon Polydore began thus to rehearse how he and his father escaped the danger of the Sea, using as much brevity as he possibly could, because he thought it would be troublesome to the rest of the company, to hear matters that were full of sorrow recited.  
After that I was hindered by the Pilot and the Mariner (quoth Polydor) when I had prepared myself to leap into the shipboat with my father, so that we were compelled to remain in that unfortunate and dangerous ship; our aged father was so distressed, as we may suppose that a loving father may be, who in the latter end of his old age, seeth both his own life and his dear children's also, in such present danger. He did not greatly complain of the waves that battered the flanks of the ship, neither did he regard the boisterous winds that beset our Vessel of all sides; but when he beheld the boat in which you were with Alcida and Clenarde, (which seemed at every moment to be overwhelmed and drowned in the rising waves which seemed to flee over the boat) he thought that his heart was pulled out of his belly; and when you were separated from us that we could not see you any more, he was so grieved, that I feared lest he should have presently died.  
The ship being led by Fortune's will went astray up and down the sea for the space of five days, after we had lost the sight of the boat, at the end of which space, Phoebus being near his Western home, we found our selus to be in sight of land. Whereof the Mariners rejoiced marvellously, as much for that they had recovered the hope which they had altogether lost and given over, as for that they knew in what coast they were arrived; for the land which they saw was the pleasantest Country and the most delectablest place that the Sun penetrated with his beams, abounding with all kind of delight and pleasure. Insomuch that one of the Mariners began thus to cry out, O blessed and happy land of Valentia, receive those, which the Sea being irrited and provoked to ice, doth vex and afflict. Happy are they that being out of danger to be swallowed up by the greedy waves, enjoy thy fertility, and the méekness of they air! With far more labour doth the Ship ear the Sea, than the labourer doth thy fields. O favourable land, before the sea become more enraged against us, receive us into thy pleasant bosom, seeing we are almost spoiled and forlorn, and thou shalt do as much for us as he that saveth another's life. Receive us I say, O beautiful Country of Valentia, that we having once set foot on land, never return to sea again.  
By these words of the Mariner, we gathered that we were near Valentia, which country is famous through all the world. But while the Mariner thus called to the merciless land, the Ship bring driven with a furious wind, arrived so near the land, that if we had not wanted the boat, we might have reached unto it. Nevertheless, certain fishermen fishing not far from us, and seeing our Mast rend our Anchor lost, our sails torn, and our ship pitifully buttered, perceived in what extremity we were. Therefore with all speed they came to secure us, and with much trouble they fetched us out of the Ship and led us to Land. The joy which we conceived thereof, was such as every man may and aught to imagine. Eugerio and I, we thanked the Fishers for their help, in that our great necessity, according to our duty. But they as men of a good and simple heart, by nature pitttifull, regarded not our thanks, nor would take any reward at our hands for their pains, one of them making us this answer. Sirs, thank us not for this deed, for you shall know that we are bound to succour and help all men that are in like necessity, and therefore take our readiness and good will in good part which forceth us to do good unto all men, whose extremities want our aid. And persuade yourselves, that as often as such occasion shall be offered as this, we will do the like, although we should thereby hazard our lives, and intrude ourselves into danger. For this morning happened such a chance, that if we had not remedied the same as we now have done this, we had been grieved therewith all the days of our life. The chance was this. At the point of the day, we went out of our lodges with our nets, and our other ordinary preparations to fish withal; and before we came to the sea side, we saw that the air was overcast with a dark mist, and heard that the sea raged by reason of the boisterous winds which blew very ruthly, in so much that we were twice of opinion to return home again, fearing to commit ourselves to the dangerous streams, in such a malicious and perilous time. But some of us thought good that we should go to the shore, side to see whether the tempest would slacken, and the weather change. For it happeneth sometimes, that after a great tempest the weather changeth on the sudden, and spreadeth a calm over the whole sea. But as we came to the sea side, we espied a great boat so shaken with the wind, and bruised with the waves, without mast, sails, oars, and all other seafaring instruments, that unless this had been near the shore, they could not have escaped present death: to be short, they were in the very same case that you even now were. We moved to compassion, without regarding the peril unto which we submitted ourselves, presently leapt all into one of our Ships, and with all speed rowed towards those forlorn persons. When we were so near them, that we might see them that were in the boat, we espied a young Lady, whose face was covered with tears, and her cheeks so blubbered with the water that issued out of her eyes that it would have moved a Tiger to pity. Which Lady, as soon as she perceived us rowing towards her, expected our romming, with her arms stretched, and said unto us. Ah brothers, I beseech you to deliver more from this imminent danger with which Fortune menaceth us presently, and more earnestly do I beseech you to deliver me from the power of this Traitor which is by me, who against all reason and equitty keepeth me prisoner, and most villainously offereth to force and violate my chastity. When we had understood that, with all speed & diligence that we could (and that not without great danger) we pulled them out of their boat, & setting them aboard on our ship, we brought them to the shore, where she told unto us all the villainy of the traitorous Mariner that was with her; how he had abused her and her sister, with a certain Gentleman allied unto her, which would be long to rehearse. But we have exempted her from the villains and led her to our lodging, where she is yet with our wives and daughters out of all danger to fall in the hands of those malicious and dishonest caitiffs that were in the boat with her, whom we have cast into prison not far hence, where we will cause them shortly to be punished and chastised according to their deserts; seeing then that such and event happened, (as in like manner more may happen) who is there of us all that would not, nay that ought not willingly to hazard their lives in like danger, to recover the welfare of those that are lost, & to do good unto those that are abused and afflicted? When Eugerio my father heard the fisher say so, he thought that the same young Lady might have been one of his daughters, and although the fisher could not tell us her name, we hoped nevertheless shortly to be resolved of our doubt, by reason that the Lady was not far off, and that the Fisher did lead us unto the house where she was, that we might there take our rest. As we came near the house we heard the women sing that were within; and we so longed to see the Lady, that we could scarce reach to the house in time enough to know what she was; but entering into the lodging, the Fisher's wife with her daughters and her maids, marveling to see what new guests came thither, they all held their peace, and left their song; and among them did we see the damosel whereof the Fisher had spoken, whom we incontinently knew, and were of her known, for it was my sister Clede, who is here present at this time, and may tell you how she fared after that she was separated from you, by means of the Traitor Bartophamus, and how she came so luckily unto that selfsame place where both she and we were saved, by the help of those pitiful and courteous Fishers; but when we had heard of the treason of the same Villain Bartophamus, of the necessity of Alcida, and of your captivity, I leave it to your discretion to consider how grieved we were, as Clenarde my sister well perceived, and may witness; for the joy of our arrival to land, and delivery out of that present danger, was turned into mourning, all our pleasure into grief, and all our comfort into despair. Insomuch that the fisher seeing how pitifully we were grieved and afflicted, for the mishap of Alcida and yourself, he comforted us as much as lay in him, and told us of a certain Lady called Felicia, bearing rule over the temple of Diana, saying that she had such infinite knowledge and wisdom, that she could remedy our evil by telling us what was become either of Alcida or yourself, whereof we were very glad; for that was the chiefest thing that we desired to know. Wherefore we resting there that night, as soon as Phoebus had saluted the Fisher's cottage we risen, and thanking the fisher and his wife for their inestimable goodness and friendship towards us, and rewarding them according to our power, we departed betimes in the morning, leaving the Mariners there. To be short we marched, Eugerio, Clenarde, and I, till we reached unto the temple of Diana, where we saw the Palace where the wise Lady Felicia holdeth her residence. We beheld the magnificent building both of the place and of the temple, we saw the most pleasant Gardens, the sumptuous towers, the most wise and discreet Lady, and many other things that have so suspended our minds with admiration and marvel, that I am not able to make rehearsal according thereof. We saw in like manner the most excellent and beautiful Nymphs that attend on the Lady Felicia, and many other shepherds both men and maids and divers Knights, Gentlemen, Ladies, and Gentlewomen, that were come thither to have their harms remedied by the sage Felicia, who had given them great comfort in their love and necessity, But as concerning us, the aid and help which she hath done us until this present, is, that she hath kept our father Eugerio by her, willing us to go unto these quarters, and not return until we had occasion to be better contented. And forasmuch as we have received no small contentment and joy of your life and presence, we think we have sufficient occasion offered us to return to the sage Felicia, especially seeing we have in her company left our aged father all alone, and desolate, among strangers, I know that it importeth greatly for his comfort, that we should find out our sister Alcida; But seeing that fortune in so long time hath barred us from understanding where she is, or hearing any thing of her, I think it convenient that we deprive not our father any longer of our company and presence.  
After Polidor had ended his discourse, all the company marveling at the strangeness of his and Clenardes' adventures, comforted Marcelio, who wept bitterly for Alcidaes' sake: and as soon as his tears would permit him, he recounted unto Polidor and clenarde, what had happened unto him since he saw them last. But Ismenia with the Lady Brisil, Perierio and Maffeo, having heard the report that Polidor made of the sage Lady Felicia, were pricked with a greedy desire to arrive to the Temple of Diana; partly because they wished to see that famous Lady, and partly for that they gathered by the praise which Polidor gave her, for her discretion & wisdom, that they should have occasion to hope for the redress & remedy of their harms For they were in great hope that some of them whom they so diligently & painfully sought for either were already among those gentlemen, damosels, & shepherds which Polydore said that he had seen with the Lady Felicia, or should be ere long by means of the said Ladies singular wisdom and experience.  
The Sun by this time began to fall in the Western plains, and thereby was not so hot but that Polydore thought good to march forward, that they might in good time reach to the palace of the Lady Felicia. Which liking all the company, they rose all and went on their journey. They had not gone passing a league and a half, but they met a certain nymph, whom the Lady Felicia, foreknowing the coming of this worthy company, had sent to let them know of certain things which she would have them acquainted with before they came unto her, to the end that all things might succeed according as she through her incredible wisdom thought convenient. Marcelio therefore with the rest of his company coming to the place where the nymph was, saluted her very courteously as she likewise did him and all the other that were by him, and asked them whither they were going: whereunto they answered, that they went toward the temple of Diana. She hearing that said; for as much as I can gather by the valour and worthiness of your persons, I believe the Lady Felicia, of whose nymphs I am one, will be very glad of your company. And seeing that Phoebus doth now begin to prepare for his evening lodging, & the day draweth to an end, I will return home with you▪ for I am assured ye shall be received with great triumph. They thanked her greatly, that she would keep them company and went on with her towards the temple. For they conceived marvellous hope by her words, and although Polydore & Clenarde had been in the Palace before, yet they remembered not that they had seen her among the other nymphs, by reason of the multitude of the nymphs of the Lady Felicia, who all of them obeying the commandment of their sage Lady, are employed in sundry charges and divers places. So that Polydore asked this nymph how she was called, whereupon she answered her name was Arethea. Clenarde demanded what news was in the Lady's Palace? she answered, that the chiefest news she knew was the two hours before her departure from thence, there arrived a young Lady in the habit of a shepherdess, who being espied by an aged Knight that was at that present with the Lady Felicia, was known to be his daughter: and that because she had a long time gone astray through most parts of the world, the aged Knight her father was so joyful of her arrival, that the rumour of that young Lady's fortune, was spread through all the villages about the temple of Diana. Marcelio listening attentively to these words, greedily desiring to know whether the Lady she spoke of were Alcida, could not but interrupt the nymph as she went to go forward in the relation of her news, and so he asked her how the aged Knight was called. Unless my memory fail me, answered the nymph, he is called Eugerio, and his daughter Alcida. Wherewith Marcelio surprised with exceeding joy, after he had a long time stood as if he had been in a trance, at length burst out into these words. Ah most blessed troubles that take end by so prosperous an adventure! ah fortune and as he meant to have gone forward, he could not utter one word more, but fell down on the ground wholly astonished. The Lady Brisil, Ismenia, and Clenarde, flocked about him to encourage him, and did so much prevail, that he came to himself again. In the mean time, Polydore and Clenarde, were marvellous joyful at that news, seeing that all their misfortunes should take end by the coming of their sister Alcida, Maffeo, Perierio, and the Lady Brisil with Ismenia, were likewise glad for Marcelio's sake, and hoped likewise that as the Lady Felicia had wrought his bliss, so she would likewise being moved with compassion of their miseries, redress their grief. Ismenia desirous to hear something of her husband Lexander, said to Arethee, fair Nymgh, I was marvellously well contented, and received great joy to hear of the general gladness that is in the Lady's Palace, by reason of the arrival of the Lady Alcida: but yet I should conceive more perfect pleasure, if it would please you to tell me what shepherd of account there is at this present in the Palace. Arethee answered, you shall find divers shepherds of account whose names I remember not, yet two or three I know above the rest. There is one shepherd called Petulca of whom the Lady Felicia maketh great account of, for his wit and chastity. Besides there is a shepherd called Philorenus, whose presence pleaseth the Lady Felicia as much. The Lady Brisil hearing Petulca named, marvelled to know how he came thither, and to what end; and therefore asked the nymph, whether she knew ●he cause of his commig thither. The nymph answered, that as she remembered, he came to hear of a certain young shepherd whom he sometime had loved instead of a young maid, under the name of Sibylla he being apparelled in the habit of a shepherdess and dwelling with his wife, made all the world believe they were two sisters. And many other things, which I cannot (quoth Arethee) now rehearse, sha●l you understand of him when you come to the Palace, concerning those two sisters, which I promise you are wonderful strange. Strange they are indeed (quoth Brisil) if you knew all fair nymph. Verily I believe (quoth Arethee) that you are either the shepherd Periander or his supposed sister. Either of them indeed (quoth Brisil) but my name is not Periander. I promise you (quoth Arethee) that my Lady will be singularly glad when she seeth you: for I have heard her talk much of you and your spouse Periander.  
Ismenia although she heard not that her beloved Lexander was among the other shepherds which Arethee had named yet for that she heard that the Lady Brisil had heard something concerning her matters, she took the more heart in her own cause, and was glad for the poor distressed Duchess sake, hoping that she should receive comfort of the Lady Felicia.  
Maffeo and Perierio who had heard nothing of their Ladies, were nevertheless of as good cheer as the rest, hoping that when they were come to the Temple of Diana, they should receive as much comfort as any: because the Lady Felicia had written to him and Marcelio, as you have heard before.   

CHAP. XX. How Perierio and his company came to the Temple of Diana, how they were entertained by the Sage Lady Felicia, and the great joy that was there made.  
THis worthy company being convoyed by Arethee the Nymph, came into a fair large place which was before the gate of the Palace, were they saw a most gallant Dame come out of the house, being apparelled in a black Velvet Gown, with a large Veil of precious Lawn over her head, accompanied with three beautiful Nymphs, resembling the stately Goddess Juno, when she went to entreat Aeolus to disturb the Seas, when Aeneas sailed towards Latium.  
Arethee espying her, advertised all the company that it was the Lady Felicia, and the three Nymphs, Doride, Cynthia and Polidora. And approaching near unto her, fell down at her feet and saluted her, as in like manner Marcelio with the rest of his company, did in all submiss and humble manner. Felicia seemed to be wonderfully pleasant for their arrival, and spoke unto them with a most cheerful countenance, saying, Worthy Knights, Ladies, and notable shepherds, howbeit that the pleasure which I take in this your presence is great, yet that content which you shall reap by mine shallbe no less. But forasmuch as you are overtravelled by reason of your wearisome journey, go now take your rest, and forget your sorrows; seeing the one cannot be wanting unto you in my house, and I am to take care for the other by means of my skill. They thanked her most humbly, and finally took their leave of her, but she caused Polydore and Clenarde to stay with her, saying she had something to say unto them: but the others were led by Arethee to a side place of the Palace, where they were feasted that night, and provided of all things necessary for their cherishment and rest. This house was so sumptuous and magnificent, garnished with such rich moveables, and beautified with such delightful gardens orchards, rivers and fountains, that there is nothing comparable to the excellency thereof,  
Marcelio, Maffeo, Perierio, with Ismenia, and the Lady Brisil, were lodged in that part of the palace, which abutted upon the garden, in sundry chambers being hanged with cloth of of gold, and most precious tapestry wrought with admirable cunning. Supper was prepared for them most magnificently, and it was served up unto them in vessels of Gold and Crystal. And when the night was approached, and bed time at hand, they were laid on such good and easy beds, that howbeit their bodies were wearied by travel, yet the softness of the delicate down, with the hope which Felicia had given them, provoked them to a most pleasant and sweet sleep.  
On the other side, the Lady Felicia, with Polydore and Clenarde, (whom she willed to make no mention of the arrival of Marcelio and the rest of his company) went into one of her most pleasant gardens, where Eugerio walked alone, his daughter Alcida only being by him who although she yet had on the same shepheardlike apparel that she did wear at her first coming there, nevertheless was incontinently known of her brother and sister Polydore and Clenarde.  
It were impossible for me to express the joy which old Eugerio made for the happy meeting of all his children, whom he so dearly loved, embracing them one after another and welcoming Polydore and Clenarde with floods of tears flowing out of his aged eyes. Alcida greatly welcomed Polydore her brother, and Clenarde her sister, but fare more affectionately cherished him then Clenarde, imagining that she had purposely gone away with Marcelio, and left her alone and distressed in the desert and solitary Isle of Formentera, as you have heard before,  
But the Lady Felicia intending to unfold these errors, and make the cause thereof known unto Alcida, desiring to end their wonderful misfortunes, and restore them to the blessed estate wherein they were before they committed themselves to cruel N●ptune, to sail towards the haven of Lisbon, there to celebrate the concluded Marriage in the presence of the Lusitan King their Sovereign, she spoke unto Alcida in this manner.  
Most noble and beautiful Alcica, notwithstanding that Fortune hath been so great an enemy unto you in afflicting you with so many troubles and vexations, yet cannot you deny, but that by reason of the great content which you now enjoy, you are fully revenged of the injury which she hath hitherto done you. And for as much as the error which you have lived in, until this present day, without cause abhorring your Marcelio is sufficient (if you yet hold the same opinion) to alter your heart, and to breed his exceeding misery; it is necessary that I should declare unto you, how that you are terribly deceived if you be of that opinion. For the presumption which you have of Marcelio, is quite contrary and otherwise then you mean; for when you were left alone in the Isle, that came not by his fault, but by the villainy of a certain traitor subborned by Fortune to aggravate your mishap, who to recompense the wrong which she hath offered you, hath directed your steps hither towards me, in whose mouth you shall not find any other then truth. Your sister Clenarde shall largely tell you all that concerneth this matter, and how it wholly standeth, mark well what she shall say unto you and give credit to her words; for as for me, I swear unto you, that whatsoever she shall rehearse concerning this, shall be most certain and veritable.  
Whereupon presently Clenarde began to inform Alcida how all things had chanced, excusing Marcelio and herself, and largely declared the treason of Bartophamus, and all that which already hath been said touching the same. Alcida having very attentively given ear to her sister's speech, was wonderfully well contented to know the verity and truth of the case; and as she did drive away and exclude her former rancour and false opinion from her heart, so did she in like manner manner expel all such anger and hate, which she had underservedly conceived against Marcelio. Wherefore she now knowing the error, and perceiving that she wrongfully had given over the love which in times past she had born to Marcelio, the sparkles of love that had so long been raked up in the ashes of oblivion, began to show their force in her, and the affection which had slept thus long, began now to waken: insomuch that she said unto Felicia, Madam, I acknowledge my fault, and the singular pleasure which you have done me in bringing me into the knowledge thereof, But being at this present time delivered from that false opinion, and as well affectioned towards Marcelio as ever I was; who for that he is now absent, if I may not enjoy his company, I shall not obtain the perfect joy which I hoped to receive by your means, nay rather shall I conceive another grief so excessive and intolerable, that I shall be compelled to sue for new favours at your grace's hands, to remedy the same.  
It is a manifest token of love (answered the Lady Felicia) to fear the absence, but as for that you shall have no cause to care. The Sun hath now drawn in his beams, it is time for you to retire, and to go to your chambers to take your rest with your father and your sister; to morrow morning will we talk of the rest. Therewith she went forth of the garden, and so did Eugerio with his daughters, and went to the place which Felicia had appointed for them: which was separated from that part where Marcelio with his company was lodged.  
As soon as Phoebus had harnessed his Steeds to run his wont course, Eugerio, Polidor, Alcida, Clenarde, and other Gentlemen and shepherds that were in the Palace at that time, met together in the garden, where sitting by a fountain before the chambers where the Lady Brisil was lodged with Ismenia, Perierio, Marcelio, and Maffeo, began one to play on the Lute, another on the Citharen, another on the Bandora, others on their Flutes, and some sung prick songs; insomuch that with their music they awaked the Lady Brisil, who called Ismenia, and she knocked up Perierio, and the other Knights that lay in the chambers above her. Who all of them leaning in their windows, although they might not see all those that sat at the Fountain, by reason of certain Laurel trees that grew about it, yet because it was so near to their chambers, they could hear what they said. They therefore listened very attentively each of them, Maffeo whether he might hear the voice of Eleonora, (for he hoped greatly that as the Lady Felicia had written unto him as well as unto Marcelio, that therefore in like manner, Eleonora should have been arrived at the Palace as well as Alcida; notwithstanding that the Nymph Arethee had not made any mention of her) and Marcelio, whether he might hear his Alcida. As for Perierio he could not hope to see the Lady whom he loved, and therefore was more sad than the rest, and looked out at the window more to fortget the fantasies by the pleasant Music of those that were in the Garden, and to pass the time in beholding the beauty of divers Ladies and shepherds which were there. The Lady Brisil hearkened whether Petulca the shepherd sung, to know whether he had heard any thing of Periander. But Ismenia being sorely discomforted because Arethee the Nymph had not named Lexander, when she asked what Shepherds were in the Pal●ce, thought sure that he was not among them that were by the Fountain; but she had better luck than she witted of; for inconttnently she heard a shepherd, who sitting alone, after he had sounded his Corne-muse, began thus to complain to himself.  

Sonnet.  
AVrora's looks expel the duskish night,  
And after darkness doth the day ensue:  
When Nymphs to field make haste for their delight,  
And Birds do scale the air of sable hue.  
But t'endure a never ending night,  
Sith no day may my grieved heart delight.   

For neither can Aurora's joyful face,  
Nor tune of Birds that sing for man's relief:  
Out of my heart the night of sorrow race,  
Or drive away the darkness of my grief.  
Yet nothing can my soul from sighs release,  
Nor yet my voice from doleful accents cease.   

Ah mirthless Flowers, sigh she is lost and gone,  
Whose beauty your Aurora doth surpass:  
Abate your pride and whither in the Sun,  
Whose harmful beams do scorch the fainting grass;  
For since that beauty which I here declare,  
Is your Aurora but a night of care.   
Ismenia hearing him sing out of her chamber window, knew that it was Lexanders' voice, whereof she was glad, though sorrow to hear him so grievously complain, thinking that he so bewailed the absence of some other, and not for love of herself. But she was soon delivered from that suspicion, for after he had ended his Sonnet, he burst out into these words with a most pitiful sigh.  
Ah poor soul! what an high offence hast thou committed, to believe such false accusations against thy sweet Ismenia who honoureth thee above all wights in the world, whereas thou lest dost deserve it at her hands? And therefore dost thou worthily suffer the torment which thy lightness and credulity hath procured thee. Ah my dear Ismenia, how much better had it been that thou hadst not taken the pains to course the world like a forlorn wight to seek after thy unworthy Lexander, that he now acknowledging his fault, might return home to his house, and there find thee. Ah traitress Sylveria, and was this the best reward thou couldst afford me for the great pleasure and service I have done thee since thy childhood? Yet I could account it a benefit that thou hast informed me of thy horrible treason, if thou hadst come in time, for seeing thou hast stayed so long, thy advertisement hath served to no end but to increase my grief, and multiply my sorrows.  
When Ismenia had heard that, she thought it time to thank the Gods for her fortune, and to give over all care and grief, Marcelio, Maffeo, Perierio, and Duchess Brisil, were glad for her sake, and seeing that so by little and little, their company was comforted, they were so encouraged, that they doubted not but that they should all obtain their wished desires in time, judging that the Lady Felicia was the only Patroness that could redress the sorrows of all such true amourts as were afflicted by reason of their sincere love.  
In the mean time, Ismenia was so tickled with desire to enjoy the wished company of her Lexander, that she had almost thrown herself out of the window, and so fallen down headlong into the Garden where he was: but seeing that her company hindered her from that unhappy meeting, she would have presently gone to the Garden, had not Marcelio and the Duchess Brisil exhorted her to stay till she knew the Lady Felicia's pleasure, who seeing the day appeared, and the Sun began to glance through her windows, sent Arethee the Nymph unto Marcelio and the rest of his company: Therefore as Ismenia was talking with Marcelio, of the great desire she had to be with Lexander, Arethee entering into the chamber where they were, and with a most courteous countenance said unto them: Noble Gentlemen and fair Shepherds, I beseech God to send you so good hap and fortune as you deserve. The sage Lady Felicia hath sent me hither, to know of you whether you have rested better this night than the nights before, and whether ye have received more content than of custom you are wont to do. Besides also hath she commanded me to lead you into the Garden, whither she will presently come to speak with you. But you Marcelio, must put on this suit, which the Lady hath sent you, and put off your Shepherd's apparel, to the end that you may be clothed according to your estate.  
Ismenia would not stay till Marcelio spoke, but herself returned this answer unto the Nymph, for joy of the good news which she brought. O blessed Nymph, what a good morning have you given us? How are we beholding unto you? God will recompense the pleasure which you have done us, seeing that our ability sufficeth not. As for the content which we have received this night it is greater than I can declare, seeing that this morning we have been so happy as that I have recovered my life, and these other Gentlemen hope to obtain the same; wherefore to obey so worthy a Lady as sage Felicia, we are ready to go into the Garden with you to know her pleasure.  
Then Arethee took from another Nymph that came with her, the costly and rich apparel which the Lady Felicia had sent Marcelio to put on, and helped him to  himself in that suit which was wrought in pure gold & precious pearls, most sumptuous and bravely placed. As soon as he was apparelled, they went forth of the chamber and followed Arethee into the Garden, where she led them into an Arbour, whence they could not see those that sat at the Fountain, and taking the Lady Brisil and Perierio by the hand, left Marcelio, Maffeo, and Ismenia in the Arbour leading Perierio and the Duchess to the Palace where she left Perierio in a fair chamber under the bedchamber of the Felicia, willing him there is expect the Ladies coming, and so mounting the Marble stairs, led the Duchess up to Felicias chamber, where the Lady herself running to the door, welcomed her in this sort:  
Most gracious Princess, pardon me, for that I honoured you not yesterday according to your merit and estate, for that I as yet knew not the worthiness and excellency of your person; but this morning as I consulted in the Temple of sacred Diana our Sovereign Goddess, concerning your case and of your company, I was informed of the Nobility of your stock, of the antiquity of your house, of the perfections of your beauty and virtues of your mind and of your loyalty in the sacred Laws of sincere Love and Chastity. Know therefore most excellent Princess, that the Gods being moved with your incomparable virtue, have sent you hither not only to enjoy the love of the beautiful and valorous young Prince Periander, but also to be hoist to the top of perpetual bliss and to live not thyself only, but all the Progeny that shall issue from thy fruitful worthy body, in such honour as no time, no misfortune, or nothing whatsoever shall be able to abate or diminish. In the mean time till the gods send us further knowledge concerning this affair encourage yourself noble Princess, and give over all care and grief; let me take thought in your behalf, and I promise you that I will not sleep upon the matter. But till occasion be offered that it may be put in practice I shall desire you to take patience to lodge in this my simple and solitary house, which though it be not comparable to the princely place of your bringing up, I mean the famous Court of Albion, yet I doubt not but for the recreation, pleasure and content which you shall have in my company, you will think well of it, howsoever you find it fare inferior to kingly Palaces, for the baseness of the building. Most heavenly Lady, (answered the Duchess) what thanks I may yield you for your high deserts, I know not and therefore persuade yourself that I wish you as much recompense as a mortal heart may conceive. As concerning my abode with you, I am ready to stay with you as long as you please, neither shall I think ill of the place seeing that in magnificent building it surpasseth the stateliest Palace that I think may be in the world. But grant it were (as you say) inferior to the mean Court of Albion, yet considering the excellency of your person, it may be judged the most pleasant and delectable place under the vale of heaven. If you like so well of my company already (replied the Lady Felicia) I hope you will increase your liking when you have made trial of my readiness to pleasure you. But in the mean time, because I must go unto the rest of your company that is in your Garden, if it please you, put off your shepherd's attire and apparel yourself with these Robes, which though they be as precious and costly as ever was any that entered in my wardrobe, yet are they not so sumptuous as your virtues deserve. And for that you have so chastely behaved yourself, and as yet kept your virginity inviolated contrary to the opinion of all men whereas you have notwithstanding so long kept secret company with your loving Periander, reserving your Virginity, and consecrating the same to Diana, until such time as your Marriage Rights being celebrated, you may by the laws of Hymaeneus, give an honourable adieu to virginity, and enjoy the fruits of your chaste love; I give you this bunch of Roses which shall not whither in winter or fade in the summer, but in token of your chastity reserve their natural vigour and fresh colour as long as you live. As Felicio had so said, whilst her Nymphs apparelled the Duchess, she called Perierio by Arethee, & saluting him very courteously told him that she had not been less mindful of him then of the other of his company that night. Therefore, quoth she, put on the clothes that I will send thee, and stay for my coming; as for all the rest, disburden yourself of all care, and let me alone; and so she departed from Perierio, who went to the chamber where Arethee had led him, and incontinently espied Arethee coming with a fair suit of black velvet as he was wont to wear before his father was exiled from Venice. Arethee having helped him to put on his clothes, returned to the Lady Felicia, who seeing that Duchess Brisil was ready, set a most precious Coronet on her head, on the top whereof she put the bunch of Roses, and taking her by the hand, seeing Perierio apparelled, bid him follow her into the Garden; so she went towards the Fountain where aged Eugerio sat with his daughters, Alcida and Clenarde, and his son Polydore, with other Knights and Shepherds, among whom was the shepherd Petulca, and Lexander also. And you must note, that the Lady Felicia had also caused Alcida that morning to leave off her shepherd's coat, and apparel herself in rich attire according to her estate, that when she should meet with Marcelio (who now was in like manner most sumptuously apparelled) she should not be disfigured with base clothes, though Alcida herself as yet knew nothing of Marcelios' being there. As than Eugerio and the rest of those that sat at the Fountain, saw the Lady Felicia coming, being accompanied with so beautiful a Princess, marvelled greatly who the same young Lady should be, and every one doing his obeisance to the Lady Felicia, and her company saluted her most humbly, as she likewise with Brisil, and Perierio did them. The Duchess seeing Alcida, wondered at her beauty, as likewise Alcida did at her; for by reason that she was so sumptuosly and richly apparelled, her beauty which surpassed all Gentlewomen of her time, seemed rather to be heavenly then mortal. And though Polydore and Clenarde had seen her the day before, yea and gone two or three leagues in her company, yet the change of her attire so altered her, that they as yet knew not that she was the Lady Brisil, whose beauty was injured by that base shepheardlike attire. But Felicia calling Alcida and the shepherd Lexander unto her, went toward the place where Marcelio and Ismenia with Maffeo, stayed for her coming. They seeing her come, as they marvelled at the supernatural beauty of the Duchess, which had thus long been shadowed under a rustic habit, so were they exceeding merry to see her so well accompanied to their joy and comfort; for Marcelio saw his Alcida of one side of her, and Ismenia saw her Lexander on the other side. You may also imagine what a sudden joy Alcida conceived to see her beloved Marcelio, and Lexander to see his dear Ismenia, whose absence he but one hour before so pitifully lamented.  
After that Marcelio, Ismenia, and Maffeo, had humbly saluted Felicia, and embraced, Marcelio his Alcida, and Ismenia her Lexander, the Lady Felicia left the Duchess and Perierio there with them, and calling Maffeo unto her said, Most valiant Knight though the gods have not as yet gladded you with the sight of her whom you seek, in such manner as the rest of your company; yet let me entreat you to be of as good cheer as these, seeing the joy which they have had, or is yet present is to come and future unto you. You shall have no worse entertainment than you have had hitherto, therefore if that like you I pray you stay with me till you hear more tidings of your beloved spouse, and let me care for the rest.  
Gracious Lady (quoth Maffeo) seeing I cannot give you acquittance for your great deserts, I can do no less than rest your servant for ever, ready to do your Ladyship pleasure at all times though with hazard of my life. As concerning my wife Eleonora, I doubt not of her presence before long, seeing your Ladyship willeth me to leave that c●re unto yourself. And therefore what you think good, I cannot but allow, and what you please to have me to do, I will put in practice; being ready to go or stay, to departed or to remain, or any thing else whatsoever it may please you to prescribe. Herewith Felicia taking her leave, entered into her Palace again leaving Maffeo, Perierio, and the Duchess by Marcelio with his Alcida, and Ismenia, with her shepherd Lexander. And although Lexander and Ismenia were but of base birth, yet were they en●ued with such excellent conditions and qualities, that they might have worthily complained of Fortune and Nature, that they had not allotted them Nobility of race. Yet howsoever they were of low parents, they nevertheless behaved themselves so in the company of Gentlemen & Gentlewomen, that they were beloved of all men, and none knew them but coveted to keep company with them, were they of never so high estate. They then being in company with these excellent and famous personages, brought over the time with pleasant parley until noon, at which time the bell rung to dinner. The table being covered in the midst of the Garden under a pleasant bower, the Lady Felicia came thither with Eugerio, with his son, Polydor, and his daughter Clenarde, the shepherd Petulca, and Philorenus, where, after Marcelio had embraced his father in law Eugerio, who was exceeding glad to see his son in law Marcelio; the Lady Felicia taking Princess Brisil by the hand sat down, and willed all th● rest of the company to place themselves at the table. I will not here declare what Lordly cheer was made them, nor how magnificently they were served by those beautiful Nymphs, nor yet with what precious and sumptuous vessels their meat was brought to the board: but this will I only say that the beauty of the guests, the countenance of the Lady Precedent, the sight of the Nymphs, the swéetness of the Music, the delicateness of the fare, the pleasantness of the Bower, the gainness of the Garden, and in a word, the incomparable excellency of things there present, was sufficient with the penetrating force thereof to revive the senses even of dead men, and quickening their spirits to make them live again.  
There might you have seen the Lady welcome her guests with such pleasant countenance, that they took more pleasure in beholding the same, then in tasting their meat; and the guests so courteously returned her thanks, generally over the whole board, that she had rather have miss her cates then her company; for she took no small delight to see so many distressed persons by her means merrily drink one to the other▪ as if they had never known of any sorrow or grief; for the nature of that place is of such force and efficacy, that whosoever entered into it, was cumbered with no care.  
Now neither did aged Eugerio remember the cruelty wherewith Fortune daunted him and his children on the Sea nor Alcida think of the Isle of Formentera where she was left alone, and in the Rock engraved her protestation, that she would never after fancy man again, nor Clenarde mention the treasons of Bartophanus against her and Marcelio. Now did Maffeo not dream that his Eleonora was taken from him while he sléeped, nor that his cousin Sylvestro deceived him of his heredity. Now did not Perierio sigh for the sight of the Lady that wounded his heart with the stroke of love in the wood; Now did not Lexander and Ismenia trouble their brain with the malicious subtlety of their mother-in-law Felisarde, and the Traitress Sylveria. To be short, now did not the Duchess Brisil call to memory the Traitor Mafficourt, the Fortune-telling in Spain, nor the cunning deceit of Bergama, suborned by Malorena. Neither did Petulca now muse on his Love Sibyl, whom he so earnestly wooed, she being but Sibyl in counterfeit dissembling, alias called Periander, a man as fit to play the wooer, as Petulca himself. Neither did now Philorenus (the other shepherd that was there, and was named by the Nymph Arethee, unto Ismenia, being asked what Shepherds of account there were in the Palace, of which Philorenus, we shall have occasion to say more hereafter) complain of his ill hap; nor any of all the other Gentlemen or Shepherds that were there, did bewail or lament their misfortunes. For the heavenly harmony of the Music which divers of the Nymphs made them dinner was served, some playing on the Bandora, some on the Virginal, some sounding their Cornets, others their Corne-muses, others their Harps, others the Cithrens, others the Lute, others the Gittrens, others blowing their Flutes, others the Recorder, and divers other instruments that would be too long to name, so ravished their senses, that they thinking themselves to be in some earthly Paradise, could not but be delighted, and barred even from all thought and imagination of discontent.  
The Music ended, the three chiefest Nymphs, Doride, Cynthia, and Polydora, sung this Sonnet, to recreate their Lady's guests that sat at the table.  Doride. 

Fly cutting care to hollow Caves,  
fly from this sacred place:  
Fly grief to uncouth Groves, and let  
us pleasing joy embrace.   

No tears may torture now, no sobs  
may grieve, nor sighs may vex:  
No woe may wound, no thought may threat,  
nor sorrow make us yex.   

Our pain is past, our dolour done,  
we sail with prosperous wind:  
No passion now, nor trouble may,  
disturbour quiet mind.   Cynthia. 

The Sea doth flow as well as ebb,  
and waves both mount and fall:  
As stormy Tempests do disturb,  
So calms do quiet all.   

The Summer's Sun produceth Flowers,  
which fragrant scents do yield:  
Though winter air in snowy robes,  
doth wrap the barren field.   

The sight of Phoebus' Lordly face,  
doth drive away the rain:  
And Titanes as oft is full,  
as she is in the wain.   Polydora. 

Let Furies fret, let Charon curse,  
let brawling Cerberus bawl:  
Let Radamanthus' rage, let Pluto  
chafe, and Minos' brawl.   

Let all the Fiends of Acheron,  
even spit out all their spite.  
They shall not mar the mirth we make,  
by high Diana's might:   

Which all those that do sojourn in  
this sacred place, exempts  
From hellish harm, from wracking woe,  
and Fortunes shrewd attempts.   
The three Nymphs having ended the Sonnet, dinner was ended, the cloth taken up, and the Lady Felicia rising with all her Guests walked out of the Bower into the other part of the Garden, where she called Maffeo under her, and spoke unto him in this manner, Worthy Knight, for that I know your chiefest bliss consisteth in the finding of your wife Eleonora, I mean by the help of the gods, and the especial favour of Diana, to help you unto your hearts desire with all the speed that I may. And therefore seeing the same is brought to pass, the more happy you shall deem yourself, I will put my skill in practice out of hand. Wherefore incontinently may it please you to departed from me, and go to the place where you left your child, and taking it thence return to me again with it, and let me care for your rest. Maffeo yielding the venerable Dame singular thanks for all her favours, humbly took his leave of her and all the company, and presently departed from the Palace, taking his way toward the Village where he left his young Alonso, after he lost Eleonora in the highway while he sléeped, where we will leave him pacing in his journey, and talk of those that remained in the Palace with the Lady Felicia.   

CHAP. XXI. How Perierio drunk the two Potions of Oblivion and Understanding, and likewise the Discourse that was between the Lady Brisil and Petulca.  
MAffeo being gone the Lady Felicia taking Perierio apart, led him into the Palace, and brought him into her study which was so exorned and beautified with sundry volumes, that it seemed rather to be the Library of some grave Philosopher, than the Countinghouse of a Lady; for there was no Book, no Author, no Writer, that was in estimation at those times, but the Lady Felicia had him in her Bibliothick. Now having Perierio there alone, she thought it time to execute that which his destinies had appointed, and therefore said unto him, Courageous Gentleman, although you have not as yet told me one word touching the cause of your coming hither, yet I know it as well as you can tell me. Is it not to enjoy the love of a Lady which you never saw but once? I expect no answer for I know it is. And I pray you tell me whether you are of that opinion yet or no? and whether you are constant in your love, ready to undertake any labour to obtain the same? But ere you give me an answer quaff out this goblet, in token of your good will towards me that wish your hearts content.  
Perierio taking the Goblet, drank out the Liquor that was in it cheerfully, which had such virtue that it took away the memory of Love, how deep soever it was rooted in the hearts of mortal creatures. He therefore having taken his draft, answered thus, Most prudent Lady, I am ashamed that I am come hither unto you having, yea knowing no cause why I should trouble your Ladyship, and unless I had received such exceeding pleasure in viewing your Ladyship's most sumptuous Palace, I should be sorry that ever I left my aged father and loving sisters, sorrowful and mourning at home for my absence. Well (quoth the Lady Felicia) I am glad that my Medicine hath taken so good effect. But I pray you take one drawth more at my request, which shall not be of the same liquor as the other, but more fruitful; and though it be something more bitter in the taste, it shall nevertheless be far more sweeter in operation then the other. Perierio taking the cup drank the potion, though with some difficulty, by reason of the sternness thereof which was nothing so gentle as the former potion of oblivion. But Felicia seeing that he had courageously forced himself to leave nothing in the cup, well done (quoth she) for though the root of science knowledge and learning be bitter, yet are the Flowers which it produceth, most sweet and pleasant. And as he thus spoke, she perceived that her second potion had done no less good than the ●●rst. For it had not only sharpened his wit and grinded his understanding, being more apt to receive the impression of learning, but ravished him with such desire to attain to the knowledge of Philosophy (whereunder I comprehend all kind of learning) that his mind was quite changed from Venus to Minerva, and from Cupid's Court to the Mount Parnassus. In so much that he began to unclose the clapses of Felicias Volumes, and untie the strings of her Books, being spurred thereto with a fervent zeal to know the contents thereof; where we will leave him talking with the Lady about the liverall Sciences, and such other matters concerning scholastical parley, and speak of those whom we left in the Garden, where Marcelio and Alcida walked together in one Alley, Ismenia with Lexander in another; Eugerio with his son Polydore and his daughter Clenarde, walked by the River which closed up one end of the Garden. The shepherds Petulca and Philorenus, with the rest of the company, sat on a bed of cammomile, and Duchess Brisil walked alone in an Arbour of Roses, where the dye that beautified her vermilion cheeks, strove with the Roses for superiority in perfection of colour.  
Thus walking alone, she espied the shepherd Petulca sitting among other shepherds, and desiring to know of him whether he came thither about Periander, as she had understood of the Nymph Arethee, she stepped by them, and saluting them, said.  
Gentle shepherds, I hope you will not be displeased, though I press into your company being not sent for, the rather because Petulca is one of my old acquaintance, and therefore I could do no less then greet him, as I would have done ere this, if occasion had been altered. Petulca (weo though he had made earnest enquiry what this Princess was, had not yet learned that it was Brisil, sister to his dear Sibyl) marveling at the Lady's words, seeing he knew her not, or never had seen her to his knowledge, was so amazed, that he witted not what to say, which Philorenus marking, gave her this answer: The displeasure Madam that we conceive by your coming is such, that we think ourselves honoured with your presence, and therefore acknowledge ourselves beholding unto you, in that you disdain not of the unworthy company of such simple shepherds as we be. As for the acquaintance which you say you have had with our friend Petulca, as we are altogether ignorant of, so do we not envy at his luck in that so gracious a Princess as yourself beareth a remembrance of him.  
As Petulca thought to ask pardon for his unmindfulnes, and to excuse the weakness of his memory in that he could not remember that he had in all his life time seen any Lady comparable to her for her beauty or estate, much less to have seen her, the Duchess stayed him saying, Well Petulca thy company thinketh thee happy that I bear memory of thee; but I pray you unhappy may I be thought to be, seeing that thou disdainest to know her, whom I thought you would not have forgotten so soon. Is this the memory you have of me, and my sister Sibyl, whom you so dearly loved? Is this the remembrance you bear of cursed Malorena and dissembling Bergama, who for thy sake sought our ruin? Petulca amazed to hear her say this, and knowing her by her voice to be the same Brisil that sojourned among the shepherds of his Country, at length burst out into these words, Ah gracious Princess, the Gods know that I have not forgotten neither you nor Periander, who under the name of Sibyl, in the habit of a shepherd, bearing title to be your sister, hath caused my grief, and forced me to undertake this troublesome journey, intending never to return home till I have found him, and letting him know the Treason and malicious dealing of Malorena and Bergama, to exhort him to race out the false surmise and suspicion which he hath grounded in the bottom of his heart of your disloyalty. For seeing that for my sake he hath been so horribly abused and brought into that error; I will hazard my life to restore him unto his former estate again, to the end that he may enjoy you, and yourself to him. And marvel nor Lady, that I knew not your person, though I will remember you● acquaintance; for as the Sun is in respect of the least star of the sky, the rose in respect of the nettle, the juniper tree in respect of the thorn bush, and the Lordly Crystal in respect of the base glass, so is your Ladyship now in respect of the time that we were feasted by the dissembling Traitress Bergama in her Arbour. And therefore seeing that I had not as yet understood (having enquired of the Lady Felicias Nymphs of your calling) any other thing of you but that you were a certain Princess of Albion, and that we should shortly hear of the cause of your coming, and more largely know the course of your fortune; I hope your Grace will not think the worse of me, who have vowed my body and life to do service unto your loving Periander, what state or calling soever he be of. Thanks kind Petulca (quoth the Duchess) and persuade thyself that I think not otherwise of thee than I did at any time. And to the end that thou mayst understand the truth and verity of all my troubles, and know what Periander is, and also what caused him to fain himself to be my sister, being attired in shepherd's attire, I will briefly and truly rehearse unto thee in this good company of shepherds (so I be not troublesome unto them) the whole state of my fortune. But first I must entreat you to tell me how long you have been here, when you departed from the village, and what success you have had in your journey.  
Then may it please you to understand (quoth Petulca) that after the malicious traitress Malorena had cast herself into the river to take penance for her heinous offence, by her own appointment, the whole Village was made acquainted with her villainy detesting her for her malice, and marveling at Periander and yourself for your perfect love, in marvellous manner mourning for his departure and your mishap. Insomuch that the chiefest of the village sent for me to understand the truth of the whole matter; which when I had declared, they took order with me that I should speak with you, and comfort you, letting you know what they had appointed to do in your behalf; for they intended to make enquiry through all the country after Periander, to the end that he might be informed of all that had happened in the Village concerning malicious Malorena, and so be induced to return again unto you, knowing the say of Malorena to be false, and invented by her pestiferous brain. Whereupon I, most ready to do any thing that might redound to your content, betimes the next morning went to your lodging, but there I found you not, nor could learn of any one of your Neighbours what was become of you; whereof how sorry I was, I leave to the Gods to witness, and not I only but the whole Village, most grievously lamented your sudden departure. At length I resolved not to rest in any place till I had found Periander, and let him know how he had been abused by Malorena, and how you were injured by him, in that he giving credit to such a malicious maid, lest you to pass your life in such discontent and grief for his cause. To the end that if Fortune had been so froward as to deprive him of your company for ever, by some sinister hap yet he should know how faithfully you loved him, seeing that your loyalty was known unto the whole Country. Whereupon I having first caused dissembling Bergama as an instrument and helping cause of this mischief, to be banished, until such time as Periander and you were together and consented to have her released from exile, I betook myself to my journey, and having traveled two days and two nights, at last I arrived in a Country house, where I was very courteously used by a certain shepherd, who took pleasure to talk with me concerning the cause of my coming, for that he had himself not passing eight year since, almost coursed over the world to seek his wife, which was carried away upon a certain time by a Duke that riding that way, caused his men to take her with them, he being abroad in the field. And that after he had taken so much pains, it was his luck at length to come to the Temple of Diana, where the Lady Felicia dwelleth, who helped him to his wife again. Therefore the shepherd having entertained and feasted me very courteously and bountifully, set me into a way which directly brought me to this place assuring me that I should of this Lady be informed of all matters concerning those that I sought for; as in truth I have found his words not disagreeing unto verity; For being arrived here two days since, the Lady welcomed me not as a simple Shepherd, but rather like some worthy person of high estate (which I perceive she did in respect of your excellency and not of my desert) and willing me to stay in her Palace till such time as she might learn news concerning the cause of my coming, promised me that I should not stay in vain, which I have tried to be so, seeing that you are so happily arrived to this place, as I hope also by the favour of the Gods, and the help of sage Felicia, to see Periander, if not here, yet in some other place.  
Thus Madam have you heard what is passed since the time that I saw you last, now it remaineth that it may please you to accomplish your promise. And so I will (quoth the Duchess; wherewith she began to declare the whole estate of her life to Petulca, and the rest of the company. Where we will leave her discoursing of all such matters as before have been declared, and return to Periander.   

CHAP. XXII. How Periander met with Pharelus, and how Pharelus declared to Periander what happened in the Court of Albion since the departure of Duchess Brisil.  
PEriander after he was departed from the Village where he left Brisil, within one days travel reached into a Wood, wherein after he had strayed up and down for the space of six or seven hours in the night, could not find any path to lead him out of the same desert place. Insomuch that being weary of travel, he was forced to lie on the ground among the wild furzen bushes and thorns to rest himself, where he slept till morning, at which time awaking out of his sleep, he saw a certain Albion Knight stand before him, whom he knew very well, for he was his father's Taster, and was called Sir Pharelus; whereat Periander was so amazed that he could not tell what had befallen him; but the Knight spoke presently in this manner.  
Fair Shepherd or Nymph (for Periander had his woman's attire yet) whatsoever thou be, be not displeased that I have emboldened myself to press so near the place where you slept, for seeing that I was loath to wake you out of your sound sleep and wished to speak with you, I thought best to stay till you awaked of your own accord; therefore seeing you have given over your sleep, I beseech you to show me what way I may take to get out of this huge wood in which I have sore against my will remained three days, not finding any way that leadeth out of the same. Periander glad that Sir Pharelus knew him not gave him this answer: Sir Knight, I have no reason to be displeased at you, seeing that I myself would in the like case have used as much boldness; I am no Nymph, yet if I could pleasure you and satisfy your demand, I would the willinger do it, considering that I would think myself beholding to him that would show us the way out of this Wood; For yesterday about the decline of the Sun, did I first enter into it, having traveled this way never before; and seeing I could not find the way out again, having lost my path, the wearisomeness of my journey forced me to take my rest. But pray you Sir (if I may be so bold) what luck hath brought you hither, for I perceive by the strangeness of your apparel, that you are of some country afar off, seeing that no Genclemen hereabout are clothed after such a fashion. In truth (quoth Pharelus) it was ill luck brought me hither fair shepherdess, for you shall know that I am a Britain, born in the Isle of Albion, and left my Country by the command of our King who being informed by Letters from the King of Spain, that his son the young Prince of Albion was broken out of prison, and fled (for he was imprisoned in Sivil by his father's command) sent me into Spain, to inquire after him, and not to return till I had heard of him. But when I was arrived in Spain, I heard that the King of Spain's daughter Florena went with him, or after him, but no man could tell me whether she were by him, or had not yet found him, or what way he was gone. Thus I have traveled up and down Spain, and have not as yet discovered any more news of him. In truth (quoth Periander) I heard great talk in our village, of the King's daughter Florena, how she was conveyed out of the Court by another King's son (I know not of what Country) that was imprisoned as you say by his own father's command, because he would be married to a young Duchess whom the King himself would have to his wife. True (quoth Pharelus) but the Duchess about three or four days before the appointed Wedding day secretly fled out of the country no man knoweth whither; which the King took so grievously, that partly for danger & partly for grief, he kept his chamber six weeks, at the end of which time he received letters from the K. of Spain, in which he understood of his son's flight, which news almost set him besides his wits; for he had purposed to send Ambassadors to Spain for his son, and to proclaim the Duchess that was fled, Queen of England: and wife to his son Periander, unto whom he intended to resign the title of the Crown, and to marry him to the aforesaid Duchess, with whom he was promised many years before. Therefore seeing that Fortune so crossed him, fell into a grievous and dangerous disease, insomuch that we doubted of his recovery. But after he had kept his bed one fortnight, by the singular skill and industry of the Physicians, he began to mend; and calling me one morning to his bed's side, uttered these words unto me. Ah Pharelus, thou seest how pitifully your King hath been used both by Fortune and Heaven; for the Gods intending to revenge my unnatural cruelty and barbarous tyranny against mine own son, though I repent, yet would both bar me from my desire, and punish my offence. But now, as I feel by the alteration of my weakness, that they have slaked their vengeance, and pity my case, so I hope Fortune will in like manner become more favourable than hitherto she hath been. You know how the Duchess Brisil is fled, and no news can be heard what is become of the poor Lady. In like manner now is Periander also broken out of prison, and as a banished man runneth astray, perhaps suffering a thousand miseries, and all for fear lest he should fall into my hands, where alas I would rather ask him forgiveness, than any way prejudice him seeing he hath no way offended me, but I greatly injured him. And now for as much as the hold of my life consisteth in the hope which I have to see both Periander and Brisil here in my Court; I have caused thee to come hither, to declare my mind unto thee concerning this matter, wherein I will employ thy service, seeing I have found thee faithful and loyal in all matters which I ever committed to thy trust, not doubting but that I shall find thee as ready now to do me pleasure and acquit myself of your duty, as I have been at other times. My pleasure is that thou make a voyage into Spain, and pass over all that country to see whether you can hear of my son Periander, to the end, that if you find him, you may let him know how earnestly I wish to see him, that he may come hither, and receive the Crown of the Realm. And if it chance Duchess Brisil be in those parts (for it may be she is with him or in travel to seek him) insomuch that you meet with her or hear of her. I would have order taken, that she notwithstanding that Periander be not yet found, might return to the Court to be crowned Queen, seeing that the Crown by the law of the Realm appertaineth unto her after my death, being betrothed to my son if he marry no other, as I know he will not, I will send others to other Countries you shall only seek them in Spain. I pray you to do all the diligence you can, and to behave yourself herein according to the opinion I bear of you. And for your reward if you find either of them, I will promise you less than I will perform. And especially this I will say before hand, that he that findeth and bringeth Periander and Brisil both, as soon as they arrive at the Court, I will give him the isle Mon● to be his and his heirs for ever; and he that findeth either Periander or Brisil, I will give him the government of West Albion. But as for you Pharelus, you shall receive greater benefits at my hands if the Gods will favour your journey, yet what luck soever you have, I will not be unmindful of your labour and readiness.  
Therewith the King weary by reason of his sickness, and scarce able to speak more, ceased, and I thanking his Majesty for his singular favour towards me, vowed to do whatsoever lay in me to the uttermost of my power, partly for my duty towards him, and partly for the love I bear the young Prince. Insomuch that after we had fully concluded the matter, I departed from Albion the next day with twelve men, which I have all sent to sundry places of this country, appointing them to meet all at the famous City Leon, situated along the River Eyla, as the sixth day after to morrow at which time I mean to be there by the help of the Gods, to know what tidings they can bring me. Verily sir Knight (quoth Periander) the King's son would wish to meet with you, if he knew the good tidings you bring him; I am grieved myself to hear that such great persons are subject to so much adversity. But I pray fair shepherd (quoth Pharelus) seeing you say you have heard talk of him in your Village to tell me where the same village is, and how it is called; for if I thought I might there hear any thing of him, I would take my journey that way. More than I have said (quoth Periander) shall you not hear there I promise you, and therefore seeing it is out of your way, take not the pains. And as they were thus talking together, they espied an old man wand'ring through the wood so far from them that they could scarce see him by reason of the thickness of the bushes and small trees that grew in the wood. But calling unto him, he fearing lest they had meant to do him some harm, began to run away as fast as his old legs could carry him. But Pharelus with all celerity followed him so long till he overtook him at last at the wood end, having run a whole hour before he could come to him, the old fellow so bestirred his stumps, and seeing he could not outrun him, he fell down on his knees and asked for mercy, making a large apology that he was a poor old man and had a wife and children to keep and many good morrows, fearing that he should have been rob by Pharelus, which he perceiving, could not but laugh to see the old man so timorous; and therefore said, Alack good Father, fear not, for though I perceive by thy fearfulness that thou art well provided of money, yet I called thee not for thy wealth, but for thy counsel, for I have been here in this Wood these three days and more, and cannot find any path to lead me out of the same. And though I perceive that by following thee I have attained to that which I wished for, seeing I am here at the wood end, yet I thought good to deliver thee out of the opinion which thou conceivest of me, who wish thee no harm: Nevertheless, seeing I do not well know where I am, thou shalt do me a pleasure to tell me what way I may best take towards the famous City Leon. Ah good Gentleman (answered the old fellow) the cause that I ran from you, was not for fear to lose any treasure, for I have none; but I heard that there was a poor man slain about five or six weeks ago in this wood, and seeing I knew you not, I hope you will not think the worse of me though I was afraid of you. As concerning your request, knew, that I dwell in the same City you inquire for, and if you deign to travel in the company of such an homely person as myself, by the help of the Gods I will lead you thither before three days come to an end. Willingly (quoth Pharelus) and I thank thee for thy courteous offer, but there is a young shepherdess that followed me as I ran after thee, of whom I asked the way, and alas she knew it as little as I, and I would be sorry that we should leave her behind us; and therefore I pray thee to stay here a little, and I will see whether I can espy her coming. But if you be wise (quoth the old man) go not in too deep, lest you lose your way again, it were best for you to call unto her as loud as you can, or to whistle, for if she hear you she will come, and if she be cut of hearing, you may chance to seek after her as long as you have already been in the wood. Pharelus followed his counsel, and whooped unto her as loud as he might, and seeing that she came not, after he had remained there for the space of two hourrs, the old man being very hasty to go on his journey, he would not stay behind, and omit that opportunity, though loath, yet forced to leave the shepherd, he went with the old man. Periander on the other side, who for his woman-like shepherd attire, could not follow Pharelus when he ran after the old man, (for his long coat catched by the thorns and brambles) and having lost the sight of Pharelus, went quite another way; so that it was no marvel that he heard not Pharelus call unto him; for he went quite contrary from the path which Pharelus took after the old man, and came out at the other end of the wood, where seeing himself out of the troublesome Forest, was grieved that he had lost Pharelus in that sort, before he had resolved whether he would reveal himself unto him or no, but yet remembering that Pharelus said he meant to be at Leon within six days, he was the gladder, seeing where he knew to find him, if he concluded to return with him to Albion; Insomuch that sitting down on a bank by the wood side, began in this manner.  
Ah unfortunate Periander, now mayst thou well perceive that Fortune hath sworn to be thy enemy for ever. For hath she not first suborned the Traitor Massicourt to work thy misery, and so laid the foundation of all thy troubles? He being cut off and his villainy detected, hath she not armed thy own natural Father against th●e, and stirred him up to wrong thee of thy right? And now the Gods being incensed and provoked to wrath by such impiety, have by their vengeance moved him to repent? Hath she not battered the Fort which I ne'er thought she should have been able to incorporate? Ah Brisil Brisil! never did I think that Fortune should have triumphed of her victories in making conquest of the nearest thing that touched my heart, and that she should have braved me with the trophies of thy disloyalty. Ah how often was I wont to say unto Fortune, when she threatened me to deprive me of honour, living, renown, yea life ●nd all, that none of all that was mine, thinking that I might claim nothing properly to be mine, but lost thy love, faith, and loyalty; not caring to lose the whole world so I might enjoy thee, whom I thought that neither alteration of time, nor distance of place, nor mutation of manners, nor change of estate, nor any thing whatsoever either hell or fortune might procure, could have withdrawn from Periander. In her was my mind fixed, my hope planted, and all my confidence seated; seeing therefore that fortune hath been able to make conquest of her, I am constrained to confess and acknowledge that she can do what she will, and that we may not resist her pleasure.  
Insomuch that I strive against the stream, and cast stones against the wind, in opposing myself against fortune seeing she hath vowed my utter ruin, and will bring her will to pass. The ashes of the old Phoenix breedeth the new, and with me the end of one misfortune is the beginning of another. How can I then hope ever to enjoy content, seeing I never had happy hour? if fortune looketh on me she lowreth, if she turneth her face from me, she threatneth me, if she remember me she is enraged at me, and if she smileth, she flattereth: whether dissembling to wreak her anger and engraft her spite against me whom she could never brook. Yet Periander how canst thou so greatly complain of her, seeing that she so favoureth thee, that thy father, who was thy foe, is now becomes thy friend; thou that wert but a King's son, art now when thou wilt a King; and where thou didst live in imprisonment, in exile, and misery, mayst now live in Court, in liberty, and in all the pleasure of the world? No, no, fond fool, fortune doth not this, but the just Gods, and if she be any cause of it she doth it only thereby to entice me to become as disloyal as Brisil, and so wholly to vanquish and overcome me. But no, though I have acknowledged her to be never so puissant, yet she shall not make conquest of my fidelity, nor brag of my disloyalty, séeeing, I will not, nor may give over the love of Brisil; and thought she neglect and hate me, yet will I love and honour her till death.  
After Periander had thus lamented the loss of the love of Brisil, he determined to go to the City Leon to meet with Sir Pharelus, and with him to return to Albion, intending to live there and enjoy his Father's Crown; but never to love any but Brisil, or to knit himself in marriage to any other. And resolved to take his journey by the same village where he left Brisil, meaning to speak with Malorena, and to leave a Letter with her for Brisil, as he had done before: in which Letter he purposed to let Brisil know of all that which he had learned of Pharelus, wohm he found and lost in the wood. He intended also to write a Letter to Petulca, and to let him know as much, protesting that if he would come into Albion when he were Crowned, he would give him the Dukedom pertaining unto Brisil in marriage with her, and do him all the honour that a Monarch might do to any of his Péers, seeing that Brisil made such account of him. In this mind Periander returned secretly unto the village where he had sojourned with Brisil, and changing his attire, apparelled himself in man's , according to his sex and nature. And being come to the village he took his lodging in a shepherd's house, where he thought he was least of all known. When he had entered into the house, and caused supper to be made ready, he asked one of the shepherd's daughters, whether they knew not a certain shepherdess called Malorena, (for he thought to have spoken with her, and to know of her how Petulca and Brisil were moved at his departure, & to leave the Letters which he purposed to write, with her, to deliver them to Brisil and Petulca) wherewith they were half angry, thinking he did it to have occasion to speak ill of the maids and shepherds of their country, and therefore gave him this answer. We knew her, but too well, and if we thought you were one of her favourites, you should have but had lodging here. Pardon me (fair shepherds, replied Periander) if I offend against my knowledge, for the cause that I ask for her, is that I am her cousin, & have not seen her this great while: I as yet have never heard any ill of her, nor ever knew any thing by her, but that she behaved herself as a maid of her calling ought to do. Thereby (quoth the shepherd's wife) we perceive thee to be but a stranger here, and therefore to be excused; for as you say, she was famed for one of the most modest maids of the whole country, but now of late she hath committed great villainy against two of the loyallest lovers that ever the world harboured. And thus the good wife declared the sum of the whole matter unto Peaiander, how all things were passed: which so altered his affections, that all they that were present could perceive that he was moved thereby. Yet lest he should bewray who he was, forced himself as much as he could to abstain from sighing or weeping till he was alone, at which time he poured forth whole floods of tears out of his eyes, for grief that he had shamefully suffered himself to be deluded by Malorena, and thereby brought himself into all these miseries, where otherwise he should have been the happiest man that lived. Nevertheless when he had heard what moan Brsil had made for his sudden departure, and how that she was gone to seek him he was joyful and glad, accounting more of her Love and loyalty, than all other things whatsoever. Thus Periander both sorry and glad, witted not what he might best do, to seek for Brisil▪ or to go to Leon first, and speak with Pharelus. But considering, that it were a most uncertain voyage, and doubtful labour to stray after her, he concluded to go to Pharelus first, and with all speed to return to Albion, where after he were crowned King, he doubted not, but that she would come unto him, assoon as she should be informed thereof. Besides, he purposed to send so many to inquire after her, that in despite of Fortune, he should hear of her, or she of him, especially seeing she sought for him, which was the chiefest point that encouraged Periander.  
He therefore having his head full of Bees, and building castles in the air, slept a little that night, and rising betimes in the morning, took leave of the shepherd, paying and discharging that which could be asked for his lodging and entertainment, departed towards the City Leon, where he arrived two days after Pharelus.   

CHAP. XXIII. How Periander discovered himself to Pharelus, and departed with him towards Albion.  
PEriander (though he knew not where he might find Pharelus, or how to inquire for him, yet he) had such good luck and fortune, that walking in the Marketplace, he espied Pharelus talking with one of the men whom he had appointed to meet him there: whereupon Periander stepping to him, courteously saluted him, saying. Sir Knight the cause of my coming unto you, being unknown is this. About two days ago, I met with a certain shepherdess, who told me that she understood of you, that you sought for the King of Albion's son that was imprisoned in Spain, and breaking forth ran away as some say with the King's Daughter, though others rather think without her. And for as much as I have heard some certainty concerning this young Prince, where he is, & other matters touching a certain Duchess that should be his wife or alliance, I thought good to let you know so much as I have heard, But if it will please you to go with me half a mile without the City, I will lead you into a shepherd's house, where I doubt not but you shall understand as much as shall content you, and serve to bring you unto the thing you most wish for. Sir Pharelus hearing this young man (as little thinking that he should be Periander, as he did when he met him in the wood in woman's apparel) thanked him with a most pleasant countenance, rejoicing extremely for the hope he had to find Periander; and presently without returning to his lodging, he went with him out of the City towards the place he spoke of. Periander seeing Sir Pharelus so merry for the news he had brought him, and so ready to go with him, conceived great joy that he had so friendly a subject; and leading him out of the City, when he came into a close something far from any house, where he thought he might speak safely and not be heard or seen of any man but sir Pharelus who was only by him: (for he had left his man in the marketplace of the City, there to expect the coming of others that he looked for) he thought good to reveal unto sir Pharelus who he was, and therefore said thus, Pharelus we are are now come far enough, I mean to go no further, and I thank thee that thou hast done so much for me as to come thus far with me, when I am King of Albion, I will do more for thee. Pharelus amazed at these words witted not what answer to give him, and although at the first he thought he had mocked with him. saying, that he thanked him for coming so far with him, yet when he heard him speak of his being King of Albion, perceived that it was Periander himself, for joy whereof, he could scarce speak, but falling down on his knees craved pardon of Periander for his ill remembrance. But Periander embracing him, took him up by the hand, and thanked him for his loyal service, saying that he was so mindful of him that he should be beholding unto him for ever. For (quoth he) how may I find fault with thy remembrance Pharelus, seeing thou daily takest such care about me, and sufferest so much toil to seek me? As for the outward remembrance, which consisteth only in the favour and colour of the face, seeing the same is by continuance of time changed and altered, it is a hard matter to bear memory thereof, especially when it is estranged with unacquainted and strange attire. Or else no doubt Pharelus, but you that think on me daily would have known me, not only when I came to you in the marketplace of this city Leon, but also when you feared to wake me in the wood, where we were so strangely separated one from the other, I know not by what mischance, but that (the Gods be thanked it happened greatly to my comfort,  
Herewith Periander informed Pharelus of all whatsoever had happened unto him, since his departure from Albion, and also of Brisils' coming unto him in the prison, her departure with him, their abode, and manner of abode among the shepherds: and lastly of Brisils' last departure, greatly lamenting her absence, making great sorrow for her, that she now went astray up and down through the unknown and solitary places of that desert part of Spain to seek him. Pharelus glad to understand the whole matter, though grievously sorry for the Duchess Brisils' mishap, comforted Periander by all the means he could, hoping by that they had been in Albion but a month or twain, they should hear of her.  
When Periander and Pharelus had a long time talked of all matters concerning their return to Albion, they went back to the City again, where they met with those whom Pharelus expected that day: who being come according to his appointment, each told as much as he had heard concerning Periander, which was but little: nevertheless he thanked them all for their diligence and industry, telling them that he had better news himself, and such news that he minded to return into Albion, where he doubted not, but that he should find Periander, if the Gods would be so favourable as he hoped; but would leave them to inquire and seek for the Duchess Brisil, who was somewhere in that part of Spain where they were. The men glad to see their Master so frolic and merry for the good nws which he had heard, promised that they would do as much as lay in their power according to their duty, and as they had already done. But marveling what young man he was that stood by their master (for they had never seen Periander to their knowledge) asked their master, whether that young man had brought him those happy tidings? Pharelus unwilling that they should know that he was Periander, told them that he was so, and that he would lead him into Albion with him, to the end that if his news were true, he might reward him accordingly as he deserved.  
But Pharelus speedily appointing them what way each should take, willed them to make diligent search for her, assuring them, that she was in those parts, and that the same young man that was by him had seen her not long before, being apparelled like a shepherd and country maid. Besides he charged them to tell her if they met her, what was passed in the Court of Albion before their departure, and that since she saw Periander last, that he hath been at the village where he left her, and there been informed of the deceitfulness of Bergama, of her own faithfulness and loyalty, and of all other matters concerning the traitress Malorena; and that he is either in Albion, or shortly shall be, where he will expect her coming. Herewith Pharelus dispatched them all, and leaving them each one to look to his charge, presently repaired to his lodging with Periander, where they refreshed themselves being both hungry and weary. Their repast being taken, they took directions for their readiest way towards the Haven of Lisbon, intending there to take ship. And so departing from Leon, they traveled along the river Ezla, leaving the village where Periander had sojourned with Brisil on the left hand, Where we will leave them going on their journey, and return to Brisil, whom we left rehearsing the history of her life, to the shepherd Petulca and Philorenus, with the rest of their company.   

CHAP. XXIIII. How the Arragonians were discomfited by the castilians: and the King of Castille carried away Philorenus his mother.  
WHen Brisil had ended her tragedy, she said. Thus shepherds have you heard the whole estate of my life, who I am, of whence, and of what fortune. And forasmuch as it is not yet near supper time, seeing we are so well met, I pray you Philotenus (for so I hear you named) dein to make us partakers of your fortune, that as I have willingly made you acquainted with mine, so you will let us know what hap you have had, and what event hath made you resort to the Lady Felicia. For by reason that I heard something concerning yourself, of the nymph Arethee (who before I entered into the Palace) being by me and the rest of my company asked what shepherds of account were in the Lady Feliciaes' Court, named you among the rest, I am touched with an earnest desire to know the course of your life, Philorenus answered.  
Most gracious Lady if I should do less than you demand, (seeing you may command) I might worthily be accounted both unmindful and ungrateful. If therefore it will please you to give attention to my speech, I will as briefly as I may (not to be tedious unto you) unfold the occasion of my travel, and acquaint you with the strange effects of my fortune even from my childhood.  
Brisil seeing Philorenus address himself to tell histale, winked unto Marcelio and Ismenia, who walked, he with his Alcida, and she with her Lexander, and they being come unto her, she told them of Philorenus his intent, which they knowing, say down by Brisil and Petulca, with the other shepherds, making silence, lest they should interrupt Philorenus his purpose, who began in this manner to satisfy their expectation.  
I was born in a little village called Yervedra in the Kingdom of Arragon; my parents were poor and of base lineage, and lead their lives altogether in the Country, their name or kindred being of no honour or fame for nobility of descent though they were known and spoken of in places fare from them, through the whole Kingdom of Arragon for their virtue and honesty. As fortune had enriched them with many fair possessions, so nature had beautified their persons with comeliness, and the Gods endued their minds with the heavenly influence of wisdom liberality, modesty, gentleness, chastity, and many other virtuous qualities, which made them famous above all their neighbours, But Fortune who continually envieth the hap of those that be most addicted to pity, either willing to try the perfection of their virtuous constitution, or rather intending to overthrow their honest disposition, began to lower and frown on the good and lucky estatin which my father and mother lived, having store of wealth, an● no other charge but me: I being about two or three years of ●ge. For it happened that occasion of Wars and Discord growing between the Kings of Arragon and Castille, both their Armies were encamped by our village, insomuch that my father and most of his Neighbours, to avoid the loss they were like to sustain by the incursion of their enemies, thought best to leave their country habitation till the times changed, and to sojourn in some of the next Cities until the wars were ended. To bring which thing to pass, my father speedily traveled towards the City Targonna, there to provide some house for his wife and him, there to expect the end of the present troubles, intending, if he could find any convenient place for his purpose, to return home and fetch my mother and me with the rest of the family. But within one day after his departure, it happened, that the two armies buckled together, and the enemy becoming victorious, pursued our King that fled with all his Nobility through our Village, to save himself in the aforesaid City of Targonna, seeing his Camp was discomfited his chiefest Captains slain and all his Soldiers chased by the enemy, and put to their shifts, having more hope in their héels then in their hands, Insomuch that the whole Army of the K, of Castille swarming about our Village as a company of Bees, pillaged and spoilt all the houses and farms taking the chiefest farmers and husbandmen for their prisoners, setting them each one at such a rate or sum of money for their ransom, as they thought them able to pay, according to the substance and wealth which they judged them to have.  
Amongst the rest, one of their Captains entering into our h●use, and ask for my father, the maids answered, that he was in the City: but he not believing them, ran into all corners of the house, to see whether he were not hidden in some secret place: and as he ranged up & down through all the chambers, at length he found my mother lying under one of the shepherd's beds, and pulling her out by the hand, when he saw the decent proportion of her body, the comeliness of her face, and gravity of her countenance, he was on the sudden so snared in the net of fancy, that he felt himself not a conqueror, but conquered; and spoke unto her in this order. Beautiful Matron (for I perceive you are the Mistress of this household) the pleasant weapons wherewith you fight hath given me such a soothing wound, that although it hath penetrated the very depth of my heart, and yielded me thy captive, whereas I was in the number of those that this day boast of victory, yet I am forced to confess, that fortune hath not a little favoured me, in that it was my hap to be overcome by so sweet an enemy as yourself. Fear not therefore sweet, for I am not come hither to do thee or thy family any wrong, but to do thee pleasure and service. Wherewith he espying his soldiers busy with raping and pilfering, pocketing, and bagging up such things as they liked best, commanded them to cease, and to seek their booty elsewhere; and appointing some of them to free the house from the incursions of other captains and soldiers, he returned unto my mother, who could not sufficiently lament our misfortune, that we were not by my father in the City, not regarding the loss of all her goods, but the danger unto which her honesty was exposed. The Captain therefore perceiving her so grieved, began again in this sort to comfort her. Brave dame, I beseech you do not afflict yourself, seeing you have no cause▪ for where you see among your neighbours not one escape the fury of the soldier, who spoileth them of all the substance, of their jewels, of their cattles, of their beasts, of their dearest householdstuff, burneth their houses, and taketh the Matron's prisoners, and plagueth them with all kind of warlike injury; you contrarily have not so much as a broom-staff removed out of your house. And although your husband were here, as it seemeth he is not, yet should he not have one hair of his head impaired. For whatsoever I promise, I swear unto you by the faith of a Gentleman and soldier, that I will perform no less. And therefore I pray you cease from weeping, and wash not your cheeks with your tears, bathe not yourself in water which is procured with so much grief.  
All this could not persuade my woeful mother to give over her sorrow, or to assuage her grief; for she well knew that when the Sirens sing most sweetly, they intent most harm; that when the fowler whistleth most pleasantly, he wisheth the birds most misery; and that the fox never praised the hens, but when he aimed at the cock, and so did she more than misdoubt that these words of the captain tended to no other purpose but to crop the bloom of her Honesty, and to become Lord of her Beauty.  
The consideration of this so overwhelmed her with exceeding sorrow, that she ceased not from weeping for all the Captains prattle, nor would she give him one word in answer to his say. Nevertheless he bore her frowardness so patiently, that he changed not his former tune, but rather continued in his sweet and mild speeches, trying by all means he could to assuage her dolour, and to provoke her to accept of his service and friendship, using her so courteously, that he seemed rather to be some especial friend, then destroying enemy. For though my mother well marked the cause which moved him to use such favourable enmity, and espied that he was caught in the snare of her beauty, yet could she not sufficiently wonder at his modesty, wherewith he sought to cover and cloak his disease; for though he revealed it unto her at the first, yet he did not so much as offer her the least disgrace in the world, neither by word nor deedr  
In the mean while the King of Castille (who in proper person had pursued his enemy our King, who having reached to the Walls of the City, was freed by the help of the Cannon, which forbade the enemy to approach near) returning again through our village, being weary, and seeing no house that liked him so well as ours (for the most part of our neighbour's houses were burned) lighted from off his horse, and entered into the Hall, where he found the Captain by my mother, who wept so bitterly, that it might have moved any heart to cempassion. But the King wondering to see her in such a woeful case, and yet marked that her house was so trim and all things in as good order as if no soldiers had been near it, asked the Captain what the woman ailed I sorry of the Kings coming, yet seeing there was no remedy sigh it chanced so, made this answer. Dread Sovereign (qd. he) it was my hap to light on this house, where at my entry, I found this Matron being mistress of this family, and beholding her beauty and modest plight, I forced myself to give over the rigorous manner of war, and to use her according to her deserts, whose gravity and comely grace hath privileged her from the fury of my soldiers, insomuch that they have not by me been allowed to do her the least danger that may be. Yet notwithstanding doth she weep and make such grief as if she were worse used than all the rest of her neighbours, that have not only lost their goods but also their husbands and children, yea and their honesty being violated and ravished by the common anercenary soldiers. Therefore mighty conqueror, what she aileth or what cause she hath to take on in this manner, it passeth my divination to conjecture. Why then (quoth the King) I pray thee yield over thy captive unto me, and I will give thee two of the chiefest noblemen captives of the K. of Aragon's, that I have taken in this flight, in lieu of her: and let me try whether I cannot find better means to flake her grief and procure her solace then thou hast done. As they were busy about changing of captives, news was brought that the enemy flocked out of the City being an huge and mighty company, marching toward the place where he was; whereat the King amazed, caused the chiefest Marshal of his army to call up the soldiers and to place them in battle array to withstand their enemy, but all in vain; for the soldiers strayed so wide to seek their booty, and to benefit themselves with the spoil, that if they had not in time played scampado, they had been every man slain. Which the King perceiving, mounting on his Steed, and loath to leave his new captive behind him, caused my mother to be set behind one of his Noblemen and so they posted away, where I poor wretch bawled as children of that age I then was in, being about four years old, are accustomed to do when they be separated from their mother. My father desirous to know how we fared in the midst of the enemy, snatched occasion by the forehead and went forth of Targonna with them that pursued the enemy, and coming home, marvelled to see the house in so good estate; but missing my mother, asked what was become of her, which he soon knew by my crying, who said my mother was carried away by the Soldiers. Whereat he was so moved, as you may well consider how any man might be cheered in such a case, and therefore I will not waste the time in declaring what exceeding sorrow my father made for the absence of his wife, resolving to hazard his life to have her again.  
But alas, the King of Castille being fled to a Castle which he had won not passing four or five days before, saved himself within the walls of the same, from the fury of his enemy that ceased not to pursue him; and so my father saw no way to obtain his desire, seeing my mother was within the aforesaid Castle, which was so strong that it could not be easily incorporated by our men, who assailed it fiercely but to no purpose: for the soldiers that were scattered in the slight, met together about a league from the Castle, and having rallied themselves, in the night time broke into our camp, making great slaughter among our men, and although they could not discomfit our men, yet they got within the walls of the Castle, and were joined to the rest of their company, in so much that our men had no hope to win the Castle, and so departed towards the City, which my father took very heavily, seeing he was cut from his wife; and so he returned home very mournfully, imagining & inventing how he might have my mother again, & redéem her from captivity, though it should have cost him all whatsoever he might make with the sale of his goods. Yet his hope was but small to get her again for any price, seeing the maids & servants of the house had told him that she was carried away by the King's command, and declared unto him how all things were passed, touching the friendly hostility of the Captain, the King's demand, the changing of captives, and all other things that concerned the carrying away of their mistress.  
In the mean time my mother, whom the King of Castille solicited to dishonesty, was most miserably tormented and grieved, that her fortune was so adverse, that she was in the hands of him that might force her to do that which he pleased, though the laws of God, nature, and the country, were contrary unto it. But she purposed rather to die, then to consent to his lewd will, and to esteem more of her chastity, than his favour, though she were but a mean person, and he a King; loath to change her honesty for his Kingdom.   

CHAP. XXV. How the mother of Philorenus to avoid the lust of the King of Castille, secretly fled out of the Castle with the Captain; and how, supposing her former husband to be dead, she married him, and had by him a Son named also Philorenus.  
THe foresaid Captain perceiving that my mother was so grievously vexed with sorrow for her captivity, came unto her as privily as he might, and comforted her as much as he could, promising that if she would trust him, he would release her from her imprisonment, and bring her home to her house or where she pleased. This, although it did not a little moderate my mother's grief, yet she feared lest she should not so much be delivered out of her misery, as change the kind of her calamity, and shunning one gulf, she misdoubted to fall into another, according to the saying.  
Incidit in Syllam cupiens vitare Charibdim, which caused her to be very doubtful in deliberation, not knowing what she might best do in that great perplexity. Nevertheless considering that the worst that might happen was, that she should be abused but by a Captain, where otherwise she should remain subject to the lust and riot of a King, making case of the vice, and not regarding the persons, she resolved to follow the Captain's counsel, thinking that it might as well prove for her benefit as contrarily, where if she remained with the King she could not hope for amendment, seeing lust cannot be quenched by virtue, but rather inflamed and stirred up to further wickedness. The Captain hearing her willing to use his help, told her that the King intended the next day after to ride to another Castle, where he purposed to muster his army, and to besiege the City Targonna, but meant to let him be as chief governor of the Castle: therefore he willed her to feign that she was extremely sick, and to yield the King a pleasant countenance at his departure, beseeching him to leave her there to rest, seeing she was ill at ease, & promising him that she would be ready, her health recovered, to do his Majeshy any pleasure and service it might please him to command her. And then (quoth the Captain) if you do but obtain so much of him, let me all one for the rest.  
She th●nking him for his great deserts towards her, promised to use the matter so, that she doubted not but to obtain so much of the King: as to be short, she did. For the King marched with his bands, and left her to the keeping of this Captain, who being appointed Governor of the Castle that night came unto my mother, and brought her one of his suits of apparel, willing her secretly to put it on her, and to come to his chamber assoon as she was ready: which she did, and was no sooner come, but he commanded the Watch to let down the bridge, and open the gates, for that he minded himself, only accompanied with one Gentleman, to make the scoutwatch, and to espy whether the enemy were about the Castle, or had sent any spies to learn whether the King were there, or to know what they went about.  
The watch forced to obey their chief Governor, although they thought it but little policy, notwithstanding that he might be thought venturous, to undertake that Service which most private Soldiers seek to put by, they did as their Governor commanded, and let him go forth with his companion, whom they knew not.  
The Captain and my mother being out of the Castle, he swore there, that he would for her sake never enter into the same again, or serve the King his Sovereign any longer, but after he had led her home to her husband, he would seek his fortune in some strange Country where he might be freed from the harm that might ensue by reason of the King's anger and indignation against him, carrying my mother away from him. Which she wept marking bitterly, that so valiant a Captain, and worthy a Gentleman should be deprived of all his wealth and substance, yea of that great honour and credit which by his virtue and prowess he had won among all his Countrymen, both in the Court and in the Camp, for her sake. But he most kindly prayed her to content herself, and not to care for him; for so he might do her pleasure, and so she might by his means, enjoy her content and wished desire, he should be satisfied, seeing he desired nothing so much as her bliss, and protesting that his chiefest felicity consisted only in her prosperity.  
She grieved for nothing so much as that she witted not how she might worthily recompense his deserts, could not be pasified, but wept continually, not caring for herself, but sorrowing that the good and valiant Knight had abandoned all, for to restore her to her former liberty, and to free her from dishonour.  
But by this they arrived at the village, where my father was not, nor any person in the world in our house; for my father thought not that he might safely stay in his own house, for fear lest he should be watched for, and by the King of Ca, styles command, be slain by the enemy. But he had put away all his servants and taken me with him insomuch that we were in a certain shepherd's house something far from the village which was burned, where no man durst dwell. The Captain therefore and my mother, entering the house, and finding no man, marvelled greatly, and by my mother's entreaty, departed thence towards the City Targonna, where she made great enquiry for my father and me, but they could not hear of us. But you must note by the way, that the Captain had changed his apparel and put on a shepherd's garment, and my mother likewise put off her man's weed, and attired self according to her sex. And within two or three days after they had been in city, they chanced to light on a certain shepherd; whom my mother knew well, and who knew my parents as well as any of all our village. Of this shepherd did my mother understand that the King of Castille returning to the castle where he had left her, and finding her absent, and the general Governor, whom he would have trusted with a greater charge, was so enraged, that he hanged the captain of the watch for letting him forth; and marching with his whole Army towards our village, he destroyed all that he met with, and put all the country men that he could find to the edge of the sword, sparing neither man, woman, nor child. This shepherd told my mother, that forasmuch as he had seen my father and me in a little cottage adjoining to our village, he thought certainly that we had not escaped the King's fury, but that we were both slain: which bad tidings so grieved my mother, that unless the good Knight had persevered in his comfortable consolations, she had either died for sorrow, or ended her grief by finishing her life with her own hands.  
On the other side, my father, who by good fortune was forewarned of the King's furious coming to the village, escaped the danger, which he was like to incur; but when he heard of the proclamation which was made throughout all the country by the King's command, etc. That whosoever could bring him the head of the same strumpet, which refusing to be his concubine, had by her dishonest enticements enchanted the heart of Don Alvares de Bazora, one of his chiefest captains in his wars (for so was the good captain called) and bewitched him to love her, & carry her from her husband, should have all the live that belonged or appertained to the foresaid Don Alvares. I say, when my Father had heard this Proclamation, thinking that my mother was guilty of the crime she was accused of, and supposing that she had changed her praised chastity into wantonness, he thought that she had alured the Knight to lewdness, which so grieved him that after he had largely and lamentably complained of her disloyalty, he took me by the hand and departed out of Arragon presently, travelling toward Italy, where in the Kingdom of Naples in a certain village called Cinqueni, he purposed to live the remnant of his life. In the mean time it chanced that the Kings of Arragon and Castille, seeing they could not by war become Lord the one over the other, they concluded a wished and durable peace among their countries, making a perpetual league of friendship between the said Kingdoms of Arragon and Castille. Insomuch that the King of Castille, returned to his Country with his whole army; and in short space were the villages and towns that had been sacked and burned newly built up again, and all the inhabitants of the country returned home to their houses, My mother therefore desirous to know whether my father was slain nr no, returned to our village with the Knight, to inquire for my father and me, but no man could tell her any news of us. Insomuch that she verily thought that he was dead, and I likewise, she lived in that state yet three or four months; which time being expired, the Captain made earnest suit unto her in reward of his service and faithfulness, seeing her husband was dead, to take him to her husband, swearing and protesting that he would be as loyal unto her as any man in the world might be unto his wise. She acknowledging that he deserved more than he requested, yet loath so soon to marry again, did drive him of as long as she could, till at length not able to gainsay his lawful request, she married herself unto him, and to the end she might forget her former deceased husband, the better thinking it but mere trouble to be cumbered with the remembrance of her dead husband being remarried, she and her new husband went to some bordering town of Castille, where they remained four years, having a child the first year named Philorenus, at my mother's request, she being desirous to have a new Philorenus, seeing she had lost the other. You must in like manner note, that the Captain sigh the first hour that he departed out of the Castle with my mother, named himself as my father was called (to wit Coreandro) to the end that he might be unknown; which name he retained as long as he lived.  
Thus they having long lived (as I said) four years in the borders of Castille, certain mutinies rising in the town of their abode, about the strangers that lived in the same place, they left that town and went into Italy, thinking the further they went from Castille, the more they should free themselves from the danger that might ensue if they should be known. In this voyage my mother, either by the necessity of her destinies, or the labour of her troublesome journey, fell sick, and passed her fatal day in a certain village of Italy. Her husband the Captain, though he so impatiently took the death of his dear wife, for whom he had brought himself into all these troubles, that he cursed the Fates, and blasphemed the Gods, for ending her life and not rather his own; yet after she was buried, he took his son and traveled on his journey, intending to pass over his life in solitary manner, admitting no occasion of joy or recreation, but only such as he might enjoy by the company of his young son, whom nature had left him as a pledge of remembrance of her whom he so dearly love; and it was his luck to sojourn in the same village which my father and I dwelled in, being called Cinqueni, as I have before mentioned where this Captain with his young Philorenus, and my father with his also, remained a fortnight the one not knowing of the other.  
This space of fourteen days being fulfiled, the King of Naples sent two thousand men to burn the same village and slay all the inhabitants thereof, for what reason I cannot now so well remember, and seeing it maketh not for my purpose, I will not stand upon it any longer, but let you know how that my father having had some fore-intelligence of the King's intent (as many more of our neighbours did, among whom I place the Captain, my mother's second husband) and therefore thought best to fly unto some other place: yet the Kings command being something hastily put in execution it happened that my father with all the rest were so suddenly assaulted in the night time, the they were compelled to leap out of their beds in their shirts and take their flight, leaving all they had behind them: so that neither my father had leisure to take me with him, nor the Captain to save his Philorenus; yet was our luck such, that though no child escaped untimely death, yet we the one not knowing the other, found mercy at the soldier's hands that were sent to execute the King's pleasure. For they taking pity on us, thought it was then a sacrilege to kill us that were so young, and by the disposition of our bodies seemed likely to prove comely men. In so much that we were both of us privileged from death and carried to the City of Naples, I by a certain Captain, whose hap it was to light on me, & the other Philorenus by a Sergeant, who seeing his father fled, ran towards him to bathe his sword in the poor innocent child his blood, for spite that his father had by flight escaped his fury: & coming near him hearing him cry, his choler turned into affection, and he so loved the child, being about three years and a half old, the he having neither wife nor child, intended to carry him to Naples, & bring him up as his own son. Thus we lived in Naples seven years & yet had no knowledge one of the other.   

CHAP. XXVI. How Philorenus the elder was brought to the Court by the King of Naples, who sent him Ambassador to the King of Persia.  
I Shall entreat you (most excellent Princess, and ye worthy Gentlemen and shepherds) to mark by the way, that as we were both alike in name, so we were in like manner so like one the other in favour, in plight of the body, in colour of hair, and in voice, that it was impossible for any one by the judgement of the eye to discern the one of us from the other, when I had attained the eighteenth year of my age, and the other Philorenus to the fifteenth year of his age; at which time he was fully as tall as I and in growth reached to the full proyortion of length and thickness that I was of. The reason where of was, that we both attained to our full bigness at fourteen years of our age, in so much that when he reached to fourteen years, he was fully in bigness equal to me.  
This therefore being committed to memory, you shall know, that after I had dwelled three years in Naples with the Captain who had brought me thither, it happened, that the same Captain marrying the daughter of a certain Knight of great account, celebrated the feast of his Wedding in very solemn manner. For not only the chiefest Noble men of the country were invited thereto, but the King himself also, who disdained not in proper person to honour my Master's Wedding day.  
The ceremonies of the marriage being finished according to custom, in memory of Hymenaeus, there was a most sumptuous banquet made ready for the King and those Nobles that were ministered. And it came to pass, that the King casting his eye upon me (who among other my fellows served my master's guests at that feast) liked me so well, that he asked the Captain, whether I was of his affinity or kindred? The Captain said, that I was no kin unto him, but that he esteemed of me as of his son, in that a father can but give life to his son, as he had done to me, showing to the King where he had me, and how he brought me from the village Cinqueni. The King glad that he had saved such a proper lad from so unhappy and peremptory death, prayed my master to resign over the title he had to me unto him, promising that it should be both for his profit and my welfare. To make few words, of a Captain's boy, I became a King's Page; and that day taking leave of my old master. I went to the Court, where I so served the King, that I could not but please him; insomuch that his Majesty loved me as dearly as if I had been some Noble personage, suffering me to want nothing, allotting me no worse company than his own son, being about the same age that I was of, who affected me as if I had been his natural brother. Thus I lived in this happy estate about two years, till Fortune remembering that she had brought me to the top of her wheel, began to threatem my hapless dawnfall from all felicity, into the depth and profundity of adversity, wishing me no better luck than my parents had had in their time, though she had at the first gladded me with such good hap, thereby to make me the more impatient to suffer her cross, and malicious entreatments in time to come. For it is a thing most certain, that among all men that are oppressed with adversity, none can so ill away with their mishap, as they that before lived in great prosperity.  
But lest I digress from the matter, know that the King having had intelligence by certain Merchants out of Persia, that the King of Persia mustered his men through all his dominions, intending to make a voyage into Spain, and to bring a mighty Army to invade the country of Spain, because the Kings of Castille, Arragon, and Portugal had refused to give their daughters in marriage to his son, fearing lest if Spain were invaded, Italy should become subject, and considering, that he had entered into league with the King of Persia, and divers times joined with him against other Kingdoms, but loath in this expedition (so likely to turn to his wrack) to become a helper or confederate, purposed to send me into Persia unto the King, to procure a peace between him and the aforesaid Kings of Castille, Arragon, and Portugal. I, though I thought myself altogether unfit to be employed in such honourable kind of service, and matters of such importance, yet seeing it was his Majesty's pleasure, as I thought it no manners to seem unwilling, so I prepared wy self to put his Majesty's pleasure in practice, and to provide all things necessary for such a journey, Therefore knowing the King's pleasure. and the effect and sum of my message, I took my leave of his Majesty and the Queen, and in like manner of his son Hyppolito (who was so sorry for my departure, that he could scarce bid me farewel (& so dispatched myself from the Court, being accompanied with nine men. What success I had since my departure from Naples, you shall hear afterwards.   

CHAP. XXVII. How the younger Philorenus, being taken for the elder, was imprisoned by the King of Naples his command.  
THe second day after I went from Naples, the other Philorenus (son unto my Mother by that Castilian Captain) dwelling in the same Ciwith the Sergeant that brought him from Cinqueni, chanced in the evening time to pass by a Nobleman's house, where Hyppolito the King's son had been at supper; who standing at the door among certain Gentlemen, espied this Philorenus, and thought undoubtedly that I was the man, and that I had changed my apparel to the end that I should not be known to be Philorenus, which he imagined that I should have done, being unwilling to go in Ambassage unto the King of Persia, and yet feared to ask leave to stay at home, and to be discharged of that so troulesome a service, I being unaccustomed to deal in affairs of so great moment and importance.  
He therefore stealing from his company, followed my brother (for we came both out of one womb) and when he saw him in place where least company was, he took him by the slip of his cloak, and calling him by his name Philorenus, bade him not be grieved though he were overtaken by him, seeing it was his luck first to be espied by him, that was the best friend that he had in the world. My brother knowing Hyppolito the King's son, began to fall on his knees, to honour him according to the manner of the country, marveling that the young Prince used such words unto him. But Hyppolito loath that I should be known (for the King and all the Nobility knew not but that I was departed from Naples for Persia) with something an angry countenance, uttered these words. Philorenus, if thou be wise follow my counsel, and leave these tekens of honour, lest thou be bewrayed, and if my request will not serve, let my commandment move thee to be more prudent and follow me. Philorenus my brother, ravished with marvel what this meant, and fearing to displease him, who might make him repent his offence, did as he commanded. And so they went together to the court, where Hyppolito bearing my brother into his chamber, and shutting up the door lest any of the Courtiers should interrupt them, and know of my being there, (thinking nothing less than that the same Philorenus was my Brother, seeing neither I myself knew that I had a Brother, nor my Brother that he had a Brother in the Court, by Fortune lifted to so high estate) began in this manner to speak unto him.  
Ah Philorenus, who would have thought that the great discretion and wisdom, whereby you have obtained such love and credit at my father's hands, had so lost his force and vigour, that it suffereth thee so indiscréetly and fond to behave thyself, being employed by his Majesty in a matter which might have been committed to the chiefest person of the Realm? And art thou so bereavest of all thy wits and understanding, that thou thinkest we are all so blind, that because thou hast put on another Garment, we should not know thee? Thinkest thou that we are so forgetful of thy favour, that the change of apparel is able to make thee unknown unto us? No, no, Philorenus, and although all other men were taken with oblivion of thy Face, yet the Picture of thy Visage, the Lineaments of thy Face, and the very Physiognomy of thy Csuntenance, is so deeply engraven in my heart, that no time, no change, no alteration, no colour, nor no deceit is able to raze out the print thereof.  
Wherefore I cannot enough marvel Philorenus, that seeing thou knowest how I am affected towards thee (insomuch that thou canst not ask any thing of me that lieth in my power to grant thee, and be repulsed) thou hast notwithstanding so madly sought so dangerous (if I may say my mind) so cowardly and base means to shake of the charge committed unto thee by the King; whereas if thou hadst but let me know how thou wert unwilling to be employed therein, I would have entreated my father, and persuaded him to send some other into Persia, that I might have enjoyed your company, for whose absence I doubt not but you perceived how sorry I was. And now, first you know, that though you were never more seen by us or known, yet you should be deprived of all the credit and honour which you had in the Court, being compelled to live in obscurity and base manner, wanting both wealth and fame.  
Besides also; perpend not only what injury you offer the King, but also the loss and detriment unto his subjects, and the neighbour kingdoms of Castille, Arragon, and Portugal, in that my father's intent is frustrated, and an embassage of such moment, serving for the welfare of so many worthy kingdoms, neglected. The consideration whereof, I hope will make you come to knowledge of your fondness, yea rather madness, in committing so heinous an offence and hurtful trespass, whereby you had deserved the King's indignation, who no doubt if he were acquainted with this your frantic kind of dealing, would with no less pain than death punish your delict,  
But I judge that the Gods tendering thy fortune, have made thee so happy, as that thou shouldest be espied by me before thy sinister do were bewrayed unto any other, and so revealed to the King my father, to the end that I might provide some remedy in this case, and save thee from the danger which otherwise thou wert like to incur.  
My brother Philorenus, who all this while stood astonished, not knowing the event of this matter, marvelled what fury haunted the young Prince, to make such a large discourse unto him; he knew not what he meant by his embassage, or what affair the King should have committed to his charge seeing he had never been near the King, and was altogether unknown unto him; and therefore he knew not what he might imagine of this accident. But knowing that who so cometh near the fire is in danger to be burned, that who so playeth with the streams may be drowned, and that they that are near Kings are subject to their power, began to fear lest this sport should be turned into spite; and this young Prince his pastime tend to his wrack. And therefore he fell on his knees and made Hippolito this answer.  
Most excellent Prince, I am a poor young man, unknown in all places of honour, and especially in the Court; howbeit that I know not how your grace knoweth my name. For I confess my name to be Philorenus, yet I vow and protest before the Gods and sacred powers of heaven, that I never lived in the Court, never wore more sumptuous apparel then now I do; never spoke unto his majesty or your grace, and that I know no more of what embassage you speak, or what charge you talk of, than I knew at the hour when I was first born. Wherefore I beseech your grace to pardon me for I speak the truth, as your grace well knoweth, who taketh pleasure to mock his humble servant.  
What Philorenus replied Hippolito, hast thou not told me thyself that thou wert born about the borders between the Kingdoms of Arragon and Castille, that thy father was called Coreandro, thy mother Delbia (for that was our mother's name) and that by reason of the wars between the said Kingdoms, thy father came with thee, and dwelled in the village Cinqueni, being under my father's subjection, whence thou were brought to Naples? Is not this most true? if not, say I lie,  
God forbidden (quoth my brother) that I should be so impudent as to give your grace the lie, seeing that I may in more decent manner deny that which is contrary to verity then so. And seeing I confess all that to be true which your grace hath specified concerning my parents, my country, and my translation from the place where I was born unto this country, I hope your grace will pardon me if I deny that I never told the least point thereof unto you: for heaven confound me if ever I spoke unto your grace before this time.  
Hippolito moved to rage, burst out at length into these words. Well Philorenus (quoth he) I perceive thou art more than mad, and that thou dost openly mock me, for I say that the Gods are not Gods, if they confound thee not for thy falsehood. It were to be pardoned if thou didst only offnd against me, but seeing thou callest the Gods as witnesses of thy horrible falsities and lies, I cannot forbear it. But I pray thee tell me one thing; hast thou any brother living? No, (quoth my brother.) why then (qd. Hippolito) art thou the same Philorenus that my father the King had from the Captain, upon the same day that the said Captain was married; who said that he brought thee from Cinqueni. True (quoth my brother) I was brought from Cinqueni, but yet I know no Captain that was married, or that gave me to the King's Majesty. And if it will please your grace to go with me, or send to the house where I dwell, you shall both know of him that brought me from Cinqueni and all his neighbours, that I have dwelled these seven or eight years with him, even since the time that I was brought from the said village Cinqueni. It is a marvellous matter (qd. Hippolito) Philorenus, that thou wilt go about to persuade me to a tale, and to move me to believe thy lies. For if thou wert a God I durst say thou liest. For thou hast no brother (so thou dost confess) and I take all the Gods to witness that one named Philorenus born in the same place that thou acknowledgest thyself to be born in, and of the same parents that thou claimest to be thine, and of such fortune as thou sayest thine was. Then tell me how is it possible, but that thou thyself must be the man. And albeit thou hadst a brother, yet you should not make me believe that he can be so like thee, as that I should be so absurdly deceived. Therefore seeing thou art so obstinate, thou shalt try what thou art able to gain therewith.  
Herewith Hippolito taketh him by the hand and leadeth him unto the chamber of presence, where all the Gentlemen and Gentlewomen began to cherish and welcome him, ask the cause of his sudden return and why he had so disguised himself in apparel.  
My brother almost out of his wits witted not what to think, but that either they were all more than foolish, or he born to be scoffed and mocked at: yea he could not a great while be persuaded but that he dreamt. But Hyppolito looking upon him, and seeing what countenance he bore, burst out into these words, all the Courtiers standing aboot O most cunning counterfeit who ever saw the like? No doubt Philorenus doth not or rather will not remember, that ever he knew any of all this noble company of Gentlemen and Ladies, whereas notwithstanding, they all disdain not to acknowledge, yea and claim old acquaintance. As he had so said, the King came into the chamber of presence to see what the matter was, (for he had already heard something touching my coming as they thought) and seeing my brother, welcomed him after this manner, Ha' our Ambassador, you have either had wings to fly, or you have as much seen Persia as I have seen Jove; but I pray you tell me what may be the cause of this your holi-day-coat? Have you met with fools by the way? or are you a weary of a Courtier's life? if the one, I was well addressed to send such a Legate to Persia, and if the other, I will soon relieve thee from that care.  
With that the King being angry at the heart, commanded his son Hyppolito to take order that he might be put into prison till he had deliberated what death he should die. Which thing when distressed Philorenus heard, he fell on his knees and began thus to entreat his Majesty to be merciful unto him. Most excellent Monarch, I beseech your Majesty by the religion & duty that all mortal men own to the divine powers, to hear me clear my  of all such crimes which it should seem that I have committed against your majesty. For I perceive that either it pleaseth your Majesty to exhilirate & glad your Courtiers with my misery, and threaten me imprisonment and death to give them occasion to laugh at my simpleness and innocence, or there hath been some other man of my name and like me, that hath committed this heinous offence against your Majesty, which most falsely is attributed unto me. For I protest before heaven and earth that, I am not that Philorenus (if such an one hath been here) as I will prove by the soldier that brought me from Cinqueni, with whom I have dwelled ever since I was by him brought to Naples; as he and all his neighbours shall testify, or I'll die what death your Majesty shall please to appoint.  
The King hearing him so soberly protest and swear that he was not the same Philorenus they took him to be, commanded him to tell one of his guard where the same soldier dwelled, which when my brother had done, the King commanded the same man whom my brother said was his master, and four or five of his chiefest neighbours, should the next day come before him.  
Insomuch that the same Sergeant being called Signori Valentino, accompanied with three or four Gentlemen of great credit dwelling in the same Parish, with him were brought, appeared before his Majesty according to his command and my brother being brought before them, the King asked them whether they knew that fellow?  
They all answered yes, and told the King all other circumstances concerning my brother's Parents, and his coming from Cinquent to Naples, affirming all what they had said, upon their oaths.  
The King marvelled that all things agreed with the Philorenus for whom he took him to be, both his name, the place where he was born, the name of his parents; and other accidents only this different, that he had dwelled with a Captain which gave him to the King, where these men testified that that Philorenus whom they had present, had dwelled with the Sergeant till that present day, and never entered into the Court; insomuch that the K. began to think that there were two brothers of them, and that they themselves knew it not, by reason that they were separated one from the other so timely. But to the end that he might be the surer of this matter, he sent for the Captain of whom he had me. Who being come, and having seen my brother; the King asked him whether he knew any privy token about my body whereby he might know me, if there were one in the world so like me that he might hardly be known from me. Such token (answered the Captain) I know none, my Sovereign Lord; neither is it necessary, for I nor any man that hath eyes can doubt of this man, but that it is Philorenus whom I brought from Cinqueni, and I will not only say so, but also affirm it by oath, and die upon the same. The other Gentlemen that were present said that he might be deceived, for that they had already deposed the contrary.  
To make few words if the King had not been present, they had gone together by the ears, and tried the matter not by words but by wounds rather, and by fight come to knowledge of the right Philorenus, but the King commanded them to return to their mansion place, and to leave the person concerning whom the question grew, (to wit my brother) with him, for that he would not be satisfied, but would have him kept in hold till such time as he might send into Persia after me to know whether I were there or no: imagining that if I were found there, than the same Philorenus that they had in the Court should be my brother; and if it were so, the King intended to give him some high office; but if contrarily I were not found in Persia, than it should be manifest that the same Philorenus was no other but the man who he was judged by all the courtiers to be, and both he and his pretended master, with the other Gentlemen that were before the King, should with death be punished for their madness, in taking upon them to depose such falsities, and so openly to mock with their King and Sovereign.  
Well, they being returned, and my brother clapped in hold, two Knights were dispatched from the court to Persia, who taking their journey th● same way that I was prescribed to take, at every City that was of any fame, he enquired for me, but in vain; for they passed into Persia, and yet could hear nothing of me: neither in the way as they went thither, nor in the Court of the King of Persia, the reason whereof was as followeth.   

CHAP. XXVIII. How the elder Philorenti, going on his journey, was taken by Egyptian Robbers. How the other Philorenus escaped out of prison by the means of Mistress Ceraf●lla.  
AFter I had traveled two days from Naples, as I road with my men through a huge wood, we met with five and twenty Egyptians, who having certain Cells in that Wood, lived upon the spoil of those that passed through the same. These Villains, ugly in countenance, in colour resembling Devils, and in stature Giants, having espied us, and seeing that we were able to outrun them being on horseback, marched on before us, as if they had not thought of us till they had reached to a place serving fit for their purpose, where our horse hindered us more than they could advantage our valour. For we entered into a Thicket full of Thorns and Brambles, where we were compelled to alight, and lead our horses by the bridle, and had more trouble to pull them after us, then to pass ourselves.  
Now the Egyptians therefore thinking it time to pursue their prey, came all of them towards us, and being most of them armed with demi-pikes and javelins, set upon us so fiercely on the sudden, that we scarce knew whether were the best, to resist their fury, or yield to their mercy. But seeing we had no time to deliberate upon the matter, quick expedition was necessary, and I perpending that all the mercy that such villains had was more than cruelty, I thought it better to die in the defence of our honour, then to fall into the hands of such barbarous rascals.  
Then I drew my sword, as also all the rest did that were with me, and abandoning our horses, we dealt with the villains in such sort, that we wounds three or four of them deadly, but yet we could not escape their hands, by reason that they were so many of them, and had the vantage of us, in that they had half-pikes, and we had none. To be short, the end of the conflict was such that I could more deplore it then avoid it; for the most of my men were slain, the rest escaped by flight, and I being thrust through the arm with a pike, was taken by the Egyptian villains, and bound hand and foot, and so htey cast me upon one of our horses, and brought me to their cells; whither they also conveyed the horses and my baggage. When I was brought to their cell, they began to consult what they should do with me. For they thought it pity (which affection did not proceed from any good disposition in them, seeing they were bereft of all good qualities, but rather was bred in them by the will and pleasure of the Gods, who being moved to mecy would deliver me from the wicked villains) to kill me, seeing they had gotten so great a booty by me; and on the other side, they feared that if I should escape, their knavery should be detected, by reason that I did not only know their wicked kind of deal, but also the place where they kept themselves, being the most secret place in the world. But after they had a long time deliberated upon the matter, they came by me and brought me such meat as they had (though I had no great lust to eat) and untied the cords wherewith they had bound me, but they put on a pair of shackles on my legs, for fear I should outrun them. Thus I lived among them the space of nine or ten months in such misery, that I wished death every day to deliver me from the wretched life which I led in that pitiful kind of captivity,  
But I will return to my brother, whose hap was evil by reason of my mishap. For the knights that were sent into Persia to inquire for me, returned to Naples, & informed the King, that they had not heard any thing of me, and that they could assure his Majesty, that I had not been seen in Persia, nor in any place between Naples and Persia, save only in one town about one days journey from the Court, in which place they had certain intelligence that I had been seen. Other information they had none. The Sergeant my brother's master, and the other Gentlemen his neighbours upon this news, fled, fearing lest they should have been unjustly put to death, blaming Fortune for that she dealt so cruelly with them, that they were compelled by flight to save their lives when they had not in any manner deserved death. But the King being informed of their flight, caused all their lands and live to be confiscatcd, and adjudged to his exchequer, and my brother Philorenus was the same day arraigned and condemned to be torn in pieces with four horses. But it chanced on that day which was appointed for his execution, that the Queen fell in labour, and was delivered of a daughter to celebrate the feast of whose birth, my brother's execution was prolonged thirty days; for the King would not have any such act commited all the time the Queen lay in childbed. In the mean time (most gracious Princess) may you think in what taking my poor brother might be, that witted not how he might escape that cruel death which he was ordained to die, although his conscience cleared him of all offence or crime, whereby he might deserve any punishment.  
But at last, Fortune minding either to alleviate his grief, or to bring him into greater troubles, suborned a certain knight's daughter which attended on the Queen, to snatch occasion at the delay which she heard the King had commanded to be made concerning the putting of my brothex to death; and to seek means to deliver him out of prison, and thereby to save his life, For this Gentlewoman being called Cerasilla (whom I loved better than myself) thinking, with the King and all the rest of the courtiers, that my brother was the same Philorenus that courted her, and so earnestly made love unto her, that she might eastly perceive that he loved and honoured her above all other women; when she heard that Philorenus was condemned, she was exceeding sorry. But the good chance of the Queen's childbearing, by reason whereof the time of his death was prolonged, something assuaged her dolour, and gave her hope, that she might find means to recompense the service which she supposed he had done her.  
Therefore upon the third day after the young Princess was born, considering that all the Courtiers were merry, and took more care how they might pass over the time with making good cheer, and recreating themselves with divers sorts of pastimes▪ then they did in looking who were present or absent, or who went in or out of the chamber of presence; she stepped from the Queen's privy chamber to her chamber, and there araying herself in man's apparel; (for she had a suit belonging to her brother, which he had left in her chamber) and taking her apparel under her cloak, she hieth to the Gentleman that kept my brother, and finding him busy with playing at tables, asked him how it fared with Philorenus? the Gentleman thinking that she had been Mistress Cerasillaes' brother (for he knew the , and her brother being but a young youth without any hair on his face, she was not misdoubted to be any other than he himself) told her that Philorenus would perhaps be as merry as the rest, if he knew not the day of his death, which though it were prelonged, yet it abated not his grief. I pray you (quoth the transformed Gentleman) may not a man talk with him? Why not (quoth the Gentleman?) If you please to speak with him, I will open the chamber door where he is, and you may go to him. And with that the Gentleman let her in, and went to his tables again with the Gentlemen that kept him company. She being entered into the chamber where my brother walked up and down very heavily, salute● him and spoke unto him in this manner.  
Philorenus, albeit you perhaps are of opinion that I did indeed despise the courtesies which you have offered me at divers times, as I seemed to make light of them in word, and that I rewarded thy service with inward hate, as I feigned by outward frowardness, yet I hope thou shalt in time by trial prove this surmise false, and be forced to confess that she is not ungrateful whom thou so often hast accused to be cruel. For though I did repay thee with a frown when I wished thee a favour, and yielded thee a lowering countenance when I wished thee a pleasing smile, to make proof of thy constancy: I doubt not, but now seeing I make thee acquainted with the cause, thou wilt not take the effect in ill part.  
My brother, admiring at the strangeness of this speech, witted not what to answer. For he knew not the person that spoke unto him, and was in doubt whether it was a man or a woman, her apparel showing the one, and the course of her talk the other: and therefore he thought best not to interrupt her discourse, but to hear the end of her tale, which she continued on in this manner,  
And considering (sweet Philorenus) that the greatest pleasure that may be done unto any man is to save him from the terribleness of untimely death, I am resolved to show thee no less gratuity and recompense for thy faithful and loyal service, then to free thee from the King's rage, or myself to incur the same danger that you be in yourself. Unto which purpose I have myself put on my brother's , and brought mine under my cloak to attire you therewith, and so lead you out of this chamber where you are imprisoned, and rid you from the danger which you know that you now are in.  
And for as much as delay breedeth danger, I pray you dispatch and follow my counsel, for the Courtiers are all so filled with wine, that we may pass and repass without suspicion.  
My brother was so perplexed, being surprised with gladness and grief together, that he could scarce tell what he should do; for though he suspected that this Gentlewoman mistook him as the King and the other courtiers did yet he feared lest she had been suborned by the King to brin, g him into a fools paradise, and so to aggravate his misery. Wherefore as he stood amazed doubting what were best for him to do, she urged him in this manner to make speed.  
Loving Philorenus dost thou now make so strange of her, that to save thy life putteth her own in hazard? Hast thou forgotten whaf pleasure thou wert wont to say I did thee in giving thee leave to speak to me, and art thou so chary now of thy tongue that thou wilt not utter one word? Thou hast oftentimes sworn that thou wouldst not spare thy life to do me service; and now I venture mine to do thee pleasure, wilt thou not accept of my service?  
My brother considering that the worst that might ensue was death framed her this answer.  
Sweet Lady, if I have displeased you with ungrateful silence, persuade yourself that the only cause thereof did proceed of the joy which I conceived of your presence, whereby I was wrapped in an ecstasy; insomuch that my tongue and my other instruments of speech, as I thought to have welcomed you, denied me their accustomed duty, having lost their operation by reason of the excess of gladness which possessed my soul. But I beseech you go not about to undo yourself to save me, lest in seeking my weal you procure your own woe, & so where but one should suffer death you bring both in danger.  
Mistress Cerasilla glad of his answer, but sorry to see him make no more haste, to do that which she desired, she spurred him forward saying.  
Sweet Philorenus doubt not but I am persuaded of thy love towards me, and that I think of thy silence as thou sayest. As for the rest, let me alone I hope where you fear we shall both fall in the trap, that we shall neither of us be snared in the net, and therefore be ruled by me, seeing women's wits have sometimes brought that to pass which men's minds hath admired.  
To be short, my brother became mistress Cerasilla in attire, and was apparelled in her , whose body was the habitacle of my heart, accompanied by the Saint whom I worshipped though absent, and in whom my mind dwelled, though my body was in subjection to the villains that kept me in their cells after they had rob me and slain my men. Yet if I had then known of the love and affection of my mistress towards me, and how willingly she would have endeavoured to deliver me from the barbarous entertainment of the Egyptian thiefs, if she had known that her faithful Philorenus was so afflicted; my misery (though it had been greater) could not have been half so troublesome unto me, nor my filthy prison so noisome. But lest I be troublesome unto this worthy company by digressing from the matter, know that my brother passed for mistress Cerasilla, and she for her brother, and bidding the Gentleman that was charged with him Adieu, they departed leaving him so busy at his game, that he tended his play more than his prisoner. Insomuch that they making all the haste they could, marched through the Court, and resembling that they went to walk in the fields, they spared not their legs, but sometimes running, sometimes going a round pace, they did advantage their journey in such manner, that the next morning (having traveled all night) they reached to the wood where I was, there thinking themselves out of danger, they rested.   

CHAP. XXIX. How Philorenus the younger, and Cerasilla lost each other in the wood: and how the elder Philorenus, was delivered out of the Egyptians Cell by Cerasilla.  
NOw though they had made sufficient provision of money, yet when hunger began to gnaw them, having digested their meat by their walk or rather flight, they witted not what shift to make for victuals. Insomuch that they went straying up and down the wood to see if they could find any roots or wild fruit growing there, intending to feed on them, till finding the way to some house they might buy other kind of meat. But mistress Cerasilla, being weary of ranging and overtaken with sleep, lay down amidst the bushes, and prayed my brother also to rest himself a while: but he having more mind to eat then to sleep, bid her take her rest and he would in the mean time seek for some victuals against she waked. Insomuch that he marked the place where he left her, and went towards the side of the wood whence he might see a chimney smoking. Whereof glad, though he feared lost he should be met with, he ventured and went to the house, where he found a poor old woman sitting by the fire all alone, and desired her of all friendship, to let him have bread for his money. The woman perceiving that he was some Gentleman of account (in mean time may it please you to note that my brother and mistress Cerasilla had changed apparel in the way. each taking that suit which agreed to their sex) told him that she had bread, but she feared it was too brown for his eating but he desiring her to let him have it such as it was, she brought him four loaves, which he took, and paying her as much as she asked, to the wood he returned as fast as he could: where he had espied a fountain, and therefore stayed not with the old woman to drink, she proffering him a glass of Cydar, being a kind of wine made of apples. For he purposed to carry mistress Cerasilla bread first, and then to lead her to the said fountain, and there with her to quench his thirst. But when he came to the place where he left her, mistress Cerasilla was not there; for waking out of her sleep, she went to see if she could meet with him; for because he had been something long away (seeing the place whither he went for bread, was about one league from the wood, and he had wandered up and down the wood about two or three hours, ere he came to the wood side whence he espied the smoke) she suspected that he was lost in the wood, and could not find the way to come unto her again. And so it came to pass, that she seeking him lost him, and he not finding her, lost himself. For he was so distracted with sorrow and grief, that as a man abandoning all hope, & in a manner despairing, he sat down, and laying his elbow on the ground to support his head, began in this manner to exclaim against Fortune for her spighfull entreatment,  
Ah Fortune, I perceive my destinies have ordained me to be the subject whereon thou mayest work thy power, and show thy inconstancy: and whereon thou dost plant the banner of thy forces, and hang up the trophies of thy victories: For who is there that is acquainted with the course of my life, that dare deny, but that every part thereof hath been guided by Fortune, and subject to her accidentary government? For after the day of my birth (the circumstance whereof may be attributed to no power but to the hidden secrets of dame Nature only) was it not a chance and accidental cause. that I should with my cradle by my parents be carried out of my country, and live in exile, before I knew what exile, yea what life was? was it not (say I) a token of the sparkles of anger which began to glister in the heart of Fortune, and a manifest sign that she began to menace and threaten me some disastrous hap in time to come? For I lived not many weeks after, but I saw the fire flame, which was kindled of the former sparkles, and I tried the force of her menaces- For before we could reach to any place where we might sojourn, death bereft me of my dear mother, before nature allowed me to acknowledge the benefit which by her I had and did receive.  
This done, Fortune seemed not not to have wreaked her anger sufficiently, and as yet became nothing more meek; for after my mother was buried, and her funeral rights celebrated, we came to the village Cinqueni, where I was deprived of my father, all the hold of my hope, and the pillar of my welfare. Now Fortune thought herself prettily well revenged on me that had never offered her any wrong, and began to turn her frowns into smiles, and her anger into favour. For who can deny, but that it was an especial good turn of Fortune to snatch men out of the cruel claws of griping death, whereas none other might escape the rage and fury of the massacring soldiers that were sent to overthrow the said village, being the place of our habitation? Unless it be so that I had some brother, who (though I knew him not) received the same favour at Fortune's hands that I had, to the end that after we had been shrined up by Fortune, I in the house of the good Sergeant, and he in the court, we should both of us fall into the gulf of extreme misery, and that being led into adversity, we should feel the effect of Fortune's anger, which for a time she dissembled, feigning to favour us, where she procured means to wrong us.  
But among other calamities, what can be more grievous unto me, then to be so separated from my brother (if I may by Nature's consent claim any such title) that I never should have seen him yet, nor be like to see him hereafter? Neither is it a less torment for me, that by him I should be brought into these miseries, and that he should be cause of all my mishap, who no doubt, if he knew it, would if he could redress my calamity. But seeing he is not in Persia, assuredly some mischief hath befallen him, wherewith Fortune hath purposed to work both our destructions. The Gods grant that I may prophesy falsely, though the apparent show of all things force me to divine the contrary. And lastly, this latter pinch of Fortune's spite, in that she is absent who is the cause that I am present, (yea, simpliciter that I am, for without her I had now not been at all) in rancour doth surpass all the malice that hitherto she hath ever endeavoured, laboured, or enterprised against me. Ah sweet Cerasilla, courteous Cerasilla, yea most loving Cerasilla, how wilt thou blame and accuse me of monstrous ingratefulness if thou suspect that I have puposely left thee of free will and counsel, and voluntarily abandoned thee? But I hope thou wilt not hold such opinion of me but rather impute this hapless chance to Fortune, who hath sworn to make me miserable.  
And alas whither shall I go, or what way shall I take? since the sweet guide is taken from me in whose company I came hither, my coming is not from imprisonment to liberty, or thrall, dom to freedom, or from death to life; but rather from one kind of captivity, bondage & death, into an other; altering the manner of my misery, not abating the extremity of my calamity.  
Therewith my brother Philorenus, not able speak to any longer for the multitude of sighs which he fetched from his heart, and tears which spouted out of his eyes, he wept most bitterly, in which plight I will leave him a while, and declare unto you what Fortune mtstresse Cerasiila had: who having strayed up and down the wood a long time, and calling for Philorenus as loud as she could, weeping & lamenting his absence in most grievous manner, at length she espied the cel where I was penned up by the villains, who had that morning shifted me, and taking my apparel with them to sell it, gave me an old garment of theirs to cover my body withal; and so leaving no man but me in the cell, barred the door on the out side and went their way: and Cerasilla having eyed the cell, hoping to find Philorenus my brother there (for she had forgotten her hunger) made haste to draw near, & knocking at the door she heard her first Philorenus speak, for whose cause she made such account of the other being my brother. For when I heard one knock, I asked who was there? whereupon she answered. Ah sweet Philorenus! (thinking that I was the other whom she had lost, for our voices were not more different than our faces) what art thou there? I must confess myself beholding to Fortune for this good hap; but why dost thou not let me in? I having forgotten her voice, it being altered by reason of the affection wherewith in a lamentable manner she pronounced her words, replied. Whatsoever you be whom fortune hath sent to comfort me after my long imprisonment, if you will see me, then must you from the outside undo the door, and remove such bars or stops that hinder or let you from entering seeing I am shut in, and cannot come forth.  
Cerasilla marveling at my speech, with a knife she cut the string wherewith the cell door was fastened, and opening the door, asked me where I was? insomuch that I looking by the light that came in at the door (for it was dark within) I saw Mistress Cerasilla stand before the cell, the sight of whose presence cast me into such a trance, that it might have been thought I had been metamorphosed, as they that looking on Medusa's head were transformed into stones. But when Cerasilla saw that I neither came, nor gave her any answer, she stepped into the cell, where she saw me lie on the ground, not only tongue-tied without speaking, but also leg-tied, being bound with a strong cord. Which sight, although it was sufficient to make her lose her wits, & become as much altered as I was myself: yet the necessity wherein I was requiring aid, moved her to overcome her own passions and to add her helping hand to wake me out of the ecstasy wherein I lay. At length being come to myself, I said. Ah what fortune hath sent thee to this solitary wood to deliver me from this misery? Whose presence is more welcome to me, then if some heavenly Goddess had come to lose the bands which your most delicate fingers have untwined. and therewith twisted the knot of the true and sincere love, wherewith I most loyally honoured thee for the time that I lived in the Court. Ah Cerasilla had I known that thou hadst been so mindful of my service, and that thou didst accept of the pains or rather pangs which I suffered for love of thee, the calamity which I have been pestered with in this noisome prison, for the space of these ten months or more, had not been so grievous unto me as it hath been. For the sweet thought and pleasant conceit which my brains hath been occupied with, in perpending and remembering your excellent beauty and rare virtues, hath taken more force in the pareke of my understanding, and so cumbered my mind with the delightsome memory of your personage, that it had quite blotted out all thought of the injury which I have received at fortunes hands, and expelled all such grief from my heart which I did take for the pitiful and lamentable entertainment which I have had in this loathsome cell. Where ever since the second day that I departed from the Court for I have been compelled to abide, being fallen into the hands of certain Egyptian théeves, who haunting these woods, violently set upon me and my men, being either all slain, or some fled, rob me of all my treasure and baggage that I had with me, and either pitying to kill me outright, or rather supposing they should use me too courteously if they ended my misery with death, they have kept me here in this cell in such manner as you find me; leaving me here this morning, and going to some town or other to sell the apparel which I had, seeing the money which they found in my male was much diminished, and their store greatly impaired.  
Cerasilla ravished into admiration by the strangeness of this accident, was doubtful at the first of me, thinking that I had been the same Philorenus that came with her from the Court, and whose life she had saved by her policy: but well perpending my words, and applying them to the things both passed and present; she remembered that the Knights who were sent into Persia said, that they had heard that I had been seen in a certain town within two days after I departed from Naples, and besides, she did see that I had on other  then the man whom she left in the woods, which forced her to believe me, and to know how she had been deceived in taking another man instead of me.   

CHAP. XXX. How Philorenus the elder came to the Court with Cerasilla; how he came to meet with his brother, and apprehended the Egyptian thiefs.  
I Will not here make mention of such congratulations and cherishments as she made me; leaving it unto your discretions to judge how joyful men be at such happy meetings. In the mean time, it may please you to understand, that Cerasilla told me all that had happened in the Court concerning the other Philorenus, how he had not only my name, but my favour and my fortune, being born where I was born, exiled where I was in exile, and had the same parents that I had for mine; how that he was in the Court taken of all men for me, how that the Knights were sent into Persia, and bringing news that I had not been there, he was condemned to be torn in pieces by four wild horses. And finally, how she had delivered him from danger of death, and lost him in the wood, supposing that it had been he when she heard me speak. Whereat I did the more marvel, by reason that I never heard that I had any brother. But after we had parleyed of all things, fearing lest we should be taken together by the villains before we were out of sight of that accursed cell, we went into the wood as deep as we could; partly to escape them, and partly to find Philorenus my brother, for as Cerasilla could not be altogether merry for the hard luck that he was lost, so was I exceeding sorry, by reason that I so greedily desired to see him; to know whether he were my brother indeed or no. And as we had for the space of one whole day and night ranged up and down the same huge wood, at length we purposed to return to the Court, and to certify the King of all matters, informing his Majesty of the right truth. Hoping that his Majesty would not only pardon Cerasilla, who was forced by love to do whatsoever she had practised in going away with Philorenus my brother; but also by proclamation recall him again, and the Gentlemen in like manner, that were fled to shun his unjust wrath and anger, restoring them their goods and livings that were confiscated. As in truth his majesty did. For when we were returned to the Court, not without great admiration of the King & Hyppolito the young Prince, with all the rest of those that were in the Court, and kneeling before his Majesty, had declared the whole estate of all such accidents and events as had happened, he did not only pardon Cerasilla, but descending from his chair of estate embraced me and so courteously welcomed me, that I well perceived that his Majesty was not otherwise affected towards me, than he was at my departure from the Court.  
Furthermore, he rested not▪ but the same day recalled the Gentlemen that had testified how my brother had dwelled with the Sergeant, and not only restored them their goods and lands, but also bestowed no small gift on the said Sergeant my brother's master; taking order besides, that my brother should also be recalled, promising that as soon as he were returned to the Court, he would Knight both him and myself: in memorial of that so rare an example of two brothers, that were so like one the other, the one nevertheless not knowing of the other.  
But I to revenge the injury done unto me by those Egyptian théeves, and to punish them according as they for the cause of their abominable and wicked life merited, I obtained leave of the King to take one of the companies that lay in garrison in Naples, for the custody and safeguard both of the City and Court; therewith to march to the Celestina where those villains had kept me so long: and coming thither we had such good luck, that we took them all saving one being but newly returned to the cell the night before. But missing one of them I commanded two or three soldiers to go into the cell, to see whether they could find no more there. They finding none but one being bound in such manner as they had used me, thinking that it was some poor man that the villains had caught (for they could not see what he was in the cell) brought him forth unto me, whom I and all the company that was with me presently knew to be the other Philorenus my supposed brother. Which thing so filled my heart with joy, that I embraced him before he was unlosed. He not knowing who I was at the first marvelled, but after he had heard me declare unto him how I had found Cerasilla, that had showed him favour, he perceived that I was the same Philorenus whom he was thought to be, & beholding me, at length burst out into these or such like words.  
Sir, seeing I neither dream, nor behold my proportion in a looking glass I confess that both the King had great cause to bear an opinion of me as he did, and these villains to use me as they intended; who meeting me in the wood as I had lost mistress Cerasilla, thinking I had been the man they rob & kept in their cel, & because I denied I knew either them or their cel, they appointed to kill me assoon as their fellow was returned, whereby I perceived that you had been in their hands, and had got from them, seeing they could as little be persuaded that they had never seen me, as the King & all his courtiers; for in truth I myself, if I had not known as much as by fortune's frowardness I have tried, concerning the similitude & likeness between your person and myself. I would now have thought, that you had been of the nature of the glass that receiveth the colour of every object body: whereas you say that the Gods strive against fortune to free us from her frowardness, I am constrained to say no less, seeing that it hath pleased their Deity by him to lose me from this danger of death, by reason of whom (though not by his procurement) all my troubles and miseries took beginning. Wherefore seeing that our luck is such that as the evil success of your fortune was cause of my misery, so the recovery of your hap hath bred my bliss, and delivered me frem the extreme peril wherein my life was placed. What may I say less, but that the Gods knowing how we have by fortune been wronged, have rescued us from her fury.  
But because it would be too long for me to rehearse, and tedious for you to hear the end of his speech, and the other talk which we had between us, concerning such matters as had happened by reason of our great likeness, I will only tell you, that after we had had some conference touching our parents and other matters, we caused those Egyptian villains to be tied to the horse tails, and so trailed along the ground till we came to Naples, where the hangman saved his labour, seeing that no person thought he had done his duty unless he had helped to pull and tear the flesh of some part of those Egyptian wretches, that had caused such confusion, and wrought so much harm, had not the foresight of the merciful Gods hindered their intent. Insomuch that within two hours after these Egyptian slaves had entered the gates of the City, they were by the people halled and pulled into a thousand pieces.  
I will not here make long rehearsal, how honourably my brother was used by the King, but it shall be sufficient if I declare how that the King after he had welcomed my brother in all courteous manner with a pleasant countenance, as well bewraying grace and mildness, as Majesty and glory, remembering his promise made unto me in word, did perform no less indeed, and Knighted us both together the same day.  
Now (most excellent Princes and worthy shepherds) did we think that we had so trodden fortune under foot, that she was not able ever to rise again, or impair us any more. Now lived we as two brothers in all kind of prosperity, and so high hoist to the top of bliss, that we little thought that any power had been able to cast us down and deprive us of our present felicity. But alack we found the contrary by trial, and were compelled to acknowledge our error by experience. Better had it been for us with the careful and waxy Mariner to consider that an extraordinary calm, is token of some future tempest to come on the sudden: for then as he at such times striketh his sails, and shunning the dangerous seas, commendeth his bark to the secure haven; so we foreseeing the danger unto which we were subject in our great prosperity, might have escaped the events which brought our adversity. But seeing things past may be deplored not recalled, and repent, not amended; I must needs say that we bought had I witted, at a dear price: as you shall understand by the sequel of this history. But seeing I have not yet mentioned any thing concerning my father, and the Captain my brother's father, since that they fled from C●nqueni, at the time that we were brought from thence to Naples, I mean first to let you know what luck they had in their flight, before I go any further in declaring the success we had, so securely triumphing in the Court, after we were delivered from so much misfortune and evil hap as for a time we suffered, only by the malice of those Egyptian villains which were suborned by fortune to shake the foundation of our felicity.  
When Cinqueni the place whence we were brought to Naples, was by the soldiers sent by the King to execute his wrath on the inhabitants thereof, peeled and spoiled, Coreandro my father thinking that I was dead (for he had heard that none in all the village were left alive, neither men, women, nor children, and he did not know that I was saved by a Captain and led unto Naples) thought to return home again to his country, and there live among his friends, seeing he had no other comfort in the world, being by fortunes pestilent hatred, bereft not of goods only, but of wife and child also. Insomuch that he having resolved to return home to the place of his birth took his way from the said village along the coasts of Italy towards Arragon, where after he had marched one day, the next morning rising betimes, to take the advantage of cool Aurora, before Phoebhs' rays compelled the travellers to seek for shadow amidst their journey, he passed through a little short wood where he heard the other Coreandro, the good captain my brother's father, lament and bewail his hard fortune, in this manner.  
Ah Fortune, men paint thee standing upon a Globe, as thereby deciphering thy inconstancy: which their opinion made me always deceive myself with vain hope, trusting that thou wouldst once turn thy frowardness into lovingness and thy frowns into favours. But I perceive thou hast made choice of me by experience of mine own miseries and adversity, to oppose myself against all men in thy defence, seeing that where as they all generally hold opinion, that thou art the very essence of inconstancy and mutability, each one particularly exclaiming upon thee, and blaming thee for thy fléeting unstableness; I in contrary manner am forced and compelled to affirm against them all, that thou art not inconstant or unstable, but rather too much constant persisting and stiff in thy purpose, hard to be moved, stiffnecked, continuing to the end, tough, and hard to be overcome.  
All which may be manifestly proved by the course of my life, by the adventures that by thy appointment have chanced and happened unto me, which all of them have been so unhappy, so infortunate, and so unlucky, that it were a hard matter to judge which of them deserveth the superiority in name and title of infelicity. In all which my abversities, thou hast so constantly remained in thy envious and malicious frowardness, that in this my latter mishap thou hast not any whit deflected or turned aside from that cruelty which thou didst use against me in all my other misfortunes. What shall I then say? shall I call thee constant because I am forced to say that thou art inconstant or mutable? No, no, constancy is too laudable a virtue to be attributed to such a spiteful and hard-necked Goddess. Thou art not constant, because not inconstant, for the extremity which corrupteth the virtue is as contrary to virtue as virtue to vice. Insomuch that I cannot attribute unto thee the name of constant, unless it be in envy, spite and cruelty, for so thou art ever, & in hatred, rancour, & malice, dost thou continue always. Thy delight is to see others grieved, thy sport to see others spurnod with the kick of adversity; thy play to see others pained; thy pleasure consisteth in plaguing them that implore thy help. Thou laughest at them that weep for their mishaps to move thee to pity, thou scornest them that honour thee, thou mockest them that praise thee; thou deceivest them that trust to thee; thou abusest them that flatter thee, and them that despise thee, thou endeavourest to be revenged of them; though they of all others lest care for thy might, lest fear thy power, & therefore are least injured by thee. Fret at them thou mayest and some, stare, and stamp, but hurt them thou canst not, for it passeth thy Deity to overthrow them that with true patience▪ forbearance and sufferance, shield and arm themselves against thy spite and rancour.  
Therefore seeing that those that invoke thee most religiously, are most unrighteously by thee injured; that those that most deserve to be rewarded, are most punished; and that those that account most of thee, and think of thee most reverently, are most neglected, and most villainously dealt withal by thee. I that have thus long most zealously made thy altar smoke, by reason of the incense which I have always from my cradle offered unto thee, will and do now forsake and leave thee, as knowing at last, and acknowledging the error and heresy wherewith I have thus long been infected. Hereafter shall not Coreandro serve thee any more, or offer thee sacrifice, seeing thou hast not only spoilt him of his goods and riches, but also deprived him first of his dear and wellbeloved Delbia, and now at last, of his dear son Philorenus, whom thou hast appointed to be most barbarously killed and murdered fn his childhood, and left me alive to bewail and lament his untimela death.  
My father hearing the latter end of the Captain's plaints, marveling what he might be that so railed at fortune for an other man's mishap and mischance; for he having heard him repeat the injury which she had offered Coreandro, he thought he had meant of himself, and went into a certain thicket, where he saw the man that so blamed and exclaimed against Fortune for her severe and cruel deal with Coreandro, in depriving him of his lawful wife Delbia, and his well-beloved son Philorenus: but because he knew him not, nor remembered that he had ever seen him before that time, marvelled greatly what he should be, and how he came to know him and me, for he had heard him name both him and me.  
Wherefore after he had well looked on him, and throughly beheld him, he spoke unto him in this order. Sir, I pray you not to be displeased with me for pressing so near you seeing the cause which moveth me thereunto, proceedeth not from malice, or intent to trouble or injure you any way, but rather from love and affection, desiring and wishing to comfort or pleasure you according to my power, which by Fortune's frowardness is so impaired and weakened, that my good will is more to be regarded then my ability. I perceive by your face and heavy countenance, that you have some cause to exclaim against Fortune either for yourself, or for some other. But by the way, I am moved by the remembrance of the good amity and great friendship which in times past hath been betwixt me and Coreandro (whose mishap in losing his wife and son I heard thou so pitifully to lament) to be so bold as to ask you why Coreandros' case so grieveth you, as that he himself could not more bewail his own misfortune, or be more grieved thereat, than you are?  
The good Captain not knowing my father more than he was known by my father, framed him this answer. Good sir, though I had had any occasion (as I have had none) to be displeased at your coming to me, yet by reason that you have been so well acquainted with Coreandro, as you say, your coming unto me, could not but have been so welcome unto me, that all displeasure would quickly have been banished and forgotten. For the great love and affection which I bear unto that man, and did bear to his wife Delbia, and his son Philorenus, above all other creatures in the world, is the cause that I so lament and bewail his miserable and pitiful mishap. Wherefore seeing I have answered your question, I pray you tell me where you have been so acquainted with Coreandro? Where (quoth my father?) in Spain, in Arragon, in Italy, at Cinqueni, and in every place where Coreandro himself hath been, insomuch that he was not where, but I was with him, nor I any where but he was by me. But I pray you (quoth my brother's father) do you know him if you see him? Should I not know him (quoth my father?) As well as myself. Why then (quoth the Captain my brother's father) you know that I am Coreandro, do you not? Nay (quoth my father) rather do you know that I am the man, Then I perceive (said the other) that you came to mock with me, and so entreated me not to be displeased with you, intending to give me cause of displeasure before you meant to departed from me. Nay verily (answered my father) now I mark what the matter is; you knew that I was to pass this way, and therefore you came to this place to lament the misfortunes of Coreandro, to draw and entice me to come unto you, and so to be mocked and laughed at. But know whatsoever thou art, that if thou be so favoured of fortune, that thou challengest licence to scoff at them that by fortune's spite are forced to grieve for their cross hap, thou mayst so be punished by the just judgement of the revenging Gods, that thou shalt be moved to cry peccavi too late, and to acknowledge thy offence, when it will be too late for thee to repent.  
The good Captain hearing my father so earnest, witted not what he might think of the matter; but he began to remember, that his wives first husband was called Coreandro, and that he also had a son called Philorenus. But because he thought that he had been dead long ago, he could not think it should be he; especially because it seemed by him, how that he had lived of Cinqueni, and that his son Philorenus (that is myself) should have been killed of the same soldiers that had slain his own son, who was also called Philorenus, for the same reason which hath already been told you. For it seemed scarce credible to him, that the other Coreandro and his son, whom he thought both to have been dead long since, should have lived so near him, and that he should not have heard of him; yet he thought best to set aside all anger, that in case it were he, he might shun all occasion of strife and immoderate speeches: and therefore though he saw my father so hot, yet he nothing changed, spoke thus coolly to him. Sir, I neither knew of your coming by this way nor ever saw you or knew you before to my knowledge, and therefore the Gods punish me with their wrath if I tither scoff or mock with you: but as I came from Cinqueni, being overburdened with the sorrow which I conceive for the loss of my child, which was killed at the said village by the barbarous soldiers, I entered into this grove, & was forced by the muliitude of my miseries, and greatness of my grief to rail at that most cruel Goddess Fortune, who taketh delight to glut herself with the overthrow of mortal men. And was your son (quoth my father) called Philorenus? Yea, that he was (quoth he.) And was your wife (quoth my father) called Delbia? She was, answered he again. Why then, quoth my father, if thou be Coreandro, thy wife Delbia, and thy son Philorenus, what shall I be with my Delbia, and my Philorenus? For if I am not Coreandro that had to wife Delbia, on whom I begot Philorenus now massacred at Ginqueni, heaven plague me.  
The good Knight hearing my father so solemnly protest that he was Coreandro, desired him to make him some copious and true relation of his life, what he was, where he was born, in what place he was married, and by what fortune he was brought into Italy; and how that then he would satisfy him in all points, and so content and certify him that he should not only know, that he did not jest nor mock with him, but also confesse and acknowledge, that he had very great reason to think himself mocked of him.  
Whereupon my father very largely rehearsed unto him, the whole discourse and history of his life, whereby the good Knight knew that he was that Coreandro whom he thought had been dead, and therefore had married his wife Delbia by whom he had his son Philorenus. And presently he told my father all whatsoever had happened and chanced between my mother Delbia and him, how he saved her from the villainy which the King of Castille intended to use against my mother, how he brought her to her village house to look for him, and not finding him there, they went to the city Targonna to seek him: and how they afterwards understood of certainty that he was dead, as he could verify and prove by divers of his wives friends at the City Targonna.  
Besides, he told my father in like manner, that coming out of the Castle to escape the better, he called himself Coreandro. And when he was come forth, he being credibly informed of his death, married Delbia, and that he had within a year after a son by her, whom she would have also named Philorenus, in remembrance of her first Philorenus, whom she supposed to be dead. In a word, he left nothing untold, but let him know the cause of his wife my mother's death, with his voyage to Cinqueni, and all other things that happened even till their meeting.  
My father greatly rejoiced at this discourse, partly for that he heard such particularities of his wife, of whom what was become, he never had heard any certainty, and partly also, because he was disburdened of that heavy load of false suspicion, bred in his breast by reason of the King of Castile's odious proclamation made against my mother Delbia. For until the very hour that the good Knight, the other Coreandro my brother Philorenus his father, had informed him of the true verity of all matters concerning my mother Delbia, did he verily think and persuade himself, that my mother of wantonness got secretly away from the King of Castille, not to seek him her husband, but to run away with the Knight, and lewdly to live with him, setting aside and quite giving over her kind love, and amiable kindness which she was wont to profess to her quondam dear husband. And therefore now knowing the contrary, although he made exceeding sorrow for her death, yet the persuasion which reason by means of the good Knights true and not dissembled relation, had engrafted in his heart of her loyalty, did not a little comfort him in this his singular perplexity, both for the loss of so good a wife, and so dear a son. And besides all this, the company of so valiant and worthy a Knight, and virtuous a person, (in all points as little beholding to fortune for prosperity as himself, seeing they both lamented the death of one woman, and especially the pitiful mishap of us their sons (thinking that we were massacred at Cinqueni) which were unto each of them most pleasant objects to remember their Delbia our mother, and most sure pawns and tokens of her chaste and loyal love towards them our fathers) did breed him such solace, that he thanked the Gods for bestowing so much comfort upon him in this his latter, and greatest extremity. In like manner the good Knight Don Alvares de Bazora, of late Coreandro, pouring out tears incessantly for joy of his good hap in meeting so luckily with my father, thought himself in ample manner beholding to the Gods for that singular benefit; profesting that he could not, being in that case, have wished for a more blessed day then that, wherein he so happily met with my father. Thus joining in company, they marched together towards the City of Targonna in Arragon, intending there to live and die together, enjoying each others presence, glad of each others company, having each of them lost his son. Where I will leave them in this their journey, and return to the rest of mine own fortunes, and my brothers, who now both of us were lifted up to high estate, and so prosperously lived in all kind of sovereign pleasures, that we thought it as possible for fortune to abase the greatness of our weal, as for us to impair the divine estate of the heavenly powers.   

CHAP. XXXI. How Mistress Cerasilla died for sorrow that she could not discern the elder Philorenus from his brother. How he became enamoured on Aureola, and the conference that passed between them in the Garden.  
TO the end that I may let you understand how soon we were forced to recall our minds from that heresy it may please you, most excellent Princess and noble shepherds, to know, that we (I mean my brother and I) living in this most happy estate, began by reason of our great leisure, which the peaceable quitnesse of the Neapolitan Estate yielded us, so to give ourselves to all kind of sports and pleasures, that we thought that day ill spent, wherein we had not invented some new delight to pleasure our Mistresses withal. Now we invented new kinds of dances, now strange manners of Vaulting, now rare Masques, now new devised Interludes, and in one word, all kind of toys that Italian wits had bred in times past, we either altered or augmented; wherein we used such dexterity, that we seemed to have been born to that purpose. But howsoever we behaved ourselves therein we were so liked of all the Courtiers of both sexes, that our company was grateful to all men, and shunned by no man. The King the Queen, and Hyppolito the young Prince, so loved and favoured us, that they would not deny us any thing that we could ask. And we, as we found ourselves to be brothers (having the same Name, Parents, Country, Shape, & fortune) so we swore everlasting friendship, and allegiance one to another, so loving one the other, that though I know that it were impossible for any man in the world so to love any one as I loved him, yet am I forced by the consideration of his wonderful deserts towards me, and by the trial which I have had of his loyalty, to doubt whether my love or his were the greatest.  
And because we would in all things be alike, and deprive the world of all means to know and discern one of us from the other, we continually apparelled ourselves alike, both in the same colour, fashion, and order. Insomuch that it was hard for the best discerning wit that the world could bring forth, to know the one from the other, or to find any difference between us. Which thing, as generally it troubled most of all the courtiers, so particularly it was cause of Cerasillacs' death, who (as I told you before) bearing me good will, and taking my brother for me, when she conveyed him out of prison, and saved his life, and having lost him in the wood, afterwards also delivered me from the villainous Egyptians, and so was cause of all our bliss. This poor Gentlewoman, loving us both excellently well, and deserving likewise to be honoured of us, for very sorrow that she could not discern me from my brother, pined, and falling into a consumption died. Whereof though we were passing sorry, yet the youthfulness of our young hearts receiving the impression of the beauty of a young Gentlewoman, sister to the Countess Verina, quickly forgot the funerals of Mistress Cerasilla. Yet because we could not but acknowledge that we were in great sort beholding unto her, we bestowed this Epitaph upon her.  

Sweet sweetness lies beneath this marble stone,  
Which prays all loving hearts her death to mourn.  
Her flower is fallen, though were her years but green;  
When Life's most sweet, she bitter Death hath seen.  
We, that of her this here have written in,  
Had, but for her, now neither of us been.  
By 

Phi lore nus.  
Phi lore nus.     
But leaving her in her sepulchre, I will return the sister of Countess Verina, who being a most beautiful Gentlewoman, named Mistress Aureola, so enchanted my mind by the commanding force of her sweet face and sugared tongue, that I admiring the much decent colour of the one, and the well governed volubility of the other, was so ravished in the pleasing delight which her perfections caused in my heart, that I judged no woman fair, none witty, and none eloquent, but golden Aureola. Who as she passed all women in comeliness of body, and pure snowlike whiteness of skin, so none came near her in those hidden qualities which bred in the brain and fostered in the heart, are made known by the tongue. But to be short, such were her graces both inward and outward, that they pierced my heart in such manner, that I was forced to acknowledge myself her servant, and Cupid's captive, being subdued by his policy in using the imperial beams of her beauty, instead of darts to infringe and break the privilege of my liberty. Well, I loved Aureola, and so loved Aureola, that for the love of Aureola I could have hated myself.  
I then being in this case, began to employ my brains in searching out manner, and procuring means to make my affection known to the Saint I so truly honoured. And truly in short time not Aureola's self only, but my brother also, began to perceive the fire which being kindled in my heart, did cast out such a cloud of love-smoak. Now I glad that Aureola knew the manner of my sickness, but gladder that she seemed not malcontent of my welcontentednesse, and nothing displeased that my brother was acquainted with my passion, seeing that he was an Alterego, myself in. I will not say another body, (for it was too like mine to be differenced) but another place; thought myself the happiest man that lived.  
Ye may judge how much more blessed I would have accounted myself to have been, if I might have doubled my single life by marriage with her. Unto whom to lay open the pain which punished my heart for the cause of her, I sought occasion very diligently. Insomuch that opportunity being presented unto me within a few days after, and espying her walking by herself and the trees alone in the garden, where her sister's lodging was, I thought it but a negligent part to omit that fortunate hour, and therefore knowing that the Countess her sister was gone to the Queen, I posted to my mistress with a sound courage, hoping to return victorious, or with good hope of victory. Into the Garden I stepped, and having set on half a dozen paces forwards towards her; I might see her turn, being at the end of the walk. Whose heavenly face so dazzled mine eyes with the glance that she cast from the other end of the garden, that I soon acknowledged, that no Sun could so have dimmed my eyes, but the double Titan which like two little worlds of grace are such ornaments to her face, that as they are beholding to it for that it hoardeth them, so is it bounden unto them because it is by them adorned and beautified.  
At length I came so near her, that manners warned me to salute her, though I was so astonished at her celestial shape, that I could more fix mine eyes to behold her with admiration, than fashion my mouth to salute her with civility. Yet love taught me to beware of committing so foul and gross a fault, as not to give her a courteous good morrow, who was the efficient of my disquiet evenings. Therefore greeting her after the humblest and lovingest manner my passion forced me she answered me after this manner. Good morrow sir Knight, you are very maticuous this morning, whatsoever the cause be; but I pray you what weather drove you towards these quarters so early? Truly Madam (quoth I) my good fortune: seeing I have met with no worse company than your sweet self. For as I passed by the Garden wall, by chance looking over with a long neck, I espied you walking by yourself alone and so I thought it good manners to step near and give you the buen giorno. And if I thought that my boldness in pressing so near you, perhaps in such time as you had rather give respite to your solitary delight, than otherwise be troubled, should offend you; as I came intending not to displeasure you, so I would departed without performing any thing whereby you might have occasion to be discontented. No, no, sir Knight (quoth she) beshrew me if ever I could be offended with good company, neither have I any such melancholy humour as to delight in being alone, but that sometimes I am compelled to be solitary for lack of good company. And then I must of necessity walk alone, and recreate myself with viewing natures diligent business in beautifying the earth with such pleasant ornaments and fair tapestry, as passeth all artificial industry, I mean these fine herbs and flowers, which both in smell and colour so delight humane senses, that we must needs acknowledge ourselves beholding to dame nature, for presenting us with such a worthy kind of delectation. But you are now come even in good time to let me know your opinion in one thing that I am breaking my brain upon. What is that Madam (quoth I?) Marry (quoth she) this. You see here Violets Roses, and Lilies, growing all together in one place, I have been musing with myself a great while which of all these three should bear away the praise, if question were made which of them were the finest flower; for I promise you, in my mind they seem to strive each with other in excellency. They do verily Madam (quoth I) and seeing you desire to have my foolish verdict in judgement of their excellency, I think in this case, we ought to have a regard unto nature's intent, and take advice of her who seemeth to use policy in the manner of the growing of these flowers, that the Rose-bush grows thick and untowardly, the Rose budding out in divers places without order, and seemeth rather to serve for a wall or hedge to environ other flowers, as is apparent by the intent of him that hath planted these roses as the curtain running about the bed where he placed the Lilies. In like manner the Violet also groweth confusedly and low, close to the ground to be token humility, and so the Gardener hath planted them in this place to be as it were the foot-cloth and coverlet to shroud the homely face of the earth from the glorious aspect of the stately Lilies, which growing most proudly on one stalk, being erected most straightly, and bearing majesty, seem to challenge the supremacy. Insomuch, Madam, that my opinion, following the intent both of Nature and the planter, is to crown the Lily with the garland, bearing title of the finest flower, as unto which, I déem all flowers inferior for divers respects. And therefore no doubt did Juno the Queen of heaven, challenge the Lily as presently belonging to her calling it her Rose: for thereby hath and is the Lily yet called Junonis rosa. By my faith, sir Philorenus (qu●th she) you have said prettily well as touching this matter. But yet me thinks we ought to consider the inward virtue of the flowers as well as the outward bravery. The Lily is stately indeed▪ but yet the Rose it serveth for many good uses, and being either preserved or conserved is kept a long time In Apothecary's shops, to be ministered unto men in their sickness, whereas the Lily only serveth for the senses of smelling or sight, and being fully opened, is either with the wind blown of, or withereth and decayeth in the pride of Phoebus, being mounted in his noon-point. Nay but Madam (quoth I) I think you form your question which was the sinest flower, which I meant not for the virtues or natural efficacy of the flower, but rather the exterior shape and show thereof. And yet I doubt not but the Lily hath many hidden and secret virtues; for I have have heard that the water of the same flower, yea and of the herb thereof is very good for divers purposes, which by hap you better know than I myself, seeing they be peculiar and proper to your sex. Well, well (quoth she) be it so sir Philorenus; But as you well mentioned, I understand the matter as you do, and move not the question for the interior quality, but for the exterior accidents.  
Compare then the Rose to the Lily, what fairer sight can the clearest discerning eye see then a Rose, so providently form Nature, that it seemeth rather to be some artificial collection of leaves wrought by science, than a natural bud spreading itself abroad, and making show of such a glorious beauty as all the most learned workmen of Italy cannot do the like.  
I perceive Madam (quoth I) that you are an especial favourite to the Rose, but for my part the lil shally bear away the honour: for if you stand upon the form or fashion of the flower, I pray you how can a fairer or better made flower be seen then the Lily? which being made in the form of a Bell with the Clapper in it, hath been by divers Ladies called Campana Virginea, the Virgin's Bell And to say no less than is true, me thinks it well deserves the same name, seeing it doth in stately growth, resemble the well-fashioned proportion and stately countenance of maids, in colour their whiteness, and in the yellowness of the séed, the golden locks of their glorious hair: insomuch that divers parts are beholding unto the Lily for arguments of similitude and comparison which it yieldeth them, thereby to exorn and commend the whiteness of divers Gentlewomen, whose praises they penned, saying they were Lily white, like Lilies stately, soft and slick as Lilies, and as the Lily so sweet. And to aver a very truth, what is there of all sweet sweet scents comparable to the sweet swéetness of the Lily? Nay stay there sir Philorenus (quoth she) for what sweeter smell can the nicest nose wish for, then that which the Rose yieldeth: for in my judgement the Rose casteth the most glowing smell of any other flower. The most glowing smell indeed Madam (quoth I;) for it is of such a forcible and strong scent, that it giveth sufficient notice to men, that it is bitter in taste. And to say that which must be said, in my fantasy, it giveth too strong a smell to be compared to the sugared sweetness and sweet delicateness of the dainty Lily, which yieldeth the choicest smell, and most fragrant scent that can be. But in the mean time sir Philorenus (woth she) whilst you magnify though Lily, and I the Rose, the forgotten Violet may justly complain of the wrong we offer it, that we so contend & strive to set forth the praise of the Rose and the Lily, that we give no commendation to it, though it deserve to be highly esteemed: notwithstanding that thou said before, that it grew low in token of baseness. And seeing you do so stoutly stand for your stately Lily me thinks I dare nevertheless compare the base Violet as you term it, to the proud Lilly. For doth not the sweet Marjoram grow lower than the rank Fern? and yet how far the lower excels the taller in swéetness and virtue, you will not, nay you cannot deny. In like manner the fragrant Time, so beloved of the painful, grows close to the ground, where the Broom sprouts very high; yet is the Time of other virtue than the Broom. And so of many more flowers which I need not mention, seeing one or two may serve for an instance to falsify your small reasons. But I pray madam (quoth I) deal not so sophistically with me, as to argue with me a Male conjunctis. For I say not that the Lily is the finest flower because it grows highest, for so I would grant my reason were but fond grounded; neither do I say, that the Lily deserves the head praise among all flowers because it grows not confusedly, but in decent and comely order; for there are many flowers that growing disorderly, in swéetness of scent surpass divers well ranked flowers; and lastly, I say not that the Lily is the excellentest flower because it is so sweet a flower: but thus I form my reason. That, stately stateliness, white whiteness, gallant gallantness, and sweet swéetness, all these predominant qualities meeting together in the bravo Lily, make her worthy to be honoured as the fairest, finest, and bravest flower that Nature hath framed.  
By this the Countess Verina being come to her lodging, Mistress Aureola was to retire from the garden to her sister, and so I was forced to leave her, having miss of my purpose, and no time to break my mind to her in plain words, although amidst our dispute concerning the excellency of flowers, I used such passionate looks, that she might well perceive whereto my discourse tended; but howsoever she thought of it, I know not, but our parting was so amiable, that after I had lost the sight of her, I felt that I parted from her without parting. For my body might well be contained in some other place than hers, but my mind followed her wheresoever she went, as trustily as her own shadow.   

CHAP. XXXII. How Philorenus the younger was enamoured on Aureola, concealing it from his brother; and how his brother came to the knowledge thereof.  
IN the mean time (excellent Princes and worthy thy shepherds) you may note that my brother loved her (I mean my golden Aureola) as entirely as I myself, his love being unknown to me. For though he knew that I loved her, yet was I not as yet acquainted with the love that he bore Aureola. And in truth, because he knew she was the only air by which I lived, rather than he would do any thing to procure my disquiet, resolved himself to die for love of Aureola, rather than he should opportunate Aureola to love him, and to deprive me of that without which I could not live. Insomuch that although he so loved her, that for her he would willingly have yielded to death, and resigned his life, yet he no way to offend me, did not only conceal his love from Aureola, but also occasion being offered him to talk with her, did spend all that time in commendation of me, protesting unto her, that I was so faithful, constant and loyal, that if she would deign to reward my love with love, and if she did love me, she would have cause to glory of her hap in fancying him, and placing her love on him, who would prove the faithfullest Amant that was in Italy.  
Besides this, he made divers verses in praise of her, and together with sundry brave and precious jewels presented them unto her, saying that I had sent them; whereas in truth I knew not any thing of them. Insomuch that more by his industry then mine own diligence (though I neglected no dutiful service required in that case) at length I obtained the love of mine Aureola. For she loved me so affectionately, that I might judge her love to be of as great force as mine, though indeed it was of such nature, that it was divided between us both, I mean my brother and me, for we being so like one to other that we seemed to be but one, we could not shun reciprocation in love; but whosoever loved me, could not but love him, and whosoever loved him, could not but love me. And although I had certainly known that Aureola loved my brother equally with me, as well as I did but guess that it was so, yet had I been nothing sorry, but rather rejoiced greatly that I had obtained so fair a Lady to be both my love, and my brother's friend. For in verity such was my affection towards him, that I could not wish any thing to myself wholly, without wishing part of it unto my brother, being most ready always willingly to part from any thing which I knew he wished, and with a good heart to cease and leave from desiring or wishing any such thing whatsoever he had a mind unto. But my brother marking that Aureola could not tell which of us two she loved best, or which of us was most worthy of her love, and thereby equally loved us both, was very sorry, fearing lest I might be grieved that I did not myself only enjoy all the love of Aureola. And therefore he began to exhort me to seek means to be joined unto her in marriage, thinking that so she should be forced to withdraw her love from him, and wholly be addicted to me being her wedded husband. To effect which matter, she continually urged Aureola to make promise of marriage unto me very forcibly persuading her thereto; and telling her that I who thought my life no life but in respect of hers, should never be able to live perfectly until such time that I being united and tied unto her in the knot of wedlock, might enjoy her as my wife: until which thing were brought to pass, I should live a most lamentable life full of doleful discontent.  
Furthermore he promised her, that if she would vouchsafe to condescend to my honest desire, and his earnest request, he would move the King and Queen to deal with her sister the Countess, and her other friends, about the contracting this marriage, and obtain their good will and consent thereto. Aureola. although she was very unwilling to do so, yet because he should not think that she would not grant my request for that she equally loved him with me, seemed to grant our request, and to be willing to have the marriage contrived between her and myself. Yet she would not have any mention made of it unto any of the Court till three months were ended, for certain respects which moved her to conceal the matter so long. Which were none other (as afterwards we knew by experience) but such as proceeded from her own unwillingness to be tied to me, and so to be deprived of the love of my brother, For it afterwards was manifested, she so loved us both that she wished in her heart, that she might have been married to us both; thinking that she should not perfectly have enjoyed one of us, if any other woman had been married to the other▪ judging that we were both but one, and ought not to be separated. And therefore above all things did she desire that she were beloved of us both, seeing we were both engraved in her heart, that she might not think of the one, without remembering the other.  
But my brother thinking that Aureola had a bonnefoy purposed after the time of three months expired, to marry with me, made me glad with the news which he brought me of her mind, although himself therewith was utterly spoiled of his felicity and welfare, which I came to know by this means.  
It happened even upon the expiring of three months, on a certain morning betime, that I rising something early, walked abroad in the fields without the City, to a little wsod not far off, to recreate myself with a solitary walk, being as it were wearied with the turbulent multitude of people, both Citizens and Courtiers. Which wood, when I had but even entered, me thought I heard one sorely lamenting his estate▪ and by the voice knowing that it was my brothers, I listened very attentively to know the cause of his complaints, whom I heard thus to cry out against fickle fortune.  
Yea, Fortune, yea, Thou art Mistress, and wilt be Mistress, Philorenus must testify the same, and register in the bottom of his heart, that he was born to be crossed by Fortune I thought that the Gods had forbidden thee to vex me any more, but I perceive thou wilt do what thou wilt, though heaven deny. But accursed mayest thou be of heaven, earth and hell, for so denying mortal wights, that thou seemest to have no Deity, but such as is procured by the glory which thou takest in making men miserable. Yet why do I so blame Fortune, seeing that if another man were in my case, he would think himself infinitely beholding to her, in causing all things to fall out so agreeing to his humour. For thou lovest Aureola, how much thou knowest; then seeing thou hast had sufficient token of her love towards thee, and considering that he that loveth desireth nothing so much as mutualsy to be loved of her whom he doth love. how canst thou complain of Fortune?  
Again, when your mind was such that you wished her to be wholly your brothers, and desired that she should be his wife, you see all things happen to your pleasure, considering that Aureola hath promised to marry herself to him, and yet you will will exclaim against Fortune: all this is true. But the Hag doth let all things fall out according to my mind, knowing that in doing so she doth most torment me. For she hath made my life so miserable, that no content can be harboured in my disquiet breast, being the very habitacle of restless thoughts.  
And in this thing is the means which she useth in vexing me contrary to all other mishaps and evils, in that she vexeth me with effecting those things the effect of which I most wish for and desire. Which thing how strange it is I leave to the consideration of those that have the use of their wits▪ seeing by fortunes envy I am myself deprived of that benefit. Alack, what shall then poor Philorenus do, seeing he is so entangled in the love of Aureola that he must either die or enjoy her as his own? and yet so loveth his brother (who cannot in like manner live if separated from the same Aureola) th●t he will die a thousand deaths rather than be disloyal to him. Die therefore Philorenus, die; and seeing there over not as well two Aureolas as there be two Philorenus', make thyself lifeless and thy brother happy, he being one Philorenus alone, and enjoying one only Aureola, And put case thou wert dead, Philorenus, and dead for no other purpose but to make thy brother happy in the highest degree, oh how sweet a death would such a death be unto thee! But yet thou mightest be deceived; for thou knowest, nay so knowest that thou canst not doubt, but that, that life will be but a bitter life unto him, thou being without life, and so thou mightst by thy death procure to him either a bitter death, or a life worse than any death. What then resteth thrice miserable wretch, if that thou canst neither live to thy mind, nor die to thy mind? Die living and live dying, and yield thy heart to receive each print of grief; that thou mayest always die, being torn with tormenting pain, and yet never be dead, lest thy plague rebound from thee to thy brother: and therefore I bid thee farewel Aureola, farewel, my brother must enjoy thee, and I must suffer you both.  
After that he had so shut up his complaint, as if he had signed it with the seal of death, he fell down on the ground, being unable to stand on his feet any longer, & there he lay struggling as if soul and body would have parted, so strong and vehement was the pang that pinched him. Insomuch, that although I was loath to show myself unto him there, lest he should know that I had heard and seen him, yet compassion becoming master amongst my affections, for that he needed help in that case, forced me to run happily to him to aid him. But he no sooner espied me but leapt up again so suddenly that if I had not both seen and heard his former scrikes and cries, I would have surely been persuaded that he did but show me a tumbling trick, and that he had been exercising his body to some acts of nimbleness.  
And besides also, before I could salute him by reason that I so marvelled at the strangeness of his change, he spoke unto me so cheerfully that I could scarce answer him for admiring at the force which his love towards me had suddenly procured him. His legs were scarce able to hold his body, and seeing me his heart commanded them to support him, his eyes which were so hidden with the tears which he shed, that no man could have seen them, as soon as they beheld me, seemed to have recalled the floods that came out of them and to have in a moment swallowed them up, and his face which did as it were swim in tears, seemed to drink up the moisture at my coming, as the morning dew vanisheth in the presence of Phoebus, when he sendeth his golden beams from his fiery chariot, to cherish the pleasant fruits of the earth after they have wept, by reason of the dark coldness of the mirthless night. Wherefore I seeing that my brotherly brother was so loath to make me acquainted with his passions, only because he would not give me occasion of grief, but kept it all to himself; I dissembled as much as I could, lest I should by letting him know what I knew, quite discomfort him, and truly make him comfortless. And although by reason of that which I knew of him, pity caused such grief in me for his discomfort and passionate torment, that I think if he had not been in place, I had sunk to the ground, for a stronger foundation to hold up my distracted body, oppressed and weighed down by the heaviness of passing sorrow, than my legs, which seemed to shake like the pillars of a Church that is falling, yet nevertheless for that time, I plucked up my spirits, and though not so well able as he, yet as well as I could, I dissembled my passion, and answered him as cheerfully as possibly I might, entertaining him with such talk as I thought most expedient, to cause him not to misdoubt of any thing. Insomuch that he neither thought that I had heard him, nor knew that I felt the pain which he himself suffered. And after we had there walked an half hour or thereabout, we returned both of us together to the Court. And as we passed by the Countess Verina's Garden, he espied the Countess walking all alone, whereupon he began to urge me, in any case not to let that occasion slip, but that I should go unto her, and make her acquainted with the love and affection between me and her sister Aureola, and that he would go with me to bear me company, and to persuade the Countess to consent to the contracting of a marriage between me and Aureola. He said furthermore, considering the three months which Aureola appointed to have the matter during that time concealed, were expired, he had the day before spoken with the King concerning this matter, and that his Majesty had promised him to be wholly ours in this point, as he had ever before been in many other; and besides told him some things which he should make relation of to the Countess, concerning this match. And to tell the truth, he grew so importunate to have me go to the Countess in all haste, that I knew not how to shift off this readiness. But because I had purposed to bring that to pass which I will by and by show unto you. I found this excuse to delay our conference with the Countess; that mistress Aureola for certain causes had urged me to promise her, that I would not speak unto her sister concerning any thing touching her, before I forewarned her, or let her know both that I would do it, and the time when I would do it. Which promise (quoth I) being passed, I may not break it.  
Whereupon he well contented, seemed to take my excuse so well, that he rather liked of my unwillingness to go to the Countess, than persevered to persuade me thereunto. So that we went both to my lodging, where we began to read certain chronicles of the ancient estate of Italy; things done in times passed in the Kingdom of Naples, to drive away the rest of the time till dinner were ready, that we might have some ancient history or other to delight the King and the Queen withal while they dined. For they took such delight in hearing their predecessors deeds and say, that we could not have done them a greater pleasure then to rehearse either some pretty saying, or some other worthy act of such Kings or Queen's as had before them swayed the sceptre of Naples. But not to be that which I am loath to be, I mean tedious unto you (noble Princes and shepherds,) I will hasten to that which I even now promised to let you know, concerning that which I had certainly of rips counsel in my heart concluded to do, after I knew by my brother's passions that he himself loved Aureola, and yet continually furthered my desire to his uttermost part.  
For indeed I was fully resolved to leave Aureola unto him and myself to the hazard of fortune, and being so resolved, I performed no less.   

CHAP. XXXIII. How Philorenus the elder, secretly left the Court of Naples; and how his brother and Aureola went to seek him severally.  
THe next morning I departed very secretly from the Court, for Cinqueni, thinking to inquire whether I might hear any thing of my father, and to be certainly informed whether he were slain among the other unhappy inhabitants, or by hap fled, and so avoided the furious slaughter which many suffered. But before I departed, on the cover-lid of a lookingglass that was in my brother's chamber window, I wrote him this farewell, 

I Philo * to * Renus.  
THou which to deck, by workman form art,  
Serve to unfold the cause which made me go:  
And without leave, my brother leave and part,  
From Court, wherein my only joy doth grow.  
Love bade me to enjoy my love and stay,  
And love commanded me to go away.   

Self-love would have me stay and means procure,  
Loading myself with grief myself to ease:  
considering therefore well the matter sure.  
Self-love doth bid me go myself to please.  
For who else is my brother, but myself?  
And tendering him, right tender I myself.   

Then know myself the cause which made me part,  
Was love which warned me from love to cease:  
For of two loves my heart felt double smart,  
One love gave place that the other might increase.  
Enjoy thine Aureola, for I am gone,  
And therefore gone, that she should be thine own.    
After my brother had miss me, marveling where I should be so long, he went to his chamber to drive away the time, and to deceive the tedious hours with some kind of reading exercise, thinking that I had been somewhere abroad in the fields in my solitary haunt, and that I would ere long return to the Court. And leaning on his window, he chanced to spy something written on the cover-lid of his looking glass, which he might ealsiy do, by reason that I had written with red ink the lid being of white ivory. And so taking it in his hand, he read the verses which I had left there, to yield a reason for my sudden departure. But he being ravished into admiration, and by admiration led into astonishment, fell in an ecstasy. Which ecstasy, he being by himself alone, and therefore deprived of help, in such a case required had almost brought him to his last home. Yet after he had a long time lain in a trance, he came at last to himself again and then began to curse and rail at fortune, for dealing so partially with him in revealing that unto me, the revealing of which only could make him miserable. Insomuch that now he knew that which before he not once mistrusted, to wit▪ that I the other morning had in the wood heard him lament his ill fortune, whereby I knew that which I also never dreamt of, concerning his loving of Aureola. But so grievously did he take my absence, that all his body received the disposition that is caused by a disquiet soul; and his face became the very subject of sorrow, his countenance being mournful and his eyes being grown to be the very seats of tears. Insomuch that whereas no man as yet could suspect or dream that I should be so gone as I was, yet seeing him so woefully fashioned, straightways judged that he could not be so altered but upon such a cause: and whereas they should have known that he was so distempered by reason of my so being gone, they contrarily knew of my being gone by reason that he was so distempered. To be short he was so tortured by the Butchers of Greece, that he was almost deprived of his wits and the use of his understanding: and the rather, because he was brought in doubtful resolution▪ whether he should leave Aureola and follow me, or leave me and comfort Aureola; lest ranging after me through unknown places, he should both lose me and himself also. He therefore being drawn now to this conclusion, now to that, hung in the air hover between heaven and earth not knowing whether he were best by slight reach to the one, or by falling come to the other. So that his mind being thus suspended, he prepended the reasons for both parts, which were most forcible to persuade him to the one or the other; yet in such order, that neglecting fully his own case, as one altogether careless of his own welfare, he referred all matters to the effecting of that which seemed most expedient and necessary to make me happy, and to work my felicity. Insomuch, that he began to consider, that if chance he should have left Aureola, and commit himself to the laboursome seeking and uncertain finding of me, the loving Gentlewoman might have taken the absence of us both so heavily, that she might have thereby fallen into some desperate sickness▪ and perchance remediless. Well (quoth he) put the case should die, were it not better that she should die, then that I should suffer my brother to live in despair, to run round about the world, to carry hell with him wheresoever he goeth, having his affections like furies and fiends, teaxing & rending his brotherlike heart, to irrisate the barren ground with millions of tears, to disturb the guiltless air with lamentable shrieks & cries▪ accompanied with sighs and sobs, and in a word to be always dying, and yet never die? Death is the lock that shutteth up misery, and endeth all calamity and trouble, If Aureola then die, O happy she! but unhappy I! Nay my sweet brother, thrice unhappy thou, For no doubt if Aureola should die, the pain which thou wouldst sustain, the grief which would molest thy soul, and the torment which would ravish thee in the very gulf of all vexation, would so far in extremity pass the anguish wherein thou now dost pine, that it would be greater than the pain which causeth the soul to departed from the body, Why then I will rather remain by Aureola, and so both save her life, thine and mine own, though scarce mine own, seeing that I shall scarce be able to live, he being absent. And what will he think, nay what will all the world say, but that I (forsooth) for love of my brother, entertain his love and that I so love him, that to show my love towards him, I must needs love his Lady, and so defraud him of that wherein his chiefest felicity consisteth; the jewel of his heart, the treasure of his desires, the object of his delight, the subject of his conceits, the hold of his hope, & the only and chief pillar of his life, and cause of his being, sweet Aureola, worthy to be all this unto him, he deserving to be as much unto her, none of them both owing less one to the other.  
As he was thus quite turning from that mind to the other, and resolving to leave all to follow me, the beams of Aureolaes' beauty reverberating the window wherein he lay musing what he might best do, warned him, that that Sun was in the garden, whose light was able to strive with the Rays of Phoebus for force, seeing that his beams may well shine upon men, not in them; whereas the bright lines that glister from the golden forehead of Aureola, did penetrate men's bodies, and shine, not upon them only, but also within them and through them.  
He therefore espying Aureola walking in the garden alone▪ wept that he saw not me with her▪ saying, O sacred powers of heaven, seeing that your Deities have been divinely worshipped by me since my Cradle, why hate ye poor Philorenus your Servant so, that the sight which ought to be unto his eyes as gold to the covetous man, is unto him as poison to them that wish to live long? Not for that I take any disgrace by the gracious presence of Aureola, but that my joy is eclipsed, when I behold her without him by her, who seemed born to be inseparably joined with her as white unto snow cold to ice and to use a more familiar comparison, as beauty to Aureola. Having so said, as carried away with a sudden strong gale of wind he hasted to the garden, and having passed the courtesies used in salutation and greeting, being asked for me (for she knew him by reason of a secret token which we had given to her only to discern him from me, and me from him) he up and told her all the matter concerning my sudden departure, yet so colouring the cause thereof, that she thought that I was gone, because I despaired that she should love him better than me. For he thought, that so she might be moved to pity, and by pity to sharpen her affection, which should have increased her love towards me. Whereas if he had let her know the true cause of my absence, that I was gone to leave her to be his, she might have been moved to disdain me, which disdain should have nourished the fire which was kindled in his breast by the affection which she bore him, and so might she have alured him to to leave me in my pilgrimage, and enjoy her, to displease whom he did count it a sacrilege.  
But she construing of the matter as my most careful brother and his brotherlike carefulness informed and being subject to that custom which by nature is an unseparable companion to the desires of all women, I mean to wish and covet that which seems most impossible, and to long for such things as cannot be gotten, or very hardly had: now she heard that I was gone no man knew where, whereas before her love inclined rather to my brother then to me, she was so ravished with desire to be with me, that she presently concluded to herself in heart, to take the pains to seek me: and although she did conceal the same unto him, and dissembled the passion which she felt by reason of my absence, by words whilst he was by her; yet by deed she sufficiently afterwards shown it unto all the world.  
For after she was separated from him by the hastiness of her resolution to execute that which she had purposed, she went to her chamber, where after she had made her handkerchief drunk with sipping up and drinking in the tears which abundantly issued from out her eyes▪ most fertilly yielding fruit of the seeds of sorrow sown in them; and having astonished the stones and walls with the admirable shrieks, and moved the lifeless pictures that hung in her chamber to pity, she impoverished her rich apparel by laying it off, and enriched her sister's Cooks wives poor , putting them on her ivory body, and so making provision of nothing but a knife to conquer Fortune's envy, if chance she would go about to make her miserable in the highest degree, by prolonging her life, when as she could not live but discontented, she committed herself to her journey, and her journey to the Gods, calling upon their Deities to be directed in her way.  
O ye sacred powers (called she) that in heaven take care of us poor mortals, who wholly depend upon your favour or disfavor, if ever my vows have been acceptable unto you, and my offerings pleasing, let me now have you tender my case, and pity my estate.  
For if I have not of wicked wantonness or idle lusts framed self a fit subject for love, and made my mind a Tennis-court for the balls of fancy to be tossed to and fro in it, but rather have been conquered by the force of not to be resisted love; then allow me to love and maintain my love in spite of Fortune. Let your imperial power command the winds by their blasts to guide my steps, and by my steps to bring my body to the blessed place that is made happy by the excellent burden of my virtuous Philorenus. O thou lofty coachman of the stately sky, in whose heavenly body are great hidden Deities, let thy cherishing beams exhilerate no place but that which serveth to support the weight of my woeful and heavy Philorenus, therefore heavy because mine: that so thy corruscant Rays falling down as a Golden shower of Rain over him, may be as a token and a mark whereby I may direct the course of my voyage. Lastly, O ye Stars, whose twinkling pride doth bewray the stateliness of the Grand-Court and High Palace made by nature, and challenged by the sovereign Gods, to be the habitacle and lodging for their Deities, help poor Aureola, help distressed her; and when Phoebus hath stabled his fiery horses all weary with daily toil, and put on you the charge of guarding and watching the sacred seals of heavenly powers, then take Crystal wings to your fiery body, and fly through the air unto my souls Philorenus, that as he shall understand by your coming, Aureola, even poor she is hasting towards him, so I, wretched I, (nay most happy I, if ever so fortunate as once again to behold him the paragon of virtue, and sole object of my conceits) following the light which environeth your bodies, may be brought unto him, even him, whose sweet self only is worthy to be sought for of Aureola. Finally, chaste and fair Diana, thou that knowest the purity of my thoughts and art acquainted with the furious assaults wherewith Cupid hath battered the bulwark of my chaste mind, and shaken the fort of my constant purpose to inviolable chastity; yet, O mighty Goddess, seeing that I have not filthily or dishonestly nourished fancy with shameful hope of lust, but am rather overcome by such unresistable love, that if it had been attempted against some Goddess, she had been forced to yield; I beseech thee to march before me in your secret night walks, that being comforted by thy divine presence, I be not affrighted by the ugly grimness of the dark night, and so dissuaded, or rather discouraged to pass through woods and dales after my Philorenus. O sweet Philorenus, O beautiful Philorenus, O virtuous Philorenus! What wood is made so happy by thy mishap, as to shroud thy face so fair from scorching Apollo? What green is made so fortunate by thy misfortune, as to become the bed whereon thou dost rest thy wearied body? What lake is grown to be so blessed by thy curse▪ as to refresh thy tender stomach, falling down thy Alabaster throat into thy Marble belly? Blessed be that wood, that green and that lake which serveth for his scarff, his bed, and his drink; seeing that Nature hath wished, Fortune procured, and the Gods granted them that honourable favour.  
Thus Aureola invoking the Gods, and calling upon heaven, betook herself to her uncertain journey. She witted not which way to go, nor whither to go, but went being guided with love and accompanied with hope. In the mean time my brother having been informed that she was secretly departed the Court, stayed not to hear what rumours were spread abroad in the Court of her going, but lest he might be accused of negligence and carelessness of the welfare of so good a brother, incontinently went from Naples, but so that he took his leave of the King and Queen, promising to return, his brother being found, unto them again; having acquainted them with the true cause of my so leaving the Court without even any of their Majesty's knowledge.  
Thus you see (Noble Princes and shepherds) how those whom Nature seemed to have made to live together and be as one, were now by fortune separated so far asunder, that there was little (I will not say hope, for every one of us were pricked forward with the spur of hope, being warmed with desire, but) likelihood in reason that ever we should see one another again.   

CHAP. XXXIIII. How Aureola came to see the shepherd's Pastoral Solemnities, hoping to find Philorenus there.  
NOw Aureola understanding by a shepherd, that about four days journey from Cinqueni, there was a most solemn feast to be celebrated by the shepherds of that whole Country, to the honour of their God Pan. within three or four days after that she heard of it; wherefore she knowing that I very greatly delighted to be at those Pastoral Solemnities, and considering that the report of the same feast was so famous, and the rumours thereof spread so general, hoped that it might be her good luck to find me there, supposing that I being warned of the feast to be kept, by the rumour and talk of the shepherds, and being led by the delight which I take in such pastimes, would have come thither to recreate my sorrowful and distressed mind, with the pleasant sport of the shepherds that celebrated the feast of their God. But she was frustrated of that hope, for coming there she could not hear any thing of me. She arrived there just upon the principal feast day in the morning, where the shepherds and shepherdess being in number many, gathered there by reason of these solemnities, first went all of them into a temple dedicated to Pan, where after they had mumbled I know not what kind of rural service for their pastoral God, they came all out again▪ and fell a dancing and singing; until such time that Phoebus being raised to the full height of his course, hanging right over their heads, they were warned by the messengers that he sent from his burning chariot, that they should shun the heat of his fiery beams, & under the roof of their barns shroud themselves from his scorching rays. There they fell to their meat, and plied Bacchus and Ceres so well, that in Aureola's opinion they might have held a second feast the next day for their honour. After they had sufficiently recreated or refreshed themselves with all manner of delicates used in the country, they hied to the temple again, where passing the time as they had done in the morning, some kind of afternoon ceremonies added, at length towards evening they returned to their dancing again. Where, in a fair green being walled in, with most stately Cedars, yielding a more than pleasant shadow up reason that the Sun did cast his beams liberally against the sides of these trees, hasting to his Western Court, they met all together. The grass, was thick under foot, thick and short, as green as greenness itself, and so bestrewed with all kinds and colours of small flowers, that it seemed rather a foot-cloth laid there for the Gods to pass over it with their divine feet, than a pavement for homely shepherds to tract up and down in. Now over head were divers long chains, made of no other thing but flowers, so cunningly twisted and woven together, that the sight of them passed the gallant Ivory in show, and seemed rather to be ropes of Rubies, Pearls, and Diamonds, and all other kind of gems and precious Lapidaries, than lines knit of flowers. These chains were cross wise laid, one overthwarting the other, being many of them in number, and divers in making, and were fastened to the upper branches of the tall Cedars that grew about the same Paradise.  
In the midst and very centre of these lines and chains, hung by three brave chains wrought after the same manner, a most gallant garland with a fair laurel bush hanging by one line under it, so artificially knit and twisted that both the garland and the bush with the lines by which they were fastened, seemed to be wrought by the fine fingers of Diana, and either cast down from heaven unto them, or brought thither by the nymphs of that Country, who had so beautified that place for the shepherds to solemnize their feast day according to the worthiness and excellency thereof. The garland was to be taken off by him of the enamoured shepherds that could say best for his love, and by him to be given unto her: and the laurel branch was to be taken down by her of the loving shepherdess that bore away the praise of best dancing, and by her to be presented unto her swéet-heart. Insomuch that Aureola desirous to see the proceed of the country youths in their shepheardlike pastimes, was a spectator amongst them, though longer than the desire she had to see me, could patiently allow her, yet till she saw both their dancing and their singing ended. There were about a dozen or half a score of the most choice and select shepherdess of all that country and part of Italy, being daughters to the richest farmers thereabout, which maids being all heavenly beauty and contending fairness, each purchasing praise even with silence, among them danced for the laurel bush. Which sight but to Aureola, yea and to Aureola, save when she seeketh Philorenus▪ (said she when she rehearsed the sum of her adventures) could not but have been so delightful and pleasant, that it would have made them forget themselves, much more their grief or sorrow. Besides, she remembered that the maid that won the laurel was called Benedetta, daughter to the old shepherd Rosseo, farmer to her sister the Countess Verina, and she gave it to a young shepherd named Pardo, son to a rich and wealth? farmer of great credit, whose name Aureola knew not.   

CHAP. XXXV. The Verses of the shepherds, sung by them for the Garland, at their Pastoral solemnity, and how Otto obtained it.  
THis being done, all the maids, they as well that had been spectators as actors in the dance, sat down on the green, all orderly ranked, Benedetta as the Queen, placed in the midst of the row, and beheld the action of the young shepherds, who being far more in number that contended for the garland, than there had maids done for the laurel, yet Aureola having her mind something too much busied with the cumbersome remembrance of me, could not so carry away all their names & verses, but that she forgot the greater part of them. But those which she remembered she imparted unto me, as I am ready to do unto this worthy company, seeing I have the papers yet in my pocket. The first shepherd that should have sung, was called Argalo, being a brave young youth, whose face seemed to be made by nature, to tell women's eyes that they should persuade their hearts that he was fair, and whose proportion was such as could not but delight. If any fault was in him to Aureola's judgement, it was that he sustained too stately a gate for one of his vocation, being an husbandman's or farmer's son; for modest and low behaviour becometh men of low birth; yet she told me, that his proud erecting of his head and settling of his shoulders, his feet withal, marching as if he had lead a troop of footmen to muster, did (to her mind) as harbingers deliver their messages, that the inward loftiness of his mind was far greater than in shepherds is usual. These were his verses which he not sung, but with a more than pastoral grace uttered.  

Argale.  
A Pipe no worse than Pan's sung Fieras praise,  
loves thundering stile averred she was fair,  
As Venus well agreed with lovely phrase,  
And high Diana bravely did declare.  
Fair Fioras' name is written in the sky,  
And there eternised shall never die.   
The second youth that was ready to say something for the winning of the garland, was called Porcio, and though he was not fair skinned as the former, yet in Aureola's eye deserved as much commendation for comeliness as he, yielding a most gracious sight to their eyes that beheld the making of his face. These were his verses which he sung to a Citharen, used among the shepherds of that country. And it seemed by the strangeness of the tune, that not only that which he sung, but also that which he played was of his composing, having made both the matter and the music. By which means he was thought to be something well skilled in playing on his instrument. But O his voice! (said Aureola) it was either like to Orpheus' sweet note, or it was Orpheus voice itself, being through many bodies, at length come within Porcio, according as the Pythogoreans hold opinion of men's souls, that after they issue out of their corruptible habitacles, they enter newly into some other to maintain their eternity.  

Porcio.  
IOve reigned, his showers were gold, but yet in vain,  
Covetous was Danae, but Bina not,  
For though whole worlds fell down of golden rain,  
Yet Bina chaste, disdain would Danae's lot.  
If Gods could virtue hate, vice to embrace,  
Vice she would shun, incur though their disgrace.   
After this Porcio, were some shepherds that sung to the sound of a Harp, some the sound of a Viol, some to the sound of their corn-muse, whose virtues for that they were more passionate than passing, and seemed rather to be harbingers of love then of wit, being more pitiful than pithy, she heard them in like manner with a mind mollified with commiseration, unwilling to trouble her memory with the remembrance of them. But at length she spied a little short dapperdy, bustling to come among the rest with a paper in his hand, wherein his verses were written in such manner, that a man might have read them as fast on the backside of the paper, as he on the inside. But whether he had his paper, to assist his weak memory, or to show his cunning that he could both write and read, Aureola knew not. His name was Polemon, and his verses were these: which he did not sing, but thwacked them out (looking in his paper) as if he would have dared Radamanthus that appointeth the shadows their penance in hell from his infernal chair.  

Palemon.  
EVen beauty itself is Palla, not beautiful, or fair,  
If beauty any have, of her that all they do borrow,  
Not white, but whiteness: sweetness and comeliness itself,  
Not sweet, not comely: as yielding that to all othess  
Of which they boast. 'Tis Pallaes' list she to claim it,   
Next Polemon, came an old shepherd though never married, who thinking that he had offended Cupid to let his young and strong years slide and slip away, without doing him service, purposed to make amends by pining for love in his old days, for such a face had the follow, and a body well befitting such a face, that he might well love, but never be loved, unless Cupid would be revenged of some Vesta minded maid for neglecting and despising his Deity, and so make her dance in the net of folly with this old lovelesse face, both of them crying Peccavi & penas domus. His name was Schalco, and as Aureola was informed by the shepherdess of the country, he most importunately made love to the fair shepherdess Ura, daughter to one of the King of Naples farmers. Which maid so did hate him, that although he was most wealthy, having store and abundance of all manner of country riches, yet she thought herself discredited in that she was loved of him. These were his verses.  

Schalco,  
AS I my sheep by Phoebus' fall went homeward for to drive.  
He promised a gift full gay, ere long he would me give.  
One of his golden beams shot from his chariot of fire,  
Which I to Vra will present to be her winter fire.  
Oh Phoebus cross thy beams with silver lines, even latherwise,  
That I with Vra might mount up, and dwell with her in skies.   
Next to old Schalco young Dorus, a pretty stripling to be chamberlain to Cupid, made haste to tell his tale, For as he was rival to Schalco, so he would not omit to say something that might please Ura. And therefore hoping by deriding of Schalco (whom he knew Ura could not abide) he thought to gain her favour. These were his verses.  

Dorus.  
IN skies old Schalco would with Vra dwell,  
And ride with her in Phoebus' golden coach▪  
Where when on him she thinks death doth encroach:  
And rather than with him would dwell in hell.  
Give her a winter sire, thou shalt do well,  
But see thou burn thy bones by that same fire,  
So will she love thee, which sigh you desire:  
Seeing not in skies, procure the same in hell.   
One more beside this did Aureola mark, whom she therefore marked, because she judged him worthy to be marked. He was called Otto, (and as she had heard) son to a Duke in France, and passing through Italy to see the country saw the fair shepherdess called Laurea, of whose beauty and graces, fame had been very prodigal; and he having seen her with liking, liked her with love, and loved her with constancy. In somuch that to become hers, he ceased to be his own: and leaving parents, land, honour, and living, became a shepherd to win the love of Laurea, who once had told him that she might fancy no higher than a shepherd. But oh heavenly Laurea, (quoth Aureola) thy modesty was too great to be of base birth, thy humbleness too gracious to be of low parents. No, no, nature hath not wronged thy virtuous beauty, and beauty made more beautiful by virtue, but fortune hath envied at thy perfection. Thou wert found in the wood by old Panteo, who possesseth thee as his daughter, and whom thou for thy bringing up dost reverence as thy father; why might not as well hardhearted Kings as poor beggars have left thee there swaddled in base and poor ? Insomuch that Aureola was fully persuaded that Laurea, was some noble born maid, though by fortunes hard entreatment she was not known what she was. Neither did Aureola guess amiss; for afterwards it was well known that this Laurea was sister to the Duke's son that loved her. It fell out after this manner.  
There was great war between the King of Gaul, and the Emperor of Greece. The King sent a mighty army into Italy, to be revenged of the Italians that had assisted the Emperor with men and money. Among many other Noblemen that were in the King's army, was Duke Otto this new become shepherds father, with the Duchess his wife, and young Otto his only son, being of two years old, having no more children than him. It chanced that the King's army was overthrown▪ and the Duke and all his retinue taken prisoners, saving the Duchess who was fled unto a certain wood being all alone, where, after she had been one month nourished by a poor old woman that lived a solitary life in that wood, she was delivered of Laurea, whom she named Sylva, after the place where she was born. Within a week after the Duchess had been brought a bed, died their good old hostess, to her great discomfort. But then she takes her child and thinking to march toward some village, she went from the cave about six miles, where she espied the village where Laurea was brought up. And pondering with herself how she might pass unknown▪ for that all the inhabitants of tho●e countries were enemies to the King of Gaul, she laid her child down by a broom bush because she might go the lighter, meaning to go back to the cave and put on the dead woman's  and so to return again presently. But before she could reach to the Cave, she was met withal by a certain Italian Knight, who liked her so, that he secretly conveyed her to his house, notwithstanding that she most earnestly entreated her to let her first go fetch her young babe, which she had left but three or four miles off. For he mistrusted that she had but invented that excuse to delay the time, and fearing lest some other company might pass that way before she found the child, among his men carried her to his house. The same evening Phoebus having enclosed his heat within his western tower, the old shepherd Panteo, according to custom, hied to the wood to fetch wood to warm his old limbs the next winter, with the fire he hoped to make of it; and so he found young Sylva by him called Laurea. The Knight being importuned by the Duchess, sent his men to the wood to seek fyr her child, but they could not find it, & therefore could hardly believe but either she lied, or some body else had taken it up. The Duchess was daily solicited by this Knight to yield her body to his pleasure, but she would not: he kept her close prisoner 8 years, which being expired the Knight being beheaded by the command of the Nobility of Italy, by reason of some trespass by him committed, and some kind of treason by him put in practice against the state of the country) she got away, and came to France, where she found her husband the Duke Otto, but not her son, the young Otto, who was sent by his father into Italy to study at Milan, to learn the Italian language, and after three or four years' space that he had been in Italy, he came acquainted with this Shepherdess Laurea, towards whom he so hotly pursued his suit, that at length she condescended to be his wife, Whereof he as glad as if he had gotten a Kingdom, speedily made a journey towards France, intending either to get his father's good will to marry her, and fetch her home to his Country, or to provide as much money and jewels as he could get, and bid France and friends adieu, for that friend. But when he came home, and found his mother there, whom he thought to have been dead many years since, and heard her talk of her adventures, and many other things, how she had had a daughter, and he a sister, and might yet have had, had not Fortune too hardly dealt with her, even as soon as she was born, considering the circumstances of time and place, with other points concerning the matter, he found Laurea to be his own natural sister; Whereof he was glad for her sake, that she was not of base lineage, but sorry was he (I promise you) for his own part, that he might not enjoy that beauty which he so loved. But howsoever he took the matter, he rested not till he had by his father's help and counsel, brought her home to her parents to the extreme joy of them all, and all their friends. Thus (noble Princes and shepherds) have you heard the history of Laurea, briefly and verily reported, according as I have been informed since I came to the Lady Felicias Court. But because I will not forget to set down Ottos verses (by reason of which I made this digression in rehearsing his history) which he sung to the sound of a Lute being in shepherd's attire; for indeed he had a flock of sheep in the next village, for the cause which I have above declared.  

Otto.  
Jove did mislike his stately junos' pride,  
Her Majesty to Laurea therefore gave,  
Our lovely Venus did unchaste abide,  
Whose beauty therefore Laurea must have.  
Minerva had offended too I guess,  
For Laurea doth her learned wit possess.   
Yet was there one more whom I had almost forgotten, the shepherd Pardo, unto whom Benedetta had given the Laurel bush; for he hoped to get the garland, that he might have requited her curtess, but it fell out otherwise then he expected, as I will afterwards tell you. These were his verses, which he sung with a most sweet voice passing by many degrees the common manner of shepherds singing.  

G. Pardo  
THe Maid whose face is full of lovely grace,  
Whose body without fault deserveth praise:  
Whose speech most graceful, fit for such a face,  
Whose birth her inward virtues all bewrays.  
Is Benedetta called, a blessed name,  
Which far and wide is spread by flying Fame.   
When Pardo had done, than was the garland to be given to him that had done best following the judgement of the maids that were present, by whose voices it was to be given. And indeed though Pardo came near it, by reason that the Queen who had won the Laurel, had four and twenty voices to give, by reason of her dignity that day, which voices she gave all unto him for affections sake, (save one which she gave to Otto, because she would give some token of her mind, that she thought he deserved it, though none but Otto should have gotten any away from her loving Pardo) yet by reason that Otto had all their voices that contended in the dance for the Laurel with Benedetta, they having each of them half as many voices to give as Benedetta, because they had danced with her, where the others had but each of them their single voices, which also the most of them gave to Otto, few to Pardo. and some to Argale, who began the game; it was Ottoes chance that day to win the garland, which he had no sooner looked upon, but he wished it on his Mistress head and could no sooner wish it, but she being by, he performed the same, but with such a grace, that all the shepherds and shepherdess, whereas they were wont to envy at their King, yet then by force of his virtue were constrained to love him, and glory that they had so worthy a King to honour their solemnities; the end whereof Aureola would not stay, seeing she had miss of that wished encounter which she hoped for.   

CHAP. XXXVI. How Aureola in her journey came to Yervedra; how she was overtaken there by Philorenus the younger, taking him to be his brother Philorenus.  
BEfore Phoebus had bidden the earth farewell with his weaks countenance until the next morning. Aureola purposed to reach to a certain village, where she had thought to rest that night, and at the early appearance of Aurora she intended to hasten on her journey. But she being in those quarters, and ill acquainted with those ways, as not overcunning in finding or going any way, happened to come to a fair path, which flanked the village on the right side; the fineness of which way so liked her (as commonly all things that yield but even a taste of pleasantness, or show of beauty, present great pleasure and liking unto those that love) that she could not choose but go that way; which led her quite past the village six or seven miles before she thought of the village, till being even benighted, she began to wonder that she had not reached to the place she hasted to, having so long traveled without staying or resting either body or mind. For indeed as she went her feet carried her mind so fast over a great deal of ground in a little space, that it forgot how to direct their pace to bring the Coach (her precious body) wherein it did ride, to the place where she had purposed to rest.  
But now the knowledge of the place where she was being taken from her by reason of the darkness, which was a sorrowful messenger (she being there alone without any company save mine in her mind) that Phoebus had with the obscure curtain of the night closed himself in his bed, witted not what to do; but protecting her body under a large branched tree, from the rain which then fell from the skies, even as tears, witnessing heavens sorrow for her mishap; she laid her tender body down upon the hard earth, which seemed to shake as panting for gladness of the sweet new burden it did bear.  
There she thought to repose her wearied body and grieved mind, hoping by sleep (the causer of forgetfulness) to make truce with her sorrowful remembrance for a time. But her restless thoughts so waked in her, that however her body was at rest, in mind she traveled still on her quest after me. The night being past, and the morning approaching, she risen from her bed (soft in no respect, but that soft she had lain there,) and on she went although she knew not whither, yet whither her feet (led with no certainer guide, than Love and Fortune) did carry her. And having coursed through Italy without hearing any thing of me, she visited the coasts of Spain; for she knew that I was born in those quarters, and so began to think, that I might be taken with a desire to take a view of my Country (which she resolved to go to, because it was my Country,) deploring nothing so much, as that she had not the luck to see it, but with seeking but in it, and yet would she have counted that seeking but a pleasure if she might have found me, the end of her dessrous.  
But no, she sought and so sought that she left no place in the Kingdom of Arragon, which she had not seen or rather which had not seen her, and she could not hear so much of me, as whether ever I had been seen or heard of in that country before, being the place of my birth: the reason was▪ that I lived in exile with my father as soon as my feet had learned that they had no need of a bearer. But to be short at length after many a troublesome journey, she came to the village where I was born, called Yervedra, where lodging one night in an old Farmer's house, after she had made some enquiry after me, she learned that I was born in the same village: for that old Farmer remembered my name very well, though I think few others could have kept it in memory; but if she had known my father's name, she had by enquiring for him sooner have come to Yervedra. Yet what was she the better? for when she knew that that was the place of my birth and that she could not hear any thing of me there, then began her hope to fail, and to yield to despair, insomuch that weary not so much of going any longer as living any longer she wished either that she might find me or death. Yet thanking the old man as hearty and courteously as a civil guest may an old and friendly host away she got from Yervedra thinking to go into Castille, and so to see the beautifulness of that Kingdom which she had so much heard spoken of. But having paced about a mile from Yervedra, she entered into a little Wood, which was nothing either long or large or thick: but so pleasant a place, as that it seemed to be made by nature only to delight the neighbours that dwelled thereabout. Yet could not this place of pleasure any thing at all mitigate Aureola's grief (now even bringing her to the gates of despair) but rather increased her sorrow. And whereas it was went to be a place where many men came to delight and recreate their minds in unto her it yielded a memorandum of all her misfortunes and adversities; for no sooner had she entered into that place, but marking the pleasantness of it, she began to remember the unpleasantness of her own conceits; then began she to be sorry that she was so grieved with sorrow; afterwards she became angry with herself in finding such humours; next to that she found fault with Nature for making her so unperfect as not able to resist such accidents. But at last, paufing at that chancing word accidents, she fell a railing at Fortune, calling her the sole and only mistress of all mischiefs that happen unto men.  
And leaving her there, busy with her bitter invectives against Fortune (which she did as well as she could do, and could do as well as she would or list to do, being provoked thereto with such affections as anger and despite armed her withal,) I will in brief manner let you know▪ that after he had been in divers places and countries (having made more speed and haste in his search then Aureola) at length in the borders of France, it was his luck to meet with Laurea, first called Sylva, whose history I have shortly rehearsed, until she was brought home to her father's house by her brother Otto, who had among the shepherds so long courted her, but the rest of her adventures she herself may declare unto this noble company, opportunity being offered, she being now in this house with the Lady Felicia. Yet thus much I must say of her (seeing it concerneth our history) that my brother having found her in the frontiers of France, in a defart all alone, very nigh in the same plight that Aureola was, at first when he saw her before he spoke to her, doubted whether it was Aureola, for she was so drowned in fears, that indeed the judgement of the eye could little prevail at first sight, to discern what or who she was.  
Nevertheless, greeting breeding parley, and parley knowledge, he found that she was some other Gentlewoman that was pinched with the same punishment that tortured Aureola's soul. But after long talk, they came to like one of another's company so well, that they purposed to travel together into the Castilian region, over the bordering mountains betwixt France and Spain. Insomuch, that they came into Castille, before that Aureola had been in Arragon, where in the famous City of Civil, my brother was constrained to leave Laurea, she having been dangerously sick; yet before he departed from her, she was so amended that danger of death was passed; yet by reason of her weakness she was not like to be able to go on her journey in six or seven weeks after. So that he took his leave of her, promising her, that if he might make the course of his journey serve, so that he might within a month or twain return that way, he would come to her again, and so to her no small discomfort, parted from her; travelling towards Arragon, where he happened to pass through the wood where Aureola was lamenting her hard luck, and railing at fortune for so hardly using her. Insomuch that my brother before he was by her eyed had espied her a far of, and thinking certainly it had been some other kind of woman for that she had but base apparel, having put on the Countess her sister's maids , which he knew not, he went softly and used the bushes for a curtain to hid his body from her sight, that he might come so near that he might learn by her words what she was, for at the first sight he straight perceived that whosoever she was she b●re the impression of a distressed mind in her face. And therefore listening to her cries he heard her utter these or such like speeches, with her knife unsheathed in her hands.  

IS this the world in which men strive to live?  
Is this the life which men as pleasant love?  
Is this the pleasure world and love doth give?  
Is this the gift that age to wish doth move?  
Age, life, world, pleasure, seek not to please me,  
For I such gifts most poor account to be.   

Life is a pain, shall I with thanks buy pain?  
Life breeds my woe, shall I for sorrow wish?  
Life is my loss, shall I account it gain?  
Life hates my hap, shall I it call my bliss?  
I loath to live, but more the life I live,  
Sweet death unto my joys beginning give.   

Yet death you make no haste to pity me,  
Whilst life the tyrant, still his part doth play,  
And makes me grieve, and grieve to call for thee:  
But I will make you both learn to obey.  
Know, I your Mistress am, who with one blow  
Can teach you both your duties quickly know.   

This is is the wand that beateth life away,  
This is the wink to which death comes in haste,  
This is the cast that maketh double play,  
This bringeth sweetness wrapped in bitter taste.  
How sweet must Death needs be, since Life is sour  
For contraries be of contrary power.   
My Brother knowing her by her voice, and hearing her desperate resolution, would not stay the end of her tragical Sonnet, fearing lest it might have brought unto his eyes too tragical a spectacle; but stepping out of the bush behind her, as she was proceeding forward, beginning the next verse thus.  
Death therefore now I call, and Death must come;  
I will not live more, therefore needs must die.  
Why die I will die,—  
Which my brother thus interrupted, Nay rather sweet Aureola, let Philorenus die to redeem thee from death. She incontinently looking back and thinking that it was I (for that she knew not certainly whether my brother had followed from Naples to seek either of us) fixed her so steadfastly in his face, that her soul seemed to issue out of her body through them, to join itself unto him. For she sunk down, and the knife fell out of her weakened hands, her lips were knit, her tongue tied, her eyes turned her colour gone, her body as if it had been without life at all.  
Which dismal sight so dismayed my brother; that unless provident Nature had strengthened him, where he so much needed his force, he had certainly uéen in no better case than Aureola herself. But falling down by her he strove to wake her out of that unnatural kind of sleep, where with much a do he felt her crush his hand between her thumb and her other fingers while he pulled her sweet hand, to have some token of recovery. And at length obtaining the power of her sight again, turning her eyes towards him, she unsealed her fast closed lips▪ and with a sigh breaking the knots wherewith her tongue was knitted, she said; Ah Philorenus, why dost thou not revenge the injury offered thee, by her that is cause of thy exile? My guilty conscience accuseth me, and therefore crave I pardon. My brother was so galled with that, because he knew that he was the only cause indeed (though sore against his will) himself, which made me leave the Court, yet because he had told her that I was gone because she seemed to love him better than me, and perceiving that she now took him for me, purposed for her better comfort to hold her in that opinion: and therefore framed her this answer. Lovely Aureola, thou blamest thyself to make me blush who cannot, but be ashamed that I have put thee to all this trouble in taking so tedious and dangerous a voyage▪ fraught with so much grief and sorrow, and only for my foolish and rash departure, being grounded upon no reason moving me thereto, but only the force of my passions becoming masters over reason brought me to this absurdity, and thyself to this extremity, wherein I find you in this place, whither no doubt the Gods pitying your case, and hearing your vows, sent me to stay so pitiful and tragical event as otherwise had happened. For the Gods themselves with tears of blood, would have deplored the death of such a heavenly person as is Aureola. Why then, what would all the world have done? what mourning would all mortals have made? had they been deprived of that beauty whereof men glory in the East and West, and where not? Ah sweet Aureola, what should miserable Philorenus, (nay and more than thrice miserable, being the cause and author of so great loss) have done, who would have, nay doth yet think that no ●orment neither in hell nor elsewhere, would have been sufficiently extreme to punish his offence, in offering unto thee, the world and himself, such wrong. Whereupon Aureola replied; No no, my heart, thou canst not offer me no wrong unless it be in doing thyself injury. For I for my part am in thee I am not thine, but thyself, I am not any more Aureola, separable from thee or any other distinct person different unto thee, but I am even thine own self. And therefore in hurting thyself thou mayest harm me, not else.  
But here may we leave them (noble Princes and shepherds) talking together of their adventures happened to each in their journey, noting this (as I have already admonished) that Aureola knew not but that she was with me, and that it was I that came so happily unto her in her uttermost extremity. For my brother to comfort her (though so doing he did me displeasure, seeing that I rather wished him that happiness than myself) still dissembled, not revealing unto her who he was, and suffering her to delight herself in that pleasing opinion, thinking she enjoyed my presence which she then wished for above any other in the world, yea and above his own, whom she before seemed to love better than me? Which her change, did so tear his loving and brotherlike-heart, that he was pestered with incredible grief, and yet gloried in himself that the matter succeeded so well for me, wishing for nothing else but that he might find me, to give me Aureola, and to see us married. For he doubted not but he might use such means, that if ever he could find me, she should not know but that it was he whom they jointly together sought, and not I. For whereas Aureola very earnestly urged him to return to Naples to be married, my brother to hinder that purpose spoke thus unto her. I have been said he by certain shepherds informed, that my brother (you must consider gentle reader, that this is spoken of himself and so to be understood, seeing he is now of Aureola taken for me, in which opinion he did continue her) after he had let you know of my sudden departure, and afterwards had heard that thereupon you were gone secretly from Naples to seek me, he in like manner taking his leave of the King (having of his Majesty licence thereto) left Naples and pursued his quest after us both. Wherefore (said he) dear Aureola, let us first seek my, nay our dear beloved brother, that we may all three together return to the Court, and so have our marriage feast celebrated in full joy, no cause of sorrow eclipsing our mirth. Which persuasion printed so good a liking in her heart, that he obtained the same of her: she being ready to go any where, so she went (as she thought) with me. Here (noble Princes and shepherds) seeing the Lady Felicia expected our coming to supper, will to morrow or some other time, whensoever it shall please your worthiness to hear the rest, opportunity being thereto offered.  
The Duchess Brisil with the other Ladies, Gentlemen, and shepherds, thanking Philorenus assured him that he had done them a pleasure more than mean, in that he had taken so much pain as to delight them with that rehearsal of his own fortunes promising that he should find them as ready to pleasure him. But the Duchess above the rest, told him that she hoped as he had begun to delight her with the beginning of his history, so he would work the perfection of her delight so begun, with the end of the same, occasion presenting time and place fit for the purpose as he had promised. And therewith they went altogether into the palace, where the Lady Felicia meeting them at the garden door, most courteously saluting them, being by them saluted, first the Duchess Brisil, old Eugerio next, than Marcelio and his Alcida, with her brother Polydore and his sister Clenarde, and so Lexander with his Ismenia, and then Philorenus with his Petulca, and the rest of the company: which courteously finished, she led them all into a fair statenly hall, most sumptuously and gorgeously furnished, where the cloth was laid, for that the evening bringing something too cold an air with it, she thought it better to sup there then in the bower in the garden, where they had dined, While supper continued, the Nymph Arethea sung this sonnet to the sound of her Lute.  

Arethea.  
MY song is love, yet strange love, not mine own;  
And though I love not, yet my tongue will spend  
In praise of love, though many that alone  
Which theirs is, will vouchsafe for to commend.  
But now my thoughts from passions being free,  
My words as true as truth itself shall be.   

Love is the thing through which all men have being,  
Love is the thing which mankind doth preserve:  
Love is the cause of heavens and earth's agreeing,  
Love is the Lord whom Gods and men do serve.  
Love is the knot which sexes doth unite,  
Love in estate maintaineth every wight.   

Love is the tool which finest wits doth file,  
Love unto worthy things men's hearts doth bind,  
Love frames the tongue to use a flowing stile,  
Love is the touchstone of a ver●tuous mind.  
Love is the spur to valorous exploits,  
Love doth exalt thy mind to heavenly thoughts.   

Love is the joy wherein Lordings delight,  
In Love do Ladies think the time well spent:  
In all is love a comely courteous sight,  
In men a grace, in maids an ornament.  
All this of Love, and more, if more may be,  
I know, though nothing Love doth know of me.   
Arethea having ended her Sonnet, the Lady Felicia asked Perierio how he liked it, and whether he thought not, that lovers were beholding unto her for so extolling the Saint that ruleth their affection. But he framed her this answer. Divine Lady your Nymph's Encomion of love, hath so sweetly touched mine ears, that they most willingly and readily carried the meaning of her speeches to my mind, who receiving them with no less delight, was moved to think so well of them that it now comandeth my tongue to let you understand. And in truth Madam, as I am glad that I now love not in respect of divers circumstances so I should be singularly sorry if I thought I should never love again. And more directly to answer your question, I think myself not a little beholding to Arethea, for esteeming so much of Love▪ only for that I have once loved; much more think I, will such as now feel the fire of fancy glowing in their hearts, make account of her, for making such account of that wherein they have placed their chief felicity.   

CHAP. XXXVII, The dispute which happened between Perierio and the Duchess Brisil, occasioned by the Song of the Nymph Arethea, in commendation of Love.  
ALL the company hearing Periecrio speak in this manner, marvelled at the same; for they knew nothing how the Lady Felicia had used him in her study. by giving him the drink of oblivion: And therefore they were amazed to see Perierio, a man before so full of melancholy, and so pathetical, now so freely speak of Love as one not now in Love, whereunto he was before so earnestly addicted, that he seemed to be bound apprentice unto it for ever. But among the rest the Lady Brisil spoke unto him in this manner, But I pray you sir, you that ere while so furiously loved, are the hot flees wherein you so madly flamed already quenched? yet they seemed unextinguishable. I think they be, fair Princess (answered Perierio) for they are not quenched but allayed: and in this degree it is that I commend love, and no doubt but Arethea so thought of it when she so effectually describe it. Yet am not I of the opinion, answered the Duchess, for that were neither hot nor cold: whereas if love should do and cause all those worthy things which Arethea attributeth unto it, no doubt it must be extended to some extreme point: or else how should it be able to work so many excellent matters as she speaketh of, nay rather as truth itself averreth even by the mouth of all such as know the excellency of love? You say well quoth Perierio) but yet I hope you will likewise grant that as in all other virtues, so in love also there may be an extremity in excess, which is a vice▪ and not to be defended. An extremity (quoth Brisil) I grant in this, that one may love too coldly, but too hotly one cannot, in my mind. For seeing love is commendable as none here gainsay it; the more one doth love, the more doth he that which is worthy of commendation, how shall we then blame him as doing that which is vicious? For love is not to be considered as liberality or other virtues; for being too easy in giving and bestowing, as more than one is able he falleth from liberality, and cannot be accounted to be liberal but prodigal: in that he lavishly maketh havoc of more than his ability well can allow or reason persuade him. But love the more it possesseth man, the more he loveth, and the more he loveth, the more he possesseth. For though by being liberal without measures, that ability waineth, and riches decay, yet by loving how extraordinarily soever, love never waxeth less nay increaseth. For the more one loveth, the more still doth his power to love grow, and the more able doth he become to love. And so long cannot he fall from love and be accounted no lover, as they that by too much spending fall from ●eing too liberal to become prodigal. Nay but (quoth Pe●●●●o) by loving without reason do we fall from love to madness: for frantic I account that love which is not guided by reason By reason! (quoth the Duchess) why love is too noble a thing to be ●i●d to any respect either of reason or any other thing 〈…〉. For love being considered in itself is a certain kind of mo●i●●●f the mind, which moveth of itself, and will not be subject unto any part of the mind; and I hold opinion th●● reason is governed of love, and not love guided by reason. For when love hath once taken hold of the heart when it thinketh good, it calleth for the counsel and assistance of reason; but otherwise it will not wait or attend upon reason to be directed by it. Neither do I judge them to be reasonable lovers, that in love take counsel of reason, or go about to love with reason. For they that love indeed, unless they do many ways surpass that which reason teacheth them, or do more than by reason they are moved to do; I think their love to be but of a small account, and scarce to be called love. And not to fetch any instance a far of, but even from yourself, if you had not left your father and your sisters (as I have heard you say) to seek the Lady in whose beauty your soul danced, and forsaken your country (for so I call the place where your dwelling was planted) to travel through desert places and unknown regions, to find out her who was cause that you lost yourself; no doubt you would not have thought that you had loved; nor any man else would have said that you had done so. And yet if you had harkened to reason undoubtedly you had not left your aged father and comfortless sisters deprived of your company, to seek the company of the Lady who fled your company; for reason would have conducted an whole army of arguments to dissuade you from that enterprise, which would have been nothing else but to force you to cease from love. For certainly had you stayed at home, you had either not loved at all, or at least but very little been troubled with passion. Insomuch that you see how that reason and love cannot agree together, for they are opposite enemies one to the other. And therefore I cannot see what love it is that thou say thou would have guided by reason. That love Madam (quoth Perierio) which I only account love, and not I only, but all such as will not disgrace the excellency of so worthy a thing as love is. For to let you know how I would have love guided with reason, I understand the matter so, that I would have them that love, therein to shu● such inconveniences as breed shame, infamy, and reproach unto them that love, if they be not avoided. As to love that which ought not to be loved, as Pasiphae loved the Bull by whom she bore Minotaurus, many other things which might be considered, which only can be judged by the rule of reason. Besides, I remember many that describe love, (whose descriptions I like not for my part) say, that love is full of dissembling, hypocrisy, strife, debate, brawling, vice, offence, quarrelling, envy, hate, jealousy, murder, prodigality, greediness, covetousness anger, and many other mischievous inconveniences: which I think one that loves may very well avoid all, I mean by the help and counsel of reason, which tells us that they ought to be shunned.  
Why but good sir (quoth the Duchess) that love whereof you talk is not love, but lust, the gulf of all mischief: for lust is subject to all such vices, and more; but not love. Why then (inferred Perierio) must you grant, that love not limited by reason, is lust. Nothing so (quoth the Duchess:) for love in the very nature and essence thereof considered (otherwise it is diversely taken) is a knot or bond, which toeth, knitteth and uniteth two hearts inseparably▪ and maketh them one; insomuch that love itself so considered, to attain to the very purity and singularity thereof, is to endeavour and labour by all means whatsoever to the making of them Two hearts One, and to that one thing must all actions be directed. Insomuch, I say, that such persons as will claim the right title of lovers must neither be feared with dangers, nor driven back by force, nor chased with terror, nor removed with reason, from endeavouring and working to make themselves deserve to be inseparably joined with that which they love, and to become as the same thing itself and one thing with it. Wherein I pray you cannot this be the only and very force of love and not of lust? Very well Madam, quoth Perierio. So sir, quoth she, I pray you have you forgotten that you even now said, that you accounted all love not guided by reason, lust? which how grossly it was spoken. I will thus with one small example make you confess yourself. Put case the Duke of Florence loveth some Lady either for her beauty, grace, comeliness, virtue, or other gifts by God and nature bestowed on her; which Lady he cannot enjoy as his own, I mean, have her heart united to his, as his is tied to hers and be loved of her as he loveth her, (for there must be reciprocation in love) unless he spend all his Revenues, his Dukedom, and afterward, having obtained his hearts desire of her, and hath of her heart and his made but one▪ yet cannot enjoy her by reason of her parents, that for one reason or other would have her either married to some other, or rather not married at all then to him; and so lives still in body separated from her, though in heart and soul never but by her: his Dukedom gone and all his wealth consumed, thinking the jewel which he hath thereby gotten of a higher price than all his substance, I mean the love of his Lady, being only content with this, that she loves him. Now let me ask you this question would not reason, if the Duke had guided his love by the rational measure of his understanding, have counselled him not to lose his credit▪ his wealth his renown, and not to have undone himself for that which he might not fully enjoy (though he enjoyed as he desired? It may be so, Madam, quoth Perierio, but what then? Marry this (quoth she) Than his love was not guided by reason; yet there is no man that will, nay, can say, but that it was pure love, not spotted with the blot of any lust: and therefore against your former principle, are you forced to confess, that all love, not guided by reason, is not lust.  
Perierio marking the subtlety of the Duchess, in taking hold of his words and going about to canvas him that way, seeing she could not go through with her matter, which was to prove, that no love could be too extreme great, and that upright love was not to be guided or governed by reason; he unwilling to let her yet so carry it away, made answer thus: Many things may be spoken, which divers ways are to be understood. For sometimes things properly taken, are improperly applied to sundry purposes. And so when I said, that love not not guided by re●son was lust; I understood not lust as it is properly taken for the carnal desire, and libidinous cipidity of the flesh, ●ut rather for the vice which is committed, by desiring that which ones affections urge him to covet, and so harkening to the lure of his passions, boweth his will to their beck, and draweth his will to will that which his affections will: which may be and is improperly called lust also. For as properly it is so called by reason of the filthy desires of the flesh, so improperly is it so also called, for the desire of ones passions and affections; when one setteth aside the sound persuasion of reason, and applieth his will to follow that which his affections move him unto. And thus did I say, that all love not guided by reason was lust, in that they that so love do not what reason willeth them, but what they lift, and what the will of their affections as it were forceth them to do.   

CHAP. XXXVIII. How Perierio and Marcelio, with the rest of their company, taking leave of the Lady Felicia, departed.  
THe Lady Felicia hearing Perierio and the Duchess so earnestly each stand to their own say, merrily broke up their gentle cavil, saying: I perceive (Gentiles) if my Nymph had not ministered occasion of talk we had been very silent all supper time. But yet (quoth the Duchess) with our rude discourse, it may be we have bred trouble to your ears, and this company. Not to me truly quoth Felicia.) Nor to us I dare say for the rest (quoth Marcelo.) As for me (said Alcida) I have conceived great delight in hearing the well agreeing strife between the two disputants; considering that though in words they disagreed yet in sense, they both agree in one: as in speeches the Duchess hath showed, that love needeth not to respect reason, so in very deed hath she by example showed, that she hath virtuously loved, & therefore herself guid●● her love with reason. And no doubt quoth ancient Eugerio) where she saith, that love must not be tied to reason, her meaning is, that they which love, aught in such manner to pursue their love, that they do things which are beyond the common expectation of men; and indeed such things as may seem to be against reason. so long as they are not contrary to virtue: for considering, that she would have such as love, not to overrun virtue, in my opinion she cannot be much discrepant from Perierio in that he would have love guided by rea●on meaning thereby that he would not have so excellent a thing as love is, disgraced with vice, which cannot be committed by the counsel or consent of reason.  
Thus was supper time spent, which being ended and the cloth taken up by the Nymphs, the Lady Felicia with all the company walked out into the fields to recreate themselves, and take the evening air: which done the curtain of darkness being spread all over the air they were warned to return to the Palace, where they were all accompanied to their lodgings by the Nymphs. The next morning, Marcelio with his Alcida, and her father Eugerio, and her brother and sister Polydore and Clenarde, took their leave of the Lady Felicia, yielding her as many thanks as they might, and departed thence to end their journey which they had taken to Lisbon, there to celebrate their marriage as they purposed when they took ship. In like manner, the beautiful shepherds Lexander and Ismenia, departed from the Lady Felicia to return home to their village, being glad they had so happily met in that place.  
Furthermore, Perierio now delivered from the furious passion that overturned his understanding before, merrily taketh leave of the company, and taketh his journey to Salamanca. The Duchess Brisil remained with the Lady Felicia, until she heard some certainty of Periander, which Felicia said would not be long. The rest of whose history, with the event thereof, what happened to him before he was married to Brisil and crowned King of Albion; with the success which Maffeo had, after he departed from Felicia to seek his Eleonora; and lastly, the adventures of Perierio, with the loves of his beautiful, virtuous and noble sisters. Euphilia and Perina, after the death of their aged father, Camillo, if almighty God give me life and leisure, I will write hereafter for the pleasure of my loving countrymen. In the mean time I commit myself to their prayers, and them to the tuition of God,   
FINIS.